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writingsfromhome · 5 months

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If you Love Something II

A/N: okayy I’m finally going to stop overthinking and just post this one. Please note the tw in part 1. Thank you all SO much for the comments and love on the original…hope this one meets ur expectations. It’s definitely more focused on the lost daughter relationship rather than you and Harry so p dense but...here it is 🫣

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Age 36:

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Harry informs me over the phone. “I went with chicken noodle soup.”

“Mmm,” I close my eyes. “I could use something hot and hearty right now. I’m freezing my ass off.”

“I didn’t need to make dinner for that.”

“So come here, warm me up,” I crane my neck to the left again. “Stupid delays.”

“I can come get you."

I’d mapped it out before calling Harry, it would take him too long to get here. “That’s alright. Doesn’t make a difference.”

The screen on the platform showed 6 minutes…for the past 15 minutes.

“I’ve either been living in the longest minute of my fucking life,” I mutter. “Or this line is taking the piss out of all of us.”

Two dozen of us had gotten off the last train when it announced it was out of service. Now the number on the platform had tripled waiting for the next one.

“Patience,” Harry says. “Is a virtue.”

“Easy for you to say in the warm flat with the chicken noodle soup.”

“It’ll be yours soon.”

Soon. I sigh and try to release the anxious energy with it. “Thank you for taking care of dinner.”

“Of course.” He replies. Like it was that simple. But being with Harry was like that nowadays.

Despite all the catching up we had to do with the 17 years we had lived separate lives, emotionally it’s like we picked up where we last left off.

I’d be lying if I said it was smooth sailing the whole year we’d been together. There had been a hard few first months where both of us felt unnerved by the peacefulness of the relationship. We weren’t used to such an easy quiet.

I’d tried to self-sabotage first by going awol and working longer hours than I needed to. I think I was scared Harry would wake up one day and realize too much time had passed and he didn’t like who I’d become so I minimized our time together. Until Harry called me out for it.

But then he went off the rails, and for a few weeks I’d been an even bigger ball of anxiety. Ultimately I had to give him the hard truth even though the last thing I ever wanted was to convince someone to stay with an ultimatum. But I’d told him, he had to at least attempt sobriety if he wanted us to work.

There were a few sleepless nights, I didn’t know if we were going to make it. But one morning he asked me to go to an aa meeting with him.

Going together, being in the same boat as a group of people gathered in the back room of a dusty church finally gelled us together. For good. He’d been sober since.

We moved in together 7 months ago. Even though it doubled my commute time—tripled with delays, I had never been more sure that I was exactly where I needed to be.

We held space for each other. Even the heavier bits; we knew what they were. What it was like to hold them on our own. We always joked about how our loads had halved despite taking on half of the other’s. Because just like our venn diagram of love, our venn diagram of hurting was the same.

“Oh god, I better not be hallucinating.” I nearly jump up and down when the twin headlights of the next train peek in the distance. The platform board still says 6 minutes.

“You’re cutting up what?”

“Nothing! Train’s here!”

“I’ll pick you up from the station.” Harry says before I hang up.

I spend the remaining 15 minute ride going over the lecture I’d given tonight.

3 years ago when I applied to be a lecturer I didn’t actually think I’d get it. But in the 10 years of my career I had collected, I had done exceptionally well. It was ironic with all the bullshit life threw at me, I had somehow channeled it into a determined work ethic. After failing many math tests in high school I had found a love for it in uni—it made me work hard, get out of my head with its constant thoughts. Harry now took to calling me a masochist for teaching something mathematical.

In reality it wasn’t that mathematical. I taught Management Econ which was a snorefest on paper but I tried to be engaging and include a whole host of ways to teach—I knew not everyone excelled with a textbook.

It had made the course popular, it went from being offered once a semester to 3 times this year because the waitlist spoke for itself. It was one of my proudest accomplishment—getting students motivated and interested. And because it was mostly first and second year students, they were still eager and not jaded by the uni system.

That was how I spent my evenings on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Otherwise I worked for the city the same hours Harry worked his creative exec job at a major firm in the city. Sometimes we met up for lunch. It was the little things like that, making time to see each other in the middle of the day even though we woke up and fell asleep to each other, that made this relationship feel so secure.

It felt like coming home each time I caught sight of his face, and knew his smile was just for me.

My thoughts drift to our daughter. She would have celebrated her 18th birthday a few weeks ago. I always lit a birthday candle for her, this year Harry and I bought a cake and a symbolic drink for her. Our baby was old enough to drink.

“Do you think she takes after her parents?” Harry had asked.

“I think she grew up alright.” I always imagined her to have. “I hope she has no reason to drink herself silly.”

“Being 18 is reason enough.”

We talk about her often. She slips into conversation as easily as inhaling. It keeps her with us.

When I spot Harry’s car at the station I nearly weep.

“Your cheeks are so cold,” Harry says after a peck hello. He holds them both in his heated hands and plants exaggerated kisses on each cheek.

“Please sir,” I kiss his mouth and continue in what Harry called my Oliver Twist accent. “Take me to the chicken noodle soup. I hunger.”

Harry responds in the same accent (although it wasn’t as good as mine) and pretty soon I’m forgetting the 20 minute delay, the lecture with 100 technical difficulties, and anything in between.

After dinner and completing my 20 step night time routine I crawl into bed beside a cozy-looking Harry.

“Whatcha reading?” I peek at his book. I can’t believe he was the reading-before-bed type. In a way it was so different from the 17 year old guy I knew. It was also a reminder that even though we knew each other through and through, there were still so many habits and stories and quirks to discover.

“It’s a boring as hell sci-fi novel, don’t ask.”

“Then why are you reading it?”

“I accidentally joined a book club at work!?”

He tells me the story of how he told some people he enjoyed reading, and then being unable to say no when they bought this month’s book for him and presented it to him a week later.

“I bet you that’s their ponze scheme. It’s like an MLM, the latest recruit has to guilt the next joinee. You’ll be doing it soon.”

Harry laughs and holds his book out to me. “That actually brings me to my next question with this very generous gift, do you like reading?”

“Nope.” I push the book away. “I also don’t like book clubs.”

He tosses the book down lightly. “Damnit!”

We laugh. I cuddle into his side and lay my head on his chest as he finishes his chapter. His heart beat is steady, like the life he’s helped me create as we committed to each other. I listen to it as it lulls me to a calmer place.

“So how was work? How’s your students this semester?”

“Work’s good. Same old right now. Teaching was interesting. It’s the second week of classes so still seeing a lot of people come and go. You start to see the regulars by week 3.”

“Full class?”

“Almost,” I tell him. “A few empty seats. There was one girl who was obviously watching tv the whole time, another guy that fell asleep halfway, and this other kid kept looking at the door like he was physically trying to decide whether he would stay. Weird lot.”

“They won’t be there next week.”

“Nope.”

“You think she’s starting uni? I wonder what she’s decided to study.”

“Mmm, I always think it’s something creative like you.”

Harry squeezes his arm around me. “I think she’s a masochist like you.”

We talk more about her, about the upcoming weekend, and as sleep visits we drift away still intertwined like most nights.

***

“Does anyone know why?” I ask the lecture hall. Just like I predicted, most of the people I knew wouldn’t make it were gone. Now there were just under 60 students in total. What had surprised me was the guy who looked nervous the second week stayed. He’d been joined by two friends who only showed up in week 4. He was probably the designated note taker.

A girl to the left puts her hand up and I point to her. “The growing gap between upper and middle classes?”

“Yes.” I give her a reassuring smile. Until I started teaching, I forgot that most answers they gave were questions. “Anyone else?”

The girl beside nervous guy puts her hand up. “The ageing population, it skews the demographic from what was initially projected?”

“Exactly,” I try not to show favourites but that was beautifully said. Maybe she didn’t need to come to all the classes.

“That would also affect the workforce,” a guy sitting in the front pipes in. I smile, pleased that a discussion was forming.

A few others join in and I nod at each point. I loved this job.

After class is over I always got a few stragglers asking questions. The nervous guy comes up to me.

“Um professor,” he hitches his backpack and glances back at his friends. “For the assignment due next week, can groups of 3 be okay?”

I glance at his friends, it was supposed to be in pairs but what the hell. “Sure. But I’ll need extra stuffing in the assignment to make up for it.”

I say it with a joking tone but he’s so wound up that he takes me seriously.

“Of course. We’ll increase the citations and make sure to include more research-“

“Philippe,” one of the girls is suddenly a few feet away.

“Thank you.” He says, finally meeting my eye. I smile and he relaxes. I turn to his friends, to acknowledge them but they stare at me like I’d grown a second head. One of the other students asks her questions and I turn my attention away—weird.

***

“Mid-terms?” Harry asks. I’m reading a textbook while I stand over the simmering pot. We had accidentally ordered 4 times the tomatoes on our online order last week and with three still left I’d decided to batch make spaghetti sauce. It had been a long time since I made it from scratch.

“Kind of.” I push the book aside. “Someone in the department wants to update the textbooks and they left notes in the old one for what needs updating. They asked me to take a look.”

“That’s cool,” Harry walks over to me. He smelled like cologne and outside, the way he usually did right after he came home on chillier days. “That he wants your opinion?”

“She actually,” I poke him. “And it is! I can’t believe I get paid to lecture about one of my passions.”

“Economics,” Harry makes a face like he smelled something bad.

“Makes the world go round,” I smile sweetly.

“Remember when you liked things that were cool like Harry Potter and Coldplay-“

“I still like them! If I recall you’re the one who motivated me to do well in maths.”

“I did?” Harry looks off into the distance but his slow smirk is evident that he was remembering. He tilts my chin up and brushes my lips. “You’re right. So how about now? Would that still work?”

“Do you want me to stroke your ego right now?”

“Amongst other things,” he muses, his hands drop down to my hips and then lower, giving my bum a squeeze.

“Cut it out,” I scold him but it’s cancelled by the smile on my face. I shake my head and go back to the simmering pot.

“Is that tomato soup?” Harry’s suddenly distracted by the pot. We’d been having a lot of it this week because…well tomatoes.

“Nope, I’m making spaghetti sauce. From scratch.”

“Hey, didn’t you make that one time? When we were kids.”

“Hm,” I think back. It felt like so long ago but something niggles at me. “I think? I used to help my mum—it’s her recipe. Maybe you had dinner on a night we made it?”

“Yes. Dinner at your place, around Easter.”

I remember that Easter clearly but not for dinner. It was a night Harry and I had talked our lives all out.

“Aw. We were so young then.” I wrap my arms around Harry.

“I’m still young,” Harry says. “I’m in my prime.”

I pat his cheek. “Of course you are love.”

***

“Taylor I can’t really do this right now!” I tell my sister as she whines to me. No matter how old we got we were always somehow 17 and 12.

“C’mon just call mom! Tell her you met him and he’s really awesome.”

“I’m not lying to mom so you can invite your newest loser boyfriend to dinner. Anyway I can’t talk. I have to get to class!”

“I know.” She says weirdly. And I understand why when I walk into class and see her sitting in the front row. Ugh she knew I would try to blow her off!

My sister had somehow taken up the bad habit ever since her mid-20s of having a string of shitty boyfriends. We all blamed it on her longterm bloke breaking it off around her 26th. I don’t think she ever fully let herself heal from that.

After two separate guys were invited to two separate family dinners and both ended in mum or dad exploding over something, they were banned. This new guy, as she insists, was different. Mature. He deserved an invite.

She holds up 9 fingers and mouths, 9 months! That’s a long time!

I shake my head and start setting up my laptop.

“Hiya,” one of the students, Kim, walks up to me as I do so. “Sorry I was just wondering when we’re getting our assignments back? Will it be before midterms?”

Midterms were in 2 weeks for this class. The assignments were in my bag, marked and ready. I tell her and watch the relief spread through her.

I spend the next hour teaching, and before we break at the hour I announce I’d return assignments. As I call them out student walks down to me and pick them up, leaving with a smile or a frown.

“Philippe?” He had stuck to his word and his group had gone above and beyond. It was a beautiful paper, albeit overly-sourced. But I appreciated it.

“He’s not in,” one of his friends comes down to get it. She looks at me in that same way again, with just as much fear as curiosity. It’s odd.

“C’mon then,” I shake the paper I was holding out. “I don’t bite.”

“Oh sorry,” she grabs it from me in a rush I nearly get a papercut. She doesn’t even look at the grade, turning quickly away before halting, pivoting halfway, changing her mind, and running back up the steps to her seat. That group of kids were weird. Maybe they were on drugs.

I catch eyes with Taylor and she raises her brow. I shrug and continue handing out the papers.

I don’t expect the girl to come up to me after class. Her friend stays hovering behind, close to my sister who I know must be desperate to have sat here the whole lecture.

“Um ‘scuse me. Professor?”

“Yes?” She was the last person in the small line that had formed after class.

“I had a question about the assignment? You um, you said we missed the equations for our answers but they’re um-“ her hands are shaking as she flips the pages to the last page. “They’re on the bottom here.”

“Oh,” I did remember they were missing it but my pen marks were all over the back of it. “I must have missed that, bloody hell sorry about that!”

“Yeah um, do we get the extra points?”

“Of course but I-“ I glance back at Taylor. She’s talking to the friend. I had to get her out of here before she said something ridiculous. “I have office hours after my Monday class. I’ll have it remarked by then and you can pick it up?”

“Um, okay?”

I quickly shut my things down and grab my sister, getting her out as quick as possible.

“I’m a professional,” she reminds me. “Jeez. Anyway Y/n listen it’s the longest I’ve been in a relationship since, well y’know. 9 months! It’s different with this guy. He works like you! A cushy office job. He’s serious. Please!?”

I hadn’t seen Taylor since last month’s dinner when she had tried to convince me to get on board with this guy. She’d been pleading for a month. “Fine.”

“Oh I love you!” She squeezes my arm. “Text me when mom gives the okay.”

I sigh. I’d really got myself in the middle again.

I retell this to Harry when I get home.

“She’s persistent. But 9 months is a new record.”

“I know!” Harry knew all about her string of boys, I’d caught him up months ago. “Anyway I can’t believe she sat through the whole lecture.”

“Maybe this is the guy. The One.”

“You don’t believe in that do you?”

“Yeah?” He squints at me. “Of course I do?”

“So I’m The One?”

“Baby do I even need to say yes? I knew it as soon as I saw you when we were 14. You confirmed it when you kissed me on the roof that day.”

“I can’t believe I did that. I had my first drink that day by the way so I might’ve been drunk.”

“You were not drunk when you kissed me,” Harry points his fork at me.

“Look at you getting all worked up,” I tease.

“I’ll get you all worked up,” he mutters into his plate. I grin as I stretch my leg out under the table and run it up his leg. He grips my ankle when it gets too high and the look he gives me across the table sends my heart racing.

“Oops,” I drop my foot and go back to eating.

We put on a movie after, something we can zone out to. It doesn’t take Harry long to get bored and nuzzle into me, and it doesn’t take much longer after that before the movie is just for show and we’re tangled in our sheets.

There were 17 years of experience Harry showed up with now, and it was another one of those things that made catching up on lost time all the better.

***

In the first half hour of my office hours, the girl walks in. I should remember her name but I just associated her group with Philippe. I was surprised he wasn’t here actually. He seemed to be their spokesperson.

“Hi come in!” I wave her into the tiny cubicle-like room I borrowed for a few hours every Monday. “I’ve got your assignment here all done.”

“Thank you,” she hovers over my desk and I hand it over. Her fingers fidget with the strings of her hoodie and I seriously consider the drug angle. Or maybe her and her friends had serious anxiety issues. I didn’t miss that part about being a teen.

“You wanna flip through one more time? I try not to make mistakes twice but…”

She sits down tentatively and buries her head in the paper as she flips through.

“It’s alright,” she says. Her expression is so serious it nearly makes me laugh. She had pretty hair—blunt cut bangs that I remember rocking in my early 20s, but on her they hide the expression in her eyebrows. Maybe that’s why she always looked so sullen. Her lips are painted a pretty mauve colour and it complimented her green eyes.

“I really um…your class is really interesting.”

Kids saying that was like injecting pure joy right into my veins.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying it,” I smile at her. But it still doesn’t crack a smile on her end. “It’s dense material but that’s nice to hear.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know if I was gonna keep the class.” It’s subtle but she inches back in the seat. The more she talks the more she relaxes back. “But I heard it was worth taking. And people were right.”

“Are you in your first or second year?” I ask.

“First,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s covered in piercings.

“How are you liking uni so far?”

She meets my eyes for a second before they shift away. “Yeah it’s nice? I’ve never lived away from home but I have some friends here that I’ve known since before so it helps. It’s really different, less structure but I like the freedom.”

Wow, she really spoke a lot more when she was comfortable. But I find it endearing.

“That’s really nice. It’s good to have a support system, especially with such big change.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. Her eyes dart around the desk as she goes silent. I wait for her to get up and go but a minute passes and the room starts to feel even smaller.

I could ask her if she needed anything else, or maybe continue the conversation? Did she want me to ask about her? No, that would be weird.

“So um, was that your sister in class last week?”

Okay, didn’t see that coming.

“It was! My baby sister, although she’s not really a baby. Did she tell your friend that?”

She nods again. “She was talking to her.”

“You have any siblings?”

“An older sister yeah.”

“So you get it,” I say. “You love them, they get under your skin, you’d do anything for them, and the cycle continues.”

For the first time she smiles and my breath catches. For a moment…no. No, I was imagining things.

“Yeah. My sister and I were close growing up, but she’s the one person that really knows how to get under my skin. I swear she does it on purpose sometimes.”

“Probably,” I want to say something funny again. I just want to see her smile.

Back off, my inner voice says. Don’t do this again.

Some years back, when I was still in the throes of alcohol, I had followed a girl at the mall for nearly an hour. She had looked so much like my sister but with brown curly hair. I could have sworn it was her—my daughter. But after an hour of drunk stalking she had met up with her mum, a direct clone of her.

I couldn’t be obsessive again. Nobody knew about that phase. Not even Harry.

“D’you have any kids?” She asks. I don’t expect the question and it throws me off what with the thoughts looping in my head. She watches me, waiting for an answer.

“Um,” I usually answered no. To anyone who had asked in the last 18 years. But for some reason I nod today. “Yeah. One.”

I imagine it, I must have. Her face draws in for a second before she looks down. “Does she ever come to your lectures?”

“Oh no,” I feel the prick of tears and try to blink them away without being too obvious. “I’m not sure she’d find them interesting.”

“Oh.” She finally stands. “Maybe when she’s older…but I’ll see you on Thursday I guess?”

“Yeah,” I watch her go and realize she’d forgotten something. “Don’t forget your paper hon!”

She stiffens by the door before coming to get it.

“Sorry, it probably makes me a bad prof but there were two female names on the paper. Which one’s yours?”

“Bridget,” her voice cracks.

“Bridget,” I try to match the name to her face. It fit. “That’s lovely.”

She scurries out and I hear someone say “well!?” Outside followed by a “shh!”

I shake my head and try to focus back on my work, my heart racing an unusual amount.

***

It takes a couple days but I confess to Harry. He’d decided to meet up with me after class on Wednesday to eat out. We didn’t go far from the uni, a pub a few roads down. I actually spotted a couple former students there and they’d waved at me warmly.

“You’re not crazy,” Harry holds my hand on the table. “A few years ago I realized the volunteer interns we took on from the nearby school? They were the same age as her, teens? And I used to check up on them all the time, make sure they were feeling comfortable, until one of the guys on the team told me to quit being so weird and find someone my own age. I don’t know if it came across that way but…I got lost in that.”

“Oh Harry,” I squeeze his hand. “I didn’t know that.”

“I’ve never told anyone.”

“Me too,” I pop another chip into my mouth. “But really I’d kind of pushed those memories out of my head until the other day. I can’t explain it, when she smiled it just felt like I knew her.”

“Yeah. Maybe she just looks like Taylor?”

We finish dinner while Harry tells me about a story about some friends of his I knew. We reminisce about our old friends as we wrap up and head out into the brisk November air.

We’re near the station when I gasp and clutch Harry’s arm. Standing outside one of the nearby pubs, smoking with her friends, was Bridget.

“Harry! That’s her!”

“What? Who?” He’s so oblivious as he whips his head around.

“Hushhh!” I nod towards the northwest side. His eyes scan the group. “Red beanie. We have to walk past just look at her okay? Tell me if you see it.”

Harry laughs to himself, “This feels like we’re in high school walking past a crush.”

“Is that how you walked past me?” I tease.

“I did.” He looks at me in that way that still gives me butterflies. It never got old.

“Stop making me want to jump your bones out here. I have a reputation to uphold!”

“Hey I’ll still have a job to support us,” he whispers as we near closer to the group. “Feel free to do whatever you feel.”

“You’re a bad influence.” I whisper back. By now we’re a few feet away and I sense Harry slow down beside me.

Bridget’s nodding to whatever her friend is saying. Philippe is waving his drink around as he responds. We almost pass by unnoticed when someone completely different calls my name.

“Hey professor! Can we buy you a drink?”

I turn and spot a group of students I taught last semester. They were all friends, always battling out their wits during group discussions. It made my class lively, even distracting at times. But I tried going with the flow of whatever group of students I got.

“Hey kids!” I say. Then I have no choice but to acknowledge Bridget and her friends. “And more kids! Is this the new spot to be at?”

I sounded so lame but shite! We weren’t supposed to get caught.

“It’s always been popular,” one of my old students says. “Can we pick your brain? Buy you a drink? We can buy one for your friend too.”

“I uh,” I glance at Harry but he’s frozen solid. I look to what he’s looking at and it’s Bridget. They’re locked in some silent conversation and her friends eye each other. “Harry?”

“Huh?” He focuses on me, flushed and just as confused as I had looked on Monday.

“We’ve gotta get him home,” I pat Harry’s arm. “Our alcohol metabolizes differently at our age.”

“You’re not that old,” Bridget says. She seems to be surprised she said it at all and her eyes widen. “I just mean you look younger than my parents.”

“We’ll take that as a compliment.” I smile up at Harry who still looks a little lost.

“Miss aren’t you going to introduce your male friend?” One of my old student goads.

“Don’t assume,” the other chides.

“Aren’t you a nosy lot after a few drinks.” I missed dishing it back in class with them.

“Oops!” They laugh.

“Anyway. This is Harry.”

“You can call me Mr. Professor,” Harry jokes and it’s a crowd pleaser. God they were drunk. Harry leans into me, “I can see why you like teaching. They’re an ego-booster.”

“Not in a 6pm lecture on a Thursday night.” I whisper back. He hides his laugh.

“Are you guys heading home?” Now it’s Philippe. I’m surprised he was getting involved in the conversation. He was usually the quiet nervous type.

“We are. Need a good night’s rest so I’m not falling asleep in your lecture tomorrow.”

“We wouldn’t mind,” Philippe goes for joker but his face flushes. It’s cute.

“Philippe you take way too many notes during class for me to believe that.”

His two friends, Bridget and the other girl, look at each other wide-eyed before losing it. And I watch Bridget’s face transform again and I get the same feeling. I look up at Harry and he’s transfixed.

I tug his sleeve and he looks at me, swallowing like he was parched.

“Weird right?”

“Yeah,” he whispers but his mouth turns down ever so slightly.

The girls are too busy cajoling Philippe to say goodbye to so we make our exit quietly. We don’t talk much on the train ride home but Harry simple holds his hand out on my thigh, palm up, and I lock my fingers into his. Even when we didn’t have words, we never stopped staying in touch.

***

It’s exam and holiday season before I know it.

I was actually looking forward to Christmas this year. It was the first that Harry was going to join with my family. Taylor’s bloke was also showing. He had been a hit with my parents and even I could admit he was the better of all the guys she’s every brought over.

It’s the last 30 minutes of the last exam I was facilitating this year. I announce the time left to the group. There were only about 15 kids left.

Bridget is one of them. I watch her tuck her hair behind her ear and bite her lip. She’d been pretty quiet the remainder of the semester, and I tried not to let my eyes wander to her too much.

After that night, bumping into her with Harry, we hadn’t spoken much about it. The hope that was initially so buoyant turned crushing as we faced the reality that the odds were slim to none. That our wishes were just pennies tossed in a fountain, sinking to the bottom of the pool.

Dreary winter days pass by and Harry and I try to keep the seasonal depression away with regular outdoor dates, cozy nights in bed, and seeing friends as often as we could.

On Christmas we go to my parents’. It’s a loud affair as my grandparents and a few cousins join us. After dinner I go up to my childhood bedroom, it’s now a guest room but some of my things still lay around. I open the window, it was cold so I drag a blanket out and sit outside. The street is quiet, I see families in a few open windows and I watch the festivities through them. I feel a mix of nostalgia and an ache that goes even beyond that, like I was missing something.

“Y/n?” Of course Harry would find me even though I’d left the door closed and the window tilted.

“Here,” I say.

“Ah,” he struggles to hoist himself out. “Some things never change.”

“You need help?” I watch him climb on all fours.

“I’m steady,” he grins as he crawls to me. I open the blanket and he gets in.

We sit in silence for a bit.

“It was getting really loud downstairs wasn’t it?” I ask.

“I think your grandma’s in love with Taylor’s guy.” Harry says so bluntly that I burst out laughing. He joins in.

“I feel like old people get to flirt with whoever they want because it’s always harmless.”

“Maybe that’s the case with older women,” Harry grimaces. “Can’t say the same thing about old men now can we?”

“Jesus!” I laugh and then laugh even harder when Harry says: “it is his day.”

By the time I wipe my tears Harry’s gazing down at me.

“Sorry,” I lean my head against his shoulder. “You have to stop being so funny.”

“Nah,” he kisses my head. “Have I never told you how much I like your laugh?”

He had. On a night many years ago on a roof like this.

I go to remind him but he’s pulling away. I watch as he shifts to face my slowly. He pulls something out from behind him and my brain only connects the dots as he starts talking.

“Y/N, this is something I wish I could have done 18 years ago but only feels incredibly right to do now. Especially out here.”

“Harry,” I gasp. When did he get the ring? When had he planned this?

“We somehow found our way back to each other again y/n, and you know I love you more than ever before.” He clears his throat as it clouds with emotion. “Some 18 years ago I told you I knew you, because the first time I ever laid eyes on you my heart knew. You were something special. And I never ever want to spend another moment apart again. So Y/N Y/L/N, will you do me the honour and finally be mine? Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” If I wasn’t sitting on a roof I would launch myself at Harry. I settle for pulling his face down to mine and kissing it. “I’ve always been yours Harry. But yes, of course yes!”

He slides the ring on and it fits perfectly.

It was perfect.

When we go back down my mum knows right away, and if it was loud before it’s absolute chaos as everyone descends on me and demands to know how he proposed and how the ring looks.

“On the roof? When there’s a perfectly pretty tree here?” My grandma asks. Harry and I exchange a look then, trying not to laugh all over again.

We ring in the New Year with friends, as fiancés. I can hardly believe it. Apparently most of our friends knew Harry was going to propose and they all toast to us and our happiness.

Somewhere in mid-January, I drop by my parents’ house to drop off some groceries. That’s when my dad hands me a letter that had been mailed home.

“It came for you, I dunno who thinks you still live here but it looks handwritten.”

I take it from my dad as I say one last goodbye. I barely make it to the tube with wobbly legs. Because somewhere inside I know.

It’s a long and agonizing 2 hours that I wait for Harry to come home. He finds me sitting in the dark; the sun had set while I waited, and I’d been too busy staring at the feminine scrawl on the front of the letter to turn on the lights.

“Hello-y/n, what are you doing in the dark?”

Harry drops his things where they are when I look at him. “Y/n are you alright? Say something.”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I just push the letter forward.

He walks towards it. It’s like he hits a brick wall when he puts the pieces together, he halts a foot away.

“What is that?”

“Is was…” I try to swallow so my voice doesn’t sound so hoarse. “My dad gave it to me. It was sent to the house.”

“Is it…”

“I was waiting for you.”

Suddenly he’s in motion. He puffs his cheeks out and lets out a noisy sigh. Then he paces the floor one, two, three, four times before standing in front of the couch.

“We should read it.” I say.

“Yeah,” he deflates into the couch. I want to join him but it feels like my arse has been glued to the chair.

I inch it towards me and Harry nods. He wanted me to read it.

My mouth is parched. I can barely make out any sounds as I open it up. It’s three pages folded in two, the paper itself isn’t anything very special, it’s typed up so it’s literally just ink on paper. And yet it’s worth a whole goldmine.

“Y/n and Harry,” I read before my voice breaks and I bury my face in my hands. Our baby girl had written to us. She had reached out.

“C’mon love,” Harry’s suddenly beside me and his hand squeezes my neck. The touch gives me enough strength to stand with him. He sets me down where he just sat and leaves again, returning with water and the letter.

“Can you read it?” I ask.

He settles in beside me, we touch along every edge of us. The letter sits in between us like our love, our hurting—it’s where it belongs. He begins to read in his soothing voice.

“Y/n and Harry,

I hope it’s okay I’m calling you that. I don’t know if it’s proper but ever since I found out about you two last year that’s what I’ve been calling you.”

Harry lets out a shaky breath and I intertwine my arm through his. He kisses my temple and continues.

“When I turned 15, I asked my mum about you. I started to wonder where I came from. I knew I was adopted for as long as I could remember but it didn’t mean much to me for a long time—I had a mother, a father, and a sister. I had a family so why did I need to know where I came from?

But over the last few years it’s been like an itch I couldn’t get to. See when I was 15, what set it off is that my sister decided to look into her birth parents. They were separated, her father lived in Tokyo and her mother lived in Wales. It took her a year to convince our parents to go to Wales. I went with and I found myself in the home of a woman who looked just like the girl I grew up with. The whole time it ate away at me. I wanted this ending too.

I asked my mum and dad when I turned 15 but they were weird and evasive. I turned my skills to the internet but I didn’t really know where to start.

I felt the missing part more and more as I turned 16. I used to fall asleep thinking about you two, if you were alive, what you looked like, where you were, what you did.

I love my parents. They’re wonderful and amazing, they are supportive and never made us feel like we were anything but theirs. But I wanted to know my background.

On my 17th birthday my parents gave me a letter like the one I write today.” Harry stops reading and takes in a deep shuddering breath. “She got the letter.”

His shoulder shake and he pinches the bridge of his nose. I clench my teeth so I wouldn’t cry too. I wanted to finish this letter. I wrap my arms around him and hold him.

This was unbelievable, what we’d dreamed of. Her words, in our hands.

“Here.” I take the letter from him and continue. “Let me read it.”

Harry stays hunched over, so with my hand on his back I continue, “in it you told me how much you loved me. How much you loved each other, your families, where I came from. And Why you had to give me up. For a better life. I saw the picture of you, and I felt broken and complete at the same time. I realized I was the same age as you in the photo, I had to meet you but I was terrified. And I didn’t know how.

I spent a year agonizing and looking through every google page I could find about you. I learned a lot! But I needed to meet you.

I don’t know how to do this. I’ve made decisions that may not have been the best but I’ve left my number and a picture of me when I was 5 in the envelope.

I hope you call.”

With shaking hands I turn to the third page that has one of those polaroids taped to it and a phone number in the same handwriting as the envelope.

“She’s beautiful,” Harry says while tears continue streaming down his face. I can’t even hide mine anymore.

She was beautiful indeed. She had his eyes, and her curly locks in a deep brown frame her chubby face. She had my nose, she looked a little like my sister as a baby. A scatter of freckles over her cheeks confirm it. She was ours. Our baby had reached out. We knew what she looked like.

“We need to call her,” I say. “We need to meet.”

“Yeah,” Harry wipes his face. “We…we need to do this carefully. It’s delicate right?”

I wanted to call her right now but what would I do but cry into the phone? No, I had to wrap my head around this. Harry was right. “Right.”

“She’s out there,” Harry turns to me. “She wants to know us. Y/n she wants to meet us! She saw the picture I-“

“I can’t believe it,” I whisper. “Our daughter wants to—did she leave her name?”

We open the letter and flip over every piece of it but her name is nowhere.

“Maybe she didn’t want us looking her up?” Harry offers.

“Maybe she has an awful digital footprint.”

Something about it makes us laugh and we can’t stop. But pretty soon it shifts back into tears and we’re left holding each other on the couch, tender and content and anxious.

Our daughter had made contact. Would she like us? Would she be mad at us? What did this mean for us?

