#what better way to remedy that than getting drunk with my roommate and her friend while watching tangled??

[spicysucculentz]

I had NO business getting drunk tonight… I literally have class tomorrow morning

[clawsandblood]

4 - “Do you trust me?”

link to ao3

first part on tumblr   previous part on tumblr

Once both men were awake enough, Borna told Steven of his strange encounter last night. Steven’s face grew more and more alarmed as the story progressed.

“You won’t believe this,” he slowly said, “but I also had a weird encounter last night and-” He stopped. “There was this woman, looking kinda how you said yours was looking, and in the end she gave me a huge tip, saying that both me and my friend could use some money.” 

“How huge?” Borna asked, brows furrowing.

Steven stood up, walked over to his jacket and dug out his wallet. “This big,” he said, showing Borna the hundred dollar bill.

“Fuck,” Borna swore under his breath. He took his phone, frantically going through his browsing history until he found a picture of Madam Reid. “Is that her?” he asked Steven, showing him the screen.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

They exchanged looks. “How the fuck did she know we know each other?” Borna asked.

“Oh, shit.” Steven was staring at Borna. “You’ve already got a job interview with her company, right?”

Borna nodded. “Tomorrow. They were in an awful hurry.”

Steven collapsed on the couch. “What if they’re some sort of human trafficking ring?” he asked. “What if they’re with the mafia?”

“I think they won’t do anything after one interview,” Borna said. “Or I could just cancel.”

Steven nodded. “That would probably be the safest, yeah.”

Borna opened his phone, thumb hovering over the number that called him earlier in the morning. He sighed, putting the phone down. “But I’m curious,” he said. “Maybe one interview won’t be that bad.”

“Borna,” Steven pleaded.

“I can just decline afterwards.”

Their eyes were locked in a staring contest.

“If your kidney gets sold on the black market next week I won’t help you, I’ll just say that I told you so.”

Borna’s lips twitched into a smile. “Note taken.”

---

It took some digging through their shared wardrobes to find a presentable pair of trousers and a shirt for Borna to wear to the interview. Steven did have some semi-formal clothes, but Borna somehow felt like most of Steven’s patterned shirts were a touch too vulgar for the occasion.

“How do I look?” he asked, giving a little twirl.

Steven chewed on his lip. “Presentable,” he finally said.

Borna nodded. “I feel like a tuna fish in a can.”

“Meaning?”

“Stuffed, uncomfortable, about to be half-eaten, half-thrown away.”

“Having last minute jitters?” Steven smiled at Borna and clapped him on the back. “You’re gonna go there, snoop a bit during the interview, go home and tell them you’re actually going to Russia.”

Borna snorted. “Sounds good.”

They went to the building where the interview was going to take place together. It was a modern office building, fairly boring and unremarkable. The entrance had plaques of several different companies on the wall, Northwest Holistic Natural Remedies being among them.

“Well,” Steven said. “This is kinda anticlimactic.”

“What did you expect?” Borna asked him.

Steven shrugged. “Something more glamorous. Or completely rundown. I don’t know how human organ traffickers work.”

Borna elbowed him. “They’re not gonna sell my organs,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steven mumbled. He gave Borna one last look-over, fixing his hair a bit. “You’ve got this,” he said and patted his shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Borna walked in, going to the reception desk.

Steven stood for a few moments, looking after his friend, and left. There was no need for him to keep loitering and there were groceries to be bought.

---

Borna found the office that the receptionist directed him to. The doors were slightly open and the plaque on them said “Northwest Holistic Natural Remedies - Madam Reid.” He tentatively knocked.

“Come in,” said a voice.

He entered, closing the doors behind himself. A different lady was sitting behind the desk, looking at him expectantly. There was a sign on her desk that read “Natalie Adams, secretary.” The walls were decorated with various pictures of nature, keeping a cohesive theme. It was terribly bland, yet tasteful.

“Madam is already waiting for you,” she said, gesturing to the doors to the side.

“Thank you,” he said and walked in.

Now that office was a lot different. The furniture was darker, sturdier. Decor was still revolving around nature, but this was darker, feeling more like antiques rather than mass-produced photos printed on canvases. Behind the desk sat Madam Reid, as sharp and poised as the night he met her.

“Hello, Borna,” she said. “Please sit down.”

Borna obeyed, drawing the heavy leather-padded chair. “Good morning,” he said.

Her pronunciation of his name was miles better than what he was used to, though her decision to use his first name rattled him. Maybe she just didn’t want to deal with pronouncing my surname, he thought, suppressing an amused huff.

“It’s two in the afternoon,” she pointed out.

He chuckled awkwardly. “Had another night shift,” he explained. “Those tend to mess with perception of time.”

She nodded. “Understandable.”

“I brought my resume with me in case-” he started, but got silenced by a hand gesture.

“I think both of us know that that’s not why you’re here now,” she said, fixing him with her stare.

“Then what is it?” he asked. He grew hotter in his shirt and dress pants.

She took his hand, unbuttoning the cuff and rolled up the sleeve until the bite mark was fully exposed. “When was it?” she asked, examining the scar. “Three days ago? Four?”

“Four,” he answered. “Are you also a…” He trailed off.

“A lycanthrope, yes.”

“Okay,” he said, still staring at where she was holding his arm.

She rolled the sleeve back up, buttoning it. “We need to keep together,” she said. “Lone wolves don’t survive for too long.”

“Meaning?”

“There’s an organisation that I’m a part of,” she explained. “It connects people like us all over the continent. We could help you out with things.”

His brows furrowed. “What things?”

Madam Reid gave him a look that he’d describe as sarcastic if she was literally anyone else. “Money.”

“I can get by,” he protested. “I’ve got a job, I can pay rent-”

“You work the graveyard shift at the carwash and have to live with a roommate,” Madam interrupted.

Borna swallowed. “How do you know about my roommate?” he asked quietly.

“I met him the same night as you.” She smiled, but it just looked like a beast baring its teeth. “He is a very friendly man. You two spend too much time together, you smell like each other.”

“We smell-?”

She nodded. “It should come to you soon,” she said soothingly. “You’ll get used to it.”

Borna nodded, staring at his own hands, trying to process all the given information.

“Borna?”

He looked up.

Madam Reid was looking at him, features soft and relaxed. For the first time she didn’t look like she was about to swallow him whole, though her eyes stayed the same. “Do you trust me?” she asked gently.

“I don’t know,” he replied softly. “I think you’ve been truthful, but I don’t think I should trust you just yet.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Smart,” she commented. “Not the smartest, but admirable approach.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I’ve got a proposition,” she said, leaning forward again. “On Friday we’ve got a meeting. I’ll have Natalie email you details and you can come see how things work for yourself. How does that sound?”

He took a moment to consider her offer. “Okay,” he conceded. “Maybe I’ll come.”

“That’s all I ask for.”

He slowly started getting up.

“And Borna?”

He looked at her.

“I don’t think I need to tell you to come by yourself, right?”

He shook his head. “You don’t.”

“Good.” She also got up, offering him a hand. “Hopefully we’ll see each other soon,” she said.

He just nodded wordlessly.

“Goodbye,” she said and then he was already through the door. The secretary gave him a friendly smile and a goodbye of her own as he exited the office.

---

“How was it?” Steven asked him when he got outside.

Borna took a deep breath. “She’s also, uh-” he gestured at the bite mark on his arm. “She offered help. She knew we live together because we smell like each other.”

“Wait, what?” Steven was staring at him, nose wrinkled, and mouth falling open. “We smell like each other?”

“Yeah, I know.” Borna sighed. “She said I should be able to… detect these things soon too.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah.”

They stood in contemplative silence for a few moments.

“We should go home,” Borna said and Steven nodded. He had his arms occupied with bags from the grocery store and he handed over one to Borna, who automatically took it.

---

He was working the night shift again. Again, he couldn’t understand why would a carwash service need to be open at such unholy hours. Again, he was reminded that the wealthy, the weird and the criminals were also paying customers.

So far he had to deal with only a few people that seemed a bit too inebriated to be anywhere near car keys. He did have to watch himself physically way more than usual, but the drunk were usually quite generous tippers and that night didn’t prove any different.

He had a long period of nothing, where he almost nodded off several, but the noise from the neighbouring gas station managed to keep him up. Then, just a one hour before the end, a car drove in.

---

Dorian’s phone rang. He groaned, looking at the caller’s ID. Three poop emojis were displayed on the screen. He groaned again, louder, then finally accepted the call.

“Hi, Gary,” he said. For a few moments he was quiet, listening intently. “Fuck,” he finally said. “A feral one?”

He got up from the couch and turned off the TV, which was showing some shitty horror flick. He sandwiched the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he started pulling on his pants.

“Yeah, give me ten min, I’ll be there. Bye.”

He disconnected the call, putting the phone down. He dressed up, sturdy, warm, practical clothes, and left the flat, remembering at the last moment to take his phone and wallet.

He rushed downstairs and walked briskly to the main street. A car was already waiting for him. 

“Move it,” Gary said, poking his head through the window.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dorian grumbled breathlessly. He sat down on the passenger’s side, fastening the seatbelt. The moment he was done the car peeled off the curb, making Dorian swear quietly, which in turn made Gary cackle.

The car sped through the streets, out of town to the forest road.

“Do you know where it’s supposed to be?” Dorian asked.

“Somewhere in the west,” Gary answered. “Near one farm, the owners complained about the cattle being killed.”

“Not regular wolves?” 

Gary shook his head. “The tracks didn’t fit, plus there’s been rumors of Bigfoot in the woods.”

Dorian snorted. “Of course that’s what they say.”

Gary shrugged. “Not that far fetched in comparison to the truth,” he said.

Dorian sighed. “Fair point.” He started rifling through his pockets for the cigarettes. “Sometimes I still can’t believe this is my life.”

“Yeah,” Gary said absent-mindedly. Then he noticed the cigarette pack in Dorian’s hand. “Hey, fuck off with that,” he grumbled. “No smoking in my car.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “So sensitive.”

Gary glanced at him with a poisonous look. “Don’t you dare,” he growled.

“I can open the window.”

Gary puffed out an angry breath. “You won’t you-” He pawed at Dorian, trying to take away his cigarettes, when something collided with the car loudly, making Gary swerve and brake.

“Fuck!”

They stopped abruptly and jumped out of the car. There was a dark figure lying on the side of the road, whining loudly.

Gary glared at Dorian, who awkwardly stuffed his hands into his pockets. They tentatively approached the lump. Coming closer, it was visible that it was a sort of a wolf, only larger and as much as the moonlight permitted to see, with a different coat colouring.

It started snarling as they approached.

“I think we found our feral wolf,” Dorian said quietly and squatted down, facing the creature. Gary stayed a bit behind him, standing.

“We got you pretty hard, didn’t we?” Dorian asked quietly.

The wolf growled in response.

“I know, I know,” Dorian said soothingly. He got up and started taking off his jacket.

Gary groaned. “I’ll get the stuff from the car,” he said and left.

Once Dorian stripped off all his clothes he squatted down, tilting his face towards moonlight and began to change. His body grew, transforming into a lupine form, growing thick fur all over.

He slowly walked over to the hurt wolf, sniffing softly. The wolf whiled quietly, but let him close. Dorian carefully nuzzled the other one and gave the bloodied fur a few careful licks. Finally, he settled, laying down next to the hurt wolf.

Gary sighed. He had thick gloves on and a gun in his hands. “Dorian,” he said disapprovingly.

Dorian looked at him and just gave the wolf another gentle lick.

Cocking the gun, Gary took aim and fired.

With one last whine, the wounded wolf died.

Dorian slowly got up, nudging the wolf with his head, giving it a few small, affectionate licks, before leaving it, walking over to Gary.

“You know I don’t like shooting when you’re right there,” Gary said.

Dorian in between transformed back to human, panting slightly from the effort.

“He was so scared,” Dorian said. “And hurting.”

“We did hit him with a car,” Gary pointed out.

Dorian shook his head. “It was something from before,” he said. “We should take a look at the body before we get rid of it.”

“I’m not hauling a huge wolf back to the city for you to play a doctor,” Gary said. He went back to the car, putting the gun away. “Come help me get the covering, I don’t want blood all over my car.”

Dorian sighed and finished dressing up. Gary had a waterproof tarp in his trunk and they used it to protect the interior of the car before they dragged the cadaver into it. They had to put it on the backseats, the trunk of the car being too small to fit a grown werewolf.

After some more driving they found a muddy road through the forest. Gary parked in the undergrowth and they spent the better part of the night digging a large and deep enough hole.

Dorian wiped sweat off his forehead. “We deserve a bonus for all this,” he groaned.

Gary glared at him. “Like you’re doing that much,” he grumbled.

They were hauling the body out of the car now, Dorian desperately trying to carry an equal share, but he was mostly getting covered in blood seeping from the plastic while Gary was supporting most of its weight.

“Not all of us spend all the time in the gym,” Dorian bit back.

They finally hauled it to the grave and rolled out of the tarp, pushing it in.

“You put the tarp in, I’ll take care of this,” Gary said and started pushing the dirt onto the dead werewolf. Dorian nodded and started folding the plastic, trying not to get blood everywhere.

They were finished soon, getting back in the car. Dorian had the bloody tarp resting in his lap, clothes almost equally as dirty.

“You look like you showered in blood,” Gary said after a while. They were still driving through the forest.

“I kinda did,” Dorian replied.

“My car must look like shit.”

Dorian shrugged. “It’s just some mud.”

Gary huffed. “And blood too.”

“It’s just some bloody mud.”

---

The car was covered in more or less fresh mud, with a bump in the front that looked suspiciously bloody. Borna approached the driver’s window, squinting at the bright headlights.

“Good evening,” he said automatically.

“Do you guys have anything extra for mud?” the driver said.

Borna barely heard him, because in the passenger’s seat was an unmistakable figure.

Fucking hell, why Dorian covered in blood?!

Alarm must had been written on his face, because the driver laughed awkwardly. “We hit a wolf,” he explained. “Hauling one of those beasts off the road is a nasty business.”

Dorian met Borna’s eyes and quickly looked away.

“I see,” Borna said. “I could clean the dirt manually but it would take longer and cost more.” He tried not to stare at Dorian, who was very stubbornly pretending not to see him.

“Eh, I’ll just take the basic automated wash,” the driver said.

Borna nodded. “Okay.” He directed the car where to go, turning on the wash cycle. The overwhelming smell of the detergent finally overlaid the stench of blood, but Dorian’s blood-soaked image still danced in front of his eyes. Once the car was clean the driver paid, leaving a small tip and left. The entire time Dorian pointedly avoided Borna’s eyes.

Once they were gone from the station, Borna took his phone out, opening the text messages.

“what the fuck was all that??” he typed out, sending the message to Dorian. He leaned back on the wall, waiting for the response and staring at the clock.

[let-me-write-shit]

Somebody To You: 23

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CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Having to stand by and watch as the person Harry cared the most about was going through even more suffering, knowing there was most likely nothing he could do to remedy the problem, was pure hell. He could tell she was trying her best to put on a brave face and hold her head up, but that facade didn’t change the fact that he had to physically hold her up so she wouldn’t collapse while she was on the phone with her ex.

