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welcometophu · 3 years

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The Meaning of Home, Chapter 1

The Meaning of Home Chapter 1

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

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Even knowing that he’ll see him at the end of the trip, it’s strange for Pawel to be driving to his childhood home without Conor in the car. Usually his son would be requesting music changes, playing videos so loud that Pawel could hear them even with Conor’s headphones in place, or generally talking up a storm. Even after cranking the radio up to fill the silence, Pawel feels alone in a way he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

He can’t blame it entirely on Conor. Yes, as a single father he hasn’t had much, if any, time to himself in the last nine years. But this past academic year has been chaos to the point where it seems strange not to have one of his students in the car as they head off to save the world.

Students, yes, but he’s not that much older than most of them. Some of them are friends as well.

Rest. Take the summer and rest.

The voice in his mind sounds suspiciously like Mac, and he hears Carolyn’s soft, aggravated huff not long after as she adds, Get normal amounts of sleep. Take a shower. Eat real food.

Spend time with your kid, imaginary Mac adds.

Great. He’s back to being that only child who used to have conversations with invisible friends, except now, as an adult, it’s advice about self-care from real people who aren’t even here.

The thing is, they’re not wrong. He knows he has a tendency to focus intently on the one most important thing at hand and tune out everything else. Since fall semester—for the first time in nine years—that wasn’t Conor, and he still feels guilty about that. He feels the kind of guilty that means there are two brand new games for Conor’s handheld system in a bag on the back seat, along with a cooler holding freshly butchered grass-fed bison steaks as a thank you for his father for helping him out.

Pawel exhales.

Maybe he’s having a little trouble letting go of the chaos. In a way, it felt good to be busy. To fix things.

They saved the world.

Nobody knows it, but it happened. And Pawel knows, so he should be satisfied with a job well-done.

The question is: what can he do now?

Rest.

For all that they’re imaginary, the voices of his students are right, and he knows this. It’s just hard to let it all go, to accept that the chaos has ended and he can do that. But he’s clean-shaven, and his hair is neatly trimmed, even if he didn’t go back to his buzz cut. He looks older in the mirror than he remembers being when the school year began. He might even look his age, which would go a long way to gaining respect from incoming freshmen in the fall.

He just needs something to do with himself while on vacation over the summer.

Maybe his old dojang would let him step into a taekwondo class or two while he’s visiting Dad. It’d be nice to be the student rather than the instructor for once.

You couldn’t let go of control that much.

“Shut up.” He says it as if imaginary Mac would even listen.

One song ends, and for a second, the silence in the car echoes before the next song begins.

This isn’t working.

He reaches out to touch the button on his radio dash for the phone, then presses Mac’s number from his contact list.

“Aren’t you with your family?” She starts speaking without bothering to greet him.

He adjusts the volume so that her voice isn’t quite so loud. “Hello to you, too. I’m almost there now. It’s quiet in the car. No Conor. Not even any grouchy almost adults grumbling about saving the world, or muttering about sparring.”

Mac snorts softly. “I’m only a few years younger than you, Pawel. And out of us all, Rory’s probably got the oldest soul. I take it you’re bored?”

“A little,” he admits. “Pels’s family moved into the house on Friday, then left for Burlington. As far as I know, everything’s gone well up there; they weren’t back before I left the house today. Anita’s got my number in case she needs anything for the house while they’re renting it out this summer. Traffic’s been decent, so I’m maybe fifteen minutes from my Dad’s house now, and the silence is killing me. How’s your summer break going?”

There’s a delay before Mac replies, and her voice sounds determinedly cheerful when she does. “It’s a break. I’m thinking about my research, and the fact that my advisor is in Italy until the end of June and told me I can’t work without him there. Which means Mom thought I should come home for a while, and right now things are… awkward… with me and Dad. So. There’s that.”

When Mac says it, Dad means Senator Delwin Palmer. Pawel knows what that meant to Mac as a part of a secret government training program for Talented children, before she came to PHU. He knows that everything they learned about the government involvement in the creation of the soul-destroying Shadows has only made her relationship with her stepfather more difficult.

He makes a small noise. “Are you going back to PHU soon?”

“Mid June, so I’ll be here about three weeks. I’m going to take my brother to the festival when Rory and Thorne are in DC in a couple of weeks, and I’m spending most of my time in the museums and libraries in DC until then.” She exhales. “I’ve thought about going to see my father, but I think that’ll be the weekend that I drive back up to PHU. I’ll just stop in to visit him in the city while he’s got some time off work.” Mac hesitates, her words more forceful when she asks, “How long are you planning on staying with your dad?”

Fine, Pawel will accept the change of topic, changing conversational directions at the same time as he takes the exit into town that will lead to his childhood home.

Sort of. It’s not the same house he grew up in, but it’s close to the same neighborhood.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m on leave for the summer. It’s not a sabbatical—they don’t do that for less than a year, and right now they won’t let me go for a whole year until the department has more experienced faculty. But it’s a paid leave and I’m supposedly researching my next book. The thing is, Dad doesn’t have a lot of space since he moved into the retirement community. I’m going to be crashing on his couch. Conor’s got the bed in the guest room.”

“Sounds great for your back.” Mac laughs. “You’ll probably still sleep better than you did for most of the spring.”

“Probably,” Pawel agrees. “I think—” He stops abruptly, because that makes it sound like he has a plan in place. “I’m going to play it by ear. Conor’s made friends there, although he’s clearly missing Alan and home, too. Everyone keeps telling me that I need to just stop trying to fix things and take a break. Including a voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like you.”

“Good to know my voice has infected your brain, like the way I hear yours saying ‘commit to the kick’ whenever I’m sparring and going for that head kick against a much taller opponent,” Mac says dryly.

“They’re all taller than you.” Pawel takes a series of turns, remembering to turn left instead of right at the critical intersection. He slows down; there’s no one else on the road behind him to annoy, and he’s not quite ready to arrive yet.

Mac sputters. “Rude.”

“True.”

“Fine. True,” she agrees. “Taekwondo is a sport for tall people. I’m just a good jumper, and before you say it, no, I’m not teleporting to get there. Most of the time.”

He rolls down the road towards a four-way stop. There’s a sign across the way proclaiming the entrance to Hart Acres. If he turned left, he could make his way to the police station where his dad works, and right would loop him back behind his old neighborhood.

Straight takes him into his dad’s new life in a retirement village where half the people who live there aren’t actually retired. His dad’s been living there for a year, and Pawel’s not sure when he’ll finally step down as Police Chief. He likes his work far too much to give it up.

Dad says it’s easier to keep working when he doesn’t have to worry about the little things like mowing the lawn. Hart Acres takes care of that for him.

Pawel’s pretty sure Dad’s going to work until he has both feet in the grave, and then he might just keep going.

“Hey.” Mac’s voice is low. “Did I lose you?”

Right. He was having a conversation.

“I’m just about there,” Pawel admits. “There’s an old lady walking her fluffy dog down the street. I guess I should hang up. Focus on finding the place and not hitting the two people that are in the middle of the road having a conversation.”

No exaggeration. Now that he’s pulled into Hart Acres and is following the first traffic circle he encounters around to the second exit, there are small knots of people gathered everywhere. Including two smack dab in the middle of one of the side streets.

They see him looking and lift their hands in cheerful synchronized waves.

“I am really not ready to see my dad as the kind of guy who needs to be surrounded by old people looking for a social life,” Pawel mutters. He makes a disgruntled noise when Mac snickers.

He’s in front of the house before he can say anything else.

“Go,” Mac says. “Hug Conor for me, and tell him to work hard. He’s still in school, right?”

“Another three weeks, yeah,” Pawel says. “I might take him out for a day on Friday to head up to Buffalo for Rory and Thorne’s tour, though. It’s a holiday weekend, so maybe the school has the day off—they do weird things with snow days sometimes. Although the weather was strange this winter and they might not have the extra days.”

“Nikki would apologize if you need her to,” Mac says. She’s quiet for a moment. “Hey. You really should take the time to rest. Let your dad be the parent for a little while. Enjoy being home, and with your family. You don’t have anything you need to save right now. The world isn’t ending. Just have fun for the summer.”

“Only if you promise me that you’ll rest, too,” he responds. He wants to say that he understands that it’s not that easy. He understands that talking to Delwin Palmer is going to be complicated, and that putting herself back in that environment only brings the PTSD out in full force. “You can always call me if you need someone to talk to.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m back in the area,” she says. “Maybe we can get together and spar. I’m taking a break from organized classes while I’m home.”

Her old dojang isn’t full of happy memories like Pawel’s is.

“Sure, we can do that.” He catches movement out of the corner of his eye; the door to his father’s unit nudges open. “Conor’s coming out. I need to go.”

“Bye, Pawel. Rest.”

“I will,” he promises.

The music blares for a moment after she hangs up; he turns the key and silences it. He manages to get out of the car as Conor races around it and slams into him, hugging him hard. Pawel wraps his arms around him, and exhales as he feels the familiar crackle of Conor’s magic around him.

“I missed you,” Pawel murmurs. His hand is between Conor’s shoulder-blades, and it feels higher than it used to rest in this same position. “Did you grow in the last two months?”

“An inch since he arrived.” Dad stands on the lawn next to a girl about Conor’s age that Pawel doesn’t recognize. Her mouth is pinched and her brows furrowed. She has her arms crossed tight across her chest as she leans forward, a myriad of braids falling forward across her shoulders and down her back. Dad puts a hand on her shoulder, and she straightens up, shoulders relaxing. “I started a growth door for him here. We’ll need to get a mark on it for you so he can see what he’s aiming for.”

There was a piece of trim in Pawel’s childhood house that had marks for every few months of his age, from toddlerhood to adulthood. He wonders if the new owners painted over the careful notes made in his mother’s hand, and the messier ones his father wrote after she passed away.

“I had Dziadziu put Emma on the door, too.” Conor slips from Pawel’s hold and grabs his hand, dragging him towards Dad and the girl who still watches warily. “This is Emma. She’s in my class, and she’s a Weather Witch, and she’s my friend. We’re both new here. She’s talked to Alan with me.”

“I know they’re married,” Emma says with a heavy sigh and an eyeroll. “Conor’s not my boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend.”

“You say that like people have been trying to tell you that you can’t be friends because you’re a boy and a girl.” Pawel stops in front of her and holds out his hand solemnly. “Hello, Emma. I’m Pawel. And don’t worry, I understand that most people are full of shit. Right now my best friend is a girl and I can assure you I have no romantic intentions towards her whatsoever. And if I did, she might kick me in the balls.”

Dad makes a strangled sound.

Emma tilts her head, brow still furrowed. “I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t say that people are full of shit.” She takes his hand and looks at their joined hands in some confusion, then drops it again. “But you’re right. They are. Come on, Conor.”

“I think you’d like Mac,” Conor says as he walks by Emma’s side and they disappear into the house. “She’s small but fierce. She used to be a gymnast and now she kicks ass.”

Pawel should say something, but he did just tell them that people are full of shit, so maybe he can cut him some slack for language this time.

“I did say that someday you’d be lucky enough to have a kid just like you,” Dad observes. “That said, Conor’s been a good kid while he’s been here. Getting good grades, getting his work done. He and Emma bonded straight off—her parents disappeared not long before you did, so they had something in common. Except, of course, you’re back and they’re not. She’s living with a foster family here.”

There are a dozen potential things wrong with everything Dad’s just said. Pawel rolls the thoughts around in his mind as he heads back to his car, opening the doors so that he and Dad can both take several things into the house. “Do they know she’s Talented?” he asks.

“You know where the guest room is.” Dad points through the living room and kitchenette to the small hall beyond. “Right at the end there. Just take Conor’s stuff down. We’ll put your things to the side in the living room for now.”

Conor pops his head out of his room just as Pawel arrives. “What do you mean for now? Aren’t we staying all summer? I thought we’d stay here all summer, Dad. Dziadziu said we could.”

There are times when Pawel wonders what their family looks like from the outside: three generations having three separate conversations in tangled instances, answering questions in random order. He can see where Emma sits on the bed, Conor’s tablet in her hands. She doesn’t seem concerned.

“I’m sleeping on the couch, Conor. We’ll stay in town, but we might need to get a hotel room. I’m going to need a bed eventually,” Pawel points out.

“I’ll move in with Emma. Her dads wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think they’d even notice,” Emma says dryly. “I like Conor better than Matt.”

“She has four foster siblings,” Conor stage whispers.

Emma looks up, gaze pinning him. “They aren’t my siblings. I’m an only child. We’re all just fosters in the same house, except Nevaeh and Jennie. I think they’re almost as good as adopted. Jennie doesn’t even remember her parents.”

For once, Pawel is the one getting whiplash from the swift turns in conversation.

“Is everyone Talented?” It’s the same question, asked a different way, and this time he throws it out there for anyone to answer. He drops the bag of Conor’s summer clothes on the bed, next to where Emma sits.

“Her dads are both Talented!” Conor bounces up onto the bed, almost knocking the suitcase off. “One’s Clan and one’s—”

“They aren’t my dads,” Emma snaps. She drops Conor’s tablet on the bed and stands up, her body shivering so hard that her braids shake. “My mom and dad are coming back. They aren’t my dads at all. I’m just staying there until—”

“My dad can find them.”

Emma’s mouth is slightly open, her voice a small squeak. “What?”

“My dad is really good at everything about Talented people. He’s an expert.” Conor nods quickly. “He’s so much an expert that he teaches people not to be stupid—uninformed,” he corrects himself, “about what it means to be Talented. He knows everything.”

“Not everything,” Pawel tries to stay, but Conor steamrolls over him.

“He just saved the world, and he’s friends with Clan and with Mages, and we know this entire commune of Mages up in Burlington and if anyone can find your parents, he can,” Conor says firmly. “You’ll do it, Dad, right?”

“I think I’d need a little more information before I can promise that,” Pawel says slowly.

“Your father is supposed to be resting.” Dad stands behind him, and Pawel doesn’t need to turn to know the look Dad gives Conor. He was on the receiving end of that look himself many times as a child. Dad continues, “The last time your father got involved in something, he disappeared and you came here.”

Conor’s mouth snaps shut, lips pressed and his cheeks flushed. “He came back,” he mutters. “He always comes back.”

Emma pats the bed and when Conor sits, she puts her arms around him and holds on. “Maybe mine will come back, just like yours did. Then your dad won’t have to go find them.” Her whisper is too loud to be entirely secret. “I don’t want your dad to disappear again.”

“Me neither,” Conor admits.

“Emma.”

“Dziadziu!” Conor interrupts him. “Did you ask Emma’s dads—”

“They’re not my dads.”

“—if she can stay over tonight?” The sadness is gone from Conor’s expression as he bounces on the bed. “She’s got stuff in a drawer from the last time she stayed. She can get on the bus with me in the morning, and we can play games with Alan online later.” His gaze skates to Pawel. “If you say it’s okay, of course.”

It’s only been a couple of months, and Conor has somehow built himself a routine here. Pawel isn’t entirely sure how he fits into it.

It’s strange thinking about Conor growing up and growing apart from Pawel when his son is only nine years old.

“I talked to them,” Dad assures them. “But that means sleep tonight. It’s a school night, and I’ll be checking. No magic after dark. No surprise storms. No more rain indoors.”

“That was once!” Conor protests.

“Lights out by half past eight, and I want you asleep by nine,” Dad says in a tone that brooks no argument. “You’ve got plenty of time before then; we haven’t even had dinner yet. You might even be sick of each other by then.”

“Never!” Conor and Emma chorus.

Pawel has to wait for Dad to move before they can both slip out of the room, leaving the door cracked. “I’m glad he’s made friends here,” Pawel says quietly. “He and Alan are—well, I’d almost call them codependent sometimes. I was worried. But they both seem to be doing well.”

“Conor’s fallen on his feet, that’s for sure. He’s a lot like another child I once knew: just starts talking until he finds his spot to fit in. Might even have a bit of a savior complex.”

Pawel gives his father a dark look. “I do not have a savior complex. If I did, I’d have followed you into law enforcement, rather than going into academia.”

Dad smiles. “You’re still saving people. You just go about it in a different way on a daily basis. But it seems to me like you didn’t even hesitate when you found out your students needed your help. You can’t resist a puzzle.”

“Apple didn’t fall far from the tree, I get it,” Pawel mutters. “Fine, fine. We’re all peas in a pod, and a hundred other trite descriptive phrases. The Szczek men have similar traits.”

“Mm.” Dad leads the way outside, so they can retrieve the last few things from Pawel’s car. “Some of us have learned how to ask for help,” he says quietly. “Conor’s made himself at home in Emma’s foster house. He’s spent more than a few nights there, and yes, before you ask, I trust her foster fathers completely. One of them works with me. But that’s something you might want to think about this summer, Pawel.”

Pawel shoulders the backpack with his computer in it, and closes the door to his car. “What’s that, Dad?”

“You don’t have to do everything on your own,” Dad reminds him. “For the summer, you’ve got me. Think about what to do when you get home. The fate of the world doesn’t need to rest on your shoulders alone.”

