#status? visibly hungover

[twinkodium]

oscar today in abu dhabi for post season testing

[glossdebut]

Take a Bite Ch. 2

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: more social drinking in this chapter, horny thoughts from y/n, seokjin is a warning of his own tbh

✧ WORDCOUNT: 3.2k

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: yoongi being sweet, y/n being terrified, and jin cameo to celebrate his return <3 btw if you're noticing a theme with the chapter titles, let me know teehee. taglist is up, so feel free to join if you want to be tagged in future chapters! clover beat you all to it

Chapter 2: Tell Me What You Want From Me

Unsurprisingly, it’s less than twenty-four hours later when you run into him again. It tracks, now that it’s clear that the universe is dead set on throwing Yoongi in your path, that you’d see him in person before he’s even gotten the opportunity to text you. If he actually was planning to text you, that is.

It’s a little past four in the afternoon, and you’re both making it home from work. It seems that way, anyway, based on the bag slung over his shoulder and his business casual clothes. No one looks good in business casual, but he does. You hate him, you decide.

He’s also holding a huge bag of tangerines, which is… Well, you guess it’s a talking point. If you’re going to be forced to interact again (although you’re very much considering doing the rude thing and just running inside without saying a word) you might as well make up for the last time you saw each other. Last night. Or, this morning, really. You, drunk and drooling over him. Him, stupidly charming and a very good sport.

You’ve been hungover all day, but it started to wane on your way home from work so you decide to do the neighborly thing and talk to him.

“That’s a lot of tangerines,” you say, and you feel a little smug when Yoongi visibly startles at the sound of your voice. Serves him right after making you practically jump out of your skin last night.

He pulls out one of his headphones and grins, raising the bag triumphantly.

"I have a thing about tangerines,” he explains. If that can even count as an explanation. "You want one?"

You can hear your mother in your ear chastising you for taking food from a virtual stranger, but you reason that just because you take one doesn’t mean you have to eat it, and you walk over to his door with your hand out.

“Sure,” you say, eyeing the bag warily. “Only because I’m not convinced you could eat all of those by yourself.”

He hums, staring at your hand as he pushes his door open, tilting his head toward the inside of the apartment in invitation. 

Your eyes widen. You open your mouth to protest, to tell him he could just hand you one, but Yoongi already has his back to you as he walks inside, kicking his shoes off at the door. You linger lamely in the doorway of his apartment. 

“Oh—Uh, are you sure?”

"Would I have invited you in if I wasn't sure?" You continue to linger as Yoongi sets the bag down on the kitchen island. He opens a cabinet, procuring a plate. "I don't bite,” he calls, turning on the tap of his sink to wash his hands.

You tentatively step inside, shutting his door behind you and setting your bag by his shoe rack. You follow his lead, toeing your shoes off before joining him in the kitchen. You watch as he starts peeling the fruit across the island, shifting awkwardly. 

Yoongi's eyes dart toward you for a moment as he continues to peel.

“You're acting like you're scared of me or something. You know I'm not gonna murder you, right?" he asks with a laugh, now starting to separate the sections of the tangerine.

“I know you’re not going to murder me,” you assure him, visibly relaxing a little so as not to look like such a hopeless, awkward freak. 

"Good. Just checking." He holds out a section of the tangerine, offering it to you.

You take it, smiling gratefully, but you let him eat his own piece first. It’s the least you can do, for your poor mother’s sake.

You do a shit job of being subtle as you glance around Yoongi’s apartment while you chew, but it’s not like you’re trying very hard to hide it. It’s a natural curiosity, to be in an apartment with a structural layout identical to your own, but so differently decorated. You feel like it’s not weird to look. 

"What?" he asks as he eats his own section of the tangerine, and when you look back at him his eyebrow is raised in question. 

“Your apartment is cleaner than I would’ve thought,” you say, laughing a little.

“Did you think it would be gross?” Yoongi asks, amused. “Do I give off a gross vibe?”

You snort, because he absolutely does not. If anyone gives off a gross vibe between the two of you, it’s probably you, the sloppy drunk that almost threw up on him last night because he was so hot and so close and you were so wasted. But you keep that bit to yourself. “Not gross. Just… messy?” you offer, snatching another section of the tangerine from his hand. “Not gross, though.”

“Oh, well that’s good,” he teases, starting to peel another tangerine and dividing it in half, sliding one half to you on the plate. “That you don’t think I’m gross, I mean.”

“No, it’s very neat in here,” you hum appreciatively, taking the plate. “The constant bedhead thing you’ve got going on is very misleading.” You point at his mussed hair. If you were a different person, maybe you’d touch it.

He does it for you, though. You watch as he ruffles his hair, smirking at you. “You don’t like my hair?”

“I didn’t say that,” you say. Something about Yoongi makes this back-and-forth come easily for you, and it feels dangerous. You should leave it alone, but you can’t. “Putting words in my mouth.”

He hums, and you watch his gaze flick down to your lips as you say the word ‘mouth.’ “You… have a little…” You watch as he brings his hand up to his own lips, rubbing his thumb at the corner of his mouth to indicate where you have something, apparently.

You hurriedly bring your own hand up to rub at your mouth. He shakes his head, laughing in a way that’s more of a sharp exhale through his nose, and then he’s rounding the counter. 

When he gets to you, he holds your chin, and you hold your breath in return, looking at him with wide eyes as he wipes it away himself.

Something shifts. You can feel the charge in the air as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, and your heart does that stupid flippy thing again. This is a bad idea, you think. Since when did your life become a cheesy romcom? You don’t have time for this. Based on the sympathy in his eyes last night when you told him that, he doesn’t either. You both just got home from working on a Saturday when you were both drinking last night, for fuck’s sake. But you can’t bring yourself to pull away even as every cell in your body screams at you to run out of his apartment right now, future awkward hallway run-ins be damned. 

And then Yoongi’s apartment door is swinging open, and you’re flying away from him like shrapnel as a broad-shouldered man in a fuzzy pink sweater walks in like he owns the damn place, brown paper bags bundled in his arms.

“Yoongichiiiii,” the man sing-songs. “Your Seokjinie-hyung is here to make you dinner, you cretin!”

Yoongi, who hasn’t moved, who didn’t fly away from you like shrapnel at the interruption, finally breaks eye contact with you to look at the man. Seokjinie-hyung, apparently. 

“Do you have to barge in here, hyung?” he says, with the type of tiredness that can only come from a person who endures this kind of thing five days out of the week, minimum. Can’t relate , you think. There’s nobody breaking down your door to make you dinner. “Can’t you knock, like a normal person?”

“I didn’t anticipate you’d have company, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says, waggling his eyebrows and looking at you. “I’m Seokjin. But you can call me oppa.” He smirks. “Unless, of course, you already call him that.”

Ew, for one. You stare at him, your lips parting in shock, because what the fuck do you say to that? You’re completely dumbfounded by this beautiful, broad, gross man. 

“Hyung,” Yoongi says sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose, and you finally find your voice.

“I’m Yoongi’s neighbor,” you say quickly, because this complete stranger does not need to think that you are sleeping with this other complete stranger and calling him oppa, of all things? What planet did you just beam to?

“Okay, Yoongi’s neighbor,” Seokjin says, walking further into the kitchen and setting the grocery bags down on the counter. “That’s a beautiful name. Is it French?”

“Hyung, ” Yoongi repeats, louder this time, smacking the back of Seokjin’s head. “Don’t be an asshole to my guest.”

“Yah, when did you become so disrespectful!” Seokjin says, surpassing Yoongi’s volume, smacking him right back, waving his hands around as he speaks. “Am I not a guest, too? Here I am, selflessly providing you with dinner, because god knows you’re incapable of feeding yourself properly. Don’t think I don’t see the tangerines, Yoongi-yah. Was that dinner?”

Okay, yeah. You are officially a spectator to whatever the fuck this is. You’re convinced that if you try to intervene in any way, you’ll lose an arm, and you can’t seem to get your legs to work to walk out the door, as much as you may like to. You’re frozen to the spot, entranced. 

“You’re an unwanted guest,” Yoongi hisses, smacking Seokjin once again. “And I am a grown man, fully capable of feeding myself.”

“Yes, a grown man whose height topped out at five-foot-seven because of his horrific eating habits,” Seokjin retorts, narrowing his eyes at Yoongi as he starts unpacking the grocery bags. “Do you think these broad shoulders were bestowed upon me by god? They weren’t. It was kimchi-jjigae.”

“Yah, you’re only three inches taller than me, hyung. Don’t get cocky just because of a few inches,” Yoongi complains, and you swear you see him lift onto his toes for just a moment.

“Oh, but a few inches can make a world of difference, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin practically purrs, and at that you find your voice, because really, enough is enough.

“I should go!” you blurt out, and both of their heads snap in your direction comically fast. Seokjin looks amused, but also like he forgot you were there entirely, which you think is fair. Yoongi, however, looks incredibly guilty. You’d think it’s cute, if you could think anything besides ‘get out while you still can’ right now. 

Yoongi steps a little closer to you, lowering his voice so it’s only for you. You can feel your change of heart before you even process anything he says.

“I’m sorry…” he says, glancing back at Seokjin for a moment. “…For that.” He sighs. “Look, I get it if you want to bolt right now. Seokjin-hyung has that effect on people.”

You hear Seokjin’s cry of protest behind Yoongi, which Yoongi ignores.

“I just don’t want to intrude,” you say. Polite. To the point. Your last line of defense, which Yoongi is quick to crumble with his soft voice and earnest words.

“You wouldn’t be. Despite being a pain in my ass, hyung is a good cook. And he makes enough food to feed an army even when it’s just the two of us,” he continues. “I… You can stay and eat. I’d like it if you did.”

What the fuck is happening to you right now? You can’t even begin to understand why you can’t seem to say no where Yoongi is involved, despite only meeting him less than twenty-four hours ago. 

The only thing that you can tell is that it’s not just because of your attraction to him, as undeniable as it may be. You may be an introverted homebody, but you’re still a woman who gets hit on semi-frequently. If that’s what this was, no matter how pretty Yoongi is, you’re sure you’d still be able to say no. But you’re not saying no.

“…This is all very, very weird,” you say, and Yoongi breathes out a strained ‘ I know, ’ which makes you relax a little. “I’ll stay, if you insist.”

“He insists,” Seokjin says, not even bothering to look up at you as he chops vegetables.

To your surprise, Yoongi doesn’t make any kind of cutting remark in Seokjin’s direction. He just keeps his eyes on you, nods in agreement. 

“I insist.”

So you stay.

★ ★ ★

Seokjin is very insistent about not letting you help in the kitchen.

“Unless he’s chopped off a limb to get out of it in the past ten seconds I haven’t been looking at him, Yoongi-yah has two fully-functioning hands and knows his way around a kitchen. So you just sit and look pretty, and let your oppas take care of everything,” he tells you. 

You hate the delivery of that, really. But you do as he says, and it’s actually pretty nice.

Plus, you get to see just how fully-functioning those hands of Yoongi’s are. You have a fucking front row seat to the capability of those hands. 

It does not help that Seokjin insists on refilling a wine glass for you every time you take a sip, but what does help is focusing on Seokjin’s weird, kind of cute pinky fingers instead of Yoongi’s fucking sinful everything that you want in your mouth more and more as the alcohol warms you. 

The bickering between the two even seems to die down as they cook. It’s clear that the two of them have done this together before, and it even makes you wonder if they lived together for a point in time.

You learn a lot about Yoongi, too. That he works too hard, which he himself had alluded to last night, but Seokjin confirmed with a gusto that makes you think it’s probably worse than you assumed. That he’s completely powerless to his dongsaengs, which Yoongi didn’t even try to deny. That there are seven of them altogether, a close-knit friend group that will always be the seven of them barring death, and maybe even then. It’s all very sweet. 

You’re in the middle of fantasizing about what it would be like to have six friends who love you so much when Seokjin turns the conversation to you suddenly.

“What do you do, Y/N?”

“I’m a music journalist for Look Here Magazine,” you reply, starting to straighten up with pride just as you did last night when you told Yoongi, but something in Seokjin’s expression makes you freeze.

He looks pleased as fucking punch, and you’re beginning to realize that is probably never a good thing.

“Oh, are you?” he purrs.

“Hyung,” Yoongi says warily, but he looks just as confused as you feel.

“You know, our Yoongi makes music.”

“Yes, he told me,” you say slowly, your eyebrows furrowing.

“He’s very good,” Seokjin continues. “Back in college, he used to write all of these raps about eating pus—“

“YAH! Stop!” Yoongi interjects, and when you look at him he is completely pink. You were already pink from the wine, so you would guess you’re fire engine red right now, if the heat in your cheeks is any indicator. 

“You weren’t ashamed of it then, Mr. Tongue Technology,” Seokjin sniffs, doling out rice into three bowls like he didn’t just drop a bomb that you’ll be thinking about for the rest of your life, maybe. Tongue technology.

“I was twenty,” Yoongi complains. “I was young and cocky, and I had an awful group of friends who never told me how fucking stupid I sounded.” He turns to you, although he is barely able to hold eye contact. You’re in the same boat. “Please forget you ever heard that.”

You nod, stiffly. What else can you do? Say you’d like to take that tongue for a spin, right now preferably? No, no, no, no.

“How about we talk about something else?” you offer, quickly. “What do you do, Seokjin?”

That seems like the right thing to say, because even when the three of you finally sit down to eat, Seokjin is still happily going on about his aspirations as an actor.

★ ★ ★

Seokjin rubs his belly happily, slumped against his chair.

“God, I’m good,” he sighs. “Tell me how good I am, Yoongichi.”

“You’re so good, hyung,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Thank you again, for having me,” you say, smiling a little. Despite your apprehension towards Seokjin at first, dinner was surprisingly pleasant and, to his credit, really fucking good. “Both of you.”

“Ah, you should come next time all the kids are around,” Seokjin says, grinning. “It’ll be a hoot.”

Yoongi stays quiet across from you, but he meets your eyes and nods. Flip.

“Well… I’m only two doors down,” you say softly, looking down at your empty bowl.

“Just wait until Jiminie and Jeongguk get ahold of her,” Seokjin says to Yoongi. You don’t know what that could possibly mean, could mean a lot of things coming from Seokjin, but Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“It’s getting late. We should probably clean up,” Yoongi says, starting to stack the bowls. “Do you need a ride home?”

“I’m not an invalid, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin scoffs. “I can take the bus.” He stands up, snatching the bowls away from Yoongi. “Let hyung clean up and I’ll be on my way.”

Yoongi doesn’t put up a fight, handing off the bowls, and then Seokjin is in the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone for the first time since tangerines and Yoongi’s thumb on your lip.

“Thank you,” you say again, this time just for Yoongi. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a night like this.”

“I wouldn’t have any nights like this if it weren’t for Seokjin-hyung and the rest of my friends,” Yoongi says, brutally honest in the way you’re figuring out he always is. “When you love what you do, it’s hard to remember that there’s anything else.”

You nod, because you know exactly what he means by that.

“I really know what it’s like. I know we just met last night, but if you ever need…” He shakes his head, putting his words together. He looks unbelievably shy, not for the first time tonight. “Ah, I’m not used to being the one to give this speech. Look, we can hang out, is all I’m saying.”

You realize then and there what Yoongi is offering, and something clicks into place. Friendship. Despite the charged moments, the clear attraction, he’s offering to be someone you can go to. Someone who gets it and won’t judge. It doesn’t feel like pity, either, strangely. This is why you can’t bring yourself to say no to him, you realize. He’s offering you something you desperately need.

You smile, despite the fact that you kind of feel like crying.

“Only if you show me those raps Seokjin was talking about.”

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

@dollfaceksj

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[flyingspicerack]

ok im making you all look at this, this is my essay on all the scenes with Ichimatsu in them from takopa, my explanations of why he does them and what they mean UNDER THE FILTER that Mao exists and this takes place simultaneously during my fic

SO I deffo think that takopa takes place, like, on the day it was released, like the evening they have the party is friday july 21st 2023, SO that would mean it takes place between chapters 9/10 and 11, 9 and 10 being the 'ichi stands mao up' and 'mao is hungover' ones that take place mid july, so im thinking 9/10 probably take place around the 17/18th maybe.... SO at the time of the takopa, Ichi and Mao's relationship is that they are finally officially friends, they know about each others neet/hikikomori status, but arent,,, like super close ... its before the festival chapter, so if that makes any sense

the first and second images dont have anything to do with Mao, i just think it's cute that hes just basking in the sun like a kitty cat. the second one however, i think ichi stay home 1 bc hes a homebody but 2 bc he spent all his allowance and cant go see mao at the cafe

ok this is a big one, very loaded. see, his brothers outright ignoring him and not telling him whats going on? well that puts a downright bad and spiteful taste in his mouth, so he's already not going into it with the best attitude

and HERE!! RIGHT here is when ichimatsu decides to fall right back into his position in the family dynamic as the quiet one who follows along with the others, the one who takes the backseat approach to the dynamic. if his brothers are doing something, hes always just going to follow along to an extent to keep the status quo

ok so, ichi, like a cat, reserved to the idea of new ppl being in the house (nyaa and baby), as well as spiteful about the situation as a whole... he goes along with the brothers in the 'pining for totoko' thing because thats just... what they do, theyve been doing it since they were kids, so even if he were to realistically kinda back off from it, there would be questions, so hes just... hes just keeping in line, in his place... BUT HES NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT!

after the bit with the takoyaki turning and ichi finally having fun, he realizes he CAN let loose a little and try to have a good time, sooooo now hes gonna be a little shit and mess with his brothers' chances at getting with totoko bc he can

THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT .... ok ... so ichi is there and visibly nervous... nyaa opens the conversation about cats, to which he relaxes... he relaxes yes cause cats, but also nyaa... pink hair... pink hair and cats to him is mao ... its a bit easier to talk to nyaa in the context that he's just kinda thinking about mao.... nod nod nod nod

OK ALL OF THIS IS SO GHREDFLSGFLGBSL OKAY listen... Ichimatsu isn't with mao, but he's pining so hard and hes constantly thinking of the ways that he can incrimentally make homself better so he can be a guy they might be into... so he also, for some reason, thinks mao has experience/isnt a virgin, SO he thinks that he needs to step it up. If he were to get the chance to get an indirect kiss/finally pop his cherry, well, in his eyes he thinks he might be a better guy for mao, he won't be utterly pathetic. IN ADDITION, he picks nyaa because, lets face it, were he to actually gotten the opportunity to sleep with her, he'd be thinking of mao the whole time cause pink and cats... probably say their name too if im being toooootttallly honest... so yeah... he would want to do this to be able to not be such a loser for mao... even if he kinda does have that desire to have them be his first... but his desire to be more desirable to them outweighs his personal wishes if that makes sense....

anyway thats it, thats my post, maoichi real bc i said so

[manybcdthings]

Name: Felix Ranström

Age & Birthday: 32 years old, November 3rd

Gender/Pronouns: Cis Male He/Him

Species: Witch Werewolf

Birthplace: New York, New York

Occupation / Tie to Industry: Actor/Director & Zenith Entertainment

Positive Personality Traits: level headed, observant, realistic

Negative Personality Traits: brooding, removed, cynical

ABOUT

The Ranström witches have long been known for their extraordinary wealth, a legacy rooted in Sweden where black magic was harnessed for financial gain and self-advancement. In the 1920s, the Ranström family extended their influence from Sweden to New York City, and subsequently to Hollywood. This expansion led to the establishment of Zenith Entertainment, a formidable conglomerate encompassing film studios, talent agencies, and high-profile production companies.

Zenith Entertainment, founded in New York City, swiftly rose to prominence in the entertainment industry. The family's acquisition of the iconic Radio City Music Hall cemented their status, linking them with influential industry syndicates and exclusive institutions such as Asphodel, which trained Supernatural talents for stardom. The Ranström legacy reached beyond Broadway and the East Coast, making significant inroads into Hollywood's film, television, and digital media sectors.

Felix Ranström's upbringing amidst the cold opulence of the Ranström estates in Beverly Hills, Manhattan, and Sweden lacked any warmth and affection. His intense nature and turbulent emotions made him feel like an outsider within his own family. Struggling to align with the clinical operations of his family's business, Felix turned to academia before tentatively embarking on an acting career. His choices in roles have always been deliberate, focusing on projects that allow him to explore complex themes and emotions.

Felix's journey through acting saw him struggle with substance abuse and a hedonistic, chaotic lifestyle. His struggles were often visible in interviews, where he appeared hungover or under the influence, further straining his relationship with his parents. It wasn't until early 2023, following his relationship with Isabella Belcourt, that Felix began to stabilize his life. An improvement that was cut short when he was attacked under the full moon in the December.

Despite dealing with the trauma and loss of magic, contracts were signed and projects were underway and he had no choice but to continue working. Slowly, Felix turned to his old habits, resulting in the mutual decision to part ways with Isabella in March 2024. However, the shock of the separation led Felix to confront his issues more effectively, and by May 2024, he and Isabella had reconciled. Felix proposed to her in July, marking a hopeful new chapter in their lives.

Despite ongoing challenges with his new existence as a werewolf and the loss of his magic, Felix has shown significant improvement. He is now preparing for the release of his upcoming film, The Crow. Following this project, Felix has decided to step back from acting, recognizing that his true passion lies elsewhere. He is currently focusing on writing and has begun developing ideas for a script, with plans to transition into directing.

[kmgkmg]

THE ONE - JUNG JAEHYUN

word count: 1.5k...

pairing: jaehyun x gn!reader

synopsis: you arrive at the crowded party at different times, eventually meeting which makes you both feel relieved.

genre/s: fluff, college!au, non-idol!au, fratboy!jaehyun, bf!jaehyun

warnings: drug (weed) mention, alcohol mention (beer pong mentioned so idk if it counts but just in case)

rating: pg-13

a/n: hiiiiiiii, my first fic omg how exciting!! i’ve done little bullet points on old blogs but never something this structured? i blame it on reading so many fics during fall break. i tried to write jae pretty similar to what i think his personality is but if y’all think it’s inaccurate lmk, constructive criticism is always welcomed! i listened to vanjess while writing this so inspired by the one by vanjess!

Your eyes desperately shifted from one side of the room to the other, unaware of Jaehyun’s presence behind you. His walking quickly fastens as he wants to be with you even sooner seeing your uneasiness. Even with his quickened pace, you were still towards the front of this huge frat house while he was towards the back. Why did this house have to be so damn crowded? Yangyang said this was only supposed to be a chill kickback with friends from campus and work, but Jaehyun could swear there were at least 80 people in the house. He didn’t even want to think about how many more people were outside, conscious and unconscious. Still, he tries to maintain his cool and squeeze past people as fast as he can, even avoiding greetings from friends he hadn’t seen in a long time.

He always seemed to sense when something was wrong. Although you were visibly anxious regarding the unfamiliar environment of this party, he could always tell when you needed to be tended to. Hell, he was the first person in your life to notice one of your most hidden nervous tendencies. 

Back in the course you first met for the first time, you were singled out by a classmate during a class discussion and it happened to be the day you didn’t do the reading. You thought cracking your knuckles had been a pretty ordinary thing to do, but once Jaehyun had noticed you cracking your third knuckle his face wore a worried expression, clearly aware of you being uncomfortable with the spotlight being on you. In what you viewed as an act of idiocy rather than being heroic, Jung Jaehyun proudly raised his hand and decided to sacrifice himself for you. He made up a quick lie about how you had been filling him in on the readings since he was hungover, he elaborated that you had made a great point about the debate that helped him comprehend everything. All your professor could do was ask for confirmation to what Jaehyun was saying and all you could do is mindlessly nod your head, shocked that the frat boy who constantly comes in hungover actually did his readings. The course wasn’t a requirement for Jaehyun’s major of architecture, which was even more of a surprise. Since when were frat boys versed on Gramsci’s theories?

After Jaehyun saved your ass you profusely thanked him after class, asking if there was any way that you could show your gratitude towards him. He chuckled, since your demeanor with him was much more uptight than he had seen you interact with your friends outside of class. “If you’re really thankful towards me, how about a date?” He asks you, patiently waiting for your response. 

You had really painted him in the wrong light by minimizing him to his frat status only and he did help you. You usually would say no to a man asking you out so suddenly, especially since today was your first time talking, but Jaehyun was different. You had a weak spot for pretty men and Jaehyun was the epitome of such. You snap out of your thoughts, suddenly aware again of the man standing in front of you. “Sure, can I have your Instagram so we can decide the details later? I have another class across campus to get to soon.”

You hadn’t expected to like Jaehyun and your guys’ first date as much as you did, but he was full of surprises. He had invited you to his favorite record shop/cafe and selected a vinyl by The Internet to play while you decided what you wanted to order. You got to know each other and realized the absurd amount of things you had in common, from music taste and favorite TV shows to overall philosophies towards life. Gradually you went on more and more dates and now have been a couple for almost three years. Although some of Jaehyun’s frat friends were notorious for being heartbreakers and fuckboys around campus, Jaehyun himself had been labeled the mysterious prince at your university so it was big news when he officially announced you on his Instagram as his significant other.

Returning to the party at hand, Jaehyun was originally supposed to pick you up after his work shift, but you got busy with studying for midterms and insisted that he left with his friends and you would meet him at the party. The problem with you guys meeting like originally planned is that he left with Yuta and Jaemin, a duo that basically asks for trouble. Jaehyun likes his friends, he really does, but he should’ve known that they would pregame and have a couple rips from their bong before heading over to the house. Jaemin becomes mush which is never an issue but Yuta’s energy level turns tenfold his regular tension and he thinks that he’s invincible. After Jaehyun pulled out his phone to text you an update that he was in the backyard playing beer pong with some friends, his mistake was not realizing the still very stoned Yuta was next to him and determined to win this round. Yuta grabbed his phone with unremarkable speed and chucked it over Jaehyun’s head, conveniently landing in the pool. 

“Dude, what the actual fuck?” Jaehyun, clearly exasperated, frowns at his friend.

“We’re supposed to win this game, for the pride of our fraaaaaaaat! This isn’t the time to text your precious Y/N,” Yuta slurs, “you neverrrrr hang out with us anymore bro.”

Jaehyun sighs, “Well, can you see why I don’t when you act like this? You know that Y/N is coming by themselves, you know that I’m protective over them. There’s so many peopl- Nevermind, I’m not going to try to reason with you when you’re stoned.” 

Fast forward to now, Jaehyun is continuously calling your name, while you are still busy scanning the room to find someone you know. It didn’t help that the music was blasting so loud the whole house was practically shaking with the bass of the song. You had tried to text Jae with the texts being left on delivered and when you tried to call Jae numerous times, his phone instantly went to voicemail. Of course you were oblivious of Yuta’s destroying of Jae’s phone and your mind automatically went to the worst that he was mad at you for not going with him. While there was a little part in the back of your mind that knew he would never get mad at you over something as trivial as that, especially since you were studying, your mind always resorted to the most unreasonable scenarios. You still hadn’t removed your jacket, giving up hope that this house had anything even slightly resembling a coat room. If anything, they probably made Mark’s room the ‘coat room’, you smiled slightly envisioning Mark being stressed walking into his room and seeing coats piled in his room. Finally, you thought to yourself, my nerves are calming down. Who would’ve thought that thinking about your boyfriend’s younger friend being irritated would make you happy?

“Y/NNNNN!” You hear a familiar voice shout from behind you. You’re pretty certain that if you moved one second faster you would’ve given yourself whiplash at the speed in which you turned your neck to see the source of the sound. As expected, you could see Jaehyun about 10 feet away from you, waving his hand at you to see him. You both break into the biggest grins upon seeing that you finally found each other and wouldn’t have to stay at this house that became way too overpopulated anymore. “Jae!” You continue to grin while making your way to close the distance even sooner. As soon as you’re finally face-to-face with each other, he envelopes you with the biggest hug he could possibly make, “Babe, I’m so sorry Yuta literally drowned my phone and I couldn’t reach you.” You slightly break from his grip to look up at him in a mixture of confusion and amusement that Yuta did that, but soon went back to hugging him just as tight before saying, “It’s okay, I only showed up about 20 minutes ago, but could we maybe leave? It’s way more crowded than Yangyang’s usual parties.” Jaehyun quickly nods in agreement, still smiling that he was able to see you after a long day of work and a chaotic night with Yuta and the rest of his frat. 

“Record shop cafe and some late night snacks?” You propose and rub his back gently as you go from hugging to holding hands and navigating yourselves to leave the party. 

Jaehyun looks at you with love and complete adoration, finding himself at a loss of words for how much he loves you and how lucky he was to be the one to raise his hand and cover for you in class that one day. Probably forever unknowing to you, he had fallen for you on the first day of orientation of your first-year, and you are his first love. In his eyes, you are forever only the one who he sees himself spending the rest of his life with.

Without saying any of this, he simply nods again and lightly squeezes your hand in agreement to the new plans for the night. 

[littlemissnoname13]

Wisps of Smoke (Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader) - Part four

Summary: Y/n and Draco find themselves drawn to an abandoned classroom every night

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader ft. Pansy Parkinson, Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini

Warnings: Excessive smoking, Drinking, mature language and themes, sex, masturbation, 18+ content, reader discretion is highly advised

A/n: as always, thank you for reading WOS. This story has gotten so close to my heart over the last few weeks of writing it and I am grateful for every one that read part 1,2,3. And to everyone who guessed the Astoria plot line, Damn ya’ll are too good! 

I’d like to stress that smoking is injurious to health.

Word count: almost 4000

Part One, two & three if you haven’t caught up already

Thursday (Continued)

With his palms resting flat on the shower wall and his grey eyes fixed on the floor below, Draco allowed the lukewarm water to trail down his body and calm his nerves. 

Between the restlessness he’d felt after his father’s visit and the stinging feeling of remembering just what was expected of him, he’d barely managed to sleep a wink for three consecutive nights.

And how could he have gone to sleep when he knew you were in that classroom—waiting for him in your silky little dress. 

Oh..wait a minute. 

He smirked to himself when he remembered that he had destroyed the top half of your dress in an attempt to tug it off your shoulders. 

You looked absolutely stunning with the bottom half of your dress pushed back as you spread your legs wide open on top of a classroom desk—he had fucked you so fucking hard that day. 

Draco wrapped his hand around his length and began to pump slowly as he recalled the way you wrapped your legs around his torso as he moved in and out of you.

Your moans. 

He wondered if you were even aware of the effect your moans had on him. 

The way his name slipped out of your cherry lips and the way your tits bounced with every thrust only made him want to drive deeper into you. 

He let out a sharp grunt as he started to pump harder, fantasising about all the places he’d fuck you in.

He’d press you up against the shower wall and push himself deep into your cunt from behind, he’d lay you down on his desk and eat you out till you were a quivering mess before driving in and out of you, he would bend you over one of the common room sofas and fuck you so hard and fast if he ever got the chance to. 

He’d make you cum time and again till you were sore and dripping with his release—fuck. 

Draco let his high take all over him for a brief moment before opening his eyes when he heard his dresser drawer creak. 

He dismissed the strange sound and washed the remaining soap from his body before stepping out and towel drying his hair. 

“Draco! Y/n is here to see you.”  

Astoria? What on earth is she doing here? This can’t be good.

He frantically wrapped the towel around his torso and stepped outside the bathroom.

“Y/n what are you doing here?” He asked, observing the eye bags under your eyes. You were wearing a loose fitted white shirt with the sleeves pushed back and the top two buttons undone.

If Astoria wasn’t gaping at the exchange between the two of you, he would have had you pinned against the wall already. 

“I—I Just—” you began but before you could reach the end of your sentence, Theo jogged up to his door and stood right next to you, panting.

“Oh, you’re all here.Good.” He said with excitement saturated into his voice. “Apparently, there’s a party this Saturday night in the room of requirement and we are going—I am not taking no for an answer.” 

“That sounds like so much fun.” Astoria grinned and looked at Draco expectantly,making your stomach twist.

“It’s not like we have a choice.” Draco muttered still looking at you while Astoria beamed at him. 

“So, Y/n you were saying something?” Astoria politely turning the conversation back to you.

“I actually just came in here to talk about the party too.” You lied looking Draco directly in the eye.

Friday

Even though you were walking to class while bumping into a sea of students, your head was somewhere else. 

But of course Malfoy was sleeping around with other girls!

How could you have forgotten?! Maybe he was shagging Astoria outside that classroom the other nig—

“Going somewhere?” Draco asked as soon as he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you into a gap in the corridor. 

“Yes, Away from you!” You spat angrily. “And I don’t appreciate you lurking around, pushing me into a wall every chance you get.”

“I just needed to talk to you y/l/n.”

“About what? Your girlfriend?” You blurted, instantly regretting your decision.

“She is not my girlfriend.”

“Oh yeah? Then what is she?!” 

What you heard next made the ground crumble from beneath you and you couldn’t help but wish you had paid more attention to your mother’s letters—especially the one about the announcement at the New year’s ball. 

~~~~~~~⚜️~~~~~~

Dear Y/n,

Your father and I are looking forward to having you back home for Christmas. 

It will give us some quiet family time before the New Year’s Ball hosted by the Malfoys. I’ve heard it through the grapevine that young Malfoy is getting betrothed to one of the Greengrass sisters and they will officially be announcing the betrothal that night. 

Isn’t that absolutely fantastic?  

Let me know what sort of dress robe you’d like to wear to the Ball this year. I will make necessary arrangements. 

Send my regards to Adrian. 

Love,

Mum

~~~~~~~⚜️~~~~~~~

Saturday

Vodka always tasted unpleasant to say the least. In fact, it burned. 

But it burned a lot less than the burn you felt watching Astoria reclining against Draco across the room.

Vodka always gave the worst type of hangover and with every gulp, you knew you were on a steady path to a regretful morning after. 

But the morning after drowning yourself in unadulterated vodka shots was better than watching the soon to be Fiancé of the boy you were slowly harbouring feelings for wear his blazer on top of her silver sequinned dress. 

What kind of a deranged person gets jealous over someone that was never theirs to begin with?

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away from the ridiculously attractive blonde boy dressed in all back, knocked back a few shots and happily accepted Pansy’s hand as she pulled you to the dance floor. 

One minute you were jumping around with Pansy, Blaise and Theo and the next minute, you were seeing nothing but pitch black darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Firm arms gripped your waist as you staggered back to your room after blacking out at the party. In all honesty, the person walking you wasn’t much help either with his bloodshot eyes and unsteady footsteps. 

“You— you shouldn’t have walked me to my room.” 

“I know.” Draco said simply as he watched you walk shakily up to your door.

“Go back to the party Draco.” You said with your voice wavering as he slowly inched closer and closer to you till you were firmly pressed against the door. “You know you shouldn’t be here right now.”

“I know.” He said once again before pressing his own Firewhisky laced lips with yours. “I know.” 

Maybe it was the intoxication, maybe it was the way he held firmly onto your waist as his tongue collided with your own but you used your wand to unlock your door with your mouth still attached to his. 

Both of you entered the room bumping into furniture, leaving a trail of clothes all the way to your bed.

Sunday

“What is happening to this world again? Can someone please walk me through?— I am simply too hungover right now.” Pansy groaned, scratching her head as he opened the door to your shared dorm with Theo and Blaise right behind her. 

Having partied all night long, all three of them were too tired to make sense of the scene in front of them. 