Normally, Harry was the jealous type. It wasn’t something he was proud of, and he was working on it, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t care that the person he cared about was flying home to see her ex-boyfriend of several years. Who wouldn’t care? This was different, though. It was hard to put any kind of scrutiny on that when Zoey was so clearly on the verge of a breakdown. He didn’t have time to be jealous, he was too worried about making sure Zoey would be okay.

So, once Katie and Nancy were out of view, he listened. Without interruption he listened to Zoey’s conviction weaken and crumble as she explained Michael’s dad, Paul, and his battle with cancer. He listened as she described her relationship with her ex-boyfriend’s family, especially the man she referred to as ‘Pops’, and how close they had gotten during her time with Michael. He listened as she confessed feeling guilty for her lack of communication with them after her relationship with Michael had ended and how little time she had left with him, especially with her living in LA. 

Harry’s heart shattered, his mind bringing him back to when his own step-father lost his battle with cancer. He’s been there before. He knows how she feels. And having to go through that so soon after losing her best friend, he couldn’t even imagine how she must be feeling right now. And Michael. It was hard to hate him right now, too. Not only did he also lose a friend last year, but he’s also just been given the news that his father had three months to live. He couldn’t fault Michael for wanting Zoey’s company at a time like this given her history with his family. Even with her obvious torment, she still managed to avoid crying. Tears lined her eyes, but shockingly, never fell. She was strong as hell. No one could say otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” Zoey chuckled, sniffling and wiping the tears that threatened to spill, “I think I’m still in shock.”

“It’s okay,” Harry pulled her close to his chest, glancing around to make sure no one was in sight before placing a kiss on the top of her head, “You’ll take it one day at a time. I’m here for you. All of your friends are here for you,” he pulled away looking into her eyes, “We’ve got your back.”

Zoey nodded with a sheepish grin and took a deep breath, “I know. I guess I need to let my parents know that they can expect me.”

“I’ll call the airline and get your flight situated,” Harry offered, “but first, let's go eat our pizza.”

When the two finally joined their friends at the main house, Katie had clearly filled everyone in on what had transpired. The energy in the room was more standoffish, no one quite knowing how to act around Zoey. This was part of the reason why she never liked to open up to anyone about any tribulations because she hated the pity. Harry was one of the few that never treated her like fragile glass or a charity case.

He couldn’t fault her friends for this, though. At least they cared. So, to ease the tension, Zoey was the first to start poking fun at the turnout of their pizza’s. Nancy had somehow managed to make her pizza in the shape of an octopus, which looked quite tragic. The mood lightened and laughter ensued, Zoey, doing her best to push the doom and gloom aside to enjoy her last night in Italy. She could worry about the inevitable grief tomorrow. 

It wasn’t long before everyone was back to their goofy, crazy selves. Zoey, Andy, Rory, and Nancy had gotten tipsy off of the wine and kept feeding more alcohol to Katie, who was a very giggly drunk. Harry had gotten a little buzz going, but wouldn’t have too much to drink as he was their ride home, mostly chatting with the owner of the vineyard.

“I can’t believe I’m going home tomorrow, I don’t want to leave,” Katie settled from her laughing fit, “I wish I could see Gio one more time.”

“Why don’t you invite him over, then?” Andy suggested.

Nancy piped up, “We could all go swimming back at the house.”

Katie’s eyes lit up and she instantly took her phone out, tapping away on the screen. Zoey laughed, shaking her head, the room slowly spinning and a warmth engulfing her body. She wasn’t buzzed anymore, she was drunk. And she knew this was a tell-tale sign for her to stop drinking.

Nancy sat up front with Harry on the way back to the house, controlling the music while Zoey and Katie leaned on each other for support in the back, the glow from Katie’s phone illuminating the car as she texted Giovanni. By the time they had gotten back, Zoey was back to her slight buzz, feeling light and carefree. Everyone had changed into their bathing suits and met outback. She looked over at Harry who was sitting on a lounge chair beside Andy, the two of them talking with a lot of hand gestures. She concentrated on Harry’s fingers, remembering the feeling of them inside of her the night before while her friends were out here talking. She grinned to herself, walking over to the rest of the group who were all in the pool already, floating around.

Zoey sat at the edge of the pool, letting her legs dangle in the water, “Thanks for all of this, guys,” she said to them, smiling, “This had been the best week of my life.”

Nancy swam up, holding onto Zoey’s legs, “You deserve it. You’re a good friend. And roommate. We love you. Besides, you clean up after yourself and aren’t an absolute psychopath, so we appreciate it.”

The girl's laughter caught Harry’s attention and he turned just in time to see Zoey slipping into the pool. He watched, a grin forming, as the girls giggled, splashed, and aggressively hugged each other. Something about the sound of women laughing with genuine cheeriness brought him the greatest joy. It was up there along with a great piano tune, the sound of giggling babies, and the soft chirps of birds in the early morning hours. And to see Zoey immersing herself in the moment instead of wallowing in the house brought forth a pride in her that he hadn’t quite expected. 

Andy cleared his throat, snapping Harry’s attention back to him only to see Andy’s eyes bounce from him to the girls, and back to him with a smirk, “They’re pretty cute, huh? Zoey seems to be having a lot of fun.”

It was just a question, but it sounded more accusatory than anything. Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, searching Andy’s face. Did he know? He couldn’t have, right? Zoey wouldn’t have said anything. And he thought they were doing a good job at keeping it discreet. He shook it off and nodded, “Yeah, good. I’m glad.”

“He’s here!” Katie’s shriek echoed as she pulled herself out of the pool, wrapping a towel around herself as she darted towards the door.

  Everyone laughed, amused by her eagerness to see the young Italian boy. His attention lingered on Zoey’s as the caught eyes, hers sparkling from the reflection of the moonlight against the water. She smiled at him, her expression softening and he could swear he felt his body melting into a puddle on the ground. 

Deeper voices were heard behind him and he turned his attention to see Katie prancing back out, accompanied by not only Giovanni but his older brother, Marco. His eyes widened and his stomach twisted in knots at the sight of him, his mind instantly flashing back to the night he and Zoey had gone on a date together, imagining how they ended their night, his lip on hers. He felt the heat rise in him, frustrated and jealous. His attention darted back to Zoey. From the looks of it, she was just as surprised to see Marco as Harry was, which comforted him a bit, but not enough. 

Everyone else seemed to be pleasantly surprised to see him, shouting his name and beckoning the two to join them in the pool. It didn’t take much convincing. Within seconds the brothers had stripped out of their clothes and dove into the pool, splashing around with the girls. Andy, following after. 

Harry was the only one not swimming, and Zoey noticed. She swam to the edge, arms resting on the side as she stared at him. There it was, again. The spark that allowed him to read her mind. He knew what that look meant. She was telling him to stop being a baby and get in the water. 

“Come on,” she mouthed, quietly waving him over. 

He smiled, rolling his eyes before giving in. With a running start, he bound towards the pool, jumping over her head and bringing his legs to his chest, colliding with the water in a cannonball that earned screams and cheers from the group. Harry swam towards Zoey before she got the chance to rejoin everyone, wiping the water from his eyes and shaking his hair. He could barely reach the floor of the pool on his tippy toes, though she had to paddle to keep afloat. 

“I better not see any flirting,” he warned, seductively. His tone was lighthearted, but she could sense the seriousness behind it.

She smirked, raising an eyebrow, “With you, or with Marco?”

Zoey winked, turning to start swimming away, but he grabbed her waist, pulling her back to him and whispering in her ear, “Careful. There’s a minimal amount of fabric between you and that beautiful cunt of yours. Don’t forget, I know where your sweet spot is and how to be discreet.”

He made sure that no one was looking before quickly sucking the nape of her neck with a hard kiss and lightly pushing her forward towards the rest of their friends. Her heart raced, tingling at the pit of her stomach, so turned on that she became flustered when Nancy tried to include him in their conversation. Harry shot her a quick wink at the sight. 

She did her best to make her intentions obvious with Marco, having a friendly conversation, but keeping a certain amount of distance between them so that there was no misunderstanding, and partially because she wanted to show Harry that her feelings lay with him, and no one else. She hoped he understood. But she worried that he didn’t.

She noticed that he would tense up and become nervous whenever she touched him in a way that could be misconstrued. Even though it was something they did before the got entangled in this web of sex and attraction, he would worry that his friends could see right through them and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to have that discussion with his friends right now. He was still coming to terms with the fact that he might lose his best friend if this all ended badly, along with grappling at the fact that the girl he cared for would be going back home tomorrow to spend time with her ex-boyfriend whom she still professed love for. 

He had to admit, though, he appreciated the way she handled the boundaries with Marco, never making Harry feel uncomfortable or uncertain. The night carried on for a while, everyone having dried off and gone inside for a movie which mostly everyone fell asleep during. Including himself. It was unexpected, and a part of him was angry that he didn’t spend the last night at least cuddling with Zoey in the privacy of one of their bedrooms. Instead, Zoey fell asleep, curled into a ball in between Rory and Andy who all shared a blanket. 

The Italian boys had apparently left at some point in the night, and when the phone alarms sounded, the sun wasn’t even up yet. They had barely gotten four hours of sleep, but their flight was super early in the morning and they needed to take showers and do one more once-over of the house to make sure they had everything packed and ready to go.

Even though his flight wasn’t for a few hours after theirs, he still decided to take them to the airport. Zoey had printed off her new boarding passes and, with the help of Harry, they bustled through baggage check-in and security. However, both gates were at different ends of the airport. With the guise that he promised the sisters’ parents that he would make sure they were okay after boarding the plane, he said goodbye to Nancy, Rory, and Andy and led Katie and Zoey towards their gate, waving at fans as he passed them and taking them to the closest VIP lounge to get more privacy. 

There were a few others in the lounge area, including two girls and a boy about his age that he noticed kept occasionally looking over, so Harry made sure to keep a reasonable amount of distance between him and Zoey, listening to the girls talk about how much fun they had this week and their dreams for future vacations, Harry inputting his two cents on the conversation. But the conversation was doing little to distract him as he overheard the broadcast announcing their call for boarding shortly. 

He frowned, seeing the two sisters gather their carry-on items, unable to hide his displeasure. Saying goodbye to Zoey got harder and harder each time they separated. And the not knowing when he would see her again made it even worse. Sure, he had a lot to do, but he wanted nothing more than to spend a few more days with her, afraid that once she got on that plane all of this would be over. Would she want anything to do with him when she got home? And a part of him, a small part, was scared that she’d see her ex and realize she was still in love with him. Trauma tended to bring people closer together, and as selfish as it sounded, he worried.

“Thanks, Harry! You’re the best!” Katie grinned, leaping into his arms and hugging him.

He laughed, squeezing her tighter and rustling her hair. He had really grown to like Katie and thought of her as a little sister, “Glad you could come. Tell your parents I said thank you for trusting me.”

“Will do,” she pulled away.

His attention turned to Zoey and they looked at each other, glumness embedded in their gaze before they both wrapped their arms around each other. He pulled her in close, taking a deep breath of her sweet and warm scent, feeling the warmth of her body on his. He felt an emptiness form in his chest, sadness beginning to take over. He didn’t want to let her go. He had half a mind to go with her, but he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t care who was looking at that point, he kissed her cheek, lingering for longer than what was typical. It could easily have been reasoned as a friendly kiss goodbye. But they both knew it was more. 

“Good luck,” he whispered as he finally pulled away, “Let me know when you land and give my condolences to Michael and Paul.”

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes, “I will.”

KEEP READING

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@thurhomish , @stilljosiegrossie​ , @odetostep , @apples2019 , @stylesmioamore , @inyourhaven​

[if-you-built-yourself-a-myth]

Heaven’s High - Chapter One

idea courtesy of @beaniebabyrobbe

A crazy night out with friends and a harmless little prank on a doctor come together to match soulmates.

Sander didn’t mean to get so wasted after work. He never did, really. He was more the kind of guy to go home and draw pictures of the view from his window, maybe watch some TV or something, and maybe prepare a late-night snack. There was a television program on Discovery channel, Naked and Afraid, that came on almost every night. The concept of survival in remote locations fascinated Sander. He liked to enjoy an episode or two most nights before going to bed around one.

Contradictory to his bad-boy exterior, Sander disliked parties. He wouldn’t have been in the bar at all had it not been for his friends (and coworkers, but that part wasn’t as much of a factor). Théo and Céleste both had to deal with nasty clients in the tattoo parlor that day, and had enlisted Cas as their designated driver so they could get fucked up. Cas said fuck that and called Sander. Sander, technically speaking, was not allowed to drink, so he should have been the perfect match for the needs of the group. How he ended up knocking back another shot of vodka while Théo chanted in the background, he’d never know.

He did know, however, that it felt fucking awesome. So awesome, in fact, that Théo texted Sander’s roommates, Skyler and Michaël, to join in on the fun. Céleste ordered them all another round, and another thing became clear: there was no way he’d be able to drive Théo’s beat-up station wagon back to the apartment complex where they lived. No way in hell. Too bad.

“If we’re going to have to walk home,” Cas slurred, waving around half a gin and tonic, “I’m going to fucking kill you. Do you understand that, Driesen?”

In one sense, yes, Sander understood. In another sense, he found himself obsessed with the way condensation beaded on the outside of the glass in tiny droplets. He picked one at random and rooted for it to win as it trickled downward. Shit. Lost twice.

“Do you hear me?”

Yes, in one sense, Sander heard.

“These are new shoes. Can’t be… walkin’ and shit.”

Wasn’t that the purpose of owning shoes, though? Like, they were invented so that people could walk and shit on top of nasty stuff that would hurt their feet without them. Sander didn’t think he would wear shoes at all if they weren’t necessary.

“We’re gonna walk,” he assured Cas. They both finished their drinks.

Sander gazed across the bar. Though his vision was shaky and unstable, he could tell Michaël was sitting near the door. Things weren’t the same between them anymore, a reality he knew he would have to face at some point… but not today. Michaël spotted him staring and nodded; clearly, he wasn’t as drunk as Sander. Sander liked being drunk. It made him into more of himself than he got to be when his medication was stable. It allowed him to think about things that he actively pushed away when he was sober. Like Michaël. 

Vodka recreated a picture of them underneath the strobing lights.

For every ten disjointed, garbled thoughts, he thought one thing coherently. The first coherent thought was: did I like him when I kissed him, or are all of my feelings fake? Without alcohol, the question would have killed him. With, he hardly noticed the sting.

Skyler gathered the group together with a wave of their hand. “I know another club. It’s getting boring here.”

Sander disagreed. The bar walls were full of paintings, photographs, and postcards, and the windowsills boasted a large array of antique beer bottles. There was plenty to stare at. He was coming up on the introspective stage of drinking where one calls their ex to ask what went wrong, and he didn’t want to waste it by walking to a club. The others overruled him.  

“Hell yes!” Céleste yelled. “Train or bus?”

“Better not be a fucking dive bar,” said Théo.

What was wrong with dive bars? Besides the smell, and occasionally the food poisoning, Sander thought they were pretty great. He met his ex-girlfriend at a dive bar.

Michaël threw an arm over Cas’s shoulders. “So long as there’s dancing, I’m in.”

“New shoes!” Cas said, for no reason at all.

