#you know. the kind that teenage boys who play CoD think is cool

[corvid-language-library]

Awkward moment where I'm expecting a delivery of arm warmers and the parcel that is two very large very heavy boxes and I'm like... did I order something else or...?

Opened it and it's very clearly been delivered to the wrong address. So now I just have a pair of giant boxes taking up a very large portion of my very tiny flat.

[baby-grayson]

CAT- SUMMER CAMP GRAYSON?!?!?!?

Destiny Park had not met anyone more infuriating than Grayson Dolan. He was the bane of every waking moment of her existence from the start of their first summer together, when they were just six years old. 

Partners LLC, was a summer camp especially for twins. Nestled in the beachy, rural crook of Cape Cod, Partners focused on teaching twins how to become independent from one another, but also on introducing them to other sets of twins, who could empathize with their unique struggles. The camp was founded by Mr. Marcus Park, inspired by his two twin daughter: Destiny and Harmony Park. 

Destiny, Harmony, Ethan, and Grayson had spent all of their summers growing up running around the sandy shores, chasing after each other with hermit crabs and dead jellyfish. Sometime when childhood turned into adolescence, soda bottles turned into spin the bottle, learning to swim turned into drowning in hormones: the fearsome foursome disintegrated as Destiny and Harmony naturally tended toward giggling with the other teenage girls and Ethan and Grayson preferred to compete with the other boys to see who could get the most bloody but in the least amount of trouble. 

The old foursome were brought together again at the age of 17, when Mr. Park hired all four of them as counselors and put them in charge of the camp’s youngest charges. Ethan and Harmony spent their days making friendship bracelets and watching Bambi with the cabin of little girls, ages 7 through 10. Meanwhile, Grayson and Destiny were left bandaging wounds, running after, and smelling a group of little boys. 

Grayson loved his cabin of boys: he went to bed at night and thought about the prospect of being a father and getting to do it everyday. He high-fived Luke and Evan Mulligan when they figured out how to make a beach sled out of a broken reclining chair. He taught Marley and Bruno Blackwell how to make farting sounds by sticking their fists in their armpits. Grayson even helped little Timmy Andrews learn how to trend water when.his brother left him having a panic attack at the shore. Grayson was in his prime: a role where he was a role model, mentor, and a caretaker for fun-loving and pure souls. 

Meanwhile, Destiny Park was less than enthusiastic about their bunch. She ran after Grayson, Luke, and Evan as they rode their beach sleds: yelling about how they could get hurt and that it was strictly against the rules. She lectured Marley and Bruno for more than an hour about how armpit farts were not polite and not to be preformed in the mess hall. She ran from the beach to her cabin to look at her father’s explicit instructions for panic attacks, only to run back to shore, completely out of breath, and see little Timmy laughing in Grayson’s arms. If it wasn’t for the fact that her father was her boss, Destiny would have quit during the first week. 

The boys in their cabin could tell Destiny was less than happy to be there with them. When she wasn’t looking, they would ask Grayson why she didn’t like having fun. Grayson shake his head and tell, “Girls just have different kind of fun. Don’t be so hard on her.” 

But on especially silly nights, Grayson and the boys were known to play harmless pranks on Destiny: or well, their definition of harmless. 

On one specific night, Grayson pressed his finger to his lips to shush the boys. He snuck over to the kitchen, with his troupe training behind him, and swapped Destiny’s bottle of tomato juice for the hottest hot sauce they could find on the Cape. 

Grayson pretended to sit at the table and teach the boys how to play cards. He shot Timmy Andrews a forceful glare to stop his giggling when Destiny strolled into the mess hall, covered in sweat from her nightly run. She brushed the sweat from her forehead and reached for her tomato juice, only to start spitting it up and grunting. The sauce exploded from her lips and decorated her outfit, the kitchen counter, and the floor around her. 

From the corner of the mess hall, the group at the table combusted in laughter. Grayson nearly fell to the floor, holding his gut and wheezing at the look on her face. The boys broke out in impersonations of Destiny’s reaction, spitting on the table and floor around them. Grayson didn’t have the breath to tell them to stop. 

Destiny huffed, her eyes pinching at the corners. Her mouth folded into a knot and her feet slammed against the floor boards as she shoved the mess hall door open and started for her cabin. 

Grayson picked himself up from the floor and chased after her, yelling words of apology between his laughs. 

Halfway to her cabin, Destiny planted her feet firmly in the ground and turned to face Grayson. She pointed a finger at his chest before she started speaking, “Don’t. Don’t come after. Don’t- Don’t pretend like this is funny. It’s not.” 

Grayson cleared his throat, suddenly forgetting the soreness in his belly from laughing. He took in a sharp breath. 

“Oh my God,” Destiny spat, “You just- You can’t be an adult, can you? Can you? Because I feel like you’re- you’re one of them” she shoved her hand in the direction that they came form, “I’m working by myself because you just..you’re so irresponsible.”

Destiny let her finger fall and turned the other way. She didn’t expect Grayson’s response. 

“You should lighten up,” his voice was sensitive, “They’re trying to have fun with you.” 

Destiny turned around, a fuel in her eyes. 

Grayson spoke before she could open her mouth, “They want to have fun with you.” He shrugged, “You can’t be all rules, all the time.” 

“You make it hard not to be,” her words came out sharp. 

Grayson groaned, “I’m sorry,” he wiped a hand down his face, “Won’t happen again.” He sighed.

Destiny continued to walk the other way. 

“That one was out of your playbook by the way...” 

Destiny turned and lifted an eyebrow in Grayson’s direction, her anger not letting her think straight, “What?” 

“When we were kids...” Grayson started, he toed a rock that was at his foot, “You pulled that on Ethan? After he fed your hot dog to the seagulls?” 

Destiny gave him a stare that only flickered with anger, no familiarity. 

“I thought you were so cool,” Grayson admitted in an attempt to diffuse the situation, “I would have never thought of that one....you know what, go” he waved his hand, “Go take a shower, take the night off.” 

Destiny huffed and started preparing a snarky response but Grayson turned and jogged back to the boys before she could speak. She huffed and rolled her eyes, wondering how on Earth Grayson Dolan didn’t mature past the age of seven.

[modosphere]

All I Want For Christmas Is You

“Soph! Can you come down for a moment, please? Your father is calling you!”

“Down in a sec!” I yelled back, closing my bedroom door again, so I could say my goodbyes to Rose. “Okay, drive safe and text me, alright? I want to know how everything goes. I’ve got to go, my parents want me.”

“Alright. I’ll talk to you later, bye!”

I hung up and head downstairs, throwing my phone onto the bed before I did. 

“What’s up?” I asked, walking into the dining room. Mum and Dad were sitting at the end of the table, a cup of tea each and a packet of biscuits between them.