“Yeah, I thought Malfoy was with Astoria now.” Theo scratched his chin at the sight of your head on Draco’s chest as you both slept. 

Pansy’s eyes widened when she heard Astoria’s name as she quickly ran inside the room. 

“Wake the fuck up you idiots.” She yelled using her wand to draw away the curtains making Draco groan as the morning light hit his eyes. 

“What’s all this ruckus about.” You mumbled snuggling closer to Draco as your eyes slowly opened to see a glaring pansy accompanied by Theo and Blaise. 

“I have invited Astoria up here to hang out with us, so both of you have a lot of explaining to do before she gets here.”

Monday

“So let me get this straight.” Theo began, as he took a long drag from one of Draco’s cigarettes. “Both of you have been fucking around—traumatising poor Blaise for the last two weeks, correct?”

Draco rolled his eyes, scoffing as he lit up another cigarette while you shrugged. 

The four of you were at the astronomy tower, reclining against the railings as the day faded away into a chilly winter evening. 

“And you two claim that you are not together, correct?”

At this, both you and Draco turned to look at each other—as if questioning each other about the status of your relationship. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” You finally said, slowly breaking eye contact with Draco. “He is getting betrothed to Astoria anyway.”

“And you’re okay with this?” Pansy asked, her face barely visible from all the smoke she was exhaling. 

“Never been better.” You lied, reaching for a cigarette for yourself. You placed the filter end in between your lips and lit it up, inhaling quickly. 

The second you did, tears automatically started to stream from your eyes as you started to cough. 

Draco shook his head and turned to you. 

“Here.” He muttered taking a step towards you, before taking a deep drag from the cancer stick in between his fingers. 

With his free hand raked inside your hair, he pulled your face closer to his until his lips were barely touching yours.

“Inhale y/n.” He murmured, as wisps of smoke left his lips and entered yours. 

You were too preoccupied by his proximity to notice the gagging sounds your friends were making beside you. 

Tuesday

On your way to the library after class, you heard the voice of Lucius Malfoy right outside the dungeons. 

He was going on and on about a ring and how irresponsible Draco was for not getting one made already. Christmas holidays were nearing and Lucius was sure Draco would tarnish the Malfoy family name by not having a ring made on time.

You simply didn’t understand why the Malfoy’s couldn't just use an old family heirloom but you decided to not question it as you walked past them—watching the tired and defeated expression on Draco’s face.

Wednesday

Draco lay on his bed, fiddling with an oval cut emerald ring with the letter “M” engraved on the back of it. The ring had been with the Malfoy women for generations and he simply could not picture the ring on Astoria’s fingers. 

And even though he had no say on his betrothal, he wanted to have a say on the ring and so he had insisted on getting something else made for Astoria. 

But the last two weeks had gone by in a matter of seconds so he did not find the time to, and could not even be bothered to go and have another ring made.

He had known about his impending engagement since the beginning of the year. He’d taken Astoria out several times but he knew there was nothing to that relationship besides sex and chaste kisses on the cheeks exchanged during family dinners.

He didn’t really mind at first, everything felt fine and he simply craved the validation of his father. 

Draco was doing just fine before you came along. 

Sure, life was a little lacklustre. The sky wasn’t as azure, his morning coffee wasn’t as aromatic, and cigarettes were simply means of deteriorating his lungs.

But now, things had shifted a little. 

He felt happier than he had felt in a really long time.

Just as he was opening up his drawer to put away the family heirloom, you knocked on his door—looking breathless. 

“I’m sorry but I overheard your conversation with your father and I think I might be able to help.”

“Huh?” Draco asked, tilting his head,watching you as you grabbed his left hand and dropped a shiny Amethyst ring in the palm of his hands. 

“I had it made for my birthday last month.” You shrugged, it’ll help you keep your father off your back till you get another made.”

If he hadn't fallen in love with you already, he surely did in that particular moment, as he pulled you into his arms, desperately crashing his lips on top of yours. 

Fuck validation. 

Fuck everything. 

Fuck everyone. 

Thursday

Your back firmly pressed against his bare chest—his heart beat calm and steady. 

Draco had his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he possessively pulled you closer to him the way he always did. 

That is how you had woken up. 

Cuddled up with him in his incredibly snug and comfortable bed within four walls enclosed with the smell of bourbon, mixed with the smell of soap, sex and his absurdly expensive cigarettes. 

Even with your eyes still shut, your lips couldn’t help but curve upwards when you felt his breathing gently tickle the back of your neck. 

That is how you had woken up that morning and you honestly wouldn’t mind waking up like that for the mornings to come. 

“Morning Y/l/n.” 

His raspy and deep morning voice sent shivers down your spine as his soft lips came in contact with the spot right below your ears. 

“Morning.” 

He continued to sensually suckle and nibble that particular spot and you suddenly found yourself wanting to be suckled and nibbled on other places. 

“Draco.” You hummed pushing yourself further into his embrace. There was something so fulfilling and satisfying about the way you fit into each other's embraces. Entangled arms, limbs and all. 

The hands that were wrapped securely around your waist now trailed upwards until they found your breasts. 

The feel of his hands taking their own sweet time—softly kneading your sensitive flesh was enough to have you writhing against him 

He made sure to take his time and give equal attention to both your breasts, using his slender fingers to pinch and tug at your hardened buds till you were pushing your hips further back towards him—craving friction, any type of friction really. 

“Easy now.” He lazily whispered into your ear as you started to grind your hips urgently against his erection aching to feel him inside of you again. 

You were empty and missed the feeling of being full but he was nowhere near done with worshiping your breasts—making you restless and impatient with each squeeze. 

“Draco.” You tilted your head backwards and sighed into his neck.“I—I need you to fuck me. Please—I just want to feel you inside me.” 

Draco let out a small chuckle at the directness of your words.

If someone had told him that the same girl that tried to hex him so many times in the past would be saying that to him, he would have told them to get themselves checked at st. Mungos. 

“Relax Darling. I’ll take take of you.” He murmured before trailing his lips down your neck and towards your shoulder placing mellow and relaxed kisses all the way. 

“Draco please.” You whined, grinding your hips harder—desperate tears threatening to leak out of your eyes when you felt his hand on your hip, slowing you down. 

“That’s it. Such a good girl.” He whispered encouragingly into your ear as you let his hands guide you—moving your hips in excruciatingly slow circles against him while he resumed kissing your neck and bare shoulders. 

“Atta girl. Yes that’s it. Keep doing that.” 

His kisses were a stark contrast to his lustful, ravenous and angry kisses from the previous night and the kisses only left you craving even more.

“Please Draco—Fuck me. Please just fuck me.” 

“Look at you, begging for it.” He said in a hoarse whisper as the tip of his cock made contact with your already soaking wet folds and all you could do was let out a muffled moan into your pillow. 

The tip of his cock only slipped halfway inside of you before he pulled out again, teasing.

“You’re dripping wet.” 

“Draco..” you whined.

“Tell me darling, who made your pussy this wet?” 

“You did. Draco Lucius Malfoy—Only you.” 

He loved hearing you beg, he loved it only second to the way you said moaned his name and so he finally entered you allowing his cock to completely stretch you out and fill you up. 

With his perfect teeth bared, Draco peppered kisses onto your shoulders, nibbling gently as he rocked his hips at a slow but steady pace—all the while mumbling sweet nothings into your skin about how well you took him, and how good he felt being inside of you.

The way his skilled hands tugged, twisted and pinched your nipples made you feel an other worldly sort of pleasure—causing you to whimper and moan his name,moving your own hips, trying to feel him deeper inside your walls.

“Shhhh—easy there.” He whispered against your neck. “Just let go.. Focus on feeling every inch of me buried deep inside your pretty little cunt. Can you do that for me?” 

You nodded and stopped moving your hips and used  one of your arms to hold onto his neck as you relaxed into him. 

“That’s it y/n, Just like that.” He coaxed, running his hand up and down your body before firmly resting on your hip as he fucked you nice and slow. 

There was something different and unexpected about his thrusts, something strange and foreign about the way he used his thumb to rub slow and sensual circles on your clit.

“You feel so good y/n. Your pussy feels so amazing.” 

Your moans muddled into one and his movements rocked the bed as he made love to you, pushing you closer and closer towards your orgasm. 

“Fuck—Im so close.” You moaned, burying your head deep into the pillow as Draco picked up his pace pushing his cock in harder and deeper with each thrust. 

“Oh fuck. yes Draco..yes.” You moaned as he dug his nails onto your hips forming crescent shaped indentations as he pushed himself deeper, hitting just the right spot over and over again, making your walls clench up. 

“Draco…” 

“Cum for me, Angel. Cum with me.” He groaned,making both of you ride out our highs till his warm seed spurted deep inside of you. 

When he pulled out of you, some of the warm liquid had already managed to seep out of you and trickle down your inner thigh.  

After taking a brief second to catch his breath, Draco shifted lower into the bed till he was in just in between your legs. 

“I could get used to waking up like this.” He smirked looking up at you. His platinum blonde hair was slightly wavy and kind of fluffy, falling on his forehead but not yet covering his stormy greys. 

“Like what?” You teased. 

“Don't play with me y/l.n.” He warned with a wicked gleam making the grey hues in his eyes brighten into a brilliant. It felt like his eyes changed colors from blue to grey according to his moods. 

“I could get used to waking up like this too.” You said softly as he tried to push back everything that had managed to trickle out. 

Right before Draco could even reply, his door creaked open. 

“Malfoy, Astoria is waiting for you in the common roo—fuck not this again.” Blaise groaned as you pulled the sheets over your body. 

Friday

On your last evening at school before Christmas break, you found yourself perched on the windosill, nestled in between Draco’s arms and limbs in the classroom that started it all.

The pad of his right thumb traced slow, almost lazy circles on your hand while he held his cigarette in his left hand. 

The lit tip of his cigarette was the same shade as the sunset in the tangerine sky and you took deep breaths to try and soak him and the smoke rings that escaped his lips up because you weren't sure if you’d get to be with him again. 

“What are you doing y/l/n?” He asked when he noticed you breathing in and out. 

“Nothing.” 

“Please.” Draco chuckled, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “You have that look on your face.”

“What look?” you asked, turning your head to look at him—the way the last rays of the setting sun caught up on his eyelashes only making you fall harder than you already had.

“This look y/n.” He kinked his eyebrows and tried to mimic your expression. “This is the look you have on your face wherever you are up to something—like  when you try and fix your failed potion in Potions class. Actually, you even make this face when you mix sugar into your tea.” 

“Im just—” You clicked your tongue in frustration. “I’m just going to miss this, I guess.” 

Your words made his expressions soften because he understood. 

How could he have not?

He had spent the whole of last night watching you sleep—the way your chest was rising and falling, the way your heart was beating against his.

He had spent the last hour trying to store the scent of your fruity shampoo deep inside his memory banks because he wasn’t sure if there would be a next time. 

“Let’s stay back at Hogwarts”  He mumbled, pulling you closer to him. “It’ll just be us, it will be good.”

“If only.” You sighed as you rested the back of your head at the crook of his neck. “But I have to go back home and explain the whole situation with Adrian and you…” 

Both of you went silent for a bit. 

“Give me your hand y/n.” He finally broke the silence as you turned around and  looked at him quizzically. “I want to give you something.”

You turned your body around so you could face him better. The strong winter breeze blew his hair towards his eyes, making you want to reach up and push those stray hairs away. Instead, you simply placed your hand on his. 

“Close your eyes.” 

You rolled my eyes at him before squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Are they closed?” 

You nodded and you felt him slip something onto your finger and you quickly  opened one eye to take a peek and It didn't even take you a second to realize he had slipped an emerald ring from onto your finger.

“Draco. I really don’t think this is a good idea.” 

“I thought I told you to keep your eyes shut.” He snapped. 

“But I can’t take this.” 

“I owed you a ring y/n.” He said holding your hand in his to look at the ring on your finger making a type of warmth spread over your entire body. “Keep it till I get the other ring made.” 

You simply stared at the ring unable to form words with your mouth until you felt him shift beside you as he got back up to his feet. 

“Don’t overthink it y/n—I’ll see you at the ball.” 

You hummed as you quietly watched him walk away from you, ignoring the stab your felt in your heart with every step he took. But before you could process your emotions fully, Draco turned on his heel and walked towards you— instantly cupping your face in his hands. 

“Draco what are-”

His lips ardently crushed yours before you could even finish your sentence

There was an abrupt kind of finality in the way he moved his lips against yours. It was like he was kissing you for the last time . 

“I’ll be thinking of you y/l/n.” 

To be continued..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 5 teaser:

Draco’s features softened as he slowly shifted and got up from the reading nook in his bedroom to fully open his window.

You shielded yourself as cold drops of rain started to hit your face. “What in the actual fuck?”

“Shut up and follow me.” He said as he climbed out of the window and onto the ledge.

“Are you mental?”

“Just do as I say.” He said helping you onto the ledge.

Both of you laughed hysterically as the rain seeped through our clothes as you sat on the ledge with you bare feet dangling in the air.

One wrong move and both of you could fall to your respective deaths. But there came an adrenaline rush with the risk of it all.

___________________________

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Love,

V

[aloha-solar]

The Spaces Between the Stars: Chapter One

AO3 is here

Pairing: fem!Shep x Kaidan

Rating: M

Ex-Cerberus Operative Miranda Lawson was not a doctor. The Alliance military and the staff at King James Hospital made that quite clear when she sent in an inquiry to join their team. They said that while they appreciated civilian aid, “Miss Lawson was not equipped to handle the delicacies of medical aid on severely injured patients.” In an ordinary case, Miranda would have agreed with them. She didn’t know how to perform an appendectomy. She didn’t have a clue on the proper procedure to amputate a limb. Hell, if she needed to deliver a baby, Miranda felt pretty sure she would end up telling the mother to keep her legs crossed until the doctors arrived.

But Commander Shepard wasn’t an ordinary case. Miranda rebuilt the woman from scratch, fitted her with different cybernetics to repair the pieces they couldn’t replicate from ordinary skin tissue, and made her look and perform better than before. She brought a clinically brain-dead woman back to life. Whatever medical expertise that was, Miranda had it.

But the Alliance didn’t want an ex-terrorist working on their galactic hero. They wanted an actual doctor, and Miranda felt pretty sure most of the doctors in the hospital never worked on someone who ended up being as much synthetic as organic. She sent another fifty letters, all of them rejected. But she still waited. People always came around…even if it did take them a while.

“Are you serious about all this, princess?” Jack asked one night. “You seriously think they’re going to let some cheerleader with nice tits into one of their secret operations?”

“To be honest, Miranda, that does sound a little bit far-fetched,” Kasumi said. “Okay, well, more than a little, but I’m trying to be nice.” Miranda fought against rolling her eyes. The three women weren’t exactly friends, but when the whole universe seemed to be on the brink of destruction only a month before, it seemed only fair to let bygones be bygones, even though Jack still probably wanted to paint her bedroom with Miranda’s innards, while Kasumi most likely stole half of Miranda’s credits while Miranda was watching. However, Miranda wouldn’t have even sought out the position if it weren’t for Jack and Kasumi: several of Jack’s students were being treated at the same hospital, and Jack caught a glimpse at Shepard when she got lost after visiting hours. Kasumi got access into Alliance records during her work on the Crucible and discovered the files detailing Shepard’s rescue and her current medical condition. Jack had gotten the message to Miranda first, while Kasumi ended up sneaking into their comm channel and spamming the chat with all the data she could find about Shepard’s status.

Miranda drummed the rim of her wine glass, like she was playing a piano. “Why not?” she said. “I know every piece of Shepard’s body, both inside and out. I know what pieces of her are still organic, and what areas are heavily synthetic. I spent two years of my life trying to bring her back.”

“This isn’t some kind of fucked-up Frankenstein shit show,” Jack said. “This is actually treating a person.”

“She crash-landed on Earth,” Miranda pointed out.

“Yeah, but there was still an intact body.”

“And who gave Shepard the parts to keep that intact body? When we first got her, she was more like a pile of meat than an actual human. If the Alliance is working on an intact body, they’ve got the Lazarus Project to thank for that.”

“That’s not the fucking point.”

“It’s a point enough.”

“Maybe the Alliance is upset that the woman who rebuilt the Commander Shepard wasn’t actually Alliance-affiliated,” Kasumi said. “Or at least, she wasn’t at the time.”

“I’m still not.”

“There you go,” Kasumi said, taking a sip of her neon-orange drink. Miranda wondered if Kasumi drank enough of it, she would actually be visible when she cloaked herself. “They want to keep everything in the family. Better to not risk an outside source ruining the Alliance’s poster girl.”

“The queen of the girl scouts,” Jack muttered into her bottle of beer.

“So if the Alliance screws anything up, they’d end up blaming me and my Cerberus background,” Miranda said. She downed the last of her wine. In the dim light of the bar, it looked a little too much like blood.

“Yeah,” Kasumi said. “They screw up, they can blame Cerberus for shoddy workmanship. They make her as good as new, it was all the technological advances of the Alliance.” Miranda snorted. She grabbed the wine bottle and poured another glass, nearly overfilling it and spilling it all over the table.

“You’d think that because we worked with her, we’d actually get a chance to see her,” Miranda said, more into her wineglass than her tablemates.

“I think it’s more ‘forced into helping her on a suicide mission’, princess,” Jack said. She opened another bottle of beer with her teeth. Miranda winced and prayed that the white stuff she saw was beer froth and not Jack’s teeth chipping away. Kasumi peered at Jack from underneath her hood and caught the bottlecap when Jack tossed it to the side. “Besides, Kasumi’s still a thief, so they don’t want her stealing their fucking medical equipment. You were on the run for six-goddamn-months, so they don’t know what the fuck you were up to: you could have still been with the Illusive Man for all the Alliance knew. And I’m the Psychotic Biotic, so that’s totally someone they want around the Savior of the Galaxy.”

“Are they calling her that now?” Kasumi said, taking an orange slice from her drink and squeezing it onto the table. She dabbed at the juice spots with her glove. “I can see the air quotes around it already.”

“The point is,” Miranda said, “the rest of the Normandy crew—even Garrus and Tali—get to see her whenever they come back. We’re the poor idiots pushed off to the side.” Miranda swallowed the rest of her wine in the glass, before grabbing the bottle and finishing it off in three long gulps. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, before standing up so abruptly that she made her chair fall backwards and the table wobble. Kasumi grabbed her drink without spilling a drop. She made a grab for Jack’s at the same time Jack did, spilling the rest of the beer onto the floor.

“What the fuck, princess?” Jack said, standing up too.

“You don’t need to follow me,” Miranda said. “I’m going to go to the hospital again. I just need an official explanation other than the vague political bullshit they gave me.”

“You just downed a whole bottle of wine in like ten fucking minutes,” Jack said. “You’re going to be shitfaced walking in there.”

“Liquid courage,” Miranda said.

“Oh my God.”

“Why are you questioning it?” Kasumi said, taking another few sips of her drink before dumping it into a potted plant just a few steps away from the table. “It’s either going to go extraordinarily well or extraordinarily poorly. Whatever it is, it’s great entertainment.”

“Kasumi—” Miranda said, but Kasumi cut her off by cloaking herself. Jack rolled her eyes and sucked at the beer bottle, trying to get the last dregs.

“Are you coming?” Miranda asked. Jack spat the bottle back out onto the table. It bounced and rolled off next to the potted plant that Kasumi threw her drink in.

“And miss the chance to see the Cerberus cheerleader embarrass herself? Fuck no,” Jack said.

“Good,” Miranda said, in a tone that implied the opposite. With legs wobblier than a baby giraffe, she led the invisible Kasumi and the (unfortunately) still visible Jack out of the bar and onto the sidewalk. Jack quickly motioned for a taxi and forced Miranda in first, then Kasumi, then Jack.

“Take us to King James Hospital,” Miranda said. Her stomach was churning like crazy. She wondered if wine vomit stained fabrics in the same way actual wine did.

“So what’s the plan?” Kasumi asked as she uncloaked herself.

“I dunno. Probably laugh at her when she pukes all over Admiral Hackett,” Jack said.

“I’m just trying to get an explanation,” Miranda said, shooting Jack a glare that should have killed her five times over. Unfortunately, Jack was still alive. Even worse, she kept snarking on Miranda.

“Remember how after Pragia I said I was going to spill your guts all over the walls?” Jack said, snickering. “Looks like you’re about to do it yourself, cheerleader.”

“Can we not go that far?” Kasumi said. “I am not in the mood to see if a test-tube human throws up differently than me.”

“I mean, she’s gotta be flawed somewhere, right?” Jack said. Her face flickered in the streetlamps, making her look ghost-like. “Seems not even Little Miss Fucking Perfect can avoid getting hungover.”

“Can we please stop now?” Miranda asked, clutching her stomach. The bottle of wine on an empty stomach—“You need to eat carbs before you go nuts on the alcohol!” Kasumi said when Miranda ordered the wine, but of course she didn’t listen—seemed to only get worse the longer it took to get to the hospital. Or maybe it was the nerves. Miranda sent in a lot of letters to the hospital, but she’d never actually gone in and spoken to the doctors face-to-face. Maybe she never had the time. Maybe she didn’t want to interrupt them. Maybe she was scared at taking the rejection in-person. It felt like one of the Illusive Man’s tricks, only there was no way to charm herself out of answering it. She put her head on the cool window and closed her eyes as Jack and Kasumi argued as to whether Jack could or couldn’t get alcohol poisoning based on her implant.

Eventually, the car slowed to a stop. Kasumi re-cloaked herself, Jack nearly fell out of the cab, and Miranda gave the driver five pounds extra than she was originally going to, but it seemed like the least she could do for him, especially considering that he just spent half an hour with the world’s best thief, the Psychotic Biotic, and the Cerberus Cheerleader. After she watched the driver peel away, Miranda staggered around and blinked in the hospital’s bright lights.

“You’d think they’d reduce their power a little bit, considering that London has power rations going on,” Kasumi mused from somewhere on Miranda’s left-hand side.

“And let five-hundred people die?” Jack said, scoffing.

“Fair point. Also, Miranda,” Kasumi said, briefly un-cloaking herself again. “I was able to steal some of Cerberus’ files before the Normandy got impounded. It’s all pretty much from the Lazarus Project.” Miranda blinked.

“What?” she said.

“I can transfer the files over to an omni-tool or a datapad. What one would you prefer?”

“Damn, Kasumi,” Jack said. “How did you even get those files?”

“A thief never reveals her secrets,” Kasumi said, typing on her omni-tool. “Or maybe that’s what magicians are supposed to do. Whatever. Anyway, Miranda, I’ve set the files to both your internet and extranet address.” Miranda pulled out her omni-tool. Sure enough, she received ten attachments. Tentatively, Miranda opened one. Her own voice came booming back out at her as a lung surgery played on the screen.

“As you can see here, we ended up abandoning the idea of using tissue from the right lung and instead just used synthetic pieces in order to repair the punctures in her left lung,” screen-Miranda said.

“What made you change your mind?” another voice said, and Miranda swallowed. She forgot that she gave every piece of information to the Illusive Man.

Another voice came on, and Miranda fought the urge to roll her eyes. Wilson. “With all due respect, sir, Operative Lawson realized that ou—my initial plan was foolish. We couldn’t take tissue from the right lung without causing severe damage to it.”

“I see,” the Illusive Man said. He paused to take a drag from his cigarette, and Miranda used the ensuing silence as a chance to turn her omni-tool off.

“Never thought I’d hear his voice again,” she mumbled.

“You want to know something funny?” Kasumi said. “In a lot of the Alliance documents, they abbreviated his name as ‘TIM’.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jack said. “And I thought Rodriguez’s name was pathetic. TIM? Yeah, that’s a name that’ll make people shit themselves on the battlefield.”

“They won’t accept it,” Miranda said. Jack and Kasumi glanced at her. “They’ll hear the Illusive Man’s voice and they’ll think I’m still with Cerberus. Let’s get back to the bar.” She turned around to call another taxi, but Jack yanked her back with a biotic pull. She pulled a little too hard, and Miranda landed right on her rear.

“Damn,” Jack said. “With a bubble-butt like that I’m surprised you didn’t end up bouncing.”

“What was that for?” Miranda said as Kasumi yanked her up.

“Yeah, it’s called ‘you’re not leaving this hospital until you go in there’, Queen-Bee,” Jack said. She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. “The Illusive Man was a major piece of shit, and if there’s a hell I hope that fucker’s rotting in it. But it’s like you said: you were the one who brought Shepard back, and you were the one who built the squad that took on the Collector base. You might piss me off most of the time, princess, but there’s two good things I can say about you: one, you’ve got nice tits, and two, you’re damn good at getting shit done when you put your mind to it.”

“That’s about the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Miranda said. She took a deep breath and gently shook Kasumi’s arm free. She stared up at the hospital again, her fists clenched. “All right then. Let’s do this.”

“And Jack and I will be there as moral support!” Kasumi said. “Jack’ll be the one you can look at for encouragement and me…well, it’ll be good to know my presence is felt.” Miranda gave a quick nod to the two of them before marching her way up to the hospital. Her legs still felt shaky, though she wasn’t quite sure if that was from nerves or from the wine. Luckily, she still managed to make it to the reception desk without turning her ankle in her boots. The receptionist—a young woman whose nametag read “Charlotte”—looked up at Miranda and Jack.

“Erm…” Charlotte said, her fingers hovering above the terminal as she took in their appearances. “Did you two just come from a fancy-dress party?” Miranda did suppose they looked a sight: while her white body-suit was more public-friendly than Jack’s crop top and tattoo combo, the two probably did look like they’d come from a costume contest instead of a bar.

“Good thing I cloaked myself, right?” Kasumi whispered in Miranda’s ear.

“No, actually,” Miranda said to both Charlotte and Kasumi. “We’re here to see Commander Shepard.” Charlotte bit her lip and looked at a spot on her desk.

“Commander Shepard isn’t here,” she said, fiddling with a sticky key on the terminal. “Was there anything else I could help you with?”

“Oh, bullshit,” Jack said, and the two women pressed their palms and leaned over Charlotte’s desk at the same time. “Shepard’s here. She might be in a different ward, but this is the only hospital in a three-mile radius that’s had patients that were hit by the Reaper beam.”

“Plus we worked with Shepard, so we’re kept in the loop as to what happened to her,” Miranda lied.

“Plus I had access to the Alliance information that stated Shepard’s current medical condition,” Kasumi said, shimmering in-and-out of her cloak as she said it. Charlotte glanced from Jack, to Miranda, to the space where Kasumi stood, and wilted.

“She’s on the third floor. She’s had a whole private room to herself,” Charlotte said. “All the people from the Alliance keep going in there. I think one of the admirals is in there right now. Can you please…go away now?”

“That wasn’t too difficult, was it?” Miranda said. She turned on her heel and walked away. “Come on Jack,” she called as she walked to the elevator. She took a quick glance around and saw Jack do a quick fake-out at Charlotte’s desk before running up to catch the elevator. Miranda clicked the button.

“We make quite a power-team, don’t we?” Miranda said as she watched the numbers on the elevator slowly reach their floor. Jack snorted.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” she said as the elevator doors opened.

“If we’re going to be a girl-squad, can we be like Charlie’s Angels?” Kasumi piped up as the three women stepped into the elevator. “No, wait, actually bring Shepard, Samara, and Tali into the equation and we’ll be like the Sailor Scouts!”

“Who?” Jack asked.

---

Shepard’s room wasn’t that hard to find. It was the only one surrounded completely by Alliance military. Miranda, Jack, and Kasumi turned a corner and, upon seeing the huge swarm of blue in the distance, all quickly turned back around.

“That many members of the Alliance there?” Miranda said. She glared at Jack. “I thought you said there weren’t many people around her room!” Jack shrugged.

“That receptionist did tell us that one of the admirals was in there right now,” Kasumi said. “They’re probably just there for protection.”

“There’s like ten guys there,” Jack pointed out. “They don’t need that many. And if you’re that worried, I’m sure a quick shockwave will send ‘em running.”

“We’re not here to give this hospital anymore patients.”

“If you’d like, I could go check,” Kasumi said. She shimmered and became invisible again. Her soft-padded shoes echoed down the hall as she ran down, before quickly running back. As soon as she saw Miranda and Jack again, she became visible. “What was that admiral that Shepard kept talking about? The one with the grey beard? Hatchet?”

“Hackett,” Miranda said. She sighed and buried her face in her palms. “Great. This is going as well as ever.”

“Might mean two things,” Jack said. “Either Shepard is awake and communicating, or she’s about to die and there’s like a funeral going on in there.”

Miranda pulled her head from her hands so quickly she banged her against the wall. “Kasumi, did you see Shepard’s condition?” she asked.

“No, I could only see the admiral,” Kasumi said. “But they wouldn’t bring ten bodyguards in unless something really big happened, right?”

“And this ward does require fewer medical staff. They moved her from the last time I was in to see the kids,” Jack said. “Before, she was in kind of like an emergency unit.”

“Great,” Miranda said, rubbing the back of her head. “So what am I supposed to do? Just walk up to them and act like I’m Shepard’s doctor or something?”

“Her nurse,” Kasumi said. “That would be a little bit more believable than a doctor.”

“Yeah, a nurse in a porno,” Jack said. “With that outfit, there’s no way they’re going to think she’s a nurse or a doctor.”

“I can steal one,” Kasumi offered.

“A nurse or a doctor? You’re good Kasumi, but no-one’s that good.”

“I meant an outfit. And we’ll all act like medical staff.”

“And then we’ll all get put in jail because we were caught impersonating medical staff,” Miranda said, sighing. She stood up properly. “No, the only way to face this is head on.”

“You’re not gonna puke, are you?” Jack asked from below.

“No,” Miranda said, though she wouldn’t be surprised if she did. “Wish me luck.” She stumbled around the corner again, and tried to muster up any sort of courage, drunken or otherwise. She couldn’t. What she got was a few angry soldiers staring at her as she wobbled towards them.

“I’m here to see Admiral Hackett,” Miranda said. Even before the sentence left her lips, she was aware of how stupid that sentence sounded, like a child on their first job interview.

“The admiral?” one of the soldiers said, and the one on her right hand side started to snicker. “Sure, if you pay me a million credits.”

“So the Alliance is accepting bribes now?” Miranda said, crossing her arms.

“How about two million and a night in bed with you?” said a soldier a few steps away from the first two soldiers. “Actually, forget the two million. How about just a night in—” Shepard’s door opened, and all the soldiers immediately zipped up their mouths and stood to attention. Admiral Hackett walked out.

“At ease,” he grumbled. He frowned at them. “Soldiers, you do know I can see you when you’re goofing off out here, right? Keep doing that, and I’ll tell your chief that he might want to put you all on latrine duty for a month.”

“Um, sir?” the first soldier said, raising her hand. Hackett scowled at her. Her friend pulled her hand down and the soldier started sweating. “Um…that woman over there said she was here to see you?” Hackett turned around and raised his eyebrows. Miranda clasped her hands behind her back, though despite her heels and her posture, she felt incredibly small.

“Yes, I am,” she said, her voice shaking. “I was the one who headed Project Lazarus—”

“—And brought Commander Shepard back after we all presumed her dead. Yes, I know who you are, Operative Lawson,” Hackett said.

“I haven’t been a part of Cerberus since the Normandy was taken by the Alliance,” Miranda said. Hackett had the ball in his court and this was her only chance to put up a decent fight. “The Illusive Man was dangerous and deserved everything that he got. I’m here as a friend to Commander Shepard—”

“Miss Lawson, I know you’re here as more than a friend to Commander Shepard,” Hackett said. He put his hand on his chin and gazed directly into her eyes. Miranda stared back. “You’re here because you want to get involved.”

“I am more than capable of doing so,” Miranda said. “I built Shepard back from nothing, and she saved the bloody galaxy.”

“I know,” Hackett said. “And you’re the only person who knows exactly what kind of tech we’re dealing with. You’re on the team.”

“I’m—what?” Miranda said.

“I don’t believe I stuttered there, Miss Lawson.”

“No, Admiral, I heard you the first time,” Miranda said, feeling her face grow hot. She felt a surge of bile in her throat and she quickly swallowed it down before she embarrassed herself even more. “I’m curious to know as to why you’re so…so willing. I have footage of the surgeries if you want solid proof of my work,” she said, pulling out her omni-tool. Hackett placed his hand on her arm and looked Miranda in her eyes again, much softer than before.

“We’ve already most of it, Miss Lawson. Some of it was left on your terminal on the Normandy, and we were able to pick up other bits and pieces from the raids on Cerberus bases,” Hackett said. “You’re the leader of this project now. Shepard’s been out for a month, and humanity wants to see its hero back. If we could raise the Normandy, we’d use them as a placeholder until Shepard was up and running, but they’ve been off the grid since the Crucible went off.

“So we need Shepard, and the staff here aren’t equipped to bring her back, especially when there’s so many wounded. There’s only one other person that’s performed the impossible, and that’s you. Get in there and wake her up. In exchange, I’ll make sure all of your activities with Cerberus are taken off your record. Troops, let’s head out.” With that, Hackett and his foot-soldiers marched away, leaving Miranda feeling like she did when they recovered Shepard’s body. From behind her, Kasumi and Jack walked up to watch Hackett and the Alliance soldiers leave.

“Well then,” Miranda finally said.

“God, if any of my kids turn out to be that shitty, I’m making them deal with Zaeed,” Jack said. “No, Garrus. Actually, fuck it: both.”

“I thought you met Hackett before this?”

“Yeah, with a group of like sixty other people to get pardoned. Not exactly a heart-to-heart conversation.”

“Did he say when you needed to start? Probably tomorrow, right?” Kasumi said. “Then let’s head back to the bar! You need to celebrate the fact you’ve got a new job now, Miranda!”

“Yeah,” Miranda said. “The most important job in the world. Now, does anyone know if there’s a bin or pizza place nearby? I’m probably going to throw up if we don’t get some of this wine absorbed.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

No Matter What

CW: Hungover whumpee – headache, nausea, etc all mentioned. Alcohol use referenced. References to throwing up, nothing graphic or descriptive. References to conditioning, past noncon and its effect on a whumpee and their view of themselves years later, trauma responses, and trauma recovery. VERY brief transphobia reference. References to domestic violence and child abuse, including verbal abuse and abandonment. 

I… promise I was going for fluff.

Set post this drabble where Chris is drinking and this one where Laken gets him back to Jake’s house. 

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions

Oh, he hurts.

His head is one giant throbbing ache, like someone wrapped a hammer in wool and smacked around his brain until it bounced against his skull. The worst pain is just behind his eyes and he can barely crack them open before he has to squinch them shut again, pulling a pillow over his head with a groan to hide from the hint of morning sunlight cutting lines through the blinds.

He knows enough to know he’s in his own room at home, not his dorm, but he’s not entirely sure how he got here and why he’d come here, anyway. 

One hand presses the pillow down - the pressure against the top of his head feels so good, cool from the pillowcase but firm, soothing some of the ache - and the other moves to find the feather around his neck, rubbing at the little carved vanes in the gray plastic. Did he take the feather last night? He must have, but he can’t remember anything past throwing up Sir’s favorite martini in the bar’s bathroom, rinsing his mouth out, drinking water straight from the bathroom sink and then going back out to order a gin and tonic and do it all again.