They scrambled out the front door. Sander concentrated everything into not tripping over his own feet as the world pitched and spun around him. The trees planted on the sidewalk swirled in technicolor circles. The stars streaked across the sky and mixed into the streetlights like running watercolor paints. It would make a really good photo.

He was unsure of the exact volume he’d consumed in the bar—the best estimate was a lot—and now it fought in his stomach to come back up. Skyler remedied this problem with a tiny flask they passed to the others. Sander managed to hold himself upright for a whole five blocks.

“So we’re headed to…?” prompted Céleste.

Skyler dismissed her with a wave of their hand. “It’s not much farther. All you drunks should be fine.”

“Debatable.” Cas looked at Sander.

Sander could feel the group’s eyes redirecting to him. At least that meant one of his senses was still intact. They all knew that he wasn’t allowed to be drinking, even though they were the ones passing him shots and flasks, and perhaps they felt guilty about it for a second. He didn’t so much care.

“I’m good,” he thought he said. He would later find that what came out of his mouth was closer to Tchaikovsky’s 1812 overture than an actual sentence.

The last thing Sander remembered from their night out was Skyler beside him, hand on his shoulder, asking, “Doesn’t lithium make you get drunk really, really quickly?” to which Sander replied, “Yes, it does.” After that, his memory faded into pretty much nothing. That was his favorite part.

*

He was in a curtained-off room, surrounded by Cas, Céleste, Théo, Michaël, and Skyler. His body felt like someone had filled it with cement, specifically his head. Prolonged ringing overtook his right ear before dissolving into a thrum in the back of his consciousness. He blinked a couple times. The sound dampened and disappeared.

Théo stood the closest to his bed. There was blood on his hands and in his dark, curly hair, worked into the spirals like hair gel. It would be stiff to the touch. Cas, Céleste, and Michaël engaged in a game of Uno on the floor, not that Sander could see the cards. When Théo saw Sander’s eyes were open, he laughed and clapped a hand on his bed railing… when did Sander get into a bed? Why did it have rails?

“Good morning, sleeping prince! I thought they were gonna have me for manslaughter.” It wasn’t a funny thing to say, but he appeared to think it hilarious. Still drunk, most likely. “No need to worry, we did your paperwork.” Everyone else snickered.

Footsteps sounded from close by. Cas whispered, “Oh fuck, you’re just in time, here he comes…”

A man entered through the curtains (considering the context, a doctor). To Sander, it hit like a slap in the face. He had never seen anyone so striking or memorable. This scene was what he pictured before he drew portraits of people he didn’t know and the feeling he felt when he painted places he’d never seen. The emotion hit him too fast to be real, he thought. He was around sixty percent sure that Théo was covered in blood because Théo had committed his murder and the man before his eyes was God Himself. That, or whatever the fuck he drank at the bar before had given him some serious rose-colored glasses. There was no way this man could be a real person.

He wasn’t ready to see something like that so soon after waking.

“I’m sorry,” said the doctor, immediately pulling a one-eighty to leave Sander’s curtained section. “Wrong room.”

Théo snickered. “Who are you looking for?”

“I’m not allowed to give names.”

“Could it be…” Théo dragged the reveal out like a drumroll. “…Sander Driesen?”

The doctor halted five steps away and turned back. His looks mesmerized Sander. He had short brown hair, messy in a sort of endearing way, concealed almost completely by a bandana covered in teddy bears holding lollipops. He wore pink scrubs patterned with the dogs from the hit children’s show Paw Patrol. Sander had spent enough time channel-surfing to know the dominant motif was Skye, the cockapoo. The earlier thought needed amending: he was ninety percent sure he was hallucinating.

“Is this…?” The doctor walked back through the curtain. He crossed to the bed and looked down at Sander’s bleeding forehead and the fresh-blossoming bruise. “Are you Sander Driesen?”

Sander, ever the romantic, could think of only one response. “You’re gorgeous.”

The doctor blushed slightly, but he didn’t let it stop him from launching into his speech. “Hello, Mr. Driesen. I’m Dr. Robbe Ijzermans. I am the pediatrician on call tonight, here to see if your brain is doing okay.” He said it all slowly, which was alright for Sander, who didn’t understand a word of it anyway. “Although, judging by this little stunt, I have determined you might not have one. You don’t look like a six-year-old.”

Skyler burst out laughing. They stopped when Céleste shot them a pointed look.

“I suppose you didn’t do the paperwork.”

Skyler stifled their giggles again.

“So,” Robbe continued, “Can you tell me where you are?”

Sander’s mind was a blank slate. All he could process was the fact that Robbe was now coming closer to him with a penlight ready to shine into his eyes. The doctor had brown eyes. There were freckles, faint as hell but definitely there, clustered close to the bridge of his nose. Sander’s vision blurred, cut in and out. He wondered how he could even hold a picture of Robbe’s face in his mind. And a burger would taste really good right now.

“Big white room,” said Sander.

“Where is this room located?”

Sander scanned the room, the bright lights overhead, and the cute guy in pink scrubs standing in front of him. “Heaven?” He made eye contact with Robbe. “Are you an angel?”

Now the rest of Sander’s coworkers dissolved into hysterics. Cas almost fell over, grabbing an IV pole for support. When it rolled, he went down with it. If Céleste had wanted to shut them up this time, a look would not have done it. Michaël, the least inebriated of the group, gave Robbe an apologetic shrug.

“You’re in the hospital,” Robbe said. His voice remained steady, though he’d blushed even deeper red. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

“Huh?”

“I kicked you in the head,” Théo supplied from the floor beside Cas, “and then you threw up and passed out on the sidewalk.”

What the fuck?

Robbe glowered at Théo. “You kicked him in the head?”

“We were at a bar.” Théo shrugged. “He fell over while dancing and I kicked him in the head.”

Now that they mentioned it, Sander’s head retained a ghost of an image. Michaël, under strobe lights again. Head connecting to concrete. In this lens, though, it all seemed like a caricature.

Robbe put his hands to his temples as if he’d never experienced stupidity at such a magnitude before. “Then he threw up on the sidewalk?”

“Yep.”

“And he passed out?”

“Yep.”

“Is that where the blood on your head came from?”

Théo brushed his fingertips over the scarlet crust adorning his forehead. “Oh, yeah. I leaned down to check if he was breathing, y’know?”

Huh, suddenly Sander felt nauseous… no, tired, really tired… time to take a little nap…

“Mr. Driesen,” said Robbe, jarring Sander back. “Do you remember any of that?”

Sander decided to intact some subtle flirting so the angel would let him sleep. “I’m in love with you.” Nailed it.

“No, Mr. Driesen, do you remember being kicked in the head?”

“Your eyes are pretty.”

“Mr. Driesen?”

Céleste held onto Sander’s bed railings to keep herself upright. “He’s not gonna know.” She pantomimed tilting a beer back.  

“You use conditioner, don’t you?” said Sander, because it seemed like the natural direction of conversation.

“It’s not really my job to do this.” Robbe shined the light into Sander’s eyes. “Please follow the light for me with your eyes not your head.”

Sander stared him down and didn’t move an inch. “You don’t?”

“How does your tummy feel?” He was talking like he would with little children, going through the motions, Sander guessed. It was a good guess. He could be a very good guesser once the alcohol started to wear off. “Does your stomach hurt?”

Sander was too busy thinking about his guessing prowess to answer the question. The alcohol was not, in fact, wearing off.

Robbe took a step away from the bed, as if considering another test to determine the extent of injury. He thought better of it. “This isn’t my job. I’ll refer him through to the specialist. And you—” He stared daggers at Théo. “—should put the correct age on paperwork. Are we clear?”

“He acts like he’s six,” Théo offered.

“If something more pressing was wrong, mislabeling his age could lead to the hospital being under-prepared to treat the ailment.” Robbe’s eyes returned to meet Sander’s. Sander felt sparks travel through his fingertips… or maybe he was just cold. “Some symptoms mean more when in children than in adults, and you could have panicked an entire ward over a lesser problem.”

“If it was so bad,” Cas protested, “The guy at the nurses’ station would have shut us down! He let it through.”

Robbe, while maybe a little flushed, had kept everything together until that point. As soon as the words exited Cas’s mouth, he made a face like a key in his head had turned and everything had clicked. Without another word to Sander or his friends, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the hospital room.

“Jens!” Sander heard him yell. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sander’s coworkers burst into crazed laughter for the umpteenth time that night. When they recovered though, there was a wordless agreement that it was time to head back home and leave Sander with Michaël for the remainder of the tests, since they were roommates. He was glad for it; everything in his body wanted him to lay very still for the next three hundred and fifty years. The blankets were soft. His eyelids were heavy. There was blood on his face and a gash that someone would have to wake him up later to stitch. He had earned a good night’s rest by now.

One by one, they filed past the curtains. Sander was concussed, and maybe a little drunk, and the least credible source for information on body language. That said, he could have sworn that Michaël took his hand at some point when the new doctor came in.

No need to care about that. When he drifted off, he imagined kissing Robbe under strobe lights, even though he knew the infatuation would dissipate before morning.

[anwenwrites]

Justice—A Landry Oneshot

A oneshot of Landry’s thoughts as he prepares to send that fateful email to Mrs. Martinez’s family.

I don’t care if she’s supposed to be my friend. She can’t get away with this. Not this time.

Earlier today, Bryce, Jackie, Sienna, Elijah, and I told Casey that Mrs. Martinez died, and she broke down crying. The others all tried to comfort her and feed her the “You gave Mrs. Martinez enough time to live her dream” crap. Yeah, right; I’m sure her family will find that super comforting. The rest of my roommates all flocked around Casey with hugs and words of comfort, but I just stood against the wall with my arms folded. Why should I bother to comfort Casey? She brought this all on herself. She killed a patient, for God’s sake!

And yet somehow even being a patient murderer didn’t stop Casey from becoming the number one intern. Such bullshit. Casey never deserved the number one ranking. That was supposed to be me. It absolutely blows my mind that this girl even made it past her first week. She was late on the very first day! But of course some lady had to collapse in the waiting room, and Casey was at the right place at the right time. And so it happened that she got to impress Dr. Ramsey by assisting him with a hemothorax patient, which by default meant that no one gave a crap that she was late. She got herself lauded as a hero with the power of her luck alone. I, on the other hand, get up at the ass crack of dawn to show up early every day—every single fucking day—and no one gives me any credit for it. 

It’s totally unfair. Casey spends all her free time parading herself around with guys, namely Bryce and Rafael. She must have thought no one noticed that she hooked up with Bryce at our housewarming party—I heard everything because I stayed up studying after all the guests left—only to flaunt Rafael right in Bryce’s face at dinner weeks later! I’d like to think that I’m not one to slut shame, but...well, you know. You’d think getting drunk at every opportunity and sleeping around like she does would cause her performance to nosedive, but somehow she’s number one. She even beat Aurora! I knew the competition would be rigged in favor of the chief’s niece. That much was to be expected. But I never in a million years would have imagined that some frivolous, drama-loving girl would snag that elusive top spot by worming her way into the great Ethan Ramsey’s approval. Is she sleeping with him? There must be some reason why he picked her to come to Miami with him. I know there was more to it than just her being number one. 

I should be number one. I never slack off. I study way harder than Casey or any of my roommates. Probably even more than any of the other interns. And I don’t let girls get in the way of my progress as a doctor. Casey offered to be my wingwoman at the bar after our first day, but I said no. Sure, I was nervous about talking to the girl at the bar, but more than anything, I knew better than to trust another intern who was probably just trying to distract me so she could make a better first impression than me. And when she offered to get Dr. Ramsey to sign my book for me? Yes, I’ve had literal dreams about working with Dr. Ramsey, but I saw that as the perfect opportunity to make Casey look stupid in the hopes that Dr. Ramsey would laugh at her. She made the better first impression, even though she was late and I was early. So I had to level the playing field a little. 

Unfortunately, he actually signed the book. I mean, it was cool, but still. My resentment for Casey started brewing deep inside me that very day. Why was it that she could get my idol to notice her, and I couldn’t? It was so embarrassing that I had to enlist her help to get him to sign my book, even if it was all part of my scheme. 

That was when my plan changed. I knew I had to get on Casey’s good side and convince her to put in a good word for me to Dr. Ramsey. But she never did. She claimed the competition would ruin all our friendships, and was even against joining it at first, yet she couldn’t even be bothered to teach Ramsey my name. Some “friend”, I say. 

  She didn’t teach Ramsey my name, so the only option I had left was to tarnish hers. It was only fair. That’s why one day, when Casey wasn’t looking, I turned off her pager. Ooh, the attendings must have been furious with her! And I’ll never forget the look on Casey’s face when she started treating a patient only to discover that her chart was missing. At first this seemed to have the desired effect. Dr. Mirani’s face went beet red with anger, and he ripped Casey a new one right in front of her patient. I faked words of encouragement to her before standing back and savoring the panic in her eyes, all the while crumpling her chart into a tight ball and hiding it in my scrubs. But that plan didn’t work either; even though some interns laughed, everyone still loved Casey. Everyone who mattered, anyway. If only Dr. Ramsey had seen Casey “lose” her chart. 

My next plan was to pull as many nurses as I could aside and tell them that Casey was trash talking them. All of them but Danny believed me, too. Even Jackie believed me when I said that Aurora must have been the one turning off Casey’s pager and hiding her chart! We joked about how pathetic Aurora was, and I smirked to myself as Jackie walked away grumbling about Princess Nepotism, without even the slightest inkling that I was the real culprit. So far, sabotaging a friend—I mean rival—who’s been getting all the recognition I deserve has worked pretty well for me. I guess sometimes life can be fair after all. You just have to make it fair. 

From the beginning, Casey clearly had an undeserved advantage. But that was forgivable, because that could be dealt with. I could make her look bad in front of the attendings and get all the nurses to hate her. What couldn’t be forgiven, however, was Mrs. Martinez’s death. She’s gone and she can never be brought back. Mrs. Martinez is dead, all because Casey stole an unapproved drug from a pharma rec—a drug with a forty percent chance of death—and administered it to Mrs. Martinez without the hospital’s knowledge or permission. When Casey first told us of her plan, I couldn’t believe my ears. I thought she was crazy. I told her resolutely that I would have no part in this. She and all my other roommates tried to make me feel bad for telling her that what she wanted to do was wrong, but I stood my ground. She still thought that it was some kind of two-sided argument, but I knew that I was doing the right thing, both legally and morally. But Casey did the wrong thing, and now the only way to even slightly remedy the situation would be to tell Mrs. Martinez’s family exactly how she died. They deserve to know the truth.

And I have the power to give that to them.

The day after I learned what Casey was planning, I paid a visit to Mrs. Martinez myself, during which I brought her some of Sienna’s homemade cookies and one of Elijah’s comic books (both happily gave me what I asked for when I told them I wanted to treat Mrs. Martinez) and asked her to tell me all about her family. Normally I would never waste my time on such unimportant details when there are symptoms to be treated and diagnoses to be made, but Mrs. Martinez’s case was totally different: in the likely event that Casey failed and Mrs. Martinez died, the only comfort Mrs. Martinez’s family could possibly have was to know how she died. And so I politely listened as Mrs. Martinez told me all about her son Luis. Where he lived, what his job was, how special he was to her. I don’t remember a word of what she said to me, but I wrote down where he worked. Then when I got home, I stayed up all night during the longest break I had all week to track Luis down. After a harrowing search, I was just about ready to give up, when I finally found a page about the Luis Martinez on his company’s website, with his contact information at the bottom. I wrote down his email address on a little pink sticky note, which I hid carefully away in a big green textbook.