The thoughts continue to spiral the rest of the evening. We don’t make much of an effort, we reread the letter and try to get dinner in us. We face each other as we try to fall asleep, whispering questions into the darkness. The darkness doesn’t answer, it grows heavier as does the night, and we fall asleep for the first time in our lives knowing the weight of a decision so long ago was a tiny bit lighter.

***

It’s a few days later. All I’d been thinking about was the letter, when I woke up, at work, during my commute, during breaks, when I went to bed.

It sits on our dining table, we glance at it as we pass by. It becomes part of the decor, three pieces of paper and an envelope. It’s so much weightier than that.

I come home from my lecture on Wednesday, a slight buzz of anxiety humming in the background. It wasn’t unusual for Harry and I to get busy at work and not talk the whole day but today Harry had been radio silent. He hadn’t answered my texts or phone calls in a very un-Harry way.

I walk in to Harry sitting on the couch in the dark, staring at the coffee table. On it sits the letter.

“Hey,” I don’t even take off my jacket. I slide next to him. “Is everything alright?”

“Hey,” he whispers. He stays frozen sitting forward, elbows on his knees, head cradled in his hand.

I wait for him to speak, to say something about what was going on. I rub my hand over his back and he glances up. I tip forward until our foreheads touch. “What’s going on in that brain of yours? Let me help you.”

“It’s a lot,” he whispers. It tears me in two.

“Hey,” I remind him. “Just one day at a time. Let’s just talk about today.”

“I want to call her so bad,” he leans away and buries his head in his hands. I wanted to call her too, I’d been waiting for Harry to give the cue since I knew I could be rash and impulsive about something like this. But something was going on with him.

“We will.”

“We gave her up. What if she hates us?”

“She wouldn’t have written us that beautiful letter, or sent a photo, or left her number if she did.”

Harry sniffles and then asks what he really wanted to, “what if she hates me.”

“Harry look at me,” He unfolds slowly and I make sure he’s looking at me. “You’re her father, you’ve carried her with you for the last 18 years. You love her. She wants to know you. Why would she hate you?”

“I’ve fucked up so much!”

“You’re not your mistakes.” I remind him. I get teary eyed as I feel the echoes of his insecurities. I’ve thought about it too: what if I didn’t meet her expectations? “She’s not going to see you and see every good and bad decisions you’ve ever made. She’s just going to see her father—her biological father, and see where she got her eyes from and her hair from and every other quirk she has.”

“You’re not worried?” He asks, looking at me with grief.

“Of course I am,” I confess, tears leaking out of my eyes damnit. “I’m so fucking worried. But my curiosity overtakes that, my love for her is what I’m focusing on.”

“I love her,” he says.

“That’s all that matters.” I cup his face and press a reassuring kiss to his lips. “That’s all she’ll care about.”

Harry untangles himself from me and my heart sinks. He paces the length of our living room a few times, running his hand through his hair.

“We really should talk about the letter,” he says.

“Yeah. I know. I want to call. Badly.”

He pauses. It’s like all the anxious energy drains out of him at once. He sits back down beside me.

“What do we do?” I ask

“How about Saturday? She’s probably going to be home then right? No school—if she’s in school.”

Two days. Two more days of agonizing over the letter.

At this point the letter is memorized, seared into my brain like I had an exam on it. I want to know the person behind it.

When we wake on Saturday it’s a cloudy day. I don’t take it as a bad omen.

We sit with our phones out after breakfast, just staring at everything before us.

“You should do the talking,” I tell Harry. “I’m too nervous.”

“I think you should.” Harry says. “She sent the letter to you.”

“Only because that’s the address my mum gave…gave her mum.”

It hits me again in another wave I try not to drown in. She was eighteen, she’d lived a whole life with a whole family. There was everything of her we’d missed out on.

“Please Harry?” I was already overwhelmed with the realization. I just couldn’t.

He watches me, must hear the desperation in my voice, and slowly pulls his phone forward.

It rings, and rings a few more times. When it goes to voicemail he turns it off.

“I didn’t think that was an option,” Harry says and we laugh. It feels good.

“It’s only 10 maybe she’s asleep. Try one more time?”

He pulls my phone and tries again but it still goes to voicemail.

We sit there, unsure of what to do. We agree to try again later, in the afternoon.

But around half past 12, while Harry’s working in our spare room and I’m scrolling through my phone, it rings. I don’t think much of it and pick it up automatically.

“Hello?” It’s silent on the other end. “Hello?”

I wait, but as I do it dawns on me. Who called me?

I check my phone screen and swipe through as I say hello again. I match the number. It was her.

I run to Harry but the phone is still silent. I wave the paper with the number saying hello again.

“Is this…well you never gave us your name. But we got your letter. We’re so gl-“

The line goes dead and so does my heart.

“You called her again?” Harry whispers, his brows furrowing as he stares at the phone.

“She called.” I think about calling her back but that was pushy. She was backing out of this.

All of a sudden I feel myself giving out. I catch myself against the wall and slide down.

“She’s backing out. It must be…too much for her.”

Harry stares at a spot on the ground, a million thoughts flickering through. Finally it settles on acceptance. He sighs.

“We can’t force her to talk to us,” he says softly what I already know. But his words are like a saw to my resolve and I just start crying. He gathers me in his arms but the grief feels endless. It felt like she was slipping away again; I’d lost so much and I lost her again. She had been so close. How could she do this? Why did she reach out if she wasn’t ready?

Questions without answers. More of them piled on top of the lifetime of questions I’d built for her.

I know Harry feels the weight of them too. We carry them together. That’s the only reason I hadn’t broken yet.

But I come close to it that day. We don’t hear back from her. And we don’t try to call her back. It didn’t feel right.

It killed me she was so close. And something changes inside.

For weeks I feel like I’m on autopilot. It’s like my first semester of uni all over again.

Harry tries his best to keep me together but he struggles too. It makes me feel worse I was taking the bigger hit, not being there for him as much as I wanted. But life feels like a a million blankets covering me.

I try to keep my usual momentum for my classes, but I’m always exhausted after. It pulls me deeper into my sadness, something I loved made me so tried.

It’s a Thursday at the end of the semester and I’m marking exams during my study hours when there’s a light knock on the door.

I’m surprised to see an old student.

“Bridget,” I wave her in. “Come in, what can I do you for?”

“Hi professor-“

“Call me y/n, I’m not teaching you anymore am I?”

“No,” she says with a stiff smile. The last time I saw her was in February, I’d spotted her with Philippe and a few other friends at a local coffee shop. She had been explaining something to one of her friends from a textbook.

Now her hair was short and more pronounced with waves. I wonder if she styled it, her longer hair had been pin straight.

“I had a question?”

You already asked it, I want to joke. But she was usually wound up so I knew it wouldn’t land well.

“What’s that?”

“Um, well.” She perches on the chair and I wait patiently for her to continue. “Are you taking any applications for TA next year?”

I wasn’t expecting that. She always found a way to take me by surprise. I stare at her for a few seconds, trying to remember what year she was in.

“Aren’t you in first year? If I do TAs they’re usually 3rd or above.”

“I know,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. “But seeing that one of my majors is in econ and my gpa is really high, and I did well in your class, I wondered if you would consider me?”

I hadn’t done TAs since my first year of teaching. I found I liked the work because it got me more familiar with the class.

“What’s your other major?” She had said one of them was econ.

“Sociology, I’m pre-law.”

Ambitious. “Why TA for my class?”

She balks as she meets my gaze. There’s something that flits through her face that I can’t quite read before she drops eye contact.

“Um, I really enjoyed it. I did really well. I think you’re super smart and would learn a lot by TA-ing for you.”

“I don’t give special lessons to my TA,” I let her know. “You’d typically attend some of the classes, mark assignments, and maybe teach exam tutorials, and have office hours of your own for students.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Why should I pick you?”

She pushes her shoulders back, “I’m responsible, dependable, I submit all my assignments on time and have experience teaching.”

“Teaching?”

“I used to tutor when I was in high school. I didn’t really get an allowance so I found a way to support my hobbies.”

“What are your hobbies?”

She blushes a little, was she still nervous? “I love reading, books are expensive.”

I nod. For Harry’s birthday I’d told him he could get any books from Waterstones and it had been over £100 for 3 only.

“I also enjoy cooking. And um, it’s been a while but my friends and I sometimes go to like. Do you know comic con?”

“Yes,” I’d seen things online.

“Yeah we liked to dress up for that sort of thing. We used to make our own outfits and usually the cost varies depending on what you’re making and how realistic you want it and…” she trails off as I smile. She was really enthusiastic about it. I couldn’t help it.

“Tell you what. Leave your number with me and I’ll think about it. I haven’t had a TA for the last few semesters but I am going to take this into consideration.”

“Really?!”

I laugh. “Yes. Really.”

“Um…” she starts to fidget again. “Can I leave my email? I’m getting a new phone soon so I-“

“Sure. Anywhere I can reach you.”

I expect her to get out a pen but she says it verbally and I type it out.

“Um, are you alright?” She asks out of the blue after I type in the last letter.

“Alright?” I raise my brow.

“I mean, you seem…I just heard, um.” She tries to backtrack but I ask her again and she spills. “Some people just said your last few classes seem scattered. Not that people don’t like you. I just…that’s what they were saying. And I don’t know if having a TA would help? And I just wanted to ask if you’re okay sorry I shouldn’t…it’s none of my business.”

God, this girl was so awkward. But she was sweet for caring, I think. “You’re not applying for the role because you feel bad that I seem…scattered right?”

She blushes. “Sorry. I think I said too much.”

I want to laugh but it strikes me that my students had noticed. I’d let it affect their learning. It didn’t feel very good.

“Life’s hitting me hard recently,” I tell her simply. “But I’m alright. Thank you for reaching out Bridget.”

As I finish up the semester I think about her. It wouldn’t hurt to have her TA for one of my lectures, see how she does. I didn’t care for TAs as a lecturer but something about her is compelling and I find myself emailing her in the middle of the night in June. She responds back a few minutes later,

Thank you!!! You’re the best. I’ll do whatever you need just tell me I can do anythingggh

Sent from iphone.

I laugh to myself as I put my phone away and go back to bed. My guesses were she was drunk at a party.

Harry’s asleep beside me and I reach out to touch his back but think better of it. He’d been busy at work with a project nearing its deadline and I didn’t want to accidentally wake him.

I turn around and try to drift off, thinking about my daughter, about how Harry and I hadn’t really talked much in the last two weeks, about my teaching, and my new TA.

Age 38:

It’s a depressing summer. The air of dashed hopes still hangs around Harry and I. It’s less thunder clouds and more of a fog.

One weekend morning, it’s one of those mornings that start off heavy. I can’t get out of bed, but I hear Harry pattering about doing his weekend morning thing. I hear the dishwasher turn on, and soon after he walks in with our laundry folded in a basket. I feel awful as I normally do, but not awful enough to get up and do anything about it. I think I’d have to feel less awful, to do that.

I don’t expect him to get in beside me once he’s finished putting everything away. He smells like laundry and shampoo, I must smell like rot and decay.

“Y/n,” he says gingerly. I just look at him in response. I felt too heavy to even reply. He sits up and calls my name again.

“Mm,” I say.

He sighs. Despite months of this Harry’s been nothing but understanding but this morning seems different.

Suddenly I’m being pulled up by my shoulders and I find myself sitting up in bed.

“Y/N,” Harry says again. I fold my arms as the duvet slips down and the cool air raises goosebumps. “I love you, which is why it’s so hard seeing you like this. You have to get on, my love. We have to move forward. It’s been months.”

All I could remember after our daughter hung the phone up on us was when I almost got to hold her. Right after she was born, I almost got to hold her but they took her away. And that piece of me that followed after her was nearly returned. It was that almost that was a death blow.

“It’s hard,” I feel myself tear up. It was hard not to these days.

“I know baby,” Harry scoops me into him. “I know. It’s hard for me too but we have to get better. We have to live our lives. She’ll come back to us, I just know it. She’s scared, we’re hopeful. Fear’s gonna keep her away. Hope keeps us patient.”

I cry into his shirt and he rocks me.

“I’m sorry,” I say into his shirt.

“It’s alright,” he grips the back of my neck.

So for Harry, for us, I try to get back to myself. I start to pick up my outdoor hobbies, I try to keep conversations going with Harry, I reintroduce my multi-step night routine. I look forward and re-light the candle of hope, even though I ache to blow it out before it can burn down to its wick.

My wounds inside stay tender.

We had booked our wedding for November and as the days approach we find ourselves with one thing on our mind.

Harry and I finally talk about it.

“I always thought she’d be there at the wedding once she reached out.”

We’re sat in an outdoor space near King’s Cross, coffees in hand as we people watch. We’d just come back from a cake tasting and neither of us felt like going home with such a glorious August day. Kids splash in the water sprinklers and couples sit around arm in arm. I touch shoulders with Harry unconsciously.

“Me too. I think that’s what’s kept me from mentally committing to the fact that the date is coming closer.”

“It can’t be forever,” Harry says. “She reached out. She just needs time. She’ll call again one day and we’ll meet her.”

“I know.” I lean my head on his shoulder. This was a realization I’d also been slowly digesting. I’d waited 18 years, what was a few more months, another year? Her baby picture lived on our fridge, at least we were one step closer.

And the love, I had to remind myself in these moments. Hold onto the love.

***

“I can’t stay for this class,” Bridget tells me. It’s the second week of classes and there were still 10 minutes until it officially started.

“Is everything alright?”

“Not really,” that’s when I notice her nose is red and her eyes are too. “My um, my parents had to put my dog down. She…she wasn’t feeling well yesterday and the-they found cancer? And she was in a lot of pain but she never showed it? And-“

I put my hand on Briget’s shoulder and lead her to the exit. There was no reason for the whole class to see this.

“Sorry. I’m-“

“Don’t apologize.” I rub her shoulder. “I understand. Take the time you need I have this covered.”

True to her word, Bridget had been a loyal TA over the summer. I considered it a trial run not expecting much but she had shown up, aced marking, and I’d gotten good feedback from the students at the end of the semester.

I’d also taken to her. She’d join me during my 2 hours every Monday and when no students would come she would loosen up. She’d told me all about the dog she grew up with, she showed me costumes her friends and her made, I’d asked her about the books she was reading and the classes she was taking. It was like having a younger sister again, except I was mature enough to appreciate her.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Bridget says and this statements seems to be the breaking point. She curls in on herself, shoulders shaking. I don’t even think, I just pull her into me like I would for Harry, for Taylor, for any of my friends.

“You have a lifetime of memories with her,” I hold her. At first she stiffens up and I almost let her go but she only breaks down further and wraps her arms around me. Tighter than I expected.

“I wish I said goodbye,” she says into my shoulder.

“I know hon,” I squeeze her against me, something maternal washing over me. “I know.”

After a minute or so she regains her composure, wiping her face with her sleeve. When she looks at me she looks so much younger, her face grief-stricken and regretful.

“I’m sorry-“

“Don’t be.”

She seems to want to say something more but whatever it is, she swallows it and takes a step away.

I don’t see her for two weeks and I miss her.

When she walks into the lecture the first week of October I try not to rush her but I’m overjoyed seeing her face. It had become so familiar to me.

She smiles shyly when she walks up to me and I pull her into a hug. This time she doesn’t stiffen.

“How are you?” I whisper. Students were still trickling in so I use the time to catch up.

“Okay. Better than that day I cried all over you sorry again. I went home last week, thanks for letting me take it off.”

“Of course. You forget I’ve been doing this without a TA before you. I can hold down the fort.”

She cracks a smile, her dimple making a rare appearance.

“By the way, week 10’s lecture is supposed to be cancelled.” I tell her later during office hours. “But I wondered if you wanted to hold a tutorial that week for some of the material?”

“Really?” A light comes on in her eye. It’s fiery and bright with excitement.

“Yeah! You know the material! I’ll leave you with slides and you can go about teaching them.”

“I’d love to!” She grips her laptop close to her. “Wait why is it cancelled?”

“I’m getting married that week!”

The light dims. Or maybe I imagine it.

“Oh! I thought you were married already?”

“No,” I’d referred to Harry as my partner any time he was brought up. “We’re getting married in November. You’ve met him actually, kind of, that night we ran into you and some students at the pub. Last year?”

“Oh yeah I remember,” she says but her eyes are somewhere else. “So you’re getting married?”

“Yes Bridget,” I laugh. “Married. Tying the knot. You alright?”

“Yeah,” she blinks and she’s back. “You never mentioned the wedding. Do you have a dress?”

“Yeah! Just finalized the tailoring last week. Most things are ready, we’re just finalizing the rings!”

“Cool!” She fidgets with the hem of her shirt. “Is it in London?”

“Yeah, it’s not too big but we didn’t want people travelling too far. This is where Harry and I were born and raised so this is where we want to marry too.”

“Wow,” she seems lost in thought and she stays pretty quiet the rest of the time. I didn’t realize my news was that surprising.

Maybe I still didn’t have Bridget completely figured out.

***

“Harry I can’t pick them up! I need to get home and then head back out to class!”

“Y/n it’s on your way home!”

“Not really! It’s a 30 minute detour. Why can’t you do it?”

“Because you can still get to him right before he closes. I won’t be done here until after he closes. I’m sorry love!”

“Agh and why can’t he do tomorrow?”

“He’s off until Saturday! We need it today.”

It’s the Wednesday before we marry and our rings are still at the jeweller’s. He’d finished them last weekend but we’d been so busy with other things we hadn’t had time to pick it up. And now it was either today and be late for class, or the day of the wedding.

I had gotten delayed at work and missed Harry’s texts explaining the situation. I’d only responded while on the tube, but going out of my way for 30 minutes meant I’d be 30 minutes late to get back to class. And since I’d left marked assignments at home that the kids needed for next week’s tutorial, I had no choice but to head back.

The idea hits me at once.

I hang up on Harry and ring Bridget. She picks up right away.

“Bridget, I’m on a crazy tight schedule. I’m going to be late to class by half hour at least.”

“Oh no. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah it’s just wedding thing but can you do something crazy? And feel free to say no okay?”

“Okay?”

I explain to her that if she rode to my flat, Harry would be there by then and she could pick up marked assignment. She can delay class by taking them up.

She’s silent but eventually I get a yes. “Okay. Can you text me your address?”

“Yes! Yes. Thank you Bridget. I owe you your trip fare and lunch or something. I’ll text you now, leave as soon as you can!”

I call Harry again and confirm he’d be home by the time she arrived. Everything works out.

I get the rings, and have to head home so Harry can try his on. The jeweller was expecting both of us, and let me know he couldn’t do adjustments if I didn’t text him by today. Just my luck!

When I get to the flat I tell Harry not to read his inscription but to try it on and thankfully it fits.

“Hey,” Harry calls out as I try to rush back out the door.

“What?” I was out of breath and frantic.

“Slow down,” he pulls me into a lingering kiss and despite being breathless before, I get some air into my lungs when we part.

“Sorry, so hectic.”

“I know I’m sorry,” he strokes my cheek. “I would have gone if I could make it. Also don’t be mad.”

“Be mad?” I let go of the door handle. “What did you do?”

“Your TA stopped by, Bridget. I forgot she was coming so I didn’t have your papers ready. I invited her in and she was in the living room looking at our pictures and she stopped in front of the baby picture. Of our daughter.”

“Okay,” did Harry tell her our history? I get antsy. “And?”

“Well she asked if that was our daughter. And I didn’t know what to say, if you’ve said anything to her? I panicked?” Harry runs his hand through his hair. “I just changed the subject.”

“Okay, that’s not bad. What’s the bad part I don’t get it?”

“Well. I changed the subject and told her she should come to the wedding.”

My jaw drops. “Harry.”

“I know! I know I’m sorry! I know she technically works for you, she was a student, all that! You’re so fond of her though maybe it’s not a bad thing?”

“Harry that’s…she was my student! I’m a prof at that school I…is that even allowed?”

“Yes? I panicked and googled it.”

I groan, “I swear you’re getting worse the closer we get to the wedding.”

The other week he had tried to buy out a whole bakery in case there wasn’t enough cake for our guests.

“You can tell her we have a full guest list? I don’t know what came over me! She just looked at me with those puppy eyes and she asked about the picture and I tried to talk about something else but the only thing on my mind-“

I kiss him. Just to shut him up. I was getting really late.

“This is like that book club you were tricked into joining all over again-“

“Hey I really like that book club now! It might be a good thing!”

“We’ll talk later.” I shake my head at him. “It’s fine, it’s not a big deal. It’s weird but what’s one more guest?”

“I also said plus one.”

I let out a long exhale and then kiss Harry again. I didn’t want him spiralling while I was gone.

“Baby don’t worry, it’s okay. I’m fine with it. We’ll talk when I get home?”

I mull over it on the ride to uni. But I can’t find a way to uninvite her without it being awful. I text our wedding planner if we could squeeze in two more seats and she gives me the thumbs up.

I did have a soft spot for Bridget, and technically I’ve known her for over a year now.

During office hours, we get a few people in for the first half hour. Then we’re back to just the two of us.

“Thanks for taking over today,” I tell her. “I really appreciate it.”

“That’s alright. Happy to help out.”

An awkward silence slithers in.

“So my partner invited you to our wedding.”

“Yeah! I didn’t know if that was serious am I…?”

She looked so hopeful I couldn’t shoot her down. “Yes! I have a couple people from the faculty coming. And some colleagues from my day job. You’ll probably have to sit with them but?”

“That’s fine!” She’s chirpy Bridget again. “I’d love to. That would mean a lot.”

I watch her as the smile stays on and she gets out her phone, typing away. Maybe her friends, her plus one.

I realize I’m not entirely against it. It had happened, and I was okay.

***

I stare at myself in the mirror, smoothing down my dress in a nervous habit. I never thought I’d get married twice, I always thought after Tatum I was done with marriage, but Harry would always be the exception.

I feel a flutter of nerves thinking about him. Walking down the aisle to him. We started talking on a rooftop one day, we had just been two kids.

“You better not cry,” Taylor threatens as she walks into the room. She had gone to fetch lash glue after my teary eyes loosened an edge.

“I’m not,” I say weakly.

She stands beside me in the mirror, “They’re all waiting downstairs.”

Just 30 minutes ago this room had been a chaotic mess. From my mum, to my friends, to the wedding planner. I’m kind of glad my lash came loose, I’m able to ground myself in these few minutes of silence.

Taylor talks about our family downstairs as she fixes my face. I get up with her help and she beams, but her eyes look misty.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Nothing!”

“Why do you look sad what happened?”

“Oh my god calm down, I just can’t believe you and Harry are getting your happy ending! I’m just…emotional.”

“Aww,” I cup her face even though I want to squeeze my baby sister against me. But my white dress, although not entirely traditional, would be ruined for the ceremony.

A ping on her phone—mum. We rush out. It feels like getting caught when we were younger and quickly getting away from the scene of the crime. I grip my sister’s hand until I stand in front of the doors leading down the aisle.

I don’t remember walking, it felt more like floating. Even if there was a chimpanzee and a talking dog in the pews I wouldn’t have noticed. My eyes are locked on Harry’s teary ones, they anchor me as I glide towards the man I’ve never stopped loving. Who always saw all of me.

When he reaches for my hand I grasp it and I know I made the right decisions. Even the painful ones. After all, I wanted to be nowhere but here.

“Y/N,” Harry reads his vows to me and I try not to cry as he sweeps me away with his delicate words about our love story.

“To be so deeply known by another, without even saying a word, shouldn’t make sense and yet with us we have a language that goes beyond words. A brush of your hand or a look in my direction, it can be enough to unload whatever burden I’d just been carrying. I promise to do the same for you, and to never end this dialogue between us. To love you and to cherish you forever.”

Harry couldn’t keep the tears in and they slide down his cheeks as he reads his words out to me. I reach out instinctively and brush his tear away and he laughs because I was doing it again.

“You’re can’t make me cry in my makeup,” I tell him and our guests laugh.

I had sat and thought so hard about my own vows. In the end after 50 versions, I’d settled on short and sweet.

“Harry, when we first spoke on the rooftop of that party in high school,” I say at my turn. “You told me everything you wanted. One of them was to make the world a better place. And I don’t know if you still want those things as much now as you did then, but one thing is true. You’re made my world a better place. I can’t imagine doing life without you. I love you with all of my heart, there’s no equation that could calculate how much.”

Harry grins at me and my breath catches. My man, he was my Harry.

We finish our vows with a kiss and a lot of noise from the crowd. When we turn to everyone I’m struck by how lucky we were.

The absence of our daughter was tough but when it came to love we had an abundance of it. I see it in every smiling and shiny face in the crowd. It’s like photographing a sunny day with one of those old school films, the sun is covered by a dark spot but the rays still wash everything in gold.

Harry squeezes my hand and I look up to him. He’s already looking at me.

He holds his hand up and lets out a whoop before he pulls my face towards him again for an even longer and borderline inappropriate kiss. I feel myself start to blush in front of the crowd.

We start down the aisle and this time I beam at every guest I catch eyes with.

My mum and Harry’s wave with tear-streaked faces. My friends from high school shout out, always the biggest supporters of our relationship. I catch eyes with Bridget, forgetting for a second she was here. Philippe is beside her, but what’s surprising is her blotchy face. I didn’t take her for someone who got emotional at weddings. I throw her a wave and she smiles through the tears.

Whoever ordered weddings to have a small break between the ceremony and the reception deserved a billion dollars. Harry and I spend the quiet moment doing our outfit change but afterwards we hold each other and let the moment sink in. The day sink in.

“We’re married,” Harry whispers when I tell him we should get going so we weren’t late.

“We took the long way to get here didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” he tucks me under his chin again and even though we would be late we just sway together for a little while. Our own private first dance, before the one for our family and friends.

“We did it all quite backwards actually.” I look up to him.

“Yeah, but we were never ordinary.”

“No, and I don’t think anything we’ve ever done is either.”

“Including our kid. I really wish she were here.”

“We’ll tell her all about it one day,” I promise him. His face eases into a loving smile, the fact that we’d made it to a place again where I can comfort him about this said a lot. Said we’d make it through everything, despite.

“I don’t want to do life with anyone else y/n, I have everything I need right here.”

“Remember that day at Whole Foods?” I remind him. “The first time we bumped into each other.”

“It’s a core memory,” Harry remembers. “I feel like the sun never set on that day. Getting to see you after all those years…it’s cheesy but it felt like coming home.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Me too. I recognized you by the back of your head did I ever tell you that?”

“Stared at it enough in maths, of course you did.”

“That’s probably why I did so poorly that year remember,” I laugh. “Just staring at the back of your head.”

“That’s why I never sat anywhere but in front of you.” He swipes lightly down my nose and I smile. “Now I get to see every angle of you whenever I want.”

“Oi,” I slap his chest. “Save it for tonight.”

He brushes my cheek. Under his gaze I’m stripped naked. There was nothing to hide with him, ever.

“I understand how long it took you to get ready,” he says in his deep silky voice. My stomach flips. “So I can’t do anything right now. But y/n, our wedding night will turn into a wedding dawn, and then to day again. I promise you.”

I tip-toe, even in my heels, and brush my lips along his cheek. In his ear I whisper, “I don’t expect anything less.”

I step away, feeling unravelled by the look of desire in his eyes. I’m sure I had the same look of want. But before we can give in to what we wanted to do, I open the door to our suite and embrace the gust of cool air.

“You should get some air too,” I say and he laughs, following me behind.

***

“Bitch!” Taylor comes up to me on the dance floor later that night. We had dinner, Harry and I had our first dance, there’d been toasts and tears in between. I was finally letting loose as the wedding party crowds the dance floor. We had been taking pictures all night, after this next glass of champagne I was going to call it quits on photos lest anyone captures anything that’s not an elegant bride.

“What?” I turn away from Harry to face Taylor. She’d been running around all day making sure my wedding day was perfect and seeing her just warms me with love. I squeeze her against me despite her protests. “I love you Taylor. Thank you for everything!”

“Ugh c’mon,” she wriggles out. She’d never been very affectionate.

“Where’s your bloke?” I look out for him.

“He taking a call. Anyway don’t change the fucking subject!”

“What subject!?” I ask as someone dances past me, fluttering their fingers in my direction. I blow them a kiss.

“C’mere,” she’s annoyed I’m distracted. She drags me off to the side and I hold a finger up to Harry as he watches us. “When the fuck were you going to tell us about her? And you invite her to your wedding and everything and nobody knows anything!?”

“What?” I was drunker than I thought or Taylor was making no sense. “Wha?”

“The girl you just took a photo with? Don’t act stupid Y/N jeez I can’t believe it. You hid it from me when it happened but why are you still hiding…”

My sister grows more upset as she talks, I realize it was serious. Taylor rarely allowed herself to get this worked up in public.

I put my hand on her shoulder but she shakes it off. I think hard about who she was talking about. Who had I just taken photos with?

Some of Harry’s friends took a picture lifting us up, then there was a photo with my cousin but that can’t be who Taylor was talking about. There was Andie, a few other friends and their partners, then Bridget and Bridget and Philippe.

Bridget.

“Wait what are…who do you think that is? Taylor I work-“

“Your daughter! Why are you still acting fucking clueless!”

“What’s happening?” Harry walks in mid-way into the conversation.

“God you too!” Taylor turns to him and hits the back of her hand on his chest. He rubs the spot and stares at her like she’d gone crazy.

“Me too what?”

“Harry?” His mum walks up to us, her brows pulled together the same way Harry’s does when he’s confused.

“Yeah?”

“Who’s that girl? With the brown hair? Purple dress?”

She’s eyeing Bridget who’s laughing with Philippe.

“Bridget?” Harry glances at me and Taylor grows more pink.

“Bridget? That’s her name?” Taylor blinks away tears. “Really y/n? I get when it happened I was a child, you and mom kept it from me. But she’s, you invite her to you-“

“Invite who?!” I shout. What the hell did Taylor think.

“Y/n,” Harry puts his hand on my lower back in warning.

“Your daughter?” Taylor says with teary eyes and a look of betrayal on her face. “That’s your daughter isn’t it? She looks just like…”

“Jesus I thought the same thing,” Anne looks at all of us. “Harry?”

“That’s not-“ he stops talking and we all look over at her. I had to say, right now she really could be. With her hair curled and wearing what she’s wearing. She could be family.

“She’s my TA. I’ve known her for a couple years guys I’ve bloody taught her. That’s not our daughter. She wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight? Harry invited her last minute.”

They all turn to look at me. Taylor looks miffed, she bites her lip as she looks at her one last time.

“That’s weird. Nevermind.”

She leaves like she didn’t just make a big scene. Anne covers her hand with her mouth and shakes her head. “I’m sorry loves, I didn’t mean to upset anyone-“

“You didn’t do anything,” I reassure her. Taylor did. And she couldn’t even say sorry.

“Don’t worry mum,” Harry pays her arm. She fades into the crowd and Harry stands in front of me so all I see is him. “She’ll get air, she’ll be fine.”

“But how could she just cause such a big scene like I’d hide something like that from her? On my wedding day! And then leave without even apologizing ugh! She is still such a brat sometimes!”

“I know, she’ll apologize later just let her be.” He knew Taylor enough. He knew her at 13 and he knew her now. That’s exactly what she would do. “We’re getting you a shot.”

“That’s the last thing I need! I’m already kinda tipsy Har.”

“This won’t tip you over c’mon. Shake it off.”

He leads me to the bar and we take a shot. I nearly spill half of it, it was awful whatever it was. I lose Harry as we get back to the dancing and end up behind Bridget instead. Philippe noticed me first and slows his dancing, which signals Bridget to turn around.

“Y/n!” Her smile is so bright it hurts to look at. It dims as I just stare at her.

It would be crazy. It was a big fat coincidence. She had a mum, a dad, a sister, she told me all about them. Her childhood dog and the time she twisted her ankle playing football in year 4. She wasn’t who we wanted her to be.

“Are you alright?” I read her lips. There’s only ringing in my ears. “Hey! Y/n!”

Philippe is suddenly on my other side and I’m being led to a chair. He disappears and Bridget pulls a chair beside me.

“What’s,” my voice sticks and I clear my throat. “What’s going on between you two? He’s your date?”

“Philippe?” Bridget’s brows draw together and I can’t stop looking at where they meet. I knew her. I didn’t know her. I was too afraid to ask. “No just friends.”

“That’s not the way he’s looking at you.”

