#wish i could fall asleep on autopilot why do i gotta think NOW

[phagodyke]

argh my brain is running through pros and cons of different options for next year. but i cant think abt this rn i want to SLEEP so i can wake up early and go to the gym to get all this shit out and THEN think abt it. when my mind is fresh + clear

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

orange and gold

...I just need more Cole and Vania content, they seem like they'd be great friends.

Basically it's just 'Cole goes to visit her there, they almost burn down the kitchen, and make way too many puns', lol.

Set a few months after Master of the Mountain, but before Seabound or The Island.

Also yeah, I couldn't think of a better title, sue me- I just know that they wear one of the colours at some point, so... 🤦‍♀️😂

Trigger warnings: none I think? Huh-

Also, bingo!! I really need to learn better time management, dear freaking gosh- I hope I'm not too late though? I know it's like half a day late, eek- and I was supposed to post this earlier, but I ended up literally falling asleep while writing it😂

Thank you so much Fabro, for hosting such a cool event!:D Your comments on my fics literally never fail to make my day<3. And I'm so glad that I met so many awesome, really skilled people through this event too - it's been a lot of fun working alongside y'all:D, I wish I'd had more time to interact instead of posting stuff and vanishing lol, but exams be like:////

Prompt: cooking (does baking count as cooking? I realized too late lol-) from @ninjago-bingo 's warm board.

Word Count: 2497

---

Trying to escape from killer dire-bats hadn't been on Cole's to do list today - although the mountains were kind of beautiful.

It was a bit difficult to see them while he was being dragged to his death, but hey, didn't Jay always tell them to be more positive?

That was, until he made the mistake of looking down.

Miles of snowcapped mountains touched the pastel blue sky, but he was more focused on exactly how high he was from the ground.

Great.

Trying to swing back onto the Bounty, he didn't notice a golden-winged blur shoot past the bat, almost dropping their spear in haste.

"Let my friend go, or I'll-"

"Vania?"

She throws the spear at the bird, successfully knocking one of its wings.

Huh. She must've been practicing - throwing with accuracy while flying seemed kinda difficult.

"I'm so sorry!" she replies, grabbing his arm before he fell down too. She winces at the strain on her wings, almost dropping him onto the deck. "I was supposed to come earlier, but there was an issue with one of the mines, and it took forever to-"

"There ain't anything in this world that's managed to kill me yet," he replies jokingly, checking that the autopilot hadn't been damaged. "I doubt an angry bird is going to be the first."

"Didn't you mention that you became a ghost once? Pretty sure that means you were dead-"

"Shh, that's not an important detail," he jokes.

"If you say so," she replies with a grin. "Did I mention that Chompy's been tearing down the palace flower arrangements again?"

"Send my regards to the gardener-"

"Did you just make a pun?"

"Remind me why I decided to visit you again?"

"Because you love me?" she asks stepping onto the ground as the Bounty landed gently.

"I hereby crown you as my platonic soulmate," Cole deadpans, taking her hand. "Vania and Cole-"

"Destined to annoy each other for eternity," she giggles, swinging their hands up and down. "But seriously - thanks. I don't think I realized how much work being a queen was."

"What's it like?"

"I mean - I'm glad that people trust me, and they come to me if they have a problem, but the paperwork is a nightmare. I never get to go outside anymore, I swear."

"Paperwork? Also, you just invited me here for a week. I don't wanna disturb you?"

"Nah, I cleared my schedule, don't worry. And trust me, you don't want to know. Everything requires some sort of official written thing, and it's so boring-"

"Official? But you're the queen?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't really want to change something unless it benefits the people. Not after..."

Her smile dims, eyes straying to the palace walls.

Oh- oh.

"You're nothing like him," Cole says firmly, squeezing her hand. "I mean, if you need to take a break, or you can make your job a bit easier by cutting out something unnecessary, that's just gonna help you become a better queen. You've definitely got the interests of your people at heart, and that's the most important thing, you know? And well, uh, everything seems to be going great so far - you don't have to beat yourself up over someone else's mistakes."

"Thanks," she replies softly, her smile slowly returning. "Speaking of breaks, what do you think we should do this time?"

"You could show me around the city again?"

"You've already seen everything cool," Vania giggles, skipping ahead of him. "We don't renovate much - unlike you guys-"

"Hey, it's not our fault that our city gets destroyed every few months-"

"More like every few days," she teases, tying back her golden hair. "How about we find some dragons to adopt?"

"Tempting, but where would you keep them?"

"They could sleep in my room-"

She breaks off when she notices him laughing. "What?"

"N- nothing," Cole replies, in between laughs. "Jay and I just made a bet."

"On what?"

"How many dragons you've adopted. I bet at least six, he bet fifteen."

"Well, jokes on both of you - I'm pretty sure my advisor's going to throw a fit if I show up with another one," she starts, giggling. "We've got twenty living in the palace right now."

"Twenty dragons?"

"They're so cute! You just look into their adorable little eyes," Vania pauses for breath, continuing her animated gesturing, "and you can't help but wanna hug them!"

"Oh, Jay's going to be so mad."

"Aww, I'm sorry guys. They're just too adorable!"

"...Wanna hear a funny story?"

"Yeah, sure!"

"I actually used to be terrified of dragons-"

"No way!" Vania exclaims. "Y'all have been on a lot of adventures though, so-"

"Nah, we used to have our own dragons at first. They were pretty cool! I just- I'm a simple guy! Huge animals with wings are scary up close when you're barely a teenager."

"Or when you're really short-"

"We're the same height!" Cole exclaims, facepalming in a bit of a fondly exasperated way.

"I'm two years younger than you-"

---

"Ugh, whose idea was this?"

"Yours," Vania grins, sitting down on the kitchen counter.

"You were supposed to help me, not leave me high and dry!" Cole accuses jokingly, staring at all the appliances they'd found in the cupboards.

"'One must always be prepared for new adventures,'" she quotes seamlessly, waving one of- what was his name again? Mulch something? Oh! Clutch! Some explorer he was, leaving them to die in the pyramid - Clutch Powers' books in the air.

"Fine," he sighs, staring at the old recipe book she'd found in one of their back cupboards. "But you've gotta help me? I almost burned down-" "Woah, what? If you finish that sentence with 'kitchen'-" "In my defense, Kai was playing a prank on me-" "In my defense, I wouldn't like to explain how the queen of Shintaro burnt down the palace by teaching one of her friends to cook," she grins, flipping through the pages. "What do you wanna start with?" "Something simple?" "Have you ever tried baking bread before? It's a lot of fun!" "I haven't really had the time, but that sounds kinda interesting."

He skims the recipe, raising his eyebrows. "Wait, why does this take hours? I thought you said it was simple?"

"Trust me, it is," she laughs, adding, "besides, I still wanna hear about all your adventures!" "Uh... okay," Cole replies hesitantly, "but if this fails, I'm so sorry." "Give yourself some credit, you guys literally saved the world! Multiple times!" "Bold of y'all to assume we know how we did it," he laughs, only half-kidding. "Besides. I botched soup once."

"I've botched toast," she mock-sighs, smiling. "Pretty sure that makes us even."

"Lemme get this straight. You've messed up toasting bread, but you can bake it from scratch?"

"Trust me, I don't know either," she giggles, trying to open a brightly coloured packet of... something? Did flour come in packets that small?

"Uh, why are you opening something called 'feast'?" he asks, eyebrows creased in confusion.

"Feast," she echoes, trying to stifle her laughter. "Off to a... rocky start, aren't we?"

It took him a second.

"I already regret this," he jokes, facepalming. "But I'd say that your puns are, uh, gold."

"I've un- unleashed-" breaking off, she half-falls off the counter, laughing so hard her face starts to go red, "a monster."

---

"Uh, is it supposed to look like that?" Cole asks, frowning.

The mixture looked less like the dough he'd been expecting - more like one of Jay's inventions gone wrong.

Badly wrong, he thought, eyes widening at the goopy mess of foam that threatened to spill over the jug.

"The yeast?" Vania echoes, poking her head out of one of the cupboards. "Yeah, all good! It always looks a little gross, and you're gonna doubt ever eating bread again, but at least it doesn't taste like it's fermented-"

"It's what?"

"Yeah," she grimaces, exaggerating her disgust a bit. "If aliens ever fell from the sky, they'd think we were crazy for eating bread-"

"Aliens? I think we're a bit crazy!" Cole exclaims, trying not to laugh.

Vania smiles, then sighs, lugging a huge bag of flour onto the counter. "I can never open these bags properly," she starts, eyeing the the bag a bit warily, "and it always makes such a huge mess all over the kitchen. You'd think they'd make it easier for people to use, right? I swear-"

He jokingly puts his hands over his ears. "I can't hear you!" "But you know that I've sworn off swearing-" she replies, breaking off with a laugh. "Pun not intended - that actually made sense in my head. I swear!"

"No," Cole interjects with a grin, shaking his head. "You don't, remember?"

"See, this is why we're friends-"

"Friends? Is that all I am to you?"

"Oh, be quiet," she shoots back, exaggeratedly dragging a hand down her face. "I mean, sure, just because everyone thinks that we're dating doesn't mean that we-"

Wait. What?

"People think that we're dating?" he asks, clamping a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to muffle his laughter. "I- I- really?"

"I know, right?"

"Even my friends thought so at first," he confesses, dragging a hand down his face. "I mean, as much as I love you-"

"I love you too," Vania replies, completely seriously. "Even if you'll always be more like an annoying-"

"Hey-"

"Sibling to me than anything else," she finishes, grabbing a pair of scissors. Cole watches, a little alarmed, as she stabs them into the flour bag over and over.

"Is it... supposed to be this difficult to just open the bag? Seems kinda stupid-"

"Well, er, they have this piece of paper with glue that you're supposed to pull away from the rest of the bag, but it never works properly and I-"

"Well, we could always make our own flour," Cole interjects, laughing. "I mean, I've got a scythe? Let's go!"

"Uh, but we don't have wheat growing here. I don't think it'd suit the climate very well?"

"Wheat a shame," Cole sighs jokingly, measuring out the flour (which had, finally, escaped the bag).

"Oh my gosh," Vania deadpans, "you did not just-"

"Yep, I did."

"You're horrible," she giggles, "then again, I was the one who started this whole debacle, so I think we'll share the blame."

"Debacle? Where'd you pick that one up from? Sounds kinda cool-"

"Oh, it's from a book someone wrote about you guys," Vania says casually, pouring a cup of water into the bowl.

"Hey, uh-" Cole starts hesitantly, twisting his fingers back and forth, then breaks off. "Why'd you read all that stuff about us, anyways? Adventure books don't really seem like something you read a lot, since we have similar favorite books. I mean..."

"Well, um..." Vania trails off, clearly uncomfortable. "Uh- I guess, well, it sounds kinda stupid, but I'd never really met anyone my age who wasn't a royal or something. I... er, I didn't want to be left out, you know?"

Cole thinks back to a scroll; a quest, a sacrifice. One that his friends never seemed to really notice, unless it was with horror or flinches. Not that he blamed them, but - joking about how he was much more useful to the team when he was freaking dead than he was before he'd stumbled and fell in the temple?

That had been a bit far, even for his best friend. Locks could always be picked or something, he didn't need to be a ghost to provide some sort of value-

Well, that's not completely true, is it? a small voice questions, and he can't keep his hands from shaking a little.

