#this trip is the gift that keeps on giving

[ppnuggiex]

Hello can I request a unserious s/o who is rarely mad(gn reader if possible) with the octavinelle trio and riddle, and one day they js see their s/o pissed af and being a badass

So sorry if this made no sense😭if it doesn't make any sense js reply to this I'll try my best to put it into understandable words(??) Pls ignore if u can't do this request or anything! :)

　　　　　　TWST x gn reader

　　　　『　riddle ,, azul ,, jade ,, floyd ,, gender neutral reader 』

　　->

　　— fluff ,, sfw ,, tw for side characters being jerks

　　— sorry for how late this is 😭🙏 but ive finally gotten to it !! hope you enjoy :))

| • hes more used to seeing you playing around with ace and deuce ,, used to you making a joke about anything at any moment possible

| • seeing you get serious and mad with a student ,, more specifically one from his dorm ,, is enough to let him know something was wrong

| • he's quick to figure out the situation ,, the student being apart of a project for one of crewel's assignments and shirking their responsibilities onto you ,, it was understandable to be upset about

| • riddle will reprimand the student ,, disappointed they would do this to you ,, let do it in the first place . he prides himself on keeping his students well educated and up-to date with their assignments . if they need help ,, then they would get it if they'd ask

| • hes not too sure how exactly to deal with you being angry ,, as hes more used to your more softer and joking side

| • least to say ,, riddle will be on your side depending on the situation when you get angry

| • he's the same with riddle ,, also not used to seeing you mad ,, even during his overblot you didnt express any anger as you did now

| • a pomefiore second year ,, one that was in his history class ,, was pestering you about notes regarding the assignment azul and the rest of his class had gotten

| • the student was probably aware of what azul used to do ,, or maybe theyre aware of his new plan of purchasing so much from monstro lounge and getting hole punches to meet with him

| • either way ,, they werent letting up about notes for the assignment ,, nor leave you alone about it

| • and thus it led to your yelling ,, catching him by surprise to even hear you yell

| • even when floyd pestered you ,, and when jade would jokingly (possibly) say he put poison in the food you offered to taste test ,, you never truly got as angry as you were with this persistent student

| • benevolent as azul was ,, he was quick to come to your aid and help with the problem . escorting the pomefiore student away ,, letting you cool off for a moment ,, and deal with this troublesome being .

| • needless to say ,, he definitely didnt want to be on the receiving end for your anger

| • jade had tried in the past to see what makes you tick ,, what could possibly get on your nerves but to his disappointment he wasnt able to figure it out

| • he would joke that he slipped a intoxicating mushroom in your soup ,, or say he couldnt remember where he placed your gift during a holiday

| • yet nothing he did would ever give him the reaction he's witnessing in front of him now

| • it was meant to be a relaxing trip to beach ,, but instead he was on the sidelines watching a showdown

| • it happened when you offered to get something from the snack bar provided ,, you got a little peckish swimming out there and jade wasn't hungry at all ,, used to having to swim

| • one of the customers behind you had cut ,, and at first you werent going to make such a deal out of it ,, until he had purposely got out of line and then got back in ,, except right in front of you

| • with that ,, you had pointed it out that he had cut the slowly growing line not once but twice ,, to his reply was something regarding your attitude and to "what who you're talking to like that"

| • and then it spiralled down hill from there . jade heard the commotion from your guys' spot on the beach ,, not too far from the ocean but far enough to not get splashed by the waves

| • jade was surprised to witness your anger ,, and watched for a moment before stepping in to help

| • thankfully others were eye witnesses to the situation ,, and the others were there to back you up and testify for you

| • not that jade wouldnt believe you ,, but it also helped difuse the situation and the guy soon left ,, and jade had finally witnessed what your anger would be like

| • if he had to compare your anger to someone ,, it would be that of jade's . its not often you get angry ,, and jade does but he never truly shows it flat out ,, rather hidden under his mask of deception

| • though its high time you stood up for yourself ! floyd knows how much people can push you over and you'd just laugh it off and reference something from your world

| • though after a customer had gotten too close to you and tried to put the blame on you ,, it was evident you were angry . floyd wasnt present at the scene ,, but another staff member had witnessed what happened and informed floyd ,, hoping he could get rid of the guy at least instead of adding fuel to the flames .

| • and that's what he did ,, not without leaving a small threat to the guy that if he were to cause such a ruckus again he would be given more than just a warning

| • floyd ,, having witness your anger ,, knows that he would rather you joke around and be playful than witness that again ,, having to calm you down was not something he'd want to experience again

[junedenim]

2008

beneath the boardwalk, part 6 (series masterlist)

dance little liar

warnings: angst, fluff, smut, drugs, etc.

word count: 12.3k

I don't think Alex and I do birthday presents too well. We don't do fancy things, and while Alex is easy to get gifts for because he'll never dislike anything you get him, he's difficult because he doesn't want anything either. Anything he could want, mostly in the music department, I have little idea of what the best thing out there is. He also can just buy it himself.

So, for our birthdays, we've usually given homemade things, a tradition stemming back to the first few we spent together, but specifically our 22nd birthdays together.

The day before, I had just started back at work again after the holiday break and being hungover for a few days after New Year's. I had asked Alex before Christmas what he wanted (another issue, his birthday is right after Christmas) and he said a shelf for his records, which is really just a gift for me because it got his records off the floor where I kept tripping over them. Then, he said, "I don't know, just give me something sweet."

Sweet lands in a lot of categories. Candies, alcohol, desserts. Or sex, flavoured condoms, candy panties. Or sentimental, heartfelt, handmade. So, I combined two categories and made a cake from scratch. It wasn't much of a gift because Alex made the cake with me.

"I want to do it for you," I insisted, trying to pull him out of the kitchen.

He stood with his hands on his hips. "Well, it's my birthday and I want to make it with you."

We made the cake—chocolate—and it sucked. I blame Alex. Eventually, he did eat the whole thing. Whether out of pride or politeness. 

Before he ate the cake, I lit the two "2" candles I had purchased and we sang "Happy Birthday" together because I felt too embarrassed to sing it solo, so he sang it with me. We ended up breaking out into laughter before the end of the song and Alex could barely blow the candles out through it.

At the end of the night, when we sat eating cake in bed, curled up, far away from January blues, I gave Alex a picture book I had made. When I was younger, my mother would go through all her old photos from when she was around this age up until Stacey was born. This was before Tommy died and things like that were a joyous act to do. She had this one photo of her, just her, alone in a photo booth. She couldn't have been older than 10 and she had a beaming smile on her face. She looked just like me. I asked her if I could keep it and she let me. I have it framed on my dresser. 

The whole act inspired me to capture the time Alex and I were living in. The book wasn't packed full of pictures. That was sort of the beauty of it that years after this birthday, that book would be filled by our future. But of the pictures in it, sat the very first photo I took of Alex in his room, scribbling away in his notebook up to a photo Georgia had taken of us on New Year's with me sat in his lap. They weren't all of Alex and me, some had the band in them or Miles. Robert even appears in one photo, taken after one of their Astoria gigs. But the majority of them chronicled the life Alex and I had lived up to that point and putting it all together I felt like my mother longing for a time that had passed, except I was living in that time. It gave me a kick of excitement.

When he unwrapped the book, he gave it a questioning look before we thumbed through the pages together. I imagined he looked like I did when my mother and I thumbed through the pages together. He pointed out little details and marveled at the photos he didn't remember being taken. At one point, he pointed at a photo of me and exclaimed, "You looked hot there! I mean, you're always hot, but va va voom."

I threw my head back in laughter. "Who are you? My grandpa?"

He turned to me quizzically. "Your grandpa talks to you like that?"

I slapped his arm. "Both my grandpas are dead. Now, shut up, and continue."

We flipped our way through the whole thing and I gave him a little birthday card that I wrote a long note in. His fingers grazed carefully over it all. His delicate touch was like he was fearful one wrong move would set fire to it. He closed the book and placed it cautiously on his tiny bedside table. 

Alex turned back to me rather emotionally. He sniffled and just said, "I loved it. Thank you." His arms wrapped tight around me, his hug capturing me.

I rubbed my hand up and down his back in a soothing motion. "Thank you," I whispered in his ear.

"For what?" He whispered back in mine. "All I had to do was stand for pictures."

I giggled into his ear. I didn't pull back from the hug. If I looked at him at that moment I would have cried. "Loving me. It means a lot."

"How do you think I feel? I got you for a girlfriend."

It was all sweet.

*

About a week into January, Alex and I both became sick. He was fine because he didn't have to go to work. He could just lounge around all day, propped up on a pillow, watching TV (in fact, he did, this is when he started watching Breaking Bad, a fixture that would overtake his life for the next five years). I, however, had to go to work.

"Don't go," he whined. I was dressed for work, runny nose, and my big winter coat on. His head was shoved into the pillow and he was wearing the same clothes for the past three days.

"I have to go to work."

"Don't go," he whined again.

"I'm not going to sit here and take care of you all day."

He sat up slowly, his head adjusting to the new altitude. He placed his feet down on the ground and looked like he might get out of bed if his head wasn't weighing him down. "I don't want you to. You're sick. I'll take care of you."

"You're sick," I countered.

"Then, we'll be sick together," he argued.

"I have to go to work." I turned on my feet when he stood and wrapped his arms around my waist, tugging me back into him before I could rush out the door.

"Don't go." He sounded much clearer now with no obstructions in the way. "You'll be no good there."

"Hey, I am always good," I defended. "If I were bleeding out I'd still be of use, or in labour, or dead—" I sneezed then. "Urgh. Look. I can go to work, I can function, I'm fine."

He softened and pressed a lingering kiss to my flushed cheek. "Drink a lot of water, would you? And call me if you feel worse. I'll come get you."

I pushed his growing hair behind his ear. "You can't come get me. We don't have a car."

He kissed my cheek again. "I'll come get ya. I'll walk over and carry you on my back on the way home."

"You're a dork." I tugged on his ear. "I have to go."

"Okay," he conceded. "Call me on your lunch break."

I kissed his cheek. I felt like I was the working husband and Alex was the stay-at-home mum. I was the breadwinner (even if I totally wasn't but I was going to the offices and my "wife" was staying home). I stepped out of his grasp and finally made my way to the front door. "I will. Eat good foods."

"Oh, Janie, you know I'm going to eat all your ice cream while you're gone."

I stuck my tongue out and left. Even with a stuffy nose and a rainy London, I knew walking down Myddelton Street I had everything I ever wanted, at least for that age because work sucked that day and I almost quit because I'm a lazy son of a bitch who was sick and desperate to go home to her boyfriend. But I managed because I loved that job with all my heart. I felt privileged. Georgia was suffering through late-night poetry readings and I had an established career. It wasn't exactly what I wanted to do because editing has never been my strong suit but it was a step in the right direction for my life. I loved that job.

When I returned home, Alex was relaxed in bed with a cup of tea. "I'm sick," I announced, dropping my bag on the floor.

"We can all tell, sweetie. I made you some tea." He pointed to the kitchen counter where he left it out to cool, just how I like it. "How was work?"

I groaned and dragged my feet over to the kitchen, slipping bits of my attire off as I went. My shoes were tossed about and my coat was thrown on the floor. "Not worth it." 

I moved over to the bed, wriggling to settle between his knees, cup of tea in my hand. He was gentle, placing his hand over my burning forehead. "How are you feeling?" He took my cup out of my hand, setting it down.

"I'm so tired," I moaned. He undressed me in the most non-sexual sense. We were sniffling and his motions were slow and tender. He undid my bra and it gave me the same relief as when I did it at the end of the workday. With each passing day, Alex and I were becoming more conjoined. He was an extension of me as I was of him. We were completely intertwined and part of one another. "And I feel so shitty, and my whole skeleton aches, and—stop laughing at me, it's not funny."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says, kissing my temple to make up for it, running a hand up and down my spine. He gave me a shirt to wear, a clean one of his, and from that point on they were my preferred nighttime wear because it was exactly what Alex would pick for me to wear. It was that comfort after a long day, his hand soothing, up and down my spine.

He handed my tea back to me and it healed me as soon as I sipped it. "What have you been up to today, mister?"

He sighed. "Nothing. I took a shower."

I smirked. "I can tell."

"Hey!" He couldn't sound upset if he tried; a big smile and a voice that tipped with laughter. "I had a valid excuse."

"I know. I know." I pinched his cheek. "And I'm very proud of you for being a big boy and doing it without me telling you."

He whacked away my hand but tugged me closer. "What do you want to do now?"

I grumbled and laid my head in the slope between his neck and shoulder. "Sleep. Watch TV. I don't know."

"Why don't we sleep?" He suggested.

I sat up straight and placed my tea on a flat surface after nearly spilling it on Alex. "You just want to nap."

"Uh, yeah. Come on, I need it, you need it. Let's sleep."

"It's too early."

"It's never too early to nap."

I rolled my eyes. "Then, it's too late. I'm hungry."

"Do you want to order something?"

"It's too early."

"Oh, come on, Janie. Don't make me force-feed you."

I laughed. "And then snuff me out with a pillow."

"Yeah." He laughed in return. "Come on, let's eat."

We ate and passed out after. We both woke briefly around 10 PM and fought because Alex did eat my ice cream. He promised to get some tomorrow and that it would never happen again (liar) and then we went back to sleep, both snoring and sounding in desperate need of a sleep apnea mask. But we had the other and I called out sick the next day.

*

A few days before the Brit Awards, I was informed we were going. The band had never attended before and I had obviously never gone before. Alex listed out the whole plan of the boys dressing as old English hunting men.

"You can join us," he said as we ate dinner in bed. We often did this when we ate at home, which wasn't very often. We didn't have enough room to put a dining table in and I preferred the comfort of our bed to that of a chair. We ate out most nights anyway. It seemed like every night we were out somewhere. That mostly had to do with Alex finally getting a hefty paycheck from album and tour sales. We still ate at McDonald's quite often.

I rolled my eyes. "I am not dressing like a boy for an award show."

He tugged at my waist, making me slosh my salad around. "You'd look hot in anything. You know that."

"Well, maybe, but I want to dress nice. How many occasions will I have to wear a beautiful dress?" I was slowly falling in love with fashion. London makes you want to dress your best.

"You could wear a beautiful dress every day if you wanted."

"I work as an assistant at a publishing house, not Vogue. Besides, I want to look like a proper English lady for my English gentleman. Where else would we do that?"

"A wedding," Alex suggested.

I scrunched up my nose and shook my head. "We've already done that."

