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simp4reggie · 3 years

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Luke Patterson from Julie and the phantoms dating a 🥺 girl who is a cheerleader. Shocking the band when they meet her but end up loving her. Fluffy Luke

Cheerleader

Luke Patterson x Reader

Word Count: 1614 Words

A/N: I don’t know much about cheerleading but I hope you like it. It’s also 2 am and not proofread.

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When you first met Luke, you were in school walking to class not paying attention and ended up bumping into him. You both ended up falling over causing both of your things to go everywhere. He was helping you with your stuff when he saw a small poster with a familiar logo in the corner of his eye.

“Sunset Curve?”, he says, picking it up. “You a fan?”

You looked up sheepishly and pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. “Uh yeah. I’ve been to a few shows. I’m (Y/N).” You stood up with him.

“Luke,” He points to himself. “Well, we have a show tonight if you would like to come. Maybe dinner after?”

“Wow. Someone’s confident,” you said laughing to yourself.

“Well, I have to be when I’m talking to someone as gorgeous as you,” he complimented you turning your cheeks red. “So what time am I picking you up?”

You tell him that you have cheerleading practice tonight so you’ll be done around 6. “Just tell me where and I’ll be there.”

A couple hours later, it was time for the concert. Luke was standing on stage looking in the audience for you, to become unsuccessful. He tried to hide his frown but Reggie noticed. He then nudged Bobby to look over. Bobby just looked back at him shrugging. After a couple songs, you still hadn’t turned up. By the end of the set, Luke was now angry. He went out on a limb and was completely humiliated.

When they went backstage, a waiter walked up to him and said he had a message from a girl named (Y/N).

“What did she say?”

“She said she’s sorry she couldn’t make it. Practice ran late but she’ll make it up to you.”

“Okay. Thank you so much.” He let out a great big sigh of relief.

“Are you going to tell us what’s going on?” Reggie asked, causing Luke to turn around.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, first off you looked bummed out the entire set and now some random girl left a message for you.” Bobby replies looking at the other two to see their reactions.

“It’s nothing.” Luke replies.

“Okay…” Alex says sarcastically.

“Really it is. We just met today.” Luke says quickly.

“I didn’t say anything.” Alex puts his hands up in defense.

The next morning, you looked for Luke in the halls. When you found out you ran up to him and started immensely apologizing. “Oh my gosh, Luke. I’m so sorry. By the time I got out of practice and I went home to get ready it was 7:00. And then I fell asleep. So as soon as I woke up I called the club. So if we could go out tonight or another night if it’s not good for you.”

“(Y/N) it’s okay. You left a message.” He says putting an arm around you. “And about tonight. Tonight is perfect.”

“Okay great. I have practice again tonight but maybe we can meet at 8?”

“I’ll pick you up instead.”

You give him your address and he shows up knocking on your door at exactly 8:00 on the dot. He ends up taking you to a movie and dinner. At the end of the night, you end up walking the strip.

“So, how’d I do?” Luke asks, holding your hand.

“Amazing. I haven’t been out in a while because of practice.” You reply.

“It really takes up your time, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m hoping to cheer in college so to get a scholarship I need to work really hard.”

“Well, it’s good that you know what you want to do with your life.”

“You do too. Your band is going to make it far.”

“I hope so. I can't think of anything else I’d rather do.”

When we get back to my house, we stand at the front door for a minute just looking at each other.

“So…”

Luke leans in to meet your lips. You kiss him back, sweetly. After a couple of minutes, you pull away.

“Well, thank you for tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow?” You say opening your door.

“Of course.” He gives you another kiss and leaves. You watch him walk away, smirking to yourself.

You go out again multiple times after that learning more and more about each other. Now it’s been three months and he still hasn’t told the boys. Until one day when Sunset Curve has another gig.

Everyday you have been hanging out and going on dates with Luke after cheer practice and band rehearsal. As soon as the guys were done rehearsing, Luke wasted no time running out of the studio. It took almost your entire relationship before the boys noticed something was up.

“There he goes again.” Alex says standing up from the drumset, “Where is he going?”

“I don’t know but he’s been on his phone more than usual and getting distracted easily. Maybe it’s a girl.” Reggie says.

“Let’s ask him at the show tonight.”

An hour later, Luke walks through the stage door, talking to you on the phone, “Am I seeing you tonight?”

“Of course. We got done early so I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay great. I just got here. We’re gonna have the sound check so I’ll see you after the set.”

“You’re gonna do great! See you soon.”

“Bye babe.” Luke hangs up the phone and looks up to see Alex and Reggie.

“Who was that Luke?”

“What do you mean? Nobody.”

“It didn’t sound like nobody...babe”

Luke realizes the mistake he made by saying it in front of his friends. He might as well tell them now before she shows up and it’s a whole mess.

“So I’ve been seeing someone. We met a few months ago.

“Is that where you’ve been going after rehearsal? You leave before we’re even done the last song.”

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s just she has practice after school and there’s like an hour or two that we can actually see each other. I know I should’ve told you when it started but it was nice just being me and her.”

“It’s fine dude. We would like to meet her at somepoint but it’s your relationship not ours.”

“Okay good she’s actually coming tonight.”

The boys had soundcheck and started performing not long after. You ended up coming in a couple songs in so you didn’t miss much. What the rest of the band doesn’t know is you’ve actually gone to every show you could since you and Luke started dating. Since you’ve seen them a number of times, you have a favorite and Luke knows exactly which one it is.

You hear the beginning chords of Now or Never and see Luke look around the crowd before making eye contact with you. He winks at you and you feel your heart beat faster. He radiates so much energy it’s hard to be upset watching him perform.

Practice ended up being more stressful than it needed to be. Some of the team didn’t show up so your routine had to be reblocked a bit. Now you were just drained and wanted nothing more than to lay in your bed. But you missed they’re last show and even though you know Luke is the most understanding person you still made a promise and you didn’t want to let him down.

After the set, you decide to surprise him backstage. But instead of seeing Luke right away you saw Reggie, Bobby, and Alex first.

“Umm hi. I’m (Y/N)...Luke’s girlfriend.”

“Hi! I’m Alex.”

“Reggie.”

“Bobby. ‘Sup.”

You shake their hands trying to be as polite as possible. You really want to impress his bandmates knowing that they’re his family. He told you about his problems at home and how the only people he sees on the regular are his friends.

“(Y/N)!!!!!” You turn around and see Luke covered in sweat running over to you with his arms open wide. You let him wrap his arms around you since you just need to be held by him at the moment. You give him a quick kiss before giving him an actual hug.

“How was practice?”

“Ugh let’s not talk about that now. I’m having a good time.” Luke leans back and gives you a sad look before pushing a piece of hair back behind your ear and kissing your forehead.

“So I see you’ve met the guys. Be nice to her please.”

“Wait….practice.” Bobby looks you up and down noticing you’re still in uniform. “Are you a cheerleader?”

The boys all look up at you not saying anything.

“Uh yeah” You say shyly, finding the carpet much more interesting. “I’m a flyer. It’s been a long day so I didn’t have time to change.”

“That’s so cool!” You hear Alex say. “My sister’s a cheerleader.”

“Oh really? What’s her name?” You say making conversation. You feel an arm around you. Luke was happy you were getting along with his friends. He knew you would be find but you once brought up how you get insecure about cheerleading. Movies don’t make the sport look as fun as it can be. Most cheerleaders are considered mean and catty. However you are from either of those things.

“Katie. She’s in college now but she loved cheering.”

After we talked a little bit more, the guys put their instruments away and they invited you to get food with them so Luke didn’t have to rush after the gig like he has been. You graciously accepted and couldn't wait to hear the stories about your boyfriend. You definitely gained three more friends tonight.

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A/N: Major writers block should be over now so if you have any ideas please send them in. Right now I only write for JATP characters/cast.

- Maddie xx

#julie and the phantoms #charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie x reader #jatp luke x reader #luke patterson x reader

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imdreamingofaplaceicallhome · 3 years

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WDW Preference #6: How he finds out your pregnant

Jonah: It was a few days before Christmas when she knew something was off. She pushed it out of her mind and continued with the Christmas shopping. There was so much to do in such a short time to get it done. She finally made it home and was putting things into the closet. She felt the need to throw up so she rushed to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet. She leaned back against the wall and started to think. Could she be pregnant? After having a miscarriage she was scared to test or even be pregnant. The fear of losing another baby was bigger than the feeling of wanting one. She got up and brushed her teeth and pulled out a pregnancy test from under the counter. She took the test and placed it back in the package as she went back to the room. She started to wrap presents and pushed the thought of the test out of her mind. She heard Jonah come in downstairs, she quickly hid the presents. Rushing to the bathroom, locking the door behind her as she threw up again. She grabbed the test from the counter. Taking it out of the package and seeing those two lines. She started to cry covering her mouth as she heard Jonah come upstairs. "Babe?" He knocked on the bathroom door. "I'll be out in a minute," she replied. "Ok babe," he said as he went into the room. She placed the test under the sink where she knew Johna wouldn't find it. Wiping her eyes before leaving the bathroom. "Hey, you," he said as he hugged her. "Hey babe," she said as she hugged him. "Are you ok?" he asked. "Yea I'm fine" she nodded. "Babe your shaking," he said as he held her tighter. "I'm ok," she said. "Ok so are you up for dinner with the guys?" he asked. "Yeah sure let me change real quick" she nodded. "Alright babe," he said as he kissed her cheek. He went downstairs and she got ready. She also decided to take one of the onesies they bought for the baby and wrap it in a box with the test. Laying it on the bed so when they arrived home later one he would see it. She went downstairs and slipped on her jacket and grabbed his hand. They went to dinner with the boys, it was their normal Christmas dinner. After dinner they went back to the house, they went upstairs. She went into the bathroom as he entered the bedroom. "What is this?" Jonah asked. "It's an early Christmas present," she said as she leaned against the door frame. "For me?" he asked. "Yes babe" she smiled slightly. He sat down on the bed and started to open it. He saw the onesie first and looked up at her with tears in his eyes. "Are you serious?" he asked. "Look back down," she said. He picked up the test and saw two lines. He dropped the box and placed his head down in his hands. "I found out when you came home," she said as she also started to cry. "Our rainbow," he said as he got up and hugged her. "Yea our rainbow" she hugged him. "Are you ok?" he asked as he looked at her. "Yea I'm ok, scared but ok" she looked down. "Babe everything will be ok" he tilted her chin up. "I believe that" she looked at him. "Very special present," he said as he placed his hand on her stomach. "Yes, Merry Christmas," she said. "I love you" he kissed her softly. "I love you" she rested her forehead against his. There is always a rainbow after a storm.

Corbyn: They were on tour for over 4 months. She was always on the bus because no one knew that they were together. That's how she wanted it to be anyway, she didn't want to deal with the hate. Their fans were nice but she just didn't want to change it. The bus was parked behind the venue, the boys were doing soundcheck. She got off the bus and quickly made her way to the car. She asked to go to a drug store so she could pick up a few things. She picked up a few things at the store, she also picked up a pregnancy test. She got back on the bus quickly so no one could see her or find the bus. She took the test and left it on the counter as she went to fix herself something to eat. Her period was a few days late and it always seemed like she was so hungry. "I'm sure I'm not pregnant," she said to herself as she went back to check the test. She covered her mouth when she saw two lines. She looked at the box to make sure she was reading it right. "I'm pregnant," she said as she looked at herself in the mirror. She placed the test in her bag when she heard the boys come back. "Baby", Corbyn said. "Hey babe, I was making food, want some?" she said as she walked out of the bathroom. "Sure babe," he said as he sat down. She finished cooking and sat next to him so they could eat together. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her cheek. "So what time is the concert?" she asked. "In about two hours, we will meet and greet in a few minutes," he said. "Oh ok," she said. "Why what's wrong?" he asked. "Nothing babe, just wondering," she said. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Yeah babe" she kissed him softly. "Alright," he said. He finished eating before leaving with the boys, she watched him through the window. She decided to make a onesie with 'Baby C coming in 2022' on it. She printed the label off and placed it on a onesie. She asked their manager to give this to Corbyn without saying anything. "Hey Corbyn here," their manager said as she handed him the onesie. "What is this?" he asked as he looked at it. "What is it?" Jack asked. "It's a onesie with Baby C on it," Corbyn said. "Maybe it's a prank, '' Zach said. "2022," Coryn said to himself. "Maybe one of the fans thought it was cute," Jonah said. "Cassidy", Corbyn said. "What about her?" Jonah asked. Corbyn ran back to the bus and rushed inside and saw Cassidy standing there with a pregnancy test. "It is you," he said as he walked over to her. "Yea, we are pregnant," she said. "We are," he said as he hugged her close to him. She hugged him and rubbed his back. "Baby C" he smiled as he looked down at the onesie. "Yea baby C" she smiled as he placed his hand on her stomach. "How far?" he questioned. "I just found out today," she said. "Oh ok," he nodded and kissed her softly. "Calm down babe" she smiled against his lips. "I'm just so excited," he said. "I know you are," she smiled. Baby C was on their way.

Zach: Everyone always said that they moved way too fast. Within weeks of meeting, they moved in together. It didn't need to make sense to anyone but them. Of course, everyone was shocked when they found out that they were having a baby. Nearly two years later they were still going strong and still in love. Riley would help with the band and of course, the boys loved baby Ava. "So Zach when are you and Riley having another one?" Jonah asked as he picked up Ava. "We haven't talked about it really," Zach said. "Was Ava planned or did it just happen?" Jack asked. "We were trying but also wasn't trying to prevent," Zach said. "Oh ok," Johna said. "Would you be happy if Riley was pregnant?" Corbyn asked. "I would be fine with that," Zach said. "What about Riley?" Johna asked. "Like I said we haven't talked about it," Zach said. "Mommy," Ava said as Riley walked in. "Hey babe," Zach said. "Hey, babe" Riley said as she picked up Ava. "Are we still having dinner tonight?" Zach asked. "Are you getting off at a decent time?" she asked. "Yea in a few hours," Zach said. "Then sure," she said. "Ok babe sees you later," Zach said as they left. Riley took Ava home and put her in the playroom. She had plans to surprise Zach tonight at dinner but wanted to make sure. She took another pregnancy test and right away it came back positive. "Ok so this is happening again" she nodded as she collected all the other tests. She put them in a bag and got Ava ready for dinner. She put Ava in a 'Big Sister' shirt, just to see how long it would take Zach to figure it out. Riley just finished making dinner the moment Zach walked in. "Daddy," Ava said as she ran to him. "Hey baby girl," he said as he picked her up. "Hey babe dinner is ready," Riley said. "Smells amazing," he said as he kissed Riley's cheek. "So how was today?" Riley asked. "It was fine" Zach nodded as he placed Ava in the highchair. "Oh that's good," Riley said as she put the food on the table. "Yea it was, how was your day?" He asked. "It was fine," She nodded. They made it through dinner and Zach didn't notice Ava's shirt. Riley asked him to bathe Ava while she cleaned up the kitchen. He picked up Ava from the highchair and that's when he noticed. "Wait what?" Zach said. "Give her a bath," Riley said. "No, her shirt," Zach said. "Oh, you finally noticed it," Riley said. "Is it true? Are we having another?" Zach asked. "Yes we are," Riley said. "Ava you're gonna have a baby brother," Zach said as he pulled Riley closer to him. "Or a sister," Riley said. "Yea or a sister" Zach smiled and hugged Riley. "Another one," Riley said. "I love you," Zach said as he kissed her softly. "Mommy and daddy," Ava said. "That's right baby," Riley said. "And baby," Zach said as he placed his hand on Riley's stomach. "Baby," Ava said. Zach took Ava upstairs to bathe her, he couldn't believe that there would be another little one soon.

Daniel: High school best friends turned into lovers after high school. It's funny how when you don't realize that what you are looking for is right in front of you. It seemed like everyone saw something between Daniel and Sarah but they never noticed it. They moved in together during their freshman year of college. Nearly 3 years later Sarah was getting ready to graduate while Daniel was in a band. He was kind of a big deal and she loved watching him chase his dreams. The morning of graduation Sarah woke up nauseated. She threw up in a trashcan before getting ready for graduation. "Nervous babe?" Daniel asked. "Yes I am," she nodded. "It's your day" Daniel kissed her cheek. "Yea the day I worked so hard for," Sarah said. "Don't be nervous," He said. "I'm trying not to be," she said as she finished getting ready. "See you out there," He said. "Alright babe," she said as she kissed him once more before leaving. She got to the university and got ready for graduation. It was a small ceremony and it moved pretty quickly. Afterward, she rushed to the bathroom because she was nauseated again. She threw up in the toilet a few times before making her way to the sink. She turned on the water as she looked at herself in the mirror. She splashed some water on her face and washed her mouth out. She left the bathroom and her family was waiting for her. They all hugged her and congratulated her before heading to get food. Sarah stopped at a drugstore and then stopped by the house before meeting her family. She went upstairs and changed her clothes. She checked her phone and planner and realized that she was at least two weeks late. She grabbed the test from the bag and decided to take both of them. There were two lines on one of the tests but she waited for the digital one to come up. It came up as 4-6 weeks. "That explains why I can't keep anything down," She said. She quickly hid the test and left the house. She met her family and Daniel at the restaurant, she ordered something easy for her to eat. "So what's next?" Her sister asked. "I'm not sure yet," Sarah said. "Are you ok?" Daniel asked. "Yea I'm fine" she nodded. "No pressure, I'm sure you'll figure out what's next," her mother said. "Yea I know," Sarah said as she took a deep breath in. They finished dinner and they went back home. She kept the news away from Daniel for as long as she could. It has been about 3 weeks since she found out that she was pregnant. She finally got an appointment to make sure she was pregnant. She came back from the doctor's office and all the boys were at the house. "Hey babe," Daniel said. "Hey guys," Sarah said. "So we have news," Zach said. "What is that?" she asked. "We are going on tour," Daniel said. "How exciting babe" She smiled. "Yea will you join us?" Daniel asked. "I'm not sure," Sarah said. "It will be fun," Jack said. "I have a little surprise for Daniel," She said as she went into the closet. She handed him a bag and told him to open it but slowly. He started to pull out baby socks and mittens, he looked confused. As he continued to pull things out he found a onesie that said 2022. "Are you?" Daniel asked. "Yes I am: she said as she showed him the ultrasound. "Wow," Daniel said. "Yea baby coming in 2022," she said. He stood up and hugged her and kissed her head. He was in shock and didn't know how to react. The boys congratulated them both before leaving the house. He started to get more excited as he realized they were going to have a baby. They talked all night about the baby and how their lives would change. There will be a new member on the tour bus next year.

