this has probably been done before but idc I love hot beverage. also I imagine I will be in the minority as far as this poll goes. feel free to elaborate as to what specific variety of drink is ur personal favorite bc there’s no way I’m listing every kind of tea and coffee

Forest Folk

Forest Folk tells the story of a wandering fae musician and an elven healer fresh from the woods whose paths cross in the heart of a city teeming with magic. It is based on characters and situations developed by myself and my partner, and is set within my original, modern fantasy universe.

Original Fiction Rated G ~2.2k words Chapter 1: Where We Began

For all its many people, the city could be so lonely. But the Fates work in mysterious ways, and perhaps even an illness can be the catalyst for a wave of good fortune.

The tall man glanced at his reflection in the shop’s window. He hoped the baseball cap pulled low shielding his eyes and the nondescript clothes hiding his body would be enough to afford him a touch of anonymity. After a moment more of consideration, he reached for the door and pulled it open, glancing up at the gentle chime of a bell before turning his gaze to the counter. A slight woman appeared from the doorway to a back room and offered him a smile. He saw no hint of recognition in her eyes, and he returned her smile with a crooked one of his own.

“Good morning,” she said. She didn’t sound like she was from the city. It gave him a strange feeling of relief. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for something to help with my throat,” he replied, voice tinged with a raspiness he really needed to stop from getting worse. “Been travelling a lot, and I must’ve picked up a bug or something.”

“Do you have any other symptoms?”

“Nothing else I’m worried about. Just really can’t afford to go losing my voice right about now.”

“Well I’m sure we can get that sorted for you. You’re looking for something that works quick then?”

“The quicker the better.”

“If you have a bit of time, I can brew something up specifically for you, but if not, I’m sure-”

“I can wait. I don’t have anywhere to be until after lunch.”

“Then I’ll get started right away. It shouldn’t be too long. Half an hour? maybe a bit longer if you’d like me to make a few extra flasks just in case.”

“Do you mind if I just wait here?”

“Of course not. Would you like some tea then?”

That caught him off guard, and he blinked. He glanced at the door to the shop and then back to the woman behind the counter. It felt like his throat purposefully dried at the mention of a drink just to tempt him. He weighed his options. He would certainly prefer to be inside, away from any potentially prying eyes who might recognise him, but what if she recognised him? He swallowed down the hesitation and nodded.

“Only if it’s not a bother.”

“I wouldn’t offer if it was,” she assured. She motioned for him to follow her as she turned back toward the backroom. “It’s been a slow morning anyway, and I just made biscuits last night.”

There was a not insignificant part of him that said this was not the wisest decision. But that part was drowned out by the sudden grumbling of his stomach at the mere thought of fresh baked goods. He glanced once more back at the door, double checking there were no prying eyes, before following her. Once in the backroom, the woman gestured to a comfortable-looking couch with a low coffee table in front of it. He sank into the worn cushions gratefully and fished his phone from his pocket to send a message about his whereabouts.

“Thanks for letting me wait here,” he said once the message was sent.

“It’s no bother, really,” she replied, back toward him as she prepared a tray with the pot of tea she had been brewing before the man’s arrival and an array of biscuits she’d made the night before. “Do you need anything for your tea? Milk? Sugar?”

“Oh no, it’s fine as is. Thank you.”

“If you’re sure,” she said before turning around and bringing the tray to the table, setting it down carefully. “If you change your mind, just let me know. Once I get everything simmering, I’ll have my hands free again.”

He nodded his head in understanding, but waited until she’d shifted her focus to sorting out the ingredients for his remedy before reaching for a biscuit. He wondered briefly what had come over him. Surely this was risky behaviour. He was trying to lay low, and yet here he was sitting down for tea in a stranger’s back room.

“Have you been here for long?” he asked after a few moments of contemplative chewing. “I don’t remember seeing this shop last time I was in town.”

“Not too long. I’m still getting settled. Are you from around here?”

“Not originally, but I’ve spent a lot of time in the city. How is business?”

“I’m sure you don’t want me boring you to death,” she answered with a laugh. He felt a smile tugging on the corner of his lips, and it was almost confusing. When did he become so comfortable making small talk?

“I like to keep up at least a bit with what’s going on, and I mean it’s always good to know a local healer.”

She laughed again, and he blamed the warmth he felt on the tea he was sipping. There wasn’t anything more to it, there couldn’t be. And if there was, it was just the fact he so rarely had casual conversations lately. He silently hoped she wouldn’t see through his weak disguise if she looked at him more closely.

“It’s pretty quiet. It takes a while to get people to trust you with their health when you’re from somewhere else, but I can’t really complain. I’ve got my own shop, and some of my customers are starting to tell their friends. How are the biscuits?”

“Really good. If whatever you’re brewing is as well-made, I’ll be one of those customers telling their friends,” he said with a chuckle. She felt a soft heat in her cheeks and was quite glad he couldn’t see her face.

A comfortable quiet slipped into the room as he slowly drank his tea and she prepared ingredients and set them to simmer in a large pot. He was admittedly glad for the silence. He needed to spare his throat, even if he was getting something to help with it anyway. He was a bit surprised when the woman pulled over a chair to sit on the other side of the table from him with a steaming mug of tea in her hands.

“The hard part’s done,” she explained as she reached for a biscuit. “Most of potion-crafting is just waiting for things to brew.”

“Thank you again for this,” he said, gesturing to the tray but meaning the whole atmosphere and moment surrounding them.

“Anytime-” she cut herself off suddenly and mentally smacked herself on the head. “Here I am offering you tea and biscuits and I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Linnea.”

“It’s alright,” he reassured with a smile. He almost wished she hadn’t remembered introductions at all. “I’m Finn. It’s nice to meet you, Linnea.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.”

The quiet bubbled back up as they both enjoyed their tea and biscuits. As nice as it was to have a casual conversation, Finn wasn’t particularly adept at them, and there was the nagging fear that if he said too much he would be found out. Linnea was equally glad for the break. She was beginning to realise how bold it had been of her to invite this stranger into her space so suddenly. It was easy to forget that she was in the city now, that there wasn’t the same level of safety and familiarity she might have found back home. Still, neither of them could deny how nice it was to have a bit of companionship. For all its many people, the city could be so lonely.

“You said you’ve been travelling lately,” Linnea began after several minutes and biscuits, “is it a business thing, or just for fun? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘business’ really, but it is for work I guess.”

“For work, but not business? Should I even ask?” She couldn’t help but laugh, and feel a small delight when he chuckled along.

“I’m in the music industry. I travel with a band, and this weekend is the end of a big tour.”

“So that’s why you can’t afford to be sick?”

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t even know there were concerts going on around here,” Linnea admitted, a hint of embarrassment creeping into her voice.

“I can get you tickets to a show,” Finn said before he had time to stop himself.

“Oh I can’t just take that from you. I’m sure those are expensive.”

“What if we consider it a trade? I mean you’ve given me food and drink, and then you’re helping me sort out my throat. Honestly all of that is probably worth more than tickets to a show.”

Linnea chewed her lip in thought and took a long sip of tea. She hadn’t really gone out very much since arriving in the city. Most of her time was spent looking after the shop or running errands to keep it well-stocked. It might be nice to have an excuse to close up early and treat herself to an evening out.

“Would it be rude of me to ask if the band is any good?” she finally asked with a small smile on her lips.

“I think I’m contractually obligated to say yes,” he answered with a lopsided grin. “But if it’s worth anything, the venues have been packed the whole tour. And, if you end up hating the show, I’ll buy you a drink after and you can tell me how bad it was.”

Before Linnea could respond, a timer went off and she almost dropped her mug. She was instantly grateful it was nearly empty or she would’ve made a mess and a fool of herself. She set it down carefully as she stood.

“If the tickets are expensive, I don’t want to cheat you out of what they’re worth. But if you’re sure…”

“Trust me, I should be the one asking if you’re sure. I can get a ticket for free, but you’ve got to pay for ingredients and all that.”

“Then if we’re both sure, it’s a deal,” she said, pausing for a moment as she reordered her thoughts. “Now I should probably get your potions sorted out so you can get on with your day. I don’t want to keep you if you’ve got things to do.”

Finn was almost reluctant to get up, and certainly was reluctant to leave. Though he wouldn’t be able to admit it out loud, this had felt like a much needed break from the chaos of life on tour. Part of him hoped that whatever was in his throat wouldn’t be fully chased away by Linnea’s remedies just so he had an excuse to come back again for a taste of normalcy. But he supposed that wouldn’t be possible after she went to the show. There wouldn’t be any hiding his identity at that point. He pushed his thoughts aside as he stood and brushed his hands off on his jeans.

“Thank you for the tea and the biscuits. If you ever got out of the healing business, I’d say you could go into baking no problem.”

Linnea was once again glad that her back was to Finn as she felt a blush creeping to the tips of her ears. She tried to keep her focus on carefully portioning out the freshly brewed potion into several flasks and not on the compliment. Only once she had filled them all and tucked them neatly into a paper bag did she turn around. She walked across the small room to Finn and offered him the bag.

“These should get you through the weekend. You should take one with lunch, and then one in the evening if you’re going to be doing a lot of talking. And if you need any more, well you know where to find me.”

“Before I take those, do you have a piece of paper?”

“Of course,” she answered, quickly setting the bag on the table and hurrying to a messy desk to retrieve a loose sheet of paper and a pen.

Finn accepted them and crouched down to use the table for support, scribbling hastily on the blank page. After a few moments, he stood back up and offered her the paper.

“Here’s the address of the venue, and the time of the show, and my signature,” he said. “I’ll make sure to let them know you’re coming, so if you bring this along, they’ll let you in and make sure you get the VIP bracelet and all of that.”

“VIP bracelet? I thought I was just getting a ticket to the show. Are you sure that’s not too much?”

“Don’t worry about it. The bracelet will get you up front at the show, and into the meet and greet after. Then you’ll be able to tell me what you thought about it, and I can get you that drink I promised if it was shit.”

Part of Linnea wanted to protest further, to insist that this was far too imbalanced a trade to accept. But another part of her, a part that perhaps she wished were quieter, didn’t want to give up the chance to see Finn again. She took the paper after a few moments of thought and then picked the bag back up to hand it to him.

“If you’re sure…then I’ll see you at the show.”

“I’ll see you there,” Finn replied, and the bright smile that wrinkled the corners of his eyes was too infectious not to return. “Thanks again for everything, Linnea.”

“You can thank me after the show if the potions work,” Linnea said with a light laugh.

“I can’t wait.”

milk + instagram live (t.h.)

I traveled to London (and Oxford), England in March of 2019 for my spring break my sophomore year of university, so some things mentioned here are entirely from personal experience, so please don’t hate me if you’ve experienced something different! I stayed at a hotel in between West Kensington and West Brompton (a few blocks away from West Brompton Station) and one day some family members and I decided to attend a local showing at a cinema nearby and it was SO. DIFFERENT. than the theaters I had been to in the States. IDK, maybe it was just me. The entire experience was like culture shock again in the few days I had been there, so I had to bring that up in this little piece. Also the thing about milk is something I have genuinely wondered about, cause I’ve heard it’s different in England than it is in the USA, but I may be wrong. Let me know! Anyways, I have big love for London (and supreme love for Oxford, sorry) and I’m looking forward to going back someday soon! 

The reader is non-celebrity and American, so I’m sorry if that feels exclusionary to any of you, honestly! I thought this might be just a little fun jaunt because I don’t really write real person fiction. Just a bit of fluff. 

Sorry for this long intro. Enjoy and let me know what you think! xo  

Word Count: ~1.5k 

+ + + 

It’s some sort of exclusive interview for a magazine or something of the sort, you’ve been told; a collection of questions they want you to answer to publish somewhere, to print as something special for one of Tom’s things. That’s all you know. It’s just something you agreed to do after his publicist had asked a few weeks ago. It wasn’t like you did this for a living, so there was an attitude of nonchalance about it all because if they ended up not liking it one bit, they could scrap it all and no harm, no foul. 

“Now,” the interviewer begins, a man in his 40′s with balding hair and a slightly crooked nose, sitting in the chair across from you, “I know you just announced that you got married, so congratulations, firstly--” 

“Oh, thank you,” hands folded on your lap, smiling sweetly. You know people want their well-wishes to be heard and recorded, but sometimes it’s easy to imagine a completely private life, fame free, in which this isn’t the biggest news in the world (or just the biggest news for a day in the entertainment industry in the United States and England); a life where this is just a normal thing that normal people decide on, there’s a celebration, and that’s really it. It’s not splashed on newspapers and trending on Twitter, even though that can be a fun thing. 

“I’ve been really happy these last few months since we got married and was excited to tell all of Tom’s Instagram followers,” there’s a break for a small laugh from you, “There’s been such an abundance of well wishes from everyone and I’ve felt so incredibly lucky because I know not every woman who has been in my position has recieved such a reception.” 

The interviewer gives a move of his head in recognition of your words, but his eyes are already flying down the paper he holds in front of him, “There have been quite a few changes that have happened, I’ve been informed, and the first is that you decided to move to London!” 

“Ha, yes,” you begin, nodding, “Not only did I just completely intertwine my life with another person’s, but I moved to an entirely new country. There’s definitely a lot of culture shock that has happened these past few months.” 

The interviewer kind of chortles along with you, but the awkwardness has already settled in and you can feel it because you are the literal worst at small talk. And that’s all this interview is. 

“Any cons you’ve listed already about residing here amongst us?” 

“Oh no,” you groan dramatically, trying to lighten up the mood, a hand coming to cover your eyes for a moment, “you have to promise not to tell my husband, because I do have a few things actually.” 

“I make no promises, as this interview will be completely up for grabs,” The man holds up his hands and you’re a little disappointed that he doesn’t seem to want to play along with the joke. 

You brush it off, though, because he’s either nervous or he’s here for a few questions to be answered and then he wants to be out of here. You get it; you have a job, too, that sometimes squeezes the patience out of you. 

“Well for one, the local cinemas are just set up so different than the ones I went to all the time in the States. I still have to prepare myself for the experience every time,” there’s a little bit of an awkward pause. 

“We have different cinemas?” He asks, like he’s suspecting something more; something deeper. Maybe he wants something more scandalous? You nod along, though, smiling softly at his confusion. It has always felt funny trying to explain this. 

“And I miss people smiling at me in public, on the tube or in the more crowded public spaces where I don’t really know anyone. People are literally so lovely when they invite me into their homes to eat with them and stuff like that, but I’ve only got one reaction from someone for smiling at them. Most of them just stare for a second or ignore me entirely! I don’t know, maybe it’s just me.” 

He shrugs, not quite sure what to say to that, because he’s not at fault for it. It seems most people know what you’re talking about when you say this and you’ve garnered that it’s a cultural thing for the most part. You don’t fault anyone for it. 

“Also,” your hand comes to scratch at a place above your left eyebrow, “I know this is weird, and I don’t even know if it’s entirely true, but I haven’t drank milk in the months since I’ve moved here because I heard in America that milk is made differently here or something like that. I haven’t been able to gather up the courage to find out if it’s true or not, and I mostly drink water or juice or whatever else so my husband hasn’t bat an eye yet. I just don’t want to ruin my previous experience with milk,” You shrug your shoulders and laugh. Your hands come unclasped and you hold them out in a surrender-like gesture. 

Your final answer seems to startle the interviewer, because his laugh is surprised and maybe a bit shocked and leaves just as quickly as it came. The rest of the short conversation, lasting only a few more minutes, continues smoothly. After sitting around in the office for a little while longer, you are free from the place and from (hopefully) ever having to do this again without Tom. Your schedule is blissfully empty for the rest of the day, a Saturday, so you eventually make your way home. 

- - 

“What’s this I hear about your fear of English milk?” The door opens first and then the voice follows. 

Of course, that would be the first thing he says to you after a whole day of not seeing each other. 

“Good evening, darling, how was your day?” You quip from the couch, what’s left of your cup of tea gone cold on the coffee table parallel to it. “Oh my day was fine, Tom. I’m glad you’re the one who does the regular rounds with the press, not me, because I was so awkward today. How was yours?” 

You hear his keys clink against something, probably the kitchen counter, and then the rustle of a bag. It takes a second but then you see his hands grip to top of the sofa as he leans down towards you. There’s a quick kiss that comes before he rights himself. The marital bliss has not faded away yet given that adoring look in his eyes. It is the same look he gave you standing right across from you the day of your wedding, the same one you saw four months ago on your honeymoon, and the one he gave you last night while getting ready for bed as he brushed his teeth. 

“I got something from the shop on my way home,” He wiggles his eyebrows and you know some part of you saw this coming from a mile away. 

You know now that the shop means the grocery store because a few months ago you had asked him what the term meant (“it’s so vague, though,” “darling, I’m not going to waste my breath calling it the ‘grocery store.’”). (There are still many British terms you have yet to learn.) You allow yourself to sit up and then turn around to meet him as your knees come to dig into the cushions. Now you both are almost at the same height. 

“God, I hate you,” You chuckle, leaning towards him. 

“The ring on your finger says otherwise, love,” You roll your eyes but then press an elongated kiss to his lips. There’s a few moments where he gets some in down your neck and behind your ear before he pulls away. 

“C’mon,” He says, pulling your arms and almost vaulting you over the couch and onto the cold, hard floor, “to the kitchen we go! You need to drink some milk.” It takes a few more minutes for you both to actually get there, but then he grabs the carton from the bag and a glass from a kitchen cupboard. 

He pours a little at the bottom of the glass, not even filling it up a quarter of the way. Part of you wants to shudder, part of you is feeling adventurous enough to be excited. But then he pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans and asks if he can go live on Instagram. For a moment you consider saying no, simply because you’re not sure if you want to open yourself up to the world of Tom’s Instagram followers watching you try your first taste of non-American milk, but then you decide “why not?” It can’t do any real harm, right? 

Tom hands the glass to you and you place it on the counter in front of you as you sit down at a stool. You can see the moment on his face the live video starts and a second later he quickly explains the situation. 

It does not take you much longer to become a viral internet meme.  

Cafés, Croissants, and Captured Hearts

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When Loki stumbles into your café, he is completely enamored with you, but will he be able to conquer his fears and move towards hope and happiness? Warnings: long and fluffy A/N: This is inspired by some of the headcanons from this list by @thelokiimaginechronicles

Disclaimer: Picture not mine

Loki will never forget that fateful morning when he stumbled upon your café. The intense summer sun and accompanying smell of hot garbage made him desperate for a haven away from the bustling city. Sure, he could have stayed in the Tower for breakfast, but the constant presence of the Avengers weighed heavily on him. Even now that he was accepted, relatively anyway, he was often the brunt of the jokes at the table. Thor had assured him that the teasing was just a Midgardian form of endearment, but it irked Loki to no end. And that’s how he ended up in front of a little Paris-themed café on the corner of a New York street.

He stood staring at it for a good moment, fully aware this might be one of the little gems that few knew about. That would mean the few people stopping for breakfast or morning coffee would be sure to take note of him. This is exactly why he opted to frequent larger chains and restaurants where it was easier to blend in. On the other hand, maybe it would be just empty enough that he could stand the few hateful glares sent his way. Whatever happened, it would surely be better than the stares he was getting from being stopped too long. For a city full of people so busy with going about their own tasks, everyone sure was nosy.  

Hesitantly pushing open the glass door, Loki entered and was immediately hit with the delicious aroma of pastries right out of the oven and freshly ground coffee. Then his eyes locked with yours, which, he thought, were perhaps the most intelligent, kind, and radiant ones he’d ever seen. The few other patrons littering the numerous tables paid him little mind, more interested in their phones and the morning news playing on the television. He cringed slightly, thinking of how, not too long ago, they would have been looking with terror at his face on the screens. It made him even more thankful that they had indeed not cared about one more body in the room.

You, however, were an entirely different story. You had yet to look away from him and had obvious interest displayed on your face. It made sense, he supposed, as you obviously worked here. It was your job to care about the customers. There was nothing more to it, he reassured himself. As he approached the counter where you were, he held his breath, waiting for recognition to dawn on your face, and for you to yell at him to get out. Or worse still, cower in fear. A younger version of himself would have preferred the latter, but now it made him feel disgusting. Anger he could deal with, but the fact that someone feared a person as pitiful and worthless as he thought himself, only served to make him more anxious.

Your face remained unchanged as he approached, though. If anything, your smile got brighter, which was a novel thing for someone like Loki. He just chalked it up to good customer service. Desperate to avoid looking at you, lest you finally figure out who he was, Loki looked down at the glass case displaying all the baked goods. He was so nervous that he almost walked out, but the growl in his stomach kept his feet rooted where they were.

“What can I get you, sir?” you said.

Your melodic voice brought Loki’s gaze back to your face. Standing this close to you, Loki realized that it wasn’t just your eyes. No. All of you was beautiful. He felt his heart beat faster in his chest, but did his best to convince himself it was just nerves brought about by the unfamiliar setting. It was silly, he knew, that a god as powerful as himself should act like this. Sure, he put on a good act, but deep down he was ashamed of what he’d done. He thought it futile to care what others thought when he would only ever be viewed as a monster, but he couldn’t help the feeling that he was embarrassing himself in front of you. Heck, he hadn’t even answered your question yet. And he realized he was staring at you. You seemed to get nervous then and started fidgeting while waiting for his reply.

“I’m uncertain. What would you recommend?”

He internally cheered for making a coherent statement. Then curiosity captured him as he saw excitement spark behind your eyes.

“Well, if you’re interested in coffee, I peg you for a dark roast hazelnut kind of guy. And our bestseller is without a doubt the blueberry crumb donut.” You paused a moment as if weighing your chances before continuing, “But if you’re in the mood for something exciting, I suggest trying our fig and raspberry croissants.”

Loki was shocked to hear the last recommendation leave your mouth. It was as if you somehow knew what his favorite fruits were. You must have misread the look on his face, though, because you started rambling about how he, in no way, had to go with that and almost recited your whole menu before he interrupted you.

“No,” he said somewhat harshly, causing you to shut your mouth. He made sure to speak in a gentler tone as he continued, “What I mean is, I would love to try one.”

The bright smile immediately returned to your face. Though he was more of a tea person, he ordered the coffee you had recommended, too, in the hopes your grin would get even wider. You quickly made up his order and then busied yourself with something else as he sat down. You did your best to not look at him as he unwrapped the flaky pastry, but he noticed the glances you kept stealing. A most curious creature, he thought as he bit into it. His eyes immediately closed in pure bliss. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. Somehow, it was even better than the delicacies on Asgard. When his eyes popped open, you were no longer trying to avert your gaze but, rather, were staring at him with wide-eyes.

Before either of you could say anything, another customer came in. Loki finished eating while you prepared their order. The croissant was flaky, but not to the point where it completely fell apart in his hands. The combination of the figs and raspberries in the filling created a sweet sensation with a subtle, underlying tartness. Not to mention the light glaze on top that tasted like heaven on your tongue. In other words, it was perfect.

He was still sipping on his coffee when you finished serving the customer, only for another to walk in. The cup was nearly empty now, but for some reason Loki stayed where he was. He tried to reason it out. It was simply that he didn’t much like coffee but didn’t want to seem rude by leaving some. Thus, it was only natural that he stayed and finished the whole thing. Yes, that must still be the reason why he was still sitting there. It had nothing to do with the fact that your eyes had pulled him in and had yet to let go, despite the fact that they were no longer looking his way.

Soon, the café emptied as the early morning rush ended, leaving the god alone with you. He’d almost convinced himself it was silly to stay when you walked up to him.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No. But there is something I simply must tell you,” he said, gesturing at the seat across from him.

You sat down, curiosity clear on all your features. He didn’t know what exactly it was about you that made him feel so weak in the knees. A book he’d read a while ago came to mind. The two characters set eyes upon each other and instantly fell in love. However, Loki wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight. But attraction? Perhaps.

“That croissant you recommended,” he said as apprehension filled your eyes, “was delicious beyond what words can describe.”

Once again, you smiled at his words. It seemed to Loki that, sometime in the past twenty minutes, it became his goal to keep that smile on your face.

“Really?” you gasped. “See, it was a recipe of my own invention, and I hadn’t gotten anyone to try it. Sorry that I used you as a guinea pig, though.”

Loki giggled at that. An honest to goodness giggle from the God of Mischief. He couldn’t help but wonder what spell you’d cast that bewitched him so.

“It’s quite alright. In fact, you used two of my favorite fruits. They’re right up there with pears.”

“You don’t say. Maybe I could convince you to try my spiced pear muffins sometime.”

After that, the two of you got to talking. And of course that led to you bringing more original recipes for Loki to try. From macarons to biscuits to pies, everything you brought him was delicious. And Loki enjoyed your company even more than eating the baked goods. When the thought finally occurred to you to introduce yourself, Loki knew he had to do the same. So, at the risk of ruining this haven he found, he gave you his name. Your eyes widened for a second in recognition, but not in horror as he expected.

“You mean, you’re the Loki of Asgard? As in, like, I’m sitting with an Avenger right now?” you asked with a shocked tone.

It was true, he supposed, that he was an Avenger. No one ever really referred to him as such, but he technically was a member of the team. He tried to tell you that, no, he wasn’t really a superhero or anything, but you insisted. You said that you saw on the news how he was protecting a group of children while the team was fighting some villain or another. It was a comforting thought to him that the producers hadn’t cut that out completely. A spark of hope ignited in his chest that maybe one day the rest of the world would notice his heroic actions, too. He felt it odd that this mortal before him could give him such a positive outlook for the future.

