#thread: louis2

[photogrivy]

If the last 48 hours of petty tweets, the unexpected airing of dirty laundry, and the whole of the internet thinking she’d ever let Louis Denver inside of her was anything to go by, Ivy had figured today was gonna be a rough day. With a day of gossip rags theorising about her relationship with her best friend’s ex boyfriend – one of the many things she didn’t miss about dating Dierks – and watching Wardo wallow in self-pity, Capote in his lap, head in his hands, and Ivy tucked against his side, she’d been grateful for a day off to just relax. As much as she genuinely loved her job working for the Rangers, she was pretty content to not have to see Max face-to-face after everything that had unfolded. It was a veritable mess and Ivy thought she might need another five to ten years to recover from the whiplash they’d all experienced. 

Today, however, she’d begrudgingly left Wardo’s couch – where she’d situated herself with a throw pillow and one of Capote’s blankets – and made her way into the bar, ready for a world of distractions to keep her from worrying about her best friend. She’d cursed herself on arrival, remembering that Raff had the day off – for reasons she hadn’t actually cared to listen to at the time – and silently prayed that they wouldn’t get too many difficult customers coming in today. Not that Ivy wasn’t able to handle them herself – she was more than able – but without Raff to keep her grounded, on a day like today, she hadn’t quite trusted herself to be a voice of reason. 

For most of the evening, her shift had passed with ease. Nothing too strenuous, a steady flow of customers coming in – the week leading up to Christmas always tended to be a little more hectic, even on a weekday, so she’d accounted for large parties of pub crawlers in silly red and green hat, most of which hadn’t bothered her in the slightest. That was, of course, up until the last 20 minutes before closing. 

Ivy was winding down for the evening and delighting in the slower pace of the night, chatting aimlessly to some of their regulars as she sipped her steaming mug of tea, keeping herself awake. In what she could only describe as a crash heard around the world – another cliche that she was sure Wardo would eat her alive for – a young woman came storming into the bar, leaving the doors swinging on their hinges as she veered right towards Ivy. Confused and not in the mood for any more drama, Ivy came out from behind the bar and fixed the woman with a stare. 

“Can I help you? We’re closing,” she’d told the woman, keeping her tone as patient as was humanly possible for Ivy Rogers. 

The woman was beyond reason, however, and swung, full force at Ivy, her ringed fingers colliding with the side of the girl’s face. Truthfully, Ivy had taken harder hits over the years, but the shock of the impact alone had sent her head reeling backwards, the collision causing her to lose her balance. Stumbling backwards, she gripped her hand tight onto a barstool to steady herself and turned her attention back to the woman in front of her. 

“Holy shit, lady. What the fuck is your deal?” she yelled, throwing professionalism out the window. 

Straightening herself up, she locked her two hands together and stretched them out in front of her, cracking her knuckles in a way that she hoped was vaguely menacing. Then, Ivy curled her right hand into a fist, walked towards the woman and punched her square in the jaw, knocking her to the ground instantly. 

“Dumb motherfucker,” Ivy spat, her own cheeks stinging ever so slightly from the light slap she’d received just prior. 

She was just readying herself to turn away, back to her punters, and apologise for the commotion, when two men walked into the bar. One was short, probably about Ivy’s height, but ripped. Despite his height, he looked as though he could go a few rounds with Scotty Carter without breaking a sweat, his arms bulging out of his comically small t-shirt. The other was taller, about six foot and weedy as hell; they looked like they were straight out of a fucking cartoon, if she was being completely honest. With an arched brow, she waited to see if they were with the woman on the floor – who was now wailing, not a tear in sight, and claiming that Ivy had tried to kill her. 

“What the fuck did you do to my sister, slut?” The shorter of the two asked, and Ivy smirked. Of course, the random erratic woman who had seemingly attacked her out of nowhere had a set of misogynistic bodyguards who looked like they’d been permanently trapped inside a mismatched set of House of Fun mirrors. 

Readying herself for a verbal beatdown, Ivy shook her head, no interest in arguing with a group of strangers with a stick up their ass. She had no idea what she’s supposedly done to offend the Cartoon Network’s latest experiments, but she wasn’t about to get herself fired in the name of breaking a few noses. It had been a while since she’d been in a proper fight and, as much as she missed it, she wasn’t sure Raff would be allowed to keep her on if she was caught throwing their customers through tables. 

Ivy opened her mouth, ready to offer a polite retort, when her eyes seemed to betray her too, causing hallucinations right in that moment. Because surely – at that hour of the night, a fresh bruise blooming on Ivy’s face – Louis Denver could not be walking through that door? Distracted as she was, Ivy noticed much too late that Ripped Danny Devito was charging towards her, her eyes widening as he tackled her to the ground, her head knocking off the edge of the bar as she fell. 

“What the hell is going on?” Ivy murmured, her vision blurring, blood filling her mouth. 

[wardowrites]

“Can’t we just go to McDonald’s?”

Wardo turned, eye twitching, to bestow a glare on the teenager he found himself lumbered with. Bryce simply scowled back, hood up, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, looking every bit the petulant fifteen-year-old he was. His scuffed sneakers kicked at the sidewalk as he sauntered along behind Wardo, dragging his feet in such a deliberate manner, Wardo would have been impressed by the insolence if it wasn’t being directly weaponised against him.

“Uh, no, we can’t just go to McDonald’s,” he argued. “It’s Burger King, or bust. Have I taught you nothing?”

“You literally never teach me a thing,” came Bryce’s bored reply.

Wardo couldn’t help but roll his eyes like that. There were many things that he could have taught Bryce, like how to pick a lock or, better yet, a pocket, but he was trying to make sure the kid didn’t wander down the same path that he had all those years ago. And even the morally upstanding things he could have imparted his knowledge about like literature held absolutely no interest to Bryce. Despite their shared love for ratty leather jackets and distaste for anything resembling a hairbrush, Wardo and Bryce couldn’t be more different when it came to what they liked. Wardo pored over his paperbacks and old records; Bryce preferred to plug in his airpods and deafen himself with shitty electronica, all the while bemoaning the fact that Wardo had never shown a lick of interest in sports. 

That anomaly - Bryce’s affinity for throwing a ball whilst Wardo had only been interested in handling a very specific type - was the only reason Wardo figured Bryce had even accompanied him outside today. He wasn’t a fan of the cold weather, huffing every time Wardo told him to shut the damn thermostat off and grab a blanket instead so he didn’t run up the heating bill, but he had ventured outside anyway to pick Ivy up from work.

They’d heard almost too much about Ivy’s job recently. Particularly about her hot yet Satanic co-worker. Bryce didn’t really care about that - again, another striking contrast to Wardo who wanted to know everything - but he did want to know about the hockey team, rattling off statistics about the New York Rangers that had both Wardo and Ivy boggling at him like he’d grown another head.

When Madison Square Garden came into view, Wardo realised Bryce wasn’t following him. He glanced over his shoulder, huffing out a laugh at the awestruck expression on the kid’s face as he tipped his head back to stare up at it. He would never get the sports thing, but it was always fun to see Bryce’s cool and impassive persona crumble right in front of him. Try as he might, that boy couldn’t hide his passion about anything, no matter how much he wanted to seem disinterested and uncaring.

“Come on, shitbrain,” he said, fisting a hand in the collar of his jacket and dragging him across the road.

Laughing all the while at Bryce’s protestations, he led them over the door Ivy had told them to meet her at. Where there was, of course, another man standing. And that man was, of course, Louis Denver. Because why the absolute fuck wouldn’t it be?

It didn’t long for the shock to wear off. In fact, it was almost instantaneous. Because Wardo had actually already come to terms with the fact that the universe hated him and would do whatever it could to throw him in his ex together in close proximity, including outside a fucking hockey stadium. It just made sense.

No matter how much he could reason with the facts in front of him though, that didn’t stop the shaking of Wardo’s hands as he let Bryce go and stared at Louis.

Would New York ever love him enough again to keep that man away from him? He knew he couldn’t trust the universe to keep his heart safe, but New York had always been on his side, or so he’d thought.

Before he could say anything, Bryce had already clocked Louis and his eyes narrowed in a way that spelled danger for Wardo. Without giving Wardo a choice to do anything that would stop the inevitability of drawing Louis’ attention, Bryce, the absolute little shit that he was, pointed at him.

“That’s the guy from the photo on your shelf,” he said, loud enough to break the goddamn sound barrier. Immediately, Wardo moved, with reflexes that even years of domesticity and a full-time job in a library could not dull, and yanked at Bryce’s hood, pulling it down over the other boy’s eyes and, with a little more effort, his big fucking mouth.

[skyguywrites]

thread tracker wheeee

❗️= close to wrapping up. ❓= can be wrapped up/archived if people need/wish. bold = ship thread. italics = important/defining plot.

ACTIVE.

dan owes ;

max/ivy2 - ivy tells max about her past. (20 jan // 2 notes.)

raff/harlow1 - first meeting. (20 jan // 7 notes.)

rafferty/maverick2 - nye/fireworks. (3 feb // 2 notes.)

ripley/amira1 - church meet. (3 feb // 1 note.)

marley/poppy1 - poppy's bi awakening. (6 feb // 0 notes.)

rae/flynn1 - reunion. (9 feb // 3 notes.)

wardo/flynn1 - reunion. (11 feb // 1 note.)

marley/harlow2 - homeless bucket. (12 march // 3 notes.)

henry/diego3 - diego finds out about stefan. (26 april // 7 notes.)

louis/wardo4 - bar date. (27 may // 2 notes.)

annie/eli2 - valentine's day mixup. (2 june // 2 notes.)

jen owes ;

jax/persephone2 - valentine's day date. (15 april // 3 notes.)

noah/poppy2 - poppy's closet. (28 april // 8 notes.)

killian/amira3 - valentine's day. (29 april // 6 notes.)

jax/matty1 - australia. (29 april // 5 notes.)

harlow/raff/mav1 - valentine's day. (15 may // 3 notes.)

jax/annie1 - miami. (15 may // 2 notes.)

chess/matty2 - post work drinks. (15 may // 4 notes.)

chess/ivy3 - experimenting. (15 may // 0 notes.)

jax/dante2 - monaco. (1 june // 0 notes.)

michaela owes ;

billy/simon2 - michigan. (1 june // 0 notes.)

louis/ivy3 - kittens and christopher street. (2 june // 13 notes.)

