#toronto mutuals look away

[tiger-balm]

"we got a lotta old people on this team"

[gaybroons]

relevant tweet

one day i will write the essay about the way the virulent hatred of mitch very much ties into the misogyny of hockey culture but tonight is not that night because mostly what i need is a knife

[wildrangers]

The Planets and the Fates and All the Stars Aligned // William Nylander

Word Count: 3.5K

Summary: The three times Willy almost asked you out and the one time he finally did

{This is my submission for the lovely @jackhues for The Winter Fic Exchange 2k24, organized by the amazing @wyattjohnston!}

Warnings/tropes: mutual pining, poor communication, resolved (minor) angst, fluff, cursing, drinking

You were grateful that Auston was taking you under his wing following your big move to Toronto—seriously. It was better to be at a New Year’s Eve party where you knew all of one person rather than alone in your apartment. Though…there were a lot of loud drunk men at this party which wasn’t your favorite vibe. You’d much prefer enjoying a nice cocktail with a view of Toronto over being stuffed in one of Tony’s teammate’s suburban homes. But really—you were grateful for Auston and this somewhat odd built in social network that came with him.

You were drawn from your thoughts by a cheer from the pong table and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the intense excitement of the younger guys currently facing off there. You flipped your wrist around to see the time again just as a large, familiar hand landed on your shoulder.

“That’s at least the fifth time you’ve checked the time since we got here…what, an hour ago?” Auston teased, grinning as he took the seat next to you.

“It’s only the fourth” you grumbled making Auston raise his hands in surrender.

“My apologies for the slander, miss.”

You rolled your eyes and jostled your shoulder into his before settling your head there instead. “I’m just tired from the move and everyone here seems very…extroverted?” you tried, not wanting to speak poorly of the group you barely knew.

“Look, I get it” he replied, ruffling your hair gently. “Can I please get you a drink now? At least your hands will be busy then.”

You nodded against his shoulder before raising your head so he could go grab your favorite drink. You were surprised when his place was quickly filled by a blonde-haired boy with mischievous blue eyes.

“You must be Julia, I’m Willy” he smiled, offering his hand for you to shake. You smirked, gripping his hand in your own. You were not, in fact, Julia, but this should be entertaining.

“Nice to meet you, Willy. I hope Auston hasn’t said anything too horrific about me.”

“Oh no, nothing like that. I just wanted to make sure I talked to you before things got too serious with him.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean a gorgeous girl like yourself should know that I am available and a much, much better catch” he stated confidently and you threw your head back with laughter.

“Well, I may as well hear the sales pitch now” you smirked, pleasantly surprised by the tipsy man before you.

“I mean first of all” he said, simply pointing to his hairline, which drew a gasp from your mouth as you whacked his arm, “I’m just saying!”

“What are you ‘just saying’ to my cousin, William?”

Will’s blue eyes widened as he processed Auston’s words. “Wait so you’re…not Julia?”

Auston handed you your drink, “No, this is Y/N, weirdo. I was going to bring Julia to dinner tomorrow night but maybe I won’t now. How long did she have you going?”

“Long enough to put my foot in my mouth” he admitted and you smirked, pleased at the pink tinge rising to his cheeks. “But not so long that I can’t recover?” he questioned.

“Stay tuned” you replied, maintaining eye contact as you took a sip of your drink. Luckily, Auston was called away leaving just you two again.

“I swear, I’m not usually like that” he began and you tilted your head slightly.

“Like what?”

He seemed at a loss for words so you chuckled, “You’re fine, I’ll stop fucking with you now. You were just so confidently wrong, I had to see where things went.”

He chuckled to himself, “Confidently wrong is kind of a good summary for me actually…”

“The great William Nylander? No, I’d say most the time your confidence is probably just right.”

“You even knew who I was and still let me make a fool of myself?!”

You giggled and nodded, “I obviously know who you are, I watch as many of Ton’s games as I can. You’re usually playing in them too.”

“Wait, so rewind. You’re Tony’s cousin?”

“Not by blood, but yeah. We grew up together and our families are super close. He’s been trying to get me out here forever, so when a better job opened up in my company’s Toronto location, how could I say no?”

“When did you move?”

You jokingly checked your watch, “About eight hours ago now.”

“Oh well, welcome! I love it here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah” he nodded, sipping his drink and you couldn’t help how your eyes were drawn to his mouth with the movement. “I moved around so much as a kid; this is the longest I’ve ever lived in one place. Minus summers in Sweden, obviously”

“I would love to go to Sweden” you admitted. “It looks so beautiful.”

As he began passionately talking about Sweden, conversation flowed seamlessly between you. He seemed genuinely interested in your answers to the questions he asked, eyes always remaining firmly on you in a way that made your stomach flip but also steadied you in the otherwise loud room.

You were dragged from your conversation as the countdown to the New Year began.

“Damn, it’s almost midnight already?” you questioned, checking your watch that had long since been forgotten.

“Guess so…do you want to ring in the New Year together?” Will asked and you were surprised by the tentative tone of his voice. Your eyes rose to meet his and you noted the nerves showing in the crinkle of his eyes.

“Yeah, sure” you smiled, scootching closer to him. “I have to admit, I’m surprised you didn’t seem confident I’d say yes.”

“I mean I wouldn’t want to come in too hot, making assumptions—that would be embarrassing, no?” he joked as he wrapped a tender arm around your shoulders.

“Of course, wouldn’t want to make that same mistake twice in one evening” you teased back and you earned a rich laugh from him that made your toes curl and you dipped your head to hide your grin. As the countdown entered single digits, your eyes rose to meet his again but he was focused somewhere just beyond your shoulder before turning his attention back to you.

“3…2…1…Happy New Year!” the room erupted but your world had shrunk to just you and Willy. You had a sneaking suspicion it had been Auston who briefly grabbed his attention from you, which was confirmed as he leaned in to place a gentle kiss to your cheek rather than going in for the kiss. You were disappointed until you felt his mouth brush your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

***

Once Will had given the bottle of wine and his thanks to Mitch and Stephanie for hosting, his eyes were scanning the room for you. He’d been kicking himself for months since meeting you for not getting your number on New Year’s but Auston’s stern stare had scared him off, as embarrassed as he was to admit it. He just hadn’t wanted to risk his friendship with his teammate, or worse, make you uncomfortable since you’d just met. Plus, the firm “If you hurt her, you’re dead to me” lecture Auston had given him the next day at practice had driven the point home.

So, some combination of your new job and Auston’s protectiveness had kept you away from any team, family, and friends get together’s until now, just as the regular season was wrapping up. Just as he had begun to give up hope that he’d see you again, Mitch mentioned that Auston had RSVP’d for 3 people, you and a plus one that he assumed was whatever girl Tony was currently seeing. Will didn’t waste another minute before confirming his own attendance.

His heart sped up as he saw you chatting with Johnny, your body language so much more relaxed than when he met you months ago. He made his way to you and when your eyes met his, the broad grin you sent his way knocked him out.

“Willy!” you called, standing to greet him with a warm hug.

“Hey, it’s been too long, how have you been?” he asked, pulling away just far enough to take you in. “You look beautiful tonight, of course.”

He was rewarded with a dip of your head as you hid your shy smile at his compliment, “I’ve been good, busy, so I’m glad Tony mentioned this dinner, it’s nice to see everyone.”

A long pause filled the air as he simply gazed into your warm, smiling eyes. “Hey Willy, I’m here too” his captain called from behind you and Willy laughed, greeting him with a handshake.

“Sorry man, it’s just been a minute since I’ve seen Y/N here” he shrugged sheepishly. John nodded, clapping him on the back, “Since New Year’s, yeah?”

Will shot him a questioning look but Johnny only smirked before walking off to chat with another group.

“Will, you’ve been having such an amazing season, I’m so happy for you” you smiled, settling back down in your seat and patting the spot next to you. He quickly sat where directed, pleased that the small couch made his outer thigh gently press into yours—he was even more content when you didn’t shift your leg away but closer to his.

“Thanks, I appreciate it. Just trying to gear up for the Playoff’s now. How have you been, settling in well?”

As you two caught up with small talk, he wracked his brain on how to ask you out without making it weird in case you said no. This conversation flowed just as well as your first and your sly humor shone through even more now that you seemed more at ease.

“I’ve missed seeing you at other parties like this” he admitted when the conversation naturally lulled.

“I think Auston may have refrained from inviting me to a few” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “And then the last few just didn’t work with my schedule. I was happy when Ton mentioned you’d be here tonight though.”

“Yeah?” he asked, hopeful as his heart began pattering more intensely.

“Yeah” you grinned, knocking your shoulder into his. “I really enjoyed hanging with you last time.”

“Me too” he smiled, taking in the genuine joy on your face. “I was actually wondering…”

He trailed off as he saw your eyes shift behind him and widen. “Jake!” you called, standing up and waving over an unfamiliar guy who wrapped you in an embrace and quickly pecked your cheek.

“Hey pretty lady, sorry I’m a little late. The subway got delayed” he replied, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears. “Is this Will?”

As introductions were made, Will’s heart sank as he realized your boyfriend was the plus one, not Auston’s girl. It looked like he’d missed his chance with you after all.

***

You worked your way through the crowd, pausing as people you’d grown close to since your move to Toronto stopped you to chat. Johnny and his wife were hosting the start of the season party, welcoming everyone back to Toronto after being wherever they called home in the off season. You were hoping Will would be here but had refrained from asking Auston to avoid his eye rolls and protective bullshit.

When you’d seen Will at that spring party, you couldn’t admit to him that you’d partially been avoiding him. Not because you didn’t like him, but the opposite—you’d felt so drawn to him on New Year’s only to have Auston insert himself in the middle of things. After enough time had passed, you’d finally let your coworker set you up on that blind date with Jake. Who was nice but had basically been wiped from your mind when you’d met Will’s eyes across the room that second night.

You’d let yourself get wrapped up in the press of his leg on yours, the intense focus of his eyes as you caught up. Had allowed yourself to slip into the flirtation that had flowed so naturally between you during your first meeting. Until Jake had arrived, and you’d noted Will deflate before excusing himself.

You’d seen him a few times since then but he kept a wide berth, which you understood. But it had sucked and drove home that as nice as Jake is, he wasn’t the one for you. Which is why, several months out from that split, you were determined to make your move on Will—enough with waiting.

You grabbed a drink and surveyed the room, heart fluttering as you heard Willy’s signature laugh from across the room. He was talking with a younger guy you didn’t recognize but you strode over anyway. “Will!” you called and he spun, wide-eyed, at your voice.

“Y/N?” he smiled uncertainly but you just pulled him into a tight embrace.

“How was your summer? Tell me all about Sweden” you grinned, quickly introducing yourself to the rookie beside him who made himself scarce.

“Sure, but you seem…different” he noted, scanning your form as if he could find the answer there.

“Do I? I mean, not much has changed except Jake and I broke up” you offered and his eyes widened slightly.

“I’m sorry?” he offered.

“Don’t be. He was nice but it just wasn’t it, you know?”

He nodded, eyes skimming around the room before pulling out his phone. “Here, let me show you some photos from back home.”

You leaned into the comfort of his warmth, your eyes either taking in each photo he selected to show you or tracing the familiar lines of his face as he swiped through his camera roll. He was just so beautiful.

“It looks like a great summer, are you bummed to be back?” you joked and he chuckled, shaking his head.

“No, I always love coming back to Toronto—this is home too” he replied, eyes boring into yours. You couldn’t help yourself as you reached up to sweep a strand of hair that had fallen into his face, your hand lingering there, cupping his cheek.

“Y/N…” he breathed and you were surprised when his eyes left yours to once again scan the room. His phone lit up, drawing your attention, just as he began. “I actually am…”  

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry” you cut him off, drawing your hand back, eyes fixed on his lock screen—a gorgeous shot of him with a beautiful woman tucked into his side.

His gaze followed yours and he quickly locked his phone screen, mouth forming a hard line. “No, I’m sorry. I should have been up front but whenever I see you, I just…”

“You just what?” you asked quietly, unable to stop yourself.

“I can only think of keeping you close. Even when I know I can’t, so I’m sorry.”

You sadly shook your head forcing a smile, “No, I did the same thing to you, didn’t I? I get it. I hope she makes you happy Will, have a great season” you assured him, squeezing his shoulder before excusing yourself from the party altogether.

***

Will wasn’t one to believe in fate but it seemed like the stars may be finally aligning as he entered Auston’s apartment to celebrate New Year’s Eve. He’d done his homework this time, enlisting Steph to make sure you weren’t seeing anyone. After your last encounter, his fledgling relationship hadn’t lasted long—not when all he could think about was you. That wasn’t fair to her, so he’d broken things off and thrown himself into the season. It was a contract year for him, he had to focus. But that focus didn’t stop him from noting that some of his best games were ones where he knew you’d be in the crowd.

Will wandered over to the large windows filling Ton’s living room, taking in the city skyline. He’d done a few laps but had yet to see you. Truth be told, he wasn’t in much of a party mood—he just wanted to see you. So, he wondered off from the main party down the hallway to what he knew to be Ton’s guest room for some quiet. He didn’t hear any noise from behind the door so he gently opened it, startling when he saw you curled up on the bed.

You hadn’t noticed the door opening, your head buried in a book with Taylor Swift playing softly from your phone. He took a moment to enjoy the sight before him—you, dressed to the nine’s, feet wrapped in fuzzy socks, eyes fervently scanning the pages before you, heels forgotten beside him by the door.

“Y/N?” he spoke softly, as to not startle you but you jumped anyway.

“Will?” you questioned, your head tilting to the side. “What are you doing here?”

“The New Year’s Eve party, silly, what are you doing locked away in here looking so beautiful?”

He was thrilled when you ducked your head, trying to hide the flattered smile that bloomed on your face. “Promise not to laugh.”

“Scout’s honor” he promised, settling on the foot of the bed.

“I’m on the last book of this fantasy series and I just wanted to make sure everyone got through the battle okay” you chuckled, holding up your nearly finished book. “I said hi to everyone but when I didn’t see you, I just wondered in here to try and finish it before midnight.”

“Well, is everyone safe and sound? I wouldn’t want to disturb you” he teased lightly and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, I have like ten pages left” you chuckled. “I’ll come out and join the party in a few, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry” he shrugged, standing up but then stopped himself. “Would you actually care if I hung in here with you? I’m not in much of a party mood.”

“Sure” you beamed, scooting over on the bed to make room for him beside you. He slipped his shoes off, crawling up the bed to settle into your side, arm wrapped around your middle as you lifted your book.

“Is this okay?” he questioned quietly and you hummed in answer.

“Here, just lay down—that way I can rest my book on your shoulders” you motioned towards your lap and he didn’t have to be told twice, settling his head on your satin covered thighs.

A comfortable silence filled the room, broken only by you flipping the pages of your book. Will could stay this way forever, your scent wrapped around him, his breathing slowing to match your own.

As he began drifting off, you closed the book and set it aside. He felt your focus shift fully to him but he kept his eyes closed, not wanting to break this peaceful spell. He could have purred when your fingers gently ran through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp whenever your hand returned to the top of his head.

“I’m single” he murmured, nuzzling deeper into your lap.

“I know” you answered and he turned to look up into your eyes, confusion evident there judging by your chuckle. “I asked Stephanie.”

He let out a loud laugh, gently taking your hand in his own, “I may have done the same thing” he admitted, causing you to snort and shake your head.

“So, what does that mean?” you asked quietly.

“Hopefully, it means that when I ask you out, you’ll say yes” he questioned, nerves oddly not coming to his stomach. He knew how long you both had wanted this, the timing just never being quite right.

“Well, I can’t wait to say yes then” you smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his brow bone as your alarm rang from the nightstand. “Oh, time to get up, it’s 11:55.”

He shifted in response, sitting up and stretching, attempting to smooth out his shirt.

“Here” you offered walking towards him, heels firmly on your feet. He paused his fussing, allowing you to straighten his collar and smooth out the wrinkles that had developed on his chest. Your hand gently ran through his hair, settling down any stray hairs that had fallen out of place. “All better. Do I look alright?”

“You look perfect” he said honestly, rising off the bed and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. As you both exited the room, he marveled at how perfectly you fit there, tucked into his side.

The countdown had begun and Will’s eyes scanned the room, noting Auston immediately finding the two of you in the crowd.

“He’s intolerable” you mumbled, eyes also falling on Tony across the room. As the crowd counted down from ten, a giggle rose in his throat as you jokingly raised your middle finger to your cousin before turning back to him.

His hands settled on your hips, pulling you flush against him as your hands cupped his jaw, thumb caressing his cheek. With the New Year beginning, your lips finally met his and he wound his fingers through your hair to pull you closer. As your mouths moved in perfect harmony together, the rightness of this moment settled around him.

As the crowd picked back up again, he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?”

“You have a game tomorrow, silly” you answered, chuckling. “But you can take me out the next night.”

A/N: I hope y'all enjoyed! Please forgive any typos, I am in fact working through a concussion currently. It turns out writing for Willy has become one of my new favorite things to do. Always happy to hear feedback :)

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two | part three | part four

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. CH4: You work up the guts to call him, Eddie drags you out on a date, and the looming shadow of an unknown photographer follows you around. [14k]

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, kisses! tender neck kisses <3, past miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, sexual tension ish, TW mentioned recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing, nudes MDNI

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Dora’s Convenience, Florida, February 1991 

The air here smells like sulphur. 

After spending the last four and a half days in Canada, Florida is a shock. The air is warm and thick and the smells are less than pretty —hot baked seaweed floats in on the sea, and the groundwater carries a naturally occurring bacteria that prompts a scent that you can't say you care for— but the people are kind. 

Perhaps too long alone with only Morgan, Ananya, and your tour manager, Angel, for company has made you biassed, but so far everyone's been incredibly sweet. Hotel attendants, venue staff, a batch of shiny new techies; all smiling, happy, and willing to help. You haven't carried your own bag since the plane touched down. 

Florida is hellishly humid. You miss the freezing bite of cold that accompanied you everywhere in Toronto. You long for a gust of wind that has no smell. 

"Come on, wonderboy," Morgan says, tapping her uncharacteristic sneaker into your ankle. 

You savour the last blessed seconds of the store's open freezer before closing the door with a brokenhearted frown. The effects of the cold and the clean smell dissipate near immediately, leaving you uncomfortable once again. Morgan continues on without waiting for you, a basket heavy in the crook of her arm. She's got enough glass soda bottles for everybody, yet you doubt she's in a sharing mood. You double back to grab one for you and another for Ananya, winding between aisles and wondering how people can eat half of the stuff on display when the weather is this hot. It feels unlivable. 

At the front wall behind plexiglass and an unhappy cashier there's a TV playing Madonna, chirpy pop lyrics clearly not working any wonders. 

His long hair shifts against his shoulder with the artificial breeze. He looks a little like Eddie, you think unwittingly, pretty in an unexaggerated way, his eyes big but not brown. You nibble on your lip and put the coke bottles down by Morgan's basket. 

"You can go wait in the car," Angel says. Morgan's already left, happy for Angel to foot the bill and carry her things. 

You shake your head. You don't mind waiting with her and the car is stifling in the heat. Better to linger in the open air.