It seems like everyone’s got something to say about his bad habits. The thing is, Pawel’s got help at home. He’s a single father; he knows he needs assistance sometimes. He’s got Alan’s family next door. Emily’s always willing to help out with Conor. But he’s also got… a lot of responsibility. He’s a professor, and a dean, and he leads Coven and the taekwondo team.

Who the hell else is he going to rely on? Pawel does the things no one else is available to do.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” he says, because he knows it’s what Dad needs to hear. “I’m not going to overwork myself again. I’ll make sure I’ve got help.”

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 4 years

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two years too late, chapter f i v e (wc: ~10k)

The basement was covered in champagne--which Jessie wasn’t pleased about when you followed her down the stairs with Harry in tow.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Adam!” Jessie surveyed the room, just as drunk as the rest of them, but clearly more annoyed. It was dripping down the walls, seeping into the carpet and the cushions of the sofa--you felt bad for whoever planned on crashing there.

“It was him!” Adam pointed at Jake, who had a foamy lather on his face and a smirk on his lips.

“Was not!”

“It was Jake,” Bryn said, her finger pointing to him quickly--Harry giggled behind you as he took in the scene.

You didn’t quite have all the patience in the world for the shenanigans right now, seeing as you’d just heard some of the most earth shattering news ever spoken. You hadn’t imagined it, right? That was your first thought.

A dream, for sure. One you’d wake up from and wonder what on earth had gotten into you, thinking something like that was realistic. You’d head to work and keep it all a secret, grabbing coffee in the afternoon with Whitney or Carly.

But as you blinked, suddenly feeling more drunk than before and more annoyed by Jake and Adam than ever, you realized it was real and you were here and he’d just said those words.

“Alright, well one of you go get a towel for Christ’s sake,” Jessie turned to look at Harry, he bounded up the stairs in a matter of seconds, letting you breathe easier as soon as he was out of the room.

“Uhm, we have a crisis,” you said quietly, your voice almost stuck in your throat as you watched Jessie head for the bottle of champagne that had been dropped on the ground--its contents spilled out in front of it like a wounded soldier.

“M’aware, Y/N, can you fucking help?”

“No, I mean,” you started to speak but Adam cut you off.

“Relax Jessie it’ll dry.” He tried to swat her hands away from it, she gave him a quick shove. He toppled over, gaining a laugh from Jake who still had champagne on his cheeks.

“I didn’t try to shake it so hard but then the cork popped off,” Jake bit out through laughter, but Jessie wasn’t listening. She fluttered around the room, ripping the cushions from their homes and placing them on the floor, as if that was going to do something. Harry reappeared with two towels at the foot of the stairs, Bryn took one from him quickly to work on the cushions, tiny helpless creatures and she was their doctor.

Adam hoisted himself up from the carpet. “This couch is older than we are--I doubt your parents will even care.”

It felt like you were all suddenly 15--rushing to dispose of the evidence before someone came home to find you wasted and passed out on the floor after a good old game of truth or dare. Harry stood beside you, looking down after a few seconds passed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah--just, kind of drunk I guess.”

It wasn’t necessarily false. The rush and the excitement made the alcohol content in your blood nearly double, it felt. You looked back up at him, but he pulled his gaze away before your eyes could meet.

Did you pull him aside? Bring it up and confess and discuss and hope to god that this time would be better than the last?

“Okay,” Adam picked up the bottle on the ground and threw it in the bin, stepping over the spill before he looked at the two of you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you both spoke, your voice higher than Harry’s.

Adam pulled his head back, alarmed by your new ability to speak in unison. “Well, I need food. So are we eating what your parents have, Jess, or are we going out somewhere?”

Bryn let out a groan at that. “I am not trudging through the cold right now--and no where’s open anyway.”

“We can just get take out,” Jessie offered. “I’m not letting you lot ruin my parents house and eat their food.”

You rifled through a drawer in Jessie’s parents’ kitchen while she finished cleaning up, ranking best Chinese food to worst kebab in town with Jake over your shoulder. “Let’s just do Fortune City,” he said, reaching for the red and green pamphlet.

He opened it up and used his finger to trace down the menu, Harry walked into the room and offered a smile. “Oh let’s get that spicy dish we got that time,” he stared over Jake’s shoulder, eyes scanning the page.

Jake scoffed, “right, that one.”

“You know, when we went last--” he cut himself off, eyes flashing to you before Jessie walked into the kitchen, a grimace on her face from the cleaning she’d done.

“Hung out?” You finished his sentence for him, Jessie stopped in her tracks when you continued. “When you all hung out without me? And lied about it?”

Harry’s eyes seemed to drift around the room, silently hoping someone else would step in to save him. “You--you know?”

“She blabbed the other night after a few drinks,” you pointed a thumb to Jessie, wisps of blonde hair matted to her face from sweat. “It’s fine. Whatever.”

You weren’t that mad. You’d had enough time to process their lying and shitty behavior and while you didn’t like it, you understood. Which didn’t mean that you wouldn’t hold it over their heads for the rest of your lives. Harry was too freaked out, though, to realize that you weren’t all that upset.

“We just had dinner, was no big deal, really.”

“I don’t care,” you said, your voice monotonous as you pushed the feelings down. Maybe there’d be a time when you’d tell him it hurt, but it certainly wasn’t right now, in the kitchen at Jessie’s in front of everyone.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew?”

“She said she doesn’t care!” Jessie snapped at him, whacking him on the shoulder as she took the menu from his hands. “Can we just order and not spend more time rehashing that stupid night?”

Everyone’s eyes landed on yours, except Jessie’s. She was too busy perusing the options to realize that she’d spoken her harsh words in front of both of you--something that hadn’t ever happened.

Sure--there’d been plenty of conversations between you and Jessie and Bryn and Adam and Jake. Plenty between all five of you. Just like--you assumed--there had been at least some between the five of them. But you hadn’t quite gotten to the place yet of talking about it with both you and Harry present in the room.

Bryn, with a heart of gold and a knack for sensing when you were about to lose your shit, spoke up quickly. “I’m calling now so tell me what you want or you’re not getting fed.”

“Lo Mein!” Adam shouted quickly, rushing over to stand next to Bryn as the phone rang, thankful for a break in the tension.

Harry, whose eyes were still on you, didn’t even smile when you met his gaze.

You felt Bryn’s foot kick you in the head--the best alarm money could buy. The sounds of breathing filled the room as you opened your eyes, the sun seeped through the curtains someone had tried to pull shut to preserve slumber.

Everyone was scattered about on the floor--legs tangled with arms and blankets strewn about. Empty food containers sat on the coffee table as you extracted yourself from Bryn’s feet.

“Hi,” a whisper from across the room. Of course, Harry peered back. You were surprised he stayed the night, wasn’t he used to sleeping on california kings, not shabby carpet?

“Hi,” you cleared your throat and squinted, the morning light still harsh for tired eyes. Adam stirred on the couch and let out a heavy sigh, fast asleep as you took three steps out of the slumber party circle.

“Don’t even remember drifting off,” he said, his voice still husky and deep from sleep.

You nodded. It had been a blur: the food came, grabbing chopsticks and fighting over forks. Seated in a circle in the living room upstairs, the television muted in the background as various other cities rang in the New Year. Adam threw a noodle at you that lodged itself on your forehead, prompting a slew of photos.

“You want to go--go get some food or something?”

Your eyes fell to the rest of your friends, scattered on the floor as if they’d fallen one by one in a battle. “Should we just leave them?”

A quiet laugh, his eyes scanned the room but then met yours again. “I think they’ll live.”

So you both stood and used the bathroom, pulling on shoes and coats before stepping into the morning air, crisp and clean. Clouds danced from your lips even inside his car that had been parked in the driveway overnight, he rubbed his hands together in front of the vent when the warm air blew.

“Happy New Year,” he said, peering at you sideways as the car moved in reverse down Jessie’s long drive.

“Happy New Year,” you said. “Listen, about what you said last night--”

“No, Smalls, you don’t have to--”

“I just didn’t know--”

“It’s probably best we leave everything from years past in years past, right?”

“Huh?” You turned to look at him now, the side of his face was red from the cold air. Trees passed by the window as you drove, the tiny town coming into view when he pulled up to an intersection.

His words sounded different than the ones you were used to speaking. Forget it, you’d said. Forget the words and the feelings and the nervous laughter that spilled from your lips and the tears from your eyes. Forgetting was different than leaving things completely in the past.

“I just feel like I’ve been bringing it up a lot and you clearly--you don’t want to live in the past. Annie’s?”

“Sure,” you nodded--consenting to the local breakfast joint with an amazing fry up, mouth still parted as if words would crawl out any second. But they didn’t, they stayed in your chest, wrapped around your lungs like ivy on an old house.

So it was his words that stayed--floating in the air between you as you tried to break free from their hold. Left blinker, down London Road, you wondered how many other people were up this early on a holiday.

“So, s’2018. Let’s start fresh.”

You could have said it. You could have told him all the things you’d rehearsed in your head over the years. You could have confessed and admitted it all and hoped for the best. But instead, you hopped out of the car and followed him inside Annie’s--the warmth and the smells swirling around you when the overhead bell chimed to alert others of your entrance.

You ate in relative peace, only interrupted once for a photo and twice by the waitress who remembered Harry from before the band. He drove you home and promised to see you in a day or so--after all, he’d booked you both on the same flight back to New York.

But a lot stood between you and New York. In fact, the city that never sleeps felt a lot more out of reach, like there was more than an ocean between you. Maybe it was Harry’s words, his presence, even. Maybe the fact that he was back made you feel like New York wasn’t just your city. What had once been the hiding place for a broken heart was suddenly shared territory.

But for now, it was just the green door to your house standing between you and warmth. When you keyed in, wiping your feet on the same bristled doormat your family’d had since 2009, you were met by your parents in the living room--they sat in robes in front of the telly, cups of tea in their hands.

“Morning, lovie,” your mum looked up from the telly, her readers slipping down her nose as she smiled up at you. “How was your night?”

“How hungover are you?” Your dad laughed as you shut the door, earning an eye roll from your mother. At least you didn’t have to hide it--gone were the days of sneaking home from Jessie’s before they were up and pretending like all you’d done the night before was play a game of telephone and drank chocolate milk.

“M’not, really. Tired, but, it was good.”

“Who brought you home?” She stood from the couch to walk towards you, a voice spoke from the telly as your dad stared down at the paper on his lap.

You shrugged out of your jacket after she hugged you. “Harry.”

“Hm.”

“Hm what?”

She shook her head, immediately feigning innocence as she made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Mum,” you whined, following behind her as your dad pushed himself off of the couch with a grunt.

“Just seems like he’s being awfully sweet to you, is all. The plane tickets, rides home. Nice that he’s spending so much time with you all--and, with you, obviously.”

Your parents knew all about it. Not that night, necessarily. They knew vaguely that something embarrassing happened. S’fine, lovie, your mum had said. Let’s have some tea and you’ll forget all about it. You wished.

She knew that you’d had feelings for him, the kind that were hard to get rid of when his face was on magazines and when his songs haunted the radio. They both knew that you were mad that he’d left and bitter about the fact that keeping in touch apparently wasn’t on his list of things to do as a famous celebrity.

But they didn’t know the full story--few people did. It was too much to tell your parents and too much to repeat for the fourth time in the quick 24 hours after it had happened, each word pulling more out of you. First you’d told Jessie, Jake, and Adam. The back booth at Annie’s, only three away from where you sat this morning. Coffee cup in hand. Then Bryn in her bedroom that afternoon. Then your sister, Katie.

Your mum filled the kettle and put it on, turning to face you as your dad found a seat at the island. “He told me he always thought we’d be good together.”

Both of their faces went still, hesitation mixed with excitement, peppered with confusion. The stairs creaked around the corner, your sister seemed less than thrilled by the noise that floated up from the kitchen, obviously waking her up.

“Welcome home, loud mouth,” she greeted, earning a flick from your mother as she passed by.

“Katherine,” she chastised with laugh. “Be nice.”

“Wait--so what else did he say?” Your father was still a few steps back, leaning against the door frame from the living room, the newspaper now rolled up beneath his arm. “Did you, you know, talk about anything?”

Katie peeled a banana and pulled up a stool. “What did I miss?”

“Harry likes your sister!” your mum nearly squealed with excitement, her hands clasping together in front of her heart.

“What?” Katie asked, her jaw nearly dropped, banana in hand. “He said that?”

“No,” you corrected, waving a hand at your mother to dismiss her, embarrassed by her excitement and her misinformation. “He said he thought we’d be good together. Big difference.”

There was a difference. His words technically didn’t mean that he currently had feelings or maybe even ever did. Maybe he meant that he thought you two could tolerate each other--the way you had to if you were going to marry someone and spend 50 years with them.

“And you didn’t tell him you’ve been in love with him since you were, like, 12?” Katie stared at you like you had three heads.

“No,” you said. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?” Your dad took a few steps closer.

“Okay I don’t need everyone up my arse about it, okay?”

“Language,” your mother warned.

You let out a dramatic groan. It was barely half past eight and you hadn’t had a minute to yourself. First it was Harry and breakfast and now them. You didn’t have time to even process what he’d said or what it meant and your attempt for clarification in the car only left you more confused. And on top of that, you were 23. You could say arse if you wanted. You also didn’t owe it to any of them to explain where things stood between you and Harry.

“I don’t know what I’m going to say to him or what any of it means but I’ll keep you all updated. Good?”

“Relax, Y/N,” your mother turned to the kettle when it whistled. “He’s been your friend forever--you’ll figure it all out.”

The first thing you did after you climbed the fourteen steps to your childhood bedroom that morning was call Alyssa. You knew she’d have your head if you didn’t keep her up to date, so while you spoke with feigned annoyance and distaste at his words, you were doing your best to keep the butterflies locked inside your ribcage.

Alyssa swore that this was good. He’d never say that if he seriously thought you were annoying or obnoxious or whatever. Her smile was big but her excitement was bigger, she made you promise to tell him she said hi and she counted the days until you’d be home before she let you hang up. Three.

You used the afternoon to recover from the night: Netflix on the couch with your sister, a homemade meal of your mum’s. Dad’s famous Yorkshire pudding and even a game of scrabble before bed.

Katie--a third year at the University of Manchester--saw your parents more than you did. Drives home were easy and regular, seeing as her boyfriend of three years lived two streets over. So being home was a little bittersweet, it was every time. You loved New York and you didn’t even mind the way it smelled (except in the summer on rubbish collection days), but being home in the warmth of your own house with your parents down the hall felt soothing.

Which is why, on your last night, you were hesitant to even reply to Harry’s text.

Harry S (5:19pm): Want to come over for dinner?

It was a strange request--one that certainly hadn’t happened in a long time (if ever). You stared at the message, laid flat out on your bed, wondering if he’d perhaps meant to send it to the group.

Books lined the shelf against the wall--clothes in the hamper from high school. Suddenly, when you read the message again, the butterflies broke free.

Y/N L/N (5:21pm): Is that okay with your mum?

With your mum? You immediately regretted the words--while your stomach might currently feel fifteen, you didn’t need to act like you were.

Harry S (5:21pm): Was her idea, actually!

You let out a sigh, sounds floating up from the kitchen of your mum’s voice on the phone with someone. What were you going to do, say no? Voluntarily pass on spending time with the guy you’d been crushing on for years? You reached for a sweatshirt and tugged it over your head, smoothing back your hair as Katie knocked on the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Out where?” Her head dipped to the side, her eyes getting thinner when you climbed off your bed and reached for a scarf.

Katie was always nosy. She’d always been the little sister who had to know what you were doing, why you were doing it and if she could do it too. This was certainly something she couldn’t do.

“To Harry’s,” you said with a shrug, looking around the room for your coat.

“So, are things like, fine between you now or?”

“They were never not fine,” you lied, hoping she wouldn’t go there.

“Yeah,” she let out a laugh. “And Bryn likes boys.”

“Why is everyone always using that as their comeback?” You stopped moving and looked up, her smirk softened, a sudden niceness washing over her.

“Things are good, though?”

You paused for a second, unsure of how to answer her question.

“Just get out, Harry,” you said, your eyes wet with emotion, the taste of salt on your lips. Your arms wrapped around your own shoulders, hoping to keep yourself from shaking on the bathroom tile.

“Y/N, hold on, just wait, I think--”

“No, Harry, alright? I shouldn’t have said it and now I look even more like an idiot.”

“Smalls, you need to calm down.”

He reached a hand forward to touch you, but you shimmied away from his touch, looking up at him before speaking through another sob. “Don’t you have more famous friends to hang out with?”

“They’re--okay, I guess.”

“So you haven’t talked about it?”

“No,” you said quickly, hitting the lights and stepping past her into the hallway. “And hopefully we won’t.”

“Oh bullshit,” Katie laughed, following you down the stairs. Your dad looked up from a seat on the couch when he heard your footsteps coming.

“M’going to Harry’s, be back whenever,” you called, hoping your parents wouldn’t join in on Katie’s interrogation.

“If you didn’t want to talk about it you wouldn’t be hanging out with him.”

You paused again at the door, hand on the knob before twisting it open, a momentary hesitation. “Then maybe I do.”