“What?” She tucks her hair back. “No we’ve been friends since high school. It’s not like that?”

“What would you do if he got a girlfriend?” It was a random conversation to have, here and right now but it helps me from tumbling anywhere else. Especially into a pool of what-ifs.

“I’d,” she shrugs but a flicker passes through her face, for a second her jaw clenches. “Be happy for him.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not! Why are you asking?”

“You two like each other. I see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking. Why did you invite him tonight?”

She shrugs, picking at something on her arm. “I dunno. He’s good at being a plus one. He always supports me? He’s always been there for me.”

“Sorry,” he shows up with a glass of water. “I swear the guy behind the bar was ignoring me.”

“Thank you Philippe,” by now I didn’t really need the water but I hold the icy glass in my hands. “Let’s see the pictures you took. I want them in my inbox or something soon. We don’t get our official photos for months.”

“Oh yeah here,” Phillipe hands over his phone after opening the photo. There are a couple of all of us, and then a few with just Bridget standing between Harry and I smiling.

I look between all three of us and feel something in my gut. But it’s too scary and big to unpack right now. I shove it away. I couldn’t do this. Not today, not tonight.

“You look beautiful Bridget,” I touch a lock of her hair. “Did I already say that?”

“Yeah,” she smiles awkwardly. “You said that before the photo.”

“You do. And so do you Philippe. Thank you for attending my wedding.”

“Thanks for inviting us,” Bridget looks at me wide-eyed, like she’s about to say something but when Philippe’s hand lands on her shoulder she looks down.

“What?” I ask anyway. Her eyes dart like prey to me, to Philippe, and down to her hands. I grab her hand and force her to look at me, like I could read something in her eyes. Like I would know. “Bridget.”

She looks up and her eyes well with tears as we look into each other’s eyes. My throat feels tight like I was having an allergic reaction, it travels down to my chest, I inadvertently feel myself squeezing her hand.

“I’m so-“

“Bridget,” Philippe’s voice cuts through whatever Bridget was going to apologize for. I look up at him and he’s burning a hole staring at her that hard. Over his head I see Harry.

“Oh look I see my husband,” Harry’s spots me too, relief in his features. His eyes stay on my face as he walks towards me and his eyes keep my steady. I want to tell him something, but everything that just happened was so non-verbal and unreal that I think I made it all up. I must be because this was insane and there was no explanation other than I was drunk, and sadder than I realized. “Gotta go kids. Have fun. I think I need another shot.”

I remember the rest of the night in snapshots. I forget myself later, giving myself up to Harry after that. We actually make it to dawn in a mixture of love and declarations, filthy words and I love yous, laughter and deeper conversations. It’s everything we were. It’s just like he promised.

***

Life moves on and I don’t bring anything up to Harry. I couldn’t, either I’m wrong and get his hopes up, or he thinks I’d gone insane in my sadness.

I feel like Bridget avoids me the week after, I return to class and she sits there, even takes questions after class, but she makes an excuse of studying during office hours and I barely get a few words with her. The week after she has an exam and she skips out after class.

I’m antsy. I want to know more about her; from her. I’m tempted to find a way to access her profile, get more info via the school. But I wait.

Harry notices, as we prep for our honeymoon booked over the holidays, he continues to ask if I was alright. And I try to convince us both I was.

About 3 weeks after the wedding, it’s a Saturday afternoon. Harry’s making lunch and I’m sitting in a pile of our books trying to decide what can be donated.

“Can you get that?” Harry asks.

“Hm?”

“The door?” He says just as there’s another knock. I’d been so entranced in the book I’d randomly started reading a passage of I hadn’t even heard.

I scramble to get it before the next knock and nearly stumble back when I find Bridget at the door.

“Hiya,” she says with an awkward wave.

“Hi…Bridget. What…come in what’s going on?”

“Sorry? Now that I’m here I should have called first.” She comes in and I go further in, waiting for her to follow. She hesitates before peeling her wet boots off.

“Harry? We have a guest,” I announce as I take her further into the home. I guess she’d already been here once before. “Bridget what can we do you for? Did you need something?”

“Bridget!” Harry pops out of the kitchen into the adjoined living room when we get closer. “Nice to see you again! I’m nearly done lunch, did you want to stay?”

What was it with Harry randomly inviting Bridget to things that were not pre-discussed.

“Um, I no. I probably shouldn’t. I just, came by to talk?”

“Sure,” I lead her to our dining table. “Is it about school? Did something happen?”

I sit across from her and Harry mumbles something, turning the dials down on the stovetop before sitting beside me.

Bridget’s eyes dart everywhere, from me to Harry, to the pictures on the wall, the kitchen, the books all over the floor.

“I was just doing a clearout,” I say to fill the silence. “Hey you like books right? Look through that pile there later if you want any of ‘em.”

“Actually,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. I feel Harry tense beside me. “I have a book for you.”

She leans down to where her tote rests and pulls something out. She lays it on her lap first, where we can’t see it. When she looks up to us she has tears in her eyes and her chin quivers.

“Please,” she whispers before pausing. My stomach drops as I take her in. Her face is blotchy and her hair hangs around her face, hiding half of it. She’s definitely cried before coming here, and I almost feel like deja vu as she places the book on the table. “Please don’t hate me.”

She slides it across to us. It’s just a simple leather hardcover, about 30cm by 30cm. The thing in my gut, the suspicion or the intuition, it turns into a cackling ball of energy and moves up to my sternum. I put my hand over it, and then move it to Harry’s leg. He’s frozen like a statue, staring at the book.

“Please open it?” Bridget says with tears streaking her face.

When Harry doesn’t make a move I pull it the rest of the way towards us. I open the first page to a few baby pictures.

I’d never held her in my hands, never even saw her. I’d pushed her out into this world, into another’s arms. But somehow I know who this is.

“Bridget,” I don’t even look at her. I start to frantically flip through the pages. The baby grows, 2 months, 6 months, 1 years old. Another girl joins in some photos, she always has an arm around the other child. I flip and flip and flip and even though I’m expecting it the photo stops my breathing.

I stare at the clone, or the original, of the photo on my fridge.

I’m frozen until another photo is slid towards us. It comes into view: two teenagers on Halloween night. The guy is dressed like the girl, the girl is dressed like the guy.

I throw my chair back and in the time it takes to walk to Bridget she stands too.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs but I just do what I wanted to do the second she was born.

I hug her. I hold her to my chest the way I never got to over 19 years ago. She belonged here. She never got to be here.

She was finally home. My daughter.

“Bridget,” I cry into her hair. Harry’s hair. She had Harry’s hair, his eyes. She got my nose and everything else. I was holding my daughter. She was in my arms, finally.

She really did look like Taylor as a baby.

“I’m sorry,” she cries again. “I was so scared and I screwed up and-“

“No.” I say fiercely. I push her out of the hug so I can grab her face. I wipe her tears and I nearly cry again. How many tears had I missed? Over skinned knees, playground taunts, first crushes and friendship breakups. How many tears had I missed? “Don’t say that. You’re here. You’re—Harry!”

I turn to him, why wasn’t he here?

He’s sat exactly where he was before. Frozen, staring at a spot between the picture of us and Bridget.

I let go of Bridget and move back to him.

“Baby,” I touch his arm and he springs up. Tears coat his lashes.

“‘Scuse me,” he brushes past me and heads out into the hall. Away from us. I want to go after him but I don’t want to leave Bridget—our daughter, alone.

“I’m sorry I knew I would ruin things I-“

“Please,” I want to go after him so bad but I go to Bridget and pull her into a gentler hug. When we part I keep hold of her shoulders. I never wanted to let her go. “He’s just processing it. He’s fine. He’s not mad at you I promise. Promise.”

She bites her lip, it reminds me of Taylor. She was a bit of everyone I knew and loved. She was the love that Harry and I always had. She was ours.

“I just got so scared when I tried to reach…I didn’t mean to deceive you. I didn’t. I felt terrible every day.”

“It’s okay,” I tuck her hair behind her ear. “There’s nothing to be sorry about-“

“But I saw you,” she cuts me off. “After I finally called you back and then just like, ghosted you. And every time I saw you at school it was like…I knew I was to blame. And it made me want to tell you even more but I got more scared any time I came close to it. I almost said it at your wedding—it would have been so stupid. Philippe stopped me.”

“I understand,” I did. I also didn’t care about any of it. She was here. That’s all I cared about. I wanted to know everything about her, I needed Harry here though. “Look Harry…your…Harry. I’m just going to check on him. You stay here and just…”

I trail off and leave. I had to be sure he was okay.

He’s not in the bedroom, or the office. I try the door to the toilet and it opens, he’s sitting on the edge of the tub with his head in his hands.

“She leave?” He asks in a hoarse voice.

“Oh baby,” I crouch in front of him. “No. She’s still here but I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m pathetic,” he buries his hands in his hair. “I’ve been waiting my whole adult life for this and all I do is freeze. Her first impression is of her dad just freezing and then running away.”

I try not to laugh at his dramatic retelling. “Har you know that’s not true. She’s known you before this. It was a shock-“

“You were fine.”

“You know I…always suspected. Especially after the wedding.”

He looks up at that, finally. “You never said.”

“Harry, I felt crazy. Saying it out loud would have forced me to check myself into the psych ward. We all react differently, it doesn’t matter though. Our baby girl is here. The day we talked about!”

He takes a deep breath, and then another one. I guide him to stand and he looks so limp and sad that I squeeze him in a hug. “She doesn’t care how you reacted. She just wants to know you.”

Harry sighs again, he splashes his face with water and we walk out. I was nervous for him.

We walk back into the living room and my heart sinks when Bridget isn’t there. But her things are?

A few steps further and she’s at the stovetop, stirring a pot.

“Oh sorry,” she steps back and nearly throws the spatula into the pot. “It was boiling a lot and-“

“Bridget,” Harry ignores most of what she’s saying and she freezes at the sound of her name. He’s a foot away from her now. I watch him raise a hand to her face and then drop it. His face is a cross between heartbreak and awe as they drink each other in. I wait in anticipation.

“Hi,” she finally says shyly. But it breaks the ice. Harry pulls her into a hug and she returns it tenfold from the looks of it. I can’t tell who’s crying, but I give them their moment as I turn the dials off on the stovetop.

It was just a regular Saturday, except it wasn’t. Our worlds exploded with our past and was putting itself back together again, all the old broken pieces were being mended back together with love. My chest drowns in it, I can barely breathe. In Harry’s arms, there’s no denying she’s ours.

***

“Thank you,” Bridget says as we tuck into dinner. Harry’s lunch prep had gone cold as we’d all sat down and talked about how Bridget found us (looking me up, finding out I was teaching a course she was interested in, forcing her friend Philippe to take it to see if I was who she thought I was), and going through her album. I found out more about her sister Louisa and her parents. It was weird seeing pictures of them, in my mind they were the people that took my baby as their own and for Bridget they were mum and dad.

We finally decide to do something about food when our stomachs rumble. Harry goes back to cooking, showing Bridget what he’s doing until she leaves to take a call. I recognize Philippe on the caller ID.

I take Bridget’s place but I’m more of an extra weight tied to Harry’s back as I hug hun from behind. We don’t even have words on what this all means to us. For now, just touching each other keeps us grounded, it keeps is in what was happening together.

Bridget comes back from the call when we’re nearly done.

“I just want to say I am sorry—and I know you said not to be,” Bridget says quickly before I can get a word in. “But I never meant to deceive the both of you. My plan was to take your class, leave the letter and then talk. I Googled you so much it felt like I knew you. Yet when we spoke in your office that day, you felt familiar but In a different way than the person I studied. I just liked you so much, and I wanted you to like me. I was scared maybe you wouldn’t. So I just screwed the plan and messed up everything.”

“Hey,” Harry hands her a tissue and she takes it. Under the table he squeezes my hand. “It’s in the past.”

“I know. Still made me feel awful. And I couldn’t tell you but I also couldn’t stay away. I applied for TA and, it felt like having a friend and a sister and a mentor all in one. And I…I screwed up. I took it too far. And then you invited me to your wedding—I got to attend my parents’ wedding! It was so absurd. I couldn’t stop crying.”

Sounded like me. But I don’t say anything. We listen to her attentively.

“I only told my sister. I wanted to tell you two before I told my parents.”

I think about my parents. Harry’s. I didn’t want to overwhelm her but I couldn’t wait to introduce her to everyone that already loved her.

“I just hope…no, I know I hurt you two a lot. I didn’t mean to. I am really sorry about it all.”

“Bridget,” Harry’s hand comes down on hers. “What’s done is over. There are so many things we wish we did differently but ultimately it’s all done. All that matters is you’re here, now. You’re our daughter we never got to meet and you’re finally here.”

Harry’s voice cracks on the last word and he sits back and laughs away the tears. “Sorry. I’m a mess today aren’t I? Your first impression of me is a crying mess.”

“That’s not my first impression,” Bridget laughs but her eyes also fill with tears. “That night at the pub. When I saw you two together I nearly bloody fainted! When I looked you up y/n, there’d been an old wedding registry with another bloke. But then seeing you two together?! I just couldn’t believe it—I thought I dreamed it. And then I nearly cried because my bio parents were somehow together?? And the way you just stared into my soul it felt like you knew who I was.”

I laugh, remembering but also knowing exactly what look Bridget was talking about. “He does have a piercing look doesn’t he?”

“Yeah. It could gut someone!”

“That makes it sound awful!” Harry laughs. “Don’t say that.”

“It nearly gutted me! I really thought oh shite—“ Bridget freezes and looks between us like we were gonna scold her for swearing and I nearly leap across the table to hug her again then. “I uhm, I thought you knew who I was.”

“We thought it then,” I let my eyes roam over her. I realize I’d always been a mother, despite not having my daughter. Holding her earlier had awoken an instinct in me and now every time I look at her I feel a rush of love and something fierce. I wonder if Harry felt it too. “But we thought we were mental!”

Her phone chimes as we laugh. She flips it around and then tucks it into her purse.

“You need to take that?” Harry asks.

“No it’s just Philippe. He was at the wedding? I was just talking to him, I hadn’t texted him in a while he wanted to know how it went.”

“Philippe,” I say with a knowing smile. Bridget blushes and Harry asks what he’s missing out on so I fill him in.

“He sounds like a good lad,” Harry comments.

“A good lad?” I repeat. “Are you hearing him?”

Bridget laughs behind her hand and I can’t stop staring at her. I have to force myself to go back to eating.

“He is. I might have told him about how I felt?”

“Wow,” I put my fork down. “You’re confessing an awful lot lately.”

She blushes even deeper. And suddenly I’m grateful of the weird and layered way she’d come into our lives. Despite hiding the truth, it had allowed us to get to know each other as people first. Without any baggage or give me any inclination to fit who I thought she should be onto who was in front of me.

I got to know her for the young woman she was first, so did Harry in a way. And I would be forever grateful for that despite all the pain in between.

“Sorry,” I get up. The affection was overflowing from my cup. “I’m going to give you another hug because I just can’t believe all this.”

“Ohh,” Bridget stands to meet me and we wrap our arms around each other. Here was a girl I already knew, here was my daughter waiting to be known.

“God, she really is our daughter.” Harry quips from his side of the table. He explains when Bridget looks over at him, “y/n is known to be a big touchy person, I’m kinda like that too.”

“Oh my god,” she smiles at us. “I’m like that too! My sister hates hugs. My dad’s 2 pats on the back man, 3 if he’s feeling a lot. I always wondered if…”

She trails off. It seems to hit all of us all over again every so often. For me it’s when she talks about her mum and dad and it’s not Harry and I. The reminder that she went 19 years becoming her own person that we now were catching up on.

For her, it seems it was realizing all the parts of us that were in her.

“You got Harry’s hair, and eyes.” I comment.

“I did! I realized that as soon as I saw a photo online. But I do look a bit like you.”

“You do! I should show you some younger pictures of us and our families. You’ll see more similarities.”

“Wow. So you have a younger sister. How about you Harry?”

“Older sister. Seems we all have sisters.”

Bridget and I make eye contact, remembering a conversation we had what feels like ages ago about having sisters.

We continue our dinner, swapping stories and filling her in on anything she wants to know. She leaves after, claiming to have to get back home, she had an exam on Monday to study for.

When she leaves Harry and I can’t stop talking about her. Or gushing would be more accurate.

“Did you see the way she laughs?” I’d tell him. “Pure you!”

“The way she tucks her hair back,” he would retaliate. “Just like you. You did that especially back in secondary.”

We talk until we’re exhausted, crawling into bed just staring in wonder. There were still so many details to figure out, so many things to cover, it could drown a person thinking of it all.

But like an anchor in the sea, Harry and I fall asleep with hand clasped together. We keep each other buoyed amidst it all.

It was going to take time for this all to sink in but all I’ve ever had was time, and questions. I think I was finally getting time and answers.

Age 39:

Harry’s pov: Having our daughter in our lives is simple and complicated at the same time. At first there were a lot of things to untangle but as time went on, the knots loosened until our lives became their own knots, tangled into each other.

Meeting her parents, the people I met once many years ago, was likely the strangest part. They already felt so familiar as soon as they greeted us in a warm embrace, as if we were there own children. I guess the last time they saw us we were.

“Oh look at you,” Bridget’s mum had squeezed us tight. Her dad had pat us three times and we took it to mean as much as a hug.

In my mind they were always the age they had been then. They were probably around the age we are now. Seeing them sport greys and fine lines, it was like stepping into a time portal.

Lou, Bridget’s sister, eyes us for the first little while before warming up and sharing all kinds of stories—especially the embarrassing kind with us.

When Bridget meets Y/n’s family, I can tell they’re loud and overwhelming at first but we’re all surprised when Taylor embraces Bridget and takes to her immediately.

She brings out old pictures they had of Y/N and I, but every time she says, “your mum and dad…” when she talks about us through the pictures, I notice y/n protesting less and less.

It makes me feel funny, I keep thinking I was going to wake up and find out it had all been a dream.

“This feels very full circle to me,” y/n’s mum says. She’s watching Taylor talk about her baby bump—she was 3 months along. “I saw Bridget as a wee baby when they handed her over to her parents. I remember running late to hospital and making it to the room just in time to see it. I blinked and now she’s in my living room!”

“Sometimes I feel the same way,” I confess.

My family is slightly quietier but they all fuss over our daughter. They ask a million questions and when it’s all over we take Bridget for ice cream. It’s a pseudo-recreation of a life we never had.

Bridget eases into it too. At first she had bouts of disappearing on us. No more than a couple days. But we give her space, understanding it was overwhelming.

Every time I see her, I see her mum—y/n. I was never there when y/n gave birth. We had to drive up from London when we got the news and by the time I got there the dust had settled.

I never even had the potential of seeing her. I’d always been more sympathetic of y/n; her loss had been physical, mine was slightly more abstract.

Even though I’d spent every year since regretting that I wasn’t there to at least glimpse her, I’m glad now I hadn’t been there to see her. If I had to live the last 18 years with this feeling in my chest I don’t think I could have lasted that long. I don’t know how y/n did it. It’s a concoction of deep unconditional love, and tenderness, and recognition, wrapped in a shell of protectiveness. It took me a while to sort through it all but I had a conversation with my parents one night at dinner Y/n and I had visited. And they’d laughed because they had told me that was simply what being a parent was.

“Maybe she regrets it,” I had said the second time she ghosted us. Really it had just been over a day where she hadn’t gotten back to us. But I couldn’t help the overthinking, being tuned into any potential of loss with our daughter.

Somehow, y/n was the cool headed between us two in these moments. Maybe it was being a mum, maybe it was knowing Bridget beforehand, but she was very in sync with her.

“She needs space. The last thing we want her to be is overwhelmed too. Now don’t overwhelm yourself love, at least she’s in our lives.” She’d say.

It takes us the start of the summer and all those meets later for Bridget to finally feel at ease.

We invite her on a road trip, we were renting a place in the Cotswold for a few days and told her to bring Philippe. When she doesn’t even hesitate to say yes Y/n tells me we’d done it: she was finally more comfortable than overwhelmed.

“Y/N made me a better man,” I say after a couple drinks. We’re all sat around a fire outside the house. Despite it being a warm day of hiking the night had cooled significantly and we’d decided that boozy hot cocoas was the way to go. “I’ve lost my ways a lot of times as an adult. But she’s always been my north star. Even when we got back together she led me to being sober and getting my shite together.”

“Oh…” Philippe looks down at his drink. “Are you…”

“No,” I laugh, Philippe was the most-conscientious teen I’d ever met. “I got sober to get my life in order. But…it’s in order now. I haven’t done anything crazy for over a year now.”

A little before our wedding I decided I wanted to end my sobriety. It had been a thought for months, and I had waited before giving in. But I really felt more in control of my life. I faced my life decisions head on, I confronted my past with y/n’s help, and I didn’t think I’d lose control again. It had been a shaky first week but I was right. It was a proud moment for me.

“You two really have something special,” Bridget comments.

“They do,” Philippe adds. “I can’t believe you got your happy ending after so many years!”

“Yeah,” y/n says as I lay my hand on her thigh, palm up. “Y’know what they say about loving someone and letting them go.”

“I guess you did that with me,” Bridget says so quietly we almost don’t hear her. But out here in the countryside we do.

“We didn’t want to,” I remind her.

“No I know.” She smiles, it’s a bit sad. Philippe tugs her closer. I could see how much he cared for her in that small gesture. “I’m not saying it like that. I hear your story and I just imagine how different my life would have been if I was raised by my, by you two. I wouldn’t have this life. And I really like this life.”

She looks at Philippe and I feel y/n squeeze my hand. She often said they reminded her of us when we were younger; the kind of love you’d do anything for.

“But you two loved me enough to let me go. To let each other go. It’s fucking sad but it’s beautiful. Life’s weird.”

“Here here,” Y/N raises her nearly empty cup of hot cocoa. “Life’s weird, sad, beautiful, but lately my life’s been full of so much love. I wish I could sell all the excess, I think I could solve a lot of world problems with it.”

“Wow,” I lean over and kiss the top of her head. “That’s one hell of a speech.”

“I have a speech,” Philippe stands, a little tipsy, and clears his throat. Bridget rolls her eyes but they shine for him. “Bridget you’re the love of my life. Since we were 13. But Harry and Y/N, I think I love you too. Ever since we were 15, I’ve watched Bridge struggle for answers about her past. And you two have given her all the answers, welcomed her—and me actually, into your lovely life. I’ve watched her become old Bridge but even more confident. I’m falling harder for her these days. And I can’t thank you guys enough.”

“Aw Philippe come here,” y/n lets of my hand to walk around and give him a hug. How quickly strangers became family.

Bridget grumbles about being left out and joins the hug. Soon I join in too. I want to create a mold of this moment, I think as I squeeze them against me, I’d make it out of plaster and let it dry. Any time we wanted, we could always find our way back to this moment here.

Age 40:

Y/N and I watch our daughter cross the stage. Beside us are our parents and in front of us sits Bridget’s parents and her sister. She has a whole army cheering for her. This was the first milestone event we could all really show up for, and show up we did.

“I can’t believe this,” I was so proud of her. I know the kudos went to her parents, and herself, but I beam with pride. Honestly Bridget could spin in a circle in front of me and I would be a proud dad.

“We need to get photos,” mum leans over and says so seriously, as if we hadn’t planned on getting a million already.

We have a framed picture in our hall, Y/N and I on our wedding day, our daughter in between us. Her graduation photo is definitely making it. She makes fun of this wall, calls it the Styles hall of fame, and I never mention it but she always lingers a few second longer in front of the photo of the three of us.

I do too.

“It makes me so sad you won’t be so close to me anymore,” my mum tells Bridget later. We’re all piled in our flat, drinks and celebratory cake in everyone’s hands.

It reminds me of mine and y/n’s 40th birthday, we had gathered our family and friends here and it was some of their first times meeting our daughter. Today is more intimate, and focused on Bridget.

“I know it makes me sad too, but I’ll be here often, visiting Philippe.”

“Only visiting Philippe?” I raise a brow.

“Is there someone else I’m supposed to be visiting?” She mirrors my raised brow.

As Bridget’s gotten more comfortable, me and her could banter for hours if you let us, it’s one of those things that brought us closer together—having the same sense of humour. It’s allowed us to have just as deep heart-to-hearts, a handy joke always close to the surface.

Y/N always says seeing me like that, thoughtful and silly, reminds her of the boy she fell for. I can’t deny that I’ve been feeling closer to my 20 year old self than my 40 year old self lately.

“She’s too cheeky,” Bridget’s mum says. “But I have to say I’ll be glad to have her back.”

Lou, Bridget’s sister, was moving to Wales. Apparently she wanted to know more about her background, and take a trip with her bio mum to visit her bio dad.

I think Bridget was moving back to Coventry to keep her parents’ loneliness away; she said she would commute to Birmingham for school. Even though she got accepted into law schools in London, going to a uni close to her parents just showed me how close she was to her parents. It was a bittersweet feeling.

“I’ll have somebody to watch cricket with again,” her dad says.

“Ohh,” Bridget throws her sister a side-eye. “I love cricket…”

We all laugh at her complete lack of concealing her true feelings.

Later that night, it’s just Bridget’s parents and us. The kids are on the balcony talking.

“I know we’ve said it before,” I say after a long silence. We’d just been watching the kids talk and laugh outside. “But I want to say thank you again.”

Bridget’s dad shakes his head. “It was the greatest pleasure of our lives getting to raise those two girls.”

He looks over at his wife and they smile at one another. Seeing them interact, I’m grateful that somehow fate had led us to them. While Y/N and I were figuring life out, while I fucked up a lot of things, she was raised on a steady and stable foundation.

“She’s incredible,” I murmur. “She’s gonna be a lawyer. She’s going to change the world.”

“She sure will,” her mum says. “We should be thanking you two. For giving us Bridget. I know it wasn’t easy, you told me you thought about her nearly every day. But we can’t imagine our lives without her.”

We sit in a comfortable silence, looking out at the kids until they notice and start to ask questions through the glass.

“She’s happier,” her mum says smiling at Bridget and Lou exaggerating their words through the glass. “She stopped being like this before she left for uni. We thought we lost her but…I think everything worked out for the best.”

Y/N glances at me. Her eyes crinkle when she finds me looking at her first, her eyes steady me as she says what I was thinking, “I think so too.”

Age 45

Your pov: “When did she say she would be here?”

“6?” Harry says for the tenth time.

“It’s 6:20 do you think something happened? She hasn’t texted has she?”

“My love,” Harry puts down the cutlery he was arranging on the table and holds my face in his hands. “They’re driving from Coventry, they probably hit some traffic.”

“Maybe I should call her?”

Harry sighs and squishes my face.

“Don’t! You’ll make more wrinkles.” I warn.

“I love your wrinkles,” Harry kisses my forehead right where the pesky wrinkles had been growing deeper over the last few years despite the additions to my night routine.

Harry always said our wrinkles were just the stories of our lives showing through. I told him to get himself undereye cream.

“You don’t think I’m aging handsomely?” He strokes the moustache he started growing last year. At this age, even I couldn’t deny it made him even more attractive.

“Well it’s no good if you’re ageing handsomely and I age like a troll.”

“I will love you if you age into a troll.”

“But will you love me if I turn into a worm?”

“Do you even have to ask? I’d buy you the best soil and keep you in a beautiful pot.”

“You wouldn’t take me fishing?” I ask. He sighs. Last year while we were taking a trip up north for Lou’s wedding, we’d gotten into a fight and when I asked him the question while he was still stewing he said he’d take me fishing. It had, ironically, broken the iciness of his anger and we’d laughed about it so hard he’d nearly had to pull over.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he wraps me into his chest nearly suffocating me.

I’d spent half my life with a lot of difficulties, but life now felt easy compared to it. I had the privilege of getting older with the man I adored, got to watch my daughter flourish as an adult and a lawyer, watch her get married to the love of her life, and all the while live comfortably in the heart of this city I called home.

When Bruno starts barking though, I gasp and push myself off of Harry, “that’s them!”

Bruno continues to bark as I rush to the door. We’d got him a couple years ago as a pup and I can’t believe it had taken us that long to get a dog. He filled our lives with laughter and long walks. We loved him.

“Down.” I say to him. I open the door and hold my hands out while Bruno runs in circles beside me.

“Ahhh sorry we’re late!” Bridget steps into my hug and I tug Philippe’s hood so he can join. Bruno goes for Philippe when they walk in, he’d gotten obsessed with him after Philippe took care of him while Harry and I took an anniversary trip last year.

“Where are my hellos!?” Bridget says to Bruno and he barks, standing on his back legs to paw at her leg.

I hadn’t seen the two of them since March, that was 6 months ago. It had been their wedding, and they’d gone on a month long honeymoon after that, after which Harry and I had taken time off to road trip around Europe with Bruno, and then time had just zipped by.

After a hearty dinner, Harry and I carry out the birthday cake we’d been hiding.

“You didn’t have to do this!” Bridget fans her face but we treat it like we do any special occasion, plus making up for all the ones we’d missed. We get photos and exchange presents, she cries reading the cards and the whole time she says she had a present for us.

It’s a small bag, Harry and I guess that it was something for Bruno but when we take out a box it doesn’t sound like much when we shake it.

“Is this a prank gift? There’s nothing in it?” Harry asks.

“Open it!” He was making me antsy.

“You open it,” he hands me the box. Bridget and Philippe stare intently at my hands.

I undo the bow and slowly open the box. There’s a small square of tissue paper, and then a piece of paper. I remove both but something catches my eye.

I flip the paper over and stop breathing.

“Is that-“ Harry stops talking too. We stare at the piece of paper in our hands. It looks so much like one I had held 28 years ago. But it’s not.

“Bridge,” I look up at the couple. The parents-to-be.

“We’re having a baby,” Bridget says. Philippe and her are gripping hands and I throw everything off of me to launch myself at her.

“A baby!” I hear Harry say and joining us. “You’re having a baby! Y/n!”

“I never thought we’d be grandparents,” I look up at Harry.

“Those wrinkles were coming in for a reason,” he teases.

We never did have any other kids. Quite frankly, neither of us wanted any. When we first got together we were just starting to get comfortable with the reminder that we had a daughter out there and we could talk about her freely with each other. It felt like having a third person in our little family.

After Harry proposed, while we planned our wedding, we talked about it but we never thought it felt right. We both had first marriages where a lack of conceiving had just put a strain on the relationship we didn’t think we needed. We’d also felt like it was betraying something, before we met our first child.

When Bridget did reach out, it became about catching up on lost time. And then with her in our lives we knew what we suspected all along. We had each other, and that was enough. Bridge was our bonus. And getting to be aunt and uncle to our nieces and nephews it was enough. It was a full enough life.

We never even dreamed in our 20s we’d get to be parents and now we would get to be grandparents! I never realized until this moment that I wanted this. Really wanted it.

“Do you know the gender?” Harry asks.

“No,” Philippe answers. “We were thinking of doing one of those reveal parties? But not for a couple months.”

“Wow,” my hands drift down to Bridget’s belly and I remember I had something. I leap away from the group and find the box in my closet, it’s painted pink with random collages from old magazines. It hosts old diaries, photos, a hospital bracelet, and an ultrasound.

“This was you once,” I show her the picture when I get back. “I carried you like that once upon a time.”

She takes it with teary eyes, holding it close to her face to make out the shape of her. She hands it to Philippe and grabs my hands.

“I’ve thought about it before, but when I got pregnant I couldn’t wait to tell you-“

“She kept telling me I had to make a trip out to London just so she could give you the news.” Philippe interrupts, eyes scanning the ultrasound still.

“No really,” Bridget laughs. “I did. It’s like I got this new perspective.”

She puts my hands on her belly and covers mine with hers. I feel everything at once then, all the heartbreak I ever went through to get here.

“I can’t imagine giving this baby up. And it’s barely 3 months. What you were willing to do to give me a better life-“

She breaks off and Philippe squeezes her shoulder. I watch my daughter try to gain control of her emotions. I remember when I was pregnant with her, anything would set me off.

“It must not have been easy. After carrying me like this for 9 whole months. Thank you-“ she looks up to where Harry’s standing. I barely register his hand on my shoulder. “Thank you as my mum and dad, for making the hardest decision I can imagine ever making, so I could have something you knew you couldn’t provide.”

I reel my tears in, save them for later that night in bed while Harry holds me tight against him.