There were times when you had to get up and tend to the customers that wandered in and out throughout the day. You were by no means the most popular place in town, but you did well enough. Loki took the time while you were distracted to survey the rest of the café and, when you weren’t looking, you. At some point his eyes rested on a framed picture of a small child with an old lady.

“That’s me with my grand-mère when I was younger,” you suddenly said, coming up behind him.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you laughed. “After all, I have it out for everyone to see.”

“Well, it’s a lovely photo.”

You hummed in content for a second, obviously thinking back to when the picture was taken. “She passed away recently,” you finally said. “She lived her whole life in France—Paris, to be exact. Actually, the café is named after her. It’d be nice to open one in her home city one day. This may be stupid, but I think I’d feel closer to her. That’s not exactly in my budget right now, though. And you probably didn’t want to hear all that,” you finished with a nervous laugh.

“On the contrary, I’d like to know more.”

And so, you told Loki about anything and everything in between. And when you were done, you insisted it was his turn. He agreed to your requests, so long as he got to try some more of your food. He also admitted to you that he preferred tea and would love to try one of your blends. You obliged, seeing as you needed a second opinion on some of the recipes.

At some point, the sugar from all the sweets got to Loki, so you fetched some fresh fruit for him. Remembering that he liked raspberries, you grabbed a bowl and brought it out. As he ate and told you tales of Asgard, you felt your eyes drift toward his lips, stained red from the berries. Cheesy as it may be, you gently wiped away some juice from around his mouth. There was something magnetic between the two of you in that moment. He brought his hand to rest upon yours, which was still lightly placed on his cheek. Loki felt himself leaning closer to your lips, feeling your gaze on his own. But since life isn’t a fairytale, in the moments before you met in a kiss, a customer walked in. You hurriedly stood up to help them, almost knocking over your chair in the process.

By the time you returned to Loki again, he’d realized how late it had gotten. He’d spent the whole day in your company. And, for the first time in a long time, he’d enjoyed himself. Glancing at his phone, he saw countless texts from the Avengers demanding to know where he was since he was still on probation, so to speak. At least his brother’s messages had a hint of concern to them.

“I’m afraid, my dear, that I must take my leave.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course. It was really nice meeting you.”

You looked as if you wanted to say something else but, in the end, decided better of it. He, too, had more words he wished to say, but didn’t know how to properly express them.

Back at the Tower, Loki indulged in Midgardian wine. Frustratingly, he never could get drunk off it, but it helped take the edge off. And right now his mind was a tornado of thoughts. Thoughts of you. Your hair. Your smile. Your voice. Your eyes. Oh god, your eyes. Never again would he see something as beautiful as you. In that moment, he made up his mind; he had to see you again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Loki prepared to visit your café once more. He put even more effort than normal into his appearance. It had occurred to Loki sometime last night that he had feelings for you. Somehow, in the short amount of time that he knew you, you had captured his heart. A weakness, he knew, but now that he’d admitted it, he couldn’t let you go. That meant he’d have to figure out the Midgardian way of courting. A question for his brother, he supposed. Luckily, he ran into said person on his way to the elevator.

“Greetings, brother,” Thor’s voice boomed as they stepped in. “Joining us this morning for breakfast, I see.”

“Actually no, I’m not.”

“Listen, if it were up to me, you could go out. You’ve more than proven yourself,” he said, thinking back to the times when Loki had saved his life on missions. “It’s just that the others aren’t as convinced.”

“Well, quite frankly, I don’t care. I want scones,” he lied, “so I’m going to have some. I don’t suppose you’ll be serving scones at this breakfast, now will you?”

“Well, no. But rest assured, Bruce’s frittata is delicious.”

“Did I say I wanted a frittata? No, no, I did not. I’m craving scones, so scones I will have.”

“But-”

“Scones, you idiot!” Loki snapped, losing his cool demeanor.

Of course, it was at that moment the elevator doors opened, so that the rest of the team could hear his outburst. Loki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He grabbed Thor by the arm and pulled him aside, where he begrudgingly told him the truth. Thor was ecstatic and let Loki go, assuring him that he’d cover for him. Before they parted, he offered Loki the most typical advice of “be yourself”. It made Loki want to gag.

Soon enough, he found himself back in front of the little corner of heaven that is your café. He paced back and forth while running a hand through his hair. Maybe it was presumptuous of him to think you’d want to see him again. What if he’d read the signs wrong? What if you were already seeing someone else? What if he was about to make a fool of himself? He wanted to run away. Loki was no coward, though, so he stepped into the warm dining room, looking a lot more confident than he felt.

The second your eyes locked on his, you broke out into that smile he loved so much. You greeted him like an old friend as a warmth spread through his usually cold body. Without him asking you to, you presented him with another croissant, this time with a pear and honey tea instead of coffee. You shyly looked away as a smile of his own graced his face. This was his chance. All he had to do was ask you out. Simple.

“(Y/n), I just wanted to say,” he began but trailed off, the words stuck in his throat.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For the tea. I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Oh, sure. It was no problem. Just let me know if you need anything else. But don’t go expecting free samples every day.”

You laughed then, drawing his eyes to your lips. He remembered yesterday and how you’d almost kissed. Still, he couldn’t muster the courage to say what he truly wanted to. Once he finished eating, he contemplated spending the day with you again but didn’t think he could stand to keep failing at asking you out. He waved goodbye to you and walked to the door, when suddenly your voice called out to him from across the room, stopping him in his tracks.

“Loki?” you said. “Do you maybe want to go get a drink or something?”

“That, my dear,” he replied, “would be the best treat of all.”

You two shared another warm smile and made arrangements before he left. As he made his way back to the Tower, he was elated and couldn’t believe his good fortune. Maybe life was a fairytale, after all.

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 13

A/N: We’re getting into some seeeeerious business now.  Thank you all so much for your anons and DMs about last chapter!  Hopefully you all enjoy this one despite the subject matter.  

Also, if you didn’t see my post, I created a Ko-Fi page in case you ever want to support my work / my writing: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster .  I love all of you so much and appreciate the reader engagement I have with you SO much!

TW: workplace harassment

December 21st, 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was in a meeting.

Brendan was addressing the room, full of practically everybody who worked on the administrative side of the Leafs.  Because it was just a few days until Christmas, he wanted to address everybody before the holiday to thank them for their hard work.  It was also the day that Brendan decided to hand out the Christmas gifts for all the employees – a “swag bag” with a S’well bottle, candy and chocolate from Sugarfina, a coffee tumbler from Yeti, a Patagonia sweater with a Leafs embroider, and a Raptors toque.  Aberdeen knew because she helped assemble them – literally and figuratively, because Brendan had asked for her opinion on a few of the inclusions.  She was happy to see everybody loved the gifts.

As the meeting began to wind down, Brendan singled out some specific people who had earned a promotion.  She was glad they were getting the recognition they deserved, because she knew how hard everyone worked.  It was a great gesture, and a nice way to wind down the meeting – letting everybody leave on a good note—

“And my executive assistant, Aberdeen Bloom,” Brendan’s words completely caught her by surprise.  She could feel a blush rush to her cheeks as many of the eyes in the room focused on her.  “Just a couple of weeks ago, Aberdeen pulled off the nearly impossible – she managed to track down Niklas Lidstrom while he was in Toronto to get a signed Tre Kronor jersey from 2006 for our special guest, Colonel Richard Brant.  But not only did she get the jersey – get this – she got Nik to come meet the colonel backstage.”

There was a round of applause for Aberdeen.  Now she was really embarrassed.  There was no reason for him to single her out like this – like she told him, she was just doing her job.  She smiled awkwardly at everyone.  Even Brendan was clapping.  When it died down, he continued.  “So, even though she had a bit of a rough start – like everybody does when they first start with the Leafs – I’m so happy to see how much she’s grown and integrated herself into our family.  So…great work, Aberdeen!”

Another round of applause.  Aberdeen continued to smile awkwardly and even through in an awkward wave for good measure.  Brendan said a few more words before the meeting ended, everybody filing out of the room patiently.  When she approached him, as one of the last bodies to leave, she gave him a stern look.  “How’d you like that?” Brendan asked.

“Please never, ever do that again,” she said, giggling at the end.

“Why not?”

“Because I told you I was just doing my job.”

Brendan shrugged his shoulders.  “And you did a damn good job of it, so everybody should know.”

As they walked back into his office together, she saw a perfectly wrapped box lying on his desk on top of all his newspapers and other things.  It was very, very rare that things were delivered directly to him – usually it went through her first, and Brendan had no problem with her opening his work mail because it was part of her job and all his personal stuff got sent to his house anyway – so it definitely piqued her interest.  “What’s that?” she asked.

“It’s your gift.”

Aberdeen’s brows furrowed.  “But I got my swag bag in the room.”

“I know that, silly,” he smiled.  “It’s my gift to you.”  Aberdeen stopped dead in her tracks, giving Brendan another look.  “What?” he asked.  “Are you seriously surprised?  You think I wouldn’t get you something?”

“Sort of…” Aberdeen admitted.  “But also…I was going to give you my gift to you on Monday.  It’s underneath my desk,” she laughed.

Brendan let out a hearty chuckle.  “Why’d you get me a gift?”

“You’re my boss!”

“Go get it.  We’re doing it now.  I’ll be too busy with kids being everywhere on Monday.”

Aberdeen quickly made her way to her desk and retrieved the gift, hidden in her bottom drawer.  It wasn’t large by any means, but she did put thought into it and she did have to enlist her mom for some help.  When she went back into his office, he closed the door behind them.  “It’s not much…” she began, comparing the size of the box on his desk to hers.

“You should be saving your money anyway,” he quipped.

Aberdeen sat in one of the chairs and handed him his gift across his desk.  He unwrapped the Christmas wrapping paper to see something wrapped in tissue paper and a Prada box.  Taking off the top of the Prada box, he was greeted with a blue and white patterned silk tie.  He shook his head but smiled.  “Aberdeen…”

“I had to get you something from Prada one of these days since you always send me there,” she smiled.  

“I love it.  It’s very fashionable.  What are the kids saying these days?  It’s lit?”

“Please don’t.”

“It’s lit, Aberdeen.  Thank you.”

“Thanks.  Although I think you’ll like the other gift better,” she said.

Brendan placed the box with the tie on his desk and focused on what was wrapped in the tissue paper.  When he unwrapped it, he saw that it was a card, made out of thick construction paper glued together.  Along the front were the words “With Love from St. Leo”, and in the middle, a big maple leaf cut out and painted with multi-coloured fingerprints.  When he opened it, the card had been signed by every student from her mom’s grade one class.  A small message was printed out by her mom:

Dear Mr. Shanahan,

We love the Toronto Maple Leafs and we love you!  We heard you came to this school a long time ago.  You and the Maple Leafs can come visit our class anytime you want and we can show you how well we read!

Love, Mrs. Bloom’s grade 1 class

Aberdeen watched as Brendan read over the card, looking at all the names printed, and his eyes glossed over with tears.  He smiled.  “Well would you look at that…” he mumbled, nodding his head slightly.  He already knew he was going to display this forever in his office.

“She means it, by the way,” Aberdeen said, trying to lighten the mood.  She didn’t think it would get him so emotional.

“Oh, I believe it,” he nodded again.  “This is really, really special to me Aberdeen.  Thank you.  I…it’s always nice to remember where you came from, you know?  This will remind me,” his tone was so sincere.  

“You’re most welcome,” she smiled.  

Brendan moved to display it on his desk.  He composed himself before picking up the box that started this whole thing and handing it to her.  “For you,” he said.  “Although I don’t know if it’ll top that card.”

She unwrapped the pretty ribbon and beautiful wrapping paper – clearly Catherine or one of his kids had helped, because for all the skills he had, she didn’t think he was capable of this wrapping on his own.  As she tore it apart, a box with the embossed logo and lettering of Smythson London stared back at her.  Aberdeen stopped.  “You didn’t.”

Brendan only smiled at her.

She was already overwhelmed because she knew how expensive Smythson London notebooks were – the smallest, cheapest, and most basic notebook ran for around £40.  But when she opened the box to find three notebooks – two small navy blue Soho notebooks retailing at £195 each and a large gold Portobello notebook retailing at £235, each of them personalized with her initials which she knew cost even more – she felt even more overwhelmed.  “Brendan…” she whispered, running her fingers over the embossed calf leather.

“I hear writers write in notebooks or something,” he joked once he saw the look on her face.  “Anyway, I want you to have these.  And when you get published and become super famous and they display all your notebooks in museums like they do with Charles Dickens or Jane Austen, I want to see one of those behind the glass.”

“I hope I get published one day…” she said quietly, almost to herself.  

“You will,” Brendan said assuredly.

Aberdeen nodded.  The material part of his assertion was nice – the notebooks – but what obviously meant more to her was the sentiment.  Hearing his tone and the confidence in his voice meant that he believed in her.  He wanted her to succeed.  That meant more to her than anything.  “Thank you, Brendan,” Aberdeen said in the same sincere tone he thanked her with earlier.  “That means a lot to me.”

Brendan could only smile again.  “I like to think I knew what I was doing when I hired you.”

“Was it all part of the Shanaplan?”

“Do not,” he giggled, shaking his head.  He hated that term, and she knew it.  “Go on.  Get out of here.  Go start your novel on your lunch break or something.  Actually, before you do, can you go down to scouting and give them these for me please,” he said, handing her a stack of files.

She smiled.  All was right and normal in the world again.

***

It was a few hours later when Aberdeen found herself in the staff kitchen, warming up a croissant she’d gotten earlier in the day from Starbucks as a snack before she and Brendan had to start preparing for the game against the Red Wings.  She had a fresh batch of files from scouting in her arm for Brendan to look over as she stuck the croissant in the microwave.  It was then that Ethan walked in, no snack in hand but instead wielding a tea packet.  She ignored him.  She wasn’t going to grace his presence with a greeting and, though it was probably a bit immature, she didn’t care.  He’d said and done enough to her that she didn’t want to be the first one to engage at all.  

“Good afternoon,” Ethan half-mumbled, engaging first.

Aberdeen looked at him.  “Hello,” she said curtly.

“Nice swag bags, huh?” he asked, trying to engage more.  Aberdeen only nodded her head.  “Did you put them together?”

“Of course I did.”

She hoped her short responses and tone were getting across that she didn’t want to speak to him, but Ethan couldn’t read a room to save his life, so he kept going.  “You know, a lot of us were jealous in that meeting that Brendan was praising you so much,” he said.  “We couldn’t believe you pulled that Lidstrom thing off.”

“Guess I’m surprising a lot of people lately,” Aberdeen shrugged her shoulders, setting the files down on the counter.  He didn’t have to tell her people were jealous.  She had a hunch that it was only him who was jealous, and not anybody else in his department.  “Especially you.”

“He must really like you to publicly praise you like that.  He doesn’t do that often, you know.”

“Does that officially make me better at my job than you?” she asked cheekily.  “You know, after you told me I can’t do the job at the Major Donor Gala.”

Ethan threw his head back at the fact that she brought that up again.  He moved to stand behind her as she stuck her food in the microwave.  “Abbie, come on.  You know I rib you because I think you’re good at your job.”

Well that was news to her, because for the last three and a half months, all he’d been doing was making her job a living hell and telling her how much she couldn’t do her job.  This complete 180 was out of the norm, even for him.  “You’ve known me for three and a half months and you’ve consistently called me every name in the book besides my actual name,” she said, turning around to face him, bringing up the other thing that was annoying her about this whole interaction.  “Don’t try to suck up to me now just because you know for a fact Brendan actually likes me.”

“Aberdeen, do you realize how cutthroat the hockey world really is?” Ethan began.  It was at that moment that she realized how close he really was to her; how there wasn’t much room between the two counters of the galley kitchen anyway, but that he was closer to her than normal, than what anybody would consider normal, and it was starting to make her a bit nervous.  “Do you realize how much backstabbing there is?  How many people cross each other all the time just to get promoted or get ahead?  If the little guys like us are going to survive in this industry, or any other industry adjacent to this one, we’re going to need to stick together.”

Aberdeen shook her head.  “You’re trying to use me and it’s so blatantly obvious,” she said sternly, turning around so she wasn’t facing him anymore.  She didn’t want to face him anymore.  “You can’t fool me, Ethan.  Now get out.”

“C’mon, Abbie,” his voice was low, and extremely, extremely close to her ear.  She could practically feel him breathing down her neck.

Then she realized.

“Stop calling me that.”  She tried to make her voice sound strong but it only came out weak as she felt his body pressing up against her back.  Angry tears welled in her eyes as her emotions broke through.  Her chest began to rise and drop from her heavy breaths.

“Abbie, the hockey world is full of favours that help people move up and excel at their job,” Ethan said.

And then she felt it.  His hand on her ass.  Her mind went into overdrive.  She shifted and reached her elbow up and across to push it away, which she did, thankfully.  “Get your hands off me,” she said as firmly as she could.

She turned around quickly so he couldn’t do it again.  Her back leaned against the counter, and she saw he had taken a small step back, but they were still unnaturally close.  “Abbie—”

“Get away from me,” she tried again.

“Just listen—”

“Is things okay in here?” a deep voice asked from the door way.  Ethan took a quick step back further as the both of them looked to see Pierre Engvall standing in the doorway awkwardly, holding a protein shake.  He seemed to be assessing the situation, but Aberdeen had no clue how long he had been standing there.  She would have seen him, she thought, if he had been there long.  

“Pierre!  Good to see you up here buddy!” Ethan put a smile on his face, walking over to him.  Ethan left her standing at the kitchen counter, chest still heaving.  “Feeling good being up with the Leafs?” he asked, switching his demeanour completely.  Aberdeen felt sick to her stomach at how fast he could switch from doing what he was trying to do, to being so buddy-buddy with Pierre.  

“Is there a party going on in here?” another voice asked from out in the hall.

Aberdeen’s stomach dropped.  Right then and there, William popped into the doorway.  He looked between Ethan’s shit eating grin, Pierre’s serious stare, and Aberdeen’s face, red from trying to hold back her emotion as her chest still heaved.  His brows furrowed.  “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine!” Ethan said quickly, shifting to get out of the room.  He looked over his shoulder once more at Aberdeen, taking his phone out of his pocket.  “I’ll email you what Brendan was asking for as soon as I get back,” he called out as he left the room, walking down the hall and disappearing up the staircase.

William was trying to piece everything together.  He looked at Aberdeen.  “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said, forgetting about her lunch and gathering the files folders quickly and messily in her arms.  

“Aberdeen—”

“Just leave me alone!” she whispered harshly as she shoved past the two large hockey players.

William and Pierre watched as she marched down the hallway, disappearing into the staff washroom.  When they couldn’t see her anymore, William looked at Pierre.  “What happened?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” Pierre shook his head, trying to piece together and remember everything that he saw – at least the tail end that he saw – with all the visual, emotional, and verbal cues that just happened.  “I…I walked in and he was really close to her and—and—you don��t think—”

William saw red.  He didn’t even wait for Pierre to finish his thought or sentence – he started marching down the hallway to Brendan’s office.  Pierre followed.

He was the eyes, after all.

***

Aberdeen didn’t know how long she was in the washroom for.  She didn’t know how long she’d been crying but also trying to keep herself from not crying and just making herself redder in the process.  She couldn’t believe that had just happened to her…that Ethan would do something so awful and so heinous.  It had happened to her at clubs before – a quick squeeze or a pat on her ass, unwanted grabs of her hips, or awkward leans ins to try to get a kiss – but in those instances, she was able to swat the boys away, scream at them or tell them off, or her friends would intervene and help.  She didn’t do that this time, for some reason.  She couldn’t, maybe.  Maybe because they were alone?  Because she truly felt helpless?  Because she really did feel like Ethan could get away with whatever he wanted – he had been for the past few months with her alone, she couldn’t even imagine what he was doing to other people, specifically to other women – so what was the point?

But as she kept thinking about it, she came to a conclusion: that she couldn’t let him ruin her life because she still had her whole life ahead of her.  That even though she’d just become another statistic – another woman sexually harassed at work – it wasn’t her primary identifier, and she would never let it identify her.  She was so much more than that.  She had to put it behind her and had to overcome.  

She looked at herself in the mirror.  Her eyes were red, but there was nothing she could do now.  All she could do was keep doing her job.  And all she had to do was avoid Brendan until she looked normal again.  She unlocked the door and stepped out, trying to walk inconspicuously down the hallway.

“ABERDEEN!” Brendan called out loudly from his office.

She stopped dead in her tracks in the hallway.  She didn’t even have time to go hide from him, let alone breathe, because Brendan popped his head out the door of his office and looked around feverishly.  When he saw her, he immediately noticed the redness in her eyes and cheeks.  “Aberdeen, I need to speak to you inside my office,” his voice went ten times softer than what it was.

She was caught.  She followed him in, trying to think of ways she could lie to him or make an excuse for why she had been crying.  But when she walked in and saw Pierre and William standing in the room, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to get out of it.  She sat down in the same chair she had been sitting in earlier in the day.  It felt different now than it had then, when they were exchanging gifts.  “Why were you crying in the bathroom?”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“Aberdeen—”

“I watched a sad video on YouTube and—”

“Aberdeen,” Brendan said firmly but calmly.  He looked her straight in the eye.  “Do.  Not.  Lie.  To.  Me.”

She took a deep breath.  She looked at Pierre, who had a sympathetic and extremely worried look on his face.  She looked at William, who looked ready to explode right then and there.  “Umm…there…there was an incident—”

“An incident?”

“In the staff kitchen.”

“With who?” Brendan asked.  “Was it with Pierre or William?”

“No.  God, no,” she shook her head vehemently.  “It, um…it was…I don’t…I don’t—”

“Was it with Ethan Baker?” Brendan filled in her stutters.  He could see how pained she was.  His hands gripped the armrests of his chair.  Aberdeen couldn’t look him in the eye.  She nodded her head once, bringing her hand up to wipe a tear away.  “If we check the cameras will we see that he touched you inappropriately?” Brendan asked again.  Clearly William and Pierre had told him what they thought happened.

Aberdeen couldn’t – didn’t – even register that Brendan mentioned cameras, that the entire thing was probably caught on a camera.  She couldn’t form words.  She could only nod her head.  Slightly, too.  Not even enthusiastically.  Pathetically.  

Brendan didn’t say another word.  He picked up the phone on his desk and called an extension.  “I need Gary to share the last hour of the security footage from the staff kitchen right this instant.”

Aberdeen shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  A few more words were exchanged before Brendan hung up the phone.  “You’re going to tell me what happened,” he said, before spinning his chair slightly to face Pierre and William.  “And then you are going to tell me what you saw,” he pointed towards Pierre, who followed Brendan’s finger and sat to the left of Aberdeen, “and then you are going to tell me what you saw,” he pointed towards William, who sat to the right of her.

Aberdeen recalled everything: walking in, the conversation they’d had, the things Ethan had said to her, where he moved and how he got there and the feeling of how close he was behind her.  Brendan wrote everything down.  When she recounted how she felt his hand on her ass, Brendan and Pierre visibly scowled.  William looked like he was about to punch a hole in the wall.  When she mentioned Pierre in the doorway, Brendan stopped her and let Pierre take over.  Pierre told her what he saw – he’d come in at the last possible second of seeing Ethan’s hand on her ass before she pushed it away.  When it was William’s turn, he mentioned how upset Aberdeen was and how she looked ready to cry.  A notification sound came through on Brendan’s iPad and she knew it was the video footage.

“Aberdeen…” Brendan tried to say softly, though he was saying it through gritted teeth.  “Have there been any other incidents like this one?”

She shook her head.  “No.”

“Has he even been inappropriate or demeaning in any other way?”

And there it was: the million dollar question.  She remembered everything Ethan had done to her and everything he’d said; she was hyperaware of his presence around her at all times since her first day of work, so she felt like she had to remember everything.  In her hesitation, she made eye contact with William.  The way he was staring at her, it was like he was begging her to say something.  But William.  Poor William.  He only knew about the bag incident because he had intervened.  Now the floodgates were about to open.  “Yes…” Aberdeen nodded her head, taking a deep breath.  

“What were they?”

Aberdeen reminded Brendan of the coffee incident from her first day, but then recalled the long list of others: the bag carrying incident where William stepped in; the “Girl Friday” and “Brendan girl” nicknames he’d given her; the slightly inappropriate flirting at the Major Donor Gala and the things he’d said to her when she didn’t reciprocate; the comments he’d made to her at the Christmas party.  Brendan kept writing everything down.  The more she told, the angrier his scribbles got and the harder he pressed down onto the paper.  The more she told, the more William looked like he was about to rip Brendan’s massive solid oak desk in two with his bare hands like Captain America did with that log.

“Anything else?” Brendan asked.

Aberdeen hesitated.  “Um…no.”

“Aberdeen.”

She could feel William look at her as she looked down to avoid any eyes on her.  “There was um…there was an incident where I was in the staff kitchen heating up a snack wrap, and he asked if I should really be eating it because nobody likes a piggy working for a hockey team.”

Time stood still as Brendan, Pierre, and William looked at her, completely and utterly speechless at the words that had just come out of her mouth.  She tried to fixate her eyes on something in the room, but she landed on William’s balled up fist in his lap, his knuckles white from how much anger he felt.  It took Brendan reaching over to his phone and dialling another extension for any semblance of time to pass.  “Can you let Ethan Baker know he needs to come into my office in ten minutes?  Thanks.”

Aberdeen knew what that meant.  “Brendan—”

“Don’t Aberdeen,” he grabbed his iPad and swiped to his mail to get the security footage.  Everything that Aberdeen had said, what Pierre had said, what Willy said – it was all corroborated by the video.  Ethan wouldn’t be able to get out of it no matter how hard he tried; no matter what charms he tried to pull on Brendan.  Not that Brendan would fall for them.  “He’s never working another day in his life for any professional sports organization,” Brendan mumbled.  “And I’ll make sure of that.”