The door shut behind you, an echo into the sky as you shoved your hands in your pockets. You’d walk, that was fine. It was maybe a fifteen minute hike to his neighborhood with winding driveways and bigger gardens.

And it wasn’t too cold, warmer than New York and less windy by far. A mild winter was nice, something your parents always talked about when you were little--it’ll be a mild one, this year, for sure.

You didn’t always know what they meant, but when you walked home that night in the misty air, you finally understood.

No frostbite. No snowflakes the size of quarters. Instead, it’s like the world had taken pity on you--deciding to blow gusts of unseasonably warm air as you counted the steps away from the house.

They didn’t know where your were, which was fine. They didn’t need to.

They didn’t need to know you told him everything. From the good to the bad to the broken-hearted, years of secrets spilled into the room, then out of your mouth and your stomach all the same.

He opened the door when you knocked, a smile on his face. Surprise, you realized. You hadn’t said whether or not you were coming.

He let you in and took your coat, cheeks pressed against Gemma and Anne’s all the same, a mirror image of a few mornings back. Dinner around the table, an empty seat for the fourth member of their family no longer there.

You’d heard through Jessie that it happened--a sudden sickness and even quicker unraveling of life. Jake and Adam went to the memorial--it was small and quiet, they said, they didn’t even get a chance to say hi to him.

But there was laughter in the house like there’d always been. If anything, louder and more whole-hearted as you listened to them tell stories, a quiet observer of a personal moment.

You were banished to the living room, though, when Anne wouldn’t let you help clean up, ordering Harry to pour a glass of wine for you before joining you on the couch. You slipped your legs up beneath you, fingers wrapping around the glass stem.

“M’sorry I didn’t text or this summer, y’know, when he passed.”

He let out a sigh and plucked at his lower lip, eyes focusing hard on the clock on the wall. “S’fine, I didn’t really--I wasn’t much fun to talk to.”

“Still, kind of unfair of me to have been mad at you for missing Adam’s gran’s funeral a few years back when I couldn’t even bother to reach out.”

He smirked a bit, his eyes peering at you sideways, sarcasm lacing his words, “you were mad about that?”

You rolled your eyes, his feigned naivety pulling a giggle from your lips. As if you hadn’t given him an earful about it that night.

“S’fine, Smalls. Really, I get it. What were you supposed to say? Hey, sorry your step-dad died. I know we haven’t talked since I told you to fuck off right after--”

“Okay, I get it,” you held a hand up, hoping he wouldn’t go on. He laughed, and instead of giving you trouble, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

Gemma padded into the room, a glass of wine in her hand and Christmas socks on her feet. “Whoa, keep it family friendly, please.”

Harry rolled his eyes, immediately launching into a story about the time he walked in on Gemma and boyfriend--both fifteen at the time--making out on the couch after school. It was then that Anne popped her head in the room, her own glass of wine clinking against yours when she sat on the couch.

Glad to hear about it ten years later, she laughed.

You stayed like that for a while, feet on Harry’s lap and laughter between sips of wine, comfortable with the company and content with the night.

A second glass, refills for everyone before a board game. Giggly and competitive enough to not realize that Gemma swung her phone around the room, capturing three seconds of memories to preserve the belly laughs in a digital time capsule.

But eventually it was time to head home, Gemma’s sleepy eyes opened and shut when you stood from the couch. Anne disappeared up the stairs after a hug goodbye. Don’t be a stranger, she said.

He followed you into the dark, settling on a walk to yours instead of a drive. “Like in New York,” he said, his footsteps echoing on the pavement were louder than yours. “Midnight walks are a lot more quiet here than they are there, though.”

You laughed, looking up to trace shapes in the stars. A tree, a bird, maybe even a heart. Your breath floated up when you spoke. “The Village is still pretty calm.”

He nodded, his eyes following yours up to take in the darkness. “Ever freak you out that this is the same sky that’s over New York? Like, maybe not right now, but you could see these stars from there, too.”

“Never really thought of it that way,” you stepped off of the sidewalk, drifting into the street simply because you could. You couldn’t do that in New York.

“We’re always under the same sky. I think about that when I travel--when I’m missing home, too.”

The topic had been there, hidden beneath the brush on the side of the road or beneath the butterflies in your ribs, fluttering wings serving as a distraction from the inevitable.

New York wasn’t home for him. It was home for you.

“When do you go back on tour?”

“Beginning of March. I’ll mostly be in New York until then, though.”

You didn’t say anything.

“Why?”

“Just wondering.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up in that stupid, shit-eating way it always did. “Gonna miss me?”

“No,” you rolled your eyes, a scoff as if he was so far off it hurt. “I was just wondering.”

He hummed, drawing out the noise as if he was deep in thought. “M’gonna miss you. And the Pad Thai, and the wine, and your living room, but, yeah--I’ll miss you.”

You bit at your lip, hoping to avoid the smile that wanted so badly to burst out of you, yet comfortable with the fact that maybe he knew there was something that swirled in the wind between you both.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

You turned the corner onto your street, thankful for the warm reprieve to come.

“Act like you hate me,” he watched you closely, a playful smile on his lips.

You scrunched your nose, pulling your gaze away from him as you shoved your hands in your pockets. “I don’t hate you.”

He was quiet for a second, his voice less playful and teasing when he spoke. “You know, you say that you wish we could put it in the past, but--”

He shook his head, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. A lump of cement gathered in your stomach, you swallowed down the anxiety.

“But you’re pretty stuck on it.”

Eyes on the pavement in front of you. Two driveways until yours.

“It was the worst night of my life, probably,” you laughed a little, looking up at him with hesitation. Even that felt vulnerable to admit.

“Because of me?” his voice trailed up at the end of his question, the surprise evident on his face.

You laughed, “no, because of me.”

December 29th, 2015 - 9:42pm

You were sat in the kitchen of Kenny Tilley’s house, dull eyes watching as Bryn mixed you a drink and set it down in front of you. The thump of the bass seemed to rattle the vase of flowers on the table--a Christmas brunch leftover.

“S’gin and orange juice.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, reaching forward to let your fingers wrap around the cup.

“Oh come on,” Jessie tried. “He was a twat, boring and not that bright, anyway.”

You looked up at her, a warning in your eyes to shut it. You pulled the cup to your lips, hoping the sour taste would washing away the traces of him. He didn’t even call.

“Any boy who’s 21-years-old and breaks up with you over text is a wanker,” Jessie said, her voice softer as she sat at the table beside you. She placed a hand on your arm and fluttered her eyelashes at you. “I’ll fucking kill Charlie Westman if I ever see his stupid face.”

“S’why you gotta date women, honestly,” Bryn let out a sigh and sat on the other side of you--a pang of guilt ricocheting in your gut when your eyes met hers.

This was supposed to be a fun night. The gang back together, a reunion of sorts with other classmates and friends alike. And this time, Kenny Tilley had offered up his parent’s basement rather than the Red Lion: cheaper, bigger, and no worries about being drunk in public.

“M’fine,” you said, another big swig of the drink as if to really sell it. “It was only a year--nothing too wild. Not meant to be, I guess.”

Your eyes welled with water the more you spoke, you blinked quickly to try to hide it, but it was no use. Bryn thrust a napkin in your direction, her smile apologetic and understanding.

“M’sorry, maybe I should just leave,” you said, looking between to two of them for some sort of reassurance. Going home would be miserable, you thought. An empty bedroom, empty bed, empty heart.

So maybe you should have seen it coming. Maybe Charlie Westman was a bit daft and maybe he didn’t seem all that interested in you aside from the times when you were naked in bed. Maybe he liked the curve of your hips more than he liked the conversation about the ethics in journalism.

“Oh my god,” Jessie turned to you quickly, her voice quiet so as to not be overheard by the rest of the bodies crammed into the kitchen. “Harry just walked in with Jake.”

“What?” Both you and Bryn leaned forward over the table, eyes scanning the rest of the room to catch a glimpse of the top of his head. Long and curly--you knew that, you’d seen it on the internet.

“This is not good timing,” Jessie remarked, pushing your drink a little closer to you, her subtle and endearing way of telling you to buckle up.

Of course, as if the universe wasn’t cruel enough already by making your boyfriend dump you via Happy Christmas text message, your year 10 crush showing up out of the blue was just icing on the miserable cake.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t have your younger sister’s friends begging for his phone number. Don’t have it, you’d say. What good was texting someone who never responded, anyway?

“Doesn’t he have a band to break up with?” You muttered, holding the cup to your lips, another sinking feeling washing over you when he took a step into the room, his eyes landing on yours before his lips stretched into a smile.

“Hi,” he said, Jake and Adam flanked him on either side. You matched the movement of Jessie and Bryn. Standing, offering a hug, forcing out good to see you, how’ve you been?

As if you didn’t know, as if you weren’t keeping tabs on his tours, his albums, his success as the boy from the small town who left you to settle like dust after he tore through. So sure, he wasn’t the first person you wanted to see, maybe not the tenth of fifteenth either. You’d rather reminisce on embarrassing year 8 stories with someone who couldn’t top them with that one time at the Brits.

“Heads up would have been nice,” you said to Adam, your arm around his waist after he offered a hug--he’d heard about the break up.

“From Charlie?”

“No--I mean, yeah, but I meant from you. Kind of a lot in one day, you know?”

Mending a broken heart was something you were used to. When Harry left for the X-Factor you spent a good month texting him like nothing had happened. Funny stories from school, pictures, updates on classes and homework. A part of you believed that if you could just keep things as close to normal as they’d been, you’d avoid any type of shift.

You’re clearly in love with him, Jessie would tease, her eyebrows thin in true 2010 style. Just tell him.

You’d crowd around the living room to watch the show, voting furiously when you could and waiting for text messages or phone calls from him after. But they slowed down. When he lost he didn’t call, when the band got signed he sent a group text. He was home that Christmas and told you all about how he’d lost his virginity to someone much older. You left the room.

There were rare appearances between then and now. He tried his best at first--there’d be concerts he’d invite you to and parties he’d come home for. The holidays were usually a given, at least for the first three years after he left, but 2013 was spent in New York with his new friends, 2014 was supposedly on a boat somewhere in the Caribbean. So now, his hands in pockets in front of you, he smiled.

“Missed you, Smalls,” his head dipped to the side.

You let out a quick laugh, immediately receiving an elbow in the side from Bryn. “Yeah--same.”

A sigh from Jessie--your fake smile wasn’t wide enough. You offered a big, toothy grin, prompting Jake to usher Adam and Harry towards the alcohol supply and, likely, away from you.

But what did you care? Broken hearted, alone, and now reminded of the way things were--a sloppy house party reunion wasn’t meant to be so emotionally taxing.

Which is why you tried to lay low. A second drink, a third. You listened as Bryn told Daniel Prentiss about her internship, chimed in about your hopes to move after school. No idea where, you’d said. Anywhere but here.

A fourth drink, chips and dip. If you were going to make it home in one piece, a snack was necessary.

Harry loitered around, never too far away but never too close, either. He listened when you laughed at Jake’s terrible story about a job interview, even complimented your advice about not being twenty minutes late with a stain on your pants.

You ignored the looming sadness in your bones and especially the girls who seemed to hold on to Harry for a second too long, stealing glances from the corner of your eye, hiding behind the rim of your cup.

A fifth drink, the bathroom. You had to wait for someone else to come out, you leaned against the wall and closed your eyes. You could have fallen asleep right there.

“Hey,” his voice was close, pulling you back to reality as soon as the door opened. Jenna Barnsbury giggled as she passed by with Maddie Winslow in tow.

“Jesus,” you said, a hang over your heart, the state of pseudo-slumber now a far-fetched dream. Someone let out a joyful shriek in the living room. “Didn’t you see my eyes were closed?”

“Sorry--I--” he smirked, “you weren’t sleeping, were you?”

“I was standing up,” you rolled your eyes, a deep breath filling your lungs--drunker than you thought.

A laugh escaped your lips when he offered a shrug in response. His eyes watched you closely for a second, heat on your cheeks when his lips twitched into a smirk.

“Well, gotta go,” you said suddenly, side stepping into the bathroom, your hand on the knob when he mimicked your movements.

“Wait, Smalls,” two steps into the bathroom, his hand closing the door behind him, a clanking on the tile.

“What was that?”

“Dunno--” he looked down to his feet, it was now you realized that he was drunk too, his eyes wide when he bent down, returning to eye level with a tarnished piece of gold in his hand. “Shit.”

“Harry--what the fuck did you do?” You grabbed it from him, pushing him out of the way to inspect the damage. The little shiny piece had come from beneath the knob--the locking mechanism that typically offered privacy now left you stuck in the ground floor bathroom of Kenny Tilley’s parent’s house. With no one but Harry Styles. You shook the knob, hoping it would give. Nothing.

“S’locked,” he said, a hint of guilt laced through his low voice.

“Gathered that,” you said, pushing it up against where it had come from. You stuck a finger in the small hole, bent down to press your eye up against it. You straightened up, turning around to face him in the bright light of the toilet.

“D’you have a phone?”

“No,” you shook your head, leaning your back on the wall in defeat. “I think I gave it to Jessie--so I don’t text Charlie.”

“Charlie?”

“My boyfriend,” a sigh. “I guess, ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh,” he said, unsure of how to respond. “Sorry.” A change of subject. “Someone will come. Eventually someone will have to use the loo or notice we’re gone.”

You looked around the room, slumping down to the floor. White and blue tile, small soaps that smelled like your gran and a hand towel that your mother would have loved. While it might not have been your first choice location, you didn’t mind the reprieve from a thumping bass line. “Can you turn the light out? S’fucking bright.”

You covered your eyes with your hands while you waited. When darkness washed over, you pulled them away, adjusting your gaze to find his face--only lit up from the moon that peered through the window. He was now sat beside you.

“Guess it’s a good time to catch up,” he laughed, sticking a hand out in front of you to twist a ring on his pointer finger.

“I’m fine, Harry.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Your head was spinning, your stomach was flipping, and you couldn’t quite decide if being alone in a bathroom with Harry made you want to strangle him for being such a twat or jump him and stick your tongue down his throat. You sat on your hands.

“School’s good?”

“Yep.”

“Your parents?”

“Mhm.”

“And Katie, too?”

“All good.”

A moment of hope passed--a voice outside the door that would maybe notice two people stuck inside. Deflated chests when nothing happened.

“So Charlie--was he from uni?”

“Yeah,” you spoke in a breathy sigh, wondering where he was and what he was doing right now. If anything, Charlie had been a great distraction from the boy seated beside you.

Sure, there were short little romances after he left for the band--dates to the movies or making out in someone’s bedroom--but nothing that seemed to work well enough to make you forget the way Harry didn’t seem to miss you.

“Think it’s over for good?”

“Why are you so interested in my life suddenly?”

The words erupted out, cracked the seal of your lips before landing on the floor in front of you--a pattern of crossed lines and smooth, white, tile.

“Sorry,” he said, a shrug of his shoulders. “Just, making small talk.”

“Well you’re a little late.”

“What?”

You turned to face him suddenly, the quick movement making your stomach and head unhappy. “We haven’t spoken in a year, m’pretty sure. You barely even text on our birthdays--you didn’t come to Adam’s gran’s funeral--and yet you show up here and expect everyone to be so thrilled to see you? Did you ever realize that maybe we’re not? Maybe our lives have moved on without you and you don’t just get to be a part of them whenever you please?”

His eyes were wide, his pink lips slightly parted, more heat on his cheeks now, you were unsure if it was the alcohol he’d drank or the words you’d spoken. It felt good, though. Like opening the window on a muggy evening, letting fresh air break the tension and sweep through the staleness. You’d been feeling that way from the start.

“Well, s’not like I’ve been sitting around in my living room, y’know. I’ve been working my arse off for years and now s’just over and I have to answer to you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Smalls,” he let out a breath and looked around the room. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Do what?” You asked, turning towards him again. “Face the shit you left behind?” Water in your eyes when those words came up your throat. “Face the fact that some of us have missed you and waited for you to call or text or even just say hi when you were home?”

The emotion in your voice startled him, he seemed to move away from you on the tile.

“I’ve got a lot going on right now.”

That was all he said. Silence for a moment. You reached up to pull at the door. Nothing.

“Of course,” you said, more anger than before. “Of course I get fucking stuck in the toilet with you on tonight of all nights. First Charlie, now you. Men who’ve ruined my life!”

You didn’t even catch it, not until his ear fell to his shoulder and his eyes got all nervous.

A soft voice--curious, not angry. “Wh--I ruined your life?”

“No,” you said, heat in your chest from letting more words slip. “Forget it.”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?”

Maybe it was the tears or the tile floor or the gin in your head. Maybe it was the fact that there was no reason not to. No Charlie. No one else around. What did you have to lose?

“You left,” you said, a solemn nod. “You left and I didn’t like it because I was--” a drunken sigh. “I had feelings for you.”

His eyes were on yours. His stupid long hair was up in a bun now, a different look when he sauntered through the door. “Why--why didn’t you tell me?”

“What was I supposed to say, Harry? Come back from your one shot at fame because I have a crush on you?” You let out a laugh at the thought, his shoulders sunk and someone yelled outside the door. Laughter from living room.