The TV fades from Madonna to Guns 'N' Roses. You tilt your head to one side wistfully. No offence meant to your not-boyfriend, but half the rockstars on TV look like Eddie. With the picture small and blurry and up as high as it is on the wall mount, they could swap him out for Slash and you'd be none the wiser. Maybe not half the rockstars, actually —bleaching is all the rage right now, a contrast to Eddie's dark head of hair. You wonder if you'd still want Eddie to press you up against bathroom walls if he were blonde. 

Probably. 

You're thinking of Eddie less than you worried you would. Things are hectic beyond words, and most spare moments are spent showering, eating, or trying to sleep. Sleeping on the bus was difficult at first due to the tight quarters and loud noise, but you're at a point of exhaustion where Morgan's ranting might as well be a lullaby. The rap of Ananya's sticks against the bench in front of her or her compulsive thigh slapping fades away when you've been awake for eighteen hours straight. 

You're in good spirits tonight at the promise of a double bed in your own room. A tiny room, you'd been told, but your own. Privacy feels like a myth lately; you're ravenous for some alone time to do whatever you want without judgement.

You're toying with the idea of asking Angel how you could maybe possibly get into contact with Eddie. You honestly don't have a clue in the world where he is, what state or country. He could be in Alaska and you'd be none the wiser. Where Godless follow locations where they know they'll have full venues, like the Midwest, Canada, and smaller shows in the 'worldwide' branch of their tour later in the year, Corroded Coffin are hitting every venue that's open. 

You can't deny it any longer. There's no point, and now you're on good terms you see little worth in pretending Corroded Coffin aren't wildly more popular than Godless. You aren't saying better. But beyond subjectivity is the cold hard truth: Eddie's band are charting high.  

Godless' new album is doing better than anyone on your team really expected it to, but, while you're unsure of the inner working politics, you know that the sales team were 'positive' rather than ecstatic. You can't fucking imagine how stuffed the vaults are about to become over at Rollerboy. If they skewed themselves in the right light they could be up there with Van Halen in a year or two. Not that they will, who knows? What you understand about the band is limited to the feel of Eddie's hands and Jamison's quiet rejection. 

Point is, Corroded Coffin's new album is about to come out, and it's going to do well, and as far as you know their tour is a sell-out dream. 

The cashier bags Morgan's overstuffed basket and moves onto your cokes. Your eyes slide to the magazine stand in front of the checkout. 

Exclusive Conversation with Rising Stars of Rock: Corroded Coffin. 

You grab it up and try to add it to your stuff inconspicuously, which means you couldn't make it more obvious. Angel snorts. 

"Can I escape ridicule for one day?" you ask. 

"The ridiculous deserve ridicule." Angel eyes the total and cracks open the touring purse. "You don't need a rockstar boyfriend." 

"I'm ridiculous?" you ask wryly. 

"Yeah, babe. You and the girls," —she hands over a pretty wad of cash with a keep-the-change nod and grabs the brown paper bags— "might not be the next Aerosmith, but that means jack shit. You guys are awesome, not just 'cause you're my responsibility. I've seen it. I've seen you guys. And I know you hate talking about being a girl band, but you are a girl band–" 

You groan. Of course you are. Pretending gender doesn't play into it would be silly. But it gives you a migraine whenever you think about it, so you try not to. 

"You guys could be as big as The Bangles. Especially if you stopped wasting time on silly boys," she furthers. Ouch. 

Angel steps out into the sunshine. You follow, shielding your eyes as you look for the car, a pretty red Mercedes-Benz with all the windows rolled down. 

"The Bangles," you repeat, genuinely surprised by her comparison. "The only thing we have in common with them is that we're girls." 

"You know what else you could have in common with them? Mansions and early retirement. Hey, Hazy Shade of Winter was actually good. You should try something like that." 

"Uh-huh," you say. 

"Hey!" Morgan shouts, shoulders out the passenger side window. "Could you guys at least pretend you have somewhere to be? We aren't all social rejects. A sense of urgency, if you will!" 

"Walk slower," Angel mutters. "Ooh, I've dropped my contact. You know, the ones I've miraculously started wearing?" 

"Oh no," you giggle, kneeling down to feel for it. You must be rather overdramatic about it, incurring Morgan's whining wrath. 

You find Angel's very real contact and return to the car. Morgan drones about her throat and how it's reacting to the constantly changing weather, and then swaps tactics when nobody is quite as pitying as she would've liked to complain about Ananya's "antisocial behaviour". 

Ananya has taken to listening to her Walkman non-stop while not on stage. Bad for her hearing, good for her mental health, you imagine. It came about after a missing wad of cash and has yet to see an end. You resent and revere Ananya's determination, jealous that she's escaping Morgan's frankly horrendous behaviour, amazed that she has the willpower.

The more you know Morgan, the less you’ve felt you could love her. It might be cruel to recognise that. She demeans your style, pokes fun at your body, and worst of all, she takes the piss out of your constant dedication to the music you make. 

Proud isn't the right word when describing the relationship you have with making music. You aren't proud of yourself for anything. You'd pictured a sort of satisfaction in getting to this point, now that you're a real musician in a famous band with sweetheart fans and the occasional acclaim. You should feel proud of yourself, but you don't. 

You'd felt relief, and now the agony of clinging to it. 

Worse is that this could all be different. If you were prettier, someone Morgan approved of. If you were smarter, and could garner Ananya's interest. Feeling like an outsider in the extreme that you do can't be good for you, but there's no quick fix. The only time it goes away is when you're on stage playing music for a thousand outsiders. 

Or when you're with Eddie. 

As you stupidly told him. 

What good will it do, telling a boy how you feel? When he's off map, surrounded by people who think he's great and women who won't stop telling him so. Maybe boys, too. You can't get a read on him. 

Naive as it was to tell him– whatever it was that you told him. I don't feel sick when I'm with you. How romantic. Naive as it was, you don't totally regret it. He'd sought you out at your show to take you to dinner and suddenly he's cutting the sleeves off of your t-shirt in a family owned pizza place and kissing your neck all slow and smooth like it's the only place in the world he wanted to be. His hand at your waist, and the way he stopped when you got quiet. His hug. That might be what you miss most. Boy's got a world-class smile that gives dizzying, sickly kisses but what you want to feel most is the weight of his arms around you. You want him to hold you steady. 

People suck. Eddie sucks. He was mean and then he was sweet and now he's just not here. 

You want to see him again.

What a sickening revelation. Anxiety pricks your fingers, pins and needles shooting down the lengths of your arms from your skipping heart. You stick your head as far as you dare to out of the window, taking deep breaths to fight the nausea. 

If it barks like a dog, and it heels like a dog… 

You grip the door. 

You miss him, and it's terrifying. He can be cruel. You can be cruel too, but you'd been at his fucking mercy. He'd looked at you and he'd known exactly what to say that was gonna mess you up. He has a talent for it. You hate this, and you know now you won't sleep until you're sure things are okay between you, though there's no reason anything would've changed since the last time you saw him. What kind of pathetic does that make you? 

It would be nice to hear his voice. The Eddie who dotes on you. Eddie under all his layers. You don't want him fucked on bad ice again, but the version of him you'd met that night makes you smile as you recall it. Wide eyes, quiet but honest. 

I sent you flowers, because… because those girls are mean to you, he'd rambled, slouched on the stairs, slightly too heavy for you to help him up. And I didn't like seeing you fall over. I wanted you to feel better. I don't know anything about girls... Did you like the flowers?

The Mercedes-Benz rolls up beside The Blue Lily Club, its name taken from what it used to be, presently a hotel. It has all the trimmings of a music venue, big windows and wood, but indoors it couldn't be more plush. 

Ananya holds a hand out for her room key at the front desk and doesn't speak a word. She's kind enough to smile at the chauffeur who'd helped carry your bags inside. 

"It doesn't usually look this nice in here, don't get used to luxury," Angel warns. "They're redecorating."

You trail behind her, dragging your suitcase over hardwood floors. The wheels click click click. "We'll come here again?" 

"Next time we're in Clearwater. S'where we stayed last time. You hadn't bumped up yet." 

"Was it this hot when you were here?" You rub your hand across a clammy cheek. "It feels like summer."

Angel smiles. "You think it's hot now, try a week here in May. I usually don't remember different tour dates but that was hell on Earth. Air conditioning broke in one of the buses into Jacksonville. Holy shit." 

Angel divulges her evening plans for ice cold cocktails in the hotel bar and invites you along. You decline outside of your hotel room, "I'll probably sleep." 

She nods. "Nice. Catch up on what you missed." 

She gets a couple of steps further down the hall toward her own room when you admit defeat. 

"Hey, Angel?" You pull at the neckline of your t-shirt. "You, uh, wouldn't know how I could get somebody's number? Someone from Rollerboy?" 

"From Rollerboy, huh?" she asks, knowing exactly who you want to talk to. Fuck the techie who saw you and Eddie leaving, and fuck Morgan for spreading it around. 

You push your bottom lip against the edges of your top teeth and drag until the delicate skin there hurts. 

"I'll see what I can do," she says. 

Twenty minutes later you have a phone number for his hotel and instructions on how to actually get through their privacy wall. You perch on the edge of your white bed and stare at the phone, like wanting to talk to him will make it ring. You reach for it, hesitate, and reach for it again. 

You dial the number one rotation at a time and wait for it to pick up. 

"Four Seasons Houston, Samantha speaking. How can I help you this afternoon?" 

You choke on air. Four Seasons? What kind of money are these losers on? 

"Hi, I'm hoping to be put through to one of your guests, an Eddie Munson? Room 146?" 

"And is he expecting your call?" 

"No, ma'am." 

"Who's calling?" 

"Y/N." You consider giving your second name. Does Eddie even know your second name? You suppose he could've seen it in one of the magazines, but that's doubtful. 

"Hold please."

You think about hanging up, but you've given your name. If Eddie's there and he's willing to talk to you and you hang up, he'll still know it was you calling. Is that worse? The embarrassment of chickening out versus the endless mortifying possibilities of what you might say when he answers, if he answers, oh fuck– 

"Transferring now." 

You hold your breath. 

The phone clicks twice. 

"Hi?" 

"Hey," you say quickly. You inhale, intending on– on what? Your panic is palpable.

"Hi," he says again, something warm in his voice. "Y/N? My Y/N, or a fan who knows just what to say to get my number?" 

You go a bit blind. "Your Y/N." 

"Hey. How's Florida?" 

You sit back in bed and kick off your shoes. The phone shakes in your hand. This is more nerve-wracking than any conversation you've had beforehand, and it's in the small talk stages. It should be easy, you wanted to talk to him, but this is the first time you've sought him out ever. It shows your hand.

"Hot. Really hot. The receptionist, uh, said it isn't usually like this early in the year. Yeah, it's hot." 

"It's not so bad here, considering." He sounds unlike himself. You've heard him flirting, almost torturous, and you've heard him mad. You've heard him drunk, high, offended, salacious, smug, and soft. None of those memories align. "Hey," he says, confusing you even worse, "why're you calling? Is everything okay?"

You hold the phone up in the air and twist to smash your face into the huge hotel pillows. They're gloriously cold and nowhere near enough to cool the open flame that is your flushing face. 

"Nothing's wrong, I'm sorry," you say weakly, pulling the receiver back to your ear, head craned awkwardly so you don't smother it. "I was– I was thinking about you," —holy fucking fuck— "uh, 'cause I saw you in Lastick Magazine." 

You can still save it. 

"Who'd you have to blow for that one?" you ask. 

Wrong. 

"Loser!" he cheers. Your heart sinks, but he goes on, "You gave me a heart attack, I thought something happened!" 

"No, nothing happened," you say. If you were on better footing you'd make a sly joke about big scary Eddie worrying about you. 

"Okay, good." 

You smile, tugging at the sheer, cornflower blue fabric of your skirt as you think, He sounds happy to hear from me.

"How's Houston?" 

"Babe, you wouldn't fucking believe it. They got us posted up in some four star skyscraper. Two mini fridges. Two. It's insanity, I'm basically royalty here." 

You look around your small room. "Ah, but do you have a damp splodge on the ceiling shaped like the letter W?" you ask.

"They musta forgot to put it in the welcome basket." 

You laugh suddenly, startled at his good humour. It's like it's been hooked out of your chest on fishing wire, an ugly garbling sound that infects him down the line.

"Shit, I think I was starting to forget what you sound like," Eddie says. 

You know exactly what he means. 

You won't tell him, though. Your heart is racing again as it did in the car; he's being lovely like you're friends, like you're more than that, and you love it but it scares you shitless. Boys do this kind of stuff, right? Say pretty things, kiss you like you're something treasured, and one day they stop answering your calls. Vet you through to their assistant, and piggy bank your affections by acting like you're still something the next time you see them in person. 

Eddie kissed the top of your arm the last time you saw him. If he acts like you're just friends when you see him next, you're gonna scalp him. Or self admit. 

"I meant to ask you about something before I left," he says, bridging a mildly awkward silence with a dip into flirting bravado, "but you were all over me, you know? Didn't have time to ask." 

"Yeah? That's not how I remember it." 

"No accounting for stupidity." You can hear his smile. "Can I ask, or are you gonna talk over me again?" 

"I should hang up on you." 

"After all the trouble you went to to reach me," he sympathises. 

"Tell me how the dial tone sounds next time." 

"Alright! Jesus, you're pushy. What I wanted to ask is, you're in Oklahoma in a month.”

“Where’s the question?”

“You suck. Fine, I’ll spell it out for you. I’m in Oklahoma next month, and you’ll be there at the same time, and I know some of your shirts still have sleeves which is lame and very 1989 of you. I could maybe take some time out of my busy schedule and help you with it. Consider it my charitable act of the year.”

You want to see him. He can’t know it. You don’t want to play games with him, and you don’t wanna get messed around. He can’t have all the power. 

“I don’t know, Munson… I’m pretty busy, ‘n’ I kinda like my sleeves.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

He snorts. “Shit, fine. We’ll leave your sleeves alone. Maybe we could–”

“Are you listening to Loggins and Messina?” you ask suddenly, phone pressed so hard to your ear you know it’ll leave a mark. 

“What?” he scoffs. “No, of course not.”

The music gets quieter, but you know what you heard. “You are! That’s Thinking Of You, I’d know it anywhere!”

“So what if I am?”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” you say, not really thinking about how it sounds. “I love that song, it’s so sweet. I thought you were this big scary jerk but it turns out you’re just as soft as the rest of us. Turn it up, I wanna listen.”

Eddie doesn’t argue with you. He turns it up. 

“What is that? It’s too clean to be on the radio. Don’t tell me you’re carrying a Loggins and Messina record around with you, please don’t, because I’d really have to tell someone about it.”

“Oh, you would, would you?” he asks. 

“I’m gonna drag your reputation through the mud, Munson.”

Your too-big smile slowly fades when he doesn’t joke back. Was that too far? He can’t possibly think that you’re being serious — as if. You don’t have the power, influence, or connections to touch his reputation, let alone drag it. Your lips part as you hesitate to correct yourself, uncurling where you’d been comfortable on the bed.

Eddie finally puts you out of your misery. 

“Did you hear that?” he asks. 

“No? What was it?”

“That was me crying out in terror. You didn’t hear it?”

“That’s not even funny,” you complain. “I'm not the only one. You realise they’re calling you a womaniser in Lastick, right?” You grab your copy of the magazine from the end of the bed and splay it open, flicking through pages until you find his article. “‘Heartthrob guitarist Eddie Munson is barely entering his mid-20’s, but his masterful fingering has captivated the hearts of young women and pro musicians alike,’” you read, letting the magazine flop back flat. 

“Did they really say ‘masterful fingering’?” he asks. 

You smile at the sound of his laughter. “You pig. What’s funny about that, Munson?"

“Uh…”

“I’m messing with you. Mastery aside, you’re missing the point. They described you as a heartthrob in the third biggest music magazine in intercontinental America. Like, someone went to college for four years, worked their way up the corporate ladder, blood, sweat and tears included, to call you a heartthrob, and they didn’t lose their job.”

“Right, right. The point is that you think I’m ugly.”

“The point is that I have proof you’re…” You think about the point. You want to ruin his reputation as a heartthrob by telling everyone he listens to romantic soft rock. Because that makes sense.  

“You have proof that I’m not just a heartthrob, I’m sensitive.” He sounds so fucking smug. “Making me even more of a heartthrob.”

You frown, taking the article back into your hands. “Oh, right! ‘His masterful fingering has captivated the hearts of young women and pro musicians alike, but is Munson the sweetheart he seems? Insider information hints that this young musician is spending less time making music and more time womanising the elite bachelorettes of Palm Springs.”

You blink. Your reading had become less smug as it went, and by the time you’ve finished you’ve the beginnings of a pit forming in your stomach. His alleged womanising had felt funny a moment ago. Why does it bother you now?

Because you’ve been confronted with the good. His laugh. His love songs. And you’re realising he isn’t as in your reach as you’d thought. 

Eddie snorts. There’s a sound like he’s rubbing the receiver against bedsheets, and you wait apprehensively for him to speak. 

“Sorry, I was turning the lights off. That’s a bit fucking rich. Who’s their inside source, Pinocchio the real boy? I was in Palm Springs for two days, and you saw me, I was fucked the entire time.” He has no clue how much you’d needed him to say that. “Maybe someone saw us together, you could pass for one of those pretty rich girls easy.” He also doesn’t know how much of an affect his easy compliments have on you, apparently. “I don’t know how someone could look at me and describe my behaviour as womanising. Pathetic, sure.”

There’s a hard edge to his voice. He made you feel better, even if he doesn’t know it. You don’t mind doing the same.  

“You were sweet,” you argue mildly. “You were. You asked me how I was, and when you saw I was wearing heels you sat down in the middle of the staircase and made me sit with you.”

“You don’t usually wear heels.”

“Morgan says–” Eddie groans. “What?”

“Morgan says a lot of dumb shit, is what she says,” Eddie grouches. “Forgive me but she’s a fucking loser.”

You feel oddly protective of her for a moment, “She’s the opposite.”

“No, but her attitude ruins everything she has going for her. She’s talented, she’s the next Nicks when she sings that one song, Heartbreak House? She impresses me, but she’s fucking mean, sweetheart. You know she’s mean.”

“I guess,” you mumble, scratching the seam of your pants with your fingernail, not sure why you're defending her. “Aren't we all?”

Another patch of silence. 

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, we can all be pretty mean.”

“That’s the business, right?” you ask, knowing it isn't true. 

“I think… we all have a propensity for cruelty when we feel pinned, and that…” He clears his throat. “Trying to make it when the scene is this competitive can feel like a looming hand. Just waiting to pluck you off of your pedestal.”

You laugh weirdly, all strangled breathlessness. “Easy to see who writes the lyrics.”

“Fuck you. You know what I mean.”

You do. Morgan’s probably trying her best, in the same way that you’re doing yours, balancing friendship and music and fame and a high-pressure job with little room for slip-ups. And now Eddie. Maybe Morgan has an Eddie somewhere, some larger than life loverboy with a penchant for sharpness and sweetness simultaneously.

“I want to tell you something,” Eddie says. 

“Oh, gross. You can’t just say that, now I’m panicking,” you admit, sitting up in bed, knuckles aching at the tight grip you have on the phone. “It’s something normal, right? Or not normal. Did you get some unfortunately transmitted disease or something?”

