#bobby skeetz fanfiction

[killersfool]

hiiii i’ve a wee fluff imagine idea for bobby!! : )

bobby and the reader live together in a flat in dublin and the reader goes to trinity uni to study english literature (or smt else that has like a lot of reading and essay writing anol that craic) and she’s falling behind in a lot of her assignments and it’s all piling up and she’s just all overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to cope.

she ends up breaking down into sobs or shutting down at random points in the day due to stress and rob hasn’t got a clue what’s wrong and keeps noticing these random break downs throughout the week.

basically he comforts reader and helps to organise herself and just all fluffy cute comfort fic <333

If I could flip back time, bend the seconds and go back three years ago, I would do it right now.

Pile after pile of flashcards, annotated books with pastel post-it notes shooting out of the sides, folders of Irish poetry I can hardly understand, tattered photocopies of Hozier lyrics, every work of Shakespeare staring at me from my overcrowded booksheld — dusty, messy, probably even dank. Miss Carter has decided to set three more assignments onto my workload for the week. An essay on crime fiction (I haven't even read the first book on the reading list), my creative writing portfolio and then another essay analysing a piece poetry of my choice. Reading and highlighting Hozier's lyrics of 'I, Carrion (Icarian)' is the only thing keeping me going. Phoebe Bridgers blasts through my ears. It's quarter to 11. I need a break. An early night would be nice. Or TV. But do I really want to sit next to Robert whilst he watches his weird YouTube videos?

I kick my table. Not out of anger. Not out of irritation. I just want to see all of my notes topple ontp the floor. They do. Then I'm kicking the table three more times. Or maybe eight. All my flashcards are on the carpeted  floor, next to my discarded, empty packet of pinballs. I'd stolen them from Robert's stash. He'll never find out.

Climbing over my pile of unread books by my doorway, I push open the door. It squeaks. Some oiling would be nice. Trinity college really provides the best for their students! 

I still wish my roommate was also doing English, someone to bond with over shared trauma, to gossip about our nightmarish teachers and fellow students. But no, this guy is doing a degree in bloody mathematics. The complete dichotomy of English. No similarities. No way of comparing the courses to eachother. Him and his terrifying videos that he watches with his shoes up on the armrest, cheek in his open palm, drinking a cup of tea. Like it's that simple. Numbers and sin, cos, tan and circle theorems and whatever tragic nonsense is being spouted in his lectures.

He hardly speaks to me. Three years together and I barely know him. Sometimes I tag along with him when he goes out for breakfast. Once every two weeks. Sunday morning. We talk about school, about friends, about anything that pops in our heads. Yesterday we spoke about music. He originally wanted to pursue a career in music. A band. But they didn't work out. He took a gap year to pursue this group. So he's a year older than all of the other third years. He doesn't let that faze him. When he told me stories about his band, 'Inhaler', I had to lose eye contact, look down at the pink marshmellos floating about in my cup. He looked lost. This wasn't the place for him. He missed the confidence upon stage, the ability of making something out of nothing. Life is unfair. That is when I realised it. Hearing about shattered dreams and names of songs that were never produced.

I also realise life is unfair right now, as I accidentally bang my hip onto the kicthen island, the knife-like corner lodging itself into my skin. It's like the world is against me. 

Sometimes I wonder if Robert thinks I'm an idiot. I feel like I'm an idiot when I walk past his bedroom, hunched over his laptop, headphones on as he works through the most difficult maths questions I've ever encountered in my life. He makes university seem easy. Has his allocated times for study, going out with friends, the gym, practicing bass, going though record shops, meals, watching TV. Everytime he gets home, he drops his things down in the kitchen. I sneak a glance at the big green 'A*' on all of his test papers. I look up to him. His intelligence, his masterful management of time. I'm always too frightened to ask him how he does it. He'll think I'm stalking him. 

Me, on the other hand, I waste time. I don't have balance. I never have time to be with my friends. Always locked up in my room. A prisoner. Essay after essay. Poem after poem. Book after book. A constant cycle I've been in for three whole years. The stress is weighing down on me like a hundred bags of bricks. I need to stop for a second. To breathe in. To calm down.

So I do the last thing I would normally do. I go into the living room and sit beside Robert on the sofa. He's half asleep, jeans cuffed, hair all over his face. He sees me walk in, glances up, eyes big and speculting. He instantly moves his spindly, spider-like legs from the armrest to give me some space. I can hear some sort of maths video playing on the TV. I'm scared. At least it's not English. I'm immune to maths. It doesn't affect me anymore. Whatever logorhythmic scale this American YouTube man is yapping about isn't making my face contort at all — it's like sorcery.

This could be a way of winding down. Maths. I'm calmer now. No changes of focus or narrowing of perspective. No pathetic fallacy or magical realism. Just messes of words that don't really make sense at all.

"'D'you want to watch TV? I can turn this off if you want." Robert has his thumb on the home button.

"Leave it on. I just need a moment."

He dubiously puts the remote back down. He yawns, stretching out his arms and leaning back. I hate it when boys do that. With his parted, manspreaded legs, adams apple bobbing, head rolled back. It's idiotic. Completely idiotic. He doesn't seem too intrigued by Mr American man. The video is a guy next to a whiteboard writing millions of brain-numbing equtions. Robert is nodding along. I think I'm going to cry. I don't know why I want to right now. My hip is actually starting to throb and ache. I look down at my jeans. There's a hole in them. There's blood. It's wet. I hadn't noticed before. It's properly pouring out blood.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I exclaim, hand pressing down onto the cut through my jeans.

Robert swiftly nears me. He's looking at me up and down, hands trying to find a place to move to. It's dark in the room. He reaches for the lamp switch. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm bleeding. Jesus christ. That kills. Fuck me."