Right now I kiss my daughter and tell her what a good mother she will make. I tell her and Philippe how proud I was of them, how excited, how wonderful this was.

Age 46

The day we meet our granddaughter is seared into my brain. We get the call at 8:35pm, Harry and I were staying in a B&B in Coventry despite Bridget’s mum insisting we stay with her. We’d been here all weekend, booked it all week, not wanting to miss Bridget’s delivery date.

“Y/N she’s here,” her mum whispers into the phone. Her voice is filled with joy and giddiness. “She’s here.”

“We’re coming,” I say. Harry’s already at the door and we rush out into the night to see our granddaughter.

She has the perfect little face, and when she finally wakes up I gasp when I see Harry’s eyes looking back at me. I turn to him, to see if he noticed, but he’s teary-eyed and gazing at the baby in awe. I soak it in for a second, imagining this exact look if we’d kept our baby so many years ago.

Bridget’s parents had given us the room, to give us a moment alone, and I can’t be more grateful. Bridget encourages us to hold her and as her soft body is pressed into my body I let out a sob and hand her over to Harry. I excuse myself and step outside the room.

Lou’s kids sit on the floor outside, playing with whatever toys are spilling out of a miniature backpack. I focus on the flashy colours, trying to calm down, counting the number of toys falling out.

My life was a 180 from 10 years ago. This moment would go down in our history books as one of the best days of our lives.

But I can’t deny the bittersweet. The experience threatens to push me into the bitter past of not even getting to hold Baby Bridget. But with it comes an undeniable sweetness of getting to experience this now.

I take a deep breath and walk back in. Harry and Bridget stop mid-sentence and turn to me. Bridget’s face is streaked with tears, Harry’s looks concerned but I smile. He sits with the pink bundle to his chest and I ache.

“Don’t look so obvious you were talking about me,” I try a joke.

“Are you alright?” Bridget asks.

“May I hold her?” I ask in return.

I sit on the edge of the bed and she’s placed in my arms; she’s perfect. Just as perfect as Bridget must have been.

“She’s got Philippe’s hair,” I gently stroke the wispy blonde strands.

“She’s got my eyes, her grandpa’s eyes.”

I look at Harry. And he catches the stricken look on my face when Bridget tips forward and whispers to her baby.

“Look baby, this is your mumma’s mum, and your mumma’s dad. You’ve got his beautiful eyes. Say hi to grandma!”

My throat tightens. “Bridge.”

She leans away, her eyes dart between us. “I know I call you Y/N and Harry. It made it easier at first but…you are my mum and dad. Even though I have another pair. You are my mum and dad. And I want her to know you like that.”

“Oh love,” Harry leans down and kisses the top of our daughter’s head. She keeps her green eyes trained on me, grasping my hand that’s wrapped under her baby’s.

I mouth a thank you, my voice couldn’t pass through the block in my throat. She squeezes my hand and it sets the baby off. Remembering when my nephews were this young, I just hand her back to Bridget knowing she only wanted her mum.

Harry and I stay in the waiting room. We couldn’t go home, even though we had spent our allotted time we had inside the room, we stay there.

We watch Lou’s kids as Bridget’s family gathers in her room. We stay as they fall asleep, draped over us. I remember when Taylor’s kids were this small, they would fall asleep anywhere.

We talk in whispers, I don’t remember what about exactly. Mostly how excited we were. How there was so much to look forward to. How different our lives looked a decade ago.

“One day we’ll tell our grandkids,” I remember Harry saying. “We’ll tell them all about us, how we met, how our love burned so bright it shone in the sky. We lost each other but our love was always there to guide us back home.”

“We’ll see them grow up, all the memories we missed.”

“We’ll change diapers.”

“We’ll change diapers,” I giggle, half-delirious by the lack of sleep. It was probably 2am and I was tired.

When I gaze up at Harry I remember him holding our granddaughter. I replace her with Bridget. For a minute I allow myself to imagine how that would have been.

“I think you would have made an amazing mum if we did things differently,” Harry whispers into my hair.

“You too.” I whisper back.

“An amazing mum? You think?” The edge of his lips tug upwards.

“Harry,” I warn. We had kids sleeping on us we were trying not to wake.

“I love you.” He says in response. “To the stars and back.”

On our drive home I can’t stop looking at him. I always wondered how it would be like to grow old with someone; when I was younger and watch my own parents celebrate anniversaries. And then when I was older and my first marriage was so rocky.

But thinking about it now is like a simple mathematical equation. You take two lives, two individuals, and you bracket them in love. You add an exponent—the decision to continue choosing each other. And you get a lifelong commitment. No matter the situation, no matter the challenges or the changes, you choose to choose each other.

His side profile lights up by an oncoming car. For a second he’s the same boy I feel in love with, a few more gray hairs, a few more wrinkles, and a moustache. But he’d always be the boy I followed out to the roof, who held my hand in our high school hallway, the one who turned an I into a we when I got pregnant, I see the man I had coffee with after a run-in at the Whole Foods, I see the broken heart from a harsh life sitting on the steps of a church, I see a bookworm, I see a father, a husband, and now a grandfather. I see the one person who knows me like the back of his hand. The one I am home with always.

“What is it?” Harry asks as we pull into our b&b. “Have you been asleep this whole ride or have you been staring at me?”

“Staring at you?” I ask. “You think I was staring at you the whole ride?”

“Well you were really silent. And facing me

“I was thinking.”

“About me?”

“Why are you so desparate!? Do I not show you enough love regularly?”

“I could always use more,” Harry looks half asleep as we reach our door.

“The people are right: you give someone a hand and watch as they take the whole arm,” I tease.

“When you gave me your hand, I made you a wife.” Harry retorts.

“Ooh,” I poke him. “I have to say that’s a good comeback for being half-asleep.”

Harry grins back. “You keep me sharp.”

“And you keep me happy. Now open the door so I can stop freezing out here!”

We walk into the warmth of our b&b.

For so much of our lives, our past decisions haunted us. We let so much go. Now life was repaying us, returning it all back, with interest.

***

In a small b&b in the middle of a town called Coventry, two lovers crawl into bed. They’d just become grandparents and they carry an exhausted buzz about them as they try to fall asleep. They’re both thinking of the other, of their daughter, of the tiny bundle they held in their arms today.

Some 20 minutes away their daughter lays in a hospital bed, an exhausted buzz putting her to sleep. She dreams of her mother who gave her up, how she had found her parents in the end, and dreams about the kind of mother she’ll be.

A few doors down lay her newborn daughter, she doesn’t dream of much, not yet, but she’s in for a lifetime of love.

Most of life is what we made it. Y/N and Harry loved deeply enough to make it.

———————————————

TAGLIST: @quinnwritezz @unknownnbihh @dilfhrrys @umadirectioner @hermionelove @anonymous-91 @meganxfddf

#harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #writingsfromhome #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #fic #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #if you love something #dad!harry #its not my fave but I was getting tired of tweaking it #to shorten it #theres just so much to catch up on #kinda nervous #but also kinda done

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celiciaa · 5 months

Text

GILBERT VON OBSIDIAN EVENT STORY....

MAKE ME FEEL ALIVE, HIS SIDE STORY.

translations are not 100% accurate. expect mistakes.

trigger warning: suggestive, violence.

MINORS DNI.

Birthdays always come every year as long as I’m alive, even if I don't want to.

━━FLASHBACK━━

Albert: Happy birthday, Gil.

Mother: I'm glad you were able to age properly this year. I feel like I'm about to cry.

━━

Aristocrat: Happy birthday, Lord Gilbert.

Aristocrat: I hope you liked the surprise party I prepared for you.

(Stop….)

━━

Albert: Look, I got that academic book you wanted.

Albert: It's really amazing how you can understand such a difficult book, you're a genius. // You're really amazing to understand such a difficult book, you're a genius.

Mother: I made some new clothes.

Mother: I'm sure you'll grow out of it soon, so please let me make you a new outfit for your birthday.

━━

Aristocrat: Of course, we also have prepared many presents.

Aristocrat: All of us present here would like to offer our heartfelt blessings to His Highness——

(…Stop.)

━━

Albert: I'm sure Gil will grow up to be a good man every time he celebrates his birthday.

Mother: Hehe, look forward to it. But the most important thing is for you to live.

Mother: Happy birthday to you many, many times, Gil.

━━

Aristocrat for embezzlement: Congratulations.

Aristocrat for theft: Congratulations, Lord Gilbert.

Aristocrat for murder: My sincerest congratulations, Lord Gilbert.

Gilbert: ——….Hehe, thank you. But I don't need that.

Aristocrat for the crime of human trafficking: Lord Gilbert?

Gilbert: I'm feeling sleepy today, so I'm heading back. Good night.

Gilbert: I'll see you on the execution site.

(Stop it…stop it, stop it.)

(I don't want those memories to be tarnished by the farce of those filthy aristocrats.)

━━

Aristocrat for the crime of human trafficking: Lord Gilbert, please forgive me!

Gilbert: Hm, what? You don't want to die in an instant?

Gilbert: If that's the case, I'll execute you myself. I'm not used to handling a sword yet….

Gilbert: I'm sure it will take a while, unlike the Emperor, but that's okay, right?

Aristocrat for the crime of human trafficking: Aa….aaAAAAAAHHH—!

Gilbert: Ahaha! What a shame. Everyone, take a good look.

Gilbert: This isn't someone else's business…yes?

(I don't need birthdays anymore.)

(It would be better for me to just disappear than be corrupted by those filthy aristocrats.)

(No one is allowed to celebrate my birthday.)

(Anyone who congratulates me will be killed without exception.)

(Roderich, Walter, all of them, without exception——)

━━FLASHBACK ENDS━━

Gilbert: Hey, hey, little rabbit. Do you know my birthday is almost close?

——One day when the snow started to fall, those words fell out of my mouth instinctively.

Emma: Huh, when is it!?

Gilbert: One week later.

Emma: Why didn't you tell me earlier!

Emma: What should I do…is it possible to prepare the ingredients for the cake now….

Gilbert: ….

(Why did I say that?)

(I thought I decided long ago not to let anyone celebrate my birthday.)

Emma: Is something wrong?

Gilbert: No, it's nothing.

(But I'm sure you….)

(….You wouldn't lie to me, would you?)

━━

Roderich: ——That was surprising.

On the way back to my room after my regular checkup, I found myself alone with Roderich and mumbled something.

Gilbert: Because I told her about my birthday?

Roderich: Yes. Me and the doctor are planning to celebrate….

Gilbert: No, I won't allow it.

Roderich: As expected.

Gilbert: Hehe, I thought I'd give the little rabbit a special chance.

Gilbert: I don't know how many more birthdays I will have. I thought it would be better not to have any regrets.

Roderich: It can be as many times as you want. Whether it's 10 years or 100 years.

Gilbert: I'm not immortal.

Gilbert: But, well, maybe I'm getting carried away this year. // But, maybe I'm just too excited this year.

Gilbert: ….I used to look forward to my birthday a lot, you know?

Gilbert: I wonder what kind of presents she will give me, and what kind of delicious food she’s preparing for me…..

Gilbert: When I'm with the little rabbit, I sometimes remember those feelings I had when I was a human.

Roderich: ….

Roderich, who was right beside me, had stopped walking.

When I approached him, his face which was hidden behind the hood remained downcast, and did not rise to look me in the eye.

Gilbert: Eh, I was just kidding. What are you crying about? That’s disgusting…..

Roderich: ….Even the doctor had teary eyes after your checkup.

Roderich: He said it’s been a while since he heard about your birthday at the obsidian castle….

Roderich: Lord Gilbert celebrated other people's birthdays, but was not happy to celebrate his own.

Gilbert: Ahaha, how honest, aren’t you? I don't know if the little rabbit will celebrate, after all the threats I’ve made.

Roderich: I wouldn't call that a threat.

Gilbert: Then what?

Roderich: It's just your way of saying that you’re looking forward to your birthday.

━━

(——I wonder if I'm that easy to understand.)

Until the day of my birthday, the little rabbit must have been in deep distress.

Her hands were shaking with nervousness as she baked the cake, and her expression was worrying.

Still, she ended up making a birthday cake for me.

It seems that even after hearing that someone was sent to the execution stand, her intentions did not change.

(I think she got the message that I was expecting her.)

Emma: ….This is just my speculation….

Emma: Lord Gilbert—— Gil, I don't think you want to celebrate your birthday.

Emma: You hate lies.

Emma: Because it was supposed to be a special and important day, you couldn't allow yourself to be defiled by corruption and deception.

Emma: …..That's what I thought.

Gilbert: Hehe…as expected of the little rabbit, who loves me so much.

(You’re spot on.)

(Honestly, I didn't think you could see through it that much, but I guess you can see into my heart.)

(…You are completely different from the rotten aristocrats.)

Gilbert: Are you really going to congratulate me?

Emma: Of course.

Gilbert: I've killed many people so far, and I might kill many more in the future.

Gilbert: I’ve sent someone to the execution stand after I celebrated my birthday before, and I'll do it again if anyone like that shows up in the future, you know?

Emma: …..

(…How cruel of me.)

I am by no means doubting Emma’s beautiful heart.

But after so many years of dealing with corruption and deceit, I am paranoid as a matter of habit.

It was also for self-defense, not wanting to be disappointed because I wanted a heartfelt celebration.

Emma: ….I see.

After a long silence, the little rabbit nodded.

Emma: Even if you have made the whole world your enemy, I will congratulate you.

Emma: I'm already a bad woman, so it's too late for that.

Emma: Please don't underestimate my love for you.

(….)

(…You're crying.)

Her eyes are slightly moist with determination, but she looks forward with dignity.

It was more beautiful than the memory of a birthday I once had, and it burned strongly in my mind.

Gilbert: ….Hehe, sorry. I was bullying you too much.

(I just want to be celebrated by you, but I don't feel safe unless I do this.)

(I'm so sorry, little rabbit.)

I stand in front of Emma and use my fingers to scoop up her tears that are about to fall.

(But I finally found someone to celebrate with.)

(I thought that once I fell into the beast, I would never be a part of it again….)

(…I feel like it's a kind of blessing that a great villain who killed a lot of people shouldn't enjoy…)

As I secretly close my aching heart, without warning, Emma puts her hand on my cheek and kisses me lightly.

Gilbert: What?

Emma: …I can't give you a cake right now, so here's an alternative gift for you.

(Really….I wonder how bare my heart is in front of you.)

Gilbert: That's a poor gift.

Emma: How about this?

The little rabbit puts her arms around my neck and takes a deeper kiss than before.

(…For a moment, I wondered if it was okay to be so happy despite being a big villain——)

(Well, if I’m the big villain, it's just enough for me to snatch away all the happiness that little rabbit gives me.)

(I never thought about it before…)

(Wouldn't it be nice to receive a little reward for living in a dirty world?)

My wavering heart hardened and I bit the little rabbit's lip.

When she froze in surprise, the first thing I did was pry her lips open with my fingers.

Making sure her tongue was out and I bit it to the extent that it didn't hurt, I placed my hand on Emma’s leg as she leaned on the table.

(Come to think of it, the little rabbit is wearing the outfit I made for her today.)

(…I'm sorry that you've been dyed by me.)

When I lifted the hem of her black dress and forced my fingers deep inside her, Emma’s face contorted in pain.

Emma: Gil…it hurts….

Gilbert: Yeah, on purpose.

Emma: Why….

Gilbert: Because you don't like pain, do you, little rabbit?

When I plunged her deep into the pit of her stomach with my fingers, her expression immediately turned lewd.

Gilbert: See, you looked like you were feeling good.

Gilbert: By the way, we’re in the kitchen. Are you going to stop me?

(I'm sure the little rabbit would resist more.)

The wet squelching sounds and her moans became more visible the moment I added two more fingers.

Emma: ….Just…for today….

Emma: No matter what Gil wants…if he wants to do it here, I’d take it all….

Gilbert: Because it's my birthday?

When I asked, the little rabbit brought my head close to her soft chest.

Emma: I do not…lie.

Emma: So...you can try it until you feel safe, Gil.

Emma: My celebration is from the bottom of my heart…my sincerest congratulations…

Emma: I will keep telling Gil, no matter how much it hurts, until he believes in me.

Gilbert: …..

Gilbert: Oh, no. I guess I've been found out.

(I feel like I can't hide anything in front of you.)

Emma: Gil is probably a lot easier to understand than I think.

Gilbert: I think those words can only be said because you are facing me head-on.

Gilbert: …It's really a pity that a troublesome man likes you so much.

(As long as you understand my intentions and wish me a happy birthday, I'll be fine.)

(I don't think I'll be betrayed by you.)

I stroked the little rabbit’s weak spot as a reward and to her response, she was trembling in pleasure.

(Birthdays are coming back again this year.)

(…Yeah. Maybe it’s not so bad.)

━━

Despite being bullied by the beast, the little rabbit somehow manages to finish the birthday cake and feed it to me.

The first birthday in a long time was filled with the warmth and tender feelings that had once been so natural to me.

Gilbert: Hehe…your heart is still beating, isn't it?

Emma: I can…hear your heartbeat too, Gil.

At the end of the celebration, we lie down on the bed, skin to skin, as if it were natural.

As I listened to the sound of the heartbeats coming from our chests,

The little rabbit placed her hand on my back and I felt a slight pain.

(Ah—…. I guess it's a scratch from when I held you earlier.)

The little rabbit’s face turned apologetic the moment she noticed my expression.

Emma: …I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.

Gilbert: I don’t mind. I like being hurt by you too.

Gilbert: You could have left bite marks as well as scratches.

When I run my fingers down her delicate arm, there are clear bite marks.

(Hehe, it must have hurt a lot. The little rabbit cried many times)

(You're crazy because you still love me.)

(….Well, I don't think any sane person could ever love me.)

Emma: It's hard to tell how much is too much or too little love Gil.

Gilbert: Then, let's learn it sometime soon. How about by next year's birthday?

Emma: I hope…you will let me celebrate again next year.

Gilbert: Who knows? It's up to you whether it’ll be your last or your first.

Gilbert: If you love me a lot, I might change my mind...okay?

Emma: ….

Gilbert: It’s just...my celebration this year wasn't unpleasant.

Gilbert: ….Thank you.

Emma: …..

(It's like I'm getting back one of my forgotten emotions.)

The more time I spend with the little rabbit, the more things I once let go of may gradually come back to me.

It is a frightening yet happy thing.

Emma: So…next time, how about we celebrate with Mr. Roderich and Mr. Walter?

Emma: I'm sure both of them really want to congratulate you, Lord Gilbert.

Gilbert: That’s not allowed.

(I'm sure those two want to celebrate my birthday….)

Gilbert: I don't need other people's congratulations. As long as I have yours, that's all that matters.

Gilbert: Because you're the only one I love.

When I said this clearly, the little rabbit looked embarrassed and shy.

(…You're so cute.)

Emma: Gil…I forgot to mention the most important thing.

Gilbert: Hm?

Emma: Happy birthday.

Emma: I'll give you lots of love…so please let me celebrate with you again next year.

(…So many reasons I can’t die like this.)

(I'm at a loss. But since it's a request from my beloved rabbit, I can't resist.)

Gilbert: Hehe, I understand. I'll let you celebrate as long as you are.

Gilbert: Keep loving the beast with your pure heart, just as you are…got it?

(So please. Don't you just disappear like those two.)

(As long as I'm alive, you have to make sure you celebrate my birthday every year…okay?)

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince spoilers #ikepri jp #ikepri translations #ikemen series #cybird #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert

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thetriumphantpanda · 10 months

Note

I’m begging and on my knees🧎‍♀️ drunk make-up sex with Javier Peña with a dash of angst please

Have a nice day!

Anon, I see you on your knees. You can get up now because here you go! Thank you so much for sending this in, I hope you love it!

Pairing | Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count| 1.8k

Warnings | Explicit, 18+ Minors DNI. Not many warnings for this one apart from alcohol consumption, a dash of angst, Javi begging for forgiveness on his knees (Translation, oral sex (f) receiving) and unprotected PiV sex.

Part of my 1k Smut Sensation Celebration - if you want in, check here for details - I’m accepting requests through July 15th.

The empty bottle of wine on the coffee table is taunting you, just like the unopened second bottle of wine in your fridge is taunting you as well. The phone in the entryway is also doing a pretty good job of taunting you, begging you pick it up, dial his number and apologise, even though this had been all his fault. You sigh, pushing yourself up from the couch to go and retrieve the second bottle of wine from the fridge. Maybe another glass or two would be enough to knock you out so you didn’t feel the need to pick up the phone.

You’re pouring the white liquid into your glass when there’s a soft knock at your door. For a moment, you consider ignoring it, thinking it’s probably only going to be your neighbour, knocking on your door for the third time this week because he’d forgotten an essential ingredient for dinner or wanted to complain about where you’d parked your car. You were likely to explode at him, so you take a large sip of the wine, wincing as it burns down your throat, your own fault for picking the cheapest option you could find, and take the glass and the new bottle to the couch.

There’s another knock at the door, this time more insistent. You grumble, all you want is be left alone to wallow in your self-pity, so curse whoever this was that wouldn’t let you do that. In hindsight, you should have looked through the peephole in your door to check who it was that was disturbing you, but instead, you yank it open with a frustrated ‘what?!’ to be met with none other than Javier Peña.

He's taken back by the venom in your words, swaying slightly as he steps back with his hands raised in surrender like he’s scared you might strangle him. It takes your alcohol-fogged brain a few seconds to realise he’s just as drunk as you are.

“Are you drunk?!” You exclaim, voice louder than intended because of the wine coursing through your veins.

“Might be,” He shrugs, a lot calmer than you are when you’ve had a drink, “Think you might be as well.” He’s peering into your apartment, pointing a finger at the two bottles of wine on the table.

“Jesus Christ,” You mumble, leaning forward to grab the collar of his leather jacket to drag him into your home, “Get in here before I get a noise complaint.”

“Never worried much about those before, hermosa.” He grins as you shut the door behind him.

“Shut up and sit down,” You demand, pointing to the couch, “What the hell are you even doing here?”

This is when his exterior changes. Gone is that bravado and confidence you’re used to, that attracted you to him in the first place, replaced with aa nervous energy and a shifting in his seat. He leans over, picks up your wine glass and takes a hefty drink of it.

“I miss you.” Is all he says.

“Miss me?” You scoff, folding your arms over your chest, “You’re the one who left, Javier.”

“I did it to keep you safe.” He mutters.

“Safe?” You ask, “Nothing about this fucking place is safe, Javier, you leaving probably did the opposite.”

“I wasn’t talking about Colombia, querida,” He sighs, “I was talking about me.”

You’re stunned into silence for a moment. If there was one thing you knew about Javier Peña, it was that this man in front of you, though capable of hurting most people, would never lay a finger on you. He’d never hurt you, apart from breaking your heart two weeks ago when he left without a word and didn’t bother calling.

“I don’t…” You start, not being able to find the right words through the brain fog, “I don’t understand.”

He’s standing now, walking slowly towards you to test the water as he speaks, “I’m not good at this,” He begins, “I’m not good at falling, I know I can’t be the man that you want me to be, the man I know you see when you look at me with your beautiful eyes,” He’s so close to you now, palm of his hand cupping your cheek, “I was only ever going to break your heart, hermosa, I just did it before it was too late.”

“Then why are you here, Javi?” Your voice falters, head tilting into the warmth of his hand.

“Because I can’t stay away,” He murmurs, “I want to be that man for you, I want to be better, I want to give you everything, to make you happy, God I want to try,” His face is inches from yours, you can feel hiss breath fanning across your cheeks, “Will you let me?”

You don’t answer, instead, you push yourself up onto your tiptoes, wrap your arms around his neck and catch his lips with yours. He moves forward, pressing the breadth of his body against yours, one arm wrapping around your back to pull you even closer to him. You run your tongue along his plump bottom lip and groan when his mouth opens for you. It’s messy and it’s desperate and you’re both trying to drink each other in as much as possible. You because you’re scared he might pull away and leave again. Javi because he’s worried you’ll come to your senses and kick him out, just like he deserves.

You taste the multitude of whiskey on his tongue, mixing with the taste of smoke from his cigarettes. It’s a heady mix and you’d missed it. You’re whining when he pulls away from you, trying to drag his face back to yours because you don’t think you ever want to be without his lips on yours again, but he’s dropping to his knees in front of you, and suddenly you don’t mind so much.

“Forgive me?” He breathes, hooking his fingers into the band of your sleep shorts, dragging them down your legs to pool at your ankles, “Forgive me, hermosa.”

Your hands are tangling in his hair, fingers running through the wayward locks. His mouth is so close to your core you can feel the heat of his breath fanning over your skin. He uses one of his wide palms to push gently at your stomach, leaning you back against the wall. Then, he takes hold of one your thighs, moving your legs to drape over his shoulder, the other firmly planted on the ground to keep you upright.

You look down at him and he’s looking up at you, devilish grin painted across his face. He keeps his brown eyes locked with your own as his tongue flicks out and licks a perfect, wide stripe, up the seam of your pussy. Your head tilts back, hitting the wall behind you as a gasp leaves your lips when he does it again, this time letting his tongue dip between your folds to worship at your clit.

You can feel his free hand spreading you for him, then his tongue is swirling fully over your clit and you’re crying out his name into the dark, tugging the hand that is tangled in his hair as you grind your pussy into his face.

Javi could take you apart with military precision. In the span of a few short months, he’d managed to learn the exact movements of his tongue and fingers to get you off in record time. You can tell that this man is desperate to be inside you because his fingers are sliding through your slick and pushing into you with a ferocity you’re not used to. He’s relentless in his pace, curling his fingers up into you, hitting the spot that makes you sing, whilst his tongue is working quick flicks around your clit.

“Fuck-” You groan, legs shaking as Javi has your hurtling towards the edge, “Fucking missed this.”

His mouth pulls from your aching cunt just long enough to speak up at you, “Let go for me hermosa,” His wet mouth presses a kiss to your inner thigh, fingers still working in and out of you, “Come on my mouth.”

His lips envelop your clit, there’s the pressure of sucking, the pressure of his fingers deep in your pussy, and the feeling of the tip of his tongue still running tight circles over your clit. Combine it all and you’ve got his name falling from your lips, orgasm slamming into you as Javi’s hands fly to your hips to keep you upright, mouth still working your clit through the aftershocks.

Once he’s sure you’re not going to crumble to a heap on the floor, he’s standing, undoing his belt and tearing it through the belt loops in one motion. He unzips his jeans and pulls them down just enough to free his cock, before his hands are reaching around to pull you up. You wrap your legs around his waist whilst he pins you to the wall. His thick cock is buried inside you in one, swift thrust, and he doesn’t give you the usual time to adjust to him before he’s rutting into you, your back hitting the wall with every thrust.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers into your ear, tip of his nose running along your jawline as he peppers kisses across your skin, “I’m sorry, hermosa,” His teeth are worrying at different inches of skin, biting and sucking until he leaves marks before soothing them with kisses, “Tell me you forgive me.”

Your pussy is throbbing with every hard thrust he makes; you can feel yourself clenching around him. Your hands are gripping at his shoulders through the leather of his jacket and the angle of your position means he’s going to push you over the edge a second time. There is no way you couldn’t forgive this man in this moment.

“Always,” You moan, “Always forgive you Javi,” Your hips are grinding down into his own to meet his thrusts, “Just don’t leave me again.”

He leans his head forward, resting it to your forehead as he continues to fuck you, “Can feel you,” He mumbles, “Feel you getting tight for me, come with me?”

You let out a high-pitched squeal at his words, as he picks up the speed. Neither of you are going to last long. It’s you that finishes first, fingernails dragging along the leather of his shoulders, your throbbing cunt clenching around his thick cock, which is all it takes for him to join you. You revel in the sound of your name falling from his lips as he fills you up.

He manages to hold you up long enough to move you both back to the couch. He sits down, you still straddling his hips, as he brushes the hair from your face. His lips kiss at every inch of skin they can find along your face and neck whilst you catch your breath, “I truly am sorry, hermosa,” He speaks softly once you’ve recovered enough to look at him, “And I’ll spend as long as I need to proving that to you.”

#Javier Peña #javier peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña smut #Pedro Pascal #Narcos #javier pena narcos #javier Peña x you #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x female reader #Javier Peña x f!reader #javier pena one shot #PSSC

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dontexpectmuch · 2 months

Text

hello!!! i know that i make you guys wait, and i am so sorry, but you know, life just gets in the way sometimes! so here you have a really tiny winy snippet of the next chapter! i try my very best to finish it as fast as i can, thank you for being so understanding :))

////////////////

you run after him, hand holding your bag to stop it from sliding off your shoulder, “jude, c’mon just listen to me this one time!” you call after him, fighting off your smile [and the butterflies in your stomach] as you see his steps flatter when he hears your voice.

he halts suddenly, making you almost collide with his back before he spins around to face you, his eyes holding a certain emotion in them that you can’t exactly describe. all the confidence that you held within you vanishes aa you look at him, his whole demeanor making you feel small.

as you open your mouth to force something out of it, jude beats you to it, his voice so deep that it makes your core clench, “you are fucking mean.”

your heart drops, everything around you stills as you kook at his eyes defeated, not sure how to move on now, “jude, i-“

“i really thought you felt the same, like, shit, that was probably one of the best things to happen to me ever since i cane to madrid,” he scoffs, shaking his head, “and what? am i just some baller for you to fuck to get fame? really?”

your mouth hangs open as you try to find the right words to say, bit oh how bad his words make you feel. did he carry these thoughts with him for the past week? fuck, you are the worst person ever, he didn’t do anything to deserve all id this, and you definitely do not deserve him in any way.

#jude bellingham #football x reader #jude bellingham x reader #football one shot #jude bellingham imagine #x reader #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham fluff #football #lostinmadrid #dontexpectmuch

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feluka · 7 days

Note

Hi, I don’t rlly know how to explain this but I’ll try haha.

I recently found out I have Egyptian and specifically Coptic ancestry, through family tree making, matching with cousins, gedmatch, dna testing, etc and now personal confirmation from family/ancestors.

The problem is idrk who was the Coptic ones in my family as my dad died when I was four and I’ve had no contact with his family at all since. I know it came from his mother, but I can’t even give you her name let alone where she was from, or anything. Although I want to learn more and reconnect and eventually find out who they were exactly. It’s just hard because my dad’s living family has no contact w us and since he’s dead, it’s been hard to get records as well.

I would like to learn more about Coptic culture and Egypt in general but I am worried about people considering me a ‘culture thief’ since I only recently. found this out a few months ago but didn’t really have 100% confirmation until like 2 weeks ago. And even though I can prove genetically I have ancestry Coptic I can’t really say who my ancestors were which would probably make some skeptical.

Especially because I am African American and there already exists a rift between Egyptians and AAs bc of hoteps who claim Egyptian culture/claim Egyptians are just Arabs who ‘stole’ Egyptian culture. I want to be respectful but I’m unsure how to navigate this.

I guess I’m asking if you have any idea how I should move forward, or if you know of any resources to learn more? I want to be respectful, but I would also love to start to reconnect even if I don’t know where my ancestors were exactly from other than ‘Egypt’.

Hello! First of all, this is both a very respectful and a very personal ask, so I want to thank you for trusting me with that. I hope my answer can help you find peace with the matter a little.

Instead of trying to figure out if the overall sentiment of trying to reconnect is harmful or not, because there's really no answer to that in and of itself, and instead stop at every individual action taken to reconnect and asking: could this be harming anybody?

For example, if you'd like to pick up Coptic language lessons, could this action possibly be harmful to anyone? Not really. Is reading about Coptic culture and engaging with what survived of it in modern day harmful? I don't think so.

The only possible thing that I can think of that might be harmful is, I have awful experiences with certain diaspora Copts who have never really engaged with the community nor know much of it, who suddenly butt in conversations about Coptic politics in Egypt like they're an expert on it despite never having been or known anything about it themselves, but from the way you've written this ask I doubt you're the kind of person to do that anyway, seeing as you're being very respectful and that you recognize that there's some dissonance in your experience (which there's no shame in, but the self awareness is helpful as a guide of when to participate and when not to!)

I don't know if I said this before on this blog but, to my knowledge, the matter of the hotep subculture entails far more than just questioning the Egyptian identity, and seeing as I'm neither African American nor Black at all, I don't think it's my place to comment on it. I invite any of my Black followers to contribue to intra-community discussion in the reblogs/comments for you to read, though!