He hurts.

Did the bartender refuse to give him the gin and tonic? He might have, he knows Kauri, all the ones who know Kauri - and it feels like every bar in town knows Kauri and half the men in them - seem to know who Chris is, too, the second he walks in the door.

He hopes the bartender refused him.

He hopes he didn’t offer the bartender anything more than money.

There’s a shifting weight in the bed next to him and Chris freezes, for just a second the breath catches in his throat, but then he relaxes with the knowledge that it can only be Jake or Antoni, there aren’t anymore silk sheets, there aren’t anymore nights with his hands gripping the headboard to hold back the scream inside his head, there won’t ever be again.

Dead in the ground, rotting away, his Sir can’t hurt him anymore.

Chris swallows - there’s a pain in his throat, too, probably from throwing up, and his mouth tastes awful, his tongue is a dry dead weight - and dares peek out from under the pillow.

Laken lays next to him in the bed on their stomach, naked except for their underwear, a pair of black boxer briefs that look like bike shorts, lying on their stomach and Chris would love the way the light hits their shoulder blades if he wasn’t hurting too badly to focus his eyes.

Their hair is a riot of thick black curls across the pillow their head rests on, lips curled in the slightest half-smile. Chris just watches their back rise and fall as they breathe for a few seconds, wondering what happened after his last memory - stumbling out of the bathroom at the bar, shoving Will away, going back to the bar for another drink.

Hating himself for being glad his Sir is gone, hating his Sir for what he had done to Chris’s life, loving his Sir for all the times he was the only good thing in the world, loving him so much he couldn’t bear the loss.

Laken is beautiful, their mouth slightly open, parted just enough to show a hint of the bottom of their top teeth, maybe the slightest bit of pink tongue. Black eyelashes lay so lightly along their skin, eyeliner from the night before still there with the little swoop at the ends smudged into something closer to smoke than kohl.

Laken is a lightning bolt that walks the earth near him, and Chris is a bit of copper tarnished, turning green, a penny rubbed to shiny nothingness with all the hands that have touched him when he had no voice to refuse their attention.

Laken is worth everything there is, and Chris feels like money no one will take because too many hands have already held it.

Chris’s fumbles blindly off the bed, searching for the side table he knows is right there, finding his phone facedown next to the lamp and pulling it under the pillow with him. The lockscreen is a photo of he and Laken together down by the campus lake, Laken in their usual black-and-slightly-less-black with a slight knowing smile and Chris laughing at whatever Dill was saying when he took the picture. He winces at the brightness, the light and the looks on their faces, and unlocks it with the pincode, 5-2-5-3. 

The homescreen is he and Jake and Antoni standing outside the house the day it belonged to Jake for real, Jake holding the deed in one hand and his arm around Chris’s shoulders, all of them smiling. Chris kind of hates that photo, too, right now. 

He scrolls through text messages, wincing as he sees his own words garbled, letters switched, eventually nearly nonsensical. He wants to sink into the ground and disappear when he sees seven calls, three to Laken, two to Jake, one to Antoni, a final call to Laken again. He must have called them to come get him, but he can’t remember any of these calls, not one.

There’s a soft sound from near the door and Chris pulls the pillow off his head, wincing as the pounding headache suddenly worsens, making him close his eyes against it and whimper, lowin his throat. Oh, last night was a mistake. Through his eventual hesitant squint, he can see Jake framed in the open doorway, holding two steaming mugs of coffee, with the white childproof cap to a bottle of tylenol visible just above the rounded shape of the pill bottle stuck in his front pocket. 

Chris blinks at him - once, twice, three times - and then slowly nods, watching Jake come in. He’s so tall, full of muscle and there’s so much to him. Jake is sunlight and a warm touch and Chris should have known Jake would be the second thing he saw when he woke up here, that he would have coffee ready.

Jake’s eyes flicker to where Laken is still sleeping, then back to Chris, and he carefully gestures at them with his coffee. It takes Chris’s hurting, slow-moving brain a minute to realize Jake wants him to cover Laken up more, give them some privacy so Jake can’t see their back, see them topless, see them without the ever-present binder that Chris pictures even when he thinks of Laken naked.

Laken seems so vulnerable, without it. Lightning brought lower, closer to earth. Chris pulls the covers up on their side until only their head and hair is showing and then slowly pushes himself up to seated, rubbing at his forehead, swallowing over and over even though his mouth is dry. 

“G-... g’mornin’, Jake,” He whispers. His throat hurts. How much did he throw up last night? Did he throw up here, too, not just in the bar?

“Hey, kiddo.” The scrape of the ceramic against the side table as Jake sets down the mugs is so loud. Chris whines and drops his head back down, looking pitiful and he knows it. His hair is a dirty blue mess around his head, from sweating and dancing and holding it back with one hand as he bent over a barroom toilet, crying all his grief out.

He wants to cut all his hair off, suddenly. Shave it short, as short as the hair on the sides of Laken’s head. Let it grow in strawberry blond all over again, back how he used to be, when his hair was the thing Sir loved most about him. Would sit and rub it between thumb and forefinger while Chris hid under his desk, perfectly still and silent, statue boy to decorate a man’s days nd nights. 

Laken shifts but doesn’t wake, and Chris is too dirty, too gross to be anywhere near someone so good and clean and without all the things Chris has had to learn, to do. Did he and Laken talk last night? He has memories, he thinks, of taking his shirt off - of Laken leaning over him - of maybe saying things he knows he should regret, but he can’t remember what exactly he said.

The pain and the cotton-brain want him to stay lying down but the feeling of how dirty he is, inside and out, drives Chris up. The grime on his skin, left by his handler and his Sir and everything that hurt him inside and out, pulls him out of the bed to stand on trembling legs in just his boxers - when had his pants come off? How had his pants come off? Laken maybe? He picks up one of the coffees and leaves the other for if Laken wakes up and moves, one hand holding the feather bumping against his bare chest, the other clutching the coffee as a lifeline. 

It’s not until they’re in the hallway with the door closed behind them that Jake says, in a low voice, “How you feeling?”

“Like I, I, I-I-I ate a live ostrich and, and threw it back up and then ate another one,” Chris mutters, and Jake’s lips twitch in a smile he tries to hide underneath genuine sympathy.

“I’m sorry, man.” Jake pushes a bit of hair out of his eyes for him as Chris takes a sip, and the coffee doesn’t taste like anything but hot but that’s still better than the taste that was in his mouth before. 

“Sorry for, for, for what?” 

“That I forgot the day. I’ve been really busy with work shit and I let it slip that it was going to be the anniversary yesterday. I should’ve called you, been there for you, and I wasn’t. I knew it would be hard.” Jake’s blue eyes are full of utter sincere regret, and Chris moves to him with all the instinctive trust and need he’s always had for his big brother to fold his arms around him, hold him, chase away the lingering need to be good.

Some of the pain fades, in Jake’s arms, like it always has. 

“You don’t have to, to… to babysit me just because he’s dead a year,” Chris mumbles against the fabric of Jake’s t-shirt. Same smell as always - same laundry detergent, same Jake-skin, same deodorant, same same same. The smell of safe. “I, I shouldn’t have gone out, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all gone out and gotten blackout over stupid shit before, in this house,” Jake says gently, resting his chin lightly on Chris’s head. “I once got drunk and called an ex-boyfriend and cried about how much I missed him when I was the one who dumped him. For cheating on me. Six times. So… no judgement here. Recovery’s a process, not a straight line, man.”

“You, you, you you you sound like Nat.”

“Yeah, well, my whole career plan is to turn into her, isn’t it? Might as well start there.” 

There’s a silence for a second, and Chris sighs, keeping his eyes closed, not willing to face the light and the pain in his head again just yet. “I think I, I, I said something stupid to Laken last night.”

“Couldn’t have been too stupid, they came downstairs after you fell asleep talking about how great you are.” Jake shrugs, the movement shifting him where he holds Chris. 

“They did not.” Chris feels blood rush to his face, the flush in his cheeks making him dizzy. His stomach lurches and spins with nausea but sipping the coffee, held so carefully between his body and Jake’s, helps. “They, they, they they-they did not.”

“Yep. They got you to bed around 2 and we were up ‘til almost 4 just talking about how fucking great you are. Accept it, kiddo, you’re stuck with both of us even on your bad nights.”

Chris is quiet for a long moment and then whispers, “He didn’t even-... even have me that, that, that-that that… that long.”

It takes Jake a second to change gears when Chris does, and then he takes in a breath. “It’s not about time, Chris. This shit doesn’t work that way.”

“I, I didn’t want to be good, Jake. I always… I, I always wanted to scream.”

“I know, man.” Jake presses a kiss to dirty blue hair, without hesitating, without caring what Chris looks like, how everything about him feels gross now. Layered over with what was taken away, what he can’t get back. “I know you did.”

“I… think I tried, to, to get Laken to… have sex with me last night.” The words tremble, they’re miserable. He’s ashamed of himself for trying to make something happen he didn’t even want, just because it would have felt familiar. Reliving the memories he has, forgetting for a while about the ones he wasn’t allowed to keep.

“They wouldn’t have,” Jake says. There’s a pause, and then he adds, “And I’d slaughter them myself if they did. Just… I could probably google how to hide a body, right?”

Chris can’t help the way he shakes in silent laughter, but it makes his head hurt worse and he buries himself back against Jake’s collarbone, sipping the coffee in the safety of Jake’s arms. “Probably, sh-... shouldn’t. Get on a, a, a list.”

“Oh, Chris. I’ve been on a government fucking watchlist since I got arrested at my first pet lib protest. I like being on all their lists. Makes me feel important. C’mon, let’s go downstairs, I’ll make some eggs and hash browns to soak up all that alcohol you poisoned yourself with.” Jake moves, and Chris goes with him, secure in the arm that stays around his shoulders, in the slight rattle of the painkillers in Jake’s pocket as they head down the hall. He can hear Antoni’s light snoring from behind his bedroom door and smiles, just a little. It’s nice, having Laken come here, be part of the other half of his life, the one where he can be safely known.

Jake gets him settled at the table, keeping the lights off and the kitchen dim, pulling the curtains closed. In the slightly surreal half-light Chris feels more relaxed, pulls his feet up to sit cross-legged on the kitchen chair, feeling at the feather hanging around his neck, letting the shift of air through the kitchen make his skin feel less sticky and gross, less dirtied by last night and the years before.

“More coffee?”

Somehow Chris had had the whole cup. He frowns down into it and then looks back up at Jake. “Is, is, is is is it okay for me to have, um, more?”

“More caffeine? Yeah, Chris. Trust me, everyone in this house needs more sleep than what we got last night. Three cups of coffee’ll knock you right out, and here we are at two.” Jake pours him more, even adds milk and sugar for him, and Chris hums and takes more sips, finally tasting the coffee’s flavor and not just its temperature. Something in him soothes, as his thumb rubs at the rough ridges in the feather necklace again and again and again. 

“I, I… I think I should, uh, break up with Laken.”

Jake stills, at the cutting board where he’s grating potatoes for the hashbrowns. He doesn’t look back at Chris, but there’s a tension in his shoulders when he asks, “Now why would you need to do that?”

Chris swallows another mouthful of coffee, and answers in a low voice. “They shouldn’t have to, to, to-to deal with this, Jake. With…” He pauses, and the words bottleneck in his mind, three separate tracks of thought colliding in a terrible wreck of with someone this dirty with someone who was used like this with someone who misses the man who hurt them with someone like me 

with someone like me 

with someone like me

“Chris… I’m the last person to lecture on trust issues, or pushing people away, but…” Jake takes a breath and looks over at him. Chris’s lower lip trembles, just a little, at the wealth of love in his eyes. “Have you considered that it’s Laken’s decision to make? That they’ve already had the chance to say it’s too much - when they found out what you had to heal from - and instead they chose to stay?”

“But-”

“Ask them if they want to handle it, but I know that if you were my boyfriend, I’d want to stay.” Jake goes back to grating the potatoes, his hand moving in sure strokes to press the flat-cut end of the rounded potato and Chris watches the thin grated bits create a small pile under the grater, like a rounded pyramid. 

“Even though-”

“Even though.” Jake says it firmly, strong as every stone they pulled out of the backyard to make the new garden and moved to the front to look like landscaping. “I talked to your partner for two hours last night, Chris, and all they talked about that whole time was how great you are and how much they fucking love you.”

There are tears in Chris’s eyes that run down his face when he ducks his chin to hide them. His stomach roils, his throat aches, his head throbs and the coffee is only barely holding off the bad taste in his mouth. He doesn’t know what he said or did after the bar bathroom except he kind of thinks he came on to Laken in ways he didn’t want to, because lying in the bed screaming in his mind underneath someone who didn’t care had felt, for just a while, like it might be closer to who he really is than all the things he’d worked so hard to build after.

“When you love somebody,” Jake says, talking as though he doesn’t know that Chris is sniffling but really he does and he’s giving him the space to calm. Chris feels gratitude cut him apart into ribbons for the moments Jake will give him to breathe. “You do what you have to do. Sometimes that means being there when they fall apart.” Jake pauses, staring into space, then starts grating the next potato. “Sometimes it means… other things, going with them or letting them go or forgiving them for stupid shit they did a long time ago-”

Chris smiles, wondering what Nat’s up to today, anyway.

“-but last night Laken saw you fall to pieces and said, that one, that’s the one I want, that boy who lived through hell and came out smiling, that’s the Chris for me. Let that count, man. Let that mean something. They fucking love you. Shit run of luck and all.”

“I… I know.”

“Bigger than that, they think you deserve the love, just like Ant and I think you deserve it. Just like Nat thinks so, just like Kauri, just like everybody loves you, Chris, even on the days you don’t love yourself. I know everybody in this house absolutely fucking sucks at remembering to care as much for ourselves as we do for other people, but…”

Jake sighs and steps over to the table, opens up the painkiller bottle, lays two small blue pills in front of Chris. Chris fights back the residual fear and takes them, swallowing them dry. He’s never lost the ability to take pills whenever they are given to him, only lost the requirement.

“These will help your hangover. I can’t give you anything to fix feeling down on yourself except tell you that we’re all here, and I’m sorry, again, for forgetting about yesterday.”

“It’s b-been… it’s been almost f-five years since you saved me. I sh-shouldn’t… shouldn’t ever-... I shouldn’t, um, shouldn’t care any, anymore, right?”

Jake spreads the potatoes out on a baking pan, shakes salt and pepper over the top, slides them into the oven and sets the timer. A faint blast of heat from the oven hits Chris just before the door closes again.

Jake pours himself a cup of coffee, then, and sits across the table from Chris, holding the cup in both hands and looking him right in the eyes. 

“My dad sent me fucking packing when I was fourteen years old,” Jake says, quietly, holding Chris’s gaze with his own. “With a black eye and my backpack still packed. The last thing my dad ever said to me was that I wasn’t worth loving, wasn’t his son anymore, my mom’s life and his would’ve been better if I never existed. The very last thing he said before I got on that bus was Jacob Collins Stanton, you are the worst mistake I wish I never made.”

His voice never wavers as he speaks, and Chris stares at him, his hangover forgotten in the wake of the horrified cold that washes through him at how casually Jake speaks, describing abandonment in the same tones he might talk about his least favorite topping for pizza.

“I haven’t seen him since then. I’m almost thirty, Chris. I haven’t seen my dad for half my fucking life and sometimes I still hear his voice in my head, telling me that shit. You were a mistake, no one’s going to love you, all that shit. It still makes it hard for me to trust anyone because if I couldn’t-...” Jake’s voice hitches only slightly then, but his face is impassive, hard to read. 

His face tells Chris nothing, and the simple act of removing his usual open expressions tells Chris everything, too.

“-... if I couldn’t be good enough for the people who made me, who can I be good enough for? More than half my life, man, and I still… still live the way I do because of what that asshole tried to make me believe about myself and my mom. It built my whole life, that last conversation, because I thought to myself that I was going to be a better person than he was in every fucking way. And... here we are. So… yeah, it’s been five years, but you also do a lot of not letting yourself think about it, and… I think it caught up with you, man. The way it catches up with me sometimes, too.”

Chris keeps his hands curved around his coffee mug, then, and says softly, “I love you.”

“Yeah, I know. I love you, too.” Jake takes a drink of his coffee, gives Chris a half-smile. “It’s normal to have stuff come back like this. Especially when you do so much pretending it’s not there. Trust me, I know. Next time, though… call us before you need a ride home from a bar, huh? I’d rather be the one that goes with you, and I know Laken would have gone with you last night, too, if you’d asked. We… everyone in this house right now, including Laken… knows what it means to be told you’re too fucked up to deserve the love that you should never have been denied. But it’s a fucking lie.”

“The love?”

“The idea that you don’t deserve it. You deserved the life you had before they took it from you, you deserve the life you’re living now. You deserve Laken, and more importantly - Laken wants to be here. They’re choosing you, every time. Let them choose you. You’re not dirtied, I’m not a mistake, Antoni’s not responsible for all the pain he went through. Promise to remember that, if I do?”

Chris pauses, then reaches his hand out across the table for Jake to take, closing his eyes at the feeling of Jake’s thumb rubbing back and forth across his knuckles. “Promise. I, I, I’m not dirty.”

“I’m not a mistake.”

“An, Antoni isn’t a, um, a a a a bad person.”

“Laken’s a fucking deity and no asshole hiding behind his bigotry gets to tell them whether or not they’re worth loving unconditionally.”

Chris snorts laughter and opens his eyes to see Jake grinning at him, head tilted, coffee mug in hand. “You really did talk to them last night.”

“Yeah, I probably know more about their life story than you do by now. We bonded over shitty dads.”

Chris hesitates, then says again, “I’m, I’m not… dirty.”

Jake holds his eyes. “I’m not a mistake.”

“I’m good… good enough for Laken to, to, to-to love me. Even when, when I’m drunk and, and do stupid things.”

“Even when you’re drunk and do stupid things.”

“Even though I used to be-... to do-...” He can’t finish the sentence. He lets the silence hang between them, full of all the words he won’t say. 

“Even then.” Jake squeezes his hand, and Chris squeezes back. “You can’t do anything, or have anything done to you, that takes away what you deserve. We love you, Chris, whether you like it or not. You’re stuck with a couple of fucked-up brothers and Laken, too. We’re all choosing you.”

Chris feels the tears again, barely holds them off, and smiles through blurry vision at Jake, who won’t let him fall too far into the cold horror of the light, who always pulls him back to the dark.

Upstairs, Laken sleeps, another person in this house who saw Chris fall apart and still said that one, that’s my Chris, the boy who went to hell and back, that’s the one I won’t let go of.

No matter what.

[gaythingliker69]

Introspection

Hey, so this is quite different to what Id normally write. It’s the old draft that I deleted I talked about a while ago. Please give feedback, cause it’s the only non fic thing I’ve ever posted. And if you like it, please reblog, I’m not really sure what to tag it and I want it to get out there.

CW: violence, misogyny, alcohol, body horror, horror themes

———

Josh woke up to a pounding headache. He tried to swallow only for that to hurt too. He tried to turn on the bedside lamp, only to cower from its feeble light. He turned it off, and rolled onto the other side of the bed, groaning. He searched back through his mind, trying to think where he’d been, who he’d been with, what he’d drunk, only to find nothing. Fucking hell, he was getting too old for this. A guy well into his twenties going and getting blackout drunk once, sometimes twice a week. But that was the only way he ever got any release. He couldn’t afford tickets for the football anymore, and he only ever seemed to see other people at work. He stayed on his side for a few more minutes, before hauling himself to his feet and dragging himself into the kitchen.

Josh grabbed a glass, desperate for a drink. He turned the tap, but nothing. The water was gone. There was always an issue - gas, electricity, water, the phone lines… always. He sighed again. Coffee. That was normally a good starter to getting rid of a headache, and some sugar in it wouldn’t do any harm. He opened the cupboard to get the coffee, only to find nothing. He groaned. To the shops it was then. Maybe they’d get the water fixed while he was out.

Josh pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms, an old t-shirt for a band he hadn’t listened to in years, and a hoodie. He pulled up the hood, pulled the drawstrings tight, and set off, trudging through the overcast late morning. He reached the supermarket, an Aldi situated just off a main road by his apartment building. He made his way through the doors, looking up to scan the shelves. The empty shelves. There was nothing - no food, drink, the famous middle aisle left derelict. Then he realised there was no one there either. No confused shoppers, no apologetic workers dealing with the customers’ ire. Nothing. It was quiet. Too quiet. He realised the car park was empty, and there was no noise of engines from the road. There hadn’t been on his whole walk. He’d been stuck in a hungover stupor, so hadn’t noticed, but the silence was so complete it was eerie. It swallowed up any noise he made in an instant. Josh felt his stomach pitch and his heartbeat quicken. This wasn’t right. None of it was.

His wretched state temporarily forgotten, Josh set out on a jog for what counted as the town centre. A grey area plagued by empty lots and a distinct lack of character. He ran into McDonald’s first. Nothing. No cashiers, no customers, no noise from the kitchen. Panicking, he ran into the Cancer Research UK shop, the Halifax bank, and the only sort of upmarket restaurant he could think of, an Italian called Silvio’s. Empty seats. Empty shelves. Empty desks. Empty counters. Everything was empty. There was nothing and no one left.

Josh walked toward the centre of the town, an open plaza with a statue of the town��s founder at its centre. He was some English general from hundreds of years ago, stood with his arms folded, looking over his concrete empire. He was made of slate, the only thing that wasn’t concrete or Tarmac. Yet he was still grey. Josh sat on a bench, back to the statue, and put his head in his hands. He cried. For the first time in what felt like years, tears flooded down his cheeks. They ran off his cheeks, settling on the floor below him, the only signs of life in the abandoned world he now found himself in.

“Why? Why me? What’s happening?” he cried.

“Have you been unable to make sense of your situation, Joshua Bowyer?”

Josh looked around , startled. Who was it, and why did they address him like that? The voice rasped out of the air, as if the speaker was in immense pain as they spoke.

“W-who are you? Show yourself!” Josh shouted. He sounded pathetic. His shaking voice echoed around the plaza, his weakness taunting him.

A great crash rang out. Josh shot to his feet, startled, and turned to see the slate of the statue crashing to the floor. There was the outline of a shin, as if the statue were hollow. He turned to face the slate baron, and jumped again at a finger falling, again hollow on the inside.

The slate began to flake away before him. Forearms, shoulders, the jacket he wore on his torso, and the ridiculous wig on the state’s head, all falling to the floor. Some shattered. Some lay whole. But Josh hardly noticed.

Beneath the slate was a body, but no flesh. White bone visible under layers of muscle, cartilage, and veins. Organs on full display, lungs inflating and deflating, heart pumping. All suspended in midair, not collapsing despite gravity’s best efforts. The thing stayed still for a moment, and kicked out with its left leg. Slate flew past Josh’s head. Then the right foot. It was free. The smell of blood filled the air. The final piece of the statue that remained was the face, stern, painted by wrinkles and a frown. The thing raised it’s hands to its face, muscles visibly contracting and retracting all the way. It let out an almighty scream as it tore the slate away, splitting the silence of the town. It came away, and was thrown to the ground, shattering.

It’s face was the same as the rest of its body, skinless. It’s visible teeth barely caged it’s twitching tongue. It’s lumpish and grey brain was miraculously was still atop its stem and in its skull. Its eyes rolled and spasmed in its head, suffering from the light and dust. They stopped, and bore into Josh’s. They were red. Or incredibly bloodshot. It didn’t matter. It laughed, that rasp cutting through Josh once again.

Josh blinked, and the thing was stood barely a foot away from him. He recoiled, and tried to run. But he was frozen into place, staring at the creature’s awful features. The stench of blood was overpowering at this distance. Josh retched, the smell and aight combined proving too much.

“We have much to discuss, Joshua Bowyer.”

“W-what are you?” Josh sobbed.

“Me? I am The Ombudsman. It is unfortunate we should have to meet, Joshua Bowyer.”

“What are you talking about? Where am I?”

“The Ombudsman’s duty is to hand down punishment,” it continued, as if it hadn’t heard him. “I only deal with the most… reprehensible of scum you humans produce.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not a crim-“

Memories. Flooding in, incoherent at first. Then forming a story.

The kebab house was bustling. Being over the road from a pub will do that, especially when the pub kicks out. Groups and couples stood or walked, shovelling in food in their alcohol infused daze. Cars drove past occasionally, and a Kasabian song could be heard drifting into the street from the kebab shop. A taxi pulled away, and two guys, probably not ok enough to get served, hoisted with paper cutlery from the shop. The air felt light, and everyone was relaxed.

Josh, however, wasn’t relaxed. She’d rejected him, gone off with her friend, probably just some girl she was pretending to know to get away from him. He was only trying to be nice, fucking bitch. His chest tightened, and his grip on the pint glass did too. He downed the dregs, and looked to the bar. Closed. He’d wasted all his time on that bitch.

There was a group of girls stood outside. Laughing. How could they laugh? This night was shit. The red mist descended. He’d show them, fucking show them all. He marched outside. The was a shattering of glass, screaming, blood. She stumbled backwards. A car turned the corner as she fell.

Josh fell to his knees, tears pouring down his cheeks.

“You see now what you have done?”

Josh’s tears gave the answer. Him. A killer.

“Amelia Salazar. 18 years old. She is due to go to the University of York in September to study English. Or she was.”

The rasp turned from mournful and sad, to one filled with hatred and scorn. She’d never study anywhere. All because of Josh.

“So, perhaps now you see, prison is perhaps not sufficient. So you will be left here for your Introspection. You will rot. You will pay for her life with your mind. Your length of Introspection is of no concern to you. By the time your term ends, there will be no ‘you’ to release.”

It suddenly reached out, pressing a bloody ‘palm’ to Josh’s face. It burned, white hot pain searing for a second. When the creature took its hand away, the imprint was left on Josh’s face, burning red against his pale skin.

“A marker. To let anyone who has the unfortunate fate to cross your spirit’s path know. I trust you will find your stay here enlightening.”

The creature disappeared. But Josh hardly noticed. Wrapped in crushing grief, he knew this was it. This was how it ended. He’d lie here, rot, maybe end up looking like that thing. He drowned in his misery.

[mirandalinotto]

Some sensitive TFA thoughts below (also spoilers for up to Episode 4)

i don’t know if anyone else watching The Flight Attendant feels this way, but I just find that how they’re portraying Cassie’s alcoholism is both “too real” and not realistic enough, if that makes sense? (This is coming from someone who has somewhat similar PTSD and alcohol issues, in case this comes off as casting stones I don’t have the right to throw).

There are moments where I understand exactly what’s going on with Cassie’s mental state, and how the alcohol is amplifying her PTSD, which honestly takes my breath away, because they do it so well, but then there are other moments where I’m just taken completely out of the story because like... are they not going to show Cassie visibly drunk even after she’s chugged ten glasses of wine in 20 minutes...? Is she never going to throw up, even when she’s had far more than what seems to be her “tolerance?” does she never get headaches, or appear visibly hungover...? does she never pop an Advil to make the pain go away?

And a lot of what they do to “show” that she’s drunk is to have her crash into things, or knock things over, but it never really looks like she’s stumbling from the alcohol; it always looks way more like clumsiness, or a situational accident, like bumping into a waiter or a statue because she’s distracted (which could happen to a sober person too!). There’s rarely any slurring or mixing up of her words. She uses mouthwash to cover up the smell, but also drinks while on the job in one scene...? So the degree to which her alcoholism is a “secret” is unclear to me, because in some scenes she tries to hide it, and in others she almost flaunts it?

That scene on the job just baffles me, because Cassie asks her coworker to pour two drinks, ostensibly for two separate passengers, and then downs one of them right in front of her fellow flight attendants before delivering the other...? Like I understand that her friends know that she drinks too much, but you’d think that if she’s “functioned” this long and hasn’t been caught by her superiors, she wouldn’t be doing blatantly obvious things that could get her fired, in front of the other staff. 

My point being that there’s a lot inconsistencies in how she hides (or doesn’t hide) her drinking, and I just find that odd, because you’d think she wouldn’t want her fellow flight attendants to witness her getting drunk while on the job. I mean, guys, she’s in charge of people’s safety. i know it’s very rare that an emergency happens on a plane, but it’s a serious thing that someone in charge of other people’s safety is getting drunk in front of her coworkers while a flight is in progress, and the moment is brushed off like it’s nothing...?

Also, Cassie is shown blackout drunk on multiple occasions, and then wakes up with hardly a hangover to show for it and moves right along with her day. She’s always inexplicably making it to work on time the morning after her blackouts, and while there’s comedy in that---I guess?---with her always having to rush to be there on time, I’m just thinking... how? I understand that lots of functioning alcoholics manage to do this, but Cassie seems to be exceptionally deep in her addiction, and I guess I’m saying that I find it unrealistic that she doesn’t show any signs of being unfit for duty, meanwhile she’s always either drunk or hungover on each and every flight.

To end on personal note, I find it really hard to watch Cassie drink while she’s having a panic attack/PTSD spiral, because that was something I used to do a lot. I would drink to calm my panic attacks and/or flashbacks, not realizing that the alcohol only amplified those episodes. That scene where she’s looking in the mirror in her hotel room after having flashbacks of her father interspersed with flashbacks of the murder was... a lot. I think they did that brilliantly.

Anyway... let me know if you have thoughts on this. I know most of us are just watching it for Michelle Gomez, but I’m actually pretty invested in the show as a whole at this point.

[imagine-loki]

Soulbonds and Fairy Dust

TITLE: Soulbonds and Fairy Dust (rewrite) CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 17/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine one of the fae has been helping the Avengers, jumping in to help them on missions and vanishing before Shield can bring her in.  Loki joins the team and convinces her to come talk to the team and consider joining before Shield takes more drastic measures. RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS:  This is a rewrite of the original work of the same name.  Also on AO3 here

Loki and Sigyn walked together to the great hall for dinner.  Their armor shimmered to court clothes as they walked, each using their own magic for it.  Sig noted that she and Loki both chose clothes that allowed the soulbond marks on their arms to be clearly, proudly, visible. Sig started to worry as they neared the great hall. She remembered something as they walked together, her place used to be at one of the tables with her mother and other nobles. She didn’t know where she’d be now and she didn’t remember anyone really except the royal family and Thor’s dumb friends.  Loki held out his arm for her to take. “Would you be up to sitting with me and my family?” He asked her gently, seeming to know where her thoughts had wandered to.

Sig was shocked but took his arm automatically.  “But… only the royal family sits at the head table…” She’d heard that line thousands of times over the first couple of centuries of her life when she used to demand from her mother why she couldn’t sit next to her best friend at dinner. 

“Things have changed.  With the soulbond, you are considered part of the royal family now,” Loki reminded her gently.  That consideration hadn’t occurred to her yet, nor him either if he was to be honest.  “Besides, my mother wouldn’t have it any other way,” he added with a warm smile. Mama Frigga adopted everyone who came into her children’s lives.

It was strange to Sig that she was considered part of the royal family now when she and Loki weren’t even officially courting.  She wasn’t quite sure what they were, except that she had her best friend back, and for now, that was enough.  It was still strange that just because she had power lines on her arm, a soulbond mark with Loki, that made her a member of the royal family. She wasn’t getting over that fact anytime soon. She squeezed his arm glad he was there. “Then I’ll gladly sit with you,” she told him warmly.  His bright smile was completely worth her nerves and they continued on their way to the great hall.

Sig walked with Loki happily and looked over the statues and decorations on the way, noting which ones she remembered from her childhood.  “Should I don an illusion too?” she asked him softly, in case it made things easier on him.  Or on them both.  She knew her strange looks drew a lot of attention.  She looked nothing like a proper Asgardian anymore.

Loki’s eyebrows furrowed in that look of confused concentration Sig knew so well.  It was the same look he had as a child when trying to work through a difficult problem.  It brought a warm smile to her face as she remembered.  “What do you mean?” he finally asked her, legitimately confused.

“You aren’t the only one with the power of illusions, trickster,” she told him with a smirk.  With a shimmer of power, an illusion settled over her and Loki was no longer looking at the fae he’d come to know, but an older version of his Sigyn with long golden hair and blue eyes, with normal non-pointed ears, though with the green lines of power still on her skin.

Loki froze in disbelief as he looked at her.  “Wow. You look so much like the little girl I used to know…” he said in awe.

She laughed at her silly best friend. “Of course I do. This is what I would have looked like had the fae not gotten ahold of me,” she told him as if that were obvious.  He was being dense that day in her opinion.   

Loki nodded and considered his next words carefully.  “You don’t need to hide behind an illusion though,” he reassured her. “I hide behind once because most Asgardians hate frost giants, and I hate that I’m one of them,” he explained.  There wasn’t pity in his voice, just a fact.  “Plus, I’ve been wearing it all of my life, even though I didn’t know it until a few years ago,”

Sig hesitated, unsure.  “You don’t prefer-?” She couldn’t get the rest of the question out, unsure if he would say yes and be unable to accept her for who she was now.

“I care about you either way. I don’t care what you look like, I care about you,” he reassured her firmly.  There was no ounce of lie in his voice. 

She hesitated a moment longer, unsure, but let her illusion slowly fade away.  “If you’re sure…”

“I would not lie to you, I know better. Besides, you would be able to tell if I was lying,”

“That may be what the Sigyn you knew would have looked like, but this is who I am now,” she said softly when her illusion was gone and she was back to her usual fae looks.

He gave her a warm, reassuring smile.  “I know. And you’re beautiful,”

She gave him a small tentative smile since he wasn’t lying.  “And you’re handsome, my prince,” she replied warmly. 

“Thank you, darling,” he replied just as warmly. 

They finally reached the dining hall and Loki paraded Sig on his arm as he led her to the head table where the royal family sat.  He led her straight to the chair beside his and pulled it out for her.  His chair was between hers and his mother’s.

“Careful thanking a fae,” she teased, trying to ignore the stares from the nobles as she was seated at the head table. She gave him a warm smile of appreciation as he pulled out her chair for her. 

“What happens if I thank a fae, little one?” Loki asked her, more curious than anything. He was always that way when teased with new knowledge.

She pondered over how best to explain it to him.  “It implies enough gratitude for whatever you are thanking them for that they can claim you owe them a favor in return.  And you do not want to be indebted to one of the fae,” she explained.  She wouldn’t hurt Loki, but she knew there were plenty of fae who would if give the opportunity.

He nodded, accepting the reality and the seriousness of her words. “I shall keep that in mind.” Sig nodded her approval and glanced over at the morons’ table where they seemed to have gotten over the worst of the fairy win, though they seemed hungover. she laughed quietly at them. Loki looked over as well and saw how hungover they were too.  “That is certainly some powerful wine,” he commented approvingly.  He hated that they always tried to get him drunk.  This was definite recompense.

She smirked. “None of the morons have magic of their own, so they have no immunity to fae wine.  You could have some and not be nearly so affected, as long as you were careful,”

“That’s a relief. I might wish to try some at some point,” he was willing to try almost anything, especially when it had to do with magic.

“I’ll share.  And even be kind enough to make sure you don’t drink too much of it,” she added teasingly.

He chuckled. “I appreciate that.” 

She noted that he carefully hadn’t thanked her, which earned him a grin.  “You’re learning,” she told him warmly, noting how her light conversation felt like… home.