Jack: A chance encounter turned into one of the best things to happen to Sydney. When she met Jack everything in her life got better. She was a fan of his for a while and they met at one of his concerts. They hit it off right away and they have been inseparable since. Sydney slept in Jack's bunk and was always backstage at the concerts. She was asleep when they came back from the soundcheck. Jack gently nudged her, waking her up to see if she was coming tonight. "The concert is in a few hours," Jack said. "I'm not feeling it tonight," she said. "Ok babe, is anything wrong?" he asked. "No, just tired" she looked at him. "You've been tired lately," he said. "I know and it sucks," she pouted. "Could you be pregnant?" he asked. "I don't think so," she said. "You want me to get you a test?" he asked. "You can," she nodded. 'Ok babe, ' he kissed her forehead and went to the store. He came back from the store and gave her the test before he had to go back to the venue. She took the test and then went back to lay down in the bunk. She fell asleep before checking the test, she didn't wake up again until they came back from the concert. He went to check on her and noticed she was asleep. He gently kissed her forehead, waking her up. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to wake you up," he said. "I was already awake," she said. "So did you take the test?" he asked. "Shit I fell asleep before looking," she said. "I'll check," he said as he went into the bathroom. "So two lines?" he asked as he looked at the box. "Pregnant," she said. "You Are pregnant," he said. "I guess I am," she said. "AWW, my baby is having a baby" he sat next to her. "Explains why I'm so tired" she laid her head down on his shoulder. "Yea it is" he kissed the top of her head. "Are you happy?" she asked. "Yes I am babe, are you?" he asked. "Yea I am" she nodded. "I know it's not something we planned but we will be ok," he said. "Yea I know" she nodded slightly. Sometimes life gave you what you need even if you don't think you do.

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matildashoney · 4 years

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All I’ve Ever Known // The Prologue

MOODBOARD // PREVIEW // TAGS // PLAYLIST // ASKS // LYTA

Let’s talk about Harry and Amelie!

Harry’s routine is always the same before a show. All of Live on Tour has been routine, at least.

That’s because Amelie has been around for nearly the entire tour, scheduling shows around when the meetings for her latest exhibition, her biggest exhibition – twenty pieces of art centred around boundaries and the journey to accepting them as they are – are going to be held, especially the mandatory meetings in-house with Susan – the agent that she’s started working with since she saw her work at an exhibition for up and coming artists two years ago and was thoroughly impressed – and Harry wanted to be as supportive as he could be. That meant being around, even if there was a world tour of eighty some dates across the globe.

Harry’s had the threat of losing Amelie once. He wouldn’t make that mistake, again.

His schedule for the day usually begins with getting to the venue, then soundcheck and tech rehearsal while the stage is being finalised, a light meal of some sort – usually that’s just Amelie eating and Harry having coffee and sitting with her because he’s a tad bit clingy – and a workout. Harry will shower and change, dragging Amelie into the bathroom and talking to her about any emails that she’s gotten, an update on any of the art and the designs that’s she’s been working on with the film that she was signed an artistic creative director for – which he was unbelievably proud of her for – and the dates that she would have to fly home to California to attend their meetings and go over the designs that the crew was working on.

Amelie and Harry were apart for a majority of the years before, nearly nine months apart two years ago and four months last year, graciously able to reconnect towards the end of the Live on Tour dates in late October when the major meetings were coming to a close regarding the exhibition and much of the creative direction was being sent through private emails and phone conferences. Harry was grateful that Amelie was with him, now, but he knew that she was stressed beyond measure. Amelie wears herself too thin, too often, and Harry doesn’t want to see her burn out like she had a year and a half before.

Harry would get changed shortly after his shower, getting in the chair and giving hair and makeup time to do their work, this being the moment that Amelie steps aside and tends to her computer work or talking with her cousin about where the best photographs would be taken for her to sketch out for a project she was working to give Harry for Christmas, that year.

Not that Harry knew this.

Then it’s Amelie’s turn, getting dressed in an outfit that most likely matches Harry’s suit to an extent. Harris designed a few dresses and pant suits for the final show to match what Harry had had selected for himself, giving her the options. Tonight, for the final show, Amelie is wearing the black and gold sparkled pantsuit that’s tight fitting to her chest and thighs, flaring at her calves, a new nose ring hooped into her piercing, her hair a new shade of platinum and curled the way she – and he – loves so much. Not that she admits it often, but it’s always her favourite when they match; it’s their hinted way of saying that they’re together without anyone actually catching on.

Three years in, and crowds are still oblivious to the relationship that they have, and it’s something they cherish, especially with how Harry is painted in the media more often than not. Helene is always very careful with their photographs, too, never sharing too much but always giving the pictures that she has of them backstage. Those might be their favourite shots, the ones where they’re kissing or Harry’s arms are tightly wrapped around her waist, or she’s wiping lipstick off his cheeks. Always a sweet reminder that they’re there, in this together, whatever it may bring.

And by the time everyone is done getting ready, Harry is ready to eat something light, warm his voice, and head on stage. Outside is buzzing with excitement, and they can already hear the crowd singing to “Olivia”, which is Harry’s favourite. Amelie’s computer is away, all of her attention ready to be set on her man, the love of her life, and admire him do what he loves on stage.

Harry was made to be there, to be the star of the show.

And tonight, this show, is bittersweet in a lot of ways. It’s the final Live on Tour date. Coming to a close of eighty-nine shows, all around the world, ninety minutes that tens of thousands can be themselves in one room, one arena. It’s special. It’s something that not many could do. Amelie knows that she surely couldn’t. It’s admirable and brave to be vulnerable to so many people. And although Harry would have liked to write an album a bit more authentic to his sound, what he loves, Amelie is encouraging him every step of the way that now he’s seen how many people adore him and want to see him be himself. He has a million chances to get it right, to grow, to change.

Anne is there. Fay and Luca. Phoebe and her girlfriend, Deb. Brandon and Autumn. Jenny and Dan, Amaya and Amari. All of their friends.

And Amelie. Always where Harry can see her. Always where Harry can know that she’s there to support him, and love him, and be the one that will hold him tight and say that’s she’s proud of him when the show comes to a close.

All of their entourage for the evening is gathered backstage, Amari on Jenny’s waist and Amaya standing close by to Uncle Harry as they all talk and decide on where the children will stay towards the end of the show. Harry’s extremely protective of his goddaughters – and his entire family – to say the least.

Jeff walks into the dressing room, telling Harry that’s it’s time to go, that the show is about to start. Sarah and Mitch walk in behind him, greeting everyone, Adam and Clare shuffling in. Harry is smiling, his heart full of love and so much happiness that isn’t quite sure what could be better.

That’s until Amelie brings him to the side, to the quiet corner in the hallway, taking a polaroid out of her pocket, one with Amelie kissing Harry’s cheek with a smile spread ear to ear on his lips, and sticking it inside the tiny slip in his suit jacket.

“Not one person in this arena could be prouder of you than I am,” Amelie smiles, her eyes wet with tears as Harry swipes a stray beneath her lashes, “and I want you to have this near your heart, to remind you that I fucking adore you and everything you do. All the songs, all the tears, all the love. That’s all you, inside of you. Less than two years and you’ve acted in a film, released an album, done two tours, and you’ve supported me like no one else ever has. Not one person on this planet will ever know the way it is to love you, and I’m beyond grateful that you chose me. I’ll do this with you forever, Harry.”

Harry’s on the verge of tears, now, cupping her jaw and kissing her in a way that could say everything he isn’t sure how to articulate. He loves her. God, he fucking loves her. And he’s sure that he loves her more than anyone could ever love another person in the entire world. That’s why there’s a ring in his duffle bag, a ring that her grandfather gave him the day they went to visit a day before his show, telling Harry that her grandmother always said that the person that falls in love with Amelie should have it, because it would mean more to her than she would ever admit. And Harry wants to give it to her, and everyday feels like the day.

“All for you, all of this is for you, you know that? Everything I do.”

Amelie wraps her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly, soaking in the way that for a moment, it’s only them and their love and how much of their life is surrounded by the way that they support each other. Her fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, not wanting to ruin his hair, even though she knows that he wouldn’t mind. And they stand that way for a few minutes, knowing that someone is going to come and whisk him away for the show to start, and Amelie will stand right where the stairs are to be the last person he sees before going on stage.

“I adore you, Harry Styles. More than anyone has ever loved another person,” Amelie whispers into his neck, and Harry pulls away for a moment to look at her. “And I am unbelievably proud of you. Not just as your girlfriend, but as your best friend.”

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” Harry stares at Amelie as if she’s hung the moon and the stars in the sky and aligned all the planets for them to live the life they’re living. Helene is hidden behind a wall, snapping pictures of the two in the middle of their moment, unable to hear the way they’re speaking so fondly of each other. They’ll want the memories, the photographs of the moment that only they shared. “You’ll be at the B Stage, right? I’m ready to sing my heart out to you.”

“Always.”

And Amelie’s right. Not one show has she missed being right there, standing in front of him, singing the words to the songs that he wrote for her, as his way to show the love that couldn’t be said in an everyday conversation.

“Harry, it’s time to go,” Tom says, kindly taking the two out of their bubble and patting Harry’s cheek. “Know where you’re going, Ames?”

Amelie smiles at the name, knowing that it’s all Harry’s doing that so many people in their life have taken to calling her that. “Always.”

“Great. Have to take him away but you’ll see him soon.”

Harry takes a deep breath, nodding to his manager and taking a few steps away and towards the huddled group in the centre of the corridor, all of his band and team and crew gathering to have a final few words before the show would begin. Amelie squeezes Harry’s hand reassuringly, stealing a kiss – not that she’s stealing much when she has about a hundred a day – and smiling, releasing him and gently nudging him towards the group, taking her backstage pass between her fingertips and walking towards the walkway of the stage, slinking down and hiding herself as security lights a path for her to the stairs. All of the band is shuffling quickly behind her, Harry talking to Jeff and giving Anne a kiss to her cheek before walking in their footsteps.

And standing there, listening to the arena cheering and screaming his name, the lights fading and the screens lifting, Harry knows that there is nothing that will replace this feeling. Euphoria, in a sense. Feeling completely at home and loved and free. He is well aware that having the love of his life there is a big part of that, because there is no better feeling than making the one you love proud of you.

There Amelie is, waiting for him at the edge of the stairs, his favourite smile on her lips, waiting to give him one last kiss before he steps on the stage, before he’s home.

“Enjoy every moment of this, baby,” Amelie smiles, taking his cheeks in her hands and kissing him sweetly. “This is all for you, you did this. I am so proud of you.” There’s a moment where they’re staring and it’s perfect. “Only Angel” is beginning to play, and the clock is ticking. “I’ll be right there singing back to you.”

“I love you,” Harry says, and there are no more words for him to express how wonderful he feels at that moment.

“All the way back to wherever you are, I love you. Always.”

One final kiss, and Harry is bounding up the steps, his in-ears pressed in place and the screams of the arena overwhelming him in the best way. His attitude changes to the stage presence that everyone loves, and he knows that this is the moment that he’ll remember forever. That this will be his, always.

Harry’s, and Amelie’s, and theirs – the fans – because there would be nothing, none of this, no opportunity to fulfil his dreams without them.

And for that, he will be forever grateful, beyond words.

Amelie rushes to walk around the stage, everyone beginning to file around her as security leads them into the arena and weaves through the audience, making sure everyone is settled in the area that Harry wants them, where he can see them. As always, Phoebe grabs Amelie’s hand, the two happily unaware of anyone recording them and the way that the tech and sound engineers are overly endeared by them. All that there is in the room is love and happiness and a whole lot of freedom that nobody could take away from them.

Amelie can’t not think about what the songs mean. Harry gave her the opportunity to really have her own interpretation of the lyrics before telling her what they’re about, the ones that she wanted to know, at least, and for a few minutes, she would sit in silence, listening to the track all over again, taking in the way he writes so elegantly about things that have cut him deep. For that, Amelie is unbelievably proud of him, because there is a lot of courage that comes along with being honest, even if Harry was still working up to being authentically himself.

Harry Styles is not about her entirely, and that’s nothing that’s ever upset her. Amelie knows there were experiences, relationships, love, heartbreak long before she was around, and there would never be a time that she would say something to make Harry think differently about what he was writing, because at the end of the day, his writing is the same as her art – therapeutic and cathartic; a way to release all of their thoughts and emotions in a healthy way, to get everything on the surface and share in the best way they know how.

Opening the show with “Only Angel” and “Woman”, there really was no need for a thoughtful interpretation. Harry including the line that Brandon said to him the day they met, that his younger sister is less than an angel and he would have to wait to find out, clearly oblivious to how their relationship came about to begin with. Harry writing in the line that was said to her as his face was between her thighs when she visited him in Jamaica while writing the album, only there for four days and he took full advantage of having her at his fingertips and as his muse. “Carolina” was always the song that made Amelie try to hide away, remembering particularly the night that they all went out and got absolutely plastered, blacked out, somehow winding up with a story of Harry nearly dragging Amelie to a toilet and taking her there, their friend bringing home a girl and telling the story of their night together the next day; and thus the song was born, a messy tale of sex and liquor and one night stands – for their friend, at least.

And everyone is dancing, singing, having the time of their lives. All of their friends and family are cheering and supporting the man she loves most in the world, and there is no greater feeling than how much she adores him and all that he’s doing.

Amelie’s arms fold in front of her chest as soon as the opening chords of “Meet Me in the Hallway” begin playing, thinking about how far they’ve come from the moments that inspired such a desperate song. That was the first song that Harry played for Amelie when showing her the album – not simply because it was first, but because he wanted to tell her why he wrote it – and there will never be a time that she listens that she doesn’t think of how much hurt their break, their arguing, their conversations caused for him barely two years ago. That’s how Harry felt, in devastating pain. There is something to be said for the way the outro to the song leads him straight to where she’s standing. Maybe Harry’s done it on purpose, maybe he hasn’t, but seeing the way his eyes light up with her standing right there says more about their love for each other than any words could.

Harry grins at Amelie, gathering his guitar and microphone and getting ready to sing the songs that are all for her, that were chosen to be sung to her, right there. He smiles as Amaya waves from where they’re standing, their Amari already falling asleep on her father’s shoulder, her headphones chunky on her head and making for a difficult way to be comfortable. His tongue wets his lips, taking a drink and playing the opening chords to “Sweet Creature” as he always does, trying his absolute best to have his emotions in tact as he stares at the love of his life crying in front of him, her eyes wet and her hand over her heart – with their niece’s hand over hers – the tiny h tattoo that she impulsively got in Amsterdam at the small of her wrist.

All of this, whether she believed it or not, was for her. All of the songs. All of the emotions. All of the writing and travelling and work, because all he wanted was to make her proud, to make her happy. And she is. Completely and utterly happy.

“Hugs, Auntie?” Amaya whispers into her ear, noticing the tears on her cheeks as the song comes to a close.

“Absolutely,” Amelie smiles, hugging her tightly to her chest and kissing her forehead and adjusting her on her waist to have her tuck her face into her neck. One of them would bring them backstage once the miniature set was over, to have them there for when everyone hurries out and they all begin to make their way to celebrate the end of tour. “Uncle Harry’s going to sing a song for Auntie and then Daddy will take you back, okay?”

Harry grins as Amelie mouths the three words that mean the absolute most, his fingers beginning to strum against the guitar that she decorated as a birthday present before tour began in March. This was their song, the song that was meant for Amelie and only Amelie. All of the lyrics are about her, about how he would do absolutely anything for her.

Harry’s eyes meet Amelie’s, eyelashes wet with tears as she sings along, singing to him and him to her. “For your eyes only, I show you my heart. For when you’re lonely and forget who you are. I’m missing half of me, when we’re apart. Now you know me, for your eyes only.”

And for those four minutes, it’s as though they are the only two in the arena.

Amelie really thinks that, maybe, she and Harry might be.