He passes me his jacket and says, "Apply some pressure." 

Then he runs out of the room. Fast as a plane. A man on a mission. Long curls dancing to the rhythm of his steps. Mr American man won't shut up about algebraic expressions. He's got a really bald head. Glimmering. 

Robert is back. He has bandages. I don't know where he got those from. Antiseptic wipes, plasters, sweets, even a cup of tea. He was only gone for about five seconds. How did he manage to get all of that? He hands me the cup of tea and sweets whilst asking, "What happened?"

"I walked into the island like an eejit. I'm so feckin' stupid."

"Just breathe, okay. You're not an eejit. I do that every day." 

I have to unzip my jeans to let him check the cut. Which is awkward, to say the least. He's looking at me like a doctor — not really caring about seeing my skin — but I'm still so shy around him. He sees me struggle with the button. He undoes it, fingers coming in contact with mine. They're slender. So very perfect for the bass guitar. Then he's unzipping my jeans. Only the tiniest bit. A mere centimetre of my knickers appear out of the top. Any more than that and I'd be flush as a tomato. I've always had a little crush on Robert. Being stuck with a really smart bass guitarist with the dreamiest eyes for three years is enough to make a person fall. The reason I've been avoiding him lately has been due to that fact. I don't want to make it obvious.

He finds the cut. It's bled through my knickers, making a big blot of dark red. He pulls down the waistband of my pants, prepared to wipe the wound. I have to grind my teeth together to prevent a sob from escaping me. I'm crying. Stressed and hurt and just wanting to dissolve into nothing. The cold draft of wind isn't improving the situation. If only there was no such thing as coursework and I couldn't glide my way through university like Robert. 

More and more blood. I think I might pass out. The blue-eyed boy is knelt down on the floor, knees biting into the carpet so that he can properly see where to put the bandage. 

"So how's English going?" He's not looking at me. Only at the wound. I don't think he's noticed that I'm crying. I don't want him to. I cover my face with bloody hands, accidentally smearing the metallic substance onto my nose. 

I don't know what to say. Do I tell him how much I regret picking it? Do I make this already awkward situation about ten times worse? I hate when people pity me. I hate when I feel like eyes are lingering for far too long when I cry. But when Robert looks at me, it's different. The pools of serenity circling his iris aren't looking down at me with a sort of aristocracy. That's how my English peers stare me down. No, instead, he's looking at me like there's a billion questions rushing across his forehead. He just needs to decide which one to ask. Or to simply say nothing. Like I am. We've both learnt how to cohabit in silence. To walk past eachother and ignore the feathers of conversation falling between us. We're busy. Always busy. Except for those perfect Monday mornings that I always look forward to. Especially the one time when he showed me around his favourite record store. He had asked me to choose him a record to buy. I walked through the entire shop, fingers shifting records, reading unfamiliar artist names. Then, I saw it, the — now bane of my existence — Hozier's 'unreal unearth'. He bought it. He'd told me he only really knew 'Take Me To Church'. I'd leant against the till as he paid and said, 'it'll change your life.' Then he'd locked himself in his room. Through the ever so thin walls — paper thin — I could hear each track hum into my room. I never got the chance to talk to him about the album. I think the thought of bringing it up made me feel sick — due to the English essay upstairs still waiting patiently to be finished.

Now there is an excuse. To talk. I'm injured. I don't want to move. He's still attempting to wrap a bandage over my stomach, then across my back until it's around my torso. I feel his fingers graze my skin with every subtle movement, along my spine, the small of my back, my abdomen, my hip bone. He's still looking at me. Searching. Like I'm a new island and he's an explorer trying to name me.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He finally talks again. His words are throaty, emananting from the pits of his throat. He's still wrapping, waiting for an answer.

"Just college. You know. It's killing me."

He shakes his head. "You're so smart."

"Says you."

He shakes his head. "Look, this might be a bit weird but sometimes when you leave random essays lying around or even creative writing. I read them. They're incredible. Your mind just works in such an interesting way."

I'm at a loss for words. He reads those? Those are usually just failed attempts that I toss aside. Scrap paper. Strange drawings. I don't even want to look at them.

"You get top grades in every test," I sigh. "I'm barely passing. I'm the worst in the class. My professors hate me, I've got so much work, I'm falling behind in every assignment—"

Then I'm properly crying. Sobbing. Breathing so heavily I think I might collapse. Heaving. Sniffling. Covering my face so he can't see me. I'm like a child. Pathetic. Stupid. Worthless. I was never good enough for Trinity. Why did they let me in?

Warm arms, press of skin. Just above the wound, over my chest, arms dig into my body, hugging me from behind. Head burrowing onto my shoulders, knees into the sofa. His lips ghost the back of my neck. Tears are falling down. He turns me around to face him. I hate how he's seeing me like this. My cries are usually saved for when he's out with friends or blasting music on his record player. He's never seen me this vulnerable, just utterly ripped into shreds by the hands of life. His scent is making me feel better, the tissue now on my cheek makes me feel better, the quiet words of 'breathe, let it all out, it's okay' make me feel better. He's calming me down. I start to forget what I was even crying about when I look into his eyes. This intense eye contact. Remembering his height. Even sat down, his torso is far longer than mine.

"I've got an idea," he murmurs, peeling his body away. I miss the warmth. I miss the touch. 

"What is it?"

"We should go somewhere. Get out for a bit. Say it's a 'mental health field trip'." He curls his fingers to accentuate the apostrophes."Maybe down to the Cliffs of Moher. When you're all healed up of course."

"Give me a week."

"A week? I'll be the judge of that." He raises an eyebrow, now tying up the bandage.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"I'm actually first aid trained. Did it in my first week of uni." He takes a deep breath, settles back onto the sofa. 