“Brother! You actually joined us for once instead of hiding in your room with your books,” Thor greeted Loki too loudly jovially when he arrived to dinner. 

Loki rolled his eyes and Sig hid a laugh behind her glass of wine.  “I did not wish to leave Sigyn alone with you and your hungover friends,” he replied dryly.

“Speaking of, that was a cruel trick on your old friends, Lady Sigyn,” Thor told her with a glare.  It wasn’t a severe glare, not really, but it was a glare nevertheless. 

Sig shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but her hand gripped Loki’s too tightly in nerves.  Upset males made her cringe and shy away.  “They should know better than to accept gifts of drink from the fae…” she replied softly, shyly.  “And I didn’t hurt them,”

Loki glared at his brother for making Sig tense up when he’d just gotten her to relax.  “They were asking for it,”

“They simply wished to see their friends,” Thor replied, but he was cut off from making things worse by Odin and Frigga arriving. Which made Sig stiffen even worse.

Odin was always scary.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Beth!

You have been accepted for the non-biography character of KIRAN NIRAULA with the facelaim of Amita Suman! We absolutely adored your application, Beth! Kiran is awesome and we love the idea of seeing a new perspective on the dash - someone who isn’t here to fight, but has to rely on the Order for survival. We’re really glad someone has decided to play around with the refugee camp in a new way. 

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Beth (She/Her)

AGE: 25

TIMEZONE: CST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Continuing about where I have been. I try to hop on for replies at least twice a week, even if it’s just a hanful at a time.

ANYTHING ELSE: I’m back on my bullshit, and it’s Nicky’s fault for condoning it. Remember when I made the “haha what if” joke about a secondary character who was a refugee? Yeah, that morphed into this.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Kiran Niraula

AGE: 20 (Born October 16, 1961), sorted 1973

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis-female (She/Her). She hasn’t though much about her sexuality, but liking women doesn’t give her any pause. She’s the rare well-adjusted bi not questioning anything and just content to let it be.

BLOOD STATUS: Muggleborn

HOUSE ALUMNI: Hufflepuff

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

When Kiran has set her mind to something, changing it won’t happen easily. She’s very set on facts and observations, and she has a tendency to tune out arguments if they feel half-formed or based more on emotion than evidence. Even to herself, she does this, often taking an emotional gut reaction and thinking about it until she has a logical conclusion to back it up. This will undoubtedly lead to a lot of conflict with Order members, especially those who find it cowardly to do anything but turn and face the fight head on. Kiran isn’t using emotional indicators like bravery and moral high ground as proof of what is right or what she should be doing. She’s looking at the facts of the situation as she sees them. The nobility of the Order’s cause means very little to her in the face of the all-too-visible risks with her family

That said, Kiran is not the kind of person who can idly sit by alone and observe. She’s a doer in the strongest sense and loves to get her hands on a problem, especially problems related to organization and complex tasks. After about a month of trying to keep to herself, Kiran is going a bit stir-crazy and will jump into whatever she’ll be allowed to touch. It will probably mean butting heads and struggling not to get too involved, but even if she doesn’t intend to stick around, she can still solve some problems along the way.

This is the same attitude that has made her great at detail-oriented charms. She likes complex spells and problems, as well as looking at the way magic builds to create layers. Her apprenticeship as a Snitch-maker (more below) fit well within those challenges that she liked, and in the aftermath of not having it anymore, she’s taken to trying to find little ways to play with those ideas and charms. If someone else wanders around and finds a decorative winged horse statue has sudden begun to fly, Kiran was probably responsible.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Kiran’s parents made the decision to immigrate to England when she was but an idea in their eye. In fact, her amma considered it a sign they’d made the right decision when she discovered less than a month after arriving that she’d been pregnant on the journey up to London. Of course, they had to scramble as a result. They hadn’t planned on a child so soon, but Anil and Rashma were resourceful and managed to get their feet under them before Kiran had any memories otherwise. They always intended to have more children, but a health scare for Rashma when Kiran was three left them unable to justify the risk of Rashma trying to carry more children. Kiran never felt like anything was lacking, though. She did go through a phase where she’d ask for a baby sibling and her parents would have to painfully tell her no, but it wasn’t a long phase and she wasn’t particularly heartbroken. After all, she was her parents’ lucky charm. She didn’t need siblings to share the attention with.

While the specifics surprised them, Anil and Rashma took it in stride when they were told their eleven-year-old possessed magic. They had long suspected she was special and not just to them. Kiran had done things most children couldn’t, and while they could usually rationalize it away, her parents were pleased to have an answer. They were less pleased to lose her to boarding school, but Kiran promised them then she’d never let magic come between her and them. She intended to keep it.

For a long time, she did. Kiran always came home for breaks, even when she had friends who invited her other places, and when she moved out after graduation, she found an apartment not far from her parents’ house. Her life was blossoming, but she never forgot about them. She never deprioritized her amma and abba.

Some things can’t be controlled, though. When Kiran lifted her phone incredibly early one morning—hungover from celebrations the night before—to hear her mother sobbing on the other end about how her father wouldn’t wake up, Kiran went cold. She got through the day completely numb, trying to be strong for her mother even when all she wanted to do was curl up under her father’s favorite blanket and cry. The coroner couldn’t definitively say it was a heart attack, but that was the best theory he had. At first, it was enough. Kiran had no reason to believe it could be anything else.

A few days later, Kiran learned her New Year’s news was not unique. The rumors were swirling, and even certain wixen publications were talking about it. Over a hundred muggles had died of mysterious cause, and the most likely culprit seemed to be, “You know, his group. The Death Eaters.”

It didn’t take long for Kiran to connect her abba to the other deaths. The timing was right, the cause of death was right, and her status as a muggleborn must be the reason. Officially the muggles were just random muggles, but Kiran couldn’t believe that. Her father couldn’t have been randomly chosen, could he? It must be related to her. Somehow it was because of her. Kiran grew paranoid as she wondered how long it would take before her mother was next.

The easiest answer, of course, was to convince her amma to leave the country. She could return to Nepal, go visit Spain, or find another English-speaking country if she wanted to put the language she’d spent twenty years perfecting to use. Rashma refused. “My country is here,” she insisted. “You are here. I’m not leaving the only family I have left.” That settled it then. If her amma wouldn’t leave without her, Kiran had to go too, but when she suggested such a thing, Kiran was shut down. If she was going to leave, she’d have to be sneaky about it. And although it pained her to do it, Kiran started putting distance between herself and her mother. It was a terrible time to do it after Anil’s passing, but Kiran didn’t want to do anything that further put her mother at risk. That meant staying away.

It was almost two months later that she heard whispers that the phoenix group, who she’d only ever heard brought up quietly to gossip about, might be able to help her. They had a group working to provide protection for muggleborns who needed shielding from this fight, who hadn’t done anything but exist to bring war to their doors. Not only that, but while providing that protection, they made arrangements for those muggleborns to leave. Here was a group who could help Kiran disappear and hopefully be untraced. Once she was gone and sent for her mother, Rashma would have no choice but to move to wherever that was by her own logic. When Kiran was her only family, Rashma would follow.

OCCUPATION: Currently unemployed, Previously a metal-charmer

Charms had always been Kiran’s best subject in school. It wasn’t surprising to her when her NEWTS led a London-based Snitch-maker to reach out to Kiran with an apprenticeship offer. She’d been a fan of Quidditch in school and was fascinated by the idea of having a part in the game behind the scenes. She wasn’t allowed to start immediately, of course. She had to observe, study further, and practice her spellwork. Shortly before her father died, Kiran had been allowed after almost a year and half of studying to begin charming toy snitches intended for children. The parameters were smaller, the magic less complex. If she had stayed for another year, she would have moved on to the real thing.

Instead she’s stuck at McKinnon Farm. Stuck is an unfair term when it’s a position Kiran chose, but it still frustrates her that getting away has meant giving up the opportunity of a life time.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Kiran is not in the Order. She has no current plans to join the Order. She needs them. It’s thanks to the Order that Kiran is now hiding with other Task Force refugees at the McKinnon Farm awaiting somewhere else to go. She sympathizes with their cause and does, on some level, understand why some aren’t happy about her existence. Some seem to be under the delusion that because she is a muggleborn and therefore a perfect Death Eater target, Kiran should want to pick up her wand and go charging head first into battle. Those people can get smacked with a stinging jinx for all she cares.

It is not Kiran’s fault that her parents are muggles. It’s not her fault that some crazy lunatic managed to weaponize the discrimination rampant in wixen society. It is also not her fault that such discrimination exists in the first place. She commends those fighting to try and fix it, but her blood status is not a conscription notice.

Kiran plans to keep the Order’s secrets and carry them with her tucked tightly to her chest, but her plans have never included fighting some crazy war, especially if fighting it means continuing to increase the risk she’s putting her mother through. She couldn’t even get Rashma to believe that Anil’s death could have been caused by that world of her daughter’s that she didn’t fully understand. Rashma thought she was grasping at straws. No, fighting a war she had no business in would be grasping at straws. It would also light on fire the barn her mother was in. Kiran couldn’t do that, not to her mother and honestly not even to herself.

She can see the validity of their ideals and could, if the circumstances changed, potentially be swayed to their side. She does hope they succeed. She just isn’t in a place where she feels like it’s her fight to have or her duty to fight it.

SURVIVAL:

Kiran came to the Order for survival—her own and her mother’s. She looked at them as a savior of sorts when she first came under their protection, but Kiran has grown a bit disillusioned in the time since. First, her doubt grew because she has been there longer than she’d expected. She knew it took time to get someone out of the country, but she hadn’t expected it to take more than a few weeks. As the weeks stretch on, though, she has begun to wonder when it would actually happen. Second, Kiran is just close enough to the goings-on that she can see some of the cracks starting to form. She vaguely knew of James Potter but didn’t know him, so hearing people talking about his death (which she hadn’t been around for) left her unsettled, especially when it seemed like none of them knew how to respond to a betrayal in their midst. With all the chaos going on now, I can only imagine how that trust will further shift, but it’s still more important to Kiran that she find a way to keep her mother safe. The Order still feels like the best way to make that happen.

Thinking about a more mental health focused definition of survival, Kiran is struggling to keep herself fully put together without a structured schedule and something she can actively be working toward. She’s trying to keep herself motivated by problem-solving on her own with puzzles and trying to continue her metal-charming work. She’s also found some little projects around the farm to help out with, although the McKinnons might not always be happy about it when she doesn’t ask first. Regardless, she has to keep busy. That’s the only way she’s going to stay sane.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Overall, Kiran can come across as stand-offish. She isn’t particularly close to anyone in the Order. She sees faces that are vaguely familiar from school, but she didn’t pay much attention to anything that wasn’t in her immediate bubble, which meant Hufflepuff and specifically her year. A lot of her friendships were based on academics or faith, in the case of the few other Muslim students she knew, so if someone wasn’t playing wizarding chess in the badgers’ common room or fit the other criteria, she didn’t pay attention. As a result, she feels like she can keep herself apart from Order members fairly easily. She’s there to get out, not to get friends.

Still, despite not ever having a lot of friends, she is a social person. She needs the stimulation of interaction and has been going crazy trying to keep to herself on the farm. She’s definitely going to start reaching out more, theoretically out of boredom, but more because she craves having those connections again. She’d like to believe she could make them easily, but there are several people she hasn’t necessarily gotten off to the right start with.

Marlene McKinnon: Kiran knows Marlene thinks she and the others being assisted by the task force are a burden. She knows Marlene is frustrated by them eating the McKinnon’s food and taking up space in their house. It probably doesn’t help that Kiran occasionally gets urges to do things like reorganize the library to a system that makes more sense or try to mend a broken gate that’s bothering her and is apparently supposed to stay that way because it’s always been that way. Kiran has a lot of strong opinions, and while she knows it is Marlene and her family’s home, Kiran doesn’t plan to just sit idly by when she can see things that need fixing. Eventually that might prove to be true about the task force itself.

Efa Chittock: Kiran never paid attention to Efa in school. Sure, she heard the gossip of a half-veela like everyone else, but when she was a Slytherin not in Efa’s year, what was the point of paying attention? Now, though Kiran is strangely fascinated by her in a way not unlike how her old muggle friends were fascinated by supermodels. As far as Kiran is concerned, she has that effortless beauty and sex appeal from her heritage that are just unfair compared to the average wix. She wishes she could just smile at someone and have them falling at her feet the way she’s heard a half-veela can.

Mary MacDonald: Some people aren’t meant to get along. As far as Kiran is concerned, she and Mary are in that category. Being told they are just another muggleborn coward will give someone that opinion. Of course, Kiran dished back, snapping about how being muggleborn didn’t mean she should have to fight and that just because Mary felt comfort fighting for the Order didn’t mean that anyone else was lesser for not risking their lives. She didn’t give details, and the two devolved rather quickly into a less coherent spat of insults. Ever since, Kiran has been going out of her way to avoid Mary, but she’s not afraid to go for the throat should the occasion come up.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: The only true ship is chemistry. That said… I made a joke at Nicky about Alaric being one more reason for Marlene to not like Kiran. If someone did pick up Alaric and want to play with it, I’m open to a lot of things, whether that’s casual flirting, friendship that looks like more from the outside, casual sex buddies, a budding romance… or nothing at all. That’s also cool. It’s just something that could be interesting to play with if the chemistry is right since they’re locationally connected.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Kiran would consider it a privilege to have grown up with her faith, her family, and her muggle education. Some of the things she’d heard out of pureblood mouths have proved that crazy fact she can’t fathom that they know nothing of science. Coupled with that, the fact that some of them can count feels like a miracle. She’s relied on some of that base foundation she had from muggle schooling, and even if it meant she hadn’t come in knowing some of the theory that a few of them did, she still had the background to problem solve and determine the important bits. The scientific method has been invaluable to her charms work, even if her boss hadn’t ever called it that.

Those feelings about blood status can blind her sometimes, though. Kiran can be quick to dismiss someone else’s experiences without realizing the nuance of all situations. That said, she’s fine letting halfbloods and purebloods fight “on her behalf” in the Order. She appreciates people with—in her eyes—less to lose fighting the fight. She doesn’t necessarily see the layers to it the way others might be able to, but she isn’t looking for them. Kiran feels like she knows, and that confidence has created dark spots in her vision.

One place she doesn’t even begin to apply logic, though, is the existence of half-breeds. The very idea of them made her uncomfortable when she first found out they existed, hearing about the half-veela first year and not understanding what that meant. The image of creatures and other beings combining with humans had blown her mind and not in a way that was comfortable to think about. She’s mostly over that, but the idea still confuses her, especially when the combination is one that receives whispers of odd and creepy and other. Some half-breeds are exotic to her, like half-veelas while others still just weird her out. She’s confused and frightened by werewolves, will avoid half-goblins, and still doesn’t understand the logistics of how a half-giant exists and is working at Hogwarts. She won’t be cruel about interacting with half-breeds, but she won’t necessarily be kind either.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? I’m trapped and can’t get out. No, I’m absolutely kidding. I love all of you. You’re such a talented bunch of writers and a wonderful group of people. I’m excited about the opportunity to wiggle someone new into the mix.

PLOT DROP IDEAS: I would like to eventually explore Kiran joining the Order. That is the end goal of making her a primary and not a secondary character, even though she currently intends to leave. Because of that, I’m going to need plotting with other characters to help challenge where she is and explore her possibilities. As far as specific plot drops go, I don’t have anything, although it could be interesting to have a situation where she ends up getting sucked in without meaning to. Also, while I want to fully explore the “before joining” part that’s depicted in her app here, it will mean she runs a strong risk of being location-locked until she changes her mind.

ANYTHING ELSE? 

Headcanon about religion: Kiran was raised in a Muslim household, and since the Muslim community is a minority in Nepal, it wasn’t a hard transition for her parents when they moved the family to England. Kiran’s time in Hogwarts did loosen her adherence to certain practices, but she still considers herself Muslim and follows general practice. She tried to pray at least once or twice a day, usually catching the prayer at sunset and the last prayer of the day, although she is not strict about performing all five prayers each day. She also hasn’t really attended a mosque regularly in years, first because she couldn’t while at school and then because she was content in practicing on her own. That’s come in handy now that she’s at the farm full time because she didn’t have to get used to not having access to her religious community. She does her best to follow halal food practices, so because she has to assume none of the meat in the McKinnon kitchen followed halal preparation, she has mostly turned vegetarian in her time since arriving. She often would order vegetarian items before when out to eat anyway, so while she misses having meat in her diet, it hasn’t been a complete shock to get rid of it, at least for a short time.

Note to any current or future players: I’m dependent on research and fact-checked prior knowledge in depicting Kiran’s religious attitudes. If I ever misstep, please let me know to be able to correct it.

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST: While the specifics may have surprised them, Kiran’s muggle parents took it in stride when they were told their eleven-year-old possessed magic. They had long suspected she was special and not just to them. They proudly watched her from afar as she excelled at Hogwarts, especially in Charms. Kiran didn’t necessarily have a lot of friends, but hey, she had enough to get by and generally tried to stay in her lane unless there was a problem she could solve. As she grew, she stayed family-oriented and prided herself on the kind of hard work and loyalty Hufflepuffs are known for. Upon graduation she became an apprentice Snitch-maker. Metal-charming fascinated Kiran and played to her strengths perfectly. She excelled in her apprenticeship as she took in each new skill like a puzzle to solve. Kiran was completely in control of her life. Some things, though, cannot be controlled.

PRESENT: When Kiran lifted her phone incredibly early one morning—hungover from New Year’s Eve celebrations the night before—to hear her mother sobbing on the other end about how her father wouldn’t wake up, Kiran went cold. It was only later that she realized he’d been part of a random attack on muggles by Death Eaters, one of the one hundred and two people who lost their lives in the orb attack. Desperate to save her mother from a threat the woman refused to believe existed, Kiran turned to the Order’s Dissendium Task Force for protection and to help her get out of the country quietly in hopes that her mother would follow. It’s been a long, slow month since she arrived, and although she originally had no interest in the Order itself, Kiran can’t help being drawn to its problems and its members. She is a problem-solver, after all. She’s stuck at the McKinnon Farm, and with nothing else to do, Kiran intends to make herself useful. She’ll go crazy otherwise.

FC CHOICES: Amita Suman (first choice), Banita Sandhu, Anya Chalota

***Quote note: If Banita or Anya are chosen, reference to Nepal should change to India.

[ninetalees]

Sufferance, chapter 2

7 years after the events of Sword/Shield, Gym Leader Bede comes to Postwick to conduct some research in the Slumbering Weald; Hop is his unwilling companion.

Read the previous chapter here!

Read on AO3 here!

Warnings for: Eventual Hop x Bede (cheeryfairyshipping) and eventual M-rated content.

Chapter 2

Hop awoke early that morning. When he opened his eyes he lay still for a moment, assessing his condition following the night before. Of course, despite his aversion to the company, Gloria knew how to host a gathering. He had ended up staying later than he'd intended; knowing Gloria, she stockpiled beer to have on standby in case of opportunities such as these. Despite her celebrity status, Hop knew she treasured nothing more than her friends and the time she could spend with them. It was how they had remained so close, and how she hadn’t become unrecognisable following her rise to fame.

He didn't feel too rotten, luckily - just a dryness in his mouth and the faintest of headaches. He padded into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, flicking the lights on as he went. His coat and bag were strewn across the table where he had carelessly flung them on his arrival home, but other than that the space bore no sign of any drunken shenanigans. That was a relief: if Gloria had had her way he would probably still be drinking in her living room. It was simpler for her, he supposed, living the jet-setting life that she did. Don’t. Gloria had fought hard for the life she led, as had he; it had taken their journey together for him to realise what he really wanted. He could deign to admit that sometimes it was difficult to see Gloria walking the path he had always been so certain had been laid out for him, but they were both happy now.

He leaned against the counter as he sipped his water, watching the dawn beginning to break outside. A few stubborn stars still clung to the pale blue morning sky, but the steady creep of the sun’s rays over the horizon would soon chase them away. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine how today was going to go. Admittedly, the night before had gone far better than Hop had anticipated. He had been on high alert at first, but after a warm meal and a few cans of beer it was difficult to be tetchy. Bede and Gloria had recounted amusing anecdotes of their trip from Ballonlea and Hop had managed to laugh along without the slightest tinge of resentment or jealousy. It was always strange to drink with Bede, to see him pink-cheeked and mirthful, rid of that air of standoffishness that set Hop’s teeth on edge.  The three of them drank well into the night, reminiscing all the while, and Hop hazily remembered shuffling home and thinking maybe it would be alright, after all.

But that had been last night, optimistic from the alcohol. Now, in the cold light of day, he was less certain. It was one thing to drink with Bede in Gloria’s living room – it was another entirely to work with him. He sighed and set down the glass to massage his forehead; perhaps he would need to take some painkillers before work after all.

His heart leapt to his mouth at the sudden blare of his alarm from his room. He raced to shut it off, his pulse in his ears. Why so early? It was then he remembered he had agreed to see Gloria off at the station, and to meet Bede and take him to the lab. He groaned audibly and flopped back onto his bed. Of course, brimming with goodwill from his fourth can and entirely caught up in the moment, he had agreed to be at the station for 6:30am to meet them. Normally he would have no issue getting up early to see Gloria off – he had done it many times before and would go through a lot more to spend extra time with her – but it would mean he would have an hour and a half to kill with a slightly hungover Bede before Sonia arrived. He felt for his phone on the bedside table and held it up to note the time – 6:02am. He would have time to shower and pull together the semblance of a person who hadn’t been up drinking until 2am the night before.

Twenty minutes later and Hop was up, dressed and on the way out. Briefly, he paused to observe himself in the mirror in the hallway. His hair was damp from the shower, and he hadn’t had time to shave, but other than that he looked a picture of professionalism. He adjusted the collar of his shirt self-consciously: was that a stain on his lapel? No, just a shadow. Maybe he should – what are you doing? He scowled back at his reflection. Since when had he cared so much about how he looked for work?

With an irritated shake of his head he headed away. Unlike yesterday, he didn’t linger – he was already short on time and didn’t want Gloria to miss her train. He ran down towards the station, noting the duo of dark shapes standing outside. Hop pulled up in front of them a few seconds later, breathless, and bent over for a moment to calm his racing heart. “Morning,” he wheezed. He straightened abruptly, enjoying the invigorating sweep of the frigid air through his hair. No wonder he had used to run everywhere.

Gloria and Bede regarded him, amusement in both their eyes. “Morning Hop,” Gloria replied, moving forward to gather him into a hug. “Glad you made it – we were just wondering if you would manage to surface.” Gloria drew back and must have noted the slight downturn of the corners of Hop’s mouth, because she added hurriedly. “Was difficult enough for us.”

Hop laughed and folded his hands behind his head as she stepped back to release him. “Yeah, was touch and go for a while, but I wouldn’t miss my best mate for the world.” He grinned and Gloria smiled back, visibly touched.

“Thanks Hop, you’re the best.” She rearranged her rucksack on her shoulders. “I wish I could hang around longer, I really do. It’s always so lovely to be home and I’d love to be able to show you around Bede.” She rested a hand on his arm. “Next time, I promise. And Hop will be a great host.”

Hop gauged Bede’s reaction carefully. There didn’t appear to be any hint of irony in his smile back at Gloria: in fact, with his halo of pale hair, beneath the glow of the station lights he appeared positively angelic. “I have no doubt,” he replied, and Hop managed not to frown as he leaned forward to embrace her. “Thanks again for sorting everything with Hannah. I’ll make it up to you both.”

Gloria chuckled. “Oh please, it’s nothing. Like I said Mum is glad of the company – just help her water the plants in the evening and you’ll be golden.” Hop managed to laugh along with them both but seethed internally at Hannah’s name coming so casually from Bede’s lips. Since when had he been on a first name basis with Gloria’s mother?  He was interrupted from dwelling on this brief pang of irritation by the station speakers crackling to life, announcing that 6:30am service to Hammerlocke was due for departure.

“Bye you two!” Gloria sounded genuinely sorrowful as she backed towards the platform, waving until she had to turn around and jog onto the train. Bede and Hop waved back until the doors closed and the train pulled away. For a long moment afterwards they stood in silence, watching the lights fading into the encroaching dawn. Hop wondered if Bede was contemplating the same as himself: that they would have to make their own conversation, now.

Eventually, Hop cleared his throat. “Well,” he said at last. “Sonia should be in the lab at around 8am, so we have an hour and a half to kill.” He glanced at Bede, who was still staring pensively into the distance. “Anything you fancy doing? Honestly I could probably show you most of the sights of Wedgehurst and Postwick in that time and still have some to spare.”

Bede pursed his lips, and glanced at that ostentatious golden watch of his. It was as oversized on him as it had been seven years ago, and slid up his arm with the slightest of movements. “I hadn’t really given it much thought, I suppose,” he replied. “I think I’d rather save the tour for a time when it’s not ridiculous o’clock in the morning and I’m not slightly sleep deprived. Why don’t we just grab a coffee?”

Hop burst out laughing, and it was only when he met Bede’s bewildered gaze he realised he hadn’t been joking. “Grab a coffee?” he spluttered. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, mate, but you’re in the arse-end of Galar here. You’re a good 40 miles out of ‘grabbing a coffee’ territory.”

Bede scowled. “Alright, sorry I’m not familiar with your ‘arse-end of Galar’ sensibilities,” he huffed. “What do you suggest, then? Go and nap in the fields with the Wooloo for an hour?”

Hop couldn’t help but chuckle. “Honestly, with the amount of sleep I’ve had, that sounds like a great plan.” He rolled his shoulders, considering. “If it’s coffee you’re after, though, let’s just head to the lab. There’s a kitchen and I’m sure Sonia has a jar of instant squirreled away somewhere.”

Bede sniffed. “Fine,” he replied, a slight edge to his tone. It seemed Hop had managed to offend him already; he didn’t like to be laughed at, that was for sure. They had been alone what, five minutes? If Gloria were still there she would have punched him.

Instead, Hop chose to ignore Bede’s obvious annoyance and strolled past him towards the lab. He indicated Bede should follow with a twitch of his head; Bede paused for a moment, reluctant to react to what was a tacit command, before trailing after him.

They walked in silence until they arrived at the lab. Hop withdrew the key from his coat pocket and moved to unlock the door. He held it open for Bede, who gave him a long look before going inside. Hop closed it after them, flicked on the lights, and watched smilingly as Bede looked around in unbridled awe. It was an impressive establishment, all gleaming countertops and pristine equipment. Bede moved past Hop to press a tentative hand to the towering glass wall, enraptured by the dance of the morning light across its surface. Hop watched him for a moment. He had never seen him so… unguarded, the shine of the glass reflected in his oddly-coloured eyes. In a purely aesthetic sense Bede was… sort of beautiful, he supposed. Ethereal and untouchable, like a statue in a museum.

Hop shook himself and straightened instinctively when Bede turned to face him. “Coffee?” he asked, and Bede nodded. Hop made a beeline for the door in the back that led to the kitchen. He bustled around the small space, busying himself with the familiar motions in order to distract himself from his inexplicably racing heart. In all their years of sufferance, that was by far the most intimate moment they had ever shared. After a moment Bede came to linger in the entryway. He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest.

“Pretty impressive setup you have here,” he remarked. His tone was causal, expression conveying none of wonder it had before. “I had thought it would be smaller.”

Hop frowned into the mugs he was pouring. He was almost grateful for the familiar bite of exasperation that accompanied that comment – he could deal with that. “Well, yeah, it is the central hub for Pokémon research in the Galar region,” he replied curtly. “What were you expecting? A barn?”

Bede raised an eyebrow. “Calm down, I was just saying.” He stepped back so Hop could hand him a mug as they both moved back into the lab. “I pictured more storybook red-brick as opposed to sleek marble and glass, that’s all.”

Hop didn’t dignify that with a response. As much as he enjoyed sniping at Bede, they couldn’t be at each other throats all the time or they would surely be driven to insanity. Or at least he would – he was convinced Bede thrived on being as contrary as possible most of the time. Instead, he walked over to the main monitor and powered it on; might as well get set up for the day ahead.

“So what was it exactly you’re here to look at?” he asked, his eyes steadfastly on the screen. “I think you mentioned it last night but I’ve forgotten.”

“Ah, continuing something Opal looked into years back.” Bede leaned back on his hands that were resting on the countertop. “Herself and Magnolia established that Weezing’s Galar forme first adopted its Fairy-type in the Slumbering Weald. So, there’s reason to believe there is something particular about it that is accommodating to Fairy-types. It’s the most similar spot to the Glimwood Tangle in all of Galar environment-wise.�� Hop nodded slowly as Bede continued. “So, is just a matter of having a snoop around. Or rather, an educated snoop around – figure out what aspect of both places is attractive to Fairy-types, be it environmental or otherwise.”

Admittedly, it did sound like an intriguing study. Almost interesting enough that Hop was less bothered about the idea of Bede poking around the Slumbering Weald. “Hm, interesting.” Hop replied after a moment. He got to his feet to jog up to the balcony. “Might be a good start to have a look at the physical attributes of different Fairy-type species: their physiology, diet, etcetera,” he called down, pulling a few titles from the shelves. “At least, that’s something we can do while we’re waiting.”

Hop could feel Bede’s gaze on him as he made his way slowly back down the stairs, balancing the books he had selected on his outstretched arms. He smugly noted the faint look of admiration in the other boy’s eyes. “Sure, sounds good.” He folded his arms and regarded Hop with a tilt of his head. “You know your stuff.”

“Haven’t just been sitting on my arse the last seven years,” Hop shot back cheerily, laying the books out before them. “Let’s make some notes.”

***

A few hours later, and Hop and Bede were on their way to the Slumbering Weald.

The rest of the morning had gone by in a blur – once they were silent and immersed in study, time passed much more quickly. Sonia had arrived at 8am on the dot, impressed by the sight of their noses already buried in books. Hop opted not to mention they functioning on just about four hours sleep because they had been up drinking the night before.

Once the introductions had been made and Sonia briefed more thoroughly on Bede’s research, she had set them up with equipment and sent them on their way, promising to contribute as much as she could in between her regular duties. Hop, with his impression of Bede forever coloured by their rivalry in the past, wondered how he came off to people meeting him for the first time. He was such a gentleman now, all polite smiles and impeccable manners – so different to the brash, arrogant so-and-so he had been before. Hop could tell Sonia was impressed, by both his scientific curiosity and affability (in that order.) If only she knew; Hop remained unconvinced.

Hop pushed the gate that led to the forest path. It swung open easily, the lock having long rusted beyond use. Hop didn’t think it had ever been fixed from that first day of his and Gloria’s journey, and he was glad. It was nice to have it there – a physical reminder of the start of his life with Pokémon. Bede came through and Hop shut the gate after them. He let Bede lead as they passed into the shadow of the trees, both blinking as their eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. “S’cold,” Bede remarked, pausing for a moment to rub some heat back into his skinny arms. “Colder than Glimwood.”

“Hence the fog,” Hop replied, taking advantage of the break to rearrange the bags of equipment he was carrying. “Must be a different type of tree here – more effective at blocking out the sunlight. Something to take note of!” He grinned. “Let’s go a little further in, then set up shop. It’ll only be some preliminary stuff we’re looking at today anyway.”

“Fine with me.” Bede straightened and gave Hop a little nod. “Astute observation. About the trees, I mean.”

“It is kind of my job.” Hop resumed walking. He didn’t have the patience to wait for a response: he was sure Bede had been gearing up to say something cutting. They wandered further into the wood. Hop noticed Bede had begun to shiver, but declined to comment. Let him bring a scarf tomorrow.

They found a spot to set up eventually, and busied themselves with their work. As Hop had pointed out, today was only the beginning. They had set themselves the task of gathering samples from the environment – the soil, the trees, the berries, anything else they could find, and potting them to take back and compare with samples Bede had brought from Glimwood. They toiled away in silence, speaking only to comment upon findings or compare notes. It was surprisingly companionable, and not at all as unbearable as Hop had imagined. Bede was focused; every time Hop threw him a glance his features were furrowed with concentration. Hop realised in that moment it was only now, watching Bede work, that he fully believed he was here to actually study and it was in fact not a well-constructed ruse to infringe on the life Hop had built and drive him to insanity. That was a relief, at least.

Eventually, Hop got around to checking the time. He balked at the numbers glowing back at him – when had it become 4:30? He stretched, muscles aching from having spent the day on his knees. “Ready to head back?” he asked. Bede was sprawled on the forest floor as though it were his bedroom carpet, scribbling away. He looked up at the sound of Hop’s voice and straightened to glance at his watch. “Gosh.” He shook some dirt from his sleeve. “The day went quickly.”

“Yeah, nothing better than a new project to make the most of a day,” Hop replied cheerfully. Distracted by his good mood, he unthinkingly offered Bede a hand. For a split second Bede stared at it as though it had teeth. In that instant, Hop considered pulling it back and pretending it had never happened. Before he knew it, however, Bede’s hand was in his. Hop pulled him to his feet, noting how incredibly light he was. Once up, Bede let go right away and they hurriedly turned away from each other to brush themselves down. “Thanks,” mumbled Bede. Hop grunted noncommittally in response and busied himself with collecting the equipment. Bede watched him for a moment, fiddling with his earring, before silently joining Hop in gathering their belongings. Hop’s cheeks were flushed with annoyance at himself – it was no good to be letting his guard down too soon. Today had been a good day, but he couldn’t allow himself to become complacent. He was still a long way off trusting Bede an inch.

They headed back towards Wedgehurst unspeaking. Hop was relieved they were both too tired to attempt to abide by social convention and make small talk. He wanted nothing more than to be out of these dirty clothes and curl up on his couch, to liberate himself of the strange atmosphere that hung like a shroud over the pair. Whenever he glanced at Bede it was evident his companion was lost in thought, eyes on the sky. Hop wondered what he was thinking about.

They arrived in Wedgehurst and Hop was about to turn to Bede and offer to take the rest of the equipment back to the lab and finish up – if only to get rid of him – but before he could do so an ear-splitting scream had them both near jumping out of their skins. They both spun around to see a young girl sprinting towards them, arms flailing. She skidded to a halt in front of them, out of breath and pink with excitement. “Oh. My. Gosh,” she squealed. “Gym Leader Bede? Is that really you?” She jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “I can’t believe you’re here! I’m such a fan. Fairy-types are the best – my mum says I get a Clefairy for my eleventh birthday!” She glanced at Hop. He recognised her as Amelia; her mother worked at the Mart on weekends. “I didn’t know Bede was your friend Hop,” she gushed. “You need to introduce me!”

Hop and Bede looked at each other; Hop could see his own bewilderment reflected in Bede’s gaze. “Uh…” he scratched his cheek, scrambling to right himself. “Well, I don’t think he needs much introducing – you seem to know exactly who he is.” He laughed awkwardly. “Bede, this is, uh, Amelia. She lives here in Wedgehurst. Long-time neighbour of mine.” Bede blinked at Hop, before turning to smile at a wide-eyed Amelia. “Um, hi.” He shifted the bags he was carrying so he could extend a hand. “Nice to meet you. Pretty town you have here.”