“Sit down.” Dad told me, a small, smug smile on his face. Oh dear God, this wasn’t going to be good. Not for me, anyway. “Don’t look so worried, Soph, relax.”

More reason for me to be worried.

I sat down on the other end of our table, opposite my dad, at the head. Bring it. This was bad. Either Dad was having another mid-life crisis and had decided to moan about his life more publicly than usual, or they were adding to my weekly quota of family time again.

“Soph, Zayn’s parents just rang.” Mum told me calmly. Dad watched me carefully beside her and I felt my stomach flip at his name. Okay, I was definitely not ever going to get used to that. His name, I mean. Even from my mother’s mouth it sounded ridiculously appealing to me and that in itself was so dysfunctional beyond words, I almost shuddered in disgust.

“Oh, did they?” I tried to sound neutral. It kind of worked. “What did they say?”

Dad took a sip of tea and looked over at me.

“They’re inviting us to their Christmas party.” He said the last two words with contempt and I tried not to wince and roll my eyes at the same time. Dad was still having... Issues about that. “It’s next week on Christmas Eve and then they invited us to spend Christmas Day with them, too, to have... Lunch.”

“That was nice.” I opted for saying, going with the neutral answer. “A bit short notice, isn’t it?”

“Well, apparently, Zayn was meant to mention it to you.” Mum turned to me and I felt my body tense slightly at the icy look in her eye. “You see, this is why we don’t like our young, Muslim daughter working in journalism and finding her own husband, because we can’t control your exposure to him and find everything out last.”

I couldn’t help but feel my anger rise slightly, even though I knew I was rising to the bait.

“Well, not really, you know exactly what happens and when I see Zayn.” I frowned, irritation seeping into my voice. 

“Yes, darling.” Mum said patronizingly, in that way that made my skin itch. “But if we had from the beginning, you wouldn’t be engaged right now, would you? You didn’t tell us when you met Zayn before, because you knew we’d disapprove.”

I scowled, even though I’d heard that wasn’t a great look for somebody who had graduated. 

“I think what your mother is trying to say,” Dad interrupted coolly. “Is that it would be nice if you didn’t withhold information from us, sweetie.”

He called me sweetie.

Yeah, I wanted to kill them both.

“So either Zayn’s parents are lying, which I don’t see any reason for them to do.” Dad continued. “Or Zayn didn’t tell you. Or you didn’t tell us.”

“And if Zayn didn’t tell you, that’s not a very trusting relationship, is it, darling?” If my darling mother patronized me one more time, I was going to jump across our stupid glass dining table and rugby tackle her to the floor. 

“He did tell me, I just didn’t think it’d be your thing.” I said defensively, not liking the way my parents automatically wanted to blame Zayn. It wasn’t because they even wanted to think their daughter perfect; no, it was because the more dirt they had on Zayn, the more they could rub it in my face. 

“Leave it to us to decide whether it’s our thing or not.” Dad said, sounding slightly menacing now. I clenched my jaw and tried to envision happy thoughts. See? I couldn’t win. If I didn’t back up Zayn, I was marrying a total loser and my parents would be on my back about it. If I took his side, they felt all pissy because I wasn’t a part of their crappy little gang. Urgh, I hated them both. “Now-”

“I just thought you guys wouldn’t want to go and anyway, you wouldn’t unless they called to invite you.” I frowned.

“See, there, it wasn’t so hard to tell the truth, was it?” Dad smiled patronizingly and again, the urge to rugby tackle somebody took me over. I shook my head to protest, but Dad just shook his head at me. “Now, now, Soph, we’re just trying to help, we’re not throwing accusations, are we, Ruby?”

Mum just raised an eyebrow at me.

“So, what did you say to them?” I sighed in defeat, clenching my fists under the table. “Do you want to go, then?”

“Well, I was going to tell them we’d think about it, but your father thought that would be too abrupt.”

I decided to not look in my mother’s direction. When she was like this, I only wanted to gauge her eyes out with a plastic fork.

“Do you want to go?” Dad asked me carefully.

Oh, God, I knew this was a trick question.

“Are you here that weekend?” I asked, proud of the neutrality in my voice. “And doesn’t that mean we’d have to stay in Bradford for a few days or something?”

“You leave that to me.” Dad told me calmly. “Do you want to go, Soph?”

I was tempted to tear my hair out. I mean, what a stupid question. Did I want to spend Christmas with Zayn? As opposed to staying, okay, yes, in London, but with my family, awkwardly fighting for volume control as I tried to watch the Doctor Who special? 

Then again... Even if Matt Smith was no David Tennant... There was still the Doctor Who special.

“I think it’d be nice.” I said carefully, ignoring the triumphant looks on my parent’s faces. You’d think they’d be a bit more mature. I mean, for goodness sake, Zayn was my goddamn fiance, the least they could do was understand that that meant something. 

“You won’t just be seeing Zayn, his entire family will be there.” Mum told me coldly and even though I knew she was only playing Bad Cop so Dad wouldn’t, she was still seriously pushing it. Whether she admitted it or not, she liked Zayn, so I didn’t see what the goddamn fuss was. “I hope you’re not just doing it to please him. I mean, God forbid you should try and please your parents, but this boy comes along and oh, you’ll do anything for him-”

“Alright, Robina, do you want to have this conversation with her when I’m not here?” Dad snapped. Ah, there it was. Dad’s false sense of manliness. What difference did it make if we spoke about feelings? Not that I did that anyway, but I did simply loved the way my Dad acted like we were talking about periods or something whenever my feelings for Zayn came up. Not that I really... Had anyway. I mean, a second ago I’d referred to him as my fiance and no matter how true that was, IT CREEPED ME OUT TO SAY IT. “Soph, if you want to go, we’ll go, okay? Do you want to go?”

I nodded reluctantly. Hadn’t somebody once warned me that love was all about sacrifices? Well, I was screwed. I refused to admit I had any type of positive feelings for Zayn and I was still sacrificing the years of teenage rebellion I’d built against my parents for him. What even.

“Right, then your mother can call them back now and we’ll tell them we’ll see them next week. It’s not a problem.” Dad smiled at me and it was one of those rare moments that I didn’t know whether to accept his sudden niceness and forgot he was mostly a prick, or be suspicious. Mum opened her mouth to complain, but Dad just glared at her. “Oh, for God’s sake, Robina, she’s already marrying the damn boy, what more embarrassment can she cause us?”

Yeah... Prick it was.

“Hey, Adam!” I yelled over the din of surround-sound Power Rangers. “Do you want to go to a Christmas party next week?”

“No.” Adam shouted back, before shuffling in, in all of his eleven-year-old glory. “No, wait, whose party is it?”