ARCHIVED.

dan/michaela.

amira/joey1. (7 notes.)

annie/eli1. (2 notes.)

billy/simon1. (10 notes.)

bradley/persephone1. (5 notes.)

diego/henry1. (14 notes.)

diego/henry2. (16 notes.)

elias/matty1. (2 notes.)

henry/ivy1. (7 notes.)

henry/poppy1. (14 notes.)

ivy/max1. (6 notes.)

ivy/raff1. (6 notes.)

ivy/wardo1. (8 notes.)

jess/marley1. (6 notes.)

mav/raff1. (4 notes.)

mav/wardo1. (3 notes.)

persephone/ripley1. (5 notes.)

poppy/wardo1. (4 notes.)

scotty/joey1. (2 notes.)

dan/jenny.

chess/henry1. (7 notes.)

chess/joey1. (9 notes.)

dante/jax1. (3 notes.)

harlow/marley1. (5 notes.)

louis/max1. (6 notes.)

louis/wardo1. (20 notes.)

louis/wardo2. (8 notes.)

louis/wardo3. (13 notes.)

jenny/michaela.

amira/killian1. (14 notes.)

amira/killian2. (7 notes.)

chess/diego1. (9 notes.)

chess/ivy1. (7 notes.)

chess/ivy2. (9 notes.)

chess/matty1. (6 notes.)

harlow/ivy1. (6 notes.)

harlow/maverick1. (6 notes.)

ivy/louis1. (10 notes.)

ivy/louis2. (13 notes.)

killian/matty1. (2 notes.)

noah/poppy1. (8 notes.)

persephone/jax1. (9 notes.)

[wardowrites]

Wardo wondered how he would feel if the situation was reversed and his new guy was fucking Louis’ best friend. The thought caught him off-guard, mainly because he had often thought that he was Louis’ best friend. Before his heart could do something traitorous like hurt, he quickly remedied the situation by reminding himself that in this hypothetical situation, his new boyfriend would be fucking Scotty Carter.

Yeah, he could see why Louis was pissed.

Despite all the reasons why he had told himself not to, Wardo kept his eyes on Louis. It was kind of impossible for him not to, even after all these years. There had always been a magnetic pull between them, forever dragging Wardo’s attention back to the man in front of him. They could have been at some dumb college party, a crowd of people between them, Louis talking with the rest of the football team and Wardo arguing with idiots from his lit classes, but amidst it all, his gaze would always end up finding Louis across the room. He’d always wanted to look at him back then.

With his eyes so keenly trained on the other man, it was surprising that Wardo nearly missed what he had said.

“Huh?” he said, processing the words before letting his eyes widen. “Huh?”

Suddenly, the situation had taken on a new perspective and Wardo was no longer wishing active harm on Max Hayashi. Which he was sure was unrelated to this revelation.

He narrowed his eyes, flicking them back and forth between Louis and Max Hayashi, waiting for one of them to clear things up and explain why they were both so intent on acting like a couple if they were, in fact, not one. Breath caught in his throat and a throbbing sensation springing up behind his eyes, he half-lifted a hand to point between them.

“But you…” He left it at that with a shake of his head. So, whose benefit had that little kiss on the cheek been for? Wardo dropped his hand, suddenly only feeling a little gleeful that Ivy was fucking the hockey guy. Now, he was no longer Max Hayashi, Louis’ boyfriend that Ivy had also managed to swoop in and snake from underneath Wardo’s ex. Suddenly he was just, Max Hayashi, hot jock that his best friend was fucking.

His disappointment at the lack of drama was suddenly shoved aside as another revelation took place. Louis wasn’t dating this guy. Wardo stood a little taller.

Honestly, he’d thought he’d asked a pretty valid question. In what world would Max Hayashi have any interest in Louis’ ex, enough to know his name? When the full weight of Louis’ incredulous stare landed on him, Wardo couldn't help but flinch defensively, prickling at the other man’s words. He could only imagine the things Louis had told Max Hayashi about him. All the sordid little details of why he had eventually turned on Wardo, everything Wardo had done that had driven Louis to leave him. A sour taste rose up in the back of his throat, bile-like. Sucking at his teeth, he knew there was no stopping the bitterness in his voice when he turned to Max Hayashi again.

“Well, whatever he’s told you about me? Probably true. I’m kind of an asshole,” he said, forcing fake cheer into his voice as Bryce shot him a sideways glance.

Still, stung as he was by the fact that Louis thought it should be so obvious that he’d told his friend about Wardo and all his shortcomings, there was something about the way the two of them looked at each other, passing smartass comments between them, that sent Wardo stumbling back ten years. To a breezy lecture hall where he and Louis snickered under their breath as their professor made yet another braindead comment about one of the Romantics, to gatherings with their friends where Wardo would say something and immediately look to Louis because he knew he’d be the only to understand the point he was making.

Despite himself and everything that had happened up until this moment, Wardo smiled, teeth on show. A laugh caught in the back of his throat, barely audible, before he checked himself and bit down on his bottom lip, eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he cast his gaze downward and told himself to behave.

“Hey, hey. Only I can rag on her, she’s my best friend,” he cautioned Louis, hating that there was no real bite to the warning.

He watched as Max Hayashi pulled the collar of his shirt up to his eyes to hide behind it and fought the urge to laugh again. All humour was gone immediately, when Bryce piped up again though.

“That is the guy from the photo, right?”

Wardo swerved and caught Bryce in a headlock. “Do you want to live in the sewers?”

"Yeah, I got that much." Louis hissed, from behind gritted teeth.

Louis stood with his head, merely letting the chaos wash over him for a moment. As if one chance meeting with his ex hadn't been enough, the universe had to throw him a curveball and orchestrate a second chance meeting. With a side of Ivy Rogers fucking his best friend, and a kid that Louis still hadn't quite gotten an explanation for.

"My head is fuckin' pounding." Louis muttered under his breath, to seemingly no one. He doubted he'd even have been heard over all the bickering between Wardo and the kid plastered to his side. Clutching his coffee cup a little too tight, Louis forced himself to look up again at Wardo. He wondered if, one day, the sight of him wouldn't be enough to bowl him over. It seemed pretty fuckin' unfair that in the time spent apart, the other man had only gotten better looking.

"He's not my boyfriend." Louis was loathe to admit, the upper-hand he had in the situation immediately evaporating. It had been nice, for all of five minutes, to be viewed by their small party as someone who had his shit together and was able to hold down a perfectly healthy relationship. Plus, it didn't hurt that Max was... well, all Max looking. Damn it. He really didn't want to be attracted to the same kind of men as Ivy Rogers.

When Wardo queried as to how Max knew his name, Louis had no other choice but to look at him like he was a prize idiot. Like Wardo's name hadn't semi-constantly been on his lips for the first few years after their break-up. Like it hadn't been dropped in every therapy session, meeting with his editor, and insufferably, he was sure, every conversation with his friend. Did Wardo expect Louis to have forgotten about him that quickly?

"Why do you think?" he asked, the words blunt on his tongue as he fixed him with what he hoped was an incredulous stare.

Thankfully, the focus was taken entirely off Louis as Max dropped the most batshit statement known to man. His eyes immediately, involuntarily dipped to Wardo. For a moment, the two of them were united in a common cause, absolute disbelief anyone could describe Ivy Rogers, human harpy, as nice.

"Has to be be a different Ivy Rogers." Louis quipped back, lowering his voice to a mock-whisper, as though the words weren't quite meant for Max.

"She's not nice, darlin'. She'd eat you up like a fuckin' praying mantis." Louis stated, flapping his hands in the mimicry of said praying mantis, gobbling up Max's head.

[skyguywrites]

semi-coherent list of threads both active and inactive:

(if i miss anything pls tell me lol)

amira - amira/joey1. amira/killian. billy - billy/simon1. bradley - bradley/persephone1. chess - chess/diego1 (✓). chess/henry1. chess/ivy1. chess/matty1. diego - diego/chess1 (✓). diego/henry1. eli - eli/matty1. harlow - harlow/ivy1 (✓). harlow/marley1. harlow/maverick1. harlow/raff1. henry - henry/chess1. henry/diego1. henry/ivy1. henry/poppy1. ivy - ivy/chess1. ivy/harlow1 (✓). ivy/henry1. ivy/louis1 (✓). ivy/louis2. ivy/maverick1. ivy/max1. ivy/wardo1. jessica - jessica/marley1. joey - joey/amira1. killian - killian/amira1. killian/matty1. louis - louis/ivy1 (✓). louis/ivy2. louis/max1. louis/wardo1 (✓). louis/wardo2. louis/wardo3. marley - marley/harlow1. marley/jessica1. matty - matty/chess1. matty/eli1. matty/killian1. maverick - maverick/harlow1. maverick/rafferty1. maverick/wardo1. max - max/ivy1. max/louis1. poppy - poppy/henry1. poppy/wardo1. rae - n/a. rafferty - rafferty/harlow1. rafferty/ivy1. rafferty/maverick1. scotty - n/a. simon - simon/billy1. wardo - wardo/ivy1. wardo/louis1 (✓). wardo/louis2. wardo/louis3. wardo/maverick1. wardo/louis3. wardo/poppy1.

[skyguywrites]

thread tracker wheeee

❗️= close to wrapping up. ❓= can be wrapped up/archived if people need/wish. bold = ship thread. italics = important/defining plot.