"Jay here thinks you're the least valuable ninja."

Not enough to be a performer. Now, not good enough to even be a ninja, apparently.

Well, he reminds himself firmly, you don't have to be the best - just stand up to those who are cruel and unjust.

Nothing but a scar that glowed warm orange occasionally left of the whole Cursed Realm ordeal, sometimes it was all too easy to forget - or pretend - that it had never even happened in the first place.

Other times, like when he'd dropped a glass of water on the floor and his hands hadn't stopped shaking for hours, or when he woke up screaming, expecting to fall through his bed again, it still felt like he was trapped as a ghost. Literally - and maybe a little figuratively as well.

Yeah. Yeah, I know.

"Thanks for trusting me with that," he replies softly. "And I'm sorry. That sounds... horrible, but, honestly, you're a pretty cool person, and I ain't just saying that because we're friends. People can be awful, and they can- they can leave, but you don't need to pretend to be someone you're not for people to accept you. I kinda know what it's like, and it's... just, uh, not great."

"No, thank you," Vania says, rubbing her eyes. "You're pretty cool, too. And I'm glad that we become friends, even if wasn't in the- the, er, greatest circumstances."

"Right back at ya. The fall was pretty terrifying, though," Cole says casually, as if memories of that nightmarish plunge into the depths of earth don't still send shivers down his spine.

"No, definitely! I was so sure we were gonna splat onto the ground or something, thank gosh we didn't."

"Yeah..." Cole trails off, reading the recipe they'd been following. "Oh- do we just leave the bowl somewhere for a few hours now?"

"Oh, yeah," Vania answers. "Other than clean up the kitchen, what else do you wanna do?"

"That's kind of you, but, ah, I don't mind. You can choose something."

"I don't mind either," she replies, covering the bowl with a dishcloth. "Seriously, I don't."

"Same here though."

"Really, I don't mind-" Vania breaks off with a laugh, adding, "Well, actually, there is something."

She doesn't elaborate, thoughtfully gazing out the window.

"Well, what is it? Don't keep me in the dark."

"Ugh, it's kinda stupid-"

"I'm sure that it's not- well, unless you want to try to jump off a flying ship with a homemade parachute to prove a bet to someone-"

"Do I even wanna know?"

"...uh, probably not. We're way too crazy sometimes, our Master has a hard time keeping us in check. Your thing, though?"

"Can I give you a hug?"

Cole blinks for a second, expecting some sort of punchline.

"That's your thing?"

"Well, yeah- I mean, I said it was kinda stupid-"

"No no, that's not what I meant. You're so sweet - that's all."

"Well, not more than you-"

"Nah, you're sweeter-"

"Let's just call it a tie," Vania says with a smile, reaching over to give her friend a hug. "Thank you so much, I swear- well, no, I don't, but you know, anyways-"

"Yeah," Cole replies, laughing softly. "I know."

[snake-noodles]

Can we be Soulmates?

Chapter 1

Next>

Read On AO3

Soulmates were things you'd hear every day. It was like some love story in real life, but it was growing old quickly. True love this, eternal happiness that. It was tiring. He hated hearing the same question of, "Oh, have you found your soulmate yet?". It made him want to groan every time he heard it.

Everyone had tattoos on their skin that represented their soulmate. The tattoos would grow and change over time depending on their soulmate's life. He would've felt sorry for his soulmate if they weren't a huge piece of human garbage. Still, having seen the tattoo that represents him, it was painful how accurate it was. Meanwhile, his brought him pain, but in a different way.

His tattoo was… pretty. At least others said it was before he started hiding it. With intricate details and designs. His so called 'life partner' was a hunter. The ink in his skin had an arrow, with roses around it. His partner loves roses. There were many other things. Cigarettes that you wouldn't notice until you inspected the tattoo closer, ashes, a broken bottle, and of course, the cut ribbon, signifying that their apparent 'eternal bond' had been broken.

He wished it could fade away, but he guesses it can't be that simple. At least it's all on his back.

He's seen his 'soulmates' tattoo, too. The details were blurry, but he does remember the most… prominent feature. The long snake, fire burning at it's scales. If that wasn't a direct jab at his horrid scars, he didn't know what was.

That was maybe 4 years ago. Since then he's given up on love, claiming to not have a soulmate. He didn't think he'd fall in love again.

God, what a nightmare it is to fall in love with your best friend. A friend who is obsessed with soulmates. He was practically destined for heartache, huh?

Declan hums to himself, getting out of his car and leaning against the door, twirling his keys and waiting for Roman. He needed a ride home after auditions, and Declan happily offered. Any chance to spend time with him. He wishes he could watch the auditions, Roman's a gorgeous actor, but it's not allowed which is frankly very homophobic of them.

He huffs, his eye catching on someone leaving the building. He smiles, seeing the bright smile on his friend's face.

"Dee!" He cheers, running over. He was dressed nicely for the role. A nice suit with a rosey pattern, and shimmery makeup. Declan averts his gaze.

"Hey. How'd it go?" He asks, checking his nails, pretending not to care. Roman beams, grabbing his friend's hands and jumping up and down. Declan flinches from the sudden gesture, but he quickly decides he doesn't really mind it.

"I suppose this means it went well?" He chuckles, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes! I'll tell you on the ride back!" Saying this, he opens the door and hops in. Dee smiles, getting into the driver's side.

"How about we go eat somewhere? My treat." He suggests, and Roman enthusiastically agrees.

They went to the diner often. It wasn't that popular, on the smaller side of town. It was old, having a vintage aesthetic to it that made it incredibly charming. It's almost never changed, and Declan finds comfort in the diner for it. He didn't take well to change.

The pair gets out and walks in. Most places would raise an eyebrow at the two, Roman for his extravagant attire, and him for looking like some sort of thug. But it wasn't the case here. The bell rings as they enter, and the lady at the counter is already waving with a big grin and bringing them to the booth they always sit at. The atmosphere is cozy, and Declan loosens up, relaxing in his seat.

He hums, and the two order their meals, sitting in silence. The silence was comfortable, though. Declan could fall asleep to the warm atmosphere, the smell of food, and the sounds of the jukebox and the distant rustling in the kitchen area. 

Food is placed in front of him before he can sleep, though. He doesn't really mind, thanking the waitress and holding his mug of coffee, taking in the soothing smell. Roman chuckles at him. 

"It's the middle of the day, why drink coffee?" Roman raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah, I barely got any sleep." He chuckles, taking a sip. Roman flicks a fry at him, hitting him right in the forehead. He bats at the air and the other laughs.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

Declan valued these moments. Where they can goof off and have fun like children. Get in trouble and laugh about it. They ended up having to clean their mess, of course. They sit on the floor, wiping up the remains of their squabble. But, it doesn't take away from the good mood, a glint in Roman's brown eyes and a small smile on Declan's lips.

He turns to look at his creative friend, his heart pounding. He didn't know why his heart was beating so fast. He catches Roman's eyes, and he feels his own widen. He looked like an angel, the amber glow from the sun shining through his hair and lighting up his eyes. He shakes his head slightly, tearing his gaze away, instead looking to the window. 

"It's getting a bit late, should I drive you home?" He asks, pretending as if that moment didn't happen.

"Oh, shoot, I didn't even realize!" He jumps up to his feet, Declan standing shortly after and going to his car.

The drive to Roman's place wasn't exciting. Declan focused on driving and Roman gazing out the window as music fills the silence between them. But it was nice. He shifts uncomfortably. He shouldn't be uncomfortable. He's with his friend. He should relax. He clears his throat as he turns into the driveway to Roman's house.

"Your place is a bit farther from mine. Do you wanna stay for tonight so you don't have to drive in the dark?" Roman asks, gathering his things. Declan pauses.

He doesn't know why he's hesitating. He's stayed with Roman many times. He doesn't have anything he needs to do, so he should agree. But he doesn't. He doesn't know why, either.

"I gotta catch up on some work, sorry. Maybe next time, though?"

"Yeah, of course! See you, Dee!"

Declan sat in silence in the car, hearing the door shut. He feels his heart beating. He does know why he's not agreeing. He's just choosing to ignore it. He's been trying to ignore these feelings for awhile. He decides to not think about it so he doesn't have to face his emotions.

He pulls out of the driveway, glancing at the house once before driving away. He turns his headlights on and takes a deep breath, his body going on autopilot for him as he drives down the mostly empty road. 

His apartment feels sullen and grey. There's colors, yes, but everything feels dull. He walks in, locking the door and dropping his things on the floor. His apartment wasn't anything special. The yellow paint he'd done to liven up the place was chipping in some areas. His old bookcase was collecting dust and his flowers are beginning to die, even though he tried keeping them alive.

A sigh escapes him as he shrugs off his coat and kicks his boots off, plopping down onto his couch. He lays there, staring up at the ceiling, looking at the bumpy texture of the paint.

He isn't sure how long he sat there. He feels as if he fell asleep, but he knows he hasn't. Just a certain numbness washing over his brain. Curling up on his side, his eyes catch on the picture on his side table. Him and Roman. Really, Roman was the only person he even cared about anymore. He feels his heart pound. He knows what he's feeling, he's known for a while. He's tried and tried pushing it down. But now his thoughts are festering and building up. He can only deny something for so long.

"I love Roman."

The words come out as a whisper. He finally acknowledged these beaten down emotions, and his heart feels like it might just explode. One would think he'd be happy to be in love, but instead, he feels the exact opposite.

He doesn't want to be in love. He never wanted to fall for his best friend.

He buries his head in his arms and muffles a scream.

[thruheavenandhighwater]

For The Weekend - Sunday

[[ FRIDAY ]] [[ SATURDAY ]]

Pairing: Michael Clifford/ Female Reader

Requested By: @sweetcherrycal

Word Count: 2.882

   When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was an arm wrapped tightly around your waist and the weight of someone lying behind you. You froze for a moment, not used to having another person in your bed. In your panic you looked down at the arm in question and noticed the familiar black tattoos above and below the elbow and your mind was eased. As soon as you remembered who you were lying next to, you remembered why you were lying next to him.

   Michael had stayed the night. Your best friends brother had gotten drunk and slept in your bed. Okay, maybe he wasn't drunk, but there was definitely alcohol involved and you two had definitely shared a bed last night. And now, you had just woken up to find him wrapped around you, his warm breath hitting the back of your neck as soft snores left his mouth.

   As much as you knew that you should wake him up, or at least get yourself out of bed, you didn't want to. You didn't want to leave his embrace. It was the most comfortable you had been in a long time. Your body fit into his just so perfectly as you laid there in your bed.

   Michael shifted slightly behind you, his arm tightening around you automatically as he did. You noticed his snoring had stopped, but you knew he wasn't awake yet. He pulled your body into his and tucked his face into the back of your shoulder. His nose and forehead nudged into your skin softly and you couldn't stop the smile that bloomed on your lips, soon coming across your entire face. Without thinking, you moved your arm to cover his, your fingers falling on top of his hand. You closed your eyes again and tried to get back to sleep while the tips of your fingers began to dance lightly over the back of Michael's hand and wrist.

   He groaned quietly behind you, just starting to finally wake up. He removed his arm from your waist to stretch it over the two of you with another low groan. Before you could even acknowledge the pit in your stomach that wanted Michael's arm back around you, he was rolling over in bed and away from you. The smile that was hurting your cheeks just moments before fell away completely.