All I can promise you is that even if the notion that the population of Egypt was displaced rather than converted during the Arab conquest of Egypt is false, there still are Black Egyptians and there always have been. Sadly I'm sure there will always be people who try to make you feel like a pretender, but that is true of so many things and regardless of what you do, so always remember thay Black people have always been part of Egypt's history, and that nobody is entitled to know your personal details or family history and you don't need to disclose anything you're not comfortable with to prove anything to them.

As for resources, there's always a lot on Egyptology in general, so the specific topics that would be helpful to be aware of are: modern history of Copts (or Copts post the Arab Conquest of Egypt), the persecution of Copts, the decline of the Coptic language and the efforts to revive the language. The last two are especially pertinent nowadays.

Lastly you can always ask other Copts! I may not have all the answers but I'm sure between me and my followers we can find something helpful for you if you're trying to find a specific resource of have more questions. (The scarcity of resources is something we *all* have to deal with, even us here in Egypt, I'm afraid, but it's not a lost cause! You'd be surprised how much is out there on internet archives.)

I hope you have a lovely day. ♥️

#asks

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harrygoeswest · 9 months

Text

Harry Styles is your sworn enemy. You've decided to take a holiday in the Scottish Highlands, and so has he. And there's only one bed…

~~~

A/N: Hiiiiii! I think I announced this like 3 months ago and never finished it, but we're finally here! I actually really fucking love this story. I've never done this 'one bed' trope before, nor an enemies-to-lovers OU, because EVERYONE loves H man, right? Well, not this YN. And he's not too fond of her either. I'm really excited to share it with you. Again, what started as a one shot grew into a two-parter because I simply cannot contain myself when the ball starts rolling. Anyhoo, to my forever friend @all-things-fic, thank you as always for reading this through and making me snort at your comments and being the ultimate validator <3

Word Count: 13,261 Trigger Warnings: Swearing (obvs), vomiting, bed-sharing with a sexy man

~~~

Rain. Persistent, unabated, never-ending, relentless rain. It was all you’d heard and seen all day and you were sick of it. You’d never really minded it until today, but thanks to one shit-show after another, you were ready to relinquish it. You wanted it gone. Your summer holiday was already off to a bad start.

“Bad day?”

Where to begin?

A cabin in the Scottish Highlands had sounded like the perfect escape for a four-week break away from the city. You had work to do, deadlines to meet, but at least you could do it without being interrupted. Without the sounds of pedestrians and car horns and wayward seagulls and bike bells. Yep, the Highlands still sounded perfect, but the endless string of catastrophes made you wonder if it really was perfect or rather just a ridiculous indulgence.

No. You deserved this break. Bad day or not, the holiday was needed.

When your brother had told you a year ago that he’d bought a holiday home in the Highlands you hadn’t exactly been surprised. He and his wife had been talking about it for years, and he’d finally earned enough money through his music career to be able to do it. Sadly, with your own deadlines and packed schedule, this was the first time in said year you’d been able to find time to go.

Apparently the all-knowing entity in your life had other plans.

You were supposed to come by plane first thing this morning, but your car had broken down on the way to the airport and you spent 3 hours waiting for the AA to rescue you. You had then managed to rearrange your flight to a later one, but because of the weather, all other flights out of Bristol had been cancelled for the day. You then spent a ridiculous amount of money on a 10 hour train from Bristol to Inverness with a change at Edinburgh in between, and were now forking out on a taxi to take you the rest of the way.

At that particular point in time, a cabin in the middle of nowhere seemed like a dreadful fucking idea.

“Could say that.” You managed weakly.

The driver chuckled to himself and you tried not to squeal. “Nearly there now. Fifteen minutes or so.”

There is a God!

Forty-five minutes later he finally stopped in the middle of a single track road. Your eyelid had been twitching for half that time, and a headache was forming in your left temple.

He turned over his shoulder and flashed a grin. He was missing an incisor and three of his other teeth were gold. “This is as far as I can get you. Cabin is at the top of that hill.”

You gave him a look, then peered out the window. All you could see was rain and mud and a black night. “What hill?”

“You’ll find it. Fare is sixty.”

“Sixty quid?”

He nodded. “Scottish if you’ve got ‘em. I’m a collector.”

“We agreed on forty. And no, I don’t have any bloody Scottish notes.” A Scottish man collecting Scottish money! On what planet?!

“No, sixty.”

You muttered expletives under your breath and shoved the money at him over his shoulder.

“Y’alright gettin’ your own case, love? Don’t really want t’ get wet.”

“Un-fucking-believable.”

In the shittiest, snappiest manner you could muster, you got out of the car and retrieved your luggage from the boot, slamming every door you touched. The driver immediately pulled off once the boot was closed, pipping his horn.

“Wanker!” You yelled after him.

Finding your bearings, you located the ‘hill’ he’d been talking about, forcing down your frustration at the size of the damn thing as you started up the pathway. You dragged your suitcase behind you through the mud, grateful it had a hard and waterproof plastic exterior. At least after all this you’d be able to take a shower and change into clean clothes.

It took you an embarrassing amount of time to reach the cabin, thanks to not only the rain but also the brutal wind. When you finally reached the porch you fell onto it, greeted by the most intense relief you’d ever felt. You took a minute to recover from your exercise, and then fumbled around on the dark porch for the stone your brother had left the key under.

“Aha.” Delighted when you found it, you pulled the key out of the rock and shoved it in the door, unlocking it.

Heat floated over your body, as did warm, homey light. Weird. Why were the lights on?

Then did your eyes land on the thing that was most definitely out of place.

A loud, shrill scream ripped from your body.

A man was in the cabin. A naked man. Mostly. The only thing saving him and you was the towel wrapped around his waist. Shiny back, muscly arms, damp neck, wet hair. At the sound of your wail he turned around, equally as alarmed.

“What the-?”

In his panic, the grip he had on his towel slipped, and you were given more of an eyeful than you ever bargained for.

You screamed again and reached for the closest thing to you, then lurched it across the room at him. Then your brain caught up with you, and you pulled the door closed again, separating you from him. You were back outside in the cold.

That man wasn’t just anyone. He’d never been just anyone. He was your sister-in-law’s friend. He was your brother’s boss, to a degree. He was your worst fucking nightmare rolled into physical human form.

He was Harry fucking Styles.

This was officially the worst day of your life.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You repeated, over and over again as you paced the porch, head in your hands. You knocked into your suitcase multiple times and it ended up falling down the porch steps into a muddy puddle. You tripped over a loose piece of decking at least twice. You caught your hip on the porch bannister, too. But none of it registered with you while your brain cycled between images of Harry’s naked back and his large appendage.

How could this be happening? What had you done to deserve such a catastrophic start to your holiday? You couldn’t stay here. Not with that man. That man that you hated, and who hated you in return. This was a disaster.

You dug your phone out of your sopping handbag. No signal.

“Oh, come on.” You hissed.

Stubborn as always, you tried to call your brother anyway. Repeatedly. Twenty times, at least, each one failing to connect. You couldn’t even leave a voicemail. You raised the phone to the sky like it was baby Simba. Still nothing.

“Fuck!”

The door swung open, and Harry said your name in a low grunt.

You swivelled, glare like a dagger. “You. Why the fuck are you here?”

“Why am I here?” He scoffed. He was clothed now, in a t-shirt and jogging bottoms. “Why are you here?”

“This is my brother’s cabin! I have a key! He said I could stay here!”

“Well, guess what?” He leaned forward, arms crossed. “Holly said I could stay here, too.”

You wanted to throw your phone at his stupid face. “Fucking great.”

“There’s obviously been some misunderstanding.” He straightened.

“You don’t say…”

His gaze narrowed. “You’re impossible.”

“At least I’m not the one who’s stupid enough to state the obvious.”

You turned away again and tried your brother one more time. The beep beep beep that told you the call had failed yet again had your stomach in knots.

“There’s no phone signal here.”

“Yes, thank you. Just go back inside.”

“No.”

“For the love of Christ, why not?”

“I’d rather see what you’re going to do with yourself.”

You turned another glare on him. “Oh, I’m so glad that the shitty situation I’ve found myself in is entertaining you, Harry. Please, mock me some more. The resulting anger might actually take the chill out of my fucking toes.”

He looked like he was about to open his mouth, but you didn’t let him.

“You know, this really has been the day from hell. It’s been a categorical disaster from start to finish, and finally getting myself here only to find you, of all people, really is the cherry on top of my whopping slice of shit pie. So please, do me this one favour, and sod off back inside.”

His jaw ticked, and he emitted a low growl before he slammed the door of the cabin and left you in the cold, wet night.

A sob wracked through you, and you flopped down on the top step just to let your body deflate for five minutes. It was so cold you were shivering. Your clothes clung to your body like sheets of ice, your lips were cracked, and a bite ate away at your toes.

You knew you couldn’t do much tonight. You’d have to wait until tomorrow, for when the storm hopefully passed, and you could call your brother to give him a gobful and then walk into the village to find a B&B or cheap hotel. You hadn’t forgotten that your train ticket was a set day return for four weeks’ time. You’d just have to wait until Harry was gone before you took your time to enjoy the cabin like you’d planned.

When you finally calmed down you dragged your suitcase out of the mud and dropped it on the driest part of the deck. You dug around for the jumper you’d brought with you and pulled it over your frozen torso. You also took your shoes and socks off and put two clean pairs on. Once you were wrapped back up in your coat, you settled on the armchair that was the least wet and tried to go to sleep.

After five minutes or so, the cabin door creaked open again.

“Come inside, please.” Harry’s voice was void of any emotion.

“No.”

“You’ll get sick if you stay out here.”

“Rather that than share a bed with you.”

“And you think I want to share a bed with you, either?”

“Then we’re both on the same page. I’m fine out here.”

“You are not fuckin’ fine out here. It’s shitting it down, for fuck’s sake, you could get a flu. Or worse.”

You hadn’t opened your eyes so you had no idea what his facial expression read. “I’m surprised you give a shit enough to care.”

“I don’t particularly, but I like your brother and I don’t want him thinking I didn’t at least try to get you to be sensible when it’s fucking biblical outside.”

“I’ll pass.”

Harry took a deep breath, and he muttered, “Bloody insufferable woman,” before he slammed the door again.

You snuggled further into the chair, shoving your hands under your face. You thought that would be the end of it, but no more than thirty seconds later the door swung back open. You pretended to ignore him, expecting a verbal taunt. Instead, all you got was scuffing noises.

Pushing down the urge to growl like he did at you, you squeezed your eyes shut and faked indifference at his huffy grunting. Until he dragged you out of the chair and hauled you into the cabin in three easy movements.

“What are you doing?” You demanded, scowling at him as he locked the door behind you.

“You can be as stubborn and petty as you like about this, but you are not staying outside in the rain. End of story.”

“I was fine!”

“You were not fine.” He folded his arms again. “Look at you, for fuck’s sake. You’re about five seconds away from catching hypothermia. You think I want that on my hands? You, of all people, needing my attention every day for the next five weeks? I don’t, by the way. I came here for a holiday, too.”

“I didn’t bring myself here to be a God damn burden to you, Harry. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Why don’t you go and get in the shower, and maybe you’ll calm the fuck down.”

You inched closer to him. “Oh, I’m sure you’d love that. Me, following your orders like some sycophant.”

He took a step closer to me. “I would, actually. It might make you somewhat tolerable.”

“Get fucked, Harry.”

“Sounds like you need that more than I do.”

You produced a noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeal, and shoved at his chest once before you stalked away. “Prick.”

He hummed, entertained. “Try not to think about mine while you’re in there. I’m sure the sight of it has left you with enough to be desired.”

Too tired to argue with him anymore, you threw your middle finger at him over your shoulder.

Whether you’d been forced inside against your will or not, you really did want a shower before a permanent chill settled over you. You turned the water on and let it run hot. The second it swilled over your body you let out a helpless moan.

You stood stoic underneath it for an indeterminate amount of time, just willing your body to warm up. The day washed away from you, worries temporarily forgotten while you soaked up as much heat as you could. Oh, it was glorious. A shower had never been so rewarding.

After a while you realised you didn’t have any of your shower stuff with you, still locked in your suitcase, and you let out a huff. You surveyed what Harry had brought with him and spent too long debating whether it was socially acceptable to wash using your mortal enemy’s shower gel. You decided against it and would properly wash in the morning.

Taking another ten minutes, you decided you were ready to face Harry again and whatever bollocks he might throw your way. You found a towel and gave your hair a dry, then wrapped it around your body. You hadn’t thought this through in your desperation to get away from him.

You stepped out of the room with purpose and marched over to where Harry had abandoned your suitcase after dragging it inside earlier, and carefully picked your way through it to find your pyjamas and toothbrush. Without giving the man even the slightest glance, you locked yourself back up in the bathroom to change and clean your teeth.

“Forget your clothes?” Harry asked at your second reappearance.

“Why ask a question you already know the answer to?” You gave a roll of your eyes.

He sat straighter in the armchair he was settled into, “Why answer a question with another question?”

You ignored him. Instead you gave yourself the opportunity to actually take in your brother’s second home. You realised it was tiny. Like Tiny Home tiny. When he said he’d bought a cabin you thought he meant something like a chalet. But no, this was small. A kitchenette had been built into the right-hand wall by the front door with a fridge, a two-plate hob and a stainless steel sink. Two armchairs sat either side of a small birch table, and a double bed at the back of the room with a cherrywood wardrobe. A woven rug gave the space a homey feel, balancing the bare oak that gave foundation for the rest of the place.

A sinking feeling buried in you when you realised there wasn’t a sofa.

You rubbed a hand into your cheek, feeling slightly cheated by your brother and his wife.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.” Harry said into the quiet, all malice and jest lost.

“I feel like it.” You admitted, turning your stare on the bed. “I’m just tired.”

He cleared his throat and stood. “I sleep on the left.”

You refrained from giving him another eye roll and instead focussed on settling down. You left your phone on the dining table, plugged in to charge overnight, poured a glass of water which you drank in one long swig, and then returned to the bed.

“What are you doing?”

Harry had settled on the left side of the bed but with his head at the foot and his feet at the top. If he slept on the left, did that not completely defeat the purpose of his claim?

“Top and tail.”

“Yeah, no. Absolutely not.” You shook your head.

“Why not?”

“I am not giving you the opportunity to stick your foot in my face at any given point in the night.”

He kissed his teeth and sat up with a scowl. “Woman, you have got some major fuckin’ trust issues.”

“With you I do, absolutely.”

You waited until he was in bed the right way up before you slipped in yourself and turned the light off. The room was cast in darkness and your eyes struggled to adjust. You faced away from Harry on your side, wriggling to find a comfortable position, and you could hear him doing the same.

His foot was definitely on your side of the bed so you kicked it away. He then tried to take the covers off you, but you were quick to snatch them back. He let out a deep sigh.

“Can I have some of the quilt, please?”

“You’ve got some.”

“I have none.”

“Bullshit.”

He ripped the covers away again, and you fought the urge to squeal.

“Give some back.”

“You have some.” He said in the same tone you had.

“Harry.”

“What?”

“I’m cold.”

“You’ve just spent an hour using up all the hot water so I refuse to believe that.”

“What is your problem?”

“You are.”

You grit your teeth. Folding your arms, you scooted as close to the edge of the bed as possible without falling off. Arguing with him was fruitless, it just left you angry and wired.

Tomorrow, you resolved to find somewhere, anywhere else to stay. For now, you’d try to sleep uncomfortable and coverless.

Had you slept?

No.

For hours you’d imprisoned yourself on the edge of the bed, cold and coverless, hugging yourself in an attempt to keep warm, and squeezing your eyes closed just praying that sleep would come. But it never did. You’d think after the day you had yesterday it would be easy to just drop off. Why would it be that simple for you?

You knew it was light outside now thanks to the inside of your eyelids. You decided then to give up. Sleep wasn’t coming.

As you opened your eyes you realised how close to the edge of the bed you were. At the same time, Harry wriggled again, further onto your side of the mattress, and his knee nudged your backside.

Oh no.

Struggling to find anything to hold onto, your body tumbled over the edge. A panicked yelp tore out of you, followed by a grunt and a thud when you hit the floor.

“Ow.” You whimpered. You’d fallen on your front, knee and toe first followed by your head. You rolled onto your back and held onto your forehead as if it might stop the pounding you felt.

Laughter started, and your eyes flew open to find Harry hovering over the side of the bed, green eyes shining. You were, actually, somewhat offended by how entertained he was. If it was acceptable to hit people, you’d be hitting him.

“You alright down there?”

“No I’m not fucking alright, Harry.”

Your own anger made the throbbing in your head worse so you stayed on your back.

“Alright, was only a question.”

“This is your bloody fault - you’re a bed hogger!”

“Yeah? Well you snore!”

“Considering I didn’t get a single second of sleep last night I don’t know how you’ve landed on that conclusion, and I can only assume you’ve made it up to piss me off.”

“You were snoring.” He said in a flat voice.

“No I wasn’t.”

The throbbing got worse again, so you squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep breath. Then another.

“You’ve hit your head.”

If the thought of rolling your eyes didn’t make you nauseous you’d absolutely do it. “If there was an award for Best Observationist, you’d win it.”

“Do you need ice or something?”

His voice had changed and it somewhat startled you. You peeled an eye open again to find he hadn’t moved - he was still hanging over the bed. His expression, however, was neutral.

“Yes. Please.”

He gave a curt nod and then disappeared. You closed your eyes again, willing the throbbing away.

“There isn’t any ice.”

You refrained from screaming, knowing it wouldn’t do you any good. “Okay.”

“Here,” his voice was much closer, and he gave a little pat to your knee, “this might help.”

Peeling an eye open, he flashed a couple of boxes of painkillers. “Panadol.” Of course the man had branded paracetamol. The 95p boxes of Sainsbury’s own shoved in your kitchen cupboard looked shameful right about now.

“Extra strength. And that rapid relief ibuprofen.”

“You brought painkillers with you on holiday?”

He shrugged. “I’m here for a long time. Hangovers need encouragement to get fucked.”

You raised a sceptic brow. “And here I thought some magical mystery Nutri-Bullet recipe would be your saviour.”

“Funny.” He muttered.

Huh. How unlike him not to shove a witty rebuttal at you.

“Do you need help getting up or are you just gonna sit on the floor all day?”

Your scowl returned. “I’m fine.”

On shaky legs and with a fuzzy head, you grabbed the side of the bed and hauled yourself up. You weren’t sure if the sudden ringing in your ears was something you should be worried about, but you persisted.

Once sat, Harry handed you the tablet boxes and fetched a glass of water for you while you thumbed out two of each.

“Thank you.” You mumbled.

“Please and thank you in the space of ten minutes?” He goaded. “Sounds like you’ve got a concussion.”

“My parents didn’t raise me in a barn.”

He stood with his broad arms folded across his chest while he watched you swallow down four tablets, face a mishmash of irritation and something else. You refused to believe it was concern so you attributed it to frustration. You were just ruining his holiday the same way he was ruining yours.

You decided to finish the water, and then Harry took the boxes and the glass from you. You laid back down, shielding the room and your eyes with your arms.

“Sure you don’t need a hospital?” His voice was far away.

“Yes. I just need to close my eyes for a bit. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t answer, and you were thankful. Any more talking and your head might have exploded.

You’d fallen asleep. While you hadn’t intended to, you couldn’t help but be grateful for the respite. There was no way you would’ve been able to do anything on zero hours sleep, so a few was better than nothing.

You sat up, noticing that you’d corrected yourself direction-wise on the bed and pulled the covers over you. You must’ve done it subconsciously.

The cabin was quiet. Almost eerily so. There was no sign of Harry anywhere. The only sign that he’d been there at all was his own suitcase tucked away in the corner. No sound came from the bathroom, and all you could hear outside was birds.

Birds. Not rain.

You scrambled out of bed towards the front door and hauled it open, but it was locked. Harry had locked you in. You found the key your brother had left for you on the table and put it to use.

It was glorious outside. Not a cloud in the sky, blue everywhere, green even more so. And it was warm. Summer dress warm. Your feet itched to go outside, but you knew you needed to take it easy. The headache hadn’t completely subsided, but it was tolerable. Barely there. A shower and some food would fix it.

You closed the door and locked it again, determined to start your day. Steadily.

You were about to head straight for the shower when you noticed it. A brown paper bag trapped under a pretty mug, and a jar of instant coffee wedged inside it. The mug lived here - you recognised it from Holly’s old flat. But the greasy brown bag did not. You noticed the letters GF scrawled on the front.

He remembered.

Warning bells started screaming inside your head as you plucked the bag out and opened it up. The smell of cooled buttery pastry wafted from inside, and you pulled out the biggest croissant you’d ever seen.

The message was clear as day. Eat and get some caffeine in you.

This was bad. Angry Harry you could deal with any day of the week at any time of day. You could even cope with jester Harry, because you gave just as good as you got. But this? Base-level concern? It threw you for a loop.

Regardless, you were starving. So you boiled the kettle and made your coffee just how you like it as you tore off pieces of pastry and gobbled it down. While you waited for your coffee to cool once your croissant was demolished, you took a quick shower.

Half an hour later you were out the door and feeling a hell of a lot better than you had done for weeks. You wandered down into the village, the sun a glowing comfort on your bare skin.

You had a mission today: alternative accommodation.

You kept an eye on your phone for patches of signal, and called your brother whenever you found some. He never answered. Part of you wondered if he was ignoring you, and if that was the case you were going to have a very big problem. He only ignored you if he was avoiding you.

And that wasn’t even your biggest problem.

“I’m sorry, we’re full.” The receptionist at the final B&B said with barely an ounce of emotion.

“The sign outside said you had vacancies.”

“I just sold the last one over the phone. Haven’t had time to change it.” She gave me a smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

You fought a petulant sigh. “Do you know where else I can stay? I’ve tried every B&B here and no one has any vacancies.”

“Why don’t you try an AirBnB.” She suggested with a tone dripping in sarcasm. “You young people seem to love those.”

Ah, so this was a territorial issue. You gave her a flat glare and left without another word.

Yet again, you found yourself in a rut. Your good mood had been successfully wiped away. Maybe you would check AirBnB, but the thought of spending another obscene amount on accommodation filled you with a sickly feeling.

Your phone started ringing, much to your surprise. Holly. “Is my brother ignoring me?”

“I don’t know, but if he was, he probably wouldn’t tell me.” She laughed, always a fan of your no-nonsense approach. “I thought I’d call since I haven’t heard from you. Did you make it there alive?”

“Alive is not the word I’d use to describe my current state. It’s also impossible to call someone when the phone signal is worse than a World War II air raid shelter.”

Holly cackled. “You’re such a nerd. What’s wrong?”

“Either you’re playing dumb to avoid my wrath or you’re very stupid.”

She gasped your name but she was most definitely entertained. “What do you mean?”

“Harry is here. Using your holiday home.”

An extended period of silence followed, completed with a breathy, “Oh… shit.”

Oh shit, indeed.

“Well,” she seemed to shake herself, “it can’t be that bad.”

This one was truly off her rocker. “Can’t be that bad? Holly, how many times have you been in a room with me and Harry at the same time?”

“Plenty.”

“Exactly. How many times have we had a fight whilst in said same room together?”

“Almost always.”

“Not almost always, just always. We. Do. Not. Get. On.”

“Oh, babe, I think you’re being a bit dramatic.”

“There’s only one fucking bed!”

Holly went quiet for a minute, and you realised you’d earned the attention of a few passers by. You sat down on a nearby bench, wary of the throb in your head getting worse.

“Are you okay?” She finally asked.

That set you off. You launched into your shitty day from yesterday, from the car breakdown to the taxi driver to hitting your head this morning. Words without breath had never left you so fast and the feeling you were rewarded with after was less than satisfactory. Deflation. Sadness.

“Oh, hun, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was going.” You were certain she was lying about that last sentence but you didn’t interrupt her. “I’ll get in touch with Harry and tell him to rein it in.”

“I don’t need you to curb the man on my behalf, Hol. I can handle him myself. I just… I really wish he wasn’t here.”

“Do you want me to make him leave?”

A rare sight of guilt crept its way into the centre of your stomach. You battled the urge to say yes, because you knew if Holly asked him to, he would absolutely go. “No… hardly fair. He was here first.”

“Yeah but I bet you would’ve been if all those things didn’t go wrong yesterday.”

You grunted. You were supposed to arrive just before 9am yesterday morning, not close to 11pm. “Don’t make him leave. I’m a bitch but I’m not a complete cunt.”

“You’re not either of those things by any stretch. My friend just happens to know how to really rattle your cage.”

Ain’t that the truth. “I’m trying to find a B&B or something but they’re all full.”

“Oh, please don’t spend more money.”

“I can’t stay in your cabin, Hol. I didn’t sleep last night and that man does not know how to share a queen bed.”

“It’s actually a three-quarter bed.”

“Fuck off.” You groaned.

“Look, we wanted it to be as spacious as possible there. We didn’t anticipate two people who claim to hate each other having to share it. It’s for cuddling.”

That urge to smack someone reared its ugly head. “You’re ridiculous.”

She laughed from the back of her throat, and as irritated as you were it did make you smile. “Take a long walk, babe. If you’re in the village there’s a great ice cream place near the church that’ll make you forget all about He Who Shall Not Be Named.”

You rolled your eyes. “I can say Harry, for fuck’s sake.”

She screamed as if she’d been burned, teasing you.

“Shut up.” You actually managed to laugh. “Fine. I’ll go find some ice cream. But if they’ve got WiFi I will absolutely be looking for an AirBnB.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“Do me a favour and tell my brother to stop being a wuss.”

“Oh, come on, you know he can’t handle your wrath. You can tell him yourself, anyway.”

You started looking around to see if they’d actually come up and were just loitering nearby to piss you off.

“What?”

“We were going to surprise you but I think you might murder us if we did. We’re on our way to you. My Nanna will be coming, too - we’ve got a table booked at the pub in the village.”

Unbelievable. “You little minx.”

One of the reasons Holly and your brother bought a holiday home in Scotland was to be able to spend more time with Holly’s family. While she grew up in London and has never left it, her mum’s side of the family are all in Scotland.

Holly giggled, obviously delighted with herself. “Sorry. We’re set to arrive in about two hours.”

“But where are you staying?”

“My Nan’s house.”

“Not got a spare room, has she?” You mumbled.

“I know you don’t mean that, but she doesn’t. We’re staying on her pullout.”

“Damn.”

“We’re gonna go straight there and then come to you afterwards, alright?”

You took a deep breath and stood up from your bench. “Yeah, alright. I’ll see you in a few hours, then.”

“Byeee!”

You were already making a beeline for the ice cream shop by the time she put the phone down.

It was a cute little parlour, like something straight out of a movie. Retro tiles covered the walls and floor in pinks and yellows, two long display freezers to the left full to the brim with every single flavour one could ever imagine. Tables spread across the right and spilled onto the street, and booths in the corner each had a miniature jukebox on top.

“How can I help you?” A man behind the counter asked, dressed in a full uniform complete with the little hat.

“Hi, um,” you gave him the best smile you could, even if you were overwhelmed, “do you have any gluten free cones?”

“Sure,” he gestured to the stand on the top with a variety of cones, from small to ridiculously large in size, “just this one.”

The cone in question was the most pathetic-looking of them all. You did your absolute best to hide your disappointment. “Great, then I’ll have one of those. Chocolate, please.”

“Which type?” He lifted a brow.

You realised then that there were about ten different chocolate flavours. “Er… which is the best one in your opinion?”

That perked him up. He spent the next five minutes listing off reasons why the chocolate and hazelnut flavour was his most popular of all his options.

“I guess that’s the one I want, then.” You forced another smile.

“Coming right up.”

Something made you shiver, but it wasn’t a gust of wind or the freezers you stood by.

“At least try and act like you’re excited about it.” A deep voice murmured, far too close to your ear for your liking.

You practically hissed and took a very purposeful step away. “Jesus, Harry.”

He laughed, but the sound wasn’t spiteful like it usually would be. “Only you could make ice cream seem rubbish.”

“I don’t think ice cream is rubbish,” Was your only retort. You just wished gluten free cones didn’t look so fucking sad.

The owner handed you your cone and you paid him in cash. “Do you have WiFi in here?”

“Sure. Password’s on the wall up there.” He pointed at a laminated sign, and then turned his attention to Harry. “Hey, aren’t you that guy?”

Your cue to leave.

While Harry had an awkward conversation with the parlour owner about which guy he was, you connected to the internet and took a seat on the patio outside with your back to the sun. A satisfied hum left you at the warmth on your skin. You concentrated on demolishing your ice cream before you made a mess of yourself.

Unfortunately, Harry decided today wasn’t the day he was going to leave you alone. He sat down opposite you with a three-flavour cone, the colours unsettlingly unnatural. He looked uncomfortable, and this time it wasn’t because of you.

“What on Earth is that?”

“This is a masterpiece.” At least he could still behave like an idiot even when he’d been ‘spotted’.

“It looks disgusting.”

You watched him with a deep-seated discomfort as he shamelessly licked around his cone. Unfiltered moans came out of his mouth, but you were certain he was acting up for your benefit.

“What flavours are they?” You just had to ask.

“Mint chocolate, bubblegum and ginger.”

“Ginger?” You almost choked on a hazelnut. “Sir, you have a serious problem.”

He laughed again, that same obnoxiously easy sound as before. “Did you just call me sir?”

“I did and I immediately regret it.”

He made a noise, an amused squeak of sorts. “Why did you look so horrified by yours, anyway?”

You shifted in your chair, having just popped the end of the cone in your mouth. You glanced over your shoulder to make sure the owner wasn’t listening, pleased to find him distracted by a large family. “The gluten free options for cones was utter shite.”

“How so?”

“Well, he only had one type, and it was poxy as shit.”

He snorted. “I thought it looked small. I don’t imagine it being a lot of fun.”

You were immediately reminded of the croissant he’d picked up for you. You knew that you needed to say thank you, even if it did feel like taking a punch in the gut. “Thank you for the pastry.”

He paused mid-lick as if you’d just spoken a foreign language. He looked ridiculous and almost child-like, green eyes wide and pupils so narrow thanks to the sun they were barely visible. He rescued a drip before he made a mess. “Welcome. How is your…” he tapped his temple.

“Yeah, better.”

“Good.”

You returned to silence, and you got busy looking for a new place to stay. The options were… lacking. You knew the decision to go away during the school holidays would be a silly one anyway, but you wanted the heat. You wanted a summer holiday. Not a cold and wet one. But at such late notice in an area with limited options to begin with, all that was really left were large houses for groups of ten or places miles and miles away that would cost yet more money to travel to. The only other thing you could think of was buying a tent and pitching up on a nearby campsite, but you fucking hated tents and camping.

As time wore on and Harry’s ice cream disappeared, you noticed him growing more restless. You glanced up a couple of times to find him with his head down, but you eventually figured out the source of his discomfort. He was shooting looks at something over your shoulder while constantly readjusting his ball cap.

You straightened in your seat and twisted yourself slightly to get a better look.

“Don’t turn around.” He muttered without looking at you.

You frowned. “Why?”

He never gave you an answer so you did it anyway. A couple of tables over someone was doing a very bad job at hiding their phone.

For God’s sake.

“Do you want to swap seats?” You offered.

He gave you a startled look, and admittedly you were surprised at your own suggestion. “No.”

“You sure? The back of your head is way less appealing than the front of it.”

You could see the confusion spread across his face and you wished immediately that you could take your words back. He was too wound up to mention it now, but you knew he definitely would in the future.

“They’ve already got about fifteen minutes worth of pictures, there’s no point moving now.” He huffed and readjusted the hat on his head once more, eyes downcast.

You pursed your lips in thought. After a moment you readjusted your seat so that you were hopefully positioned right in the way. Harry gave you a blank look, eyes still darting to the people behind you.

“Do you want to go?”

“Not particularly.”

You knew what he meant. He shouldn’t have to leave just because other people didn’t know how to behave like normal human beings.

A minute later the table behind you stood and left, so something had at least worked.

“Thank you.” He said it so quietly you nearly missed it. “Your lack of subtlety was almost entertaining.”

You weren’t offended by that. You hadn’t meant to be subtle. “I know we don’t get on but I respect your privacy. You should’ve asked them to delete it.”

“Then it just makes me look like a prick.”

“But you are a prick.”