Except there’s only one problem: several minutes of digging around in my desk drawers has revealed that the big green textbook is not in any of them. I must have left it outside. 

I lay an ear against my door and hear the sound of giggles on the other side. Crap. Everyone else is home now too. 

I tiptoe into the main living room to find my roommates with their noses buried in their laptops. Sienna folds chocolate chips into a bowl of cookie dough while she reads. Elijah taps out the theme song of one of his favorite shows on the table. Jackie is so deeply engrossed in her own little world of focused studying that even God himself couldn’t shake her out of it if He tried.

The only one not studying is Casey. She speaks in not-so-hushed whispers into her laptop, only stopping occasionally to let Rafael respond. Her feet are propped up on the table, dangerously close to knocking over her coffee. Next to her mug is my green textbook. Of course.

Sienna hears me and looks up. “Hey, Landry!” she says cheerfully. Elijah stops

drumming on the table long enough to wave at me. 

For the first time since I started formulating my plan, a strange emotion washes over me. Sadness, perhaps? This little scene of five happy roommates won’t last long after I contact Luis Martinez. The others may have been easy to fool, but Casey will surely figure out I was the one sabotaging her, and then she’ll get everyone to feel bad for her. This little roomie unit is about to meet an untimely, drama-filled death. And it’ll all be because of me.

I thought Casey and I were friends. I really did. Even when I got her to sign the book to make her look stupid. As long as she made me look good, she was a friend in my book. 

But she never did. And now she’s going to lose her license and drag the rest of our roommates down with her. 

But not me. 

I won’t be dragged down. 

There is absolutely zero reason why I should feel bad about sabotaging her.

“Uh, Landry?” Casey asks, confused. I realize I’m standing over her, one hand on top of the textbook. 

“You didn’t read this, did you?” I blurt before I can think. They cannot know about that little pink sticky note.

“No…” Casey says slowly. She eyes me suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

Shit. My heart begins to race and my hands get clammy as I rack my brain for an excuse. “I just...realized I misdiagnosed a patient!” I lie, grabbing the textbook and scurrying back to my room, ignoring my roommates’ perplexed whispers.

That was too close, I think to myself as I close the door behind me and clutch the textbook to my chest. I set it on my desk and flip to page 329, where the little pink sticky note is waiting for me, all but beckoning me to finally put the information it contains to good use. 

This is it. It’s time.

I snag the sticky note and flip open my fully charged laptop. I have at least ten unread emails, but they can wait. Ignoring the emails from work, I log into the fake anonymous account I’ve created just for this. Without a moment’s hesitation, I type Mr. Martinez’s address into the recipient box. Justice is about to be served.

[artificialqueens]

Underneath The Mistletoe, Part 2 (Bianca/???) - Albatross

AN: second installment of Underneath The Mistletoe! This is probably gonna end up being 4 parts in total but we’ll see.

As Bianca drove off from Willam’s apartment, she placed her phone on speaker and called up Alyssa. She only had to wait through three rings before a voice on the other line picked up with a rather unamused, “Bitch.”

“Hey, Alyssa!-”

“No, no. Nuh-uh,” she interrupted in order to start a tirade that had been stewing all day, “Don’t you talk to me like you didn’t leave my house in absolute state last night! Y’all tryna drink me out of house and home and-”

“Hey, I wasn’t the only one! Raja-”

“You and Raja! You two were the ones that broke into my liquor cabinet-”

“No, we didn’t!” Bianca squeaked out as she attempted to defend herself. “It was unlocked!”

“You both spearheaded it!” Alyssa declared adamantly. “None of the others would’ve even found those bottles if it weren’t for you two snooping around!”

Hating that she was getting sidetracked by this unwanted argument, Bianca felt obligated to point out, “We weren’t snooping!”

But that only produced another loud tangent being screamed through the phone line as Alyssa ranted away. If the car hadn’t been steadily moving along through the busy streets, Bianca might have been inclined to bang her head on the steering wheel. After her eyes rolled for the umpteenth time and Alyssa’s scolding reached it’s eighth minute, Bianca just couldn’t take it anymore. Interrupting the rant much like a wrecking ball going through drywall, she relented, “Okay! Fuck! I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry.”

To her surprise, Alyssa actually remained quiet as she waited for her to go on. At this point Bianca expected there to be more to her bitching but it seems she was willing to listen to what Bianca had to say. After knowing the other woman for so long, Bianca knew the best and quickest solution would be to remedy the situation. Though in this case it felt like more like a bribe than anything else.

But either way it was the right thing to do and had she not needed Alyssa’s help anyway, she likely would have done something similar eventually. Allowing a decent amount of shame and guilt to tint her voice, Bianca offered, “Listen…Can I make it up to you, buy you another bottle or two? Maybe that fruity shit you like?”

She couldn’t remember the brand at the moment but she had no doubt Alyssa knew which wine she was referring to. Expensive, flashy, and hardly worth the cost in Bianca’s opinion but it’d be worth it to soothe Alyssa’s anger and get the information she desperately wanted. 

But almost expectantly, Alyssa was playing hardball. She countered with a very firm, “…Four bottles.”

“Four?!?” Bianca screamed out in disbelief. That shit is pricey. She could practically hear her bank account crying in protest already. Alyssa, however, remained stubborn and brought up once again, “Excuse you, bitch. Did you see how much y’all drank last night? I can tell you right now, it was a helluva lot more than four bottles worth!”

“Ugh, fine!” She conceded, along with a mental note that Raja owes her for this. “But you gotta answer my questions.”

Joyful and smug at having been promised her favorite drink, Alyssa was all too happy to assist Bianca with her dilemma. As the hostess, she did try remain somewhat level-headed throughout the evening, more so than her roommate, and was able to recall a few names that she thought she remembered seeing towards the end of the get-together.

Running through her list, Bianca noted, “Right…so I missed…Shangie, Violet, and…”

“Nina,” Alyssa supplied absently, undoubtedly doing something else more engaging as she talked with Bianca.

Dreading the answer, Bianca began, “Which-”

“West.”

“Oh, fuck me,” she muttered to herself. She could only imagine what kind of impression she left on one of her newest friends. There was a small hope that just maybe Nina wouldn’t remember any more of the night than she or Willam had…or at least that anything she might’ve done while drunk would not come back to haunt her later. After all, she really had hoped to get to know Nina better in the coming weeks and acting like a drunken, hot mess was not in her plan.

Breaking through Bianca’s wandering mind, Alyssa took to suspiciously asking her, “Now are you gonna tell me what this is about, Miss Thing?”

“Nope!” Bianca replied briskly, “Thanks, bye!”

“Bitch, my wine-”

“I’ll drop it off tomorrow,” she assured her and right as she ended the call, let out another teasing “Bye!”

As soon as she was sure she dropped the other line, Bianca let out a groan of frustration. If she knew she could keep it, she’d have promised herself anything that she’d never drink around friends again! But that’d be a very short-lived pledge and she knew it all too well. At least she got three more names she missed from Alyssa. Though she had a feeling that none of them were her mystery kisser.

Nina was far too tall, even if she were wearing flats that night, which seemed rather unlikely. As for Violet, Bianca couldn’t really see her getting drunk enough to make out with her and just vaguely she recalled seeing Violet with red lips earlier in the night…But Shangela…she was a possibility, though very unlikely.

As soon as Bianca got home, she confirmed that Shangie had been wearing green lipstick (thanks Instagram) but what kept Bianca from officially adding her to the list was simply because of Alyssa. 

Those two were close. 

And if Bianca had kissed Shangela, she doubted very much Alyssa would not already know about it, especially considering it would have happened in her house. So for now, Shangela will just remain in the back of her mind…Maybe if no one else pans out, she’ll reconsider but for now she has four other suspects to consider and first on her list is Dela.

Of the four, Dela seemed the most likely. Bianca had always felt comfortable and open around her. If something had happened between them last night, it would have just been for fun because of the stupid mistletoe. Bianca could see herself giving into Dela for a quick peck if she had bugged her long enough. After all, it was hard to say ‘no’ to someone so bubbly and friendly, particularly if she throws in one of those infectious smiles…Plus out of all the suspects that remained, she was probably the most sober and might actually remember what all had happened…not that that really said much with Bianca’s group of friends.

But following a short conversation with her that night, Bianca learned that Dela had actually gone home shortly after 2AM. Seems Jinkx had a little too much to drink so Dela took charge of ordering a Lyft ride for both of them. She actually made a quick joke that Jinkx was trying to kiss just about everyone she found near one of the clumps of mistletoe. One person that took her up on the offer was actually Willam, not that Bianca was much too surprised by that…Though now that she’s thought about it, that’s probably how Willam’s lipstick got smudged with red…

Well, one minor mystery solved. 

She thanked Dela for the information and crossed her off the list. They made plans to meet up well after the holidays but Bianca knew they’d probably see each sometime around New Year’s. Rumor had it that someone was thinking of hosting a party that night. Maybe Roxxxy, maybe not. But if not, they’ll probably find each other while bar-hopping.

For now, Bianca had to remove her from her mind and refocus on finding her mystery makeout partner. Her list already had two of the five original suspects crossed. Now who’s the next most likely? Bianca knew she’d have a chance to meet up Phi Phi in a few days, she could always ask her then but as for Trixie and Manila? Perhaps a text…or wait!

Bianca still had holiday gifts to deliver to her friends!

That was actually why she’d set up the dinner date with Phi Phi in the first place; to exchange gifts before Phi Phi left to go visit family across the country. Bianca could always use her delivery as an excuse to talk to the others…In fact, tomorrow would be perfect to visit Raja and Manila. She needs to pick up wine for Alyssa anyways, why not an extra bottle for Raja and then take it over to the couple?

And a little booze in her system might help soften the blow if Bianca had in fact kissed her girlfriend….

******

Dela: 🎶Guess who I just got a text from🎶

Mariah: Spill it baby!

Dela: Bianca…

Vanessa: Well?

Vanessa: Quit stalling and tell us the goss, girl! I got Netflix to binge!

Willam sat back and watched the conversation play out on the screen. Every so often she’d save a screenshot of a particularly hilarious comment or reaction.

‘For reference,’ she told herself. When the time comes to play all her cards.

*******

Unsurprisingly, the wine and spirits shop was quite busy when Bianca decided to drop in. Whether it was purely holiday related or just because it was after work and people wanted to get a head start on happy hour was left up to debate…probably a mix of both. Either way, Bianca had to dodge person after person in order to navigate the aisles, not to mention the occasional basket hitting her as someone unexpectedly backed up or rushed past her. But she was successful in locating both Alyssa’s overpriced shit and a suitable potential peace offering for Raja.

Right before dropping off the bottles at Alyssa’s house, Bianca made sure to text Raja and ask if both she and Manila were at home. It took nearly the entire length of her visit with Alyssa to get a response back (50 long, exhausting minutes thanks to Alyssa’s inane chatter and Laganja chiming in every now and then) but once she had her confirmation, she excused herself using the very true, if somewhat exaggerated, reason that she had other gifts to deliver tonight.

******

Manila: Three guesses who’s coming over!

Manila: she’s on her way now

Raja: We’ll keep you updated with all the juicy details 😜

Manila: 🙄

Raja: 😘😘😘😘

Sharon: Ugh. Get a fucking room

*******

Upon arriving at the girlfriends’ shared house, Bianca was greeted at the door by an immediate warm and a tad too tight hug from Manila. Not that this was anything unusual for the woman, she’d always been rather physical with her signs of affection. Raja welcomed her with a more brief embrace and relieved Bianca of the parcels she was carrying, particularly after spotting the wine bottle peeking out from the gift bag.

“You know me so well,” she complimented.

“Easiest person to shop for,” Bianca agreed. “Just pick up a bottle for you and a bottle for me.”

Once inside and settled down, Bianca let each of the women unwrap their real gifts as she watched and drank from the bottle Raja already had opened for the night. Raja’s present consisted of several odd little keys that they had found while out shopping together a few months ago. Each was unique, especially in regards to their handles. Immediately after spotting them, Raja had announced her desire to use the keys for some kind of new art project or perhaps even to make an accessory of some kind. She was entirely ready to purchase them on the spot except for one small detail; the antique store’s strict cash-only policy.

Raja just didn’t have enough cash on her at the time. Had she asked, Bianca certainly would have lent her the money that day but for whatever reason, Raja didn’t even seem to think of it. Perhaps she thought she’d just come back later and pick them up but it worked out better for Bianca either way. Shortly after departing Raja’s company, she circled back to buy the keys and only a day or two following that, she received a text from Raja complaining that the items were already gone from the shop.

The instant Raja recognized her gift, she let out an affectionate murmur of “Bitch” and pulled Bianca in for a proper hug. She fell into a distracted state, examining each one and undoubtedly forming a plan of what she wanted to do now that they were finally in her possession. Though she remained quiet and calm, Bianca could easily spot the sparkle in her eyes. The one she’d always get when she becomes absorbed in her artwork.

As Raja mulled over ideas, Bianca turned her attention back to Manila. She’d been planning Manila’s gift for quite awhile and took great pains in researching and finding just the right thing. 

Much earlier in the year, when the couple moved into their new house, one of Manila’s favorite bracelets broke. It had been a gift from Raja on their first anniversary; yellow gold twisted into a unique, almost braid-like appearance. Rubies accented some of the knots while diamond chips filled in the remainder.

Manila had been wearing the bracelet, as she did almost every other day, while the pair unpacked boxes and moved around their larger belongings. At some point during the process, the bracelet caught itself on a piece of furniture and one of the links snapped at its weakest point, sending a number of its neighboring pieces clattering to the floor. Manila had been heartbroken, she took it to the same jeweler it originally came from but the style had been discontinued several years prior; they had no additional links that could replace the broken one.

Knowing how much that bracelet meant to her, Bianca questioned a number of jewelry shops in both their city and others close by. After perhaps the tenth or eleventh call, she finally found someone who still retained a few extra links in their store’s repair department and with Raja’s help, she was able to sneak out the bracelet without Manila’s noticing. The work had been completed just three weeks prior and to both women’s amazement, Manila had yet to realize her bracelet was missing from her jewelry box.

But the instant she saw her prized bracelet gleaming back at her looking just like new, her eyes clouded with tears and she pulled in Bianca for another tight squeeze. She marveled at how amazing it looked, nothing could be seen to suggest it had ever been broken, and asked how she even managed to accomplish this. Bianca downplayed the effort, preferring not to get into too much detail but she made sure to cite Raja’s help as a main reason for why she’d been so successful in keeping this a secret.

In the end, she wasn’t sure how much Manila actually heard but that didn’t matter. All she cared about was that Manila loved her gift and if the stray tears falling down her cheek or admiring grin weren’t enough to convince her, the near bone-crunching hugs she kept receiving certainly got the point across.