“I--I didn’t know,” he said.

“Well, whatever.” You stood from the floor and moved over to the window. “S’fucking hot in here and that was a long time ago. S’fine.”

He stood and watched you, his eyes on your face after you turned around from pushing the window up, immediately breaking the stuffiness of the small room.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“M’not.”

“Okay,” you rolled your eyes, drunk, angry, ready for bed. You sat on the toilet, chin in your hands, completely comfortable with your alcohol fueled monologue. Harry didn’t speak.

Two minutes of silence in the dark room. Heat blew from the radiator and you paced on the tile, the room feeling smaller and your words feeling bigger. Had you said too much? Did it matter if he knew? It was so long ago--years, really. Who cared if there was still a swarm of butterflies in your gut when he walked in the room, especially seeing as it was countered by a wave of anger and resentment.

He resigned to his seat on the floor again, back against the door as you continued to walk back and forth. Three steps this way, three steps back.

“Should we bang on the door?”

“Knock yourself out,” you laughed a little, motioning towards the door to invite him to begin.

He banged a fist four times. “Can anyone hear me?”

The talking and laughing was loud, only topped by the music that seemed to get louder the longer you were in there. More silence--Harry reached for a red cup he’d had in his hand in the hallway when you moved to sit down beside him.

“Vodka?” He pushed it towards you, offering you a sip after he took his own. “Kind of gross and not enough juice thanks to Jessie.”

You rolled your eyes, taking it from him and downing the rest. Anger dissolving as the liquid slid down your throat.

He laughed. “Thanks--was, uh, hoping to have at least some.”

“Oh piss off, I declared my teenage love for you. I think you owe me one.”

He laughed at that, tossing the cup into the bin across the small room.

“Is this thing broken?” You leaned forward to inspect the radiator again. “I’m sweltering.”

“Yeah--s’like a Texas summer.”

“Right,” you said, moving your fingers to unbutton your blouse. “You’ve been there.”

“What are you doing?”

“S’hot--too hot.”

“Oh.”

Relief when your skin was exposed--the tile cool on your back as you leaned against the wall once more. “I’m probably the last girl you’d expect to see without a shirt, right?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, his head turned to the side to watch you for a second, but you couldn’t get over the cool tile on your bare skin.

“Dunno,” you slurred out the word, a whine escaping your lips when he cracked a smile. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He laughed, his finger reaching over to poke you in the stomach.

“The cute smile thing.”

“Can’t help it,” he shrugged, a pause before he continued. “You bring it out of me.”

You looked up at him, your lips pulled into a thin line to avoid the smile that so badly wanted to plaster itself on your face. The bathroom was dark, the noises of a muffled party were seeping through the door. Jessie’s laugh, Jake talking loudly over the music.

But you felt safe in here--secluded and cozy and best--or worst--of all, it was just the two of you. You turned to look at him quickly. “Why’d you show up tonight, anyway?”

He brought his gaze to the floor quickly. It wasn’t necessary a question you needed to ask. His band was done. Who knew what he’d do next--though you knew he’d figure it out--maybe a quick stop in Holmes Chapel was enough to get him grounded.

“Was hoping to see everyone--I meant it when I said I missed you.”

“Hm,” you leaned your head back, closing your eyes. That made the nausea worse. “Try it again.”

The door was still locked when he pulled at the knob again--but it didn’t give. He turned around and looked at you--a drunken smirk on his face before you could even speak.

“If I’m locked in a bathroom with anyone, m’glad s’you.”

Maybe he said it because you were shirtless--but the four gin and tonics you had liked to believe otherwise.

“Right.”

“Really--could have been Nina Victor.” He faked a shiver at the thought.

“Well, ditto.”

It was quick, a fleeting thought that moved from your heart to your head to your hands without much warning. You moved towards him on the floor, your lips connected for a moment. But then you felt him pull back.

You felt his hands on your shoulders, a steady force, but gentle, too.

“Smalls, I just--I don’t--”

“I know,” you said, slumping away from him, “it’s not like that.”

“I just don’t think--”

“S’fine, Harry,” you bit out, pushing yourself away from him on the tile. “You don’t have to explain it. I get it--there’s lots of girls for you, and I’m just the one who got left behind when you got too fucking famous for us, right?”

“S’not what I’m saying--you’re not even listening.”

But then you felt it. That watering feeling in your mouth, the one that made you rush to the bathroom or clear the room. “Oh God,” you said, moving to the toilet quickly, lifting the seat just in time for you to dump the contents of your stomach, splashing into the water.

Was it alcohol or emotion? A mixture of both, you were sure. The music floated up from the crack beneath the door, the heat pumped from the radiator, your bra looked black in the darkness of the room, instead of a deep plum.

“You’re okay,” he said, moving forward, a hand on your back.

You flinched at the contact. “Don’t touch me,” you said, tears in your eyes as you reached for something to wipe your mouth.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” you yelled over your shoulder, flushing before slumping back to the floor, pushing yourself away from him as tears poured over. “I’m stupid and drunk and you need to forget everything I’ve said and we can’t ever speak of this, okay? Don’t even talk to me--just go back to London or LA and don’t ever speak to me again.”

“Whoa, Y/N,” he barely finished saying your name before you let out a sob.

“Don’t--okay? I shouldn’t have kissed you and I’m drunk and I’m disgusting,” the words were slurred into one run on mess of syllables.

He watched you, frozen, crouching close by like he wanted to help but knew his touch would shatter you. The door opened quickly to reveal Bryn, a smile on her face faded when she heard the sob escape your lips.

“What happened?”

“I just--we were stuck in here--and she,” he sputtered out the words, endless sentences with no finish lines.

“Y/N, hold on, just wait, I think--”

“No, Harry, alright? I shouldn’t have said it and now I look even more like an idiot.”

“Smalls, you need to calm down.”

He reached a hand forward to touch you, but you shimmied away from his touch, looking up at him before speaking through another sob. “Don’t you have more famous friends to hang out with?”

“Harry, just go, I’ve got it,” Bryn pleaded from behind him. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, the first time he’d taken his eyes off you since the lights came on. One more look to you, a sigh. He pushed himself up off his knees and disappeared back into the party, fading out like he always did.

So you didn’t tell Bryn, you couldn’t. You bolted for the front door and ran into the night, hoping to leave it behind and praying that this time, he wouldn’t ever call again.

He stopped walking beside you at the base of your driveway, pulling your mind back to the present.

“I’m the one who fucked it up,” he said. “I’m the one who pushed you off.”

“What?”

He wiped at his mouth, suddenly more animated and worked up. “I didn’t not want to kiss you,” he smacked a hand on his forehead, the words spilling out of him like they'd been locked up for two years. “You were drunk, I was drunk. I pushed you away because I didn’t want it to happen like that. I didn’t want you to regret it.”

Your mouth was in an ‘o,’ unable to produce sounds or words or anything of the sort, the thought settling into your body that your version of the truth hadn’t been his.

“I didn’t talk to you for so long because I knew I’d fucked up and I knew you were mad and frankly, I was fucking terrified of pissing you off after seeing how angry and upset you were.”

More silence, you blinked three times, he caught his breath after speaking so quickly, wisps of heat coming from his mouth as they danced towards the moon. “You also, y’know, told me to never fucking talk to you again, so,” a shrug of his shoulders, a slight laugh.

There it was, the wall you’d tried so hard to build and maintain, broken. Crumbling down, brick by brick, deconstructed by his words and the pain in his eyes when he waited for you to say something.

“I didn’t--I thought,” you tried to speak, stuttering like the engine of an old car. “I thought you pushed me away because you didn’t like me.”

“Smalls,” he shook his head, his eyes on the ground as if he’d find the words there, crumpled beneath your feet. “That wasn’t it.”

“So then, when I told you I liked you before you left, why didn’t you say something?”

“I tried,” he let out a laugh, a smile crawling onto his face as his eyes got wider. “You were so mad so quick and I was so freaked out and you’d just broken up with that kid and we were plastered, Y/N.”

“I remember,” you rolled your eyes.

You tried to slow your breath, in and out, hands in your pockets. He took a step closer to you. “I know I sucked at being a friend.”

You swallowed. A nod--it was all you could offer.

“I’m sorry it took me two years to tell you that I felt the same way.”

Another nod. Instead of speaking, he leaned in, pressed his lips to yours lightly, but laughed at the touch.

“What?” You pulled back, your eyebrows dipping south.

“Better late than never, right?”

His arm slung over your shoulder, walking you to the front door in first date fashion. He kissed you again, fully amused by the way you couldn’t manage out much of a response other than that you’d see him tomorrow--breakfast with the gang before everyone would head their separate ways.

You were so busy floating into the house and into bed that you must have missed the ding of your phone. The screen lit up when you set it on your bedside table, Carly’s name on the screen.

The cloud that carried you up the stairs disappeared, dropping you down to earth just as quickly as it swept you off of your feet. A screenshot of your blurry face. On the couch, next to Harry. Wine in your hand.

Carly J (11:24pm): Care to explain?

AN: THERE IT IS Y’ALL. More surprises to come, as always. Is it what you thought? Many hints, for those who were searching so diligently: “But that was nothing compared to the level of embarrassment you were used to when it came to Harry and things that came out of your mouth.” Hands pressed to the tile, “Your stomach seemed to get warm and for a second, you feared it would happen again.” A few of your guessed that she would get sick but I wasn’t about to give it away so easily. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!!

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

Text

Another Crazy Plan (Sriracha, Part 24.)

Description: A problematic college student gets the worst summer job of the ‘83 - Jim Hopper, the Chief of police in your hometown will have you as his secretary since his old lady Flo has two months lasting holiday. It was agreed so Hopper could let you far away from all the trouble.

Part summary: Family life can be described as something spectacularly beautiful - when everyone's playing by the same rules. You clearly were not, which ended up in a huge argument.

A/N: We can't have easy peasy lemon squeezy Hopper all the time, can we? Because life isn't always easy peasy lemon squeezy with him.

Warnings: Angst, Eleven being one (1) angry bean.

Word count: 2.8 K

Tagging: @nemodoren, @creedslove

Master list: H E R E

The family life you chose for was treating each of you well. Hopper put on a bit of weight and he started to take care of himself again as well. Eleven was starting to speak like other girls her age did, plus she really enjoyed cooking with you. And you?

Well, you had a loving man by your side and a beautiful baby girl you could call yours at the end of the day. What could be more than that? Eleven knew that you're not her real mom, she wasn't that dumb, but that didn't stop her from calling you so. And soon enough, you would turn at that name, accepting it as yours.

But really, it wouldn't be your relationship with Hopper is something didn't go downhill at the end of the day, would it? The day came when you were spending your time with El at the cabin, being bored out of your mind again, because Eleven was doing her homework and you had literally nothing to do. The bathroom was cleaned so much it shone, the bedroom was all tidied up, the laundry was done, the lunch was ready...

If you were fed up with the cabin after one single weekend, how must've Eleven felt? She was there for seven months. Almost seven months. She must've felt so, so, so frustrated and alone. And that was when the shitty idea was born.

"Hey, the homework can wait, what do you say?" - You asked and sat beside her, making her look at you. Eleven adored when you smoothed her back and gave her a smile like that. You looked really pretty and she felt just good to have a momma like that. - "I want to take you out, to have some fun. We need to buy some groceries, what do you say?"

The finger poking the tip of her nose was tickling her, yet she didn't smile at all. You wanted her to leave the cabin? Why? What for? For how long? She panicked.

"But... Papa and bad men." - She whispered, shaking her head. Hopper specifically instructed her not to leave the cabin at all costs until everything settles down. She was safe there. And you were offering her... - "What if they see? Danger." - She caught your other palm in hers, furrowing at you, shaking her head. - "Not allowed."

"Eleven, I'll protect you. Nobody knows you're here, nobody will see. I swear, baby." - You whispered back, taken away by her unapproving reaction. You imagined this going way differently than Eleven disagreeing. - "Just for one day, you are allowed to go out with me. I'll get you ice cream, how does that sound?"

"Leaving the cabin is stupid. And we're not stupid." - She looked you in the eyes, meaning every word of her speech. Hopper told her this many times. You were leaving the cabin because of school and word. He was leaving for work. And Eleven wasn't allowed to leave, because it would be stupid to show herself out there... Just like that and for no apparent reason.

"Eleven." - You put your hand on her jaw to make her look at you once again. - "Please. You need to get out of the cabin... At least once. I'll take you somewhere where anyone gets a chance to recognize you, I'll hold your hand the whole time and I know just the perfect ice cream waffle to buy you on the way home." - You pleaded. She was your baby girl. You took care of her for months and the last thing you wanted was to see her rot in the cabin. And that was exactly what she was doing. Eleven took a deep breath, putting her pen down.

"Hopper. He will be angry." - She said. It could be heard that she's fighting herself inside her head. She loved the idea of you taking her out to the town. Just to shop. She saw moms just taking their girls to the town daily to the city. And she wanted it as well, so desperately it almost hurt. She just wanted to be normal.

"He won't know if you won't tell him. It can be our little secret." - You kissed her forehead lightly and that was the exact moment she gave in. Just one afternoon, she and her mom walking around the city, having fun. What could go wrong?

"Okay. I promise." - She held her pinky up and looked at your hand. That was a gesture she learned from you and Hopper. You usually bet on the chores or cooking, and this was a way of Hopper promising you the reward afterward. A promise. That was what pinkies entwined meant. And you circled yours around hers, smiling. - "I promise and friends don't lie." - Eleven repeated once again and you nodded, slowly getting up from the chair.

Both of you got ready - you put on just some denim shorts and an old flannel shirt since it was a hot spring day outside. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the birds were singing and flowers blooming. It looked just beautiful.

El took out her favorite dress with small flowers printed all over them. Even if it was a warm and sunny day, you packed her a denim jacket just to be sure that she'd have something to snuggle into in case she would get cold. When you felt like she's ready, you started the car - Talking In Your Sleep suddenly yelling all over the car. You laughed and turned the volume down, watching Eleven with a warm feeling in your eyes. She freaked out and was looking at you as if she never heard a radio play so loud.

“Sorry for that, I forgot that I have it on so loud.” - You smiled and put sunglasses over your eyes, doing your seatbelt. - “That's my and Hopper's playlist. I listen to it every morning while I drive to college, thinking about both you.” - You said with a smile and drove out of the forest, turning the car at Bloomington.

“Your and Hopper's playlist.” - She wondered and looked out of the window, watching the surroundings moving at such a ridiculous speed. It almost seemed that Eleven is running really fast; or that she's not moving at all and the world is spinning fast. She liked riding in a car. - “I know this.” - She pointed at the radio, listening to the Romantics.

“You do? I've never played it at home, how come you know it?” - You looked at her, then again out of the car, giving her a piece of bubblegum.

“Nancy. I heard Nancy.” - She tried to explain, but she knew that her vocabulary is not on the level to explain something so complicated to you. You rose your eyebrows, nodding. She must've heard some Nancy listen to it. - “Nancy... Is that your friend form the lab?” - You asked quietly, letting her know that there's no pressure, that she can take her time before answering your question and that she doesn't have to answer at all if she doesn't feel like it.

But Eleven shook her head almost immediately, chewing on the menthol gum. - “She is pretty. Mike's sister. It would be weird if they would go to Snow Ball together.” - She tried to explain, but the last sentence threw you off the rail. Snow Ball. That was a ball for kids happening on Hawkins Middle every winter and you always loved it. How could Eleven know about it? But you decided to focus on Mike.

“Mike... Is he your friend or something?” - You asked and turned right on the next road as well. Eleven took a while to think of an answer before she nodded at the thoughts she had on her mind.

“He is a friend. He told me that friends don't lie. He lives in Hawkins.” - She described Mike in the best way she could and at that moment, you had a small revelation. Mike and Nancy... Mike and Nancy. Could these two be the...

“Mike and Nancy Wheeler? You have these two on your mind?” - You asked curiously and Eleven nodded immediately. Her gaze wondered about you knowing the Wheelers. - “Oh, Nancy was a freshman when I graduated. She was fine, we never started being friends, tho. Plus Wheelers live in Hawkins since forever, so my parents know their parents.”

The rest of the ride was rather quiet since you both listened to the collection from the Romantics - What I Like About You and A Night Like This were your jams since you and Jim started to listen to the Romantics together, so you mumbled each word of those songs by heart.

You were real with what you've told to Eleven - you took her to a grocery shopping, taking her hand to yours and not letting it slide the whole time. ou bought vegetables, fruit, cereals, you let her choose some sweets; to say it quickly, you have made yourself some stocks for the whole week in the cabin. She was curious about a lot of things, getting stuck for a while sometimes, just looking at it.

Nobody was looking at you two. You were just a girl and an adult woman shopping together. Nothing more, nothing less; just you two walking around in a grocery shop, talking and holding hands all the time. When you were done with groceries, you stopped at a lonely bistro, where Eleven got the waffle with ice cream you promised her earlier that day. And it was her favorite thing ever.

You got her a frozen Eggo filled with chocolate and strawberry ice cream and frozen raspberries. And it was so good.