Aberdeen was shocked.  “That’s—that’s ruining his life—”

“You’re right – I am the one ruining his life,” Brendan said sternly, lifting any feelings of burden off of her immediately.  

“And he deserves to have it ruined,” William piped up, his tone scathing.  Pierre nodded in agreement.

“You two can go back to the locker room and do what you need to do to prepare for the game tonight,” he said to Pierre and William.  Pierre got up first, and had to wait for William, who didn’t want to leave.  It wasn’t until Brendan urged him with a slight head nod that he got up out of his seat.  Brendan waited until they left completely to continue.  “You can go home, Aberdeen.  If you want to take the Next Gen day off I won’t mind at all—”

“I don’t want to.”

Brendan stopped.  “You what?”

“I don’t want to go home and I don’t want to take the Next Gen day off.  Just let me do my job,” she said.

“Aberdeen, I really think—”

“If I go home all I’m going to do is wallow in this feeling.  All I’m going to do is think about it over and over again until I cry some more.  I don’t want to let him get to me more than he already has.  Just…just let me do my job.  Please.”

***

William booked it out of Scotiabank Arena the second he was able to.  Despite the team winning 4-1 against the Red Wings, William’s mind was somewhere else.  He was able to keep focused, sure, and make plays and complete passes, but there were other things that occupied his mind.  He didn’t even change into his suit – after showers and media, he left in his workout gear.  There was no point in suiting up.  He knew exactly the places he needed to go and exactly what he needed to do.  

When he got to the lobby of Aberdeen’s apartment, he typed Kasha’s name into the call system and waited to hear one of their voices to let him in.  However, there was no voice – only an acceptance of the call, and a click of the door opening.  He rushed towards the elevators.  He remembered the floor number easily.  

The door was already slightly open.  When William showed up in the doorway there were three people in the apartment, and luckily, none of them were members of Aberdeen’s family.  He didn’t take her as the type to have her parents talk her through a crisis like this one – she was too independent and maybe a bit too stubborn for that – but he knew she’d already called Siena about it.  It was what he would do with his brother.  Aberdeen had already washed all her makeup off and had her hair in a bun, and was standing in a hoodie and pyjama shorts as she cradled Minerva in her arms.  He recognized one of the people as Kasha, but had no idea who the guy was.

Kasha was the first to see him.  Her eyes widened when she recognized him.  “William?”

Everybody’s eyes turned to him.  Aberdeen’s were bulging out of their sockets in shock.  He saw that they were red – that she’d been crying again, probably recounting everything to Kasha once she got home.  “Hey,” he said.

There was an awkward silence as they all stared at him.  Kasha noticed that William was shifting his focus between Evan and Aberdeen and knew she had to be the one to break it.  “Will, this is my boyfriend Evan.  Evan, uh, this is William Nylander.  Aberdeen’s…uh…work colleague.”

Evan moved to shake William’s hand politely.  “You guys work together?” he asked, his voice upbeat.  “Are you another assistant with MLSE?”

Kasha intervened before anybody else could.  “Evan, William’s a player for the Toronto Maple Leafs.”

Evan’s eyes widened at the revelation.  It began to sink in to him how…interesting it was to have a member of the Toronto Maple Leafs in the apartment of his girlfriend.  “Ooooooooh, okay,” he nodded slowly.  “Sorry.  I don’t watch hockey.”

“It’s probably better that way,” William quipped.

“I…that was you calling?” Kasha asked.  William nodded his head.  “I thought you were the Uber Eats we ordered.”

“I’m not Uber Eats but I brought Sugo for…uh…” he held up the bag.

“Sugo’s been closed for like, two hours…” Kasha furrowed her brows.

“They’re not when you’re…me,” William said.  He stared directly at Aberdeen.  “Can we talk?”

Aberdeen stayed silent.  She looked at Kasha and Evan first.  Kasha held her hands up in front of her.  “Don’t look at me.  He’s your friend.”

“Kasha—”

“I don’t mind him being here at all,” she said, knowing what the question would be.  If she had to push them together herself, she would.  “And you know I’m not going to say a word.  He won’t say anything either,” she nodded towards Evan.  “If you guys need to talk, then talk.  Evan and I will be in my room.”

“We will?” Evan asked as Kasha yanked his arm.  “We will.  Nice to meet you Will,” he said as he was dragged towards Kasha’s bedroom, the door slamming behind them.

Aberdeen and William looked at each other.  She’d barely moved since he walked in the door.  She knew with every fibre of her being that he wasn’t supposed to be here, but she couldn’t help but feel…solace? relief? gratitude? as he stood there with his blonde hair and blue eyes and that dumb but cute look on his face.  “I got some pasta and their giant meatballs,” he said softly, setting the bag down on the counter.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice a bit strained.

“What do you think I’m doing here, minskatt?” he asked.  “I needed to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” she tried to brush him off.

“Aberdeen…” he said softly.  “I’m trying to be here for you.  Will you let me?”

His words sounded so soft and so sincere that it almost broke her.  There was no way she could say no, no way that she could ask him to leave and deny him.  After everything that they’d been through, after everything he’d ever said to her, the hotel room visits, everything – she couldn’t deny him this.  He wanted to be there for her, and she was going to let him.  She swallowed the sob that threatened to escape her.  “Plate that pasta and bring it to my room,” she said quietly.

William’s eyes bulged in shock for a split second before he began moving around the kitchen trying to find an appropriate plate.  He kicked off his shoes before grabbing a fork and walking into her bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him.  He looked around, and it was just as he remembered it.  It had been a while, but the events of that night in June still played over and over in his mind.  If he thought about it hard enough, he could imagine the feeling of her bare skin underneath his fingertips.  

He found her sitting on her daybed, Minerva lying on her legs and her laptop on her desk chair that was placed at the edge of her bed like a TV stand.  He handed her the plate full of pasta and meatballs before climbing into bed beside her, sitting right next to her so their bodies were touching.  “He deserved what he got, you know.  After that piggy story I wanted to go to his office and strangle him with my bare hands.”

She nodded her head softly.  “I know.  I got that from seeing how white your knuckles were in your lap.”

“Do you want to know how Brendan did it?” he asked.  She didn’t respond, so he just went for it.  “He called Ethan into his office and he asked him what his dream hockey organizations were to work for.  As Ethan said them, Brendan wrote them down.  Then Brendan showed him the video, and in front of Ethan, called the president or GM of the teams he mentioned and blacklisted him.  He told them never to hire him because he was a sexual harasser.”

Aberdeen didn’t know what to think.  She knew William didn’t tell her that to get a reaction out of her, and she knew he wasn’t expecting one either.  It was harsh, very harsh.  Ethan’s career in the sports industry was ruined, that was for sure.  It was a fitting end to a guy who was such a dick.  And more than anything, she realized one important thing: Brendan cared about her.  He cared about her so much he’d ruin another man’s career for harming hers.  “Good,” she mumbled.  

“Why didn’t you tell me any of that was going on?” he asked.  “You promised me you’d tell me, Aberdeen, and you broke that promise.”

She shook her head.  She couldn’t deal with this right now.  She knew she should have said something earlier, but she was the lowest person on the metaphorical totem pole, and she didn’t think it was worth William’s time or effort.  “Please don’t.”

“I could have helped you, Aberdeen—”

“William, please,” her tone was strained, her voice begging.  “I don’t want to talk about it.  I don’t want to keep reliving it.  I just want to sit here with you and eat this giant plate of pasta with these giant meatballs, okay?  Please.”

William looked at her for a few moments, directly into her eyes, before he nodded his head.  It was all he could do.  He didn’t want to make her relive it any more than she had to.  And, quite frankly, he didn’t want to have to think about it, because thinking about what Ethan did to her made his blood boil and made him want to search every street and apartment in the city for Ethan so he could punch him.  She’d let her guard down, however minimally, and said she wanted to sit there with him.  If him sitting next to Aberdeen was going to make her feel okay, he was going to do just that.  If just being there, physically, was enough for her, then it was enough for him.  “What are we watching?”

“The Real Housewives of New York City.”

He smiled.  “Alright.  Real Housewives it is.”

With Minerva sleeping on her legs, Aberdeen downed the plate of pasta.  William couldn’t really keep up with the show, with all its drama and all the ladies gossiping over events he had no clue about, but that didn’t really matter.  All he was really focused on was Aberdeen.  And as her body language softened the more she worked through the giant plate of pasta, the more comfortable she became.  When she was done, she leaned forward and put the plate on her dresser.  She’d deal with it later.  

When she curled her arm underneath his, he rested his hand on her legs and she leaned her head onto his bicep.  Their bodies couldn’t be any closer, and now they were starting to intertwine.  It wasn’t long before her breathing steadied, and when the screen went dark during a scene, William could see through the reflection that she was sleeping peacefully against him.  He closed the laptop with his foot.  

He moved to lie her down in her bed.  The disruption in position made her grumble slightly, though she was still latched on to his arm.  “Willy?” she mumbled out.

The use of his nickname that everyone else called him but she never did until now brought a small smile to his face.  “Minskatt?”

She didn’t say anything else, but she made it clear she didn’t want to let him go.  And she showed it by grabbing onto him tighter.  When he lay down in her tiny bed with her – seriously, it was tiny and there was barely enough room for his body, let alone both of theirs – she closed her eyes again.  Comfortable.  Safe.  Protected.  

William closed his eyes too, letting his feelings of serenity overwhelm him.

***

Aberdeen woke up with the sun, which she was mad about because she had the day off and wanted to sleep in until it was an acceptable time to have brunch.  Her body still felt fatigued from yesterday, but her mind – even her mind still felt tired, like she’d barely gotten any sleep.  She saw Minerva curled up at William’s feet and smiled.

William.

William.

William was in bed with her.

The events of the night before came back to her – him showing up at the apartment with takeout Sugo; eating the giant plate of pasta and meatballs all on her own; sitting on her bed and watching the Real Housewives of New York; resting her head on his arm until she fell asleep.  He’d stayed the night.  For the second time in one month, she’d shared a bed with William.  The first time, they’d stayed on their respective sides because the bed was big enough – it was respectful and innocent, but she had still kicked him out in the early morning in complete fear.  But now, there was no respective sides.  She felt his hand underneath her hoodie on her bare skin.  She felt his body pressed up against hers, holding her delicately.  She felt his chest rising and falling softly.  But mostly, she felt the grip of his hand holding hers, cradling it near his chest.

For the first time, she didn’t mind.  And she didn’t pull away.

_______________________

Sexual harassment in the workplace resources:

from the Women’s Legal Education and Action Fund: Sexual Harassment at Work - What Can I Do About It?

from the Ontario Human Rights Commission: Policy on Preventing Sexual and Gender-Based Harassment 

from The Muse: Here’s What You Can Do If You’re Sexually Harassed at Work

from Workplace Fairness: Sexual Harassment Practical Strategies: How Do I Deal with Sexual Harassment?

from Canadian Labour Relations: Sexual Harassment Lawyers and Attorneys: a Legal Solution

from Workplace Fairness: Sexual Harassment - Legal Standards

Secret of the Widow

-part six-

Summary: Post Endgame time period. The team is healing, trying to navigate this new normal they’ve found themselves in when Bucky and Sam bring home a stray with an attitude and a secret. Will the broken team take her in? Or is it too much to bare?

Warnings: language, *eventual* violence and smut, death, fluff, angst

Pairings: Bucky x OC

Disclaimer: this is posted to Wattpad as well and it WILL HAVE PLOT. I’m a Bucky hoe so there will be smut and romancy stuff but this is a series, so plot plot plot.

Forty-five minutes later I walk out of my still steaming bathroom. I wish I could thank Tony for the never ending hot water and place to live, it's a nice change in routine.

I wish I could thank him for a lot of things.

I give myself a little shake. No sappy moments, not right now.

With a lighter step, I throw on some baggy sweatpants and a tank top, leaving my hair to air dry. I'm pretty sure a good first impression was thrown out the window already anyways.

With a final nod in the mirror, I leave the sanctuary of my room and give myself to the wolves.

As I enter the kitchen, the smell of cheeseburgers and salty fries hits me. I'm almost certain I let out a tiny moan, but I'm going to deny it if asked.

"Hey Ali, grab some food and come sit by me sweetie." Wanda yelled from the table, not even glancing at me, unlike the rest of the group.

Banner still seems reserved, like he doesn't know how he's suppose to respond to the news of my existence. Clint on the other hand looks like he has something to talk about, sad curiosity all over his features.

Having not eaten in the last two days, I'm positive I could inhale more of these beautiful beef buns than even Barnes can, who is currently sitting with three burger on his plate and a mountain of fries. Okay well maybe not him, but Wilson for sure. The mans pretty scrawny.

After getting my food, I plop down in the seat between Wanda and Bucky, immediately tearing into my food. Etiquette be damned.

"So where's Petey? He and I have some unfinished business." I'm pretty sure I just heard Barnes try to cover a small chuckle with a cough. I should probably not talk with my mouth full, at least not during my first ever meal with the team.... whoops.

"He's attending MIT, following Tony's footsteps apparently, so he went off somewhere to study his big book of boring." Wilson didn't even bat an eye while answering.

The room settled in silence for a few minutes. It was not a comfortable one at all.

With a loud sigh I set my wonderful, heavenly, beautiful burger down. "Okay. Spit it out. This silence is strangling me and I'm trying to enjoy this God sent meal in peace."

Sam chuckled quietly, wiping his mouth free from the mustard smeared everywhere. "Okay tiny Tony calm down."

That's the second time today I've been compared to Tony. Each time my heart breaks a little. It's nice though, having a part of him so apparent in me that they see it despite meeting me less than five hours ago.

"So you and Stark were close, obviously, Nat is your mom, still weird, and you know Barnes pretty well by the looks of it."

I pop a few fries in my mouth before answering. Mmm fried potatoes doused in salt is a glorious creation. "All of that is very true baby bird."

Barnes hides a smile as Sam glares very unthreateningly across the table at me. My fry hits him right in the nose.

This time Clint joins Bucky in choking down a laugh.

"So how well do you know Barnes here hm? You were eighteen when you met? I wonder-"

Bucky tensed up, jaw ticking away. Wanda just pursed her lips and kept quiet.

I set my hand on his metal arm. "Stand down Sarge, birdys just trying to wind you up." Bucky relaxes, nerves still on edge and eyes throwing daggers at the bird man.

I look to Sam with a raised brow. "I'm a lady Samuel, we don't kiss and tell. Did you have anything productive to ask before you got all pissy?"

He sighed in annoyance, eyes showing slight amusement. "I still want to know how you got those cuffs on us, they have no key or biometric identification. Did you see me enter the code?"

I let out a soft laugh and turned to Wanda. "You should've seen their faces, it was a beautiful sight." With a glance back at Sam I shove another bite of my burger into my mouth, talking around the food. "I worked with Stark for years dude. I have access to, and can override, anything in this building. He gave me full clearance before I could drive."

"But he never let you up here? Even when we were out on a mission?" This time it was Banner who spoke up.

With a small smile I shrugged. "We didn't want to chance me running into any of you, especially after Petey joined. He worked in the lab with me a bit and it made Tony a little wary. Plus Nat worried about Sarge here seeing me."

Buckys head snapped to me, not expecting to be brought into the conversation. "She knew I had no memories though, why would meeting me worry her enough to ban you from the upper levels?"

Our eyes locked for a few seconds before I turned away, glancing at him as I breeze past the question. "Conversation for another time Buck.... so who made dinner? Well complements to the chef Clint, this is some juicy meat."

•••

Dinner continued with light laughter, and small talk. The group introducing themselves and trying to welcome me into the tight knit squad. The atmosphere was kind, but I could see the change caused by the loss of their friends. A year later and the wounds are still barely even scar tissue.

I remember the times I'd be working in the lab and get bored, eventually deciding that the Avengers would be my own little reality show to pass the time. They use to be so care free, at least as much as they could be, laughter filling the halls and pranks pulled on one another. Now it's random bursts of joy until the silence relapses for a bit.

Maybe I can do some good here. At least bring a little more light into the tower, make the darkness fade a little.

Wanda and I decided to have a movie night in the living room while the guys did whatever guys do. She chose some romcom, which we inevitably verbally assaulted as the cheesy plot continued.

"So, Ali, besides Fury is there anyone else in your life?"

"Nah, there's been a few dates, but having to lie about who you are makes things difficult. Although, so does my choice in work and the fact that I'm very rarely interested in anyone enough to put in the effort." I gave her a shrug and just rolled my eyes, keeping the conversation light.

"I'm curious on the team dynamic. Tony and Steve were like the divorced parents that told everyone what to do, is it just a 'go with the flow' situation now?"

Thankfully this made her chuckle. "Apparently this family of ours can't function without parents that hate each other. Bucky and Sam are the exact same way, they've taken the mantle up themselves. But honestly we're still learning our strengths and how we fit without the old pieces."

I gave her a nod, forehead creased while I tried to picture the teams strengths and weaknesses cohesively fitting together.

It wasn't until midnight when we decided to get some sleep, setting plans to go shopping after lunch the next day.

The bed was more comfortable than anything I've ever had the absolute pleasure of laying upon, but I still couldn't pass the hell out.

I just grunted in very extreme annoyance, despite this being a normal occurrence, and rolled out of bed.

After a quick stop to the kitchen to make some tea, I made my way to Tony's lab.

It looked just as it did the last time I was here, seven years ago Thanos time I suppose.

Walking around the large space, knowing that Tony won't be strutting in yelling about his genius breakthrough after his twelfth coffee of the morning, or having him standing over my shoulder as he teaches me the new mechanics of his suit, well it's surreal.

The room doesn't even feel like him anymore. This lab was once a place that brought me a sense of comfort and home, a place where his laugh encompassed the very life of the room, where his sarcasm bounced of the walls in never ending jabs. Now it is just cold and empty. The joy it once held long gone.

I sit in the floor, leaned against his work table. Now realizing that tears are running down my cheeks, a quiet remembrance to a man I cared for like a father.

I don't bother to wipe the tears away, it'd feel like denying him this moment, I just sigh and rest my head against his chair. "Oh Tony, you self sacrificing idiot.. I miss you. So much. I can't believe you left me alone with Nicky, that was just cruel you know. You both did."

With a shiver I set the empty mug beside me, bringing my legs up to curl my arms around.

"Why did you always have to be so hell bent on sacrificing yourself? Everytime this world called, it was always YOU risking it all, YOU flying into a space portal, YOU getting so much hate and blame from the team, even SHIELD, all the time. I just-" a chocked sob surprises me as I realize this is the first time I've talked to him, really talked, in six years.

"You had everything T, a wife, a baby, me and Petey. And they asked you to give it all up, yet this world barely gives you the recognition you deserve. Steve walks out and just leaves, after so much death, so much that needs cleaned up, he makes the most selfish decision i have ever seen, and yet is grieved more than you are. He walked out on his best friend, left the team already broken, and had the audacity to think he was owed that selfishness. A man who gave up everything and asked for nothing in return, overshadowed by the man who had nothing and was handed everything." I let out an angry little chuckle.

"This world is so backwards and cruel. Now I'm left in it alone. What am I suppose to do T? This place, these people, there's no light here anymore. And I just- it's just- it's so hard Tony. My parents are gone and I'm alone and I miss you so much. Being here breaks my heart. Every second I'm within these walls, knowing I'll never hear your laugh, your encouragement or sassy remarks, never walk in to AC/DC blasting while your passed out at your table. Every second I'm here hurts T. I just- I miss you so much dad and I'll never get to tell you how much I love you."

If I hadn't had my eyes closed, or been in the middle of an impressive mental breakdown, I might have heard the footsteps approaching long ago. But my tears brought sleep to me quickly and everything went black.

Fine Arts and Equally Fine People

1,845 words. In which Cadenza and Dante decide to have a little competition to woo Amparo Cassano, but Dante’s attention is taken away by someone else. Anatole flexes his language abilities for someone, and Milenko runs after a certain Countess.

Cadenza and Dante belong to @arcanecadenza​.

Dante and Cadenza looked at the poster announcing the play they came to see in Vesuvia’s Community Theatre. A painted poster depicting a scene with the characters of the Operetta, announcing “La Cassano'' as the main character above the name of the play. 

“That’s her,” Dante said, Cadenza still silently looking at the poster, her eyes tracing the lines of Amparo’s smile.

“It is. Let’s get in.”

The siblings got inside, showing the tickets they had already purchased, in the standing Yard. Cadenza would’ve preferred to be sitting in one of the galleries, but they had been told by the cast of the play (and Amparo herself) that many of the acts and intermissions were interactive, so a Yard position might be more fun, if they desired to experience the play in full. Besides, the play had already been going for some time, so it wouldn’t be as packed as it was during the first weeks of it. 

“Did you bring her anything?” Dante asked as they handed their coats in the coat check. “I wasn’t really sure of what the exact Vesuvian custom is, and then I thought everyone must bring her flowers, then I didn’t know who to ask and books were not very illustrative on the matter—”

“So?”

“So I brought her a self-refilling pen. Actors need to mark scripts all the time, don’t they?”

Cadenza hummed as she gave a coin to an usher in exchange for a program for the play. “I brought her tea. Asra said she always asked him to brew her some tea when she was over?”

Dante gave her a betrayed look. 

“What? He’s a friend of hers.”

“That’s cheating.”

“I would’ve brought her tea anyway.” 

“That’s still cheating.”

Cadenza decided to focus on the program, which explained the basic argument of the play, had a list of the dramatis personae and the name of whom they were played by, as well as other tidbits here and there. It was useful to take her away from her nerves. Cadenza didn’t exactly know what she was doing, even if she was confident enough in herself. It felt almost like a date without being a date (and with her brother there), not to mention gift-giving had never been her forte. She had been too busy to compose something for Amparo, but she had wanted to. Maybe she would be able to later. 

She hoped she was. She had been beautiful and so sure of herself in her flowing dress; her lips were defined and always curving up slightly, her hands soft as they had brushed with Cadenza’s, telling her how she wished she could make it to the play, not just for herself but for the play’s sake. 

“But I do hope I’m reason enough,” she had added, clearly flirting. Cadenza had told her she would be better company than her brother in a streak of competitiveness, making Amparo laugh. 

Cadenza found herself playing with the corners of the program, dog earring them; she frowned at it and offered it to her brother. 

Her brother didn’t respond. 

“Dante? Dante. Dante.” She rolled her eyes, leaning her shoulder against her brother’s. 

“Uh? Oh, I wasn’t looking.”

A blush began to bloom on Dante’s cheeks, Cadenza giving him a funny look as he began fidgeting, throwing one last glance in the general direction he had been looking, before taking the program out of Cadenza’s hands. Cadenza followed the direction of her brother’s gaze and finally saw him, recognition dawning on her. He was as blond as ever, animatedly talking to a man with dark, bronze brown curls, dressed in black. 

She couldn’t help but to give a curious look to her brother. “I didn’t know you knew Anatole.”

“You know him too?”

“Dante, I’m pretty sure half of Vesuvia knows who he is, but yes, we have tea together sometimes. Well, I have tea, I’ve only ever seen him drink coffee. He’s a friend.” She paused, in the background the orchestra still played. “Where do you know him from?” 

“The palace library,” the program was now completely forgotten in Dante’s hands. “I run into him from time to time, but we never visit the same sections. We talk sometimes, he’s, hm, very charming.”

The play began not very long after, the siblings dropping the subject altogether, even if Dante still seemed to steal looks towards the box Anatole was sitting in. The play was everything it promised to be and more: Amparo had been right, standing on the yard was never tedious, tiring. Something was always happening that took your attention away from standing on your feet — an actor would run through, someone would begin in an Aria in the middle of the crowd, leaving you to wonder when they got there. 

Amparo herself was stunning. Her voice was clear and melodic, capable of softness and drama; when she danced, the stage moved with her, the lights dancing to her lead. She transformed on stage, and Cadenza felt herself be transformed with it.

The crowd clapped, the siblings joining the ovation, and eventually the theatre began being evacuated. The siblings did as Amparo had told them too: they went backstage, announcing themselves. One of the lyricists of the Opera volunteered to go let Amparo know, and as soon as she cleared them, the lyricist came back to guide them through the hecticness which was the backstage of Vesuvia’s community theatre, asking them their opinion on the play. 

“We don’t really have private changing rooms but this is La Cassano, she’s too delightful not to let her get away with a little of this. Not that I need to tell you two, hm?” She said, cheeky. 

Amparo emerged from beyond a curtain. “Zinovia, don’t torment my guests! Only I can do that.” As a hello she winked to the siblings, holding the curtain open for them to come in. “I’m so glad you too could make it! Please, make yourself comfortable.”

The changing room, which was really just a space separated by dividers and colourful curtains, was not very personalised. Zinovia had been right when she said this wasn’t Amparo’s own changing room and in fact had space for more people. It was still cozy, if a little messy, with puffs to sit as well as a patched up armchair. 

Amparo sat in the chair of one of the vanities in the room, wearing a well loved, dark blue robe. 

“I do have my own changing room in the other theatre, so I hope you’re not put off by people announcing themselves in and out. If you’d prefer more privacy, we could always grab drinks afterward, I think I know just the place.”

With the mention of drinks, Cadenza mentioned the tea, saying it was inside the pockets of her coat. Amparo, lightly touching her arm, told her not to worry, she could send someone to retrieve the coats. “It’s nothing, I promise.” 

Before she could do anything, a voice came from beyond the robe. It was Anatole’s. “Are you decent and are you available, Lele?” 