They spent another hour or so chatting until the bottle of wine was nearly empty. It was only at this point that Bianca felt confident enough to ask the couple what they remembered of Alyssa’s party. Much to Bianca’s surprise they’d been a good bit more sober than she was but certain details seemed to have escaped them.

“So nothing exciting or, I don’t know, interesting, happened that you remember?” she probed, trying not to feel utterly let down or disappointed.

“Not really, it was pretty tame for us, all things considered,” Raja replied back with a fond, secretive smile before taking another sip. “No one got really wild or out of hand like we do on New Year’s. One of the few parties where no one even broke anything.”

“Right,” Bianca agreed slowly. She stalled for a moment then decided to try a subtle route one final time, “But you didn’t do anything after like, 2ish? That you can remember, I mean?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Raja wandered through her thoughts for a few seconds before recalling, “I was smoking with Laganja and Adore and that’s about it. Oh, and Alaska joined, too.”

“And I was talking with Nina and Phi Phi,” Manila chimed in. A considering look flashed across her face, as if she weren’t sure if were recalling the events correctly or not, but ultimately decided to mention, “…I think…you were with Shangela. Shangela and someone else. Maybe Katya?”

Perking back up, Bianca inquired earnestly, “Anything after that?”

The couple shared another perplexed glance with each other, like neither could entirely fill in the blanks, which was fair, but Bianca had a hope there still might be something they hadn’t mentioned yet. Unfortunately, as she soon found out, there was.

“We finished the joints and came back upstairs…,” Raja stated, taking another sip of her wine, and adding in, “I went off to find Manila and then…Adore and Laganja found you.”

Feeling her eyes roll out habit, Bianca let out an annoyed groan, “Ugh. Bet that conversation was thrilling. Glad I don’t remember that.”

Chuckling at the statement, Raja insisted, “You two were getting along, actually. You were all laughing at least. Adore put her feet in your lap at some point or tried to…I think you pushed them away and she fell off the couch.”

“Oh! And Alyssa caught Jinkx making out with someone!” Manila chirped away before breaking into a case of the giggles. “Dela took her home after that, I think.”

A reluctant smile stretched across Bianca’s lips but she couldn’t find it in her heart to be as amused by the situation as she normally would be. By now it was entirely clear that Bianca was fishing for information and that was a line of questioning she dreaded having to answer. Had the two not been privy to the group chat, they might have been more tactful…but in this case, they wanted to have a little fun too.

The pair exchanged a silent, meaningful look with one another as Bianca drained her glass and released a heavy sigh. Coming to a mutual agreement to pursue this further, Raja opted to be direct and ask outright why Bianca kept harping on the events of the party. Trying to remain aloof, Bianca didn’t answer the question right away. She played it off as a simple wondering of the party’s late night events.

No, as Raja anticipated, it took quite a bit of probing (as well as some gentle encouragement from Manila) before Bianca was ready to share anything…Though the copious amount of wine rushing through her system probably helped too. It was after draining one final glass that Bianca finally revealed some of the details of what she knew happened at the party…and who one of her potential suspects might be.

Raja laughed a little, because of course she would, and even Manila couldn’t help but to smile at the thought of just how off her reasoning was. Still, she did feel a bit of sympathy for Bianca’s confusion.

“And you’re sure I didn’t kiss you?”

Reaching over to take Bianca’s hand in hers, she assured her friend with a sympathetic smile, “Pretty sure, honey.”

This time the disappointment was clear on Bianca’s face but a small part of her was still skeptical. While it wouldn’t be ideal for her to have kissed one of her closest friend’s girlfriend, Bianca would have preferred Manila over her remaining suspects. It’d be a lot less messy after all.

As she tried to bring herself to accept this answer as it is, the couple next to her exchanged a few glances. It was the kind of nonverbal communication that only occurs between people that are exceptionally close, something Bianca was a little envious of. A darting of their eyes, a tilt to the head, a soft noise of questioning and finally a nod and grin of approval.

Bianca’s mind worked to unravel the meaning but in a second, it became clear. For just a few moments, her lips were connected with Manila’s and her eyes slid shut at the sensation. 

It was different from Willam’s, very different. 

Her tempo was relaxed and confident, so self-assured in what she was doing. It was almost like a meeting of the minds as they instantly fell into a matching pace…but there was absolutely no spark to it. If anything it was like each was just going through the motions and in some manner, that was even more of a let down than when she had kissed Willam. There had been some trace of passion or excitement with that kiss but here there was a stark lack of any emotions. Nothing like what she’d seen when Raja and Manila had kissed in front of her.

But that was just as well, she supposed. And now she had her answer for certain.

Pulling away, she conceded with a bittersweet smile, “Definitely not you.”

“Sorry, sweetie,” Manila murmured as she ran a consoling hand across Bianca’s back, “Hope you find out who it was, though.”

“Yeah…Me too.”

[mysunfreckle]

i don't know if you're taking requests right now, but if you are, would you please write some more ace!enjolras? (i love your writing by the way!)

I don’tthink I’ve ever written and Enj that wasn’t ace-spec, but I’m guessing youmeant my Modern Means Less Miserable Enjolras, so here you go! ^^

The cocktail party

ExR Pining, Friendship Fluff, 1.7k, cw alcohol.

Enjolras isnot really in the habit of questioning why parties happen. Partly because hegrew up with Courfeyrac, but also because it doesn’t really matter. Not as longas it means that his friends are happy and he gets to be around them.

For thisparty, however, Enjolras is very aware of the reason. The reason is that Jehanand Bahorel are of the opinion that adult life did not include as many cocktailparties a they had been led to believe and this is an attempt to remedy this.

Which iswhy Enjolras is currently drinking third (?) strawberry daiquiri and happilywatching Feuilly teach Bahorel how to juggle with limes.

They’re atBahorel’s house, of course. The only place with enough  actual party space for all of them. There’s noone to bother them here either, since the last of his roommates also seems tohave taken off last month. Weird, that.

Enjolrastakes another sip from the pretty glass.

“Enj! Enj!”

Enjolrassmiles at the sudden presence of Courfeyrac’s arms around his middle.

“Hey Courf,having a good time?”

“The best,”Courfeyrac beams, letting go after one more tight squeeze. “I’m gonna fetchBaz’ guitar.”

He dartsoff again before Enjolras can stop him and that’s really rather disappointingbecause Courfeyrac gives good hugs and hugs are nice and if Courfeyrac couldstay still for more than a minute at the time Enjolras could hug him back. Thatnever happens until much later at the parties though, when Courfeyrac has gonea bit sleepy and feels like leaning on people.

Actually,that sounds like a wonderful idea. Because he’s not sleepy, but he is tired, and he wants another hug.

Enjolrasputs his empty glass down on the nearest flat surface, deciding that he’sdefinitely had enough to drink for tonight. Those were a bit stronger than what he’s used to. He should go get a glass ofwater. And find someone to hug, or lean on, or both. Except Courf is so muchsmaller than him. Too small to comfortably lean against. Or maybe that isn’tright. Because Grantaire is also smaller than him – not that much smaller, but still – and he looks like the perfect sizeto lean against. He certainly does now anyway, sitting hunched over in a cornerwith Musichetta.

Enjolrascan’t quite see what they’re doing, but he cansee Grantaire is wearing one of his soft sweaters. He’s leaning his head closeto Chetta’s and Enjolras can just see the edge of a grin as he talks.

The smileon Enjolras face is as undeliberate as the decision to move towards them.

…

“Honestlythough, Chetta,” Grantaire tuts. “I’m disappointed in you. What is even the point of doing my nails if they don’tglitter.”

“Listen,”Chetta sniffs. “When you boys stop using my purse as a cargo bay, I may haveroom to bring more than three colours.” She traces the edges of Grantaire’sthumb nail with expert precision. “Anyway, you’re getting the bi flag, so don’tcomplain. And stop twitching your fingers!”

Grantairemakes an effort to keep one hand still while snapping the fingers of the otherand Chetta gives him an exasperated look. It’s one of her best, and Grantairemeets it with a grin. There are very few things more comfortable than beingfussed over by Musichetta. Grantaire is low-key convinced that’s the reviewthat all her clients would give her, if they felt like they could get away withit: “A+ wedding planner. 10/10 would be fussed over and shepherded again.”

Before hecan put this into words in an appropriately witty and teasing manner, however,something happens that he isn’t prepared for in any way.

Enjolrascomes out of nowhere, sinks down next to him like the sun setting after atiring day and…drapes himself against Grantaire from behind to look over hisshoulder.

He smellslike strawberries.

That is asfar as Grantaire can get his brain to supply anything even slightly informativebefore he freezes completely.

“What areyou guys doing?” Enjolras asks and Grantaire may not be able to move or thinkright now, but he’s still very awareof the fact that Enjolras’ breath is ghosting past his neck.

The nextthing he’s aware of is that Enj sounds…

“I’mpainting R’s nails,” Musichetta says pleasantly. “You okay there, Enj? Yousound a bit wobbly.”

“I’m fine,”Enjolras mumbles. “I wanted to sit down, and I wanted to sit down here,because…”

There is ashort pause for a deep sigh and Grantaire’s eyes meet Chetta’s for a moment.There is a smile pulling on her mouth that is a few steps ahead of Grantaire’s,he’s still stuck on the simultaneously hilarious and frankly distressing notionthat Enjolras is drunk.

“…because Ilike you both so much,” Enj finisheswith a sigh.

He restshis chin on Grantaire’s shoulder and it is literal torture to Grantaire that hecan’t move right now. Not to push Enj off, of course, that would be heinous.Probably a crime of the same calibre as moving when a cat has curled up on yourlap. But Musichetta is still stubbornly painting his nails and Grantaire needsto have photographic evidence of what is going on right now, because he’spretty sure that his brain is going to do it’s best to convince him it neverhappened in the morning. Enjolras is mutteringto himself for fuck’s sake.

On the onehand, part of his brain is definitely still malfunctioning at the fact thatEnjolras is literally pressed up against him all of a sudden, but on the other,Enjolras is drunk and mumbly and trying to cuddle him. For lack of a betterword. And that is the strongest proof he’s had so far that at some point,somehow, he has actually managed to convey to Enjolras that he can be trusted.That he can be his friend and nothing else.

“Enj, you’rea treasure,” Musichetta says warmly. “And you’re keeping R still for me, thankyou for that.”

Grantaireis halfway through narrowing his eyes at her, when Enjolras shifts and says:“Oh, should I move? I didn’t–”

“No,”Grantaire stops him hastily, and he adds, quickly switching to his jokingvoice: “By all means, use me as a recliner.”

“I’m not,”Enjolras protests, but he stops pulling away and that’s all Grantaire wantsright now.

“You havenice hands, Chetta,” Enjolras yawns. His hair is tickling Grantaire’s face withthe way it’s nearly leaning against him.

“Thankyou,” Musichetta smiles, and Grantaire makes a mental note to ask her what kindof superpowers she taps into to keep from making the gleeful noises ofamusement he can see in her eyes.

“They’re sosmall compared to R’s.”

This timeMusichetta doesn’t reply, she just bites her lip, and Grantaire takes a fullthirty seconds to curse his former self for not actually taking out his phoneand not just taking a picture, but filming the whole damn thing. Especiallysince Enjolras seems to be trying to hide his face in his hoodie at the moment.

“Enj,” hesays, trying to cover up the fondness in his voice with as mockingly serious atone he can muster. “If you fall asleep on me, I will ruin this nail polish just to take a picture of you and getBossuet to caption it with a pun. This is nothing personal, it is just aninevitability.”

Enjolraschooses not to turn his head before he replies and Grantaire wishes he couldunderstand the indignant answer muttered into his hoodie, he really, reallydoes.

…

The thingwith having a fairly low alcohol tolerance that makes him go very lazy and verycuddly early on, is that Enjolras rarely actually has hangovers. And hecertainly never wakes up the next day with fuzzy gaps in his memory.

So when hedoes wake up the following morning, he gets to remember absolutely everything.Only now, with his sober self present and in a position to re-evaluate everysingle thing he did last night in terribledetail.

Enjolrasgroans and hides his face into his pillow.

He shouldnot have done that to Grantaire. Not after all the effort it took them to getwhere they are today. It’s selfish, and completely inconsiderate of Grantaire’sfeelings. Because Enjolras is awareof Grantaire’s feelings. There’s just a sort of unspoken agreement that theywill both act as if he doesn’t. Because. Well. His feelings are…different.

Outside hisbedroom door Enjolras can hear the sounds of Combeferre having a sternconversation with the coffee maker. They both have work to do today. So thatprobably means Ferre will come wake him up soon.

He rollsover, making a genuine effort to actually wake up. And push those regretfulthoughts from his mind. What’s done is done. He could text Grantaire toapologize, but it wouldn’t do any good. Probably wouldn’t do anything but callattention to it all and what use is that. Maybe Grantaire doesn’t mind as muchas he should. He rarely does…

He canapologize by watching himself more closely next time. And, possibly, watch Jehan a little bit more closely whilethey’re mixing the drinks. So he doesn’t end up doing something like thisagain.

Except, itreally had seemed like Grantaire didn’t mind. He had made jokes like he alwaysdid. He hadn’t laughed that tense, slightly too-harsh laugh he so often used to awhile ago. He had just been the way Enjolras had come to know him lately. JustGrantaire. Not nervous around him or provoking him or upset with him. Just,good. And it’s been like that. Good.

Maybethat’s why he did it. Because Enjolras can’t quite recapture what exactly wasgoing through his head just before he made the decision to slump againstGrantaire and stubbornly refuse to move in favour of warmth and softness, buthe does remember what it felt like. Allof it. And he’s not going to do it again, of course, he shouldn’t. He won’t. But,he kind of wishes he could.

[benbarnesescape]

Shift In Seasons - Winter

Modern Day Caspian AU

Warnings: PG 13

A/N: You thought I was going to let it live in sadness. No, I’m not that cruel…..at least not in this moment. And modern day Caspian is literally my only salvation at this point. Also doesn’t the above photo look like young college Caspian

The heat was overwhelming. It was taking up every crevice and nook that could be occupied in the large stadium space but no one paid any attention to it. Didn’t matter because the room was on fire.

The score on the board were nearing the triple digits and it was only the second quarter. Both teams had been on the heels of the other since the start of the game. Dark blue and silver clashed with the orange in black in the room, people of all ages yelling out for their teams in heated enthusiasm, cheering them on to no end.

And in the middle of all of this stood you.

You were on the wrong side of the bleachers upon Susan’s whiny request but that didn’t matter. You rocked the dark blue and silver jersey proudly as you sauntered up to her, catching cat calls and dirty talking. If she was going to make you dance with enemies better to do it wearing your team's armor. You had also thrown on a cute fitting sweater dress for afterwards, planning to go out and party and wanting something easy to change into.

“I said I would sit with you, didn’t say I’d sit and cheer for your team. Especially because Peter would kill me.”

She had scoffed, reminding you that just because you were dating her brother didn’t mean you had to be obnoxious about it. Which meant that you had to be just as much so just to get under her skin.

You both had been screaming at the top of your lungs, beers always filled as you laughed and joked among your neutral friends. It was why you had missed him, that long dark hair  that normally hung down his neck now cropped short, splayed in different directions from his hands running through his hair. Don’t know how you had missed the Xenos on the back of the jersey, the most unique last name in the history of the world, constantly being yelled out.