“Kiwi” has the ground shaking, and by the time Harry is at the B Stage standing in front of her, once again, the smile on her face is unmistakeable for one that only can be caused by him. Her shoulder is tapped near the end of the third go, ushering her backstage where Harry would be waiting to squeeze her and kiss her as he always does.

Around the dressing room, there is a freshly made cake and champagne and liquor and balloons celebrating the show. Harry’s clothes are folded neatly on the vanity, waiting for him to change and get to greet everyone and give his gratitude to everyone that’s supported him – his team, his crew, his band, his family and friends, and his girlfriend when they’re home – and stay a bit later to watch the stage get taken down and absorb the last moments that existed of Live on Tour.

“Hi, baby,” Amelie grins, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and laughing as his hands grab her bum and lift her onto his waist, hugging her as tightly as physically possible. “That was fucking incredible. All of it. Every single second.”

Harry kisses her neck, gently setting her feet on the ground and feverishly kissing her, his hands tied in her hair, soaking in the way she is smiling against his lips and clinging to his arms. His mind is oblivious to everyone clapping and cheering around him, giving the two a minute to themselves before whisking him away to the makeshift party. “I love you. Merci pour tout.”

“This is all you,” she says, turning her head and kissing his palm as his lips touch her hairline sweetly. “Never need to thank me for doing what a best friend should do, what you should do for someone you love.”

“Amelie Fay, you are so much more than my best friend.” Harry kisses Amelie once more, interlocking their fingers and walking towards the crowd that is cheering and congratulating and sharing hugs.

Amelie hugs Harry’s waist, slinking away and walking in the dressing room, leaving him to talk to everyone and have his moment alone. This was Harry’s moment and Amelie knows that he’ll get distracted with her around and talking nearby. Her mother and father are talking with Anne, Phoebe and Maya talking with Brandon and Autumn as they all get ready to leave sooner rather than later. Jenny and Dan and talking mindlessly on the couch, their children sleeping on their chests and enjoying the quiet that surrounds them.

“Harry always gets them right to sleep,” Amelie laughs, taking a seat next to Jenny and staring lovingly at her goddaughter as she cuddles into her mother’s chest. “Did you like the show?”

“Loved it, as always,” Jenny says, pursing her lips together and staring into the corridor, likely ensuring that Harry wasn’t walking inside before speaking again. “Thought about this earlier when I saw you two outside.”

“Thought about what?”

“You and Harry getting married,” she says, shrugging her shoulders as her husband shakes his head. “Don’t shake your head at me, Daniel, I want to officiate it.” Jenny’s attention goes back to her best friend, “Do you think you’ll even get engaged soon? Don’t have to get married, right away. Thought about how great you two are so great together, in love more than anyone could’ve guessed you would be. Age is a stupid excuse, so I don’t want to hear that.” Jenny’s eyes narrow at Amelie as she opens her mouth, knowing what her best friend would say. “Obviously, you two are living very chaotic lives, right now, but have you thought about it? Talked about it, at least?”

“From time to time, yeah,” Amelie says, running her fingers through her hair. “Don’t really think about it much, right now, with tour and the exhibition and the movie, and everything. I mean, that’s not to say that I wouldn’t say yes if Harry asked me.” Harry’s voice gets louder as he nears the dressing room. “Think that us living together and having a cat and buying a house is what works for us, right now. Don’t think Harry would want to settle down that fast at twenty-four.”

“Think you’d be surprised,” Jenny shrugs, kissing her daughter’s hair and rubbing her back soothingly. “Harry talks about having a life with you all the time.”

“Maybe it’s because having babies almost feels inevitable after you get married, you know? Neither of us want to have children when everything in our future is so uncertain.”

“Makes sense,” she says, pursing her lips and taking a sip of her water. “Don’t ever rule anything out, though, alright? This is good for you. Harry’s good for you.”

Harry smiles as he walks into the dressing room, kissing his mother on the cheek, graciously accepting her tight embrace, hugging Amelie’s mother and father, and walking straight towards his love sitting on his chair at the vanity. “Hi.”

“Hi, baby.”

Harry instinctively moves into a spot where Amelie’s arms can wrap around his shoulders, where she can hold him. His hands hold hers, kisses set all over his cheeks as he laughs, their best friends murmuring something about how obnoxious they are together. His heart is obsessively full of love, nearly breaking his ribs with how swollen it is, his chest tight in the sweetest way. Harry grabs his clean clothes, tugging on Amelie’s hand and bringing her into the quiet bathroom with him, squeaking when his hands immediately move to her waist and his mouth attaches to hers.

His kiss is heavy against her swollen mouth, feverish and lusting and slightly out of breath. Her fingers thread through his curls, absolutely obsessed with the moment that belongs to only them, only their eyes, only their mouths. All Harry wants is to immerse himself into Amelie’s skin, her touch, her kiss. His yearning for her isn’t necessarily sexual, but craving the moments that they’re alone that all of his attention is on her, and he doesn’t have to speak to anyone, simply listening to her ramble and talk about what she loves about life and art and music and always most importantly, him. His greatest wish would be to be inside her mind, to know all that her thoughts are when she isn’t telling him, to know all that he doesn’t already. Harry loves Amelie so deeply, that he wants to know absolutely everything, feel everything, love everything.

Amelie gently nudges Harry away, smiling softly at the whimper that leaves him and the way his hands hug tight around her waist. “Everyone is going to look for you, Mr Styles. Can’t have sex in here and disappear from the world.”

“Can disappear if you really want to.”

Harry swears his heart could burst when Amelie giggles, laying her head on his sweaty skin and kissing his neck. “Get changed and we can celebrate.”

His fingers start undoing the buttons on his shirt, his trousers loosening around his waist. “Are you going to watch them take the stage down with me?”

“’Course,” she says, smirking when his head rolls against his neck, frustrated with the buttons that won’t come undone. “Let me.”

His tongue licks his lips as Amelie begins unbuttoning his shirt, each button slow and drawn out, giving him a moment to talk to her. “Having that picture in my pocket made me feel really,” he pauses for a moment, thinking, “loved. Made me feel even more loved, t’night. Thank you for it.”

“Have about three years’ worth of polaroids to take on stage with you.”

“Like having one of only you, only us, though. Gave me a reminder of who I’m doing it for,” Harry says, his eyes squeezing shut as Amelie kisses him, her warm hands on his sweaty skin, her thumbs pressing into the butterfly on his abdomen to steady her on her toes. “You.”

“Good thing I do the same for you, then, isn’t it? Otherwise that’d be awkward,” Amelie giggles, handing over his shirt and sweats and smiling to herself. “Couldn’t be more freaking proud of you, baby.”

“That’s the best feeling in the world.”

“Feeling?”

“Making you proud,” he states matter-of-factly, tying the inside of the waistband and folding the suit neatly, tucking the polaroid in his pocket safely and kissing her forehead as they walk outside. “Alright. There’s a party in the kitchen. Let’s go!”

Harry and Amelie leave a bit early, saying goodbye to their family and friends and taking to sitting in the seats in the arena to watch as the last of the stage comes down. All of the bittersweet feelings that remain clinging between their interlocked hands and Amelie’s cheek resting on Harry’s shoulder. Her head is buzzing with champagne, Harry’s mind slightly foggy with exhaustion and liquor and the adrenaline. All of it is perfect, the way it should be. Harry couldn’t have asked for anything better to finish out his tour.

Harry’s eyes sting with tears as they leave, clinging to the hand in his and savouring in the kiss that is wet on his cheek as they get into their car. Harry nearly laughs thinking about how this might be their first drive together where there is absolutely no music, and there is the temptation to bring about their very first conversation about having music on in the car from the very first day they met. His mind is going in a million different directions, and as they’re going into the garage, the engine turning and the door closing behind them, the realisation settles in that they’re about to have time to be together.

“Can we watch the sunrise?” Amelie whispers tiredly, reaching for Harry’s hand as she walks around the car and follows him inside, their cat waiting at the door expectantly. “Says it should be rising in about thirty minutes.”

“Gives us time to shower, then.”

Harry squeezes her hand, kissing her forehead and walking closely behind as they walk into their bedroom and begin lazily taking their clothes and tossing them into the laundry bin, a laugh echoing around the room as she shivers under the water. Holding hands and sharing kisses, the water washes over them warmly and comfortingly, soothing Harry’s aching muscles and drawing Amelie into relaxation that is more than enjoyed.

After their shower, Harry draws the curtains open on their balcony to watch the sunrise, admiring how the light shines over Amelie as she shrugs one of his sweatshirts over her torso, disregarding any underwear or shorts or leggings, climbing into their bed and waiting for him to tug clean briefs onto his legs and settle beneath the comforter. Her hand is holding their favourite poetry book – the one they’re reading, at the minute, at least – and lays on his lap, letting the dim light of his bedside lamp cast over the vanilla pages and lifting her neck slightly to let him bring all of her damp hair onto his thighs, his fingers gently scratching her scalp and carding through the curls. Her eyes fall over the words written in the scattered form, always reading silently to herself – although she always reads quietly aloud, which he loves – before reading to him.

Amelie’s voice is almost shy when she speaks, making Harry immediately turn away from the rising sun to meet her hooded eyes. “Harry?”

“Hm.”

“Do you think–” Amelie hesitates for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts and emotions before speaking aloud. They’ve never really had this conversation before, surely not at nearly six in the morning. Usually it would be the casual, I want to be with you forever or This is it, you and me, that would settle the lingering question that seemingly everyone but them would ask. “Have you thought about us getting married, about proposing? Maybe a future, with me, I guess.”

“All the time,” Harry says, his soft movements making her eyes fall shut every so often. “Have you thought about it?”

“From time to time, yeah. Like what we have going,” she says, staring at the man she loves dearly, a soft smile on his features as she licks her lips. There’s something in Harry’s demeanour that changes, as though her words are saying that she wouldn’t marry him, which is far from the truth. “But that title doesn’t really matter to me, at the end of the day. I want you, more than anything. As my boyfriend, my husband, my best friend, you name it. Could ask me to marry you and I’d say yes. All that matters to me is that we’re together.”

Harry thinks that their best friend might’ve said something about the engagement ring sitting in his duffle bag with the polaroid from his suit, and his heart falls to his stomach. He didn’t want to ask this way, sleepy and fatigued, the sun rising, their bodies utterly exhausted from the rush of the last two days.

“Not saying I am,” Harry laughs, kissing her hairline as she lays the poetry book on her chest and stares at him. “But, if I asked you to marry me, let’s say today, would you say yes?”

“Doesn’t matter if it was yesterday, today, tomorrow, or a year from now,” Amelie whispers, grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand to her mouth, kissing his palm as he caresses her cheek, “I’ll say yes whenever, wherever.”

“Mean that?”

“De tout mon coeur.” Amelie says, with my whole heart, and Harry knows that there is nothing that could be more perfect.

“Can we hold off on the babies, though? Like to enjoy you as m’wife for a bit.”

“How does four years sound? Think we can get married by then? Have a nice house in London and Malibu. Living lavishly.”

“Is that what you want, angel? Lavish?”

“Truthfully,” Amelie breathes, turning her cheek on his thigh to watch the sun rise over their balcony and through their window, Harry’s fingertips trailing up her neck and through her hair, “none of that matters to me as long as we’re together. As cliché as that all sounds, and I absolutely hate a cliché. Mama always said that nothing really matters if there isn’t love in it. Don’t think anything would be what I want if I didn’t love you and you didn’t love me.”

“Good thing that I’m absolutely in love with you,” Harry smiles, gently taking the book from her hands and kissing her cheek and her jaw. “Think the Universe made you for me to love, you know that? All along, the stars were aligning for us to have something special.”

“Think that we’ll make it through anything? Not like the relationships that have something bad happen and they’re irreparable.” Harry leans over to shut the light, the dimness in the room casting over her, reminding her of how tired she really is. “Can’t see us being that way.”

“Nothing could be irreparable with us. Not you and me, Ames.” His accent is thicker, now. He’s exhausted, his body and mind are craving sleep. But this is a conversation that he’s willing to stay awake for, that he would deny sleep for hours if that’s what she wanted. “Nothing could make me not love you.”

Amelie adjusts her body slightly, giving Harry space to lay flat on their mattress, his head sinking into his pillow. His hands nudge at her waist, sighing deeply when she lays her weight completely on him – well, nearly half of her body is slung over him – his arms around her waist. Harry liked to sleep like this sometimes, especially when they’re feeling especially close and intimate. Amelie doesn’t mind it. It makes her feel loved.

“Guess we should tell everyone to be expecting a ring soon, then,” Amelie laughs, kissing Harry’s neck and breathing in deeply as her eyes fall shut. “I’m proud of you. I love you.”

“Love you more.”

Amelie kisses Harry’s lips sweetly, sinking into his embrace and falling asleep, her breathing evening out against his skin and her lips parting on his chest. And Harry stays silent for a few minutes, kissing her hairline, soaking in the tenderness that surrounds him, thinking of the tiny diamond ring sitting in their wardrobe.

FOUR WEEKS LATER

Harry is sitting at the edge of the bed, fingertips picking at his trousers, his palms sweating against the quilted comforter. Amelie is in the bathroom, the door shut quietly behind her – which is awkward in itself because they’ve not shut the bathroom door since they moved in together two and half years ago – and there is the sound of the running sink echoing around the bedroom. Tigger is purring against Harry’s leg, and Harry wants to tell him to stop, to leave the room and give them a moment, but he knows that there is a sense of comfort in all of three of them being together in such a defining moment, a moment where they are nervous for what’s to come and what to make of their situation, a moment that could certainly change their relationship forever.

Harry’s eyes flick to where his girlfriend is standing in the bathroom doorway, moving his hand away from their cat’s head and holding his knees. He can see the tears in her eyes, the wobbling of her chin, the shakiness in her hands. Her anxiety is written in the furrowed brows and lines creasing her forehead, the redness lining her mouth as her teeth bite into her lips. His arms open, waiting for her to walk forward and sit with him, grateful that she decides to straddle his waist and wrap her arms around his shoulders rather than sit far away. His hands rub her back, kissing her neck lightly and waiting until she’s ready to speak.

“This isn’t what we wanted,” Amelie whispers into his shoulder, tears wetting her cheeks, her fingertips gripping his sweater as if he is going to disappear from beneath her. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” Harry soothes, trying to mask the fear in his voice, “don’t apologise, baby. Not all your fault, you know. Certainly, had my part in it.” His throat goes dry for a minute. “All your decision what you want to do, once that timer goes.”

Amelie can feel Harry shake his head against her neck as she speaks, his fingertips tracing along her spine beneath her oversized shirt. “Harry, the album–”

“Album can wait. Tour can wait. All of it can wait. Can’t do that without me, can they?” Harry wants to lighten the anxiety lingering in their chests, but he very well knows that that won’t happen until that timer sounds and the answer to their question is given.

“Don’t want you to resent me for ruining your life.”

Harry immediately pulls away to face her, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion at how she could ever think such a thing. “Amelie Fay, do you really think I would resent you? And who said anything about ruining my life? Do you really think that having a family with you would ruin my life? How many times have I told you that I want forever with you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Didn’t you say to me, ‘all that matters is that we’re together’? Didn’t you say that?” Harry pauses for a moment, waiting for Amelie to silently nod to answer his question. “Have to believe that we’ll be alright, as long as we’re together.”

Amelie hides her face in Harry’s neck once more, ignoring the ringing timer going in the bathroom. “This anxiety is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

“Come with me,” Harry says, squeezing her waist and kissing her cheek, “and we’ll do this together.”

Amelie nods into his chest, standing and taking Harry’s hand in hers, walking nervously into the bathroom and taking a second to turn the timer off and let Harry see the results first. He always has a steady hand, even if he’s feeling anxious himself. His stability grounded her in more ways than one, and it was something that made her feel as though, if this were to be real, maybe they would be alright.

“Can you look first?”

Harry nods, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles, squeezing her fingers as he turns the test over on the counter, his peripheral vision catching Amelie turn away. Harry gulps, taking in the blinking Pregnant + sign on the digital screen. His voice caught in his throat, unable to speak through his parted lips, his mouth going dry. Amelie was right, this isn’t what they wanted, what they planned. Harry wants a family with Amelie – of course he does – but that certainly wasn’t the intention until after they were married. Hell, Harry hadn’t even proposed yet. All of his thoughts are swimming in his brain, almost going unnoticed when her hand slips out of his and takes the test from the counter, staring at the words written on the screen and taking a minute to really take in all that this meant.

“I need you to not hate me for what I want.” Amelie sucks in a deep breath, tears stinging her eyes, a sob wracking through her body as Harry brings her into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders and touching his lips to her hair, desperately trying to soothe her.

“Could never hate you for that,” Harry says reassuringly, kissing her forehead and gently cupping her cheeks, bringing her to face him. “I’m with you, always.”

Amelie gulps, taking the test in her hands and staring at the way the bolded word is so intimidating to her anxiety, to the pressure that is felt on her chest as if there is a brick weighing on her lungs. Maybe this is another way to test her strength, to test how much she wants to be a better person, because this would be the perfect opportunity to slip into an anxious state, a depressive episode. Her mind is begging for it, for the comfort of being numb.