I take a sip of my tea. My eyes are surely blotchy and red. I bet there's mascara all over my face. "Thank you so much."

"No problem at all. Do you want to tell me what's going on? Is there any way I can help?" He's referring to my school work. "I was alright at English in high school. No where near as good as you are. But maybe another opinion might help you."

"I'm really stuck on a Hozier analysis."

"I never told you how much I love that album. It's perfect." His eyes glow like they do when he's talking about something he loves. Usually it's caused by talking about playing bass, but right now it's due to the beauty of Hozier's music. "I learned the bass line of De Selby part two."

"Show me. Now." I don't even ask. It's simply a demand. Anything to take my mind away from that cut still bleeding profusely. A little concert would be nice. Especially if said concert involves watching Robert play bass. I sometimes peek through the crack in the doorway to see him sat down on his bed, pick between his index and thumb, bass guitar on his lap, headphones over his ears. The pure concentration on his face is unparalleled. Notes thrum quietly through the room. He falls into any piece of music.

"Alright." He laughs at my enthusiasm. "Then I'll help with your English."

"Thanks." This is probably the most I've ever spoken to him. I'm mumbling each word, not wanting to look into his eyes.

He disappears once again. This time I hear the thudding footsteps over creaky floorboards. I hear a door squeak open, the faint patter of rain upon the ceiling, the quiet murmur of distant sirens as night blooms. It's tranquil. For a moment, I'm at peace. Until I remember the stack of unread books in my bedroom. I groan into my hands. Everything just keeps getting worse and worse and—

He's back. Not empty handed. Bass in one hand, Hozier lyrics and my pencil case in the other.

"I emailed your professor about the trip. I'm sure she'll be okay with it." He's off again. He comes through the door with his amp and lead. He plugs both in. 

"You're a life saver, Rob," I say.

He starts twisting around the knobs on the bass. Volume up. Then he's tuning. He smiles up at me. I think I'm staring. I think he can tell. His long fingers, tattoos, rings. It's all too much. My fingers are restlessly tapping the armrest. My legs are up on the coffee table. He pulls out his phone and plays the song. Then I'm lost in the music. His eyes are closed as he slides his fingers up and down the neck of the bass, as he stomps his feet down on the carpet to every drum beat. If only I could go back to the days I'd go to concerts every day. If only I could go back and see 'Inhaler' on a world tour, watch Robert from the crowd, completely in his element. Exhilarated, chanting, knowing every lyric like it's my mother tongue. Sometimes I wonder what life could've been like if the band had worked out. If the world did realise just how incredible they are. But, here, appreciating each pluck of every string, the grin as he watches me. I can't take that for granted. 

#robert keating fanfiction #bobby skeetz fanfiction #bobby skeetz #inhaler band #inhaler imagines #inhaler oneshots #robert keating #fanfiction #inhaler dublin #inhaler fanfiction #josh jenkinson #elijah hewson #trinity college #inhalerimagines #inhaler oneshot #inhaler x reader #inhaler fanfic #inhaler imagine #bobbyskeetz #bobby skeetz x reader #inhaler #fanfics #ryan mcmahon

[msmoony7]

need my inhaler fics to get the same amount of likes as my marauders ones😩😩

#harry potter #marauders #hogwarts #inhaler #inhalerdublin #marauders fanfiction #james potter oneshot #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #eli hewson #elijah hewson #bobbyskeetz #bobby skeetz #robert keating #ryan mcmahon inhaler #ryan mcmahon #josh jenkinson

[d0llfaac3]

No.1 party anthem prt 2

Pairing: Ryan McMahon x rockstar!f!reader

Warnings: mentions of sex 🤭 and mild swearing probably

Social media au

Y.n.L.n (instagram story)

Y.n.L.n

Just some recent pics xx

Liked by bobbyskeetz, ryanmcmahon, user2 and 34,263 others

inhalerdublin: I wonder who that is…🤭

User1: they know something we don’t..

User2: mother is mothering rn

View recently deleted comments

ryanmcmahon: ur so pretty xx

ryanmcmahon (instagram acc)

We officially made it official @y.n.L.n

Liked by Y.n.L.n, Inhalerdublin and 27,456 others

Y.n.L.n: guys I know it the sec picture looks bad but I promise I kissed him after it 🫶🏻

ryanmcmahon: it was a bit more than just kissing princess..

elijahhewson: PLEASE get a room

ryanmcmahon: can’t a man be happy?? ☹️

Yourmumsaccount: Ryan I’ve heard all about you from Y/n! I hope you two are behaving ❤️

ryanmcmahon: as always ms L.n

inhalerdublin: the tiny one finally pulled

ryanmcmahon: leave me alone Bobby 😭😭

Y.n.L.n

He’s my little princess 🫶🏻

Tagged: @ryanmcmahon

Inhalerdublin: wear protection xx

ryanmcmahon: LEAVE ME ALONE ELI

Y.n.L.n: rawdogger till i die (it’s a joke Eli don’t shit urself)

Yourbandaccount: girl we’re so happy for the both of you, we hope you two stay together because it’s obvious that you two LOOVE each other

Y.n.L.n: NEVER DO THAT AGAIN IM SOBBING

Ryanmcmahon: honestly couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend, I get all in one, a rockstar, a cuddler, a romantic partner and a personal groupie, pretty good if u ask me

Y.n.L.n: what the fuck Ryan 😭

***************

Gang they got together I had no idea how to finish this off so ITS BADDD

#ryan mcmahon x you #ryan mcmahon x reader #ryan mcmahon inhaler #ryan mcmahon #inhaler band #elijah hewson x reader #eli hewson #elijah hewson #bobby skeetz #robert keating #bobby skeetz x reader #josh jenkinson #josh jenkinson x reader #inhaler dublin #inhaler #social media au #rockstar x reader #rockstar gf aesthetic #rockstar gf #obx fanfiction

[killersfool]

fluff w bobby! idk smth like hurt/comfort. maybe she’s had a bad date and goes to bobby and they like confess , idrk but i think that’d be cute

Comfort | ROBERT KEATING

thank you for the request !!