"We've already done the award show thing too," he pointed out.

"Yeah, and you wore a rain jacket. NME is different. I want to be fancy dress for the Brits. You'd wear jeans to our wedding if you could."

He raised an eyebrow, questioning, but not trying to be apparent about it. "Our wedding?"

I hadn't realized the slip of the tongue. "Ew. I don't know why I said that."

"The thought of marrying me disgust you?" He joked. 

"Well, yeah, I mean—I don't know, shush. I don't want to talk about it." I was flustered. Alex has that effect on most people and he's good at using it. He doesn't make it obvious but he'll make you feel like he's studying you.

He shrugged, turning his eyes away. "Neither do I."

"Weddings are gross," I groaned.

"Yeah." He looked over at me, sparks in his eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

I slapped his arm. "Stop. Let me eat my dinner in peace. God, Alex."

"I didn't say anything!"

I didn't respond. I poked away at my salad and the conversation returned to the Brits. "We're just taking a piss out of the whole thing, you know."

"You want the free alcohol."

"Fuck yes and that's why you'll go with me."

"I'd go with you even if it wasn't." Although, alcohol always helped.

"Aw, you must really love me." He leaned out, puckering his lips.

"Oh, shut it, you."

He washed the dishes that night and then he joined me in the shower. Under the water mist, after we had sex and while I washed his hair, he said, "I'd marry you, you know."

I didn't know. We never talked about things that heavy. "I know," I said.

"We're too young for that kind of thing," he said.

I nodded. "It's a cheesy thing to do anyway."

Alex didn't say anything but he had always known every thought I had as it passed through me. My need to mock it meant I really wanted it.

For the Brits, I didn't go all out because even if it felt more official than NME, it wasn't the type of event you wore a ballgown to. I wore a midi black dress whose attractive quality was a low-cut neckline, not that I had any cleavage to show off. But the fabric framed a necklace Alex had gifted me over Christmas. It had a tiny flower pendant that fell on my sternum. He purchased it somewhere in Germany, he can't remember.

Alex dressed as an old English hunter was much more attractive than I thought it would be. He had a newsboy hat with a twig sewn into it that he gave me as soon as we arrived at the afterparty and I wore it for the rest of the night. We lost it at some point on the way home. I can't quite remember. We got really drunk.

The Brits made the mistake this year of allowing guests to drink alcohol at the table, worsened by the fact they gave a pre-ordered liquor cache under the table. It was almost a bet to have us drink it all. I read out the program they gave us to Alex. It hadn't gotten too rowdy yet, we were actually planning on eating dinner if we hadn't arrived after the main course period. We managed to snag a piece of dessert before the main show started. 

"Oh, lookie here," I said, pointing to a photo of the band displayed in the program. "Cutie patootie."

Alex scoffed, "I look like I just wet meself."

I cackled. He wasn't far off. He was sitting with his nervous bug-eyed gaze and his hands stuffed between his knees. "Well, I think you look cute."

I continued flipping and Alex slagged off, "All that Brit School nonsense."

"But Adele." I held up the spread of Adele with a BRIT Trust check.

"Yeah, but you don't see me whining on about Barnsley." He sipped back another glass of alcohol. He was deeper in than I and he would remain far more drunk than me the whole night, a rare exchange. 

I snorted. "I don't think anyone is whining on about Barnsley. I liked it though."

"That's because you were the most popular lass there."

I laughed at the idea. "No, I wasn't."

He sat back, his look completely serious. "What are you on about? Everyone loved you."

I continued flipping through the pages, skimming through the text. "I was an easy lay, Alex, you can say it."

"Stop with that nonsense." He had been sensitive ever since some Mirror story had come out about my behavior in school. I didn't know why people would care so much about what I got up to in college. I had admittedly been hurt by the article but I didn't feel any different than when Will would call me a slut. You know, except the whole national scale about the whole thing. I was partially honored by the whole thing that someone would deem me popular enough to publish in a tabloid. It was like I was a soap star my mother would read about. That was the bad part. My mother read it. She brought it up at Christmas dinner, a sly "Jane's famous enough to be called a loose woman."

I tore my eyes away from the program and looked at Al. "It's not nonsense if it's true."

"You don't have to be down on yourself."

I laughed though I didn't find it funny and shook my head in annoyance. "I'm not down on myself. I'm not ashamed of it. I'm not a virgin. Shocker." He could tell I was slightly ticked off, looking back down at Adele.

"I know. I guess...I just didn't know how you...felt toward the whole...I don't know...thing...I just..."

I snapped my head up. "Are you interviewing me?" I laughed.

"Huh?" He was cute, brows furrowed under the brim of his hat.

I pushed his hat down over his eyes, forcing him to readjust it. "I'm choosing to embrace my sexuality this year."

"Oh. Okay." He waited a few seconds before saying, "Does that mean we're gonna fuck in the bathroom?"

I gasped and slapped his chest. "Alexander. I am a lady and you a gentleman, slow your horses."

"Well, then, come hither madame, and let's copulate in the loo."

I laughed hard, "Please never say copulate again. I can tell why people thought you were a weirdo at Barnsley."

His face dropped. "Did people really think that?"

I snuffed a chuckle. "No, Alex, geez, you still care what those bums think of you?"

"No, but, I guess, my impression was that I was liked."

"Alex," I placed my hands on his shoulder with complete sincerity in my voice, "everybody loved you. Except maybe Will and that group."

His eyes squinted. "Will didn't like me?"

I crossed my legs and turned back to the program. "You bagged the hottest lass in school, what do you think?"

Then, we drank, drank, drank. Any leftover alcohol we had went to spraying the boys when they won. For their first award, Alex was over on Jamie's lap and I was charged with making sure the wooden duck wasn't forgotten at our table amongst the champagne chaos. I handed it over James Ford and Richard Hawley amidst the chaos. Alex held a horn and a flask, which showed no shame in the obvious inebriation as he said, "We are the Arctic Monkeys and we are the most fantastic" before blowing the aforementioned horn into the microphone.

In the span of heading on stage and returning to the table, the lads must have drank more because they came back even more wasted. It was an easy coping mechanism for the slow pain of the award show with brief breaks of relief as Mark Ronson and Amy Winehouse performed and the Osbournes hosting, who also had obvious intoxication. 

I laughed so hard I almost peed myself as Vic Reeves and Sharon Osbourne fought over who got to read the winner of the Mastercard British Album of the Year (this is very important because Sharon also got pissed at Vic for not remembering the award he was presenting). The whole ordeal had me drunk laughing into Alex's arms and the only thing keeping me upright was his side, which of course meant the moment they were announced the winner and Alex left my side to go onstage I fell on my ass, nearly tugging him down with me.

"Are you alright?" He asked with a tone of laughter. He reached down to pick me up. 

"Yeah." I tried to hold more laughter back but it was unbearable. "I'm so drunk, Alex."

He laughed just as hard as me. "I think I am too."

"Oh." I laughed some more. "I think you have to go get your award."

"I think so too." We laughed some more until Alex was pushed away toward the stage where he walked up very slowly making Sharon yell that they didn't have enough time making me laugh even more. Thank god for Katie, now keeping me upright with her tiny frame.

Nick took my place onstage with Alex as they leaned into one another, twin poles keeping each other standing. Alex's speech went as most speeches had that night: a thank you to the BRIT School in the style of Adele, Kate Nash, Leona Lewis, and the audience of BRIT School attendees. Except for the obvious credential of going to the BRIT School. It was all very tongue-in-cheek drunk hilarious. Luckily the band made it back in time for Paul McCartney and for that, I will always be thankful as I risked my ankles swaying and jumping to "Live and Let Die."

At the affiliated after-party, I danced in my heeled boots with Katie and used the toilet so many times I must have set a Brits record. Alex became rather tired early on and slumped in a chair around 1 AM. We left soon after that, sloppily drunk waiting for a cab, leaning into each other silently. We had our photo taken and it is the first time I can recall visibly having photographers snap pictures. All before then had been sly shots and from that point on some barrier had been broken. I didn't mind it as much as Alex did. I wasn't thrilled by it either but I liked the idea of looking back on memories of that night that I was too out of to remember.

In the back of the cab, going home together, we fiddled with each other's hands and talked softly. Such a loud night had winded down and it was just us (and the driver) together. "You know your speech got cut off?" I asked him. 

"Yeah." He nodded slowly and his eyes fluttered. "Guess The BRIT School weren't happy with their proud graduates."

I chuckled. "Do you know how happy I am I went to Barnsley?"

He laughed and shook his head. "You might be the only one."

I moved closer to him. "I better not be. I'd have never met you."

Alex stared at me in disbelief. He looked like he was slowly processing the information into his system. His touch was soothing on me as he leaned his forehead to mine. "I love you. You got that, right?"

I smiled so close to him. "I know. Love you too. Did you know?"

He tilted his head slightly. "I had an idea." He kissed me then, close, tight, in the backseat, on our way home, with each other.

*

For my birthday—the 22nd one—Alex and I held a mild party, which turned into a bigger one. Amidst the chaos, Alex and I escaped outside and had a smoke break. Up against our building's brick wall, we soaked in our hazy drunkenness. We laughed ridiculously but we were still able to stand up straight.

"Should we get a cat?" I asked him. Georgia and Kyle had just adopted one.

"Who would take care of it?" Alex asked.

I laughed, even if I was plotting ways to steal Georgia and Kyle's cat. "Fair enough."

Alex looked away and his demeanor had changed, just an inch. His face had dropped to a neutral tone, other than his lips, slightly downturned. "What's wrong?" I asked. He shook his head, avoiding my eyes. I reached out and brushed his cheek. "Tell me. It's not right to be sad on my birthday. It's the most magical day of the year."

He smiled at my enthusiasm, always happy when I was happy. I worried that meant I brought him down when I was sad so often. He looked up, holding something back in himself. "Are you happy?"

My brows furrowed, completely lost. "Don't I seem happy?"

"Yeah. I just worry. I don't know what I'm thinking." He looked away, down at his hands, fistfighting each other.

"You're doing the second-guessing thing," I told him. I leaned closer, sliding my arm between his back and the wall, holding onto the middle of his spine. "I'm not gonna up and leave. I hope you trust me."

"Of course," Alex insisted. He reached down and squeezed my other hand. "I struggle with trusting meself."

I brushed his hair behind his ear, rubbing that spot to calm him. "Well, I trust you. That should count for something."

He stood silently and I watched as a small smile grew on his face. "It means everything." He looked up at me, eyes shiny and piercing. "I always want to be here for you."

"You are," I promised. I leaned my forehead against his. "Now, can we stop rehashing old mistakes and enjoy my party?"

Alex put on a happier face, even if I didn't fully buy it. "Yeah. Sorry for being a bummer."

I laughed. "I'm not one to talk. But I'd much prefer you laughing and making crude jokes all night than this."

He stood off the wall and smiled with a promise to not be a party pooper. Then, he made out with me outside our flat's door until Georgia caught us. She wagged her finger at us and we laughed even harder. Throughout the night Alex made jokes about my boobs and tried to fondle me. It was the most glorious display of a man grabbing a woman's ass. 

I loved every second of it because he'd grab my left cheek making me yelp before asking my opinion on the song playing. He cared every bit what I had to say about it. I had never felt that with anyone before and I've never felt it since. Every second, every mumble, every movement captured him and he didn't let up for a second, he never has. 

I wrapped my arms around his neck and tugged him closer because I have always wanted him closer. Closer to my lips, closer to my heart, closer to my city, closer to me. I had moved past my problem with public displays of affection in the last year. I don't know what flipped, I think I just was sick of not having him touch me. We didn't usually fondle each other this much (alcohol-afflicted) but not holding his hand felt ridiculous. 

Later, after I had blown out the candles and we were all eating the red velvet cake, Alex and I sat on the edge of our bed like we did most of our eating. We were sitting in the middle of the noise but it was quiet enough to hear each other, music turned down and people's mouths full of cake and I had to ask what had been eating away at me. "Are you happy?" I asked. "I mean, here in London."

Alex leaned away from me. He fought a smile, wanting to seem sincere and not cheesy. "Are you kidding?"

I shifted closer to him, leaning my arm forward to him. "I've kind of figured how you feel but since you asked me I wanted to be sure."

His hand reached out and he pushed back a chunk of hair that had flopped forward, holding onto my shoulder after. "I love being here with you."

"I know that." Alex's affection was never easily hidden. For me, it was always easy to tell if you liked something or not and I always knew he loved me, even when we weren't together loving each other. "But if I weren't here would you live in London?"

Alex looked down at his cake, playing with the fork, thinking to himself. He hummed. "I don't know. I think so." Then, he shrugged, took a bite of cake, and looked up at me, leaning close to my face. "But I just want to be wherever you are."

I rolled my eyes. It was too much for me to handle. I pushed his shoulder and couldn't prevent a grin. "Stop it."

He chuckled, pleased with getting me flustered. It has always been his favourite hobby.

*

The Age of the Understatement came out a month later and while the Puppets were rehearsing for Later with Jools Holland, I listened to it in full. I had heard most of it by that point, through bits at Black Box and things Alex had strummed, but fully mixed, I was struck with the fact that I didn't know how to feel about it. I loved it but the subject matter was hard to digest because despite being together when the album was worked on, the majority of songs were written during our break-up.

It was interesting to get his perspective on these things and to hear his longing and even his bitterness toward me. I had always been so interested in this part of Alex because he never showed it to me during our separation. I had worn my heart on my sleeve to an almost embarrassing degree while he stayed silent other than small encouragements. 

I wasn't very upset over it. I always wondered why or how I became numb to these things. I blamed my parents for most of it. I ignored that nagging thought in my head that said it was something else. I ignored it for a while.

*

In April, Alex's parents came down to London for a week. On the second day, we went on a tour of the Tower of London and ate at Rules for lunch. Penny and I shared oysters and I drank A Kiss for Lillie because I loved the name so much.

"How's it feel being shacked up?" David asked us, drinking a London Pride.

I giggled, covering my face with my napkin while Alex ridiculed, "Dad." I've always felt like a little kid under the Turners' stare. I am frozen at 17 eating Sunday roast in the dead of winter when I dine with them. In front of them, I felt like Alex and I were playing a game of house and his parents were asking us how the game was going.

I dropped my napkin and looked over at Alex. He had a grin and was sipping his London Pride, the boys were alike with that. His occupation with his drink made me answer. "I think it's going well. Alex leaves his wet towels on the floor," I tattled.