Harry nudges her chin, making her meet his eyes and all of the thoughts are subsided by ones that make her want to cry into his arms and say that she loves him. “Don’t get swallowed into it. Can shake these feelings, but we have to do it together, Ames. Look at me.” He knows her better than anyone does. He knows her better than anyone ever will. “I’m here, angel. I’m right here.”

Amelie nods, sucking in a breath through parted lips, leaning her forehead against his chest and blinking away the remaining tears in her eyes. Harry’s fingers brush through her hair as they always do, comforting her in the ways that he’s learnt over the three years they’ve been together. “Everything we do is together, right?”

“Always.”

And silently, Harry and Amelie turn to stare at the tiny word that is going to change their lives forever.

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mendesficsxbombay · 4 years

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don't you wanna see these clothes on me? | s.m

hello! 2 fics in one month? am i even myself anymore?

Requested ‘non sexual acts of intimacy’ from this prompt list:

7) one adjusting the other’s jewellery/neck tie, etc

anon requested this be related to or based on the GRAMMYs

Shawn Mendes was a relatively easy client to work with, anyone would tell you that. There were a few demands to be met, yes, but demands came with every famous person. His demands were always attainable, nothing too out of reach. There’s certain types of food, certain brands of packaged water (do not bring a Dasani anywhere near him or he will riot, she’d learned that the hard way), skin care products should not run out, and so on. She wasn’t his assistant or tour manager to know the details of his rider, but this was her first job on the road, you can’t blame her for being observant.

She was working very closely with him though, if you count picking out his clothes for the day and helping her actual boss, Tiffany, with his show outfits as working closely. The gig with Tiffany was a chance she had taken a little blindly. She was 21, fresh out of fashion school, and her mind was in bits about potential careers. She’d worked at stores, workshops, assisted designers and interned at a fashion week and penciled down her life into two options - styling and client servicing. Would she rather dress people or would she be the one making business happen for a fashion house to dress people? She had no goddamn idea.

Right after graduating though, she heard of an opening with a ‘well experienced stylist, in the field of dressing musicians, a travel job with months on the road and suitable perks’, and she sent an application in to the agency.

She’d read of Tiffany Briseno in her copies of Vogue multiple times. A celebrity stylist with years of experience to her name, most famous for styling a world famous Canadian pop star. He shall not be named because she herself just happened to like his music, a little bit here and there. Not like she lined up to buy a copy of his debut album at Target or anything. Of course not.

When she was called in for a video interview, Tiffany clearly explained the amount of work that went into styling for a world tour and she clearly needed an assistant who was serious with their job, and not in it for the glamour. She, in turn, explained to Tiffany about how she worked all through university, and how serious she was with her career. Her knees shook under the table she placed her laptop on, praying that Tiffany couldn’t see her body locking up with anxiety through Skype. Tiffany complimented her dedication, but also reminded her that absolutely nothing would compare to having to work on the road. She felt her shoulders sink in subconsciously, smiling and nodding as she had throughout her life and ended the conversation.

She told her parents about how she applied for this job that was just a lot of work and how she was so sure they were looking for someone with much more experience, not just a clueless grad school kid. The agency did not feel the same apparently, because she found an offer letter in her emails a few days later. She was required to meet the rest of the team and Tiffany in a few weeks’ time, and until then it was her job to look for sourcing options for Sha- for her client.

That was a whole year ago now, and as so many of the crew members said, the road had started to feel like home.

She bit the inside of her cheek, deep in thought while trying to fix a particularly stubborn crease with her steam iron on the deep red suit jacket he was meant to wear in just a few hours. She always had the option of having someone else do the ironing, but she found it calming, found it easier to collect her thoughts with a steam rod and press in her hands than she did otherwise, so they let her be.

She took the jacket down from the hangar she was using, neatly placing it on another adjacent hangar, and moved to bring in the Louis Vuitton shirt he would be wearing. Going down the front of the high quality linen she thought of how he recently liked unbuttoning way more buttons than he used to. If this weren’t a red carpet and another regular show he’d be wearing a much tighter shirt to hug around his arms, she remembers taking measurements for his other outfits to the exact inch and he said he liked it that way. A tight shirt or even a wife beater that completely let go of any barrier between showing off his biceps.

She remembered teasing him at times, and he used to blush furiously, until he started asking her if she was looking. Then it used to be her turn to blush. She thought back to the first leg of tour. She remembers them constantly sneaking around each other - but also finding excuses to share their space. She remembers feeling sparks, and she knew he felt them, too.

What other explanation could they possibly have for the middle school crush they had on each other? She would love to fend these concerns off by saying he was solely worked up because she was the only girl around his age on the crew. But that would be a lie, she knew the team of runners had a few girls their age - she was friends with them now. And the production teams had people close to them, too, even though they had alternating staff.

She could say that she was the only one working close enough with him, but that wasn’t true either. Telling herself it was just an infatuation would be the biggest lie, it had been months and he still behaved the same way around her. She was tired of having to tiptoe around him for as long as she was doing her job.

Shawn liked her so, so bad. And there was nothing she could do about it.

She had started noticing the little signs at first. Anytime he’d bring in water for himself, he had an extra bottle for her. He always saved her a spot at the dinner table. Got disappointed when she didn’t come in for at least half of his soundcheck. He liked having her near the stage when shows actually took place. And then there were bigger signs. He bought her a copy of Leave Your Mark, a book she had been trying to find for months - and when she asked him how he only ducked his head and said he found it at one of the airport bookstores. A quick ask around helped her know that he had contacted the publishers themselves and acquired a copy.

She had started noticing how the people around them moved away if they were talking. She saw the smiles passed at her every time she stepped out of his dressing room. She knew how Tiffany jumped at every chance of leaving her alone to sort his look out before every show. There were looks and whispers and she saw them all, she felt them all.

He made her nervous. Not because he was a star. God, no, that phase came and went by in a breath. He made her wonder. He made her think of a future with him, doing what she did and being with him on the run forever. He liked her, and she liked him more than she knew what to do with.

Unfortunately for her, being together all day did not help. At all. She felt hyper aware of him. Every time he walked into a room, she felt the atmosphere sizzle. She felt the change and there was no ignoring it. Just like now.

“I can feel you staring at me, you know?”

She heard him laugh once, walking closer to where she was standing, multiple cases of clothes open around her. “Don’t know why you choose to slave over an iron every day - we have people to do that, you know?”

She sighed, hanging the steam rod onto its pole and turned around to look at him, chest constricting at the sight of him in a plain white shirt, tight as she had mentioned before, wearing a pair of glasses she knew he stole from someone on the team.

“It feels nice to iron, it helps me-”

“De-stress. I know. But maybe if you just hung out with all of us once in a while you wouldn’t be so stressed…”

She crossed her arms before herself, cocking her head sideways. Get to the point, her expression said.

“Okay, look, after the awards tonight, everyone wants to go to some club where they’ve booked out a private room for the team. I wanted to know if you’re gonna be coming.” He tucked his hands into his jeans. He was one second away from swaying on his feet because otherwise he looked like a little boy asking for candy he wasn’t supposed to have.

“Ah - I’m not sure, Shawn,” her face was slowly pulling into a grimace, “All your outfits need to be back out first thing tomorrow morning and we need to send them a review as well… plus I need to get the exact details of your outfit so Tiffany can write it in her piece for GQ, and tha-“

“I knew you would say no,” he smiles immediately, and she’s scared. What did he do now? “Which is why… I have booked a table for us. For the - just the two of us, like a date.” He felt shy, felt like he was in high school asking a girl out for the first time. No smiles on his face anymore, just pure hesitation. “There’s this new place, um, it’s called Antico. You said your favourite cuisine was Italian - Antico is Italian, OH and it also has some great vegetarian food so there’ll be so many options for you to choose from…” he’s doing the thing again. He’s blushing and he can’t stop it. He needs to go to the washroom and splash water on his face. He needs to call his friends and tell them he finally asked his pretty stylist out, for real. He needs her to say yes.

She matched his expression. Wide eyes filled with wonder and face flushing hot. Was she even ready to go on a date with him?

“Sh-Shawn,” she breathes out, barely a whisper. Her eyes had grown wide, and he didn’t know if she was hesitant like him or just horrified. She wasn’t prepared for this, and one part of her wants to hug him, say yes, and then run off into the sunset with him. The other part of her though, the rational part, knows this isn’t possible. “I thin-”

“Oh, there you are!” Tiffany exclaims walking into the room, not really noticing how close together the pair were standing, and immediately starts taking clothes off the rack for Shawn to change into. He immediately steps away from her, knowing how she gets. She wasn’t one for showing too many emotions when she was surrounded by people. She did open up to him sometimes, more than she did with anyone else on the crew. He had a sneaking suspicion that unlike his past advances which were subtle and not very direct, it was this one that fully got her attention to how much he liked her, and it had her flustered. Well that makes two of them. “Is it all done, babe?”

“Yes Tiff just, let me finish the shirt and I’ll bring it to you.”

“Shawn, you wanna move to hair and makeup till we wait for your outfit?” Tiffany walks out the door swiftly, not waiting for him to answer, just calling out his name again to make sure he was following.

“Mhmm,” he says, walking backwards to the door, eyes still stuck on the girl he has pined after for months now. He refused to go down without a fight. “I’ll wait.”

________________________________________

She sees him again when he is pulling his shirt on with Tiffany straightening the material out from the back. He looks winsome in just the shirt and the red suit pants, and her mouth nearly waters thinking of the contrast the red of the blazer would have to his skin. Men who were dressed well always made her thoughts run wild, mostly because she learned to focus on the fit and the cut of the fabric, the attention to detail, the simplicity of the design or the lack, thereof. She paid way more attention to the outfits than the men wearing them. Shawn, however, was a different story. She had come to the gasping realisation that she liked him more than his outfits. And she was screwed, because no one knew how soon all of this would be ending for her.

He senses her staring holes into his back. When he walked away, he only had her expression as a response to his question, and while he wasn’t worried if she rejected him, even if it hurt real, real bad, and he constantly worried about never finding someone like her, it was okay. He was worried about this running deeper than him, she shouldn’t have to look mortified just at the mention of a date.

He looks down at his feet, the tailored hem of the pants at perfect length, discreetly raising his head to still find her looking at him. To his pleasure, the corners of her lips were upraised, eyes still on him but not really looking at him. He flashed her a smile, and she quickly realised what she was doing, scrambling to put down his pair of shoes for the evening along with the jewellery box she picked up on the way.

She starts talking to Tiffany about his accessories, and, something. He can’t really be bothered to be focusing on yet another conversation about what he’s going to wear. He wants to talk to her. He wants to know things she hasn’t told him yet. It’s been a year of this slow burning attraction between them, but is it only attraction if he wants what’s in her mind and not just what he can already see?

He already knows what stories he wants to talk about over dinner. He wants to tell her about his cheek scar, and then ask where she got the one on her right hand from. He wants to tell her about his high school prom and then ask about hers. He wants to know why she fell in love with fashion the way she did, because it consumed her fully, and she has to make conscious efforts to pay attention to things beyond art and fabric and clothes, he knows she does. He wants a deeper understanding, not for the sake of dissecting her personality, but just to know her, if she only allows him.

He only zones back in when he knows Tiffany is directly addressing him. “Shawn, you finalised the BVLGARI one last week, we’re still okay with that?”

“Yes,” he says, not sure of where to look, so he continues looking at himself in the mirror.

“Great, honey, you can put this and the chain on him and I’ll go check with the rest of the team.” Tiffany squeezes her arm with a bright smile, and turns to Shawn again, “Looking good, little Dean, it’s almost show time!”

Shawn smiles back silently, watching Tiffany leave the room, as does she. She makes quick work of walking back to him and placing the box on the vanity before him. She takes his vest off the rack, helping him get into it and buttoning him up, and then does the same with his blazer, not a word exchanged between them two.

Shawn used to be an “I can do it myself” guy until Tiffany just had to go ahead and hire the prettiest, shyest girl he’d seen, and he suddenly never wanted to button anything up on his own ever again.

She carefully picks the royal white and blue beaded necklace from the box where it was placed amongst a few other expensive ones. She clears her throat and he leans his head down out of instinct, coming to a more approachable height for her to hook the necklace in.

“So,” she starts, and he chokes on a breath he didn’t know he took, “I just, I googled Antico. It looks … upmarket to say the least. Very pretty, though. Looks like a place you would pick.”

She feels his eyes continue to follow her around, she still chooses not to look him in the eye, how could she? She delicately pulls out the chain meant to be hooked into his vest, the one that will complete his look for the night. He looked… beddable, to say the least.

“But I also saw another thing,” she says, stepping closer into him and he inhales deeply. “Antico doesn’t stay open on the weekends, Shawn. How were we supposed to go there on a Sunday?”

shitshitshit. He’d been caught. Honestly what was he expecting? She’s literally one of the smartest humans he knows, what did he expect her to do? Say yes? No questions asked?

She looks him dead in the eye now, letting out a hmm? and he’s choked up again. He staggers around a bit, she pulls at his hands to adjust his sleeves and tuck in his cufflinks.

“You said, um,” come on, brain, pull it together. “Remember when we were in London? And we all went out together and when we got out there was this whole crowd waiting?”

She remembers. Of course she does. It was the first, albeit not the last time she had come really close to having a panic attack in front of all her coworkers. He recognised the look on her face. He’d seen it on his own face in the mirror when he tried to talk himself away from breaking down. He knew what this anxiety felt like, even though years of being in the business had numbed him to large, loud crowds, overzealous fans and intrusive paparazzi alike. He had taken her hand in his and pulled her back inside the pub immediately, calling his driver and asking him to pick them up ‘round the back, and getting out of there in record time. He didn’t know what came over him but he pulled her into his arms as soon as they were in the car. He murmured softly into her ear, he was here, they couldn’t get to her anymore and she had sniffled and cuddled closer - until they reached their hotel and it was back to being a standard five feet apart from each other. It was one of the last times she had gone out with the whole team, especially him.

“I made a special request, they’re opening up only for us tonight. I don’t really want to stay for the whole show, thought we could sneak out a bit early. I just didn’t want us to be crowded again.”

Her hands froze around his, he left her tongue tied on most days but this was something else. At the lack of response from her, he gently pried her hands off his wrist, holding both lightly in his. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go. I won’t like you any less.”

Her mind rushed back to all the times they had stood close just like this. The time he almost kissed her on her birthday and she almost kissed him on his. The one night they both passed out on the couch in his tour bus, when she wasn’t even supposed to ride with him. She thought about the offer letter that had been in her emails for two days now, offering her a place in the client servicing team for Burberry in London. She thought about the 4 weeks’ notice she had typed out for Tiffany weeks ago, the only reason for her not sending it out standing in front of her. Her mother’s words rang in her head, as they have her whole life. If you’re not moving, you’re not growing.

He squeezes her hands once, ducking his head to the floor and walking away. She thinks about letting him go, but she refuses to.

Her fingers clasp around his wrist, pulling the gentle giant back a little bit.

“Will you wear the silk shirt? The black one?”

He looks confused. Didn’t he just get dressed?

“To Antico? Thought we could match.”

taglist: @shawnwyr @mendesstories @lanallaa @sleepybesson @rulerofnocountry @luvluvxx @wholesomemendes

dm to be added or removed ♥️

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rpf-bat · 4 years

Text

Tell Me I’m An Angel

Pairing: Ray Toro x Reader

Genre: Drama

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 6. Prompt: “Not An Angel.”

Ray is your bandmate, and one of your best friends. In your opinion, he’s an absolute angel. But, after your boyfriend does you wrong, Ray shows you a side of himself, that you never saw coming.

You had just played another sold out show, and now you and your bandmates were outside the venue, busy signing autographs for your fans. A nervous looking teenage girl approached you, holding what looked to be a handmade plush toy in her hands.

“Look, Ray, it’s you!” you pointed out, chuckling.

“Whoa, you made a doll version of me?” Ray realized, taking the knit figurine from the excited fan. “That’s so cool! Thank you!”

Kids gave you art all the time, but you never stopped being impressed by the creativity of your fanbase.

“I’m so glad you like it!” the fangirl squeaked. “I worked really hard on it!”

“It looks just like him,” you complimented. The girl beamed, delighted that her favorite drummer had praised her.

“Why do I have wings, though?” Ray asked, pointing at the doll’s back.

“It’s because you’re an angel,” the girl explained.

“Me? An angel?” Ray repeated, blushing. “Come on….there’s no way!”

“It’s true,” you grinned. “You really are pretty angelic.”

You’d known Ray for a long time - even before Gerard formed the band. He was one of your best friends, and he had the biggest heart, of anyone you knew. He seldom swore, and never raised his voice, even when the guys were getting on his nerves. You really didn’t know anybody sweeter.

“You guys are too much,” Ray mumbled, flattered. “Did you want a picture?”

“Yes! Please!” the doll maker said excitedly. You and Ray posed with her, and the camera clicked. Then, you sent her on down the line, to get pictures and autographs from Frank, and the Way brothers. Another fan - this time, a college-aged guy - approached you.

“Hey. Y/N, will you sign my CD?” the fanboy asked.

“Sure!” you nodded, grabbing a pen. “Anything special you want me to write on there?”

“How about your number?” the guy flirted.

“Sorry,” you laughed, “I can’t! I have a boyfriend back home!”