   “Morning.” He grumbled, his voice lower than normal and dripping with sleep as he sat up to rest against the headboard of your bed. “Sorry about the spooning.” He laughed and ran a hand through his messy hair.

   You rolled over to face him. His shirtless form lying among your sheets and blankets had to be one of your favorite sights on Earth. “Good morning, Mikey.” You smiled at him. “Don’t apologize, you're pretty comfy.” He laughed again, the sound filling your ears and drawing another sleepy smile to your face.

   “Am I?” He laughed again, the sleepy rasp in his voice fading. You smiled and nodded at him silently. Suddenly, he extended his arm towards you, letting it fall gently to the side of your head. “That's good to know.” He said with a smile as he began to massage his fingers into your messy hair.

   You loved the feeling of Michael's hand in your hair almost as much as you loved the feeling of his body wrapped around yours. Just as you were about to fall back asleep, you suddenly remembered that Carly was still in the guest room.

   “We should probably get out of bed soon.” You said, pulling yourself up into a sitting position to match Michael's. He removed his hand from your hair, letting it rest beside yours on the mattress when you sat up. He leaned over slightly, connecting his lips to your cheek once more.

   “Thanks again for letting me stay.” He muttered quietly. “Dibs on the bathroom.” He said, slightly louder, the words tumbling from his lips quickly before he kissed your cheek again and sprang suddenly from the bed.

   “Michael Gordon Clifford!” You called out, jumping from the bed and chasing after him. He was already in the hallway, you heard him laugh as the bathroom door clicked shut. “I'm going to kick your ass!” You yelled again, slamming your hand against the closed door as you passed it.

   When you reached the kitchen, Carly was already awake just like yesterday. This time, though, there was no delicious breakfast waiting for you. Just a sleepy, slightly grumpy looking Carly nursing a cup of coffee at your table. “Trouble in paradise?” She asked with a smile as you sat across from her.

   “He stole the bathroom.” You giggled, shaking your head.

   “You two are so cute. I'm glad you finally got together.”

   You smiled up at her, feeling your heart drop into your stomach. You knew that today was the last day of your relationship with Michael. While you would always be grateful to him for helping you this weekend, part of you wished it didn't have to end tonight. You still knew that it was wrong to have feelings for him, but you couldn't help it now. They were there and it didn't seem like they were going anywhere any time soon.

   You stood and silently poured yourself a cup of coffee. As you sat back down at the table and took your first sip, Carly nearly made you choke when she suddenly opened her phone very excitedly.

   “I almost forgot!” She said, swiping across the screen a few times. “I took the cutest picture of you two this morning. I went in to see if you were up yet and, well…” She turned her phone towards you. On the screen was a photo of you and Michael lying in your bed. It was pretty much exactly how you had woken up. You were facing the door, Michael behind you with his arm around your waist. You took her phone from her hand as you admired the photo. You smiled down at the screen, a dreamy sigh leaving your lips as you continued to look at it.

   You heard Michael walk in the room behind you. Turning to face him you saw that he was wearing the same jeans and t-shirt from the day before, and droplets of water clung to the tips of his hair from his shower. “Whatcha looking at?” He asked as he came closer to you. He placed one hand on your shoulder as he leaned over your other shoulder to look at the phone in your hand. You watched his face as he looked at the photo on the screen. His eyes scanned it quickly before a smile crept its way onto his lips. He turned to face you, his nose just a few inches from yours. Your gaze darted from his eyes to the smile that played on his lips. “We're kind of adorable, huh?” He asked in a hushed tone.

   “I think we just might be.” You replied. His smile grew as you spoke. Once again, your eyes dropped to his lips. You noticed his teeth for the first time, almost laughing out loud at yourself for thinking that even his teeth were cute.

   It was as if your body was on autopilot when you found yourself leaning forward, your eyes closing as you closed the space between the two of you. You connected your lips to Michaels softly. The feeling of his lips against yours made your whole body feel as though it were electric, coming to life for the first time. He brought his free hand to cup your cheek as he kissed you back, moving his lips gently against yours. You felt him slide his tongue across your bottom lip, pulling a moan from deep in your throat as he did.

   Just as you were about to open your mouth and give him full access to it, you faintly heard Carly cough behind you. Fuck, how did you keep forgetting that your sister was here? “The 'no funny business’ rule from last night still applies.” She said, giggling as you pulled away from Michael. He was grinning and you felt him run his thumb along your cheek as you opened your eyes.

   “I… Uh, I'm…” You started, stammering out sentence fragments hoping that they would piece themselves together into something coherent. They didn't. You looked from Michael to Carly, and back to Michael before pushing your chair away from the table and effectively, away from Michael, who took both hands away from you as you moved. “I'm going to, uh… I gotta go. Get changed.” You stumbled out of your chair just like the words that were stumbling their way out of your mouth. Avoiding eye contact with both of them, you turned and walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway to your bedroom.

   “Y/N, wait!” Michael called. You heard his footsteps behind you and for the first time since Friday night, you wished you didn't.

   “No funny business! It's Sunday, you pervs!” Carly yelled from the kitchen, her laugh following the two of you into your bedroom, only to be stopped by the door as Michael closed it behind him.

   “So, uh… That happened.” Michael said plainly.

   You began pacing the length of your bedroom. One hand tangled itself into your hair while the other sat on your hip as you walked. “Yup.” You answered, nodding your head.

   “And it was…”

   “Yeah, it was really good. Yup.” You said, once again nodding your head, still pacing the floor anxiously.

   “Really good, huh?” He asked, you could hear the cocky smile in his voice.

   You stopped walking and turned to look at him. “Michael, seriously?” You asked, pulling your hand from your hair and dropping both hands to your sides, exhausted by his comment and apparent lack of concern about the situation.

   “You said it!” He answered, putting his hands up defensively.

   “Yeah, but…” You sighed. “We should not have done that.” You said as you sat on the edge of your bed and buried your face into your hands.

   “Woah, wait. Why not?”

   “Because you're Jessica's brother!” You answered, louder than you had meant to.

   “What does that have to do with anything?” He asked, sitting down next to you.

   “Jess is my best friend, Michael.” You answered with a sigh. “I can't date my best friends brother.”

   “Says who?”

   “Says the… world.” You answered, gesturing vaguely around yourself.

   “The world?” He asked, raising one eyebrow.

   “Yes! Say we date, and we break up. Then what? Not only do I lose my boyfriend, but I also lose my best friend, too. I can’t risk that.”

   “We haven't even gone on a date yet and you're already planning the break up?” He asked with a laugh.

   You looked over at him, your eyes once again fell to the smile on his lips. He placed one hand on your thigh, his warm hand landing on the exposed skin just below your pajama shorts. A shy smile found its way to your lips as you looked down at his hand, making a mental note that you definitely loved the feeling of his hand on your leg.

   “Okay, look. I'm just gonna put it all out there. Y/N, I like you. I have since we were kids. That's why I agreed to do this. I guess I figured it was better than nothing, ya know?” You looked up from where his hand sat on your thigh. His focus was trained on the carpet of your bedroom floor as he spoke.

   “If you wanna maybe give this,” He looked up at you and motioned one hand between the two of you. “A try, then let's do that. But if not, that's fine. I'll still put on a show for Carly, and we can still be friends tomorrow.”  

   Your smile grew, and you felt your heart pick up its pace inside your chest. How had you known Michael your entire life and never seen this side of him? The side that was sweet, and caring, and soft around the edges. It took all of two days for you to go from seeing Michael as nothing but Jessica's older brother, to seeing what you were pretty sure was the real Michael. And you had to admit that the longer you spent with him, the more you decided you liked the real him. You liked that he put his hand on your thigh when he drove, that he carried your bags at the mall, the way you fit into his arms like they were custom made just for you. Hell, not even five minutes ago you had even thought his teeth were cute.

   “But what if we do break up?” You asked, placing your hand on top of his.

   “What if we don't?”

   “What about Jess?”

   “I'll deal with her. I haven't tried in a while, but I think I could probably still put her in a headlock if necessary.” He laughed.

   This time, it was Michael who made the first move to close the space between you. He stopped a few inches short of your lips, giving you the chance to back away if you wanted. You didn't. Instead, you leaned into him, bringing one hand to lay on his chest over his heart. You could feel it beating below your hand, slightly fast but nowhere near the pace of your own as he kissed you back.

   You moved your hand from his chest to the side of his neck. You could feel the tips of his long hair tickle against the backs of your fingers. You moved to sit up on your knees on the mattress, not breaking the kiss as you moved. He placed his hands on your hips, his thumbs nudging the hem of your shirt up just slightly so that his hands were resting on your skin.

   You pushed him back slightly, he took the hint and pulled your hips forward as he laid back against the pillows. Michael opened his legs, laying one out flat and you straddled it, planting your thighs on either side of his. He ran one hand up your side before moving it to lie in the middle of your back. Your hand that had been on his neck moved to his hair, your fingers getting lost in the his long, still damp tresses.

   Just like he had in the kitchen, he slowly swiped his tongue along your bottom lip. And just like in the kitchen, his actions elicited a quiet moan from low in your throat as you opened your mouth for him. He expertly slipped his tongue into your waiting mouth. Your tongues danced together in perfect sync, as if they were made for each other.

   You felt Michael rock his hips into yours. You smiled into your kiss and balled your hand into a fist in his hair, tugging at it just enough to pull a moan from his lips. The sound, paired with rolling your hips against him made your heart swell and your stomach flutter. You never wanted to stop kissing him. You never wanted to stop being the one to pull those beautiful sounds from his lips.

   Michael pulled away from suddenly, panting to catch his breath as he did. “Fuck, I've wanted to do that for so long.” He whispered between breaths, grinning wider than you'd ever seen. You smiled back at him, your chest heaving against his. “And believe me, we are going to be doing a lot more of that later,” he laughed, bringing his hand from your waist to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “But right now, your sister is still in the kitchen.”

   You groaned, dropping your face to his chest. He giggled quietly, his hand that was still against your back began rubbing up and down. “Come on, angel baby. Let's go act like you don't want to rip my clothes off for just one more day.”

   You rolled your eyes as you pushed yourself up and away from him. “I'm only letting you get away with that little comment because I actually kind of like angel baby.”

   He sat up in front of you, resting his hands on your hips once again. “Do you, now?” He asked, leaning into you. “I'll have to remember that one then, won't I?” You smiled, nodding silently as his lips met yours. It was a quick kiss, followed by a trail of short, sweet kisses that lead from your lips to the sensitive skin just below your ear. “Anything for you, angel baby.” He whispered into your ear, his teeth just barely grazing your flesh and sending a shiver down your spine.

   You sighed as you pulled away from him again, this time standing up from the bed. “You are so getting kissed later if you keep that up.”

   “Promise?” He asked you with an innocent smile.