He broke into another laugh. That laugh that held no malice or spite. The one he’d only debuted today. Then he slid back to stoicism. “I’ll be all over the Daily Mail again tomorrow anyway.”

Something weird happened. Anger materialised in your chest, and it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling in the slightest. What was unusual was that it came on Harry’s behalf. Usually you felt this way because of Harry, not for him.

You cleared your throat. “It’s okay to tell people to fuck off every once in a while, Harry.”

“Not when you’re me, it isn’t.”

“It is when people don’t know how to set boundaries.”

“Don’t worry about it. Seriously.” He readjusted his cap again and sunk further into his seat. “Not the first time I’ve been spotted on holiday.”

“With a mystery woman, no less.”

He snorted. “Sorry in advance.”

“For what?”

“You’re about to become the most interesting person on the planet. I’d privatise your Instagram.”

“It already is. Nor is it very interesting.”

“Just… I don’t know. I know what they’re like.”

“You think I give a shit what a bunch of people on the internet think about me?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Have I ever given a shit what anyone else has thought about me?”

He tipped his head. “No.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s their boundaries I’m worried about.”

“Don’t be. If those pictures do make it anywhere, I’ll have no problem telling the next person to fuck off if it comes to it.”

The smallest smile tugged at his lips. “Then I really hope for their sake that there isn’t a next time.”

You hadn’t left the parlour until you’d come up with a solution to your living arrangement. It took longer than you’d like, but eventually you settled for the only option; in two weeks you’d let Harry have the cabin and move into an AirBnB a few towns over. A bungalow this time with a very big bed. You’d had to fork out a deposit since it was a booking of more than 7 nights, which put another lovely dent in your bank balance. You were really trying not to think about it.

Harry hadn’t passed comment when you told him. He just gave a blank stare and a curt nod, which was very unlike him. When it came to you, he’d never had any problem parting with his opinions.

You’d been ambushed on your way back to the cabin by your brother and Holly. After changing and freshening up you all walked down to the pub together to meet Holly’s Nanna. You had met her at the wedding but only briefly. Your brother and Holly’s special day had been somewhat dampened by the fact that Harry materialised again whenever you forgot about him and ended up drinking yourself into an early bedtime. The next morning you were rewarded with the worst hangover of your entire life.

Nanna was amazing. One of those larger than life women who weren’t afraid to drop the c word a couple of times without so much as batting an eyelid, and using Malibu as an excuse for a good time. You’d been seated on a round table which relieved you to no end. You were sandwiched between Nanna and your brother which meant there was a decent amount of distance between you and Harry.

“I need you to tell me something.” Nanna patted your arm, giving you her full attention.

It was like being addressed by royalty. “Anything.”

“I hear there’s a story about your brother involving nappies and toothpaste. A serial offence. He won’t tell me and Holly conveniently doesn’t know about it.”

You gave your brother a look.

“Please don’t.” He begged.

“But Nanna asked so nicely.”

“You’re about to embarrass me in front of the man I work for?”

You don’t look at Harry. “It’s not like you haven’t managed that all by yourself on previous occasions.”

“Yeah, don’t stop on my account.” Harry coughed, battling laughter.

“Great, we’re all on the same page.” You grinned. You turned back to Nanna, “Once upon a time, my little brother had to sleep in a crib and wear nappies just like all the other babies. He was cute, it should be said. I have a picture on my phone somewhere of him running around the garden with no clothes on.”

Your brother rolled his eyes and sunk into his seat with a scowl. Holly gave him a patronising pat on the shoulder.

“Anyway, beside the point. Like most toddlers he was an absolute tyrant, compared to me - I was an angel.”

“Hard to believe.” Harry muttered.

“Aye,” Nanna shot him a look. She’d been smitten with him all night until that point.

“Don’t worry about it - we’re in an ongoing feud.” You brushed the matter away and continued with your story. “During his reign of tyranny, he adopted a very obscure but passionate obsession with toothpaste. Colgate Cool Stripe only - no other product lived up to his expectations. It all started when, one day, our mother accidentally used adult toothpaste instead of the toddler stuff. An uphill battle began.

“Any time he had to clean his teeth, he’d try and use Colgate instead of the kiddy stuff, and mum or dad would fight with him until he surrendered in a screaming fit and had a toothbrush forced into his face hole.”

Someone sniggered, and your chest inflated. Making people laugh had always pleased you.

“His addiction got so bad, one night he managed to escape from his cot and into Mum and Dad’s bathroom. They found him on the floor with an empty tube and Colgate smushed all over his cute little face. Hours later he had a terrible accident. I won’t go into graphic detail since we’ve just had our dinner.”

Nanna started laughing, a throaty and hoarse sound. Given the amount of times she’d excused herself for a cigarette, you attributed that habit to the unique noise. “And this happened more than once?”

You nodded. “They tried locking it in the cabinet a few times, but he’d always find it. Eventually they changed tactics and just bought Aquafresh instead.”

Nanna hummed and gave him a pointed look. “I’ve always thought you were a picky bastard.”

“Nanna,” Holly gasped, shaking with laughter. She leaned her forehead against her husband’s shoulder.

“I can’t be that picky if I ended up with your granddaughter.”

Holly threw her hands up. “Does anyone else want to bully me today? Between that and being called very stupid I think I might have room for one more insult.”

“Your shoes don’t go with your dress.” Nanna said.

After a beat of silence, the table erupted into laughter.

The waiter returned to offer dessert, which you would usually forego since pubs rarely tended to offer gluten free choices without putting up a fight. You’d learned to live a sad, dessert-less existence. But everyone else was having one so you succumbed to peer pressure.

“What ice cream flavours do you have?”

“For the sundae?” The young girl asked with a confused frown.

“No, I’m coeliac so I can’t have it.”

“Oh,” her cheeks turned pink, which was not your intention, “sorry. Um, just the usual flavours, then.”

Neopolitan.

“Great, can I have two scoops of chocolate.”

“Sure.”

She was very quick to hurry off. Something bothered you about that whole exchange but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“Aren’t you bored of chocolate ice cream?” Harry asked, but he was fiddling with his napkin rather than looking at you.

“Never.”

Holly kicked his leg under the table but you pretended not to notice.

After the bill was settled, which Harry tried to sneak off and pay for without telling anyone, you bid goodbye to each other and sent your brother, Holly and Nanna off together in a taxi. The waitress hadn’t stopped giving you wary glances ever since you asked for ice cream, and you still couldn’t place what went wrong. You might have been a little short with her but it wasn’t meant with any malice.

It didn’t really dawn on you what was wrong until you were walking up the hill to the cabin with Harry.

A curdling feeling in your stomach had you feeling very queasy very quickly.

“Oh no.” You mumbled, keeping your gaze on the grass below you. Your vision swung and you struggled to keep your balance.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, turning back to you. He’d been a couple of metres ahead of you for the entire walk so you didn’t have to force a conversation.

You sat down on the grass to keep yourself gravitated, but it was no good. You weren’t nauseous because you were dizzy, you were dizzy because you were sick.

You spent the next ten minutes vomiting into the bushes.

Harry had kept a relative distance from you while you were sick, only handing you a bottle of water when you seemed to give up the last of your stomach contents and take a big breath.

“Are you okay?” He asked in a cautious voice.

Unattractively, you swilled your mouth out and then necked the remaining contents of the bottle. “Yeah, fine.”

“What happened?”

“I think something went wrong at dinner.”

“What do you mean?”

You gave him a levelled look, trying to communicate with your eyes. It seemed like a ridiculous idea considering you could barely communicate together with words, let alone silent glances.

“Ah… did it say gluten free on the menu?”

You nodded.

“Did you tell them?”

You shook your head. Sometimes you liked to put faith in humanity and believe you’d be fine putting yourself in the hands of others. When you were dining with practical strangers, making a fuss about your condition made you feel like a twat, so you kept quiet about it. Now you wish you’d said something.

“Are you gonna make a complaint?”

You shook your head furiously and readjusted yourself to sit back on your arse rather than your knees. “Happens all the time, sadly.”

“That girl knew they’d fucked up, didn’t she?”

“You saw that?”

“I saw you looking at her a lot after the ice cream thing.”

You made a strange noise. “It is what it is. I don’t blame her for not saying anything. For all she knows I could be going home unscathed.”

“But you’re not.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. I’m not into making a scene.”

“You could’ve been seriously ill.”

“I know that.”

“If you don’t tell them they fucked up, how are they going to know to stop it from happening to someone else in the future?”

You took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. You and Harry had made progress today, on some weird level, but this was not part of that progress. “Fine. I’ll do something about it tomorrow.”

“No you won’t.”

“Leave it alone, Harry!” You finally snapped. “How I handle my health issues is none of your fucking business, especially when you haven’t got a fucking clue what it’s like to have them. Just drop it.”

His jaw ticked. “Fine.”

He disappeared up the hill and into the cabin without so much as another word.

You collapsed onto your back and let a tight sob wrack through you.

You contemplated what the fuck you were doing. This holiday had been nothing but a shit show from start to day 2 and you didn’t want to do it anymore. You should’ve gone home this morning. You’d refused to quit so early on given how long it had been since you had any real time off, but the universe was clearly working against you and you wished you hadn’t bothered.

As it always did, a second round of vomiting ensued, and you were back on your hands and knees hacking up bile while your stomach protested. You cried more as you threw up.

As the convulsions subsided you collapsed onto your back again, but the smell of it was starting to affect you. Slowly, you stood on shaky legs and attempted to make your way up to the cabin.

You hadn’t realised, but Harry was standing at the top of the hill wearing a frown, hands shoved into his pockets. When you caught sight of him you were ashamed. You knew what he’d said came from a good place, but it just really ground your gears when people who had no idea what it was like tried to tell you how to handle it.

He made his way back to you and silently placed his hand on the small of your back. It was warm and unfamiliar, but you couldn’t work out if the trembling from you was because of that or because you were just sick.

“How much more did you see?” You asked, helpless.

He gave you a startled look, like he was shocked to hear you so vulnerable. “Enough.”

You sighed and kept your gaze on the floor, trying not to fall over.

“Do you have any medication or anything?”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t really work like that.”

Once you got to the cabin you headed straight for the bathroom and changed into your pyjamas. You then poured yourself a glass of water and took it to bed with you. You were asleep within seconds.

You slept through the night that night. When you woke you felt a shit-ton better than you had the night before, and it left you with a smile on your face. You wriggled your legs and toes underneath the sheets and stretched your arms.

You realised the bed was empty, but when you peeled an eye open it was obvious Harry had slept on his side at some point. You sat up to an empty room. There was no sign of Harry, again.

You didn’t know much about Harry’s daily routine but you would put money on him being an early morning runner. You shivered at the thought.

He appeared whilst you were in the middle of your second round of toast. It was the only thing you could think to try and stomach after yesterday’s disaster. Harry was in regular clothes, not running attire. You owed yourself a fiver.

“Ah,” he paused at the sight of you eating toast, and limply lifted his hand. The same greasy brown paper bag rustled in his grip.

“Don’t be shy.” You patted the table after swallowing your mouthful. “I’ll still eat it.”

“You’re that hungry?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what happens when you’re forced to empty your entire stomach contents.”

His nose wrinkled. “Right.”

You took a sip of coffee while he made himself comfortable in the seat opposite you.

“How do you feel?”

“Well, I slept the night through and didn’t hit my head this morning which is a major improvement on yesterday.”

“That’s something. Do you feel right enough to go out?”

“If I weren’t on holiday I’d be right back to work, Harry. No rest for the wicked and all.”

“Is that a yes, then?” He cocked a brow.

“Yes, Harry.”

“Okay. I was gonna go down to the lake… it’s really warm out.”

“Are you telling me, or is that an invitation?”

He picked his pastry apart. “Both? I don’t know, it might do you some good.”

Concern? From your nemesis? This was bad. “Oh, don’t go coy on me, Harry. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Knew I shouldn’t have bothered.”

“That’s more like it.”

His mouth lifted at the corner for the shortest fraction of a second.

“Is it pebbly or sandy?”

An olive branch.

“Both?”

The worst kind of lake beach, then. “The type that calls for a special type of shoe.”

He grimaced. “I know.”

“It’s fine. We make do.” You pronounced, and stood from the table with your dirty things. “Give me 20 minutes and we’ll go.”

“That alright?”

You peered up at the man blocking the sun with a pinched look. He stood before you in a faded white t-shirt and board shorts, holding an ice cream cone with a single chocolate scoop on top.

“As long as it’s the right cone, it’s perfect.”

“I double checked.” He promised as he handed it to you, and then sat with his own.

This was day four on the beach by the lake. While you and Harry spent the time there together, you did your own thing. He spent most of his time in the water like a fucking fish, and you spent yours on a towel with a book and enough food to feed the 5,000.

You’d found a tolerable medium with Harry. In the day you gave each other your needed space, and at night time you tried not to touch each other in bed. Or smother each other. So far it had worked well.

You hadn’t seen Holly or your brother since that night at dinner. They’d actually been visiting for a relative’s birthday party and had already gone home, leaving you and Harry to suffer together.

“I think you’re running low on your special bread.”

You snorted and covered your mouth. ‘Special bread’ made you sound like some kind of escaped lunatic.

“I don’t know why I said it like that.” Harry shook his head. “But the fact remains.”

“We’re running low on a lot.”

“Maybe we should go shopping.”

You groaned. This is what your life had come to: grocery shopping with a celebrity.

“I’ll make it as painless as possible.”

“Where even is the nearest supermarket?”

“I don’t know - I went shopping on the way here.”

“So did I.”

Has there ever been a more ridiculous conversation?

Harry found his phone and checked for signal, soon letting out a soft sigh. “Five weeks without WiFi was a stupid idea.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

You decided to check a map on the notice board outside the public toilets on the lake site and decided there must be a supermarket in the nearest town. Harry drove you out into the Scottish countryside following his sat-nav’s directions to the closest town.

It was a little odd being in the same car as him. While your brother’s work relationship and subsequent marriage had brought him into your life for many a family gathering, you’d never found yourself in quite such a confined space as this. Apart from the bed situation. You were certain he was being quiet on your behalf, because silence was better than small talk. The decision to go shopping had proven that much.

“Unbelievable.” He muttered the second you entered the supermarket.

You followed his nervous gaze to a man with a camera doing a shitty job at hiding. “Go back to the car if you want to.”

“Hardly fair.”

“Being uncomfortable isn’t fair.” You insisted. “Go take a drive and be back here in half an hour. I don’t mind.”

He sighed and handed you the list you’d prepared before leaving. “I’ll be back.”

“Yes, please don’t use this opportunity to abandon me here.”

He smirked. “Don’t put ideas in my head.” He took his wallet out of his pocket and handed you his card. “Use that.”

You frowned at it, and then him in turn. “I don’t mind paying for it.”

“Pay with my card and then send me half when you find signal or internet or whatever.” He turned away, but threw, “Half an hour,” over his shoulder.

You had to take a moment to collect yourself. Now you weren’t grocery shopping with a celebrity, you were using one’s credit card.

Before you started your shopping, you had one more thing you had to do. Stalking the man who was stalking your reluctant companion was easy because he didn’t try very hard to be subtle. You tapped him on the shoulder.

He spun around with a bewildered look on his face. “Yes?”

“Delete them.”

True to his word, Harry returned half an hour later with a confusing smile. “Guess what I found.”

You let him take the bags out of your hands to shove them in the boot of his car. “What?”

“A fucking Costa.”

“No way…”

“Yes way.” He grinned.

“Where?”

“Literally around the corner.” He thumbed in that general direction. “I got two ‘cause I didn’t know which one you liked.”

“As long as it’s got coffee in it, I’ll consume it.”

Sure enough, two starkly different iced coffees sat in the cup holders in his central console.

“Which one do you want?” You asked. He did buy them after all.

“I don’t mind. You choose.”

“Please pick one.”

“No.”

“Harry.”

“Fine.” He plucked one at random and started drinking as he pulled off. “Happy?”

“Yes. Thank you.” And you meant it, too.

Silence settled between you again as you slurped away at your coffee. It was comfortable this time. You put the window down and stuck your arm out to feel the breeze through your fingers.

“Do you ever wonder how we got so…”

You looked over at him with a curious expression, but he never finished his sentence. “What?”

Harry shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Oh, come on, Harry.” You poked his arm. “You’ve never been one to mince your words in front of me before. Don’t start now.”

His lips twitched with a smile, but it was quickly replaced by something else. A kind of sad contemplation. “I don’t want to ruin a rare nice day.”

Now you were the one struggling to find words. Animosity was just the default practice for you and Harry when you were around each other. After so many years of battling over often ridiculous things, he was right. This was a rare nice day. You hadn’t argued once. Come to think of it, you hadn’t argued at all since the day you were sick. That little spat on the hill was the last one.

But curiosity ate away at you. What was he going to say that had the potential to ruin your good time? Knowing Harry, it could be any number of things.

“I promise I won’t lose my shit if you tell me.”

His face lit up with amusement, but he never laughed. “Shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Right there, in that single moment, you were reminded just why the world had an obsession with the man sitting beside you. Even in the blandest setting, Harry Styles looked like the man who would promise you everything you’ve ever wanted and be able to deliver it to you. The man who held enough charisma both on and off stage for a hundred other men. The man with pretty eyes and pretty pink lips. The man who looked damn good whether he was clean-shaven or harbouring two weeks of scruff like he was now. The man who would spoil you to no end, who would give you a life of comfort and stability, who would drop everything at a second’s notice to be yours. Fuck, he looked like the man who might even die for you.

You’d seen Harry in love and the man gave his whole fucking heart and soul to the person he was with. His inherent attractiveness was just a bonus.

“Tell me, please.” You tried again.

He considered it for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. Eventually he sighed, “Do you ever wonder how things managed to get so bad? Between us?”

Ah.

A loaded question, indeed.

“Do you want the honest answer?”

He glanced your way, jaw suddenly tense. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t tend to wonder about it because I haven’t forgotten at all how we did.”

“Walk me through it.”

“Are you sure you want that?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from the most honest woman I know.”

You were biding your time, mulling over your response. Perhaps this would ruin your nice day, but this was the most open conversation the two of you were ever going to have. Not talking about it would be both a missed opportunity and a disservice to yourself.

“Okay. You’re not going to like it, though.”

“I didn’t expect to.”

You took a deep breath. “The first time I met you didn’t go at all how I expected it to. In hindsight I guess, to you, I would’ve just been a footnote. Your friends have other friends you probably meet all the time and I was just one of the next hundred. Holly and my brother had only just started dating, but Holly and I got on so well we started doing things together as friends without him. She invited me to lunch with… you know, the usual suspects.”

He nodded once, slowly. The usual suspects he wasn’t speaking to anymore for various different reasons. You didn’t keep tabs on Harry’s life by choice, but Holly and the internet provided more about it than you cared for.

“Maybe you were just young. Or maybe there was something different that I just missed or didn’t understand, but you weren’t at all like I expected you to be. Everyone - my brother, Holly, my parents -, everyone said you were amazing. ‘The nicest boy you’ll ever meet’. And sure, you were nice. Charming, even. And you had everyone’s undivided attention, including Holly’s. And mine. But Holly’s more so.

“That girl loves you. And I watched her love you up close and personal and it was amazing and beautiful and I really wanted her to give just even a portion of that love to my brother. And she did, but it didn’t come without a fight.

“I didn’t care that you spent most of that lunch ignoring everyone else at the table. Or maybe I did. I just knew that you only cared about Holly’s undivided attention and she had no quarrels giving it to you. There was a time I thought you might be secretly in love with each other,” you laughed at the reminder because it seemed stupid now, “but when I brought it up with her she laughed so hard she cried and then pretended to vomit.”

“Damn,” Harry produced an offended laugh. “Didn’t know I was that repulsive.”

“Anyway, it didn’t stop her from loving you. Never has. Soon after, I spent a week with her and my brother in Spain on some all-inclusive thing. Before you ask, I was forced to go. Being a third-wheel is absolutely not my style.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t think it sounded like you.”

You shook your head. “Not at all. Anyway, I watched Holly send constant photos, messages, gifs, any and all digital media to you while we were on that holiday, cataloguing the entire thing. I don’t think you realise how many times I heard oh Harry’s gonna love this. But what got me is you never replying to her. Not once. Her phone screen was just a sea of blue messages against a backdrop of silence. At one point I considered she’d got the wrong number, but then you texted her the day we left with something really dull and generic and I really wanted to hit you.”

“I don’t remember this at all.” He admitted, face paled.

“That doesn’t surprise me. You’re a busy man. I reminded myself of that a lot to start off with, but the whole thing became a recurring pattern. Maybe you think I’m stupid and it’s a bit of an overreaction for it, but I’m quite observant when I want to be. You’re Holly’s best friend, even if she’s not yours. Every time she says it, it’s like she’s been given the greatest gift in the entire world. And she’s such a bright, incredible person. She’s my best friend. Not just because she’s married to my brother, but because she’s the best person I’ve ever met and nothing will ever change that.

“Over the years I’ve watched countless messages and phone calls from her to you go unanswered, seen her face turn down with sadness when you don’t call her back or text out a reply. She deserves more than that.

“I’ve noticed you do it to my brother, too. I know he works for you so maybe it’s not the same, but it’s safe to say that in their house, Harry Styles isn’t a name that lights up their phone screens very often. Ever.”

Harry fidgeted a little and cleared his throat. “All this time I thought I’d done something to you.”

“No. Worse. You continually managed to upset my best friend, even if you didn’t know it, and in turn you upset me.”

“Then I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me you need to apologise to, Harry. She’ll never admit that she’s hurt by your silence because she doesn’t want to lose you. This is why we’re so very different. I don’t hang around for people who don’t appreciate the good they have in their life. I’m a good person, and Holly is an even better one. She deserves more than your attention when she’s only sat in front of you.”

“You’re right. I’m an idiot.”

“Yes you are.”

His lips twitched again. “The next time I’m in the village with signal I’ll call her. Promise.”

“Don’t promise me. Promise yourself, and her. One day she might snap and decide she doesn’t want to wait for months at a time to hear from you. Because hearing about you through my brother doesn’t count.”

“I know. I get it, I really do…”

“Good. Now, my turn.” You let out a long breath and turned in your seat. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you-,”

“You called me both insufferable and intolerable in the space of five minutes when I got here.”

“Let me finish.” He said, exasperated. “I don’t hate you, I’m scared of you.”

“Calling someone intolerable because you’re scared of them doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, let’s put it this way. While perhaps you were right, at first I thought you were just another friend of a friend who’d made an appearance for uncertain reasons, it became apparent very quickly that you weren’t going anywhere. It also became very apparent that you were not my biggest fan. That first lunch was one of a kind because you barely said a word. Every other time after that, which I now realise happened to be family-oriented, you hardly shut up.

“I’ve always noticed it. You command the attention of everyone in the room. You’re a storyteller. You could turn an anecdote about a trip to the petrol station into a fairytale. You give everyone in the room your undivided attention, and when I realised you never gave it to me, well… safe to say I was wounded. Holly talked you up to high heaven. Your brother loves you. My own mother loves you even though we don’t get on.

“There’s something about you. And the fact that the only attention you ever gave me was a dirty look or a snippy remark made me petty. So I started giving it back, and I think the more I did it, the more I lost sight of the kind of person you actually are, because I only focused on the side you showed to me.”

He turned into the driveway of the cabin, and you thought he was done. But when the engine shut off, he said one last thing.

“In one of your many little outbursts you said I’ve got a severe case of oosoom syndrome. I never bothered to look it up because I didn’t want to know what kind of idiot you thought I was, but it’s just clicked.”

“Out of sight, out of mind.”

He nodded and turned to you with a calm gaze. “I get it now.” He wasn’t just talking about the idiom.

“Good.”

The rain was back and heavier than ever. The ground surrounding the cabin was a swamp, the hill that led down to the village was indiscernible thanks to the downpour, and the day was dark and moody. Inside the cabin it was muggy and humid and you felt ridiculous sitting at the dining table in a vest and denim shorts, but you were.

Harry sitting opposite you looked more rugged than usual. His hair was pulled back with a clip, his stubble was shifting into a beard and his clothes were wrinkled.

“Hmm…” He gave an obnoxious tap on his chin.

You rolled your eyes and sunk into the seat. “Just put me out of my misery and show me your cards.”

He laughed, peering at you with a lightness in his eyes that was so unfamiliar it almost had you shell shocked. “Fine.” He placed his hand on the table showcasing his win.

It was day three of this charade. It hadn’t stopped raining and all you’d done was cycle between card games and Monopoly. He always won. You were so fed up of him winning that this was the last straw.

You stood and swiped his hand off the table so that they landed in a flurry on the wooden cabin floor.

“Hey…” he pouted.

“That was childish of me, I’m sorry.” You groaned, and crouched down to pick them up. “I’m so bored, Harry. I think I’m going mad. We don’t even have a TV. We’re in the middle of nowhere with a pack of cards missing the Ace of Spades and Queen of Hearts and an old beat up Monopoly box with half the properties missing.”

He blinked at me. “I know this. I’ve been with you the whole time.”

“Sorry.” You muttered. “When I’m frustrated I just state the obvious.”

“But I thought that was my job.”

You rolled your head back and sighed at the ceiling. “I need to do something. Anything. I don’t want to sit in here anymore. I need air.”

“It’s pissing it down.”

“I’m aware. You have a car… just humour me for a bit. An hour tops.”

“You want me to drive you around for an hour? In a smaller space than we’re already in?”

“Okay, fine,” you sat back down in your chair and attempted to plead with the normal side of him, the non-celebrity side, “what if… when me and my brother were little and we went away with Mum and Dad, if the weather was crap like this we’d get in the car and drive to the nearest supermarket. And we’d have lunch in the cafe and then do a bit of shopping and then come back. And we’d all get one thing to bide the time before the weather got better again. Why don’t we do that?”

A smile was forming on his lips. “You want to try shopping with me again?”

“That prick and his fancy camera won’t be going back there, trust me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why, what did you do?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” You patted his hand. “Please, Harry. Rescue me from insanity.”

“Fine, but only ‘cause you asked so nicely.”

“Yay!” You stood and clapped your hands together. “I’m gonna change.”

Half an hour later you were back at the supermarket in the town over and ready to find as much new entertainment as possible.

“Do you think we should buy them a TV?” Harry contemplated aloud as he stood in front of a large flatscreen.

You gave him a scrutinous look. “And put it where?”

“Good point.” He sighed. “We’re missing Love Island.”

You barked a laugh and carried it down the aisle with you. “That is not what I expected you to mourn over.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

You found your way to the games and books. “Can we get a jigsaw puzzle?”

“Why are you asking me? Get whatever you want, mate.”

You perused the options with as much interest as a car fanatic in a vintage car garage. “Farmyard or harbour? Or circus? Or mountains?”

“Whichever will keep you occupied for the longest.” He said absently, moving down the aisle to the board games.

The circus one had the most pieces and highest level of difficulty, so you plucked the box off the shelf and followed after him. “Have they got the Game of Life?”

He started laughing but never answered you.

“Oh,” you pouted, tapping the spin-off version that was much shorter and way less entertaining.

“Bop-It?”

“When I was little I completed that.”

He raised a brow at you. “Can you even complete Bop-It?”

“Yes,” you snatched the box off the shelf, “and I will prove it to you when we get back.”

“We’ll see about that.” He whispered, smirking. “We need an actual board game.”

You gazed over the options with the same level of interest as the jigsaws. “You choose. I’ve picked the last two.”

“Absolutely not, I’ll only pick wrong.”

“What’s your favourite?”

“Cluedo.”

“Then get Cluedo.” You pointed at it and walked away.

Two hours later and three books heavier you were back at the cabin and starting your jigsaw puzzle. You and Harry sat on your claimed sides of the table, box lid propped against the window and a selection of snacks between you.

“Where the fuck is the fourth corner?” You grumbled, digging through the box like a cat in a litter tray.

Harry glanced at the box lid, then at the jumbled selection of tiles, and plucked it out without hesitation. “There y’go.”

You blinked at him. “Is there anything you’re not good at?” You pinched it from him and placed it in the relevant corner. “Thank you.”

“A compliment and gratitude? It is a good day.”

You stuck your tongue out at him.

“I’m not very good at the splits.”

That made you laugh, right from the back of your throat. “Have you tried?”

“Many times.”

“For what purpose?”

“I had a thing for my yoga instructor once and she was convinced I could do it so I kept trying just to impress her.”

“My God, you are a sap.”

“Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“It’s nice to know you failed at something for such a pitiful reason.”

He gave you such a megawatt smile you had to look away. “I’m just like any other boy.”

“I can’t believe you had to try hard to impress anyone. It almost doesn’t seem natural.”

“You make me sound like a robot.”

“I don’t think you’re a robot. I just think sometimes things seem to come a little too easily to you. Skills. Work. Friends. Women. Probably men, too. Some of us have to try really hard to get those things.”

“You have friends. A good job. And I refuse to believe people aren’t interested in you… romantically.”

You lifted a brow at him. “Refuse?”

“Are they not?”

“Have you ever known me to be ‘romantically’ involved with anyone?”

“Yeah, that lad you took to your brother’s wedding.”

Colin.

“He’s gay.”

“Oh.” He scratched his nose. “I wondered why he kept eyeing up one of the groomsmen. Your cousin?”

“Also gay.”

“Have you never had a boyfriend?”

“Not since school, no.”

“Have you… are you… you know?”

You gave him another raised brow. “You’re not seriously asking me that.”

He rubbed his hands down his face and groaned. “I’m sorry. Ignore me.”

“Just because I haven’t had relationships, doesn’t mean I’m a virgin, Harry.”

The tips of his ears turned pink. “I think we’ve gone a bit off track here.”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

He slotted a piece into place next to one of the corners. You slotted another one in after that. The pattern repeated itself, in silence, for the next twenty minutes.

“When do you go to your AirBnB?”

You met his gaze with a calm expression. “Six days. Five nights.”

“Okay.” He said as he stood. “Are you hungry enough for dinner yet?”

“If you are, we can eat.”