Amparo snorted. “I’m not decent, but I’m wearing clothes, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She opened the curtain with one swift motion. “And almost always available for you two. Cadenza, Dante, these are Anatole and Milenko — my cousins.” 

“Oh, I do know both of you,” Anatole added with a smile.

“I don’t!” Milenko said cheerily. “Hi!”

While Milenko gave Amparo a quick kiss on her temple, congratulating her for the performance, Anatole gave Cadenza a friendly wave, but, to the latter’s amusement, focused on her brother. “Non sapevo che fosse tuo fratello, Cadenza. Dante, è un piacere, come sempre,” he took Dante’s hand to bring his knuckles to his lips. “I also didn’t know you two liked Opera, what a delightful coincidence. Amparo, Lenko, should we all go to get something to drink afterwards.”

Milenko had his head poking outside of the curtains, and was yelling a thank you back at someone. “I have to run.”

Anatole raised his eyebrows at him. Amparo gave him a quizzical, yet amused look “Because...?” She said.

“Apparently the Countess was discreetly watching the play with one of her sisters, and they’re leaving, so I have to go like, right now, I’m going, I’m gone.” 

Amparo’s and Anatole’s attention was taken away from the Alighieri siblings, as they encouraged Milenko and wished him luck, telling him to run fast and to go already, watching him get through the backstage crowd as he turned to yell back at his cousins that Nadia was what beauty itself should look like. Amparo laughed, and Anatole rolled his eyes.

“So,” Cadenza began, sitting on the armchair and straightening the nonexisting wrinkles in her dress, “you talk sometimes.”

“We’ve only talked, Cadenza.” 

“I win then?”

Dante paused. He looked at his sister, then at Anatole, who was talking about something he couldn’t make out with Amparo. “Okay, fine you win.”

“I did say she would find I’m better company.”

Dante didn’t have a chance to argue, because Amparo and Anatole had their attention back on them, asking them if they would like to go for drinks with them afterwards. Neither Cadenza nor Dante found a reason to complain. 

Soon enough their coats were retrieved. Dante took out the self-refilling pen, but Amparo politely declined. “I do mark up my scripts all the time, but I am sure Anatole will find that a little more useful. He collects quills after all.”

“You do?”

“I do,” his smile was inviting, bright, his eyes curious, looking between Dante’s face and his hands.

“Take it then, it’s yours.” 

With Dante’s attention otherwise occupied, Amparo took her chance to sit closer to Cadenza. She played with her own hair, taking it to the side so it fell over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning forward, resting her chin on her hand, her arm propped over her knee. “The tea smells fantastic. Did you enjoy the play?”

“Very much, your singing is stunning.”

Amparo smiled, her playful intensity folding over and away, a quiet kind coming in its replacement as her dark, green eyes scanned Cadenza’s face. “Thank you,” her tongue poked out between her lips when she said ‘thanks’. “I like it very much that you could come. Let me finish changing, and we’ll be on our way, is that alright?”

“Alright.”

“Alright,” Amparo repeated as she stood up, a smile reserved only for Cadenza on her face. 

In the background, the sounds of the backstage crowd of technics, direction and actors blended with Dante’s impassioned conversation with Anatole about the principles of transmutation. Cadenza was sure she had heard Anatole say before that alchemy is nothing he is very versed at, yet he seemed to be holding the conversation just fine. Perhaps she’d ask the next time she saw him, perhaps she’d forget to. Right now, following Amparo as she got behind a divider to get dressed and talk about the play and the rest of their night with her seemed like a much better prospect. 

I Know the Stars Will Start to Fade

AO3 @tsshipmonth2020

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary-  Roman was born with three soul marks but now has only one. He doesn't want to ruin his last great chance for happiness but finds his final soulmate, Logan, isn't what he expected. And neither is he what he expected of himself.

Day 10 LAMP (Platonic Logince focused, Romantic Moxiety)- Soulmates are born with matching soul marks

Roman was starting to feel desperate. He had been born with three different soul marks but now was left with one. He really couldn't blame Patton or Virgil for getting upset with him. Somehow this was his fault.

The soul marks had been beautiful. Three shields with different intricate patterns inside. One had a castle overshadowed by a storm cloud. That one had matched Virgil’s. One had a heart floating in a broiling sea. That one had matched with Patton's. The last showed a brain at the foot of the mountains with a field of stars above. He hoped whoever this brain matched to would be the one who lasted and stuck around.

He'd met Virgil on an online forum for people with multiple soul marks. They hadn't talked much but Virgil went by st0rmcl0ud online and had described a soul mark that sounded remarkably similar to Roman’s. So he reached out in DMs and they swapped photos of their marks and then phone numbers and at Roman's insistence planned to meet up. He was already head over heels for his soulmate and giddy with excitement to meet Virgil in real life. Virgil and Patton had found each other through a dating app. Virgil recognized the heart shield as matching one of Patton's marks and had introduced the two of them as well.

For the first month, it was wonderful. Roman had never been so enamored, so certain of a future together with these two. It felt wonderful and nerve-wracking and exciting and passionate and everything the fairy tales had promised love would be.

They went on dates and got to know each other better. Roman went from infatuated to admiring his soulmates. He still put forth the full effort to love them but his heart wasn't behind it the way it should have been.

The stormy castle started to fade. He loved- no- cared for his two soulmates deeply. But the mark started to fade. Roman’s grand romantic vision of the future started to settle into something more friendly and domestic. He hid his soul marks, not wanting to upset either of them.

The stormy castle faded completely and the heart in the ocean was beginning to dull in color as well. Roman loved going on dates because it made his friends happy, but he felt no happier than if they had a quiet movie night at home together or spent the night video calling each other.

Roman had been frustrated, because Virgil and Patton were still head over heels for each other, in their own ways of course. Why didn't he feel that romantic spark that had pulled them all together?

One day, the heart in the ocean faded completely. Roman was terrified to tell his soulmates that the marks were gone. He was even more frightened by the realization that he didn't really love them the way they loved him and each other. He absolutely cared for Patton and Virgil with his whole heart, but the romantic vision was gone. He wanted them in his life but the idea of dating twisted his gut in the most unpleasant way.

Virgil noticed first. Roman didn't think it was possible to see the man any paler than his normal complexion.

"You lied to us…"

"No, they disappeared. They were there. They were real!"

"How do you expect me to believe that, Roman," Virgil's eyes were clouded with fear and pain. Roman couldn’t meet his gaze any longer and looked away.

"Why would you-"

"I don't know! I- you're my soulmate, Virgil… I don't know why our mark disappeared."

Virgil shook his head and pulled out his phone, dialing from memory.

If Virgil's anger had been difficult, Patton's disappointment was worse. His sad eyes bore into Roman’s soul and he couldn't even soften the blow by blaming Roman.

"Roman, do you not want us?" Roman's heart crumbled at the question.

"Patton, of course, I-"

"He was never our soulmate, Pat! I don't know how but he lied to us," Virgil hissed, pulling Patton back away from Roman.

"Guys, please listen to me," Roman was on the verge of tears.

"Yeah, Virge. I'm sure there's an explanation here that we aren't seeing. Roman, you still love us, right?"

Roman couldn’t help it. He balked and that sealed his fate. The moment Patton's heart broke was embedded in his memory, unlike the disappearing soul marks.

That was a week ago. And here he was, riding the bus to rehearsal as though his emotions weren't in shambles, one chance left to find happiness.

"Excuse me, sir? May I see your soul mark?" Roman turned to the unfamiliar voice and saw the hottest man he'd ever met giving him a difficult to decipher look.

Roman already had names picked out for the dogs they would adopt together.

"Ah, sure," Roman held out his arm and the stranger leaned down to inspect it. After a moment he pulled the sleeve of his jacket up and held up an arm with three familiar marks up to Roman's, "it's you! The brain…"

The stranger cleared his throat and pushed his sleeve back down, "yes. It appears we are soulmates. My name is Logan Crawford. What is yours?"

"Roman Prince," Roman replied breathlessly. He felt like he was on cloud nine and had his final chance.

"Well, Roman, I suppose you'll want to be in contact. Although, I must warn you that I am a disappointing soulmate and refuse date," Logan had pulled out his phone and was handing it to Roman.

"What do you mean 'disappointing'?" Roman frowned more in confusion than any negative feeling for Logan.

"I suppose you'll find out anyway. I am romance-repulsed. Even as one of my soulmates I won't date you or the others. Most everyone tells me that I will be a disappointment for you three but frankly, I know my boundaries and refuse to change them."

Roman stared at his final soulmate. He hadn't expected this. He took the offered phone and plugged in his number, taking a quick selfie for the contact photo.

"Well then, Logan, let's agree to just talk. Have you met Patton or Virgil?" Roman was met with an indifferent look that lacked any recognition.

"No, I have not. Have you?"

"Yes and I don't think you'd like them…" Roman said bitterly.

"Do you think I dislike you, Roman?" Logan said with the most emotion Roman had heard from him yet.

"No, I didn't mean that," Roman stammered, "I- I just meant that they're… very romantic. And I thought I had 'hopeless romantic' cornered!" Roman laughed to hide his discomfort.

"Wait, but you only had one soul mark. How did you meet them?" Logan asked with curiosity.

"My stop is coming up, perhaps we save the tragic backstory for another time?" Roman grinned as the bus rolled to a stop a block from the theater, "call me!" He rushed off the bus before Logan could respond, bewildered by the chance meeting with the handsome stranger.

Over the next few weeks, Roman and Logan texted and met up for coffee a few times. Roman was terrified of pushing things too fast and watched the soul mark on his arm constantly for any sign that it was fading. Logan never asked about the other two soulmates so Roman decided to not talk about them. He was still hurt but they had to be happier without him.

"So, Roman, you never told me the tragic story of how you met Patton and Virgil," Roman nearly spit out his tea.

"Do you really want to know, dear?" Logan bristled at the nickname but nodded.

"Well," Roman recounted the events of how they met and started seeing each other almost casually. He slowed down as he got to the part where the soul marks started fading. Logan encouraged him to continue but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

"Roman, did they hurt you?"

Roman shook his head no, not meeting Logan’s eyes.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Logan asked gently, resting his hand on Roman’s across the cafe table. Roman felt a metaphorical shock at the physical contact. He wanted a romantic connection with Logan so badly sometimes that the other’s staunch refusal to date felt like an arrow to the heart.

"My soul marks disappeared," Roman whispered, "and I couldn't promise them I was still in love, so they left."

"Disappeared? How unusual. Did they match before disappearing?" Roman looked up, surprised by the reaction. Logan just opened a new tab on his laptop and started searching a few keywords, "what? You know I don't care for sentiment. But soul marks that aren't permanent is a fascinating concept. And you say you fell out of love when the marks disappeared? Was it sudden overnight?"

"N-no… actually the marks- and the feelings- faded over time. About a week, really," Roman sighed, "actually, Logan I need to confess-" Roman pulled up the sleeve of his jacket to reveal his last soul mark, "-yours started fading a few days ago. The colors aren't as saturated as before."

Logan looked down at the mark, "and how do you feel about me? Regardless of my stance on the matter."

Roman sucked in a long breath, "I…. Honestly, I've been in love with you from that day on the bus. But I respect your boundaries and I wasn’t going to push it and as we have been talking and getting to know each other, I really value you as a friend as well. I'm still a little hopelessly over the moon about you but it's not like when we first met."

"Fascinating, it seems the intensity of your soul mark is directly proportionate to your capacity for romantic attraction. One moment," Logan turned back to the laptop and after a moment turned the screen to face Roman, "does this sound like you?"

The word and definition almost popped off the screen at Roman. Frayromantic - an aromantic spectrum identity where one feels an intense romantic attraction to strangers that fades as they get to know the person

"Yes…" Roman took a sip of tea to try and calm his swirling thoughts.

Logan turned the laptop back around and did another search. He read for a moment before reading aloud from the screen, "other frayromantics have experienced fading soul marks. Some say that the marks came back after they realized and recognized their identity or came to terms with their soulmate about it. Others never had the marks come back naturally but rather decided to get them recreated. Or they decided they didn't want the marks and carried on markless, with or without their soulmate."

"So I'm not broken, it's happened before? The marks could come back? It's not wrong to not love my soulmates romantically?" The questions spilled from Roman’s mouth before he could stop them.

"I'd actually prefer if you would hurry up and get over your crush on me, thanks," Logan said with a smirk.

Roman held back a snort of laughter. He was feeling immeasurably better.

Roman was glad he had kept Patton's phone number. After discussing it with Logan, he decided to reach back out, hoping Patton would be understanding and could encourage Virgil to be as well.

The phone rang and rang. Roman started to sweat. Logan was preoccupied with personal research but he offered a comforting hand on Roman’s shoulder. Roman was glad for his friend's support, the soul mark a faint but distinct outline anymore. It had never fully disappeared even as Roman’s crush had evaporated.

Roman was ready to give up when the line connected, "Roman?"

"Patton! Oh, thank the stars you picked up. Do you have time to talk? If not now, maybe we can meet up?" Roman grinned happily.

"Why? I thought we weren't… " Patton trailed off.

"Pat, two things. One, I figured out why the soul marks faded. Two, I found Logan. We can all know each other and work things out because despite what Virgil said, we are soulmates," Roman waited with bated breath for the response.

"Hold on a second- Virgil!" Patton pulled the phone away from his mouth as he called out. Logan squeezed Roman’s shoulder to comfort him.

"Yeah, Pops? What's up?" From what Roman could hear it sounded like Virgil had just woken up, at 3 in the afternoon. What followed was a muffled conversation from which Roman could only pick out a few words.

"Okay, Roman. Can you and Logan meet us for dinner tonight?" Patton asked brightly.

"Logan, how does dinner tonight sound?" Roman grinned as Logan nodded, "sounds great, Pat. Where do you want to meet?"

"You two should come on over here about 7, alright? Awesome, see you soon!" Patton ended the call, mind already bustling with plans to get ready for dinner.

"Roman, please don't try to speak for me tonight," Logan smiled nervously as Roman parked the car.

"Of course not. I know you can handle yourself," Roman replied.

"Yes, I just worry that you're going to try too hard to be what Patton and Virgil want, not who you are. I like you and respect you for who you are and they will too if they're smart. But in the all too likely case that you can't help trying to be a people pleaser, at least let me establish my own boundaries."

Roman gasped, "do you have so little faith in me?"

"Yes," Logan grinned and stepped out of the car. Roman started chuckling and both were smiling as the front door of the apartment duplex opened.

"Roman. And I guess that makes you Logan. Come on in, I guess," Virgil was as dour as ever as he showed them to the living room, "Patton says dinner should be ready in a few minutes so make yourselves at home."

"Virgil, it's so good to see you! I've missed your pale, crabby face," Roman grinned although Virgil did not seem amused.

Logan held out his hand, "it's nice to meet you, Virgil."

Virgil stared at the offered hand and poked it with his finger, "Nice to meet you too, Logan."

"Are they here? V, why didn't you tell me?" Patton came bustling from the kitchen and immediately wrapped Roman in a tight hug, "oh it's been too long! How ya doing, Prince?"

Roman grinned and hugged Patton back, "better now, that's for sure."

"Ah, and you must be Logan, come on in buddy!" Patton turned to offer Logan a hug.

"No, thank you. I'd rather not," Logan tried to wave Patton off.

"You sure?" Logan nodded, "Okay, dinner is almost done and we've got so much to talk about!"

Roman helped Virgil set the table while Logan followed Patton into the kitchen to help with the final preparations.

The conversation was light as they ate until Virgil asked the question no one else was bringing up.

"So Princey, why did the soul marks disappear?"

Roman took a deep breath. He could feel Logan’s hand on his knee under the table and was grateful for his soulmate’s support once again. "Virgil, Patton, I have discovered that I am frayromantic. I know that word doesn't make sense, but hear me out," he proceeded to explain, talking about how he had truly loved them when they met, and still wanted to care about them now. He even showed them the faded soul mark that matched Logan’s, explaining that it never faded completely because they had come to an understanding with each other about their relationship. He didn't bring up that the soul marks could come back, not wanting to give them undue hope or misguided ideas about his emotions. By the time he was done explaining, Patton was smiling with tears in his eyes and Virgil was nodding.

"Mark or not, I still want you in my life," Patton sniffed and reached across the table to take Roman’s hand, "we can work out the particulars later."

"Ah, Roman, I'm sorry. I was wrong to accuse you and I can't imagine how much that must have hurt you," Virgil spoke just above a whisper.

Roman nodded, "thank you, Virgil. I'll consider forgiving you."

"That's fair-"

"Consider it done!"

"Oh- kay thank you," Virgil chuckled.

"So Logan, why is tonight the first time we're meeting you?" Patton smiled at the stoic man.

"Simply put, I wasn’t seeking out my soulmates. I happened upon Roman by chance. I want to make it clear that I am not interested in dating any of you," Logan spoke with confidence. Roman was proud of him, returning the comforting hand on his knee gesture.

"Wait you two aren't dating?" Patton asked, confused.

"No. We are not dating. I am aromantic and romance-repulsed. I want nothing to do with mushy, complicated romantic emotions. However, and I hope Roman doesn't mind me saying this, I do consider him my best friend," Logan coughed, "and I actually wanted to talk with you later about a platonic partnership," Roman was surprised to hear this but more surprised by the blush on Logan's cheeks.

"Yeah, we can talk about that later, Lo. I definitely think you're my best friend as well."

"Wow, so… being soulmates isn't going to be easy for any of us," Virgil murmured.

"But we'll all work it out together!" Patton finished the sentiment, clasping his boyfriend's hand in his and smiling at the two soulmates across the table.

The soul marks that had faded completely never came back on their own. After a few years together, Roman decided to get them tattooed back on, asking the artist to match the intensity to Logan’s mark. The three faint marks helped reassure Roman that he was who he was and that he didn't need to change that to love his soulmates just as much as he could.

10 years later.

pairing: Bokuto Koutaro x g/n reader.

genre: angst, aged up characters

word count: 2K ~

prompt: It had been 10 years since your main character last saw their biggest crush. How they both ended up in the same city away from their hometowns makes no sense to them. How do they react and how does the story unfold?

a/n: first time using the prompt of the week! @kingkags I hope you're up for some angst 🌈 and @loneveenas I hope you like what I come up for your potw! 💕

It started with you coming back from abroad after getting your degree. You were outside your country for many years. After your parents' divorce and your break up with some foreign guy, you decided to come back home with your mom. You were in contact with your best friend in Tokyo and you meet her boyfriend, Hinata Shouyou.

"Come on, you have to come with me, you'll have fun and Shou has a lot of hot friends! Just for a while, if you're not vibing with it we can leave. You're sleeping here tonight anyways, so..." she said.

"Will there be alcohol?"

"Yeah, it's a party! They reserved a little restaurant, so it'll be just the team and their friends."

"Ok then we go," you agreed.

And later, you were happy you did.

You met Hinata as soon as you arrived.

"Order whatever you want, y/n! The drinks are on the team!" Hinata said and then he took his girlfriend away.

You walked to the bar and ordered a beer, watching everyone talk and dance. Hinata really had some handsome teammates. Maybe, with a bit of alcohol running through your system, you could talk to one of them.

"I'll take a beer, please 'Samu!" a man said by your side to a guy who seemed to be the bartender.

His voice was familiar. You looked aside to see the guy and gasped. This… couldn't be.

And then, the biggest golden eyes looked at you, and after a minute they showed recognition. And you remembered him too.

"Bokuto-kun?" you asked, just in case your memory betrayed you.

"Y/n? Oh my god, it's you!" he was as loud as you remembered him.

He was going to hug you but stopped to look at you and check if you were ok with it. You smiled at him and tied your arms around his neck. He hugged you tight from your waist.

"I can't believe you're here! How long it's been? Five years?"

"Like ten actually," you laughed. "I… do you play with Hinata?"

"Yeah! Do you know him?" he let you go.

"His girlfriend is my best friend, they invited me," you explained.

“That’s crazy! We live in a small world, right? Did you see the game?”

“No, sorry,” you laughed. “We just got here. But it’s great to see you’re a pro now, it really suits you.”

He guided you to an empty table and told you about how he became pro and how some of his teammates were his rivals back at high school. You told him about your years abroad, and how you decided to come back after a failed relationship.

“Are you living in our old neighborhood?” he said.

“No, we're here in the big city now.”

“Hey hey, Bokkun, we were looking for you! We'll play beer pong, are you in?" a blond guy interrupted your talk. "How about you? Wanna play...?"

"I'm y/n. And yes, I'd like to play," you smiled.

"He's Miya Atsumu. Tsumu this is y/n, an old friend!" Bokuto introduced you to his teammate.

He shook your hand and smiled at you. Then you followed him to the group that was playing.

A two hours and a lot of drinks later, you were drunk. Your friend found you again, sitting in a couch and laughing with Bokuto and Atsumu. She sat by your side to talk to you in the ear. Hinata was holding her hand, still standing.

"Hey, I'm gonna get going, I have something to do," she told you and you laughed.

You were too drunk to think straight and you slowly understood her words.

"Are you ditching me? Sakura?" you said, a bit louder than you intended.

"I can take you to her house later!" a smiling Bokuto offered and then he winked at Hinata.

"That's great, Shouyou will text you my address! Thanks, Bokuto-san! See you later, babe!"

And with a kiss on your cheek your friend left you there. You wanted to say something else but the alcohol in your system didn't allowed you to.

"You can crush in my place, if you want," Bokuto sit closer to you once Atsumu got up to talk to someone. "I don't think they'll end their thing soon, Hinata has a lot of stamina," he laughed.

You nodded and try to get up. Bokuto laughed when you almost trip with your own feet and grabbed your arm to keep you steady.

"Ok, maybe we can get going too, what do you think?"

"Are you sure? I don't want to bust your celebration," you pouted.

"I'm sure, yeah, I'm tired anyway. I'll text Hinata so your friend won't worry, ok? I'mma go say goodbye to the boys and be right back with you!"

He was still the same caring friend from ten years ago. It made your stomach to feel butterflies.

You sat on a chair near the door and you waited for him to come back. You texted Sakura, or at least you tried to, you'll check it in the morning. Bokuto was back in a few minutes and he guided you to his car. The trip was silent but you appreciated it. The cold wind of the night sober you up a bit.

"Thank you for inviting me, Bokuto," you said when you arrived. "You're probably the only person I trust in this city besides Sakura," you laughed.

"No problem. It was crazy to see you there today. Maybe we can finish our talk in the morning," he smiled.He signaled you to wait a minute and you sat on his couch.

He had a nice apartment, there was books everywhere and weights among other training stuff. You didn't remember he was a fan of books in the past.

Bokuto was back, changed, and offered you some clothes for you to change too.

"There's my bedroom, you have a bathroom inside and if you need anything else, I'll be in the couch."

"I can't come back after a decade and take your bed. I'll sleep in the couch."

"Y/n, you had too much alcohol to sleep in a tiny couch. You don't want your body aching with your head tomorrow, trust me," he laughed. "Please, use my bed."

"Ok but if you're uncomfortable, let me know," you said.

You really wanted to stay awake and keep talking to him, but your body thought otherwise. As soon as you got changed and hit the king size bed, you were out.

-

The next morning you woke up with a horrible headache and the smell of coffee dragging you to consciousness. Bokuto was humming to some pop song that was playing in a low volume.

"Good morning," you said after cleaning yourself up and walking outside the room.

"Hey, y/n, good morning! Do you have a headache? I don't have any medicine for it but I can drive you to your friend's place and we can get some in the way," he was turned with your back at you.

It was surreal. He was there, your childhood best friend, your biggest crush ever, the same you remembered him from many years ago: friendly, selfless, funny, the same black and grey wild hair. And somehow he was even more handsome now.

"I can take the bus there, don't worry about it. Do you need help?"

"All done!" he walked to the table with a tray with two coffees and cookies.

"We can go out next time and I'll pay, in return for last night," you said. "Well, if you want…"

"I have a few free days this week so I'll take your offer," he smiled.

The breakfast was for catching up, again. You felt you could talk to him about your years without seeing each other forever. He talked to you about high school after you left, volleyball and his pro career. And you exchanged numbers. Then, he drove you to Sakura's place. Hinata was still there so they left together.

"I can't believe you left me there last night," you said to your friend when you were alone.

"Hinata told me you and Bokuto knew each other, so I thought you'd be fine, I wasn't gonna leave you with some stranger!" she excused. "And you left with him! What happened?"

"Nothing happened, I was drunk…"

-

Bokuto texted you later that week and you met again on his free day for dinner.

"Life's pretty much the same but sometimes people recognizes me or stops me in the streets now, that's crazy," he laughed. "What about you?"

"Nothing that interesting. I got my business degree in England and I'm working at my mom's company for now, until I can use my degree here," you took a sip of your wine.

"And your failed relationship?"

"Oh, I thought he was a good guy but it turned out he wasn't," you faked a smile. "I wouldn't say I was in love but I cared about that idiot."

"That's a shame, you were a great person when you lived here and I bet you're even better now," he commented.

"Thanks, Bokuto," you blushed.

I shouldn't let my hopes up, you thought. Surely he has someone in his life after all this time. I shouldn't revive an old feeling.

"Shit, sorry, I have to get this," he said when his phone rang.

"No problem, I'll ask for the dessert while you talk," you smiled and he nodded at you.

-

You saw each other several times the next two weeks. Every talk, every text, every meeting you had reminded you why you were in love with him. Maybe you never really got over him. Maybe, deep inside, you still loved him.