ACTIVE.

dan owes ;

eli/annie1 - nye/annie gets stood up. (19 jan // 2 notes)

max/ivy2 - ivy tells max about her past. (20 jan // 2 notes.)

raff/harlow1 - first meeting. (20 jan // 7 notes.)

rafferty/maverick2 - nye/fireworks. (3 feb // 2 notes.)

ripley/amira1 - church meet. (3 feb // 1 note.)

marley/poppy1 - poppy's bi awakening. (6 feb // 0 notes.)

joey/scotty1 - scotty opens up about ex. (6 feb // 2 notes.) ❓

rae/flynn1 - reunion. (9 feb // 3 notes.)

dante/jax1 - gym session. (9 feb // 3 notes.)

wardo/flynn1 - reunion. (11 feb // 1 note.)

eli/annie2 - valentine's date mixup. (11 feb // 0 notes.)

ripley/persephone1 - reunion. (13 feb // 5 notes.) ❓

marley/jess1 - drunk jared. (6 march // 6 notes.) ❓

marley/harlow2 - homeless bucket. (12 march // 3 notes.)

henry/diego3 - diego finds out about stefan. (26 april // 7 notes.)

jen owes ;

jax/persephone2 - valentine's day date. (15 april // 3 notes.)

louis/ivy3 - kittens and christopher street. (27 april // 12 notes.)

noah/poppy2 - poppy's closet. (28 april // 8 notes.)

harlow/maverick1 - meetcute. (28 april // 6 notes.) ❓

killian/amira3 - valentine's day. (29 april // 6 notes.)

louis/wardo4 - 'platonic' bar date. (29 april // 1 note.)

jax/matty1 - australia. (29 april // 5 notes.)

harlow/raff/mav1 - valentine's day. (15 may // 3 notes.)

jax/annie1 - miami. (15 may // 2 notes.)

chess/matty2 - post work drinks. (15 may // 4 notes.)

chess/ivy3 - experimenting. (15 may // 0 notes.)

michaela owes ;

n/a.

ARCHIVED.

dan/michaela.

amira/joey1. (7 notes.)

billy/simon1. (10 notes.)

bradley/persephone1. (5 notes.)

diego/henry1. (14 notes.)

diego/henry2. (16 notes.)

elias/matty1. (2 notes.)

henry/ivy1. (7 notes.)

henry/poppy1. (14 notes.)

ivy/max1. (6 notes.)

ivy/raff1. (6 notes.)

ivy/wardo1. (8 notes.)

mav/raff1. (4 notes.)

mav/wardo1. (3 notes.)

poppy/wardo1. (4 notes.)

dan/jenny.

chess/henry1. (7 notes.)

chess/joey1. (9 notes.)

harlow/marley1. (5 notes.)

louis/max1. (6 notes.)

louis/wardo1. (20 notes.)

louis/wardo2. (8 notes.)

louis/wardo3. (13 notes.)

jenny/michaela.

amira/killian1. (14 notes.)

amira/killian2. (7 notes.)

chess/diego1. (9 notes.)

chess/ivy1. (7 notes.)

chess/ivy2. (9 notes.)

chess/matty1. (6 notes.)

harlow/ivy1. (6 notes.)

ivy/louis1. (10 notes.)

ivy/louis2. (13 notes.)

killian/matty1. (2 notes.)

noah/poppy1. (8 notes.)

persephone/jax1. (9 notes.)

[skyguywrites]

thread tracker.

❗️= close to wrapping up. ❓= can be wrapped up/archived if people need/wish. bold = ship thread. italics = important/defining plot.

ACTIVE.

dan owes ;

eli/annie1 - nye/annie gets stood up. (19 jan // 2 notes)

max/ivy2 - ivy tells max about her past. (20 jan // 2 notes.)

raff/harlow1 - first meeting. (20 jan // 7 notes.)

rafferty/maverick2 - nye/fireworks. (3 feb // 2 notes.)

ripley/amira1 - church meet. (3 feb // 1 note.)

marley/poppy1 - poppy's bi awakening. (6 feb // 0 notes.)

joey/scotty1 - scotty opens up about ex. (6 feb // 2 notes.) ❓

rae/flynn1 - reunion. (9 feb // 3 notes.)

dante/jax1 - gym session. (9 feb // 3 notes.)

wardo/flynn1 - reunion. (11 feb // 1 note.)

eli/annie2 - valentine's date mixup. (11 feb // 0 notes.)

ripley/persephone1 - reunion. (13 feb // 5 notes.) ❓

marley/jess1 - drunk jared. (6 march // 6 notes.) ❓

marley/harlow2 - homeless bucket. (12 march // 3 notes.)

louis/wardo4 - 'platonic' bar date. (25 april // 0 notes.)

henry/diego3 - diego finds out about stefan. (26 april // 7 notes.)

jen owes ;

jax/persephone2 - valentine's day date. (15 april // 3 notes.)

chess/matty2 - post work drinks. (27 april // 2 notes.)

louis/ivy3 - kittens and christopher street. (27 april // 12 notes.)

noah/poppy2 - poppy's closet. (28 april // 8 notes.)

harlow/maverick1 - meetcute. (28 april // 6 notes.) ❓

killian/amira3 - valentine's day. (29 april // 6 notes.)

jax/matty1 - australia. (29 april // 5 notes.)

michaela owes ;

annie/jax1 - miami. (29 april // 1 note.)

mav/harlow/raff1 - valentine's date. (29 april // 2 notes.)

ivy/chess3 starter.

ARCHIVED.

dan/michaela.

amira/joey1. (7 notes.)

billy/simon1. (10 notes.)

bradley/persephone1. (5 notes.)

diego/henry1. (14 notes.)

diego/henry2. (16 notes.)

elias/matty1. (2 notes.)

henry/ivy1. (7 notes.)

henry/poppy1. (14 notes.)

ivy/max1. (6 notes.)

ivy/raff1. (6 notes.)

ivy/wardo1. (8 notes.)

mav/raff1. (4 notes.)

mav/wardo1. (3 notes.)

poppy/wardo1. (4 notes.)

dan/jenny.

chess/henry1. (7 notes.)

chess/joey1. (9 notes.)

harlow/marley1. (5 notes.)

louis/max1. (6 notes.)

louis/wardo1. (20 notes.)

louis/wardo2. (8 notes.)

louis/wardo3. (13 notes.)

jenny/michaela.

amira/killian1. (14 notes.)

amira/killian2. (7 notes.)

chess/diego1. (9 notes.)

chess/ivy1. (7 notes.)

chess/ivy2. (9 notes.)

chess/matty1. (6 notes.)

harlow/ivy1. (6 notes.)

ivy/louis1. (10 notes.)

ivy/louis2. (13 notes.)

killian/matty1. (2 notes.)

noah/poppy1. (8 notes.)

persephone/jax1. (9 notes.)

[skyguywrites]

THREADS;

it's completely possible i've forgotten some or gotten smth wrong but anyway

DAN ;

bradley

persephone1

elias

annabelle1

annabelle2

matthew1

dante

jackson1

henry

chess1

diego1

diego2

diego3

ivy1

poppy1

joey

amira1

chess1

scotty1

marley

harlow1

harlow2

jessica1

poppy1

max

ivy1

ivy2

louis1

rae

flynn1

rafferty

harlow1

harlow/maverick1

ivy1

maverick1

maverick2

ripley

amira1

persephone1

simon

billy1

wardo

flynn1

ivy1

louis1

louis2

louis3

maverick1

poppy1

JEN ;

chess

diego1

henry1

ivy1

ivy2

joey1

matthew1

harlow

ivy1

marley1

marley2

maverick1

maverick/rafferty1

rafferty1

jackson

dante1

persephone1

persephone2

killian

amira1

amira2

amira3

matthew1

louis

ivy1

ivy2

max1

wardo1

wardo2

wardo3

noah

poppy1

MICHAELA ;

amira

joey1

killian1

killian2

killian3

ripley1

annabelle

elias1

elias2

diego

chess1

henry1

henry2

henry3

flynn

rae1

wardo1

ivy

chess1

chess2

harlow1

henry1

louis1

louis2

max1

max2

rafferty1

wardo1

jessica

marley1

matthew

chess1

elias1

killian1

maverick

harlow1

harlow/rafferty1

rafferty1

rafferty2

wardo1

oliver

n/a

persephone

bradley1

jackson1

jackson2

ripley1

poppy

henry1

marley1

noah1

wardo1

scotty

joey1

[skyguywrites]

threads ;

amira - amira/joey1. amira/killian2. annie - annie/eli1. billy - billy/simon1. bradley - bradley/persephone1. chess - chess/henry1. chess/ivy2. chess/matty1. dante - dante/jax1. diego - diego/henry2. eli - eli/matty1. harlow - harlow/marley2. harlow/maverick1. harlow/raff1. henry - henry/chess1. henry/diego1. ivy - ivy/chess2. ivy/louis2. ivy/max2. ivy/rafferty1. jax - jax/dante1. jax/persephone1. jessica - jessica/marley1. joey - joey/amira1. joey/scotty1. killian - killian/amira2. killian/matty1. louis - louis/ivy2. louis/max1. louis/wardo3. marley - marley/harlow2. marley/jessica1. matty - matty/chess1. matty/eli1. matty/killian1. maverick - maverick/harlow1. maverick/rafferty1. maverick/rafferty2. maverick/wardo1. max - max/ivy2. max/louis1. persephone - persephone/bradley1. persephone/jax1. persephone/ripley1. poppy - n/a rae - n/a. rafferty - rafferty/harlow1. rafferty/ivy1. rafferty/maverick1. rafferty/maverick2. scotty - scotty/joey1. simon - simon/billy1. wardo - wardo/louis3. wardo/maverick1.

archived threads ;

amira - amira/killian1. chess - chess/diego1. chess/ivy1. chess/joey1. diego - diego/chess1. diego/henry1. harlow - harlow/ivy1. harlow/marley1. henry - henry/diego1. henry/ivy1. henry/poppy1. ivy - ivy/chess1. ivy/harlow1. ivy/henry1. ivy/louis1. ivy/max1. ivy/wardo1. joey - joey/chess1. killian - killian/amira1. louis - louis/ivy1. louis/wardo1. louis/wardo2. marley - marley/harlow1. max - max/ivy1. poppy - poppy/henry1. poppy/wardo1. ripley - ripley/persephone1. wardo - wardo/ivy1. wardo/louis1. wardo/louis2. wardo/poppy1.