“Unfortunately,” he quotes. “That’s funny. Definitely didn’t, the last person I touched was you.” It’s heart-rending, until he adds, “Apart from your fleas, I’m clean. And I’m trying to tell you something slightly serious, so if you could keep any allusions of disease to yourself for a minute, I’d appreciate that.”

“Okay, sure. Tell me something.”

There’s a small sound. Maybe he’s licked his lips, or changed positions. “When I… when we had that fight, in the Prover Theatre. I just want you to know that I regret how I treated you. I wish I could take it back, and… I wish I had the guts to tell you in person, but I don’t. Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not how I want to be, and I need you to know that you’re right about me, I’m a loser, but I’m the kind of loser who wants to take you out to dinner and knock my soda in my lap or try to kiss you too soon, not the kind of loser who leaves you hanging.” He laughs like you had, like it’s being dragged out of him, and you realise that Eddie Munson is panicking on the other side. “Shit, can I take some of that back? I’m cool, I swear.”

You smile hard, your cheeks aching. “No, you can’t take it back.”

“Fine. I’m a loser.”

“For the record,” you say, “you did kiss me way too soon.”

He laughs roughly, a sound half threat and half promise. “You annoy me so much. When you get to Oklahoma I’m gonna make sure you know it.”

A curl of warmth unfurls deep in your stomach. You have the good sense not to ask what he means by that.

-

Cowboy Cadaver, Oklahoma, March 1991

Eddie finds that he hates having an almost-girlfriend. In his head, in his chest, you're his girl. He doesn’t know how to explain himself beyond that. It’s this feeling like heat, like light, like the kiss of a sunbeam on a cold day warming his skin. And it’s the blessed breeze in a heatwave, it’s ice on an ache, it’s the feeling of your skin, your pulse under his touch. Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder —it grabs wanting by the neck and squeezes all the air out. If he doesn’t get to see you soon he’s gonna lose it. 

He tried explaining it to Wayne down the phone, because he’s being a good nephew now and actually calling, but he couldn’t take himself seriously, all those cheesy metaphors like chewed cud in his mouth waiting to be swallowed and yacked back up. He said, “Does it always feel like this?”

And Wayne sort of laughed, a derisive snort to seal the deal, and said, “Eds, you ain’t the first kid to fall for a girl.”

Which isn’t what he asked, but he reckons Wayne was telling him Yes, it always feels like this. Eddie doesn’t know if he’s ever been in love before. He’d wanted to kiss that guy on the track team junior year so badly it kept him awake at night, and he was sweet on the soft bartender when he bussed at the Hideout to the point where the entire kitchen staff started calling him ‘squirty cream’ on account of how whipped he was, but Eddie can’t ever remember feeling like this. 

He blames himself, thinking you were right after all – he did kiss you too soon. And for the wrong reasons. Now he knows what it feels like, knows what sound you make when you like it, how was he ever supposed to move past that? Your arm under his lips, or your hair against his cheek as he tried to hug the bone-deep dread out of your system, a faucet drip drip dripping by your thigh. He can’t remember what you smell like anymore, only that you smelled good, and he gets that this’ll be the nature of whatever relationship you two manage to cradle for a long while; he’d never ask you to follow him, and he thinks you’d rather die than do anything similar. 

Still, he’s starting to offer up whatever it is whoever it is that’s looking down on him will take to get a quick hit. Sweetheart for his face in the curve of your neck, five seconds to breathe in the smell of your subtle perfume. It’s extreme, but Eddie’s feeling extreme right now. Every minute that you’re late winds the wanting coil tighter. 

He doesn’t have anyone with him to tell him to get real. He pictures it instead, Jamison in the chair opposite, grimacing at the cider sticky table between them and the state of Eddie’s patheticness clearly displayed. Stop bouncing your leg, fuckhead. She said she’d meet you here, didn’t she? 

He’s going over what-ifs when you appear. You’re wearing a sweatshirt that says ‘I visited the Great Wall,’ with a helpful picture overtop and jeans without rips. He’d be upset at the lack of skin if he couldn’t see the shapes of your thighs so clearly. He’s a sucker for them. 

Better are your hands. No, better is your smile, because he knows you more than he should already and he knows what your smile means. You’re happy to see him, and you don’t want him to know it. 

He hasn’t practised this part. Shock horror, he’s been too confident in his head yet again and assumed he’d know what to do when he saw you, but he doesn’t, God, he doesn’t have a clue. Can he kiss you? Hug you? It’s feeling like neither. You slide into the booth chair opposite and your shoe bumps his.

“Hi,” you say. 

“Yeah, hi. Holy fuck.”

“What?” you ask, head whipping back to look the way you came.

“No, nothing, I just forgot how pretty you are. It’s kind of shocking up close. You know they called you ‘homespun’ in Lastick?”

“Fucker,” you say, not a hint of malice in it as you deflate in front of him. 

“Mm. Nice sweatshirt. How was it? The Great Wall?”

“I don’t know, I got this at Goodwill.” You both pause, a synchronised, silently agreed upon ceasefire to take the other in. You look more than pretty, really, ‘cos he was fucking with you when he said it but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true, it is, you’re lovely when you smile and you’re smiling like he’s just told you he got a lucky scratcher and he’s giving you the winnings. “You look happy,” you say. 

“Ditto.”

You grab at the collar of your sweatshirt. “Sorry, this is awkward, I don't know why.”

Eddie’s surprised at your honesty, not because you aren’t an honest person, but maybe because he’s used to skirting around the issue with you. There’s a mutual attitude that anything unsaid is untrue, and lately you’ve both said a ton of stuff you can't take back. He’s sorry, he wants to see you. You feel better when you’re with him. It’s embarrassing considering how little time you’ve spent together, and Eddie wants to change that. Hence dinner here in a blowout with floors that grab at your shoes and cigarette ash caked in the salt and pepper holders. The likelihood of an interruption is small. 

“It’s fine,” he says faux confidently, while his heart is thudding against his Adam's apple. “I know how to fix it.”

Eddie reaches down under the table for the rumpled jansport he’d brought with him and pulls out two gifts. They aren’t wrapped, even though that would’ve been more romantic. He hadn’t found the time. He places them in front of you without ceremony, a chocolate rose in plastic wrap and a CD from that Indiana band you like, signed and sealed. 

“What…” you mumble, picking up the CD with an adorably awed pout. “How’d you get this?”

“Asked around.” A lot. It was shameful. 

Unfortunately for him, there’s a little more awkwardness to cut through, the shame of vulnerability or the realisation that you’re both standing on the precipice of something shiny and new. Suddenly, every word feels important. He has to make it clear that he’s repentant, and desperate, but only for you. 

“Do you like it?” he asks.

You immediately nod, two tight dips of your chin as your thumb rubs over the plastic wrap irreverently. Your eyes are slightly widened, your pupils like dimes. “Eddie, I didn’t bring you anything.”

He leans back against the cool leather seat. “You didn’t have to. I’m just happy to see you.”

You stand up, and he thinks Oh thank fuck, you’re sitting on the bench beside him, you’re gonna kiss him saccharine sweet on the cheek like the darling girl that you are. His hand lands unabashedly atop the curve of your hip as you settle down beside him, his heart like the pull cord on a chainsaw that keeps skipping, your impending kiss the roar of the engine as it wakes. 

Your hand touches his thigh. You’ve the chocolate rose in hand, a shy smile on your lips. 

“Will you share it with me?”

He comes up short. Yeah, a kiss would be nice, but this is good too. 

Dramatics aside (dramatics being the kinder word, because Eddie doesn’t feel dramatic at all, and that’s genuinely worse), he’s missed you without metaphor. Something in him relaxes as you unpackage the rose and snap it up. You offer him a carved leaf as you nibble on the stem. The awkwardness begins to fade, at least on his end, though that might be down to his lingering hand behind your back, not touching you but close enough. 

“I told everyone I was going window shopping,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand as you meet his eyes. 

“They believe you?”

“Nope. They know you’re here.”

“Mine were the same,” Eddie comforts, reaching for the flower of your rose to break it apart. He holds some up to see if you’ll let him feed you. You wrinkle your nose at him and laugh. He laughs back. “Open up.”

“No,” you say, laughing through your nose as he presses a petal to your lip. Your jaw softens as you lean back, and it’s a sight to see, your eyes lit with amusement and your lips pressed tightly closed. 

He doesn’t wanna push his luck. He puts the chocolate petal in your hand and leans back to chew through his own, happy to watch you through half-lidded eyes. His squinting makes you squirm, until you figure out his angle and give him a playful glare. 

It's swiftly interrupted by a big yawn. “I’m so tired,” you say, rubbing your eye with a sore looking hand. 

“Your hands are fucked,” he says. It’s no wonder that you’re tired. You never stop. Even when the guitar pick’s fallen between strings. “That’s a bad one.”

He takes your hand in his to rub his thumb over the pad of your index finger, where the whorl of your fingerprint is cut decisively down the middle and scabbing over. The skin around it is mottled. His thumbnail scratches down the side of your finger gently as he looks it over. There’s nothing he can do to make it better. 

“You know they invented picks for a reason,” he says. 

Your middle and marriage fingers rest lightly against the meat of his thumb. Your pinky fits in the slight dip of his palm, its tip at the the bisection of hills at the bottom of his palm. Your nails aren’t long, but you’ve painted them an unassuming, translucent blue. He pushes his thumb into your fingers so they curl toward your own palm and slowly, you cover his thumb with yours. It’s a weird angle to hold hands, but he doesn’t mind. Like you can read his thoughts, you turn your hand into his, but then you must change your mind. You pull it out of his hold and face toward the table again, away from him, your forearms pushed together. You lean back with a tired moan. It turns his heart. 

“I like shows, but I don’t like touring,” you say. “I think we should get to pick a venue and that’s it, that’s where we play. The fans can come to us.”

“The fans,” Eddie repeats. 

He’s not trying to make fun of you. It’s weird to say something like that aloud and know that it’s true. You have fans. You both do. People like your music enough to come and see you play. 

And you both like playing music enough to subject yourself to borderline torturous conditions. Packing yourselves up like parcels delivered from one stage to another. 

“I bet Madonna loves touring,” he says. 

“Yeah?”

“They aren’t making her live in a ten by two box sixteen hours a day,” he says. 

“Don’t do math,” you plead, your head dipped back and drifting toward his arm. “I really am tired.”

“You could’ve cancelled. Not that I wanted you to.” He softens his voice, his best approximation of a caring boyfriend, though he’s never been one before. 

“I didn’t want to cancel…”

“You need me to take you home?” he asks, concerned as you let your head drop on his shoulder.

“Can I just sit here a while?”

“Sure. Anything. Uh…” He wraps his arm around your shoulder. 

Eddie would be content if you fell asleep but you fight your fatigue, and he’s glad for it when you move into easy conversation. This part he can do. Over the phone, he's told you about Wayne and growing up, and about stuff he doesn’t think he’s told anyone before, not secret so much as mundanities that no one ever wanted to listen to. He sticks to mundane things for now. Like the phone calls between you both (new, occasional, but always too long), he talks until he runs out of things to say, and even then he drags it out to a painful threshold.

Somehow, some way, you lay your head on his shoulder and keep it there for a while, and you tell him about your nightmare tour and all the fighting. Morgan’s not speaking to you, Ananya’s not speaking to anyone. She has a pair of headphones that she keeps on morning noon and night, sometimes during soundcheck, where she adamantly refuses to participate. 

“Ananya used to be okay,” you say, nearly whispering like you’re worried you’ll get caught telling him secrets. “But she’s just as bad as Morgan now. They’re still fighting about Morgan’s– Okay, don’t tell anybody, but Morgan does a lot of coke–”

“Is that a secret?” Eddie asks. 

He’s not being condescending, it’s just that half the people you see on MTV have a bad coke problem and Morgan is often on MTV.

“No, but she stole money out of Ananya’s purse at a party when we were first touring ‘cos she didn’t have a dime to her name, it’s pretty bad. I didn’t tell you on the phone ‘cos I was worried someone was listening to us.”

Eddie blanches. “You think people were listening to us?” He said some brave things to you last time, a cheeky promise wrapped up in platitudes. 

“I mean, no? But the secretaries can listen on the line in some places, ‘n’ you were staying in all those skyscrapers. It’s not, like, a thing. Morgan swears she was gonna pay it back. Anya got mad, ‘n’ Morgan implied that any money in Anya’s purse was money she made.”

“I see.”

You lift your head slightly. “Please don’t tell anyone. They’d kill me if they knew I told you.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. “My lips are sealed.” He eyes your pretty mouth, your face as close as it is. “Well, mostly sealed. Ooh, you could buy my silence.”

“How does one go about that?” you ask quietly, knowing exactly how, he’s sure.

Eddie gives you the softest kiss he can manage, hiding his nervousness well. He grabs your upper arm, and grab isn't the right word but it’s the only word that makes any sense given the quickness of his movement; he's leaning in and he needs to be touching you first, steady himself. You smile into his lips. 

“That’s not gonna be enough,” he says as you pull away. You startle him by leaning in again quickly, your lips parted a fraction and hot against his as your hand stretches out across his chest. 

He’d intended to stay chaste with you. He's trying to rescue the head-first plunge that was his handful of confessions, make your possible relationship one that works, but he can't help himself. He takes it slow, admittedly, but slow kisses become long, and he turns lax at the feeling of your fingertips over his heart. 

Eddie pulls away when he can make himself, cupping your face in his hand in an effort to communicate how much he wants to be kissing you still. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Why? Do I taste bad?” you ask. You have a shiny mouth. 

“You taste like chocolate. I just figured I should buy you a drink before somebody else does.”

“Eddie,” you say, leaning into his palm ever so slightly, “there's no one else here.”

“Can’t say I blame them. Who names a bar ‘Cowboy Cadaver’?”

Your lashes kiss in the corners as you smile. 

“Your band is called Corroded Coffin.”

“And it’s a good name.” He pecks you quickly. “Yes?”

Your answering hum tickles. 

“Why do I feel like we aren't supposed to be doing this?” you ask, second hand joining your first on his chest. 

“Because we’re meeting in secret?” he suggests, covering your hands with one of his. “Or mild secrecy. We aren't subtle.”

“You're not subtle.”

“No,” he agrees, and forgive him but he’s feeling positively sunny and sounds it.

“This is okay, though? We both want this?” you ask. 

“I-” No more running away. No more casual cruelty. “I definitely want this.”

You grin, leaning up in a move that surprises him as your arms wrap around his neck, his hair under your arms. You smile sheepishly before ducking your face under his, the tip of your nose crushed to the soft part beneath his jaw. He has a grin all his own as he grasps your back. Eddie kisses the side of your head, any skin he can reach, three times in quick succession, and feels an acute sense of relief. There’s something final about it like a puzzle piece clicking into place that explains the photograph, or the snap of a finishing line against his stomach. He's suddenly pin-sharp ecstatic, and he shows it with a rough squeeze. 

“You smell really nice,” he praises, his nose by your hair. 

“That’s pervy, I think.”

“I’m trying to be nice,” he says. 

He can hear even to himself how brazen he sounds, that awful flirtation he can't help from enacting with you now he knows you like this. He wants to impress, and he wants to be honest at the same time. He wants to be himself. It’s getting easier. 

“Nice isn’t a word I’d associate with you,” you say, but you sit back to meet his eyes and amend, “That’s not true. You can be lovely.” 

You give him a look that can only be described as loving. It’s pure affection, and if he weren't sitting he’d have fallen over from how it makes him feel. You lean forward until the top part of your face is on his cheek, your eyelashes twitching like a butterfly’s wing. 

“Thank you for the presents. You didn't have to get me anything," you say. 

He looks behind your head to the bar around you both. He's been so distracted by your looming presence, your arrival, and now having you in his arms, he hadn't noticed the patrons milling in as happy hour draws nearer. There’s a couple of older men at the bar, and one looks unseeing toward your public display. It makes him uneasy.

“You're welcome," he says. "We have an audience." 

You follow his gaze over your shoulder and promptly untuck yourself from his embrace when you see the bar isn't as empty as you'd thought. There’s no time for heartbreak —you weave your fingers with his and hide them between your thighs, a small smile playing on your lips. 

Eddie could get used to this. 

—

Marriott Dean Music Store, Oklahoma, (still) March 1991

There’s a black and white Gibson Les Paul hanging on the wall. It caught Eddie’s eye as soon as you arrived, and while you have no use for it (and your Fender bass's gonna jinx you if you touch an instrument that isn't her, you just know it), you kinda wanna feel it for yourself. 

“See the headstock? The line wrapped around the bottom?” Eddie says under his breath. 

There's a storehand standing behind the small counter not too far from your position near the entrance. 

You nod carefully. “Yeah?”

“Relacquered. And conveniently not mentioned on the price tag. It might be a new one, sometimes they crack backward from the pressure of the strings.”

You glance between Eddie, his pale face and a new crop of sun-wrought freckles, and the ‘like new’ label on the guitar. An ‘87 standard has no need for lies, it’s not as if the price difference between it and the new ‘91 is overlarge. 

“Are you looking for something new?” you ask. 

If Eddie functions anything like you do, he’ll have his own hardware but won’t hesitate to borrow from a well-packed bank of state-of-the-art instruments that follows the tour. He might even change instrument mid set. He won't need something new, but need and want are estranged. 

“Nah,” he says, nudging you gently away from the guitar display. His hand ghosts your elbow, like he might steer you around. “I have a Rich Warlock, you seen those? I got a new one last year ‘n’ the output level for the bridge pickup is giving me grief, but I’m not an asshole. I could sit down and fix it myself, but…”

You brush aside a beaded curtain and take a short step down into the store, where a wealth of CD’s, cassettes and vinyls are packed in rows on tables. There’s an older man flicking through records, but beside that the room is empty. A big yellow sticker faded from the sun warns of CCTV. 

“You’re too busy,” you finish. 

“I'm way too busy.”

There's a calmness to being with him here you hadn't expected. It's like lying on the stairs with him all over again, but he's missing that awful far off look to his eyes, he's tip top shape: Eddie Munson is sober. He said it like it's no big deal, and maybe it isn't, but you squeezed his hand anyways because you figure you'd want someone to feel proud of you if you stopped. You don't have a problem, just every dalliance with recreational substances is a chance at something worse. He should feel good about what he's doing. 

Especially when you understand the feeling that drives you there in the first place. The insane stress of wanting to prove that you're worth something, and the feeling like lukewarm water dripping down your spine when you're standing in the middle of a room, in the middle of a crowd, and you realise you could disappear and nobody would know until the next show. That confrontation of how small your life has become, through your own mediation and everything else. 

You'd give anything to escape that feeling. Some nights, you do. 

You told yourself you'd play it cool. What happened between you and Eddie, what's happening, it's muddled. You remember the profound hurt feeling of his final blow, and you hold it up against how you're feeling now as his fingertips coast down your arm, a thoughtless touch as he stands beside you to give his opinions on the box of records in front. He's nice. He's more nice than not. You wanted to squeeze his hand and you had, cool girl facade on the back burner. 

Maybe you're the one who was cruel. You think back to how it all went down. The details grow fuzzier in the distance, but you know you hurt him like he hurt you. And unlike him, you can't remember having said sorry. 

You turn your head and find his face remarkably close to your own. He doesn't flinch nor move, only smiles at the weight of your gaze and flicks to the next vinyl. 