"I'd say you go for it!" Sakura told you one day. "I never heard that he had a partner and, come on, how could you not brag if you were dating someone like him? We should've seen a picture or something."

"I don't think Hinata would be happy to hear you say that," you laughed and tried to avoid the topic.

"Come on, y/n. You're amazing and he seems to be interested to rebuild your friendship after a decade. Shoot your shot, my friend, don't let the opportunity vanish again."

You sighed and kept drinking with your friend. Maybe next time, you thought.

-

A week later, you were at Bokuto's place again, having "the afternoon english tea" as he said. You even got him some blends to try.

"You did this every day when you were abroad?" he asked.

"No, not always. I tried to keep my japanese traditions too," you smiled at him.

You watched a movie and shared silly comments in between. The sun was going down when it ended.

"Do you want to order a pizza?" he asked.

"Yeah, that'd be cool," you agreed.

This is it. Now or never.

"Can I talk to you about something? When you finish the call," you said and he nodded.

He grabbed his phone and walked to the fridge to get the number from his favorite pizza shop. Just before he dialed, the doorbell rang. He walked to the door and gasped after he opened it.

"Akaashi!" he sounded happy.

You leaned back to look at the door and saw something that maybe you shouldn't have seen. They were kissing. It was quick and innocent but it was a kiss. You looked at the tv again.

"Y/n is here!" Bokuto said and they were walking inside. "I told you about them, remember?"

"Yes and you texted me about them too," Akaashi softly laughed. He had luggage with him and he left it by the door.

"Y/n, he's Akaashi Keiji. Do you remember him? He was in first year, you met him before you left," Koutaro introduced you.

"Yes, I do, you were Bokuto's teammate! It's nice to see you, Akaashi-kun," you smiled.

"Nice to see you're back, y/n-san. Bokuto told me that you happened to meet at a party, that's a huge coincidence. It sounds like fate."

"I was about to order pizza, did you eat something?" Bokuto asked from the kitchen.

"No but pizza sounds good," he smiled. Then he disappeared inside Bokuto's room.

Fate. Yeah, it was laughing at your expense.

"He looks tired, maybe I should go," you said when you heard the shower.

"It's ok, you can stay!" Bokuto turned around to look at you. "Are you ok, y/n?" he saw your weird expression.

"I have to go, sorry," you grabbed your stuff and walked to the door.

He followed you outside after he told Akaashi he was going out for a second.

"What's wrong?" he asked again.

"I… I'm sorry. I didn't know…" you struggled to explain.

"Is this about Akaashi?"

"No- uhm, well, not exactly. It doesn't matter," you were standing at the entrance of his little house.

"I'm sorry. I should've told you…" he figured out by himself. "We don't… we can't make it super public, he's a writer and his agent…"

"No, it's fine, you don't have to explain. I never asked," you laughed. "Akaashi is a perfect fit for you."

"Yeah, he's… awesome. You're awesome too, I mean it," he hugged you.

"Thanks, Bokuto. And I'm happy for you."

You separated from him and smiled.

"Text me when you have a free day, I'll invite you both to eat," you kissed his cheek. "See you later."

-

You went to Sakura's apartment that night. After a bottle of wine, you were able to tell her what happened.

"His partner was on a trip. And then… they arrived with me there. And I was about to… I was gonna tell Bokuto maybe I never got over him… and then he was kissing someone…"

"I'm sorry, I was the one that told you to go for it," Sakura felt guilty.

"Nah, that's fine. I… it's been 10 fucking years, there's no way he wouldn't have someone. He's the perfect guy," you laughed.

"Ok, so... There's this guy. Shouyou's teammate…"

"I don't know if I'm interested…"

"Atsumu, that's his name. Shou told me he asked about you the other day, he wants your number."

"Well, tell Hinata that he can give Atsumu my number," you agreed.

"Just have some fun and you'll get over it. Besides, he's still your friend, right?"

"Yeah, he is."

dog days | t.h.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word count: 1.77k

Summary: Being a dog mom is tough. Having a busy schedule and feeling mom guilt is even tougher. So who are you to say no when your dog just wants to spend some time playing at the park, even if it is pouring down rain. It’s what dog parents do. Or at least just you?

A/N: So I have a half pitbull named Mia Bella and I think Tessa is absolutely cute and they’d make sweet friends and... this was self indulgence and it’s finest and I’m not even sorry about it.

It’s a little ridiculous, you suppose, while it’s managed to go from a light drizzle of rain to a torrential downpour and everyone else has completely left the park, you’re still out. Determined to get your pup the playtime she deserves, having felt guilty going into work on a Saturday morning. Most people are likely indoors right now, snuggled up with a warm cup of tea, watching their favorite series on Netflix. Meanwhile are absolutely chilled to the bone, but with your dog smiling up at you, tail wagging and tennis ball in mouth, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Well, maybe you would. An umbrella would be nice. You at least have an anorak on, and a cap to protect you from the onslaught of rain.

But your dog Bella comes back, scampering with glee and the biggest smile on her face. She drops the ball in the mud, proudly staring up at you. As a Staffordshire terrier, she’s unbelievably expressive. Her big doe eyes begging you to throw the ball and her cheeks widened in what can only be described as a grin. No other family dog you’d had as a child was ever as expressive as your own. She’s your furry best friend, and you had a million pictures on your phone to prove it. Dog mom stereotype completely fulfilled. And yeah, your trainers are soaked, and your jeans are clinging to your skin, but your baby is happy.

You smile and reach down to scratch behind her ears, before grabbing the ball lying in front of your feet. Before you can even lift your arm to throw, she’s off and running, trying to be ahead of the game and beat the ball before it gets where it’s going. You smile, because she always does this, and throw it anyways. You wait a few minutes, expecting her to come racing back as usual. But it’s a heavy downpour and your view is obstructed further by your position at the bottom of a slight incline and the presence of trees and now you’re panicking.

“Bella?! Bell!” You’re yelling, and running now, feet sloshing against the mix of mud and slick grass.

If you weren’t already cold, the breeze from your pace is hitting your already soaked clothes makes you feel even colder. But all you can think of is your dog. She’s such a sweet girl, extremely smart and friendly but she’s a pitty and the sad truth is people aren’t very kind or trusting of bully breeds.

And you hear her bark and you’re immediately fearful, is she barking because she’s scared? Is she barking because she’s lost? Is someone hurting her? And you reach the clearing of the park, away from the trees and you see her under the park’s gazebo. She’s sat next to one of the benches, with another dog and what you can only assume is its owner.

“Oh thank god, Bella. You scared me so much!” You’re out of breath and you sound like a frightened mother. Because you are.

She comes ambling to you, completely unaware of how scared she’s made you. She’s just happy she’s made a new friend and she’s got a fun sprint in. You kneel down and attach her leash to her collar, squeezing her face in your hands and ruffling her fur. You can’t be mad at her, she’s wagging her tail and she’s safe and happy and oblivious.

“I honestly didn’t think anyone else would be crazy enough to be out here,” the stranger’s voice raised to speak over the rain, flashing a cheeky grin.

The rain is relentless against the metal roof of the structure, but it’s somehow still calming and beautiful, the sound of rain thumping against the metal. A stark contrast to being fully immersed in the pouring rain in combination with the pounding of blood in your ears, as you just were.

The rain has soaked his hair, curls falling against his forehead. He’s wearing a black zip up, and a pair of joggers. He’s managed to look cozy, warm, and attractive, and he really has no business looking this good, especially while being caught in a rainstorm. You imagine you look like a drowned rat, baseball cap doing nothing to hide the mess of soaked hair flowing from under it. Your cheeks most likely flushed from the cold and the frantic dash across the park. You brush your hair that’s fallen in your face away, clearing your throat.

“I, uh, had work this morning. And I’m a graduate student and weekends are the most time we get together without me having my nose in a textbook and I felt guilty and- you didn’t ask for my life story, I’m sorry,” you blurt out, averting your eyes from this unbelievably handsome, rain-soaked stranger, looking down at Bella.

She’s not smiling at you like she was a moment ago, instead she blinks at you before yawning. Ah, what a show of compassion. She’s bored now, she’s had her fun and you’re boring her with your need for emotional support, you think.

“It’s quite alright, I suppose I did call you crazy. You felt the need to explain yourself, even if it does somewhat confirming the initial judgement,” and you’re realizing he has an English accent, and you look up to see a softer smile on his features, eyes crinkling at the corners, effectively softening the harsh assessment, albeit joking.

And you can’t help but wonder how English rainstorms are, and if that’s why he’s fine being out in this weather. And why he’s here, in the states? And also, who gave him the right to be so charming? And why did Bella come to him? She usually isn’t very comfortable around men (although a sweet dog, she is constantly in protector mode as you’re a single girl and it’s just you two in the apartment in a busy city).

And furthermore, he’s fine with a pitbull coming up to him? Okay well, she is very very cute, and very sweet, you think, completely unbiased. Not at all thinking this because you’re her owner and proud dog mom. Not biased at all.

“Well I guess since you told me all of that, I can tell you why we’re crazy enough to be out,” he jokes, sitting down at the bench, reaching down to pet his dog.

You had been so caught up in the relief of finding your pup, of the cute stranger  his lovely accent and the tap, tap, tap of the rain against the roof that you hadn’t even noticed the lovely dog sitting patiently at his side. Your heart swelled upon recognition of the boxy terrier snout, familiar doe eyes and pointy little ears. Seeing another dog of the same breed group made you unbelievably happy. While you loved all dogs, you had a soft spot for the far too misunderstood,  gentle terriers of this breed group.

“Me and Tess were just getting our afternoon jog in when the rain started,” he continues, smiling down at his pup and then looking back at you, effectively bringing you out of your internal dog-loving monologue.

“I actually also had work today, but my girl is important to me and I needed to make time for her,” he explains, “So we’re both crazy dog parents, if we’re willing to risk hypothermia for them, I suppose,” he grins.

You can just feel how soft your eyes must be looking at him. You kneel down, Bella is at your side, sniffing at Tess, trying to get closer.

You look up at him, chocolate brown eyes meeting yours and ironically, it’s hard to not melt, “Would it be okay to pet her?”

You ask, trying to be respectful despite her tail wagging a mile a minute, and her already leaning against you to be pet.

“I don’t think either of us get a choice, darling” he laughs, eyes crinkling and head slightly tilting back at his dog’s antics.

The sound echos in the acoustics of the gazebo, and it blends beautifully with the rain calming down, now more lightly tapping against the roof. The rain is dripping down the roof edge, against the cement. You feel warm, despite being being drenched from head to toe. You stop your petting (to Tess’s dismay), and stand up.

“Would it be alright if they went and played? Since both of their activities got cut short?” You question, smiling back in what you hope is at least half as an appealing manner as his laugh.

He grins at you, reaching to unleash Tess, as you do the same with Bella, before he stands up beside you. The dogs are immediately off, running circles around the structure. The rain has let up enough that Bella is fully in your view, allowing you to relax and chat with the unnamed curly-haired boy.

“I’m sorry, I know your dog’s name, but I didn’t catch yours,” you turn away from the dogs to look at him and he’s smiling watching the dogs run.

You think he may not have heard you but he turns to you and you’re blindsided by the dazzling smile being directed at you.

“Tom, my name’s Tom,” he replies, outstretching a hand for you to shake.

You’re laughing at his formal nature, but shake his hand nonetheless.

“Well Tom, if you’re also a single dog parent, I’d love to get a cup of coffee with you,” you grin, feeling giddy for some stupid reason. It’s his sunny disposition, and his cute face, you bet.

“I drink tea… But I suppose I could make an exception for your cute dog,” he grins, bumping your shoulder playfully,

“Yeah, going for coffee, it’s for the dogs. Like when parents have to be friends because their kids are. They like each other, and who are we to stand in the way of friendship?” You add, looking out at the park space they’re running in. In your head you’re playing it cool, but in Tom’s eyes, you’ve got a slight grin but you’re beaming, absolutely glowing even in the gloom of the rainy afternoon.

“Yeah, exactly. We might have to meet up again soon too. I mean, think of the children,” he says in reply, nodding his head, looking out as well, trying to match your attempt at a collected demeanor.

And both of you are watching the two chase each other, barking happily. All while you and Tom are grinning from ear to ear. And you’re grateful that you’re not the only dog parent crazy enough to come out in a downpour, and you remind yourself that when you get home, you’ve really gotta give Bella a treat for running off like she did.

Rose Tattoo [Chapter Four]

Rating: PG-13 (Mentions of anxiety, swearing)

Summary: Calum’s sister is in town so while she and Tāne have an aunt/nephew day out, Calum decides to help Stevie (and her dog) accomplish one of the items on her bucket list. And if that accomplishment lets him hold her hand, well, who is he to complain?

Word Count: 6.6k

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Five Series Masterlist

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

Stevie stared down at her cellphone, the seemingly harmless text from Calum unopened but completely visible as a notification at the top of her screen. She’d been staring at it for nearly five minutes, debating leaving it that way and pretending that she didn’t see it as she went on about her day as if nothing had happened, but she’d convinced herself somewhere along the way that that wasn’t an option. The last thing Stevie wanted to do was ignore Calum but, try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to open the text.

Stevie was hesitant to admit it but she genuinely enjoyed Calum’s company. She felt at ease around him, something she hadn’t felt in a long while, and ghosting him would hurt her just as much as she imagined it would hurt him. However, she didn’t want to play along and give him the wrong impression.

Calum’s text was vague, vague enough that she didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but she could imagine what he was hoping for. Although he clarified - after seeing the panicked look on her face, she was sure - that whatever happened between them would remain unlabeled, she saw it on his face.  She could see it in the way that he looked at her, in the way that he smiled at her, that he wanted something more than friendship. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it but if she would allow herself to admit it, she would know that she wanted that, too.

In another life, Calum would’ve been the perfect partner for her. He was - at least thus far - everything she had hoped for. However, the timing couldn’t have been worse for her.

Although she couldn’t admit that Calum’s crush on her was not one-sided, she could admit that she wasn’t in the right mental state to attempt to form a committed relationship with anyone. She was barely holding herself together, every day was a struggle just to leave her apartment; she knew that it wouldn’t be fair to place that burden on someone else. And though she had no issue with the fact that Calum was a single father - in fact, she admired him deeply for the love and devotion he clearly held for his son - she knew that she was nowhere near emotionally ready to enter a child’s life.

Stevie tended to distance herself from others in times of crisis. She worried about the effect her mental state would have on them and kept interaction to a bare minimum as to avoid hurting them when she inevitably fell into a depressive spiral and became a shell of herself. She’d hurt plenty of people in that way over her lifetime, had been hurt that way herself a time or two, and she was afraid that Calum would be next. She didn’t want to break such a pure heart, someone who so clearly deserved the world. Calum deserved someone good, someone who could be wholly present, and she knew that that wasn’t her.

Stevie wasn’t prepared to spend time with Calum, to open up to him and have him hand her his heart. She wasn’t prepared to think about anyone other than herself and she knew that was selfish but she’d rather be proactively selfish, prevent anyone from getting too close, than hurt them by pulling away when it was too late.

However, she was selfish in another way. Calum made Stevie feel at ease. When she was with him, her anxiety didn’t feel so suffocating. She didn’t feel like the world was crumbling at her feet. She could see a light, somewhere in the distance, instead of the all encompassing darkness that she’d grown so used to and she desperately wanted to hold onto that feeling. Although she felt that she couldn’t give him what he wanted, she still wanted him in her life.

So, instead of ghosting him the way she knew she should, instead of telling him that she was busy and stopping him in his tracks, she ushered him closer. “I should be writing but I’ll probably end up laying on my couch with Max,” she sent. She stared at the message thread for a moment, contemplating turning off her phone and tossing it into the garbage can beside her desk, before she realized how that sounded. She wasn’t sure that Calum knew she had a dog so she quickly typed a follow-up message. “My dog! Max is my dog.”

She realized, after pressing send, that it might’ve been better in the long run to let Calum think that Max was her boyfriend. However, that selfish desire continued to prick at the forefront of her brain. She didn’t want to push him away and letting him think that the tiny little ball of fluff that terrorized her apartment was her boyfriend was a surefire way to do that.

Calum responded almost immediately. Before Stevie had a chance to even leave the text thread, Calum’s response came through. “Do you and Max want to go on an adventure?”

“That depends,” Stevie typed, her bottom lip lodged between her teeth as she stared down at the device in her hands.  “What’s the adventure?”

“I can’t tell you that. You’ll just have to trust that it’s going to be worth your time,” Calum responded with a smile emoji attached to the end for good measure.

With anyone else, that text would have been met with an instant refusal from Stevie. She didn’t like stepping into any situation blind. She preferred knowing what she was going to encounter, knowing exactly how her day would pan out, and was almost afraid of the unknown. However, she found that she trusted Calum, even if she barely knew him. She couldn’t imagine that he would lead her into a situation that she didn’t want to be in or couldn’t handle, not intentionally, so she agreed.

“Fine. I’ll trust you this time. But if it ends badly, just know that Max is a powerful enemy to have. He can hold a grudge for ages and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of his pouting,” she sent back.

“Consider me thoroughly warned. 10 in the morning? We can meet at that coffee shop and go from there. Wear something comfortable.”

Stevie stared at his text for a moment, curious as to what he had up his sleeve, before she shook her head with a slight incredulous laugh. “That already doesn’t bode well but I’ll see you then,” she sent before exiting the text thread and turning her cellphone face down on her desk.

Stevie leaned back in her chair and rested her head on the headrest. She stared up at the ceiling, wondering what she had just gotten herself into, and could feel a bit of anxiety creeping into the pit of her stomach. It was the good kind of nerves, the ones she got before she started school or whenever she met her friends somewhere new growing up, and it was almost a foreign feeling. She wasn’t sure what was happening to her, why she suddenly felt so giddy, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it as a knock sounded at her office door.

“Writer’s block again?” Noah asked as he entered the office and took a seat at the chair across from Stevie’s desk. He placed his coffee cup on the solid wood before sliding a second cup across to her.

“You’re the reason Calum was at the party, aren’t you?” she asked, completely ignoring his question as she sat up straight in her chair and reached out for the cup of tea in front of her. “You invited him.”

Noah, unsure what Stevie was getting at, nodded slowly. “Yeah. I told you, I want to do a feature on him and Ashton. I figured this would be a good way of getting him comfortable around me. But then he disappeared so…” Noah trailed off, this time glancing at Stevie with a sly smile.

Stevie rolled her eyes at the look Noah gave her. She believed him when he said that his intentions had been pure. She knew that he wanted to feature Ashton and Calum, along with a few other New York based artists, in the magazine and that this was his way of connecting Calum to their world. She knew how Noah thought. If Calum felt that he was a part of their world, if he felt connected to more than just Noah, he would be more willing to open up and agree to the feature. And Stevie imagined that was true. Calum seemed to be the type to do anything for his friends.

She kind of hoped he would agree. Her selfish desire to keep him in her life aside, Calum was talented. She truly believed that he deserved something good and she knew that the shop would experience a boom in inquiries, at least, with the exposure from the article. Stevie didn’t want him to turn into one of those Instagram famous tattoo artists that only cared about the likes - not that she imagined he would - but she did want him to get the recognition he deserved.

“I’ll ask him how he feels about the interview,” she relented, glancing over at Noah who had taken the liberty to place his feet in the chair beside him. “Maybe he’ll be into it.”

Noah, who had been staring at his laptop, glanced at Stevie over the lid of his coffee cup. “You seeing him again?” he asked, a smile quirking his lips as he watched Stevie fidget in her seat. “Where’d you guys run off to the other night, anyway?”

“We just went to get coffee,” Stevie huffed, tossing a paperclip in Noah’s direction before leaning back in her chair once more and lolling her head to the side. “We’re hanging out tomorrow. But just as friends!” she added quickly, shooting Noah a look when he raised his eyebrows and grinned at her.

Noah made a noise of acknowledgment but otherwise said nothing as he began tapping at his keyboard. Stevie rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest as she sank lower in her chair. “What are you doing in my office, other than being annoying?”

“Mark is yelling at the interns and I didn’t want to listen to that or to them talk shit about him when he finished, so, I’m hiding in here to get some work done.” Noah went quiet for a moment, staring at his laptop, before he looked over at Stevie and added, “Maybe you should get some done, too. That way you don’t have anything to worry about while you’re on your date with Calum.”

“It’s not a date! We’re just friends,” Stevie huffed. 

“Sure you are,” Noah hummed, barely hiding his laughter as he did so. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid.”

Stevie rolled her eyes at Noah’s comment and pointedly turned her attention back to her own laptop. She stared at her screen, barely seeing the words on the word document she’d been working on, and felt herself begin to get lost in her own thoughts again. Although she meant it, that she and Calum were just friends, a small part of her - one that she refused to acknowledge - desperately wished that she didn’t.

                                                       **********

“Okay, so, tell me everything.”

Calum rolled his eyes as he searched his closet for his green ‘Empathy’ hoodie. He hadn’t seen it in weeks, although he was sure he’d washed it and stashed it somewhere in the depths of his wardrobe, but he wanted to wear it for his date - no, not date, adventure - with Stevie. It was the only solid green item he owned and though he felt cheesy, wearing green just because she loved it, he found himself hoping that she would like it as he made a quiet noise of triumph upon finding it in a pile of unfolded clothes tucked in the corner.

“There’s nothing to tell, Mali,” he mumbled as he emerged from his closet, tugging the green fabric over his head. “I’m just hanging out with a friend today. That’s it,” he said with a shrug as he avoided making eye contact with his sister.

Mali was perched on the foot of his bed, sitting amongst the pillows and blankets Tāne had piled onto the surface for their traditional Friday movie night the night before. Calum could feel her gaze on him, burning a hole into the back of his hoodie, as he searched for the grey beanie he’d taken to wearing. She’d been questioning him since she arrived and though he’d filled her in on the situation with El in advance of her visit - if Calum had to guess, that was likely the reason she’d decided to stop in New York and spend a week with him and Tāne, just so she could be there for the first custody hearing - he hadn’t mentioned Stevie to her. He guessed she’d talked to Ashton, or maybe Luke, and he made a mental note to tell them both to fuck off as he turned to face her once more.

“I don’t buy that,” she laughed as she stood from the bed and crossed the room to adjust the beanie for him. “But if that’s what you need to tell yourself, feel free. Tell me about her, though. Ashton said she’s nice.”

Calum rolled his eyes as Mali confirmed that it was Ashton who had told her about Stevie.  “She is,” Calum confirmed as he stood and allowed Mali to adjust his clothing as she saw fit. “I don’t really know how to describe her,” he confessed after a moment of silence, when Mali began to grow impatient with his lack of an answer. “I know a little bit about her but I don’t know her that well yet. She’s nice and she’s beautiful. She’s talented. I’ve read a few of her articles and she’s a brilliant writer. She’s trying to finish a bucket list her best friend left and she just seems like such a good person but there’s something beneath it all. I want to get to know her and figure out what it is.”

Mali, who hadn’t heard Calum gush about anyone in years, was surprised to hear how much he had to say about this girl. She stared at him, her eyebrows raised, and Calum could feel his face heat as he looked away from her. He hadn’t meant to say all of that, he hadn’t meant to say anything at all, really, but he’d been keeping his thoughts to himself. He didn’t want to encourage Ashton to play matchmaker and he didn’t want to bother Michael who was dealing with a newborn and a packed appointment book. He hadn’t had a chance to sit down with Luke so he felt as if he hadn’t had the chance to get what he was feeling off his chest.

He liked Stevie, more than he cared to admit, and voicing that out loud was mildly terrifying.

“Well, even if you don’t know her that well, you seem to really like what you do know,” Mali commented as she stepped back and shot Calum a genuine smile. “I know that this is hard for you, getting back out there after El, but I’m proud of you, Cal. You’re trying and that’s all you can do.” Mali paused for a beat, watching Calum as he sprayed on a bit of cologne, before she hesitantly asked, “I don’t mean to bring you down before your date, but what are you going to do about El?”

“It’s not a date,” Calum clarified, breathing a heavy sigh as he crossed the room to take a seat on the foot of the bed. Mali followed suit, reaching out to nudge his shoulder as she took a seat beside him. “I don’t know, Mal. I’m trying to be the best dad I can be but I don’t feel like that’s enough. I keep thinking that if I don’t give them a reason to take Tāne away from me, they can’t. But I know how it usually goes. The dad rarely wins. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do now.”

“Don’t say that,” Mali chided, her voice gentle though her words were stern. “You’re a good dad, Cal. Any judge could see that you deserve to keep your son. Anyone who rules in her favor is obviously not fit to be on the bench,” she huffed and Calum laughed at the look on her face as she did. At the sight of Calum’s smile, Mali offered a small smile of her own in return. “Has your lawyer got any ideas?”

“She’s talking about using the paperwork we had drawn up last year as evidence El’s not doing this for the right reasons. She agreed to all the terms verbally, just never signed the papers giving up her rights. That’s the strongest thing we’ve got right now,” Calum answered with a shrug and Mali felt her heart break for her brother.

She hadn’t seen him look so defeated since El left, leaving him alone with a small child and no clue how to care for him on his own. Calum looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes evident. She knew that he wasn’t sleeping well and it looked like he wasn’t eating well, either. She knew that the stress of the impending custody battle was taking its toll on him and she hadn’t been surprised to find him curled up in bed with Tāne when she arrived. She knew that he was searching for happiness in the little things, in movie nights with his son and visits to coffee shops with Ashton, so she was more than happy to see Calum preparing for a date - even though he refused to acknowledge that’s what it was.