PAIRING: robert keating x f!reader

WORDS: 3.4k

SUMMARY: reader goes on a terrible date. she calls her old work friend, rob, who comforts her and opens up about some hidden feelings.

GENRE: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, fluff

WARNINGS: references to eating disorder

The worst date of my life occured on a Tuesday afternoon, starting at exactly 8.43pm. For starters, the guy was late, 13 minutes late on the dot. Never trust your Tinder matches. I guess I should've figured out what a mess the whole thing would be. I'd sat down at a window seat in Nando's. Sun glowed gently across the table. It gave me a positive outlook on the whole thing. But by the end of the evening, as I left that dreaded restaurant with a soggy bag of chips in my right hand, I was holding back tears. Rain was pouring. My umbrella had broken. Dark clouds had appeared in the sky. Pathetic fallacy. I could hardly even breathe as I sat down in the train. 

My first port of call — for some odd reason — was my old work friend. Rob and I had worked together in a restaurant just down my street. We'd been through hell together. My worst memory was when I dropped about ten glasses across the kitchen floor, accidentally smashing them to pieces. The manager heard the crash ring out through the entire restaurant. He ran through the kitchen doors. They swung open as if he was a wild beast prepared to eat me whole. Bones and all. This was the first time I'd made a major mistake as a kitchen porter. I was trying to prepare myself for the incessant shouting to soon ensue. But before I could even build a wall around me, a hand grabbed mine and pulled me out of the kitchen. I wasn't sure who it was grabbing my pinky finger or why they were helping me escape but I didn't complain, I just let them lead me through the main restaurant where guests were staring at us with patient eyes. They really believed we were running around just to ask for their order.

The long mane of curly hair made me realise who was dragging me alone. Robert Keating. The waiter who's sarcasm was off the charts. Each time he came into the kitchen, he'd be going on a rant about how stupid the job was and how much he hated the manager. Most of the chefs agreed. But they'd make sure to put on cheery faces whenever Mr Jacob came in to check everything was alright. Robert had worn Doc Martens to the beach when they had a dinner party to celebrate 10 years of the restaurant. I had made sure to come along with my best dress on and trainers. Robert had appeared with some Doc Marten boots, red shorts and Joy Division shirt, assuring everyone that his boots were 'made for walking on sandy terrain'. Then he complained about them for the entire time. He didn't make any sense.

Once we'd escaped through the front door of 'Jacob's Pizza', we continued running down the street until we got to the park. I knew by that moment I'd sure be fired. No one was running after us. No one really gave two shits about us. We weren't a necessity to the work force. We were just there. Looming.

Rob had sat down on one of the kid's swings (the tiny ones that you can't get into once you grow out of them). He allowed his infinitely long legs to dangle off the edge—not putting them through the holes because he'd surely get stuck which would've been a very Rob thing to do. The park was empty. It was a Tuesday evening. Stars lined the sky. Rob patted the swing next to him, asking me through his motions to join him. I complied. Awkwardly slotted myself in a mildly comfortable position onto the swing. I grabbed onto the rusty chains which had been there for dozens of years. Paint ripped away by years of use, years of bad weather.

"Mr Jacob didn't deserve us. We were too good for him." Sixteen-year-old Rob always thought quite highly of himself—not to the point of being a show off—but just enough to make you shake your head. The use of the collective pronoun was different for him. A change to usual. He was including me in his declaration of greatness. His blue eyes were shining and he'd thrown his apron to the ground. Black button-up shirt and black trousers. His smile was a lighthouse, illuminating that stretch of grass before us.

"I fucked up. Sorry, Rob." I'd looked away from him. Wrung my fingers together, picked at my nails. We'd been working there for months. Of course I had to be the one to make a mistake.

"Hey, don't worry. There's loads of jobs around here. I'm sure you'll find somewhere else," he assured. He reached out a hand between the two swings, let it linger on my shoulder. I followed suit with him. Chucked my apron into the nearest bin. One of those bins that never get emptied. Overflowing with fizzy drinks and sweet packets.

I allowed my head to drop down onto his hand. His fingers took a short hike through my hair. 

He then started to laugh. "How the fuck did you drop all those glasses? I swear you purposely tipped the tray over."

"What if I did?" I smirked. It had been accident. Or maybe my irritation at the place just wanted to come out. 

Rob was pressing his shoes to the ground, trying to make the swing fly upwards. He'd smiled to himself at my words. "Then I thank you for your service. I'd been trying to get out of there for a while. My band are getting way more gigs and the job was getting in the way of everything."

"Your band? You've never told me about that." I was intrigued. I had no idea he played an instrument. I knew that he loved The Strokes as he'd always put them on the kitchen playlist. I couldn't imagine him on a stage. Performing. Making music. It was the last thing I'd expected he'd do.

"Yeah. We've called it Inhaler. An ode to Eli's asthma—"

"Hewson? He's in it? Fuck no." I'd never been the biggest fan of Elijah. He'd dated my friend and left her heartbroken. I'd never personally spoken to guy but from a distance, I was the slightest bit terrified of him. 

"I had no choice! He forced me into it."

"So he's singing, right? Then you're playing what?"

"Bass."

"Really? That's..."

"So sexy. I know."

That's when I shook my head, smiling. His face was serious but as my teeth appeared, so did his. We were both laughing at nothing, giddy because of the air cooling our cheeks. Just his presence, him being next to me, made me feel so much warmer.