"I'm sorry," you say, awkward but earnest. You don't give yourself the time to chicken out. 

You can't stand thinking you might have hurt him now. Even if he hurt you worse. The guilt of hurting anybody at all feels heavy, worse because it's you. 

"For what?" he asks.

"For what I said. At the theatre. And for walking away at Monsters of Rock." 

"I walked away," he says, confused. "I pretty much ran. Not my finest moment." 

"No, at the store." 

Recognition crosses his features. He smiles rather weirdly, inclining his head close enough to kiss you. 

"You didn't have to listen to me. I respect that. You know that, right? You don't have to listen just 'cos someone has something to say." His brows crease inward. "I hate what I said to you at the theatre. And I felt guilty about it. You make me so mad, and I'm childish and I can't deal with that. But it's not your fault. You don't deserve a lashing every time I have one to give."

Eddie tilts his head to the left. "Sorry," he adds. "Don't try to make me feel better– don't, I can see it on your face. It's not why I said it." 

He kisses the corner of your mouth, and then pulls back to see if it's worked. You're smiling. He takes it for a win.  

"I'm a big girl," you say after a short second of staring at him, the ridge of his nose and the curls silhouetting his slight hint of cheekbone. "I don't need you to take all of the blame." 

"Ah, but I'm selfish. I want it all." He shrugs. "Better luck next time." 

"Nerd." 

"Loser." 

He goes back to the records with a smile. You look at it a little longer, allowed and aggrieved at once. He shouldn't be that pretty. 

You watch his hands, hoping he'll give himself away and falter. A gift deserves a gift. CD's aren't cheap. You could buy him a vinyl. He must have a player of some sort, considering his Loggins and Messina habit. 

"Think they'll have your new LP?" he asks. 

"They'll have yours." 

Eddie shakes his head. "I'm not asking about mine." 

"They won't have it here, this place is tiny. City stores are the only place I've seen any of our stuff," you say.

"Well, you guys are plastered. I saw the cover on the side of a bus in Pasadena." 

You gawp at him. "You did not." 

"I did! Think I don't know that ugly font by now? Godless in huge black and white letters. It's a bad name, by the way," he ribs. 

"What am I supposed to do about it? I wasn't there when they chose it." 

Eddie shrugs, the toned muscle of his arms shifting beneath the fabric of his shirt. It might've been black once upon a time, but the merchandise he sports now is a washed out grey. You put your hand over the curve of his bicep because you want to, and pleasure simmers when he doesn't move away. 

"If it were me," he says, in a tone of voice that spells irksome teasing a mile off, "and the name were that bad, I'd go on strike. Refuse to play. That'll make them fix it, while you still have time." 

"I'm sure you could get away with that," you say. 

"You don't think you would?" 

"I'm not really tenured." 

"Ah, but who could say no to such a pretty face," he praises, pushing the box of records away from himself. "Shit, guess we better go ask for a test run on that Les Paul. This is all… questionable." 

"You're gonna serenade me?" you ask, returning his teasing. 

"You're gonna serenade me. I know you know your way around a rhythm guitar. You're holding out on me," he says, knocking your elbows together. 

You love this. All these familiar touches. Like a moth to a flame, you follow him back up into the main storefront and sit beside him on top of a crate, cradling the Les Paul like a baby you're terrified of dropping. Even with tour money you couldn't pay for it now. At the end, sure. But you doubt the manager would take an IOU. 

"What do I play?" you ask. 

"Anything." 

"That's not helpful." 

"Something fun," he says. 

Your fingers slide up the fretboard to an E flat. You bite your lip. "I'm in bass mode." It's automatic. You'd immediately set yourself up for a baseline. 

Baseline to riff for rhythm guitar is easy enough. E flat becomes E flat major. G becomes G minor. 

"Pentatonics," Eddie whispers when you hesitate. 

"You really aren't helpful," you laugh. "This is hard." 

"I'm telling people you said that." 

You mess around until you have the basis of a simple riff down, hoping you'll impress him. He shouldn't be impressed, you've seen him play things a thousand times more complicated in person, but he beams as you work your way through a verse and then an impromptu chorus. 

"Is that fucking Blondie?" he asks. 

"No." 

"It so is! Hanging On the Telephone, everyone knows that song." 

"And everyone knows it's a cover. I'm doing The Nerves version, obviously." 

You smile at each other until he cracks. "Obviously," he concedes. "Do the rest." 

"Like I'm your dog," you say, a joke that brushes too close to home. 

You fumble over the strings, gaze resolute on the body of the guitar rather than his face. 

You don't care that he said it —you care that he knows he said it. It doesn't make sense in so little words, but the feeling is contrite. It doesn't allow for sensical explanation. 

The humiliation of being seen is worse than a spurned insult thrown haphazard at your feet. His insult isn't as bad as your reaction to it. The fact that he knows it upset you. That's the worst part. 

It's embarrassing because he was right. Of course it is. And it doesn't get better, because you're still the same. Still running back after every kick. No matter the leg.  

You play him the rest of the song. Or rather, your best approximation. It's incredibly difficult to play by ear and you haven't heard the song in a while. When the guitar sounds more like a transparent translation of the lyrics than the actual meat of the instrumentals you give up, picking at the strings and listening to the individual tuning of each once. Eddie doesn't speak. Each second of his silence grows worse, your throat dry as the Sahara and horrifyingly thick. Why isn't he talking? 

His hand covers your shoulder. Fingers in a row across the slight dip of it, thumb rubbing reassuringly into your shoulder blade. "You're so fucking talented," he says quietly, his voice just above your ear. "I hope you know that." 

"I got lucky," you say, shaking your head. 

"No, you worked hard. There's a difference." 

His hand slides over the hill of your upper arm. Eddie gives you a gentle shake. You let your head flop into the crook of his neck. His hair tickles your forehead, but he smells so good you stay longer than you should. 

"Play me something," you say, trying to sound less morose than you feel. 

Whether he hears your emotion or not, he pats your arm and sits up. You hand over the guitar, and Eddie props the body over his thigh and runs his fingers up the fretboard, feeling the craftsmanship appreciatively despite his earlier disapproval. 

"What do you wanna hear?" he asks. 

"What do you know?" 

"God, I know everything. You should know that." 

"Well, you can't play anything too impressive, you'll draw attention." 

He nods very seriously at your sarcasm. He's immediately more at home than you'd been with it, and his hands look like they have a mind of their own. He plays a tight riff you recognise from one of their songs that is, to your horror, a warm up. He turns the amp down, and before you know it he's elbow deep in a complication of chords that might genuinely have you sweating if it were you rather than him. He does it like it's nothing. A walk in the park, and one he so clearly takes pleasure in. His eyes light up, the kind of look he's had before when he's made you laugh, or something a little milder than the electricity of his rough stageside kiss. 

You're in awe. 

He fucks up somewhere and laughs. A sweet giggle. 

"S'what I get for trying to show off." 

He plucks a string sharply. Hair's falling in his eyes, nearly hiding the sheepish curve of his lips. You see it, and adore it, and don't know what you're supposed to do about that. 

"I'll get him to put this away before I break it and we can get something to eat," he says, looking up from the guitar.

"It's weird to be with you. Without anything in the way," you say before you can stop yourself. 

You're glad you've said it when he raises his eyebrows. "Super weird. No more excuses. Wanna get freaky in the employee bathroom?" He laughs at his own joke. "It feels right, though," he adds warmly, before sincerity gets too much and he looks away. 

He gives the store employee back the Les Paul for its case and swings his backpack over one arm. He holds the other one out, wriggling his fingers so you know it isn't optional. You'd have tried it if he didn't offer. 

You hold hands out of the store and onto the street, busy but not crowded, and try to think of what you're supposed to say. You're in the soul of Tulsa, rather than the heart —you and Eddie decided to meet somewhere far enough from the city centre as to miss anyone who'd know who you are (or, more accurately, know who he is). You're not the kind of musicians who get papped often, or ever. Morgan's snow exposé was opportunistic, and Eddie was on the news for his epic destruction of property, but beside that it's purposeful photoshoots or moot. But this, this thing, whatever it is, it isn't for anybody else. You don't want anyone knowing quite yet. If Morgan found out you'd probably chuck up from the anxiety of what she'd do, some 'well-meaning' sabotage. Contrary to what she'd said in the past, how you should pick up the phone if Eddie calls, you know how she functions. Jealousy, or maybe some unjust belief that she deserves every ounce of lust or affection or attention, would absolutely wreck her. She doesn't like you enough to let you have this. You know it. 

"Are you okay?" Eddie asks. 

The sunlight makes him paler than usual. Pasty skin, dark dark hair, he'd be a vampire if his hand weren't warm in yours. You tighten your grip. 

"I think I'm not half as cool as I want to be." 

He licks his lips. "You're cool." 

You lift your chin to look at the sky, the wind moving over your hair gently. You trust Eddie enough to let him pull you out of harm's way. At least, you think you do. 

"I'm worried about people finding out about us." 

"Us?" Eddie asks. Horror surges. It's smothered as quickly as it comes by your hand swung in his, and his pleased little smile as he says, "There's an us." 

It's useless to pretend otherwise. And if it makes him that happy, you're thrilled. Genuinely. 

"Would it be so terrible?" Less sun and more apprehension, Eddie fails at bravado. "If people knew about your smoking hot plaything?" 

"You're not my plaything, you're– not my plaything," you stammer. 

"Bummer for me. I think I'd be into it." 

He guides you around a fire hydrant and across a short gap in the sidewalk. You have no idea where he's leading you. It's sunny enough that you don't complain. 

"I don't want people to know about us because– because I barely know about us, and, um– I'm sorry, this is the opposite of attractive." 

"How many compliments do you want?" he asks seriously, "'Cause I have a couple locked and loaded." 

"Let's go back to when you didn't like me." 

"Who cares how attractive you are? Not that you're not. But I don't want you to not tell me things because it's not hot. What kind of relationship would that turn into? Superficial, who wants that?" He stops swinging your hand abruptly, and to your pleasure, his cheeks are pink. "Do you want that?" 

"No," you mumble. 

"Oh. Good." 

"What kind of relationship do you want?" you ask. 

"A nice one." He does his fucking ridiculous giggle again and you could kiss him right here in the street. "You're ruining my reputation. I used to be respectable. Now I'm a bigger loser than before, and people are gonna clock on." 

"They've clocked on." 

"Cruel!" he says, delighted. 

"I…" You look anywhere but his face. His hand is so, so heavy. "You really don't care if I'm honest?" 

"I want you to be honest. We're not seventeen. I know girls do all the same gross stuff that boys do, babe." 

"What do you think I'm about to say?" You laugh. 

"Something really disgusting from the way you're freezing up." 

The breeze kisses at your cheeks. A stray leaf falls from the tree to your left and twists through the air, dancing in circles until it stops at your feet. You step over it gingerly. 

"Eddie, I just want you to know what you're getting into–" 

"What am I getting into?" 

"I'm not– I'm–" You struggle for words. There's no dictionary for how you feel. There's so much stuff wrong with you and he can't know any of it. You're stupid and lazy and bad at the things you're good at. You're tired, and sick, and you can't seem to get things right. You love sincerely and it's hardly ever enough. "I don't really know why you want this." 

He speaks with lips barely parted, mumbling but somehow unafraid. "I don't really know why I wouldn't want this." 

Eddie turns the corner and pulls you with him. An empty sidewalk beckons, white and stretching long down the boulevard. He pulls your joined hands up into the air and guides you into a slow twirl. 

"I think you're beautiful. You impress me, and you make me wanna write bad songs," he says, rubbing his thumb over your fingers. "What am I saying? I can't write a bad song. It's impossible. Especially if they're about you." 

"But I don't get that, we don't get along." 

"What do you call this?" he asks.

You come to a stop. There's a coffee shop to your right with huge open windows. Warm yellow light pours out into the slowly darkening sky. 

"I do want this," you say, worried you're giving him the wrong idea. He visibly relaxes at your statement, his grip on your hand strengthening once again. "I do," you continue, "whatever this is, I meant what I said, you know. You… make everything quiet for me. And I think you're–" Beautiful, you should say. "You're Lastick's heartthrob, everybody wants you. I like you." 

"I'd hope so," he says, pulling you toward him, his second hand vying for yours. He tugs you right up against him, face lit with cocky happiness. 

You hold your breath. His lashes are super long at the corners, emphasising the deep dark brown that lines his pupils and the gentler bark that surrounds it. He lays a hand against your cheek, encouraging your head up to his. He isn't soft with you like he'd been at the bar, but he isn't mean. You like how sure he is as he pulls you in, as he presses his lips to yours. Your eyes shutter closed with the pressure. 

"I don't care if everybody wants me," he says, and kisses you again, your noses smushed together. "That's not true, anyway," —he laughs quietly into your open mouth, his breath warm as it fans over your lips and tongue— "and if it were," —he kisses you a third time, his head tilted to the side, his lips parted a fraction like he can't wait long enough to line up with you— "it wouldn't change what I want." 

You have to take a breather if only to let your brain catch up with what he's saying. 

"Okay," you breathe. 

He pulls your still joined hands to his heart. "Yeah? I'm not trying to freak you out 'n' go too heavy. I know I'm on thin ice." 

"You're not on thin ice." 

"I should be." 

Maybe. "You're not." You glance down the sidewalk to make sure your public display (you're becoming those people, apparently) isn't in someone's way. Thankfully, there's nobody around. "Sorry. This has been a really nice day, and I'm ruining it." 

"Date," he corrects. "It's a date, and it's great, and you haven't ruined a thing. We're gonna get dinner and talk about music and Gareth's disgusting bunk and you can feel however you want to feel, long as it's within arms reach. Yeah?" 

"Yeah, okay," you say. You manage a firm nod. 

A date. Maybe you're a fool who doesn't deserve him for an almost-boyfriend. If you keep getting in your own way, you'll definitely be one. 

"What's for dinner?" you ask. 

Eddie smiles. 

—

Colo Do Amante Hotel, April 1991

"Do you think you'll ever move away from glam metal?" 

Eddie looks up from the notebook in his lap. He licks his lip to give himself more time to answer, searching for the right thing to say to you. The more time you spend together, the more he wants to say the right thing, and the more sure he feels that there isn't a wrong thing. 

You are, quite simply, a wonder. A love. 

He shouldn't be here. Eddie's playing a show tomorrow night halfway across the country. If even one thing goes wrong with his red-eye, he's fucked. Someone from Rollerboy will murder him, and he'll deserve it. But he's here, because he wanted to see you and miraculously you wanted to see him. A late night phone call from one hotel room to another, his quiet confession. 

"I miss you," he'd said. 

You'd hesitated for half a second, if that. "Come and see me, then." 

So he ditched the bus, got a cab, flew out with his rockstar money and crawled into your bed. You haven't slept together, only laid with one another talking about how much being a musician sucks and how awful you both are for complaining. You'll relax around him now, and he thinks more about seeing you again than he does your muddled past, and he knows that counts for something. 

"Do I think I'll move away from glam metal?" he repeats, thoughts not strictly yours. 

He's trying to write about how you look now before you move, before he can forget it. Your figure curled up yet limp beside him, your hand on his stomach and your shirt climbing up the hill of your hip, the pudge of your stomach peaking out. You're wearing something much more showy than the last time he saw you, having done press a couple hours before his arrival and with no will to change. Your tights are dark and floral lace, stretched over sweet thighs vaguely hidden by your black skirt. For all the leg on show he can't see a hint of your top half before your neck. You're layered in fabrics. He loves it, you look awesome, and you'd been amazingly flustered when he told you.

Careful not to smudge your glittery make up, he'd tried to kiss you in the lobby. You'd nearly squeaked, grabbing him by the arm to pull him to the elevator bank. 

"Can't blame a guy for trying. Have you seen yourself today? Actually? You're fucking killer." 

You'd shushed him and clicked the wrong floor button. He pretended not to notice when you corrected yourself. 

Most of the makeup is gone now, kissed off and the rest washed away, but your lashes are still lengthened and they look it as you prop yourself up by his hip and ask, "Well?" 

"No," he says honestly. There's always room to grow, and music changes with time and with an evolving scene, but Corroded Coffin are famous for how they sound now. "I love how we sound… Do you think you'll ever move into glam metal?" 

"Is there any room?" 

"No, but when has that ever stopped anyone?" 

He folds his pen between the leaves of his notebook and chucks it toward his bag in the corner of your room. You shift yourself, not quite sitting up as you pull off your sheer long sleeve and the regular long sleeve beneath it, exposing your arms and your chest to his view. He hadn't been expecting a tank top beneath. 

He whistles. Can't help himself. 

You dive to hide your face in the sheets, one arm tucked uncomfortably under your weight and across your chest, the other sliding away from his navel. "Shut up," you murmur. 

"Sorry. You're just pretty." 

"Didn't say that before I got my tits out, I notice." 

He laughs at your grumbling and leans down to talk softly. "Ah, but I did, didn't I? Told you you were 'fucking pretty' but maybe you didn't hear me, you were kissing me so hard–" 

You reach blindly for his face and push him away from you, not half as roughly as you could. 

He's messing with you. It's his prerogative. 

Being your almost boyfriend comes with privileges, like being privy to how you're feeling. Once unbeknownst to Eddie and probably everyone in your life, you're not a very happy person. He could guess why, he's not blind, but thinking it and knowing it are two different ponds. You don't say much about it, embarrassed by or maybe unable to verbalise how you're feeling beyond, "I'm tired of everything today," and, "Sorry, I'm just worried." 

About what? he'd asked. 

You'd nibbled your lip. Everything. Nothing worth saying out loud.

He'd make jokes anyhow, but he makes more of them when he thinks you're feeling down. Teasing you is a surefire trick to distract you from all the stuff you can't handle. 

It's piling on, he knows. Morgan on the news again, shirtless in a public club, your startled face in the background. You'd been poked fun at by TV hosts and journalists alike. Nothing cruel, but making you the butt of a joke nonetheless. Then there was Ananya's continued selective mutism, disagreements over stage blocking, your ever-present employment anxiety, your very first hate letter disguised as a love note, and, to Eddie's surprise, radio silence from your friend Dornie. 

He didn't like Dornie to begin with. Now he hates him. 

"Don't push me away," he whines. 

"Don't make fun of me." 

"But you look lovely when you're mad." He grins at you where you're glaring, only your eyes and brows visible in your position. "Exactly like that." 

"Lovely," you say. He can hear in your voice how the mock fight you'd started has sputtered out. You sound genuine again, a little raspy with oncoming fatigue. 

"You don't like that word?" 

You lay flat on your back. Head on the pillows, hands to your collar and fingers picking at one another, you look down at them and away from him and Eddie can't stand losing your attention. He ushers away his notebook on the sheets and climbs toward you on knees. He checks your face as he positions himself between your legs. You smile. He smiles back. He thinks maybe this is what you secretly wanted him to do. 

"You like Status Quo?" you ask. 

He smiles and lets his weight press down on you, not paying much attention to what goes where, only the feeling of being on top of you, this close, and being allowed. "Yeah?" 

"Showaddywaddy?" 

"Beg your pardon?" he jokes. 

"Let's go for a little walk," you sing under your breath. 

"Yeah. I liked that song." He sings, "I wanna tell you, that I love ya." You nod happily. 

"Queen?" you ask, quieter still. 

"Don't ask stupid questions." 