Probably because you were drunk and happy to see Susan in what seemed like months and your team was winning.

Exaggeration on the was. It was in the last quarter of the game, two minutes on the clock that the rebound had been thrown by Peter and intercepted by no other than Xenos himself. A beautiful throw swishing through the hoop as the buzzer signaled the end of the game had killed the hearts of many young Duke students and alumni in the gym. Susan was screaming at the top of her lungs, tugging at you as he turned toward you a huge smile on his face as Peter  high fived him before moving off so his teammates could celebrate with the man of the hour. You knew that smile. Knew those twinkling eyes, that chiseled jaw. Knew him.

Caspian Xenos the X. Only someone with a long ass pretentious name could be the star athlete at a pretentious school. Not like this ever caught up to Caspian. Instead he laughed along with teammates, high fiving strangers as he got carried to the locker room, his natural humbleness emitting off of him. 

Susan had only barely noticed that you were distracted, not overheated from your loss and had to mumble,

“What is it?”

You turn to her, shaking your head incredulously before letting out,

“You didn’t tell me that he transferred to Princeton.”

Her eyes tell you that isn’t the only secret she’s kept from you.

Caspian’s Perspective

The party, for all its hype and excitement, was dull. Sure they had beat a top ten school and sure that meant great things for them when they had to revisit playing them in the spring for March Madness but he was over it all. In all of his youthful lameness, he actually wanted to go back to his room and read a book, content by himself.

He never really was one for parties.

He only used to go to parties because you wanted to go, wanted to dance and socialize and be the light in a room of darkness and he had lived to make you happy.

But that was then.

He had to go to the party. Outside of being a top athlete and leader on campus, he had promised Susan. Though the details of their relationship were still muddled, he had promised her and no amount of awkward hook-ups could trump his loyalty to her as an old friend. And she had a surprise for him despite the outcome and he was curious.

Which was why he was slumped in a couch in a far off part of the house, sipping a beer slowly as he watched one of his teammates play a video game. Sure it was lame to play video games at a party but he had exhausted all of his social energy earlier and wanted to hide from all the women throwing themselves at him. 

There was obviously more problems he was not willing to deal with if he was trying to avoid women but he was going to attest it to tiredness.

“There you are!” Susan’s voice booming over the faint music of the frat house was what first grabbed his attention. Susan, for all her distinctive beauty, mingled with the rest of women who had been weaving in and out of the room and for a second he ignored.

Only for a second.

Because she wasn’t alone. On her heels, finishing a red solo cup and donning leggings and a tight fitting sweater dress was you.

You had worn your hair in a pony tail, trying to contain the curls on your head when you made contact with him.

And damn were you pissed.

“Heeeyyyy!” Susan squealed, wrapping her arms around him. She tried to deftly place a kiss on his lips but he maneuvered past it easily, his eyes never breaking from your own as you took in the scene.

Susan smelled of Southern Comfort and Coca-Cola and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same concoction in your cup.

“Look who I found.” Susan said in a sing song voice and he waved. Not a hello or how you’re done. Just one solid, awkward wave.

So the awkward dance began.

“Thought you were in Berkeley.” you say, placing the solo cup down and he shakes his head.

“Transferred in late October. Princeton offered a better sport scholarship.”

A nod.

“Thought you didn’t play basketball.”

He winces. That was true. And explained the start of your frustration.

“Changed my mind. Have a knack for it - like you said.”

Now you wince. Then there’s only silence, the sound of the bass and faint sound of gunfire prevailing over the space. The silence doesn't live long. Susan has picked up on the awkwardness of the situation and stands in front of both of you, drunkenly stomping her foot before exclaiming,

“Ok lets just put it out there. He moved back and we started hooking up. Figured it was fine since you were on again off again with Peter and when we started sleeping together you were back on with Peter. So Peter and i didn’t tell you - you said you didn’t want to ever know anything about him after graduation. Doesn’t mean we can’t all be friends now.”

The fire in your eyes says otherwise, your hands balling into fists says even more. He can't tell if you’re going to punch her or walk away but whatever has just happened probably had happened before as he catches that Peter isn’t around.

“Where is Peter?” he says naively again and you growl, shaking your head.

“Who knows. Probably getting drunk and bitching about me. We got into a fight because of you and how you always fuck things up.”

Then you turn on your heels and you leave, leaving you and Susan in the isolated room alone.

“Damn man, she is not your biggest fan.” his teammate comments and he can’t help but sigh and mutter,

“Shut up.”

He loses you for the rest of the night. Doesn’t know where you’ve snuck off to and if it wasn’t for Susan adamantly insisting that she was your ride, he wouldn’t stay. But he has to remedy what’s started.

When he confronts Susan about it, she smiles at him sheepishly, her cheeks toasty from the drink in her hand as she sways,

“I was tired of lying to her. And tired of you trying to figure out whatever the hell you’re trying to figure out with us and you.”

That had been two hours ago. Now it was nearing 1:30 and he was exhausted to his bones, the weight of the game finally catching up to him and his buzz from the beer transferring his energy to sleep. He’s walking out of the house, half asleep when he spots you. You're bundled up in a jacket, your arms around yourself with your phone in your hands. Obviously waiting for someone.

“Y/N? Are you ok?”

You turn to him, your long lashes blinking against your tear stained cheeks and he knows you're not. Knows those sad, Bambi eyes anywhere. Doesn’t know what compels him to take off his jacket to throw over you, the cold east coast air nipping at his skin in the darkness but he does.

He’s always hated seeing you cry.

“What happened?”

You roll your eyes to the sky, as if to will yourself from answering before you break down in tears and he’s drawing you closer to him, rubbing your back and shushing you.

“Susan left with some guy and Peter is drunk and pissed at me and I’m stuck in stupid New Jersey and I’m going to miss my train in the morning because I’m stuck in New Jersey at this stupid university with you.”

He chuckles at the last comment, drawing you closer before he pulls away and says,

“Listen, I know this isn’t ideal or anything. Being stuck with me in New Jersey but it's snowing again and it's cold and late and I’m more than happy to host you at my place.”

You throw him an incredulous eye as he continues in a hurried breath, “I can sleep on my fonton. My roommate is out and my bed is comfortable and it's just so I know you’re safe.”

You huff, looking back down at your dying phone before giving a slight nod.

“Fine. Ok.”

Reader POV

He was different. So similar in all the ways an old lover could be but so different. Mature. His growing shadow fit his jaw, peppering it so he looked more like a man than an insecure boy. His voice carried more weight in it, confidence and knowledge. He had been at Berkeley for two years, Susan had told you as you both took shots of cheap whiskey and coke in her car outside the frat house, before he decided to transfer back home. His dad had a heart attack and after that, well, he just wanted to be closer.

He had always been close to his family.

He pulls up to a small house that’s a ways back from the campus and you quirk an eyebrow.

Young 21 year old males didn’t live displaced from party town. They immersed themselves in it. As if knowing your thoughts he say softly, 

“I don’t like living on campus. Too many people trying to be in your business and always partying. I like being able to choose when I want to turn on my social self or not.”

You give a nod as he turns off his car, the black luxury jeep starting to cool off in the winter air.

“Seems odd for a guy who wants to discover himself.”

He gives a small wince, closing his eyes as he squeezes the steering wheel. It was a low blow but he never apologized for that night. Instead he ignored you. Ignored you for a whole goddamn year as you wallowed in grief publicly, ashamed of yourself. Angry at him.

“I owe you so much.” he finally whispers and you sigh, shaking your head.

“You don’t owe me a damn thing Caspian.”

You open up the passenger door, ignoring the way he curses under his breath as he follows you out of the car. Its peaceful where he lives, the snow falling quaintly on the frozen grass and he stuffs a hand in his pocket as he barrels for the door. He’s still only wearing a long sleeve as you’ve taken his jacket hostage. Not wanting to admit to yourself how you love the way you’re re-bathing in his scent again.

He unlocks his door quickly and you scurry behind him as he shuts it, the warmth of the house greeting you as he flicks on lights.

The house is small but surprisingly neat. A large plasma TV sits central in the room with a dark grey sofa. A lazy boy to the right. Some decorations of Europe and sports hang from the walls. The kitchen is also surprisingly clean and if it wasn’t for the random sport paraphernalia, you’d easily mistake that two college boys lived here.

“Trains may or may not run in the morning. Ice on the tracks. But you can stay here until Susan is ready to get you,” he walks to the kitchen as he begins to fill a glass of water and you shrug out of his jacket, hanging it on his coat rack followed by your own as you turn toward him. You kick off your boots before entering the house more. The room is spinning slightly and you’re mildly still feeling the buzz of your drinks but the confident elixir has now powered its way through your veins and you can’t help but spit out.

“Why didn’t you apologize?”

The question takes him off guard and his head snaps up at you, his dark chocolate eyes piercing into yours and he holds his breath. You think he’s not going to answer and then he says,

“I was ashamed. Ashamed that I broke your heart and I was being selfish for breaking your heart.”

“Just that?” you ask, trying to bite back the pain and he shakes his head slowly.

“And maybe….I don’t know….maybe I thought….we were going to break up at the end of the year anyways so why not get it over with.”

You roll your eyes, mad that all the pre-adolescent feelings were bubbling to the surface. You both were 21. You had to move on

“You don’t make those decisions on your own Caspian. You talk to the other person.”

“I know.” he mutters.

“Seriously. You don’t just choose  to stop loving the other person because you think it's the best decision for your relationship.”

“I know.” he says a bit louder and you cross your arms, rolling your eyes again in disbelief.

“Do you? Because that didn’t stop you from breaking me into an insecure little woman who dates Peter. Peter, who has the ego the size of Manhattan!”

“I KNOW!” he slams his fist on the countertop, dropping his head down. You’re taken aback by his outburst but stand your ground.

When he looks up at you, his face is calmer as he says in a crisp voice,

“I never wanted to break you. I just wanted you to be free of me while  I figured out how to be a man. Wanted to know how to be a full person so I could love you the right way when I was.”

The statement takes you off guard and you walk toward him, standing across from him in the kitchen. You lean against the counter top as you eye each other squarely, his jaw set in that way that always made you want to kiss it gently. You give a large sigh before saying,

“You were good enough for me.”

Something breaks between the two of you. Caspian strides over, grabbing your waist and pulling you flux toward his body. His lips fall down on you, caging you expertly as he kisses you. You sigh into it, relaxed and at home for what feels like years, your hands easily combing through his locks. He pulls away, tugging at your bottom lip before he whispers,

“You’ll always be too good for me. Too good because you’re perfect.”

Then he’s kissing you again, his tongue coaxing into your mouth as to tangle with yours. It slow and patient as he begins to push you backwards. His other hand finds your backside and lifts you easily, never breaking the kiss as he carries you to his bedroom.

You’re half aware of the flick of the lights in his room as he gently lays you down on the bed, hovering over you as his mouth leads a trail down to your neck. His hands catch under your sweater dress, breaking away fast enough to tug the thick material over your head. He takes just a moment to take you in, watching the way your breath rises and falls as you watch him nervously and he gives a soft smile before leaning down to kiss you,

“So beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world.”

You blush, kissing him again, memorizing his taste as you pull at the hem of his shirt, urging him to pull it off. He does so quickly, before his mouth returns to your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin as he nips down to your collarbone. His kisses move further, kissing teasingly down your breastbone and you giggle as his hands move to grab your soft breast, squeezing the tender area before you both feel it.

It's a low buzz in his jeans and he moans, shaking his head back and forth between your breast before pulling up.

“Mind if I check this? I don’t want to ruin the moment but if it's one of my teammates….they’ll harass me until I pick up.”

You smile, nodding as you run your hands through his hair and he sits back enough to dig his phone out of his pocket before he looks down, his face instantly frowning. He swipe the phone to answer and mumbles,

“Peter? What can I help you with?”

Peter. You had almost forgot about him. Your sorta boyfriend that you were mad at. Technically you probably shouldn’t be sleeping with his best friend.

“Y/N?,” he flicks his eyes toward you and says, “Yea, I know where she is. Was abandoned outside a party so told her she could crash at my place to be safe.”

There’s loud shouting and Caspian rolls his eyes and you sigh, looking for your dress. You know whatever magic was going to live in this moment had died.

“I didn’t - listen Peter, you were the one who abandoned your girlfriend in Jersey. Not me. Yes, like I said my place. We were just….watching a movie until she passed out. Yep she’ll be here. All right I’ll let her know. BYE PETER.” he hangs up the phone and throws it on the bed before he looks at you. You turn, pulling your hair loose and fluffing it before saying,

“Should probably go on the couch and start that movie you lied about it.”

He watches you, his dark eyes trying to read you as he nods, getting up and grabbing his shirt.

“Probably.” he’s mumbling again, eyes cast down and you know you hurt him.

“Caspian….we…..I…...this shouldn’t…” your still drunk and tumbling through the words but he shakes his head, grabbing your hands.

“I know.” he assures you, before moving past you.

You both don’t say a word until Peter shows up.

[imagine-your-way-out]

#7 | Cuddle Trouble | Lafayette x Reader

A/N: *background music of angels singing Hallelujah* I have returned!!! I’m sorry for the long wait and I would like to sincerely apologize to @heiloveee for letting her(is my pronoun right?) down. I made up the long wait with a long fic. Enjoy the mess I call my writing :)

Warnings: Drunk talking, boring first part

-

Maybe it was wrong for you to invite Lafayette over the first night you met him. Or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, your roommate was not happy.

You agreed to a night of partying with Charlie despite the headache that formed around noon. Deciding it was just a small problem and that you needed some time outside, you’ve taken an Advil and drank as many shots your body could manage.

“(Y/N),” your friend slurred. “D'ya want to dance wi’ me on dance-ly floor?” Obviously, they had more than a few drinks during the course of the night.

“Nope.” You waved them away. “I don’t want to slide myself between sweaty bodies tonight.” Besides, the headache you had awhile ago was coming back. You didn’t want to move so much right now. Charlie pouted and held your hands.

“Please, (Y/N),” they implored, “We can dance on the edge. You promised me crappy dancing.”

“I did not,” you said defensively.

Crappy dancing was a monthly tradition with your best friend wherein you would dance like the idiots you are on the dancefloor. It was a stress reliever to unwind the both of you. And you were sure that the crappy dancing quota for the month was done.

“Yes, you doooo,” they dragged out the last syllable. “When we went out clubbing two weeks ago, you said we’ll do crappy dancing in three weeks! It’s been three weeks!” You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the headache or your friend’s incomprehensible reason that made you confused about what they said.

“Whatever,” you said, “I will not go crappy dancing with you.” Your friend seemed to not hear you and latched their hands around you to drag you on the dancefloor. “Charlie!” you yelp indignantly. They looked determined to make you dance with them and by now you have given up hopes in having a peaceful night out partying.

“Come on, (Y/N/N),” they giggled, “Aren’t you having fun?” The sudden increase in the bass made you wince and tilt your head in pain. “I knew you would!” they began to cackle. They probably misunderstood the jerk of your head for a ‘yes’.

You opened your mouth to say the contrary but in a blink, they were gone. You looked around to find them but the dancefloor was too crowded to single out their face. Oh well, at least that meant you can go back to the bar and get yourself a glass of water.