Calum breathed a heavy sigh but before he could continue speaking, quick footsteps alerted him to his son’s presence. He had barely glanced up when Tāne came running into the room, his pajamas wrinkled and his hair a wild mess of sleep mussed curls atop his head. “Aunt Mali!”

Calum watched with a fond smile as Tāne launched himself into Mali’s arms. “Hey, bub,” Mali cheered with a grin as she wrapped her arms around Tāne and hugged him. “You ready to spend the day together? Just us, no dad to bother us?”

“Yeah,” Tāne cheered, his cheeks pink with excitement as he settled on Mali’s lap. “Can we bake cookies?”

“You’re supposed to wait until I’m gone to ask about the stuff you’re not supposed to do, bub,” Calum reminded him with a laugh as he reached out to tickle his stomach. “Don’t give him too much chocolate, please,” he requested, glancing at Mali, even though he knew he’d return to find them both with stomachaches from ingesting far too many sweets.

“I make no promises,” Mali retorted with a grin, her arms wrapped around Tāne’s torso as she gave him a gentle squeeze. “We’re making our own rules today. The house will still be standing when you return, that’s the only guarantee I give you.”

Calum stared at her, an unamused look on his face, before he breathed a quiet laugh and shook his head in mock exasperation. “What are we going to do with her, huh, bub?” he asked Tāne as he stood from the bed and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his son’s head. “You guys please try to be good today. I’ll be back in a little while. I love you both.”

“I love you, too, daddy,” Tāne called, a wide grin on his lips as he waved goodbye to Calum.

“Love you, too, Cal,” Mali repeated, her grin matching Tāne’s as she bounced her favorite nephew on her knee.

Calum was glad that Mali was here, that she was the one spending the day with Tāne and that she would be present for the hearing. He was glad that he had a sister like her, that they were close enough to call on one another in times of need, and he felt a little of his anxiety ease as he left his home.

Calum was excited for the day. He knew that this wasn’t a date, that it was just an outing with a potential new friend and her dog, but he felt butterflies in the pit of his stomach that he hadn’t felt in a long while. He hadn’t been on many - any, really - dates since El left. He’d been focused on balancing his son and his career. A partner didn’t exactly fit into his schedule but he always told himself that he’d try to be open to it should the opportunity present itself.

Though he still had his reservations, he knew that his first priority was on ensuring Tāne stay with him and not end up with El, the opportunity had fallen into his lap with Stevie. She was, at least on the surface, everything he wanted. A small part of him was thankful that she didn’t seem interested in anything romantic. This gave him a way to keep her at arm’s length while still getting to know her and easing her into his life. He hoped that by the time the custody battle was over, by the time Tāne was (hopefully) safe in his care, he would know Stevie well enough to know that she would fit perfectly into their lives.

He hoped that by getting to know her now, he could love her later.

As Calum approached the cafe, half expecting to see Stevie waiting out front or just inside the door, he imagined that loving her wouldn’t be very hard at all. She had a way about her, something that made those around her feel at ease, and Calum loved that. He loved how at ease she made him, how simple everything seemed when he was with her, and imagined that loving the big things would come just as naturally.

The vibrations of his cellphone tore Calum out of his thoughts and back to reality. “Running a few minutes late. Max is in a mood,” read a text from Stevie, explaining why she hadn’t beaten him to the coffee shop. He stood near the entrance for a moment, debating, before he decided to step inside and order drinks for the both of them, along with a peanut butter treat for Max.

Less than five minutes later, just as he emerged from the shop with a drink carrier in one hand and a bag with the treat in the other, Stevie rounded the corner. He almost laughed when he saw how similarly they were dressed. She was wearing ripped black mom jeans and a green hoodie, though hers was cropped and neon, with a grey beanie topping it all off. However, he did laugh when he noticed the small white dog tugging her down the street.

“Dude, slow the fuck down,” she huffed, sounding out of breath as she tried to keep pace with the small creature, “first you don’t want to go and now you can’t get there fast enough? Come on.”

“Is Max the one in a mood or was that you?” Calum asked, a slight grin on his lips as he placed the drinks and bag on a table before bending down and offering Max his hand to sniff.

“Max started it,” Stevie explained with a huff, trying to catch her breath as she watched Max lick Calum’s hand. “He didn’t want to get out of bed and refused to walk when we got outside. I had to carry him four blocks. But the second he smelled food, he was trying to jump out of my arms and sprint to it.”

“He knows what he wants,” Calum reasoned with a laugh as he scratched Max’s head before standing and smiling at Stevie. He met her gaze for a brief moment, his eyes shining with amusement and hers narrowed in mock exasperation before he laughed and said, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Stevie returned with a small smile. She looked like she hadn’t been awake long, Calum could see the marks from her pillow on her cheek and the way her hair was still mussed (maybe that was why she’d chosen the beanie) and he felt his heart warm at the sight. “Can you tell me what today’s adventure is?”

Calum laughed at Stevie’s question and shook his head as he reached out for the tray and bag. “You’ll see when we get there,” he told her as he handed her her latte. “This is for you,” he explained before he handed her the bag, “and this is for Max. I don’t know if you want him to have it now or later so I’ll just give it to you.”

“He’s weird about eating on places that aren’t my kitchen rug so I’ll give it to him when we get home,” she explained as she placed the bag into her backpack before glancing at him. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to get me this or Max a treat.”

“I pulled you guys away from spending the day on your couch,” Calum reasoned with a shrug as he pulled his own drink free from the tray.  “It’s the least I can do. You want to start heading to our destination?”

Although Stevie gave a wary hum, she willingly followed Calum down the sidewalk. The pair of them walked, side by side, as Max happily lead the way. Although he was just as in the dark as Stevie, he was happy to guide them through the busy streets of New York and soak up whatever attention was thrown his way.

“How long have you been in New York?” Calum asked after a few beats of comfortable silence, marked by the pair of them sipping their lattes and taking in the cool morning air.

“About two months. It feels like forever, though,” Stevie answered with a laugh as they waited at a crosswalk. “You’ve been here a while, though, yeah?”

“Mm, a little over six years,” he confirmed as they skirted around a crowd and inched closer to their destination. “Do you miss home?”

“Sometimes,” Stevie answered with a shrug as she kept her gaze on Max. “I miss the food, mostly. I haven’t found a good Cajun place in New York yet. And the way I didn’t really have an accent there but I have one here. Also, people look at you funny if you use manners here. I said yes ma’am to this woman in a shop, she had to be at least fifty, and she got so offended that I was calling her old. Like, no, I’m not calling you old, I’m just being polite.”

Stevie huffed at the end of her rant and Calum laughed as he watched her roll her eyes at the encounter she recalled. This was a moment he enjoyed, seeing her with her guard somewhat down and so animated as she described her feelings about living in New York. These were the moments he felt that he was seeing the real Stevie, not the front she put on or the smile she wore. The emotion was real and she wore it well.

“What about you?” she asked, pulling him back to the moment. He looked over and saw that she was glancing at him from the corner of her eye, her gaze curious as she attempted to pay attention to both him and Max.

“Yeah,” Calum nodded, a wistful smile on his lips as he held onto his now lukewarm latte. “I miss it a lot. I love New York, don’t get me wrong, but I’d love to go home someday. Everything was easier there, more relaxed.” He paused for a moment before he added, “I miss my family, too. My sister’s a musician, she’s in town for a show now. She and Tāne are having their own day and pretty much kicked me out of the house,” Calum explained with a laugh as he glanced over at Stevie once more. “I get to see her more often than my parents but I still miss being at home with them all.”

“Family means a lot to you, huh?” she asked, her expression unreadable as she returned her full attention to Max and attempted to keep him from bothering another small dog sitting outside a cafe.

Calum nodded. Family meant more to him than almost anything else - and he counted his friends, the guys, as his family just as much as his son or his sister - and he would do anything for them. They were one of the biggest pieces of his heart and he didn’t know where he’d be without each of them.

“What about you?” Calum asked after a momentary lull in conversation. “Any siblings?”

Stevie hesitated for a moment before she shook her head. “Nope.” Her tone was clipped and Calum could see that there was more to her answer than a simple no but he didn’t want to pry. He knew that there was a lot about Stevie he didn’t know, there was a lot she was keeping hidden from him, but he hoped that in time, she would trust him enough to reveal her secrets.

Instead of continuing that line of questioning, Calum asked, “How long have you had Max? You guys seem like you know one another pretty well.”

“Two years,” Stevie answered with a small smile as she glanced at the ball of fluff bouncing along ahead of them. “He’s my best boy and I love him a lot. He drives me insane sometimes, he likes to sleep on top of my head like a fucking cat, but I would trade him for anything. The little monster,” she huffed as she watched him stop to sniff a lamppost. “Do you have any pets?”

“No,” Calum answered with a sigh. “I want one and so does Tāne, we both love dogs, but between his schedule and mine, I don’t really have time to take care of one and it wouldn’t be fair to get a dog we couldn’t care for.”

Stevie nodded in understanding as she glanced over at Calum. “I get it. If you guys ever just want to borrow a little dog with a big personality for a day, Max loves kids,” she offered with a laugh.

“I think Tāne would love that. I’ll just have to make sure there aren’t any markers around or you’ll end up with a dog that matches your hair.”

“I think Max could go for a new do, honestly,” Stevie shrugged, grinning at the mental image of her dog returning to her with green fur. “He’d let him. Max is literally the most chill dog on the planet. Sometimes he’s a little diva, wanting everything his way, but he’s a good boy.”

As Stevie and Calum talked about Max, about how she adopted him from a shelter in south Mississippi just before he was due to be put down and how she never imagined she could love a pet as much as she loved him, neither of them noticed their destination fast approaching. Calum guided her through the streets she wasn’t yet familiar with, ushering Max along almost subconsciously, and he was glad that the weather was mild enough for them to wander the streets without freezing or sweating.

It was comfortable, walking along with Stevie as if this was a normal part of their day, and he wondered what they must look like to passersby. They wore nearly identical sweatshirts, each in shades of green, with matching beanies and black jeans. They looked like one of those couples that attempted to coordinate outfits, even if they were neither a couple nor attempting to coordinate, and Calum liked thinking that others would get that impression of them.

It made him feel better for wanting it to be reality.

However, Calum imagined that Stevie’s comfort would end soon as they approached their destination for the day; The Empire State Building. He knew that this was one item on her - Angela’s - bucket list that she was terrified to accomplish and he hoped that having a hand to hold would make things easier for her. He’d wondered if he was overstepping by dragging her through the city, to the one destination he knew she was terrified to go, but he reminded himself that she’d been terrified of getting a tattoo and she’d accomplished that for her friend.

If he could make the process of mourning, what he imagined her completing the bucket list was, any easier, he was going to.

“Okay, so, now that we’re almost there, I think I can tell you what we’re doing,” Calum said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. “I wanted to help you cross off another item on your list.”

“I don’t think you’d let me bring Max to roller derby and we’re not that close to Central Park. So, I’m guessing it’s the Empire State Building,” Stevie breathed, her voice shaking just a bit as Calum imagined she was dreading being so high up.

“Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t want to do this one alone,” he pointed out with a shrug as he shoved his hands into his pockets, now free of the latte. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I just thought it’d make it easier for you.”

Stevie was quiet for a moment, staring at the entrance to the building across the street. Calum could tell that she was nervous, just as she had been the day he met her, but he could see her steeling herself to complete the task. She was there, right across the street, and she needed to cross off another item.

“Thank you,” she nodded, finally turning her head to look at him. “You’re right, I didn’t want to do this alone. I appreciate this.”

Calum didn’t know how to respond to her gratitude so instead of speaking, he gave her a smile he hoped would convey his emotions and gestured for her to follow him across the street. They were both silent as they made their way inside, Stevie holding Max in her arms and Calum standing closer than he imagined he should as they boarded the elevator to the observation deck. He could see the way she tapped her foot and patted Max’s side anxiously, her movements giving away her panic as she watched the elevator climb higher and higher. 

Without really thinking too m much about it, Calum reached out and grabbed her free hand.

Stevie paused, blinking in surprise, and Calum almost pulled his hand away but before he could, she laced her fingers through his and squeezed. He glanced down at their intertwined hands, her pale, unmarked hand a stark contrast in his ink-covered one but it was nice. It felt normal, like this was where they belonged, and he returned the gesture with a squeeze of his own as the elevator doors chimed and began to open.

Calum let Stevie lead the way to the edge of the deck. He didn’t want to push her faster than she wanted to go, he just wanted to support her. They lingered near the center for a moment, her breathing deeply and clutching Calum’s hand, before they slowly approached the side to look out at the city.

The view was just as beautiful as Calum remembered and, if the gasp Stevie emitted was anything to go on, he believed she felt the same way. Everything looked so small from so high up, one of the biggest cities in the world was reduced to a child’s miniature, and Calum always felt grounded when looking out at this view. Stevie continued to clutch his hand, her nails digging into his skin, but she kept her eyes on the view.

Calum didn’t want to ruin the moment so he remained silent as they stood there, staring out at the city. He could see her bite her bottom lip out of the corner of his eye and when he turned his head to face her, he could see the unshed tears lining her lashes. It was another moment of peace for her, a moment that she needed, and he was glad that he could give it to her as he gently squeezed her hand once more.

They spent nearly thirty minutes there, just looking out at the city and watching life pass them by, before they took the same journey down the elevator and back out onto the street. Although Stevie returned Max to the ground, letting her furry best friend return to sniffing every object in the city, her hand remained in Calum’s as they began their walk back to the cafe.

“Thank you for this,” Stevie said, after they walked several blocks in silence. She looked over at him, a sincere smile on her lips as she met his gaze. “I knew I had to do that sooner or later but having someone with me made it easier.”

“Any time,” Calum answered. And he truly meant it. Although he never meant for Stevie to become such a big part of his life, although he was telling the truth when he told Mali that he didn’t really know her that well, he found himself eager to usher her into his life. He wanted to get to know her. He wanted to make her a part of the family he cared so much for. He wanted her to be happy and he wanted to be the one to make her happy.

He wanted her.

And as they approached the cafe, their time together nearly over, Calum told her as much. “Would you want to hang out again sometime?” he asked, his tone hopeful as he gently squeezed her hand. “It doesn’t have to be crossing off another bucket list item or a date or anything. I meant it when I said I wanted to get to know you.”

“I think I’d prefer hanging out without facing another fear,” she answered with a laugh as they stopped by the cafe and stepped out of the way on the sidewalk. “I’ll be honest,” she began, her voice quiet as she stared down at her feet, “I haven’t made many friends since I’ve been in New York and today was nice. I don’t…” She trailed off, seemingly searching for right words, and Calum waited patiently as she cobbled together the right sentence. “I don’t know if a relationship is right for me, not right now, but I really would like to hang out with you again.”

Although Calum was somewhat disappointed, he respected where she stood and he was grateful that she was being so honest with him about her feelings. He wanted whatever she would give him, though, and if he had to wait until she was ready, he would.

“That’s okay,” he nodded, meaning it wholeheartedly. “Whatever you want this to be, that’s fine with me. As long as I get to see you again.”

Stevie smiled, a barely there quirk of her lips, and squeezed Calum’s hand once more before she untangled their fingers and nodded. “You’re a good person, Calum Hood. You know that?” When he shrugged, not at all convinced he was as good as she imagined he was, she breathed a quiet laugh and shook her head. “I’ll see you later, Calum. Thank you.”

Calum watched as Stevie and Max melted into the crowd of New Yorkers, bustling down the busy sidewalks. He watched until the neon green of her hoodie was no longer visible and, when he knew that she was gone, turned to head home himself. 

__________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I’m aware that dogs can’t go into the Empire State Building unless they’re service dogs. But this is fiction so let me live on this one detail. I slept past eight this morning which was nice. Also I’m done with my thesis until I get edits from my advisor and then I have 24 hours to edit it and get it to my committee and then I’ll be done forever so that’s terrifying. Also, I love feedback so please let me know how you feel about Stevie and Cal??????

Tag List (like this post or message me if you want to be added!): @toolazymyguy , @irwinkitten , @jamieebabiee , @glittersluke , @spicycal , @lusbaby , @everyscarisahealingplace, @brokenvirtualheartcollector , @if-it-rains-it-pours, @blisshemmings , @calumscalm , @lovemenowseemenever , @ijustreallylovezebras , @rhiannonmichelle, @p0laroidpictures , @tomscuddles , @loverofmineluke , @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss , @blueviiolence , @loveroflrh , @empathycth , @luckyduckydoo , @tobefalling , @bandsandbooksaremykink , @watch-how-she-burns , @megz1985 , @wokeupinaustralia , @lucidlrh , @canterburyfiction , @cal-is-not-on-branding , @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o , @jaacknaano , @findingliam-o , @old-zeppelin-shirt , @idk-who-i-am-anymore1 , @sammyrenae68 , @flowerthug , @calumsphile , @caitdaniels, @drummerboy794 , @writingfortoomanyfandoms , @x-lover-of-mine-x , @miliefayy , @sunaaii , @canterburyfiction , @sebrox40 , @nati-nn , @opheliaaurora23 , @bitterbethany , @sunnysidesblog​ , @333-xx​

One Life To Live

Hi, to anyone still around.   Here’s the next chapter, also available on AO3.  There will be another chapter next week.   Thanks as always to Ronja for permission to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take.”

Chapter 32

Before I knock on Peeta’s door I go over my checklist.  Focus on my objective to help Peeta find himself.  Be prepared for Peeta’s questions and answer them honestly.  If he asks if I was in love with him, I’ll answer yes because that is the truth.  And if he asks if I’m still in love with him – well, that would be a problem, but I doubt it will happen.  Peeta won’t ask. Still, I hesitate.  I was so confident when I agreed to it, but now every instinct tells me to turn tail and run.  What if he does ask?   What do I say?  Do I lie?  Because I don’t think I can.  Not convincingly, anyway.   I’ll just have to trust that Peeta is of the same mind.  After all, it doesn’t advantage either of us to bring it out into the open.  And he’s sure to be sensitive to my situation having gone through it himself.  In those months of ignoring each other before the Victory Tour, he surely would have wished he hadn’t been so open with his feelings.  How much easier it would have been for him if he could have laughed it off as part of the strategy.  And of course, I know Peeta would never do anything that could embarrass me. Gathering my courage, I rap sharply on the door.   It takes a while for Peeta to answer it.  I must have caught him in the middle of doing something because he looks a little flustered.  He’s casually dressed in shorts and a faded T-shirt the same shade of blue as his eyes.  I’m similarly dressed in shorts and a sleeveless top.  Maybe we had the same thing in mind for our wardrobe choice.  What you’d wear hanging around your house with an old friend on a hot afternoon and didn’t care what you looked like. My eyes do a brief sweep of the living room before I enter.   It’s the usual setup of a two-seater sofa in front of the television and lounge chairs on either side.  I gaze longingly at the single chairs and I’m tempted to dive for one of them but since that could look as if I have something to fear I reluctantly take a seat on the sofa.

Peeta sits down beside me.  The coffee table already has been laid out with refreshments.   A pot of tea and two cups.  A pitcher of iced water and two glasses.   A platter of cheese, fruit and crackers.  A plate of iced cookies. “Who else is coming?” I ask.  There seems to be an excessive amount of food. He coughs nervously.   “Um, no one.  I just thought, maybe, that if you have the time, we could watch the tapes all at once.  There’s not that many of them.”  He indicates a small stack by the television.  There are three tapes – four if there’s one already in the video player. “Sure,” I say.  I’m as anxious to get this out of the way as he is.  Max won’t mind if I turn up late or not at all.  Our meetings at the pub have never been more than a casual arrangement. I slip off my sandals and pull my knees up to my chest in my defensive position but then put them down again when I see Peeta staring at my bare legs.   Maybe he doesn’t like feet on his furniture.  My feet are clean though.  I had a shower when I got back from the woods where I’d spent most of the day.  I hoped the stillness and tranquility of the place would help get me in the right headspace for the coming ordeal.   The effect doesn’t seem to have lasted.  My nerves feel all jangled and on edge.  Peeta doesn’t look any better. “Tea?” asks Peeta. “Thanks.”  Tea slops into the saucer as he hands it to me.  I can’t tell whether it’s him or me and I put the cup back down on the coffee table.  “It needs to cool,” I tell him.  I shift my gaze to the television.  “Do you think we should get started?”  I want this over with. “Yes, of course.” Peeta picks up the remote, points it at the television but then lowers it again.

“Katniss, before we go any further, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the way I’ve acted since I came back to 12.  Now that I seem to have most of my memories back and can see more clearly, I realize how insensitive and confusing my behavior must have been and I want you to know how much I appreciate you sticking with me despite it all.  It’s only because of you that I found the motivation to find my way back to myself.  So, I want to thank you and also apologize for any offence I’ve caused.  I’m sorry.” His apology takes me by surprise.  It’s true that Peeta’s behavior has been insensitive – even appearing at times as if he deliberately wanted to hurt me.  But I can’t hold what the hijacking was responsible for against him.  It wasn’t really Peeta in the same way that his trying to kill me wasn’t really him either.  And I think, maybe, that in some ways I owe him an apology.  At the very least, I can’t claim credit for sticking with him.  Not all the time anyway and it had to be on my terms.   My behavior would likely have seemed just as insensitive and confusing to him as his was to me. “I’m sorry, too,” I say. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.  None of it is your fault.   But I don’t want to go on like this, ignoring each other and then trying to act as if nothing’s wrong when other people are around.  So I thought if I could stop being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at being friends.” Friends.  It’s what I expected, but somehow it still hurts.  Peeta’s not hard to read.  He’s letting me know, in the nicest way possible, the rules for how we’ll approach this.  We’re to be friends and whatever is on those tapes will be interpreted as such.  Typical of Peeta, he’s even taking on the blame for the awkwardness between us, claiming himself as the wounded party when we both know it’s my injured feelings that are the cause of it.   But perhaps the worst of it, or the best of it – I can’t decide which, is that Peeta sounds like his old self, the one who could always think of the right thing to say.  Perceptive, unassuming, kind, wanting to put others at ease.  Nothing could break me faster.  My Peeta is back.  And he doesn’t love me anymore. I blink back tears.  “Okay.” “Is that all right?” he asks, his voice edged with concern. I manage a wobbly smile.  “Of course, it is.  I’m just glad we’re friends again, that’s all.  I’ve missed it.”

Peeta gives me a relieved smile in return and turns back to the television.  “Yeah.  Me too.” He clicks on the remote and we’re transported into dense jungle.  Hot, steamy, oppressive.  Finnick, Mags, Peeta and I form a single line as we slowly tramp our way through thick vegetation.  Peeta is in front slashing at vines with his knife. I see the ripple hanging in mid-air that signifies a force field and I start to call out a warning.  Peeta’s knife makes contact and he’s slung backwards to the ground, lifeless. I steal a glance at the Peeta on the sofa.   I see no recognition on his face at all. This is new to him then.  I turn my attention back to the television and try to prepare for how I should react to what’s about to happen.