[photogrivy]

Listening to the way that Louis talked about Max was a strange feeling. She knew that the two men had a lot of love for one another, but she realised now that she hadn’t fully understood the extent of it. 

Where she’d believed that his bonds with his college friends Laura, Scotty or Christian had been unbreakable, they hadn’t quite stood the test of time in the same way his connection with Max had. Sure, he still had his close, tight-knight friendship group, and the love between them was all so apparent – Scotty, Cassie and Amelia remained his roommates, even – but something had seemingly unravelled, driving a wedge between them all, carving out a space that only Max could fill. Ivy had always assumed that it was his relationship with Wardo he’d been trying to escape, but the more time she spent with the new and improved, freshly therapised Louis Denver, the more she realised it ran deeper than that. Whatever had happened to Louis had left him all alone and, despite their constant gripes and bickering, Ivy couldn’t help but feel grateful to Max and Joey for being his two much-needed crutches over the years. 

“It's kinda hard to imagine you all alone, without your little entourage,” Ivy muttered, keeping her voice low, failing to inject any semblance of real humour into her words. She pulled absently at a loose thread in her jeans, a hole in the knee slowly coming undone, her eyes trained on the fabric as she quietly added, “I’m glad you and Max have each other.” 

Ivy’s skin seemed to crawl with discomfort at the conversation that followed, her throat constricting as she fought back tears. It wasn’t that Ivy hadn’t given her biological family any thought since she and Dierks had separated – she still thought about what could have been every single day – but she’d never allowed the hurt to truly show on her face. At the time, she’d insisted to Wardo that it didn’t matter, that she didn’t need some random legal document to validate her identity, not when he was all the family she truly needed. 

To an extent, it was true. Wardo had been the first person Ivy’s life to make her feel like it was worth getting through the day and, as volatile as the two of them appeared on the outside, the love she had for him was unparalleled. She wasn’t sure there’d ever be another person that she’d love as much as Wardo Martinelli, biological family and romantic connections be damned. All the same, it hadn’t truly stilled the ache in her chest. Wardo had been content to comfort her, to remind her that they always had each other and that was what mattered, but it was an impossible feat to fully set aside all those years of longing. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Ivy sighed, unable to meet Louis’ gaze. 

She was grateful that his attention was trained on the road ahead, whatever fleeting glances he sent her way never enough to reveal the full extent of her sadness. She’d always been fairly good at masking how she felt, but some days were harder than others, and battling a potential concussion and a few bruised ribs made it all the harder for Ivy to plaster on a smile and let lazy quips spill from her lips. 

“Yeah, I just stopped,” she conceded, the reality of that truth burying itself deep in her chest. She hated that phrasing, hated to think of it as her simply giving up and moving on, as opposed to the crushing reality of what had happened; Her douchebag boyfriend had pulled the rug out from under her feet, taking away any hope she’d been clinging onto. “I guess it’s kinda hard to keep pushing for some bullshit, unrealistic fairytale ending when your own boyfriend is telling you that shit isn’t gonna happen. It’s all just... stupid. I had all these big fantasies about finding my mom, or discovering some imaginary sister that I never knew existed. It was delusional.” 

Cringing at the bitterness in her tone, Ivy dipped her head downward, resting her forehead against her knees as she took a moment to herself, slowly regulating her breathing. The wave of nausea that coursed through her now felt brand new, a combination of both her injury and the home truths that Louis appeared to be coaxing out of her. The sharpness of her headache seemed to be ebbing away slowly – still sore, but not quite crashing against her skull like a jackhammer – and she tentatively brough a hand up to skim the back of her head, her fingers lightly meeting dried blood, the incessant bleeding finally seeming to come to a halt. 

“It’s not about money, Lou. It’s...” she trailed off, fighting off fresh tears that prickled behind her eyes. 

The idea that Louis Denver, of all people, would be willing to break open the piggy bank and drain through his savings just to give her a family seemed incomprehensible. Ivy hadn’t ever done anything to deserve that, certainly not where Louis was concerned. 

Sniffing, she brought her free hand up to her face, absently wiping away the tears that were now freely rolling down her cheeks. It felt embarrassing, crying in front of Louis, and yet there was something strangely cathartic about letting herself be so vulnerable every once in a while. She only hoped he wouldn’t see it as some sort of a hindrance to his night. 

“I’d do it for you too, dummy,” she choked out, a garbled laugh catching in her throat. “Not that I have any money, but... if I did. I never wanted you to be all alone, man.” 

She squeezed her eyes shut, then, realising that the two of them were edging ever closer to not one, but two home truths that she wasn’t sure they were ready for. It was one thing for Ivy to be spilling her soul to Louis, but she didn’t want to corner him into telling her what had happened all those years ago. Not like this. She shook her head and leaned across, pressing a chaste kiss to Louis’ cheek, a fleeting gesture as she drew herself back into the confines of her seat and focused again on the journey ahead. 

“It’s whatever,” she shrugged, clearing her throat. “I have Wardo, right? Why would I need anybody else? I wouldn’t betray him like that, anyway.” 

The speed with which Ivy's retort came back was almost enough to bring a smile to Louis' face. Try as she might, there was no denying Ivy's relationship with Max had progressed past whatever kind of bullshit, fuck buddy type situation she was still trying to tout. If the constant little digs Ivy made about Max being Louis' boyfriend were anything to go by, his old friend was jealous as all hell.

"You're down so bad." Louis huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he turned back towards the road. It required almost none of his actual attention navigating to Ivy's - although it felt strange for it to be Ivy's home, no longer his - so he could focus on the enormity of her question. Although that seemed a little harder to answer.

"For a bit, Max was kinda my everything. I don't think I ever really understood the way you and the kid worked til then." Louis shrugged.

"When I moved, I didn't just stop talking to you guys. I stopped talking to everyone. Slowly Cass made her way back in, she was hard to fuckin' shake." Louis chuckled, feeling a warmth spread over him at the thought of sweet, bubbly Cassie, who wouldn't let him check out. "Then Scotty and Amy, but for a little while, Max and I were real close. He was the only person who didn't know me from back when. He didn't know Lou-and-Wardo, y'know? Just Lou."

Absently chewing his bottom lip, Louis wondered if he'd said too much. He didn't want his story to invite too many questions. It was easier for Ivy to think that he'd gotten lost in the aftermath of the worst breakup of his life, not the whole sad, sorry tale. It was hard to stress just how vital Max had been at that time, just some fucking sweet guy at his local café who didn't think he was fucked up, or broken. Max was so much more than just a "boyfriend".

The awkward tension that filled the car after Louis' question now seemed so much worse than mere silence. He winced as he felt the full weight of Ivy's glare on him, unsure whether the throb in his head was due to taking a hit or two or if Ivy had suddenly developed Carrie-esque mind control powers.

"Sorry, fuck, you don't have to answer that." he repeated, voice low enough that he could only hope Ivy had caught it. The quiet from the passenger seat began to feel suffocating, palpable, and Louis' stomach dropped when he glanced sidewards and found Ivy with her hands pressed to her eyes, staving off tears.

"Aw, c'mon, don't-" he began, throat thick as he cut himself off. What was he gonna say? Don't cry? The Louis of ten years ago might have done so, lightly telling her not to be such a girl, but he could hear Amy in his head reminding him about reinforcing negative gender stereotypes, so he just swallowed his words. "Don't make me have to pull the car over to hug you, Rogers."

A secondary glance to the side reaffirmed that Ivy was, while maybe not okay, not in floods of tears and not pissed at him. He gave her an awkward, what he hoped was reassuring smile as she began to speak.

"I can't believe I ever thought that guy was good news." Louis said, hands gripping the steering wheel ever tighter. "So, you just what... stopped looking?"

Louis fought not to use the words gave up. He knew how hard it was for Ivy, knew how much she'd fought for even a semblance of family, and knew she wasn't really the type to give up.

"Is it about the money?" Louis asked, the question sounding awkward in his mouth. "'Cause I... I've got a little bit of money, Ives."

Louis quietly admonished himself. Stupid, stupid.

"Not that I'm tryin' to buy you off or... that I think you can't do it alone, or without me. I wouldn't expect it back."

[photogrivy]

Protest as she did, there was no denying that Ivy liked Max in some capacity. Most days, she tried to pretend she didn’t even like him as a friend, but she was fooling nobody. She thought he was funny, sweet, and he had a genuine passion for the work that he did and all the guys at the Rangers. Plus, his relationship with his younger brother Tommy was the kind of sibling relationship that Ivy had always envied – up until she’d found Wardo, of course – so he was kind of an impossible guy to hate. The good sex was just a bonus, obviously. But even now, concussed and feeling worse for wear, she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of nosiness – and maybe even a tinge of jealousy – at Louis’ words. 

“What the hell does that even mean?” she mused, busying herself by tugging at a loose thread in her jeans, eager to distract herself from each bump and pothole that was turning her stomach inside out. “If he’s not your boyfriend, what do you care who he screws around with?” 

She supposed she got it, to an extent. Wardo was her best friend in the whole world, but even she’d been guilty of feeding the green-eyed monster when he’d been dating Louis all those years back. As much as Ivy tried to insist that she was independent and didn’t need outside validation, she was chronically lonely, and constantly found herself jealous of the way that Louis had masterfully commandeered Wardo’s focus. He was her best friend, and yet Louis had him under a spell that she’d never been able to break through – back then, or even now. She’d never vocalise as much to Wardo, but the two were bound to one another in a way she’d never been able to quite reach; Always feeling ever so slightly on the outside, deathly afraid that with one wrong move she’d lose her best friend forever. Maybe that’s how Louis felt about Max – maybe he was his Wardo, she had no idea. He had Joey and Scotty – Amelia and Cassie, too. He wasn’t exactly lacking in close friendships the way that Ivy always had been. 