“Zayn’s parents.” I told him calmly, feeling slightly better as our parents watched us, confused. “I think it’s in Bradford, though.”

Adam thought for a minute.

“Is Zayn going to be there?” 

I nodded.

“Yeah, that’d be cool, we’ll go.” Adam told us importantly, before going back into the lounge and watching whatever crap it was he was watching. 

“Adam, why should we go and see Zayn?” Mum shouted out, teasing. I heard Adam grunt at the interruption. He’d finished his studying for the day, I knew what that meant; his brain was officially dead until he had to wake up for school tomorrow. “Don’t you think it’d be more fun to stay at home, just us four?”

“No.” Adam said back, snorting from the other room. Mum could see him from where she was sitting, but I didn’t need to watch him to know what face he was giving her; the look that clearly meant she was crazy. “Zayn’s cool, he said he’d play COD with me.”

“When did you meet Zayn?” Dad asked sharply.

Adam was so good, I didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“I didn’t, but he follows me on Twitter.” Adam said. “I’m watching TV now.” Translation; shut up and leave me alone.

So we did.

. . .

1 WEEK LATER

“Make sure Zayn knows the boundaries.” Mum was telling me quietly as Dad parked the Range Rover somewhere we wouldn’t get blocked in. “If your father sees him touching you, he’ll kill him.”

“I know!” I sighed, rolling my eyes as we waited for someone to open the door. The driveway to the new house was packed with cars. I knew the boys would be here. Rose was going to be late – Harry was picking her up from the station, he’d been running late anyway – but the others should be here.

Including Zayn.

I’d gone for the natural look today, not that I’d had much choice, what with the whole no-red-lipstick-until-the-wedding-day thing. I was still wearing more make-up than usual, though. Black eyeliner, mascara, tinted moisturizer, fairly natural looking pink lip-gloss. The clothes I had chosen myself, for fear my mother would make me so feminine, Zayn wouldn’t recognize me. I was wearing skinny black jeans, a stripy jumper that screamed “festive season” and some navy high-top Converses to match the stripes. 

Adam clearly looked the smartest out of all of us. He also looked way too much like a rockstar for my liking. Skinny black jeans, a white shirt and a black blazer, with his own black Converses. He and Mum had argued over the shoes, but Adam had argued that if I was the only reason we were all going and I wasn’t being forced to glam up, he shouldn’t be either. And Dad had just agreed because we’d been running late.

I rang the doorbell, chewing on the inside of my lip nervously.

“Soph, don’t be nervous.” Mum told me quietly, squeezing my hand. “You look hot, Zayn must be bloody blind if he doesn’t see that.”

That made me snort, especially as I saw Adam shoot Mum the most freaked out look ever.

And then the door opened.

“Louis, you wan-” Niall’s eyes widened as he saw me, eyebrows raised, standing with Mum and Adam. “Soph! You made it!” Niall shrieked, before grabbing me in a great bear hug.

Now, I love Niall’s hugs, I do. But my mother isn’t such a fan.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or not. He was so... Enthusiastic. I hadn’t seen any of the boys for the past few weeks, what with the second leg of the tour and everything. I’d spoken to Harry a few times about the whole thing he was going through and the other guys had emailed a couple of times... I hadn’t really spoken to Zayn much. Sure, he’d called and text, but I’d always found a reason to cut it short. 

Don’t judge me, okay? The whole... Getting married thing was scary. Especially considering... Well, everything we had gone through to get here. But it all seemed so much more real now. I mean, I was getting married. To Zayn. Of all people in the world.

“Soph’s mum, nice to meet you.” Niall grinned, letting me go to hug Mum instead. Adam and I glanced at each other, trying not to laugh, as Mum politely hugged him back, looking confused. 

“Hi.” Dad nodded to Niall as he let go, appearing out of nowhere. He had his polite voice on. “Shall we come in?”

“And you must be Soph’s Dad!” Niall yelled happily, shaking Dad’s hand enthusiastically. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Lovely to meet you all, truly. And you must be Adam!”

“Hi.” Adam said politely. 

“Welcome to the brotherhood, man, we’re all playing video games in the other room, so stick around.” Niall told him sincerely and I felt my shoulders relax as Adam smiled broadly up at him. It was one thing for Adam to approve of Zayn, but it was another for him to approve of the other boys. “I’m Niall, by the way.” Niall said to Mum and Dad, smiling. “I’m the token Irish one in the band, I work with Zayn.”

I knew Mum recognized him from my hardcore One Direction days, back when they’d just released the first album. Dad nodded and smiled like he knew what was going on and Mum brightened a little. I knew what she was remembering; me and her cheering Niall on as he Irish-danced on Alan Carr.

Niall hustled us in and I stared at how... Busy everything was. There were people everywhere, to start with. Drinking, laughing, talking – yelling at kids.

“I’d avoid her if I were you.” Niall told us cheerfully. “One of Zayn’s relatives friends or something, all I know is that she likes shouting a lot, she hasn’t made many friends.”

I shook my head at Niall, smiling, as he took our coats.

“Soph, I’ll go and find the rest of the boys, they’ll be so glad you’re here, we didn’t know if you were coming or not.” Niall grinned. “I mean, Zayn told us you were coming with family, but we didn’t know if you’d actually be able to make it or not, coming in from London and all.”

“Nice save.” I mouthed as soon as my parents back were turned and Niall shook his head at me, Adam giggling beside us. The boys knew about the constant battle Zayn and I were having against my family. 

“Adam, come with me, you can join our little tournament.” Niall clapped a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Soph, I’ll-”

“Oh, you’ve arrived!” I heard somebody gasp and I turned, with a smile, to my future mother-in-law. God, that term was dysfunctional. “Niall, why didn’t you tell me? Honestly, you boys are useless – Robina, you look lovely!”

I let Patricia do the whole happy-hostess thing. Don’t get me wrong, I loved her to pieces, but I knew she had to play it up for my Dad. Which she did. She looked stunning, as always. Yaser – sorry, Uncle Yaser (future father-in-law, oh God) came out and he and Dad seemed to be getting along.

It was surreal, I’m not going to lie. Not the party; the 1D Mums loved me. Why wouldn’t they? I kept Harry in check, pushed Liam to get a love life, ate relatively healthily with Niall, made sure Louis didn’t let anybody use his minutes so he had enough to stay on the phone with his Mum and... And, yeah, okay, Zayn was my future husband. But still. The girls came over and said hi. The usual; hugs, kisses, “Oh my God, you look great!” being passed around.

“Oh, there you are!” Aunt Patricia – you see, I had no problem calling her Aunt, I mean, c’mon, I’m Asian, I’d been doing it for years, but it was weird, because the boys instantly thought it made Zayn sound like my cousin, which, just, ew, no – looked behind me, rolling her eyes. I felt my shoulders tense. She only reserved that equally loving and irritated tone for one person. “Look who’s arrived.”