The onscreen me screams his name and attempts to revive him by shaking him and slapping his face.  Finnick calmly pushes me aside and checks Peeta over before pinching his nostrils shut.  When I try to stop him, he shoves me violently against a tree.  I reach for my bow but stay my hand when I realize what Finnick is doing.  Just when all hope seems lost Peeta gives a small cough.  I hurl myself at him, brushing his hair from his forehead, tears streaming down my face.  And then I start to sob, great heaving sobs that I’m powerless to stop.  Finnick blames baby hormones and I glare at him.   But instead of returning it with sarcasm, his glance travels between Peeta and me, his expression puzzled.   And that’s when the image on the television freezes.  On Finnick’s baffled face. I turn to Peeta wondering why he stopped the tape and see the same bewildered look on his face that was on Finnick’s. For one horrifying moment, I’m afraid he’s going to comment on the hysterical way I reacted.  He’s supposed to ignore stuff like that.  But then it dawns on me that he’s just seen himself die.  That’s why he looks so shocked.   It would unsettle anyone. “It was the forcefield,” I explain hurriedly. “I only knew it was there at the last second because I’d seen one in the training room.  Beetee and Wiress pointed it out to me.  There’s an irregularity – a chink in the armor they called it.  It looks like a sort of wave hanging in mid-air.  Not all over, just the odd patch.   We later used it to cook food by throwing it at it.” I know I’m rambling but the way Peeta is looking at me is disconcerting.  It’s as if he’s trying to figure something out about me.  Perhaps it’s made old doubts resurface of the time I tried to kill him when he and the careers had me treed.  I suppose it could look as if I tried to stop Finnick from saving his life. “It’s just as well Finnick was there.  I didn’t know what he was doing at first.  I thought he might have been trying to finish you off when he put his hand over your nose.  But then I recognized it as a technique I’ve seen my mother use a couple of times when a person’s heart stops.   If you can get to them fast enough you can sometimes get it started again. “ I grab the remote from the coffee table and un-pause the tape before Peeta can say anything.  His gaze lingers on me for a few seconds before he turns his focus back onto the screen.   I hope this hasn’t reawakened his distrust of me. The tape continues with Finnick and me disagreeing over whether Peeta should get moving or rest.  My nose is still running like crazy from all the crying I’d done.  Mags rips hanging moss from a tree for me to use as a handkerchief to mop up all the snot.   “So embarrassing,” I tell the Peeta beside me.  If he wasn’t attracted to me before, this should clinch it.   The tape ends with me noticing the locket with the mockingjay engraved on it around his neck. “Well, that’s about it,” I say.  “It’s pretty self-explanatory.  You get zapped by the forcefield and Finnick saves you.   No lasting damage.   How about we move onto the next tape?” I’m already out of my seat.   I seize a tape at random, remove the one in the player, and insert the new one.  I hope this one is less incriminating. It’s worse.  It’s Snow’s execution.  If Peeta’s distrust of me is re-emerging then this will send it soaring into the stratosphere.  How can you feel secure around someone whose job it is to kill one president but then suddenly decides to kill another?  Such a person could turn around and kill you next.  And it’s not implausible as far as Peeta is concerned.  I’ve pointed an arrow at him twice with intent to kill – the first time in the Games when he pulled out a knife, the second in a Capitol sewer.  Both times were in anticipation of him killing me but Peeta might not remember that.  Indeed, looking at him now, body tense, apprehension etched on his face, that’s probably what’s going through his mind right now.  Memories must be triggered if he knows enough to be nervous about it.  He looks down at the faint double crescent scar on his hand and runs the thumb of the other hand across it.  He’s remembering . . . something.  I don’t think it’s good. I shift my attention back to the television screen.  I need to focus.   This must be the footage that was broadcast across Panem going by the way the camera picks out the VIPs in the audience.  The voice-over from Claudius Templesmith has been edited out but the noise from the crowd can still be heard.  I guess Dr Aurelius wants Peeta to hear only my version of events. The execution takes place in the narrow terrace in front of the president’s mansion.  It doesn’t allow for a large audience – this was clearly intended as a television event – but what is there is packed in tightly.  The remainder had spilt over into the City Circle and down the side streets.  Guards and officials take their places.  And then rebel leaders and victors.  The victors have been given a prominent position at ground level close to where I’m to stand.  Peeta is between Johanna and Beetee looking slightly dazed. Loud cheers welcome President Coin as she appears on the balcony and takes up her position.  It doesn’t afford Coin the best view as she can’t look her enemy in the face before he dies, but more dramatic from a staging perspective to have the triumphant leader directly above the defeated one in a single camera shot.  That’s what Plutarch would have told her.  But Coin would surely have felt vulnerable with a loose cannon like me in front of her, armed, and within easy shooting range.   Vulnerable enough to invent a scenario to test my loyalty?  Well, there’s no sense in going over my theories of why things happened as they did.  This is about Peeta’s experience in this particular moment.   He’s just come out of the victor’s meeting believing that I wanted another Games.  Who knows what was going through his mind?  That I’m indeed the monster that Snow made him believe? I emerge after Coin takes her seat and then Snow is marched out and secured to a post.  The camera is in a close-up of his face.  There’s no remorse or fear.  Only amusement.  I aim at the rose pinned to his chest, shift my arrow upwards and release the string.  Coin topples to the ground.  Dead. What happens next took mere seconds but this has been edited to include as much detail as possible.  There are images of Coin’s lifeless body, landed face down on the paving.  People rush to her aid and turn her onto her back.  A red rose blooms on her breast to contrast with the white rose on Snow’s. Her eyes are wide open, her expression one of surprise.  Snow is literally choking with laughter, blood frothing from his mouth.   Guards surge towards me.  I whisper something indecipherable and raise one arm and twist my head to reach it.  Peeta is suddenly in the frame.  He grabs my upper arm and my teeth clamp down, drawing blood.  I lift my head and yell something at him.  There’s too much noise from the crowd to make out my words.  It’s the same with Peeta’s desperate response.  He’s pulled from me and a scrap of fabric can be seen clutched in his hand.  I’m lifted off the ground over the crush of people, frantically struggling.  I open my mouth and scream.   The audio picks up the single word.  Gale!  Gale!  The tape ends when I’m carried into the mansion and disappear from sight. Very slowly, Peeta reaches for the remote control and turns off the television.  We both sit in silence to digest what we had just seen.  I expect to be evicted from his home shortly.  Siding with Coin over another Games, shooting the leader who was instrumental in defeating our arch-enemy Coriolanus Snow – the man who had Peeta tortured and ordered the bombing that killed his family.  And then biting his hand so hard when he tried to save me that he still bears the scars. “It looks bad, doesn’t it?” I venture when the silence grows too long. “Yeah. I’ve watched this tape before.  With Haymitch.  He explained most of it and told me what preceded it.  You know, the meeting with Coin.” He runs a hand through his hair and gives his head a shake.  “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.  I actually voted to exterminate the entire Capitol citizenry.  That was the choice offered, wasn’t it?  A single Games or kill the lot of them?” “Yes.  But you weren’t the only one.  Even Beetee missed it.”  I don’t tell him that he influenced the other’s choice by voting first under the presumption that it was a simple choice of Games or no Games.  He feels bad enough already.  “But if you’ve seen this tape already and you’ve discussed it with Haymitch, why would Dr Aurelius want you to watch it again with me?” Peeta’s face turns red.  “There was a question Haymitch couldn’t answer and it was bothering me.  He told me I’d have to ask you.” Oh.  “You mean what we said to each other?”  That’s the only part of it I can think of that Haymitch may not know. “No, I remembered that.  And why I stopped you from taking the nightlock pill.  It was just . . .” He stops, takes a breath, and ends in a rush.  “Why did you call out for Gale?  After everything you’ve said about him not being your boyfriend. It doesn’t make sense.” I’m so startled I’m momentarily lost for words.  With all that was on that tape, has that question actually been preying on him? “It’s because we had a pact.  If either of us was caught by the enemy, we’d kill each other first so they wouldn’t have the satisfaction of taking us alive.” “You wanted him to shoot you?” “Yes.  He didn’t, obviously.  And I couldn’t shoot him when he was captured by peacekeepers.  Sorry excuses for hunters and friends we turned out to be.” Peeta’s face clears and even breaks out in a smile.  “I’m glad he didn’t.” I laugh.  “Yeah.  Me too.”  I feel the tension ebb from my muscles a little.  A much-needed respite from all the drama so far.  “Shall we watch the next one?” It’s our first Games.  My head is bandaged which means this happened after I’d gone to the feast for Peeta’s medicine.  Heavy rain can be heard from outside the cave and Peeta and I have no choice but to remain where we are, our hunger pangs worsening by the hour.  Peeta wonders what we’d have to do to get Haymitch to send us some food.  This reminds me to ramp up the romance angle.  I take Peeta by the hand and playfully suggest that a lot of resources had been used on the sleep syrup that helped me knock him out.   I think I can guess what Dr Aurelius had in mind with this tape.  It’s the first kiss from Peeta that had me wanting another.  He thinks it will lead to a discussion that not all my romantic responses were faked and that my attraction to him had started early in our relationship. This one is easy.  Even if Peeta doesn’t believe it was faked, it won’t be hard for him to pretend that it was.   I lean back into the sofa, feeling relaxed for the first time since I got here.   Peeta doesn’t seem anxious about it either. I imagine that I’m one of the many thousands of people who watched it on TV.  I know most bought into the romance as genuine – especially in the Capitol.   In the Districts, the romance was secondary to our perceived rebellion against the Capitol.  I later learned that I didn’t fool Snow and my fellow victors who saw through the act.  Yet somehow, they missed this.  It was perhaps the only kiss that Peeta and I shared in those first Games when I wasn’t acting. I watch the girl falter over her words.  The boy wants her to go on, his face alight with budding hope.   The feeble excuse she makes.  The boy leaning in.  The soft explorative kiss growing more confident, gaining heat.  The girl’s hands coming to rest on his shoulders.  Her eyes closed and lips slightly pursed in readiness for more kissing.  The boy’s concern over her head wound.  And her disappointment when that second kiss manifests as a mere peck on the nose.   Yet despite all that, it doesn’t scream out as being significantly different from the many other kisses we shared.  It’s in the subtleties.  You’d have to be watching carefully to see it.   I turn to Peeta, confident that the last thing he’ll want to do is to scrutinize it too closely.  But he’s watching the screen intently, his brows drawn together in concentration.  I have a very bad feeling about this.   Please, please, don’t go there.  This is not how it’s supposed to work. “You weren’t acting.”  He looks to me for confirmation. Be honest.  I want to ignore that little voice.  Tell it to go away.  I can see the yawning chasm of a slippery slope opening up.   If he wants to talk about how I felt about him then it could lead to how I feel about him now. But then I remember how Peeta was at the dinner and what he had intimated to me earlier.  Friendship is the game going forward.  He’s as anxious to avoid any talk of my present feelings for him as I am.  An honest discussion of the past can’t hurt.  It’s a necessary part of Peeta finding himself. “No,” I say simply. “Can you tell me what was going through your mind?” “Well, it made me think of what it would be like if you had died and that made me realize that I didn’t want to lose you, that’s all.” “And the kiss?” “I liked it.  I wanted to keep going.” I pause, pondering the wisdom of how much I should reveal and then quickly make the decision to put it all out there.  This is our final session.  After today, we don’t ever need to talk about it again.  I won’t be telling Peeta anything he doesn’t already know or has guessed, anyway.   “Look Peeta, most of what happened in the Games was an act, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t care for you or wasn’t attracted.  I thought you were acting too, and quite frankly, there was a lot going on, I mean there were people who wanted to kill us – to be thinking of romance.  And then on the train back to 12, I got to thinking about how being a victor would fit with my old life and it was kind of overwhelming.  I didn’t know what to feel about anything.  But I did miss you and wished we could have stayed friends.”  I put a faint emphasis on the word “friends.”  Peeta will appreciate that.  It puts us back in a safe place after all this talk of attraction and kissing. “Friends,” repeats Peeta.  He seems to retreat into a far-away place before he rouses himself.  “Your favorite color is green.  Mine is orange.  Right?” “That’s right,”  I say smiling.  “It’s what we talked about at the start of the Victory Tour when we decided to make a try of being friends.”  I make sure to stress “friends.”

Peeta suddenly rises from the sofa.  “I just need to take a break for a minute.” While I wait, I change the tapes over.  It’s the last one and I have an awful feeling about it.   It’s sure to be the kisses on the beach.  I doubt that Dr Aurelius would have left it to Haymitch and Johanna as I’m the only one who can say what was really going on.  I suppose I’ll have to be honest.  Say, yes Peeta, I did like kissing you and no, nothing was faked.  But as long as he doesn’t ask how I feel about him now, we’ll be all right.

I question the value of having to talk about it in any case.  It’s not as if the conclusion hasn’t already been decided.   Whatever happened in the past has no bearing on the present. Our purpose is to construct a wall of pretence so that we can be a family with Haymitch and stand to be in each other’s company.  We’re fooling ourselves that we can be friends though.  We won’t be.  Not really.  No wonder Peeta has to leave the room.  The hypocrisy must be killing him. I take a sip of tea, now grown cold, and start to nibble on a cracker before putting it down again.  I have no appetite and nor, it seems, does Peeta.  The food is almost untouched, so intent we’ve been on getting through these tapes as fast as possible.  Peeta returns, pale but composed.  “Let’s finish it,” he says. Finish it.  My heart clenches at the implication.  The end of Katniss and Peeta, star-crossed lovers of District 12.  I press the play button on the remote and the tape begins.

Paris Haute Couture Week S/S 2020 Plus a Little Jacquemus: Okay, Dior DID Suck (Part 2/2)

Hi to anyone reading,

First of all, thank you! I have never had a post do as well as the part 1 of my haute couture week review did and I am so overwhelmed with the positive feedback. This is probably funny to read for those of you getting thousands of reblogs on your posts, me acting like I won an academy award because I got a couple of hundred, but honestly I don’t expect any traction when I write on here (it’s basically just me word vomiting everything I’m thinking as if people want to hear it aka. mouthing off into what I thought was the void) so if you did read it, thank you! I do spend a long-ass time on these so it means a lot:-)

I’ll leave the self-indulgent ramble there though as it’s probably not what you came for and jump straight into part 2 of my thoughts, starting with Jacquemus. Yeah, I knew what I was doing when I tagged that in my last post. Simon Porte Jacquemus is the man of the *fashion* people right now; I’ve even found myself coming round to the Le Chiquito bag despite my original thought being “well, that’s fucking useless”. I know, I know, technically it’s not haute couture; it was part of Men’s Fashion Week, but it happened around the same time and everyone was talking about it on Twitter, so I feel like I have to include it.

In a way, it kind of reminds me of Bottega Veneta’s last RTW show, in that, especially with the women’s outfits, we seem to be sticking with simple, fitted garments and chunky, more statement jewellery. I’ve got to say I like the styling here a lot more though, and in general I’m a fan of this collection. The collared tops with cut outs underneath blazers are cool and I can’t wait until it gets warm enough for me to not feel dumb wearing my headscarfs like this; there’s a LOT of summer outfit inspiration. It’s not a mind-blowing collection or anything but it is effortlessly sexy and that’s something I wish I could say about myself. Most of us can only hope to look half as good as these models do whilst making the effort but at least Jacquemus is aspirational, lol. 

I also fucking adore this colour palette. I’m sick of neutrals literally just meaning brown and white; the navy, sand and muted khaki is a fresh edition to what is usually interpreted as the colours you’d seen worn by Disney’s Riverboat Cruise staff and only Disney’s Riverboat Cruise staff. And I mean, come on-what is more neutral than typical English school carpet blue.

Next for the whole reason I had to make this haute couture week review 2 separate posts: Jean Paul Gaultier’s final show.

In the best way possible, it’s a lot. I don’t even really know where to start, except to say that I guess this is a fitting last show; a celebration of everything campy, messy, weird, performative, and punk is the perfect send off for a brand whose best known perfume of the last few years is called Scandal. More than anything, the final show represented the range of characters and cultures that have influenced JPG throughout his half-a-decade-long career, the lines that supposedly separate what is “masculine” and “feminine”, “old” and “young” and ultimately art and fashion blurred in the most exaggerated way possible. Sure, there are some looks which are individually a bit messy here but the way they were grouped into almost chapter-like segments meant that when you see them all together, they work. Nods to the patterns and structures that recurred from season to season were sprinkled throughout, from sailor stripes to corsets to the expected whirlwinds of colour. I’ll even allow the wellies in that one outfit; if I can get over bucket hats in Peter fucking Pilotto’s last RTW show, I can get over some questionable shoes here. Middle aged fishermen and boys who liked to pose with monster carp in their Tinder pictures as some weird display of masculinity everywhere rejoice.

Now onto a show that I personally found slightly disappointing: Margiela.

I think this one is a bit TOO weird for me. Like if you’re gonna go avant-garde, go all out. Chiffon gimp masks (I don’t know if that’s the intention here but that’s what I’m getting, sorry Maison) are something I’m not particularly fond of and I’ve never been a fan of the Tabi boots in the first place, let alone when they’ve seemingly been blown up to Michelin man style proportions. I didn’t find the show to be a total lost cause-I enjoyed the colour palette and I’ve always liked that contrast stitching detail, plus the bowler hats are interesting-but on the whole considering how much I liked the last RTW show, this is a bit of a let down. 

The looks I included are salvageable but (I feel mean saying this) there were genuinely a lot of pieces that did just resemble bits of fabric draped over each over with no discernible rhyme or reason, so much so that they reminded me of some of the monstrosities I saw at a Drag Race pub quiz this one time where we had 5 mins to make some garms out of loo roll and then have a team member model them for points down a makeshift runway. 

Ralph and Russo was alright. There were a few pieces that I really liked but again, I can’t help but compare this collection to the last, where it felt like the fussy details of bows and sequins and feathers and the Barbie Dreamhouse palette were utilised with a direction in mind. Here, I don’t get that. As ever, the gowns are gorgeous and I’d pay good money just to try one on for five minutes but as an overall collection I’d say there was a lack of higher vision, which is probably the snobbiest sentence I’ve ever written so forgive me.

As for Ronald Van Der Kemp, I could’ve done without including it to be honest, if it weren’t for the few pieces I’m in love with: the velvet cape, fur trimmed jacket and blue satin dress are probably my favourite pieces here.

So onto a collection I liked a lot more: Schiaparelli. 

The influence of nature from flowers in bloom to insects to the organic structure of the human skeleton is as present as ever, though this collection includes a lot more delicate symbolism than usual. Honestly, the details make it for me; the brooches, earrings and facial jewellery are other-worldly touches to outfits that could otherwise be simple fashion magazine editor on-the-go. That’s not in itself a bad thing! The suits are gorgeous. I mean, I’m talking fashion editor in New York in a power suit yelling orders down the phone while she rushes along with a coffee. A Miranda Priestley in the making type woman. THAT’S a modern take on the divine feminine that Maria Grazia should’ve been going for; our goddesses aren’t women who sit around looking pretty (though that helps too) and place curses on mere mortals anymore, they’re women who get shit done. 

With regards to Valentino, which was also a delight, let me start by saying this colour palette is EVERYTHING. It’s ugly sisters in Cinderella fantastic, and we know those 2 were the real fashion icons really. Other than that, I adore the Old Hollywood silhouettes from the gloves to the Liz Taylor-in-Cleopatra-level-dramatic earrings. Everything is opulent and expensive-looking and pretty much what we’ve all come to expect from Valentino. A strong 8/10.

For me personally, Viktor and Rolf was a standout and one of my favourite collections of haute couture week. It’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea and I know it’s at the complete opposite end of the spectrum to what was probably my other favourite collection, Elie Saab, but this is just my style down to a T, the perfect balance of grungy and cutesy that I want to achieve. 

There’s probably going to be a lot of objections to the temporary face tattoos and I get that, but I think they’re fucking sick. I obviously wouldn’t get a permanent one lest my mother murder me in cold blood however if I did, you bet I would be pairing them with frilly-ass babydoll dresses that you could pick up in Camden Market like this. 

And last but not least (that would be Dior), there’s Zuhair Murad.

Sigh.

IDK, man. Seeing Zuhair Murad dresses on Tumblr and WeHeartIt (remember that site? It still exists!) as a 14 year old was one of the things that got me into fashion, so it sucks that almost every time a new collection comes around, I feel underwhelmed. Disappointingly, the brand hasn’t really progressed all that much since 2013. It goes without saying that the stoning and the embroidery and sequins are stunning and would make anyone feel like a princess but from a critical point of view, I’m just not seeing anything new here. Whereas I feel like Elie Saab, for example, reflected the growing fascination with East Asian fashion and recognition of the supremacy of the region’s street style in his haute couture last collection, Zuhair Murad seems to be stuck designing the same dresses he was 6 years ago. 

To pick one example, the rounded stoned necklines are so outdated that they’ve been making their way onto department store prom dresses for years. I get that it’s supposed to be a reference to Ancient Egyptian style and I respect that, I was one of those 8 year old that was obsessed with mummies and the “Curse of Tutankhamun”, but couldn’t it be done in a more interesting way? It’s Maria Grazia’s spin on Ancient Greece all over again. Now I get how how the I imagine very niche subsection of people who are into fashion and Julius Caesar (okay, so I don’t even know if they still believed in mythology and all that malarky at that point in history but just roll with my comparison here) might’ve felt going through Vogue Runway. Anyway, I hate to end on a critical note and so be clear, these are still absolutely magnificent dresses. If we ignore those ugly round necklines, that is.

So that’s it for this post! If you read part 1 and 2, I hope you enjoyed it! As always, let me know your opinions and feel free to disagree. I’m literally just about to start trawling through all the A/W 2020 RTW collections though I imagine that’s gonna take me way longer to do than this, so I wouldn’t expect that for a month or two. In the meantime, I’m trying to fit shooting a Euphoria-inspired lookbook into my days off work which is looking atm like it’s going to be the end of March, so look out for that, and also a review of the red carpet fashion from this season’s award shows. 

As ever, thank you so much for reading and again, thank you for the reception on part 1 if you were one of the people that read it. It makes staying up til 3am with the jitters seem worthwhile, lol! 

Lauren x

Today is where your book begins, the rest is still unwritten

Summary: it takes reaching adulthood twice for Jane Seymour to find out she is dyslexic

Can be read on AO3 or down below

She came from a noble family, albeit not a prominent one, but yes, she could've had a formal education even back then. Except Jane never enjoyed her reading and writing lessons, she'd much rather work on her embroidery, and such womanly duties were preferred at the time. A lot has changed since then, and yet Jane, here in the 21st century, still doesn't like reading more than she used too.

Sighing, she drops the book on the kitchen table. She places her hand to the centre of the page. Maybe if her finger follows the lines she'll be able to focus enough to finish this paragraph. Catherine's old writing is full of the complex flourish that was so popular at the time, and the words keep tangling in Jane's head.

“Not quite to your taste?”

As if summoned, Catherine Parr appears at the dining room's door. Jane startles by the sound of her voice and blinks up at her; it's odd to see anyone home so early in the afternoon.

“—Sorry, what?”

Catherine drops her backpack in the chair in front of Jane's and proceeds to take off her coat. Smiling, she answers, “the book. Pretty outdated, I imagine”

Oh, she must have been glaring at The Lamentation of a Sinner a bit too hard then.

“Anna and Catalina seemed to like it anyway” Jane reassuring smile suddenly turns sheepish, “I... haven't gotten far enough to say”

“Do you mind if I join you?” when Jane shakes her head Cathy sits down and pulls out a book from her backpack. After that, they both remain quiet.

Jane finds herself taken aback by the comfortable silence between them. It's a pleasant surprise; after all, they aren't that close. They don't normally spend time together, apart from the shows and the rehearsals (well, at least not alone, sometimes they do hang out with Catalina together). Maybe that's why Jane, despite her unliterary tendencies, decided to read the other queen's book in the first place, to get to know her better. Writing had been an important part of who Catherine was in her past life, which she reminded everyone when she sang on the stage.

…Jane might be the last to take this into account; apparently, the rest of the queens had already read it.

Minutes go by, the silence only broken by the sound of Cathy turning pages. Jane begins to feel a little self-conscious, Catherine is such an avid reader and she still hasn't finished the page she was reading when the other queen arrived. Out of some self-imposed pressure, she tries to read faster. But the more she hurries, the blurrier the words get; letters fussing together beyond recognition, and she has to give up and start that sentence again, and again. A headache is beginning to form behind her eyes. Suddenly, she closes the book and stands up from her seat.

“I'm going to the kitchen to make some tea, do you want anything?”

“I'll have some coffee” Cathy replies, glancing up from her book, “if we still have any”

“It was Anne's turn to do the groceries this week, wasn't it?” Jane says with an amused smile as she puts the kettle on, “where do you guys keep this stuff?”

“Top left cabinet”

“Hmm... I can't see any”

“Let me see", Catherine walks up to the cupboard, "—oh. It’s this other one”, she notes before opening the left cabinet’s door.

Stupid.

“I sort— eh, sorry I… must've not been paying attention”, Jane mumbles, subtly averting her eyes.

“Don't feel like you have to apologize. It's fairly common for people with dyslexia to confuse left and right”, Jane is giving Cathy a perplexed look, so she continues, “Oh, I thought you knew? It happens to you sometimes, like when they teach us new dances or when you're driving and we give you directions”

“But that's just… me, messing up”, Jane replies confused, “because I'm not paying enough attention”

“No, no it's fine” Jane dismisses it quickly, trying to seem nonchalant as she shakes her off. She didn't know all her little slips were that obvious, shit. “I guess I just need to make an effort haha...”

“Jane you're the most dedicated person I ever met, if you're not making an effort then no one is” Catherine states firmly

Jane looks at Cathy's serious expression and gives herself a moment to consider, to really think about it. What if all of it, reading, writing, memorizing; what if it wasn't as difficult for everyone else as it was for her? She thinks of her teachers, of all the times she heard “you are smart Jane, but you need to apply yourself more” or when she would get scolded, how they said that she needed to stop being ditsy or lazy to pass their class; and she always thought they were right, thought “I'm not trying hard enough”. Dyslexia …it makes sense. That's why she makes spelling mistakes no matter how thoughtful she is, why reading takes so long, and sometimes the letters seem to blur. Did she even need her reading glasses? Everything the same and somehow it feels like her whole world shifted, just a little, and at last the picture's properly framed.

The noise of the boiling kettle breaks her out of her thoughts. She finally answers, voice barely above a breath, “…is it not meant to be that hard?”

Catherine shakes her head; she's staring at her with sympathetic eyes. Oh, she must look like a mess and over such a little thing.

“Were you never diagnosed?”

“No, I mean, I always… struggled with it but I thought it was normal, you know? So I never said anything”, Jane rambles, trying to explain. And even though she thinks she's not making any sense, she doesn't feel foolish at all because Cathy's there, leaning against the kitchen counter, listening attentively and nodding along like she knows exactly what Jane means, “how did you notice?”

“Your handwriting was a bit of a giveaway.” Jane slaps Cathy's shoulder lightly and they both giggle.

They make themselves their drinks and move back to the kitchen table. Sipping her coffee, Catherine stretches her arm across the table; she absentmindedly traces one of the edges of the book's cover with her fingertips. It’s an old edition, not from way back when she wrote it, but close. She wonders if they kept all her words intact or if she would even be able to tell if they changed them, after all this time.

“I think I want to read this.”

Jane puts down her teacup and moves to hand her the book, “Oh sure, here let me—”

“Do you mind if I start back from the beginning? I know you said you were only a few pages in, but I’d like to reread the entire thing”

"I don't…? —Cathy, you don't have to", Jane stutters a bit ashamed.

"I want to."

And Jane can't help but believe Cathy's being sincere, because her voice is warm and she's looking at her with kind eyes. Trying not to feel overwhelmed, she answers with a small tentative smile, "I guess it will be just like listening to an audiobook?"

Cathy returns her smile fully, "and with the author's exclusive comments too."

Then she turns to the page and starts reading aloud.