He gave a stiff nod. “Okay.”

~~~

Part 2

Talk to me?

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles ou #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles fluff imagines #harry styles angst #harry styles angst imagines

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whatsnewalycat · 1 year

Text

Designated Person | Chapter 6

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 6: Present

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Word Count: 9.2k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship and related flashbacks, angst, food, AA meeting, alcoholism, abuse mention, lying, confrontation, crying, mutual masturbation, panty snatchin' (sorry idk what else to call it)

Notes: Hello hello hello! If you want the taglist, spotify playlist, or AO3 link, head on down to the masterlist. I appreciate your patience in waiting for this, thank you so much for reading. Ok love u have fun!

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Tonight, the AA meeting is being held in the conference room of a value hotel.

The three-story venue is ripe with families on vacation and traveling professionals who likely booked their rooms as a cost-saving measure. They certainly didn’t choose to stay here because of its charming features, such as the floating island of dead bugs in the outdoor swimming pool, or the dingy low-pile carpet darkened in high-traffic areas, or the generic, faded landscape portraits in shiny golden frames.

Its conference room is windowless, the only source of light buzzing from long fluorescents overhead, dousing everything in a twitchy, vague sort of green that grips Frankie’s stomach.

Or, maybe it’s just the story he’s listening to that’s making him feel ill.

Maybe a little bit of both, it’s hard to tell.

“She had her heart set on leaving, ‘n’ I told her, nobody fuckin’ wants you here anyway, Mary Beth, go on home!”

The haggard old man, who introduced himself as Fred, says this in a jovial, rehearsed way that tells Frankie this story has been told many times. Probably over drinks, to coworkers, or friends, or anyone who happened to be within earshot at his regular barstool.

Fred glances around over his puffy, purpled nose, like he half expects his spectators’ laughter, but the only noise is the squeak of people’s uncomfortable shifting in seats. Either because the story is too relatable, or because these folding chairs are hell on the tailbone.

“She told me if I didn’t get my ass outta that barstool, she’d be gone when I got home,” he looks at the floor and his cheeky grin falls, “I didn’t go home ‘til barclose. ‘N’ she was still there. Knew she would be. She always was.”

The room is silent as he gathers his thoughts.

“She passed away, few years back,” he looks around, putting his calloused hands up defensively, “‘N’ I miss her everyday, don’t get me wrong, but—”

The well-weathered skin of his face sags into solemnity, “I kinda wish she woulda kicked me to the curb, y’know? Was always waitin’ for it, for her to get fed up ‘n’ leave, but she never did. ‘N’ I think, sometimes, maybe… she woulda lived a better life if she did. ‘Steada waiting around for some drunk, she coulda really made somethin’ out of herself. And I feel…” he frowns at the floor, trying to pinpoint the correct emotion, a skill undoubtedly atrophied by decades of avoidance.

“Regret, I think? Wasting so much of her life. It’s one thing wastin’ my life, but her’s… I dunno. It don’t sit right,” Fred clears his throat and swallows, then sighs, “Guess that’s it. Our anniversary’s coming up next week, she’s been on my mind ‘n’ I wanted to get that out.”

The ringleader for tonight is David, as is usually the case at the Monday night meetings Frankie attends. He thanks Fred for sharing, then asks for another volunteer.

Frankie leans back in his seat and presses his fingers to his lips as another participant clears their throat and begins to talk. He’s stuck on the old man’s story, though. His knee starts bouncing as he turns it over in his mind.

I’m not that bad, right? I wasn’t that absent. I didn’t go to the bar every night. On the weekends, sure. And on weeknights, I’d drink myself fuzzy and numb, but at least I was at home.

Was he really present, though?

Before you, when Angie was home with Sarah on maternity leave, he’d come home from work and visit with them for a while. Knock a few beers or drinks back. After dinner, he would continue to drink in the garage, or in the basement. Somewhere Angie couldn’t raise her eyebrows every time he finished a beverage and retrieved a replacement.

Even after you, this ritual continued. You distracted him enough to slow the drinking those few hours after he got home. But once the table was cleared after dinner, he would tuck himself away somewhere in the house to drink alone.

It wasn’t always that way.

He drank, sure, but it wasn’t every day. It wasn’t to the point his mind went blank.

No, that didn’t start until he returned from South America.

Every time his eyelids closed, it played on repeat. The mansion. The crash. The village. Redfly’s vacant eyes. Over and over. His culpability hung around his neck like a noose.

The guys didn’t want to talk about it. A silent agreement not to mention their sins. Angie didn’t want to talk about it. Too pissed at him for going in the first place to feel bad for him.

It just stayed inside him, replaying again and again on loop. He needed something to wipe the slate clean, and booze worked.

Not like he was sober before then. Drinking himself blind on the weekends. Fuck, Angie was the same way. Before she got pregnant, anyway. That’s how they ended up meeting, that summer night back in 2018.

He and Benny went to one of their frequent Saturday spots. The bar was crowded and loud, heavy throngs of people attracted by a popular local DJ. Summer heat crept into the air despite the industrial air conditioner running at full blast, Florida’s relentless humidity hung thick in the air, leaving a dewy residue on every surface.

The only thing Frankie could smell was that primal, earthy scent of sweat. He pinched his shirt and pulled it away from his chest with a few quick tugs, trying to get some kind of a breeze going. When he looked around the bar, swathes of exposed skin all surrounded him, people wiping their foreheads and fanning themselves.

He spotted two women sitting at a high-top table, leaning over their drinks and talking to each other. One of them was a pretty, unassuming brunette. The other had glossy black hair that shone in the neon lights, cascading in waves down the open back of her dress. She looked put together and fucking luminous, the way her copper skin seemed to glow. He couldn’t look away.

Benny was in the middle of a sentence when Frankie cut him off, “Holy shit, look at her.”

“What—who?” Benny followed Frankie’s line of sight and guffawed, “Her? She would eat you for fucking breakfast, man.”

“I fucking wish,” Frankie gave Benny this dopey smile, nodding towards them, “You getting a feel on the friend?”

Benny glanced her over and shrugged, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth, “Pretty brunette?”

“Right up your alley, huh?” Frankie grinned, then nudged his friend, “So?”

“Fuck it, why not?” Benny chuckled.

“Atta boy,” Frankie smacked his shoulder a few times, then started off towards the table.

“Hey, how’re you two doing tonight?” he asked as he leaned against the table, looking between the two women, who sized him up scrupulously, “Yeah, uh, my name is Frankie, this is my buddy, Benny. Mind if we join you?”

“Why?” the subject of his desire asked, her big, round eyes searching Frankie’s face.

“Why?” he raised his eyebrows and chuckled, “Well, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’d sell my goddamn soul for an opportunity to talk to you—”

“Oh yeah?” she smirked and tilted her head, bringing the tip of her tongue to her top teeth before shrugging, “Prove it.”

“You—you want it? My soul?” he grinned and leaned closer, “It’s yours, beautiful, for the low, low price of this barstool next to you. And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, a dance later?”

“That’s a hell of a deal,” she raised her eyebrows and joked, “For you, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?” he laughed, “What if I throw in a sweetener? I’ll buy your drinks, too, how’s that sound?”

She scrunched her face up in contemplation, then smiled, “Deal.”

“Yeah?” Frankie beamed, extending his hand to her, and as she took it, he grazed his thumb against her soft skin, “What’s your name?”

“Angie,” she answered, eyebrow quirking as she told him, “This doesn’t mean you’re taking me home tonight, though.”

“Noted,” he smirked, dropping his eyes to her lips, before meeting her gaze, “So what’re you drinking?”

He woke up the next morning in his bed, head spinning, stomach clenching.

Before opening his eyes, he tried to recount the night, following the path of breadcrumbs his memory allowed him. Meeting Angie, taking shots, flirting with her relentlessly, more drinks, dancing with her. Kissing her on the dance floor. The sidewalk slabs uneven beneath his feet on the walk back to his apartment. A woman’s razor sharp giggle as he fumbled to unlock the door.

The mattress shifted beside him and he cracked one eyelid open tentatively, releasing a sigh of relief when he recognized Angie as the person tangled up in his sheets. Traces of the previous night’s makeup still held in tact on her face, oily pools gathering in the soft wrinkles of her forehead and eyes, black mascara clinging to her lashes in clumps and flaking onto her cheeks, a faint red outline where her lipstick was before he kissed it off of her. He rolled on his side towards her and brushed some of the sweat-dampened hair from her forehead.

She hummed and frowned, then took a deep, wakeful breath as her eyes blinked open. They were stunning in the light. Golden streaks like sunbeams stretching from the middle of her iris into a deep, rich brown.

“Oh, fuck,” she murmured, “We fucked, didn’t we?”

“That’s what it’s looking like,” he smirked, “How’re you feeling?”

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her button nose, “Still drunk.”

“Regret this yet?” he chuckled, half-joking, half-wondering.

“Having sex with a stranger? Yeah, I’m having some regrets,” she scoffed, shaking her head, then threw her hand down at her side. She sighed and studied his face, “You’re cute, though. Kind of wish I could remember it.”

“Ditto,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with a shrug, “You know, we could have a do-over. Since we’re already here and regretting it. You could… let me have another chance to, ya know, make a lasting impression.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” her dark eyebrow arched. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. She brought her long, red fingernails to his hairline and combed them through his bed head.

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, dropping his gaze to her lips, “Plus, that way, when this hangover inevitably kills me, I’ll die a happy man.”

“Is that right?” she giggled. The sound made his heart sing in harmony.

“That’s right,” he reached out to her under the covers, smoothing his hands along her soft skin, coaxing her closer as he murmured, “What do you think, princesa, hmm?”

“I think,” she wriggled on top of him, the sticky heat of her naked body clinging to his, “I could give you a fighting chance.“

She hovered over him, meeting his eyes for an intoxicating moment before he pulled her lips to his. From there, it was full throttle. Kissing, biting, gasping, moaning. Torrid, frenzied movements that burned bright and hot.

Their relationship took off at break-neck speed.

From that day onward, they were doing nightly sleepovers at each others’ apartments. Every free moment spent with the other, most often spent drinking or fucking. Six days into their relationship, Frankie got a text from some girl he was casually seeing. Angie read it when he was out of the room, then confronted him, resulting in their first drunk screaming match, and, subsequently, their first instance of drunk make-up sex.

She worked at a global manufacturing plant’s central office with hundreds of other carpet-walkers and pencil-pushers as a financial analyst. Her hours often ran long and wound her up tight.

When she would show up at Frankie’s apartment after work, she’d be ready to burst. He’d fix her a drink and listen to her bitch about coworkers and projects and idiots who used reply all instead of reply, waiting for her to ask him anything about his day. She never seemed all that curious about him, though, which irked him.

They did have fun together, when they had sex and went out to bars, but by the end of the second month, he found her presence to be draining. That bug of discontentment wriggled beneath his skin. He realized they had little in common aside from their coping mechanisms and combustibility.

He started to think about breaking things off with Angie, but, by then, it was too late.

“Who would like to go next?” David asks, glancing around the circle of metal folding chairs and their scattered occupants.

Frankie meets his eyes and points his index finger at the ceiling.

“Floor’s yours, Frankie.”

“Thanks,” Frankie nodded and crossed his arms, sitting back in the squeaky chair, “Growing up, my dad wasn’t around much,” his mouth opens, but a thought occurs to him and he chuckles, shaking his head, “There’s one for the AA Meeting Bingo Card, huh?”

This actually earns a few amused grins and a snort of laughter from his peers.

He leans forward, pressing his elbows into his knees with a shrug, “Anyway. Even when he was living with us, whenever I did see him, he had a beer in his hand. And I thought it was normal, like everyone’s dad went to the bar every night, so I didn’t think much of it. I’m not sure when that changed. When I started to notice, I mean, that it wasn’t normal.

“When I’d go to my friend’s house, I thought they were… I dunno, fucking weird? Because they sat around the dinner table and talked to each other while they ate. And—and they didn’t seem afraid of their dad. Like, they didn’t have to walk on eggshells when he was around, which made me… uncomfortable, I guess,” he grimaces and shakes his head, “Jesus Christ, that’s fucked up. But, anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that, to me, my dad’s behavior was normal.

“There would be times when he would come home and be three sheets to the goddamn wind, and he’d yell and throw shit, and my ma, she would lock me in my bedroom and tell me not to come out. Said my dad wasn’t feeling well,” he crinkles his nose and shrugs, “They split when I was twelve. And I don’t blame her for leaving him, I really don’t, but… I didn’t see him again until I got out of basic.”

He stops and leans back, taps his fingers on his kneecaps, then crosses his arms. A knot tightens in his throat when he remembers that day. Knocking on the door of his dad’s shitty apartment in Orlando. When it swung open, Frankie barely recognized him.

Seven years left to his own devices aged him decades. Deep wrinkles carved into his droopy forehead. His nose and cheeks were darkened and bumpy, like he had a pubescent case of acne. He looked Frankie over with glossy, barely-there eyes and slurred, “There’s my boy! Hey, come in, Francisco, come in!”

Frankie’s stomach soured when the words hit his face, thick and swollen with whiskey. A warning signal that laid dormant in his veins for years reawakened, gushing hot and electric beneath his staticky skin.

His father turned and started waddling into the apartment, so Frankie followed him, closing the door left wide open behind him. The apartment was threadbare. A dingy beige couch sat on one side of the living room, facing a small antennaed tv propped up on a milk crate. Some blonde news anchor chattered on the tv, but the gurgling buzz of the air conditioning unit effectively muted her. In lieu of a proper dining room setup, his father had a folding chair tucked into a card table, which was cluttered by piles of unopened envelopes and empty beer cans.

While the stranger pulled two beer cans out of his fridge, Frankie managed to stitch some words together, “So, how’ve you been, Dad?”

He didn’t seem to hear his question, just held one aluminum can across the countertop to his son, “You’re a real man now, huh? Have a beer with me, Francisco.”

Frankie took a few steps forward and went to lean onto the counter, but decided against it when he realized how sticky the surface was. He accepted the beer and opened it.

“It’s been too long, my boy, too long. What has it been, four years?”

“Seven,” Frankie corrected, averting his gaze to a tower of dirty dishes emerging from cloudy, gray water in the sink. The wet, bacterial, rotting stench made his nose crinkle.

“Ah, well. I’m, well…” he trailed off and swallowed three big gulps of beer, then grinned, “So, Special Forces, huh?”

“Yeah, I—”

“I’m proud of you, Francisco.”

Frankie’s head jerked backwards and he met his dad’s dark eyes, “Wh-what?”

“Takes discipline,” he responded, nodding, “I’m proud of you. Your mom, she did a good job with you.”

And he wanted to say a million different things. He wanted to say thank you and I love you and I forgive you and I hate you and fuck you. He wanted to yell: No thanks to you, you drunk old bastard. You woman-beating fucking coward. A different part of him wanted to cry: Why did you abandon me? Why wasn’t I good enough? Am I good enough now?

But when he licked his lips and opened his mouth to respond, his dad shuffled off into the sad living room, changing the subject.

Frankie shakes his head and sighs, then looks around the room, “When Angie got pregnant, I vowed I’d never be like him. I—I wanted to be there for my kid, to be better than he was to me, and give my child a better life than I had.

“Ang and I don’t always, um… see eye-to-eye. We have our problems. I’m trying to make it work, but I’m just so,” the word catches in his throat and burns behind his eyes. He takes a deep breath, swallows, and admits, “I’m so scared it’s not going to work. And Ang will take her. And I’ll end up just like him.”

He clears his throat, then takes another wide, cleansing breath before starting again.

“The only things I’ve ever been any good at are being a soldier and being a dad,” he says, staring at the floor, “It’s hard enough only seeing her a few times a week right now. I fucking hate it. I hate not being there when she wakes up in the middle of the night with a nightmare, and not watching Happy Feet with her twice a day, and not cuddling on the couch with her in the morning,” his stomach clenches and he feels a swell of tears starting behind his eyes, but continues, “The only thing getting me through this right now is knowing that it’s temporary. But if it doesn’t work with Angie, and I lose Sarah, I lose fucking everything. And I—I fucking can’t do that. I won’t.”

Frankie buries his face in his hands and feels a sob bubble up his throat. The echo of his crying returns to his ears and he becomes acutely aware of the other people in the room. That hardened part of his brain scolds him, growling at him to fucking get it together. He pushes the chair out behind him and keeps his head down as he walks out of the room, muttering, “I need a minute.”

When your shitty old car pulls into the hotel parking lot, Frankie is still outside pacing, trying to gather the courage to go back inside and face the group.

He breathes a sigh of relief and starts towards it. You furrow your brow at him through your cracked windshield. When he opens the car door and sits down, you ask, “Why aren’t you in there?”

“It’s fine,” he frowns and pulls his seatbelt over his chest, locking it in place, “Got out early.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then scoff, “Bullshit. What happened?”

“Nothing—”

“Oh my god, Frankie, come on,” you cross your arms and lean back in your seat, searching his face, “You’re all flustered right now—”

“I am not,” he protests.

“You’re such a liar, you are flus-tered,” you blink at him with authority, raising one eyebrow, “All jittery, and your eyes look red—did you cry? Is that it?”

It’s irritating how well you know him.

He rolls his eyes and looks out the window, muttering against his fingers, “Can we just go?”

“It’s ok, you know, to cry,” you say quietly.

His leg starts bouncing and his jaw gnashes from one side to the other.

Like you’re one to talk.

Like you don’t go out of your way to hide from him every time tears pool in your eyes.

“Hey,” you coo and tug on his hand. He lets you take it, interlacing his fingers with yours. The contact makes his heart skip a beat. When he looks over at you, your brows are threaded together, earnest eyes searching his face, “You’re not the first person to cry in AA, I promise. They’re there to support you. Give them a chance to help.”

He glances up at the hotel’s exit and sees a few people from the meeting filing out, and shrugs, “It’s over now, anyways.”’

“Did you get your paper signed?”

“No.”

“C’mon, at least get credit for your work,” you smirk, squeezing his hand, “I’m sure they’ll understand why you left.”

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face, “Fine.”

“Atta boy,” you grin, “Do you want me to come with or do you got this?”

“I got this,” he flashes a weak smile, and has to hold himself back from bringing the back of your hand to his lips.

He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the vehicle, nodding at a few familiar faces as he makes his way back into the building to the conference room.

In the room, a few people are putting away chairs or talking in small, quiet groups. David stands by the snack table, signing off on someone’s attendance form. Frankie lines up behind them and avoids David’s gaze when it’s his turn to hand over the attendance sheet.

“That was really vulnerable, what you shared with us today,” David tells Frankie as he unfolds the form.

His nostrils flare and he scoffs, “I thought I was supposed to share things.”

David frowns as he signs off on the paper, shaking his head, “It’s a compliment. Being vulnerable is good, and I appreciate your vulnerability.”

“Oh,” Frankie shifts his weight to one leg and frowns, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course,” David hands the form back, and when Frankie takes it, he can tell David is gearing up to say more. His face grows more solemn. He pushes the wire frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, “I know how conflicting it is being an alcoholic father with an alcoholic father. It’s hard to know if you’re doing the right thing. Being apart from them is hell, even if it’s when you’re doing something to make yourself better. I just wanted to let you know that I get it.”

Frankie nods, searching the man’s face, “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” David flashes a polite smile, then turns to the snack table and starts picking things up.

When the two of you get home, Frankie goes into your bedroom to haul the TV back to its normal spot in the living room.

He finds himself lingering at the foot of the bed, staring at the side he slept in last night. At the covers, still drawn back from when he woke for work this morning. At the stuffed panda bear you set in his place at some point today.

My place.

He needs to stop thinking like that. It’s not his place. It can’t be his place.

Not permanently, anyway.

Part of him feels guilty for not leaving once you fell asleep. Staying was pure self-indulgence, no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it was for your benefit.

It can’t become a habit.

But all weekend he wanted to hold you. To feel your beating heart and shallow, wheezy breath against his body. Proof that you were still here, after seeing you gasping for air, lips tinged blue, eyes wide with fear.

In his life, he’s faced a lot of scary and uncertain situations. Situations that threatened his own life and that of people he cares about. But this… this was different. At least in combat scenarios, he had training and experience to guide him.

This weekend he felt powerless.

If he had to quantify the terror, he was at maximum capacity. Never been so fucking afraid in his life. He felt so helpless, he folded his hands and bowed his head at your hospital bedside, reaching out to something or someone in hushed whispers, pleading for your recovery.

So, no, he couldn’t bring himself to leave you alone in your bed last night. Not when you fell asleep in his arms, your head on his chest, curled up at his side.

The answer to his prayers.

When he was sure you were sleeping, he pressed his lips to your forehead and told you what he’s only barely been able to admit to himself.

In a million different ways, I’ve always loved you.

It was indulgent. Undisciplined.

But mostly, it was a relief.

Even if his words fell on your sleeping ears.

Even if he can probably never tell you again.

With a heavy sigh, he follows the TV’s power cord to the wall and unplugs it. He freezes when he spots something on the floor next to your dresser. You cough at the other end of the house, and he glances over his shoulder just to make sure you’re not around before he picks it up.

A pile of soft teal lace. Your underwear.

He brings them to his nose and inhales, the familiar scent inspiring a deep, heated churn at the base of his spine. Without another thought, he shoves them in the front pocket of his jeans, then unplugs the TV.

Frankie settles on the couch with a groan, then glances over to where you’re curled up into a little ball and asks, “Were you able to get some rest today?”

You nod and your mouth stretches into a yawn, then you murmur, “Still kind of feel like shit, though. Hopefully it’s better by Wednesday.”

“Oh yeah, how’re your kids doing?”

“Marla said they’re doing better, getting back to their normal selves. Em’s going back to school tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” he leans back and spreads out in his corner of the couch, “You like it, working for them?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “They’re sweet kids. Whole different vibe than Sarah, though,” you glance at him and chuckle, “Don’t tell anybody, but she was my favorite.”

A grin stretches across Frankie’s face. He presses his fingertips to his lips and looks over at you, “She is pretty great, huh?”

“The best,” you agree, a wistful smile playing on your lips, “I hope that when I, um,“ you falter here, smile dropping. You clear your throat and shake your head, “Sorry, I lost my train of thought. Are you guys doing anything fun tomorrow?”

“Not sure yet. Angie, um… yeah, I don’t know,” he frowns at his knee as it starts to bounce, “She’s pissed at me. So probably, you know, dealing with that.”

“Because you skipped out on Saturday?”

He nods, and when you don’t say anything, he glances over at you, “It’s fine, though, she’ll get over it.”

“Sure,” you smirk, raising an eyebrow, “Have things been going ok outside of that?”

“Aside from the alcoholism, my pending felony, and the fact that I’m living with another woman?” he snorts, “Things are going great.”

“Don’t forget the affair,” you tease.

“Mmm, you mean the isolated incident?” he corrects, rolling his head on his shoulders to look at you.

You scoff and shake your head, “Wow. Yeah, isolated. Sure. Just a mistake, right?”

He searches your face, watching your eyes go dim and your jaw clench, and furrows his brow, “N-no, that’s not—“

You clamp your lips closed with your teeth, like you’re holding yourself back, then open your mouth anyway, “That’s what you tell her, though, right?” you blink, “It was a mistake, it meant nothing to you, it’ll never happen again, blah blah blah?”

His jaw hangs slack and throat croaks as he tries to yield some kind of truth that will both spare your feelings and help him evade scrutiny, “I’m—sorry.”

It’s all he can come up with.

You roll your eyes and sigh, then mutter, “Whatever,” before turning your attention back to the TV.

The silence that settles is tense. It writhes beneath his skin and trickles into his stomach, twisting it into knots.

You start to wriggle in your seat, like it’s bothering you, too. He can feel a jagged energy rolling off your body, and, predictably, you break.

“If you ever want things to actually work with her, you’re going to have to come clean,” you huff, then glare at him, “You know that right? That you can’t just lie to her forever? There’s no way she fucking believes you.”

Frankie sighs, picking his hat off his head to run a hand through his hair, “Can we not?”

“Sure, we can just not,” you snip and sit up straight, crossing your arms across your chest, “We can just pretend things are cool and groovy and you can get your life back and I can fuck off into oblivion.”

“Jesus Christ—”

“Well, fuck, that’s what you want, right, Frankie?” you stare at him, “You’ll be nice to me while you’re here, and cuddle with me, and hold my hand, and what the fuck ever, but when this arrangement is over, then what?”

“I don’t fucking know, ok?!” he snaps, then stands and starts pacing the living room, shaking his head, “I don’t know if—if I’m going to fucking prison, or if I’m going to lose my job, or if my wife will fucking divorce me and take my daughter away—”

Frankie stops and turns away from you, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. A few quiet seconds go by as he gathers himself and wrangles the burgeoning tears back into his skull. When he turns back around, he throws his hands out at his side, then lets them fall loose, “I don’t know what anything will look like after this,” he meets your glossy eyes, all wide and pained, and tells you in a hoarse, shaky voice, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a fucking asshole to you for so long. I lied to you. I pushed you away. I fucking—I fucking hurt you and I understand that.”

He takes a few steps forward. Your eyes, pooling with tears, stay glued his, following seamlessly when he crouches down in front of you and pleads, “I’m trying to be better, I swear to god I’m fucking trying. I—I care about you a lot. And I’m sorry I can’t give you a better answer for what you and me will look like after this ‘situation’ is over with, because I have no fucking clue what anything will look like.”

You swallow hard and nod, then drop your gaze as your face crumbles. A sob bubbles up your throat and quickly devolves into a coughing fit.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters, glancing around. He spots your inhaler on the coffee table and hands it to you, “Need this?”

You take it and inhale a few puffs of albuterol. When your breathing evens out, blink the tears from your eyes and croak out, “Sorry.”

He reaches up and smudges a fat, swollen tear on your cheek with his thumb, “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

A pained expression crosses your face. You lean away from his touch, so he sits down beside you as you exhale a thick sigh and look around the room.

“I understand why you wouldn’t tell Angie everything. I just—” one of your cheeks pulls in like you’re gnawing at the inside. You release it and tell him, “I just hate the idea of you saying we were a mistake. I don’t know. Is that dumb?”

Your eyes flick to his and they’re so sincere, his stomach flips upside down. He shakes his head, “No, that’s not dumb.”

“Ok,” you sniffle, nodding as you look at the TV, “Ok.”

A minute goes by, each second amplifying the buzz beneath his skin. He looks over and realizes you’re squished against the armrest of the couch, curled up in a tense knot of limbs, brow furrowed, biting at your lip.

“Hey,” he coos, beckoning you closer, “Come here.”

You give him this kind of pathetic, kind of cute pout, but accept the invitation. As he wraps an arm around your shoulders, you drape your legs across his lap, rest your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek on the crown of your head and tucks you into an embrace.

Maybe it’s one-sided, but Frankie feels heat humming between your bodies.

The floral, minty scent of your hair, mixing with the musk of your soft skin, all dewy from humidity. Your breath rolling hot across the column of his throat.

You wriggle closer, and the weight of your body settles between his legs. Presses firm down on his half-hard cock.

His insides twist with a nagging, all-consuming want. The kind that usually fogs his brain when he thinks about booze. It claws at him like an animal caged within his ribs. Teeth bared, ferocious, growing: I need her I need her I need her

In the same cadence it always howls: I need a drink I need a drink I need a drink

The tips of his fingers scrape against your shoulder. A little whimper sneaks out your throat and drips down his spine. Your muscles shift and he can feel your lips hovering over his thudding pulse.

This is dangerous. This is a line. A tightrope teetering beneath the soles of his feet.

You breathe his name and it grazes his neck. His body surges with desire, cock throbbing, and he’s unable to stop the whine that croaks out his lips.

He looks down at you, meeting your darkened, heavy-lidded gaze. You study each other, but neither of you move, despite the palpable current of electricity between you.

“I—I should go to bed,” you whisper with little conviction, eyes darting to his mouth.

“It’s still light out,” he says, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek.

You shiver and your lips part, panting, “I need to clear my head—I’m… not thinking right.”

Frankie imagines you clearing your head in your bedroom with the door closed. Your fingers working between your legs, eyes pinched closed while you flip through the mental catalogue of all the times he’s fucked you.

“Can I come with you?” he asks, voice ragged, “I won’t—I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

You search his face, brows pushing together, and nod.

This is stupid.

You both know it.

But he follows you to your room and closes the door behind him.

Sinks into your bed as you lay out on the other side.

You start slow, hands roaming the curves of your body. Over your tight tank top, no bra underneath, just the clear outline of your nipples. Along the middle of those little cotton sleep shorts he likes so much.

He keeps his distance, blood pounding thick in his skull, as you ruck your shirt up your chest and roll a hardened bud between your fingers. You whimper and bite down on your bottom lip, eyes locking to his as your other hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts.

In his periphery, he can see the outline of your wrist flicking under the fabric, but he can’t part his eyes from yours. It’s entrancing. Your mouth opens in a moan, lips pouting out into a whimper as you start to gain traction.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, pushing his palm against his swollen length trapped within the confines of his jeans, begging for attention. He unbuckles his belt and tugs his pants off. At the same time, you pull your shorts down. Some sort of silent trade agreement.

Frankie wraps his hand around his cock and drags his grip down, pulling the sensitive, aching skin taught. His palm is dry and rough as he starts to rut up and down, but the friction gives his touch an edge that makes him shiver.

You’re watching him do this while you trail your fingertips along the shiny ridges of your sex. Saliva pools in his mouth when he remembers what you taste like. Imagines his tongue tracing the soft folds of you.

Your hips buck and you whimper when you touch your clit. You roll the pads of your fingers against the engorged bundle of nerves, eyelids fluttering as you work yourself.

You both find a steady rhythm, panting and whining, glancing between each other's legs, hands, eyes. The increasingly frantic movements make your bed squeak.

The two of you are so lost in the haze of pleasure, Frankie knows either of you could suggest physical contact between your bodies and the other would immediately say yes, but this fucked up little loophole has you both blissfully dangling on the precipice.

He’s trying to keep his commentary to a minimum, but you’re driving him fucking crazy.

Your blown-out pupils watching him fuck his hand. The sheen of sweat lacing your skin. A thick, gleaming layer of arousal coating your pussy and fingers. He wants to lick it off of you, taste you, drive his cock inside you and feel that divine squeeze.

As his heartbeat starts to gallop and the fire in his belly laps its way up his spine, he pants, “You’re so fucking hot, holy shit—do you like this? Like me watching you get off?”

“Yes,” you gasp, meeting his gaze, working yourself faster, “I do, Frankie, I like it.”

His name on your lips is like an electric jolt to his insides. He groans, “Say my name again.”

“Frankie,” you whimper.

A wave of heat washes over him, “Fuck yes, that’s so fucking good, baby—say it again—”

“Frankie,” you moan, sinking two fingers into your cunt, a sick wet sound squelching out as you start to fuck yourself.

“Such a good girl, holy fuck, that’s it,” he grunts, pumping himself faster, lightning churning in his belly, “Gonna make yourself cum, sweet girl?”

You nod feverishly, face pinched up with pleasure, hips arching into your touch, “Frankie—fuck fuck fuck—”

“There we go, baby, you can do it,” he rasps, and watches as your movements come to a fever pitch, then your body starts to shudder and you belt out this strangled moan that pushes him over the edge.

Pleasure ripples through him and he grinds his fist down a few more times, pulsing his load all over his hand, across the bedding, a few splatters reaching your hip. He groans and slows.

His muscles start to melt. He throws his head back into the pillow, then rolls his head on his shoulders to look at you.

Your chest is heaving and you’re all blissed out, a hazy smile on your lips.

“You’re not gonna freak out, now, are you?” he pants, searching your face. He reaches over and gives you a playful poke to show he’s only half-joking.

You meet his eyes smirking for a beat before you chuckle, “I don’t think so, but—could you get my, umm—inhaler?”

“Yeah,” he nods and rolls off the bed.

When Frankie returns, you’re pulling your shirt down over your tits and propping yourself up on some pillows.

“Thanks,” you murmur, then take it from him and inhale a few puffs.

“You ok?” he asks as he rolls onto the bed next to you, wrestling a pillow under his chest.

A coy smile plays on your lips when you glance over at him, shaking your head, “This was really dumb.”

He chuckles and shrugs, “Probably.”

“Fuck,” you giggle, burying your face in your hands, “Frankie, why did we do that?”

“Because we’re big dumb idiots?” he laughs.

“Speak for yourself,” you snort, curling up on your side to face him.

“Sure, yeah, of course. You’re super smart,” he teases, pointing between him and you, “This is definitely something that smart people do.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you push his shoulder weakly. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you say, “We’re never going to speak of this again, are we?”

He opens his mouth to make a joke and attempt to sweep it all under the rug, but stops when he realizes it probably warrants a conversation.

“Do—is that what you wanna do?” he asks instead, stammering, “Because we can, you know, talk about it if you want to.“

“I don’t know what I want,” you sigh, your face folding into a thoughtful expression. A few moments pass, then your eyebrows shoot up and you look at him, “Ok, this is a weird time to ask this, but, I meant to ask you earlier and forgot.”

He nods, “Shoot.”

“My sister is getting married over Labor Day weekend, and because I’m her bridesmaid and family and blah blah blah, she wants me to go stay out there for the week, and umm, I don’t know how that works with your parole and stuff—”