   “Promise.” You answered, kissing him quickly before standing from the bed and making your way to your closet to begin getting ready for your day. You had no idea how you were going to tell Jess what had just happened. Bur right now, in this moment, you couldn’t be bothered to care. 

~~~

If you have any requests, or would like to be tagged in future 5sos fics please let me know!

Tag List: @crownedbyluke @blue-skies-are-alright @lmao5sosimagines @therainydays4 @rosecth @thesoundsyoumake @kinglyhemmings @a-little-international @harryandthelesbians @lukescherrypie @ashotofblues @youngblood199456 @rexorangecouny

[tinkerbellafan]

Hard to Love (Chp 4)

Dean drifted back to sleep with the assumption that Cas just happened to use that paper to write on, and had nothing to do with why Sam had been on his case lately. If there was something up, Cas would tell him. His subconscious, however, had a different stance. His dreams were filled with scenarios and situations that had him making a heroic run through a hospital while Cas lay dying in desperate need of a rare item Dean had gone across the world to find. The next dream had Dean watching Cas slowly fade like an old picture and no one else seemed to remember him but Dean. Easy to say Dean woke up less than rested, he rolled over hoping for some cuddle time as he had already told Charlie he was coming in late today.

He twisted and swung his arm over expecting to make contact with a warm body, the cold space he found was much of a disappointment.  It was unusual for Castiel to be a morning person, that’s one of the perks of being a writer Dean. So where had his adorable husband gone? Flashbacks from his dreams had him wondering if he made up the whole thing. The book was no longer on the nightstand and the blanket he dragged in with him was also gone. Maybe he shouldn’t fall asleep watching Dr. Sexy anymore, clearly, his imagination was playing tricks on him.

Dean got up, hopped in the shower and got ready to start his day. As he walked out to the kitchen, he could hear Cas on the phone clearly talking low enough he didn’t intend to be heard.

“Yes, I know..I know I’ll begin monitoring it immediately. I appreciate you doing this for me its such a big deal. No, he doesn’t know. I’m not ready to tell him. I’ll just tell him that I’m going to a convention or a conference. I’m leaving tomorrow, yes I know its only because you love me.”

Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was Cas cheating? Although Dean couldn’t blame him, Castiel was always too good for him. Dean started to wonder if Sam knew and he was pushing him to be better in the hopes that Cas wouldn’t leave. Of course, Cas would leave, everybody left Dean eventually.

After steeling himself to hide his emotions, Dean made a show of humming and stomping down the stairs so Cas would definitely hear him coming, wouldn’t want to interrupt the rendezvous he was clearly planning.

“Morning babe” Cas turned to Dean with a big smile. Dean noticed that he looked worn out, before at dinner when Sam pointed it out Cas looked like he just needed a good nights rest, now he looks ragged but puffy. Castiel had taken to wearing more and more of Deans sweats and no shoes today, that was weird for him. He’d always worn his normal slacks dress socks and some sensible slip-ons with an adorable argyle vest or sweater even though he didn’t have to look so professional working at home.

“Hey Cas, I missed you last night. I got home with some good news about the shop and you weren’t here.” Dean tried to sound inconspicuous, but he couldn’t help but wonder if his husband had been out on a date.

“Oh, honeybee I didn’t know you would be home so I went to have dinner with Sam & Jess. Sam is trying to soothe Jess’ case of baby rabies by having her dote on me. I highly doubt it’ll work but I won't argue with fresh baked cookies and pampering.” Cas chuckled and shook his head. He was in the process of making oatmeal for breakfast although instead of his typical bananas, Dean noticed he was adding apples.

They both knew Sam was not going to win the battle this time, he had already convinced Jess once before that they were not ready. There was no way she would be swayed to his opinion a second time.

“Ha, Sammy is so screwed, he might as well pick out a crib and start painting the nursery.” Dean chuckled while he started filling his thermos full of coffee.

“That’s what I told him, but he’s in denial and like I said fresh baked cookies.” Cas shrugged, everybody knew that pb&j cookies were his weakness. If you offered those in payment Castiel could never say no.

“So, I have to go in today but I think I’m going to take the weekend off. The shop is doing great and I need a break.” Dean kept his back to his husband, he didn’t want to see the look on Castiels face while he worked out the lie in his head.

“Oh honey, I wish you had told me sooner, I just agreed to speak at a convention in New York, you know how my publisher has been hounding me to be more……” Cas gestured in the air trying to find the right word that didn’t make him sound robotic. “..personable.”

“Oh okay, then I guess I’ll just hang out with Jess, help her figure out what color she’s painting the nursery, maybe convince her to give it a classic car theme. If I want to be the favorite uncle I gotta get a head start.”

The shift in Deans demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by Cas, he felt horrible knowing he was the reason behind the shift.

                                                           ***

“Hey Boss, sleep in or get you some morning lovin from that handsome hubby of yours?” Charlie’s eyebrows danced suggestively as she looked up from her computer.

Dean walked into the shop on autopilot, he breezed pass Charlie like she wasn’t even there.

“Dean?” She followed him into his office and shut the door. “Earth to Dean” She tried again this time waving a hand in front of his face snapping him out of his zombie state.

“huh? Oh hey Charlie.” Deans eyes barely focused on hers and she instantly knew that look, he was spiraling. That meant Cas either still hadn’t told him, or hadn’t told him everything. Either way, this could only end up bad if it wasn’t fixed.

“Okay I know that look, its the same look you had after you and Cassie broke up, and after you were so convinced Lisa was cheating so you just ended it. Whats goin on, spill” Charlie folded her arms across her chest and perched in the middle of Deans desk preventing him from escaping into his computer.

“He’s leaving.” Dean barely said above a whisper. “There’s someone else and he’s leaving me.” Dean hadn’t said the words out loud but they were on an endless loop in his mind.  His whole body started to shake with tears he hadn’t realized were falling.

“That’s insane, Cas loves you almost as much as you love baby, be real.” Charlie tried but couldn’t resist the urge to smack Dean upside the head.

“It’s true, I heard him on the phone this morning, they’re meeting up for some getaway this weekend.” Charlie’s heart began to break, she knew exactly what Dean had heard, she was yelling at Cas for going to see the out of state specialist on his own.

She was sworn to secrecy but watching Dean fall apart in front of her eyes broke her resolve. She couldn’t let him fall apart like this, knowing the only reason Cas kept him in the dark was a failed attempt to keep from stressing him.

Charlie turned very serious and made Deans eyes focus on hers.

“Dean, Cas is not cheating on you. He was talking to me this morning. He’ll probably kill me for telling you this but, you deserve to know. Not knowing is hurting you more than knowing and he was just trying to spare you the stress since you’ve been so freaked out about running the shop.” Charlies eyes had softened during her speech. The internal struggle between keeping a secret and helping someone she saw as a brother.

“Dean, Cas isn’t cheating on you, he’s sick.”

[holosoftheoldrepublic]

Teaching a Sith Lord New Tricks

(Fanfic Master Post)    

           “Hey, Sith, I’ve got a question for ya,” said Andronikos Revel, feared space pirate and current pilot and companion to Sith Lord Yracundia.

           The dark-haired pureblood glanced up from her holopad, green eyes looking faintly yellow in the dim lighting. “If you’re again asking if we can steal artifacts from Korriban to sell on the black market, the answer is still no,” she said dryly. “And you’re piloting the ship, so please keep your attention on that. I did not survive Thanaton’s attempts to kill me just to die from colliding into an asteroid because my pilot wasn’t paying attention.”

           Making a derisive noise, he rolled his eyes. “I’ve been piloting ships for nearly two decades, and we’re in the middle of space besides, you’re worryin’ over nothin’.”

           Yra frowned, brow furrowing. “Nearly two decades- how old are you?”

           “I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.”

           She sighed, turning off the holopad and putting it to the side. She really should have known better than trying to get any work done in the same room as the pirate, but the cockpit was the only place with a view of space. If she ever got another ship, she was getting one with a proper viewing deck, safety be damned. “Alright, pirate,” she said, resigned. “What do you want to know?”

           “Well we’ve known each other for a while now, and you’ve nicely let me pilot your ship this whole time,” he began, doing something unfathomable with the controls. “And I ain’t complainin’, just so you know, it’s a nice gig and this is a pretty great ship. But I can’t help but to wonder why you never fly the ship yourself.”

           “Why would I want to?” Yra asked, settling into the chair. “I get that you’re really into ships, I do, but I’m not.”

           “Considering how much you complain about my piloting skills I would’ve figured you would pilot the ship at least some of the time,” he pointed out, turning to look at her. “At the very least to vainly attempt to show me how it’s done.”

           Yra reached over and tapped the autopilot command, ignoring Andronikos’ positively offended look, entering in the coordinates of their current destination, and settled back. “That’s how it’s done,” she said with a shrug.

           “That’s disgusting,” he said. “But seriously, Sith, I wanna see how you fly. Show me what you were doing before I entered the picture.”

           “I let the droid fly,” she replied with a grin, amused by the look of pure horror that crossed Andronikos’ face. “I wish my holopad had a camera, your face is priceless right now. It’s not like 2V is a wretched pilot, Andronikos, he’s outfitted with all of the latest piloting software.”

           “I just don’t get why you’d never bother flying the ship yourself,” he grumbled, turning back to the controls to switch the ship back to manual controls.

           “Well, not knowing how to fly a ship would be the major reason, I suppose,” she said simply, spreading her arms in a grand gesture as if imparting great wisdom upon him. “You keep forgetting that I am a former slave. They do not tend to teach us how to pilot, lest we get ideas of flying away to our freedom.”

           “I guess that makes sense...” the pirate admitted, glancing back at her. “Dunno why you wouldn’t have bothered to learn after becoming a Sith, though.”

           Yra shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve had the time to learn, and I’ve been focused on other things.”

           “Well, there’s no time like the present,” he said cheerily. With that, he reached back and dragged her out of her own chair and onto his lap, ignoring her sharp “Andronikos!” as he settled her comfortably, and so he could still see what he was doing.

           Yra glowered at him, stiff as a board and thankful her face was already red so he couldn’t see her blushing. Sure, they’d been flirting since Tatooine, but he was getting far too friendly. It was wholly inappropriate, and disrespectful towards a Lord of the Sith. She was just going to ignore how nicely warm he was and that she didn’t actually mind being in his lap all that much.

           She wrinkled her nose. “You need a bath,” she complained, one of the few things she definitely didn’t like about the pirate.

           “Hey, I had a shower three days ago,” he protested, and Yra made a disgusted face. “Don’t be so snobbish, I heard all about you wading around in toxic goo on Balmorra, I don’t think you have any right to judge me.”

           “I wasn’t “wading around” and I showered right after!” She snapped. “There’s a shower right on this ship and this ship is tiny so you really don’t have any excuses!”

           “Did you know your nose gets scrunched up when you’re annoyed?” He asked casually, grinning at her.

           She put her hands over her nose. “It does not!”

           “You’re adorable.”

           “I am not!”

           “Afraid so,” he chuckled, marvelling at how easy she was to rile up. He probably should have been a crispy pile of ash by now, considering how quick she was to violence, but perhaps she actually did like him and didn’t just flirt with him as part of a weird, Sith game. It was a little bit awkward, but he managed to manoeuvre his hand to tug at the long, high ponytail she kept her hair in. “Cute as a button, especially the hair.”

           “I don’t think I like you anymore,” she said mulishly, crossing her arms and making a mental note to see a stylist.