Amelia squealed again and shook his hand so enthusiastically Hop was concerned for the safety of Bede’s load of equipment. Bede, warmed by her enthusiasm, found his stride in easy conversation as Amelia babbled at him. Hop watched from the sidelines. Outwardly he was smiling, but his stomach was tight. He was happy, being a Pokémon Professor in training – it was where he was meant to be, and he was good at it. Far better than he ever had been at battling competitively. The work wasn’t as glamourous – he spent his days on his knees in the mud whilst the likes of Gloria and Bede were out shaking hands and kissing babies – but it was just as important. Moreso, even: all the strategies and tactics trainers employed related to the attributes of particular Pokémon that had all been discovered by Pokémon professors and researchers. He had great pride in what he did. But he couldn’t help but remember, sometimes, that he had had to fall behind and relinquish a dream to arrive where he was now. For so long, he had compared Leon’s past with his future. And sometimes late at night when he stared up at the darkened ceiling, all he could see was flash of the stadium lights and the excited roar of the crowd. Cheering for him, the greatest trainer Galar had ever seen…

“Hop?” he was jerked from his reverie by Ameila waving a hand in front of his face. “Hey, Hop? Can you take a picture of us please?” Ameila was clutching her phone to her chest, gazing at him with hopeful eyes. Bede appeared visibly uncomfortable, eyes darting from Hop to Amelia. If Hop hadn’t known better he would have thought he appeared almost apologetic.

“Uh, sure,” Hop replied after a moment. He accepted the phone from her and stood back, gesturing for them to stand in the frame. “Say cheese!”

“Cheese!” cried Amelia, throwing her arm around Bede’s waist. Bede blinked rapidly, akin to a Stanler in headlights, before he managed to adopt a hesitant smile. Hop snapped a few pictures in rapid succession until Amelia was clamouring for her phone back to do a review. She swiped through a few, nodding as she went. “Awesome,” she breathed, looking up at Bede. “Do you have a League Card I could have? Pretty please?”

“Of course,” Bede replied. He fumbled through the assortment of bags he was carrying to find his own rucksack. He felt around inside until his fingers brushed the familiar sharp plastic edges of his League Card bundle to pull one out and place it in Amelia’s eager hands. “Oh. My. Gosh!” She held it up the sun. “It’s signed and everything! This is the best day ever!” She was near vibrating with excitement at this point, cheeks flush with delight. “Thank you so much, Leader Bede!” She grinned up at him. “My friends are gonna be so jealous! I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“My pleasure.” Bede shook her outstretched hand one last time. “Lovely to meet you.”

Amelia giggled bashfully, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers with her free hand. When Bede stepped back she finally acknowledged Hop. “Good to see you too, Hop. You’re so lucky – all your friends are so cool!” Hop nodded, unable to muster a smile. She’s just a kid. It would be stupidly petty and immature to get upset.

At last Amelia ran off, and Hop and Bede were left standing in silence. “Hop…” Bede ventured after a moment. Hop whirled to face him.

“What?” he snarled, and Bede blinked, taken aback by the force of his reaction.

“I didn’t… that was…” Bede sighed. “Sorry,” he settled for at last.

“What on earth are you apologising for?” Hop forced a laugh. “You’re a Gym Leader. You have fans.”

“I know,” Bede replied. “But… I mean, I know it’s probably weird because of… before.” He pressed his lips together, stumbling over his words. “I just… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” Hop hissed with such vitriol he surprised even himself. Bede stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, before his expression became dark. “It’s not pity that I have for you, Hop,” he replied coldly.

Hop’s fists tightened around the bags he was carrying. He was glad of their weight: it kept him grounded, reminded him his hands were full so it would not be prudent to punch Bede in the jaw in broad daylight.

“Give me your bags.” Hop spoke at last. “I’ll take them back. You go home – I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Bede opened his mouth, then thought the better of it and shut it again. Wordlessly, he handed off the bags to Hop. He didn’t move to help when Hop stumbled slightly under the weight of them.

“See you tomorrow, then,” he replied after a moment, his expression utterly unreadable. He turned back in the direction of Postwick, blond hair shimmering in the late afternoon sun. Hop watched him until he was out of sight, then spun around to head back towards the lab, teeth clenched with fury.

It was sunlight, not tears in his eyes, that was obscuring his vision.

*** 

A/N: Wow, Chapter 2 finished already! Don’t get too used to this, lol – have some time off work so have more time to work on this. Future updates will probably be slower. Or maybe not, I am really feeling this story right now so am motivated to work on it!

Anyways, here it is! Please enjoy. I will edit this and fix up small mistakes later, lol, but am sick of looking at it for now.

Also, in case people are wondering, ‘arse-end’ is a term for the ‘middle of nowhere.’ I think it’s mostly Irish (I am Irish) but a lot of Irish phrases are used in Britain too, so – I may take a few liberties on that. Any Brits are free to call me out hahaha.

[blstys]

tomorrow  /  @shockpop​​​  ——   ans.  ask  meme  ——  one  word  prompts  ;  accepting.

are  you  sure  that  was  a  good  idea?  kirishima  had  prompted  the  night  before,  as  kindly  as  humanly  possible.  bakugou  had  shrugged,  placed  an  empty  glass  on  the  table  top  and  replied  what’s  a  little  heartbreak  between  old  friends?

the  answer  did  not  need  to  be  given,  it  was  known  plainly.  kirishima  had  served  it  to  him  piping  hot,  drenched  in  that  same  kindness,  anyway:  it  isn’t  just  a  heartbreak  and  it  wasn’t  exactly  little,  bakugou.  the  two  of  you  didn’t  even  try  to  stay  friends  and  now  you’re  going  to  live  together?

he  hadn’t  known  it  yet  but  the  words  would  bruise,  darkening  over  the  span  of  the  next  day;  become  sore  to  revisit,  even  at  the  surface  level.  grossly  out  of  character  to  the  person  he’d  been  trying  to  be,  he  was  defensively  hopeful  and  still  littering  swears  between  meaningful  sentiments,  in  parting;  money  tucked  under  the  rim  of  his  empty  glass  enough  to  cover  both  parties:  since  when  has  there  been  a  god - damn  statue  of  limitations  on  fucking  trying.  it  will  be  fine.  we’re  not  stupid  kids  anymore.

now,  standing  in  the  doorway  to  the  life  denki’s  lived  without  him,  katsuki  comes  to  the  crispy  realization  once  again  that  he  was  probably  wrong  about  where  his  own  limits  exist.  he  shoves  them  down,  steps  inside.

denki  beats  him  to  it,  already  tucked  toward  the  television,  coiling  wires  for  gaming  consoles  before  katsuki’s  shoes  are  toed  off,  respectful  habit  ingrained.  eyes  size  up  the  place.  cozy,  but  not  unkempt.  a  decent  size  for  a  single  person  and  a  sushi  roll  but  terribly  overpriced  for  its  location.  chipped  paint  and  ancient  light  fixtures.  unlike  the  apparently  empty  expanse  of  his  industrial  penthouse  that  intends  to  house  them  both  starting  tomorrow,  denki’s  small  space  appears,  well,  lived - in. 

where  his  walls  have  lain  bare - brick  and  white  paint,  only  the  necessary  furniture  and  katsuki’s  previous  belongings  having  dwindled  down  to  the  span  of  a  couple  bookshelves  and  a  too - large  bedroom;  there  is  hardly  an  inch  of  denki’s  place  untouched  by  well - loved  belongings.  it  has  the  clutter  of  an  actual  life  lived.

it,  too,  appears  so  painfully  denki  in  appearance  that  for  a  terribly  ( nostalgic )  second  katsuki  swears  they’ve  stepped  right  back  in  time  to  denki’s  u.a.  dorm  room.  the  second  passes  onto  the  next,  as  it  always  does,  and  divorces  the  dream  from  reality.  it  is  a  process  that  he  has  nearly  forgotten  how  to  do  outside  a  hungover  morning.

a  blink,  the  gentle  clink  of  dog - tags  getting  in  the  way  of  a  quick  collar - pull,  another  glance.  steady  breath  reveals  the  obvious  truth:  familiar  items  are  there  but  much  fewer  and  further  between  than  unfamiliar  ones.

a  flannel  he’s  worn  before  hangs  off  an  open  door  handle;  at  least  three  more,  unknown,  lay  over  unoccupied  corner  surfaces.  one  is  tucked  under  the  coffee  table.  there  is  one  potted  cactus  that  katsuki  remembers  giving  a  name  and  several  unrecognizable  plants  spilling  out  of  their  terracotta  homes.  light  folds  in  where  it  can,  sunlight  spilling  from  the  single  bedroom  window  into  the  living  space  to  turn  the  place  pale  yellow.  there’s  a  corner  of  a  bed  visibly  unmade  illuminated,  too.  a  small  laptop  lays  atop  the  least - mussed  end  like  a  silver  cat.  the  kitchen,  for  all  its  lack  of  breadth  is  haunted  by  only  ( as  far  as  he  can  tell )  a  graveyard  of  kirby  drinking  glasses  that  do  not  appear  to  be  of  any  particular  matching  set.  memorized  licence  plates  hang  on  the  wall  like  the  eyes  of  doctor  t.j.  fucking  eckleburg  while  faces  that  are  familiar  but  distinctly  not  his  peer  at  him  from  their  strung - up  photographs.

crimson  eyes  glaze  over  a  guitar  with  fret  spacing  his  fingers  remember  and  stick  to  a  red  cassette  tape  player  before  flitting  quickly  away.

purpose  remembered,  katsuki  moves,  as  originally  tasked,  to  the  god - forsaken  skateboard  bookshelf  to  assist  with  the  packing.  he  scans  titles,  new  and  misplaced,  as  he  puts  them  into  the  open  mouth  of  the  box  that  waits  at  the  shelf  base  and  aches  to  think  of  the  box  of  mixed  tapes  collecting  dust  in  the  top  shelf  of  a  closet  in  his  guest  room.  he’ll  have  to  move  them  sometime  today  before  denki's  un - strewn  flannels  can  lay  claim  to  the  space.

even  meticulous  hands  have  difficulty  shaking  off  the  odd  tremor  when  they  reach  for  a  haphazard  tower  of  miscellaneously  stacked  things.  it  sears  through  the  center  of  his  chest  like  an  arrow  re - sunk  into  an  old  wound  to  disassemble  it.

“ so  you’re  still  stacking  things,  huh ?  —  sootball's  gonna  love  that. ”

[thenightlymartini]

Headcannon #36

Anon Request

Theme: Proposing at the same time on accident

Kimchiburger: I actually had done this in the wedding au headcannon. 

Rusnk: NK planned on proposing, and actually wanted to be the one to do so, when they were both at Russia’s winter home, but he knew his sober mind wouldn’t allow him to do it without constantly questioning and forcing him to hold back. So he planned on having a little bit of alcohol just to loosen himself up... except he has very low alcohol tolerance and got a little too tipsy after two shots of vodka (to be fair it was Russia’s homemade vodka that was much more potent than normal store bought bottles).

Meanwhile, Russia was rehearsing in front of the bathroom mirror for his proposal speech, and, just as he says the big question, NK walks in (though quite visibly drunk, even to Russia). NK, while slurring that he was quite happy and wanted to get married right now and celebrate, tried to kiss him and undress him, much to Russia’s shocked confusion. Proceed to Russia trying to keep NK from groping or undressing him until NK is sober enough for a full comprehension of the situation to take place. Completely embarrassed by his actions, NK would then quietly reveal that he wanted to propose but he knew he needed help in the endeavor due to him naturally not being one to make the first move on anything. Russia would then indulge him in letting him be the one to ask, though he was still quite amused by the whole situation.

Commieburger: America and NK would wake up in a hotel room together after way too many drinks with rings on their fingers (both had gotten proposal rings for when they would ask the other the big question) and not remember anything that occurred last night. Apparently on SK’s phone messages later that morning the two had drunkenly decided to do truth or dare, where NK revealed he wanted America to marry him and America dared himself to pop the question to NK. It then leads to very hungover nations awkwardly telling the other their original plans for proposing, but are perfectly fine with now being fiances. Though America insisted on wanting to do it the proper way later and NK was just glad that SK managed to keep their drunken escapade under wraps so no one knew at the meeting later that afternoon.

Yeah, I don’t picture NK being able to pop the question on his own, since he is a lot more cautious and calculating to the point where it drives him to inaction rather than action. That and when it comes to America it comes down to how they would even be able to work out a marriage between the two of them without their bosses finding out, as it is already difficult enough trying to hide the boyfriend status.

[softestziam]

So, I’m taking a permanent break from writing, my heart’s not in it anymore. I am going to leave you all with my Bachelor AU fic though. It’s incomplete but it’s all I've got.

The birds were singing a beautiful song as they flew high in the cloudless, blue sky. Children could be heard laughing from the park a few blocks away, the daily bustle of people making their way to their next location. A perfect day all around.

That was until Zayn was forced awake by the loud noise coming from his phone. His alarm. With a groan he blindly searched for the bane of his existence, feeling around until he found it resting on his chest. He turned off the noise but still refused to open his eyes. He was way too hungover for this. This being a new day, sometimes even life.

That was a story he wasn't quite ready to delve deeper into just yet. Letting out a frustrated sigh Zayn finally opened his eyes and took in his surroundings, once again he was sleeping in the backseat of his car. The only thing he had to call his own at the moment, that was another story he didn't feel like thinking about right now.

It did look like a beautiful day, though. Not a single cloud in the sky and birds were actually chirping as they flew overhead. Hmm. Not even a full minute after he was actually awake Zayn's phone rang and he knew who it was calling him almost immediately. With an eye roll and a cough to clear his throat he begrudgingly answered.

“Lou.”

“Where the hell are you Malik?” Louis asked, practically yelling at him over the noise in the background. “Production starts in twenty and I can't have a show without my best producer, okay?”

Zayn internally groaned at the boldface lie Louis just spewed out. “I'm on my way, Lou. Just stopped to get a cuppa, want one?”

“Large Yorkshire, two sugars, no milk,” he rattled off. “That's another issue I won't get into right now, Welsh tea is shite, and craft service isn't up here yet. It's a slight disaster.”

“Breathe babe,” Zayn instructed him gently, sitting up in the backseat and rummaging through his knapsack for clean clothes. “Be there in twenty, okay?”

“Make it ten and I'll give you a raise,” Louis bargained.

“See you Lou,” he answered and hung up, throwing his phone on the driver's seat.

Once he found clean enough clothes, Zayn changed quickly, thanking whatever deity that was watching over him that day that he remembered to grab his deodorant before Adam kicked him out. He ran his hands through his hair, shaved close at the sides leaving the top long, before tying it up in a quick ponytail. He didn't have any clean socks so he turned the ones he wore yesterday inside out, it was better than going without, like Louis was always so keen on doing. He rummaged through his bag until he found a small bottle of mouthwash before spitting it out in the cup that rested in the console between the two front seats. This was his life and frankly it was rather pathetic.

Without a second thought Zayn finally left his car and hoped he could find a place in the middle of Wales that sold Yorkshire tea or else Louis would definitely have his arse. Thanking his lucky stars once more he spotted a coffee cart on his way to set, even better they had a large neon sign praising their authentic Yorkshire tea. Maybe it was a sign that things wouldn't go to shit this year, probably not, this was Zayn's life we are talking about. Fishing what little money he had in his pocket, Zayn gave it to the clerk before making his final trek to the set.

Once he arrived he realized what Louis was talking about. Everything looked chaotic, like a bomb had went off. Trucks were parked everywhere, producers, assistants, and writers were all standing around the spacious mansion, all looking completely lost.

“Malik!” Louis shouted at him once he was spotted. He smiled wide and grabbed his tea out of Zayn's hand before gulping down a large sip. “Not me mum's but it'll do. Welcome home straggler.”

“Home,” he scoffed and let himself be escorted through the masses. He casually nodded his head at the crew members he recognized, faking a smile at those he didn't. Louis pushed him up the stairs of the production trailer. His home for the next eight weeks. “Jeez, Lou, you splurged on a new couch this season.”

“Late nights at the office call for comfort,” he explained and sat in front of a messy desk. If you wanted it to call it a desk, it looked more like a table they had at canteens back in his uni days, covered in dirt and mysterious stains. “Take a seat and get yourself familiarized with this year's hopefuls.”

Zayn took the empty seat next to Louis and skimmed the binder quickly. Faces blending together quickly. Everyone looked the same on the show, fake smiles and even faker stories. They'd try anything to land on the show in hopes of finding true love. “And where's our suitor?”

“In the flat we set up for him down the road,” Louis groaned. “A real tosser this kid.”

“That's what you get for recruiting Liam Payne,” he laughed and flipped through the pages of the binder once more. “The first gay suitor and we end up with England's biggest headache, good job Tommo.”

Louis let out a fake laugh and bent down so he was crowding up Zayn's space, his head resting on his shoulder. “I've missed your bratty attitude, Malik. Feels like home.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn told him and pushed Louis's face away from his shoulder. “Niall here yet?”

“Set to arrive in an hour,” Louis answered and played with the walkie talkie clipped to his belt, finally turning it on. “Production meeting in fifteen, pick your boy and then we'll discuss incentives, okay?”

Zayn let Louis leave the truck as he read over the binder once more. This was common among the producers, they all picked a contestant that was going to win the heart of the suitor and at the end of the season whoever won, or came closest to winning, usually was rewarded financially. In the three years Zayn had worked for Everlasting he had never won. It was an ongoing joke among the staff, that whoever he chose usually was sent home first.

This time, this year he wanted to win, needed to win. He needed all the help he could get in the money department, and he was going to do whatever was in his power to do it. Lie, cheat, and steal was how Louis and the rest of the producers played the game and Zayn was more than willing to join in this year.

He read over the mini biography they had on this year's suitor, Liam Payne. Maybe if Zayn could get into his psyche a little he could choose someone who'd be compatible enough with him to win this whole thing. Zayn knew enough about Liam though, all of the United Kingdom did. He was a typical playboy, used and abused his status to get what he wanted. His father, Geoff Payne was a real estate mogul, made good money that way. He put money aside for his son, not allowed to touch it until he turned twenty one. Within the first year of receiving the money Liam had blown close to half of it. Zayn scoffed as he read over the biography, of course all the horrible stories about Liam were omitted. Typical.

Closing the binder with a thud that echoed in the empty truck, Zayn stood up and made his way to the production meeting. It was a short walk across the way but he could already hear the laughs as he approached the trailer. It already sounded like Louis was showing off, always a ham in front of an audience. Didn't matter the size of the crowd he always bathed in the attention.

Swinging open the door to the trailer Zayn froze. He immediately realized why they were all laughing. They were laughing at him. Last series finale was being projected on the large screen tv mounted on the wall in front of the room. He gripped the binder in his hands tighter, knuckles turning white with the pressure. Last year wasn't his proudest moment, that's when he hit rock bottom. Luckily the network and show runners omitted his very public breakdown from airing but it still stung to see. Especially now that Louis was showing it for a laugh.

Zayn watched himself on screen down a whole bottle of champagne in two gulps, staggering on the sand of the beach in whatever exotic island they were filming at. It was like a train wreck, he wanted to look away but he couldn't. This was the first time he actually saw the footage, for a long time Zayn just thought it was a very detailed dream he couldn't shake. Moments were a little fuzzy, specific things he may have done and said getting lost in his memory.

He started to cringe when everyone began to laugh again as onscreen Zayn approached the contestant as she stood in front of the suitor, stars in her eyes. He grabbed her face in his hands and slowly started to shake her, telling her that she was going to lose, not be proposed to. The contestant immediately started to cry and looked over Zayn's shoulder at the suitor, waiting for him to correct Zayn's statement. When he remained silent she went ballistic, on a mad rampage. She was crying, mascara instantly staining her cheeks. Zayn shrugged the entire thing off, walking along the beach as the camera followed his every move. The losing contestant continued her tirade, trying to kick and punch at the suitor who now rejected her.

In the simplest of terms, it was a complete disaster. Louis could be heard yelling at Zayn to get out of the shot, that he was ruining a perfectly good shot. The contestant kept physically showing her anger as stage hands and assistants tried to wrangle her free from the suitor.

Back in the production room everyone kept laughing and visibly kept cringing at the antics onscreen. Zayn sighed and stretched out his hands, dying for a cigarette to calm his nerves. Not even a full hour at work and his was already itching for a fix. Great.

“Cheers Lou. Thanks mate,” Zayn said dryly, licking his lips.

The small room of people quickly quieted down, all turning to look at an embarrassed Zayn who kept standing right by the door. Louis in front of the room like he belonged there. Technically he did, he was the executive producer of the entire show.

“What!” He exclaimed in shock. “I always show the series finale before a new season begins.”

Zayn rolled his eyes as he finally took a seat at an empty table, throwing open the binder and plucking a pen from the cup in front of him. “The episode that aired though, not the rough cuff.”

“Talking about rough,” one producer muttered unsuccessfully under her breath.

Louis cut his eyes at the female producer, a warning of some sort. “Oh get off it Malik, no harm, no foul, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn replied with an eye roll. “Can we get down to business before the contestants show up, please?”

Louis paused the footage as some of the other producers and whoever else was in the room silently protested. Zayn really did hate a vast majority of his co workers, none of them really had any respect for him, that was obvious. That was also his own fault if he was being honest with himself.

He was a walking disaster all last series, drunk a majority of the time. He never expected it to culminate during the finale, the stress of the eight weeks of filming finally getting to him. His little meltdown during the finale got the attention of the shows creator and the network. The moment he arrived back in London he was rushed into the head of the network's offices and was given a stern talking to. Zayn wasn't allowed to speak unless he was given permission, which was a crock of shit by the way. He had to agree to go to a rehab for four weeks between series and he had to pay back all the structural damage that was caused.

He did what he was told though, went through the program and pretended to actually care. He was allowed to return for the new series and that was all Zayn really wanted anyway. He knew all eyes were going to be on him this time around, one false step and he would lose his job. Zayn knew how to get around things, had done it a majority of his life. He knew the only way to survive another eight weeks of filming was with some liquid courage, all which could be hidden by mouthwash and cologne.

“So the incentives you talked about earlier, Lou?” Zayn asked, tapping his pen loudly on the opened binder.

Louis took down the footage of the previous years season and opened up another folder. It was headshots of all twenty five contestants. “Everyone in this room will chose a contestant. Depending on what they do and what we capture on camera, you'll be handsomely rewarded. Sounds good?”

“How much are we getting when we win?” Sandy, a camera operator asked.

“£20,000,” Louis answered. “This is our first gay suitor, I wanted to raise the stakes a little. I have a board in my office truck with all these guys pictures, you'll simply just write your name underneath their picture and watch the magic unfold.”

The meeting ran a few minutes longer but Zayn had zoned out immediately after Louis stopped discussing money. He looked down at his binder once more and smiled at his choice, Harry Styles.

This kid was going to make him rich this series, he was Zayn's ticket out of this hellhole. He knew his choice would get him laughed at amongst the crew, but Zayn could feel it in his bones. This kid was going to be able to solve all his problems. Now he couldn't wait to meet him and mold him into the perfect contestant for Liam. Harry looked like the type of contestant that was going to be perfect for the camera, the audience was going to eat him up immediately, hopefully Liam would too.

Once the meeting was over Zayn grabbed his things and headed straight towards the mansion. The cameramen were setting up and there were wires all over the floor, he had to tiptoe around them, hoping not to trip over them. The limos could been seen up the hill, just waiting for their cue. Makeup and hair people were running around like crazy, getting whoever was going to be on camera ready. Zayn stole a pack of barbecue crisps from the craft service table that finally arrived. He munched on them loudly, nodding his head in greeting to Niall when he made his appearance.

Niall was a good lad, been presenter of the show since the very first day. He too had become jaded of the whole thing, but a paycheck was a paycheck and no one in their right mind was going to turn that down. If Zayn was one of the lonely housewives who watched the show every Monday night he'd watch solely to see Niall. His charisma was unmatched in the industry, and genuine too. When filming ran long Zayn could always depend on Niall for a good joke and a stiff drink, two things neither boys could live without.

The noise around the mansion ended abruptly when Liam finally made it on stage, a PA literally dragging him. Great. That's exactly how Zayn predicted this season was going to go. A stubborn rich boy who thought he was too good for the show even when he personally contacted the show. Whatever. Zayn had other things to worry about anyway, like making sure all the limousines were lined up and ready to drop off the contestants without any issue.

Louis walked fast towards Zayn, his hands flailing about as he talked fast into his walkie talkie, more than likely yelling at other producers to get their shit together. It was typical day one nonsense. He had his shit together so Zayn had nothing to worry about, he hoped. He got an appreciative smile from Louis as he zoomed by him so Zayn knew he wasn't messing up. The limousines were ready, Niall and Liam were ready, all that was left was aiming the cameras and recording.

“Welcome to Everlasting,” Niall smiled and greeted the home audience warmly as soon as he was given his cue. Thus began the newest season.

Zayn stood behind all the camera and production crew, binder still held tightly in his hands. He watched as Louis ran from limousine to limousine instructing the constants what to do once they exited the vehicle, it seemed all a little boring and mundane after the sixth guy.

Zayn's job was to make sure the cars didn't end up piling up, a mini traffic jam in front of the mansion. It was a pretty easy job, say some words into this walkie talkie and call it a day. He knew it was going to be a long night, especially how Liam was reacting to every guy the approached him. They all came with a cheesy chat up line, always thinking they were the first person to make a pun out of Liam's last name. None of them were creative or charming.

Niall was fantastic as always, greeting each new contestant like he was the first. Zayn had to hide his smirk behind his binder more than once at him, his eyes were screaming for help even though he plastered on his smile like a champ. Louis was always within his eyeshot, running around behind the crew, barking orders at assistants and camera people. The first day was always the hardest for him, for all of them really. If the first day went smoothly, everything else after all just fell into place just as easily.

The twenty third contestant was making his way into the mansion after his introduction, the sun starting to rise behind the home. They'd been at this for close to four hours. All the stopping and going again just kept dragging on. Everyone was exhausted, the craft service table was practically bare at this point. All the junk food gone around two in the morning. Louis had sent some production assistant out for a coffee and tea run knowing they had at least two more hours of filming before they called it a day. Zayn was just itching for a cigarette and maybe a stiff drink, something to take the edge off.

“Hey Malik, your boy is next,” Dana, a camera operator, joked, winking at him.

Zayn looked down at his binder and nodded with a knowing smile. Harry was the next to last contestant to meet Liam. Liam who looked just as miserable as Zayn felt, good. It always warmed his heart to see the suitors uncomfortable, always made for good tv.

He spoke into his walkie talkie, letting the next limousine driver that he could pull up in front of the mansion. Louis made a mad dash to the car, going over the instructions for the twenty fourth time that day. He was running on autopilot at that point, just gibberish leaving his lips as he spoke now. Louis moved quickly behind the camera as Niall walked up to Liam, letting him know the brief history he had on Harry.

Harry Styles, 22 years old from Holmes Chapel. Just graduated from university with a degree in sociology, thinking about becoming a lawyer. Currently works at a bakery that he's been working in since he was sixteen. The basics that looked like they bored Liam to death. Honestly Zayn couldn't really blame him, after the tenth guy he zoned out too.

The door of the limo opened and out sprang Harry, all long hair and even longer limbs. He looked completely different than the headshot the production crew had of him. This Harry was more of a man than the shy little boy Zayn was expecting to see. He walked with such confidence up to Liam. Dressed in skin tight black skinny jeans, a pink and white button down shirt, only the last two buttons actually done up. His chest was on display, covered in black ink and pale skin. Zayn smirked as Liam gawked at Harry and shook his hand. Jackpot. This kid was going to make him rich.

“Why can't the flower ride his bike?” Harry asked Liam.

Liam looked around the production area, a little unsure as to what was happening. “Umm I-I don't know. Why?”

Harry broke out into a wide grin, showing off his impressive dimples. Zayn was grinning like a fool behind the camera, this feeling was almost as good as getting high or drunk. “Because his petals fell off.”

And that was the moment Zayn Malik wanted to end his life or career, or both. Harry had all the potential in the world. He was tall and attractive, probably could've been a model in another life. But no, this real life Harry had to fuck up his first impression with his potential future fiancé by making a dad joke.

Zayn held his breath as he grimaced from second hand embarrassment. A few members of the crew laughed at the sheer stupidity of it while some actually genuinely laughed at the damn joke. The whole thing was a train wreck, more than likely delighting Louis who just saw everything as ratings. Everyone waited with bated breath for Liam's reaction, at first he just remained stoic, unable to read.

“Did you just dad joke me?” He asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Harry replied proudly. Oh, poor, poor boy.

“I liked it,” he admitted, breaking out into a wide grin and a true laugh. His eyes got lost in his smile, his cheeks rising and laugh lines appeared by his eyes. This was the first time all night anyone saw a genuine emotion from Liam Payne. Maybe Zayn wasn't out of luck with this Harry kid after all. “I know I have one more guy to see before I'm supposed to make my decision. But umm, I want to give you the first impression rose.”

“Me?” Harry asked, taken aback. His green eyes were shining as the threatening to rise sun began to shine in front of him. “Over one stupid joke?”

“It's the first time I've laughed all night,” Liam told him, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Oh gag. This was getting to be too much. He took the single flower from the tray next to him and pinned it to Harry's shirt. “I look forward to getting to know you more, Harry.”

Zayn smiled smugly at the people who gave him dirty looks. Maybe Harry Styles was going to be his ticket out of this hellhole. He walked into the mansion, casting one more look at Liam over his shoulder, his smile wide showing off his two perfect dimples. Cameras hopefully captured that moment because that would melt the hearts of all the lonely housewives in the entire United Kingdom.

They just had one more contestant to introduce to Liam and then the second unit team was going to take over, letting everyone who was already filming catch some shut eye. Except Louis, he never slept while the cameras were rolling. He usually slept when they went on a location for a date, he delegated his responsibilities to another producer. He had bigger concerns back at the mansion where all the other contestants were, hopefully causing trouble.

Zayn let the last limousine know that they were ready for the final contestant. The night felt like it was going to drag on forever and Zayn was craving nicotine, all the coffee and tea in the world wasn't going to help him. He was also getting tired, standing on your feet all day did that to a person. Sleeping in his car obviously didn't help the situation. He must've zoned out, daydreaming of somewhere other than his current location, because Niall was ushering Liam into the mansion and Louis was calling cut.

“Second unit, places,” Louis spoke into his walkie talkie. Almost immediately people began milling about, taking over where the first team left off. “You all know what I want from tonight. Tears, gripping television. Maybe concoct a fight or two, classy stuff.”

Zayn unhooked his walkie talkie from his pants and looked around for his replacement to hand it off to. Everyone else that worked all night were already heading to off to their cars to head back to wherever they were staying for the next several weeks. “Lou? Where's my replacement?”

“Malik,” Louis let out a laugh, approaching Zayn to throw an arm over his shoulders. “You don't get a replacement this year, love. You're stuck here all day, with me.”

“Lou,” he groaned, feeling himself being directed towards the production trailers. He knew the plan. After a day of filming Louis sat in the trailer for the rest of the day watching what they had filmed earlier and concocting the storyline for each episode. “Can I least have a smoke before we dive in?”

Louis narrowed his eyes at Zayn, raising an eyebrow in questioning. He gulped down the rest of his tea and discarded it in a nearby trash can. “Fine. Make it quick, Malik. Smoke so fast that you're dizzy walking back here. Got it?”

“Got it,” he confirmed, heading towards the end of the mansion, towards the front gate. The sun was still rising, now it was close to six in the morning.

He leaned up against the brick wall that was lined up against the gate. It looked like it use to be a running security booth, when this home was occupied. Zayn reached into his back pocket and pulled at his crushed cigarette pack, grinning as he did so. He lit one of his last cigarettes left in the pack and exhaled, feeling the nicotine burning his throat and lungs instantly. Louis wasn't wrong in saying it'll make him dizzy. Going a long time without one had an obvious effect on him.

For a brief moment he closed his eyes and rested his head against the brick, hoping to maybe get a few seconds of sleep before his second shift started. He kept smoking, even with his eyes closed. The dizzy feeling slowly lulling him into a slumber. That was until his silence was interrupted by a rustling noise and whispered voices. How cliché.   

“Yeah, they should be leaving soon. So, pass by my place in about an hour and I'll be available.”

Zayn let out a low groan as he recognized the voice. It was Liam. He had somehow snuck out the home unnoticed and was now standing at the front gate. He opened his eyes and saw Liam standing against the opposite wall talking to someone who looked like one of the limousine drivers.

“I don't know,” the driver replied shyly, clearly batting his eyelashes like it was endearing. Gross.

“There's no cameras where I'm staying. No one will see you,” Liam tried to convince him, grabbing tightly at the other guys hip. “Come on. It'll be our little secret.”

Zayn would be the first one to tell you how much he hated his job, it had gotten to the point where he was only working for a paycheck every week. He had become numb to everything around him, the roses the suitors handed out to the contestants, the constants overabundant amount of just sappy, cheesy, and cliché love tropes the show thrusted into people's faces. It all got to be too much as the years went on.

The one thing that did bother him though was when someone was clearly not cooperating with the process of the show. It just made the storylines fake, well, faker than they already were. Clearly, Liam was not on board with the process, which struck Zayn as funny. He began to laugh to himself, mostly because the sight in front of him was pretty hysterical and because he was also getting a little loopy from lack of sleep. If anyone this season was going to piss off Louis Tomlinson by not fully cooperating it wasn't going to be rich boy Liam Payne, that's for shit sure.

The limousine driver looked a little hesitant, it was clear to Zayn that he was just loving the attention from Liam, though. “I need to be back at the depot by half ten.”

Liam checked his watch and smiled one of those forced smiles. “That gives us more than enough time, babe.”

“Okay, Romeo,” Zayn finally cut in. He discarded his useless cigarette, snuffing it out with the heel of his shoe. “Stop fraternizing with the help, yeah? You have twenty five eligible men inside waiting for you, not to mention the production crew waiting as well.”

“And who the hell are you?” Liam snapped, dropping his hand from the driver's hip and sizing Zayn up. It was clear he had the advantage height and size wise. Zayn always knew from an early age a lot of people were going to underestimate him, that's why he learned to box.

“Your worst nightmare,” he replied, internally groaning at the laughable response. He rolled his eyes at Liam's scoff and turned to the limousine driver. “I'd advise you to leave and never speak of this if you want to keep being employed. Got it?”

The limousine driver didn't even say anything, just took one quick look between Zayn and Liam, noticed they were standing taller and prouder than moments before. He shot Liam an apologetic smile before taking off towards his car and pulling out of the driveway without saying a single word.

“That was bullshit,” Liam spat in Zayn's face. He took a step closer, his nose almost touching Zayn's. “How dare you interfere with my personal business.”

“How dare I?” He laughed, this was getting to be too comical actually. “Babe, your personal business is now my business, the country's too. You wanted to be here, remember? We did not seek you out.”

Liam kept sizing Zayn up, looking him up and down, deciding his next action. He let out a sigh and finally took a step back. “Fine. You win this one, for now.”

“Oh I’m terrified,” he replied sarcastically, grabbing Liam’s wrist to literally drag him back up to the mansion. “Your public awaits you, your highness.”