"Hey!" He put his drink down, the remnants of liquid cornering his mouth. "Jane doesn't do the dishes."

Penny and David both looked on amused. "That does sound like it's going well," Penny said with a chuckle.

We dug into our meals and recharged from our walking and poor weather by chatting. Penny and David told us the news in Sheffield, which per usual was very light and boring, but it was still interesting to know what back home was like.

"How are your parents liking Bath?" Penny asked me.

"Oh, um." I didn't really know the answer. I don't know if my parents liked anything. "They've settled. Stacey's not a big fan but she'll be headed to college soon." She'd certainly been counting down the days. I was freaked out. How was I old enough for Stacey to be going to college? At least, I wasn't my mother. I think she was having panic attacks over that realization.

"Have they visited here yet?" Penny continued to ask.

I took a swig of my drink to clear the food and anxiety in my mouth. "No, no. I think Stacey wants to but my parents wouldn't let her make the journey on her own."

"If they do, I would love to come down and meet them. It's strange to have not met them yet."

I laughed. The idea of Penny and my mother in a room together felt physically impossible like forcing the ends of a magnet together. "Oh, no, I don't think you'll ever meet my parents. I wouldn't subject you two to that."

They both laughed but the air felt awkward or maybe that was just me. I clasped my hands and placed my elbows on the desk, leaning my chin on them. "I just think..." I tried to think of an explanation. I really did. Nothing came to mind. I would say I had lost any thoughts but I don't think I ever had an opinion on the matter to begin with. My parents with Alex's parents felt like a fever dream and if it were ever to occur I'd make sure Stacey was in the room. "Anyway, should we get dessert?"

*

In the summer, I attended my first Last Shadow Puppets gig with their secret set at Glastonbury. Since it was a weekend and it was Glastonbury, I took off work Friday to attend. The Puppets weren't performing until Saturday but Sinéad O'Connor was on Friday so I made it my mission to see her. 

In addition, Matt came out to play drums with them (and Jack White too on guitar) so per usual the whole weekend turned into a booze-filled extravaganza. Though I mention drinking a lot here we didn't do it very often (well, as often as any Brits in their 20s convincing themselves they're not alcoholic). Simply, this year's more notable points occurred over a pint. I blacked out during Jay-Z's headlining set on Saturday, but other substances might have been involved there too. I mean, we also got to see Amy Winehouse again and Leonard Cohen on Sunday for which I cried during "Hallelujah" because I'm a cliche, what was there not to love?

After this, Alex and I returned to London unchanged, slipping back into our old habits, just like I have always wished for. We returned to even older habits of writing together, although less planned. At night, I would write in one of my notebooks and Alex would sometimes join in. Neither of us said anything about it, fearful it would ruin the magic.

Around this time, Alex started bringing up Los Angeles. He started small, one Saturday or Sunday afternoon in July, while I was fixing one of the holes in his trousers. My sewing skills were minimal back then (I pride myself in saying they have improved in recent years) but far better than Alex who struggled to thread a needle.

He kept me company as we sat on the floor, my eyes concentrated on the fabric, poking the needle through it. "I was talking to Matt about LA recently. About going out there," he said.

I hummed. "Well, you know I've always wanted to go."

"We were thinking at the end of the year. After the Puppets' tour. Recording out there at Josh Homme's." My eyes were too focused on the needle and thread than looking at him. Alex had talked about Homme before, slowly getting to know him through the years. Homme had become a common name rather than Queens of the Stone Age's Josh Homme.

"I could probably get off for a week or during the holidays," I told him nonchalantly (mistake).

I looked up and he handed me the scissors, smiling bright and wide. "We'll do all the hikes you want."

I stared at him narrowly. "I just like nature."

He held his hands up. "I'm not knocking you for it."

A few weeks later, we had Jamie, Katie, Matt, and his new girlfriend over for dinner. (Nick was in Sheffield for his mum's birthday). We got a foldout table for us all to sit at and Alex cooked something, I don't remember what but it smelled and tasted good. I was very impressed.

We had seen much of each other in the past few months but this had been the first time we all sat and just talked in a long while. There was catching up and getting to know this girlfriend of Matt's that didn't last for long, but I remember her being nice. 

We had finished eating long ago, but we were still sitting with our empty plates, chatting away when LA came up again. An unknowing Matt asked, "What are you going to do with this place when we're in LA?"

The only way I made sense of what Matt was asking was to assume he was referring to someone house sitting. I shrugged. "I mean, Georgia has a key to check in if we'd need it."

"Two places. Swanky, swanky," Jamie uttered.

"What?" I furrowed my brows and tried to get some understanding from Alex. His face was hidden away, his hand rubbing his face, and that was clear enough for me but I still asked. "Why would we need two places?" I asked sternly. "We're only going to be there for a week."

"Al told us you were coming out with us," Matt said, a little lost.

I tried to look at Alex but he shied away and it became clear that he had bent the truth when he told me about LA. "For how long?" I asked Matt.

"We're all thinking of moving out there. At least for the next album."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm getting the impression you didn't know this."

"Uh-huh," I uttered. I stood up and began to clear the dishes. 

"Should we go so you guys can fight?" Matt asked.

I walked to the kitchen, only a few measly steps away from our makeshift table. Everything too close. "We're not fighting," Alex said, always quick to deny a fight, horrible at diffusing one.

I didn't want to bicker in front of them so I put the dishes in the sink and asked if anybody wanted dessert. The remainder of the evening was tense but I leaned closer to Katie than Alex and when they left I was sad to see them go because I didn't want to fight and I didn't want to do the dishes.

The door shut and Alex stared on at me. I choose dishes. I turned the faucet on and Alex said, "I can do them."

"Will you or will you say that and then not do them?" My back was to him but I could picture him clearly, awkward standing between the foldout table and our bed.

"Look." He sighed harshly, I could hear the aches of it ring in my ear. "Things got bigger and I did a shite job at keeping you informed."

My boiling anger couldn't cool down with him talking so I figured to just out with it. I quickly turned off the water and turned to look at him. "I always thought that once we were finally in the same city as one another—let alone the same house as one another—that all those old problems we had of half-truths and not telling each other things was over with but you seem to have a hard time with it."

"I knew if I told you, you'd get pissed—"

My eyes widened. "You're a fucking idiot. I'm even more pissed now 'cause you lied to me."

"I didn't lie to you. I was trying to work things out and I knew you wouldn't go if I told you about moving out there," Alex tried to explain.

"What were you planning on doing? Kidnapping me out there?"

"No, I was just trying to work things out. Can't I work things out before telling you about them?"

"Why can't we do that together?" All our habits had been hard to break. I thought we had broken away from this one. We told each other all the details only for our ears and those walls, just like in my childhood bedroom, but just like back then things were always omitted. I can't lie, I'd done it too, but mine were much smaller, not life-changing.

"Oh, come on, Jane, because I know you. You would have shut the idea down right away even if I came to with some grand presentation. You only want things your way."

"Because it's my turn! I get to pick! You said that, not me." I held it over his head because I had the right to. Of course, I wanted things my way, I had bent to people's will for so long that I wanted them to bend toward me, but that just didn't happen.

"You're right and I'm sorry. Nothing's definitive. It's not like we're leaving tomorrow." His dissipation angered me and I was no longer open to accepting apologies.

"If you move out to LA, I'm breaking up with you." It was final in my mind and it hurt but it would hurt more for him to go.

He stepped back. His head moved around, rattled and confused. "What?!"

I pointed to myself. My face was hot and my fury was on fire. "It's my turn! I get to decide! We're not going."

"You don't get to decide that."

"Uh, yeah, I do because it's my turn."

"So, what did you think you'd have jurisdiction over for the rest of our lives?"

"At least for a year!"

"When we leave it will be a year."

I let out a breath and couldn't even look at him. A realization ticked over me. "And our lease will be up. Are you conspiring against me or something?" I scowled. Hard.

"No. I'm talking about doing things we talked about for years. We're fucking off to America."

"Don't use my words against me." Alex likes to do this.

"You're using mine against me." I like to do this.

"I don't want to fuck off to America anymore. You're asking me to give up my job, my friends, my flat. It's not like you'd do any of that for me." That's what hurt most. Those tallying of sacrifices. Maybe because I was willing to do it and I know he'd never be. There is something more wrong with me than him but he was well-adjusted and I was a petulant child.

"I'd do a lot for you and you know it."

"Then do this for me. What's so wrong about London? You recorded a whole album here when we weren't together. Now that we are, you have to go to another country."

"For a few months. Not the rest of your life and you don't have to come!" He emphasized that part.

"I know that! I know that, you fucking idiot. I want to be with you. That's the difference but you seem awful desperate to get away from me."

"Fuck off with that, Janie. You know that's not true. I'll go out there for a few months. I'll come back. That's it." He seemed to want to put an end to the fight, didn't want the fireworks to keep going and I was determined more by that to keep it going. To stretch it out for as long as possible.

"Then, we're breaking up. I'm not doing this coming and going shit for the rest of my life."

"Don't be so dramatic."

"Why does it matter? You're moving away to sunny Los Angeles with all the models."

"Do you think I'm gonna cheat on you? Let me remind you who cheated." Touché.

"Oh, fuck that. We were barely together when I went to Aruba and god knows what you were doing. And I'm not threatened by some model. Shockingly the one thing I don't have doubts about is that you love me."

"Good!" He said it so harshly it almost made me laugh. "Stop with all this break-up talk then."

"Why can't you just stay here?" I argued it, even though I knew it was no longer an option. It was as if he was already gone.

"Why can't you come with me? You'll write, you'll hike, you'll be the coolest chick in all of LA."

"Did you just call me a chick? Who are you?" I laughed at the ridiculousness and Alex joined in but I was laughing at him, nowhere near with him. I returned to the argument quickly. "I like my job. That might shock you since you just sit around here all day but I like going to work."

He rolled his eyes and didn't address my dig at his career. Alex works hard, he knows he works hard, he knows I know he works hard. There was no need to pointlessly defend it. "You tolerate your job. You want to be an assistant for the rest of your life, fine, but I think—I know you'd rather be doing the writing. Come on, you'll be Joan Didion or whatever."

"I prefer Eve Babitz," I stalely said, crossing my arms.

Alex shrugged. "Fine. Eve Babitz. Or Patti Smith. Or fucking Steinbeck. Just give me a little."

I scoffed, "I give you a lot." I walked around but he kept following. The place was so fucking small.

"I know. I just know you'll love it or you could get a job out there with Simon & Schuester, and ask to be transferred."

"They're not gonna transfer an editorial assistant and their US offices are in New York." I felt he didn't even care enough to research that part. It was plain and simple that I would just follow him around always.

"Then work at the bajillion other publishing houses out there. Or get published yourself. You're worth more than some dumb assistant."

"I like my job and will you stop chasing after me?" He stopped his movement and I walked to the opposite wall, still not too far away. I muttered, "I fucking hate this place."

"Then, come to LA, we'll get a big place where you can hide out in the guest room when you hate me," Alex offered. But it didn't matter. I just wanted it to end.

"Will you stop?" I was just exhausted, slumping down on our bed.

He sighed. He was over fighting too. We didn't kiss and make up, but he tossed me the TV remote and went and did the dishes. I fell asleep before he came to bed.

We avoided the topic for a while. Alex wanted me to have some distance to think about it and I did. I pictured living in a warmer climate, having that tan on my skin I so desperately loved. I wanted to make him happy most of all. But, for once, at first, I wasn't willing to give up something that made me happy. My job wasn't glorious but it was stable and I needed that stability. Alex had been the most reliant thing to lean on up to that point in my life and as written and seen he was often coming and going, even if emotionally he was always there for me.

In August, before he left on a string of Puppets dates, Alex asked me if I thought more about it. I had but I didn't have any answer. He reassured me of his return and a promise that I would love LA, even if I just came for a week. I didn't doubt that part, but I didn't want to give in.

*

When autumn approached and Alex returned for his September-long break, we fell back into step but not back into comfortability. LA always hung over our heads and Alex didn't bring it up again but I know he was waiting for an answer just like I was waiting to come to an answer. It was a debate between heart and head. Georgia shamed me for the whole idea of leaving England. Stacey cooed at the romance of it all. One was my peer, the other was my 16-year-old sister.

Late one night—it must have been around midnight, either Tuesday night or Wednesday morning—Alex and I played gin rummy, drinking wine. We were silent other than the record playing quietly in the background. I could tell he was getting sleepy.

I drew a card and asked, "How do you think we'll be when we're older?"

He quirked a small smile. "Does gin rummy get you sappy? You've asked me this before."

I wasn't asking him this in the same way, not fishing for a compliment of being an old married couple. I need assurance. "Do you think we'll be together?"

He waited and looked at his card like he was trying to find a match, trying to make sense of his hand. Then, he looked up, smiled, and said, "Yes."

His earnestness was shocking, blunt, plain, and simple. "You've got a lot of faith." With every passing day, I believed Alex and I could work forever, if we got past this hump of young adulthood then we'd be okay. Every day I doubted we could get past that hump. 

But then, his smile grew bigger and sleepier and he said, "It's you and me. What's there to doubt?"

I laughed. "Do you want the list?"

He shrugged. "You're never gonna know unless you try."

Alex won that round and we decided to call it a night. I took a shower and he did something during that time, I don't know what, but he managed to stay awake for me to slip under the sheets and into his arms. I nudged closer to him and nozzled my head in that crook of him.

"You smell nice," he told me. His hand scratched my damp hair, tender and careful, the best kind of massage. 

I felt everything in me relax. I shifted my head to speak and breathe clearly. "I'll come with you. To LA. I'll come."

His movements stilled like if he changed anything I would turn around and reject him, spit all over him. "You sure?"

I sighed. "I think so. But if not I can just live off you for the rest of my life." I feared that but still joked. Coping mechanism.

Alex moved away from me, shuffling me down his arm so he could see my face, a small kiss between my brows. "It would be an honour."

I ducked into his neck and said, "I'm gonna have to be my own person one day." I don't know if I was saying it to him or to me.

I squeezed my arm with some reassurance. "You know, one day you'll understand how cool you are."

"Nah," I shook my head, "I'm just Plain Jane."

*

I have wondered what it would be like if Alex wrote this book and how his perspective might change the impression of the story. I think that most about LA.

We left in November. Alex spent the month of October playing the final dates of the Puppets' tour. I gave my notice at Simon & Schuster and though my decision displeasured Georgia, she took me out to drinks, just the two of us. My parents had approved of the move, even if it didn't matter much where I lived, but they took me out to dinner and Stacey was excited to visit. 