           “Hey, don’t be like that just ‘cause you’re embarrassed,” he chided.

           “I thought you dragged me onto your lap to show me how to pilot the ship, not to make fun of me,” she grumbled.

           As piloting was something Andronikos liked very much, this was all that it took to get him to change subjects, giving Yra the chance to compose herself as he explained the different controls and what they did and how to use them. The cockpit was warm — some fault in the ventilation that she’d not yet bothered to get fixed — and being in Andronikos’ lap and semi-embrace made her even warmer, and the low rumble of his voice lulled her into a state of relaxation. She’d stopped properly paying attention after the first few minutes, only hearing the occasional phrase, concentrating more on the sound than what he was actually saying. It was rather... pleasant.

           “Hey. Hey. Sith!” Yra opened an eye, not realising she had closed them. “You even listening to me?”

           “Mmhmm,” was her incredibly unconvincing response.

           “For someone who was gettin’ all upset a few minutes ago, you relaxed awfully fast,” he commented dryly. He grinned. “I guess you like me after all.”

           She blew a raspberry at him. “Don’t get cocky, pirate, I’m just — ”

           Andronikos did two things that, if he had been anyone else, would have seen him a charred corpse on the floor. Firstly, he interrupted Yra when she was speaking. Secondly, he did so by kissing her firmly on the mouth.

           She stared at him, stunned into silence. Mostly from the sheer audacity, but also because, for once in her life, she’d actually kind of liked a kiss. From a pirate. Oh, stars, what is wrong with me the ghosts are making me insane. Despite this reaction, she kind of wanted him to do it again.

           “Hey I finally found a way to get you to shut up,” said Andronikos, grinning like the cat that got the cream. Inwardly, he was worried that he possibly had grossly overstepped his bounds, but he’d been feeling reckless and just gone with it. Too late now. “I didn’t realise you purebloods could get even more red faced than you already are.”

           Yra shoved at him, getting no-where because she was on his lap still. “You jerk,” she muttered, sliding off his lap and stalking off to her quarters, visibly upset.

           Andronikos sat in stunned silence for a moment before jumping up and going after her. “Hey, Sith — Yra,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her back to him. “Where you runnin’ off to in such a hurry?”

           “Away from you,” she snapped. “I put up with a lot from you but I won’t be treated like some game!”

           He stared at her. “Is that what you think?”

           “What else am I supposed to think, with the way you make fun of me?” She seethed, tugging at her arm. “Now let go of me before I set you on fire!”

           “You can’t set me on fire,” he said, but let go anyways... just in case. “And I’m not makin’ fun of you, Sith. Just teasin’ a little; you gotta admit you leave yourself open for it.”

           “I have no openings. It’s why I’m still alive,” she grumbled, starting to calm down a little. It wasn’t really about the teasing — that was just an easy excuse.  She was upset with how much she was being affected by the pirate, and how easily he seemed to be turning her previous conceptions of intimacy on their heads.

           But she wasn’t going to tell him that.

           “I dunno, Sith, you let your guard down a lot around me,” he pointed out. “Come on, you gotta like me a little, right?”

           Yes, and that is entirely the problem. “I like you a lot less when you trick me with promises of lessons to manhandle me,” she muttered, crossing her arms.

           “Hey, I was genuine with my offer to teach you how to fly,” Andronikos protested. “You were the one falling asleep!”

           “And that made it okay to kiss me without permission?” she asked dryly, tapping her fingers on her arm.

           “I... well, no... I just figured, you know, the way we’d been flirtin’ and all...” The pirate had the grace to at least look a little sheepish. “And you’re just so cute when you’ve gotten all riled up, I couldn’t help myself... but I won’t do it again, if you don’t wanna.”

           Yra snorted, calm now that she’d had some time to regain control of her emotions. “Next time, ask me first,” she said primly, brushing past him on the way back to the cockpit to retrieve her holopad.

           “Oh? There’s gonna be a next time?” he grinned, following close behind her.

           “That depends on you. And if you take a bath.”

           “Hmm...” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her back against him. “How about a little kiss as an incentive, then?” He murmured wickedly in her ear.

           “You’re incorrigible,” she complained, trying to ignore how the sound of his voice, so deep and close to her ear, affected her. “But, if it will get you clean...”

           “Heh, you should already know I’m open to bribes,” he said, turning her slightly. “Good t’see you’re learning.” He kissed her again, slower and a little less firm, surprisingly gentle from such a rough-and-tumble pirate.

           “Ugh,” came a voice from the ship entrance, and Yra jumped, instinctively shoving Andronikos away. The two looked at the entrance to see Ashara, back from a mission Yra had sent her off to hours ago and looking utterly disgusted. “I knew I should have taken longer coming back...” the former Padawan muttered before heading to the engine room.

           “I need to start sending her on longer missions,” Yra muttered.

           Andronikos grinned at her, and she realised she’d said it out loud. “I guess you like me after all.”

           “Don’t start getting cocky, pirate.”

           “Heh, too late, Sith,” he chuckled giving her a quick kiss on the nose, laughing when it scrunched up in annoyance. “Do you want to finish that flyin’ lesson now or what?”

[fandomwritingau]

Consequences |LRH| Chapter 21

Trigger Warning: Panic attack

Evie

Pushing at the door with my hip, the white wood swings wide as I hope my brother is not standing on the other side. I was greeted by a familiar face. But not the one I was expecting.

“Blake?” I questioned, staring blankly at my best friend clad in a pair of barely there shorts and what looked like one of my brothers shirts.

“Oh, uh, Evie!” She cheered, practically dropping her mug as she pulled me into a hug. “I didn’t think you’d be here for a few more days!”

“Yeah,” I winced at the tight hold, dragging out the word slowly. “Don’t take this the wrong way but why are you here? In my house? When you didn’t think I would be here for a few days?”

“About that,’ She trailed off, pulling back and giving me a sheepish smile.

“Babe, do you want to get some food before we lea-,” James practically smacked into the door frame as he noticed me standing there, mouth half open and eyes wide. “Evie! Hey.”

“Uh, babe?” My hip cocked out, eyebrows high as James fumbles for words. “How long has this been a this?”

“Uh, a couple of months?”

“Months? Why didn’t you guys tell me?” My eyes met Blake’s sorry hazel eyes, her messy brown hair clinging to her lips as she pushed it out of her face.

“We didn’t want you to freak out, or I don’t know, feel weirded out about this.” She explained, leaning into James’ shoulder as he put an arm around her waist. Schooling my features, I nodded slowly as I contemplated my next words.

“I guess I just don’t understand how,” I breathed in through my nose, “ you managed to get her James. Cause I’m pretty sure you leaving your boxers on the stove might be a - Hey!” I laughed as James tossed a dish towel at me, Blake laughing as she snatched the next one from his hands. “I’m just kidding. I’m really happy for you guys.”

“Thanks sis.” James smiled, hands pulling Blake into him embrace around her and kissing her gently on the lips.

“But that,” Motioning to them and their public display of affection, “that needs to be kept to a minimum around me, for a while at least.” They both nodded, smiles on happy faces. I was happy for them, they were both such wonderful people that deserved an equally wonderful person. James quickly glanced at his wrist watch.

“Oh shit, sorry to run out on you Evie. We've gotta go or we’ll be late getting to the school.” Oh right, the football team had an away game tonight. James was the College Quarterback and Blake was the captain of the cheerleading squad, how did I not see them being a this?

“Oh yeah,” I basically spoke to thin air as they skid out of the room, “of course.” Sighing, I grabbed the mug Blake left behind, sipping the cooling coffee before realizing she had just drank out of it after doing who knows what with my brother. “Okay, ew, gross.” Spitting the liquid into the sink, I startled when arms went around me not having heard them walk back into the room.

I was barely able to supress my scream, tensing at the hold that felt all too much like being held down. It was James, he was safe. Relaxing, I wrapped my arms around him and patted his fluffy hair. “Give em a run for their money, big bro.”

“Always do.” He grinned, moving so Blake could cuddle me into her. “Okay. We gotta go.”

“Don’t flash anyone!” I called as I took her in short skirt, laughing as she flipped me off and grabbed James by the hand. They couldn’t look more different, her in her short skirt and tight top while he was only in sweats and a loose jersey because there was no reason to put on the shoulder pads in the duffle bag he tossed over his shoulder til he got there. She would do her makeup in the car, sparkles getting everywhere but they were a power couple if I’d ever seen one.

I practically slumped into the floor as the door slammed shut, the silence that followed settling into my bones as I was alone for the first time since the incident. I was just lucky they had been so shocked at me finding them out they hadn’t paid enough attention to me to notice the small changes that I knew were written in the bags under my eyes. Letting my body lean heavily against the countertop, I heaved a shaky breath. I was fine, I was going to be fine but first - I needed to turn on music to break this silence.

10:01 pm.

I had been home alone for close to 8 hours, the soft music playing in the background my favourite company as I unpacked my things and settled back into my home. I had, had a one hour bath that I wished had relaxed me more than it did. I had sat there, raspberry bubble bath and vanilla candles filling the air with such a relaxing aroma that I could have fallen asleep had it not been for the fact that I felt like my skin was crawling. The touch, the scent, nothing was helping me escape the feel of that monster on my body. I could feel his hands forming the bruises on my waist and thighs; I could feel the press of his skin body to my limp form and my eyes shot open, after draining before I even realized I was doing it.

The next hour was spent sitting on the bottom of the shower floor, scrubbing at my skin til it was red raw and bleeding.Why couldn’t I get this feeling off of me? Why couldn’t I just be comforted with the fact that I was home, in my own bed and safe? Why couldn’t I shake the feeling like I had walked through a spider web, stuck in the hair thin film and couldn’t get out of it?

I was finally able to settle in my bed, relishing in the feeling of my own sheets and the lavender detergent that truly reminded me of home. We had been using this detergent all my life, it was relaxing, comforting to know that I could have some semblance of normal. That while I felt different, the rest of the world was still doing okay comforted me as much as it freaked me out. Life was still the same here, easy and simple like I hadn’t almost been - okay, that was a dangerous line of thought and I immediately had to shut it down.

I hadn’t cried yet and I certainly wasn’t going to start now. I was exhausted, I needed to sleep not think about that. Letting my eyes fall shut, I curled into a tight ball in my covers as I tried to accept that this was my reality. I was okay, I was home, I was safe and I could breathe.

The sharp buzz of my phone shook me out of my half asleep state, my hand smacking out to grab it figuring that it was probably just Blake checking in on me. They were probably just finishing up the game, James having to go over the plays with his team. She was probably already on the bus, half-asleep as they waited for the boys to get on. My thumb slid the answer button, my phone practically slapping me in the face as I answered.

“Hey, how’d the game go?”

"Did you miss me Evie-Rose?" My eyes shot open, hand pulling the comforter closer to my chest as my breath caught in my throat; No.

“Who is this?”

“Oh don’t play dumb darling, you know exactly who I am.” His voice was thick, scratchy and menacing down the line. Of course I knew who it was. I could never forget that voice.

"How did you-?"

“Get your number?” He clucked his tongue. “No need to worry about that love, I do have a question though. Are you excited to see me?”

“Excuse me?”

“I am thinking of making a trip to LA, visit my favourite girl.”

“If I even sense you near me, I will call the cops.” I couldn’t breath. I wished my voice was strong, unafraid but I was petrified. He knew where I was.