I knew I shouldn’t have tied my hair away from my face, what shield did I have now?

I turned and saw Zayn standing behind me, his hands shoved into his pockets. I’ll admit it; my heart stuttered a little bit. He’d let his hair grown out even more than from the last time I’d seen him; it wasn’t gelled up, so was a thick, wavy mess. Black trousers, a black V-neck jumper. Of course, his black and purple Air Max trainers.

He didn’t have his studs in, because he knew it irritated my parents. He’d shaved properly, so there was no end-of-day stubble. He was standing slightly awkwardly and I quickly looked away, as I saw his head begin to turn in my direction.

This was utterly pathetic. He was putting the ring on my finger and making our engagement fully public in a couple of weeks. God, when I’d hated him I’d been way more confident, how was it that, having one of the hottest guys on the planet want to marry me made me feel all... Gushy?

Easy. Because I was still trying to pretend that it didn’t bother me that he’d made the first move, how much I truly cared for him and Hell, how I fully planned on jumping him repeatedly on our wedding night.

Ahh, wedding night. How about I didn’t think about that right now??

“Hi Uncle.” Zayn said with a small smile on his face, shaking Dad’s hand. He kissed Mum on the cheek. “Aunty Ruby, you look stunning-” I blocked out, wincing as I heard him high-five Adam. It was so wrong. Zayn and Adam getting along was just so wrong. I mean, Adam felt protective over me when Dad complained about his tea, but the guy I was marrying? No, Adam was cool with that.

This is what I got for brainwashing Adam into a Directioner in my teenage years. 

I chewed on my lip, arms folded over my chest as I looked up, feeling Zayn turn to me. 

I looked into his stupid, stupid, stupid brown eyes. They looked green in this light.

“Hey.” He said softly, smiling that stupid, horrible, cute, brilliant, sexy little smile he saved just me. 

“Hi.” I managed to say, just as quietly, chewing on my bottom lip with a small, forced smile. Oh, God, I felt sick. Oh, God, Zayn was making me feel sick. See, this was a problem. Why couldn’t it be the way it had been when we’d hated each other? I’d had way more confidence then! 

There was a flurry of instructions then. Uncle Yaser (FATHER-IN-LAW, SO VERY DYSFUNCTIONAL, PEOPLE) took Dad to sit with the other men, Aunt Patricia took Mum off with a wink, Niall whisked off Adam and then... It was me and Zayn.

“Why are you staring at me like you would the penguin enclosure?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at him and feeling slightly more comfortable at how confident I sounded. Not felt, but sounded. 

“You look beautiful.” Zayn told me, allowing himself to grin at me goofily. “I think someone made the effort for me.”

“Oh yeah, Mum was out to impress.” I nodded, knowing that was exactly what he hadn’t meant. I went to walk away, agonizing over the fact I’d have to walk past him. 

I didn’t get far.

As I went by, Zayn subtly placed his hand over my wrist, our shoulders touching.

Ah, ah, ah, help, help, help, close proximity!

“I think you made an effort.” Zayn murmured to me quietly, looking into my eyes. Oh, God, it was really hard to be in denial when he was pulling out the eyes. I mean, that was unfair. I didn’t have eyes like his. I mean, they were brown, but they didn’t have freaking superpowers like his. “I appreciate it.”

“You know if my parents see you touching me before the wedding, they’re going to butcher you, right?” I managed to ask, my voice sounding slightly shaky, even to my own ears. I could smell his aftershave. I could feel his hot breath on my cheek as he spoke and dear God, I wanted to run away screaming. And not because I hated it. The opposite. 

“I don’t see you complaining.” Zayn smirked at me. He shuffled slightly closer, so he was standing half in front of me, obscuring everybody else’s view, his chest not too far away from being pressed against mine. Help. Have mercy. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Not... Not avoiding.” I managed to stammer. Oh, God, oh GOD, his lips were RIGHT THERE... This had been a bad idea. “Just creating suitable distance.”

Zayn’s smirk widened.

“You’re going to be my wife in a couple of weeks, Soph, we’re going to be close.” Zayn’s eyes fell from mine and travelled slowly up and down my body, giving me tingles. “... Very close.” Okay, that was it. I was going to cry out of pure sexual frustration.

Yes, I said it. Sexual frustration.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I was glad (sort of) that it’d be... Special, when the time came. 

But, in case nobody else had noticed, my fiance was ZAYN MALIK, okay? It was torture. Especially when he did... This. I mean, I hadn’t even kissed the guy. Not that I didn’t already know about the absolutely epic sexual chemistry we already had. I mean, come on, last week had been practically nothing to what was going to happen on D-Day (aka, Wedding Night, aka When Soph Stops Being Virginal). 

“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned.” I cleared my throat first, sounding nonchalant. I tried to tell myself I just didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting me flustered... But I knew that was a lie.

A LIE.

Because I knew the more I acted like he wasn’t bothering me, the more Zayn would try. And honestly, I didn’t want him to stop talking.

“Oh, yeah.” Zayn nodded neutrally, before smirking at me, his eyes smoldering from underneath those killer long eyelashes. Arrgh. I was going to throttle him, I swear to God. I was going to pull a total Lady Macbeth and stab him in his sleep. Was that Macbeth? See?! Zayn was messing with my brain so much, I was getting my literature mixed up! ME! “I should probably warn you, actually, so you’re prepared. I’m going to start with your-”

“Soph!” 

I almost passed out with relief as Liam popped his head around the door, beaming at me. Zayn stepped back smoothly, letting go of my wrist, his head down as he hid his giant, triumphant grin. Smug bastard. 

“Hey!” I forced a smile and stepped away from Zayn, feeling giddy. Arrgghh, Zayn was making me swoon. How pathetic. Hey, would he catch me? OH GOD, SOPH, NOT HELPING. “Sorry, I was, uh,-”

“Are your parents around? Or can I hug you?” Liam whispered, looking around.

I laughed and hugged him quickly, making sure to inhale deeply. Liam smell. Not Zayn smell. Zayn smell made me feel giddy, Liam smell just smelt good.

“Zayn messing with your head?” Liam asked me quietly, sounding amused.

“Aha, you have no idea.” I whispered back, before pulling away.

. . .

The party was... Great.

The food was great (though I didn’t say it in front of Zayn, because I knew he’d helped and he was charming my parents too much for my liking already), everybody was really friendly (except that one lady who we’d seen when we’d walked in, but Adam and I had mostly avoided her) and even my Dad was having a relatively good time. I mean, I’d seen him laughing.

Shock, horror.