There wasn't much to pack, and I left behind memorabilia that would cost a lot of money today, monetarily and sentimentally. Alex got a small house, bigger than our flat, but smaller than future homes. We weren't sure how long we'd be there so staying modest with our space seemed proper, especially when we were renting.

Truthfully, past my slight resentment against LA for ripping me away from London, I took to California quickly. I liked the heat and the ocean, even if it was winter. It was just a more lukewarm winter. 

Josh Homme's studio being in Joshua Tree was the cherry on top. Alex's memory was always intact and he made it his mission to get me into the national park as soon as possible. Smart move. Throughout winter, we must have hiked every inch of it, seen Gram Parsons memorial too many times, and stargazed at the Milky Way a thousand times. 

We always had fun at night. The speculation of what went on in the desert isn't far off and, though it wasn't a constant thing, partaking in psychedelics wasn't rare. I quite liked it. I think we all did. Joshua Tree at night was definitely a good place to do it. I'm pretty sure that town is founded off of it. 

I looked at the sky when we did it but more often than not I enjoyed looking at people. Like everything else, people usually meant just Alex. His hair was shaggier, but not long, more Beatles mop-top with curly ends. His eyes looked brownier and felt more puppy-dog, paired with a pout. He hadn't been wearing a heavy coat or long sleeve too often and I liked seeing him in short sleeves, fitter than ever. I liked watching him do it more than anything. 

He'd turn to me, notice me staring, scruff my hair in his hands. "Look at us two. Observers." We simply liked watching each other. Always have, even through the rough times. I just found him intriguing and interesting to look at. He tempted something in me that made me so desperate to stare on just like when we were 17. I asked him once if I had that quality too. He laughed, finding the question ridiculous because "Of course. Who wouldn't look at ya?"

Parts of me wanted to return to London where I felt like the one in control. Being unemployed didn't help. Alex would come home to me, which was lovely, but I wanted something to come home from too. Alex brought me to the studio occasionally but I wasn't a fan of being the girlfriend, sitting on an amp, waiting around. I didn't have any friends either. That might have been the worst. Sitting around doing next to nothing grew boring quickly and though I wrote I didn't know what I was writing for.

But I did write something and I wrote often. My days of notebooks were gone and I switched to typing. Something I was dreadful at, sticking my index fingers out and pointing. Alex taught me how to type. He'd drawn up a diagram for me to memorize where the keys were and I always laughed because I could've just looked at my keyboard. He thought staring at it on a piece of paper would be easier.

Eventually, he unlocked the true thing that would make me learn how to type properly and quickly: a competition. It was on one of those stupid typing websites that I had tried out but got sick of typing "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog." However, one day, Alex said, "We've finally found something that I'm better than you at." (This is a clear lie because he's better at almost everything than me but he indulges me so you must too). It became my mission then to be better at typing than Alex. I achieved this by the second week in California because he's not that good of a typist either. 

So, I began typing instead of handwriting, which meant I was writing a greater quantity than ever. To get out of the house, I would go to a cafe and type and type and type. Drinking way too much coffee, which led to my sleep schedule getting completely fucked up (along with those acid trips). Sometimes, I would sleep the whole day while Alex left and returned from the studio. It worked out kind of nicely. It's like I wasn't even missing him. However, it wasn't highly advisable for a healthy lifestyle so I tweaked it just a little, staying up a whole day, and passing out at 9 PM. I blamed jetlag. At that point, we had been there for a month.

That's about when I became bored of California. Early December. I loved being in California, I loved being with Alex & the band, but I didn't have much of a life. It was recreational play with my boyfriend and his best mates. I didn't have any friends of my own to go out drinking with and shit-talk about how Alex didn't pick up the wet towels. When I voiced this to Alex, it never came from a calm standpoint. That has always been my issue.

I told him, "I have no life here. I'm just doing whatever you do and you don't do anything so I do nothing." It was late and we were going to bed but I had to start something.

Alex—clad in his pajamas and tired from actually doing things all day—leaped quickly to frustrated aggravation. I had changed that calm demeanor in him. It killed me. He stood up and walked to the door with his back to me. Not even a bother of wishing me good night.

"Where are you going?" I scoffed at him.

He sighed before turning around and spitting, "I'm not gonna be your punching bag. I love you but I'm getting tired of this shit. If you're going to blame me for every bad feeling you have, then leave. I'm not making you happy then go."

He watched my fury dissolve. I regretted and despised my need to ruin a perfect evening with anger. He did nothing wrong and a pit would develop in me, forcing its way out, fighting its way through me before I was firing away. 

I swallowed that lump. "I'm sorry."

My eyes downcasted, he walked over to me on the edge of the bed, sitting beside me. "It's fine." His arm came around me and I turned into him, hugging him properly. He squeezed back tightly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Talk. Like adults. "Yeah," I said in his ear. "I'd like that."

I told him every emotion that had festered. Praised California for its inspiration and blamed it for my loneliness. I went on and on never-ending and he listened, held my hand, and didn't say anything. I cried at one point, not heavily, but enough for him to squeeze my hand tighter in reassurance. "I don't do too well with change. Clearly." I brushed it away, sniffling.

Alex looked over at my face and realizing I had come to my conclusion, he finally spoke and asked, "Do you want to go back home?"

I laughed and looking at him I felt the answer should be no, but my eyes fell down, and soon did my smile. "Maybe."

"Okay." I wanted so badly not to disappoint him and he knew that. He tugged me close and hugged me. "It's okay. You'll go back and I'll be back for Christmas and we'll do something special. It'll be okay." I cried hard into his shoulder, probably getting snot over him, but he didn't care. His hand soothed my shaking shoulders. "I'm sorry I'm selfish."

I pulled away, rubbing my nose. "Stop. You're doing something wonderful and I love being here, I just think it's too soon. Maybe in a couple of years, this would have been better and I could've gotten a job out here but something happens to me when I'm not occupied. I feel like I go crazy. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, don't be sorry."

I shook my head. "Don't do that. You don't deserve all the mean things I've said. You're so loving and caring and I'm a bitch."

"Stop it. It's okay to not want to do everything I want to do. I love that we butt heads, that you put me in my place. I know that I broke a promise to you and you have every right to be pissed at me for it. I just want you to do what's best for you."

"Yeah," I said with a shaky breath. He rubbed his hands up and down my arms. I was the beating waves crashing onto his harbor. His lighthouse stayed put.

*

The following night, we went to Ivar, a nightclub in West Hollywood. I was still debating if I would return to California in 2009 and with that, I decided to enjoy the time we had left before we returned home for the holidays. The club was packed, I was dressed slutty because that's what you do when it's 70ºF in winter. 

A little black dress is key. Along with a nice pair of heels, which I usually didn't dare dance in but that night I wanted to feel glorious. Paired with the gifted flower pendant, I felt drunk happy. I've always felt happier drunk and since I became aware of this fact it has worried me.

However, that night, I felt well-paced and among happy people. Alex was smiling and Alex hated these kinds of things where people were all squished together, drowning him, so that must mean it was a really good night. I clung to him, arms around his neck, swaying amongst the loud bass beats from the DJ. 

"I love dancing," I told him.

He chuckled, lighter than me. His nose nudged my cheek. "I can tell. You're always happy when you're dancing."

I pulled away from him, shimming my hips. "Well, the music tells me to move and I listen. You're stiff as a board."

"Me nature, I suppose."

I shrugged, moving back to him. "You're cute when you're watching me."

"I'm always watching you. I can't look away from you."

I giggled because it was too much sweetness, his sugar was rotting me from the inside out. I tapped his nose. "You're a charmer. You're my little guy."

"Yeah." He smiled. "I like being your guy. Your fella."

"Fella!" I exclaimed, swaying, unbalanced in my heels. "You're my fella. And I, your lady." I moved my feet side to side, singing into his ear, "You are woman and I am man."

He laughed, right back into my ear, like a game of telephone. "Don't go all musical theater on me, Janie."

I messed with his hair, my fluffy puppy dog. "I balance you out."

"I'd be that shy boy up against the wall if it weren't for you."

"Yes, but you'd have all the girls wrapped around your finger," I reminded him. All those armchair girls he used to have.

"I only want one girl and I'm wrapped around her finger." I suppose to him, he favoured a dancefloor girl (and maybe this is when I started to fall in love with that song, remembering that tiny boy who wrote it).

"Who?" I requested to hear him utter it. My name on his lips.

He chuckled, looking up at the ceiling, strobe lights flickering. "Don't make me play that game."

"But I want to hear you say it," I whined.

Alex looked down, those brown eyes close to mine and he kissed me. We were transferring heat back and forth to one another, capturing each other within the madness as the crowd swelled around us. "You've got me wrapped around your finger, Janie. All yours." It was the greatest gift a girl could ask for.

It felt like we were stuck inside a speaker, the whole place pulsating and booming. The vibration ate away at my soul and it soon became unbearable, which meant it was time for a smoke break. We snuck outside and shared a cigarette because it felt more romantic. I held the lighter and Alex held the cigarette to my lips.

"I want to see a movie this weekend but everything that's out right now is depressing," I told him.

"We could go see Twilight." The movie had come out two weeks prior and Alex couldn't stop joking about it. He would comment on the reports of diehard fans and I would say it's no different than his fans but he counters this by saying that Twilight is a shittier movie than their shite music. Yet, he kept bringing the movie up. Almost like he wanted to go and see it...interesting...

"Landmark is doing Harold & Maude." Landmark had been our go-to activity with retro movies galore. It is now Vista Theater owned by Quentin Tarantino, no relevance here. I just thought I'd mention it as a fun fact.

"Aw," he cooed, leaning the side of his body up against the bricks. "I love Harold & Maude."

I smiled an impossible-to-resist smile. "I know you do. It's 'cause you look like Harold."

He sneered. "I do not. His eyes are all far apart."

"But you've got the same hair." I brushed my hand through his head of hair.

Alex didn't believe me for a second. "We do not. That makes you Ruth Gordon."

I placed my hand over my heart. "I consider that to be an honor."

"I know you do, Rosemary's Baby."

"'Anyone! Anyone! It didn't have to be a no-good slut straight from the gutter. Just as long as she is young, healthy, and not a virgin!'" I quoted.

He laughed, throwing his head back in delight. "You've seen that movie too many times."

"It's 'cause I love John Cassavetes so much."

"You want a guy like Guy Woodhouse?" Hmm, a satan-worshiping husband or Alex?

"No, I want a guy like John Cassavetes. You look like him a little. If you got a little facial reconstruction."

"A little facial reconstruction?" He laughed.

"Well, I see more of him in you than Harold. Besides, Cassavetes was an alcoholic and died 20 years ago, you're much more my taste."

His laughter continued. "That's good to know."

Then, we were kissing and we kissed for a while, long enough that we needed time to separate and breathe. Though we had less air to breathe inside the club, we decided it was an appropriate time to head back inside, at least to let the boys know we were still around.

On our way back inside, we walked by a woman. She stopped me, taking my arm and saying, "I love what you're wearing."

A stranger had never complimented my outfit before. I've had unknown men whistle at me but never a woman telling me, "And that necklace, it's stunning." She was platinum blonde with a short bob by her ears. She was dressed in a white babydoll dress and had pearl bracelets on both her wrists. 

"Oh." My hand went up to it and I fiddled with it, looking over at Alex. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes watched on, nudging me forward with his gaze like I was a child on their first day of school. "He got it in Germany."

"Foreign. You and the necklace."

"British," I told her.

"I've loved British people ever since Harry Potter. Are you British too?" Her eyes turned to Alex.

"Yeah."

"Are you here on vacation?"

"No, he's recording an album," I explained.

"An album? Cool," she praised for a moment before turning back to me. "What do you do?"

"I was an editorial assistant for Simon & Schuester back in London but, I guess, I'm unemployed right now."

"She's a writer," Alex spoke for me. Always my cheerleader.

She squealed. "Oh, my god! I'm an art director for ELLE magazine! You know, I could tell you were a writer. You have that look to you."

I laughed and partially thought that Alex had paid this woman to approach me. "What look is that?" I asked.

Her eyes trailed up and down me, X-raying me and examining the image. "You just seem astute. Maybe it's the British thing."

"You don't know many British people," I told her and she laughed and laughed and at some point, Alex slipped away back to our group but I didn't notice. We talked and she gave me her phone number and her name: Opal. I'd comment on the peculiarity of it but I'm Plain Jane so who am I to pass judgment? Actually, I quite like the name.

Later in the evening, after we had drunk sex (Alex and I, not Opal and I), he hugged me to him and I hugged back. I possess a great need to be near Alex as much as possible, but drunk me would die without it. That part of me will always love hanging off of him. 

My brain was foggy but we were both clear-headed enough to remember the exchange. "I like you a lot, Alex."

He laughed at me. "I figured."

But I was serious, both now in writing it and then when saying it. I turned, sitting up on his chest, elbows on his ribs. "No, like I really like you."

Alex pushed my flyaways back, a funny smirk staring me down. "I really like you too, Janie."

I moaned dramatically. "Like that when you call me 'Janie.' Do you know what that means to me?"

He wiggled his eyebrows. "You want to go for round 2?"

"No!" I shouted, furrowing my brows. "This isn't a sexual thing, it's a loving thing."

"Liking thing," he corrected.

I nodded, pouting my lips. My face felt fuzzy. "I always hated when people called me that. I felt like I was being babied or something. Maybe it's something to do with my dad or Tommy or a stupid guy. But then you call me that and it's like an angels' chorus." I was stupid drunk and stood up on my knees, flapping my arms like I was a bird, and fell beside Alex on the bed. Though I demanded this was a serious thing, I wasn't very serious. My drunk words were my sober thoughts. Luckily, they were pretty sweet.

Alex looked over at me, turning onto his side. His eyes were soft and shiny, staring into me. I was like a baby and started pulling at his face, tugging on his cheeks and tapping his nose. He laughed at my actions but was rather emotional, pulling my hands away from his face, and pushing them down to rest on his chest.

"I'm glad I can be not a stupid guy for you." The idea of stupid guys seemed long ago, almost foreign to me. Maybe I chose to block it out or maybe I had a hard time believing that I lucked into Alex. Even if he faulted and he faulted a lot, I never doubted his care for me. He was the first person I felt that unconditional nature from and it transformed something in me, giving me the belief that nothing should ever be less than this, but perhaps nothing will ever be as good as this. As good as him.