Unfortunately, as every good day, even this one had to come to an end. And you end was a Blazer standing on the driveway. At that exact moment, you knew that you're grandiosely fucked. Hopper was at home sooner than you - he usually came home at quarter past eight, but that day was obviously an exception. It wasn't even six o'clock and Blazer was already parked there.

“El.” - You turned at her, turning the engine off. - “No matter what happens, you will go to your room, close the door and let me and Hopper talk, alright? We might not go easy on each other, but you need to stay in your bedroom.”

“Won't go easy?” - Eleven repeated after you and you sighed, taking the paper bags with gricer.

“We will be yelling at each other, I might cry, I might say something nasty, leave... but I'll be back. I'll come back no matter what, okay?” - You smiled and cautiously stepped over the tripwire and Eleven mirrored your actions.

You could say that Hopper is pissed straight off the bat. One look and you knew that you fucked up big time. But to his bad luck, you weren't that wallflower who would take his bullshit. You were ready to kick his fucking ass. You took one of the bags from Eleven, who looked guilty, worried and about to cry. You put the bags on the table, kissing your forehead, sending her off to the bedroom.

But you didn't pay Hopper any direct attention after that - he was a fucking diva and you weren't about to give in. And when you ignored him for five minutes straight, he started talking. Slowly, but he started.

“What do you think you're doin', Y/N?” - Jim whispered unbelievably as you put the groceries on their place.

“I was shopping. Are you blind or what?” - You asked back in the same, sarcastic tone of voice. Hopper was trying to keep the temper controlled, but in the next moment, he exploded.

“Do you even realize how much danger you put her both you and her into? If someone from the government would see her if someone had noticed her if...” - He raised his voice, but you turned around and show your index finger directly to his voice as you both stood opposite each other.

“No-one saw us, Hopper. Do I look like an incapable idiot to you? Do you even care why did I take her to Bloomington?” - You hissed. The tone of your voice said everything your words hadn't. A huge argument was starting and you planned telling Hopper everything you thought of him keeping Eleven there. Every last thought you had, he was about to hear it.

“There are rules we agreed on. And no, I don't know that did you think about as you drove away, but you acted like a five-year-old fuckin' brat again.” - He pointed back at you. You could start yelling now, yes, but you just smiled, which threw Hopper off the rails completely.

“Oh, oh, oh.” - You laughed, putting your hands on your hips. - “So I am a fucking brat. Well, thanks for that, because you're letting that girl rot in this fucking cabin. And I very much prefer being a brat over being a fucking tyrant.” - You yelled at him, throwing him off the rails even more. - “I love her, Hopper. I took her as my own, I haven't told my mom, I found a job, I study college and I have a total jackass by my side, and yet, I am still here. So stop telling me what I am and what am I not, or I'm leaving and you can take your fucking proposal back.”

And since that moment, you started to argue a big time. You yelled at each other things about your relationship, Eleven, the fucking cabin, the age difference, the way he cooked - you argued about everything. You threw a plate on the ground while Hopper stuck to pointing his finger at you. But just at that moment, Eleven opened up the door to her room.

She promised you that she won't leave the room, but you were harsh on Hopper - just as Hopper was harsh on you. She ran in front of you, crying like crazy, looking at Hopper.

“LEAVE MOMMA BE.” - She yelled at him. Since that moment, you barely knew what happened - Hopper wanted to tell Eleven something, but she started screaming (and she went fully in) before he just suddenly flipped on his back. After that, Eleven hugged you and cried, even more, blood was dripping out of her nose.

She almost let you know that she has superpowers, but you thought that maybe Jim just lost balance and fell on his ass. This was too damn close for Hopper. And he had to look at the consequences of your actions - that little girl was terrified, she hugged you so tight that you could barely breathe while you looked at Hopper with tears in your eyes, starting to cry as well.

Slowly, Jim sat a bit away from you, watching both you and Eleven crying.

“Were you... Were you serious about leavin' me? And her?” - He asked after a while. You shot a look at him, reaching your palm to catch him, so he slowly moved closer to both of you.

“Are you crazy? I would never.” - You whispered and leaned into his shoulder, cradling Eleven. - “I'm sorry about taking her out. I just wanted to see her happy.” - You whispered and looked at him. You loved that man, even if you didn't take any of his fucking bullshit. Jim was your rock just as you were his. And you hurt him and his trust.

“You're right and I knew that. She can't be locked here all the time, all alone. But... I can't take her anywhere since she's wanted.” - James smoothed Eleven's shoulder carefully, letting his hand rest there a little. And at that moment, you had another idea. And this one wasn't as shitty as the Bloomington one.

“What if we tell my parents? They are living in the suburb, their house and garden are secluded, they have a swimming pool and the house is large. They will be curious about her and us... Yeah... But they might help up. And Eleven will be safe.” - You postponed and Jim furrowed a bit.

But he needed to say - it was a great idea.

#stranger things hopper #jim hopper #hopper imagine #jim hopper imagine #james jim hopper #stranger things #stranger things netflix #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper stranger things #eleven stranger things #eleven #jane ives #jane hopper

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

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Forget Me Not Chapter 2 ~Homeward Bound~

“For the two of us, home isn't a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.”

2015

He cocked his head to listen if anyone was in the corridor. Satisfied nobody was about, he cautiously snuck into Claire's old bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him. After carefully placing a vase of forget-me-not flowers on the desk, Jamie noticed not much had changed in her room since she left Lallybroch. On one wall was a massive poster of the world map, on the wooden beam above, hung an assortment of dreamcatchers, and on her bed was a collection of stuff toys he had given her over the years. After a brief glance at the bookshelves filled with classic literature and travel books, his eyes wandered to her dressing table. Slotted in the frames of the mirror were a collection of photos, and they were mostly of him, William and Jenny. He smiled as he peeked at each snapshot, conjuring memories from their childhood. He wished he had a more recent photo of her, but that was one thing Claire never granted him as she was never keen to have her picture taken. Although she was active on social media, most of her posts were images of places she had visited, wildlife, food and the odd time her feet, to show off her new trekking shoes.

Over the years, he thought of her often even in times when he was in relationships. How could he stop thinking of her when Claire would faithfully send postcards, cards during special occasions and made-up occasions, and also ridiculous souvenirs that served no purpose except to clutter his apartment. But he kept every damn thing she had ever sent him. In return, he would send her favourite hardback books with forget-me-not flowers pressed into the pages and occasionally a bottle of single malt whisky so she wouldn't miss home too much.

Every Christmas and a couple of weeks in summer, Claire would come to visit Lallybroch, but Jamie was never there to see her, for the most part, because those times were his busiest at work in France. And whenever he came home, either she was studying in Switzerland, or she was on some adventure with her backpack in some faraway places. Once, only once they had an opportunity to meet in London airport for their connecting flights when she was bound for Scotland, and he was returning to France. Even that chance meeting went awry when Jamie's flight was delayed departing Edinburgh. But today she was coming home, and it would be the first time they will see each other in six years. This time she was staying for good and so was he.

..........

"God ah hate regional trains! Are we nearly there yet?" Geillis muttered as she slumped on her seat and stretched her legs in front of her. They have been travelling on the train from London for four hours already. "Remind me again why we took the train instead of flying."

Claire closed her book and sighed at her friend. "If we had booked a flight, we would have had to wait for two more days, and I can't wait that long. All the cheap flights were fully booked, and I wasn't prepared to pay a few extra hundred pounds to fly from city to city. I know how you're feeling, Geillis... I can hardly wait to get there myself. I'm even finding it hard to concentrate on reading, thinking of seeing my family again. God, I've missed them." Looking at her watch, she smiled. "Not long to go now... an hour and a half... more or less."

In actual fact, she had been thinking of Frank for the most part of the journey, and the thought of him made her stomach do somersaults. Claire had seen him the summer before when she came to visit Lallybroch, and she couldn't forget the appreciative look he had given her way when they met at the local pub. He seemed surprised as if he was seeing her for the very first time. And if her instinct is anything to go by, Claire believed Frank loved what he saw.

"What's with the secret smile, Claire? Is it Frank?" Geillis cheeks dimpled as her lips curled into a puckish smile.

Claire grinned. "You know me too well. Yes, alright yes I've been thinking about him, but I'm also thrilled to be seeing my family again, especially Jamie...I haven't seen him for years. God, I've missed him." She paused as she summoned memories from the past before continuing. "Just between the two of us, Jamie is my favourite out of the three siblings. I love them all, but Jamie is the best. Maybe because we're closest in age and we get along so well. As for Jenny, she used to fuss over me a lot, and when I got older, it became annoying. Well, Willie is great too, but he was always so grown up. He rarely played with me when I was little, but in my teens, he spent more time with me when ma and da were busy in the hotel. On weekends he used to take Jamie and me to movies and such, while Jenny was more interested in staying at home and pottering about. "

Thinking back to her childhood memories, the Fraser family was the greatest gift her uncle Lamb had ever given her. Although Claire felt like an outsider in her school and was often taunted for being English, the love her foster family had for her outweighed the heartaches. Her happiest memories were within Lallybroch and days spent with the Frasers. Even though she lost her parents at such a young age and then later, her uncle Lamb, in her heart and in her mind, despite what her schoolmates made her feel, she was never an orphan.

"Here, hand me yer IPad. Ah want tae see pictures of your folk again, sae ah ken who is who."

Claire shifted seats next to Geillis, and opening her IPad, she tapped into the gallery icon. After a few swipes on the screen, she found what she was looking for. "This one here is the last photo of all of us together under one roof. This was taken before Jamie went to a culinary college in France. I was sixteen here. Willie here was on holiday from his training as a chef in Italy. And Jenny, she's the only one who stayed at home. She never had any interest in the hotel, restaurant or further studies. Though she did go to University in Edinburgh to study Business Management. Da said she was born to be a housewife because she loved running the household and cooking."

"So you're the youngest? You look sae different in this photo...maybe it's the glasses ye were wearing and your hair was shorter."

"Yes, I'm the youngest. Jamie is now 25, Jenny 28 and Willie is 30. I was the baby then and was spoiled rotten when I first came to Lallybroch. Yea, I got rid of the specs after ma convinced me to wear contact lenses because I kept losing them or breaking them. As for my hair, I realised the curls aren't as wild if I kept my hair longer. I hated my hair back then and wished I had Jenny's straight hair. " Claire swiped past more pictures to a more recent one. "This one is from last year, just the Fraser kids."

"Holy mammy of God, are these Jamie an' Willie? They're sae tall an' Jenny is sae wee. Mmm such good looking lads if ah may say sae."

Claire laughed. "I don't know why Jenny is so small. Everyone else in the family is tall, even ma. Jenny and Willie take more after da with their dark hair and blue eyes. As you can see here, Jamie looks more like ma... he's ginger just like you, but he does have his father's eyes."

"Mmm...Jamie looks scrumptious, and he's more buff than Willie. Is he single? You wouldna mind if ah tried tae angle for a date? Unless of course, ye want him for yersel'"

"Don't be daft! He's my brother...and if he falls for you and ends up marrying you, it's like we're going to be sisters. Now wouldn't that be fab? And yes, he's definitely single. He broke up with his French girlfriend a few months back. He never really liked to discuss his relationships with me, and all I know is that he reckons Frenchie wasn't the right girl for him."

Claire loved Jamie with all her heart, and she had time and again reminded him that he will always be her best friend. He had consistently made her feel special, especially on the night when Frank cancelled their dance date when she was fifteen. He had planned to go with his friends after the dance, but instead, he went with her and Willie, stopping by a gas station to buy a tub of her favourite vanilla ice cream. When they arrived home, they both tucked into their treat sitting on the outside balcony, wrapped in a blanket and looking at the stars. Claire always loved looking at the stars, and she thought it was the most beautiful thing. Then she remembered him saying to her softly as he fed her a spoon of ice cream, "Next time you think of beautiful things, don't forget to count yourself in."

"So does Jamie have a type?" Geillis asked as she enlarged a photo of Jamie on Claire's IPad.

"Funny you ask that. He always told me he prefers brunettes, but his past two girlfriends were blondes. Blokes are funny that way, aren't they? They say one thing and do another, and yet Jamie always told me women are the most complicated creatures. Tsk, men!"

Geillis closed the IPad and handed it back to Claire. "Weel 'tis braw tae be back in Scotland an' I'm sae glad ah will be workin' wi' ye and yer family. How is yer da tae work for?" Geillis asked, straightening up from her seat to rummage for some snacks in her satchel.

"Oh, da is great, you will love him. I spent summer as a kid doing odd jobs at the hotel...helping in the kitchen, in housekeeping and such. I enjoyed it so much that I proceeded to study Hotel Management instead of nursing."

Claire and Geillis met while fulfilling their apprenticeship in a five-star hotel in Munich, Germany. Once their training came to an end, Geillis had planned to apply for a job in New York hoping Claire would follow suit. But Claire declined as she had promised Brian, her foster father, she would come back to work for Fraser Manor Inn once her studies and training were over. As Geillis was intrigued by the Frasers' hotel and wanted to be closer to her friend, instead of going to New York, she applied for the Front Office position with the help and recommendation from Claire, which Brian Fraser accepted.

Jamie and Willie have returned home to Lallybroch a few months back to help with the preparations for the Grand Opening after the hotel went through a major restoration. It was a pact they all made that they would one day return home to work for the family business. Claire had, at first, wanted to travel to Mexico after her apprenticeship had ended. But since the Grand Opening of the hotel is imminent, she decided to come home earlier than planned.

Fraser Manor Inn, having only thirty rooms, is not by any standard grand but more traditional of the Highlands. The pièce de résistance of the hotel was the restaurant, and the food was very sought after for its exceptionally high standard in taste, presentation and creativity, promoting Scottish fresh and local produce. The head chef Murtagh Fraser, god-father to all Fraser children had earned the restaurant a Michelin three stars; hence, his cantankerous manner was put up by Brian and Ellen. Working alongside Murtagh in the kitchen would be the Fraser boys; William as the Sous-Chef and Jamie as Chef de Pâtissier.

"Weel, I'll give it a go for a year, and I hope yer da will give me a fantastic certificate tae add tae my resume. When does the hotel re-open?"

"Hopefully before Christmas. So you'll have plenty of time to familiarise yourself with the locals and local delights. Da says you can stay in Lallybroch until you find your own place. Otherwise, he has a couple of apartments for rent...normally he rents them out to staff. It's supposed to be for one of us in case we tire of living in Lallybroch."

"Oh good, plenty of time to get to know the local boys before we start work. Or let's say, plenty of time to get to know yer brothers, " Geillis said, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

..........

Jamie and Willie were standing on the platform, waiting for the train to come to a halt and for Jamie, it seemed to take eternally before the screeching and clunking on the beaten old track ceased. The air felt nippy, and although it was only mid-afternoon, it was quickly turning dark. It was a perfect homecoming for Claire, Jamie thought, as autumn was her favourite season. He smiled to himself as he thought of Jenny and his mother preparing Claire's favourite meal of Beef Wellington, thick gravy, roast potatoes and vegetables. Willie had offered to cook, suggesting a more elegant dish, but the Fraser women had shooed him away. Earlier in the day, while nobody was in, Jamie snuck in the kitchen and made Claire's favourite dessert of Raspberry Mille Feuille and Sherry Trifle much to Jenny's annoyance. He had to make it as it was the only request Claire had of him when he asked what she wanted when she came home.

The whoosh of the sliding doors of the train carriages brought Jamie back to the present. As his older brother started to move forward, he followed, looking up and down the platform for a ginger-haired lassie and a curly-haired brunette. There were plenty of people disembarking eager to get off, and others, keen to get on board and out of the cold. The brothers strained their necks watching out for the girls, and it was Willie who saw them first.

"Claire! Over here!" Willie shouted as he started to jog forward.

"Oh my God, Willie...I'm finally home! So good to see you!" Claire squealed as she flung herself to his older brother's arms, while the ginger-haired lass stood back and observed the scene with amusement.

Jamie waited patiently, not wanting to disturb their moment as he leaned on a pillar watching the scene before him. He watched her squeal some more and giggle as Claire introduced Willie to her friend Geillis, babbling and swinging her rucksack onto her back as she went along. Ah Dhia, she's more beautiful than ever. Gone was the awkward and shy teenage girl he remembered but instead there stood a bubbly gorgeous young woman full of self-confidence and most importantly, happy to be home.

"Where's Jamie? I thought ma said he was coming with you." Claire asked, looking slightly disappointed.

"Right here, Sassenach," he replied, stepping away from the shadows and opening his arms for an imminent embrace.

She spun around to the direction of his voice, her eyes widening in surprise before her face broke into a most stunning smile he'd ever seen. Gone were her braces and in place were perfectly even teeth. "Jamie!!!" Claire wasted no time and ran up to him.

Jamie lifted her and hugged her tightly as they both laughed and spoke at the same time, of how they missed each other. Jamie didn't let go, and Claire wrapped her legs around his waist to keep her balance, as she rained loud kisses on his cheek. "Fancy a piggyback for ol' times sake?" Jamie suggested, grinning.

Claire nodded her head animatedly, her smile never leaving her face.