“He’s fitting in well.” Zayn nodded towards where Adam and Louis were battling each other on the X-box, sidling up behind me. 

“Too well. He’s adapting better than I am.” I smiled, shaking my head and turning to face Zayn – freezing as I saw how close he was. His face was inches away from mine and the way I could see the teeniest of smirks on his lips – on the lips I was very, very close to – instantly made me know that it was deliberate. “The party’s going well.”

“Yeah, you’ve gone down a hit.” Zayn murmured, smirking again. I stared at him for a moment, about to say something – but unsure of what – before I turned away. “Everybody’s going to be leaving soon.”

“So early?” I asked in surprise, turning back to him, but making sure there was more distance between our faces this time.

Zayn gave me a funny look.

“Soph, it’s nearly midnight.” Zayn blinked. “Countdown to Christmas starts in a couple of minutes and then people will be leaving. Including you. Are you coming to lunch tomorrow?”

“No idea.” I shrugged, stiffening and wincing as, by shrugging, my arm grazed Zayn’s stomach. Okay, so he was wearing a jumper, but still. WHAT IF HE HADN’T BEEN? Oh my God. I was going to find that out soon enough, wasn’t I? What it was like to brush against Zayn, in general, when he wasn’t wearing ANYTHING? Argh.

You see, this was why I had been “avoiding” Zayn. It wasn’t avoiding him as such; it was more the fact that I was kicking myself. I mean, I’d been this super-confident, borderline-cocky, perfect flirt before. Not before, before, I mean between before before and now before and URGH – you get the point. And with the wedding approaching (by wedding I mean D-DAY), I was expected to still be that sexy motherfucker (if I do say so myself). And I wasn’t. I was petrified. Not in THAT way, but just, generally...

Argh.

“Oh, God.” I muttered, seeing couples standing up and slow dancing, as a cover of “All I Want for Christmas Is You” by Michael Buble began to play. Mum was shifting next to Dad, who was probably playing a game, on his iPhone. Zayn followed my eyes. “Way to make her feel like shit, Dad.”

“What’s the matter?” Zayn frowned, looking at them. “Your parents?”

“He’s not dancing with her.” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “It’s something small, but it’ll hurt her. And even if she says it – which she probably already has – he’ll brush her off.”

“Does that bother you?” Zayn turned to me, his eyebrows furrowed. Argh. Perfect eyebrows. NO SOPH, STOP IT. “That she’s not dancing, I mean. Do you want her to?”

I snorted.

“Yeah, watching my mother slow-dancing has always been on my bucket-list.” I snorted, before sighing. “But... I don’t know, she doesn’t have memories like that with my Dad. Romantic ones, I mean. That makes me sad, not the fact she’s not dancing.”

Zayn folded his arms across his chest, watching Mum, and I could see the shape of his arms.

I’m going to go and kill myself now.

“I’ll be back in a sec, alright?” Zayn told me, walking off before I could answer.

“Yeah, that’s-” I stopped muttering and felt my eyes widen as I saw him walk over to my parents. OH DEAR GOD, NO. “Zayn!” I hissed, even though he couldn’t hear me. Which was weird, because I saw him incline his head slightly, from the other side of the room. “No, no, no, Zayn, no, you stupid-”

“What’re you spazzing about?” Adam asked, appearing of out nowhere, looking at Zayn. Adam frowned. “Why’s he over there?”

“Come on.” I muttered, edging closer to them with Adam, trying to make it look natural.

“... Married first.” Dad was saying, glowering at Zayn’s head. I winced. Not good. “Then she’ll be your mother-in-law, ask me if you can dance with her then.”

I can safely say both Adam and I gaped at Zayn after hearing that.

“Well, Uncle, I was going to ask you, but it didn’t seem your thing.” Zayn told Dad sweetly, smirking a little. I stifled a gasp over my mouth. Oh my God.

“Nooo.” Adam muttered. “Dude, no way.”

“Shut up, Adam, it’s not funny.” I muttered, trying not to laugh. No. Not funny. “He’s challenging Dad’s authority, that’s not nice, that’s not, uh, what’s that word? Oh yeah, respectful...”

“He’s also standing up to the grumpy old man, I don’t know what planet you’re living on, but I find this bloody hilarious.” Adam snorted.

“Shut up, Adam!” I shoved him gently, covering my mouth as I laughed. Okay, so it was a little funny. Very funny. “Oh my God, look.”

Dad had waved his hand dismissively, standing up and already calling somebody, Zayn taking Mum’s hand, her face full of a mixture of surprise and a blush at what I guessed was Zayn’s flattery.

I smiled to myself, without meaning to. Yeah, Zayn was good at stuff like that.

I watched as Zayn said something to Mum, making her laugh and slap him on the shoulder, telling him to shut up. Zayn was grinning as he danced with her, slowly, to the music.

As the song began to finish, Zayn caught my eye over Mum’s shoulder (not that that’s particularly hard, at exactly five feet, Mum was the family midget) and smiled at me. 

I mouthed a thank you, trying not to smile too much. Stupid charmer.

. . .

Ten minutes to midnight.

Dad had to disappear to the hotel; something about an emergency meeting with Pakistan about the new school or something. Mum was having a great time with Aunt Patricia somewhere – she’d cheered up considerably since Zayn’s efforts – and Adam was inside, playing with the boys.

Zayn had asked if he could talk to me in the garden.

It was cold and I was ill-equipped without my coat, so Zayn gave me the jacket he’d (cleverly) brought with him into the garden. It was snowing in Bradford. A real white Christmas. Maybe it was worth missing the Doctor Who special, not that I hadn’t recorded it. In London, all we wouldn’t gotten was slush.

Kudos, Maliks.

“Well, this is cliché.” I said suddenly, laughing. Zayn looked at me. “You know, the whole... Thing. Me and you originally hating each other, becoming friends and now we’re getting married... Cliché, don’t you think?”

“Should I take that as a compliment?” Zayn asked with a confused smile.

“Definitely.” I nodded. “Rose and I sob like babies every time we see The Notebook, cliché works.”

Zayn didn’t say anything, walking to the end of the garden. He brushed some snow off the small back wall and sat down, motioning for me to do the same.

“Nu-uh.” I shook my head. “I’ll get your coat wet.”

It was weird. Zayn gave me a strange, small little smile.

“It’s fine, Soph.” He said gently, freaking me out even more. “C’mon, sit down.”

I went to argue again, but – realizing that it sounded like I cared – I shrugged quickly instead and sat down, going to brush away the snow. Zayn got there first, shrugging when I looked at him questioningly.

“What do you want for Christmas?” I asked suddenly, looking at him. It was starry tonight. “I never really thought about it before, what do you want?”