Now my eyes are teary, my throat is raw. I'm sat in the corner of a train compartment. Toddlers are screaming at their parents, music is blasting in my ears and the fields turn to blurs of green as I lean back into my seat. 

The guy was a prick. A self-centered waste of time who thought the whole world revolved around him and only him. I was asking all the questions. He didn't want to know anything about me. His mouth would never stop moving. I hardly got a single word into any conversation. He showed off about his job, his money, the university he went to and he joked about how much I ate. He'd stared at my stomach when I stood up, as if he was trying to measure my waist with his eyes. That's when I just walked out of the place, taking my remaining chips with me. I don't know why I even agreed to go. He wasn't even nice on the app.

Phone ringing. Hand over my stomach. I had gained weight. I'd started eating more than I had months ago. Food was a comfort, food was a memory-store, food was something to keep me going. There were all kinds of flavours that would bring me back to figments of my past. Eating was a way to reminisce and a way to make new memories. It had irked me—that look in his eye, the raise of a brow. I was skinnier on my Tinder profile. But back then I wasn't happy. Constantly focused on my calorie intake, on how much exercise I had done in a week. 

"Hello?" Rob picks up. His words play through my headphones. His voice hasn't changed since I last saw him. It's still low and raspy.

I sniffle, finding it hard to even get my words out. I can see in the train window that my skin is blotchy and red. My bottom lip is quivering. I'm trying to hold everything in. I'm like a bomb on the verge of explosion. I don't like crying. I especially don't like crying on a train where eyes are glancing over in my direction.

"You alright?" He whispers. It's 10pm and I'm wondering what he's been doing. Has he been at a show? I've been trying to keep a track of where they've been going on their tour. Right now he could be absolutely anywhere. The last I heard he was in Scotland.

"What are you up to?" I try to divert the conversation to him. I just want to hear him talk. Anything he tells me, I'll listen.

"I'm back home in Dublin. Eating mince pies. I know it's early but my Ma is too obsessed with Christmas for her own good. It's what, 2nd of November? And she's already got her tree up. Tinsel and everything. What's up with you? You sound different. Has Eli been giving you shit again? That gobshite needs his head knocked in."

He's in Dublin. I'm in Dublin. 

"I miss your Ma." I remember the one time we walked home from work together. His Ma had given me a lung constricting hug. She'd thought I was Rob's girlfriend. Told me that he non-stop talked about me. I didn't believe her. I still don't believe her. I could never see Rob having a crush on anyone, let alone me. "It's nothing to do with Eli. Although I agree, he is a little bitch. It's actually this shitty bloke I met on Tinder. He thought he was all that. Most boring guy I've met in my life."

"Instagram, please?"

"I don't trust you with anyone's Instagram."

"At least tell me his name. I want to make fun of him."

"Albert."

"What a name. Honestly, I'm thinking about getting my name legally changed to that. Albert. Wow. I'm impressed." 

"He told me his nickname was 'Alby'. I almost laughed." I smile to myself, wiping tears away. I hear Rob snort through the phone. 

"Found his Instagram. That was easy. He looks weird. Shit hairline."

"Rob!!! Keep away from his DM's please."

He went silent. He was most definitely already sending him stupid messages. I didn't really mind. The guys deserved shit after what he put me through. Two hours of nonsense. At least the food was good. Nando's is my favourite.

"Aren't you in Dublin? Do you want to come play some bird bingo? It's been a while since I saw you. We've got at least a years supply of mince pies."

I'm cheesing. Sucking in quick breaths as my tears stop falling. The train comes to a halt in the station. My head is leaning against the window, my mouth opens wide as I see a figure sat down on a bench. That familiar mop of hair, those shining eyes, an entire bass guitar case sat beside him. I'm gobsmacked.

The call ends before I can try to speak. Before long, my legs are moving and I'm shuffling through crowds, trying to find the exit. Maybe I was just imagining him. Maybe I just wanted him to be there. But then I'm outside the train, walking down the platform and two arms wrap around my stomach. 

"Hey," is all he says, straight into my ear.

He isn't usually this touchy. We used to go for coffee and he'd never hug me. We weren't that kind of friends. Now his arms are holding me flush against his chest and his hair is tickling my ear and I just want to close my eyes and blow the world away.

I turn around to face him. His hands are still on my waist, scrunching the material of my jumper. He has a cardigan on, his eyelashes are so long, he's watching me with worry etched upon his features. 

Then I break down. I can't deal with it anymore. I can't hold it in.

"Sweetheart..." He pulls me straight into his chest, hands cupping my head like it's going to split into two. I sob into his cardigan. My palms are against his shoulderblades and his head is on my shoulder. I can feel his nose smush into my skin and he mumbles quiet comforts into the air. "He doesn't deserve you. He's an idiot. Piece of shit." Words of comfort are usually just insults from Rob—but they still make me feel way better.

I don't know what I would've done without him. I keep imagining myself going home and crying into my pillow, no one there to tell me it'll be okay. I'm so glad he's here. I'm so glad he's holding me.

"Let's go home?" He pulls me away the slightest bit just to see my face. His thumb jumps just beneath my eye, wiping away the falling tears. He then gently kisses my nose. I'm shocked and confused. The warmth of his lips against my freezing nose is a welcome relief. I'm sure a sigh escaped my lips at the gesture. 

I'm not sure which home he means. His or mine. But wherever we're going, I'll follow him. I want to be somewhere warm. I want to eat some nice, warm food and forget that guy ever even existed. Rob still has an arm around me as we walk through the station. He gives me a packet of tissues and buys me a hot chocolate from Starbucks. Even whilst carrying his entire bass along on his other shoulder, he makes sure to keep an arm around my back, fingers curled over my waist. 

"How come you've got your bass?" I taste the hot chocolate. It burns my tongue. My spare hand points along the rather massive case which is definitely heavy.