"It's weird that we managed to find each other," you say. "Though everything. You had to like all that music, we had to want this bad, we had to be born at the same time, in the same scenes, and we had to go to the same stupid party." 

He hangs his head. "I was in a mood." 

"You were. I figured you were an asshole, you know?" 

Eddie takes a deep, deep breath. "I remember." 

"I was… pathetic," you say softly, letting your hands drop flat to your chest. You change your mind, tuck a curl behind his ear. "I was desperate, your friend Jamison… it doesn't matter. I don't know what I'm trying to say." 

"There's a difference between pathetic and lonely. You tried to make friends, and I was being a dick because–" He sucks the inside of his cheek. 

"'Cos you tried to talk to me and I made fun of your court case?" you ask, self-deprecating. 

"Because you didn't know me." 

You poke his cheek gently. "That mattered that much to you?" 

"Sweetheart, we met before." 

Eddie watches you hear him, and spots the resistance to what he's suggesting. He needles his arms under your waist to feel the breadth of your back in his palms, close enough to kiss you, but wanting to hear what you have to say about it more. 

"We did," he says. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I think about a year before we met at the party, we met at the airport. You weren't in Godless, you weren't even a tech yet, you were on your way to meet the tour in New York. We met, and we talked about music, and I told you to come and meet me if you ever found yourself in the same place."

You'll put me on a list? you'd asked, charmed by his wanting to see you, as impossible as it may have seemed then.

I'll put you on the list. 

"When I saw you," he says, eyes on the curve of your bottom lip, "I was hoping you'd come to see me, but you didn't remember me, I could tell straight away, and I– I'd gotten so used to people saying yes to me that I got more pissed than I should've. I feel like a loser, telling you now, but–" But it meant something, meeting you before. It meant something. 

"We did meet," you say, voice like a line of spider web weighed down, and abruptly plinking back up. "You gave me a sticker. I dropped it down a storm drain straight off the plane." 

He nods encouragingly, "I gave you a Corroded Coffin sticker–" 

"With a rose in the background," you interrupt.  

"Yeah. You remember? You had those huge can headphones and your guitar was falling apart, and I told you about Sweetheart 'cos she was still pretty impressive at the time. You didn't have time to try her before boarding, so…" 

"So you said I could give her a try the next time we saw each other." 

Eddie bites his lip. "Yeah." 

Your breath is noticeably quickened, your gaze snapping onto his face. Recollection lights your eyes, and then, like he'd so desperately wanted to see months ago when he wandered into you of all people at a sticky, snow-loaded party, you smile at him. Like you missed him. Like you can't believe your luck. 

"Well, hey, stranger," you whisper, your thumb rubbing along his bottom lip, fingers tucked neatly behind his ear. "I remember you." 

"You took your time," he says. 

"You could've said something," you say, chin dipping to your chest. "How did you remember me after that long?"  

He's trying not to get broken up with before he's officially your boyfriend; he wants to say, You're hard to forget, but he refrains. 

He leans in for a silky, soft kiss. "Immaculate memory," he says in the slice of time your lips aren't touching, a second gap as he turns his head to better kiss your top lip. 

"Is there anything you can't do?" you indulge. 

"Can't get this one really beautiful thing to let me take her photo," he says. 

You giggle and push him away. "'Cos I know what kind of picture you want, Eddie!" 

"I already told you that's not true, dirty photos are an epidemic I've yet to feed into." He's a man, not a Saint —he'd fucking love a dirty photo, but he really does just want a Polaroid for his wallet. "How about we both have a Polaroid of each other? So you don't forget me?" 

Guilt lines your smile. "I'm sorry," you say, dragging him down for a kiss. "Sorry, sorry. I won't forget you again, Munson…" You rub his cheek with your thumb. "If I let you take a photo, will you forgive me?" 

You're already forgiven. "Three photos." 

"Deal." 

"Should've asked for five." 

"You could've asked for the full cartridge and a dirty one and I might've said yes. I can't believe we met before.." 

Eddie rests his nose on your cheek, eyes closed, already trying to remember how many photos there are left on his camera. "I don't want a picture of your tits because you feel guilty, babe." He laughs as he talks, then, the joke feels that good to say, "I want one because you have the most amazing, killer, gorgeous pair of–" 

You screech to cover his bold compliments and whack his chest playfully. "Get off of me, you freak! Get off, get off, get off." 

Eddie flips onto his back, chuckling. 

"How would you even know?" you ask, slipping off of the bed with a little thump and down by your suitcase. You chuck your shitty Polaroid Spectra onto the sheets by his arm and rifle around for a foil sealed cartridge. "You've barely seen them." 

Like past Eddie, this Eddie still wants to fuck you stupid, but he also really isn't interested in intiating anything before you're ready. He's hoping you'll make the first move, and maybe soon, but watching the tip of your tongue breach your lips as you climb on your knees to fiddle with the Spectra, he's not really thinking about sex. 

"I've seen them," he disagrees. 

"You have not." 

"Have too." 

"Have not." 

"I'm seeing them right now." 

You look down at your chest. The tank top you're wearing isn't especially scandalous, Eddie just loves your shape. 

"Okay," you say, shyness creeping into your voice and stature, your shoulders bunching up toward your neck a touch, "if I say something and it's too weird, you can tell me no. Please tell me no." 

He shakes his head gently when you don't add anything else. "What?" he asks. 

"Do you really want a dirty photo? You could take one. I wouldn't mind," you say. 

Your voice drops to a murmur with the last two words. Eddie hikes up on his elbows, smile curling and appling his cheeks. "You don't still feel bad about forgetting lil ole me?" 

"Of course I do, but it's not why I'm offering. I really like you, Eddie. I want to do things other couples do." 

Earnestness has you sounding your best: your voice has always been one of his very favourite things about you. Your voice, your smile, your passion (maybe that one most of all). When you talk as you are now, without anything in the way, he thinks he might be at his most infatuated. 

"I really like you," he says, reaching out to steal your hand from the camera. "What I want most is one with your smile, get me? One I can flash at the boys while I'm away, brag about you." 

"I thought we weren't telling anyone," you say gently. 

"Not for now. I'll need it eventually, right?" 

You beam at him. "Right." 

You pick up your camera and aim it at his face. He knows how he must look, his hair frizzy from hours on a small plane, lips sore from kissing you, ridiculously happy. Now you know everything about him he'd been purposefully hiding. All the bad in all of the good, and all the good in all of the bad. He can't wait to tell you the rest. 

The flash blinds him for a split second, and your camera chugs as it ejects the photo. You drop it on the sheets and you and Eddie crane your heads together, foreheads kissing while the image appears. 

"That's a good one, right?" he asks. Upside down, he's not sure.

"It's really perfect," you say. 

Eddie lifts your chin for another silken kiss. 

"Listen," he says as he breaks away, his lips tingling, heart in his throat. "Can I be your boyfriend?" 

He hadn't meant to ask like that. 

You nod slowly, then quickly, trying uselessly to tamp an ecstatic smile as you paw at his arms. Eddie pulls you back up onto the bed and you make camp in his lamp, hands in his hair and lips like an undulating wave against his. He kisses you until he can't think.

—

The photographer standing outside of the Colo De Amante is cold, fingertips frostbitten and nose like ice, but it's worth it for the photo he gets. Eddie Munson peeling out of the hotel in the late night when he's supposed to be in a different state, hair banded out of his face, giving the photographer a great view of his pleased features. 

The camera clicks. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! please reblog if you have the time!! i love them being all loveydovey but im excited for the drama to start again

[lookingoutforstarrs]

first kiss with hamzah!

° ♡ •

-you had to be the one to initiate y’all’s first kiss, and on that note you had to teach him how to kiss lol

-he was sooooo super nervous about it

-it happened when y’all were hanging out at a park. it was almost sunset and you were originally there with y’all’s friend group but because of how late it was getting, everyone except you and hamzah left

-y’all’s friends definitely did that on purpose to make him nervous lolol

-he was rambling to you, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t nervous at all, even though you could tell. he wasn’t keeping eye contact and he was stuttering like crazy.

-you were a little bit tipsy, from the drinks your friends brought earlier, but not drunk. it just gave you a little more courage.

-you had seen how he looked at you when he wasn’t careful. it seemed every time you turned around he was there, staring.

-you were attempting to make direct eye contact with him, following his eyes as he tried to break it.

-my boy was sweating bullets LMAO

‘hamzah,’ you interrupted

-he stopped fully and looked at you worriedly

‘uhhhhh, yea?’ he replied

-you two were both sitting down, you with your knees to your chest and him doing the same, facing away from each other

-you turned to him, shifting your weight onto one hip to face him.

-he didn’t know what you were going to say and that was driving him crazy.

‘you’ve been acting kinda weird lately’ you said, in a matter of fact tone.

-he choked on his air and coughed a little

‘really?? i havent tried to be weird or……anything’ he replies, not looking at you

-its true though, and he knows it. you two have known each other since around 2021, when you first moved to Toronto. you were an online personality like he was, so y’all quickly met because of mutual friends in the area

-he knew you were cute, but when y’all first met his crush wasn’t that big. but over the years and getting to know you, he only fell harder.

-you were one of the smartest, kindest, and funniest people he knew. plus he thought you were very hot and he brought it up to martin a lot, trusting him to keep his secret.

‘whats been on your mind?’ you ask, looking him in the eye, staring too deep for his liking

‘well…um,’ he replied, feeling as though you were staring into his soul. ‘i dunno.’

-you huff, not the answer you were looking for. you had liked hamzah since you met him. and you knew he liked you because mandy spilled the beans one day.

‘i feel like you’re just acting strange around me,’ you stated, ‘is it something i did?’

-his heart sank.

‘nonononono,’ he reassures, ‘its nothing you did, you’re fine. its just- i dont know how to put it.’ he says looking down and slightly blushing.

-you think about how you can get this man to spill, and you turn over ideas in your head. you two sit in silence for a moment.

‘y’know, mandy did tell me something a couple months ago, ‘ you say in a knowing tone.

-his heart immediately starts going 100 miles a minutes, remembering that if martin hears something, he cant keep his mouth shit around mandy.

-you and mandy are very close friends, so she would definitely tell you

‘oh…..what uh was it?’ he asked, visibly nervous.

‘its probably nothing now,’ you tease, ‘but she said that a couple months ago you told martin that you had a crush on me.’

-he puts his face in his palms, knowing he cant hide his blush. cursing martin mentally.

‘oh yea um yea i definitely did bit its uh nothing now,’ he chokes out.

-you giggle at his reaction

‘you’re not acting like its nothing now,’ you laugh, looking at him all distraught.

-you laughing calms him, but then makes him 10 times more embarrassed because he doesn’t think you like him back.

-he turns to face you

‘look y/n i did kinda have a crush on you but only for a little bit! i swear its nothing now and everything’s cool and please dont be mad-,’ he rambles on like this for a good minute, trying to lessen the blow of rejection.

‘hamzah.’ you say, again making deep eye contact that makes him nervous.

‘umm yes?’ he says, his voice slightly cracking.

‘have you ever kissed anyone before?’ you ask blushing.

-this throws him wayyyyyy off guard. he’s beet red now, and kinda sweaty lol. he has only ever gotten close to kissing someone, never actually doing it. he’s scared to admit that, but he knows, as a friend, that you wouldn’t judge him.

‘um,’ he coughs, ‘no actually.’

‘can i kiss you?’ you ask boldly, also beet red by this point. you’ve never been so bold with someone in your life.

‘what? um if you want i dunno-,’ he attempts to ramble out of nervousness again but you stop him by putting a hand on his cheek.

-he instantly stops talking to face you, his heart beating out of his chest.

-you slowly move your face closer to his, admiring it as you inch close.

-you softly put your lips to his to test the waters

-his years long pent up emotions come out all at once, and he deepens the kiss.

-its rushed and juvenile but it feels so peaceful.

-you kiss for a beat longer and pull away slowly, his head following yours, not ready for this kiss is to be over.

-be looks you in the eyes and stares for a minute, wondering if you felt the same way the whole time. how could someone like you like him?? you were perfect in his eyes.

‘holy shit’

[annieqattheperipheral]

you have to read this in full!!

i gotchu from behind the $wall:

The day Luke Prokop shook the hockey world by coming out, he needed to get away.

And stop looking at his constantly buzzing phone.

It was July 21, 2021, and the right-shot defenseman had just become the first openly gay hockey player under an NHL contract. The Nashville Predators’ No. 73 pick in the 2020 draft was just 19 years old and hadn’t even turned pro yet. He didn’t know how it would impact his future. His nerves were fried.

But one text message was impossible to ignore. He didn’t recognize the number but certainly knew the name.

“Hey, it’s Auston Matthews. I wanted to congratulate you. I look forward to sharing the ice with you someday.”

Prokop was blown away. The Toronto Maple Leafs superstar wasn’t the most famous person to reach out — that honor goes to Elton John — but the fact that so many NHLers, including one of the league’s best and most powerful players, were offering support meant a lot.

Now 21, Prokop still hasn’t taken the NHL ice, but on Wednesday he took a step forward, being recalled by the Predators’ AHL affiliate in Milwaukee. He could become the first openly gay player to appear in an AHL game Friday night for the Admirals in Rockford.

As difficult as the decision to come out was, Prokop told The Athletic in an extended conversation recently that he’s been mentally and physically freed by it. He doesn’t have to hide. He can be himself, on and off the ice. Heck, he can even date.

“It’s been massive,” he said.

Teammates and fans have welcomed him in his journey toward the NHL so far, from Calgary, Edmonton and Seattle of the junior WHL to, most recently, Atlanta of the ECHL. They treated him like he was any other player.

Not that there’s not room to grow. Prokop figured more players would come out after he did. They haven’t, not that he would rush anyone’s decision on that. He’s also been disappointed by the developments over the past few years with the NHL’s inclusion efforts, including the Pride tape “debacle.”

He can only control his own actions, though, and doesn’t regret his decision.

“I’d like to think I’m a realistic person,” Prokop said. “I know hockey is not going to be forever. As much as (when I came out) I would have loved to keep playing, I was OK with not playing any more if it didn’t work out — just being able to live my life the way I wanted, to be myself.

“But now, I don’t want to stop playing. It was definitely nerve-wracking. You never know what the reaction is going to be inside hockey, outside hockey, because no one has done it before. We kind of went out on a limb and hoped for the best. It’s been way more positive than we thought it’d be. You’re going to have some keyboard warriors, which there were a few, but I was expecting more.

“I did not expect the amount of support I got from NHL players. That was really cool.”

- - - - - - -

The Matthews text and Elton John phone call the morning after were memorable, with the gay rock legend welcoming him to the community and offering his email address if Prokop ever needed anything.

Prokop found even more comfort in a moment that came a few days later — the first time he played hockey since his announcement. It was a four-on-four league in Edmonton at Meadows Rec Center, a place where pros and NHLers competed and kept in shape during the offseason.

Prokop was on a team with Colton and Kirby Dach. The other team had Philadelphia Flyers goalie Carter Hart and the Boston Bruins’ Jake DeBrusk. During warmups, Prokop found himself near mid-ice. The first guy to approach him was DeBrusk. The two had met previously through mutual friends. DeBrusk tapped Prokop’s shin pads with his stick.

“Congrats,” he told him. “I’m really happy for you. If you need anything, let me know.”

“I didn’t know what the reaction would be,” Prokop said. “So that meant a lot.”

Prokop was returning that year to the Calgary Hitmen (WHL), the junior team he had played for the previous four seasons. But there had been a lot of turnover on the roster and, of course, a lot had changed for Prokop. So he decided to address the team in its first meeting in training camp.

“Everyone knows what I did last summer,” he told his team. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. There might be a lot of media asking you for an interview. If you don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to do them. If you have any questions for me, come ask me. I’m an open book. I just don’t want you guys to feel uncomfortable.”

In that dressing room, Prokop had heard plenty of the uncomfortable language that’s not uncommon for any locker room. He even admitted using it. He didn’t want to out himself. He wanted to act straight, be “one of the guys.”

“I heard it, but it wasn’t all the time,” he said. “I also took it from the perspective that these guys don’t know any better. It’s hockey language. It’s how guys talk. They don’t mean it in a harmful way. They use the word ‘gay’ as a filler at the end of a sentence to make something stupid. ‘Well, that’s so gay.’ I wasn’t comfortable with it, but I used it myself. I didn’t want to seem like I was out of the mix.

“Some guys texted me (after I came out), ‘F—, sorry if I said anything to offend you when we played.’ I’d just say, ‘Guys, you had no idea.’ The lesson is you don’t know what everyone is going through. The words you say do matter. Make sure you think before you speak. It’s a silly rule you learn in kindergarten. It applies to life when you’re 22 or 35 and never goes away.

“The way hockey is going with the language, guys are naturally changing their language. I’ve heard a change in language on every team I’ve been on.”

Prokop said that season was the best of his career, both from a production standpoint and a personal one. He was traded to the Edmonton Oil Kings early in the season and had 10 goals and 33 points in 55 games for them, helping them win the WHL’s Ed Chynoweth Cup and advance to the Memorial Cup.

Luke Prokop won the WHL’s Ed Chynoweth Cup with the Oil Kings in 2022. (Courtesy of Oilers Entertainment Group)

Luke Pierce, then an assistant coach for Edmonton and now the head coach, said the staff and management had discussions with the leadership group before acquiring Prokop — making sure they were comfortable with it, feeling out whether their room could handle the attention. Pierce said he asked one of the captains, Blues prospect Jake Neighbours, for his perspective. Neighbours had known Prokop since they were 10 or 11, growing up playing in spring tournaments together. He told Pierce and the staff there would be “zero issue” and he’d be a great addition.

Neighbours said nothing really changed, that Prokop “fit right in” to the team. Pierce at first wondered if players would have any issue with rooming assignments on the road, but nobody blinked. Pierce noted that Prokop would joke about situations and even opened up about his boyfriend coming to visit.

“He put everybody at ease,” Pierce said. “I often tell people, if the outside world could see how the group of men interacted, it would be just a tremendous inspiration on how we should treat everybody.”

Pierce and Prokop pointed out how this generation is more comfortable and equipped to handle LGBTQ+ inclusion issues. Everyone seems to know someone, be friends with someone, or be related to someone in the community.

“I just don’t think guys really care anymore,” Prokop said. “They might be nervous as they have this stereotype version of what a gay guy might look like, sound like, act like. Like me, coming to a team, they think I’ll act a certain way, look a certain way, but they’ll realize three minutes into talking to me that I’m not that.

“Hockey is part of me. It’s who I am. Guys totally forget (about me being gay) when I’m at the rink. They’re not afraid to ask questions. But other than that, it never really comes up. That’s how I wanted it to be. I wanted them to know, but we can all go out and play. I never wanted to be a distraction.”

- - - - - - -

The NHL’s decisions around Pride jerseys and stick tape weren’t a distraction, Prokop said, but he has gotten frustrated about it.

He understood the issue over wearing sweaters during warmups — “jerseys weren’t really their choice” — but lamented that the fact the focus was on the handful of players who refused to wear them and not all the others who did. The NHL’s initial banning of Pride stick tape, then its reversal, was a whole other topic.