Tomorrow, you’d be playing a show in East Rutherford, New Jersey - just fifteen minutes from your hometown in Belleville. You’d finally be able to see your boyfriend, Jesse, for the first time, since the tour started. You’d been on the road for three months now. You couldn’t wait to visit Jesse, and give him a hug and a kiss. You’d missed him so much.

“Aw,” the fan shrugged, “your boyfriend is a lucky man.”

“Isn’t he?” Ray agreed, surprising you.

You were so caught up, in your daydreams of seeing Jesse again, that you didn’t notice the hint of sadness, in the guitarist’s eyes.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The next morning, you parked your car in front of Jesse’s house, giddy to surprise him with your return. It was so good to be home again. You had so many stories to tell him, about how the Black Parade World Tour, was going so far. You wanted to know how he had been doing, since you last saw each other, too. Had he missed you, as much as you missed him?

I’m gonna give him the BIGGEST hug, as soon as I walk in, you thought happily, bouncing up the steps to his front door. You pulled the spare key that he had entrusted you with, from your pocket. But, nothing could have prepared you, for the sight that met your eyes, as soon as you walked through the door.

Jesse was half-naked on the couch….and he was straddling some random, blonde woman! He was kissing her, with a disgusting passion.

“What the hell?!” you gasped.

“Y/N?!” Jesse’s head snapped up, as he dragged his lips away from the mystery girl. “Fuck!”

“Who the hell is Y/N?” said the blonde, climbing off the couch.

“I’m his girlfriend, you whore!” you screamed, feeling horrified and betrayed. “Jesse, how could you?!”

“His what?” the blonde girl gasped. “Jesse, you said you were single!”

Hot tears stung your cheeks, as you stared at the man, you thought was your soulmate. “I can’t believe that you would cheat on me…..you said you wanted to marry me, Jesse!” Had it all been a lie?

“Lady, I’m sorry,” the woman stammered, buttoning her blouse. “I swear to ya, I would never have banged him, if I knew he had a woman….”

So they’re definitely having sex, you realized. How long had been this going on? Had it started, even before you went on tour?

“I’m outta here,” the blonde decided, heading for the door.

“Andrea, wait!” Jesse cried, getting up to go after her.

“Are you kidding me?!” you gasped, grabbing him by the arm. “You’re going to fight for your stupid side piece, and not me?”

“Y/N, I’m really sorry,” Jesse sighed. “I didn’t mean to sleep with Andrea...It just sort of happened. I still love you, though…”

“Bullshit!” you cried. “If you loved me, you would have been faithful to me, you scumbag!”

“I still want to be with you,” Jesse insisted. “I can stop seeing her, now that you’re home. She’s nothing. You’re the one who’s really special to me.”

“You’re a fucking liar,” you cried, barely able to see him, through your tears. “If you do this to me, while I’m on tour, then what we had was never special to you at all. You and I are done.”

You stormed out of his house, slamming the door behind you. You felt as if you’d left your shredded heart on his floor.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You were driving down the road at ninety miles an hour, desperate to put some distance between you, and what you’d just seen. The image of him, on top of that girl, was burned into your retinas. It made you want to tear out your eyes. Not knowing what else to do, you picked up the phone, and called your best friend.

“Hi, Y/N,” Ray answered the phone immediately. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

“No!” you cried. “I’m not!”

“What’s wrong?” Ray asked softly. “I thought you were going to spend the day with Jesse, until it was time for soundcheck?”

“Jesse’s two-timing me!” you confessed, your heart breaking over again as you said the words. “I just caught him in bed with some other girl!”

“Oh my god!” Ray gasped. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious!” you sobbed. “I seriously wanna drive off a fucking cliff, after what I just saw!”

“Don’t say stuff like that!” Ray said, sounding concerned. “Where are you? Do you need me to come over there?”

“No,” you sniffled. “I’m gonna pull over, and collect myself, before I do something stupid.” You could barely see the road, through your tears. “Once I calm down, I think I’m just gonna drive to the house. I want to be alone for a little while.”

“Are you sure?” Ray asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. “You’re with your family right now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m hanging out with my brother, and my abuela today,” Ray admitted. “But, if you want me to come over, I can…”

“No,” you interrupted. “Your abuela hasn’t seen you since February. I’m not going to make you ditch her, and come help me, deal with my problems.”

“I would, if you really needed me to,” Ray said seriously. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now…Jesse’s a bastard, for doing this to you…”

“It’s okay,” you sniffed. “I mean, the show must go on, right?”

“Can you really play a show, in this state?” Ray questioned. “If you want, I can call the venue, and ask them about postponing the gig.”

“No, Ray,” you shook your head. “We can’t cancel a gig, the day of. I won’t do that to the fans. I just have to find a way to deal with it. I’ll see you at the venue.”

“If you say so,” Ray sighed. You disconnected the call, and prayed that your hands would stop shaking, long enough to let you hold your drumsticks.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Hours later, you’d dried your tears, and put on a fresh coat of eyeliner, to replace what had streamed down your face. Your heart still felt stomped on, but you were ready to rehearse. You hoped that practicing for the performance, would take your mind off of Jesse’s infidelity.

“Hey,” Ray said, putting a hand on your shoulder, as you walked into the venue’s dressing room. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay tonight, Y/N?”

You pulled him into a hug, desperate for his reassurance. He held you close, and rubbed your back gently, trying his best to comfort you.

“I gotta be okay,” you shrugged. “You guys are depending on me, to keep the beat. If I can’t drum like I’m supposed to, it’s gonna throw everybody else’s timing off, and the set will be ruined.”

“I’m not worried about the set,” Ray shook his head, pulling away from you, so he could look you in the eye. “I’m worried about you, Y/N. Not as my drummer, but as my friend.”

“...You’ll be my side, right?” you said, your voice wavering. “If I start to lose it, I can just look across the stage, at you.”

“Of course I’ll be right there,” Ray promised you.

“As long as you’re with me,” you assured him, “I can get through the night.”

“Okay,” Ray nodded. “I know it’ll be hard, but you can do it. Have you got your show clothes?”

“Fuck,” you realized. “I left them in the car.”

“It’s okay,” Ray replied. “You still have plenty of time to go grab them, and get changed. The others aren’t even here yet. It’s not like we can start rehearsal without them.”

“True,” you agreed. “Alright, I’ll be right back.”

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You grabbed the garment bag from your backseat, cursing yourself, for being so distracted.

I really am gonna screw up the show tonight, if I’m not careful, you thought miserably. Your heart still ached. Why wasn’t I good enough for him?

You told yourself to stop thinking about it, and walked with the bag, back into the venue. You were about to turn the corner, and walk back into the dressing room, when you heard the sound of raised voices. You stopped to listen.

“Jesse?” Ray gasped. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Your stomach dropped. He was here? Now?

“Last week, Y/N sent me a ticket to the show, and a backstage pass,” Jesse explained. “So, security let me right on through.”

“Yeah, she gave that to you, before she knew you were a cheater!” Ray snapped. “Get out of here - you’re no longer welcome.”

“No,” you heard Jesse refuse. “I want to see her. She didn’t let me explain what happened…”

“There’s no explaining what you did,” Ray said coldly. “I can’t believe that you would sleep with some other girl, while she was away on tour.”

“You guys were gone, for three months,” Jesse reminded him. “A man gets lonely.”

“A real man, would stay true to his girl!” Ray argued. “Y/N is such a beautiful, kind woman….if you had her, I just don’t understand how you could possibly want anyone else.”

You blushed. Did he really think that highly of you?

“She’s been on a tour bus, with four big ,strong men, this whole time,” Jesse accused. “I wouldn’t be surprised, if her loneliness got the best of her, too.”

“She wouldn’t do that to you,” Ray defended you. “You should know her better than that. She never laid a finger on me, or anybody else.”

“That’s because I got a bigger cock, than any of you nerds,” Jesse smirked. “No matter how many other girls I fuck, Y/N is gonna come crawling back to me, at the end of the day, because I….”

His cocky words, were cut off by a loud crashing sound. You ran into the room, wondering what it was you'd just heard.

You found Jesse on the floor, blood dripping from his nose. Ray was standing over him, with a raised fist, and an expression like nothing you’d ever seen before, on his face.

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “Ray, did you punch him?!”

“I told you, Y/N,” Ray said quietly. “I’m not the angel that you think I am.”

Jesse stood up, spitting blood from his mouth. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of you for that, Toro!”

“No!” you cried, jumping between him and Ray. “You leave him alone!”

“Get out of my way, Y/N,” Jesse commanded. “Your friend sucker punched me - I need to pay him back, by breaking his jaw.”

“Don’t touch him,” you growled, staring him down. “You get out of here, right now, or I’m calling the police.”

“Fine,” Jesse spat. “You’re not worth it, anyway.”

You watched him walk out the door, knowing that you would never see him again.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You and Ray were now alone in the dressing room. You stared at him, still scarcely believing what you’d seen. He was the tallest, and physically strongest, member of My Chemical Romance. But, you’d never expected him to throw a punch at anyone.

“I’m sorry that you saw that side of me,” Ray apologized. “You know that I’m normally not a violent person.”

“Of course not,” you shook your head. “Ray, you’re one of the most peaceful people I know.”

“I just couldn’t stand it,” Ray explained. “He had hurt you so much, and he didn’t even look sorry! I couldn’t let him get away, with hurting somebody I love.”

“Love?” you repeated. “I mean, I know you love all your bandmates, like they’re your siblings, but…”

“No,” Ray sighed. “Gee, Frank, and Mikey...they’re my brothers, but the way that I feel about you, is different.”

“Different how?” you asked.

“Y/N, I love you,” Ray confessed. “The way you loved Jesse….the way he was supposed to love you.”

“.....Oh,” you gasped, not knowing what to say.

“I’ve loved you, for so long,” Ray went on. “But….you were with Jesse, and you seemed happy with him. I’m not the type of guy who would ever steal someone else’s girlfriend.”

He’d been burying his feelings for you, all this time, you realized. That must have hurt him….

“I’m sorry for telling you this now,” Ray said, shame-faced. “You’re already trying to process, everything that just happened with him, and now I’ve dumped my stupid feelings on you, too. It’s okay, if you can’t love me, in the same way, that I love you. As long as you’re still my friend, I’ll be happy.”

“But….what if I do love you, in the same way?” you asked softly, cupping his cheek, in your hand.

His eyes widened in confusion. “Y/N…..you just ended your last relationship, like, eight hours ago. There’s no way that you’re ready to jump into another one.”

“I should have been with you, all along,” you whispered. “Ray…..you’ve always been so good to me. You were always by my side, through thick and thin. You would never, ever hurt me the way Jesse did.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Ray said, his brown eyes staring into yours. Why had you never noticed how gorgeous they were?

“But,” Ray hesitated, “I don’t want to be just some rebound to you.”

“No,” you insisted. “Ray, you’re so much more than that. You’re the one who always had my back, even when nobody else did. You’re kind, and loyal, and selfless. And….I never let myself think about it, because I was taken. But, god, you’re so handsome. You’re the only man, who truly deserves me. You’re the one that I want.”

You pulled him into a kiss. He hesitated at first, as if unsure this was real. But then, realizing it was true, and not a dream, he wrapped his arms around you, and held you tight. He tasted like coffee and churros. His lips felt incredible against your own.

“.....Whoa!” a voice interrupted. You pulled back, embarrassed, as Gerard and Mikey walked into the room.

“I was gonna say, that I’m sorry we’re late,” Gerard blinked, “but, what the hell, did I just walk in on?”

“Y/N, are you cheating on Jesse?” Mikey gasped.

“No,” you shook your head. “Jesse was cheating on me. It’s a long story, but….he and I broke up. Ray and I are dating now.”

“A-Are we?” Ray stammered, an edge of hope in his voice.

“We are,” you confirmed, and sealed the commitment, with another brazen kiss. You didn’t care who saw it - it would be far from the last.

#ray toro x reader #ray toro imagine #band member reader #gothtober #fuck...I just barely got this done before midnight #I'm sleep deprived and hopped up on Red Bull so I have no idea if it turned out well or not

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theydontknowaboutusimagines · 4 years

Text

Behind the Family - Harry Styles Mini Series (Part 1)

You and Harry first met in Behind the Album, where you tried to keep your attraction out of your business relationship, but that didn’t work. In Behind the Tour, you tried keeping your relationship private, but that didn’t work especially when you had to tell the world you were married. Then in Behind the Marriage, you two had to face the consequences of your decisions, as well as becoming new parents. Now, in Behind the Family, we see what it’s like raising a family in the spotlight over the years.

2020

“So, do you have everything?” You asked holding a four month old Ameila and Finneas on your hips.

“No,” he sighed looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“Harry,” you sighed. “We’ve been through this. The babies are too young to travel right now and be shuffled all over the place while you’re busy in NYC. And I’m not leaving them with your mother for weeks at a time, that’s not fair.”

“I know, I know,” he sighed taking Amelia from you and holding her close him. She smiled cuddling into his chest when he kissed her head. “It’s going to be hard being away from my family.”

You sighed walking closer to him, “I know, but I’ll facetime you as much as possible, we’ll watch your performances online and you’ll be home before you know it. We just went through this a few months ago.”

He nodded wrapping his free arm around you, “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” you smiled leaning up to kiss him.

You followed him out to his car where he put the rest of his luggage, still holding Amelia. Finn nuzzled in your neck as he gripped onto your shirt. You smiled down at him before looking over at Harry. He was tickling Amelia’s little tummy as she giggled. You walked closer to him as he put Amelia into the car seat before he took Finn in his arms.

“Now, you look after your Mum and sister, okay, little man?” He smiled bopping his nose.

Finn let out a babble and a drooling smile at his Daddy. Harry smiled kissing his head before walking to put him in the other car seat. You got into the passenger’s side while Harry got in the driver’s and headed out to the airport.

When he arrived, Harry parked the car at the departure area and the two of you got out. You could see his eyes were a bit watery and you were trying to hold back tears of your own. He wrapped his arms around your waist, while you wrapped your arms around his neck. He picked you up slightly as he held you tightly against him.

“God, I’m going to miss you,” he whispered into your neck.

“Not as much as I’m going to miss you,” you whispered sadly. “I’m going to have to change all the shitty diapers myself.”

He laughed, “I promise once I’m back I’ll do them all.”

“You better,” you giggled. “But am I really going to miss you.”

“I know,” he smiled. “When I get back, we’ll have a date night.”

You smiled pressing your lips against his. He smiled into the kiss before pulling away.

“Call me as soon as you can,” you whispered.

“Still won’t be soon enough,” he said.

“You get so fucking cheesy whenever you leave,” you giggled.

“I’m always fucking cheesy,” he laughed.

“Good point,” you laughed.

He sighed, “I better get my shit and go,” he said.

“Not yet,” you said holding him tighter.

He kissed the top of your head and held you for a few more seconds before pulling away. He got his luggage out of the car and watched you get into the driver’s seat. He gave one last wave to the babies in the backseat and blew a kiss to you before walking into the airport.

It’s been a few days since Harry’s been away and you were beyond missing him. During the day, you were okay, mostly because you were distracted by taking care of the babies, the needs around the house, and getting some freelance work done. However, once your body was at rest and you were ready for bed his absence was really apparent.

You were laying in bed with a face mask on, while you were watching a movie and painting your nails. The babies were fast asleep and would be for most of the night. Your phone starting ringing and you quickly saw Harry’s name across the screen.

“Shit!” You said grabbing it with your good, not yet painted hand, and answered it.

“There’s my sexy husband,” you smirked looking into the screen.

“And there’s my beautiful, yet slightly scary wife,” he laughed.

You looked at him confused, but then you realized you still had your face mask on. “For fuck’s sake, give me a minute,” you said hopping off the bed and going into the bathroom.

You could hear Harry laughing, “Shut up!” you groaned. “Tell me how your day is going so far.”

“It’s going well,” he said. “Rehearsals are good, I’ve had some good interviews today. I’m going to have to call it early night tonight though. Today show is tomorrow.”

“Oh, boy,” you laughed. “Maybe you should set your alarm with a baby crying and then you’ll get up.”

He laughed, “That’s an idea, but I’d just make me miss them even more.”

“Well, you’ll be home in a few days.” you said.

“Actually,” he sighed. “We’ve got another secret show added over the weekend and I’ve got another interview scheduled on Monday.”

“Seriously?” You sighed looking into the phone.

“Yes,” he nodded. “My team tried to get everything pushed up earlier, but everything was booked up.”

“You have to do what you have to do,” you said. “But I won’t lie and say it doesn’t suck. I miss you. I’d never thought I would say this bed is too big.”

“I know, baby,” he sighed. “I don’t like being away from you and the babies and I almost said no, but with the Music Video dropping on Friday, I need the promo.”

“I understand,” you nodded.

“How are my babies?” He asked. “Do they realize I’m gone?”

“In a way,” you said. “They love laying on your side of the bed. I was doing laundry this morning and they pulled one of your shirts out of the basket and snuggled with it.”

“They did not,” he laughed.

“They did! I took a picture for evidence,” you laughed. “Quite frankly, I’m a bit upset with myself that I didn’t think of that.”

He laughed, “You can sleep in my shirts while I’m gone.”

“Now, why would I do that when I can sleep naked,” you smirked.