"I was practicing with the band. I was about to head home when you called me so I ran to the station instead."

"So you lied about the mince pies?"

"Oh no. That is very true. You'll see when we get back. I just lied about where I was—you know, for the surprise element."

His then. We are going to his. I've never been inside his house before. I've only walked down his street and glanced through the windows. He'd always have the best Halloween decorations. The Keating house was always a go to in order to get the best sweets. His mum would come out dressed in the most flamboyant costume possible. Rob would always be standing beside her, forced forwards with a bag of sweets in his hands. 

Up past his parents' cars. Still some Halloween stickers on the windowsill and pumpkins next to the welcome mat. He twists his key in the door. It clicks and opens up to a corridor. He was right about the Christmas decorations. Snow globes on a bookshelf,  wreath on the door, Christmas tree lights are colourful through the window. The whole living room is dark green.

The house is silent. The dishwasher is wildly spinning and wind is wailing. Other than that it is extremely quiet. And warm. So very warm. I can actually feel my fingers now. 

Rob takes my hand once I've pulled off my shoes. He pulls me along into the living room, we crash down onto the sofa.

"Tell me everything," he says. He stretches out his legs and places his feet on the coffee table. He has fluffy socks that have the face of a red robin. "All the nitty gritty. Get it all out of your system."

"I don't even know where to start." I pull at the skin of my cheek, look up at the ceiling. "We went to Nando's. It was my idea. I got there bang on time but had to wait for ages for him to get there. He was late—"

"First red flag."

"Right? I should've just left. Anyway, he came in. Blamed his lateness on traffic when he literally lived in the town I went to. Like wouldn't you just walk? He ordered hardly any food then got all weird when I ordered my usual. I had a pudding too. He was just so judgy. He told me about his degree in Maths and how he was doing a phD. He didn't seem to impressed about my Law degree. He barely even let me talk. Then the last thing, the cherry on top, was when he stared at my belly when I stood up as if I had some kind of disease. I felt ill. I've never been so insecure in my life."

Rob's mouth was open wide, jaw dropped. He kept his eyes on mine. Listening. It was so nice to have someone just hear what I was saying for once. 

"You're the prettiest, most intelligent girl— I'm going to have a right word with that nob— I'm going to have a right fucking word with him. He thinks he can just..." His burst of emotions makes him stand up and pace around the room. I smile at his compliments but frown when he starts to get angry.

"It's fine. I'm here now. I don't have to think about him again."

Rob sits down again. Then his head falls onto my stomach. He closes his eyes. His arm reaches over for the coffee table. He grabs two mince pies. One for me, one for him. Bending his arm and extending it, he passes one up to me. I gratefully take it. I peel off the metal then take a bite. It’s delicious. Rob is smiling up at me. There’s a little pastry on his chin. I wipe it away with my thumb. My finger seems to have a mind of its own. It starts to trace lines along his face. Beauty spot to beauty spot. Like his skin is paper and I’m doing a join the dot. My thumb lands back on his lips and I trace along the two pink shapes. A little chapped, warm and soft. He opens his eyes again. 

Then I’m hit by this weird feeling. Like I’m reaching a high. Or I’m slamming the accelerator. Or I’m at a claw machine and finally win a prize. That hum of euphoria, singing through your ears. He’s twisting his head on my belly like it’s a pillow. My thumb is still at the corner of his mouth. My heart is beating in my ears. There’s something clicking. A realisation.

I’m in love with Rob. I’ve always been in love with him.

“Look, I know this is a really bad time to say this,” Rob speaks. His words a gruff. I listen intently. 

“What’s up?” I brush his hair out of his face. Curls between my fingers.  

“You’ll think I’m stupid.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

Rob closes his eyes again. He breathes out. He looks for my other hand and places it on his chest, his hand resting just above it. I can feel his heart pounding like crazy. I never knew a human heart could move so quickly. I never knew that here, in this dimly lit room, after my heart has been torn into two separate pieces I’d be feeling Rob’s heart under my fingertips.

“Geez, Rob. Am I that scary?” I stroke his hair again, his fingers now grazing my knuckles.

“Yeah, terrifying.” 

“Just tell me. What is it?”

“I love you.”

The whole room falls apart. My whole body feels like it’s been ripped into two then sewn back together. His eyes close again but he peeks a little with his left one just to gauge my reaction. I’ve stopped moving. My brain isn’t working. 

“Christ. Really?” I whisper.

“Yes. I think of you every time I buy pizza, every time it’s Halloween, every time I’m drinking from a glass. Everywhere I go, you’re there. Whenever we went for coffee, I’d feel empty when you left. It just—even when you told me about this date. I was jealous at first. I want to take you on dates and fall in love with you even more.”

He sits up. He grabs onto both of my cheeks.

“I love you too,” I say before pulling him into a kiss.

#robert keating #bobby skeetz #inhaler band #inhaler fanfiction #inhaler dublin #elijah hewson #inhaler x reader #inhaler imagines #robert keating fanfiction #bobby skeetz fanfiction #inhaler oneshot #inhaler imagine #inhaler oneshots #fanfiction

[killersfool]

You Might Get What You Want | ROBERT KEATING

PAIRING: robert keating x original f!character

GENRE: childhood frenemies to lovers

SUMMARY: lucia (luz), nieve ella’s keyboardist, has an estranged history with inhaler—especially with the band’s bassist, bobby. their fiery hatred for eachother rapidly blossoms into something sweet, especially when she learns that he wrote a song about her.