“What?” Zayn laughed in disbelief and I shrugged at him, grinning for some strange, strange reason that was unbeknownst to me. “Bit late, isn’t it?”

“Tell me.” I commanded, grinning still.

“Well, good thing you don’t need to go looking for it.” Zayn smiled at me sweetly and I watched him, questioning. “I just want you.”

Oh.

“Well, I, you, I mean, uh, we, um-”

“I mean, all of you.” Zayn said quickly and I stopped stammering to stare at him in surprise. “I know you’re holding back, Soph. I just don’t know why. If you really don’t want to do this, we don’t have to get married, I-”

“No!” I burst out, feeling my cheeks turn red as Zayn raised his eyebrows at me. Awkward. “I... I mean...” Damn it. I took a deep breath. Man up, Soph, where’s your metaphorical penis now? “I do... Want to... Get married.” I said awkwardly. “To you.” I added quickly, watching Zayn’s mouth twitch. “”Oh, get lost!” I muttered, laughing as Zayn burst into laughter. “I was clarifying!”

“I noticed.” Zayn grinned, before becoming more subdued. I watched him, feeling... Weird. Happy weird. GOOD weird. “And you’re sure?” I nodded. Stupid question. I wasn’t exactly one to go gushing my feelings but... I... Liked Zayn. A... A lot. “Well, in that case...”

“In that case what?” I smiled, watching him take a nervous breath. “Zayn?”

“Well, my Malikah-”

“Oh, you Asian.” I snorted loudly. “Princess in Arabic? Next you’re going to start praying aloud on a bus.” I pretended to tut at him, watching Zayn’s incredulous expression. “Bloody terrorist.”

Zayn fought it. I watched him. His mouth was twitching and he was biting his lower lip to not laugh, but his shoulders were shaking and before I could even fully start grinning at him, he’d let out a large hoot of laughter and was trying not to fall over.

In fact, he nearly fell face-forward into the snow, so put a hand on my knee to steady himself, still choking.

For a moment, I froze. Anybody could be watching, aka, my parents.

But... I realized I didn’t mind.

So I laughed too.

“That... Is not the point.” Zayn laughed, shaking his head. “Look, I know we’re not meant to do this until February-”

“If you try and rape me, I swear to God, I’ll kill you.” I said automatically. Not that it mattered. I mean, what could any guy say to that?

“Yeah, it’s not rape if you like it.” Zayn smirked and I felt myself blush. Yeah. He could say that. I watched as Zayn went into his trouser pocket, pulling out a –

I covered my mouth with my hand, refusing to gasp. A turquoise box with a white ribbon. 

A Tiffany’s box.

“Zayn...” I managed to whisper.

“Your favourite movie is Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I thought it gave me a bit of a clue.” Zayn smiled at me. “Hand?” 

Wordlessly, I let him take my hand as he opened the box.

“I know I can’t give it to you now, but I wanted to see if it fit.” Zayn told me quietly, not looking at me properly. I didn’t see the ring as he took it out of the box and put the box away in his pocket. Silently, he slid it onto my wedding finger and tilted my hand in the light, showing me.

I gasped.

It was stunning.

It was simple. A shining, beautiful plain silver ring, a circular, beautifully cut diamond nested in the middle. As it caught the light from the house, it sparkled brilliantly, making me stare at it, speechless.

It was amazing.

“Soph...” Zayn seemed to struggle with his words. Not that I was listening. Oh my God, this ring was stunning. OH DEAR GOD, THIS WAS MY ENGAGEMENT RING. “I l- I really like you. You know that, don’t you?”

“I love you too.” I murmured, staring at my ring. Oh my God. This must’ve cost a bomb. I couldn’t let him buy me this. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was so pretty and it fit perfectly and everything and OH MY GOD, I’D JUST TOLD ZAYN I LOVED HIM.

My words died on my tongue, but I kept my face on the ring. Oh God. I’d just told Zayn how I felt...

... And it hadn’t killed me.

And it felt good to finally say it.

I loved Zayn.

I could feel him staring at me. Slowly, I brought my eyes up to meet his.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it.” Zayn was fighting a smirk, but he lost; he broke into a smirk, then a smile and then such a big grin, he looked at the ground sheepishly and laughed self-consciously.

And instead of pretending I rolled my eyes in my head and thought he was being a girl, I did the same thing. I laughed.

I’d finally admitted my feelings for Zayn. I mean, it was no secret why I hadn’t in the first place; my horrendous commitment issues, maybe, or the fact that we were so different, we were bound to fail?

But... Well, we hadn’t.

Because, yes, we were different and yes, I’d seen people just like us – so opposite – who’d tried and failed to have relationships, even marriages. And I’d seen my own parents stuck in their own, unhappy marriage, despite how crazy they’d been for one another and I’d gone through so much of my life not believing in love, even when it – he, Zayn – had been on my doorstep.

It felt good to allow myself to be happy for once.

And in that moment, I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t scared of D-Day, or the wedding, or what it would mean to be Mrs Soph Malik after it. The pandemonium that would ensue once we released to the press, the constant battle it was going to be to maintain a relationship when Zayn was away; not that we’d discussed that yet.

The idea of us being and making a family.

I’d always told myself I never wanted kids. Cars were better than kids was what I’d snorted at any girl who told me about their plans for a family in high school (you’d be surprised at how low aspirations were for girls with IQs over 100). But, I had secretly admitted to Rose and a few scarce others, that I didn’t want any children because it was likely that, even if I did end up loving my partner, it wouldn’t be the kind of love that could sustain a child. I wanted to be so happy, so in love, so perfect in my life and the man I was spending it with, that having a baby and sharing that love with him or her was the most brilliant idea in the world. I didn’t want to just have a baby for collateral, or because at four years of marriage, that was what I was supposed to do, before my ovaries got dusty and fell out.

Who would’ve thought that guy would be Zayn? If anybody had told me that, I would have punched them in the face.

I still might.

We heard fireworks go off and a loud cheer from inside the house. It was midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Soph.” Zayn told me quietly.

I didn’t think about what I did next, or who might be watching, or whatever other crap. I just did it. I tangled my hand with Zayn’s, my engagement ring sparkling under the sky.

I turned to him and smiled. I loved Zayn. I was in love... With ZAYN.

“Merry Christmas, Zayn.”

[long-way-down-rp-archive]

Winnifred “Fred” Torres

True Name: No Face Claim: Michelle Rodriguez Nickname and Aliases: “Fred.” “Winner” to her adoptive father, Luis Torres. Date of Birth: Unknown. She celebrates April 10th, 1990 the day Luis Torres found an infant on his ailing mentor’s doorstep, as her birthday. Apparent Age: 20’s Actual Age: Unknown. Likely 27-29. Gender: Cis Female. Kind: Shifter - Born Wolf Occupation: Courier Distinguishing Marks: Tattoos: A geometric black band around her right bicep. A Catholic cross on the nape of her neck (a gift from Luis, to protect her in her travels). Appendectomy scar. In wolf form: grey and white markings, dark rings around her eyes.