Zayn grumbled and muttered under his breath the entire time he dragged Liam up the driveway and back to the mansion. He passed him back to an assistant who looked embarrassed that she had lost the one person she was responsible of watching. Shaking his head and not saying another word Zayn walked back to the production trailer he left Louis in earlier. He watched in silence for a while. Watched Louis work meticulously, kind of like an artist in front of a canvas. Everything that was filmed that day on giant monitors in front of him, a huge spiral notebook sprawled out on the keyboard. A pencil in his mouth and one behind his ear, his brows more than likely drawn together in concentration.

Louis was always so loud and in your face, brash. But this Louis was the one Zayn liked the most, the silent side of him not many people got to see. This was the Louis Zayn became friends with all those years ago. The two of them squished into a production truck looking over films, cutting and pasting a storyline to sell, hoping that this series would be the one that put them on the map and get them to the position they were in now. He watched a little while longer in silence as Louis spoke quietly to himself, commenting on what he was watching. Already fed up with the work even though he'd only been at it for a few minutes.

“Having trouble?” Zayn made his presence known, walking over to Louis and taking a seat beside him.

“Payne is a wanker,” he concluded, ripping a piece of paper out of his notebook and handing it to Zayn along with the pencil that once rested on his ear. “He looks bored in every shot we have of him.”

“Shocking,” he replied sarcastically. “Just saw him down the road trying to sleep with a limousine driver.”

“Great,” Louis groaned and fast forward the film a few minutes until he landed on the footage of Harry's arrival. “This is the first genuine emotion we get from him all night. Your boy might win, Malik.”

“He better,” he joked and jotted down notes on his paper. Notes about ways to ensure Harry won Liam's heart, storylines that might help him in the long run. Ways to help coax the country in loving Harry as well. “Unless Payne mucks it all up.”

“I bet you five quid he'll end up alone and ruin this entire series,” Louis laughed, leaning back on his chair, placing his clasped hands behind his head and looking over at Zayn. He was smiling his mischievous smile, lips curled up and white teeth showing. “Which then makes this entire series well worth it, actually.”

Zayn looked up at the monitors and studied Liam's face. He looked bored from the moment Louis called for the cameras to start rolling. He understood the blokes pain, the ridiculousness of it all. But on the other hand Liam had asked for this, asked to be the newest suitor. He studied how Liam's face lit up at the sight of Harry, how Liam Payne looked like a decent human being for once in his miserable life. “Deal. Liam's walking out of here in eight weeks engaged.”

The night kept rolling on, much to Zayn's dismay. The sun was already shining bright in the sky by the time the second unit called cut for the day. The twenty five contestants got well acquainted with Liam, most of them already feeling disdain towards Harry and his rose. Now that filming was over until mid afternoon the set was quiet.

This was the only time on set Zayn truly enjoyed, watching the controlled chaos from the night before become peaceful. He stepped out of the production trailer once Louis allowed him to leave and had to shield his eyes from the bright sun. All the production people were heading to their cars to crash at their hotels until they were needed again. The strategically placed cameras around the mansion and grounds would capture whatever they missed. Nothing went unnoticed on this show.

Zayn continued to drag to feet down the road and towards where he parked his car a few blocks away. He lit a cigarette on his journey back, trying to stretch out his back before he had to cram himself in the backseat. It was a truly glamorous life. Everyone got a hotel, Louis and Niall being accommodated with a luxury flat for the both of them, while Zayn slept in a car. The network didn't trust him in something fancy so they forwent splurging on something decent for Zayn. It was up to him to find a place for live for the next eight weeks. So, he was staying in his car. It was uncomfortable but also free. The money he would save could go to something useful like booze or cigarettes, maybe even clean clothes.

The endless tossing and turning that night kept Zayn awake a majority of the time. Even though he was exhausted he just couldn't sleep. He swore he heard his phone go off at least five times when it actually remained quiet. Everything was quiet around him actually. Like the day before, he woke up and tried to look for whatever clean clothes he had, smelling them before throwing them on. He used what little cologne he had to cover up whatever smell he or his clothes may give off, using mouthwash again instead of brushing his teeth. Also like the day before he stopped and got himself and Louis cups of tea. It was an endless cycle.

The chaos of the set was more controlled, people falling into place with the new series. Luckily today wasn't going to be as long as the day before. Today's filming was going to consist of mostly the mansion and the contestants getting to know Liam before the first elimination ceremony later that night.

He greeted Louis with a smile and handed him the tea before being whisked away into the production trailer, looking at the footage that he had pieced together the night before. Everything was looking good, making Zayn somewhat optimistic for the weeks ahead. Louis was a genius at what he did, even though it pained Zayn to admit that, especially out loud. It was clear from the raw footage how this series would play out. Louis had set up the characters perfectly, crafting his villains and heroes just from one night of filming.

“I need you to do intro interviews today,” Louis told him casually, toying with the buttons on his computer.

“No,” Zayn quickly shot him down. “We have low ranking producers for that.”

Louis sighed and swiveled in his chair, facing Zayn. “Do you not remember that you're on probation? You may be a high ranking producer here but that doesn't mean you can't be a team player.”

“Lou-”

“Not my call, mate,” he gently reminded him, raising his hands in surrender. “It's the network and their bosses. They want to make sure you're still willing to work hard.”

“How are intro interviews a sign of working hard?” He asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity. He was going to have a good laugh at Louis trying to explain this one.

“Bro, I don't know,” he answered with a shrug. “We've all got orders and those are mine. Making sure this season goes off without a hitch and keeping you in line.”

“Like I'm a bloody child,” Zayn muttered under his breath and stood up from his chair. He reached for another notepad and clipboard. “Who's on my team?”

“You've got Dana on camera and Marcus is your assistant,” Louis rattled off. “Now go and make good television.”

Zayn grumbled at Louis’ cheeky smile as he left the trailer. Introduction interviews. What a waste of time. It was done every series, but always left for the new producers on the show. If this was how the network was going to treat him, Zayn was going to comply. He was going to hate every single second of it but he was going to do it. He passed the craft service table and grabbed a packet of barbecue crisps before making his way to where he saw Dana setting up her camera by the edge of the garden, next to the outdoor hot tub. How romantic. The lights and microphones were already set up, just now waiting for Zayn to take his seat while Marcus ran around like a chicken with a missing head trying to wrangle up whatever contestant Zayn was supposed to interview.

He skimmed his clipboard, a list of everyone he was going to be speaking to that day and in what order. Luckily it wasn't all twenty five guys, and another small miracle was that his interviews were ending with Harry. This was an excellent way to manipulate the situation, getting everyone on Harry's side and falling in love with him just like Liam was going to.

Zayn learned quickly that a majority of the guys were in over their own head with joining the show. None of them admitted to watching the show before hand so they had no idea what they got themselves into. It was all blind optimism on their part. Everyone was excited to get to know Liam and hopefully find true love along the way. Gag. The mundane conversations with the first four contestants reminded Zayn why he started drinking in the first place. Thank god for Chad.

Chad was the contestant Louis chose to win the entire show. Chad was twenty two from Liverpool, just finished his studies at uni, graduating with a degree in early education. He wanted to be a special education teacher. Something to pull at the heartstrings of the country, nice job lad. Chad was the perfect example of someone who peaked too early in life but was still striving to get back to who he once was. He just kept rambling on and on about his gym routine and his protein powder, without Zayn even asking a single question. He just looked into the camera and kept talking.

Dana and Marcus looked over at Zayn and rolled their eyes, he understood completely. No wonder why Louis liked this guy, he was going to be this series villain, everyone was going to love to hate him. If he didn't win Liam's heart he was going to be next series suitor, no doubt about it.

Things started to turn interesting when Zayn finally got a word in edgewise, finally asking Chad about Liam. Chad smiled widely at the camera and began to talk on and on about Liam and his money. Jackpot. Gold digger. It was obvious that he couldn't care less about Liam as a person, just saw dollar signs when he looked at the bloke. He just kept going on and on about Liam and Payne enterprises, his father's company. Probably spoke all about it in one breath, impressive.

When Zayn finally got to speak again he asked Chad if he was excited about the potential to fall in love with Liam. Chad shrugged his shoulders, unsure but complied and said yes. It was clear to Zayn that this guy was clearly here for all the wrong reasons. You're welcome England.

Thank god for Harry. After Zayn wrapped up his interview with Chad he knew Harry was next to speak to. They took a five minute break to ease their now hurting heads before Marcus scurried off to get Harry. It was a small blessing talking to Harry. He greeted everyone with respect and a firm handshake along with his blinding smile. Zayn knew how to work this interview perfectly, despite the fact that he despised doing the actual interviewing. The interview started with the standard questions, asking Harry about his life, how he grew up and whatnot. Zayn wrote furiously as Harry answered, even though he spoke slow and in circles sometimes. Harry had a pretty standard life growing up, his parents divorced when he was young but they still remained friends and respected each other. He had an older sister that he hailed as is best friend and his idol, alongside David Bowie and Mick Jagger.

Nothing was setting Harry apart from all the other lads. Zayn was trying, or at least he seemed like he was trying. Half of him wanted to go back to his car and sleep until he had a paycheck in his bank but he sadly knew that the only way he was going to get paid was if he actually did some work. Whatever. Zayn zoned out when Harry started to talk about the sweet old ladies that worked with him in the bakery back in Cheshire. How wholesome. Yawn. There had to be something, anything that set Harry apart. Something that Zayn could use to his advantage.

“How did you really feel when you found out this year's suitor was the infamous Liam Payne?” Marcus asked.

Zayn cut his eyes over at his assistant, trying to quickly figure out who allowed him to speak. That's right. No one did. Why did he get the idea that he was allowed to add his two cents? Rookies.

“Honestly?” Harry hesitantly asked, looking past the camera and directly at Zayn. He had a skewed smile on his face and his posture got tense right before their eyes. A very different version than the Harry they met only a day ago.

“This is a safe and honest place, Harry,” Zayn assured him, trying not to choke on his words. What a crock of shit. If it got the kid to open up and make good television, Zayn was going to tell him anything he wanted to hear.

Harry gave them a quick, reassuring nod before visibly swallowing, shaking his hair away from his face. He kept fidgeting in his seat, clearly anxious. He let out an audible exhale, nodding once more. “I don't like to judge people based on preconceived notions, especially based on things that get written in The Sun. But you can't hide from the constant noise that is Liam Payne.”

“So you've heard of him before?” Zayn laughed. This was better than what he expected to get out of Harry. Ideas were already brewing in his head, Louis was going to kiss the ground he walked on after this interview.

“You have to live under a rock not to have heard of him,” he guffawed. “I didn't sign up for this show to be someone's babysitter or therapist. I came here for love and a potential husband.”

“How did you really feel after you stepped out of the limo?” Zayn continued to prompt him. In Zayn's short time around Harry he realized once you got him to open up, he never stopped. He'd talk your ear off, which always made for good television.

“He's fit,” he began, laughing at himself as he spoke. “That's a given. I was umm, I was definitely apprehensive at first. Nervous of course. What was I going to say and all that. Even thought about getting back in the car and heading back to the airport, honestly.”

“What changed? Why did you stick around and accept the rose?” Zayn looked around briefly, Dana had zoomed in, making sure the camera read Harry's face perfectly. Marcus was standing off to the side, hanging on to every word that fell out Harry's mouth. This couldn't have gone any better for Zayn.

“He laughed,” he replied, shrugging. “My stupid, corny joke got an honest to God laugh out of Liam Payne. Usually I get an eye roll or a pity chuckle, I'm use to that. But an honest laugh from probably the most hated celebrity in the U.K. is not something you expect everyday.”

“And now?”

“Now I want to get to know him,” Harry continued, a blush creeping up on his cheeks. It was endearing, if you were into that sort of crap. Zayn wasn't, but millions of lonely housewives definitely were into that sort of thing. “I still want to find love, I'm an optimist like that. I'm really looking forward to getting to know Liam and see where it goes. I'll still be guarded, everyone would be in my situation. But I-I'll be ready for what's to come.”

Harry said his goodbyes and shook everyone's hand before scurrying back towards the mansion. Marcus and Dana cleaned up the set while Zayn relished in the moment of silence he finally got, another opportunity to sneak off set to have a cigarette break. Like the night before he walked toward the front gate and leaned up against the brick wall. The day had just begun and he was ready to pack it up and call it a day. Last night lasted forever but today was the first elimination, they were going to say goodbye to five contestants. At least Harry was safe, everyone else was going to have to run around pleading their case before Liam made his final decision. Louis usually threatened the suitors livelihood to get his way, but they listened to him anyway. It was the calm before the inevitable storm.

Zayn tried to rest his eyes and just enjoy his alone time before inevitably going back to the production truck and helping Louis construct more of a cohesive storyline. It's was obvious from today's filming that Chad was going to be the villain and Harry was going to be the guy everyone rooted for. It boasted well for Zayn, he already had the money he was going to get spent. Maybe find a place to live, pay back Adam, and lastly go on a drinking binge to celebrate all the money he had just won. Priorities. He inhaled another drag of his cigarette as his walkie talkie started to make a static like noise. He couldn't hear what was being said but Zayn knew it was Louis more than likely looking for him. Dana probably handed over the footage and Marcus was probably just standing behind Louis looking like the lost puppy he was. Pathetic.

He dragged himself back up the graveled path, his mouth tasting stale from inhaling his cigarette so quickly. Made him feel dizzy, a feeling Zayn more than welcomed. The craft service table was restocked so he grabbed a pack of barbecue crisps, breakfast of champions. Or was it lunch? Who knew and who cares honestly. Today was going to run just as long as the day before so whatever sustenance Zayn could get he was going to take.

He walked up the stairs of the production trailer and saw Louis sitting in front of the row of monitors. Empty paper cups that held his tea were scattered all around him. If Zayn looked closely he could see a rolled joint tucked behind his ear. So it was that kind of morning. Stressful. Louis rarely smoked, usually only during the final rose ceremony when everything around them was coming to a crashing end. Already contemplating smoking on day two? It was going to be a long next couple of weeks for all of them. He continued his walk up to his friend, noticing his notepad was filled with nonsense writings, none of really looked like it made much sense.

“Already thinking about smoking?” Zayn asked, pulling out the metal seat and sitting down next to Louis.

Louis jumped a little at the voice, shaking his head. “Confiscated it from Mia, caught her rolling it outside the makeup trailer. Amateur.”

“Now you're hall monitor,” he laughed, flipping through the pages of Louis's book. Still none of it looked like it made much sense. Just names and dates and times scribbled in his illegible handwriting. Typical Louis.

“Someone has to be,” he joked. “So I see the interviews went well. Chad doing Chad things. Styles being a good Boy Scout.”

“He's gonna win Lou, just you wait,” Zayn teased, eyes scanning the monitors in front of him. Watching the live footage of what was happening in the mansion. Nothing exciting. Some of the lads breaking off into smaller groups, patiently waiting for elimination later that night. “Who's leaving us tonight?”

“No idea,” Louis scoffed with a shrug. “Payne doesn't want to leave his guest house to interact with anyone and no one can get in and talk to him about tonight.”

“Why do we pay Maxine?” He asked. “Some personal assistant she is. Can't keep one measly client in line.”

“She'll be fired by weeks end,” Louis wagered. “Mark my words, Malik.”

Zayn spun in his seat, trying to do anything to occupy his mind. That was one major downfall of production, all the mindless downtime they had. When they were filming or even doing interviews, time seemed to fly by. When there was nothing to do, there literally was nothing to do. You just hoped and prayed something exciting was happening in the house that would hopefully occupy your time for a few minutes.

That's what got Zayn in trouble during the last series. All the downtime and the copious amounts of alcohol around the set. It was a slippery slope that never led anywhere good. Low ranking assistants or producers always had a reason to party, it was the first job for most of them. The rest of them drank just to pass the time. Days blurred into night and before long eight weeks had passed and the production was over. Zayn was always busy last series but he never was one to turn down a free drink. The winters in the U.K. were brutal and alcohol was always a quick way to warm him up.

He spun in his chair once more and played with the fringe by Louis eye, doing anything to distract his friend from his job. Louis took this way too seriously for someone who always scoffed at his job. He was the first one to claim he didn't need this job but was always the most diligent at doing it. It made absolutely no sense. Louis absentmindedly swatted his hand away, not looking away from his work. He was use to Zayn and his nervous hands, always having to fiddle with something to occupy his thoughts. His thoughts that usually got him in trouble, hence the series finale last year.

Zayn was tempted to steal the blunt behind Louis's ear and smoke it to calm himself down. They had plenty of munchies around set to satisfy his eventual hunger as well. Smoking alone wasn't fun though, no one to laugh with when something mundane became hysterical. Pointing and laughing at interns who worked too hard for next to no pay was pretty fun once you were high. None of them were that funny sober and especially when you were alone. Zayn just kept spinning in his chair, glancing at the monitors with every turn.

The tension was escalating due to the elimination that night. People who scampering off, searching for Liam to plead their case. Too bad Liam was nowhere to be found, well, except to the production crew. He was sleeping soundly in his flat down the road. It was still early in the production phase and Liam was turning out to be the most difficult suitor they would ever have. Why be here if you didn't want to participate in the process? Did he not realize how hard it was to make a television show when the star refused to cooperate? Zayn almost felt sorry for Liam’s person assistant, she was sitting around doing nothing as well. Her job was to keep Liam in check, make sure he was on set when he was supposed to, participating on dates, acting like he was actually interested in the whole process. Right now she was sitting on the couch in Liam’s little house, on her phone, looking just as bored as Zayn currently felt. At least somebody could commiserate with him.

After what felt like endless time passing, Liam woke up and emerged from his home. Elimination was in less than two hours and it was about time he started to mingle with the contestants. Niall arrived on set and had his obligatory conversation with Liam in front of the cameras. Asking him how he was feeling and if he was still making any final minute decisions. He just shrugged his shoulders, a clear sign that he couldn't care less about what was going on around him. Figures. Niall escorted Liam into the mansion that held the contestants and it was clear he was way out of his element, immediately going tense and looking around for some sort of help. It was Liam's first time in a room with all twenty five men vying for his time and heart. It was bound to be overwhelming but as Zayn watched the monitors he had to laugh, he signed up for this. What was he really expecting? Liam's misery aside, Zayn's task was to watch for any behind the scenes drama. Louis was watching the monitors as well, barking orders into his walkie talkie to anyone who would listen.

Outside the trailer Zayn could hear people running around, sounding a little panicked and out of breath. Elimination night was a stressful day for everyone, there were a lot of little details that needed to be ironed out quickly and efficiently. The main room in the mansion still needed to be vacuumed, the pictures of all the contestants for Liam to sulk and look at before he made his final decision wasn't complete either. And if Zayn listened closely to the noise outside, the florist that was supposed to deliver all the roses Liam would be handing out was stuck in traffic. So everything was going exactly according to plan.

Liam was slowly starting to mingle with the contestants, oddly making sure Harry was never far from him. Harry, the only one who didn't have to worry about his fate. That was good for Zayn though, made his job that much easier. Chad tried to weasel his way into almost every conversation Liam had the courage to have. He wanted to make sure his presence was known. It was as if he knew he was destined to become the villain this series. Oh well. Louis stood up from where he still sat next to Zayn and sighed, rubbing at his temples with a pinched looked on his face. Yep, it was elimination night. He took the blunt from behind his ear and inhaled its scent, taking a deeper breath than Zayn would've recommended. Louis put the blunt back behind his ear and patted at his pants pockets, searching for something clearly.

“Got your light?” Louis asked looking down at him.

Zayn's eyebrows shot up, curious. “Why?”

“Get the fuck over yourself, Malik,” he spat out. “I need to smoke and you're the only one I know that's a damn chimney around here. So, you got your light or no?”

“Of course,” he answered and stood up as well, pulling his lighter from his back pocket. “Aren't we supposed to be working?”

“The show’s already fucked, can't get much worse in the time we're gone,” Louis explained with a pained laugh. That once sentence made everything painfully obvious for Zayn. Louis was stressed more than he had ever been, it wasn't just first elimination stress. It was career stress.

“The front gate is the best place to umm to smoke,” Zayn pointed out as both men made their way out the production trailer. “That's where I go to smoke anyway.”

Zayn Malik wasn't afraid to admit he was in love with Louis Tomlinson. Okay, maybe he was and maybe it was the weed talking for him. Was he talking? Or was his inner monologue just running rampant as usual. He just shrugged his shoulders and inhaled deeply, feeling the smoke burn down his throat and into his lungs. It was a good feeling, a welcomed feeling. Louis was a trip when he was baked, giggling behind his hand, blue eyes bright but glassy. If they weren't coworkers Zayn could definitely see them as friends outside the chaos of the show. Yeah, it was definitely the weed talking for him. Zayn didn't need friends, didn't need to bring anyone into his already messed up world. He was damaged goods, been told that most his life. Now he was just living up to his potential. The air around them was getting thick and had a stickiness attached to it. As Zayn passed the blunt back over to Louis he realized he was going to need a shower soon. How he was going to make that happen was something he needed to think about. Obviously his car didn't come with one and there were too many cameras in the contestants mansion to sneak one in unnoticed. He couldn't ask Niall or Louis because that'll be an obvious dead giveaway. Zayn just guessed that'll be another thing to add to his growing list of problems. Wasn't weed supposed to calm you down not heighten one's anxiety? Zayn made a mental note to find Mia and scold her on supplying sloppy weed.

By the time they made their way back to the production truck the buzzing on Louis's walkie talkie finally subsided, hopefully meaning whatever was wrong finally got fixed. Zayn spotted a florist truck pulling up behind them as they walked up from the front gate, the corsages had arrived. The cleaning supplies were parked in front of the mansion, the handymen walking directly behind them to put the final touches on the rooms. Everything was so last minute but at least it was finally coming together. It even looked like Liam was actually enjoying himself amongst the contestants, Harry still not far from his side. He was talking and looked genuine to everyone he spoke to. Chad puffed up his chest and tried to looked broader than normal, maybe a little bit too intimidating but Liam seemed to be buying it. Niall was seen in the background just his eyes following Liam around the room, gauging everything that was happening. Soon after Chad weaseled his way into Liam's personal space Harry was quickly forgotten. From where Zayn was sitting he could see Louis shit-eating grin, very proud of his choice this series, obviously. Zayn paid him no mind, just  because Chad was looking good now didn't mean he was receiving a rose tonight. Right on cue Niall pulled Liam aside and into another room for them to discuss all his options and get his thoughts on the gentlemen vying for his heart and affection. He seemed sincere while he spoke to Niall, he was still the worst suitor in the shows entire history but at least he was finally trying.

Like every rose ceremony in the shows history, Louis gathered all the producers who weren't supposed to be on set into the largest production truck they had. Everyone waited with bated breath as Liam entered the main room again and waited for the elimination to begin. Louis quickly barked orders into his walkie talkie, making sure all the camera operators were ready and a low ranking producer was standing by the five limousines that were going to send the sacked contestants away. Everyone in the trailer had a stake in this ceremony, they wanted the guy they chose to stay. The longer the contestant stayed, the more chances they had at collecting money. Zayn wasn't nervous, his boy Harry was safe. Harry stood in the back and smiled widely at Liam, proudly showing off his rose that was still pinned to his jacket. Niall was a professional like always, moving everything along when it was obviously getting stagnant. Elimination was supposed to be dramatic and over the top but it seemed as if no one really got that memo. Luckily Niall knew how to make those moments happen at the drop of a hat. He pulled Liam aside which confused the room, telling him that he didn't have to eliminate just five, if he felt someone else needed to go it was his choice. Everyone back in the production truck knew that never happened, most suitors stuck by the shows rules but it always good to throw a wrench in their plans once in awhile. Make this fresh and interesting, especially for the viewers at home. Liam followed the rules as predicted and eliminated his five guys. The last one to receive a rose was Chad, which spooked Louis for a few tense minutes. Everyone in the production truck just started at him as he looked at the monitor.

“Alright everyone,” Louis called to attention. “I need these exit interviews to be edited and ready for post production by morning. I also need Liam's interview done first thing tomorrow morning. Everyone's dismissed.”

Everyone in the truck gathered their belongings and made their way out the truck with their tasks for the next morning. Zayn knew he wasn't going to be dismissed though, Louis always sticking him with someone mindless to do so he wasn't working alone all night. Zayn just stayed seated watching the monitors as the remaining twenty contestants and Liam cheered each other with an expensive bottle of champagne that really made Zayn feel parched.

“Malik,” Louis voice cut through his thoughts. “You're dismissed too.”

“W-what?” He asked, slowly standing up and very shocked. “What happened to me not getting a second unit replacement for the night shifts?”

Louis shrugged his shoulders. “I don't make the rules bro, I just got to follow the nextworks orders and I got new orders this morning. You're free to go home for the night.”

“Yea,” he nodded in agreement, none of it making sense. All he cared about was the he was free now and now had a new mystery job to start in the morning. Zayn waved to Louis as he gathered his things and made his way out the truck, gearing up for the trek up the hill to where he parked his car.

Another reckless night of sleep left Zayn more cranky than usual. He was running out of clean clothes and cologne, meaning he was going to either need money from Louis soon or somehow sneak into wardrobe and borrow a few things for himself. He used the last of his mouthwash and quickly changed into whatever smelt the cleanest before walking down the hill toward the mansion. All Zayn could think about was his new job that he was supposed to start today. It was an order from the network, which usually meant he was going to hate it. He'd been on his best behavior so far so what punishment was he going to be strapped with now. Zayn checked his phone quickly, luckily he was able to charge it at work so it still was on, and ignored another message from Adam. It was too early in the morning to start with him. Okay, so maybe Zayn had ignored close to thirty messages from his former roommate but he had other priorities at the moment. Work was more important than an useless argument. Zayn walked past the front gate and snuffed out his cigarette on the brick wall before being bombarded with the massive day ahead of him. Today Liam was supposed to take ten of the contestants on their first date, tomorrow the other ten were set to get their turn. No doubt Louis spent all night concocting ideas of where they'd go and who was the lucky ten to go out with Liam first. If Zayn closed his eyes for a minute he could see Louis sitting in his truck writing in his notebook like a madman coming up with perfect ideas and scenarios for the day. It was so bizarre that Louis was so dedicated to a job he hated.

“Just the lad I wanted to see,” Louis greeted him, empty styrofoam teas cups littering his desk. Guess it was another long night of editing and scheming. “Come in Malik, we need to talk.”

Zayn eyes Louis cautiously as he took a seat where he usually sat next to Louis. “Lou, what's up? Why do I feel like I need to be nervous about my job.”

“You still have a job,” he quickly assured him. “Just not as a producer anymore.”

“Lou,” he said his friends name slowly, almost threatening. “What’s my new job?”

“The network feels that you being a producer may be too stressful, especially after last series incident,” he began, speaking calmly, which wasn’t reassuring at all for Zayn. “They want you to be Liam’s personal assistant.”

“No!”

“Zayn-”

“Absolutely not!” Zayn protested again. “I rather be fired than demoted to that shitty position. I can’t-won’t be Liam Payne’s bloody assistant.”

“Bro,” Louis soothly tried to speak to him. Keep the chaos and anger to a minimum. “It’s an easy job and you keep the same pay.”

“Then you do it,” Zayn spat at him. “If it’s so easy, you take the job, leave me as producer.”

“Zayn,” he repeated, his voice still calm. “You know I can’t do that.”

“What happened to Maxine?” Zayn asked, grabbing an empty styrofoam cup and pulling it apart, doing anything to occupy his hands. His blood was boiling and he was in desperate need of a cigarette or a drink. There had to be leftover champagne somewhere on set. “She was doing a fine job yesterday.”

“She let Liam sleep all day yesterday,” Louis scoffed. “He’s supposed to be interacting, pretending he gives a shit about this process and she wasn’t fulfilling her job duties.”

“And I will?” Zayn sneered, grabbing another cup to rip apart. “Lou, come on bro, really?”

“I've got orders to follow too,” he explained. “I wanted my partner in crime by my side all series but I don't make the rules, Malik.”

Zayn let out a sigh, dropping the cup back on the table to harshly scrub at his face. “I've really got to be this blokes assistant?”

“It's only for seven weeks,” Louis tried to lighten the situation.

“Yay,” he replied dryly. Zayn stood up and took the walkie talkie that was being handed to him, turning it on and hearing the static crackle. “Where's the pain in the ass anyway?”

“He just woke up, today is date day,” Louis informed him. “I just need him showered and dressed and in the main room within an hour, can you do that?”

“I think I can get a grown man to follow rules,” Zayn huffed, adjusting the walkie talkie on his belt and making his way out the truck.

Out of all the things Zayn thought Louis was going to say to him, being Liam's assistant wasn't one of them. That was so far from his mind he never he thought of it. Now he was stuck doing the one job he despised the most. He was now a glorified babysitter, wasting his day away making sure a grown man lived up to his end of the bargain. The small upside to it all was now Zayn had access to a shower. Cameras were hardly in Liam's part of the mansion, only the ones in his bedroom and living quarters. Maybe, just maybe, Zayn could sneak in a shower while Liam slept or got dressed. It seemed like a smart idea to Zayn. Right now he had other things to worry about, pretending to give a shit about Liam and making sure he didn't jeopardize the filming of the series once again.

“What do you want?” Liam spat out as soon as Zayn walked into the home. “I'm not hiding any limo drivers in my room.”

“I know,” Zayn told him. “There's cameras in your room, we would've known by now if that was the case.”

“So, what do you want?” He repeated. Liam was just casually lounging on the sofa, today's paper and a fruit platter on the coffee table in front of him. He picked up a strawberry and popped it into his mouth, still staring at Zayn. “Hello. I asked you a question.”

“I'm your-your new assistant,” he finally answered, words getting stuck in his throat, his mouth suddenly dry.

Liam raised his eyebrows in amusement, nodding his head like he was trying to understand this new development. He scratched at his bare stomach and ate another strawberry. “Producing got to be too much for you?”

It took all Zayn had inside of him to not roll his eyes and spit venom at Liam. “You're too much to handle for one little girl it seemed. Needed someone with balls to do the job.”

“Clearly,” he smirked, still raising an eyebrow. “Want some fruit?”

“Excuse me?” Zayn asked, stunned at the sudden change of atmosphere around him. Weren't they just arguing seconds ago?

“Do you want some fruit to eat?” Liam repeated slowly for Zayn to comprehend. “I always get a fruit platter in the morning and can never finish it, Maxine was allergic so I always had to dump the leftovers. You hungry?”

Zayn looked around the room, waiting for someone to pop out of a room or closet and wake him up. What the hell had just happened? Wasn't Liam Payne supposed to be a loathsome rich boy that wasted away daddy's money with no care in the world? “I-I’m good, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged his shoulders and went back to eating and reading his paper, sipping at his coffee cup occasionally.

“Actually,” Zayn spoke up. “I know this is gonna sound odd but umm can I use your shower?”

“Yeah, sure,” he told him, never looking up from his paper. “I've gotta hop in myself soon but you're more than welcome to use it now.”

“Thanks,” he told him and made his way towards the bathroom. A part of him was still stunned over Liam's kindness toward him but he was too excited to finally get a shower to even dwell on it for much longer than a minute.

The moment Zayn stepped into the lush bathroom he let out a massive sigh of relief. He'd been concerned over where he was going to find a shower for close to a week now and in one hour that matter had been solved. A little victory that he wasn't going to deny himself. The shower itself was grand and immaculate. It was made entirely of glass and could probably fit his entire family if he tried. The floor was lined with some type of marble. The entire room looked like it belonged in some travel advert he would see in a magazine at a doctors office. He disrobed and turned the water on to as hot as he knew he could handle. He just needed to scrub and burn every inch of his skin off, start fresh somehow. As he stepped into the large shower he looked around and saw all the expensive shit Liam had littering the room. Body washes, shampoos, and conditioners that cost more than Zayn made in his entire life. Lotions that were made from vanilla beans in the middle of South America, random shit if you asked Zayn. Too fancy for his blood. That didn't mean he wasn't going to use them. He put his head under the powerful shower spray and just let the water wash over him, make him lose some of the tension in his shoulders. He finally felt relaxed for the first time in a long time, well, as relaxed as he could feel at that exact moment. It felt good and this was the first time in a long time he allowed himself to feel that way. He kept his eyes closed as the water kept beating down on him.

“Budge over.”

Zayn's eye shot open at the voice. He turned his head at the sound, wiping away the condensation that built up on the glass. “L-Liam!”

“I need to shower as well, so either budge over or get out,” Liam flatly told him.

“I-I just got in here,” Zayn sputtered out, quickly moving his hands to cover himself up, not that Liam could see anything seeing as Zayn’s front  was facing away from him. “Can't you wait?”

“I've got a busy day, ten lads waiting on me today,” he laughed, toeing off his socks and scratching at his bare stomach. He moved around the room, grabbing a towel out of the cupboard and placing it on the edge of the sink, grabbing a toiletry bag and placing it alongside the towel. “You moving or am I joining you?”

Zayn kept standing there, not really knowing what to say at this point. He was rarely speechless but now this was the second time today his words got lost in his throat. He couldn't give up this perfect opportunity at a well needed shower though. “Fine, get in. But I swear to god if you touch me in any way I'll break your fingers.”

“Deal,” Liam agreed with a smirk. “Turn around so I can get naked, no looking Mr. Producer.”

“It's Zayn,” he told him and turned back around, letting the water beat down on him again, trying to enjoy the final moments alone in the shower.

The door opened letting a rush of cold air enter the hot stall momentarily. Liam stood behind Zayn, making sure there was a respectable distance between them. “What?”

“My name is Zayn,” he introduced himself, moving his head so it was no longer under the rush of water. “Kind of feels appropriate to introduce myself to you now.”

“Sure,” Liam shrugged off his introduction. “You gonna hog all the water or do I have to physically move you?”

“Y-yeah, sorry,” he sheepishly apologized not really knowing how to maneuver around. He still needed to finish his shower but he didn't want hog up all the hot water and cause another meaningless argument with Liam. “I’ll just move and you can do whatever you needed to do.”

“Unless you had other plans in here besides showering,” Liam cheekily replied, smirking. He turned his head so he was looking directly at Zayn as he spoke.

Zayn's mouth hung open at Liam's reply, water falling down his face and easily into his mouth. Once again he was at a loss for words. There was the despicable Liam Payne he was waiting for, the one with the horrible reputation and even worse attitude. “Let's just fucking shower, okay mate.”

“Fine by me,” Liam said.

Zayn had experienced many awkward moments in his life, that was just apart of everyone's life it seemed. Coming out to his parents and older sister when he was fifteen was pretty awkward, especially when they clearly already knew, finding gay porn on his computer months before. The coming out wasn't awkward it was the fact that he kept remembering that his parents knew he watched porn. So every time Zayn wanted to watch porn he was constantly reminded that his parents knew what he was doing. As soon as the video began the awkwardness quickly disappeared. Another awkward moment was his first day at university. He confidently walked into his lecture, taking a seat in the middle row and pulled out his laptop, ready to conquer higher education. That was until halfway through the class he realized he was in the wrong room. He was supposed to be in a communication class but somehow ended up in business management. How he didn't realize he was in the wrong class was beyond him. He didn't want to feel like a complete ass so Zayn continued to sit through the class, even took notes and answered questions when he was called on. Fake it until he made it. That was a motto that stuck with him his entire life. Now sharing a shower with Liam Payne had to be the most awkward moment of his professional career. He had showered with other men before, but that was always intimate, this was the complete opposite. Every time their elbows or toes would accidentally brush up against each other one of them would jump in shock. They did quickly find a rhythm, thankfully, Zayn washed his body while Liam lathered up and they would switch so Zayn could shampoo his hair. The one main rule was eyes remained up and no one looked or touched anything. It was awkward and effective.