"You are, but you're my stupid guy." I giggled, pleased with my insult. I turned onto my side too, placing my arm over his body, pulling myself closer to him. "I really like the person you are and the person you're becoming. I like every version of you. I'll love every version of you."

He was silent for a while. I was able to stay quiet and still. I could tell he was thinking of what I had just said. It was rare that my words bested Al's in the romance department, but maybe once in a blue moon. 

Then, he nodded, swallowed hard, and tried to force something down; emotions, tears, a laugh—I don't know. "I'm a lucky guy," he said quietly.

I shook my head, adamantly insisting, "You're a deserving guy."

*

a/n: i swear i didn't just post this because @goblinontour praised it. but i will keep mentioning the compliment.

[barrowsteeth]

Q+ Exclusive Interview – Omar Rudberg & Edvin Ryding

[hellenhighwater]

Wait is that actually your ex-boyfriend's hand? What happened to him?

He works with real live dinosaurs so....

Nah, he and are are super good friends--we were before we dated, and remained so after, because the breakup was extremely amicable, and he's one of those people who's a terribly good gift-giver. Most years we still exchange gifts sometime between our respective birthdays and christmas, and he sent me that hand (it's a replica) as a gift one year. I made him the archaeopteryx fossil bowl this year.

Just because this is the OG bone-stealing witch website, I will clearly state that the only real human bones I possess are my own. My animal bones are all either scavenged myself or gifted to me by the people that scavenged them. (I have a sort of energy that consistently makes people go "I saw this dead thing and thought of you!")

I don't have a problem with owning human remains that are ethically sourced, but the reality is that unless you can very precisely trace the origin of human remains to the specific person who clearly and unequivocally stated in life that they're cool with someone keeping and displaying their now-unused crunchy bits, it's...probably not ethical. So if someone has some of their own bones that they're done using that they want to send my way: cool, let's talk, ideally before it's necessary to have the conversation by seance. Otherwise, I will continue to be perfectly happy with my replica remains.

I'd like to will my crunchy bits to someone who will make dramatic monologues to my noggin, but hopefully that's not an issue I'll need to deal with for a while yet.

[youngpettyqueen]

Malcolm sarcastically suggesting Trip climb into the airlock and Trip ACTUALLY trying to do it has me in fucking hysterics. this is absolutely not supposed to be funny but now Malcolm is threatening to shoot him and im fucking wheezing

[sysig]

*You give him a laptop (Patreon)

[selunesfavouriteprincess]

okay but it’s like. if Lae’zel was in the modern day she’d be the top of all her classes (beating Gale who would be so fucking mad about it), on every sports team, head of the prom committee, just constant after-school activities, total overachiever, and she will not accept being second place to anybody. meanwhile Karlach is on every sports team but she doesn’t really want to be, she just wants to do sport for fun and hang out with her friends, but the head of P.E. made her join because she’s good at it. unfortunately getting mad about it makes her compete better. Shadowheart grew up in a weird church and was definitely homeschooled for most of her life and is only in a mainstream school for sixth form because her weird church want her to recruit new members (she sucks at convincing people the church is good). sometimes she says fucking insane things totally seriously and everyone in the class goes what the fuck. Wyll is a very nice empathetic boy who tries to get along with everyone including Shadowheart even though she roleplays warrior cats at lunchtime and Lae’zel even though she threatens to murder him if he gets a higher grade in the debate than her, and it blindsides everyone when they find out his dad is the Head Teacher. Gale would be taking five A-Levels instead of three or four solely for the academic clout it brings him. Astarion should have graduated ten years ago and nobody knows why he’s still here. Withers is the school nurse.

[redeyye]

i could be the guy who makes up seinfeld episodes but for the golden girls

[professor-abeloved]

ngl i dont think mc needed to watch reality tv shows when the devon harem drama is literally right there?? 👀🍿

[alexbkrieger13]

[fleastinger]

[finnickodaiir]

If there's one thing that I can thank my family for, it is giving me stuff to talk about in therapy

[confinesofmy]

i hate the gradual excision of a bad relationship you thought could be salvaged. i hate the months or even years long discovery process as you create more and more boundaries trying to end up with something worth saving and then in the end failing to keep anything above "acquaintance." absolutely miserable.

[bi-writes]

I think first make out session of Simon and his mail order bride happened because she wore sundress all day ~~ i'm a bit addicted to the way you writing Simon

mail-order bride

reader described as curvier/plus-sized 18+

simon has gotten away with a lot of things ever since he married you. he's kept a respectful distance; gentle touches, affectionate ones, sure, but it's been easy to brush off the itch in the back of his head ever since he scratched it just enough when he kissed you for the first time.

when the itch becomes too severe, he's been able to hide away for a little while; running it out of his system working out, shaking it off in the field, drinking so it quiets when he makes his way to the pub.

but it's gotten a lot harder lately to pretend he doesn't see you for what you are.

a pretty girl.

he tells you that you're pretty all the time. in the mornings when you're still waking up. sitting at the counter as you watch him make sandwiches for lunch. pushing the cart in the aisle at the market, picking out the right cuts of meat or seeing which crisps you both can enjoy for movie night. and you are pretty all those times, all the time, in fact, and you were pretty when he kissed you, too.

but fuck. you're also...you're also so fucking pretty.

simon kicks off his boots at the front door, holding a few paper bags in his hands from his trip to the store. the weather has been getting warmer, summer creeping by (his most dreaded season since it forces him to take off layers he'd rather keep), and you had been begging simon for some sweet icy treats and a water fountain for the cat (it'll keep her from drinking out of your water glasses, simon).

when he steps into the kitchen, you're coming in from the backyard, flowers in your hands that the neighbor must have given you.

and you're wearing the cutest little white and red sundress (and suddenly he doesn't hate summer so much anymore).

it's got a cherry pattern on it and puffy sleeves. the bodice hugs you until the middle, where it fans out in a pillowy skirt, stopping just above your knees. there's a soft bow tied around the back, but simon really can't help himself from his eyes that narrow in on your figure and how incredible you look with the sunlight behind you.

"hi, simon," you coo, and simon glares, fucking tease. he has an inkling you don't even know what you're doing to him, you can't, not with that sweet little smile and the way you rock onto your toes. you even tied your hair up with a bow, and simon can't help but feel like you're his little gift, all wrapped up just for him.

one he wants to pluck, unravel until you reveal whatever you've been hiding underneath it all--

"oh! look it! oh, simon!" you giggle, grabbing the bag from him when you see the box that pokes out of it. you pull out a sweet, red ice lolly, cherry-flavored, and you lean up on your toes to give simon a big, wet kiss on his cheek before sucking it into your mouth. "mmm...thank you...just what i needed, it's so warm today."

bloody fuckin' christ.

your tongue is so pink. it's sliding up the edge of it until you suck it back into your mouth, and simon lets out the shakiest breath. it's unlike him, and you turn to face him fully when you notice the way he's staring at you. he looks good today, dark denim jeans and a wrinkled white t-shirt that stretches around his big arms, and your eyes dart to his tattoo sleeve for just a moment before you smile back up at him.

"what?" you ask him gently. "you want some?"

instead of offering him his own lolly, you simply tilt yours in his direction. he huffs, letting out an irritated laugh before he leans forward a licks a fat stripe up the side of the cherry ice.

you smile a little as he does, and you don't even realize your gaze has dropped. you're eyeing the way his mouth moves, taking in the hinge of his jaw and the light stubble along it and the scar that stretches across his whole face that you kiss sometimes when he falls asleep before you.

he groans a little as he takes a bite of the lolly, and you seize at the sound, dropping the lolly into the sink on accident as you scramble to look up at him. you stare at each other, lidded brown eyes just piercing into your own. you're quiet for only a few more moments before you're throwing yourself at him.

he nearly slams you against the closest wall. your back hits it firmly, rattling the pictures that hang there, and you throw your arms around his neck as he kisses you feverishly. his hands slide down your waist to your lower back, and you stand on your toes, his palms cupping your ass before he picks you up with ease, guiding your plush thighs to wrap around his waist as he holds you there.

you don't know how long you kiss against the wall, but you're breathless when he pulls away. you chase him, kissing along his nose, his cheek, any of the skin that you can get, and simon grunts lowly, cradling the back of your neck.

"we shouldn't," he mutters.

"why not?" you whine, and he hisses, looking into your eyes, hungry, big man, struggling to keep himself away from you. but it isn't what you want, you want him to kiss you, you want more, more, more--

you stand back on your toes, pushing him backwards. simon follows you, his hands bunched around the skirt of your dress as you walk him further into the living room until the couch hits the back of his knees, and he sits with a heavy breath. you bend to go sit in his lap, and simon curses under his breath, leaning his head back against the couch as your cleavage crowds his line of sight.

"fuckin' christ, baby," simon says lowly, running a rough hand over his face. he grunts when you take a seat in his lap, stretching your knees to straddle him, and you cage him in with your arms as you guide his chin back down so you can kiss him. you slot your mouth over his, kissing him lazily, and when you press your chest against his, he breathes out heavily when he feels your pebbled nipples through your dress. "fuck--fuck, fuck--"

"not yet," you giggle between kisses, and simon groans audibly as he slips two big hands under your dress and grabs both sides of your ass, his fingertips slipping under the lace of your panties so he can get a warm feel of you. you sit yourself down deeper in his lap, and you pull away slowly when you feel him underneath you.

he blinks his eyes open slowly, and you tentatively sit a little more in his lap, your eyes widening a little when you feel him between your thighs.

holy fucking shit--

"jesus," you stutter, and he looks away from you, ears reddening, and you're quick to cup his cheeks to bring his eyes back to you. you smile a little, leaning in again, and you press your forehead to his before giving him the gentlest grind of your hips. "oh--simon--" you kiss him again, soft, whispering against his lips, "s-so...you're so--"

"mhm," he nods, and you move so your lips are against his ear, giving him a light kiss where his jaw and neck meet.

"i'd say you're too big for me," you sigh, closing your eyes, "but i'm a riley now." you giggle. "'n we can handle anything..can't we, simon?"

"shit--"

you squeak a little when he wraps a hand in your hair and tugs, pressing your pelvis to his as he ruts his hips up against yours. you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he chokes on his moans, big arms keeping you pressed to him as he pants into your mouth.

he stills, face a little scrunched up as he sits there with you. you keep kissing him lazily, exploring the way he tastes, licking over his teeth and bottom lip, up until he pushes you just that much away and groans in frustration.

your eyes open, and you giggle, and simon smooths his hands up the bodice of your dress, his eyes blown wide as he takes in how pretty you look in it. pretty little angel in his lap, a nice weight to ground him as he tries not to think about the mess he's made of himself.

"i assume you like the dress?" you ask, and when you laugh, simon can see the red on your tongue from the lolly. he knows if he kisses you again and sucks on your pretty tongue, you'll taste like that awful cherry, taste as sugar-sweet as you really are. simon leans back a little, propping you up on his thighs, shaking his head as he runs a big hand down his solid middle.

"well," simon mutters. "'aven't cum in my fuckin' pants since i was a bloody kid, so i'd say so."

"w-wha--! simon!"

you cover your eyes, overcome with shyness, with warmth, not believing really that anyone could you want that much. that anyone could really want you at all.

but when you laugh, he does, too.

[chuluoyi]

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 02:33 P.M 」

based on this video. this idea has been rotting in my brain for some while :') dad gojo will always have a soft spot in my heart <3

a part of gojo's love entries

your baby’s first trip to aquarium was such a cute affair you were sure you wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

“waaa~” your baby’s eyes were gleaming with wonder as he gazed at the diverse array of colorful fishes above him, completely captivated by the view.

and your husband...

“aren’t they pretty, hmm?” satoru asked his adorable son with a grin, pecking his cheek and holding him snugly in the baby carrier against his chest, with a backpack of baby essentials strapped on his back.

he was the very vision of a domestic dad, and along with your son, who was dressed in a bear onesie, complete with two little ears, they made a really irresistible pair. even you couldn’t fault the crowd for staring at them.

“fwaa! waa~” your munchkin was squirming with joy, his tiny fingers stretching out towards the sight before him. satoru giggled, moving closer to the glass to give his baby a better view.

“look! that’s clownfish! and those wiggly flowers are anemone! and that is—”

he faltered at a fish passing in his view before deciding, “this— i don’t know, but it’s the clownfish’s friend!”

they are basically the same. your little boy and your husband, both of them clearly shared a brain cell as they happily pointed out different fishes.

“meh! hehe!” your baby babbled away, excited and incredibly happy in his father’s hold, and satoru too seemed to feel the same, as his eyes beyond that sunglasses crinkled.

“damn, my kid is so cute.”

suddenly he dived down and pretended to chew his pumpkin’s chubby cheeks, effectively making him squeal in glee.

and oh lord, the way your heart skipped a beat seeing that. it was so clear how much satoru adored your baby, and it made overwhelming warmth rush to your chest.

“he’s a good man,” an elderly lady beside you suddenly remarked, making you turn to her. “not many men do that for their kids.”

“he is…” you agreed with a shy smile.

“it’s a shame that you only have one baby,” the elderly man beside her—possibly her husband—added. “you’re still young and he is so good with them too.”

your heart swelled and would’ve already burst if it was possible. bashfully, you thanked the elderly pair as they went on their way.

and along the way, you received similar hushed comments and adoring looks—

“oh my! their baby is so cute!”

“how can such family exists?! the dad, mom, baby… all three of them are so good-looking!”

“such a hot dilf! can’t he divorce his wife and marry me instead? i’ll be his kid’s stepmother gladly!”

satoru pretended not to hear, but he clearly held back his laugh. you threw the school girl who carelessly blurted that a pointed look, making her scurry away.

and after the three of you were done walking around the aquarium, you stopped by the gift shop to get your baby his first fish pet.

your son suddenly became fussy, and satoru unclasped him from the carrier. “hmm? do you want mama?” he handed him over to you. “here, here~ mama wants to hold you too~”

as soon as your son was settled in your embrace, he giggled, and you couldn’t help but bounce him and coo. “do you have fun? you do, don’t you?”

it might not visible to others, but now satoru was staring at both of his reasons of being with literal stars in his eyes.

several years ago, he thought his life had stopped when his best friend negated his beliefs entirely, but you were there, holding his hand throughout it all. and then you married him— and then, you gave him a son to dote on.

you keep giving his life a new meaning. and he was thankful for that.