Without much effort, Jamie grabbed her hips and shifted her to his back without her feet touching the ground. Once she was safely behind him, her arms around his neck and legs around his middle, Jamie grabbed Claire's duffel back and turned around to his brother. "I'll race ye to the car!" Jamie shouted as he ran off.

Willie laughed at their carry on as he watched Jamie zig-zagged on the platform, Claire's laughter echoing in the air while Geillis face was one of astonishment. "Don't mind them, they've always been like that..." Willie confessed, shaking his head as he chuckled to himself.

"Brother my arse...he's got the hots for her," Geillis muttered to herself, as she watched Jamie and Claire disappeared into the crowd.

"Pardon me...you were saying?" Willie turned to pick up the rest of the bags as he smiled at Geillis.

"Nothing."

"I don't want to race Jamie to the car, but you can tell me how your trip was from London..."

#melodyheart #forgetmenot #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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izzy-b-hands · 4 years

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Winter Haze

Was in a weird funk this evening, so this happened! I have a playlist of what I was listening to during the writing of this; if anyone wants that info as they read lemme know.

Also we get NSFW in this one, just an fyi. Smut can be healing because of...reasons. That’s as much energy as I have to elaborate on that right now tbh.

I took liberties with how train cars were and are because I could barely write today, let alone research at my usual pace. Forgive the inaccuracy, and enjoy the fantasy of a train car and compartment of said car that I sort of designed as I wrote to make it fit what I needed it to do.

If anyone likes this enough to want a part two of them actually in the city I send them to in this one, lemme know on this post or via ask or message or carrier pigeon or whatever mode of communication you prefer, and I’ll try and get it out and done before the holiday break is over. I work most of it, but I’ll have a day or two where I should be able to write some, and I have Ideas for the Boys in The City.

The decision to spend Christmas Eve and Day away from everyone wasn’t lightly made, but it was made quickly, and in the simplest of motions. A quiet conversation about how much money a train ticket for each of them would cost, a phone call to Mary (Sid was out) to ensure she or Sid could check on the animals each day they were gone, and packing in a rush as they reassured the cats and the dog with soft kisses and words that they would return.

Exactly what the journey was supposed to shake, Snafu couldn’t say. There had been the usual ennui of the winter months, the repetition of work and just enough time after at home to try and relax before doing it all over again. The preparation of gifts bought months ago in advance for the holiday (Eugene was ever a planner, buying the first gift last March, a knife set for Sid to use when he went out hunting.)

Those gifts were sat in the front hall closet now, where they would likely remain until they returned. They’d given Sid and Mary permission to divvy them up and take them to the appropriate people if they wished, since most of their friends and family in Mobile met at Eugene’s parent’s house for Christmas, but they’d refused, not wanting them to miss out on seeing them opened.

As rude as he figured it was, Snafu couldn’t bring himself to care about that. He still wanted the people getting the gifts to enjoy them of course, but needing to make an event out of the gift-giving wasn’t necessary this year.

Eugene had bought the tickets at the station, to where Snafu didn’t ask and again found he didn’t care. There was a lot he didn’t care about right then, except for getting on the train, holing up in the sleeper car for two Eugene had insisted they get even with its extra cost, and simply existing there, with Eugene, who seemed to be in a similar sort of mood.

They both had been for weeks though, struggling to do much more than wake, go to work, keep the cats and dog fed and loved and entertained, exchange a quick kiss or hug before settling to sit in the living room after work to try and fail to read a book or whittle or do any of their other usual hobbies, then going to sleep to do it all over again the next day. Any conversations about it previously had floundered, not for a lack of trying and not in any anger or frustration, but in exhaustion.

Hence, the trip. They already had the time off of work, and while there were sure to be complaints from everyone else (excepting the understanding Sid and Mary) for them not being at the usual celebrations, it was otherwise a perfect time to go.

They didn’t speak all the way through the station. They didn’t need to. It was muscle memory, the pace at which Eugene liked to walk through the station (quickly enough to get to the train more than on time, but not so quick as to be pushing anyone else aside, especially any women and children or elderly trying to parse their way through the busy station), the way he’d reach for Snafu’s hand in a big enough crowd to ensure they wouldn’t get separated, how he always wanted Snafu to let him on the train first (so he could reach back out and take Snafu’s suitcase with one hand, the other reaching out to help him up onto the train.)

Finally, inside the sleeper car with the door shut tight and the curtains on the windows of the compartment pulled to block out any light or curious eyes, Eugene sighed.

“Feels safe now, doesn’t it?” Snafu asked.

“That’s exactly it. I haven’t been able to put a word to it till now,” Eugene replied, dropping onto one of the beds, his suitcase haphazardly shoved underneath it.

“I know the feeling. It didn’t hit me until we got in here, but man...I still can’t explain it anymore than that. We got no reason to feel unsafe back at home,” Snafu said as he put his suitcase in the holding rack above the other bed, then moved Eugene’s from the floor onto the rack of his bed.

He nearly dropped it as Eugene’s fingers traced at his stomach through his shirt, cooled by the winter air but welcome all the same.

“The routine of it all, maybe,” he continued as he finished placing the suitcase, then knelt by Eugene’s bed, taking those same fingers to his lips to kiss them gently. “Different sorta danger.”

“Staleness,” Eugene remarked. “Maybe not as bad as never knowing what’s gonna come next, having too much going on, but-”

He shrugged as best he could laying on the bed, his eyes meeting Snafu’s, looking warmer than they had in weeks, months even. “Still bad. You know exactly what’s coming, and that unless you do something, nothing different is likely to show up unless it’s some horrible emergency to fix. Forgetting every day, every week, because they all blend into one slurry.”

“Like the muck on Peleliu,” Snafu murmured. “Just tragic in a different way. Less human loss, more...”

“Destruction. Internally mostly, instead of both internally and externally. And not for any great effort or cause or need, just a result of living the way people say you should. Day in, day out, barely noticing any of it passing by because it never changes,” Eugene finished. “I wish they had beds that could fit two people on these.”

Snafu nodded, then peered at the clasp that the beds tucked into, to hold them up and allow the regular seats to be pulled from where they tucked into the walls of the car. “Can you get up for a second?”

Eugene nodded, and stood, watching him work.

He stole the pillows from the beds before pushing them into the clasps, making sure they were held tight before freeing a blanket from one of the two extra suitcases they’d brought with them (four total suitcases was maybe an excessive number for two people, but if he told the truth, neither of them really gave a shit about that) and spread it on the floor. They had, however, only brought the one blanket with, so he popped free the beds for a second to steal the blankets from those, settling them on top of the one on the floor as best he could.

“It ain’t gonna be the comfiest, or perfect, but-”

Eugene dropped to the floor on his knees beside him, and pulled him close for a kiss, a hand on his back to hold them both upright as the train jerked to life and started it’s journey, the sound of the engine muting their moans as they lay on their makeshift bed, their shoes hitting the door of the compartment.

“I didn’t move the blanket up far enough,” Snafu giggled in between kisses.

“Shit,” Eugene laughed. “You stay put.”

“What? No, let me-”

Before Snafu could move, Eugene was there at the top edge of the blanket, pulling it further away from the door (not that there was much further to pull it, the compartment being only so big), with Snafu still on it.

“There,” Eugene smiled as he lay back on top of Snafu, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Better?”

Snafu nodded, and pulled at Eugene’s jacket sleeve. “Awful lot of layers left on you. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we ain’t outside in the cold anymore. You can take that off.”

Eugene stood, and stripped off the jacket, tossing it to the far corner of the compartment. “Good?”

“Mhm,” Snafu mused. “Tie really isn’t needed either.”

Eugene grinned, and pulled it free, tossing it to Snafu.

He caught it and tossed it behind him without looking. “What about that shirt? Awful warm, that shirt.”

Eugene laughed and shook his head, but started to unbutton it.

“Let me help you. Those fingers must still be froze up,” Snafu said, and moved to crawl forward to Eugene, getting onto his knees so he could reach for the bottom buttons of Eugene’s shirt.

Eugene’s hand was in his hair, playing with it gently as Snafu undid the rest of the buttons, pulling his head to rest against Eugene’s waist once the shirt was undone.

He pressed his face to Eugene’s stomach before carefully biting at the buckle of Eugene’s belt.

“Just real warm in here, isn’t it?” Eugene asked with a giggle. “Don’t really need any of these clothes.”

“No sir,” Snafu replied, moving away from Eugene to start stripping off his own clothes. His eyes stayed on Eugene though, watching him take off everything else, tossing it into the rest of the clothing pile they’d created. He was only half undressed, his belt just undone by the time Eugene was in front of him, completely and perfectly naked.

He motioned Eugene over anyway, too eager to wait any longer to touch and be touched.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t have this back at home, and a good most nights they did, sometimes to their own frustration the next morning if they were up too late. But there was something different about it here, just as good but something else at the same time, being able to be safely behind a locked door, being taken somewhere else, with nothing to worry about except each other.

He could taste that feeling, in every kiss, in the way Eugene’s fingers scrabbled to help pull off the rest of his clothes, in the way Eugene’s hips rocked against his. It was otherworldly and strange and familiar all at the same time, and he didn’t want it to end.

They were somewhat limited by the size of the compartment, but he wasn’t prepared to let that put a damper on anything. He had a small container of Vaseline secreted away in his suitcase that he moved quickly to grab, earning a fussy and yearning whimper from Eugene the second he was gone, returning to slick it onto both of their hard cocks so he could focus on everything else. Letting their hips move together, hands roaming, lips everywhere they could reach in a quick moment, leaving marks on each other’s necks and shoulders, making them gasp just loud enough that he had to ponder if anyone in the next compartment could hear them.

Not that he really cared, as he figured politeness would prevent anyone from asking after them, and he was much more concerned with gently running his thumb over and around the head of Eugene’s cock, feeling Eugene’s teeth just a bit too sharp in the meat of his shoulder as his hips jerked and he could feel Eugene’s cock throb as cum hit his stomach.

He didn’t have a chance to reach for his own before Eugene’s hand was there instead, working him as softly and sweetly as only Eugene knew how to, pulling him close with his other arm around the back of Snafu’s neck, a leg wrapped over Snafu’s hips as they pushed against Eugene’s.

He let himself moan softly in between kisses to Eugene’s shoulder and chest, both hands wrapped at the back of Eugene’s neck, as he came with a shudder onto Eugene’s stomach.

For the next few minutes they stayed there, locked against each other, kissing. It was warm and soft and safe and if Snafu could have bottled and saved any moments of theirs, this was one he’d wanted bottled first.

But finally they had to move, using one of their shirts to clean up (not ideal, but they’d not sprung for the even more expensive sleeper car compartment that had its own bathroom, and even he didn’t want to go walking in between cars in that much of a state) before dressing again to go to the dinner car.

It wasn’t amazing fare, but it was edible, and he hardly paid attention to the food anyway. He only had eyes for Eugene, who could barely eat but for the giggles he got whenever their eyes met. Finally, they gave up on dinner and returned to the sleeper compartment, kicking off their shoes and clothes to put on their pajamas and snuggle underneath the thin blankets from the compartment beds.

“Where are we headed anyway?” Snafu asked as Eugene tucked himself up under his arm, both of them wanting to be as close as possible. The darkness settled over the compartment now, as they’d left the lights off so neither of them would have to get up to turn them off later.

“New York City. Was one of the only spots they still had these sorts of tickets available. No idea what we’re going to do there though,” Eugene replied with a chuckle.

“I don’t care,” Snafu said with a smile. “Whatever it is, it’s gonna be good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause it’s gonna be you and me, and that’s always good,” Snafu kissed the top of his head, and settled in for the night. He didn’t know how long it took to get to New York, but he didn’t care. He had his man and time to spend with him, and that was all that mattered.

#text post #LeeH writes #Sledgefu

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purplesurveys · 5 years

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462

Do you go to church? Yep. Every Sunday since I was maybe 4. This question is everywhere. Have you ever had an ulcer? I haven’t. What was the last book you read? It was a book about decoding the Chinese market and how to establish a successful business in China hahaha. What was the last book you read about, and was it good? ^ That. It’s definitely not a book I would buy, but it’s written in a ‘for dummies’ way such that I can understand it and even slightly enjoy it. My internship supervisor lent it to me for the meantime. What site do you use to discover new music? Spotify, but it’s an app. I don’t really use websites to find music.

What's your current favorite song? Outta My Head by Khalid and John Mayer. Do you make smoothies? Nope. I don’t even drink them. Do you use holiday-themed window clings? I don’t know those so I’m pretty sure we don’t use them. How many pairs of jeggings do you own? Zero. They sound super uncomfortable D: I hate the feeling of leggings and jeans suffocating my legs so the thought of incorporating both just makes me shudder lmao. How often do you wash your windows? Once in a few months. Not really a priority. Do you own slipper socks? I don’t. Are you a sushi lover? Yasssss. I’ll take any kind of it, from grocery sushi to overpriced authentic artisan sushi. Do you have any rare medical conditions? I don’t think I have anything rare, no. Do you have to carry an epi pen? Nope. What is your mother's maiden name? I’m not sharing that on here. The first time you remember being hospitalized, what was it for? I was born...but if that doesn’t count, I was hospitalized when I was a few months old. I had severe diarrhea/dehydration that my family didn’t know was because of lactose intolerance. My family likes telling me how *literally* deflated I was when I got to the hospital because everything they fed me (that had lactose in it) would just pass through my body, so my system hadn’t actually been digesting anything. Obviously I don’t remember that but it was the first time I ever got hospitalized in general. Were you ever in the hospital as a kid? No, it was my sister who was brought to the hospital when she was younger. Do you know what your dreams are? I don’t remember them for the most part but there’ll be one or two once in a while that’ll be too bizarre to forget. Do you know what your purpose in life is? No, I didn’t even ask to be here lmaaaaao. What are the best things to put in a smoothie? Put no fruits and just turn that shit into a milkshake instead. When was the last time you got a new backpack? A few months ago. I was using my old one too much and I wanted ~a change of look~ so I borrowed my mom’s. What color is your bicycle? I don’t have one, I don’t even know how to ride one. Do you have a bike with a basket on the front? The one my parents have doesn’t. Do you like to add different spices to things? I don’t, but I like spices. The more the better. Are you cold or hot more often? Hot. Do you like the song Days of Elijah? I’ve never heard of it. What is your favorite website? Twitter. If you had two kids, a boy and a girl, what would you name them? Olivia and maybe Luis, as a tribute to Gab’s dad.

When was the last time you read the Bible? Senior year of high school. Have you ever read the Bible all the way through? I had to. Do you own a lot of scarves? I own no scarves. Do you ever shop at the dollar store? Would you rather shop online or shop at the mall? Shop at the mall. Do you like Barnes and Noble? Do you like antique stores? Not really. Would you collect antiques if you were rich? I don’t see myself doing that...I’d much rather collect paintings and shoes haha. Do you like castles? They’re whatever. I used to think they were fascinating, thanks to Disney. What's your favorite exotic animal? Quokkas. Do you like Goodwill? I don’t think I know what that is. Do you own a tassel necklace? Nope. What does your favorite necklace look like? It’s silver and the main design is a heart. It was given to me by Gab but I forgot for what occasion. Do you have any jewelry that you wear every day? Nah. I don’t actually remember why I removed that ^ necklace, since I used to wear it everyday. Maybe I’ll put it back on someday. Do you like to wear skirts? Hate it. I wore one for 14 years. Except for denim skirts – I might still give those a chance since they’re cute. What does your favorite bookmark look like? I don’t use bookmarks. Do you use seasonal mugs? Nope. What color is your mailbox? We don’t have one. Mail’s just squeezed in our screen door. What color is your microwave? White. How often do you cook? NEVER. Which I should change soon, I know. Do you like being an adult or being a kid better? Being an adult. It’s harder but then there are so many more things you can enjoy, too. Being able to drive, partying, drinking, no curfew, being independent – I’d rather be doing/having these. Do you take risks and step outside of your comfort zone often? I’ve started doing it recently because I slowly learned that staying in my comfort zone (which I did my whole life) was never going to help me in the long run. Case in point: One of my professors owns her own PR firm that I could’ve very much applied to be an intern for, but I joined a completely different company a whole city away just so I can get uncomfortable but at the same time be challenged and learn. And it seems to be working. It’s really worth it.

Do you want to start a new hobby? Not really. I’m just looking forward to going back the hobbies I had to leave behind for a bit to do acads and internship.

#survey #surveys

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sleemo · 6 years

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John Boyega: ‘It will never be just a job’

The Star Wars actor talks about swapping south London for a galaxy far, far away.

— The Sunday Times Magazine (Dec 16, 2017)

John Boyega auditioned for seven months to land a role in the biggest film franchise of them all. Now he’s the most loved ex-stormtrooper in the galaxy. The Star Wars actor tells Ben Hoyle about growing up in south London, sofa surfing in Los Angeles to save money – and making it as a world-famous star and producer by the age of 25

You knew that John Boyega was different as soon as he dived over the back of his agent’s sofa.