“Aw, is precious Evie scared? Or is that excitement I hear in your voice?” His chuckle was like a siren, the flashing lights of the club that blurred in my mind as I went limp in his hold. “Don’t you worry my love, I will see you soon and you and I, oh, we will have so much fun.”

The line went dead, my phone spilling from my hand and bouncing off the bed and onto the floor. He had my number. He had called me, taunting me with what he was capable of. He was on his way here and I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t. A loud knock on the door rocked me to my core as -

I shot up in bed, a scream caught in my throat as I threw my covers off of me. I was sweating, couldn’t make out where I was. It was the street light illuminating pastel walls, the slight tick-tock of my wall clock that brought my stuttered breath to a stop. I was in my room, there was no knocking and the blinking 3:48 on my clock told me that it had all been a startling, overly realistic dream. So that’s how it was going to be. No sleep, just horrid nightmares; great.

“You’re okay Evie, it was just a dream.” Rubbing my hands over my face roughly, I threw my legs over the side of the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. The light was slow flickering on but the moment I met my own eyes in the mirror, I wished I had left it dark. The bags under my eyes were darker than they had been that afternoon, my trembling lips almost as pale as my face and my legs were barely able to hold me up.

My shaky hand flicked on the cold water, cupping the cool liquid in my hand and splashing it on my face. I needed to make sure I wasn’t still dreaming, that the other hadn’t been reality and this the dream. I chilled at the feeling, a shiver running down my spine but I felt more alert and okay. I didn’t spare myself another glance in the mirror as I stumbled out of the bathroom, finding my cellphone under my pillow and dialing the familiar number like I was on autopilot. Pressing the phone to my ear, I pulled myself into a ball in my bed. I had to hold onto the childhood feeling that being under the covers meant I was safe from the monsters lurking in shadowed corners.

“Evie?” His voice was the complete opposite from the one in the dream. It was deep, sleep-filled and concerned. “What’s wrong,” He cleared his throat as it cracked, “everything okay?”

“I need you.” Is all I could get out, the lump in my throat too thick and my mind pounding as I tried to formulate a sentence. “Please. I can’t be alone.”

There was a rustling on the other side of the phone, the sound of a door slamming a moment later and she didn’t need to ask him to know he was already in the car.

“I’m on my way.”

He didn’t knock, simply used the key above the door as I had to get in. I wasn’t leaving the safety of my bed, not when he was still breathing down the phone to make sure I was okay. He kept his footsteps soft as he walked up the stairs, the creaking of my bedroom door an almost silent creak as he stepped in. I had rolled to my side, phone to my ear but back to the door and he didn’t say anything as he kicked off his shoes and squatted down beside my bed.

The line went dead, but the silence was no longer so quiet with his laboured breathing echoing in the room.

“Evie-Rose?”

“I can’t get the feel of him off of me.”

“Oh baby.” He started, startling as I rolled over quickly to face him. I didn’t realize I was crying til his hand reached out, pausing partway through to see if I’d pull away before letting his thumb wipe away the tear. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like his touch is everywhere and I know he’s not here but I can still feel him touching me. Then I had this nightmare and I, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you but I didn’t know who else to call.” A sob poured from my lips and any inhabitions he had flew out the window as he gathered me in his arms, scooting me over as he settled himself on top of the covers.

I curled myself into him, feeling every inch of his lean strength as his arms tightened around me. It wasn’t the same as the dark hold I’d felt a few days ago. No this was love, this was caring, this was brute strength trying to hold me together in the purest of ways. It hit me like a punch to the face; I hadn’t felt like I was at home all day because this man right here had at some point started to feel like safety, love, home to me.

“I need a little time.” I started, tightening my arms when he tried to pull back to see me. If he looked at me, I wouldn’t be able to say what I had to. “I need a little time before I can say yes, to you, to this, to us. I know I don’t deserve you,” His arms pulled me impossibly closer to him, “but if you just give me a little time, if you wait for me then I will try. Please, just don’t leave me Luke.”

His lips pressed to the side of my head, trailing along my cheek in slow, lingering wisps before a single kiss pressed to the corner of my mouth like he was writing me the most beautiful vow.

He pulled my chin up so our eyes met, “Love isn’t measured by how long you wait but how well you understand what you’re waiting for, and I would wait forever if it meant I got to hold you for a minute Evie-Rose.”

And when he kissed me, I could only feel his heart beating with mine.

A/n: Hi all you lovely people!! So im sorry that this is later than i said it would be, i got really sick on the last 2 days and the flight back from Thailand and the fever kinda kept me in bed till today. BUT IM BACK!! and chapters shall be posted on time from now on ahah Which is every second Friday, which the next one is the 17th of February! @mukeafcakeaf and i have been so much into this story and we really hope that you guys are loving it and even if youre not were still gonna write it because we can ahah Kisses ~Emma xxx <3

[leatherjacket-lovesong]

leather jacket love song - part two.

You can't fix this.

You wish you could. It's no secret any more than you'd do absolutely anything at all for Elvis. No secret that your life revolves around making his life better, no matter what the cost.

And Elvis knows it. You know he does.

And you know he takes advantage of your loyalty sometimes.

(Most times.)

And that often he gets a kick out of playing you.

(Using you.)

But not now.

Now there's helpless desperation clinging onto every fractured sob and his eyes are begging you. Pleading with you. As though the fate of the delicate life hanging in the balance relies entirely on you.

It's just your luck that the one time your best mate needs you, really needs you, is the one time there's absolutely fuck all you can do.

"It's alright. She'll be alright. The doctors know what to do." Your voice has never sounded so hollow. Your choice of words has never been so false.

You know what this means for Mattie. You both do.

And when Elvis sniffs and scowls, then presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and turns his back, you know what this means for you and him too.

For the first time in his life, Elvis has asked you for the impossible. For the first time in his life you're going to let him down.

"I'm sorry, mate..." a wave of guilt swells up in your chest, phantom water fills up your lungs, "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault..."

—-

You remember Elvis's first ever trip to the hospital. A panicked rush in your mum's car after a bedsheet parachute failed to stop him from landing face-first at the bottom of your stairs.

You remember the crunch.

And the groan.

And the subsequent shrieking of your youngest sister when she caught a glimpse of all the blood.

You remember how everyone seemed horrified barring Elvis. How the accident didn't even appear to affect him. How he spent the entire car ride with one hand clutching a bloody towel to his face and the other jamming its fingers into your ribs. Fucking with you.

You remember how small he looked perched on the edge of the bed in the nurse's office, swinging his legs because his feet couldn't touch the floor. How the nurse had first grimaced and then cooed her sympathy when the towel staunching the blood came off. How your mum chewed her fingernails and how white-white-white and clean-clean-clean the room looked.

You remember red.

And purple.

And black.

Blood flower bruises blooming across a nose bent crooked.

A row of already wonky teeth with a brand new gap.

Bloody saliva and bloody snot.

And you remember how later, on the way back home, white strips plastered across his nose and cylinders of foam stuck in his mouth, Elvis had turned to you.

With a lopsided grin.

And muffled laugh.

And you'd clutched his missing tooth tight in your palm as he leaned in close.

"Gotta make sure I jump off something higher next time. Think I could make it off my Dad's garage?"

—-

You've never seen Elvis cry.

You've witnessed his voice cracking. You've heard his words struggle around a lump in his throat. Once or twice, you've seen his eyes well up.

But Elvis is indestructible. An untouchable force made up of entirely ego and bone. And even through a friendship fifteen years in the making, he's never cried in front of you once.

When Mattie's parents turn up at the hospital, you follow him outside for a smoke.

And when he crushes the filter of his first into the wall, then immediately lights up a second, you know that he's come to terms with the reality, and you know that he's trying his hardest to stave it off.

Neither of you speak.

You stand in a deafening silence. Watch patients come and go as you both sweat into the cold. Later he nips the sides of his fingernails until his teeth draw blood.

And finally, when there's only one cigarette left rattling around in your packet and Elvis's lighter sends nothing but sparks into the gloom, you turn to him, gesture a thumb over your shoulder, cocking your head to the door. Just as you're about to speak however, Elvis cuts you off.

But not with words.

With tears beading in the corner of his eyes that the moonlight hits just so.

Your heart plummets. Your throat burns up. You consider asking him if he wants to talk. If he needs to talk. As though in the middle of this shit storm there might be one or two elusive words that can help you both navigate safely to a brighter shore. But there are no life-jackets, no magic sentences to keep you afloat. And when Elvis's floodgates break down for the first time in his life, you know it's too late for hope.

He hitches sobs into your shoulder when you pull him close. Throws his arms around you and grabs violent fistfuls of your coat. You bury your face in his hair, squeeze your own burning eyes tight shut.

Clutched safe in the fierceness of your embrace, your arrogant, unconquerable best mate is no longer bulletproof.

—

You hold him close for what feels like an eternity, yet at the same time not quite long enough, and it's only the sound of approaching footsteps that tears you both apart. Elvis immediately ducks away, wiping his eyes and nose furiously on the back of his hand, trying his absolute best to look anything but broke, while you set your shoulders and square your jaw and try to ignore the way Elvis's absence allows the cold to infiltrate the marrow of your bones.

It's Mattie's dad. One half of a couple who are both so tiny you're surprised the wind doesn't whisk them away like dandelions.

He pauses for a moment. Shifts a bit tensely on the spot.

You consider offering him the last of your smokes.

But then Elvis coughs, clearing his throat, and it's like it becomes some kind of subconscious signal for all three of you to 'man-up' because Mattie's dad takes a breath, manages a thin, trembling smile, then croaks,

"She stabilised. She won't be going anywhere for a long time,"

('If ever', you hear him say without words.)

"But she's..." (Not dead) "...alright."

His words don't sink in until you visibly see the tension in Elvis's hunched shoulders fall away, and it's not until the wave of relief has finished washing over Elvis that it finally hits you.

"I'm sorry." You say, because guilt just seems to have become 'your thing' now and apologies are just what you do.

And when Mattie's dad frowns a bit, you find yourself elaborating on autopilot, "She didn't look well earlier. Before the show. I asked her if she was okay and I knew she wasn't. I should've driven her to the hospital straight away. I shouldn't have left her sitting in that back room on her own..."

"Dom." Elvis's hand on your bicep. A grip that's a little too hard. A little too forced. "Don't, mate. Please don't."

(Don't make everything about you.)

—

You go home when you know you're no longer needed. When Elvis has fallen asleep in the chair next to Mattie's heart monitor and started to snore. You're tired. Fucking exhausted. Every muscle in your body screaming while you're brain still runs frazzled at a hundred and one miles an hour or more.

You sink into the drivers seat of your car as the sun comes up. Rest your head on the steering wheel. Try to ignore the incessant buzzing of your phone.

It's Julian.

'Thinking of you all x'

Half an hour later, you're at his flat, knocking on his door. Struggling to keep your eyes open. The adrenaline that's kept you on your feet for the last several hours long gone.

He fusses after he lets you in.

(He always does.)

Shifting things in his flat that don't need to be shifted. Rearranging worldly knickknacks. Straightening the embroidered Chinese rug.

You took it for nervous energy on your very first visit, but after a few dozen times hanging out with him you're not sure what to think any more.