“Get dressed in your room and I'll finish in here. Meet me outside in twenty,” Zayn barked out the order. He had gotten out the shower first, walking fast to the cupboard to retrieve a towel for himself that he immediately put around his waist.

“Yes sir,” Liam laughed as he walked out the shower and towards his stuff. The little shit purposely walked around the room without a towel on or anything to cover himself up. Zayn was trying to not be a creep during the shower, keeping his eyes up and away from seeing anything. Now it was kind of hard, in more ways than one. “Liking the free show?”

“W-what? No, gross. Don't be such a dick Payne,” Zayn spat out, hating the he clearly got caught. He felt a blush creeping up his back and cheeks so he turned his head and collected his clothes off the closed toilet seat lid. “Ten minutes, outside.”

Zayn let out a small sigh of relief once Liam exited the room. The last fifteen minutes had been an absolute mess. Showering with someone who was now technically your boss was not a good way to make a first impression, no matter how badly Zayn hated his job. He needed this job because it was attached to a lot of money that'll help him out of his current mess. He had to brush those thoughts aside as he got dressed, fixing his walkie talkie and turning it back on. He immediately heard Louis barking at the producers who were already en route to the location of today's date. He checked his reflection quickly one last time in the mirror before leaving the room and waiting for Liam in the foyer.

Liam emerged from his room moments later looking as ready as he'll ever be for the day ahead of him. As the two of them made their way to the main house Zayn rattled off the details of the day. Liam was to go on his first group date with ten of the contestants, the date was a tour of ancient castles in Wales. Boring, but the location of the date was the least of everyone's problems. The production crew, especially Louis, just hoped Liam would finally start to cooperate with the whole process. It was now Zayn's job to make sure Liam cooperated, just yesterday he was laughing at Maxine's agony. She was literally running around looking for Liam and when she did find him she was dragging her feet behind him. Now Zayn was responsible for this grown man, a grown man that acted like an overgrown child, but a grown man nonetheless.

The tour of the castles were extremely boring. Some of the contestants seemed like they were actually enjoying themselves. Louis being the perfect mastermind had put both Chad and Harry in the same group. Chad was following Liam around like a lost puppy, but also trying to play cool. Harry was amazed by everything the guide said, talking to some of the other men and pointing out things that had been mentioned to them. He was probably the only one who was fully invested in the tour and Liam. The other contestants tried to strike up a conversation with Liam who looked unimpressed by everything around him. As much as he hated to admit it, Zayn felt the same. Everything around them was old and dusty, absolutely boring. Zayn just hoped this whole day could wrap by sooner, they had at least another hour or two and at least three more castles to visit. If he was alone on holiday this whole day would actually be fun but seeing it was for work, it was the most mundane thing he had ever done in his life.

A large part of Zayn wished he was back at production making fun of everything going on, like he and Louis had done every series. During dates was when he finally got some downtime, was able to relax and let other people do their jobs for once. That's what got him in trouble last year, all the downtime was when he'd search the mansion looking for alcohol. Now he was forced to work even when his brain was yelling at him to find something to numb himself. At least with Harry here Zayn was able to play this to his advantage. If he was now forced to be at Liam's beck and call he was going to use it to get himself handsomely rewarded.

“Liam,” Zayn called to him, trying to be discreet as they waited for their car to arrive to take them to the next location.

Liam was chatting with one of the contestants, Richie, who looked like he was hanging on Liam's every word. What a tosser. It was good for the show but not for Zayn's selfishness.

“Liam,” he called to him once more, clenching his jaw as he spoke to him. This was so embarrassing. He was willingly swallowing his pride and purposely talking to the guy, the least he could do was acknowledge him. What an asshole. “Payne!”

“Oh sorry,” he apologized, flashing Richie a quick smile in dismissal before walking towards Zayn. “Am I doing something wrong Mr. Producer?”

“I need you to talk to Harry,” Zayn instructed him, ignoring the not so cute nickname. He kicked a pebble that was by his boot, trying to get over the fact that he had to grovel at Liam's feet. Like his life wasn't a disaster already. “Interact with him. He's being patient waiting for you and you're off talking to everyone else.”

Liam turned his head and caught a quick glimpse of Harry who was standing by the castle's entrance talking to a few of the other contestants. He looked semi normal today, no over the top clothes or boots. His long hair was pushed out of his eyes and tied on top of his head. He was smiling wide and laughing at someone's jokes, dimples on full display. “I thought you weren't producing anymore?”

“I'm just looking out for the entire show,” he replied, trying his hardest to sound convincing. The show was the least of his worries but Liam could at least pretend he cared, especially towards Harry who he did give his first impression rose to just a few nights ago. “Each guy here if vying for your attention, you can't just talk to some and ignore the others.”

“Listen to me Zayn,” he began, stepping forward so he was almost nose to nose with Zayn, “this whole thing is happening on my terms. Got it? Without me you don't have a damn show so I do whatever I damn well please. Yeah?”

“There he is,” Zayn laughed with a shake of his head. He was not ever going to be intimidated by Liam Payne. “The pompous asshole that hides behind the bright smile and giggly laugh. Show that to the cameras, the entire country knows that guy already.”

Liam took a step back, not backing down but knowing when and where to pick his battles. “You know nothing about me, lackey. Be a good assistant and fetch me coffee, got it?”

Zayn had to take a deep breath and internally count to ten to calm himself. It was his first day on the job and punching Liam square in the jaw was more than likely frowned upon. It seemed like a good solution but probably not that effective. He clenched and unclenched his right hand, feeling it shake with the amount of tension he was holding. “Milk or sugar?”

“Black,” Liam smugly answered. “Grab one for Harry as well, okay? Thanks.”

For the rest of the date Zayn was seething, he knew that nice Liam wasn't going to last, that it was mostly for show. He was such a wanker it was even hard to fathom how he got through life without someone knocking him on his arse every single day. Pompous rich boy probably had daddy clean up all his messes. Not this time. Now he was stuck groveling to the country on national television by trying to prove he could he loved by complete strangers. Even seeing Liam be semi decent towards Harry wasn't enough to have Zayn feel better. He was stuck with this jerk for the next seven weeks, one of them was going to end up cracking and Zayn knew it wasn't going to be him. Something was going to have to change before all this was over. For now though Zayn had to plaster on his best fake smile that he learned to put on while working and muster up enough strength to get through the rest of the day. Tomorrow he had to do the same thing, different date but same scenario.

The car ride back to the mansion was tense and quiet, all the contestants crammed into a van while Liam and Zayn shared a car. Liam just scrolled through his phone, trying to occupy his time. Zayn decide to do the same, even when he knew his only messages came from Adam, which he was still ignoring. He did get a semi encouraging message from Louis at the beginning of the day, telling him to not let Liam get to him. He wasn't, he refused. It wasn't going to be easy to ignore someone he was stuck with by he'll learn to deal with it. He just had to keep looking at Liam as a paycheck like he always did with this job. He wasn't here to make friends or play nice, just show up, do his job and get paid. Simple as that.

Leaving the mansion at the end of the day was probably Zayn's highlight of the day. Turning around once he got down the hill and not seeing the massive home anymore made him crack a tiny smile. It felt like a massive weight was lifted off his shoulders. Even though he was doomed to have another night of restless sleep he was more than glad to leave for the day. He had to make sure Liam's alarm was set and we was back in his room before he was allowed to take off for the night. He unclipped his walkie talkie from his jeans and handed it to Louis with a strained looked on his face. It took almost all of Louis strength to not laugh in his face, that was obvious. He just had to grin and bare it, the network was obviously testing him and he refused to lose. Zayn refused to succumb to the added pressure he was getting. They wanted to see if he was going to crack, well, he wasn't. He'd been through enough in his life to not let one person or one show take him down. They had to work harder than they were if they expected Zayn Malik to buckle under the pressure.

Surprisingly sleep came easy that night, all the events of the day finally taking its toll on his body. He slept straight through until his alarm was blaring at five in the morning. Date days always started early, too early in Zayn's honest opinion. He dragged himself out of the car and changed into whatever he could toss together. Zayn tossed all his dirty clothes into his knapsack and dragged it with him to the mansion. Liam was set to wake up until seven, giving Zayn more than enough time to maybe do some laundry while the prince slept.

He stopped at the local coffee cart and got himself and Louis their daily tea. Without words being exchanged he handed Louis his tea and took his walkie talkie. It was way too early for anyone to be functioning. Zayn did catch a quick glimpse of what Louis was working on, he was piecing together the video from yesterday's activities. Liam trying to look cozy and comfortable around Harry and even Chad. Louis was a master at his job if he could briefly convince Zayn that Liam was maybe interested in the lads.

When Zayn entered Liam's apartment he noticed that nothing was out of place, meaning Liam stayed put after he left. Small miracle. Zayn dropped his knapsack by the laundry room door before heading to the kitchen. The production staff made sure everything was fully stocked at all time, anything Liam may need, they had ready for him. If Zayn was forced to play babysitter for the next few weeks he was going to enjoy its advantages. He had an hour and half to kill before Liam was supposed to wake up so he was going to relish in the silence while he could. He fixed himself a bowl of Weetabix, a meal he had almost everyday as a kid. If he tried he could still hear his mum sighing in defeat as he grabbed the box out of the cupboard instead of eating the extravagant meal she prepared each morning. Zayn even felt generous enough to wash his own dishes after eating, really not wanting to leave any evidence that he was there eating.

He exited the kitchen and grabbed his bag, walking into the laundry room. It look stocked pretty well, all the name brand detergents lined the walls. He tossed opened the machine and dumped everything from his bag in it, including the bag which was starting to smell like stale weed and crisps. Feeling bold, Zayn disrobed, leaving him standing in the room in just his Batman pants. Why not clean all his clothes while he was there? He tossed some detergent in the machine and turned it on. Now that he was almost completely naked he decided to remain in the laundry room, there was less chance of a camera catching him there. He just now needed to find something to do to kill the time.

Zayn opened the laundry room door as silently as possible before tip toeing into the main room, searching for the newspaper Liam had delivered to him each morning. If he was going to hole himself up in the room he might as well catch up on the daily news. He spotted the paper grabbing it off the coffee table and made his way back to the laundry room, closing the door behind him. The paper was boring, nothing exciting reported about. Wales was a dull country from the sounds of it. Looked absolutely gorgeous on a travel brochure but that was its only appeal obviously. There was a small a small article about the filming of their show and how multi millionaire playboy Liam Payne had taken some of his lucky contestants on a tour of some of the finest castles the Welsh countryside had to offer. Gag. Zayn had a feeling that either Liam or his father had a hand in paying off the journalist to make him sound like a decent human being, which was the furthest from the truth. He did the Sudoku puzzle that was in the paper with a pen he had found in his jeans pocket when he was taking them off to wash them. That at least took up a good five minutes of his time. Other than that he was absolutely bored. Watching clothes wash was very dull and not in the least bit exciting.

“Well, well, well. What is this?”

Zayn dropped the pen from his hand, he was starting to doodle along the edges of the paper in boredom. “Shit. Liam!”

“Two days in a row,” he replied cheekily, a smirk on his face. He was standing by the door, leaning against the frame. His hair was askew, a clear indication that he just woken up. He was dressed similarly to Zayn, in just his pants, probably designer. “I'm a lucky man.”

“You're a gross man,” Zayn spat at him. “What are you doing awake anyway? Your alarm isn't set from another hour.”

“I smelt the soap,” he shrugged. “And heard footsteps in the hall. Assumed it was a clean thief or the laundry police. Boy am I glad to know it was you.”

“Leave,” Zayn told him, not turning from where he was standing, leaning up against the machine, the newspaper on top where it shook periodically from the wash.

Liam took a few steps forward so he was officially in the room. “Mr. Producer why are you cleaning your clothes in my laundry room? Your posh digs provided to you don't have one or something?”

“We all don't have daddy's money get us everything we want,” Zayn told him, mentally scolding himself for even giving into Liam's clear taunts. “Can you just leave so I can finish?”

“Aww Zaynie,” he continued to taunt him, walking closer so he was directly standing behind Zayn. “You don't want me to stay? I'm sad. I thought we were a team now.”

“We were never a team,” Zayn scoffed at him, turning his head so his eyes followed Liam's every move. “You're a pathetic excuse for a person and I'm here to make sure you don't continue to fuck up. Simple as that.”

Liam pouted which actually looked cute on him if Zayn was to actually care. His hair was still messy, bed head at its finest. His pants riding low from Liam trying to fix them so much after the kept falling from him walking around the room. Liam snaked his arms around Zayn's waist feeling the goosebumps on his skin as soon as they made contact. “Such a dutiful worker Mr. Producer.”

“Don't touch me,” he shrieked, pushing Liam's arms off of him and shoving him even further back. “I can sue you for sexual harassment buddy.”

“Fine,” Liam gave in, arms raised in a sign of surrender. “You win this round.”

“Wha-what's that supposed to mean?” Zayn asked, dumbfounded by Liam's boldness. He turned fully around so his back was now leaning up against the washing machine, arms crossed over his chest, trying to cover up at least a little bit.

“You'll eventually see,” he promised with a wink. He took a swift step towards Zayn, running his finger along the elastic band of his pants, more goosebumps rising immediately. “Enjoy your laundry. Nice pants by the way.”

“Bloody prick!” Zayn shouted as Liam left the room, closing the door behind him.

Zayn kept cursing Liam's name as he took his clothes out of the washing machine and placed them in the dryer. No one has ever gotten under his skin like this, no one in his entire life and Zayn had three sisters he use to live with. Even on their worst days Adam never made Zayn feel like he wanted to punch him directly in the face over and over until he was unrecognizable. The only upside was that it looked like Liam knew his limits, knew when he pushed Zayn's buttons because he quickly backed off right after. If Liam was like this with him he could only imagine how he acted in his everyday life, when he wasn't around the ass kissers he called friends. The press had dubbed them the Wolverhampton Washups. It was Liam surrounding himself with lads from his hometown who desperately tried to make it big in life before deciding to sponge off of Liam and his fame and money. Stand up guys, really. That's why Zayn didn't have any friends, everyone nowadays had ulterior motives when they met him. They didn't see him as a person, especially after he mentioned what he did for a living. They all assumed his job title came with a fat paycheck and all the luxuries working in television allegedly came with. Perks and luxuries? That was all an illusion. Louis was the only one who got paid handsomely, besides Niall and everyone at the network. Everyone else got paid enough to survive, which was still a crock of shit. Zayn was currently living in his car and washing his clothes in the suitors home, he clearly didn't get paid enough to survive.

The second the dryer buzzed indicating it was done Zayn quickly grabbed his clothes and put them back in his knapsack. He grabbed at random shirt, jeans, and socks and threw them on. He stuffed his feet into his boots, lacing them up before taking a deep breath. Seeing that Liam was now awake he had to officially start work. He clipped his walkie talkie on his jeans and turned it on, hearing the static crackling almost automatically. It was time to start his day. He had about a half hour until Liam had to emerge from his home and get in the car and head to his next date. Joy. A whole half hour where he had to spend time with Liam. He grabbed the newspaper off the top of the washer machine, throwing his knapsack over his shoulder and exiting the laundry room. He headed towards the living area to drop off his bag and the paper on the coffee table, Liam nowhere in sight. The shower wasn't on so that clearly meant he was somewhere else in the home being a pain in the ass. Zayn's stomach growled, packets of barbecue crisps clearly weren't nutritional enough to survive. He decided to give in and make his way into the kitchen. Zayn knew the refrigerator was going to be stacked with a lot of food and he might as well indulge in it. Part of Zayn's job was to write a shopping list every week for someone to go and shop for whatever Liam needed. He walked into the kitchen and immediately regretted it. In front of the stove, still in just in his pants, stood Liam cooking. Cooking what Zayn didn't know but his stomach growled again so it must've seemed good. He hung his head as he made his way to the fridge to grab some orange juice. He shrugged and just opened the cardboard container and drank directly from it. Oh well.  

“We have glasses for that you know,” Liam told him, the snark tone in his voice evident.

Zayn rolled his eyes as he closed the container and then the fridge, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thanks captain obvious.”

“You hungry?” Liam asked, pointing to the pan in front of him with the spatula that was in his hand. “I made extra just in case your were hungry.”

“What is it?” He asked, taking tentative steps forward to look at what Liam was cooking or attempting to cook.

“A frittata,” he replied, smile on his face like he was proud of himself for accomplishing such a simple tasks as cooking eggs with a few other ingredients. Spoiled rich kid.

“Your nanny teach you how to make that?” Zayn mocked, realizing the only way to get through to Liam was fighting fire with fire. “Or was it your housekeeper? Maybe even your chauffeur perhaps.”

“Forget it,” Liam sighed, ignoring Zayn's taunt and paying attention to the task at hand. “I'll just eat it myself, I've got other shit around here if you want.”

“Liam.”

Liam turned off the stove, placing the eggs on a paper plate next to him. He walked quietly to the dining table where a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee sat. “You brought the paper back in with you?”

“It's uh it's on the coffee table,” Zayn stuttered out, confused over Liam's lack of reaction. What was this kids problem? Why wasn't he fighting back?

“Okay,” he nodded, making his way into the living room to retrieve the paper and walking back into the kitchen to eat and read in silence apparently.

Zayn kept standing in the kitchen, dumbfounded. Clearly Liam could make any joke or taunt he wanted but couldn't take one. What a child. Zayn just shook his head in true disbelief, bizarre. He let Liam eat and read his paper in peace before he heard the shower being turned on minutes later. His day was now officially beginning. They had another long day ahead of him, another group date. This time the weather was cooperating with them, the clouds from the night before finally cleared and the sun was shining. The production crew knew that choosing to film in Wales in the early months of the year wasn't the perfect weather but it looked beautiful on camera. Or some shit like that, Zayn really didn't care. Another long day of waiting on Liam hand and foot and coaxing him to actually interact with the contestants. One day Zayn was going to be shocked and surprised when Liam actually started to participate without being told to, hopefully. Once Liam was finally ready to start his day Zayn let the production crew know. Minutes later they were in the car and driving off to their location for the day. The day before was a tour of castles and today was museums. Unlikely date location dates if you asked Zayn, but no one did. No one ever did. He just had to suck it up and follow order. Today's contestants were the boring half, the ten guys who's names Zayn didn't care to learn or even remember if he did learn them. Liam was more cooperative today, actually starting conversations with people, smiling politely when spoken to. A huge difference from the day before.

The day went on long like expected. Zayn did his job dutifully though, fetching Liam water or coffee when he asked. Although he did wear a scowl every time he did something Liam asked him. The production crew that followed them from museum to museum kept the pace fast and made sure they didn't linger too long in one exhibit or museum for too long. Zayn actually learned a thing or two that day, listening when the curator spoke about specific paintings or specific artifacts. Liam was obviously preoccupied by the men he was on a date with, Zayn even shockingly heard a genuine laugh from Liam as he spoke to a few of the contestants. Hell may actually be freezing over. Probably not, this was Liam Payne he was talking about. The sun was already setting by the time they arrived back at the mansion. Zayn made sure Liam was back in his room for the night before he was allowed to leave for the day. Like the night before he handed over his walkie talkie to Louis without a word and made his inevitable trek back to his car up the hill.

Another restless night of sleep awaited him. Tomorrow was a lazy day at work, thankfully. They were shooting at the mansion all day, a barbecue was planned for all twenty contestants and Liam. To Zayn that meant he wasn't going to be needed much, maybe he'd be able to hang out in the production truck with Louis and the rest of the crew. Maybe sneakily grab another shower while filming was going on, it didn't seem like Liam cared all that much anyway. Now all he was focused on was trying to get enough sleep in his cramped backseat.

His alarm went off at an ungodly hour the next morning and begrudgingly Zayn forced himself to wake up. He scrubbed at his face harshly, hoping that'd help some. It didn't, all it did was remind him that his beard was growing back and he was in a desperate need of a shave. He always took the utmost pride in his appearance, knowing he was in a business that relayed on your looks more than talents. Not having a proper place to stay kind of put a damper on things. Clean clothes didn't matter if the person wearing them looked like a disaster. He hadn't brushed his teeth in a week, just heavily relying on mouthwash and gum, if his mum saw him now she'd give him and stern look and a shake of her head. That's all it took to know that he was in trouble. The only boy in the family, he never got away with anything, if anything it just added to everything. His eldest sister got away with a lot more, being the oldest had its advantages.

With a mournful sigh Zayn finally got out his car after changing his clothes and throwing a piece of gum into this mouth. Another trek down the hill to start another day at his job. It was still early enough in the day, Liam was most likely still sleeping. Zayn stopped at his usual coffee cart to get his and Louis tea, it had become some sort of routine for them. Zayn would hand over the tea and Louis would hand over his walkie talkie. No words exchanged, just head nods and grunts of acceptance. True friendship at its finest. Like expected, Zayn was handed his walkie talkie and his daily duties from Louis, no words exchanged. His planned day of semi relaxation was cut short, he was still expected to be by Liam's side during the barbecue. He had to fetch whatever Liam wanted, from food to drink to anything else he saw fit. There went his opportunity to catch up with the production crew.

It was still early enough in the day that Zayn realized he could probably sneak in a shower like he did days before. The sun was starting to rise up above the contestants mansion and Liam's bungalow. The barbecue wasn't expected to begin until noon, giving Zayn enough time to freshen up. He unlocked the bungalow and let himself in, dropping his knapsack in the foyer. He could faintly hear Liam's snoring from inside his master bedroom. That was his cue to take the quickest shower in history, maybe if he was lucky he could nick a razor from Liam's stash and shave, look semi human again. As quietly as possible Zayn tiptoed to the bathroom and disrobed. He turned on the shower and stood under the hot spray, letting the water beat down on his neck and shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension he'd been holding in for the last few weeks. What he really wanted besides a hot shower was a cold drink. It had been too long since he was able to drink. Whatever money he did have was spent on food, tea, and toiletries to survive. If Zayn was lucky there would be alcohol at today's barbecue that he could partake in. There was always alcohol available during filming for the contestants but trying to take some without being caught was the hardest part of the job.

The shower actually did wonders and when he emerged from the bathroom minutes later Zayn felt semi human again. He was even able to shave, well, trim his facial hair at least. A small but much needed improvement. The daily paper was sitting on the coffee table when Zayn went to investigate the rest of the bungalow. Like always the kitchen was stocked with food so it was a perfect opportunity for Zayn to eat. He knew he could subtly steal food from the barbecue today but what's better than eating food purposely bought for Liam Payne? He heard noise outside the bungalow and yelling voices, more than likely Louis. The equipment truck had arrived if he heard his walkie talkie correctly, it was time to set up the barbecue. It was an ingenious idea actually, luckily it fell on one to the more decent days weather wise. A pool party slash barbecue, quintessential Everlasting tactics. Get all the contestants and suitor drunk on cheap spirits and champagne and make sure they wore as little clothing as possible. It had worked every year Zayn had worked on the show. Maybe, finally they'd get their first kiss of the series. There was a bet on that as well, not much money but enough for Zayn to maybe afford more mouthwash and splurge on socks. Harry hadn't let him down thus far so he was counting on him for today. That was unless Chad kept up his creeper act and somehow convinced Liam that he was a decent person. Louis would win then.

“Morning,” Liam grumbled when he emerged from his room around half past ten.

“Coffee’s on,” Zayn told him and pointed at the fresh pot. “Paper is on the table. You need to be ready in an hour. Swim trunks and sunscreen are the only things you need.”

“That's it?” He asked as he maneuvered his way around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and drawers to make himself a cup of coffee.

“And your dazzling personality,” Zayn replied coldly. “I mean if you actually have one under all that bull and money you keep flashing.”

Liam scoffed and shook his head. “Mr. Producer if you even knew the half of it you'd be frightened.”

“Not likely,” he snorted and stood up, placing his plate in the sink, purposely walking up to Liam. “My skeletons would frighten your skeletons, Payne. Trust me.”

After the interlude in the kitchen both Liam and Zayn parted ways. Liam drank his coffee in the living room while he read his paper. Zayn tried to keep himself occupied with straightening up the home. He didn't know why he was, they had a weekly maid service who did that and got paid well to do that, too. It was something to declutter his thoughts, it was a thing he did when he got overwhelmed or stressed. Well, it was thing he use to do before he found out the benefits of alcohol. Seeing that the bungalow was dry he had to find someway else to busy himself. Zayn didn't know why he let Liam Payne get to him. Every single time Liam said something it make his blood boil and skin crawl. He was vile and rude and had no respect for anyone else. He acted as if he was the only person in the entire world who had struggled. And what struggle could this poor rich boy have to deal with? His inheritance wasn't as much money as he had wanted? Poor baby. Try sleeping in a car for a night or two then he'd know about real struggles. Pathetic.

When the barbecue finally started around noon things started to look up. Zayn still had to work but luckily he wasn't at Liam's beck and call as much as he thought he was going to be. One of the contestants, Johnny, was manning the grill and Leo was behind the bar mixing drinks. Liam even looked like he was enjoying himself from time to time. Shocking. All twenty men were scrambling to get his attention before the next elimination where three more of them were heading home. Louis even made an appearance to steal a beer and a hotdog, chatted with Zayn for a minute about work related things before disappearing back into the production truck. Zayn stole a beer or two to take the edge off, to calm the buzzing in his brain. After the first sip he could've cried, the whole pretending to be sober shit was rather boring if you asked him. He knew he had to be careful and make sure no one caught him, especially Louis and other high ranking producers. After eating and drinking for an hour everyone inevitably made their way into the pool or hot tub. That's when Zayn could sincerely relax. Liam was preoccupied with everyone vying for his attention and being absolute creepers, gawking over his shirtless physique. Chad running his hand up and down Liam's chest, grabbing roughly onto his exposed hips, trying to act cute by whispering garbage into his ear like they could actually have a real private moment together. Zayn could just picture Louis’s delight at what was unfolding in front of him.

“Malik.”

Zayn adjusted the walkie talkie at his hip after hearing Louis call his name. He got up from where he was sitting and walked to a semi secluded part of the garden. “What's up Lou?”

“There's someone at the gate saying they know you,” he replied, his voice coming in along with static.

“Cryptic much,” he laughed into the device. “Is this guy on the most wanted list or summat?”

“No,” Louis deadpanned. “I'm sending him in. I swear to god Malik if this is one of your degenerate friends I'm kicking your arse.”

“You're one of my degenerate friends Lou,” he countered, shutting off the walkie talkie before Louis had a chance to reply with something he would swear was witty.

Zayn walked away from the barbecue, casting one quick look at the pool to check in with what was going on. They all were still in the pool or hot tub, at least pretending to have the time of theirs lives. Harry was getting more active, swimming where Liam was perched on the edge of the pool. Chad was still being creepy, something that clearly would never change. Louis picked a true gem to win this entire thing. Zayn continued his walk around the mansion onto the graveled path that led from the driveway. He could faintly see the gates opening and a car driving in. Who in the hell drove all the way to the middle of nowhere Wales to see him? He hadn't spoken to his family in probably months and Ant and Danny knew he was working.

“Shit,” he cursed once he properly got to see the car. “Fuck.”

The car came to a stop mere inches in front of Zayn. The engine was cut off before the driver's door was swung open as aggressively as a car door could open. Like Zayn suspected, the person who got out was the one person he didn't want to see. Not now, not ever again.

“Adam.”

“You're a hard person to track down Zed,” he joked, walking towards where Zayn stood.

“Maybe I didn't want to be found,” he tried to play coy. He knew the one person to really see through his bullshit was Adam. He hadn't changed a lot since they'd last seen each other. He was still towering over him as he stood a little over six feet tall. His tanned skin glistened in the hot sun of the north. His hair had gotten a little more curly since they'd last seen each other but it fit him, it always did. “But clearly that didn't work too well.”

“The power of the internet,” he joked, his right hand ghosting against Zayn's. “You've been ignoring me.”

“I've been busy,” he replied, his hands getting clammy at Adam’s touch. It was something he missed, his chest aching with something he couldn't quite put a name on, but it also felt foreign and unnerving. “Gotta make money.”

“Speaking of money,” Adam smirked, his signature smirk that made Zayn's insides feel like they were on fire and melting out of him. “You owe me quite a lot of it.”

Zayn looked down at his scuffed boots as he kicked the gravel at his feet. He was trying desperately to do anything to stall time or have a giant hole swallow him whole. Either option seemed rather ideal at this exact moment. “Adam, babe, you see the thing is-”

“-the money Zayn!” He yelled.

“I don't have it!” He yelled back, shocked over the power of his own voice. He wasn't surprised when Adam dropped his hand hastily and harshly, like his words had physically burned him. “I-I'm sorry but I don't have it, not yet anyway. I-I can get it to you after filming.”

“You'll have it then?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes at the offense. “There's always an excuse with you Malik.”

“I'm looking at a huge bonus once filming ends,” Zayn explained in a rush. “If things go my way of course, but they will, so-so don't worry.”

“You owe me three months worth of rent,” Adam sighed. “Plus utilities.”

“I-I know,” he nodded. “You just gotta wait a little longer for it, yeah? You'll get it.”

“Malik everything okay?” Louis voice crackled through the walkie talkie.

Zayn let out a loud breath at Louis’s voice interrupting his conversation, even though it was more than welcomed. Being around Adam always made Zayn tense, when they were good, they were amazing, spectacular even. It was when they were off that it slightly frightened Zayn, and not many things did. He unclipped the walkie talkie from his belt and sighed. “Yeah, we're good babe. He's umm leaving soon so I'll head back to work.”

“We're not done,” Adam told him firmly. “I didn't drive all the way here just to leave empty handed. I need something babe, a down payment of some sort.”

“I don't have anything, Adam,” he repeated. He felt a little ridiculous being so openly vulnerable around the one person who had seen him at his most vulnerable moments of his life. Adam held his hair back when he drank too much after his grandmother died and he wasn't invited to the funeral. He was also the one who supplied him with the booze so it was a fair trade. “I told you I'll have all the money plus extra once filming is finished. Six weeks, that's all I ask.”

Adam flared his nostrils, never a good sign for Zayn. He took a deep breath and just stayed silent. Zayn could see his brain working overtime and almost pinpoint the exact moment when things took a turn for the worse. “Maybe you can repay me in another way, hmm? At least until the cash rolls in.”

Disgusted. That's the only word Zayn could think of to describe how he felt at this exact moment. He was use to Adam’s games by now, having lived with him for close to eight months now. Adam didn't know the Zayn that was forced into a rehab center by his job for over drinking and almost ruining a multi million dollar television show. He knew the Zayn that was desperate for a place to live and some sort of company, no matter what form in came in. When Zayn was at a loss for money he'd gladly exchange sexual favors for some sort of reprieve with Adam. Today wasn't one of those days. “I'm working. I-I can't just disappear to suck your dick somewhere. Besides there's cameras everywhere.”

“Even better,” he smirked, his eyebrows raised in curiosity and a playful manner. He tugged at Zayn's wrist and looked around them. “Which room is yours? Sneak away quickly. No one will notice and we both can leave here happy until my money is delivered.”

“I don't have anywhere to stay,” Zayn huffed, still disgusted. He couldn't believe he was actually attracted to this guy, at least he once was. Desperation does a lot of crazy things to a person.

“Isn't that knob Liam Payne the boy toy this series? I figure he's got fancy digs around here, maybe suck me off on his bed,” Adam suggested, rather rudely if Zayn was being frank.

There was a lot of things in this world that got to Zayn, usually he just let it roll off his back. What was the use in getting upset over something he more than likely had no control over? Being with Adam was a choice he made, a bad one, but a choice he made nonetheless. He knew rather quickly what he was getting himself into when he moved in with him. He was brash and loud, messy, and abrupt. Qualities that Zayn himself possessed but couldn't stand in other people. He couldn't hold a job for longer than six weeks, his bosses and colleagues getting irritated with him quickly. That should've been a red flag for Zayn right away but he chose to ignore it. Give Adam the benefit of the doubt. Not the smartest idea he's ever had, clearly. He was still raw from rehab, he had just spent thirty days picking at a scab that he called his mind. He was vulnerable and a cute smile and a six pack of abs was exactly what he needed to make him feel something, anything, again.

“Let's go babe,” Adam tried to coax him once again. “We both know you don't need this job anyway.”

Zayn sighed, looking down at the strong grip Adam had on his wrist. Usually that sort of hold didn't make him flinch, a welcomed pressure even. Today it just didn't sit well with him, made his stomach turn. What he use to think were butterflies was actually disgust. “Just leave Adam. You'll get your money and everything will be fine, yeah?”

The grip on his wrist got tighter, uncomfortable. “Really? You're gonna say no to me?”

“I'm saying no,” he told him strongly, planting his feet firmly on the gravel path. Adam was stronger than him, could easily push and pull him around if he wanted to. This was Zayn's only way to literally and figuratively stand his ground. “I'm saying no now and I'm saying no forever, Adam.”

“You're gonna regret those words,” he threatened, squaring his shoulders. Doing anything to make himself look bigger, which wasn't that hard honesty. “Trust me.”

Zayn tried his best to stay firm, not many things frightened him. He learned to take care of himself at an early age. The only Muslim kid at school toughened him up quickly. The bullies were going to stop picking on you once you knew how to fight back. Nothing changed once he grew up; that's all Adam was really. He was a bully in an adult's body, but still had a childlike mentality. Simple. Words were easily brushed off, sticks and stones and all that hoopla. Adam grabbing roughly at his wrist, his knuckles turning white at the pressure he had around Zayn was not going to fly over well. Zayn knew he could take the easy way out and call security, they'd gladly escort Adam off the premises. He knew it wouldn't be that easy, he was going to have to fight him off himself. Breathing deeply was all he could muster up quickly, trying to keep himself calm and rational, which was kind of funny if Zayn had time to stop and think about it.

“Let go,” he seethed between gritted teeth. “You really don’t want to start something, especially here.”

Adam scoffed as his grip grew tighter. “Aww c’mon babe, you really think I’m afraid of the lot that work here.”

“Not them, me,” he replied as boldly as he could convey. “You keep forgetting you don’t know a thing about me Adam.”

“I know everything about you,” he spat in Zayn’s face. “Little boy lost, begging for someone to show faux emotion and he’ll be yours faithfully. Like a puppy really. Cute, sad, and pathetic.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn hotly replied.

“Is there a problem here?”

Zayn snapped his head around fast at the voice, Liam. Shit. He quickly turned back around to face Adam, silently hoping he’d drop his wrist and the whole ordeal all together. From the wicked gleam in Adam’s eye he knew the issue was far from being dropped.

“Zayn, you okay?” Liam gingerly walked towards the pair, still in his swim trunks, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He was supposed to be mingling with the contestants not prying into Zayn’s disaster of a situation right now. Perfect. Why couldn’t willing someone to go away actually work? Liam was more than fine with ignoring him any other time during the day, why now? Why must he play knight in shining armor now? “I could really use a tea you know.”