Personality: She’s solitary and very intensely private and guarded and trusts neither easily nor quickly. She can be prickly and snarky – but her sly sense of humor can also be surprisingly gentle. She’s kind but cynical. Around those she truly loves and trusts, she’s all clumsy affection and goofiness. She doesn’t get truly angry easily, but when she does it’s an ice cold and dangerous anger. She has a history of depression but she’s on an anti-depressant that works well for her – still prone to melancholy, though only those very close to her see it.

History:

Fred doesn’t think much about her past. Or the future. She lets the wind whistle past her and turns her music up and floats and for whole sections of highway she lives only in that precise moment in time. That’s what she likes about the Red Nights, about the vagabond life.

It’s not that her past is unhappy. She’d deck anybody who either tried to psychoanalyze her – she’s not against therapy, she’s done some herself, would recommend it to lots of folks, she’s just against smug bastards who think pontificating a few clichés and poking at someone’s sore spots without their consent means they know shit – or tried to suggest that Luis didn’t do a damn good job raising her. And he did, he really did. She didn’t have an auspicious start on life that’s for sure. Whatever happened, it must have been bad, for a cub – less than a year old, Luis’d always estimated – to end up lost and alone, no pack, no home, until she ended up on Luis’ mentor’s doorstep. But from the moment Luis picked her up she’s been warm and safe and loved.

If she were different kind of person she might get maudlin about those early years. Running just a little bit wild all over the property that’d become Luis’, watching him work, helpin’ and learning beside him. Luis’d had a whole slew of little brothers and sisters, had all the practice he needed and the patient, indulgent but reliable, fair-minded and gentle temperament to be a damn near perfect father. A terrible cook, and it’s a wonder Fred never got scurvy living off so much canned baked beans but hey, nobody’s perfect and Fred’s not in a position to diss anybody else’s cooking. Besides, she still likes canned baked beans.

Still, it’s just the two of them, really. And that’s not a proper pack. Oh, there’s Luis’ mentor, and Fred’s got only fond memories of the old man, but she’s also only got one or two memories of him ‘cause he died not all that long after she arrived. There’s the rest of the Nashville pack, sure, but they’re spread out. One of her only memories of Luis’ mentor is of him telling her stories of how it used to be – before his time even – of how many of them there were, how close they all were. But now, after the Cull, everyone lives far apart and though there’s the canine kinship between them all when they get together at The Back Forty or pass on the street, it’s fleeting.

There’s Luis’ big, warm, generous family. Now that’s a pack, alright. Abuelo and Abeula and so many Tias and Tios and primos for her. But they all live in Texas. And they don’t know why their son has settled so far away. And when Luis takes her to visit them for Easter and Christmas they welcome her like family – but, there’s still the edge of having to be careful around them, the weight of the secret between them.

And there’s the Red Nights. For as long as she can remember, those beautiful bikes and a handful of familiar faces have been riding in and out of her life. They were always family too, Luis’ brethren – even the ones that hardly spoke, or the ones that she didn’t speak the same language as -- but they were family that never stayed. Didn’t mean they weren’t family, but still.

For a long while though, Luis and her, that was enough. But then there was school. Nothing like being forced into close proximity with so many people you had nothing in common with to make you feel lonely. And it wasn’t just the wolf that felt the isolation and alienation. She was a weirdo, right enough. Her shyness was mistaken for stuckupitness. Her strange sly sense of humour for rudeness. Her clumsy affection was too transparent, too lacking in cool. At first she at least could run wild on the playground with the boys, shouting and jumping and playing basketball and feeling the thrill of being in her body bouncing off the energy of others solidly in their bodies. But then puberty hit, and hit a bit early, and suddenly there were lines that she hadn’t realized existed. She couldn’t be one of the boys anymore, but the girls didn’t exactly want her either. And she was definitely too short for basketball. Human or wolf, she just didn’t quite fit in. “Just haven’t found your pack, yet,” Luis’d say, “that’s all.” “It’ll happen. Just be patient.” And she’d tried to be.

She’d escaped into books, found kindred spirits between the pages and an even more powerful yearning for that kind of connection in the real world. Fantasy and science fiction were her favourites at first but then Luis gave her poetry. Gloria E. Anzaldua and Cherrie Moraga. Older women, with powerful voices that filled her up and kept her going.

She was smart, and lucky enough to have teachers who recognized it and encouraged her. Luis was so proud that she’d be the first of his family to pursue higher education. And for half a moment there, in the sunshine and sparkle of Stanford University, she’d thought all her lonely teenage dreams had come true, that she’d found her pack. Everyone was so verbally whip-smart, so willing to tangle words and ideas with her. And she fell in love. She’d never let herself even have half a decent crush all through high school, too keenly aware that these weren’t the right people for her, but here she let herself hope otherwise and she let herself be vulnerable. She let herself realize what she suddenly knew Luis must have realized a long time earlier – all those sapphic lady poets? No, not a coincidence – and in that bliss of letting herself be this new word, “bisexual,” she fell hard and fast for the girl who taught it to her.

And for a while it was heaven. But it was a heaven at least half manufactured, all Fred’s hopes and dreams projected onto people she didn’t really know. As the second year started, Fred started to come out of the haze of new infatuation, started to feel uncertainty creeping in. Started to realize that here too there were things she couldn’t talk about, things she couldn’t be – it’s just that they were different ones than the ones back in high school. She could be intellectual here, she could be queer, she could be witty and sparkling, but… somehow she never talked about being here on a full scholarship, didn’t let her friends or even her lover see her budgeting everything, never spoke Spanish. Things she couldn’t precisely put her finger on. And of course, she kept the wolf leashed and muzzled and hidden. Still, when Emma, beautiful elegant Emma, got down on one knee… Fred said “yes” and she meant it, but she knew she had to tell Emma who and what she really was. And first, she took her home. And in the warm messy kitchen of her childhood home, the fantasy well and truly dissolved.

It wasn’t that Emma did anything wrong, but in a flash Fred saw Emma seeing her home, seeing her father, and saw the flicker of white, upper-middle-class judgements on her face. Fred tried to tell herself that it was her own fears talking, that she was projecting, but then when Luis went to get them coffee, bustling about so proud and happy for his daughter, Emma whispered, “Your dad’s kinda scary, huh?” and Fred knew. That she’d made a mistake bringing her here. But also, that she could have made worse mistakes.