. . . meanwhile, you kept hearing whispers from a gaggle of girls in the next aisle, about how much of a dreamboat your husband in his blue shirt was and it was grating at your nerves so much that you pursed your lips into a total pout.

satoru thought you were the cutest, not even second to his baby, and he decided he wasn’t known for public decency anyway so he dived in and pecked your lips—dispelling any stray thoughts and making you flush in an instant.

“sato—!”

and before you could rebuke him, he whispered in your ear:

“so... baby number two, when?”

[aliteralsemicolon]

We can't be friends, but I'd like to just pretend

Part 1 of We can't be friends (wait for your love) | See part 2 | See part 3

You and Spencer have convinced yourselves that you’re only meant to be friends despite the strong tension between you two. It only seems to intensify the longer you ignore it, eventually reaching its boiling point and forcing changes in the friendship.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

(but no mentions of pronouns in this so it can be read as gn)

DISCLAIMER This story is SFW but it’s intended for mature audiences only. You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING Mentions of: Indirect peer pressure, alcohol/drinking/being drunk, very slight implicated SA (it doesn’t happen), serial killer, kidnapping, torture, murder, stalking, and threats. It’s all barely there and doesn’t really matter to the story tbh. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 9.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Being in love is hard. Being in love with your best friend is harder. It’s a merciless form of torture really, devoting yourself entirely to the person you hold dearest to your heart, but they aren’t yours. It was almost masochistic, standing by to serve him in whatever way you thought he needed. Luckily, you weren’t a masochist. 

Not entirely, at least. 

You were there for him when he needed, offering whatever you had to give, but there were parts of you that you kept guarded. To protect yourself, but more importantly, to protect Spencer. It wasn’t uncommon for you to hear that you were ‘too much’ from passing lovers in your life. A certain level of detachment was necessary to ensure the safety of Spencer’s friendship. He was the most important person in your life. 

Maybe it was the multitude of degrees as a result of his intelligence. He never let you feel stupid or any less intelligent. 

Maybe it was the way his whole body lit up when he shared information he’d stored in that beautiful mind.

Maybe it was the charm in how goofily he carried himself. The way his hands would flail around when he spoke to keep up with the speed his brain moved at. 

Or maybe it was how he made you feel seen. 

How he always knew what to say, what to do. How he remembered little details about you, like how you preferred the window seat on the jet. And how he went out of his way to accommodate the details, like giving up the window seat just so you could sit in it. He was an unusually thoughtful man, with everybody he knew. 

That’s something you had to remind yourself of often. 

He’s like that with everybody. He has an eidetic memory, of course he remembers the little details. 

If only you knew how wrong you were. Spencer was a thoughtful man, there was no doubt about that. Sure he was gifted with an arguably incomparable memory, but unlike all the things he had no choice in remembering, he chose to remember the little details about you. To him you were the closest thing to a real life angel. 

It was the way you were the only person he’d ever met, willing to sit there and listen to him talk for hours. You’d go out of your way to show interest in the things he’d share, even if you didn’t actually have any interest in it.

The way he could swear he saw stars in your eyes whenever he stole an opportunity to stare into them. They would burn brighter if accompanied with the sweet sound of your laughter. 

He felt compelled to accommodate you. Especially when you light up the way you do from such minuscule actions on his part. Spencer loved being the person to bring out your smile, taking any excuse to try and coax one out of you. Even if he’d slightly inconvenience himself at times. His convenience mattered little to him because he knew how much you did for him too. 

Every morning before work you’d make the trip to his favourite coffee shop, getting him scones and coffee exactly to his liking because you knew he had a tendency to skip breakfast. His favourite coffee shop was a fifteen minute drive from your apartment and an extra twenty from Headquarters. You went out of your way to deliver it to him, even reheating the coffee yourself before handing it over. 

Spencer wasn’t alone in recognising your generosity. The entire sixth floor had noticed how both of you subconsciously performed acts of service for each other, even if nobody had brought it up to your faces. 

“I know that look.” Rossi remarks, turning his head towards his raven haired co-worker, eyes on you and Spencer.

“Yea..I just wonder if they know.” Emily mirrors his actions as she gives her own comment on the sight just a few feet in front of her. 

Neither of you realise you have spectators observing your conversation. You’re in your own little bubble at Spencer’s desk, the resident genius seated comfortably with his gaze on you as he speaks. Your focus is entirely on the man across from you, leaning in slightly, perched on the wooden surface. 

“Because stomach acid in the human body is typically 1-2 on the PH scale, it’s capable of dissolving metals such as certain types of stainless steels. Razors for example! The Gastrointestinal Endoscopy journal shared that scientists found that the thickened back of a single-edged blade dissolved just two hours of immersion in stomach acid!” His voice went up a pitch as he spoke and you couldn’t help but smile.

“So theoretically, an unsub could use a razor blade as a murder weapon and potentially eat it to dispose of it?” It was a relatively dumb question, but you just wanted to keep him talking. 

“Well, it’s possible, but realistically I don’t think a razor blade-” 

“Sorry to interrupt my younglings,” A colourful Garcia appears in your bubble and cuts Spencer off, “but I am here to let you know that the team will be going out for drinks, on Rossi, tonight! No exceptions!!”

When your head swivels to Garcia, you also notice the gawking pair not far behind her, shuffling off when they realise they’ve been caught staring. 

“I’ll come, but I won’t be drinking.” Spencer says with an awkward smile. They shift their sights on you for your response. 

“Sorry guys…I already have plans for tonight.” You purse your lips together apologetically. 

“What no! No, no, no! You know how rare these nights can be!” Garcia frowns and grabs your shoulders pleadingly.

“I knowwww…I’m sorry!!”

“Fine, fine, but at least share what’s keeping you busy tonight?” The blonde pokes.

You shift your eyes to Spencer, who’s just staring at you with a curious look and then back to Garcia. 

“Well I have a date-” You begin, but are interrupted by a whispered squeal.

Garcia begins a response, but stops herself when she spots a nonchalant Derek Morgan heading towards the elevators. “We will discuss this in detail during Saturday’s girls night. For now I will accept your excuse and remind you to dress your sexiest! Now excuse me while I go and intercept my sweet chocolate thunder.”

She grips you in a tight hug and scurries off after Morgan. The atmosphere shifts slightly, as you meet Spencer’s eyes awkwardly. 

“You have a date? Why didn’t you mention that” Spencer titters.

“I’m sorry, it just didn’t occur to me.” You try to lie, but Spencer’s expression gives away that he doesn’t believe you. “Okay, okay, I just didn’t wanna say anything because the last time I talked about one of my dates you got all weird and I didn’t want to upset you again.”

“Upset me? I was not upset.” He protests and folds his arms across his chest. 

“Okay what would you call it then?” 

“I wouldn’t call it anything.” 

“Oh really? So you’re not upset that I’m going on a date?”

“Nope. Not at all. I’m interested actually, tell me about him.”

You eye him carefully, trying to figure out where his head is at. Spencer has a tendency to get sassy when he feels defensive. 

“You’re interested? To hear about one of my dates?” You question with playful caution. 

“Yes. I’m always interested in things about you.” He spills. 

Your reaction to his words is immediate, a surprised jump in your features, but you manage to mask it almost just as fast. Spencer’s just as surprised as you. 

“I-I just mean- you know? Because yo-you’re my best friend.” He tries to play it off. 

There’s no way. 

You think to yourself. Spencer definitely didn’t mean it in that way. 

No he definitely didn’t. He just said so himself. You’re his best friend. Spencer Reid does not feel the same way about you.

It stings to admit to yourself, but it’s for the best. Spencer is a smart, handsome, wonderful man with so much to offer. You’re too much work, come with too much baggage, just too much.

“Yea, we’re best friends.” An affirmation more for yourself than him. 

A silence looms as you stare at each other stiffly. 

“Anyways, my date,” you decide not to linger on it for too long, “it’s with that guy I told you about, Nathan.”

“Nathan? Didn’t you go on a date with him last time?” A casual inquiry. 

“Yea!” You squeak enthusiastically, grateful that he had reverted back to his light-hearted self. 

This was something you deeply enjoyed about your friendship. The fact the two of you could flow back into casual conversation no matter what.

“So it’s a second date?”

“Yes! The first one went really well, so I thought why not agree to a second when he asked?”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you.” 

His approval should feel better than it does. For some reason, it makes you uneasy. Almost as if you don’t want him to approve. 

He has approved though, meaning he isn’t against you dating other people. He doesn’t want you the same way.

“Really?” You want to be sure, scared that you might put him off again.

“Yes! Really! If you’re happy then I’m happy for you.” A fib that you were unaware of. 

In truth, Spencer would rather crawl on the office bathroom floor than see you with some other guy. Fortunately for him, he isn’t actually going to be there to see you with this ‘Nathan’. So he doesn’t need to submit to such an awful torture. Maybe he’s being dramatic, you aren’t his girlfriend. He has no right to feel such a heavy drop in his gut. 

Part of him really is happy for you. He wanted you to feel loved, even if it wasn’t by him. God, how he wished it was by him. If friendship is what he has to settle for to be near you, then so be it. Though at times it feels like it might kill him, you being the closest person in his life, but not close enough to the point where he could call himself yours. 

“REID!”

Spencer jumps at the sound of Morgan’s voice, finding it difficult to focus on his current surroundings. He missed half the team scattering around to different parts of the bar, Morgan now his only company. 

“What’s up?” His expression shifts to a tight-lipped smile.

“Where’s your head at man?” Derek probes.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean I have never seen you this zoned out before. You haven’t checked back in since you sat down.” 

It wasn’t intentional, but since you walked out the doors of the BAU all Spencer’s been able to think about was your date. You probably went straight home to get ready, pulling out all the stops to feel as beautiful as you are. For somebody that can never truly appreciate it, not like he can. 

“I guess I’m just not feeling well.” A pathetic excuse. One Spencer finds himself making whenever he’s pulled out of his thoughts about you. 

Morgan doesn’t believe him. Hell, Spencer doesn’t even believe himself. 

“Kid. You know you can always talk to me right? About anything.” 

“I know. I’m really just tired. Actually- you know what, c-could- could you just tell the others that I’m just not feeling great, I’m- bye Derek.” Spencer stutters as he rushes out of his seat. 

He doesn’t even give the man a chance to respond as he makes his exit out of the bar. He’s lacking the capability to force himself to socialise. The knowledge of you on a date with another man was something he’s been able to handle, but a second date with a man was harder to stomach. You must like him if you’re willing to see him again. 

The ride home feels longer than it actually is. How far had the date gotten? Were you enjoying it? Did Nathan make you laugh the way he could? Spencer might lose his mind. He wondered if you had given Nathan the privilege of touching you. Your skin always looked so soft, his heart panged at the thought. He felt sick. 

You were his best friend. You trusted him. He shouldn’t think this way about you, feel this way about you. Unreciprocated feelings were something Spencer was entirely used to. He’d perfected being able to put the person at the receiving end of his affections in the back of his mind. To ignore until it went away entirely.

Why was it so much harder this time? There is no universe in which you would ever return his love for you. Which is why he needs to force himself to love you from afar. It was a fact Spencer reminded himself of repeatedly. And he would’ve kept at it, if he wasn’t interrupted by the sight of you standing in front of his door as he stepped up his apartment stairs. 

“Hi!” His voice alerts you softly.

“Hi!” You squeak back, turning on your heel to face him. 

He can’t help but note how heavenly you look. It almost knocked the air out of his lungs, except he noticed the poorly wiped tears glistening on your face. He didn’t ask about it, immediately. Instead he just pulled you in for a hug, something he rarely did with others, and unlocked his door as he motioned for you to enter first. Another thing to love about Spencer Reid. 

You step inside, more than familiar with the deep green walls surrounding you. If the stench of liquor wasn’t enough, then the way you stumbled on your way to his couch was all Spencer needed to deduce that you had been drinking. A lot. He walks past you towards his kitchen, returning with a glass of water and painkillers you would definitely need later. 

“Have you eaten?” He asks softly, handing you the glass of water. 

“Um..” you take a sip and pause as you sigh, “yeah.”

The two of you just sit there, silently, stealing small glances at each other and averting your gazes before the other can notice. You know he’s waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to speak first. Except you don’t know what to say. You feel so embarrassed. He probably had better plans for tonight, but here you are, pestering him again. 

“How long were you waiting?” He speaks up once he realises that you aren’t going to.

“Not long, I had actually just gotten there, your timing was really good.” You mumble, forcing an awkward chuckle. 

“Did Nathan drop you off?” Spencer hopes that bringing up your date might give you enough courage to vent. 

“No. No, I walked.” A resigned smile creeps on your face, not wanting to talk about your journey here. “How was your night?”

“Walked?? Alone?? Drunk??” The words seep out of him before he can hold his tongue. “Why didn’t you call me?!”

“I’m sorry! I just didn’t want to bother you!” You defend. 

But you are bothering him. You’re bothering him right now.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to hold back tears. Guilt creeps inside him. He knows that he’s not the source of your tears, but he didn’t want to make you cry regardless. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he takes hold of your hand and squeezes ever so gently, “we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Why don’t we play chess? You’re getting better at it, you know?” He adds, thinking of a quick distraction. 

Chess was a favourite pastime of yours with Spencer. You pull your hand out of his grip and use it to rub the opposing arm, his touch overwhelming you. He was too soft with you. You suppose it’s why you seek him out so often. Out of all the men you’ve ever known, Spencer was the only one who knew you. It felt so nice to be known. 

“Y-yea..yes. Please. Let’s uh- let’s play chess.” You stumble on your words, eager to think about anything else. 

Spencer retrieves his mini chess board from his satchel and prepares the board between the two of you. Neither of you utter a word as you play your moves. You appreciate the silence, because you know that you can’t say or do the wrong thing. 

“You’re going easy on me.” You break the silence anyway, scared that the silence might bore him. 

“You’re holding back.” He argues and you finally meet his eyes for the first time since you started the game.

“No, I’m just drunk.” You counter.

“I was the one at a bar but you’re the one who’s drunk.” It’s a stupid comment, slightly cringy even, but he earns a genuine laugh out of you. 

His dorkiness was part of his charm. Your laughter makes him smile. A comfortable silence fills the atmosphere as your eyes meet again. Spencer’s eyes were so beautiful, you could drown in them. Spencer in general was so beautiful, in every way possible. 

“It’s your move.” He has to remind you, worried that if he’s allowed to look at you for two long he might do something really stupid.

“I-uhm- I had a shitty date.” You owe him an explanation for ruining his night.