“Do you want me to ask Ralph tomorrow?”

“Well, yeah,” you meet his eyes, “But—but also, can you come with me?”

It takes a moment for Frankie to register the question, and when he understands, his mind starts whirring with uncertainty. Angie. Court. Ralph. Sarah. Prison.

“Not, like, as my date or whatever,” you add, waving your hand around nervously as you explain, “I just–I haven’t been home in years because my family is the worst and I—” you sigh, face pinching up as you admit, “I could use a friend.”

That makes up his mind.

“Yeah,” he answers, “Yeah, as long as I’m not in fucking jail by then, I’ll make it work. Let me… let me talk to work and Ralph, see what I can do.”

You give him a restrained smile and say, “Thank you.”

After the two of you decide to get dressed and watch a movie, he goes into his bedroom to change into a pair of basketball shorts, while you supervise a packet of popcorn in the microwave. Giving his closed door a quick glance, he pulls the bundle of soft teal lace out of his pocket and opens a dresser drawer to tuck them away, but pauses when his thumb grazes something damp.

His brows furrow, then shoot up as he unfolds the underwear and recognizes the slick substance coating them. He brings the fabric to his nose and inhales, confirming his suspicion.

You must have noticed them when he was getting your inhaler. And rather than taking the panties back, or saying anything to him, you cleaned your arousal off and replaced them.

He grins at the present, because that’s what it is, really, then shoves the lace into his dresser drawer.

“Daddy, look, that’s Mumble,” Sarah tells Frankie, pointing one chubby, blueberry-stained finger at a plastic baby emperor penguin.

Her collection of penguins is lined up on the edge of the dining room table, in order of smallest to biggest. She wriggles around on his lap, looking up at him with those big brown eyes, waiting for acknowledgement.

“That one does look like Mumble,” he agrees emphatically, “What kind of penguin is he?”

“A empreror penguin!” she beams, throwing her hands in the air.

“That’s right,” he chuckles, “An emperor penguin! How many penguins do you have?”

Sarah’s eyes light up at the exciting new challenge, and she turns her attention to the plastic figurine lineup, counting each one out loud.

Frankie glances across the table at Angie. She‘s glaring out the window, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Ang,” he rumbles, but she doesn’t respond. A hot wave of frustration weaves through his muscles and pulls them taught. His nostrils flare and he shakes his head, muttering, “Whatever.”

The dining room chair scrapes against the floor as she pushes it out and stomps out of the room, down the stairs like a petulant child.

Sarah stops counting and tells him, “Mommy’s mad.”

He chuckles softly at this and nods, “Yeah, I think so. I’m gonna go talk to her, ok, sweetie?”

Sarah resumes her counting when Frankie stands and sets her in the chair. He finds Angie in the laundry room, folding clothes with sharp, agitated movements.

“Can we talk about this?” he asks. She doesn’t acknowledge him, so he continues, “Angelica. Come on. You haven’t said a word to me since I texted you on Saturday. Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“The fact that you don’t know what’s wrong is exactly what’s fucking wrong, Francisco,” she growls.

He sighs and steps closer, leaning one hip against the washer, “As much as I would love to be able to, I can’t read your mind. So if you could help me out, maybe give me a clue—”

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” she snaps, tossing the small pink t-shirt in her hands into a laundry basket.

His head jerks back and he scoffs, “Sure.”

“You passed up time with your wife and daughter to be with your fucking mistress,” she blinks, then throws her hands up in the air, “Is it really so fucking inconceivable that I’m mad about that?”

“First of all, she’s not my mistress,” Frankie asserts, crossing his arms, “Second, she almost fucking died, Ang, I couldn’t just leave her alone in the hospital.”

“So, what, she didn’t have anyone else that could come sit with her in the hospital?” Angie snorts, raising an eyebrow, “I was about to say she’s a grown woman, she can take care of herself, but,” she sucks on her teeth and flashes him a faux sympathetic smile, “That’s barely true, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, rolling his eyes, then stares at her, “You know that’s not true, and—and no, ok? She didn’t have anyone else to sit at the hospital with her. None of her family made it out, she doesn’t have any friends. Her boyfriend didn’t even come to visit, so,” he pushes off the washing machine and pinches the bridge of his nose, then drops his hand and lies, “I felt fucking bad for her, that’s all. She couldn’t breathe and was all sick and shit, and nobody cared enough to visit her. It was, I don’t know, it was sad and I felt shitty about leaving.”

She seems to consider this, then gives a little shrug, “That is kind of sad.”

He nods, searching her face, dark eyebrows all scrunched together in contemplation.

“She has a boyfriend?”

He nods, “Yeah. They’ve been together for a while.”

Not exactly a lie, but he can tell a little truth stretching will bring this conversation to a more comfortable place.

“I missed you,” he says in a pleading tone, meeting her eyes, hoping she buys it.

She sighs, “I missed you too.”

The glint in her eyes tells him it’s safe to approach, so he does. He presses his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes as he murmurs, “I love you.”

When Frankie gets home, you and Rory are sitting on the couch watching a movie together. His arm is draped over your shoulders and you’re huddled in his lap, head on his chest.

It reminds him of how the two of you are when no one else is around.

His blood pressure spikes and heats his veins. You perk up as you notice him, putting space between your body and Rory’s. A nervous smile spreads across your face. He doesn’t return the smile, just nods in greeting as he closes the door behind him, “Hey.”

Rory looks him up and down, then turns back to the TV.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you ask.

Frankie frowns and shrugs, “Fine. What’re you guys watching?”

Your phone starts ringing before you can answer. You sit up and grab it off the coffee table, muttering, “It’s my sister, I’ll be right back,” then tiptoe through the house to your bedroom, leaving him and Rory alone.

Frankie steps on the heel of his boot and starts to wriggle his foot free.

“Hey, man, I wanted to tell you—thanks for looking after her last weekend.”

Frankie glances up at Rory as he kicks one boot off, then the other, “Sure, yeah,” then starts off towards his room. Rory keeps talking, though, so he pauses.

“When she didn’t respond to me for a day I figured, ya know…” he shrugs, staring at him.

Frankie frowns and shakes his head, “Figured what?”

“Figured she ran off with you, man,” he chuckles, but his eyes aren’t smiling. They’re studying.

Frankie snorts and brings his hands to his hips, “What, really?”

Rory stands and saunters over, looking the way you left to make sure you’re still occupied, then tucks his hands in the front of his jean pockets and shrugs again, “Seems like y’all are pretty close. She doesn’t really like to talk about you. Kinda weird for someone who’s supposedly a friend.”

What kind of macho man bullshit is this? Is he… flexing?

“Yeah, she’s pretty private,” Frankie searches the other man’s face.

“Y’all ever fuck around?” he asks.

Frankie jerks his head back and frowns, “Uhh, sorry, what?”

Rory doesn’t say anything, just lets the air between them grow more hostile, flicking his eyes around Frankie’s face like a challenge. One that he’s not fucking interested in taking. Christ, what a fucking mess that would be.

Frankie scoffs and shakes his head, “No, we don’t fuck around. We’re friends. Ok?” He holds his hands up and tries to soften his face, “So, take it easy, she’s all yours.”

Rory seems to relax a little, then says, “Alright.”

“Alright,” Frankie chuckles with amusement, “We good?”

“Yeah,” Rory grins, offering a clenched fist to Frankie, “Sorry, man.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he bumps knuckles with the meathead and tells him, “You two have a good time, alright?”

Frankie retreats to his room and locks the door behind him.

Every muscle in his body starts to deflate.

His thoughts are fuzzy and loud.

He starts for his bed, but pauses, and turns instead to the dresser, thinking of that teal lace.

Today is one of those rare July days where it’s not just tolerable to be outside, it’s actually enjoyable.

A slight breeze rustles the palm fronds above. The sun kisses Frankie’s skin. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of a neighbor’s charcoal grill.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He cracks an eye open to find you standing over where he’s laying in the hammock and grins innocently, “What?”

“WhAt?” you mock him and snort, but pull up a chair and drop your little wicker basket in its seat, warning, “Ok, well, you’re sharing the hammock, at least.”

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” he tucks a hand behind his head and watches you roll into the hammock facing him.

You wriggle around for an entire minute, and when he starts to giggle at your restlessness, you whine, “Oh my god, scoot over.”

“Here,” he murmurs, shifting his weight so you lay roughly hip to hip, hooking one arm under your legs, “Better?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. Your body calms.

Then it’s quiet.

And the silence isn’t anything but peaceful, really.

“This is good,” you say eventually.

He’s not sure what this you’re referring to, but he agrees, “Yeah.”

You point to the sky, “That cloud looks like a gator.”

Frankie squints upward, examining the fluffy cotton balls hanging in the electric blue atmosphere, “That one looks like a cloud.”

A snort erupts from your face and you lay a playful smack on his thigh, “Oh, come on, use your imagination!”

“Ok, let’s see,” he clears his throat and tilts the bill of his hat back to take in more of the view. Then one catches his eye. He points to it, “Butterfly.”

You follow his direction and murmur, “Oh yeah, look at that. Neat.”

He studies it for a while, watching the two wings tumble and morph as it moves across the sky, until it’s just another nondescript cumulus cloud. Then he turns his attention to the basket you brought outside.

The hammock wobbles in protest when he sits up and lays it across the middle ground of your bodies. Frankie surveys the contents of the shallow wicker basket: a baguette; a dish of soft, white cheese with a little spatula-like knife sticking out the center; a bowl of red grapes and sliced strawberries; a couple of mandarin oranges.

He rips off a piece of bread and spreads some cheese across the soft inside, then sits back and takes a bite. You do the same, topping the cheese with some strawberries. As the two of you eat in a content silence, looking up at the sky, Frankie starts to ruminate on the confrontation that is surely lingering on the tip of your tongue.

Neither of you have dared to mention how you got off together in your bed. Surprisingly, it hasn’t changed the energy between him and you. But he’s found himself wondering if he’s just oblivious and unable to sense your disquiet, like he has in the past.

And now, since it’s Family Dinner, State of the Union, or whatever Ralph calls it, he braces himself for impact.

“Alright, let me have it,” he says after he finishes his second chunk of bread, nerves getting the best of him, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

The hammock shifts unsteadily as you sit up and put the basket back on the chair, then you lay back and stretch out, releasing a heavy sigh, “Honestly… I kind of don’t know what to say about it. I—I don’t know. I don’t feel different or have any kind of strong feelings about what happened.”

Frankie hums and looks over at you, watching your serene, skyward face.

“What about you? How do you feel?” you ask, leveling your gaze with his.

“I feel… the same,” he answers, frowning, “Like I should have a strong feeling, but I—I just don’t?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, shrugging, “Well, I don’t know, should we just… leave it?”

Relief washes over him and he nods, “I’m ok with that if you are.”

“Ok,” you grin, then look back up at the sky, “Anything else you need to get off your chest?”

Frankie rifles through his brain, pausing to think about Rory and the odd confrontation that happened the other day. It left a bad taste in his mouth. But, he shakes his head, “No. You?”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“Alright,” he inhales the blissful breeze that tickles his sun-warmed skin, then exhales, repeating your earlier sentiment, “This is good.”

[ Next Chapter ]

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silentglassbreak · 3 months

Text

Anonymous

Noah Sebastian x OFC

!!!There is finally smut in this chapter!!!!

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, overall abuse, mild violence (ie. bar fights), smut, swearing, and altogether just a lot of fuckery.

+It goes without saying, this is a work of fiction. All of my words are my own. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess

Part 5 - Bad Decisions

Three months and three days, since I had met Noah Sebastian. Since he had walked into my group, reserved and exhausted, ready for a change. Three months and one day since I had agreed to be his sponsor. Since I had taken on the role of maintaining his sanity and sobriety with him. Three months exactly since Noah kissed me, causing me to pull back on our relationship.

I had given myself a silent rule that I never told Noah: we did not meet in person, outside of group, unless it was dire. So far, we had not gotten to that point.

He called me often, needing support. We talked on the phone, sometimes for only a few minutes while he panicked, I calmed him down, and he focused on breathing. Sometimes, we talked for a long time. I suspected he called me at times, out of pure boredom.

Two weeks after his show in Hollywood, he finally told the members of the band that he had began AA. As I suspected, they were all very supportive, most notably, Nick Ruffilo, his best friend since childhood. He even brought Nick to our last 'Loved Ones' session, where we asked everyone to bring someone in their lives who supported their recovery. Some people only brought their sponsors, but some brought their husbands, wives. Girlfriends. I always brought Laura.

I met Nick that day. He was polite, had the most charming smile, and shook my hand respectfully.

"You're the famous Leena, huh?" Noah had been talking to Syd when Nick approached me.

"Famous?" I quirked my eyebrow. He smiled brightly.

"You've kept my boy straight for a whole month."

I nodded in understanding. As fate may have it, the day Nick came to group, was the same day Noah had earned his 30-day coin. He had earned himself a large round of applause, as well as his favorite flavor of cupcakes in class. Red velvet, cream cheese frosting, graham cracker dust. I'll never forget, I asked Laura to make them.

Nick cared deeply for Noah, I could see it. I knew the other members, Folio and Jolly, did as well, but I believed Nick was his best source of support.

I broached the subject with Noah about a week later of Nick being his sponsor. I saw the look on his face while he sipped on his coffee, group having just ended.

"Oh, I didn't even think about it." He was looking at the ground, something he regularly did when he was uncomfortable.

"I mean, it was just an idea?" I tried to stay warm, comforting. Noah didn't always go for that. He had his moments where he felt patronized, and preferred I be straight with him. Usually when he was in a bad mood.

"I could ask him, I guess." He still wouldn't look at me.

I sighed, quirking my lips in a smile. "You don't have to. I'm happy to keep being your sponsor, Noah."

He looked at me finally, through his lashes. "You just know how to pull me back from the brink. He doesn't."

I nodded in understanding. "Guess you're stuck with me then." I beamed at him, earning a smile back.

Today, Noah was earning his 90-day coin, right before he leaves for tour. He got to go first in group, discussing his experience through recovery. He also got his special cupcakes, Laura turning up special to deliver them by hand. He was like a kid in a candy store, nearly hopping up and down when she handed him his special cupcake, bigger than the rest. He was ever thankful that she was a talented baker, promising to bring him and the band cupcakes during their tour dates here in LA.

The band had added 17 additional tour dates, beginning the tour in the summer instead of fall. They would have three months off from June to September, and would head to Europe in December. The success of the band was exciting, and stressful all the same for Noah. I saw the toll it took.

Two weeks ago, he finally told his girlfriend about his recovery. We didn't talk about Lily often at all, but he definitely did not want to discuss that subject. I gathered that it did not go well. All I learned was that she told him she needed space, and backed out of tagging along on the first part of the tour with them. She promised to catch up in September.

I saw how this affected Noah, and his sad days had been more frequent lately. Seeing him happy to be receiving his coin was a relief.

"Can I make a request for my 90-day?" He sat in his regular chair, directly across the circle from me, his too-dark eyes on mine.

"Within reason." I responded with a suspicious grin.

"Can you tell me one thing about you that I don't already know?" Everyone in group looked directly to me, including our two newcomers. All eyes seemed confused. As was I.

"Like what?" I crossed my legs, trying to hide my uncomfortable posture.

"Anything."

I blinked, my head swirling. Something he didn't know? We had learned quite a bit about each other over the last three months. In group or on the phone, we had played twenty questions more than once.

"Well," I sighed, knowing that my confession would be news to everyone, as I never talked about it. "my sponsor is my Dad."

He looked taken back, not expecting that. "Really?"

I nodded coolly. "Yep. Since I got sober three years ago." I relaxed a bit in my chair. "He's the reason I got sober."

Noah sat back and folded his arms, intent on listening to me. He gestured for me to continue.

"At 25, I was set down the worst road. I had been actively drinking since I was 16, and really struggling since 18. I dropped out of college, went through job after job, ended up in jail a few times. And that's the mild stuff. I won't bore you all with the gruesome details." I glanced around the room. The only person who knew even half of my story was Abel, and he was unfortunately not here today, so I felt vulnerable.

"My mother was an alcoholic, who died when I was very young from her addictions." I could feel tears threatening to come to the surface. My throat was forming a lump I just couldn't swallow. "My Dad, who swore to never drink again after she died, decided that once I hit rock bottom, to take me to her gravesite."

I looked down at my hands, feeling my voice shake. "He had purchased a plot for me right next to her when I turned 21, because he swore I would be with her sooner rather than later."

One traitorous tear spilled down my cheek, and I wiped it away feverishly. "So I had him drive me to a meeting. He stayed with me. Came with me to every single one."

I laughed at the thought. "He would sit in the car and listen to Country music while he waited. And every time I fell off, he drove me right back. He's my rock. He's the reason I'm alive."

I was still looking at my hands when I heard the clapping. My head snapped up to see Noah, his hands clapping together before everyone else joined. It was a liberating moment, but I was still vulnerable.

I checked my watch, noticing that we were over on our time.

"Thank you, everyone." The applause died down. "I appreciate each and every one of you. Unfortunately, we've got to get out of here before Angie comes in and rips me a new one."

At home, Angel and I were curled up on the couch, enjoying our favorite movie (it was my favorite, so it was his favorite by default), Silent Hill. I was tossing him single popcorn kernels as I ate and watched intently.

"See, baby, this is the part where all of the piece of shit cultists get what they deserve!" He looked at me with his honey brown eyes, clearly understanding every word I said.

My ringtone went off, and I almost ignored it, because we were so close to the end, and figured the call could wait until after. That is, until I realized it was Noah's ringtone. I had switched his a while ago to a song by his own band, so I knew when it needed to be answered at any cost.

I rushed over to the kitchen counter, not even bothering to pause the movie.

"Hello?"

"I need a fucking drink, Leena." His voice was cracked, and sounded wet. Was he...crying?

"No, you don't." My immediate response anytime he said that.

"No Leena, I'm driving to a bar. I can't fucking do this."

The panic rose in my chest, threatening to spill in the form of vomit. No, not now. Not after we've worked this hard.

"Noah Sebastian, I will kick you out of group."

"Who fucking cares?" I scoffed.

"Uh, you do, apparently. You called me."

"Mostly just calling to let you know I'm a fucking failure. So, sorry to waste your time."

My mouth worked faster than I could stop it. "Come to my place."

He was quiet. "Nah, bar sounds better."

"Noah, come see me. Please. And if you still want a drink afterwards, then I won't stop you."

I could tell he was perusing this. "You don't ever see me outside of group, remember?"

"Well, fuck that for right now. Come see me."

He groaned. "Leena, it's midnight. You should be asleep."

"Yet, I'm awake. 3AM ice cream, remember?"

There was silence, only the sound of a blinker in the background.

"Where do you live?"

Without answering, I dropped him my location pin.

"Says I'm ten minutes away." I sighed a breath of relief.

"Door's unlocked."

Despite my telling him to come in, he knocked. Angel stood at attention, to which I instructed him to sit and stay. I opened the door to find a soaking wet Noah. I didn't even realize it was raining.

He looked awful. Clearly had been crying, his clothes soaked through from the storm. I grabbed his arm and hastily pulled him in to avoid any more weather getting hold of him.

"Jesus Christ, dude." He just stood in my doorway, staring at me.

A low growl left Angel, bringing our attention to him.

"Angel, come." Robotically, he came to me and I pointed to Noah. "Let him smell you. He's protection trained."

Noah raised a brow. "What kind of dog?"

"He's a mutt. Bluetick Hound and Husky. 90 pounds of death if he doesn't like you."

I saw Noah stiffen slightly as Angel sniffed his legs, shoes, and hands. Once he was satisfied that he was safe, Angel stepped back.

"Go to bed." I pointed to the room and he took off, following the command.

"Hm, good dog." Noah's tone was surprised.

"I live alone in LA, I've got to do something to protect myself."

He nodded and stepped onto the tile floor after me toward the hallway. I noticed how wet he was.

"Wait here. I'll get you some dry clothes."

He looked at me incredulously. "You think they'll fit?"

I rolled my eyes. "Wait here."

I returned two minutes later with a pair of men's sweats and a faded Disturbed t-shirt. "They're my brother's. I'm sure they'll fit."

He nodded in appreciation and I pointed to the bathroom.

He returned moments later, soaking clothes in hand. I walked over and grabbed them from him and walked further down the hall to my laundry room. Checking the many pockets on his pants, I threw his clothing in the dryer and started it.

Padding back into the living room, I waved him over to the couch. We both sat on opposite ends, me leaned back, pulling the throw over myself, him dropping his head into his hands.

"You want to talk about it?" He just shook his head. I pursed my lips. "You want to watch a movie?" He looked up at me from over his shoulder.

"Like what?"

I smiled, picking up my remote. "Well, I just finished Silent Hill, but I've got all the streaming networks, so I can get anything."

He furrowed his brows. "Silent Hill? Like, the game?"

My jaw dropped. "You've never seen the movie?"

He just shook his head. "Can't say I have."

"Well fuck, let me just restart it."

He snorted. "Didn't you just watch it?"

"It's my favorite movie, ever. I'll watch it again."

He sat up straight, then leaned his back on the couch. I reached behind me on the side table, grabbing another blanket and chucking it at him. He smiled a small, sad look at me, and unfolded it over his lap.

During the movie, Noah's demeanor loosened ever so subtly. He started with his back against the couch, arms in his lap, looking unamused. By the first call of the Darkness, he was leaning forward, paying closer attention. At the first sight of Pyramid Head, he was interested. And by the hospital scene, he was asking questions.

"I still don't understand, why does Sharon look like Alessa? And why did the little girl say she was burning?"

"Would you be patient?! We're literally getting to that part right now!" He shook his head and leaned back, crossing his legs underneath him and his body moved slightly closer to my legs that were outstretched on the area between us.

His leg bumped my foot, and he looked over, noticing I was glancing at him.

"Oh, my bad." He scooched back to his side, and I snickered.

"I'm not going to combust if you touch my foot Noah, it's no biggie."

He smirked, mischievously. "Well, in that case." He then stretched his giant self out across the couch, pulling my legs up over his legs. He nestled in, pulling the blanket up to his chest.

It was at this point that I actually noticed.

"Hold the fucking phone." I quickly paused the movie and his head snapped to me.

"What?"

"You cut your fucking hair?!" His hair was easily eight inches shorter, sitting just below his ears. How it took me this long to notice is beyond me.

He laughed nervously, and ran his hand through his locks. "Yeah, after group, I went and got it cut. Felt like I needed a change."

I smiled brightly, reaching over and tousling it. "I like it. It suits you."

He leaned back, his face appreciative.

I played the movie, and he was absolutely enamored. It was always fun watching someone experience this movie for the first time.

Once the credits began to play, his eyes were much brighter. "Are you tired?"

I shook my head. "Nah, not right now."

"Want to watch another one?"

I stood up. "Sure, but I've got to pee and grab a water bottle. You want one?"

He nodded, swiping the remote and scrolling through the networks to find another movie.

I called Angel to his bed in the living room, and took care of my business. When I returned, he had 13 Ghosts pulled up on the screen.

"Can we watch my favorite now?" I smirked.

"Absolutely, it is also one of my favorites."

He pressed play, and I walked past him, my thigh catching the edge of the couch, causing me to stumble toward the coffee table.

Before I could connect with the glass, his arm was around my arm, pulling me back toward the couch. I landed square in his lap. It took me a second to process. He smiled at me nervously.

"Sorry, didn't want you getting a concussion."

I slid off his lap, but was now seated closer to him, by side nearly pressed against his chest. He turned his attention back to the TV, throwing his blanket over the both of us casually.

I pulled my bare legs up under the blanket, now very aware that all I wore was a pair of too-short gym shorts, a plain white t-shirt, and socks. I was home alone earlier, in my defense. My knee was pressing into the side of his leg, but he didn't seem to notice.

His body radiated so much heat, I instinctively sunk down further under the blanket. His gargantuan arm was draped over the back of the couch, the back of my head pressed against it.

I let myself get into the movie for a while. We made it about half an hour in before I felt him shift. He stretched his legs in front of me, now in near full laying position. His arm tugged my shoulder and I looked at him.

His eyes were honest, or so it seemed. "It's just cuddling. I haven't had anyone to cuddle with in a while."

I pondered this for a moment. My brain screamed against it, told me it was wrong and I knew where this could go. But he was so warm. He was so comfortable. I slid down, stretching my legs over his, my chest laying on his. My face had nowhere to go but on his collarbone while I tried desperately to watch the television.

Something tugged at me, which I tried to ignore for a while. I couldn't for too long before I piped up.

"How would your girlfriend feel about us 'just cuddling'?"

I felt his chest still, his breathing stopped for a beat.

"She dumped me." I snapped my head up

"What?"

He sighed, not looking back at me. "Why do you think I needed a drink?"

"Oh, Noah." I moved to sit up, but his arm around my waist held me in place while he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Can we please just...not?" When he looked back at me, he had a single tear trying to escape from the corner of his eye.

"Okay." I softly responded and gently leaned back down. His arm secured me in place, while the movie continued to play.

About halfway through, I felt my eyelids getting heavy. His fingers that were holding my waist had been drawing small circles on my back for a few minutes, and I was fading quickly. The warmth, the comfort. He wasn't the only one who hadn't cuddled in a while.

"Are you asleep?"

This roused me. "Hmm? No. Just comfortable." My voice was raspy with sleep, my eyes only half open.

His chest shook with the rumble of a laugh. "You want me to head home?"

I slightly shook my head. "Warm." His hand rubbed up my arm now, coming to rest on the cap of my shoulder. I heard a low humming sound, and realized it was him, humming a tune that I couldn't place.

"It should be illegal to be able to sing that good." This made him snicker.

"Too bad, huh?" I sighed, relaxing. "Maybe if I wasn't so talented, you'd actually like me."

This made me slowly lift my head, narrowing my eyes at him. "You are an insufferable human Noah Sebastian." He smiled a goofy grin at me. "I am trying to relax, here."

His hand came up to brush my hair from my face, his eyes locked on my tired ones.

"You're really beautiful Mileena, you know that?"

I raised my eyebrows, my eyes getting wider. He didn't seem fazed, just studying my face.

"Well...thank you?"

His fingers twirled some stray bands of my hair while his eyes just would not leave mine.

"Would you hate me if I kissed you?"

My stomach bottomed out. I was awake. All the way awake, now. I sighed heavily.

"We can't do that, Noah."

He bit his bottom lip.

"Can't, or won't?"

"Both?"

I rolled onto my side then, slightly breaking the contact between us. He was sat with his head propped on the pillow at the end of the couch. He kept his arm on my waist, but raised himself up just enough to nearly tower over me.

"Would you tell me to stop again?"

He was testing me. I was going to fail if he didn't stop. He felt it.

"Probably."

"Would you make me leave?"

"Is this why you came over? Girlfriend dumps you, so you figure you'd come hook up with your sponsor?" Okay, maybe that came out a little sharper than I intended. But it needed to be said.

"I wasn't planning on coming here. I was set on the bar."

I sighed. He was right. He was on the brink, and I invited him in. Practically begged him.

"Noah, I just...we can't."

His hand reached up to cup the side of my neck, his eyes now fixated on my mouth. I caught the tip of his tongue dart out over his bottom lip.

"Would you make me leave?" He repeated his question.

I didn't answer him, I just stared. I couldn't hide the want on my face anymore. I could feel my eyes pleading with him to just do it. Just make the move, because I couldn't.

With the luckiest break I've had in a while, he read my thoughts, and dipped his face down to brush our lips together.

This was different. This wasn't hungry. It was a hot burn, slow and steady. His hand came up to brush against my face, pulling me just close enough for him to press his face closer, solidifying the kiss.

Once I had the nerve, I moved my lips against his, my body melting against him. We moved slowly, our tongues only trying to make short appearances to taste the other's lips. His kisses on my lips slowed, his hand running down the side of my body, stopping to rest on my hip. Noah's lips began to trail off of my mouth, moving down to my neck, leaving soft kisses over my throat, making my breathing stop altogether.

I'm not entirely sure how long we stayed this way, his lips leaving trails of warmth over my jaw, neck, and collarbone.

I finally reached for him, my arm searching for the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath. My fingers grazed his skin, feeling the solidity of his frame. I felt him breathe out a sigh when I began leaving kisses on his neck. I let the tip of my tongue trace his adam's apple, smiling when the grip on my hip tightened with a nip of his skin.

After he had been tormented enough, he slipped his arm around my waist, flipping to perch over me, laying me flat on my back.

The kiss that came now was burning, hungry, and wild. My fingers pulled at his shirt, lifting it until he had to sit up and pull it over his head.

He wasted no time coming back to attack my neck, nipping and biting carefully, but enough to have me whimpering. He slid one hand up my side, beneath my shirt, and grazed the side of my breast, waiting for a reaction. I arched my back, trying to beg for touch.

His fingers grabbed my entire breast with one hand, pinching my hard nipple and rolling it between his fingers. I gasped at this.

"Oh, Noah..." I heard him hum, a sign of approval.

My hands grabbed his hair, pulling him back to my face. I kissed him while he used his other hand to lift my shirt, exposing both breasts.

It took no time for him to work his way down, taking my nipple in his mouth, leaving me breathless. His tongue circled the hardened bud, driving me absolutely wild.

I could feel his excitement pressing into the inside of my thigh, so I squirmed, causing a friction I'm sure he noticed. I felt the growl more than heard it.

His hand slid up my thigh, stopping on the inside, just before the hem. I could feel myself shaking in anticipation. He hooked the edge of my shorts, and with no mercy, pulled them down viciously, exposing my plain black cotton panties.

His hand glided over my core, feeling how damp the fabric already was. I was breathing heavily, silently begging for more.

"Jesus Christ, Leena." His mouth reached down and kissed my breast again. "So fucking wet."

His words had my brain scrambling. I hadn't been intimate in so long.

His fingers traced over the wet spot, teasing me until I was sure I was going mad.

"Noah..." His eyes looked up to me, my left nipple glistening from his saliva. "Fucking please."

The smile on his face was so wicked, I swear I saw the devil behind it. And this was my one-way ticket to hell. At least it's warm there.

His fingers slipped under the fabric, running up and down over my slit, nearly hitting that one spot I needed.

"This? This is what you want?" His tone was deadly, which had me reeling even harder. I fucking needed him.

I could only nod wildly. His index finger slipped inside, curling at just the right angle, hitting the sweetest spot, I could've burst right then and there.

"That's it. Good girl." His words had me moaning softly, his fingers working me over. Noah continued this until I was nearly seeing stars, his thumb now rubbing circles over my clit. I was ready, so fucking ready, eyes shut tight, climbing the hill and about to fall over. Then it was gone.

My eyes burst open, nearly ready to complain before I felt his hands pulling my panties down, his hot breath just centimeters from my core.

"I can't tell you how many times I've thought about this, Leena. I'll bet you taste incredible." Breathing was out of the question. Air no longer existed.

And that was it, he was on me. His tongue lapping up my pussy, humming while I gripped his hair frantically.

"Holy fuck, Noah."

"That's it baby. Scream my name. Be good for me."

My brain was no longer firing on any cylinders. I was on another plane altogether.

His lips latched onto my sweet spot and sucked like his life depended on it.

"Noah, oh my god! Oh my god, I'm going to come." My back arched off the couch, and my vision went white.

"Noah, Noah, Noah!" My voice was going hoarse. My toes curled and I began to feel the overstimulation, my hips bucking against him.

His arms pinned my legs down, leaving me nowhere to go. I fought for purchase against his skin.

"Please, please I can't. I can't!" He finally released me, lapping at my inner thigh one more time, causing me to shiver.

He sat back, a satisfied grin on his face.

When I looked up at him, I could see the clear bulge in the sweats, and smiled my own wicked grin.

I saw the confusion on his face before I sat up, simultaneously pushing him back on the couch, ripping the front of the pants down. It came to my attention that he wasn't wearing any boxers, so his cock sprung free instantly.

His eyes were fixed on me while I sized up his length, trying to work out how I was going to swallow this damn thing.

I slid the tip of my tongue across the top, eliciting a hiss from his lips. He stared down at me, watching my every calculated move.

With no warning, I wrapped my lips around him, and took him as far down as my throat would allow.

"Oh, fuck..." His eyes went half-masked, his mouth falling open. "Do that again. Jesus Christ."

It didn't sound like a question, so I diligently obeyed. My throat gave out about halfway down his length, causing me to gag. His hand grabbed my hair, nails in my scalp, holding me there.

"Yeah, baby. That's it." He let my head up, saliva dripping from my lips. "You're so good, Leena. Such a good girl."

His hand pressed me back down gently until I had a good rhythm going, my head bobbing, eyes looking up at him.

"Fuck, girl, I'm not going to last like this." I hollowed my cheeks, increasing the suction, and his eyes bulged.

His head flew back, his chest heaving wildly. "Just like that, baby. Don't stop."

I obeyed, suddenly really enjoying the submissive role. His hand guided me faster until I felt him harden to nearly stone.

"I'm going to come, don't stop...fuck don't fucking stop baby."

I felt the first hot stream hit the back of my throat, and I relaxed, waiting for the rest before sucking just a second longer, listening to him hiss in response. I let him out of my mouth with a pop, smiling at him sheepishly when I sat up.

He laid there, eyes closed, hands on his chest, working to breathe.

It took a while, but he eventually opened his eyes. His smile was lazy, and he lifted an arm to pull me down, now laying on his chest again.

He reached behind me and flung the blanket over us, kicking his pants the rest of the way off, and looked down at me.

"We shouldn't have done that, huh?"

I blushed, nuzzling my nose into his neck to hide it as best as I could. "No, we shouldn't have."

He ran his hand up and down my arm, now turning his attention back to the movie that was still playing.

"We'll do better tomorrow." Was the last I heard before my eyes drifted closed.

#noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #fanfic

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