“To take away choices from players was really confusing,” Prokop said. “Some of them don’t really care. For some, it was near and dear to their heart. To take it away was mind-boggling. From the players’ side, the support was there. Zach Hyman talked about it, Travis Dermott. I like what they did. They didn’t make a big deal about it before — they just did it. Let fans see the rest, and it’ll take care of itself. There’s a massive amount of support from players in the NHL.”

What do the Pride tape and sweaters mean for someone in the LGBTQ+ community?

Prokop didn’t recall noticing them growing up going to Oilers games. He never got to see someone who was gay using Pride tape on the TV screen. He had to deal with it himself — “jump over those barriers without any help.” But Prokop continued pursuing his hockey career whereas “a lot of people don’t feel comfortable pursuing their career without that exposure, without feeling like they’re being seen.”

“I think with the Pride tape stuff, they were trying to show support for their older fans,” Prokop said of the NHL. “The fans that have been watching hockey for 40-50 years. That’s not how you grow the game. You want to get the younger generation, put these guys in the best situation to promote the game. Sometimes I don’t think the NHL does that the correct way. The Pride tape is one example.”

Prokop has been part of two Pride nights since he came out, one with the Edmonton Oil Kings and another with Seattle. The Oil Kings staff approached him after not having that event on their promotional calendar. They planned it in two weeks and it was a big hit, with around 8,000 fans in attendance.

“Some guys told me it was the most impactful game they’d been in during their career,” Prokop said. “They said they didn’t realize how many Queer fans they had. I don’t think they realize how much my community watches hockey, plays hockey and cares about hockey.

The Seattle Pride night was fan-driven, which made it unique. Thunderbirds fans noticed that other rival teams had a special night for Pride and made a push for their own, making bracelets and T-shirts. Prokop told teammates they didn’t have to wear the stick tape — he knows how superstitious hockey players are. They all wore some, for him.

“I always look at the perspective, the other side of Pride nights — why do you have them if no one on the team is gay?” Prokop said. “The point is that it’s for the fans. For me, it means a lot to play in them to show my community and be a representative on the ice.”

While education is important, Prokop said any real change in the NHL when it comes to inclusion will start with other players coming out. He’s not putting any timeline or pressure on that. He didn’t have one. But that’s when players in the league will see a different perspective, get more comfortable with it.

“Otherwise, it’s always going to be a story,” Prokop said. “I also can see why guys don’t want to come out. Especially in the NHL. They’ve been very successful, so why change? I kind of saw that from the perspective when the whole Pride jersey story came out. My phone was blowing up. I don’t think guys want to have to deal with that. There was a responsibility for me to talk about these topics. I don’t think guys want to do that. I can see it from that side, why they don’t want to come out.

“I don’t think anything is going to change unless someone else does. Someone else will step up. It’s only a matter of time. I thought there’d maybe be two, three of us by now. But it hasn’t happened. But I know there’s going to be someone else soon. It’s math. There’s what, 700 players in the league? There’s definitely a few more.”

- - - - - - -

While there have been some derogatory comments coming from the stands on a few occasions, Prokop has been encouraged there have been none from opposing players.

“Zero,” he said.

Most of the feedback he’s received, even on social media, has been positive. And it’s not just the comments like Matthews’ that stick with him. Two high schoolers in Seattle, Kaitlin and Jo, reached out to him over Instagram. They are part of the LGBTQ+ community and were struggling.

“Like everyone, they just wanted someone to talk to,” Prokop said.

Part of Prokop’s pregame routine is usually to hang by the bench and listen to music. On many occasions, Kaitlin and Jo would come by and the three of them would just chat for 10, 12 minutes. They’re the fans that Prokop saw every game above the tunnel on his way to the dressing room. They’ve stayed in touch. Prokop even did a Zoom meeting with their high school class last month. “They have a special place in my heart,” he said.

When, and if, Prokop makes his NHL debut, he says he’ll have a special secret plan for them.

Whether Prokop lives his NHL dream remains to be seen. He’s praised the Predators for their support from the first time he did a group video call with the staff. Former NHLer Mark Borowiecki, now a development coach, has been someone Prokop has leaned on often, not only for on-ice advice but for help getting through things mentally.

Scott Nichol, the Predators’ assistant GM, likes Prokop’s potential.

“Big right-shot defensemen that can skate, move the puck. They don’t grow on trees,” he said. “He just needs to polish up his game in some areas in the defensive zone. He’s got the tools. He’s got the skating ability. It’s just patience and embrace the process.”

Prokop is grateful for his support group, from his parents, Al and Nicole, to his brother, Josh, and sister, Alanna. He’s kept in touch with Heather Lefebvre, who is a specialist in hockey engagement and alumni relations with the Oilers Entertainment Group. They talk almost every day. What sticks out to Lefebvre is how young Prokop was when he came out (19), and while he wears this “trailblazer” cap, he’s still standing alone.

“I think this generation is more ready for it than past generations, for sure,” Lefebvre said. “It says a lot to me that nobody else has come out in the year and a half since he has. He’s the only openly gay player under NHL contract, but he’s not the only gay player under NHL contract.

“That’s where I think we have work to do. Is it great that he’s been accepted and can do his thing? Yes. But he looks at the positives, which makes me really happy for him. But that doesn’t mean there’s no negative.”

Prokop takes the positives in his off-ice life, too. He lives with Alanna in the offseason back home in Edmonton. He’s found teammates to share in his hobbies, like golf (he plays 40 to 50 rounds a year). He loves to read, from biographies to sci-fi. He watches basketball more than hockey and has more than 25 jerseys. He cooks. He got into puzzles during the pandemic and is bullish about doing them on his own.

Prokop also feels comfortable getting out there on the dating scene and not having to hide it from teammates.

“Obviously, the lifestyle of a hockey player is tough for some people,” he said. “I’m trying to find the right person to connect with. I’m a softie, a romantic guy. I love love. I’m always on the lookout for that right person to spend the rest of my life with.”

Prokop doesn’t see the label of being the first openly gay player under NHL contract as a weight. It’s more of a responsibility. He has a platform and wants to use it. He’s realistic, “dreaming about winning the community service award more than the Norris Trophy.”

Making the AHL jump or someday the NHL jump won’t define him.

“One of my main goals when I came out is that if I could have an impact on one person outside of my family and friends in my lifetime, I’ve done my job,” he said. “I think I’ve done that and more. And I want to continue to do that.”

[feelyourrush]

A Sonny Disposition || Tim LaFlour x F!OC || Chapter 001

Synopsis: Sonny, a freshman at Stratford University, is a bubbly and hyper-feminine fashion design student all the way from Australia. She's excited to be on her own for the first time, but settling into independence is proving to be more complicated than she anticipated. Thankfully, fellow student, piercing-lover punk, and hockey ingenue Tim LaFlour lives in the same apartment building as her and is more than willing to lend a helping hand—even if they seem to be from completely separate worlds. What will they learn from each other? What will they have the patience to teach each other?

Genre/tags: Pure fluff, no smut. A friends-to-lovers slow burn romance with mutual pining. Imagine two golden retrievers crushing hard on each other p much!! Slight age difference, big size difference.

Word count: 1,850

A/N: My first fic in the Matt Lillard tag! My first fic on this blog! My first fic in a long, long time. And of course I couldn't help but start a new series. Aiming for this to be a novella/shorter chapter book. Hope y'all enjoy and please leave feedback if you have it!!

"Honestly, Auntie Steph, Uncle Benny—" I let out a grunt, hoisting a large suitcase and out of the back of their trunk— "Don't worry too much about me. I'll be fine, and I know who to call in case I need any help."

They followed behind me, with Auntie Steph carrying a large dress form and Uncle Benny pushing a dolly with the rest of my things. "We know, love. We're just one call away, and your Auntie Steph has some clients downtown," Uncle Benny addressed me from behind the pile of moving boxes atop the dolly as we walked into the apartment building.

"Right. I'm down here at least twice a week," Aunt Steph said. She was a consultant for an interior design firm, handling top-tier clients. Famous actresses, hockey players, the like. I held the door open as best as I could, practically squished between the door and the railing of the small staircase up to the apartment building.

I was a few days away from starting my freshman year at Stratford University in Toronto. I was a late registrant, so by the time I got accepted, there was no housing left in the freshman dorms. Instead, I was assigned to an apartment typically reserved for the upperclassmen. It was still maintained by the university, but I supposed I still had perks. Living with the older students probably meant a bit more freedom, not that I was planning on doing much besides schoolwork.

My aunt and uncle were just like my parents, worrywarts. Except, I could at least dodge my parents somewhat; I came all the way from Australia where I've lived for the last... well, my whole life. They were busy with work so all they could do was drop me off at the airport. Between then and about an hour ago, when I met up with my aunt and uncle at the airport, I traveled alone and enjoyed it. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, and I appreciate having people who cared about me a lot—but my goodness, could they be overbearing!

I was trying to hide my anxiousness to get rid of my aunt and uncle, but I wasn't so sure how well it was working. "I know. I've got you both on speed dial," I said, flashing them one of my signature megawatt smiles as we careened my things inside.

Like in the movies, students were bustling across the lobby, traversing its small space with ease. They looked grown up, if that makes sense. I felt intimidated, to say the least, and had half a mind to pay a visit to the chancellor's office or find someone else in charge to see if they could squeeze me into one of the freshman dorms. I would take an air duct if it was all they had.

My apartment was upstairs, at the very end of the hall on the third floor. The building seemed older, less well-kept and modern like the rest of the university. The dusty spiderwebs in the corners of the ceiling and the scratched linoleum in my room gave the whole place a nice charm, though. It was lived-in, and felt grown-up, too.

I could feel the excitement set in as Uncle Benny emptied the dolly. Eventually, they plopped onto the sunken-in, emerald green couch in the middle of the living room. I laughed, watching them take their exaggerated breaths. We were a theatrical bunch.

"Somehow, we did it," Auntie Steph said.

Uncle Benny checked his watch. "Alright, honey. It's almost lunch time. We'll get out of your hair so you can get something to eat. Remember what we said."

"Of course," I said, giving them hugs as they stood up from the couch. Real good hugs, too, like the ones I'd given my family right before I got on the plane. It was a bittersweet moment, one that marked the end of my phase as that little kid who played dress up with her Barbie dolls and the beginning of my new chapter as a fashion design student. "I love you both."

"We love you too," Aunt Steph said. "We'll send our wishes."

After they left, I was so exhausted from my long journey that I thought I'd better rest, too. With a deep breath, I landed on the couch—and heard a crack of wood underneath me. I sank a few inches.

===

"Thanks so much," I said while signing my name on a piece of paper. I looked up at the gentleman with a polite, expectant smile.

"Are ya sure you don't need our help carrying this up?" he asked, raising his eyebrow at me. Behind him, a small crew of movers were transporting my new couch into the lobby.

"Umm..." I sized the couch up and down. It was about the same size as my old one, with three cushions. Knowing my parents, they ordered me something a bit hefty so it would last longer, made of real wood and all. I had the upper body strength of a squirrel, probably, but I didn't want to look stupid in front of the movers. I was grown up, after all, doing big girl things now. Surely I could move a couch by myself. Giving them all a thumbs up, I said, "I should be able to handle it. Got some friends coming soon to help me."

"Alright," the gentleman filed my papers away and gave his crew a shrug before walking out. "Have a good day, miss."

It was just me and a couch in the lobby now. "Hmm." I circled it, feeling its plastic wrap. At least I wouldn't have to worry about the cushions flying off while I was carrying this thing. I glanced over at the elevator, which was much too small to fit the couch on (and it probably would've been over the weight limit). Then I looked up at the stairs.

Not realizing I was taking up the space in front of the main entryway to the building, I heard someone clear their throat behind me, startling me.

"Uh... need a hand?"

I didn't know where to look first, because it certainly wasn't his face. He was a tall guy, at least a foot taller than me, bleach blonde, and he wore these giant black combat boots, faded gray jeans that had more than a little distressing on them, and a cut-off t-shirt that said The Ramones on it. He had a cornucopia of piercings on his face. Their silver beads reflected under the fluorescent light. I'd never seen anyone like him before.

I was probably gawking, because a second later, he spoke again. "You okay?"

I picked my jaw up off the floor. "Yeah! Yeah, totally. I just, um..." I chuckled awkwardly, patting the top of the couch.

"Did you order this thing?"

"Yes, I did," I said confidently.

"You know, the apartments come with their own couches, right?" He couldn't hide his smile.

"Yeah," I said, not so confidently anymore. For a scary-looking guy, he had a big, friendly smile. It caught me off guard, just like the rest of him did. "Mine, um, broke."

Despite his smile, I thought he was going to chew me out and tell me to move. But he looked the couch up and down, and then looked at me at least up (my lower half was covered by the back of the couch) and said, "Right. Well, I'm cool with it being here but I don't know if the rest of the guys will be."

"Rest of the...?"

Before I knew it, a slew of boys—men? students?—flooded into the apartment building, vaulting over the couch and brushing past me to go upstairs. They were all the same size and stature as him and for a second there, I was worried I would get trampled, so I stayed completely still, scrunching my face.

They were all carrying duffel bags and hockey sticks, dressed in Stratford jerseys and sweatpants. I put two and two together. When the dust settled was around the same time I realized I could ask them to help me carry the couch up, but they were already gone by then. I looked over at the guy and we seemed to be on the same wavelength.

"Do you think I could—"

"Hey, do you need—"

We chuckled, realizing we talked over each other. He said, "I got you." Then, he hollered up, "Hey! Sammo! Bowman! Could use a hand."

They spawned from above, almost racing each other to the bottom of the steps. I couldn't help but laugh at how rowdy they were.

"Oh, we got a new couch for the spot, eh?" asked Sammo, whose name was on his jersey. Bowman splayed across the couch for a laugh before hopping back up.

"This is..." the blonde guy looked over at me, furrowing his brow.

"Sonny. I'm Sonny," I smiled.

"Tim, you caught yourself a girl from down undah?" Sammo teased.

The blonde, who I knew now as Tim, continued. "....Sonny, and she needs our help carrying this to her apartment. Apartment...?"

"13."

"Damn. That's all the way at the end of the hall, isn't it?" Bowman asked.

"C'mon, boys. Sonny's new around here. Let's be polite and make her want to stay," Tim said. It was then that I noticed he also had a duffel bag and hockey sticks, which he set down outside. They each took a side and I went to lift my own, but I was met with a hand up from Sammo.

"Don't worry about this, me'lady. Don't want you liftin' up a finger." Sammo grinned.

So, I took careful steps behind them, figuring I shouldn't insist to be in the way, and watched them pivot with every bend of the staircase. This was a whole lot easier than careening this whole thing up myself. I wasn't sure what I was thinking when I let those movers leave.

Finally, they set the couch down in the middle of my room. It seemed to be no effort to them at all. I wore a warm smile.

"Thank you guys, so much," I said, holding my hands together.

"Ah, don't mention it. C'mon, Sammo, let's go." The pair left my place, and me and Tim, alone.

I chuckled, feeling a bit awkward. "You really saved the day," I said. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry," he told me. "Looks like we were at the right place at the right time." He smiled. "Well, Sonny, it turns out I'm actually in the apartment right underneath you. Number six. So if you need anything else..."

A sort of dread filled my stomach. You could hear every step you took in this place thanks to the creaky wooden floors. I was already a bit worried about bothering my neighbors with my endless nights of sewing and my impromptu dance parties, now I had to think about not bothering Tim. Strange and yet adorable and super helpful Tim. I tried to hide how horrified I was with a smile right back.

"Cool. I'll keep that in mind," I said. "Thanks again, and, um, see ya around."

"See ya."

[freyafrida]

Writing Patterns

tagged by @batrachised, ty!!! :3

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

cheated slightly bc some of my last 10 fics were started like...over a decade ago (help) and my writing has changed a bit since then, so i included the most recent chapter too

how certain the journey (AOGG): "What does that mean?" Una asks. "'Wounded and missing.'" / The train rumbles steadily around them as they pass through Quebec, the sun beginning to set on this leg of the journey.

you said you like my stockings better on the floor (AOGG): It's snowing on the Island, Di had written last week, but not here in Toronto — instead it is only pouring freezing rain, threatening to storm.

the more that you say, the less i know (Uglies): David is on watch when he feels it.

there's another, not a sister (AOGG): The first dream comes the night after he sees a shell go off.

the clocks are black (Midnighters): Dess sighs, rubbing her eyes, trying to push sleep away.

leave me the way i was before (Uglies): David sees Shay again in the last place he thought he would, stumbling around the forest on the edge of the city.

think i could try this once again (Midnighters): For the first time in her life, Melissa is woken up by knocking on her bedroom door.

what they call hard feelings (Midnighters): Dess hates how normal everything becomes, afterward.

Arco Iris (AOGG): It's a full moon tonight, over Ingleside. / The clock has ticked into the morning, and Walter is still awake.

but i don't know who you are (AOGG): Walter looks fondly on Alice Parker from the moment she smiles at him instead of mocking his name.

it looks like i feel like "setting the scene" usually means either jumping in right before the action starts or laying out the scene by describing the weather (lol). also generally my opening sentences are shorter than the rest of my sentences, although they're still not super short or punchy usually.

also i guess i tend to start in the POV of the same characters (walter for aogg, dess in midnighters, and david for uglies), which i didn't notice i did so consistently! i think it's bc i mostly write romance where canonically, only one half of the pairing has feelings (una for walter, shay for david) and i like to write about the other half's perspective as they grow to return those feelings. so that's the reason for that, haha.

tagging @librarylexicon @noneedtoamputate and...i think i've seen this on all my other writing mutuals' blogs already? lmao feel free to do it/not do it if i missed you though :3

[mrsparkjimin18]

—What If… | SOPE

→ pairing: Project Director!Yoongi x Art Director!Hoseok 

→ genre/au: light angst, fluff, diner au 

→ rating: G 

→ wordcount: 2888 

⚠︎ chapter warnings: feelings of anxiousness (not necessarily anxiety, but more like the nervousness of a situation), mutual pining, long-time confusion, mention of another possible office romance

an: A special thanks to my beta readers @peachiilovesot7 @downbad4yoongi and Sara, I honestly wasn't sure if I would be able to make this story come to fruition, but thanks to you all here it is!!!

summary: Yoongi and Hoseok have been best friends since their early childhood. When life separates them, is it destiny that brings them back together? Have they always just been close friends or is this more than just a bromance? What if…

Bangtanstrology Writing Event hosted by @hisunshiine of @bangtanwritershq 

My Big 3 are: 

Scorpio Sun (Member): Sope

Scorpio Moon (How they met): Late Night Diner 

Gemini Rising (Trope): Mutual Pining

The diner was noisy as usual. He didn’t understand why they always chose this place, there were too many distractions here. The constant sound of dishes clattering onto the busy busboy’s cart, the tables of animated customers chatting too loudly over cheap meals, the smell of grease and dollar store disinfectant that permeated the heated air, and that one lone dusty bulb at the end of its life cycle flickering above the corner booth

They all tugged at his periphery, demanding his attention, tying up his mind, until…suddenly… all of the distractions vanished.

The sound of the chime and a rush of frozen Toronto air pulled Hoseok's attention towards the door to watch his best friend of fifteen years stepping across the threshold and into the fluorescent light of the all-night diner that held it. Hoseok found his friend effortlessly suave and handsome under the harsh critique of the fluorescents. Ethereal is what came to mind as he watched Yoongi shake fluffy snowflakes from his ashy blonde hair and wipe away their fading essence from the lapels of his expensive black wool coat.