WORDS: 5.8k

WARNINGS: kissing, swearing, alcohol use, mild sexual content

Being Nieve Ella's keyboardist has completely altered the course of my life. Only eight months ago, I was doing my second year of uni, trying to get through a Music course and completely regretting all of my life choices. My favourite part of the day would be getting home and sitting at my piano, writing songs and posting them on Tiktok. Views racked up, followers kept coming in and I think I realised how well everything was going when Laufey commented on my cover of 'Like The Movies'. Then about two weeks later, an email shot through my phone—literally like a bullet to skin. I dropped the rectangular device to the ground mid-lecture, hand on my mouth, teeth in my lip. 

Nieve Ella had asked me to join her on tour. With Inhaler.

At first I was laughing, then I was bawling with endless tears of happiness and now I'm on my final show still feeling woozy and adrenaline is banging through my brain. The whole band have become my best friends. And, quite shockingly, me and Inhaler have a weird shared history. I've known them since I was really young. I used to watch their first gigs at tiny venues where they'd run around in the crowd and hardly anyone knew the lyrics. I went to the same school as Bobby, Eli and Ryan who were a bunch of madmen. They'd let me hang out with them backstage or at practice and jam before they finally found a 'proper' keyboardist (Louis). To be honest, I'd always been slightly salty that I never got into the band. But I guess we were never close enough and I could be quite horrible to Bobby — but honestly, he deserved it. He was a whiny, teenage nightmare. Still is. Except he's not a teenager anymore.

Thankfully, Nieve Ella and the band take a train separate to Inhaler. I don't have to hear Bobby's jests 24/7.  Today we're heading to Dublin. The final stop of the Cuts and Bruises tour. It's been a long ride but it's all been worth it. I've had the best time ever. I'm listening to the Strokes, a song Bobby recommended to me a few weeks ago. It's been on my mind ever since and I can't stop hearing the same chords and riffs over and over. Even when my headphones leave my ears. The song is 12:51 and funnily enough Bobby has a tattoo right on his bicep with those exact numbers. The lads gave us a rather enjoyable tattoo tour with reasons for each of their inked designs. 

I lay back my head against the cushioned seat.  I like this, I prefer it to what I was doing before. The constant stress, the exams,  the structure. I like the freedom of doing shows and seeing new people and travelling to new places. Never sure what you're in for. Crowd after crowd with all different energies and enthusiasm. The adrenaline rush is the best part of the day but when you wake up the following morning, it's like the life has been sucked out of you. You feel like nothing. Human. A person with legs and arms. Flailing around with no thoughts in your head. A billion times worse than a hangover. Post concert depression.  The lull after such a powerful high. It's nice to go through that hell with a group of friends who all feel the same way. Becomes a strange group therapy.

For the past hour, I've been begging Josh to tell me what is on the set list. I'm praying they'll add some different songs. Older ones. Seeing as it's the last show of the tour. Something to surprise the fans. Maybe 'Falling In' or 'There's No Other Place' or even my favourite 'You Might Get What You Want'. That was one that was written when Rob was the lead singer of the band. When I'd bang the keys in that garage. When we'd sing the lyrics together and sound like an awful church choir. I never got the chance to listen to it live, performed properly by the band. I'm still heartbroken they didn't leave it on the track list for the album. I have to resort to listening to illegal Spotify versions. 

I feel like crying everytime I remember this is the last show I might ever do with Inhaler. The last time I might see the lot of them. They'll surely disappear off into the shadows once tour is over, making their next album, cutting off all contact to focus solely on their music. After spending so much time with a group of people, then completely losing them from your life, you just feel so very empty. Like a swimming pool with no water. Or a mug of tea left hollow after spilling it all by accident. Last night — I would never dare to admit this to anyone — I cried for two hours straight into the pillow of my hotel room. Tour is a glorious thing. Fun, exciting, terrifying all at the same time. But the thought of finality is what split me into pieces, broke me up and squeezed tear after tear from my eyes.

Fran keeps looking at me with raised eyebrows like she's about to ask a question. She's scribbling on her set list, making sure she knows exactly what's happening and when. Her earrings twinkle as she tilts her head, her eyeliner sharp and perfect. Her mouth parts the slightest bit to reveal white teeth, a small smile. "You alright there, Luz?"

God, anytime someone asks me that, it makes me want to cry ten times more. I look down the train compartment, stare at the bathroom and decide whether to make my move. Do I run and hide in there for the duration of the trip, two hours of crying into mouldy train toilet paper? Or do I try to brave it and tell her how I feel? Or just lie through gritted teeth? She's good at reading me. She'll know that I'm not telling the truth.

"Don't tell Nieve this but I feel like absolute shite." There it is. I said it. Fire sinks into my skin, blood rushes up to my head. I squeeze my cheek to make sure I am actually sitting here and that I'm not hallucinating. Lack of sleep had made me seem some weird shit. I need caffeine. Quick.

"We all do." Fran puts her hand on top of mine. "Look, one more show, then we can sleep for as long as we want."

"That's the thing. I don't want this to end."

Fran gets up from her seat and swivels around the table. She sits down beside me, arms opening up and embraces me until I think I see stars. No one has ever hugged me so tightly. My bones seem to audibly shift. 

"Nieve's doing a few shows in February, remember? And I'm sure next time Inhaler tours, they'll be on their hands and knees begging for us to come back." She strokes my hair. "Although, Bobby might be telling us to bugger off instead. You two need to sort out this drama. It's driving us all mad."

"He started it." I sound like a three-year-old irritated at my brother. 

Fran laughs to herself. "Fucking hell. I bet he did." 

—

Arguing. It's happened again. Our last day together has gone to a great start.