She ignored his latter jab about the Vicodin, letting silence fill the air. If Louis didn’t want to distract her, she wasn’t about to make him. Besides, anything was better than the two of them at one another’s throats, she figured. 

When Louis finally did break the silence, however, she hadn’t been expecting the words that had followed. 

“What the fuck, dude?” Ivy mumbled, her chest aching as she shot him a glare. As much as the two of them had always fought, she’d never thought of him as cruel enough to make digs at her family history. Ivy kept a whole lot of her past close to her chest, but there’d been few people she’d been stupid enough to open up to about how much she’d wanted to find her parents; Louis had been one of those people. She could hardly believe he’d be rubbing salt in the wound right now, reminding her how lonely and pathetic her existence was. 

A lump formed in Ivy’s throat, thick as she swallowed back fresh bile forming at his latest line of questioning. She wasn’t entirely sure if his clarification was better or worse, suddenly feeling as though it might have been better if he had been taunting her. 

“Uh, I mean, yeah, I guess,” Ivy mumbled, feeling embarrassed suddenly. She hated how fragile she felt – both physically and emotionally – as she lifted her hand to push the heel of her palm against her eyes, staving off fresh tears. 

Though she’d been the one to ask for a distraction, she was suddenly regretting it immensely. She wondered if she could just let it pass her by, lapse into another silence, and refuse to answer him entirely. At the same time, curiosity continued to niggle at the back of Ivy’s mind, the same way it always had, and she sighed as she twisted her body, turning her head to face Louis in the driver’s seat. 

“My jackass of an ex was helping me find them,” she sighed, the truth spilling out of her, her voice cracking as she fought off tears. “But then he decided I was too broken for any of it to fuckin’ matter, so he just stopped. I didn't get any answers, he handed me a hefty bill for all the supposed research he’d done, and here I am. Penniless and still an orphan."

Louis pointedly ignored Ivy’s sharp words and even sharper tone, choosing not to take the words to heart. After all, he and Ivy had swapped harsher words arguing over the last soda in their nearly-bare communal cupboards. They might fight and nearly scratch each other’s eyes out, but both could leave the argument with the knowledge their friendship was still intact. Louis hoped they still had a semblance of friendship to leave intact, anyway.

“Shit, still?” Louis asked, swallowing around the lump in his throat, fingers quivering against the worn-down leather of the steering wheel. In all those years, Ivy and Wardo, inseparable as they were, had never thought to put down roots in literally any other part of New York City? A fresh wave of nausea overtook the man as he thought about helping a bruised and bloody Ivy stumble through the front doors of her building, what had once been their building. He knew already it would be painfully familiar, thought about asking if the lift was still shitty as ever, if there was still the a hole in the wall of Wardo’s apartment from where he and Scotty had thought it was a good idea to play touch football inside. He wondered how much of their apartment was unchanged, unmarred by time, and was thankful that at least Ivy hadn’t moved in, filling the spot he’d vacated. He couldn’t quite take hauling her into his old apartment tonight, although he still had half a mind to deliver her to Wardo, anyway.

“It’s not a shitty little-“ Louis started, throwing the full weight of a scowl in her direction. He cut himself off immediately at the sight of blood staining her cheek, her skin pale and waxy, eyebrows furrowed in pain. His lips pressed into a straight line, sick and suitably chastened. Now wasn’t the time to fight in his own corner. He was, after all, being kind of an asshole. He didn’t deserve the consoling pat on the shoulder Ivy delivered, the light, reassuring pressure of her hand.

Even after a decade of living in other cities, of putting down roots in other places, as fleeting as some of those stays were, he still knew parts of New York like the back of his hand. A damn sight better than he knew Massachusetts, a place he hadn’t seen in a similar amount of time. For him, Massachusetts was nothing but heartache and shit luck, the only good associations he could make with that place were those of his Mom and Joey. So it was with ease he manoeuvred his car into the road, casting furtive glances at Ivy alongside him, and set out with a destination in mind.

He blinked as he started down the stretch of road, headlights still swimming as cars pulled in and out, leaving spots clouding his vision. Despite the late hour, it was true what they said, New York was the city that never really slept.

The hum of the engine and the smooth feel of the road underneath him worked to soothe him as the two sat in un-companionable silence. Driving, being on the road, no matter how short the destination - this he could do. Back home, as an angry, cocky, closeted teenager, he often stole his brother’s car in the middle of the night and just… drove. He hadn’t felt the need to do it in a long while, and he’d never felt the need to do it back when he’d lived here. Besides, there was nowhere in the city to really drive.

Glancing at Ivy, he could see the way she fought not to smile at the mention of Max’s name. He wasn’t sure just how far this whole Max-and-Ivy thing was going to go, but Louis kind of hoped the both of them were in it for the long haul. Ivy seemed to make Max happy and vice versa, and Louis could be happy for them. He hadn’t entirely stopped believing in love and romance, after all.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Louis said, dragging out the word boyfriend in the same petty drawl Ivy had. “Think he’s more yours than he is mine. As pissed as that makes me.”

Desperately trying to ignore the mud that Ivy was currently working into the fabric of his passenger seat, Louis huffed at Ivy’s words.

“That’s… not sound medical advice.” he muttered under his breath, already knowing he was under no circumstances going to leave Ivy’s side tonight. Vicodin or no Vicodin.

Cool air filled the car as Louis drove, tapping at the steering wheel in an antsy manner. He wasn’t sure whether or not he should be keeping up a stream of mindless chatter, given their current predicament. That question was soon answered for him though as Ivy’s voice wavered, causing Louis to jump to the first thing he could think of that wasn’t related to their twin injuries, strained friendship or the romantic entanglements with one another’s respective best friends. Was there a version of the Bechdel test for a friendship between a man and a woman? Which academic was Louis sorely letting down?

“You said you don’t have any home… any family.” Louis blurted out, wincing as soon as he said it. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I mean, that wasn't really a question.”

Ivy’s past had always been cast in shadow, a big red question mark stamped over Ivy’s parentage. It had been a sore subject, but something Louis had always thought she’d been eager to rectify. Ten years, and Ivy still hadn’t made any progress on that front.

“I just mean… you always said you wanted to find them, right?”

[photogrivy]

“Hey, would it kill you to not be an asshole while I have an open head wound?” 

Ivy’s tone was sharp as she snapped back at Louis, somehow finding the strength within her to argue back. She supposed it was a testament to their relationship that 10 years and a concussion later, she was still able to bite back at the writer beside her. She felt a swell of pride in her chest; Although she’d be loath to admit it, she’d missed the endless, gruelling nature of their banter. 

All the same, he was the guy who’d jumped headfirst into a fight for her, taking a few blows in the process, and was now trying to get her the medical attention she needed. She supposed it wouldn’t do her any harm to have a little patience with him. 

“I live in your old apartment block,” she breathed, her voice low. After crashing on Louis and Wardo’s sofa for most of their college years, she’d promised Wardo that the second she could afford to get a place of her own, she’d be out of his hair. With Louis dipping out on Wardo so abruptly, it meant Ivy spent less of her days on the couch, and more of them curled up next to her best friend with his head in her lap, but she’d always wanted to make good on her promise. With time, she managed to build up some savings, and got herself her own apartment. It had been hard, and there were still times when she struggled to make ends meet, but she’d somehow blagged her way into an apartment about four floors above their old one – not too far away from Wardo that she’d get withdrawal symptoms, but enough to finally give him his own space. 

Ivy had taken her fair share of beatings over the years – many of them far worse than the one she’d endured tonight – but nothing ever prepared her for the nausea that came with a concussion. She’d heard the same warnings time and time again about the long-term damage she could be doing to her brain, but it wasn’t like she was doing it on purpose. She wasn’t some jackass athlete deliberately getting pummeled by other men in the most homoerotic ways you could imagine. She was just some girl with a loud mouth and a whole lot of bad luck. 

“Oh my fucking God,” Ivy heard herself groaning as she tipped her head in Louis’ direction. The motion, however minor, only furthered the pain searing through her head. She hissed, bringing her injured hand up to massage the spot, smearing blood along her cheek as she went. “Can you quit worrying about your shitty little car and drive? Fuck, I can’t believe I thought you’d changed.” 

She watched as he fumbled with his phone, fear etched plain across his features as he fought with some sort of internal struggle. Ivy squeezed her eye shut, alternating between the two as she tried to get a better grasp on her vision, and squinted across at him as the phone slipped from his hand and he let out a cry of frustration. It dawned on her, slower than she cared to admit, that he’d been planning to call Wardo. She winced at the thought, not entirely sure who’d come away from that interaction worse off, and forced herself to push forward, despite the pain she was currently experiencing. 

Pressing her hand to Louis’ shoulder, she gave him a careful squeeze, not wanting to cause either of them any further pain than they were already in. She had no idea where he’d taken hits, but she knew he was putting on a brave face for her sake.  

“Hey, cut it out, okay? Calm down, it’s fine,” she told him. Hardly the most reassuring words in the world, she’d be the first to admit that, but she somehow believed that not even Wardo would want him concussing himself on his steering wheel – at least, not with Ivy in the passenger's seat. 

She released her hold on him almost immediately, sinking back down into the seat as the engine came to life. She bit back a smile as he spoke of Max, the other boy’s name causing a brand new dizzy spell that had nothing to do with her concussion. Ivy ignored the warmth that spread in her chest at the mere thought of him – he was just some guy who happened to be a good fuck, that was all – and drew her knees up against her chest, her scruffy boots perched firmly on the edge of the seat. Whatever Louis might have to say about that, she had no idea, but she also didn’t especially care. 

“We’re not going to your boyfriend,” she muttered, the words petulant but satisfying all the same. She had no idea what Louis and Max were to each other, in truth, but they seemed to share a bond unlike anything she’d ever seen from Louis before.  

Waving off Louis’ words, she shrugged and gently dropped her head against the headrest. She knew that a concussion was serious, just as she hadn’t forgotten Louis’ remark about her head potentially needing stitches, but the last thing she needed was to be holed up in Louis Denver’s apartment. She didn’t know how she’d explain that one to Wardo, and she really didn’t wanna have to try.  “It’s literally fine. I’ll just get a bag of ice and take a Vicodin or something.” 