It was October 20, 2015, and the young south Londoner was catching his first glimpse of the full-length trailer for Star Wars: the Force Awakens. The film would be the first in the franchise since Disney paid George Lucas $4 billion for the company, Lucasfilm, that owned Star Wars. The trailer was a masterpiece of blockbuster marketing. Around the world Star Wars devotees swooned at a silver-haired Han Solo hugging a weeping Princess Leia, at Darth Vader’s crumpled mask, at R2-D2, Chewbacca and the Millennium Falcon all being back in action. Everything was meticulously planned and choreographed to provoke the biggest possible global emotional response.

Everything, except for Boyega’s reaction to the trailer. That was what made it so appealing. In the video, which the actor posted to Instagram and which has racked up more than one million views on YouTube, Boyega is tense at first, sitting on a sofa in someone’s living room with his arms folded and his eyes intently on the screen, breathing heavily.

A minute in he shouts, “Come on!” and then starts nodding, increasingly vigorously, as glimpses of scenes unfold. Then he’s saying, “Yep, yep, yep,” repeatedly, until the trailer gets to the point where his character, Finn, takes guard with a lightsaber. At this point, Boyega bursts into a yell of triumph, pumps both fists and rolls over the back of the sofa in delight while the friend sitting next to him roars with joy and disbelief.

The shouting didn’t last long though, a grinning Boyega says on the eve of the release of the next film in the series, Star Wars: the Last Jedi. “I was in my agent’s apartment and his missus was like, ‘Keep the noise down,’” he says, doing a high-pitched, unimpressed voice. “It was a great moment, but after that you just ... watch it again. And again. And again.”

All those YouTube views were you, then? “Yeah, yeah!” He starts laughing. “Exactly!”

I meet the world’s most famous Anglo-Nigerian former stormtrooper in a hotel in Los Angeles. A whole floor of the hotel has been decked out in Star Wars memorabilia ranging from the obvious (action figures, cuddly toys) to Darth Vader pyjamas for dogs. You are left in no doubt that much more is at stake here than simply making a good or bad film: it’s a movie that is almost certain to be the most successful film of the year and quite likely to be one of the biggest of all time.

This year Boyega has been on the cover of Vanity Fair, Variety and GQ and been named one of Time magazine’s Next Generation Leaders. A few nights ago he was on The Tonight Show, showing off his Michael Jackson dance moves for Jimmy Fallon. At 25, Boyega is no longer the newcomer that he was the last time he took a spin around the Star Wars promotional circuit.

He is famous enough to have caused a small scandal among more easily outraged Star Wars fans by grinding with a skimpily dressed performer at the Notting Hill Carnival this summer – and confident enough to have, quite rightly, shrugged it off. He tends to speak his mind, slapping down Samuel L Jackson on Twitter for suggesting that black British actors do not “really feel” the hardship of the African-American experience as “a stupid ass conflict that we don’t have time for”. In May, The Times hailed his “very fine and distressingly good performance” in the title role of Woyzeck at the Old Vic.

As well as acting, he has become a producer on Pacific Rim Uprising, out next year, in which he also stars. And he’s just appeared in The Hollywood Reporter with Tom Hanks and Gary Oldman in a discussion with likely Oscar contenders. (Boyega has been critically lauded for his performance in Detroit, set during the city’s 1967 riot.) In other words, he’s a fully fledged movie star these days.

The door opens and I’m ushered into Boyega’s presence. All I can see is a pair of box-fresh white trainers and some black trousers lurking under a huge dark rectangle. There is silence in the room. For a few moments it’s as if I have stumbled into a new performance art phase of his relentless career advance.

Then, with a briefly weary look, the actor puts down the mounted Star Wars promotional poster that he’d been examining from his white leather chair, offers me his hand and switches on his big interview grin.

Boyega is 5ft 9in, stockily built with a powerful physical presence, a Peckham accent and a boisterous personality that probably fills most rooms that he enters. It doesn’t take him long to warm up.

He looks lean and muscular today beneath his blue and white Valentino jacket. Handily, he has a body that bursts with muscles as soon as he starts working on it, he says. But he is quite happy to let himself go a bit for a role too, as he did with Detroit. He likes being “chubby”.

“I just like delicious carbs,” he says, beaming. “I like diversity in many ways. And one thing I’ve always been aware of is diversity in character and shape. There’s a view of perfection on the screen constantly being fed to us, and you look at the heroes in real life and you’re like, there should be more of a difference there.”

Before long he’s leaning forward, furrowing his brows and gripping an imaginary lightsaber, ready for battle. Laughing at himself, but also serious, he is explaining why that instant in The Force Awakens trailer meant so much to him.

“Watching myself with the lightsaber. When you’re on set it’s not as epic. That specific moment of it lighting up, yeah? You hold it and then the cameras roll, and then they go, ‘Action!’ and then the director shouts, ‘Er ... Ignite!’ and then they pause. They swap out the saber for the lit one and someone runs in [he acts out this part], puts it in your hand, and then you have to just go, ‘Grrrrrrr.’ [Here he snaps back into his fight pose and grimaces.] It’s still illuminated, ’cos Dan Mindel [director of photography on The Force Awakens] uses the sabers to make the face pop. So he remotely controls the levels of the sabers. When you crash them together, they turn white. It’s cool. They can change the colours of your saber. And I always ask him, ‘Do my rainbow one,’ in between takes.”

Boyega starts swiping the air with his imaginary lightsaber, chuckling and adding his own sound effects, as a six-year-old boy might: “Wooowoooohoooohoooo!”

The trailer was also special because Boyega is an unabashed fanboy himself. “I’d grown up wanting to be in major Hollywood films and I was the type of person to always check to see what new trailers were on YouTube and to watch B-rolls [extra, usually soundless footage shot to illustrate a story]. I buy DVDs so I can watch the special features. Marketing [of big films] is something that has always intrigued me. So it was like endless curiosity ... Then to be involved in it, for me, it was like: this is nuts!

“I don’t think it will ever feel like just a job. And that’s also me just kind of trying to draw some lessons from watching Mark, Harrison and Carrie [Hamill, Ford and Fisher].” Making Star Wars films becomes all-consuming, he says. “You go into isolation. You go into Pinewood [studios], and we make the movies. And then when the movies are cooking, there’s a quietness. And when the movies are coming out, there is always going to be that natural thing of, now we get the audience involved – you know, to see what we’ve got.”

What he really loves is making the films. “The collaborating of people is something special. That collaboration, where for six, seven months you’re part of one family, coming in every day, filming different scenes ... That to me is where I feel at home. It’s not interviews, it’s not red-carpet stuff. It’s the real deal where it’s acting, it’s technique, it’s craft. It’s great.”

Shooting can be hilarious, though. “Saying all this serious stuff, looking up and then pushing buttons that don’t exist,” he laughs. “I remember when we were filming the gunner sequence in The Force Awakens, I’m shooting, and JJ Abrams, the director, is like, ‘Uh, John, can you push more buttons? Please? It just makes you look more important.’”

Then there was the day Princes William and Harry visited the set of The Last Jedi and dressed up for cameos as stormtroopers. “It was definitely random to meet them. But, then I thought, ‘Well, we are filming it in the UK. Why wouldn’t we have royal approval?’”

Returning to the Star Wars circuit for a second time “feels different”. He knows what to expect this time round. “It just gets real loud.” He finds himself thinking, “Just release the film, man! We want people to go see it.”

When The Force Awakens came out Boyega went to New York to surprise fans at cinemas across the city and then flew home to London to make further unannounced appearances at screenings in Peckham, Greenwich and Brixton.

“I stayed in the city, in London, just to witness everything going crazy. Now I’m going on holiday – time for some separation. I’m going to Nigeria and the Caribbean.”

Surely you can’t get away from Star Wars – even there? “Oh, in Nigeria and the Caribbean you can ... to a certain extent. ’Cos they put a Nigerian in Star Wars, Nigerians are like, ‘We’re gonna go see it.’ But the role is secondary – it’s more about who you are, your family. And then it’s like, ‘Oh, he is also in that Star Wars film.’”

Boyega was born in Camberwell to first-generation immigrant Nigerian parents, nine years after Return of the Jedi came out. He grew up on a council estate in nearby Peckham. His father, Samson, was a Pentecostal preacher and also a “massive Bruce Willis fan”. His mother, Abigail, worked with disabled children. He has two older sisters: Blessing, a train driver and beauty blogger, and Grace, who works as his assistant. The family had “struggles”, which is why money matters “the most” to him now. “We’ve come a very long way,” he says, proudly.

At 17, the age that Boyega was when he started acting seriously, “my dad was on the streets in Africa, selling food to random drivers and farming part-time. My mum used to sell water and sausages on the street. So finances, financial stability, is something that’s important for my family.”

He recently bought his parents a house. Do they still work? “Oh, I told them to stop all that.” Samson still preaches, “But the ministry has changed, in the sense that now I give him funds to be able to go and change other people’s lives. My mum and dad travel to Nigeria with their charity and they give water, toilet and educational facilities to neighbouring villages.”

Boyega has always bristled at media efforts to paint his life as the rags-to-riches fable of a boy who escaped the supposedly mean streets of Peckham to scale the heights of Hollywood.

“They went to town on that, and that was hilarious,” he says, not laughing. A while ago a newspaper ran a profile of him suggesting that he grew up surrounded by drugs, violence and gang life. He skewered it with a brusque tweet: “Inaccurate. Stereotypical. NOT my story.”

He does not want to clarify how well he knew Damilola Taylor, the ten-year-old Nigerian boy who went to his school and who was stabbed to death on the North Peckham estate in 2000. “That for me is personal,” he says with finality. But Damilola’s father, Richard Taylor, whom Boyega invited to the London premiere of The Force Awakens, has said, “Damilola and John and Grace were so close.” They were walking home with him on the day that he died, according to Taylor. Of all his friends, “They were the last to see him.”

Despite that tragedy, Boyega loved his youth and remembers it as full of culture and opportunity. “I had a fantastic childhood,” he has said. “I was exposed to a world of dance, tap, musical theatre. I performed at the Royal Albert Hall when I was 13.”

He joined Theatre Peckham, a programme for talented children, and studied performing arts at South Thames College. A small role in a prison drama at the Tricycle Theatre in Kilburn led to a lead part in 2011’s Attack the Block, Joe Cornish’s cult British sci-fi comedy. From the moment that a menacing Boyega appeared on screen, mugging a young nurse on her way home from work one night and then, seconds later, fighting for his life with an alien that has burst out of a car glove compartment, it was clear that he had both a magnetic talent and a gift for making the most outlandish material seem convincing.

He dropped out of his BA in film studies at the University of Greenwich after seeing Johnny Depp shooting a Pirates of the Caribbean film on campus. He realised he wanted to do that, and wasn’t getting any closer to it in the classroom.

Finding good acting jobs in Britain hard to come by, he started going to America looking for a break. He was 19. He stayed in West Hollywood for a while but ran out of money and “ended up sleeping on a sofa in Inglewood [a predominantly black neighbourhood], with a family there. They’re still like my family. It gives you perspective on many, many things. And they were a black-conscious family. So there were DVDs we were watching, and obviously lectures, talking about the black community, black finance.” He still visits them “all the time” and appreciates having a reference point to keep him grounded. “But to be honest, because of my background, because of the way I am and how I grew up, it’s what I attract. It’s what my universe attracts. I attract the folk that grew up the way I did. I can relate.”

In 2012 Boyega was in Los Angeles working on a Spike Lee pilot for a TV boxing drama that never got made. He had a meeting with Bryan Burk, the co-founder with JJ Abrams of the production company Bad Robot. Burk thought that Boyega was “fantastic” in Attack the Block and in person found him to be “as friendly as he is talented”. While Boyega was at the office he bumped into Abrams, who was walking out of an editing suite with Tom Cruise. He recalled in an Instagram post last year how he “mentally slowed down their epic two-man walk” and set it to a Jay-Z song in his head. Abrams knew him, too, said he had also loved Attack the Block and promised to get him a part “in something”. The post contains Boyega’s response: “Thanks mate and sure (fully not believing a word this man said).”

But Burk and Abrams did keep him in their thoughts. Casting The Force Awakens, they brought his name up “early on”. In Boyega’s second audition “the magic was right there”, Burk says. But the process took seven months of auditions. Boyega, being Boyega, “felt like I was gonna get the part, because they kept on bringing me back too many times”. At the end of the 7 months, he spent his last £70 on a 45-minute taxi ride to meet Abrams in Mayfair and discover his fate. He was now a bit nervous but still filmed the whole journey so he would be able to remember what life felt like before his world possibly changed for ever.

His casting led to racist abuse. Boyega refused to be cowed. “I’m proud of my heritage, and no man can take that away from me. I wasn’t raised to fear people with a difference of opinion. They are merely victims of a disease in their mind,” he later told The New York Times. “I’m grounded in who I am, and I am a confident black man.”

On set it swiftly became apparent he was also a fan let loose in the Star Wars universe. “When we did the film,” says Burk, “most of us were fans stepping into that world.” But Boyega was much less embarrassed about it. “My fondest memory of him was on Harrison’s last day of shooting. He had an enormous Han Solo action figure, 2ft tall – Harrison in his stormtrooper outfit in the original film. He had Harrison sign it. I think all of us actually were thinking, ‘Why didn’t we bring our Han Solo action figures in for Harrison to sign?’”

Even now Boyega looks wide-eyed remembering “the room would stop” when Ford, Fisher and Hamill were interacting with each other.

Hamill was the one Boyega directed his “nerd questions” to, because, “He will give you detail. It’s cool to hear his experiences.” Boyega, who still plays Star Wars video games, admires Hamill so much that on days when he was not shooting on The Last Jedi he would often go in anyway just to watch Hamill act.

Fisher stunned him early on by inviting him to come and stay with her in Beverly Hills. “I remember saying, ‘Carrie, that’s very generous, but like, we just met each other. I’m not just gonna come and stay in your guest house.” He regrets saying no, because going to stay with the famously hard-living Fisher would have been “pretty darn fun”. She died in December last year when Boyega was on a boat in Nigeria celebrating his parents’ wedding anniversary. The whole family was distraught. “It was a shocker,” he says.

Of all the original principals, though, it is Ford who seems to have made the biggest impression, and not just because Han Solo was Boyega’s favourite character growing up.

“Everyone has a fear of Harrison that I quite like,” he says, laughing. “He’s actually really chill.” On the last promotional tour Ford asked Boyega to show him somewhere local to eat in London. Boyega took him to 805, a Nigerian restaurant next to a Ladbrokes on the Old Kent Road. They sat by the bar and had fruit cocktails, soup made with pounded yam and jollof rice with plantain.

“Loads of people came around him and he was chill ... We were waiting for our car to pull up, and there were Nigerian men outside drinking and going [he puts on a strong Nigerian accent], ‘Oh, Harrison, good to see you.’ At his level of stardom, it’s nice to see that example and know that it’s my choice to keep a level of normality, to be able to be brave enough to go to a restaurant and to have a great time regardless.”

Ford also proved more able than the other two to carve out a major acting career beyond Star Wars, something that Boyega is already doing. “If you wait for the trilogy to be over there’s more convincing to do. Whereas, if you do other roles around Star Wars, the audience gets used to seeing you in different things.”

In Detroit Boyega has one of the larger roles in an ensemble drama – a harrowing portrait of racial tension in Sixties America. Boyega says Detroit proved “the audience believed me in something serious, ’cos I was worried that they’re going to be like, ‘What’s Finn doin’ over here?’ Nobody had that reaction to me. That really brought my blood pressure down.”

The film paints a portrait of black life in Detroit at the time, pushing beyond simple “ghetto” stereotypes in just the same way that Boyega wants people to understand that there is more to Peckham than urban blight. “Sometimes we like to simplify things in the world just to process them more easily, and sometimes we need to be careful with that.”

He still lives in south London, where he shares a flat with a roommate. “One thing I like is to go back to my local off-licence. The owner of the store has the Star Wars posters up, so I see that every single time I go. I’m like, ‘Boss, man.’ He’s like, ‘Oh, you’re back!’” The shop is Khan’s Bargain on Rye Lane. “Go get some stuff there, guys!” Boyega says, leaning over my Dictaphone. “He’s got my favourite childhood sweets. They’re like 39p; you get 3 for £1. If it goes over £1, man, I’m gonna be like, ‘You gotta be taking the piss!’ When I’m back home and I’m hanging out with my friends, we hang out the way we always hang out. And I’m gonna need sweets.”

Is there anything he can’t do any more? Not really. He has always been a “homebody” and had sought out privacy long before he was famous. “When I was 16, I was like, ‘I can’t be getting on public transport no more, man.’ I already wanted to be in my own car, play my music, having my AC on.”

He has bigger ambitions now. Bryan Burk says that he’s “100 per cent” sure that Boyega can become a successful producer and be “a lot more than just a leading man. I see him really putting his imprint on all types of movies.”

But first there are celebrations to plan. Four of them. Boyega is throwing “three massive parties” in Nigeria over Christmas and a friend is helping to organise a costume party for him, his family and friends in Britain. The theme will be “villains only”. Can people come as a stormtrooper then? “Yeah, definitely. Come as whoever you want to come as.”