"Shit... Poor Elvis." He exhales, when you've finished explaining everything, but conveniently left out the part about the hug. Because Elvis gave you that secret moment, and you're not about to give it away to someone else so soon. "Poor Mattie... Her poor mum and dad..." Julian rubs the back of his neck.

You're half sunken into his vintage sofa, feeling like your bones have melted into the upholstery and he carefully perches himself down beside you.

The silences you share with Julian are nothing like the ones you share with Elvis — always heavy and apprehensive, like a bomb waiting to go off. The silences you share with Julian are understanding... soft.

And when you realise neither of you have anything left to say that won't hurt, Julian gently slides an arm around your trembling shoulders, tenderly inches you in close for a hug.

As your first tear darkens the shoulder of Julian's denim shirt, you realise that this is what you came here for. This is why you didn't go home.

In Julian's flat you don't need to be strong for Elvis.

In Julian's flat you can just be Dom.

—

You go to visit Mattie and Elvis. The three of you. Julian's bearing a bouquet of flowers that takes up the entire passenger seat of your car and you're pretty sure the only reason Noel's tagged along is because he wants to take back his coat.

Still, it's nice for Noel to bother showing up. Even if he does spend half the journey to hospital complaining that the flowers are setting his hayfever off.

You don't expect him to help you pay for the parking, and he doesn't.

Julian does.

And you don't expect him to help haul Elvis's clothes and guitar out of the car boot, and he doesn't.

Julian does.

What Noel does do, however, is grab you roughly by the shoulder just as you're about to walk off.

"I think you'd better see this."

His phone suddenly shoved in your face makes you take a step back.

"Oh, come on lad, be decent now." You brush it away without looking. A tit-pic from one of his many random hook-ups is the very last thing you want.

(He already forwards you enough of them...)

"No, seriously, guys, look. Mattie's just got an email from—"

"Woah. What?" Julian spins around. "You're on Mattie's account?"

You snatch Noel's phone. Half hope he's taking the piss, because it would be a lot less sick than what he's obviously done. But it's no use. It's there.

Matilda Linnington. Inbox 1.

Rage swells in your gut.

"You absolute cock!" You bellow, "She's laying dying in the hospital and you're hacking into her fucking email account?!"

Noel's eyes widen, he protests, "I didn't hack anything! She used my phone the last time I saw her! She didn't log out!"

"Oh pull the other one you insensitive cunt!"

Launching his phone back at him, you turn away, grab Elvis's guitar and head across the car park. As you go, you hear Julian spitting feathers, "What the fuck, Noel???"

Until Noel suddenly pipes up again. Cockier this time. Self-assured.

"Fine. Walk away. Get your knickers in a bunch. I'll just tell a certain Mr. Malcolm Lars, top talent scout of Razorsharp Records that hey, thanks a lot for the offer of a potential record contract mate, but unfortunately for you, The Stiff's are quite happy playing dive bars for pennies. They don't wanna know..."

Your heart jolts against your ribcage. You stop. Your tongue is sandpaper as you turn on the spot.

"Malcolm Lars... A contract... Are you having a laugh?"

But Noel only leans back against your car. All Cheshire Cat grin and smug folded arms.

"All here in black and white, lads. Guess we played a belter of a show after all..."

——-

You don't know how to tell him. You don't know if you should.

How do you explain to someone that their biggest dream has a chance of coming true while the love of their life is dying in a hospital?

You decide to do it as a group on neutral ground, away from Mattie and down the pub. Because Mattie doesn't need to know that Noel hacked into her emails. And Mattie doesn't need to hear the expletives that are likely to come out of Elvis's mouth.

You don't really know if getting Elvis a bit merry is a good thing or a bad thing, but you still buy him a pint, still cling on to some kind of vague apprehensive hope.

Four futures hang on his shoulders, and you know it's selfish to want him to want this /right now/, but he's your songwriter, your front man. At the end of the day, you, Julian and Noel are /Elvis's/ band.

"So uh... we've got something to tell you..." You start, when your drinks are half empty and all four of you are seated and Noel has tactfully placed himself as far away from Elvis as the table will allow.

Elvis looks at you. Then at Julian. Then at Noel. He frowns. "Okaaaaay..."

"Well, it uh... it appears we had a bit of an unexpected guest on Friday night..."

He quirks a brow, looks half nervous, half confused, "...and?"

"And..." You search for the right words, for sentences that might not hurt, for a sensitive way of breaking potentially life changing news, "...how would you feel about signing a record deal? /Theoretically/, of course."

Elvis stares at you dumbly. You may as well have just told him that the Earth is made out of spaghetti for all he understands.

Julian, as usual, chirps up, "Show him, Noel."

And Noel makes a sound like a yelp as Julian wrestles away his phone.

Elvis stares at the screen for what feels like a millennium. You try to read his face, try to pick out hints of emotion in the subtle knit of his brow, the momentary twitch of his lips, the slight flaring of his nose.

You're not the only one. Julian's leaning forwards anxiously darting eyes between Elvis and yourself, and Noel's half perched on his stool as though he's about to run.

Slowly. Silently. Elvis eventually looks up.

There's no swearing, however. No name-calling, or lunging across tables, or beating Noel over the head with a pint glass.

Just an unsettling quiet, and Elvis's unreadable eyes doing a round of the table, before landing back on you.

And you're so busy trying to decipher his expression, so busy trying to hear what he's saying to you without words, that you don't even notice him hovering Noel's phone over the rim of his pint until you hear the splash.

Noel scrambles. Julian ducks. You get poised ready to intervene any flying punches, but Elvis just simply stands up. Grabs his jacket. And gives you all one last long scathing look before walking off.

—-

You don't follow him. Not that you don't want to.

(Because you do. You always do.)

But because you promised to give Julian and Noel a lift back home. And because you're pretty sure Elvis is ready to start throwing punches as soon as you attempt to 'talk'.

You finish your cider in silence as Noel sulks and Julian uses the sleeve of his jumper to dry disassembled parts of Noel's phone. Then you round the two of them up like children, when you've had enough and herd them out to your car.

Your plan is to drive back to the hospital with hope that Elvis might have cooled down, after dropping the two of them off, so you why you end up leaning against Julian's doorframe as he fiddles with his keys, yo don’t really know.

"I feel kinda bad for Noel." Julian grimaces, flashing you a second of a sheepish glance as he unlocks the door.

If Julian has ever shown a single ounce of pity towards Noel, you don't remember. This is a first.

"I don't." You tell him pointedly, as you follow him over the threshold. "He got off pretty fucking lightly, as far as I'm concerned. Not exactly known for holding back, our El."

Julian's studio is made up entirely of floor to ceiling windows, stacked canvases and exposed red brick work. It smells faintly of cinnamon and rubbing alcohol and what you think might be Chanel Allure, but you're not quite sure. And you watch as he swipes aside jars of paintbrushes cluttering his dining table, then brandishes drinking glasses and a bottle of vintage bourbon.

"He was in shock." He says, meaning Elvis.

"Nah, he wasn't." You still can't quite place the look that Elvis gave you. The too-quiet subtext meant for only you to hear. But you know it wasn't shock. Know for definite it was something else. Something meaningful. Something that struck so deep it hurt.

Disappointment, maybe.

Disappointment in you.

For knowing.

For wanting.

For expecting.

"I shouldn't." You say, when Julian slides a glass towards you and you instinctively pick it up.

"I really shouldn't." You repeat, when the ice cold rim touches your lips and Julian lifts his own glass in salute. "I won't be able to drive home..."

------

You don't go home.

Or back to the hospital.

You're not sure if you ever really wanted to.

Instead, the evening passes you by steeped in artful conversation and tasteful jokes. And by the time you become an owner of too wide gestures caused by too many glasses of bourbon, the daylight is already sinking low beyond the ragged Manchester skyline and Morrissey's reminding you how much you'd rather be anywhere but here. Anytime but now.

Out on Julian's balcony, you tilt your open cigarette packet towards him on autopilot, then feel a hot flash of shame as he waves a dismissive hand and you remember he's trying to quit.

He still stands out in the cold with you anyway. Keeps you company as the breeze  cracks against his paint splattered denim jacket and whips his tousled sandy hair about.

And you realise, with an odd tightness in your lungs, how different the two of you are.

Your heart's stuck in 1960s London.

His in 1960s New York.

Whenever the two of you come together you become Twiggy at the Silver Factory. Julian, Edie Sedgwick on Carnaby Street. Both completely out of your element and in the wrong place. But working somehow. Figuring it out.

Getting ever slowly more dizzy, you think, this must have meaning...

There must be something more...

(Julian, can I ask you something?)

You don't actually say it, though. Alcohol has dulled your need for permission.

In place, you simply implore, "How did you know?"

And when Julian's forehead wrinkles and he quips a friendly, "Know what, mate?" you almost lose face and back out.

It takes a long few moments of conjured bravery from the bottom of your glass and carefully chosen words plucked from the curls of your cigarette smoke before you talk.

"You know... fellas and stuff. Into other blokes. How did you know?"

-------

You don't think he's going to answer. You're not sure if you even really want to know.

You're a little bit drunk and a little bit hurt and it's making your tongue just that little bit too loose. Because you're not used to this. Not used to this at all.

Not used to the alcohol. Not used to being able to relax. Not used to recognising the strangled grip that chewed nicotine stained fingers have had for years around your heart.

But after swallowing his surprise and rearranging himself to stand a little closer, Julian lifts his eyebrows and rubs his neck then starts with laugh,

"Don't think I ever had a sexual revelation, to be honest. Think I came out of the closet the day I was born."

He gifts you a good humoured grin, but you don't smile back.

He sobers.

"I just... well, I guess I always kinda knew... Knew that I was different. That I wasn't like all my mates. That maybe I liked one or two of those mates a little bit too much... Then they all started getting girlfriends and talking about tits and I just didn't give a fuck. Like... they could well have been speaking a foreign language for all I understood. Then our sis took me to a party during freshers week and some guy gave me a handy out the back and that was that. Enjoyed it. Wanted it again. Realised I really was into lads."

He shrugs, leans back against the metal railing.

For an uncomfortable moment you can feel him studying you. Feel the hot weight of his eyes bearing down.

And when you continue to watch glowing embers drop over the balcony and don't look up, he adds -- quieter, gentler, as though he just might have read your thoughts,

"I don't think anyone really knows what they like until they give it all a try, you know?"

But you're not sure you agree. You're not sure you agree at all. And you lean on the railing, grinding your teeth, until he goes on,

"Something bothering you, Dom?"

"No." Immediately, you straighten. "Just curious that's all." You toss your cigarette end into the wind, "We going back in? It's cold."

—

You wake up on Julian's sofa, with your mouth tasting like something crawled in there during the night and died.

Cold sunlight spears through his windows, jabbing its sharp fingertips into your eyes and you instantly drag the blanket back over your head with a groan.

You can't remember the last time you had a hangover. You're too used to walking a thin line and staying just this side of sober, in case Elvis does something dumb.

But now Julian's whistling and so is the kettle, and their duet hurts your head far more than it should.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" Julian's chipper voice pierces your brain like needle.

You tug the blanket tighter, not wanting to come out.

"Come on, lightweight, this grim English day waits for no Manc." Footsteps across floorboards. The sound of ceramic meeting the coffee table. Julian's chuckling laugh. "You soft bastard, get up, it's nearly nine o'clock. I want my couch back."

"Fuck off, get another one." You screw your eyes against the pounding in your head. The echo of your own voice hurts.

You don't understand how Julian can be so cheerful when he matched you last night glass-for-glass. 