“Woah! Hyung is sexy!” Jungkook, one of the young programmers on their team, remarked, instantly confirming the feeling of awe Hoseok was experiencing at the sight of his old friend.

“Look at him! He belongs on the cover of GQ," another programmer, Taehyung, teased.

To Hoseok's surprise, Yoongi smiled coyly, quickly striking a pose as his younger co-workers continued to whistle and shout out obnoxious cat calls.

Hoseok wasn’t used to Yoongi being so playful in a public setting, and he couldn’t help the amused smile that formed on his face as he watched his usually stoic friend walk an imaginary catwalk towards their table, the tail of his coat flowing out dramatically behind him as he twirled and strutted.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough, let’s not make a scene,” Their CEO, Namjoon, intervened in order to refocus his team's attention. He waited patiently for everyone to quiet down and settle into their seats. “Okay,” Namjoon began, seeing the expectant look in their eyes. “I’d like to start by saying great job to everyone! We’ve all worked hard the last few weeks. I know things were tough, and I know It felt as if everything would fall apart after our previous Art Director…. Uhm… abrupt departure,” he said with a careful grimace, knowing the topic was still sensitive. “...but thankfully, we were lucky that our Project Director, Yoongi, was able to refer his extremely talented friend during our darkest hour.” He turned towards Hoseok with his glass held out in respect. ”You’ve been a savior for our company, Hoseok. Without you, the successful completion of this project would have never happened. We sincerely thank you, and appreciate you, and look forward to many more successful ventures with you as part of this team.” He finished with a gentle squeeze of Hoseok's shoulder before returning his attention to the rest of the team and lifting his glass even higher. “Let’s congratulate Hoseok on his hard work!” He rallied their enthusiasm.

They all raised their glasses, clinking them together as they each reaffirmed Namjoons words of gratitude.

“Speech! Speech!” Jimin, the team's graphic designer, and the only member who worked directly beneath Hoseok, shouted out. Hoseok tried to decline, but the look of pride on Yoongi’s face, and the affirming head nod, were all the encouragement he needed to loosen his tongue.

Hoseok stood up confidently and addressed the whole table. “First, I want to thank the team for taking me in and truly valuing my artistic vision. I know it was hard to have someone new come in mid-project, with a new perspective and new ideas. But you allowed me to truly express myself as part of this team, and together we were able to create something amazing.”

“And profitable!” Seokjin, the Chief Financial Officer, interjected, drawing cheers and shouts from the amped-up crew and a stern look from Namjoon that quickly turned into an appreciatively flustered smile at his CFO’s brash but loveable personality. 

“And profitable,” Hoseok agreed with a raise of his glass and a wink towards Seokjin. “Second,” he continued, his attention turning solely to his friend. “I’d like to thank Yoongi. You’ve been my rock since we were kids, and I truly appreciate you for that. When we took different paths after college, I was worried it could end our friendship. But…” Suddenly, the depth of Yoongi’s gaze made the words feel heavy in his mouth. His confidence waned, and he stumbled for control of his thoughts, “...But I’m…Thankfully…well…I mean…I’m happy…”

“...that fate had other plans.” Yoongi finished for him, his eyes never leaving Hoseok’s, even as the table erupted in agreement.

“To Unmyeong!” The entire team cheered to fate as they again clinked glasses and gulped down their swirling mixtures of beer and soju.

“Yes, cheers to that!” Namjoon concluded, his voice commanding the attention be returned to him. “Next I’d like to…” he went on, picking up where he left off before Hoseok's speech. 

But Hoseok couldn’t hear a word Namjoon was saying. The only sound was the rush of his pounding heart in his ears. He stood frozen in place, still staring at Yoongi, who had already turned his attention back to their boss, wondering why everything felt so different.

It had been almost four years since they’d last seen each other. Four years of military service, failed relationships, career growths, family drama, and all the other ups and downs that life can throw out in that length of time. He had known things would be different when they met again, but this was more than just the passage of time, this change was palpable and alive, and this change had meaning and purpose. 

He’d felt it since his arrival a few weeks ago, that sense that a shift had occurred in their paradigm. A low-frequency buzz in the background of his thoughts seemed to be alerting him to the universe’s realignment. But he had been so busy, throwing himself headfirst into the project as soon as he arrived, that he’d inadvertently ignored it.

And now that it refused to be ignored, all Hoseok could do was stand frozen in place and wait. Wait for his heartbeat to return to a normal rhythm, wait for the word fate to cease its endless repetition through his mind, wait for a miracle to save him from this paralysis.

“...so cheers to a job well done.” Namjoons voice broke through, a faint echo from another dimension, as he tapped his glass to Hoseok’s. Then suddenly, Yoongi’s hand was grabbing his, pulling him back down into his seat, swiftly and effectively breaking the spell he’d been under. 

Everyone was still clinking glasses and high-fiving each other to whatever news Namjoon had just announced. Not wanting it to be obvious he hadn’t been paying attention, Hoseok quickly raised his hand from beneath the table to join in, tapping his glass across the table to Jimin’s, readying his other hand to give him a high five.

Yoongi reacts instinctively, noticing Jimin no longer paying attention, grabbing Hoseok’s wrist. Their eyes met at that moment, and they entranced one another, unable to look away. Yoongi reaches up with his free hand, gently bringing Hoseok’s hand to his in a soft high five. Their fingers intertwined, unaware if anyone else was paying attention, let alone bothered if they did. The soft pad of Yoongi's thumb stroked Hoseoks gently. He’d noticed the look of worry on his face and wanted to give him solace in knowing it’s okay.

Hoseok shook his head to break free of his current trance when he realized he was still gripping Yoongi’s hand from across the table. Without realizing it, Yoongi and Hoseoks hands connected in that surreal moment and stayed together a bit longer than everyone else. Satisfying electricity flowed from their fingertips, finally breaking the longing gaze,  and the skin contact quickly ceased leaving their cheeks tinted with a rosy blush.

“I have a question,” Seokjin turns toward Yoongi and Hoseok, “We’ve been working with Mr. Min for a little over a year, but we hadn’t heard about Mr. Jung until the need for an Art Director came about. So tell me, why did you keep your best friend a secret?”

“It’s not that I kept him a secret, he was serving the remainder of his military enlistment. We’ve always kept in contact. That's how I knew he was struggling to find employment, and at the same time, we were in need of a new Art Director. No secrets, I promise.”

“Actually, Yoongi had joined the military straight after university to get it out of the way, but I wanted to take some time to enjoy life after so many years of school. It just seems like the timing was always off for us, but now we’re back together as if we were never apart.”

“Back together?” Jimin childishly mocks Hoseok.

“So, did you only spend time with each other back home?” Jungkook asked out of curiosity, yet his tone was mildly mischievous.

“Well, we met in elementary school and we weren’t really friends at first. One day, some of the kids were messing with me and Yoongi showed up out of nowhere like my bodyguard, scared them off and we were attached at the hip after that.”

“We also have other friends,” Yoongi interjected. “But they’re more like acquaintances we met over the years.  You can say Hoseok and I had time to form a special bond..”

Yoongi glanced at Hoseok. He could sense a feeling of something he can’t quite put his finger on – maybe it’s embarrassment, anxiousness, he’s not exactly sure.

Surrounded by their coworkers, the loud and insignificant banter doesn’t phase Yoongi, his only focus was on Hoseok.

“I wanted to apologize for being so busy when you arrived…” Yoongi paused momentarily, leaning over the table a little more, “I haven’t even been to your apartment that I found for you since you moved here.”

“I hope you weren’t waiting for an invite,” Hoseok joked, “Since I wasn’t going to send one…I just assumed you were aware it isn’t necessary.”

“I’m probably free this weekend, that is, if you don’t have any plans?” Yoongi replied with a smirk, his eyebrows raised with curiosity.

Hoseok’s heart began to thump against his chest, sweat formed on his brow and upper lip, a feeling of queasy dizziness overtook him. 

Why does he make me feel this way? Hoseok thought. He squirmed in his seat, thinking he needed to adjust his posture to compose himself and rid his body of the uneasy feeling he was attempting to endure without giving Yoongi any hint of something being…off. However, he quickly realized he needed to remove himself from the playful gaze of the man he’s known nearly his whole life, whom he’s also known he’s had feelings beyond friendship for nearly as long.

“I don’t have any plans, but if you’ll excuse me, I have to use the restroom,” Hoseok jumped from his seat and quickly disappeared to the rear of the diner.

The server arrived to take their order, “We can wait for Hoseok to come–” Taehyung was immediately cut off by Yoongi.

“I’ll have the fried chicken with french fries and a Coca-Cola. He’ll have,” he pointed to the empty chair across from him, “A hamburger, grilled with salt and pepper, bun toasted with butter, no tomato and extra pickles. Instead of grilled onions, raw onions, condiments on the side, french fries without salt on a separate plate and a Sprite, light on the ice.”

Everyone else ordered and the three youngest team members couldn’t wait until the server left the table.

“Mr. Min,” Jimin teased. “You’re always taking extra care of Hoseok at work, checking on him, bringing him coffee.”

“You even knew precisely what to order him,” Jungkook joked. “It’s so cute.”

“Is there something you’d like to tell us about your friendship?” Taehyung questioned with a childish tone.

“That’s enough,” Namjoon intervened, “Their private lives are just that…private. What they had in the past or have currently is none of our business if it’s not work related.”

“He’s right, you three just don’t know when to stop sometimes,” Seokjin added in agreement.

The team members quickly hush as Hoseok arrived back at the table and shortly after the server returned with their food.

“Yoongi, thank you for ordering for me.”

“It’s not a problem, I know what you like.”

“I bet you know what he likes,” Jungkook mumbled, and Namjoon nudged him gently with his elbow.

“Don’t tease, they’re best friends,” Namjoon repeated.

“It’s okay,” Hoseok giggled. “Our friends back home teased us about how close we’ve always been…you guys want to see some old pics of us?”

“Hobi, don’t,” Yoongi pouted.

“H-Hobi?” Jimin giggled.

“Yoongi has called me that since we were teenagers. It started as ‘Hopi,’ a mixture of Hoseok and Hope, because I was always hopeful about the future and where we’d be years from those days. Hobi was how it sounded to others, so he stuck with that.”

“Aww, that’s cuuuute,” Jungkook quipped.

“Yeah, yeah. I’d rather you just show them the pictures,” Yoongi insisted.

Hoseok pulled out his phone, scrolling through it until he found the perfect one.

“This is when we were on our high school soccer team.”

“Hey! That’s the way you were looking at him tonight, Hobi!” Jungkook laughed.

“A look of endearment,” Taehyung added.

 “Oh, here’s another one during university after our first midterms.”

“Yoongi! You look so cool!” Jimin exclaimed.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough embarrassment for one night. Anyway, how about more congratulations on a job well done?” Yoongi raised his glass, his eyes fixed on Hoseok as he watched him clink in a cheer with the other team members. He fiddled with his food, hunger evaded him as he too became lost in thought. He wonders what he’s begun to feel, it’s new but not new, could it be platonic or something more? Yoongi noticed Hoseok had ketchup on the side of his mouth and he reached across the table with a napkin, only to drop it next to his plate.

“You’ve got something on the corner of your mouth, clean it up.” Yoongi mumbled casually. 

“Thank you,” Hoseok cleared his throat before picking up the napkin and wiping his mouth.

Namjoon ordered another round of drinks for the team before they finished their food. Jungkook showed pictures of his long-distance girlfriend, Vanessa, and Taehyung decided he needed to one up him by showing a picture of his girlfriend that actually lived in the same apartment complex. 

Jimin showed pictures of his niece whom he adored as if she was his own, which led to the usual tipsy version of him getting teary-eyed as he talked about her. 

Hoseok noticed that Namjoon and Seokjin didn’t share any pictures of their “significant others,” and he realized they never really talked about having one. 

Time passed quickly as they talked about future work projects, the three youngest argued over little things and Yoongi and Hoseok continued to indirectly dote on each other.

One by one, the team members said their goodbyes, until it was just the four of them left – Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi and Hoseok.

“Well, it’s getting late and I have to be at the office early to finalize some paperwork for the product launch. Have a good night.” Namjoon stood and put his jacket on, nodding to Yoongi and Hoseok before exiting the restaurant.

“Tonight’s team dinner was…nice,” Hoseok murmured nervously before finishing off his drink.

Seokjin sighed, crossing his arms, his thick eyebrows furrowed and a serious expression on his face, “Don’t pay attention to what those three say, they’re always joking, even when the situation doesn’t call for jokes.” He glanced at the diner exit, “I think it’s time for me to take my leave as well, but whatever you two have, whether it be just a long-time childhood friendship or something more, don’t let anyone or anything get in the way of your bond.”

He rose from his seat and quickly headed toward the door, leaving Yoongi and Hoseok staring at one another, waiting for the other to say something…anything.

Yoongi bit his lip, wondering if he should speak first…

Hoseok waited anxiously, thinking maybe he should express his feelings honestly…

He finally realized exactly what he wanted to say…

His lips began to part and he was ready to pour his heart out… 

Just as one of them was about to speak, the chime of the diner door caught their attention. They glanced toward the window to see Namjoon standing outside. Seokijn walked to him and they exchanged a few words. Namjoon played with Seokjin's collar before they disappeared from view hand in hand.

Yoongi and Hoseok looked across the table at one another, a puzzled expression as they tried to decipher what they saw. Hoseok reached his hand across the table, placing it over Yoongi’s. A surge of new emotions, unfamiliar and relatively intimidating, consumed his entire being. Naturally, he began to softly stroke the palm of Hoseok’s hand, accepting whatever may occur from that night forward. A simple thought crossed both of their minds…

What if…

[cotecoyotegrrrl]

Once Upon A Time - Still Kind of Beautiful - part 2

Not exactly a holiday story

There's a letter on the desktop that I dug out of a drawer  The last truce we ever came to from our adolescent war  And I start to feel the fever from the warm air through the screen You come regular like seasons shadowing my dreams 

Indigo Girls

You can find of this story in its entirety on A03 and FF

Summary:

Holly has come home for the holidays to visit family, and maybe, just maybe, find some holiday magic.

Part 2

Holly is home for the holidays. Home. What a strange and wonderful thing, even though she hasn't lived in this city in a decade, Toronto still feels like home. She comes home about once or twice a year to spend a few weeks to a month visiting friends and relatives, living in the guestroom of what is now her sister's townhouse, although she still owns it. On longer visits, like this one, she combines pleasure with business, hanging out in the morgue, getting caught up with old colleagues, and now that she let her boss talk her into being on that stupid show, giving lectures and making a few official public appearances, God or somebody help her.

It used to be easier avoiding Gail. When Sophie and Leo were young, all that Traci needed to do was to get Gail to babysit the kids for an evening and they would meet up for drinks at The Black Penny. Now that the kids are both old enough to be in collage, it's harder, even though Holly knows Gail doesn't really go out much anymore. She knows she's taken the coward's way out. As Traci says, it's been ten years for Christ's sake, what is she still afraid of? They did part as friends. Right? And now, Traci tells her, laughing at her the whole time, Sophie is a big fan of the show and wants to meet her. It's like she's become the butt of some bad, sad cosmic joke. She sighs and drops her forehead into her arms that are resting on the bar. Seamus, the regular bartender at the Penny, pushes a Jack and Coke in front of her without being asked.

"It's good to see you Doc!" He says as he goes back to polishing the glassware, "This one's on me."

"Thanks Seamus!" She smiles, sitting back up to lift the glass to her mouth. The barely tainted liquor burns all the way down.

Just the way Gail likes it, or did, in any case.

It's been ten years, three months, and sixteen days since she kissed the blonde officer goodbye at the airport on her way to her new life, not that she would know. Ten years, three months, sixteen days, and nine and a half hours since she boarded that plane to be exact, if she kept track of those kinds of things. Ten years, three months, sixteen days, and four hours since she left a message on Gail's voicemail letting her know that her flight had landed in San Francisco, and began to wait for a reply that never came. She thought about reaching out to Gail when Traci told her that Sophie's adoption didn't go through, and then again a year and a half later, when it did. She had wanted to fly home and rush to Gail's side when she heard about the internal corruption investigation, and then the trial where Gail and Steve had been forced to testify against their parents, pitting them against each other as well. But the wall of silence had stopped her. She had seen Gail from a distance on several of her visits home, always managing to slip away before she was noticed, not wanting her presence to intrude on Gail's life. She had heard from several of their mutual friends about how retched Gail had been after she left, and how Gail finally managed to pull herself together when it became clear that Children's Services were considering her once again as a parental candidate for Sophie, after Sophie's placement with a more traditional family fell apart. Who is she kidding? It isn't just Gail that she is trying to protect.

"Hey Girl! You are looking good!" She can hear the smile in Traci's voice even before she spins around on her bar stool to be grabbed into a warm hug.

"Traci!" She grins into the shoulder of the wool coat that is pressing into her cheek.

Traci pulls back, holding her at arms length for a moment and then lets go. She waives at Seamus and holds up two fingers. He nods and places two shots of bourbon and two pints of beer on the bar in front of them.

They settle into a booth in the back, talking about Holly's reluctant celebrity, and Traci's recent promotion to Regional Special Operations Team Leader and her move from Division 15 to the Ontario Police Headquarters, and about how she and Steve reconnected about a year ago and are giving dating another try.

"So you and Steve…?" Holly tilts her head, raising her eyebrows at Traci, "How is that working?"

"It's good." Traci smiles back, "I think we are really going to make a go of it this time. He has done a lot of work on himself around communication, and control, and trust."

"That's great Traci, I am really happy for you." Holly replies.

"Thanks!" Traci says, "And even better, Leo loves Steve, so he couldn't be more thrilled!"

"I can't believe he is in his second year at the University of Toronto! All grown up, and a starting Left Wing on the hockey team!" Holly smiles and shakes her head.

"You want me to get us tickets for a game while you're here?" Traci glows with pride.

"Of course!" Holly grins and finishes her drink. "Here let me get us another round."

The Penny has filled up quickly in the time they have been sitting wrapped in conversation, with the usual crowd of cops getting off the day shift, people from the neighborhood, and the occasional college student or two. Holly has to push her way to the bar and squeeze in between a couple or large guys to place their drink order. She fidgets as she waits for the new bartender she doesn't know to stop flirting a couple of girls sitting at the end of the bar. Sooner or later people she knows will be filing in after work, and then she will be here all night. She sighs and looks up to find Seamus placing their drinks before her.

"Sorry about that." He shrugs, "Jimmy doesn't know you, and he thought you were just some hot cougar out hunting cops." He smirks.

"So I'm no longer a badge bunny." She laughs, "Well at least he thinks I'm still hot."

"Darlin', you were never a badge bunny!" The voice says behind her, "And Seamus, put that on my tab."

She whirls around to be caught in a great hug that warms her down to her very soul.

"It's so good to see you." She murmurs into Oliver's ear.

"Yup. Yup, I could say the same." Oliver releases her, "Celery told me you were in town. So I figured it was only a matter of time before I caught you sneaking around down here."

"I am not sneaking around!" She replies indignantly.

"Sure you're not…" He laughs at her

"I'm not! I'm here with Traci, if you must know…" She gives him a playful shove.