“No, no,” he said shaking his head at you. “Don’t be doing that shit unless you’re willing to finish it.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you smirked.

“Like bloody hell you aren’t,” he said. “Half your boob is fucking hanging out of your robe.”

“No, it’s not,” you said looking down. “Oh, well, I didn’t exactly plan that. It just happened.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe that,” he said.

You stuck your tongue out at him, “Anyway, feel free to call us before you go on in the morning, if you have time. I’m sure the babies would love to see Daddy before he goes on stage.”

“Fuck, I can’t wait until they get to see me on stage for real,” he smiled. “I can’t wait to look out in the crowd and see their little faces.”

“Well, seeing as how you don’t ever get on stage until after nine, they probably won’t see much,” you laughed.

“There’s always soundcheck,” he laughed.

“True,” you nodded.

He sighed, “I bet let you go, so you can get to bed.”

“Okay,” you sighed. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he smiled.

You smirked, “Wait, before you go...” you smirked quickly opening your robe for a quick sneak peek. “Something to remember me by.”

“Bloody hell, you’re trying to kill me woman,” he groaned.

“Nope, not at all,” you giggled. “Talk to you later!”

“Goodnight, baby,” he said.

“Night!” You smiled.

The next day you luckily woke up before the babies, so you were able to jump into the shower quickly to start your day. Once you were dressed, you checked in on them and then went downstairs to make yourself some breakfast. You decided on a smoothie and go everything you needed out and through it into the blender. You poured into a glass and sipped on it a bit before turning on the TV.

You knew it was still at least an hour or two before Harry would be on, but you wanted it to be on and ready. When you had finished your smoothie, you went up to get the babies. Both of them were babbling away at each other as they laid in their cribs. You smiled wondering what they were talking about.

“Morning babies,” you smiled. “Let’s get you two changed and ready to start the day. Daddy should be calling us soon.”

At the mention of daddy, both of them started moving around happily in their cribs and babbling. You giggled picking up Finn and changing him before doing the same for Amelia. You then took them downstairs and sat them in their chairs. You got some bottles from the fridge and put them in the bottle warmer while you mashed up some bananas and baby oatmeal to bring over to them.

They practically jump up and down in their seats when you bring the bowl over.

You giggled, “Are you two hungry?”

You held out a scoopful of of the banana and oatmeal mixture in front of Amelia’s mouth. She eagerly opened wide.

“Mm. Isn’t that yummy,” you smiled scooping up some more to give to Finn.

You were halfway finished with feeding them the bowl of oatmeal when your phone started to ring. You quickly took it out of your pocket, smiling at seeing Harry’s name, and slid to answer it.

“Good morning!” You smiled when it finally connected.

“Morning, love,” he smiled.

The babies gasped, hearing the sound of Harry’s voice an started babbling. You giggled turning to the phone towards them. They whined reaching out towards the phone.

“There are my adorable little babies,” he smiled. “Hi, babies! It’s Daddy! Look at you! Is that nanas on your faces?”

You laughed, “Yeah, they’re eating breakfast,” you smiled.

“Aw they’re getting so big,” he groaned.

“Are you calling my babies fat?” You gasped.

“Never,” he laughed. “Just they look older.”

The twins continue to whine and babbled towards the phone.

“Aww, I miss you, too babies,” he sighed. “Daddy will be home soon. I promise.”

“When do you go on?” You asked.

“About half hour?” He said.

You nodded “Well, your biggest fans can’t wait!”

“Is that right?” He smiled. “Are you ready to see Daddy on stage?”

The babies giggle and clap their hands together.

“I don’t care if they don’t even know what I’m talking about, but I’ll take that response as a yes,” he laughed.

You smiled, “You’re going to do great and we’ll be watching. I’ve already got it on,” you said showing him the tv.

“That’s my girl,” he smiled with a yawn.

“Uh-oh, that’s not good,” you laughed. “How long have you been up?”

“Too fucking long,” he groaned.

“Not in front of the babies!” you groaned.

“They don’t know what I’m saying!” He defended.

“Yeah, you say that and then in a few months they’ll be dropping the f-bomb as their first word,” you rolled your eyes.

“Hey, at least it’d be memorable. A story to tell,” he smirked.

“Whatever,” you laughed.

He sighed looking to the side, “Well, baby, I have to go,” he said. “I’ll try to call you again later, but if I don’t get a chance, I’ll text you.”

“Okay, sounds good,” you smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you, baby,” he smiled. “And I love my babies!”

They giggle again. You smiled kissing their heads, “Now, go and do your thing on stage!”

“Yes m’am,” he smirked.

After the phone call ended, you cleaned up the babies and brought them over to the couch in the living room. A few more commercials later, Harry was brought out on stage and the babies started bouncing in your lap. You giggled putting them onto the couch and grabbing your phone. They were babbling and drooling, but their eyes remained focused on the tv.

“Welcome back, Harry. We’re so happy you could join us here at the Today Show,” the host smiled.

“Thank you for having me again. I’m excited to be here,” he smiled.

“Now, before we get to the performance, do you mind if we have a little chat?” they asked.

“Of course not,” he smiled.

“You recently released your second album, Fine Line, back in December, correct?” they asked.

“I did, yes,” he nodded.

“And it’s done so well. It just hit platinum here in the US and it was first number one album of 2020. Did you expect that sort of reaction or success when you wrote this album?” they asked.

“Um, no, I mean, when I sit down to write a song or work on an album as a whole, I don’t go into it thinking “oh, I’ve got make to sure this is gonna sell or gonna be number one,” I go into it thinking I just wanna write something I’m proud of and I’m really proud of this record, so seeing the reaction to it is just an added bonus,” he answered.

“Another thing I want to ask about before you perform, if you don't mind, is that you and your wife had twins a few months ago, is that right?” they asked.

“We did,” he smiled.

“Well, congratulations,” they smiled. “How’s fatherhood treating you? Do you find it hard to balance with your career?”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “Um, I love it. I love every single second of it. They’re adorable and I just they’re the best thing that’s every happened to me. But uh, yeah, it’s a taking getting used to with traveling. I mean ever since I was sixteen I’ve been traveling on tour and was away from family, you know, so I’m used to that. And my wife was on tour with me last time, but traveling just these last couple of times since they were born has been some of the hardest things I’ve experienced. Don’t get me wrong, I love being here, seeing the fans, and putting on a show, but I miss my family.”

“Oh, I bet that’s hard,” they nodded. “Will they join you on tour?”

“Well, I’m hoping. They’ll be just about six months when our first show takes place, but we still have some details to sort out,” he said.

“Thank you again, Harry for being here and we congratulate you both on the wonderful success of your album and your new family,” they smiled.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” he smiled.

You smiled as you watched the interview and the babies got excited as the first song started to play. You wanted to watch the performance, but you wanted to capture the twins watching their daddy. You smiled as they started moving their heads around with wide eyes and smiles. They clapped their little hands together as they babbled.

When the song was over, you turned the camera on yourself and smiled, “Good job, Daddy.”

It was the middle of the night when the car dropped Harry off at home. He had taken a flight out as soon as he was finished with his final interview. He hadn’t told you his arrival time because he wanted to surprise you. Of course, you would be asleep, but he couldn’t wait to get home tomorrow. He had missed his family too much.

He got his suitcases out of the car and went to the door, unlocking it and walking inside. He put his bags down in the living room shutting the door and then heading upstairs. He wanted to see the babies first, walking into nursery. He smiled seeing them fast asleep in their cribs. He fought the urge to pick hm up and hold them in his arms pressing kisses against their little faces and hands. He knew you would kill him if he woke up them up.

“Night babies,” he whispered. “I love you.”

He walked out of the room and into the bedroom. You were laying on your stomach on his side of the bed, cuddled up with his pillow. He smiled walking over towards the bed and sitting down. He hated to wake you, but he didn’t want to just get in the shower and the bed freaking you out.

“Baby,” he whispered. “Y/N, baby, wake up.”

You mumbled something, turning around and opening you eyes. You sat up quickly, rubbing your eyes thinking they were playing tricks on you because there was your husband.

“You’re home?” You smiled.

“I’m home!” He smiled.

“Ah!” You giggled wrapping your arms around him before pressing your lips against his.

He smiled into the kiss, wrapping his arms around you, holding you tightly against him.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he whispered pulling away from the kiss and putting his forehead on yours.

“I missed you, too,” you smiled. “I can’t believe you’re finally home.”

“Well, you better believe it,” he smiled. “I’m officially home until tour starts.”

“Yay!” You smiled.

He smiled, “As much as I love this and don’t want to let you go, I really need a shower and sleep. So, why don’t you go back to sleep and I’ll be right out.”

“Or I could join you,” you smirked.

“Oh, really now?” He asked.

“Do you really think I’d be able to go back to sleep now?” You asked.

He laughed, “Well, then let’s go.”

You laughed following him into the bathroom. He turned on the water as the two of you got undressed before stepping inside. He stood under the water letting it rinse away all the traveling funk while you got the bottle of body wash.

“What are you doing?” He asked raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing, just taking care of my man,” you smirked pouring some body wash onto the wash cloth before running it over his body.

You moved your hand over his body slowly as he watched you. When you were finished, you had him stand back underneath the water to rinse all the soap away.

“There all clean,” you smiled.

“You forgot my hair,” he smirked.

“Well, you’re going to have to kneel down for that,” you said.

He laughed doing as you said and smirking when he was staring at your chest, in which he placed his hands.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Hey, you felt me up, so it’s only fair I return the favor,” he smirked.

“I did not feel you up,” you said innocently. “I was simply helping you out after you were on a plane for like eight hours.”

“Call it whatever you want, baby,” he laughed.

“Anyway, you can rinse now,” you smiled.

He stood up, putting his head underneath the shower head. You two then got out of the shower, dried off, and got into bed. He opened his arms for you, which you gladly entered. He kissed the top of your head and smiled.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Thank you for taking care of everything while I was gone.”

“You’re welcome,” you smiled. “I told you I’ve got this. Doesn’t mean I like when you’re gone, but I can make it work.”

“Oh, and I love you, too,” you added.

He smiled kissing you one more time quickly before the two of you cuddled up together and fell fast asleep.

Okay! Here is the first part of Behind the Family! With this series, it won’t be something that’s updated regularly I.e. every week. Since I only plan on doing max of 20 parts, there will be some fast forwarding here and there, leading up to where I left off on the epilogue - which was 20 years later!

#One Direction Imagines #Harry Styles Imagines #Behind the Family

167 notes · View notes

ravenvsfox · 4 years

Text

Rockband AU Chapter 11

we’re back and badder than ever, join me in the latest instalment of the band au in which there is no actual music unless you count screaming as music :)

The first slit is paper thin, a fissure in the centre of his tongue. Even superficial, his mouth fills instantly with ripe, oily blood. He swallows painfully, and peers up at his father though one eye. There’s sweat at Nathan's temple, just a brush of it, as if daubed on with a dry brush.

Nathaniel puts his hand around Nathan’s wrist, like he used to when he was a very small child, too young to understand why he was being hurt.

“Stop,” he tries to say. Blood wells past his lips and bubbles down to his neck. He’s smudging red so bright it looks orange, ketchupy, all down Nathan’s sleeve. The knife clicks across his teeth and slips down into the gum.

“I won’t have you biting anymore,” Nathan says. He starts to wedge the knife into the bed under his molar until Nathaniel hears a crack. It feels impossible, this shard of his jaw knocked out of place, like a whole continent drifting away.

Someone pounds on the upstairs door. The perspiration on Nathan’s brow accumulates into a single droplet, and Nathaniel waits for it to fall, holding his breath.

All of the pressure is removed from his mouth at once.

Nathan sits back on his heels. “Someone deal with that.”

DiMaccio cracks his neck, agitated.

“Police, open up,” a muffled voice says, raised over the din of the pounding.

“For god’s sake,” Nathan says, rolling his eyes and standing. “Lola,” he says silkily. “Keep him warm for me.” Nathaniel melts back into the concrete. He licks blood from his lips, staring hazily into the overhead light so he doesn’t think about the changing landscape of his mouth.

“With pleasure,” she says. She’s holding her ribs, and Nathaniel knows he’s done some damage. Even her robust good mood has been dented.

She kneels. Nathan sheds his over-shirt and washes his hands at the sink in the corner of the room. DiMaccio climbs the stairs. It’s like they're tinkering around at the office, while he’s smeared out on the floor, pulsing with blood and pain and hatred. He remembers what Lola said before, that Nathaniel’s indiscretion had boosted him to the top of his father’s to-do list. He is a task. He will be crossed out.

“Open wide,” Lola says. Her head is just blotting out the light.

“Open up,” the cop upstairs reiterates.

Nathaniel’s face is so soaked, and so swollen. He doesn’t recognize the feeling of his own features.

Once, the band had been trapped in an endless soundcheck at a sweltering venue. Andrew had been spread out at the lip of the stage, foot dangling over the edge and arm over his eyes, tattooed ‘yes’ turned delicately towards his face. Nicky had maneuvered himself under the piano, and the rest of them wilted to the ground after him, glad to be off their feet. For a while, they had all been breathing the humidity in together, dropping off to sleep or looking up at the lights.

He hears DiMaccio open the door and gruffly say “not a good time”. Lola’s claws hook in his lower lip. He thinks — sleep? Or follow the lights?

Nathan’s at the top of the stairs now too, and he’s playing charming.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Wesninski,” the cop says familiarly. “I know you’re not causing trouble again.”

Nathaniel’s thoughts race and fall all over each other. Is this another dirty cop? Is Nathan paying him off? If Nathaniel screams, and the cop knows to look the other way, Nathan will only be more enraged, only kill him slower.

“No more than usual,” Nathan replies.

“Glad to hear it. We’re just investigating a tip-off. I’m sure you won’t mind if we have a look around?”

“Like my assistant said, you caught us at a bad time,” Nathan says, less smoothly.

“It’s funny how many times I hear that on house visits.”

“No, really, I can’t entertain any more guests.”

Nathaniel can hear him moving to block the door, and there’s a sound like weight scuffing against wood. He’s coming inside? He can’t believe it.

Lola pulls his lower lip even harder away from the gum. Her composure is a little wrinkled, which is how he knows that this wasn’t in the plan. He can hear his father talking intricate circles around the officer, but he can also hear the voices getting closer.

He swallows. Swallows again, and closes his eyes, thinking of the domino line-up of threats stacked back as far as he can remember. Don’t you dare cause a scene. Holler and I cut your tongue in half. Tell them how well I treat you. You can either be useful or dead, your choice Junior.

He twists out of Lola’s grip, rolling gracelessly onto his stomach. She grabs his hair with both fists.

“Help!” he shouts. It comes out thick through his warped lip, wobbly tooth, and all the blood, but as soon as he’s opened his mouth, he can’t stop screaming. He wants to live so badly.

Lola wrestles with him, pressing her forearm to the side of his destroyed face. He thrashes against her, sobbing, “please, they’re killing me, please, please, please.” It’s not even a performance. He can’t stop.

“Shut up,” Lola hisses.

There are fast footsteps coming down the stairs, and Nathaniel’s heart claws for his throat. Lola puts the gun to his mouth and the metal knocks painfully against his front teeth.

He looks up just in time to see Nathan following the cop down the stairs at a clip, teeth bared. He reaches back towards DiMaccio and comes away with his favoured cleaver. As it crests in the air, Nathaniel is hit with the cruellest deja vu imaginable. He knows what has to happen next.

“No,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” the cop says. His eyes are wide as he takes in Lola, crouched over him like an animal, Nathaniel’s skin split open and spilling.

“Don’t—“

Nathan cuts the officers throat, so quickly that Nathaniel’s not sure if he really saw it happen. He falls awkwardly on the stairs, his knees folding and his head drooping forward like it might slide clean off.

Lola makes a noise that might be a laugh, and stops fighting Nathaniel down. It was barely a fight anyway, he’s so weak now. The hand with the gun in it goes lax.

“That was close,” she trills. Nathaniel wraps his hand around the barrel of the gun. She doesn’t even look down. She’s so delighted by the spectacle of senseless murder that she can’t see him.

“That was unacceptable,” Nathan corrects. He tosses the cleaver to the ground next to the officer, who is crumpled up like a scrap of wet paper towel. “You—“ his eyes float to Nathaniel and settle.

He’s holding the gun.

For a long moment, they stare at each other.

“How cute,” Lola says.

Nathaniel turns and shoots her in the chest. The sound of it is muffled—too quiet, certainly, to come from a pistol. Her mouth is round and wet with surprise. Her chest blooms.

Impossibly, she looks down and spreads her own wound like she intends to perform surgery. She laughs giddily at her own pain, wheezing, then falls backwards. When she hits the floor, it’s the loudest thing he’s ever heard.

No one moves. A pale cloud comes over Nathan; he looks thunderstruck, washed out. Nathaniel’s never seen him look this way before. It’s—his gun-toting hand starts to shake—It might be pride.

He can’t stand it. He fires the gun again, and it clips his father in the neck. He watches him stumble, sees the blood splatter and froth. He’s unable to wrap his head around the reality of it. He shoots him again in the stomach, then the chest. He clips his hand, and a finger flies off.

Der Ausreißer, he thinks wildly. The stray bullet.

DiMaccio lunges teeth-first, like a panther, and Nathaniel shoots him too.