Silence filled the space then as they drove through the darkened City. With it being closing time, the streets were a little quieter, allowing for a smoother ride than if he’d found her in broad daylight. Ten years may have passed, but she was positive Louis still remembered his old address. It had been more than just for he and Wardo, so she didn’t think he’d need her assistance in finding it. With the motion of the car, combined with the steady vibrations of the engine, Ivy’s stomach rolled, and she found her head tipping ever closer to the open window, yearning for a little fresh air to fill the space. 

“Hey, can you, like... talk to me?” she asked, hating the way her voice seemed to tremble. “I dunno, distract me. Ask me something stupid, I don’t fucking care.” 

"You don't look that bad." Louis insisted, although whether the assertion was for his benefit or hers, he didn't know. He had no clue just how bad Ivy's injuries were, but there was no need for two of them to panic. If he could keep Ivy calm, maybe he could force his still-quickening pulse to slow, his heartbeat to stop drumming in his ears. The fact that he'd have to get behind the wheel in mere moments was doing nothing to quell his nerves, his vision still felt slightly swimmy from the blow he'd taken to the head.

Straightening up, Louis worked to close the door behind Ivy with as little force as possible. The last thing Ivy needed was the slamming of the car door to furthur aggravate her head. Her body seemed to collapse in an ungainly slump against the door, her forehead pressing against the window despite the seatbelt holding her fast to the passenger seat. Taking in a shaky breath, Louis moved around his car and clambered into the driver's side, his body aching in protest.

"Yeah, home." Louis pressed, hoping that even battered and bruised, Ivy would take note of the sheer urgency in his voice. Tapping her knee to try and get her to look at him - he didn't know what he'd do if she fell asleep, for chrissakes - he added, "Like, an address?"

Louis wondered absently if Ivy was going to vomit in his car. Not that she'd be able to help it, and again, his car really was a piece of shit, but it didn't mean he wanted Ivy blowing chunks all over the damn thing. Thrusting a hand into the dark of the footwell, Louis began fumbling around for some kind of recepticle, casting half an eye over Ivy the whole time.

"Shit, Ivy." he huffed, his voice muffled from the position his head was in, currently shoved between the steering wheel and the break pedals, "Never thought I'd say this, but can you give me an answer that isn't fuckin' poetry?"

Coming up empty, Louis simply cracked a window, giving Ivy a hard look.

"You feel sick at any point, I'll try and pull over. But the windows are open for a reason, capiche?"

Fumbling in his coat pocket, Louis pulled out his phone, and immediately began scrolling through his contacts with. He was in over his fuckin' head. Ivy Rogers was bleeding all over the passenger seat of his car, making not a lick of sense, what kind of asshole would he be if he didn't call the only person in the world he knew Ivy loved? His shaky hands got him all the way to M. He didn't know why he'd transferred over Wardo's old number. Just in case, a fail safe, something to look over when he was drunk and lonely. He didn't even know if it was the same number, had no idea if he still knew Louis' number or if he'd even pick up if it was. He glanced helplessly at the brunette beside him, his thumb hovering over the call button.

"Fuck." Louis hissed, banging his already-dizzy head against the steering wheel as he let his phone clatter to the floor. Under his breath, he lamented, "I can't fuckin' do it."

Turning his keys, the car roared to life, Louis working to silence the radio as the car hummed beneath them.

"Yeah, well, y'know, Max is a big hotshot." he said, glancing sidewards at Ivy. "Though he'd probably do some kinda insurance fraud for you if you asked him to. Get your stitches complimentary of Mr. Max Hayashi."

Hands tightening against the steering wheel, he pondered, "Shit, should we go to Max? I dunno. Ivy, you're gonna have to work with me here, sweetheart, otherwise you're comin' home with me."

[wardowrites]

Given Ivy’s description of him, Wardo had assumed that when he first met Max Hayashi, he would come face to face with a man who had a pretty impressive set of horns protruding from his forehead. Maybe red skin, a forked tail. A deep love for taking photos of himself holding a dead fish and complete lack of interest in human rights. Instead, he was a good-looking guy with an athletic build.

Truth be told, he was mildly impressed. Nice one, Ivy.

“You know this guy?” he asked Bryce.

“Center for the New York Rangers for three years,” Bryce breathed, eyes still locked on the man in front of them like he was Jesus Christ himself. Wardo raised an eyebrow. He’d never seen Bryce act like this before over anyone; it was unnerving, but he wondered if Max Hayashi did home visits if this was all it took to easily placate the little psychopath that was living under his roof these days.

“Um,” Max Hayashi piped up, looking a little sheepish as he scratched the back of his head, a light pink dusting on his cheeks. “Just two and a half years, actually.”

Oh great, he was humble too. Maybe Ivy had jumped the gun and got this guy all wrong. Not Ivy, he reasoned with himself, a smirk playing on his lips. Not calm and perfectly reasonable Ivy Rogers who had never made a snap judgment about anyone!

Then, the scene in front of him shifted when Max Hayashi turned his questioning gaze on Louis, a quiet utterance of “what’s going on?” sounding from him, a gentle sort of question that was in direct contrast to the utterly appalled expression worn by Louis. Louis who suddenly bit back at Wardo that this was not Ivy’s Max after all, but his Max. A statement signed off by him leaning forward to kiss the other man on the cheek.

The street tilted, folding in on itself like he was in a Christopher Nolan movie. His stomach bottomed out at the sight of Louis leaning in to press his lips to the face of a man Wardo was now under no delusions was, in fact, public enemy number one. Ivy was right. He was Satan. And an asshole. And not that good-looking, now that Wardo thought about it. His teeth were all… straight and white.

“Holy shit,” Bryce said, clapping a hand over his mouth, although that did nothing to hide the shriek of laughter that sounded from behind his palm. Enraged, Wardo gave the boy a quick jab with his elbow, but it only made Bryce double over, his laughter even louder. “Your ex-boyfriend is fucking Max Hayashi!”

Look, it wasn’t as if Wardo hadn’t entertained the idea of Louis being with someone else. Ever since seeing the other man again, he’d conjured up haunting images in his mind of this faceless man with a huge dick that Louis was utterly besotted with. Probably dedicating his stupid fucking novel to him and everything. He’d told himself that he had to prepare for the likelihood of these hypotheticals becoming a reality, because in the quiet of his own apartment without Ivy or Bryce around to prod him to talk about things, he could admit that the idea had made him feel dizzy with heartbreak. And so he’d told himself that it was going to happen, so it would lessen the blow when he was face to face with it. It turned out there was no preparing himself for this, for the pointed look on Louis face or the burning of his own chest as he thought of a way to react that wouldn’t leave his dignity in tatters.

Luckily, he had one more ace to play. His final card. And, in a shocking turn of events that was contrary to his usual manner of doing things, he wasn’t even about to lie to make his point.

“Yeah, well, Ivy Rogers is also fucking Max Hayashi,” he stated, a sentence that should not have sounded so downright smug coming from his mouth. But if Louis was going to make such a damn spectacle of parading his new man around in front of him, Wardo could not bypass the glorious opportunity to vindictively let Louis know that not only was his perfect boyfriend with perfect teeth being unfaithful, but he was being unfaithful with Wardo’s best friend and Louis’ arch-nemesis.

“Oh jeeze, that’s Wardo, isn’t it?” he heard Max Hayashi utter before pressing his face into his hands. A confusing response, and one that made Wardo quirk his eyebrows in interest.

"Great. Excellent." Louis heard himself saying, shoving his hands deep into the recesses of the pockets of Max's sweater. He curled his hands into fists once they were out of sight, suddenly picturing this 'friend' being a gorgeous, built, well-hung hockey player. He really was cursed with an overactive imagination. Why else would Wardo be hanging around a hockey rink at this reasonable hour? There was no other logical response.

Louis shot a furtive, yet longing glance at the door, trying to will Max to appear. He needed the other man's calming presence, the steady hand on his shoulder, the voice that always talked him down when he considered throwing away entire drafts of his novel. Basically, he needed Max to show up just to tell him to stop being fuckin' crazy and delusional. Did everybody go this insane and paranoid when confronted with an ex? Louis had no idea if it was sane or rational to be plotting Wardo's imaginary boyfriend's demise. He'd never had an ex before.

Louis' attention was drawn back to the flailing mass of limbs belonging to the teen, who had since been freed from his hooded prison. He sure had a mouth on him like Wardo, who knew enough creative insults and cuss words to make a stripper blush. Louis knew, remembered half-fondly the way he and Ivy would one up each other when it came to insults and screaming matches, which were de-escalated as quickly as they had begun.

Aside from that though, there wasn't much physical resemblance between Wardo and his tag-along. Louis raised an eyebrow at the insinuation Wardo had raised him, feeling hungover and slightly dehydrated and viciously out of the loop. Come to think of it, the teen wasn't quite young enough to be Wardo's. Unless he had some real skeletons in his closet. Or the aforementioned sexy hockey player came with some baggage, baggage Wardo was happy to adopt because the other guy's dick was big and he had a nice smile.

Fuckin' save me, Hayashi, Louis thought.

Eventually, the kid at Wardo's side seemed to power down, the string of insults making way for silent reverence. Wondering if Louis had somehow established some sort of psychic link between himself and the other man, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as Max appeared in plain sight.

It hadnt been the first time Max had been recognised in public, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Pretty girls, hot guys and excitable kids all had a tendency to stop them when the two of them were in public. More than once Louis had had an iPhone thrust in his face, forced to take a cutesy, staged photo of Max with a complete stranger's arm around him. He took it all in stride. If Max was nice enough to do it, Louis was nice enough to oblige. He was trying to be a better person, ater all. Besides, it was pretty cute, watching his fans light up like that.

Louis threw Max a smile, inclining his head gently towards the boy, who was obviously more than a little starstruck. The writer couldn't help but snicker, just a bit. The nice moment, however, was broken by an exclamation from Wardo, who, for a blissful second, Louis had forgotten was even there.