"Yeah, yeah, sittin' in the back, ignoring all of us little people…" He teases. "Well look Darlin', I gotta go but maybe I'll see you when I get home on Monday?"

"Celery and I are just going to hang around the house after lunch, so you know you will." She smiles as he kisses her cheek and walks off in the direction of the dartboard.

Holly smiles to herself. It is good to be home. She has picked up the drinks and is carefully turning to return to her seat when she literally bumps into someone that stops her cold. The black leather jacket is shockingly familiar, from the tiny scull charm dangling from the zipper on the breast pocket to the knot she put in the waist belt so long ago. Looking up into eyes, framed by gold wire rimmed glasses, as dark and brown as her own, in a face she has only seen in pictures, makes Holly gasp.

"Hey! Watch it lady!" The dark curls that tumble out from underneath a watch cap, and the flawless milk-chocolate brown skin are unfamiliar, but the tone and the accompanying gesture are all Gail.

"Sophie?" Holly asks in a hushed tone.

"Oh my God!" Is all Sophie can manage as she gapes wide eyed at her hero, a blush rising in her cheeks. "Doc..Dr. Stewart? You… you know who I am?" She finally sputters.

Holly regains her composure as she watches the girl struggle.

"Wha... what are you doing here?" Sophie stutters, still obviously in shock.

Holly laughs, "I'm having a drink with your Aunt Traci."

"Oh." Sophie says, still frozen to the spot.

"Why don't you come over and say hello." Holly continues, leading the way back to the booth.

"Oh. Ok." Sophie follows like a puppy, all awkward and shy.

"Look who I found." Holly says while sliding back into the booth.

"Oh good! You've met." Traci looks up with a smile. "Hey Sophie! How's school?"

Sophie is still standing somewhat dumbstruck in front of them.

"Uh… good Aunt Traci, really good…" She finally manages.

"Sophie wants to be a Forensic Pathologist too." Traci smiles at Holly.

"Really?" Holly tilts her head with a smile, "So you want to be an uber-science nerd like me?

"Oh I don't think you're a nerd, Dr. Stewart! Well not in a bad way, anyway. I think you're amazing! And all of the cases you help solve…" Sophie gushes.

"Please. Call me Holly." She interrupts, her smile growing wider. So this is Sophie. This amazing young woman is the reason Gail couldn't come with her to San Francisco. Sitting here listening to Sophie ramble on, bubbling about forensic science, in much the same way she does herself, is like a gift she didn't know she needed. Until now. Holly finds the weight of ten years of disappointment and resentment for a life without Gail lifting as she sees the young woman before her begin to glow with excitement as she answers each question about their chosen profession. Traci is grinning ear to ear with pride across the table at her too.

"I have to say, I'm impressed." Holly grins as Sophie finishes telling them about the molecular biology project on the breakdown of DNA and methods of its reconstruction for analysis in the field she has been working on all semester. "That's quite advanced stuff you are working on!"

She watches Sophie blush, lick her lips and scuff her boot on the wooden floor and then look back up at her with wide, trusting eyes in a way that is just so Gail. It catches Holly completely off guard; it makes her want to cry all of a sudden. She can feel Traci's eyes, soft and motherly, watching her. It's all starting to be too much.

"Hey! There you are. I thought we were meeting at the bar…" Gail's annoyed voice cuts in behind Sophie.

Holly closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and leans her head against the wooden back of the booth.

"Hey Mom! I was just talking to Aunt Traci and Dr. Stewart… erm… I mean Holly!" Sophie exclaims, excitement sparkling in her eyes as she turns to face Gail.

"Oh." Gail says as all of the blood drains from her body. She licks her lips, feeling as if she has been plunged into ice water.

Traci is frozen too, looking from Holly to Gail to Sophie with frantic, worried eyes. She finally snaps out of it, springing from her seat to take Sophie gently by the arm. "Why don't we go get another round at the bar." She says, leading a thoroughly confused Sophie away from the booth.

Brown eyes open to meet blue and nothing else matters. The Penny, the noise, and everyone else all seem to disappear.

"Hello Gail." Holly says softly.

That's all it takes. Suddenly Holly is on her feet. Gail takes two quick strides forward to catch her and hold on tight.

"I've missed you." Holly finally manages to gasp in a strangled whisper.

"Me too, Holly, me too." Gail sobs quietly into her ear. "More than I can ever say."

[cator99]

I went to a gay party last night and I was soooo weird so so fucking weird I forgot how to act because it's been so long and I don't really party in the winter but whatever who care anyways I ran into this nightclub owner who I hung out with last summer and when I told him I'm moving to Toronto he was like Okay I'll get you Set Up and then he called some other big name faggot in Toronto I'll have to look him up later so we briefly got acquainted on FaceTime right then and there. Then I ran into that one RPDR queen and started messing with him because I mean that's what we do but instead of having fun with it he just looked at me wide-eyed and scared like he was in a waking nightmare and it hit me like Oh God you're tripping balls too arent you ok I will be more gentle...(I'd been talking with our mutual friends and most of them had taken shrooms and/or coke)...... he just nodded and looked at me like this

This party was like 80% gay dudes but when I finally came across my lesbian friends I was just so goddamn relieved however I discovered that, regarding the two couples that broke up, the one couple got back together and then they kind of absorbed one of the single lesbians into a sort of throuple situation and two of them are like kind of butches so they were roughhousing on the dance floor while the jazz singer gf thew it back. Eventually one put a condom over her hand and yknow I watched curiously wondering where this was going and then she walked up to her gf (the jazz singer), and grabbed her hand. She reeled in repulsion and then smacked the little beanie and carhartt-clad woman like she were a misbehaving child in response and then stomped away annoyed which I understood entirely. Later on, Faggot (thee Faggot) told me he was going home with some guy but laughed and told me to time it and see how long it takes for the guy to get annoyed that he won't put out ... we left at the same time so I could get into the apartment building and then hand him the keys and then I put on a roundtable discussion about Susan Sontag and passed out immediately and when he woke me up to tell me he got back safe and unassaulted I checked the video and it was only like an hour in lol

[catsandnotes]

Jan 4, 2024

I haven't written about/to you in a long time, but I've been thinking about you a lot again and wanted to write.

A mutual friend went on your Snapchat and saw that you're still updating it, you're graduating in 2026, assuming that's for your masters degree. I wish I was there to celebrate with you, I really do. I miss us talking about our futures, even though we never planned to be together in our future.

I told our friend that I looked on your WhatsApp and found that your "last seen" was not indicated... I wonder why you would shut that off? Is it because you changed to a different account? You don't want people with your Toronto number to know where you are? She mentioned that she has asked our high school classmates if they had kept contact with you, but they all did not. I wonder why you would just disappear? You did that once with one friend group, why would you ghost another friend group? Just because we live in a different city? I can't help but feel offended and at a loss. Do you even remember us? Did you cherish the time we had together? Do you still remember me?

I would be heartbroken to know if you found someone else, but I also know that it's expected after so long... I wouldn't want to know. I'm still sheltered in my own home, regretting why I did not move abroad for university.

Not much today, just missing the one that I knew 4 years ago. I would happily hug and kiss the one I knew, the one the got away, the one who came at the wrong time, the one I took for granted.

[coloradohq]

+2 new wanted connections have been added.

NATHAN YOUNG ( RYAN GOSLING ) is looking for HIS HIGH SCHOOL EX-BOYFRIEND. they’d like the faceclaim to possibly be someone along the lines of UTP MALE FC AGED 41-42, but you must reach out to @tctteredwings to find out more! ( these two dated in their senior year of high school in new york city not long after nathan came out as bisexual. your muse was on the hockey team, something that eventually took him away to another state for college. in the end it was this that caused their break-up, despite their feelings for one another. they mutually decided that long-distance wasn’t for them. I’ve always headcanoned that nathan’s held a torch for him ever since, the guy was his first love after all, but whether they’ve actually seen one another at all since then can be discussed. )

NOAH KIDO-BELL ( DARREN BARNET ) is looking for HIS BEST FRIEND. they’d like the faceclaim to possibly be someone along the lines of UTP AGED 29-32, but you must reach out to @tctteredwings to find out more! ( they became friends back in noah’s home city of toronto ( death tw. it can be discussed just how long they’ve known one another, whether childhood friends or later in life, I’m good with anything ) and this muse was also one of his extreme sports group of friends. during noah’s last couple of years in canada they both spent a ridiculous amount of time within this group, bungee jumping, cliff diving, rock climbing, etc. you name it, they did it. they were close up until the night one of their friends went missing on a wild camping trip and was found dead. noah left the country not entirely sure how to process the loss and I assume that this muse eventually followed him. )

[thenarrativefans]

Interview: Suzie talk with Josh Rabenold about songwriting, life and new releases for 2023

Suzie talked with Josh Rabenold in a new interview on his youtube channel, where they talked about Suzie's music process and creation, the story of The Narrative, and how being a mom affected the process of music creation and the future of the band.

Suzie had inspiration and people in her family into music, one of them being her grandmother, "My grandma was really musical when I was little and so she taught me songs all the time," she spoke with Josh. Around 3 years old, her dad's mom would teach Russian folk songs and put her in front of an audience of friends to play alongside.

Answering to the question of when she started into music, she responded as it was a natural thing that happened when she was younger, "I was like singing and putting on performances and making my parents pay me money for tickets at a very young age, had that entrepreneurial spirit right from the get-go" she said. Also she affirmed that music was a good part in her life when she learned to play the instruments for the first time, such as a piano from friends in Canada that were taking lessons when she would spent the summer vacations in Toronto, "they were taking lessons and I would be at their house and then they would teach me what they learned and then I would try to play all. I don't think I was very good at it but that's probably what really started me," she continued. The encouragement came from her parents that got her a piano chair and she started to practice and get better at it.

When it comes to songwriting ideas, Suzie said that she would have more than 9 pages of words that she never would look back, "I might I have this terrible habit of putting lyrics into a doc. I keep like the stream of conscience and so it becomes just like this extended nine page document that's just trash and I always keep it in case I think I'm gonna find something good in there and I've I've never found anything good in there it's never happened and it won't it's never happened," she continues laughing. The process of letting go of lyrics also is discussed through the interview, where she says that feeling comfortable in deleting things is a good thing and the process of even not feeling inspired, to sit down and write things without any use is a habit that she keep to be active into songwriting.

As she got older, the poetry started to flow over her life, writing plays, parodies and songs that later with help of friends, started to get together melodically and sonically. Her first project before The Narrative was around when she was a senior on NYU, where she released four songs (Away, Bright Light, Fall and Cover and Penny Station). This four songs had help of Will Noon at the time playing in Straylight Run and Fun, who introduced her to Bryan Russell to help her produce the vocals, which produces The Narrative's songs and is married to her.

She told Josh about the story of The Narrative with the first meeting with Jesse and her happening through Craigslist as he was looking for musicians and after few conversations, they found out that they attended the same school, had mutual friends, lived minutes apart from each other. At that time, Jesse was playing into a New York project playing guitar, "[He was] trying to figure out where he belonged because he wanted to play music," she remembered, and the band started to get form. The first song recorded with Jesse was 'End All' (marked as 'End All Arrival' on January Window - older name for the band on Myspace) released later in their self-titled album in 2010.

The song "Eyes Closed" was discussed in the interview. The song, according to Suzie was the first to be worked by them. She said that Jesse felt that the lyrics "Oh my god, you're beautiful", where strange to be kept in the song, but it stayed and, she confirms, "I mean, that little line connects to so many people like I see people referencing that line all the time, this moment in this song it's just, like, it's probably a little cringy but it's like the good kind," and holds the title of most listened song by The Narrative with more than 5 million streams over platforms.

Around the time the band released the EP and songs started to get attention over the former AlternativePunk.net (chorus.fm), they got the chance to be featured on Warped Tour prior to the release of the self-titled and supporting the album on this tour and playing on the 2011 edition.

Following of the band's next releases they started to record the second studio album, 'Golden Silence' in 2012. For supporting the LP, the band released an acoustic/alternative version of their previous songs on the EP "B-Sides and Seasides" in april of the same year. The album, took longer than expected to be finished due to the band's arrangements production of orchestral instruments. Also due to personal and musical projects of Suzie's started playing with Chris Carrabba's side project 'Twin Forks' and touring during their debut year. Jesse at this time released his solo album 'here, sit, stay' and from 2013 to 2015 the band got production on a slow tracking process, with the album being released on December 2, 2016.

With "Monoliths" in 2021 and from the release of "Little Boys Break Hearts", the band will release a new song to close a three-acoustics-folky-songs project and finish the year with it.

As posted by Jesse on Medium, the band plans to release new songs in 2023, that are different from the three ones. Suzie explained that the process of the band's recording have changed into a more consistent system, "Jesse has gotten more into production over the last couple of years, so, what now the process is, I've been writing a song and putting some basic stuff in logic, a drum pattern or something like a program drums and a synth pad or something and then just vocals and sending it to him, maybe with a little bit more but usually pretty minimal." With that, she mention that the production starts with Jesse adding some guitars over it and vocals to so, send it to Bryan to, "take out some stuff or put some stuff in and then we'll usually re-record vocals with him, and anything that just didn't come out clean enough will record in his studio," she says.

"The first one of that methodology will come out in 2023," she reveals. "Right now, [there are] maybe like six or so songs that fit this new vibe, [...] then this new stuff will come out in 2023 and will be more, I think, kind of chill Indie pop."

More information to the following song from "Little Boys Break Hearts" will be posted soon.

- Text adapted from Youtube transcription

[slowsburn]

full name: victoria “tori” santamaria date of birth: january 22nd zodiac sign: aquarius age: twenty-one pronouns: she/her orientation: bisexual / biromantic faceclaim: alexa steele

ACADEMICS ET AL.

year: second studying: theatre & drama studies + communications gpa: 2.9 extracurriculars: drama club & power squad work: co-instructor @ the dance studio

FAMILY.

mother: lea santamaria father: angelo santamaria

PERSONALITY.

positive traits: playful, loyal, & bubbly negative traits: jealous, impressionable, & stubborn hobbies: yoga, dance, shopping, thrifting aesthetics: tabloid magazines, starbucks every morning, & cheesy romantic comedies. puppy dog eyes, taking buzzfeed quizzes, rose gold iphone case. the smell of lavender. rose petals. gel pens.

EXTRAS.

most things are canon except for tori moving away. she’s stayed in toronto her whole life. her parents indulged most of her interests growing up: dance, modeling, and beauty pageants.

tori’s love languages are words of affirmation and quality time

a lover of popular culture - she’s always in the know of what’s happening in hollywood and the latest trends on the internet

she’s such a fangirl, but it’s toned down a little as she grew older. her west drive phase is a fond memory now and she’s always been a fan of craig’s.

had a shitty ex-boyfriend in high school who taught her that she deserves better. while she can be insecure at times, tori definitely knows her worth and won’t settle for less.

along with working as a co-instructor with arlene takahashi at the dance studio, tori has a large following on tiktok and instagram as well. dances and mini-vlogs are her usual type of content. because of this, she tends to get a lot of pr packages. she’ll share these with her friends or donate them to avoid wasting anything.

the money she earns from her job and videos/sponsorships tends to go directly to tuition, supplemented by the scholarships she’s won in recent pageants.

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

angie - best friends, first ( girl ) kiss, current roommates

dallas - friends, in a will-they, won’t-they loop

fitz - shitty ex boyfriend

jenna - enemies, fitz cheated on tori with her

jack - used to be friends until jack’s mom found out she had a crush on tori, currently acquaintances 

arlene - used to dance together, co-instructors, and went on one date but tori figured out she was thinking about someone else the whole time

darcy - family friends because their families attended the same church

manny - family friends but there’s a mutual dislike

mia - role model, looks to mia for industry advice

tiny - classmates, gets him to be in her tiktok videos

lola - friends, creates videos together sometimes

jane - previous crush, friends

liberty - friends

to be updated <3

[songbirds-sweet]

I'm from Newfoundland. I did live in the GTA for a few years but longed for my island in the Atlantic. I love looking out and seeing the mountains and water. Have you always lived in Ontario? Is there a province/territory that you could see yourself moving to one day?

He really did have an outstanding range. I love his cover of Nothing Compares to U. I loved that he'd try all genres too or songs by female artists. He knew his voice could do any song justice.

I'd love that! Me and one of my mutuals recommend music docs to each other all the time and I love it. We both like a wide variety of stuff so it's fun to watch something from an genre or artist I'm not overly familiar with. Then we'll have a chat about it.

I know and I hoped to go to that PJ show. But I couldn't get the time away from work as it was a Thursday show and I would of needed 3 days away with travel and all. I've not seen them sadly. Though they've always been in my life I've only really been obsessed with them the past 2 yrs or so. They did play here in NL yrs ago but I wasn't as into them at the time. If only to go back in time, right? Is there an artist you wish you could go back and see? Say you can pick any 3 for an ultimate show of acts no longer performing.. Which 3 would you pick?

People say that the Foos put on an amazing show. I'm only a casual listener but you can't deny Dave is great songwriter with an amazing career. Most would of given up when Nirvana ceased to exist but luckily he found a way to handle his grief with his creativity.

I don't listen to all the members of PJs solo stuff or side projects but I like knowing they all have an outlet between the bands long stretches of inactivity.

I'll have to add the Foos docs to my list. From what I've learned from mutuals posts about them, they're a fun loving bunch. I love that when a band/artist doesn't take themselves too seriously.

I've also seen plenty of posts about the GVF boys with some fun fashion choices so clearly they like to keep things light and fun too. Do you have a fav look of theirs? Do you like to play with fashion yourself?

I do have other sideblogs but they're not really for blogging more for keeping track of things (music docs watched; etc..) I'm a nerd that way lol. But my main blog is a mishmash of everything else that pops in my brain 🙃

Is this your 1st year doing Secret Santa on here? It's such a fun thing. I don't think any of my mutuals are doing it though I learned about it from one of them who rbed the post.

We have our Santa Clause parade here in a few hours though it's absolutely freezing ☃Have you ever been a part of a parade?

🤶

Oh that's so cool! Where in the GTA? I've lived in Ontario my whole life! I always wanted to go to PEI to see the Anne of Green Gable house but I haven't thought about moving anywhere 😱 Is there anywhere in Canada you would like to go see?

Oh I agree, I miss Chris so much and I especially miss his friendship he had with Eddie.

That's so cool! I'd love to do that with you when this is over for sure!

Ahh yeah I get you. If you ever come to the GTA again, we can try and see PJ in Toronto sometime the next time they tour!

Ahh as for acts no longer performing: Van Halen, Led Zeppelin, and either Chris Cornell or Amy Winehouse.

I saw the Foos twice and I can honestly say they were amazing both times and I highly recommend Dave live. and YES all of the Foos are sweethearts and every single day I miss Taylor.

Ahhh I fully understand with solo stuff with bands!

Honestly all of their outfits in this pic they did with Metallica are my favs

I mean I'm not 100% sure what my fashion is I mostly wear band shirts and jeans 😂

That's so cool! I'll totally follow them once the Secret Santa is over!

Ahh this is my second year doing this (and my first year for the GVF one) AND I AM STOKED, I'm having so much fun!!!

Oh I hope you had a fun time at the parade! I went to it a lot when I was a kid!

Since it's officially two weeks until Christmas, if you were dating your celebrity crush, what would the holidays be like with them?