“I could really use you leaving us alone you know,” he countered. Wanker literally walked out of the hot tub to find him to ask for a bloody cup of tea. What an asshole. “You’ll get your tea when I’m finished, okay?”

“What you a gopher or summat?” Adam laughed, the grip on Zayn’s wrist loosening. “You getting anything here mister pretty boy asks for? Hmm?”

“Adam,” he gritted his teeth once more. He saw Liam walking closer out of the corner of his eye.

“Shut up.”

“Asks for a wank, you gotta do it?” Adam asked, a large wicked grin of his face. The smug bastard. “Hey pretty boy, Zayn’s great with his hands by the way, his mouth too.”

“That’s enough,” Liam exclaimed. “I think it’s best you go, yeah?”

“You’re trying to threaten me?” Adam sneered at Liam, he rolled his eyes at the lame attempt. “Go back to where you belong, yeah? Leave Zed and I alone to deal with our adults things.”

“Harassing him and stopping him for doing his job is adult things?” Liam asked, nodding his head like he was actually intrigued as to what Adam was saying. “That’s news to me.”

“Liam,” Zayn sighed. How cliché did everything around him look right now? He was almost sandwiched between Liam and Adam, both nearly towering over him in height and stature. Now they were close to coming to blows over something as mindless as Liam not knowing to mind his own damn business.

“No,” Adam stopped Zayn. “I wanna see how big and bad Payne thinks he really is.”

“Adam,” Zayn groaned in frustration, he turned his head about to properly look at Liam. “I’ll get your tea in a tick, okay? We’re almost finished here.”

“Unbelievable,” Liam muttered unsuccessfully under his breath. He slowly backed away from the duo, shaking his head the entire time. “Hey Mr. Producer! Forget the tea, just keep the other lads busy while Chad and I have a private one on one, okay?”

“What!” Zayn gawked. “Li-Liam, I’m not their bloody babysitters.”

“Oh well,” he shrugged, turning around and heading towards the back of the contestants mansion and the barbeque.

The standoff between Zayn and Adam only lasted a few more minutes after that. Zayn had decided to just give in, too exhausted to keep fighting. No matter how long he'd try to put up a good fight, emotionally, mentally, or even physically, Adam always had the upper hand. He was taller and stronger and had a lot more to lose if it did come to blows. They luckily came to an agreement when Zayn gave him one of the rings on his fingers. He rarely wore jewelry nowadays, selling a lot of it to get by. This particular piece he kept near and dear to him, it belonged to his granddad, his father's father. He had died when Zayn was eighteen and off at uni, it was a devastating blow to the entire family. It was the only thing the man had left Zayn in his will. He wasn't a man of money or expensive possessions but the ring meant everything to him.

A curious young Zayn would always sit and just listen as his granddad spoke of stories of growing up in Pakistan and migrating to England as a young boy. The changes he had seen within himself and within the world. He was a hard working man, his face showed it, his body showed it. The ring though, it was something he always wore and it just peeked Zayn's interest. It wasn't fancy, just a plain gold band, ruby, sapphire, and tanzanite stones mounted on it. One to represent the birth month of his children. That's what made it a sentimental piece of jewelry. Now it belonged to Adam. The wind felt like it was being punched out of Zayn's lungs when he handed it over. The cold band lying in Adam’s hot palm. They both knew that the money he could get from selling the ring would tie him for now. It would hold him over until Zayn got paid and hopefully received his handsome reward once the series was over. Louis was babbling incoherently on the walkie talkie once again, that was quickly turned off. Zayn had enough over everything right now, he just wanted to disappear. Wanted to go back to his car and sleep the rest of the day away.

“In six weeks I'll have the rest of what I owe you,” Zayn assured him.

“You better,” Adam vaguely threatened him. He leaned forward and placed a dry kiss to the corner of Zayn's mouth. “It was good to see you, Zed. Truly.”

The internal struggle to not roll his eyes or openly gag was hard for Zayn, but he did it. “Yeah, great.”

Watching Adam walk back to his car and finally take off was the first time in a long time that Zayn let himself feel okay. He knew things weren’t fully okay, nothing ever has, but just for a brief moment it felt okay. He had one issue off his back for at least the next six weeks, now he had to deal with all the other crap going on around it. He pulled his hair tighter, giving himself something to stabilize himself, before walking back towards the contestant’s mansion. Before he even got to the back he could smell the chlorine of the pool and feel the heat off the hot tub. The volume was still loud, the music even louder. At least they seemed they like were enjoying themselves. Lucky bastards.

Zayn scanned the bodies around the back and noticed Harry right way, his pale skin soaking wet, his long hair a mess on top of his head. This kid was hopeless. He saw a few of the other contestants, their names he refused to learn, hanging around either talking to each other or just lounging and trying desperately to get whatever sun Wales had to offer. No Liam in sight though, Chad either. Like Zayn didn’t already have enough shit to deal with. That was more than likely what Louis was babbling on the walkie talkie. So Zayn totally had a valid reason to turn it off right away. He knew Liam had to be joking when he said he’d take Chad back to his place for some one on one time, he wasn’t that stupid. Clearly he was wrong, clearly he was wrong in giving Liam Payne the benefit of the doubt. That’ll teach him to never do that again.

The camera people and low ranking producers just kept looking at Zayn, silently hoping he knew what to do. This was all new to him, when he was a producer himself all this was gold, something you wanted to happen so early on in the series. Ratings gold, the entire country would eat it up, it’ll be over all the front pages of the papers. Now as Liam Payne’s personal gopher and having all this money and energy invested in Harry winning, Zayn knew he had to do something. He checked on the remaining contestants once more before begrudgingly making his way towards Liam’s bungalow. He had to suck it up, put on his big boy pants and be a professional adult. It killed him to think about that, this series was supposed to be easy. He was supposed to sit back and watch the drama unfold alongside Louis. Knick crisps from the craft service table and smoke a blunt or two while the sun was rising. That was all he was supposed to be doing. Now he had to actually earn his bloody paycheck.

He got to Liam’s bungalow and things were eerily quiet, even when Liam was alone things were never that silent. The foyer and living area was empty, as was the bathroom, laundry room, and kitchen. The only logical place for Liam and Chad to be was the bedroom, of course. Not only did Zayn have to be a babysitter he also had to be a cockblocker, great. He could hear his mates back in Bradford ribbing him already. He could hear the entirety of the United Kingdom yelling at him, the bloody queen herself would more than likely be joining in with the tirade, that’s just how lucky Zayn was nowadays. The well placed cameras by the doorway spotting him right away, Louis probably on the other side cursing his name and the day he was born. Don’t worry Lou, he felt exactly the same. None of the bedroom doors in either the mansion of bungalow had locks so it was easy for Zayn to just walk in the room. He had to take a few reassuring breaths before actually getting the courage to do it. Did he really want to see what was going on? Did he want to see Liam Payne’s hairy arse in the middle of something with steroid loving, protein powder chugging Chad? Not really.

Sure enough, what Zayn didn’t want to see he saw. As soon as he opened the bedroom door he was greeted with someone’s wet bathing suit on the floor by his feet. He wished that was the worst of it. Chad was straddling Liam’s legs, his massive tribal tattoo that was across his back gave him away instantly. Of course a douchebag like Chad would have a tribal tattoo, all the jerks like him did. His massive steroid induced body was hovering over Liam, it was even hard to tell if he was actually in the room. The only thing that indicated that he was there was his hands on Chad’s hips, his hand tattoos giving him away. It all just looked like a bad porno movie, something that’s on cable television at three in the morning when Zayn’s too high or drunk or not tried enough to actually sleep. So bad that he couldn’t even muster up enough energy to even try and get half hard or even try for a desperate wank. Pathetic really.

“Shows over, let’s go,” Zayn announced, loudly clapping his hands to get their attention. “People to see, places to be. Up and at ‘em gents.”

Sometimes Zayn loved his job, truly, honestly. Seeing Chad’s face after being frightened half to death was one of the reasons for loving his job. He quickly turned pale, kind of like the protein powder he’d been carrying around with him for the last two weeks. If he had pearls he’d probably be clutching them, he looked so scandalized, shocked and amazed that someone other than Liam had access to the bungalow. Hello! He currently was a contestant on a show that had millions of pound invested in it. Nothing and no one experiences privacy. It shouldn’t be that difficult to realize. Especially when whatever you’re doing involves the suitor, nothing you do will go unnoticed. Maybe a rereading of the contract would suffice.

“Mr. Producer,” Liam crooned, a smirk on his face. “Came to join the party, hmm?”

Chad kept going about his business, scurrying off Liam in a hurry, trying to desperately cover himself up. Not that anyone was really paying attention. He walked out of the room and bungalow after grabbing his swimming trunks without anyone really noticing.  Liam continued to lay against the headboard, stark naked, basking in the awkwardness. Zayn diverted his eyes, trying to be respectful, even though Liam clearly didn’t deserve it.

“Up,” Zayn repeated, this time harshly. “You’ve still got shit to do today and banging protein boy wasn’t part of it, okay?”

“Jealous?” Liam laughed in amusement. “You have to be at my beck and call while I get to do whatever or whomever I please, hmm?”

Zayn’s mum always told him that the more he rolled his eyes the better chance he’d have at them getting stuck like that. Well, he’d been rolling them quite often since working on Everlasting and they hadn’t gotten stuck yet. So ha to you mum. “Just like life.”

Liam pushed his back off the headboard and watched closely as Zayn just milled about the bedroom, picking up wet towels and clothes and tossing them either on the bed or the lounge chair that was to the right on the bed. “Excuse me?”

“Get dressed and back out there, okay,” he sighed, too exhausted to pick a fight, shockingly. After all the Adam garbage he didn’t have the energy to make Liam Payne cry, especially when they weren’t in front of cameras. CCTV didn’t count because they can’t pick up every little detail of their interaction.

The barbeque was tense after that, at least from Zayn’s standpoint. Liam was acting odd, interacting with the contestants, other than Chad, but keeping an eye as Zayn hovered over the area. Louis emerged from his trailer and even made a cameo by the pool, mostly to steal leftovers, and also to inquire about what really happened in the bungalow. Louis wasn’t stupid, no one ever claimed he was, but he knew how to play ignorant really well. He pretended he didn’t feel the tension, did see how Chad was apprehensive to go near Liam or Zayn for that matter. Less interaction between Chad and Liam mess less likely of a chance of Louis winning the big prize, he wanted to eradicate that quickly. Zayn was just waiting, waiting for why Louis actually made an appearance, and it wasn’t for the soggy foreign meat products being passed off and hamburgers and hot dogs.

“Bro,” Louis finally broke his awkward silence, just stood beside Zayn and chewed his food loudly, a piss warm beer in his free hand. “Who was that guy?”

“No,” he replied, eyes never wavering off the pool and hot tub.

“Really?” Louis squawked, pieces of chewed up hotdog and bun flying out his mouth. Real attractive Lou, really. “Malik.”

“Tomlinson,” Zayn echoed Louis’s whiny tone.

“One question then,” he bargained, moving to stand directly in front of Zayn’s eye line. “Do I need to worry about him? Is he gonna jeopardize my production?”     

Zayn sighed, exhaling loudly from his nose. If he was being honest with himself, that was a very loaded question. He could almost immediately feel the urge to drink or smoke, or do anything counterproductive start to itch at the back of his mind. Facing his feelings and being open and honest? That wasn’t one of Zayn Malik’s many trademarks. “We-we’ll be okay Lou, okay?”

Louis took a long swig of his piss beer, narrowing his eyes. He looked like he was trying to read Zayn or assess the situation altogether, two things he was never really good at to begin with. “Good. Now get back to work, Malik.”

Watching other people have fun was boring, why did that bother Zayn so much as a kid? Seeing all the popular kids huddled together in the canteen or in the back of the classroom just whispering and looking directly at him. At age six and seven that would leave him completely gutted, now he couldn’t care less. Let them have fun and make complete arses of themselves on national TV, Zayn was just gonna sit back and drink, inconspicuously, but drink nonetheless. A lot of the guys were sipping away at fruity cocktails or weak beer while there was hard shit available. No one was touching the rum so Zayn was helping himself. He was still doing his job, keeping a semi watchful eye on Liam and the contestants. No one was getting too handsy, no one was causing a scene, well, not yet at least.

His walkie talkie remained silent, except for the occasional sound of static.  Liam as interacting with all the guys, Harry was getting attention so Zayn was happy. Maybe a little too happy, he was getting drunk. Seeing as he hadn’t had anything substantial to eat all day the rum was hitting him hard. He could feel the numbness in his fingers and toes begin, a clear indication that he was intoxicated. Next usually came his face and mouth, his tongue feeling heavy and foreign in his mouth. The constant craving for a cigarette or something stronger started to kick in. All Zayn had to remember was to not make a fool of himself again. The cameras may not be on him directly, but they were all around him, not afraid to capture anything that may make a good television show. Last year’s series finale was a clear indication of that. That’s what got him in trouble the year before, everyone was too busy paying attention to the production of the show that they didn’t even notice that one of their own producers was getting drunk each and every night. And the worst part was that he was getting drunk off the alcohol provided by the show itself, courtesy of the network.

“Ok, time to wake up.”

Zayn jumped up, startled at the sudden push to his shoulder, his feet feeling wet. “What-what’s going on?”

“You fell asleep,” Liam told him with a laugh. “Production is over for the day. Some gopher you are, mate.”

“I did not-“ Zayn began, looking around at his surroundings. The sun was almost completely set, the cameraman and production assistants were scurrying around, closing up for the day, waiting for the second unit to take their place. “Shit.”

“No one noticed,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, his wet hair still dripping on Zayn’s feet. “No one important at least. I’m heading to bed, I’m knackered, you can head back to your place for the night.”

“My place,” he mumbled to himself, his tongue still feeling heavy in his mouth. Fuck, he was still drunk. Maybe if he tried standing up, bad, bad idea. The ground kept moving. “Thanks.”

Liam huffed out a sarcastic laugh as he held onto Zayn’s arm to help steady his balance. “Need someone to drive ya?”

“Drive me to me car,” he giggled, finding that concept of being driven to his car oddly hysterical.

He was supposed to be a brooding drunk, when did he become a giggly drunk? A lot changes in a year, clearly. “I-I’m o-kay.”

“Come on,” Liam told him sternly, lifting Zayn up as he started to falter on his feet. “You aren’t in the right mind to be alone tonight, the babysitter needs to be babysat.”

Zany stood up straight, fixing himself, trying to gather himself. “I can get back to my car just fine, I don’t need no help, okay?”

“You gotta be a hard ass even when someone is being nice to you,” he scoffed, slowly dragging Zayn towards the bungalow. It was kind of sad really, how easily he was being manhandled by Liam, he was chalking it up to being drunk and not that Liam was stronger than him in any capacity, not at all. “You’re staying at mine tonight, okay?”

Zayn scoffed as he rolled his eyes, feeling the inevitable hangover forming already. Great. Liam had already opened the bungalow entrance, practically shoving Zayn inside. “I will n-not stay he-here. My car is perfectly comfortable.”

Liam shoved Zayn onto the first available surface that looked soft, the sofa in the living area in this instance. He slipped off his slippers and threw the towel that was around his waist towards the laundry room before he sat down on the coffee table facing a semi awake and coherent Zayn. “Why do you keep saying car?”

“Huh?” Zayn asked, his right arm thrown over his face, covering one of his eyes. “What are you babbling about now, Payne?”

“Are you living in your car?” Liam hesitantly asked. “Does that have something to do with that bloody pain in the arse I saw this morning talking to you?”

The silence in the bungalow was deafening, the production crew milling about outside could faintly be heard. If you tried to listen closely and carefully, Louis’s obnoxiously loud voice could be heard, barking orders at the second unit crew. Zayn turned off his walkie talkie after he finished half the bottle of rum that Liam and the contestants disregarded. Zayn just kept blinking at Liam, refusing to speak, pretending his was too drunk to comprehend what was being asked of him. It was embarrassing, and frankly none of Liam’s business. If he told him the truth it’ll be something Liam would probably hold over his head until the production of the show was over. He could already hear the teasing and the taunts and the laughs Liam would have at his expense.

“Zayn.” Liam poked Zayn’s shin with his toe, trying to get any sort of response out of him, even a grunt in recognition would suffice. He sighed in defeat, giving up with this obvious one way conversation. “You’re already half asleep anyway, you know where everything is so you’re welcome to whatever. See you tomorrow, Zayn.”

“Goodnight,” he replied once he knew Liam was already half down the hallway, but close enough to hear his barely above a whisper voice.

Waking up in unknown places was not a foreign concept for Zayn, he’d been doing it since he left uni. Random beds from a one night stand, pub bathrooms, alleyways, you name it and Zayn’s probably woken up there. This time was odd, waking up and feeling refreshed, slightly hungover, but refreshed. He reluctantly opened his eyes, cursing at the sun that temporarily blinded him. He quickly shielded his eyes, feeling the dull ache in the back of his head. He needed coffee and water, maybe an aspirin or two. Firstly, he needed to remember where the hell he was. He could feel the comfortable sofa he was sitting on, noticing he was still in the same clothes he was wearing the day before, could smell the alcohol on his clothes and less attractively, his breath. But that wasn’t different than any other morning since filming started.

“Morning sunshine.”

Zayn groaned at the chipper voice, sadly recognizing it right away. “I slept here?”

“Do you not remember last night?” Liam asked, pushing Zayn’s feet off the sofa to make room for himself to sit which earned a less than threatening growl from Zayn. “I had to practically drag you down here from the pool area. Some people just don’t know how to handle their liquor. Amateurs.”

“I’m a world class drinker,” Zayn pathetically defended himself, regretting it the second after the words left his mouth. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon,” Liam replied. “Had to eat my fruit platter and read my paper in the kitchen like a civilized person.”

“It’s about time,” he muttered under his breath. “What do you have planned today? I have shit to do before I can start working.”

Liam narrowed his eyes at Zayn, curious as to what his words implied but also knowing not to poke the subject, especially after the night before. “What do you need to do?”

“I’ve just got things to do,” he replied forcibly, getting his bearings and standing up, despite the bounding in his head. “I need to grab a few things, like clean clothes and whatnot.”

Liam scoffed and Zayn’s attempts to stand and not wince at every single move he made, the lines between his brows giving him away. “I’ve got clothes, they’re probably a hell of a lot better than the shite you wear and call fashion.”

“I bought my clothes with my own money,” Zayn spat at him. “Daddy didn’t give me a dime, unlike you, spoiled rich punk.”

“Why do I even try?” Liam asked, sounding more like he was talking to himself than Zayn. “I try to be nice, for what? To get my head chewed off.”

Zayn tried to roll his eyes but the pain in his head didn’t really appreciate the attempt. “You? Nice? Don’t make me laugh, Payne, honestly.”

“I tried to help you with that douchebag yesterday, I’ve been letting you use my shower and laundry room without asking any questions,” he rattled off, still carefully monitoring Zayn’s every move. “Now I’m offering you clothes to wear for one bloody day mate and you jump down my throat. Let someone help you, man.”

Without saying anything, Zayn gathered his belongings and headed towards the front door. He still had time before production officially began anyway. It was going to be a busy day seeing elimination was rapidly approaching. Five more contestants were going to be sent home so it was now time for them to scramble and beg and plead Liam to keep them. Another few hours where Zayn had to sit and watch as grown men acted like pathetic human beings. The sun was already shining high in the sky when he exited the bungalow, he had to strain his eyes to see in front of him, which clearly didn’t help his hangover at all. He let out a hot puff of air from his nose while he continued to walk up the graveled pathway and towards the mansions exist. He needed to go to his car and get a change of clothes, being on camera or not, he still needed to look and feel presentable. Also, he owed Louis his daily tea.

The one thing that was still bothering him as he walked up the hill was Liam. Well, besides the obvious reason why Liam Payne bothered him. He was trying to make himself look like a martyr, helping poor defenseless Zayn. Please. The one person in this world who didn’t need anybody’s help was Zayn Malik, he learned that the hard way and early on in life. Offering up his shower and laundry room suddenly made Liam qualified for sainthood? Don’t make him laugh. If Liam was such a good guy then why did he beg the network and upper producers to make him the suitor on this year’s Everlasting? Why campaign for the job if you didn’t need to have a total image makeover? See, Liam forgot that Zayn use to be a producer, meaning he knew all the inside details that only producers were privy to know. He could try and fool the country even try and fool the contestants, but he could never, never fool someone who knew all about the true Liam Payne.

Finally reaching his car on top of the hill, Zayn quickly changed into whatever clean clothes he could find. He wasn’t in a rush to get back to work, that was obvious, but he really didn’t want to linger in his smelly, dirty clothes for much longer. As much as he hated to admit it, he did have to go back to work eventually. If he was going to win this whole thing and give Adam his money plus pocket some for himself, he’d need to put at least a little bit of effort into what he was doing. He had it made if he really thought about it. He was at Liam’s side almost the entire day, he could easily manipulate the situation to his advantage. Zayn knew that he couldn’t wait for Harry to make his move, he was moving at a glacial pace while Chad already had Liam in the sack, giving Louis the upper hand. He wasn’t going to force Liam onto Harry or vice versa, maybe just give them both a small little nudge in the right direction. In the end if Liam gave Harry the final rose and pretended to be happy and have a short lived fairy tale ending, that was more than okay for Zayn, as long as Louis stayed true to his word and put money in his account at the end of everything. He could live with the repercussions that were more than likely inevitable, he could live with them as he lay on the exotic beach with a drink in his hand, far, far away from production.      

The trip back down the hill was just like all the other ones, full of dread and regret and wonderment. He made his typical stop to get Louis tea, not having enough money on him this time to get some for himself. He’d just knick something for Liam’s kitchen and call it even. He walked through the gates and towards the production trucks, slightly missing the camaraderie and the late nights, the unproductive producers meetings. Like every morning for the past two weeks, Zayn handed over the tea to Louis and accepted his walkie talkie begrudgingly. He didn’t receive a pep talk this time, just a nod of Louis head and a quick wave of his hand. No news is better than good news is most cases, this being one of them. If the network wasn’t complaining about Zayn’s job performance, that was a good thing. Just like the old days he grabbed a packet of barbeque crisps off the craft service table, eating them as he made his way towards the bungalow. Elimination was looming over everyone’s head so today was the day all the contestants were going to be groveling for Liam’s attention and Zayn had to sit back and watch it all. Great.    

“Aww, Mr. Producer, did you get dressed up for me?” Liam mocked as soon as Zayn opened the bungalow door. Liam was conveniently walking passed the hall, towel around his waist, obvious he just got out the shower. “You shouldn’t have. I’m honored.”

Zayn rolled his eyes as Liam over-dramatically clutched at his chest. “Save it Trust Fund. Want me to send the contestants in now seeing you’re clearly ready to just spread your legs for anyone and everyone these days.”  

Liam pouted, sticking his bottom lip out as he walked towards Zayn. He stood inches in front of him, could feel Zayn’s breath on his face, see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed sharply. He wasn’t doing anything though, just trying to control his breathing as Liam’s fingertips traced the top of his jeans, his thumb close to the top button. It was eerily silent, just a lot of heavy breathing from the both of them. Zayn hissing as Liam undid the top button to his jeans, purposely stepping closer so their hips were aligned. Zayn grabbed at Liam’s towel and was tempted to either drop it or pull him in closer. Whatever he decided to do he better do it quick. Liam leaned closer, kind of like he was egging Zayn on, telling him it was okay without verbalizing it.

“Too bad I don’t fuck the help,” Liam spat in his face before turning on his heel and into the bedroom.

Zayn stood there dumbfounded, which was rare for him. It was officially, Liam Payne was a piece of shit and exactly how all the tabloids described him. He heard faint laughing coming from the bedroom, Liam boasting at what had just happened, no doubt proud of himself, the smug bastard. He had so many thoughts running through his mind, mostly trying to figure out how to plan his revenge. It was what Liam deserved.

“You okay Mr. Producer?” Liam asked once he emerged out of his bedroom, he was fully dressed this time, smirking wildly.

“So here’s how we’re running today,” he began, stepping closer, “these pathetic pieces of scum vying to be your one true love are all gonna parade in here, yeah. I will decide who sees you and for how long and at what time. Got it? I make the rules around here, Payne, not you.”

The smirk quickly vanished from Liam’s face, he was now serious, his brows knitted together in concentration. “Demanding, I like it. It suits you.”

“We’re gonna start with Chad,” Zayn continued to rattle off, ignoring Liam’s attempt at being cheeky. “You’ll sit on opposite ends of the couch, not too close because everyone has unfortunately seen that already. Gotta leave suspense, yeah, leave them wanting more.”

“You producing again?” Liam asked, his eyes following Zayn as he paced around the room on some sort of high, a power high. “What happened to you being my gopher? You get a promotion during your morning walk?”

“I’m always producing,” he clarified, stopping his pacing and turning to look at Liam. “You’ll end with Harry. You like Harry, Harry likes you. Got it? Good. Now finish getting ready so the first unit can set up.”

Liam gave Zayn a side eye as he followed his directions, going back towards his bedroom and bathroom to finish readying himself. Zayn was buzzing, feeling the blood flow through his veins, that’s how hyped up he was. It felt good being back in the driver’s seat, even without a license so to speak. If he had to follow Liam around and be at his beck and call, why not use it to his advantage, make a good show out of it. Louis wasn’t going to complain and he highly doubted that the network would complain either. As Liam readied himself, with the help of the hair and make-up department, the first unit set up the cameras, lights, and mics all over the bungalow, making sure nothing wasn’t picked up either audibly or visually. Louis voice could be heard barking orders over the walkie talkies, making sure everything was in place, even Zayn. He was to be out of every shot, but still be close enough to step in if need be.    

Zayn watched on as every guy came in at exactly the time he specified. Chad was first and tried to be cheeky, bringing up the little encounter they had the day before. It made Liam blush and giggle and made Zayn want to pluck his own eyes out with a spoon. He remained standing behind all the camera and light people, making sure he had a clear view of Liam and made sure Liam knew he was watching closely. Chad tried to take Liam back to the bedroom but I firm shake of his head let Liam know that Zayn wasn’t having it. Not just because he didn’t like Chad and didn’t want Louis to win this series, also because it was obvious that’s all Chad wanted out of Liam, he clearly wasn’t here to find true love, or whatever. The other guys, who names Zayn had no desire to learn, filtered in and out at a blinding pace. Some poured their hearts out to Liam, trying desperately to get a rose later. It was only weeks into the series and some guys were ready to profess their love. Get the fuck outta here.

Last but certainly not least was the only other reason besides the money that Zayn stayed working for this dumb show, Harry. Liam welcomed him warmly into the bungalow, shooting Zayn a look as he walked towards the couch area, pointing at the seat next to him for Harry to sit. Harry looked nervous, understandably. It was all new and exciting and intimidating, this was the first time they ever had any alone time together. It was clear that everyone in the mansion knew about Chad and Liam’s encounter, they all were feeling the pressure to up the ante themselves. Make Liam take notice. Harry was Zayn’s only hope at lining his pockets heavily and maybe getting out of this hellhole, the show and Wales.

Harry looked over at Liam all doe eyes and giraffe limbs he clearly still hadn't figured out how to use. Zayn could see himself liking Harry in the real world, if Zayn was into guys who needed as much help as he did. The nerves were radiating off of Harry, it was obvious that he and Liam had nothing in common. Seeing Liam try was all Zayn had asked of him, so progress. Liam leaned forward and whispered something in Harry's ear that made him blush, his cheeks pink against his pale skin, his dimples evident when he smiled, biting his lip to hold back a laugh. His eyes were wide when he looked down at Liam, moving closer to whisper in his ear. Hopefully the microphones they were wearing caught whatever they were saying or else Louis would be livid. Zayn couldn't care less, as long as this exchange kept positively progressing, it didn't matter if it was caught on camera or audio or not. They kissed and Zayn could faintly hear Louis hiss in anger over the walkie talkie. This was ruining his plans of Chad running away with the show.

This was exactly what Zayn needed to see, without seeming like a total pervert. Harry was safe from elimination, he just had to be. Despite their opposites it was clear Liam obviously saw something in Harry. How he had a connection with both Chad and Harry was beyond Zayn at the moment but he didn't care. His guy was on the top of the heap so he didn't have to worry. Zayn could see the money, smell it even. Chad was the only obstacle in his way and he wasn't going to be deterred by his overgrown muscles or his excessive use of protein powder in everything he drank. It was all a distraction from the guy he actually was, a gold digger. Using Liam as a stepping stone to do more in the public eye, make a name for himself any ways necessary. Harry was making whining noises into Liam's mouth as Liam tangled his hand in Harry's hair. Okay, maybe this was a bit too much. He wasn't a prude, far from it, but this kiss was a tad excessive. If Liam was playing it up for the camera, he was doing a damn good job. Shockingly.

The pulled away, finally, Harry's cheeks pink and his hair a mess. They shared a sickening sweet smile before going back to whispering. If this all wasn't for the damn cameras Zayn would believe Harry and Liam were a real couple. It was obvious there was some sort of connection. Harry had good intentions, it was clear from the first interview Zayn had done with him. He wanted to find love and he wanted to find it with Liam. Why? Only god and Harry know that answer. Liam walked Harry to the front door, both of them molded to each other in what could look as a romantic gesture. They shared their goodbyes and another affectionate kiss before Harry gave Liam a little wave and left the bungalow making his way towards the mansion. A loud cut was called from next to Zayn. The cameras were shut off and everyone start to close down production.

“You're welcome,” Liam said to Zayn.

Zayn balked at Liam for a moment, confused. “I'm welcome? For?”

“That charade I just put on for you,” he replied, gesturing towards the closed bungalow door. He unhooked his mic pack from the back of his pants and passed it to a sound guy who was waiting with his hand out. “Acting like I really want to be with Harry.”

“You don't like him?” Zayn asked in a huff. “Could've fooled me.”

Liam shook his head and smirked, walking away from the chaos in the front room of the home and heading towards the kitchen where it was more quiet. “I'm a great actor Mr. Producer. I told you before, there's a lot you don't know about me.”

Zayn stood across Liam, the kitchen island between the two of them. He was infuriated, intrigued, but infuriated. “And all that shit with Chad?”

“You offer up sex that easily, I'm not gonna say no,” he replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. “Isn't that part of them game anyway? It's all for the ratings anyway.”

“You're fucking this whole thing up,” he huffed. “That's my job Money Bags, not yours.”

Liam spun on his heel, moving around the kitchen island to stand beside Zayn. “See, that’s what I don’t understand. You have a cushy job here and you want to sabotage it. Why?”

“You have a cushy life and you want to sabotage it. Why?” Zayn countered, eyebrows raised.

Liam pursued his lips and nodded. “Touché Mr. Producer.”

Zayn walked away, shaking his head in dismay. Liam Payne loves to bitch and moan that his life was hard, like he wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Like he didn’t have everything he ever wanted in life. Zayn knew struggle, he knew hardship. He was the only Muslim kid in his school, besides his older sister. The shit he would get on a daily basis from students and teachers would make anyone drop out or want to disappear completely, and that was only during grade school. Add being gay and things got worse. Crushing on the captain of the football team was fine if you kept it to yourself. Getting caught staring at him during chemistry class and you got yourself beat up after school in the boys bathroom. No one lending a hand, no one calling for helping. Going home and both parents hemming and hawing over what to do but not doing a thing. Life was shit for Zayn but he’d kill to have half of what Liam complained he had to go through. All his problems were self inflicted. He put himself in all his situations. The bottom line to all of Zayn’s crap was because who he was born as, a brown, Muslim, gay man.

“Good evening and welcome to Everlasting,” Niall smiled wide as the camera zoomed in on him.

It was another elimination night, another endlessly long night ahead of them all. Niall had already had his pow wow with Liam, going over each and every contestant to see how Liam was feeling about them. Zayn had to stand behind the cameras as they filmed, just in case Liam decided he needed something. If Zayn wanted to be a butler he would’ve never went to uni and made something of himself. He had to grin and bare it though, act like this job was a god sent. He was allowed to scoff and roll his eyes so it was a win/win situation. Niall was talking to all the contestants now, taking a pulse of the situation. Who was nervous, who felt confident. Shockingly Chad was walking around with his chest puffed out, overly confident that he was going to get a rose and move forward. Harry even looked like he had a pep in his step, head held high after his last meeting with Liam.

“Malik!” Louis called to him from behind the monitors. He waved his hands to get his attention. “Move your non existent ass here, stat!”

Zayn rolled his eyes as he cast one last glance Liam’s way. Liam was being tended to by hair and makeup before he was due on camera to break some hearts. “What’s up Lou?”

Louis grabbed Zayn’s arm and moved them to a semi secluded area. Nothing was ever fully secluded but after years working on a show like this, you learn where you can get a smidge of privacy. “What’s up with you and Payne?”

“Liam?” Zayn gawked with a laugh. He undid his hair and redid it to occupy his hands. He was aching for a cigarette or a drink, always did during elimination nights. It was long and daunting and way too emotional. “Payne’s a dick.”

“There’s cameras all over the place, babe,” Louis reminded him, an eyebrow raised. “It sees everything.”

“And you need your eyes checked,” he joked. “Does it see how much I despise Pretty Boy here? How he’s jeopardizing the entire production?”

“When have you cared about the production?” He snorted. “You hate this place as much as anyone else. You’re stuck here for a paycheck and cause you’re court mandated to.”

“And I’m doing my job like you asked,” Zayn told him. “Babysit Payne, which I’m doing. I think I’m excelling actually.”

Louis purses his lips together and nodded. “You are getting too close. You can’t be this blokes friend, okay?”

“Don’t worry,” he laughed, patting Louis’s face affectionately. “You’ll always be my best mate Lou.”

“Fuck off,” Louis huffed, pushing Zayn’s hand away. “Don’t be a prick, Malik.”

As the night rolled on like it would never end, Zayn kept a close eye on Louis and his movements. It seemed like Louis had one eye on production and one on him. It was creepy and totally unnecessary. Zayn was a professional, knew his boundaries. Despite his previous stumbles and incidents, he understood what his job entailed. He knew that he had to keep Liam in line, make sure he was present both physically and mentally at all times. There hadn’t been any major hiccups since he took over the assistant job. He couldn’t stop Liam from sleeping with Chad, even though he tried his hardest. And they were definitely not friends, far from it. They both yelled and screamed at each other any chance they got, what made Louis say such a thing? It was bizarre and insane.

The rose ceremony was as dramatic as always, Niall coming into the frame right on cue to add the suspense. Giving long monologues with just the right amount of pause for the contestants to wonder if they were going to go home. Chad got the first rose and some of the remaining contestants audibly groaned at the selection. It made for great television but grinded Zayn’s gears, the bloke was such a prick. Chad accepted his rose with the same false smile as he always had and kissed the side of Liam’s mouth, causing them both to giggle and blush. Gag. Liam was just as dense as Zayn and half of England predicted. Falling for the obvious mind games Chad was playing. Louis was eating it up, loving every single gross second of it. If camera weren’t rolling all the time and Zayn’s job wasn’t on the line, he’d love to just smack Chad right across the face. Treat him like the piece of shit he really was. No one liked him and it was fair to say no one outside the mansion, in his real life, like him either.