He doesn’t respond, not wanting to say anything that might make you close up again. He wanted to be the person you talked to about your problems. He wanted to be your solace. 

“It started really well. I thought I could see something more, but it turns out he just wanted the same thing as all the others. Thought that maybe if he got me drunk enough..but it obviously didn’t work” You try to lighten the weight of your words by laughing with them. “It’s probably for the best, you know? I don’t think it would’ve worked out regardless, I couldn’t stop-”

Stop comparing him to you. 

Normally, Spencer is the one with the tendency to ramble, but the alcohol wasn’t making it easy for you to shut up. You just hope he doesn’t realise where you were headed with that statement. You kept comparing your date to Spencer. Everything Nathan did today was a direct reminder of things Spencer would never do. 

“Check.” You choose to stop making a fool of yourself there.

Spencer’s breath hitches. Not because he picked up on what you hoped he didn’t, rather because he was concerned by the possible implications of what you said.

“Did he..did he try to-” 

“No. Oh my God, no!” You cut him off before he can finish the thought. 

His shoulders relax and the silence resumes. For the first time since he met you, Spencer found himself speechless. He didn’t know whether to comfort you or give you advice. Part of him felt selfishly relieved, at least he didn’t have to worry about some other guy anymore. The other part, the part that felt disgusted with himself for even thinking about himself right now, felt a mixed range of hurt for you. 

It started with resentment for the negligence Nathan displayed with you and ended with sorrow for how easily you brushed off your hurt. While he ran all the possibilities of the best thing to say, you ran all the possibilities of leaving his apartment in the least inconvenient way for him, interpreting his silence as irritation. 

He should be irritated, you’re disrupting his night. 

You need to leave before he can tell you to. Just as you’re about to mutter some bull-shit excuse, Spencer gently cups your hand with both of his hands and locks eyes with you. His voice is so painstakingly gentle, your breath gets stuck in your throat.

“Nathan and anyone else who has ever allowed themselves to be blinded by their shallow urges is an absolute fool. Idiot. Moron. There aren’t enough words in the English dictionary to describe how stupid they are for missing out on knowing you as you are. I’ve experienced a lot of good things in my life, none have ever brought me as much joy as you do. I can’t even begin to explain how deserving you are of love and it’s heartbreaking to see that you’ve convinced yourself of the opposite.”

It’s your turn to be speechless. Of the list of things you didn’t expect, this wasn’t even on the list. You should have expected it. It was in Spencer’s nature to prove you wrong for underestimating his tenderness. He felt perhaps he went too far. Said too much.

“I-I just mean-” 

“Why are you so nice to me?” Your heart feels like it’s lacking space inside your chest, tears threaten to build. 

“Because you’re my f-friend.” He struggles to utter the last word.

“Friend..” You nervously laugh.

The meaning behind his words don’t register in your drunken state. All your focus is diverted to the feeling of his calloused skin on yours. The liquor in your veins awakens dazed boldness. One you’d be too wary of displaying otherwise. You allow your fingers to dance against his, an act of intimacy not reserved for friends. He doesn’t stop you either. 

“You know…” 

it’s almost not even a whisper, 

“...if I wasn’t who I am…” 

but Spencer was an expert in tuning out everything else to focus solely on your voice,

“...maybe you could love me the way I love you.”

And the world, as Spencer knows it, stops. Your words ring in his ears and he’s sure his heartbeat has become audible. 

“Y-you love me?” He repeats, unable to suppress his need to hear those words again.

The validity of your confession doesn’t bear any weight until you hear it from him, your motions against his hand coming to an immediate stop. You shift line of sight to his face faster than you can blink, waiting for his reaction so you can scramble to save your friendship. 

Parroting your words wasn’t enough, Spencer couldn’t believe it. He had never considered it feasible for you to love him. He had spent so many sleepless nights tormenting himself over the fact. He wanted so badly to cup your face and tell you about all the thoughts of you that consumed his mind. To say those three words back. 

“You can’t love me.” Instead he said four words that strained your hope for salvation. He’d shoot himself if he had any realisation of what he had just done. 

“No, of-of c-course, I meant like an- a- amazing fr-friend. You k-know, like the kind of bes-best friend you only mean once in your lif-life.” And you unknowingly shattered that hope in him. 

Silence has never been more deafening. Neither of you can look away from each other. There’s so much to say but how can it be said now? 

“Right. No, yeah. Of course.” He forces out. 

A fake understanding between you two. The expressions canvassing both of your faces display anything but understanding. Though you’re no longer physically touching, you’re still holding each other in your view. A few moments pass and Spencer is the first to look away. 

“You must be tired-” He starts.

You were still disrupting his space.

“Right, I’ll go-” You stand, ready to rush out the door.

“No-no.” He sighs. “Stay please. It’s late and you’re drunk-”

“No I’ve alrea-” You try to protest, not wanting him to go out of his way for you any longer.

“Please. I’ll feel a lot better knowing you’re safe.” He begs, not just with his words but his eyes. 

“Okay.” You murmur. “But I’m taking the couch.”

Under any other circumstances, Spencer would have resisted you taking the couch. Today? He was utterly drained.

“Alright. I’ll get you something comfortable to change into while I set up the couch. You know where the bathroom is.” He sports a weak smile, unable to meet your eyes again. 

He watches you disappear into the bathroom after handing you some spare clothes. He sets the couch with the pillows and blankets he’d reserved for you. He bought them after you’d slept over a few times at the start of your friendship, wanting you to sleep as comfortably as possible so you would keep coming back.

You’d just broken his heart into a million pieces, so fine that he’d never be able to put it back together whole, but he still couldn’t not exert the utmost care when it came to you. 

In the bathroom, you fight back tears again as you fumble into his clothes. You’d worn this particular sweatshirt before, because you didn’t anticipate staying the night. It was never planned, often you two just lost track of time because you spent too long engaged in conversations. After a while you started leaving things at his place so you had an excuse to keep coming back. 

You can handle just being his friend, but you don’t think you can handle not being anything to him. Was there something you could do so you didn’t have to stop coming back? 

When you came out and saw your makeshift bed for the night, you felt slightly fuzzy inside. Spencer had already gone to bed but he’d covered the cushions of the couch with a thick blanket and two fluffy pillows. A fresh glass of water was waiting for you on the coffee table with the pills from earlier. 

Maybe things were okay after all? Surely he wouldn’t have put as much care into your comfort if they weren’t. So why couldn’t you shake this feeling of dread inside you? Why did the air feel so thick?

You spend most of what’s left of the night awake, curled into yourself on his couch, muffling your sobs. You’ve ruined another good thing. Pushed away probably the most important person in your life. You knew he was too good for you, he could never feel the same way. You got greedy.

Just a few feet away from you, Spencer’s in the exact same position as you on his bed. No rejection has ever hurt as much as when it came from you. He knew you were drunk, he knew you could never actually feel the same way. But aren’t drunk words sober thoughts? Statistics definitely agree they are.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the pounding headache. Then the dry mouth. Spencer had left a glass of water, painkillers and a bagel on the coffee table. You reach for the pill first, hoping that the faster you take it, the faster it kicks in. As you practically pour the water down your throat, you see a little note next to the bagel. 

“Paper work day at the office. Make sure to eat and drink lots of water. Will tell Hotch that you’ll be late/taking the day off. - Spencer”

Thoughtful as ever. The bagel was still warm so he must’ve left recently. It was strange that he’d left without waking you up like he normally does. Your first bite of the bread jolts the memories of the night before and it hits you harder than the headache. Your appetite faded and the remorse set in. 

Shit. 

You and Spencer have always been able to bounce back, but the damage you caused last night might be irreparable. Say Spencer does forget about it, can you? You always knew he couldn’t love you back, but you never imagined that he would forbid you to love him in the first place. As much as you didn’t want to face Spencer right now, work was the best place for you to be if you didn’t want to go mad thinking about last night. 

You’d have to change into appropriate work attire first, so a trip back to your place was warranted. The whole uber ride back to your apartment you think of things to say when you see him. Things didn’t need to change. You had to apologise, obviously, but there had to be some way of apologising while maintaining normalcy. The best start was getting him his coffee and scones like you usually did. 

Meanwhile at the office, Spencer was stuck on the same page of his file. It had never taken him more than a few seconds to turn a page, but he wasn’t actually reading the words. You took up every thought in his mind again. He wondered if you were awake yet, if you remembered the events of the night before. 

“You know if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.”

When he initially heard you say it, all he heard was that you love him.

“You know if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.”

When he said it out loud to himself all he wanted to do was tell you how much he does love you, but the chance was ripped away from him just as fast as it was given to him. Did you even care? Or was it just an insignificant event to you? It was a lot easier to accept that you could never love him the same way before he had a taste of what it would be like if you did. 

There was this moment, when your fingers were fiddling with his and you said those words, just a second where he experienced what it could be like. He can’t go back to how it was, not now that he knows how it could’ve been. In order to protect himself from unravelling completely he has to let you go. An impossible task, considering you work together. 

“I brought coffee.” Your expression is tentative. 

Spencer looks up to see you standing above him, holding his daily coffee and scones in hand. There are no traces of the night before to be seen on you. Your makeup is fresh and you’d clearly changed clothes. You looked perfectly angelic, as always. If it were any other day, your gesture would’ve made him feel like the most special person in the world. Today, it felt like the cruellest thing in the world. 

“Do you wanna come with me while I heat it up? Or should I just bring it back to you?” You prompt. 

“No.” He rises from his seat and pries it out from your hand. “I can do it. Thank you.” 

Before you comprehend what’s happened, Spencer’s walked away. You try to follow him to the kitchen, but when you get there he’s nowhere to be seen. This seems to be a trend for the next few days. You find some excuse to try for conversation and he shuts it down after about one sentence. That’s if you’re able to get close enough to him for that sentence. It’s becoming more and more obvious that he’s avoiding you. 

You decide to give him space after about a week of it, wishing everyday that you could go back in time and change things. Around the two week mark, he starts giving you the cold shoulder, not even so much as looking at you. He couldn’t look at you. It was taking everything in him to force himself away from you, but it was easier than being near you. You weren’t the only one who could feel this change in your dynamic, the team was just as confused.

They’d all tried to investigate the root of this shift, individually directing casual questions to both of you in conversations. You’d both just brushed it off, not wanting to be the burden of the topic. Spencer had been doing so well in keeping his distance, but eventually, Hotch made the decision that enough is enough.

The BAU was in Chicago this week, hunting down another unsub who thought he was too smart to get caught. This was one of those cases that would stick with you for a while, so tensions were already high amongst everyone. Nobody was more on edge than Spencer and now he was forced in a car with you, driving around the city, chasing leads. 

Rarely did he ever get behind the wheel, but he knew he would need any distraction he could get. Driving was supposed to mean he wouldn’t be stuck in the passenger seat, fighting the urge to stare at you. Now he was fighting the urge to stare at you from the driver's seat. He hated being in love. You were trying your best to stay silent and looking out the window at the passing buildings. 

“Are you hungry?” 

That’s the first time in a month that Spencer’s been the first one to speak. He tried not to. Like he tried not to pay attention to your routine. It wasn’t possible. No matter how hard he tried, there were just some things Spencer couldn’t not do in regards to you. The most important thing was that he couldn’t not care. 

He knew you hadn't been eating properly. You had a tendency to forget about your well-being during hard cases. You were probably hungry. Somebody had to take care of you because you most definitely weren’t going to. He was right. The thought of food made your stomach growl. It was wicked timing. 

“No, thank you.” You lie anyway, not wanting to inconvenience him further. 

“Why won’t you stop lying to me?” He mutters in annoyance. 

“Excuse me?” You scoff, turning to look at him. 

He doesn’t look away from the road, pretending to not have heard you. 

“Seriously?” You sputter. “You’re ignoring me now?”

You huff as you throw yourself back against your seat. He didn’t mean to ignore you, he just didn’t know what to say. 

“I don’t understand why you’re being like this.” You mumble. 

It was already daunting when he was barely acknowledging you, but refusing to acknowledge all together? When you were the only person next to him? That was just vicious. You knew you’d fucked up, but was this necessary? You had already spent so much of yourself trying to keep it together, being confined in this car with him would waste your efforts. 

“Pull over.” You say in the kindest way possible, which was immensely harsh. “Spencer Reid pull this damn car over or I swear to fucking God I am going to jump out of it.”

That definitely caught his attention. In all your time together, you had never spoken to him in that way. You had definitely never addressed him by his full name. He brings the car to a halt on the side of the curb and finally turns to face you. You push the door open and hop out, slamming it behind you. 

“What are yo-” Spencer starts, but you’re already walking away. He quickly gets out and follows behind you. It doesn’t take him long to catch up to you and he stops you by the arm when he realises saying your name won’t make you turn back around. 

“Don’t touch me!” You yank your arm out of his grip and keep walking. 

“Where are you going?!” 

“Anywhere you’re not.” 

He tries you by your name again, but when it fails again, he grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around. You hadn’t noticed that you’d walked into an alleyway. 

“Get back in the car.” He demands.

“I am not getting in a car with you.” You have never been this upset with him before. 

“You’re being childish!” He snaps, rolling his eyes.

“Oh I’m being childish?! Spencer, believe me when I say I mean this is the nicest way I possibly can right now – FUCK OFF!” You push his hands off you and take a step back, but he just grabs your wrist.

“Listen to me,” he urges, “there is a serial killer that’s kidnapping women in broad daylight, torturing them and murdering them. And he’s threatened each of us individually during the course of this investigation. You cannot just be walking around alone, in a city you hardly know.”

“Don’t explain the details of this case to me, I’m well aware.” You snarl, your irritation increasing tenfold.

“Then why are you being so difficult?!” He screeches.

“Why are you–fucking hell, I cannot keep doing this. I’m not getting in the car when you won’t talk to me. Hell, you won’t even so much as look at me!” 

“Fine! You wanna talk? We’ll talk! Just–get back in the car. Please.” He sighs in defeat. You still don’t budge, so he pleads softer. “Please.”

You take a deep breath and roll your eyes, stealing your wrist out of his grasp. Spencer doesn’t move until you do, both of you silently making your way to the car. 

You’re both silent initially, not knowing where exactly to go from here. There’s one thing you know for sure, you won’t be the first to speak. Spencer catches on to that fast. 

“What do you wanna talk about?” He snarls, shrugging his arms. 

“Cut the shit, I won’t get back in this car if I get out for a second time.” You’re not in the mood. The two of you had avoided this conversation for long enough, it was now or never. Some part of you wished for never. 