He spasms violently, squeezing the trigger even after the bullets are gone. Eventually, the gun drops like a stone, and he slumps to his hands and knees.

He’s not sure how long he stays like that, head hanging down between his caved-in shoulders, panting. He knows, distantly, that he needs to leave. There’s gore streaking out around him in every direction. Inevitably, there will be more police, somewhere out there in Baltimore, mobilizing.

He feels like two separate people. Everyone in the room has been ripped in half, and he will always be one of them. He was staring a death sentence in the eye for so long, and just as he eased into the electric chair, his jailer dropped dead. His path cleared. His wrung-out body was suddenly his own. He was Nathaniel, and then he looked up and he was Neil again.

He staggers to his feet.

His sneaker skids sideways in Lola’s blood, and he windmills, touching the ground to steady himself. He looks at his handprint in all that red.

I’m an orphan, he thinks. He starts to laugh. His tooth is still trying to escape his gum. The sweet iron smell of blood burns his nostrils, and the silence rings like alarm bells. Somehow, all of his senses are intact. He is the only surviving Wesninski.

He limps to the metal cabinets on the far wall, and riffles through the meticulously organized shelves. It’s been years, but he remembers watching Lola lining up cleaning products, sheets of plastic, sharpeners, and ammo. It’s difficult to see without the use of both eyes, but he quickly finds the vital red of the jerry can. He laughs again, merrily.

He shakes gasoline out over the perimeter of the basement, not lingering on anyone, not really looking. He doesn’t know what it would mean if he did.

He pointedly ignores his failing body. At one point, he feels an unhealthy crunch beneath his heel and realizes he’s squashed his father’s stray finger.

He takes the stairs one at a time, hands on both bannisters, hair hanging down into his panting mouth. It’s a herculean effort, staying on his feet. The gasoline is wedged under his arm upside-down, trailing a path up the stairs. As soon as he reaches the plateau of the still-open side door, he lets the jug droop from his grip. He wrings the doorknob, redoubling his efforts to stay vertical.

The digital clock in the living room blinks at him, and he blinks back. 6:38 AM. He was on stage not even ten hours ago.

He breathes in and out, fast, bracing himself, then limps onward towards the kitchen.

He knows there used to be a blowtorch in the drawer next to the oven, and he heaves out a sigh of relief when he finds it there, untouched.

He tries not to linger on the familiarity of the living room, furnished with self-satisfied plum and mahogany. He blinks, and for a moment he sees his mother at the window, holding her dressing gown closed over a broken collarbone. There was a crescent of Nathaniel’s blood hidden by the heavy coffee table before his father had the good sense to rip up all the carpet. He remembers crouching in the walk-in pantry with his mother, hands over each other’s mouths. He can see them in all the saddest corners of this house.

Burning it down won’t be enough. He could raze and build and raze again, and cruelty would still live here.

He drags himself back to the door, which is blown wide open now. It’s like the whole wide, breezy night knocked it aside to get a look at him.

He stoops, sets the end of his gasoline trail alight, and ducks away from the roar.

Nathaniel walks out of his childhood house for the very last time.

Looking blankly at the police cruiser still parked in the driveway, feeling the brutal, burning heat at his back, he thinks,

I’m going to be Neil for the rest of my life.

_______

He’s wandering the freeway when a minivan slows to a crawl on the shoulder next to him. A petite, greying woman rolls down the passenger side window.

“Hey, are you okay?” she calls.

Neil squints at her, woozy. She recoils when she sees his face, then reaches for her seatbelt. It’s a testament to her strength, really, the way her disgust hardens into resolve.

“Oh my god. Wait right there,” she says. He shouldn’t have stopped; he’s drooping to his knees. “Jesus.” She wrenches open the driver’s side door and leaves it hanging there, cocked into oncoming traffic. “Jesus,” she insists, her moccasins skidding through uneven gravel.

She crouches in front of him and takes hold of his upper arms. Her grip is as gentle as the snuffling wind.

“I’m an orphan,” he tells her. He’s not sure why he says it. He wonders if it will ever not be the most focal thought in his head.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“Oh, no,” Neil laughs. “No, no. I killed him.”

She looks disturbed for a moment, and her mouth twists reproachfully, like he’s telling a joke in poor taste. “I’m sure you didn’t.”

Neil shrugs.

“You—you really need to go to the hospital.”

“Yes,” Neil agrees.

“Are you strong enough to stand?”

“No,” he says, coughing. It’s too much for his body to withstand, and he doubles over. When he looks back up into her concerned dark eyes, he thinks abruptly of Dan. Then without pausing, he hurtles over that thought, and straight into Andrew.

“Hey,” he pants. “Uh…”

“Mary-Anne,” she supplies.

“Mary-Anne. I need to borrow your phone.”

_______

The drive to Baltimore is endless.

The road is a jammed zipper, and Andrew is forcing it. He doesn’t care what breaks.

“No, he’s—no. Maybe 5’3”. No, that’s not him. Call me back if—okay. Thanks anyway.” Nicky hangs up and throws his phone at the windshield so hard the battery pops out. “We’re never going to fucking find him.”

“Call Saint Agnes,” Andrew says.

Nicky hesitates. “It’s the last hospital in the city,” he says. “If he’s not there—“

“Call.”

“Andrew, I’m worried you’re—“

“Keep your worry,” Andrew hisses, “for the man with a serial killer for a father.”

Nicky flinches. “I’m scared too, you know,” he says, stricken.

Andrew wants to say, I’m not scared. I can’t be. I’m the bar where the four horseman of the apocalypse come to drink themselves stupid. I’m a vessel for tragedy.

“Call,” he says instead.

Nicky sighs and passes the phone back to Aaron. “I can’t hear no again,” he says. “It’s killing me.”

Andrew watches Aaron’s furrowed face in the rearview mirror, his endlessly puckering brow. He’s surprised to see how scared he looks, as he reunites battery pack and cell phone. Kevin is nearly catatonic next to him, face pressed clean to the side window even though every bump in the road rattles his skull against the glass.

Wymack is driving Abby and all of his Foxes in the van, while the Monsters took Wymack’s fast little car. They all fit neatly, without Neil.

“I’m looking for someone named Neil, or maybe Nathaniel,” Aaron says into the phone. “About 5’3”, dyed brown hair, blue eyes. Has anyone come into emergency tonight—Yeah, whatever, I’ll wait.” He holds his hand over the receiver and shakes his head.

It’s impossible, to feel any worse.

Then Andrew’s phone rings in his pocket.

For a suspended second, his eyes flit back to Aaron’s, and he knows the thoughts in their heads are precisely the same. Aaron’s expression is a forgery of Andrew’s, snagged with panic.

“Andrew.” It’s Kevin, looking suddenly alert in the backseat, flushed as if with fever. “It might be bad news.”

“Who cares,” Nicky says, reckless. “It’s news.”

Andrew finds himself nodding, or shaking, he can’t tell. He lets go of the steering wheel and fumbles for the source of the buzzing.

Nicky grabs hastily for the loose wheel as they coast towards the ditch at unfathomable speed. He just barely manages to swing them back into their lane before the gravel crunches into grass, and they topple out into the darkness.

Andrew’s fist closes over the phone, and it splits open like a fortune cookie in his grip.

“Neil?” he asks.

“Um,” A woman says.

His disappointment is quicksand; his foot sinks reflexively down onto the gas pedal. Nicky has to grapple again with the slippery steering.

With crushing effort, he asks, “who the fuck is this?” The words hit with the compact burn of splattered fry oil—he can hear her flinch through the phone.

“Sorry, is this um—Andrew? I’m not sure I caught that right, before he…”

Before he—what? Andrew’s imagination rips itself in half before he can take the thought any further. He is so tightly braided with terror and relief.

“He’s with you?” he chokes, but she’s still half-talking, high and traumatized.

“I’m sorry, I really—I don’t know where to start—“

“Andrew, pull over,” Aaron says.

“Put him on the phone,” Andrew says faintly. He is leaden, and his foot is pressed flat to the gas. They’re screaming along at almost 100 miles per hour, and it still doesn’t feel like his body is moving as quickly as his thoughts.

“I can’t,” she wails. “He passed out. I don’t know what to do, there’s—he’s—I don’t know his name, I don’t even know if this is the right—“

“It’s Neil,” Nicky says, from where he’s already pressed close to copilot the car. “Brown hair, blue eyes, right?”

She shifts around noisily, and there’s a soft, muffled curse. “I—I can’t tell.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell?” Andrew asks sharply. Headlights flash and swerve out of their treacherous path.

“Slow down,” Kevin says.

“There’s… so much blood, I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, he’s not in good shape.”

Nicky meets Andrew’s eye miserably. “That’s Neil, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t reply. His foot sags off of the gas altogether.

Nicky has to wrestle them to the side of the road, half-crying, and by then, Aaron has plucked the phone from Andrew’s loose grip.

“Yeah, no, not the first time. Is he breathing? No. Right. Oh. Do me a favour, don’t call the cops yet, okay…? Mary-Anne? Okay. Yeah. Thank you. Maybe two hours? Okay. Thank you.”

He hangs up. The car is quiet and crackling, like they’ve just survived a wreck. They breathe and blink owlishly at one another, and Andrew knows they’re waiting for his next move.

He can’t feel his hands. He’s so singularly, mind-numbingly enraged.

“She told me he said—” Aaron swallows a couple of times, then continues, “—he said he killed his father.”

“Jesus Mary. Just offering that up to passer’s by, is he?” Nicky says. “I guess Jean wasn’t lying.”

Andrew feels his anger transform to account for new, more vivid colour. He can’t keep up with it. If he felt out-of-control fast before, now he feels slow; he’s being rewound, paused, and randomly scene-selected, an overworked VHS. He needs to fast-forward. He needs to unravel all the way to Baltimore. He needs to reroute his fear into violence or he’s going to be torn up.

“If the butcher’s dead, then everything’s—okay, right?” Nicky continues.

“Sounds like he got in some last minute butchering before he died,” Aaron says darkly.

Andrew turns the engine over, and it whines thinly. “Where is he?” he asks.

“Someone else should drive,” Kevin says.

“Where is he,” Andrew repeats. He keeps picturing what kind of damage would have to be done to make Neil’s striking colouring unrecognizable. How fragile his untrusting body would have to be to droop unconscious in front of a stranger.

He needs to thrash this highway to death. He won’t believe Neil is alive until he’s in front of him. If he never touches him again, he knows, he knows his hands will ache for the rest of his life.

“Passed out on interstate 83, right now,” Aaron says slowly. “She’ll call back when the ambulance comes.”

He pulls brusquely away from the shoulder, threading the car back into the middle lane. “Call her back first.” He feels like it’s all he can say. Call him. Find him. Bring him back. I will not be here while he is there. It is my responsibility to slosh above deck, through the twitching eye of the storm, and toss a line out for him.

“What good is it going to do? You want to listen to your boyfriend bleed out from a hundred miles away?” Aaron says it to be mean, but he looks upset. He twists the ring on his thumb, the one he thinks Andrew doesn’t know Katelyn gave him.

Nicky looks nervously over at Andrew. Usually, he wouldn’t take the bait. He would barely notice it being laid out for him.

“Aaron,” he says, and there’s no room for argument. “Call.”

He doesn’t say please, but Aaron flinches anyway. He shakes it off, as always, and begins to click back through to the disconnected call. Before he can dial, the phone rings again in his hands.

He blinks dumbly at the caller ID, then hits ‘answer’.

“Wymack?” Aaron asks. He looks up at the others while he listens, then recites, “half the block Neil grew up on is on fire.” He waits, brow furrowed, then adds, “at least four casualties.”

Kevin fumes. “God, exactly the kind of visibility we don’t need.”

“Don’t think it was a publicity stunt, Kev,” Nicky says thinly.

“Self-defence,” Andrew murmurs.

“Overkill,” Aaron say. “And now the cops are going to be looking for him, because they just got eighteen panicked long-distance calls about the Butcher’s son.”

“They will not find him,” Andrew says.

“You think he’s gonna bolt?” Nicky asks.

“What other choice does he have?” Kevin asks.

Nicky shrugs. “He’s got us.”

Aaron covers the receiver. “Even if he could physically run, he wouldn’t,” he says, looking at Andrew. “He’s selfish.”

Andrew ignores this and keeps driving. He can’t stop. He feels—underwater, parched and disoriented, and if he doesn’t break the surface soon, he never will. Behind him, Aaron tells Wymack what they know, then hangs up.

“He’s alive, Andrew,” Nicky offers, in the quiet. “He’s okay.”

“Don’t,” he chokes. He looks at his hands on the wheel, the way the inked yes and no are both distorted when his fists are clenched. They haven’t looked clear since Neil was taken.

The closer they get to Baltimore, the more everything else starts warping to match, and his vision narrows to a pinprick in the deep, dark horizon.

_______

Neil half-rouses in the ambulance, enough to understand that his injuries are real, and many of them have reopened in transit. The medicinal tang in the air is crisp and pungent. The sheets beneath him are streaked red; his hands struggle for purchase in the slickness of them. His chest feels watery and full.

“Where’re you taking me,” he demands hoarsely. “I need to go to Columbia.”

“That’s a little outside of our jurisdiction,” a paramedic says. There are two of them looming over him, passing supplies back and forth over his prone body, taping him into a cats cradle of wires and machinery. “Can you tell us your name?”

“You have to let me out,” Neil says, suddenly frantic, sitting up until his injuries cramp and hiss and push him back down.

“Oh-ho, okay, we’ve got a runner. Can we get some soft restraints on him please?”

His chest is a whirlpool, spinning and devouring itself. “No restraints,” Neil begs. “Don’t, please.” His wrists are wreckage already. “Don’t tie me down.”

“Okay, okay,” the other paramedic says gently, her hand to his chest. “Then you’ve gotta calm down, kid. You’re gonna undo all our hard work.”

Neil looks down at her dark hand on his bare, scarred body, the gauze encasing both freshly maimed arms, the productive pinch of the IV. Embarrassment crushes him, chased hotly by fear.

“My hands—“

“You’ll keep ‘em,” she assures him.

“I’ll be able to play piano?”

“Don’t see why not. Most of the cuts are pretty superficial.”

He can’t believe it. They are taut with agony. He tries to hunch over the jungle of wires to get a look at them.

“Woah, easy,” the first paramedic says. He’s very pink and very blurry, and Neil can’t focus on him. He can focus on sitting up. It should be easy, and it’s all he can think to do to take control of his body.

He falters when the pain in his ribs whines and holds him at a distance again, and he puts a hand loosely over his eyes as if it will block out his feelings.

“I need to speak to my band.”

“You need to stop moving around so much.”

“I need to speak to my band,” he repeats. “Let me borrow a phone.”

“Look, from what I hear, your friends are already on their way. Ms. Thomas took care of that for you.”

“Ms. Thomas,” Neil repeats dumbly.

“Yes sir. Sounds like you owe her a hell of a gift basket.”

He vaguely remembers those dark eyes swimming above him, her little red phone drooping out of his hand, his temple colliding with gravel. He feels robbed, furious at himself, and wretchedly grateful.

“She spoke to them for me?” he whispers.

He hums, flicking at a syringe so the bubbles settle. “She did more than that. Might have singlehandedly saved your life, you know?”

Neil disagrees, quietly. Not singlehandedly. He’s been saved in almost as many ways as he’s been hurt, now. He sinks back into the messy sheets. Somewhere, outside of the antiseptic rattle of the ambulance, his family is coming to find him.

“Don’t—let me sleep,” Neil says, disjointed.

The paramedics exchange a meaningful glance. “Uh-huh.”

“I have to—I can’t—I have to see—“ he swallows dryly. His consciousness is slipping out from under him like loose bedding. “Don’t let me sleep.”

“Neil,” one of them says. “You’re safe. Sleep.”

_______

Andrew leaves Wymack’s car strung haphazardly between two spaces, the driver’s side door flung open, keys in the ignition.

Afterwards, he couldn’t tell you what the hospital looked like, who he spoke to, or how long he was running.

The flimsy hospital protocols try to catch at his clothes and hold his hands behind his back, but he keeps sprinting, floor to floor, stairwell to stairwell, and everything else is inconsequential. He feels like he’s been chasing after Neil’s shadow for twenty-four hours. Maybe longer. Maybe he’s always been trying to keep pace with shadows.

He keeps saying Neil’s name to strangers and waiting for the flash of recognition that will mean he can stop. He reels in orderlies for questioning and ducks into private rooms. He can hear the others toppling after him, joining the hunt, straightening out altercations with hospital staff before they can drag Andrew down.

“You’re them,” someone says.

Andrew slows, and the others jog up behind him. There’s a mousy woman just beyond a wall of windows, standing in the world’s saddest waiting room, clutching a red phone.

“Mary-Anne?” Nicky asks.

She nods, swallowing.

Andrew prowls towards her, and Kevin grabs ahold of the back of his shirt.

“He’s okay,” she says quickly. “They’re worried about infection, but he’s—he’s.” Her face crumples.

“What?” Andrew demands.

“Nothing, nothing, I just don’t know who would do something like this.”

Andrew bucks forward in Kevin’s grip. “Like what,” he repeats, red-hot.