Walking back to the brightly lit counter, the bass still seemed to pound in your head because it felt like it was going to split in two. Your face might have expressed your pain since the bartender looked at you pityingly.

“Rough night?” he asked kindly.

“Probably,” you mutter incoherently. He slid you a glass of cold water and you drank it eagerly. “Thank you,” you say, nodding your head at him. He simply nodded back and smiled before serving his other customers.

The water helped your mind rest a bit. Minutes passed and you felt yourself dozing off until the chair beside you coughed.

“Quelle belle soirée c'est ce soir, ma chère,” it spoke. ((What a beautiful evening it is tonight, my dear))

Wait. Chairs don’t cough AND speak French.

“Why is inanimate chairs talking?” you started to slur. You heard a deep laugh and you cracked one eye open. Beside you was a deeply tanned man, with a neatly trimmed beard and poofy hair held back in a pony. And, damn, he was hot.

“You’re not a chair,” you blurted out. Oh crap, you just embarrassed yourself in front of him.

The man laughed again, “Indeed I am not, my dear.” He leaned in slightly to make himself more audible. “I am Lafayette, what is your name, princesse?”

“(Y/N) (L/N),” you introduced, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lafayette.” You smiled shyly at him and Lafayette beamed widely.

“Likewise, my dear.” He lifted your right hand and kissed the back of it lightly. Blood rushed up your cheeks rapidly at the gesture. “Would you allow me to buy you a drink? Tequila, perhaps?” Lafayette asked.

You shook your head. You’ve had enough drinks to last the night. “No, thank you,” you say politely, “I’ve had too much to drink. But I appreciate your offer.” Lafayette’s smile drooped ever so slightly but he nodded understandingly.

“What can I do for you, then?” he questioned. Lafayette wanted to prove something to you for some reason.

“Maybe a ride for the night, I guess.” You blinked once, trying to process what you just said. “Actually—”

“So where do you live?” Lafayette asked. He seemed okay to drive you home.

“No, nevermind. It’s a big offer to ask you,” you stammer out, waving your hands around. “I don’t want to bother you much. No.”

Lafayette simply smiled and shook his head. “Ce n'est pas une gêne pour moi. Anything I would do for you.” ((It is not a bother for me.))

“Thank you.” You mustered a smile but the pain in your head somehow turned it into a grimace. Hopefully, Lafayette didn’t notice that.

“Shall we?” He hopped off the stool and gestured to the door. You followed meekly reverting back to the shy idiot Lafayette made of you.

The outside felt like heaven because of the peaceful silence you finally achieved after hours of bass and chatter. You breathed in deeply, enjoying the scent of the cold breeze. For a moment, you forgot the headache you had. Instead, you focused on the calmness you currently felt.

Lafayatte stared at you in awe. This was the first time he saw you carefree and at peace. He observed the way the wind caressed your hair and gave him a better view of your face. Your lips captured his attention. The way it curved ever so slightly into a smile and how it appeared to be so soft enough to kiss.

A honking sound snapped both of you back to reality. Your eyes shot open in surprise and the bubble of peace you were in popped. Lafayette blinked and tore his gaze away from you.

“It’s late. You need a ride?” A cab driver poked his head out of the window of his cab. Lafayette shook his head.

“Non, merci, monsieur. We have our own.”

The driver nodded and continued on driving, leaving you and him alone at the sidewalk again.

“We have our own?” you echo, confused.

Lafayette chuckled, “I did say I was going to give you a ride, n'ai-je pas?” ((Did I not?))

You hung your head down in embarrassment. “Right,” you nervously chuckled. Lafayette smiled, he held out his hand and you placed yours in his. He guided you a block farther from the bar you were in and to a shiny blue Maserati Spyder. You gaped at the expensive car but quickly regained your composure as to not look rude.

Lafayette noticed your gaze and he rubbed a hand behind his neck. “Yeah,” he said, “My family is kinda rich.”

“Kinda?” You raised your brow. “You don’t say.”

He rolled his eyes and opened the door for you. “After you, m'lady.” He cracked a grin, showing off a playful smile. You smiled back and stepped in the car. Lafayette closed it shut and you suddenly realized what the hell you were doing.

You just got in the car of a stranger. A hot stranger, but anyways. There so many things that could go wrong! He might be acting all nice and flirty just to rape you or something.

But he seemed nice. And your gut wasn’t forcing your body to run, so that was a good sign, right?

“(Y/N)? (Y/N)? Hello?” Lafayette waved a hand in front of your face. You blinked and reeled back slightly at the closeness of his hand at your peripheral.

“Sorry, I got dazed,” you apologized. He shrugged nonchalantly.

“It’s fine,” he said. “So, where do you live?”

You gave him your address as he revved the engine to life. The car soon headed towards the direction of your place. There were a few minutes of silence before Lafayette spoke.

“(Y/N).”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing, I just like the sound of your name. (Y/N).” Lafayette smiled as he pronounced your name carefully.

“And I like yours, too. Lafayette,” you said lightly.

He chuckled and released the tension in his shoulders. “I wonder if you would still like it if you heard my entire name.” You look at him curiously.

“What is your full name?”

“Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette.”

“Marie-Joe, what?” You didn’t catch all the names and lost track at the Ivy something.

Lafayette repeated his name slowly and you caught them all. “I prefer Gilbert or Lafayette. Both is good.”

“You don’t really look like a Gilbert so I’ll stick to Lafayette.” You beamed at him, Lafayette took a momentary glance back at you to return the smile and faced the road again.

You see the familiar lamp post near your apartment building and you guided Lafayette to steer his car in front of it. Both of you got out, you leading him now to the entrance. It felt saddening to having to end this night. Now you’ll go back to your normal life after you step back in to your place, leaving Lafayette. But this could be remedied right? You can give him your number, that is, if he’s still interested.

Then your vision blurred as you breathed in, the scent of the midnight air making you dizzy. It might be because you’ve been used to breathing in the air-conditioned air circulating around the car for the past fifteen minutes and that the fresh air was new to your nosebuds.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” You adjusted your eyes and realized the change of scene. Before you got dizzy, you were staring at the concrete wall of the building but now you were staring at the navy blue polo Lafayette was wearing.

You also felt his arms around you and smelled his cologne. It smelled nice but it was too strong for your sensitive smelling and you ended up turning around and vomitted on the sidewalk.

“Ah, crap,” you cursed lightly. Lafayette came up to you and started rubbing circles on your back. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said gently, “It’s not your fault. Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He carefully steered you inside the building and headed towards the elevator. “What floor?” he asked.

“Fifth,” you said hoarsely.

He pressed the 5 button and both of you waited for the doors to open again. As you walk down the hallway, you felt shy and embarrassed for tonight’s events. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” you mumbled.

Lafayette smiled. “I know,” he said, “but I want to.” He looked at you for confirmation to see if the both of you were at the front of your place. You gave him the key and he unlocked it with ease.

He placed you down on the couch letting you rest and lesving you alone for a few minutes. You closed your eyes and massaged your temples. This night was not how you expected to go.

You heard the padding of footsteps near you then a tap on the shoulder. You opened your eyes and looked up. Lafayette held a glass of water and an aspirin which you took gratefully.

“Thank you so so much,” you say earnestly to him, taking his hands in appreciation.

Lafayette’s cheeks tinted pink as he smiled back. His chest felt all warm and fuzzy and his fingers tingled at the contact of your hand with his. The both of you were still strangers but you went through tough times with him (the vomiting part, and yes, that is a tough time).

As they say, you bond with people who help you throw up.

You started to yawn and Lafayette immediately got up, ready to assist you.

“Bedroom?” You nodded drowsily. Without giving it a clear thought, you raised your arms childishly.

“Carry?” Lafayette looked surprised at your request. He was unsure if it was appropriate for him to carry you or maybe he was just afraid to have a closer physical contact with you. In the end, he scooped you up and carried you bridal-style to the bedroom.

You clung to him tightly and listened to his steady heartbeat, or what you thought was steady because it was actually starting to beat faster but you simply didn’t notice it in your sleepiness. You felt comforted in his arms. You wanted to stay there forever. In the protective cocoon. But he released you, gently putting you down to bed. He pulled up the blankets to your chest.

“All okay, now?” Lafayette questioned softly, pushing back a strand of your hair from your face.

“I’m fine. I just need to check on— Oh!” You jumped up, suddenly remembering your best friend. “Charlie! I left Charlie at the bar! Oh no,” you mutter frantically, throwing off the neatly tucked in blanket Lafayette has made.

“Relax, (Y/N).”

“Oh no, no, no.” You scrambled around for your phone and almost smashed it from the sheer amount of force you used to hold it. You dialled Charlie’s number and shoved the phone to your ear. It rang a few times before someone picked up.

“Hello?”

“Charlie? Charlie! Are you okay? I’m sorry for leaving you!” Your words flew rapidly out your mouth.

“(Y/N)? This isn’t Charlie. It’s Valerie.” Valerie was a mutual friend you and Charlie had. You guys weren’t close but you were acquainted well.

“Valerie! Thank goodness! Is Charlie alright?” you asked quickly.

“They’re with me. I saw them on the dancefloor looking like they were about to fall. Where are you anyways?” You paced across your bed, unsure if you should tell the truth.

“I’m at home,” you admitted, fingering a lock of your hair in anxiousness. “But don’t tell Charlie that! They’ll murder me.”

“I won’t,” promised Valerie. You sigh in relief and sent a quick thank you before hanging up.

You rubbed your temples tiredly. The headache came back.

“You should lie down, ma chére.” Lafayette guided you back to the bed.

“So many things are happening this day,” you complained. You buried your head deep beneath the mountain of pillows in your bed. “My head hurts like hell.”

Lafayette slid in the bed beside you. He combed your hair and sang softly to calm you

La petite poule grise
L’tait une p’tit’ poul’ (une petite poule) grise
Qu’allait pondremdans l'glise
Pondait un p’tit’ coco
Que l’enfant mangeait tout chaud
L’ tait une p’tit’ poul’ noir
Qu’allait pondre dans l’armoire
Pondait un p’tit’ coco
Que l’enfant mangeait tout chaud
L’ tait une p’tit’ poul’ blanche
Qu’allait pondre dans la grange L’tait une p’tit’ poul’ rousse
Qu’allait pondre dans la mousse
(L’tait une p’tit’ poule beige
Qu’allait pondre dans la neige)
L’tait une p’tit’ poule brune
Qu’allait pondre sur la lune

“What were you singing?” you asked, Lafayette blushed and smiled sheepishly. He thought by the end of the song, you would be asleep.

“It’s a French lullaby,” he replied.

“What does it mean?” You tried to sit up to talk to him better.

“It’s about a gray hen.”

“A gray hen?”

“Yes, a gray hen.”

You laughed loudly, finding the French lullaby peculiar.

“Why would the French sing babies to sleep with gray hens?” Lafayatte chuckled at the thought. Mid-chuckle he yawned widely but immediately closed his mouth to hide it.

You snicker at his action. “Why don’t you stay for the night? It’s already late out.” Lafayette shook his head adamantly.

“That won’t be necessary. I can still drive you kn—” he couldn’t resist the yawn he was holding back.

You pulled him closer to you, almost cuddling him.

“Stay.”

“Why would you want me to?”

“I’m sick and you’re tired. We both need the company.”

Lafayette sighed defeatedly. He snuggled in cozily beside you and you wrapped your arms around him. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Good night, Lafayette.”

“Good night, (Y/N).”

In the morning after, things weren’t going down well.

You woke up to a loud door bang and you shot immediately upright. Charlie looked livid with their slightly bloodshot eyes and deep scowl.

“Hello, (Y/N). It’s nice to know you’re home already.” You wince at the palpable venom in their voice. “And look, you’ve brought something back with you.” You looked down on the bed and remembered Lafayette was still there.

Uh oh.

You turn back to Charlie with an apologetic look and they responded with a raised brow. They turned their gaze back to Lafayette and you felt obligated to wake him up.

“Lafayette.” You roughly nudged the Frenchman beside you.

“(Y/N),” he whined. “What’s it for?”

“It appears that while cuddling beside me you have been too comfortable.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

You nudged his ribs harder

“My friend. They’re staring,” You hissed.

He shot up from the bed. His hair all mussed up and his eyes still half-awake despite the alarmed look on his face. You would’ve enjoyed the view more were it not for an angry friend in your doorway.

“(Y/N),” they started dangerously. “Do you know how irritating it is to have your friend ditch you for a guy?” You hung your head in shame.

“Sorry, Char-char,” you mumbled.

They grumbled something under their breath and veered their way to the kitchen. “But I approve of him since he’s hot.” Charlie plopped down on the kitchen stool and poured a glass of water.

You and Lafayette stared at each other incredulously.

“What?”

“You can keep him.” Charlie stared at the both of you pointedly. “But you aren’t getting away for last night.”

“That’s it?” you asked in disbelief. “Geez, Charlie, I thought you would turn into Satan for a moment.” They gave a small smirk and shrugged.

“Why don’t you just entertain your guest?”

Lafayette stared at you and wiggled his eyebrows. “So?”

“So?” you prompted.

“So, we’ll get lunch later?”

You shrugged and smiled. “Sure. When and where?”

“(Y/N)! That’s not what I meant when I said, ‘entertain him’!”

The three of you laughed. Problem resolved.

[willemsadventures]

2015.

Preface

Many years ago, in a country of cold and craziness, a fire started to burn. And when a fire starts to burn, right, and it starts to spread, well, things spread I guess. I like to think of it as a bright burning flame of adventure. Adventure, with ambition as its fuel. And through adventure and ambition, the decisions in the past years have all accumulated to how I think, where I am, what I do, and where I want to go. However, I have noticed that at times, I measure my adventures against those of my peers, rather than pursuing adventures for the sake of my own happiness. Perhaps for the wrong reasons, I have been pushing myself to find my limits, while withholding me from enjoying the less adventurous moments. I could barely enjoy a slow summer in Denmark, when comparing myself to the lives of the people around me on Facebook, leaving for exotic internships and what not.

              The latter is beyond the point of this summary though, and should only function as a starting point for perhaps another essay. Now considering that you’ve already made it to my page, and hopefully will take the effort to read through the stories that I have put together, I would still like to state the obvious; these stories are cherry picked over the last year(s). Not all days were adventures, and like everyone else, even I love to spend a night or two on the couch, curled up in a blanket, eating pizza and watching shows.

A final clarification, before we get into the good stuff. 2015 will be the fourth consecutive year of which I will have made a summary. The thought behind this self-imposed obligation is the hopeful thought that years from now, when the flame of adventure has found its calm without flares or flickering, I will be able to look back upon one of the most exciting parts of my life, and smile. And the more vividly I capture my stories, the better I will be able to recollect them, relive them, and even retell them to whomever cares to listen, allowing my adventures to shine far beyond their momentum.

              With this preface in place, I believe I am ready to shed some more light on the last year. A year in which I moved abroad yet again, put myself to the test, and was reminded that persistence is an invaluable part of success. All of this, and more, started in January and February.