Wait... Ivy's Max?

"Ivy's Max?" Louis scoffed, not content to keep that thought to himself. He was sure he was looking at Wardo like he had two heads, but right now, he wasn't really sure how else to look at him.

"He's my Max." Louis insisted, letting his mouth run of it's own accord. Jealousy, a trait Louis had thought he'd learned to reign in, reared it's ugly head. In what world did Max belong to Ivy?

Louis felt himself gravitate subconciously to Max's side, annoyance prickling under his skin. Ivy's Max, yeah fuckin' right. He didn't know whether he was fuelled by petty jealousy, the need to get one over on Wardo (he hadn't forgotten the lighter, nestled in the bottom of his bag) or just habit, when he leaned over instinctively to press a soft kiss to Max's cheek.

"I missed somethin' here, clearly."

[photogrivy]

With each passing moment, the throbbing in Ivy’s head began to worsen. She’d tossed her pride aside the second she’d nuzzled against Louis Denver’s chest, practically begging the man to get her home, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t grateful that he’d risen to the occasion practically on command. With unmistakably shaking hands, and a quiver in his tone that he tried to mask, Louis had jumped into action immediately. Ivy had relented to his touch almost instantly, allowing him to rifle through her jacket pocket – years of putting her guard up, cutting words and a firm right hook a shield to protect her body from prying eyes, or her measly possessions from wandering hands long forgotten as Louis rummaged around for her keys.  

Tentative as she might be under any other circumstances, Ivy allowed herself to be pulled in; Louis’ arm snaking around her waist in a way that felt safe and secure, a comfort that she surprised herself by having missed. Years may have passed, cruel jibes relayed back and forth, but her gut instinct still told her that Louis was somebody that she could trust. Perhaps not with her best friend’s heart or wellbeing, but almost certainly with her own. She stayed silent as Louis took the lead, guiding her to the safety of his car. His voice filled the silence between them, Ivy’s mind disoriented as she tried to keep up, to give him something in return, but she fell short each time, simply grunting or scoffing where she saw fit. She caught the tail end of sentences, thoughts jumbled as she absently pondered over who the fuck Lola was. 

The transition from street-to-car was arguably the worst part of Ivy’s night, the motion of lowering herself into the seat, her head dipping as Louis shielded her from any further harm causing her stomach to turn, her balance wavering once again. Feeling like she might throw up, she forced herself to focus on Louis instead, his hands making rapid work of her seatbelt. With a weak grip, Ivy closed her hand over his, giving his fingers a feeble squeeze, suddenly all too aware of just how much the blood-loss was impacting her circulation. She caught sight of herself in the front view mirror and winced, her face pale, dried blood caking her features. She hadn’t seen herself in such a state in years. 

“Oh fuck,” she grumbled, pulling her gaze away from the mirror, eyes meeting Louis’ as he pulled her attention back to him. He was blurry, currently sporting four eyes and an array of white spots dotted around his features as he swam in and out of focus, but he was definitely there. “Guess you were right; I do look like shit.” 

Her hand came up to grip his wrist, anchoring her as she tried to make sense of his question. The words rattled around in her mind, clumsily spilling out of her, Ivy in no fit state to comprehend anything past the ache in her skull. She felt out of sorts and scatterbrained, and if she had even half the talent that Louis and Wardo had for words, she might have been able to prattle off some pretentious spiel about how she was no more than a battered, broken box of cereal, words rattling out of her and crashing into the hungry mind of Louis Denver – a writer, a poet, cultivating the mindless ramblings of the people around him and crafting them into art.  

Instead, she was simply a battered, broken young woman, aimlessly trying to keep herself upright in the passenger seat of an old friend’s car. 

“Um. Home, yeah... It’s, uh...” she mumbled, thoughts jumbled, her words slurring to the point of incoherence.  

Nausea washed over her once more, vision swimming as she felt, rather than saw, Louis beside her. It was a simple question with a simple answer – or at least, it should be. She had an apartment, two cats, and a shitty landlord, and yet the words wouldn’t come to her. 

“You know me, Lou. I don’t have a home,” she shrugged, settling for the easiest answer she could muster. Bile rose at the back of her throat as she groaned, pushing the heel of her free hand against her temple, silently trying to will the pain away. Her voice was barely a whisper, hissed through the agony that continued to sear through her brain. “Little Orphan Ivy. That’s me.” 

Squeezing her eyes shut, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. Telling Louis not to call Wardo had felt like the right thing to do, but the worse she felt, the more uncertain she became. She couldn’t afford to go to a hospital, but she was beginning to think that keeping her best friend out of the loop was the wrong decision after all. 

“Did you... Uh, did you say something about me needing... stitches?” Ivy asked, her voice small as she tried to recall, quietly searching through the lapses in her memory from moments that had barely passed. 

She pouted at him, lips curling downwards into a pitiful frown. 

“I can’t afford stitches, Lou. I bet Max can afford stitches,” she grumbled, still finding it in her to be petty even in the face of a potential life-altering head injury. 

At the assertion she looked great, Louis barked out a laugh. Trust Ivy to use humour at a time like this, looking like something out of Stephen King’s Carrie, blood marring every surface she put her hands on. Louis was vaguely aware of the fact his hands were shaking, and he wasn’t sure whether it was down to sheer adrenaline, or fear, or God forbid, blood loss. Louis flattened his palms against Ivy’s jean-clad knees so she would be none the wiser, under the guise of holding her own shaky self to the barstool.

Ivy reached out with a clumsy, unpracticed hand, her knuckles brushing against the stubble on his chin. He let out a soft hiss at the press of her fingers, jaw already sore and surely awaiting some bruising. He could hardly remember where he’d taken a blow, the man had seemed to be all over him, on top of him. Louis screwed his eyes tight shut as he worked to banish that visual, grateful for once when Ivy dropped her forehead against his own. He could hear her shallow, uneven breaths and worked to match them, him holding tight to her leg now. Ivy was here, and he was safe. They were both safe.

“Not true.” he tried to joke, his voice coming out soft and feeble. “I’ve always been prettier.”

Relief flooded through him at Ivy’s firm resolve not to call Wardo. Not only was he in no position to be seeing his ex right now, bloodied and on his way to bruised, Louis wasn’t sure where that would leave him. He wouldn’t feel right about simply handing Ivy over to her best friend, injured and possibly concussed as she was. But the idea of hanging around the two of them, making awkward small talk and trying to penetrate their impenetrable Wardo-and-Ivy bubble seemed even worse. At one point, he knew where he sat comfortably in their lives. It had been less Wardo-and-Ivy and Louis-and-Wardo, the three of them had just simply fit. Louis figured he didn’t fit anymore.

“What if you need stitches? Shit, Ives, I really think you might need stitches.” he breathed, voice on the edge of panicking. Truth was, Louis couldn’t really afford a hospital visit right now either. Turns out, moving to New York was expensive, and he wouldn’t really be seeing too much money from his book unless he managed to earn out. Fingers crossed that would happen, if Ivy and hospital visits were gonna become a new, semi-regular thing in his life.

“Hey, hey. Careful.” Louis warned, holding a hand out tentatively as Ivy moved to stand. The barstool wobbled dangerously beneath her, and Louis found her hand fisted in the front of his shirt, a bloodied handprint sure to be left behind. His hand moved to tenderly curl around her elbow, sliding eventually around her waist as she slumped against him.

His heart clenched in his chest at the feel of Ivy, face buried against his shoulder, trusting Louis to hold her upright. He kept his hold on her firm, breathing in the scent of her shampoo underneath all the glass, and matted blood. Unmistakably Ivy, the same Ivy. It hit him now how much he’d missed her. At a time, Ivy had been sister he’d needed when his own big sister was a few states away, and often a damn sight kinder. She’d not been afraid to rib him, to steal his clothes without asking and playfully punch him in the arm. Louis was forced to once again acknowledge that in leaving his boyfriend, his love, he’d also left behind a family. He’d left Ivy.

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Course I can.” he murmured, gently rubbing her back. “Have you got keys?”

With a familiarity he hadn’t shown Ivy in at least ten years time, he pushed his hand inside the worn leather of her jacket, feeling around for the pocket that might have a key to the place in it. His hand curled around the cold metal easily, pulling it free. Fuck knows if there were any sort of precedent where he might have to set an alarm, but Louis would just have to lock the door behind him and hope for the best.

Half steering, half dragging Ivy from the bar, he kept her propped up against his side as he put the key inside the lock and drove it home. Sending out a silent apology to Ivy’s boss, he pulled her towards his old, beat up car, gently propping her against it’s frame.

“Sorry, darlin’. Just a sec while I find my keys. Be gentle with Lola, alright?” Louis murmured, as if the paintwork on his car was anything to be particularly gentle with. Praying the lock wouldn’t stick this time, Louis made quick work of opening the door for Ivy, pushing aside various road maps and fast food wrappers that littered the passenger seat. He hadn’t exactly been expecting company.

“Alright, watch your head.” he instructed, his hand hovering just above her head as she ducked to get into the car. “Don’t want you takin’ anymore blows tonight.”

Louis leaned over to fasten her seatbelt, vaguely aware she would not take kindly to being treated like an invalid. Fuck it. Ivy had to let someone take care of her sometime. Hesitating when pulling back, Louis leaned over her briefly. Unthinkingly, his hand moved to cup her chin, tipping it up so that she was forced to look at him. She was bleary eyed, but still with him.

“You good?” he asked, his bloodied thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “Ivy, where am I taking you? Where’s home?”

[wardowrites]

It seemed like everyone was trying to solve a different mathematical equation, but Wardo assumed they were all going to come to the same answer when they figured it out anyway. Wardo was standing face to face with his ex-boyfriend’s new boyfriend who just so happened to be the guy that his best friend was hatefucking like her life depended on it.

And, for some reason, Bryce was there too.