So does he own a stormtrooper outfit? John Boyega, the first actor ever to portray these armoured warriors with humanity, looks horrified at the very idea.

“I would never carry that home. It just reminds me of getting chipped in the armpit by the plastic.” He pauses for a beat. “But a helmet I am dying to have.”

#q #interview #this is almost 4k words long #but it's a fun one #john boyega #finn #cast #tlj #star wars #the last jedi #the force awakens #harrison ford #carrie fisher #mark hamill #jj abrams #detroit #pacific rim

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weekendwarriorblog · 4 years

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30 Minute Experiment: Family #30ME

Might as well get this done for the day. Don’t worry. Just because the topic of today’s #30ME is family, I’m not gonna use it to do a recap of the entire “Fast and Furious” franchise -- although a series rewatch might be fun before the 9th movie, which has conveniently been moved to next year. I’m also pretty happy that I’ve been able to shy away from movies while writing these. I also don’t promise that you’re gonna learn any scandalous family secrets from what i write about. First of all, my family is the most apt to read this, and honestly, we lead a fairly boring lifestyle... especially my brother, Rob! (Ha ha. I know he’ll read that.)

So what can I write about family in this time where I haven’t seen anyone in my immediately family since last September and not sure when I’ll be able to see them next? My mother is someone I’m particularly worried about because she wasn’t in great shape mentally or emotionally BEFORE being quarantined to her unit in assisted living, and there’s only so many times I can text her to see how she’s doing and talking to her on the phone when neither of us have much more about the current situation.

A few things you should know about me and my immediate family is that it’s relatively small. I have one slightly older brother (Rob) and one slightly younger sister (Kim or Lillian, depending on how long you’ve known her). My father passed away over ten years ago and my mother is now 86 -- Mom and my sister are in Columbus, Ohio, brother is in Bethesda, MD. I then have a fairly LARGE contingent of family in the Rio de Janeiro area of Brazil, and I’m closer to a few of them since we’ve all known each other since we were kids. Some of the Brazilian family I don’t hear about for years but then there’ll be an event that I can figure out how to get to (like a bar mitzvah in 2004) and then I love seeing all of them. Most of the younger ones now have kids of their own and some of those kids are already off at college, which is hard to fathom since I’ve only seen most of my 2nd cousins (who are in my general age range) a few times since we were kids. I made one trip to Brazil with my father in 1999 or 2000 for one of my cousin’s weddings and then again in 2004 for that bar-mitzvah. Those were both for my 2nd cousin Marcos and his son Gabriel, and Marcos is definitely the one I’m closest with of my Brazilian family since he is also a filmmaker and has worked in the industry.

I’m probably a little closer to my brother over my sister but I got to spend a lot of quality time with sis when I was living in Columbus in 2003 and we’re probably more in contact on FB than my brother who goes on/off Facebook.

I’m generally interested with my friend’s relationships with their families maybe because I don’t have any close family like some of them do. I also don’t have a spouse or significant other or kids of my own, so when I refer to “my family” I’m always talking about those mentioned above. (Oh, I also have a lovely cousin named Sylvie who lives in Holland, who I just corresponded with her to see how she and her family was doing.)

I’m sure, like most or many, I have some regrets about not being able to spend more time with my family and not being able to have a family of my own. If you read what I wrote about “Marriage” a few weeks back, you’ll already know that I’ve always wanted kids and my own family, neither which seems like an attainable goal at this point.

I do envy my friends who do have a family they can be quarantined with and spend a lot of family time with at this point in their lives, since I know that once kids get older, go off to college and join the workforce, it’s much harder to stay connected.

I do look at my sister’s family -- she has two sons, my nephews already being 21 and 18 years old, something that’s pretty hard to fathom. They’re all very close obviously but sometimes to the point where I don’t feel like I fit in when I spend time with them in Columbus. I’ve tried harder to stay connected with them and do stuff together when I visit, but I think my brother-in-law Keith would be the first to agree with me that we don’t have a ton in common. (I think my father had that issue at first too since he was never into sports like Keith is.) But we do have movies and entertainment in common, so we have been able to go see movies, sometimes with both of his kids, as well as just getting some quality brother-in-law time when we can. He’s also in entertainment, being a stage actor who regularly appears in local theater productions and he’s been good in the things I’ve seen him in. (He played the Dabney Coleman role in a production of 9 to 5, but I was bummed I missed him as Sweeney Todd and Shrek.)

It’s kind of funny thinking about your family as you get older and the relationships ultimately change. Like I know when I was a teenager and maybe right up until I left home at 22, my father and I had a tough time connecting. He wasn’t one of those nightmare fathers who drank or beat his kids. No, he was pretty mild and somewhat laidback, although I definitely see more of him in myself as I get older. (If you reread my #30ME on friendship, you’ll see that I cite him as my influence for having lots of friends even though my mother used to be very sociable and outgoing when she was younger -- not so much now.)

I better hope my mother never reads this, because I still remember talking about my cancer treatment in 2013 and in one paragraph I mentioned how clingy she can be and that really upset her. Good thing she didn’t see either of my stand-up sets, since they were mostly about her. That reminds me of some jokes that I should bring back if I ever do another live comedy set. (This past week, I saw a really fun indie called “Vanilla” which has one character as a female comic who hasn’t done much stand-up and I’m probably about that green.)

Anyway, my father and I didn’t get along when I was younger but honestly, my relationship with my sister wasn’t that great when we were younger, and I’ll take full responsibility for being an awful older brother. I was probably jealous that she came along and forced me into the unenviable role as a middle child.

Oh, I should share with you a fun story from before I even had a younger sister. When I was probably about 3 or 4 years old and we were living in Sao Paulo, Brazil, there was an adorable little girl next door, probably just a baby or toddler, and her name was “Kim.” I would always tell my parents enthusiastically, “I want a baby Kim! I want a baby Kim!” I’m pretty sure I didn’t know where babies came from at that age.... that would take me another 22 years. (rimshot) Anyway, I so wanted a “baby Kim” that when my sister was born a year or so later, my parents named her “Lillian Kimberly” -- can’t remember if Lillian was a relative or not but to this day, I still call my younger sister “Kim,” even though everyone she’s met since going to school knows her as “Lillian” and refers to her that way. Even her husband I think?

But that’s just a fun way of keeping my sister younger in my mind then she actually is. (You’re welcome, Kim!) :) No, I definitely started appreciating my sister more when I was living in Columbus for much of 2013, as she was a huge help and drove me to clinic visits and stuff when my mother was busy with other things... or just fed up with me, which happened a lot. That last bit was one of the jokes in my first stand-up act, and to be fair, both my sister and mother and even my brother were just great to have around. In fact, I’m in the midst of writing a long-dormant screenplay about my brother coming to retrieve me in Las Vegas when I got sick. It’s coming slowly but surely and it’s making it painfully obvious how much harder fiction is compared to non-fiction/journalism.

My relationship with my older brother is another story as we fought a lot as kids (as kids do) and we’ve grown closer over the years to the point where my brother is still one of my closest confidantes and (mostly) strong advisors, although I don’t always agree with his methods of “tough love.” Believe me, we’ve gotten into more than our share of spats in the past few years, but eventually we got past them.

Yeah, I do love my family and especially the few times where we could all be together which is usually when my brother and his wife, Paula, come to Columbus at the same time I’m there. They have come to New York City quite a bit but not so much recently and not sure I can expect them to come back unless they really want to see a show. I know my brother would come here for me (as he has quite a few times) but not sure about his wife (although we had a GREAT time seeing Hamilton last year!)

I guess the only real point of today’s #30ME is to remind people to cherish and appreciate their family, as much as you don’t think they understand you or see things on your wavelength. Even the families that constantly fight over the holidays ... and mine has mostly moved past that at this point... there’s still some bond that must be kept strong because when it comes down to it, no one is ever gonna love you as much as your family does. Even if they have weird ways of showing it.

Hm... I guess maybe I had more to say about family, and I guess if I drove or had a license, my family is a bit like the one in the Fast and Furious movies, except that my mother doesn’t drive... and that reminds me of another joke that I did in my first stand-up about her crazy driving. But that’s a story for another time as my time for today... it is up!

#30ME #30MInuteExperiment #Family

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sunkissis · 5 years

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Coucou,

Yesterday Antz and I picked up our cartes des titres (annual immigration renewal) for our second year in France. Voila!

It just happened to be the hottest day in France’s history and our celebration was short lived for two reasons, the first was Antz carte de titre is expiring five months earlier than mine because he has an issue with his health insurance. The weird thing is we both submitted identical paperwork (we have the same insurance) so this is French bureaucracy at its finest. We will have to reapply in October to fix this mistake. Then on the way home from the Prefecture, he realized he accidentally left his phone on the desk of the lady who helped us. We hurried back and got his phone, so despite these hiccups, we are still here (at least until January 2020!) which is a revelation.

I wanted to update our expat life in Paris since it’s been quite awhile. Antz has been working freelance (with US clients) and Liv is finally on summer break. I have been busy this summer hosting many friends visiting from the US. If you follow me on Instagram (you follow me, right?) then you can check out my Stories named Summer 2019. This is our first summer in Paris that we haven’t left town. I would love to share some of our daily experiences and observations that are different from our life in Los Angeles. Full disclosure, I don’t want to make this into a Paris vs LA comparison post or sound like I am complaining too much, I just want to give you a real perspective of some of the obstacles expats may confront. This doesn’t mean we don’t love living here and we are grateful everyday. I just want everyone to know, nowhere is perfect, even though photos may perceive it to be.

School summer break – Liv’s school summer break began after the first week of July. This is four weeks later than her school break in LA. It was difficult counting down those four weeks for us mostly because France was experiencing a canicule (insane heatwave) this year and it was so hot that school was cancelled due to the extreme temperatures. The good news is she had swimming class every Thursday which is wonderful. I used to race across town on Fridays for Liv’s 15 minute swimming lessons in Pasadena and most of that time she spent just waiting for her turn to swim. She wasn’t really making progress and I didn’t feel like it was worth the money and stress. So, we love that extracurricular activities are included in the school day here. It also helped her cool down during the heat.

During the last week of school, Liv’s class put on two performances for the parents. The first was a music and choir recital which was adorable beyond words. Then they did a play in French and Olivia portrayed a funny duck. Antz made her costume using stuff around the house, bien sûr. He even painted her old Adidas yellow.

Liv & her teacher

Most French families have second homes in the countryside so most of Olivia’s school friends are away on vacation. It’s been helpful that we’ve had so many visitors from LA so she’s seen many of her old friends. She also spent the first two weeks of summer break in camp! It’s a daily camp at the local recreation center (centre des loisirs). Everyday they ventured out into the city for field trips, swimming and nature hikes. She loved it!

It was a little hard for us to navigate the camp schedule because the website is in French and I couldn’t access my online account due to a glitch, so Liv had to translate for us the best she could. Our friend who works at her school helped us register her. It’s little things like this that sometimes can be frustrating. I need help setting up an online account so I can access the camp website yet there’s really no one to help me. So each day we didn’t find out what her schedule was until she came home and told us. Que sera, sera.

This is a typical day for me.

During the heatwave, Liv and I took the bus outside of Paris to go swimming. We arrived at noon but the attendant told us due to a “technical” issue the pool was temporarily closed. Such a bummer because it was burning hot and it took us over an hour to get there. Instead of going back home, we decided to go Pokemon Go hunting nearby and grabbed some sushi for lunch.

I love the Montreuil Mairie (town hall) and I caught a new 3-D Invader.

By the time we finished lunch, I called the pool and they told me it was open again. So, there is an inconsistent summer schedule in most of Paris. Did you know that a swim cap is required at public pools here? Liv’s cap never stays on because of her thick hair.

Most businesses have signs on their doors saying they are closed for weeks for summer holiday. August is the official month that Paris shuts down but most of my favorite places hopefully will be open. It’s been tricky when my friends visit because they want me to take them to all my favorite places but they have been closed all month.

We are fortunate to live close to Monoprix (French Target) which is open everyday except Sunday evenings (they close at noon). I practically live there, I go almost everyday.

For the past year we have been carrying heavy groceries home so last week I made our first delivery order with Monoprix. I was shocked that the minimum order was €50 and the earliest delivery time is the next day. It was almost a challenge to meet the €50 minimum to place the order. Luckily, I was able to stock up on bottled water, bags of ice and every heavy item I could think of. I used this app to place the order. If you happen to live in France and are thinking of placing an online order, please use my friend code for a discount for the both of us. The groceries arrive in crates which are easy to bring in our elevator.

I don’t know how often I’ll order delivery but it is a helpful service to utilize.

Since many restaurants are closed for summer vacation, we’ve had to resort to getting fast food because they are the only places open all-day. It’s not even close to how often we would eat fast food in Los Angeles but after a fourteen year boycott, I had to break my No-McDonalds policy out of starvation necessity. Here’s the difference, McDonalds in France have grass-fed beef, growth hormones are illegal, there is no such thing as super size and the largest drink size seems smaller than a kids size! The restaurants only have kiosks to order and there are no refills on drinks. You can order fresh croissants and even a McBaguette. There is no fast service in Paris, you wait much longer for your food but they rarely get your order wrong and if you order food to go you will always get napkins, and they package your drinks so they won’t spill. I do find it absurd that they charge for ketchup but offer curry sauce free. Honestly, McDonalds reminds me most of back home. PS the pizza here is dreadful.

I’ve been eating healthier because the food here isn’t full of pesticides and hormones. I do still crave food from America. Antz made this silly photo of me along with my favorite foods.

The pepperoni pizza, hot fried chicken and butter crunch candy are only available in the US and I miss them the most!

Navigating daily life in Paris can be a 50/50 split. The French have a way of making everything beautiful but also miserable. French people believe that air conditioning will make you sick so they have practically outlawed it except for tiny portable units that are noisy and only work if you stand directly in front of them. They are very progressive in their culture but some things they refuse to move forward on. If you order ice in a restaurant they look at you like you asked to murder a baby. Their language is elegant poetry that I could listen to all day, yet a nightmare to learn with a varying degree of rules. Paris is a living piece of art. My favorite part of living here is discovering new street art and gorgeous architecture. It’s so refreshing not to be overwhelmed with advertising billboards, loud airplanes and tacky strip malls. I love finding new street art in our neighborhood. Sadly, someone has been going around the city painting over Invaders, the wall that awesome mural Liv is standing in front of was just demolished and someone tore down this Madame Chat. It’s so annoying that there are haters out there that must destroy to feel better about themselves. I am lucky I have so many photos of this precious art that is always disappearing.

Beauty is truly everywhere here however…don’t spend too long looking up at the stunning buildings because there is dog poop everywhere! It’s terribly smelly this summer due to the hot poop on the sidewalks. It’s weird how there are absolutely no stray animals in Paris yet so much poop. There’s also a urine epidemic that disgusts me. Yucky men piss in broad daylight on the streets with no regard. I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen men standing against a wall or tree peeing in public. Listen, I can tolerate the smoke, I am used to the traffic noise but the pissing in public and nobody bats an eye, I do not like it at all. Women aren’t squatting on the streets openly peeing so why do men get to spray walls like feral animals? The city even puts out these open urinals (I suppose to suppress the peeing on buildings) but I don’t understand why this is even necessary? There are enclosed toilets everywhere so why do I have to walk around in piss puddles because baby boys can hold their pee pee until they get home like us ladies have to. Ugh! Do not fight me on this, it’s gross and needs to stop. Put your weiner away guys!

This adorable kitty on a leash at the post office, I absolutely support.

Désolé, on a sunnier note, Liv and I spend a lot of time at parks near our apartment. I love the small parks full of shady trees and benches. I haven’t seen many swings in parks here. There rarely is grass lawns that you are allowed to walk on. They usually have dirt or sand which bums me out because it’s dirty but there is a park with shock absorbent pavement similar to York Park in Highland Park. Most parks have ping pong tables so we bought our own set to play.

For every complaint I may have, the trade off is we still live in freaking Paris! The most romanticized city in the world. Like any place it has it’s typical up and downs. I can’t tell you have many times I’ve been told one thing and then the next day the exact opposite. We have been battling with our landlord for over a year to fix our slow wifi speed and replace our phone so we can buzz visitors into our building. I spend hours sending emails and making calls to customer service and I rarely get results no matter how wrong they may be. It is practically criminal to admit a mistake no matter how glaring it may be. It’s become funny to us how many contradictions we encounter. The rules always change but no one tells you what the rules are, it’s up to you to figure it out. I’m proud that I’ve rented an apartment, gotten Liv into a great school, made many friends (although several of our expat friends have moved on) without speaking the language or having any family here to help us. Everyday we still pinch ourselves we are here.

I love this flawed yet magnificent place and I feel French in my heart even with my ‘orreeble Fwench ahzent! Merci, for reading my blog and I hope you stick around whilst I catch up on our travel posts from this past year. I am working hard to upload, edit and post over 100,000 photos.

Bisous,

The Hall Conleys

Expat Life in Paris: What’s it really like? Coucou, Yesterday Antz and I picked up our cartes des titres (annual immigration renewal) for our second year in France.

#expats #living abroad #Paris

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