It was supposed to be a short visit, but when Emma went to join her family in Cape Cod, Fred stayed. And stayed. Emma stopped calling and messaging, eventually. Luis didn’t push her, didn’t ask questions she didn’t want to answer, not until September came and went and the school started calling. Then he sat her down and told her that whatever she needed to do, he’d support her. Asked her what she wanted. Laid out options, carefully, keeping his voice neutral so she’d know he wasn’t going to pressure her one way or the other. She could transfer. She could take a break. She could quit altogether. She could work with him, he’d always be glad of his right hand girl. Fred couldn’t give him an answer, not then. And not for a while after, but Luis was patient. Eventually, when Fred was still sleeping most of the days away and starting to lose weight, he saw that she needed more than patience. Got her some good help.

By spring-time Fred still had a sadness clinging to her but she was reading and eating again, she was getting her balance back. Taking a lot of long midnight rides, helping out in the garage, hanging out at The Back Forty. When the Red Nights rolled in, it was only natural that she’d roll out with them. And it’s been good for her. As good a path as any for somebody who’s never quite belonged in any one place. Maybe she’ll never find the understanding, the kind of pack, she craves. Maybe nobody but Luis will ever know her and see her, all the mixed up jumbled pieces of her. But with the Red Nights, with her brethren of the road, she’s found acceptance.

On the road Fred’s free to be whoever she wants to be that particular day and unconstrained by the expectations and lenses through which others view her. They’re all misfits too and they don’t judge and maybe they don’t fully see her, but they don’t try to change her to fit what partial image of her they do see. They don’t understand her, but they understand what it is to not be understood. And they let her be. And that acceptance is as close to a pack as she thinks she’ll ever find. It’s good enough. Except for when it ain’t. But then she goes home to Luis or she reads poetry that sings in her soul and has a cry, or sheds her human skin and goes running flat out under the moon until it all fades away and she wakes up clean and strong.

Family: 

Luis Torres, adoptive father, 67.  Sexuality and Relationship Status: Bisexual. Currently determinedly single/casual relationships only. Other Ties: The Red Nights MC. The folks of The Back Forty.

Likes: Kids, even and maybe especially difficult ones, and animals – oh she’s got Luis’ soft spot for strays, alright. The quiet and solitude of the woods. Contrarily, also the noise and easy comradery of dive bars and truck stop diners. Poetry and literature .Her one true love, Lilah, her 1997 Harley Davidson Electraglide Classic, a gift from Luis and the Red Nights before she left for university. Dislikes: The stifling strictures of suburban America and the people of her home town who all believe they know her. Snobbery. Greed. Incompetence. Hobbies: None, really. Unless the spinning of elaborate lies to the folks she meets on the road; a harmless game she plays -- mostly with herself, though she’ll laugh over the most outrageous ones with her brethren of the road or with Luis -- counts. Skills: Mechanics. Martial arts. Medical Conditions: Depression. Lactose intolerance. Current Financial Status: Far more secure than a casual observer might think. She’s thrifty and has few possessions, but she’s got a significant chunk saved in the bank. Her two years in university was entirely paid for by scholarships and she makes a good, if unreliable, income, running for the Red Nights. Places: Torres’ Garage. The Back Forty. Cheatham WMA. Pets: None.

Known Magic: Shifting. Magical Items: Fred might try to claim that Lilah has her own magic, but it’s not that kind of magic.

Rumors: Fred keeps a low profile, but in certain circles she’d be known as a fast and discrete courier for – whatever you might want moved. Anyone who’s dealt with her will tell you she’s decidedly not somebody to mess with and some will remark that she’s got a strange sense of humour.

Writing Sample:

It’s not like she’s actually moving back home. Sure, maybe this time she’s staying a little longer. Long enough to bring Lilah in out of the rain and park her in an unused corner of the garage. Fred tries not to think about the fact that this corner is clear and unused, when everywhere else the clutter and chaos blooms – tries not to ask herself if it was clear here last time she came ‘round or if Luis’ cleared it out for her. If he’s asking her to stay, with that silent clear space just big enough for her bike.

She’s just hanging about a little longer, that’s all, having a longer visit. She could use a vacation. Some time with the old man. That’s what Fred tells herself, but she still feels the old highschool fear of being stuck here clamp in her gut. There’s another stronger fear though, that took up residence there when she felt Luis’ hands trembling in hers, and it’s forcing the old fear out of house and home. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, but he’d smiled so kindly at her, that she’d known it for a lie, immediately. Funny, she’d always remembered him being a scarily good liar. But she’d just nodded, “Okay, Luis,” and let it drop. Or seemed to anyway. That night she’d gotten up and prowled around. Not like she didn’t do that often enough do that. It always seemed to her to be one of the things that was most often different between the bitten and the born. She never could sleep through the night, nights were full of something raw and invigorating. While Luis slept like one of his saints, flat on his back with his hands clasped on his chest. It’d freaked her out, when she was a kid; he looked like he was dead. No, she’s not gonna think like that.

She pokes through what Luis calls his “inbox” – just a wine box, cut down so it’s a shallow tray for paperwork to accumulate in. On the top there’s two checks from garage customers. Sizeable amounts and he’s not even bothered to cash ‘em. She snorts. Stirs a finger around through the papers until something catches her eye and her breath. It’s an envelope from TriStar Southern Hills Medical Center. There’s nothing in it. Her jaw tightens. So. Something is wrong and she’s gonna have to wrestle it out of him. That’ll take some doing. And some time.

Fine. It’ll be her birthday soon. Why not celebrate with Luis? Not that it’s actually her birthday. Who knows when that is, but the day that Luis Torres – home for a little while, taking a break from the Red Nights, to look after a mentor who’d broken a hip – had opened his mentor’s front door and found a baby that he’d named Winnifred, after one of his favourite saints, is good enough a birthday for Fred.

That’s why, really, when Fred opens the front door the morning of her birthday, she thinks it’s a joke. It’s just too much of an echo. A baby on the doorstep. Well, a big man with a tired face and a warm smile standing on the stoop with a baby in his arms. A foundling. Oh, she just knows it. Sure. Sure. Here she is, home for her birthday, and she’s greeted by a foundling on the doorstep, just like Luis all those years ago. ¡Dios! she’s even holding Luis’ favourite coffee mug in her hand, the one he was holding when he found her. Nope. She crosses her arms and gives the man a little bit of a smirk and a little bit of a glower. “Oh, chupa mi pito,” she says, “Very funny. I s’pose Luis put you up to this?” She turns a little and hollers down the hallway, “Luuuuuiis! Your hiiilarious birthday prank is here. Should I invite him in?” She turns and looks the man up and down – “And hey, if he’s one of your set up attempts, I might not even object.” She grins, a little sharp toothed maybe, but not entirely nastily.