“Fine. Did you mean it?” He shoots, briskly. 

“What?” You didn’t know which part he meant. 

“That you love me specifically as an ‘amazing friend’, I believe was your wording.” His voice cracks and it causes a shift in his behaviour. He’s no longer hostile, just hurt. 

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” 

In your rush to get him talking, you hadn’t actually realised that you weren’t ready to talk about this. You were stalling. 

“Answering a question with a question.” 

This doesn’t feel like a conversation. More like an interrogation, except you’re the unsub. He scoffs bitterly at your silence. 

“Spencer, don’t–” 

“No, you’re the one who wanted to talk! You were so insistent, in fact, that you would have rather made yourself a serial killer’s target then get in a car with me if I didn’t talk to you. And all of a sudden you’re speechless?” He snaps at you. 

“Yes! I was the one who wanted to talk! I just– I can’t understand what I’ve done to make you hate me so much? Was it because I said I love you? Did it really upset you that much?” You were both shouting from frustration. 

“You think I’m upset because you love me?!” Spencer scoffs in disbelief. 

“Aren’t you?!” You bitterly laugh. 

Spencer rubs his temples and squeezes his eyes shut, mumbling some under his breath. He’s genuinely never been this frustrated in his life. 

“Are you being serious?” His voice strains in pitch, as he tries to keep himself a lot calmer than he feels. “Is this some sort of joke to you?”

“Some sort of joke–”

“Do not interrupt me again. You wanna run away from this? Fine. But you will listen because I will not have this conversation again.” His tone is sharp, like a blade being held against your throat. It definitely shuts you up.

“Talk. Okay, let’s talk about how I have spent the last four years watching you allow undeserving men to walk all over you, letting them treat you like you’re worth nothing. I damn near drove myself insane trying to figure out why. Why is it something you accept for yourself? And then I realised– that’s how you see yourself. You actually hate yourself so much that you’ve convinced yourself you deserve it! Do you realise how infuriating that is?!

Especially because it’s the furthest thing from the truth! Still, I watched you throw yourself into this vicious cycle over and over again. You gave yourself away to those idiots, knowing that they didn’t have good intentions, but you still hoped it would be different every time. I mean you’re a fucking profiler for God’s sake! How can you expect others to love you if you can’t even love yourself? 

That’s not even the worst part! You’re so desperate for their acceptance that you continuously neglect the acceptance you already have from the people who love you. People like Emily, Penelope, Derek– the team– people like– people like me. I mean I’ve always known that you didn’t love me as anything more than a friend, but your constant reminders feel like a punch to the gut! Is it that embarrassing for you to love me as anything more?

I’ve survived way worse things, but this is the cruellest thing I’ve ever been through. Because it’s coming from you! I just never expected it’d be from you.” He’s practically hyperventilating for air by the time his speech comes to a stop, the vein in his forehead more prominent than usual.

Your jaw is tense and restless, twitching from anger. Some part of you still wants to keep this friendship. The louder part knows that there’s no going back from this. You’re not entirely sure you want to go back. Your entire body is shaking from rage. The first rule of your friendship was no profiling. Not only did he break that rule, he used the profile against you as if you actually were an unsub he was interrogating. 

“That’s not fair”

His eye twitches at your response. 

“Not? Fair?” Spencer grumbles in pauses.

“No, that's not fair!” You cry out. “It’s your turn to listen.”

It doesn’t feel like there’s any oxygen left to breathe in the car.

“Self loathing? Spencer, that's your projection! You love too hard and nobody’s ever loved you back the same way. But just because you lack things you want in your life doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me! And all this talk about love, but none of it makes any sense. You think I’m embarrassed of loving you? Is that how shallow you think I am?! You’re the one who told me that I can’t love you. God, you are the most duplicitous person I’ve ever met! I can’t believe I didn’t see it. You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder because I love you as an ‘amazing friend’? Because you love me and you think I’ve been neglecting you?!”

You had never spoken to anyone this way in your life. There was so much truth to Spencer’s words, but he had no right. He’d touched every nerve in your body without ever laying a hand on you. Up until roughly twenty minutes ago, being seen by Spencer was your favourite thing in the entire world. Now? You’d never hated the feeling more in your life. 

Spencer squeezes his hand into a fist, knuckles going white and releases his fingers like if he were aggressively squishing a stress ball. If asked about a month ago, he would never in a million years think that your friendship would manage to dissipate in just a few seconds. He didn’t think he could associate the word love with you anymore.

“Let’s get one thing straight. I do not love you. I do not love anything about you. Actually, I hate you. I hate how sweet you pretend to be. I hate the stupid morning coffee you bring me, nothing tastes more bitter. I hate to admit this but you’re right; everything about you is a brutal reminder of all the good things I can never have and I despise you for it.” He spits his words out with extreme tension in his blood vessels. 

“I can’t say I’ve known what it feels like to truly loathe someone before I met you.” You fire back, breathlessly, not having it in you to spare any more words for him. 

You’re not exactly sure how long the two of you have been sitting there just glaring at each other. Only when Spencer’s phone rings do you two look away. 

“Reid.” He answers the call. “Yea, she’s still here. We’re on our way back now.”

The ride back to the precinct was silent. Even as you regrouped with the rest of the team, you acknowledged everybody but each other. The team was instantly alert to the change, but no one mentioned it at the time because of the high stress of the case. You wrapped the case up a few days later and only then did the questions start making their way around. 

“Is everything okay between you two?”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“What happened between you and Reid?”

“What’s up with Boy Wonder over there?”

You didn’t entertain any of them, Spencer had taken up enough time in your life. You refused to talk about him, look at him or acknowledge him at all. He shared that same incentive. Another three weeks passed as the team watched what was once the closest duo in the BAU, pretend that their counterpart didn’t exist. 

If one of you was in a room and noticed the other enter, you’d walk out without drawing attention to the situation. When leaving the room was not an option, you either went as far in the opposite corner of the room as you could or you’d simply pretend the other wasn’t present just a few metres away. You wouldn’t discuss intel with each other about cases, sharing your findings with anybody else. 

Since Chicago, Hotch only assigned you with Spencer once more, but quickly realised that wasn’t going to help when both of you begged to be assigned with someone else privately. If you were in a discussion with someone and they started talking about Spencer, you’d tune out entirely. After a while the hating game got exhausting.

Spencer hated pretending that he hated you. He felt an immense amount of guilt for the things he’d said, but it was too late to take it back. He thought it would be easier to deal with his feelings if he wasn’t around you all the time, but it was just as difficult as before. You still lit up the dull grey rooms of the building. The only difference was that now he had to watch you shine from afar. 

In truth, you didn’t hate Spencer either. What you actually hated was that you didn’t hate Spencer. You still caught yourself staring at him for long periods of time. There were days when you’d go to his favourite coffee shop before work and buy his order, only to give it away to somebody on the street because you didn’t want to ruin Spencer’s day with the bitterness of your coffee. 

By the fifth week since you had gotten back from Chicago, you and Spencer were no longer ignoring each other as much. You’d gotten into a routine of professionalism for the sake of the team, only talking to each other about cases when necessary. That didn’t stop you from subconsciously showing subtle gestures of love. These were a lot quieter than the gestures you showed when you were friends. 

You’d make sure that there was always a fresh pot of coffee in the office kitchen, so Spencer would have it ready to drink whenever he needed. He’d make sure that the snack cupboard was always filled with your favourite snacks because he knew you liked having something to munch on when catching up on paperwork. You’d keep extra painkillers in Garcia’s lair knowing Spencer would retreat there when a migraine hit.

He’d ensure the aircon was always set to room temperature, you get uncomfortable if the room was too cold. Both of you were aware of the little gestures too, no one else knew your truly niche preferences. Neither of you was brave enough to actually go up to the other, though. It was all too much for you. No matter what was said, he was still your thoughtful Spencer deep down and it killed you.

You’d tried to talk to Spencer a few times, building up the courage for days in advance. As soon as he noticed you heading in his direction, he nearly bolted in the other direction. His avoidance didn’t end at the office. You recently became aware that Penelope had been scheduling rosters to invite you and Spencer to outings, trying to ensure you were present for equal amounts of time. 

You were chilling at her desk in wait for her, when you noticed a little note with your name next to a date and time. Under that was Spencer’s name with a separate date and time. 

“Hey! What are you doing here?” She greets you.

“I needed to talk to you…Penelope what is this?” You hold up the little pink sticky note.

Penelope sets her octopus mug down and takes the note from your hand. 

“This? This is nothing.” She fumbles a bit as she speaks.

“Garcia?” You purposefully speak with warning.

“Okay! Okay! But you didn’t hear it from me! We’ve kinda been taking turns hanging out with you and Spencer sometimes. But it’s because we love you and don’t want to make either of you-” She starts a panicked tangent.

“Garcia!” You interrupt her before she sends herself into a spiral. “There’s no need to do all of this. Yes Spencer and I aren’t close anymore, but you guys don’t need to go out of your way for us.”

“Well..” She grits her teeth and tilts her head.

“What?” 

“We didn’t really mean to. It’s just we noticed that Spencer would never come if you were going. And both of you just straight up refuse to talk about it, so this was the best we could come up with.” 

“Oh. Penny, I’m sorry that you guys have had to do that.” That was all you could say, your head hanging in guilt.

“Can you at least tell me why you won’t talk about it? I mean it makes sense for Boy Wonder, he’s always been stubbornly private, but you’ve never not told me anything!” 

You look towards Garcia again, thinking for a minute. You didn’t know exactly why you refused to talk about it. 

“I don’t know, honestly. I just don’t want to talk about it, if that makes sense?” You pull your friend in for a hug as an apology. 

You felt awful leaving her lair without giving her a proper answer or a resolution. It didn’t matter how professional you acted, this rift would always impact your friends and your work life. 

Spencer would always impact everything in your life. 

The guilt didn’t spare you that night, creeping its way to the forefront of your mind every few minutes. It had been four months since your last fight. It was the longest you’d gone without Spencer. This had to end for the sake of the team. That was how you found yourself standing at his door once again. After a few minutes you finally knock. You didn’t know what you were going to say, honestly you just wanted to run before he answered. You hear the locks being undone, but it’s not Spencer who answers when that door finally swings open.

“Yes?” 

It’s a woman, one you've never seen before. You’re taken aback and look around to make sure you got the right apartment. This was definitely Spencer’s apartment, you’d been here a hundred times before. And some woman was answering his door for him. Some very beautiful woman. 

“Can I help you?” She follows up, looking you up and down. 

“Hi, yeah, sorry, is–um– is Spencer here?”

“Who’s asking?” She’s definitely not very friendly. 

“We work together. Is he here or not?” You didn’t have the patience for this, annoyance seeping through your pores. 

“Who’s at the door?” His voice emerges from behind her and he finally shows up. “Oh.”

“Hey.” You glance away as soon as you see him. 

“Could you give me a minute?” He turns to the woman. She flashes a sickly sweet smile and kisses his cheek before disappearing inside. Spencer shuffles out to the corridor, closing the door behind him.

“That–uh–that was–” He stops himself, clearing his throat and switching to his professional voice. “What are you doing here?”

Cold.

“I was hoping we could talk.” You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to play off what you just saw. 

“What more is there to say?” 

“About the team. I came over to, um, apologise and maybe move past things for the sake of the team.” You were looking everywhere but at him. 

“Honestly?” His eyes are on you though. “I don’t care. And even if I did, I don’t want to hear it.” 

He starts to walk away, but turns back and mentions your name like it’s the most vile word in the dictionary. “Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

With that he re-enters his apartment, leaving you standing in the hallway. It’s hard to imagine that this man was once your best friend. If you didn’t know about all the good times, you wouldn’t have believed it. Every tear that your body could ever produce streamed out of you for the rest of the night. Once you had made it back to your apartment, they broke out in sobs. In your line of work, you had survived being shot at, almost blown up and even a kidnapping once.

The man you loved with every fibre of your being looking at you like you were less than filth under a person's shoes was your breaking point. There was no way you were going to face him again. You needed to forget about Spencer Reid, which meant a fresh start. This city was a constant reminder of his essence, you couldn’t stay. You plopped down on your bed with your work bag, reaching into it for your work computer. Hands twitching as you type. 

You remember being so proud when David Rossi recommended you for the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit. You were even more ecstatic when Hotch actually requested your transfer there. You had worked your ass off for it. It was there that you met the infamous Doctor Reid. He was much different than how you had imagined him. He was so charming, friendly and so down to earth, not liking him wasn’t an option. The two of you had so much in common, despite being so different, it was the foundation for your friendship. His caring nature pulled you in further, you soon found yourself deeply in love with him. 

Tears flooded your keyboard as all your memories with him flash through your brain. His friendship was a beautiful bonus of the job you once loved, you never thought that he would become the reason you’d leave it. Yet here you were, furiously drafting your resignation to Agent Hotchner. There were so many signals in your brain telling you to back off, to open a bottle of wine and drown your sorrows instead, but your heart didn’t feel like that would be enough. Your love for your job didn’t outweigh your desire to run.

Spencer Reid was your best friend and being in love with him is an excruciating torture. One that you can no longer endure. You had never been more sure of anything as you are at this moment and you weren’t going to give yourself time to change your mind. Your time with Spencer and, as a consequence, your time at the BAU had come to an end. Another memory flashes through your mind as you sign the letter off with your name. A case in Boston had gone wrong and you were really hung up on it. Spencer, in an attempt to help you move on, shared a quote with an author he had recently read. You bitterly chuckle to yourself at this recall and press send with no second thought.

 “Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward.” - C.S. Lewis.

Spoilers: BAU! Reader, friends to enemies, mutual pining, hurt, angst no comfort, whump (maybe idk), Reader & Spencer are both idiots, they should probably consider therapy actually, Spencer is a sassy little shit, but really just needs a hug and a class on communication. 

AN - You’ve heard of enemies to lovers/friends, now I present to you the exact same thing in reverse (been done time and time again, I’m not in any way original <3). You can blame Ariana Grande for this one. Sorry that I haven't posted, I've had insane writers block. I might be slightly incapable of shorter word counts, I’ll try to improve that.  I apologise for grammar/anything that does not make sense, I am both an idiot and also was dealing with a bad case of the flu when I wrote this. I’d like to thank @reidmotif for curing my writer's block and inspiring me on the second half of this fic. Thank you @starstruckbambi for proof reading this.

Drop thoughts & feelings so I can ponder on them. Always remember that I’m in your walls. 

Thank you for reading!