She trembles, trying not to say whatever she’s so obviously thinking. “Rip—rip someone apart—like—“

Andrew makes a choked, gummy noise, and Aaron and Nicky instantly crowd him. It’s disorienting, that they are for once trying to protect him and not someone else from him.

“Andrew,” Wymack’s voice calls. When they turn to look, he’s down the hall, Dan is hugging Neil’s duffel bag and looking murderous, and the rest of them are scattered on the floor or in green vinyl seats. With their phone-call detours and near-accidents, the van must have skipped ahead of them. “Stop terrorizing everyone in the damn hospital.”

“This is the last time I will ask to see him,” Andrew says, striding over to meet them all, “before I lose my temper.”

“I’d hate to see that,” Wymack says, somehow sarcastic and regretful at once. “From what I hear, they’re still bandaging him up.”

“What room?”

Down the hall, on cue, there’s a clattering sound like an overturned gurney, and then a calamity of raised voices.

“… fuck, again? Where’s—somebody stop him—”

“Lie back down, Mr—hey, come on, turn off the—no, I’m serious this time, I’m calling security.”

A metal basin skitters out into the hall, and a wooden door pops and splinters.

Someone skids sideways out of an exam room, and catches himself heavily on the opposite wall. He winces, slides down half a foot, then braces himself to keep running.

Andrew’s terror falls to the ground and covers its ears. His anger puts up its fists. The whole sickening mess of his feelings for Neil won’t stop bleeding; he’s not sure they’re going to make it.

Neil looks up, and between one laboured breath and the next, he spots them. His face comes alive.

“Andrew,” he breathes. He takes a pitiful step forward. Andrew hates him so desperately for what he’s done that it loops all the way back around and becomes obsession, the kind that drives the wayward eagle to swoop down for Prometheus, day after day.

Neil is drenched in bandages. The blood has been recently and imperfectly scrubbed away, but he’s obviously been tortured, tumbled and sliced and spit out different. The reality of it sends Andrew lurching forward stomach-first. He can feel the others scrambling behind him. Two strangers in scrubs grab for Neil’s arms, and it corrodes Andrew’s brain to think of someone else touching him; he hisses with smoke.

“Don’t,” he snarls. He is sharpened to a point, sailing over the squeaky tile as if released from a bow.

“Just let them... do this,” Wymack is saying. “Okay?”

The nurse puts his hands up and steps back, and the shrewish medical student follows, at length. “Just don’t let him go any farther. The cops want to talk to him, and I’m not going on another wild goose chase through pathology.”

As soon as they’ve surrendered, Andrew forgets their presence completely. He doesn’t have the capacity to care about them when Neil is in front of him again, wounded and haughty.

He reaches him, finally, and puts his hands to his neck. His thumbs come up naturally to bracket his jaw. Neil sinks almost involuntarily into a stray waiting room chair, and Andrew follows him down, crouched between his knees so that they’re level. Neil blinks at him. One glacier-blue eye, the other swallowed by tape and gauze.

At the sight of it, he crushes his left palm to the back of Neil’s neck, and with his right he traces the bandage, searching for a seam.

“You, too, huh?” Neil says, ghosting a hand over Andrew’s bruised eye. “Percussion is a dangerous sport.”

Andrew doesn’t respond.

He peels the tape back, and finds Neil’s face in pieces. He was braced for it, but it draws and quarters him. His eye is moving sluggishly under the paper-thin lid, but something has nearly pierced through it. The deep gauge in his brow forks like lightning over his lid and sweeps down to his cheekbone. It’s difficult to imagine sustaining an injury like this and staying conscious.

Behind him, Dan gasps, “Oh my god, Neil.”

Andrew steadies his breathing. A panic attack puts a gun to his head, and he fights to disarm it. He puts the bandage down on the chair next to them, bloody side up, then reaches for the smaller tan patch over Neil’s chin. Underneath there are little abrasions mostly, criss-crossing down to his neck. The bulk of the damage is obviously to his eye and wrapped arms, and when Neil licks his bloodless lips, he can see that there are cuts inside his mouth too.

“Open,” Andrew commands.

Neil does, and Andrew holds his chin aloft, index finger nestled in the corner of his mouth. He’s missing a molar, and his piercing. His tongue has some loose pale skin at its heart, where the stud was clearly yanked on and sliced around, but it will heal quickly.

He probes the stitches under Neil’s eye, and Neil’s clean white-bandaged hands come up to hang off of his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Andrew’s thumb presses down too hard into the bloody seam of Neil’s skin, and he has to snatch his whole hand back before he rips something. He’s shaking with fury. He knows now that he dissolved their deal while Neil’s feet were dangling over the shredder; as soon as he let him go, he was torn to ribbons.

“Don’t.” It’s all he can say. He puts his arm to Neil’s throat threateningly. “Don’t ever—“ His vision is ruddy, red. He could put Neil in the ground for what he let them do.

Neil’s head lolls backwards; his gaze is ice you can jump up and down on without breaking through.

Andrew imagines himself as a wick that curls and blackens and liquifies everything around it, and then he lets his arm relax. When he does, it smooths down Neil’s chest and comes to rest across his lap.

“Careful with him,” the med student complains. “If we have to stitch him up again, you’re paying for it.”

“Oh, go to hell,” Allison says. At the same time, Andrew jerks towards the whole crowd of gawking hospital staff with intent. In pieces, Neil coaxes his attention back where it belongs. Both of his swaddled hands are raised close enough that if Andrew turned, his mouth would press flat to Neil’s wrist.

“If you continue to interrupt us,” Neil says, “You will be paying for it.”

“Don’t threaten—“

“Don’t bother,” Neil counters. “You can keep pretending that you have any authority and see what happens, or you can get out of our sight and keep those delicate physician’s hands of yours intact.”

To her credit, she bares her teeth before she turns tail, shoving the nurse ahead of her and marching them both down the hallway.

“Ten minutes, or we call security,” she calls behind her.

“I don’t think so,” Neil calls back. It’s such a relief to see Neil’s wounded mouth still spitting. He’s righteous as always, larger-than-life without meaning to be, beautifully bitter.

Andrew keeps being struck by the haunting, muffled feeling that finds you when you’re watching footage of the dead. Neil’s here, in motion, but for the last twenty-four hours, he’s been dying in Andrew’s imagination.

“Threats, threats,” Andrew says flatly. “You are your father’s son.”

The jab lands. Neil’s jaw works, and he looks down at the hands still hovering about Andrew’s neck. His fingers are always finding the heads of Andrew’s hydra when they kiss, each digit eclipsing a ravenous mouth.

“Not anymore,” he says. Without ever making contact, he lowers his hands to his lap. Andrew’s fingers twist immediately in the loose bandaging at his wrist. He is angry, but he needs to be close to Neil so the cold, lucid nightmare of today can warm into a pipedream again.

“You have a knack for killing him. Resurrected and struck down again in 24 hours.”

“I was going to tell you,” Neil says lowly. “The countdown—“

“Do not lie to me.” He thinks of Neil tossing feverishly in bed, waking often, holding his face with the root of both palms. Neil catching his own reflection in the hall mirror and flinching back painfully into the doorframe. All along, it was his father. It’s always family. He should’ve known.

Neil looks vicious for a second, and Andrew is relieved, again, at his fire. “I told you more than I ever thought— I gave you all the pieces but one. You don’t get to—“

“I get to,” Andrew hisses. “I get to ask you whatever the fuck I want.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Neil doesn’t look at him.

“The security, at the show, they worked for my father. They were in the audience, backstage, everywhere. I was trying to keep you safe by going quietly.”

“Quietly,” Andrew repeats.

“I didn’t know they were storming the stage,” Neil says. “If I’d known they were going to hurt you anyway…” he touches the very edge of Andrew’s injured eye. “I might have stayed and fought.” Even as he says it, he doesn’t look like he believes it.

“Your self-sacrifice is getting very old.”

Neil smiles. It’s a hole-punch expression, there and gone, but it leaves a perfect hole. Andrew peers through it and into his racing thoughts.

“I know. But I’d do it again.”

“If you try, I will kill you.”

“I’ll risk it,” he says, lifting his jaw. “How did you find me?”

“Jean Moreau,” Andrew replies. Neil obviously wasn’t expecting it, and he squints, waiting for an explanation. “You told me Riko knew things about your past. Turns out it’s common knowledge among Ravens.”

“You talked to Riko?” Neil asks, hushed.

“You disappeared,” Andrew reminds him. Then, because it’s as unbearable to avoid as it is to look at, he asks, “what happened to your eye?”

Neil shakes his head, so slightly that Andrew’s not sure he knows he’s doing it. “Vegetable peeler.”

Nicky gags, somewhere behind them, and Aaron mutters something low and disgusted.

“They didn’t,” Matt wonders aloud. “Neil—“

Neil swallows, then looks properly towards the sound of his voice. Matt reels back a step, covering his mouth. He and Dan are holding onto one another, and she has to squeeze his shoulder to keep him from falling back further. Kevin makes a small, sad noise, and turns around completely.

“Jesus. What the fuck. Can you see?” Matt asks.

Neil taps his right eye. “Some.”

“Gnarly.”

Andrew is quickly growing impatient. From the periphery of his vision, he can see that the med student has returned, and she and Abby are speaking in hushed tones. They keep glancing sideways at where Neil and Andrew are tangled together. His fingers loop tighter on Neil’s wrists.

“Neil,” Abby calls softly.

“No,” Andrew says.

“Please,” Abby says. Andrew puts a hand on the unblemished side of Neil’s face, gathering his focus again. He looks into that unchanged eye and breathes. “He has bruised ribs. He should be in bed.”

She moves delicately closer, and his anger spikes, hits a ceiling, and sloshes back down over him.

“Get away from us,” he says clearly.

“They’re not done with him,” she says, nervous but insistent. “We have to let him get treated or we have to leave the hospital. Those are the rules.”

“I don’t care,” he says, “about the rules. Come closer and you will be glad you’re in a hospital.”

“Andrew,” she tries. “Neil needs—“

“Abby,” Neil says. “I need this, first. I’m not going to be any less hurt when this conversation is over. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But—“

“It’s okay,” he says firmly. Then, softer, “we’re okay.”

Andrew hears Abby melt back into the rest of the Palmetto crowd, and there are some more restless murmurs exchanged between her and the hospital staff. His thumb swipes through the grey space under Neil’s good eye.

“You know what happened?” Neil guesses quietly.

“You tempted a butcher to violence.”

Neil turns his face just a little into Andrew’s hand. “Whatever I did or didn’t tell you before,” he says, “I’m an orphan now.”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“I didn’t think—I never thought he could be killed like that. They kept me on the line my whole life and all I needed was—a second—just—one second with the upper hand, and they’re gone.”

“All of them?” He thinks of the woman in the pencil skirt, the shadowy security.

Neil hums. “A police officer, too. Wrong place, wrong time, I guess.” He shrugs, like he’s not talking about a macabre parade of casualties.

Andrew shakes his head. “Right place, right time.”

Neil searches his face, then sags with understanding. “You called them,” he says. It’s obvious that this thought hadn’t occurred to him before—that his friends could have risen up to save him, could’ve guessed right, could’ve been in that house with him all along.

Andrew doesn’t answer.

“Thank you,” Neil whispers.

“They’ll be after you, now.”

“Someone always is,” he says wryly. He looks smudgy and sad for a moment. “I’m glad I got to see you again.” It’s such a pathetically earnest goodbye.

“We won’t let them take you,” Andrew says.

Neil’s face droops, and Andrew can tell he’s fighting through all of his pain and exhaustion for composure. They’re both doing it, poorly.

When he speaks again, it’s in coarse German: “I don’t understand. My father was a big enough player to orchestrate the riot that give you that black eye. It’ll be Riko, next. He assured me he would come for us, and you know he doesn’t care who he puts in danger. I’ve been a liability since day one. I stayed in the band even when I knew what damage my visibility could do.”

“You’re on our contract for a reason,” Andrew says.

A laugh bubbles from somewhere helpless and acidic in Neil’s body, and it seems to hurt his mouth on the way out. “What possible reason could you have?” he asks. “You’ve always, always known I was a runaway.”

“Exactly,” Andrew says. “We knew, and we wanted you anyway.”

They both wait, but nothing breaks, once this heavy truth has been splattered out between them.

Neil says, in jittery English, “I want—I know it’s ridiculous, I know what I’ve done, and what it cost, but I want to stay with you. I want to keep this for as long as I can.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Andrew agrees. He thinks of him ebbing out from where Andrew has him pinned, floating out of this hospital, snipped and slippery as a stray balloon. It’s impossible. Losing him doesn’t make any sense. The thought tries to keep its balance but it just slips and falls and slips and falls.

“What are they gonna do, arrest you?” Dan asks. “It’s pretty obvious to me who threw the first punch.”

Neil shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. I covered my tracks back at the house. There’s not much evidence.”

“Then we’ll find witnesses,” Matt says. “Fuck, I’ll testify.”

The corners of Neil’s mouth twitch. “We’ll see,” he says quietly. Andrew knows he’s thinking of Riko, the whole other lobe of this problem that no one else can see well enough to dissect. He looks warily towards Wymack, who scoffs.

“Don’t look at me if you want off the hook. I signed you knowing full well how much of a mess you’d be. Palmetto is richer in problems than it is in talent, look around you,” he says.

“Misfits,” Nicky says winningly. His arms are crossed in such a way that Andrew can tell he’s trying not to reach out to them. “You’re Ausreißer’s frontman, remember? You’re our family.”

“And you still have a tour to finish,” Wymack says. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Neil says quietly.

“Then that’s it,” he says. Neil slumps, fatigued with gratitude, and Andrew fists his hospital gown.

“Get patched up, okay?” Dan says. “Tell the police what a bastard your father was. Come home with us. We’ll figure things out.”

“Thank you,” Neil says. He taps Andrew’s shoulder, and Andrew shifts his hands to Neil’s waist to maneuver them both to standing. “I’ll—you deserve the truth, all of you.”

“We’ll channel all that hurt and betrayal into lyrics,” Allison says, waving a hand. “Seriously.”

“Worry about explanations later,” Wymack says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t want to be getting into the nitty-gritty when security comes.”

Neil nods once. He’s remarkably steady as he walks through the tunnel of living, thrumming worry his friends have made of the hallway. Dan passes him his duffel bag and swipes an affectionate thumb over his bandaged wrist. Nicky reaches for his shoulder, can’t decide where to touch, and gives him a thumbs up instead. Matt tugs on a lock of his hair as they pass.

Andrew walks alongside him; he will not leave until he’s been asked. He’s been searching for Neil with such single-minded intent that keeping pace is all he can do.

“Going with him, are you?” Allison asks Andrew snidely. There is a brown bruised shadow on her cheek where Andrew slapped her.

Renee jostles her good-naturedly. “Take care,” she says, to both of them. To Neil, she reprimands, “you scared us.” She’s tugging her cross back and forth so it cuts into her neck a little, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture.

“Sorry,” Neil says dumbly. All of their affection is unfamiliar to his palette, but especially Renee’s. He usually swirls it in his mouth like wine and spits it out, but this time he considers its vintage, finishes the glass, then buys the whole bottle.

They reach the end of the hall together, stepping over the discarded basin and scattered instruments. Andrew watches Neil compensate for his pain, favouring one side so his posture can’t crush his ribs, reaching out to the doorframe so his depth perception doesn’t fail him.

There’s almost nothing about Neil in tatters that is easier than Neil, missing.

Together, they look out on his kicked over bed, toppled IV stand, and overturned plastic bag of unwearable clothes. There’s a pill bottle and stout tub of ointment on the bedside table.

“Did you find my key to the house?” Neil asks.

Andrew swallows. He imagines he can feel the shape of it against his thigh through the denim. He often grazed it, in passing, over the course of their rabid, nighttime chase, thinking of how many times Neil had done the same. “It’s how I knew,” he says simply.

Neil breathes out, easing himself onto the side of the other bed in the room. “I thought so. You know I wouldn’t—“

“I know.”

Neil unzips his bag and produces a soft, blue shirt. He looks at it for a long moment, and then he starts to cry. “Oh,” he says. “Don’t let me,” he reaches for his ruined eye, and clenches his teeth, choking, “I can’t—cry.“

Andrew crosses briskly to the bed and slides a hand over the back of his neck. “Breathe,” he commands. He plucks the shirt from Neil’s loose hands and holds it to his eye like a compress. “Breathe.”

The uncovered side of his face is flushed and twisted. “I never thought they’d let me come back.”

“Then you haven’t been paying attention,” Andrew snaps.

He frowns, looking somehow fierce and leonine in his grief. “No,” he admits. “I was afraid of getting attached to—to Neil, to everything he represents.”

“Well I’m not interested in Nathaniel,” Andrew says, watching Neil’s face travel over complicated hills and valleys with words like interest and Nathaniel. “He is long dead. It’s always been Neil who nobody could touch.”

“Not nobody,” Neil whispers. Andrew closes his eyes. They sit together, in the windowless white room, hip to hip.

“Neil Abram Josten,” Neil says, wondering, perfect, like he stole the name from a fantasy.

Andrew opens his eyes, and it’s like waking up from a bad dream.

#kubrick wishes he were me #the foxhole court #aftg #andreil #rockband au #tfc fanfic #mine #violence tw #for real for real for real #gore tw #im sorry this is so late grad school got me #anyway she loves an em dash

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