When you finally do emerge from your cocoon, haggard and blinking, Julian drops a box of paracetamol on your chest, then ruffles your hair.

"Wakey wakey, there's a good boy."

You swat him away with a half-hearted swing of your arm.

"You always this annoying in a morning?" You ask, once you've clambered out of your nest and managed to pry two painkillers from the box.

Julian leans back against a windowsill, folds his arms. Nods. "Yup. Pretty much."

He's made you tea, and you grimace as you try to wash the rotting taste of the hangover out of your mouth. "Makes no wonder you don't have a boyfriend..."

"Oi." He interjects with a frown, "That was a bit below the belt."

A rumble in your chest. The faint hint of a warning snarl. "I'll show /you/ what's below the belt in a minute, son."

Silence.

And then.

Julian.

With a mischievous glint in his eye and a cock of his head as he leans toward you. "Is that a promise, Dom?"

You don't feel the pillow in your hands, but you do see it bounce off the window when Julian ducks.

----

You didn't expect Elvis to go back to the flat.

But then you didn't expect Noel to hack into Mattie's email account either. Despite how much you full well know that he's a selfish cock.

So when Noel texts you telling you that Elvis came home and wrecked the place, you start to wonder if maybe you're losing your touch. Wonder if maybe you don't know your mates as well as you used to. As much as you /should/.

One thing Noel failed to mention in his text, you realise — when you get there and you eye the fist-shaped hole in the flat door, and the fist-shaped hole in the living room wall — is that inanimate objects weren't the only things on the receiving end of Elvis's right hook.

Because Noel's finally wearing a bruise that's not a shagger for once.

"Where were you?!" He near enough yelps, standing in the middle of hurricane Elvis's aftermath, all upturned sofas and broken glass. "I thought you were going back to the hospital to talk to him?! To make sure he was alright?!"

"I was! I was going to! I just..."

"You just what?? Fucks sake, Dom, look at what he's done to the place! I could have been killed!"

"Oh fuck off! 'Could've been killed', my arse. He's not /that/ bad." You wave a dismissive hand as Noel gives you a look like he's just been slapped.

"You didn't see him, mate. You didn't see him, 'cos you were too busy getting pissed out of your mind and dancing round the Gay-Pole."

Ice in your veins. Your stomach jolts. "Wait, what??"

Noel glares. Trudges past.

"Yeah, think I can't tell. Come here stinking of whisky, still in yesterdays clothes... Got it written all over ya, mate. /Guilt/." The point of an accusing finger. The jut of a jaw. "Now if you'd actually gone to the hospital and had a talk with Elvis like you said you were going to, instead of spending your night balls deep in Kaminski, then maybe he wouldn't have—"

He doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence.

Before you've even realised that you've moved, you've got him slammed into the nearest wall, his Adam's Apple bobbing against your palm.

The rumbling in your chest is back. The familiar rage that catches like a growl in your throat. And Noel makes a sound like a whimper, eyes widening, as you lean in close.

"Now you listen to me, you mouthy little prick. This has fuck all to do with Julian. And it's got fuck all to do with me. This is /your/ fault. Your fucking problem, Noel. You pissed him off. Not us. And with the way that you're going right now, you're lucky I don't beat the ever living shit outta you as well." Grip tightening, voice low, you're acting purely on primal instinct as you stare him down, nose to nose. "I'm going to find Elvis. And I'm going to bring him home. And when we get back I am going to fix this. And you are going to apologise. Do you understand?"

You don't wait for him to agree, it's not like he has a choice.

Instead, you squeeze his windpipe just that little bit too hard as you deliver the final blow with a snarl, "And after that, Noel Elways... after that I am /done/ with you. Fucking. Done. You're no mate of mine..."

----

You hate it when she looks at you like this.

Liquid blue eyes shimmering. Eyebrows sloped morosely upward. Teeth sunken into a too-pale bottom lip as though to keep it from wobbling.

You'd do anything to make her stop.

"Where is he, Dominic?" She tosses back the blanket, then makes as though she's about to climb out of the hospital bed, every movement of muscle eliciting a wince, and you rush over immediately to coax her back in.

"I don't know... I don't know, but I'll find him. I will." The patchy disorder of frizzy white hair she has left, snags at your fingers when you stroke her head.

"And he's definitely not at his mums?"

"No. I swung by on my way here. No sign of him. She hasn't heard from him in weeks, in fact. Didn't have a clue that anything was even up."

Heck, you even checked in at your /own/ mum's. Which had been a mistake, really. Because it only succeeded in creating one more person in the world who questioned, 'and where were you?' with that accusing cock of a brow and cemented the feeling of being a complete and utter fucking failure in your gut.

"You've no idea where he might have gone?"

You've answered this same question so many times now, the answer has become meaningless.

"Not yet, no. And his phone's off. And I've been leaving voicemails all morning. But he won't get back in touch." You drop down into the chair beside Mattie's bed, press frustrated hands into your eyes as you toss your head back. "I just... I just need to think... If I was Elvis... where would I go... What would I do..."

Get pissed. Start a fight.

(Throw yourself in front of a double decker bus...)

A shift of bedsprings. Pressure on your knee. And when you look down again, Mattie's leaning over, supporting herself on your leg as she peers anxiously up.

"You'll find him." She assures you, "You know him better than anyone. I trust you, Dom."

And maybe it's the fact that she's the first bleeding person all day who hasn't basically outright told you that Elvis having one of his famous fucking tragic-romantic temper tantrums is all your fault, but something inside you shifts. And you feel a relief of wound tight tension. A gentle releasing of what feels like emotional springs compressed between your bones.

You take her frail, little paper-white hands in yours. Kiss them both.

"Thank you..." Your gratitude is more an exhale of breath than words. "You're the only flippin' person who does."

---

You duck out of the hospital doors with Mattie's parting words spinning circles in your head.

"He's making a mistake, Dominic."

And you know that. Because of course he is. He's Elvis. Mistakes are just his thing.

Another fruitless attempt to get through to his phone as you half-jog across the carpark. Another frustrated voicemail full of exasperated sighs when it's still switched off.

"Elvis. Kidda. Come on. Switch yer phone on. Call me. Mattie's worried about ya. Stop being a dick."

Your shitty, piece of crap car greets you with a ear splitting crash, as you fold yourself into the driver's seat and the motion of your body causes the passenger side dash to spring open, spewing an avalanche of cassette tapes into the footwell.

“Fucks sake."

You don't regret buying a car that should have been scrapped and turned into beer cans twenty years ago.

(It's very nineties. It's very you.)

But you do regret letting Elvis jam the glove compartment full of so many cassette tapes that every time you drive over a speed bump the whole thing rattles like a box of Tic-Tacs.

And you do regret letting Elvis practice his lock-picking skills on said glove compartment, so that now even after you manage to cram all the tapes back in where they belong, the latch no longer works and the entire contents just come tumbling back out into your hands again.

You'd scream if it weren't for a certain familiar, hastily side-slanted scrawl that catches your eye.

The spidery lettering stuck behind scratched and oddly misted 'vintage' plastic would be barely (if not impossibly) legible to anyone else. But to you, who's already spent the best years of your life deciphering pages of angsty teenage song lyrics scribbled by the exact same hand, it's a doddle.

Because it's Elvis.

A copy of Joy Division's 'Closer'. Recorded from vinyl.

The first tape he ever made for you. The very same day you bought your car.

Acting on either instinct, or some kind of sepia tinted half-worn memory you can't quite remember, you turn the case over.

On the back, amongst the messy track-listing that looks as though it might have been written by someone with very little knowledge of how the English alphabet actually works, the very last song title 'Decades' is underlined twice. Bold. And beside it, in the tiniest and surprisingly neatest handwriting of all — and bracketed, as though added as an afterthought, as though he might have been unsure — just one simple word.

'Us.'

You're not thinking as you slip the tape into your car stereo.

You're not thinking as you turn the key in the ignition and the engine coughs before remembering how to growl.

And you're not thinking as you pull out of the carpark at the exact same second that the drums for 'Atrocity Exhibition' kick up.

Because you remember now.

You know exactly where Elvis has gone.

-----

You find him in Macclesfield.

And it's surprising, really — embarrassing, almost — that it's taken you nearly all day to locate him. Because five years ago Macclesfield Crematorium would have been the first place you looked.

As the leaves in the lower valley whisper, and the wind pushes the scent of roses into your nose, your feet carry you up the path towards the middle of the yard, to that little well worn row you've walked a thousand times before.

A narrow walkway full of overgrown graves and wilting flowers, where 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' has reined quiet command of a central kerbstone.

"Thought I'd find you here, you morbid cunt."

Elvis is sitting on the ground in front of the Ian Curtis memorial, arms hugged tight around his knees, head down.

As young teens you'd both skip school to come here. Drink bottles of cheap lager bought from the offie round the corner with fake I.Ds. Leave behind your train tickets and cigs and nostalgic black and white memories of a time in musical history that would never be yours.

He doesn't respond, but he does lift his head as you sit down.

You think he's been crying, but you're not quite sure.

"Did he have any answers for you, then?" You ask, nodding toward the little plot, overflowing with mourning fan's cheap plastic jewellery, love letters and hopeful studio demos.

"Not really." His voice is scratchy, as he mumbles into his sleeve. Like static on a vinyl. "Doesn't talk much."

The grim smile that briefly tugs one side of his mouth never quite manages to make it all the way up to his eyes.

He exhales. "I'm taking it you saw Noel..."

"Unfortunately." You concur, "And the flat..."

Elvis grimaces. You go on. "Did he fight back?"

Elvis snorts, "Did he fuck."

You didn't think so.

"Mattie's worried sick."

"I know."

"You kind've had me going for a minute, and all."

No answer. Just grey downcast eyes, like the sky before a storm.

You change tactics. "You eaten yet today?" Elvis shrugs, but the microscopic shake of his head says no. "Fancy seeing if we can catch the chippy in town before it shuts?"

And talk to me, you think. Please. Just tell me what you want.

He stands at the same time as you do, but when you get halfway down the path you realise the only footsteps you can hear are your own. You turn around to see Elvis is still standing by the kerbstone. At this distance he's all slim angular profile, moody, morose.

And you watch, with your pulse flickering an anxious beat in your neck, as he pulls a plectrum from his jacket, then bends to place it on the stone.

It's over, you think. As he steps towards you and you greet him with a companionable lean and nudge of an elbow.

It's over. You’re not in a band any more.

---

You get home just after ‪ten o'clock‬. After getting some food into Elvis' stomach. After driving back to Manchester. After explaining everything to Mattie and making Elvis promise to stay-fucking-put.

Trudging into the house, you deflect an instant barrage of nagging questions from your positively frantic mother with grunts.

"Did you find him?"

"Is he okay?"

"Where on God's green earth had he gone?"

She follows you around the kitchen buzzing in your ear like a fucking mosquito as you heave one sigh after another, scowling, trying to make a cup of tea to stave off the headache ominously brewing at the back of your skull.

Because you're fucking knackered.

Completely done.

Ready to fall into your bed and hopefully never wake up.

It's only when your phone vibrates and you divert your attention to read a text from Julian that your mum /finally/ shuts up.

'Hope everything went alright with Elvis. Needs an ankle tag, that one. Enjoyed getting you pissed last night, though. You're a laugh when you're drunk. Think you should let me do it again, sometime soon. Sweet dreams, Amigo. x'

Not that your mum stays quiet for long, however.

"Who's that?" She pipes up, craning to get a glimpse of your screen, "Girlfriend?"

"Huh?" You feel your forehead pulling into a puzzled frown. "Why'd you say that?"

"Oh, just Mother's Intuition..." She grins, beaming, as she reaches to ruffle your hair up, "You were /smiling/, son."