“Holy shit, this is amazing,” he heard the teenager mutter, barely disguised glee in his voice. Drawing him a look in an inevitably failed attempt to shut him up, Wardo pulled his attention back to Louis and Max Hayashi. It appeared that Louis was undergoing some sort of aneurysm and Wardo wasn’t a good enough person to stop the delighted grin that appeared on his face.

“He’s fucking Ivy Rogers,” he confirmed, although he wasn’t the one that Louis had wanted any clarification from.

It didn’t go amiss to him that Louis seemed far more outraged that it was Ivy that Max Hayashi was fucking, that one caveat seeming infinitely more important to the other man than the fact that Max Hayshi was cheating in the first place. It kind of just made the situation funnier to Wardo.

He supposed there was a degree of karmic justice here, even if it wasn’t being delivered to Wardo, fully gift-wrapped, in the way that he had expected. In his fantasies, Louis had always returned to him with a groveling apology and some sort of explanation that could help Wardo make sense of why he had left. In truth, he was still left floundering for a reason, although he’d been swiftly bowled over by the confirmation that Louis had long since moved on from him, with a tanned, muscular looking sports fanatic. Who had also had his dick in Ivy. That was the kicker, and the one silver lining to this whole shitshow of a situation that Wardo was stubbornly holding onto. At least he had this one thing to laud over Louis after a decade of wondering what the fuck he’d done to deserve being left high and dry.

“It’s his name,” Wardo pointed out with a smirk when Louis, with no small amount of frustration, demanded them to stop full-naming Max Hayashi.

“You can’t just call him Max. There’s plenty of Max’s. There’s only one Max Hayashi,” Bryce pointed out, prompting another wide-eyed look and astounded head shake from Wardo.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hissed, before he looked back towards his ex and Wardo’s current favourite adulterer. Introductions were being made apparently.

“Yeah, we already know Max. Why does your boyfriend know my name?” he asked, because that was something he still needed an answer to.

“I’m Bryce, by the way,” Bryce piped up. He raised a hand and gave Max Hayashi a shy wave. “Hi.”

“Are you possessed?” Wardo blurted out, immediately hip-checking Bryce, before he turned back to Louis and Max, the latter who still had his head in his hands.

“Look, she’s nice, I like her,” came Max’s muffled response and Wardo tilted his head to the side. Nice, Max Hayashi had described his best friend. Despite the ten years of emotional torture he’d endured at the hands of the other man, Wardo couldn’t help but swap a confused look with Louis, who knew just as well as Wardo that ‘nice’ wasn’t the first descriptor a person would use when talking about Ivy.

“Could be a different Ivy Rogers,” he reasoned, raising an eyebrow at Louis.

As Max leaned in to ask him just what was going on, Louis' hand merely found the small of his back, leaning in to gently let the other man know he'd clue him in later. It would be painful and uncomfortably awkward, a near-impossible feat to start filling Max in on ten years of Louis-and-Wardo, not to mention the footnotes from their last meeting. He shook his head silently, not trusting himself to speak. What the hell had he meant by Ivy's Max?

With a shriek of laughter that could rival a coyote, the young man began to double over with laughter. Startled, Louis peered at him as though he'd gone slightly batshit fuckin' crazy, dropping his hand from it's protective stance on Max's back. Louis' gaze went abruptly from Wardo, to the kid, and back to Wardo, the fury on Wardo's face not quite matching the overjoyed amusement on the teen's.

"I - what?" Louis spluttered, wondering if he was ever going to regain his grasp on the english language in Wardo's presence. He felt his face grow hot. Well, well, if it wasn't the consequences of his own actions. Because, if he was being perfectly honest, he'd kind of wanted Wardo to think he was fucking Max Hayashi. Or at least, that he was desirable and wanted, and capable of pulling Max, or a Max Hayashi type man. It was unfortunate that the teen seemed to find it all so fuckin' funny and Louis seemed to find it so embarrassing.

His eyes flickered back to Wardo, preparing himself for the... what, exactly? Deluge of hurt, anger that would surely be written all over his face? What he'd been given instead was a complete non-reaction, the cogs instead seemed to be turning in Wardo's head.

"What?!" Louis said, his tenuous grasp on the english language now utterly nonexistant. His gaze flipped accusatorily to Max, whose cheeks were still bright red and growing steadily redder. "You're fucking Ivy?"

Disgust showed plain on his face, his nose wrinkling up. If he was aware of how he looked to the outsider perspective, a jealous, cuckolded boyfriend, he didn't show it. Louis pinched the bridge of his nose, stomach churning.

"Can we stop using Max fuckin' Hayashi's full name?" he snapped.

Ivy Rogers. Of all the spiteful women who hated his guts in all the world, and Max had to run directly into her. With his penis, apparently.

"Yeah, yeah. The one and only. God fuckin' damn." Louis hissed, because of course Max knew the whole sordid, sad story.

"Max, Wardo. Seems like we all already know Max."

[photogrivy]

A feeble smirk tried to push its way onto Ivy’s face as Louis called out her proclivity for drama. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t used to being told as much, their flair for the dramatics a key component in hers and Wardo’s relationship. Like brother, like sister, she thought absently, her head spinning as she tried to regain some basic understanding of the world around her. 

She didn’t miss the concern in his tone, the way his voice seemed to tremble with worry. She wondered if she truly had judged him unfairly, the other man’s claim that he had changed over the past 10 years seeming to ring true now. His insistence that he’d grown a lot, that he was a kinder and far less cruel person was something she’d struggled to come to grips with – particularly with his snide quip about her parents, the words stinging even now, even after he’d apologised so profusely at the time. 

Ivy whined miserably as she felt Louis pull her to her feet, his hands gripping tight to her as he hoisted her up onto a stool. She felt herself slumping over slightly, energy depleted as she tried to keep herself upright. It would take a lot for her to admit it, but she was glad Louis was here, a firm hold on her as he kept her from any more harm. 

“I look great,” she corrected him, her words slow and careful. She was at risk of slurring her way through the conversation, her grasp on the English language floundering with every passing second. She squinted up at him, her head hung low as she took in the blood that dripped down from his lip, coating his jawline. 

Weak and with blurred vision, she lifted her uninjured hand by way of cleaning him up, her knuckles grazing his jaw and chin, merely smudging the red stain. Her forehead dropped against his, her voice low as she muttered, “You look way worse.” 

She groaned at the suggestion of calling Wardo. Her best friend had seen her in far worse scrapes than this, but she didn’t want to worry him now. The fight was over and what’s done was done – besides, she didn’t know how he’d react to the sight of her alone with Louis, the two of them caked in their own blood. Ivy didn’t get into fights without Wardo; the last thing she wanted was for him to think she’d replaced him with a shorter, shinier model. Wardo was her right-hand man, not Louis. There was no way in hell she’d let him think he’d been left behind, not for a second time. 

“No Wardo. And no hospital,” she scolded him, her voice a little clearer as she made her demand. She wasn’t entirely sure he’d actually listen to her – changed or not, Louis Denver was still a stubborn ass. “You think I'm made of money, dude?” 

Ivy untangled herself from the man, trying to push herself up onto her feet. The second her feet hit the ground, her knees wobbled and her hand shot out frantically for purchase. Her palm met Louis’ ribcage, a little harsher than she’d intended, her fingers curling as they fisted the fabric of his t-shirt. She hissed from the pain, feeling the prickle of glass against her arm, and glanced back up at him. 

“Fuck. Sorry, shit,” she grumbled.  

Reluctantly, she edged closer to him once more, dropping her head against his shoulder. Pride had gone out the window the second he’d seen her get tackled to the ground by a glorified ewok. 

“Can you drive me home?” she asked, desperately hoping that Louis Denver was one of the few maniacs in the city that showed up to a bar with a car. 

Relief flooded Louis' chest when Ivy's lips parted, managing to form what sounded like a pretty goddamn coherent sentence. Sure, it didn't have the biting verbiage of limp-dick motherfucker, but she was still using his last name and her grip on sarcasm remained intact, so he guessed that counted for something.

He was tentative to let go of the back of her head, although at this stage, he wasn't sure if his probing fingers would do more damage than good. How the fuck were you meant to know when somebody needed stitches? It sure seemed like she needed stitches, the whole of Louis' palm had come away a stark scarlet. Then again, didn't head wounds always bleed more? For the first time in a long time, Louis wished silently for his Mom. She'd snap into action, pulling Ivy to her feet with a firm-yet-loving touch, take one look at her and tsk, declaring it to be 'Merely a flesh wound, Mon trésor!

Still, Ivy's hand was weakly curling around his forearm now, her touch light but persistent as her eyes opened, if only barely. He placed his hand gently underneath her other elbow, prepared to help her up.

"You're not gonna fuckin' bleed out. So fuckin' dramatic." he rolled his eyes, trying his hardest to keep his voice light, although the shakiness in it betrayed him. He sent up a silent prayer to whatever fucker was up there, Please, God, don't let her bleed out, despite the fact he hadn't prayed since he was a kid. Needs must, or whatever.

"Alright, hold tight." he murmured, his other hand fitting snugly around her waist. "I'm gonna pull you up."

With a silent count of one, two, three, Louis managed to pull a bambi-legged Ivy to her feet. She wavered a little, but he managed to get her sat on the rickety barstool pretty quickly. A sight better than the floor at least. Bracing his hands on her knees, he gave her a visual check over, even though he wasn't sure what the fuck he was looking for.

"You look like shit, Ivy." he said, aware he didn't look much better himself. He was pretty sure blood was still pouring from his split lip, and peering into her eyes for signs of... what, exactly? Did your pupils get larger or smaller when you were concussed? Hell, did your pupils do anything?

"You need me to call someone?" Louis asked, an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I can call him, if you need me to."

Louis actually couldn't imagine anything worse. He'd have to use Ivy's phone, of course, and the idea of Wardo picking up, jovial and excited to talk to his best friend, only to be confronted with Louis? Well, he'd rather suck off Grant Morley than have to listen to the icy disappointment in Wardo's voice.

"Shit, there might not be time for that." he winced, "you're bleedin' real bad. I think you need to go to a hospital."