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 10  (Calum Hood AU)

“HAVE A GOOD rest of your day.”  I smiled at the gray-haired woman as I handed her a freshly made raspberry tea.  She was the last customer in line, and everyone seated at the tables had been served.  Outside, the sun was shining almost painfully bright, casting golden rays through the cafe window.  I rested my elbows on the counter as I gazed at the world outside, wondering what the fresh breeze felt like on their skin.  I’d been at work for hours, long before the sun came up.  Mack had needed all hands on deck to do some rearranging with newly bought furniture and he decided since we were all there so early to deep clean the store.  I’d shined that very front window just this morning, and I wanted it to stay smudge-free for as long as possible.

“Hey, quit daydreaming.”  Roger’s voice broke me out of my daze, and I rolled my eyes at him.  Roger had quickly become one of my best friends in the entire city, and I could never stay mad or annoyed when he was around.  Even on the worst of days, he could get a smile out of me.  

“Why?” I countered.  “There’s no one to help.  Besides, it’s so nice outside and we’re stuck in here.”

He grabbed a small espresso mug and poured himself some tap water.  “Scarlett, are you seriously complaining about the smell of coffee beans and baking bread?”  I laughed; he was right.  If I had to be stuck anywhere I’d want to be in the cafe.  It smelled heavenly, and the warmth of the ovens was like a gentle caress.  Even though I hadn’t been paid yet, still on the probationary period Mack had set, I loved my job.  Coming to work was rarely a hassle, only when I was exhausted or having a bad day was it difficult to get through.

I joked around with Roger for a few more minutes, until the mid-afternoon crowd started filing in.  A couple of our regulars came in, and chatting with them was always nice.  I felt like I was part of a little community of coffee-lovers.  They often told me seeing my face was the best part of their day, because it meant caffeine was coming.  It was also nice having something separate from Hannah and the guys.  I was grateful for the help they were giving me, especially Hannah, but I liked having something that was my thing.  I missed being independent, and work gave me a little slice of that every day.

The rush died down, and the back door opened signaling Mack’s arrival.  He was usually in the back all day long, paying bills or making pastries or just hanging out.  As far as bosses go he was an amazing one; he was always open for questions and up for giving a helping hand, but he didn’t suffocate the employees or micromanage us.  As long as we didn’t screw up too often, he was happy.

“How’s it goin’ up here, you two?” he asked me and Roger.  What looked to be  brownie batter was smattered across his apron.  Mack was always making a mess while he baked.  

“Absolutely phenomenal,” Roger exaggerated, flipping a dish rag onto his shoulder.  “I’ve never had a day as exceptional as this one.”

Mack rolled his eyes, but under his bushy mustache I knew he’d cracked a smile.  “Try to contain your enthusiasm, Roger,” he said, and then he turned his attention to me.  “Your day is about to be even better than Roger’s here.”

I froze, heart beating fast in my chest.  Had the day finally come?  Was I officially an employee?  I’d lost count of how long it had been since Mack gave me the two week deadline.

“R-really?” I stuttered, trying not to get my hopes up.  

Mack folded his arms and regarded me with a thoughtful expression.  “I’ll admit, you were pretty crap in the beginning.  Must have screwed up every drink you made, somehow.”  I flushed at the memories of my rocky beginning.  “Still, you stuck with it, and now here you are, making mocha lattes left and right and only ruining a few of them.”  Roger gave me a mock high-five.  

Mack sent him a stern glance that Roger just smirked innocently at.  “Anyway, I’d like to officially hire you and start gettin’ you those paychecks you deserve.  Sound good?”

I had to hold in a squeal of excitement, not to mention a massive sigh of relief.  Just when money was really getting tight, I’d finally have an income.  Obviously part-time at a cafe wouldn’t earn me huge amounts of money, but I worked so often I was sure it would count for something.  

“Yes, that’s great.  Thank you so much, Mack,” I said, grinning ear to ear.  Roger pretended to stick a finger down his throat and gag, and Mack whipped him with a towel.

“Alright you two, get back to work.  I’ll have fresh brownies for the display case in half an hour.”

Once he’d disappeared back into the kitchen, I pumped my fist and let out a short laugh.  “This timing is perfect,” I told Roger.  “I have people at the bank breathing down my neck, this is exactly what I need.”

He smirked at me.  “You’re cute when you’re excited,” he commented, and I punched his arm lightly.  “We should celebrate after our shifts.”

“Perfect,” I replied.  “Wanna get dinner?”

“I was thinking tubs of ice cream and cheap beer in my car.”  I actually liked this idea; Roger had a cool souped-up convertible that I loved driving in.  The thought of sitting with the top down in the nice weather with a pint of ice cream and a paycheck in my future sounded amazing.

The rest of my shift couldn’t have gone fast enough.  Being in such a good mood helped time fly, and when two other employees came in for their shift after ours Roger and I happily clocked out and stepped into the warm breeze.

“I can’t believe you’re still taking the bus to work,” Roger told me as we climbed into his convertible.  I clicked my seat-belt and leaned back in the comfy leather seat. 

“Not all of us have fancy cars like this,” I reminded him, and he gasped.

“I worked hard for this car, Scarlett Mercer.  Don’t insult her like that.”  As Roger sped away I giggled, elated at the way the wind lifted my hair and the sun warmed my face.  He insisted on blasting awful music as we drove along the roads, and I was too busy laughing hysterically to be embarrassed.

When we got to the grocery store we decided to divide and conquer, with Roger getting the ice cream and me getting the beer.  I told him I wanted strawberry cheesecake, and he pretended to gag again as he told me, “Of course you’d be a strawberry cheesecake kind of girl.”

Wandering towards the fridges of beer, I had a blissful smile on my face.  There were so many choices and I was having a hard time picking something I thought we’d both like.  As I slowly moved down the aisle, I bumped into someone I hadn’t even seen in front of me since my thoughts were so distant.

“Oh, sorry--” I started, and then I realized exactly who I’d bumped into.  Messy hair, big hoodie, and a casual smirk.  Calum looked lazy and relaxed, like he’d just rolled out of bed even though it was the afternoon.  I smiled with a huff, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

“I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going,” I admitted, and he snorted.

“Clearly.”  He didn’t sound cold or mean, in fact his smirk was more of a smile.  I was still tentative around him, sort of feeling like I was on eggshells.  One wrong move and I’d scare him off, or make him angry.  I liked the weird in-between mood we had between us lately; not entirely polite, but definitely not cruel.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, adjusting the case of beer under his arm.  I gestured to the fridges in front of us.

“I need some beer, a coworker and I are celebrating.”  He didn’t ask what we were celebrating, which sent a pang of disappointment through me.

“Know what you want?” he questioned.  I was busy admiring the way the dark purple hoodie looked on his tall frame, and snapped my gaze back up to his.  

“Uh, no, actually,” I responded.  “Something cheap.  But other than that, I have no idea what to look for.”  I drank pretty much anything; as long as it had alcohol and it was in front of me, I never complained.

He rolled his eyes good naturedly, placing the case under his arm on the floor so he could fish through the fridge.  He pulled out an unfamiliar brand and handed it to me.  “This stuff gets the job done,” he explained, and I didn’t even check over the beer.  I trusted him.

“Thanks.”  I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder, chewing my lip as I wondered what else to say.  I didn’t want this conversation to end, but I also didn’t want to force it.  Maybe it was in my imagination, but Calum also looked like he wanted to say something.  I silently begged him to speak, hoping my green eyes communicated clearly with his brown ones.

Just at this moment Roger came down the aisle to join me, ice cream pints in hand.  I saw the thorough once over he gave Calum, taking in his black shorts and messy hair and purple hoodie.  I also saw Calum inspect Roger, more specifically his nose ring and ear piercings.  It was weird watching two of my worlds collide, and I shifted uncomfortably.

“Um, Roger, this is Calum,” I started to say.  “He’s one of the guys I live with.”

Roger whistled.  “You’re living with four of these things?” he asked me, causing my jaw to drop and Calum’s brows to furrow.  He didn’t look pissed, thankfully.  Yet, I reminded myself.  There’s still time.

Chuckling awkwardly, I nodded.  “Uh, yeah.  And Calum, this is Roger, he works at the cafe with me.”

Calum gave him a short nod of recognition, expression entirely unreadable.  I was worried we were annoying him, and grabbed Roger’s arm to start leading him away.

“Well, I’ll see you later, Calum,” I called.  “Thanks for the beer.”  He stayed quiet as he watched us leave, eyes never breaking away from my own.  I had to be the one to turn around, even though I missed his gaze as soon as it left.

“You didn’t tell me these roommates of yours were Greek gods,” Roger hissed.  I rolled my eyes and dragged him to the self-checkout, just hoping we could escape Calum and talk in private.

“I don’t know, wouldn’t it have been weird to say ‘hey, I live with four guys who are ridiculously attractive’?  Besides, what does it matter?”  I scanned the beer and the two ice creams, dropping them into a plastic bag.

“So you think they’re ridiculously attractive,” he fired back, and I frowned.  

“I mean, they’re not bad looking guys,” I admitted.  “I don’t know, I don’t really think about it.”  This wasn’t true; I thought about how not bad Calum looked all the time, against my will mostly.

“Okay, and have any of them made a move?  Do you wanna make a move?”

“Make a move to do what?” I questioned as we exited the store.  My eyes immediately scanned the parking lot for a familiar red mustang, and I saw it parked a few spots away from Roger’s convertible.

“Scarlett, if you don’t jump that guy’s bones I’m gonna be pissed,” Roger expressed, causing me to blush.  “Seriously, if the other three are even half as good looking as that one, you need to get some action.”

“We’re all--friends,” I tried to explain, failing abysmally and instead burying my face in the ice cream.  

“Bullshit.”  Roger drove a short ways to the park, and stopped his car under a big tree so we had some shade.  He cracked open a beer and gave me one, and we clinked them together in a cheers.

“I’m proud of you for finally not screwing up enough to be hired,” he pronounced.  “But now I really need you to get with that guy so that we can celebrate something else.”

I took a swig of beer, pleasantly surprised at the taste.  Calum was right; this got the job done alright.  “I don’t want to get with that guy,” I answered.  “He was really mean to me when I first got here, we’re only just recently on speaking terms.”

“Hate sex: even better.”

I groaned; there was no escaping Roger.  I changed the subject to something else, tired of talking about Calum.  Really, I was tired of thinking about him.  The quiz night had been fun but incredibly confusing; I mean, just that morning we’d been arguing.  I didn’t have the time or energy to figure out what was going on with him, and didn’t want to waste my afternoon with Roger talking about it.  We ate our ice cream and drank our beer and enjoyed the sunny afternoon, and by the time Roger drove me home the sun was beginning to set.

“See you tomorrow!” I shouted from the front step as he revved his engine and sped off.  I just caught sight of his middle finger going up before I entered the house.

I was greeted by an all too familiar sight; Hannah and Ashton squaring off in the kitchen, screaming their heads off at one another.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Hannah,” Ashton snapped, his eyes wild with anger.  This time though, Luke, Michael, and Calum were seated at the table and didn’t look too happy either.  What could she have done to piss them all off?

“Why are you giving me such a hard time?” Hannah demanded.  “I don’t need you making this more fucking difficult for me.”

“Difficult for you?”  I thought Ashton was going to blow a gasket.  No one had really noticed I was home, or at least I thought.  I saw Calum send me a heated glare that stopped the air in my throat.

“Do you think it’s easy finding out your girlfriend has been lying to you for months and doesn’t seem to find the problem with this?”

Hannah rolled her eyes.  “I can’t believe you’re actually making this about you!  Which is something you always fucking do, no matter what it’s about!  Everything revolves around you!”

Ashton sighed aggressively.  “Except this does involve me, because I’m your fucking boyfriend!  And it also involves them, and her.”  He jabbed a finger at the guys and then me, his expression just as angry when he was looking at me.

Luke spoke up from the table.  “Scarlett, did you know Hannah had failed out of college, not dropped out?’

I opened my mouth, prepared to come up with some sort of excuse, but Calum beat me to it.

“Of course she knew.  Maybe she’s lying too.”  I felt his words cut right into me; he’d been on my case about this for weeks, and now he was airing it to everyone else.

Ashton was looking at me expectantly.  “Well?  Care to explain?”

I took a short breath, sliding my eyes to Hannah’s desperate expression.  But there was nothing I could say to spare her now, not when Ashton knew she’d flunked out.  But I could still save myself.

“I don’t know what you want me to explain,” I bluffed.  “It was Hannah’s choice what she wanted to tell you.  I didn’t want to push her to do something she didn’t want to do.”  I wasn’t lying; Hannah agreed we’d keep quiet and respect each other’s wishes.  I wanted to keep my parents’ death and subsequent bankruptcy a secret, and she didn’t want anyone to know she failed out of her classes.  We knew it would be hard for people to wrap their heads around if they ever found out, but also knew they would never understand since they weren’t in our shoes.  I wished Ashton had some empathy for the girl he was supposed to love, but the anger and betrayal in his eyes was intense.  

“So you thought lying to everyone was the answer?” he demanded.  “I thought we’d already fought this out last time, when I found out you’d left school.  But to hear it was because you flunked?”

“What was I supposed to say, Ashton?” Hannah screamed, losing the last of her patience.  “You think I wanted to have to tell you I failed?  You’re this super smart, successful guy and I just wanted you to be proud of me!”

Ashton scoffed.  “Don’t blame this on me, I would’ve been proud of you regardless!”

“Really?  You can really say you don’t care that your girlfriend is so stupid she got kicked out of university?”  I could hear how Hannah’s voice was breaking, all of her insecurities bubbling to the surface.  She always struggled with feeling dumb, and being with Ashton didn’t help when he was so intelligent.  We all waited with bated breath for his response, and in my head I willed him to say the right thing.  Just say you love her, and want to support her.  Say it doesn’t matter that she isn’t the brightest student.  But Ashton was silent, apparently side-tracked by the brutal question.  I saw Hannah’s face crumble as she realized the truth; Ashton couldn’t be proud of her after what had happened, and he was even borderline ashamed of her.

Realization struck Hannah at this moment, because she let out a choked sob.  The sound broke my heart in two, and I rushed over to where she stood and wrapped my arms around her in a tight embrace.  I saw Ashton sigh and storm out of the kitchen, the front door slamming as he left us in the dust.  Hannah sobbed again at the loud noise, and I felt all of her pain seep into me.  

Michael and Luke looked like they didn’t know what to believe, and didn’t say a word to either of us as they disappeared upstairs.  Calum stayed seated at the table, staring forward and not looking at Hannah or me.

Hannah sniffled, and untangled her arms from around me.  “Thanks, Scarlett,” she murmured, her eyes indicating the depth of her gratitude.  I just nodded, a huge lump in my throat preventing any words from coming out.  Hannah and I had gone through an impossible situation together, and nothing could tear us apart after that.  I watched her retreat down the basement stairs to where she slept, suddenly feeling like I was going to collapse from the weight of the pressure on my shoulders.

I flinched as suddenly Calum came right up to me, his face inches away as he studied my own.  I was sure I looked shell-shocked and completely broken, and for a second I was humiliated at being so vulnerable in front of him.

“Calum,” I choked out, tears welling in my eyes.  If he detected my crying, he stayed firm.

“I know you’re lying too,” he whispered, the breath tickling my ear and making my eyes shut.  He didn’t sound forceful or accusing; just matter-of-fact.  “That was bullshit, what you said.” 

I took in a shaky breath.  “Please,” I begged, finally looking at him.  His brown eyes widened at the sight of my tears, and even softened.  I was slightly stunned at how kindly he was gazing at me, and wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in his warm embrace.  

“Scarlett,” he said, trailing off as he reached a hand out.  I winced, and he saw my reaction and retracted his hand quickly.  I couldn’t handle the tension between us, all of the heat nearly suffocating me.  He wasn’t embracing me, he was drowning me.  I had to save myself.

“Please don’t ask me about it,” I pleaded, my voice barely more than a breath.  “I can’t...”  The words broke off into the air, and I swallowed roughly.  I just needed him to understand, just once.  

His lips parted, and I remembered when I’d kissed those lips all those nights ago.  How he made my stomach flutter in all the best ways, how his hands were like magic on my skin.  I leaned into him, only briefly, inhaling his scent that shrouded my mind.

He tilted his forehead forward ever so slightly until it grazed mine, the sensation like sparks igniting off our skin.  If I moved just a hair closer I could’ve kissed him.  Could’ve, but I didn’t.

Finally, he broke the silence between us with, “Okay.”  After the word left his lips, he leaned back and put distance between us.  A whoosh of air left my lungs, and I fought to keep steady as he passed by me.  As he did so, the back of his hand brushed mine.  It was the lightest of touches, but it was more understanding than I’d ever seen from him before. 

Not until I heard his bedroom door close could I finally breathe again.

Black and White (Part XV)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX

When Sirius Black walked into the run-down little coffee shop that Remus worked at, he looked extremely out of place. The Daily Grind was one of those cafes that had mismatched furniture and paintings from local artists on the wall. It wasn't glamorous, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it felt comfortable— homey. Remus was willing to bet that Sirius had never set foot in a cafe like this, preferring to get his coffee from Starbucks or a butler in a tuxedo or something. 

The first thing that Remus noticed about Sirius was that he was wearing a suit, like always, with his long hair in a loose bun and his posture stiffer than a board. He glanced around him, scanning the room, until his eyes met with Remus' and his jaw tightened. Remus forced himself to smile politely, offering the gallery owner a small wave. Sirius made his way over to Remus' table, his typical saunter less noticeable now that he was in an unfamiliar environment.

"Good evening, Sirius. Thank you for joining me." Remus kept his tone courteous, his words formal. He knew that he would have trouble relaxing around Sirius. The two of them had a business relationship exclusively; meeting up socially was strange and unprecedented.

Sirius' mouth twisted into what Remus could only assume was an attempt at a grin. 

"Remus," he muttered stiffly, giving a firm nod. He glanced down at the empty chair in front of Remus, but remained standing. Remus felt his shoulders tighten in discomfort.

"Please… have a seat." Remus gestured towards the empty chair and Sirius nodded again before sitting down. "Uh… thanks for meeting me."

He didn't know what else to say. Seeing Sirius in the cafe wasn't quite as hilarious has Remus had anticipated; instead, the two men were both uncomfortable, awkward, struggling to relax in front of one another.

"Yes, well…" Sirius began, before trailing off. "So… is this where you work?"

Remus nodded, his hands tightening around his cup of tea. He didn't hate his job, but it was exhausting. He was on his feet most of the day and he rarely had enough energy to paint at night. It took everything Remus had in him to drag himself out of bed each morning, ready to face the same mundane routine that slowly ate away at him. 

"It's… nice." Sirius glanced around at the paintings on the wall. His mouth spread into a thin smile as recognition lit up his face. "There's a familiar one…"

Remus glanced over his shoulder to find one of his older pieces hanging on the wall behind him.

"Oh… yeah… I forgot that one was there. It's… not my best work."

"No, it isn't."

Remus spun around to cast a glare at Sirius.

"That's not very polite."

Sirius cocked an eyebrow and Remus could have sworn he saw the slightest hint of humour in those silvery eyes.

"Why? It's not. Your current stuff is much better. The paintings that you've been producing recently? They're a different caliber altogether."

Remus could feel his cheeks heat up as Sirius paid him a rare compliment. It was backhanded, yes, but it was the closest thing to praise that he could hope for from the gallerist.

"Uh… thanks." 

Sirius leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his bangs and brushing them away from his eyes. Remus felt himself mirroring Sirius, finally able to sink into his chair and relax slightly. 

"So…" Sirius began, cutting the silence, his tone gentler than usual. "I… I am sorry. About yesterday. I know I said that earlier, I just… want you to know that."

Remus chewed the edge of his lip, trying to formulate his response. Every fiber of his being wanted to say it's okay, to brush off what happened the other day as if it had been perfectly normal. That was his immediate response to everything. 

It's fine.

It's no bother.

It's okay.

Although he couldn't figure out why, there was a part of Remus that didn't want this to be the same as always. It wasn't okay. The way Sirius treated him wasn't fine, and Remus wasn't going to allow himself to be a doormat. Not this time.

"You were an arse."

"I know." Sirius' gaze dropped to his hands, which were fiddling with a packet of sugar. Remus felt a wave of something— was it affection? — pass over him as he watched Sirius. He hated it.

"It was rude," Remus continued, trying to sound upset, to hide the fact that Sirius' fiddling was in any way endearing. "The way you spoke to me. The way you acted around me. It really was unprofessional."

"I know."

Sirius didn't justify his actions. He didn't make any excuses, didn't try to explain anything, he simply sat there as Remus called him out, a distinct look of guilt darkening his silvery blue eyes. 

"You… really shouldn't treat people that way…"

"I know."

Remus paused. He brought his tea to his mouth and took a sip, giving himself time to think.

"Why?"

Sirius glanced back up at Remus, his eyes shining like a lost puppy. Remus had to suppress a grin.

"Why what?" The gallerist asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Why did you… what made you so upset? Why were you so… cruel?"

Remus watched as Sirius closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly as he leaned further back in his chair, as if he knew this question had been coming the entire time. Sirius' eyes shot open, darting back and forth as they searched Remus' face. After a moment, Sirius finally spoke.

"You don't know much about me…" He began, before trailing off. Remus remained silent, assuming that there was more to follow. There was. "I… I do that on purpose. I don't like getting too close to my artists. It… this has been strange for me; you being friendly with James. It… made things awkward."

Remus cocked a brow and pursed his lips.

"How so?"

Sirius gave a heavy sigh.

"I don't… really have any family. I have James and Lily. That's it. They're… they're all I have."

Remus was confused. He had read about the Black family before; they were well-established business people, the family name known throughout the city from their various enterprises. Sirius was a member of this prestigious family, how could he say he didn't have any?

Remus' face must have betrayed his thoughts, because Sirius let out a dark laugh.

"Before you ask, no, I'm not close with the other Blacks. They're… the only thing we share is the name. I'm not… well, I'm different. We don't speak anymore. It's better that way."

"Oh." Remus didn't know how else to respond. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's as much my doing as it is theirs."

"I see…"

"Anyway…" Sirius' fingers turned the sugar packet over and over and over. "I'm… very protective of James and Lily…"

Remus scoffed. 

"You weren't jealous, were you?" He asked with a grin. Sirius didn't respond, and Remus realized his mistake. His smile faded. "...were you?"

Sirius shrugged his shoulders, his focus remaining on the sugar that danced through his hands.

Never in a million years would Remus have expected Sirius Black to be jealous of him. Remus was broke. He worked himself to the bone, barely sleeping, hardly eating, unable to afford anything beyond the absolute necessities. 

"I'm…" Remus began, not sure what it was he wanted to say. "I don't think James or Lily would ever replace you…"

"No, I know that…" Sirius said to the sugar. "I know that. I just… have trouble believing it…"

The man in front of Remus was someone so different than the Sirius Black he thought he knew. This was someone soft, scared, afraid of losing the people he loved. This was a man who had everything and nothing all at once, who couldn't fathom going through life on his own. This was someone that Remus understood.

"I'm… I'm sorry if I— "

"No, you're fine," Sirius interrupted, glancing back up at Remus, a forced smile on his face. "This was on me. I've got a bit of a temper. I lashed out at you. And I'm sorry about that. Anyway…" Sirius' hand dropped the sugar and brushed his bangs from his eyes. "None of this is important. You just… wanted to know why. So… that's why."

"I really am sor— "

"Can we please drop it?" Some of the ice returned to Sirius' voice, reflected in the glacial blue of his eyes. Remus gave the gallerist a curt nod, knowing that the subject was a delicate one. 

"Yeah, sure. Consider it dropped." Remus tried to smile, to keep his emotions hidden from his face. "We're good, you and I. As far as I'm concerned…"

"Good."

"Yeah…"

"So…" Sirius mumbled, picking up his sugar packet again, breaking the suddenly awkward silence. "You mentioned a message?"

Shit.

Remus swallowed past the lump in his throat. When he was still angry at Sirius, he had planned to make the man feel bad about his drunken voicemail. Now that they had connected over a candid heart-to-heart, it didn't seem right to bring it up.

"It… it was nothing. Honestly…"

Sirius raised a brow skeptically.

"Remus…"

"You… you just left a voicemail is all. It really wasn't anything… you didn't say much…"

Remus watched as the colour faded from Sirius' face, his eyes growing wide with horror. Butterflies erupted in the pit of Remus' stomach as the icy blue of Sirius' irises melted through his heart.

Shit shit shit…

"It really wasn't—"

"I don't remember leaving that…" Sirius twisted his sugar in his hand, accidentally breaking the packet and spilling the grains across the table. "Fuck!"

"It's fine! I've got it! I can clean it up!" 

As Remus moved to sweep up the mess with his napkin, Sirius slammed his fist against the table, startling the artist and causing the sugar grains to jump.

"Was I drunk?"

Remus blinked. He looked at Sirius, who suddenly looked more angry than nervous.

"Uh… p— possibly? It was only a voic— "

"Was I drunk, Remus?"

Sirius looked— well, serious.

"Uh… y— yeah… I… I think so."

"Fuck!" Sirius' profanities echoed across the cafe, earning him scathing glares from the other patrons. "Shit!" He muttered, a bit quieter.

"Really, Sirius. It's fine. It wasn't anything! You didn't say anything embarrassing or anyth—"

"I have to go."

Sirius was on his feet before Remus could even respond. The artist stared up at the other man, mouth agape, utterly confused.

"Sirius, you don't—"

"I'm sorry, Remus."

He did sound sorry. His eyes grew soft for a moment as his gaze lingered on Remus. Then, before the artist could get in another word, Sirius was heading towards the door.

"Sirius, wait!"

Remus' protests came too late, Sirius was already out of earshot. Remus stared as the expensive suit and elegant bun faded from view, wondering what the hell had just happened.