January & February

To fully capture the beginning of the year, I have to go back a number of hours before the actual start of the year. At the time, I was five days away from the first official deadlines of my masters at KU. My days both started and ended in darkness, and the thought of a NYE party with some of my friends and fellow students was one of the few things that kept my spirit up. As I clear my desk hours before the moment suprème, I find out that the original plans had been cancelled, and for a moment, I panic, until my dear roommate takes me under her wing. Now before you continue reading, put your judgment aside. No, seriously. Don’t be so judgmental. Good. She invites me to a party at her Scientology church. In all fairness, the ‘party’ was lovely, the food was delicious, and the people were delightful. A little strange, but delightful. My January 1st starts with 4 distinct messages, sent to me approximately an hour after I fell asleep. Oh boy, how unfortunate was I for not being awake at the time. The rest of the first is spent in bed, watching Disney movies and eating Thai food.

The following days become a blur and are completely spent in the library, where I complete 2 twenty page papers approximately half an hour before their deadline. Now where the typical Dane would now have three weeks off, I thought an intensive Danish course would be an excellent remedy for a brain sore from studying. Luckily, I was right, and with new friends and a forsmukke Danish teacher, the next three weeks go by fast. During those days, my roommate invites me to be a part of her next videoclip. After spending 6 hours parading my cape in the fierce Copenhagen wind, the video is done. The month ends with a visit from two of the warmest people I know, Pablo and Rachael. I show my first official visitors the city, and they show me that there is more to the city than my unfulfilling university.

With February knocking, I organize the first mentor dinner for ‘my’ group of international students. Back in my role as organizer rather than participant, I feel right at home. Or maybe it were the endearing individuals from around the world that did this. For Carnaval I escape the city to explore Odense with my dear Elena and Martin. Odense exists because of H.C., is cold, yet has better parties. February ends with what I refer to as the highlight of my year. Now I hope no one stops reading after this, because there’s good stuff later on too, but this just takes the crown.

Around Oktober 2014, when my situation finally improves a little, I can’t shake the feeling of missing the Dutch student traditions. With a wild thought in my head, I approach the QA Programme, Studenterhuset, and whomever likes to hear what I have to say. I wanted to organize a Copenhagen Cantus. Danish society being what it is, this idea takes months to take flight, but when it does, I huff, and I puff, and manage to blow air right under its wings. All parties involved ‘consent’, for lack of a better word, and together with my first cantus committee, we bring together an approximate 90 students. As singers, my amazing fellow former board members from I*ESN Tilburg visit from the Netherlands. As I wash away the stress, and burgers too, with Schrobbeler, I make yet another inspection round. Visitors were meant to be on the guestlist, which had been updated nearly every day before the event, and I wanted to stick with fire regulations. Through the door that I had been guarding, Elisa, Yvonne, Sven and Maria walk in, and while the world is running around, I stop. You want to know if you have incredible friends? This is how you know: They drove all the way from the Netherlands to Denmark, bribed one of my committee members, and joined the cantus under fake names. I lost my words, my control of the situation, and by nothing more than their hugs, I start again, and so does the best cantus of my entire life. The crowd needs a little more than three songs, but with my international guests, Jordy in charge of the punishments, and all of us slowly getting drunk, we wrote history. People spitting in each others’ faces, drinking from shoes, and all for the love of beer. Once more, to all of you who came that night, thank you, for you made me the happiest man in Copenhagen. Until I was soaked in beer, rushed to the toilet to throw up, and came back to find the crowd chanting ‘Philip’ instead of ‘Willem’. Ready for the next months?

March & April

Writing the following months, I must admit not everything might have come back to me as vividly as I once hoped, considering that I am writing this in August instead of January. Long story short, my laptop was unavailable and I had lost my previous paragraphs.

Around March, I figured I really wanted to see a little more of the Danish country, and joined a wide variety of people on a bussy adventure. In retrospect, we did a ton of things. We dipped our feet in the clashing seas at Skagen, scuffled through the moving Dunes, spent the night in the longest bar street in Aalborg, and then wandered around some more in the AROS museum (rainbow famous) & shot past Odense. Highlight of the trip was definitely the lack of people in our hostel bunk and the hotel balcony!

Having seen everyone else in the Fall semester, and a number of my friends in the Spring semester, heading to Lapland, I knew that for the rest of my life I would regret. Lonesome me spent the first days and a half in a frozen tomb called Helsinki, and from then on the trip was basically a succession of incredible events. On the night bus I met two of my favorite people on this planet, and together we ran into the arctic ocean across the Norwegian border, rode reindeer and fell while leading a pack of huskies (in a bright pink flurry), and alternated between vodka shots in our bare butts in the Finnish sauna and dips in the snow under a magnetic sky whirling with the Northern Lights. In all, the trip was filed under ‘best trip ever’.

With March sliding into April, I did a ton of other things too, always having this blog in mind. Luckily that went by eventually. Together with a number of fellow students, we organized the KUA Cognition Conference, which in the end was a surprising success. That evening I roamed the campus to recruit volunteers for the Copenhagen Summer Cantus, because the Faculty Director decided that he would not give his green light just yet. Next day, I fly to the Netherlands for Tilburg Zingt & Kingsday and I wonder if all the money was worth it, especially since I just missed the biggest I*ESN cantus. Ending April, I visit Berlin, which is much different from what I expected in terms of the entire experience. My clepto-co traveler booked a bus instead of a train, which we missed. The city was much larger (and more modern) than I expected, and despite it all I did manage to see my ESN friends, and explore the deeply rooted culture that makes Berlin (Brandenburg Tor, the wall, checkpoint Charly). And all to end with a giant gamble in order to venture home, and into the next two months.

May & June

May, the month I am writing approximately a year and a half post-factum, starts with the official news that the van Wickle gates would open for many, including me. Brown was in the pocket, but other matters were more pressing at the time.

I remember how most of my time was allotted to the organization of the Copenhagen Summer Cantus. After the remarkable success that was the Copenhagen Cantus, I felt that a second cantus was long overdue, and together with my ragtag team of students we started the organization of an event that went well beyond the previous cantus. Together with my roommates efforts an actual band was secured, under the watchful eye of my committee I was able to persuade the Faculty Director that the ultimate celebration of brotherhood was meant to take place at the Festsalen, and with a mere 2 weeks of promotion, we pulled off a gathering with almost a 150 visitors from 27 countries! The Wilhelmus was sang, punishments were given, and in the end the cantus ended in a blissful drunken haze of red, white and blue (partially due to the university misplacing an entire keg of beer after the cantus).

The following days both Julia and Koen make their arrival in Copenhagen, and are part of vastly different experiences. Julia and I dance the night away at an impromptu silent disco, whereas Koen experiences the hard rains of the city after our bike ride to Dyrehaven. Not to mention the escalated rum pre-drink, leading up to the Gatsby party.

Yet all suns set and soon I found myself at the desks of the KUA library till the break of dawn once again. However, surprisingly, I was not alone this time. On occasion I worked sided by friends, but always near my companion Rene, who had the same deadlines due as me. I remember how one night the clock passed 5 and I still had to find my way home, and another, when we threw the skippy balls off the second floor. Despite the discouraging hours, the papers came with relative ease.

June ended on unexpectedly happy notes. Maria joins me in Copenhagen on a Erasmus ending adventure including a visit to Tivoli and a surprise from the window cleaners. Numerous goodbyes pass from my fantastic mentor group. Then, Sofie invites ‘the gang’ on a visit to their parental home in Thy. The train is delayed, while Evie fights to contain her excitement to meet Sofie’s brother. During that weekend, our mother of dragons takes on through their estate, drives us to the beach, and makes room for her parents to torture us with traditional Danish schnaps for breakfast and dinner. Concluding, the month ends with Distortion in the streets of Norrebro and Vesterbro. The streets are flooded with people, sunshine, and the deep drums of techno music. The second night, I even lose my friends, join a Spanish speaking community, and have trouble finding my way home. A month with ups and downs.

July & August

As the weather (FINALLY) starts to improve, Roskilde Festival makes its appearance in the grand scheme of things. Last minute peer pressure provides me with a ticket. Together with ‘the Danish Squad’ as I have come to call them, we challenged our livers in a 10 day drinking frenzy. The first four days are spent tent drinking and beer bowling (you actually sit in a chair, throw either a ball or a Converse shoe, and aim for the beer can on the other side of the pitch). A game without a competitor. As the heat strikes, mornings are spent floating out of the sun struck tents, while spending the afternoons eating, drinking, and seeing key performances. Personally, Kygo (literally) stole the show. Months of pre-Roskilde preparation made this moment a lasting memory. The festival ends with Sir Paul McCartney, while the squad stands arm in arm. An ending that was worthy of the festival.

The day after, I fly to the Netherlands to surprise my younger brother at his graduation ceremony and spend the week with family and friends. Back in Denmark the stress for the collection of the right documents for the US gets to me. Acceptance letters, Embassy visits, visa requests… but all for a greater good. Also, Marina and I finally travel to Monsklint, Louise drives me to Tisvilleje beach, and I organize a goodbye barbecue to which I invite most of my remaining Danish friends. An unexpected fellowship, but one of which I hold fond memories. The day pre-departure, I take my friend Eline on an inaugural night of partying, during which I snap the most stunning picture of the final sunrise over Nyhavn.

My favorite roommate escorts me to the departure area on the 17th of August, and yet another adventure begins.

During my first minutes in Iceland, I happen to stumble upon Karolina at the airport. Soon after, Lilja picks me up with her little silver car, barely able to carry all my luggage. For the next 3 days, she is my personal tour guide, and Reykjavik our unexplored destination. From the Golden circle, to whale watching, Reykjavik proved to be fantastic, but nothing could top the final day spent entirely in the Blue Lagoon.

On my birthday, I receive delightful snaps, a business class seat, and my first small iced cappuccino from TIM HORTONS. Sebastian picks me up from Pearson International Airport and his family’s basement is mine for the next few days. However brief, during my Canadian visit I have so many love filled reconnections. Sebastian’s family takes care of my in every way, Michelle and I have a chickenwing frenzy, Janine takes me to a beach near her hometown, with Anna we dance the night away one last time at Phils, and Deepiga shows me the endearing details of her Toronto. My only regret is reunion of La Bastille, but perhaps the future holds this card.

After an exhausting NINETEEN hour bus ride, I finally find a pause in my journey in Providence, where I take the wrong bus… twice. Eventually I find my way to Amy street, where the front door key is left under a broken vase. Jess hooked me up with a couch in her house for my days of homelessness, and Phil, Jess and Walter Shrimp (the cat) give me a warm welcome for the first days. August ends sunny.

September & Oktober

Whether it was August or September, around that time my Game of Thrones inspired post catches the attention of the inhabitants of Wickenden 230. Days after I moved in I knew the extended Dickenden family and I were a match made in heaven. My walking distance campus is perfect, my street is buzzing, for as far as that was a thing in wicked Wickenden, and my roommates sing, swear and sit around. Life is good. On September 8th, convocation day arrives. Now if you have done any research on Brown’s traditions, convocation is when the van Wickle gate opes for the ceremonial procession of new students into the academic world, followed by a commencement speech. And this is where my memory is really clear again, two years later, because after the commencement Sandra took a fantastic photo of me, and together with her and Juhi we went for the best tasting milkshake (at Johnny Rockets) that I have had in my life so far. Strawberry. While at Brown I figured I should take up some sports to acquaint myself with the local students. Now I figured that in general knowing some ballroom dancing would be pretty advantageous for my future, and occasionally I go to classes. On the first Friday of lectures I happen to get lost on my way to my lecture, and while strolling back I see some students playing Quidditch on the main green. One game in and I am sold. Running, throwing… all great if it weren’t for that damned broom between your legs! For the rest of the first months, while the readings are not piling up, Jess and I feel the Bern in Boston for an evening, we spend a morning watching the Brown – Yale football game, and Mathieu drives all the way down from Montréal to share some whiskey shots! Tabarnaque, what a slitchy time! Oh, and the final highlight is a weekend away to Cape Cod with Dickenden. The trip there, what a high, video games, gazing at the stars, watching seals at the beach, what more could you ask for in roommates?

November and December

With the days growing shorter, academic responsibilities steadily grow larger. Most of my days are spent reading and writing articles, and various locations for study are explored. In the midst of all these academics, I luckily do manage to find other ways to occupy myself. One of them is by winning the regional Quidditch championship with the Providence Ashwinders. This leads me to one of the highlights of 2015, namely the Ivy Leadership Conference at Harvard University. Now, as a kid with any ambition, you hope to set foot in Harvard at least once in your life, regardless of your purpose there. But being invited to participate in a conference is a whole other game. In all, the most important learning to take from Harvard is that they know how to throw a party, and that you should avoid rubbing ‘lucky’ objects. Not to mention visiting its bathrooms. In other words, John Harvard, please forgive me. Furthermore, the month of November ends with a super sunny spectacle in North Carolina. At the airport I get my shoes brushed, which is a god given delight. Everything goes well during my first domestic flight experience, until I am stopped at the door of my airplane. Guess what, I was booted off my flight. Semi-stressed I wait for assistance from the airline, and a little less than an hour later they offer me a significant compensation for my missed flight and book me onto a new one. Later that day I arrive in Raleigh, and together with almost-Danish darling Evie, I spent the next few days exploring a new state. Sunny beach? Check! Traditional thanksgiving dinner? Check! A full American tailgate? Check! One more it is confirmed that having friends from all over the world is a blessing. 

Back in Providence after a 19 hour bus ride, deadlines present themselves, leaving me to seek refuge in the SciLi long after the sun had risen again. All-nighters almost become a regular occurrence, and mutual support is found in Mariana, who was always there for a midnight adventure. In the meanwhile I continue to apply for embassies, with marginal amounts of success. Yet, once again, persistence proves to be the crucial ingredient for success. Out of an approximately 20 applications, I end up with 3 interviews. Some go well, others less so. One morning at 10h00 AM, I notice I have an email in my inbox, and as I upload one of my last remaining papers, I allow myself to open up the email. I mumble a short hail Mary before I start reading, and the further I read the more my heart starts to pound. Finally, redemption. Oslo wants me as an intern! -now I will exclude the South-African side story here- and focus on my blissful morning. With only a single paper left, and starting preparation for Oslo, my beloved roommate Aaron invites me to Boston for New Years. I happily accept, and live with his family for the next few days in the suburbs of Boston. Time to find peace after a tumultuous number of weeks, in the snow surrounded house. The year officially ends at the Boston Common, after searching for the fireworks of that night. The actual celebration is not so eventful, but the tranquil environment certainly did me well.

Now it would be unfair not to note that the final commentary to this post is written only 19 months after the described events. All I can give now is a perspective from the future. A perspective that evaluates the year from a distance. With this in mind, I would like to say that persistence once again proved paramount. Without it I would not have made my way into the Ivy League, nor would I have had the opportunity to set foot into the world of diplomacy, and everything else on my path. What this really all comes down to is two clichés; ‘Keep your head up’ and ‘Nothing worth having ever comes easy’. I remember how I felt when writing the preface of this post. I felt like everyone else’s life was measured against mine, and getting ahead was impossible. I had to compete, live abroad, be adventurous. And in retrospect, I am happy to see that I lost that urge. My rush for adventure is no longer fueled by a sense of competition, but instead relies on my ambitions. I do what I want. I go where I want to. And no one can stop me.

Don’t believe me? Just watch!