First stop of the day—a random restaurant that Ryan dragged us to. Hugs were shared, kind words uttered, teeth glowing under dim lights. I sit down on a wooden chair, peel my jacket from my body and place it on the back. The cool wind is slamming against the windows. I'd forgotten how cold Dublin was. Especially in November. Some Christmas lights adorn the streets and pubs are lively with masses of people. We were stopped a only once on the way there by a group of fans—even our attempt at scuttling through empty alleyways didn't work when five friends with Inhaler-themed cowboy-hats impeded our trail. They were lovely. Photos taken and compliments exchanged. Sadly, Bobby was in a bad mood. When I say a bad mood, I mean a 'I want to kill everyone on this planet and throw myself on a train track' kind of bad mood. He hid away from the fans, behind me and Nieve. His height wasn't particularly helpful in that instant. The blonde, 'Amelie', had said in her thick French accent, "Is that Bobby? I was wondering where he was."

Caught. Found. He thought staying there for a while longer would make them think he wasn't there at all. Amelie was persistent, however, and said softly, "Please could I take a picture with you?" 

Her friends all started whispering. Eli was tapping his friend on the shoulder to get him to move. He was frozen. Eli frowned and shook his head. 

"Sorry but Rob's being a bit weird today," Josh explained. "I don't think he wants any photos."

Amelie nodded, but the sadness in her eyes was apparent. "That's okay."

I felt bad for the girl. I turned around, looked at Bobby. He was on his phone. Scrolling through Tiktok still crouched down. A quick look at his phone screen showed me that he was watching edits — edits of himself. I had to take a double take to actually believe what I'd just seen. He was staring at clips of himself, smiling, and wouldn't even stand for five seconds next to a girl who'd paid to see his band. He continued to swipe his thumb against the screen, blue eyes lit up by his bright phone.

Then his eyes caught mine and he closed the Tiktok tab. "You didn't see that, did you?" He worriedly spoke so unbelievably quickly, I had to scramble my brain to decipher the words. His smile flipped upside down. Shock written all over him. Blush rising right up to the tips of his ears. 

"The hell is wrong with you?" I muttered. Nieve heard. She stepped away. She did not want to be involved in whatever the two of us were plotting. 

"What's wrong with me?" He breathed. It's like he was asking himself the question but there was an unyielding harshness to his voice, raspy and agitated. I was sure that this argument was going to be just as bad as the Sid Vicious incident, or worse. Halloween Bobby was on a different wavelength — bordering on depravity.

"You're watching fucking Tiktok edits of yourself. Didn't think you could be that self-centered—"

"Can we not do this now? Please?" Bobby tried to get me to calm down. Amelie and her friends were still only metres away, asking Josh about the tour, about the next album. Fran was listening in. She was smiling to herself. Part of her definitely enjoyed the beef between us. 

"Show me your Tiktok."

"No."

"Now."

He sighed. I grabbed his phone, opened Tiktok straight away. His whole 'For You' page was edits of himself. The account he was on was a fake user account. I couldn't believe my eyes.

"What the hell..." Was all I could manage to say.

"I can explain."

"Can you? Go on then."

He didn't say anything. Took his phone back and kicked the brick wall beside him. He shook his phone around like he was going to throw it as well. That wouldn't change anything. I'd seen the worst of it — at least I hoped I'd seen the worst of it.

"Take that photo with those girls and I'll shut up about this." I gave him an option. A way to let him get out of the hole he'd dug for himself. 

He was so tall. Sometimes I forgot that. But there, back straight, no longer slouched and his neck craned to meet my eyes. I couldn't hold eye contact. His clenched jaw was making me nervous. 

"Fine." He finally concluded the argument with a single word. His index finger then pointed towards me, just beneath my neck. "But you don't tell anyone about this."

I grinned. "I promise." 

Stepping over towards Amelie, he smiled widely, put an arm over her shoulder and allowed Fran to take the picture of the group. Moments later he was complaining about his shoes. How they were too small. If Robert Keating had a chance to complain about anything, he'd take it and wouldn't shut up about it. I just knew at that point that we'd be hearing about his shoes for the rest of the day.  

Tension is thick in the restaurant. I can almost taste it in my mouth. Rob sits beside me. I don't want to look at him, don't want to hear him talk, don't want to have anything to do with him. He's only the only person I won't miss once this tour is over.

Before anyone can get a word out, Eli taps his fork against his glass. All eyes fall to him. Grace is next to him, she's appeared out of nowhere. 

"I just want to say thank you to Nieve, Fran, Lucia, Finn and Matt for being such great openers on our tour. We're so grateful for all of you. This wouldn't have been the same without you."

"Aw, Eli, I might cry a bit, please stop." Nieve shakes her head, holding her napkin to her eyes. "This has been such a dream. We should be thanking you for giving us this opportunity."

"We need to do this again sometime." Ryan pitches in. "Next time we tour, you're coming with us."

"Yeah. That would be grand," Josh exclaims, pulling up his pint of Guinness and crashing it against everyone else's.

Bobby, after all his hours of complaining, has gone back to silent, angry mode. Playing around with his fork, he stares blankly at the menu, fingers tracing the lettering. I watch him as the others melt into conversation. I just want to know what is going through his head. Why is he acting like this? Last week, he was fun to be around and we had a good time. Especially when he's drunk, he loosens up a bit and stops with the facade. He even kissed me once. As a joke. I think.

It was a mess of alcohol. A 'midnight tour bus party'. We were in London and instead of going to the hotel, we ended up spending the night in the lovely green tour bus. We all got so drunk we could hardly speak. I can't remember all that we got up to but when we were sobering up, Bobby dragged me outside of the bus. He gave me his jacket, placed it over my shoulders. We sat down on a random doorstep, hugging each other to keep warm. Two penguins. Two people who usually hated eachothers guts, finding comfort in the warmth that emanated from our bodies. I'd never thought his hair was nice until that moment. How it grazed over my neck. How the curls twisted perfectly and his overgrown mullet framed his face. Or how pretty his eyes were as they shone under streetlights. Dreamy, long eyelashes, sea-like waves. He'd kissed me. His long fingers over my cheeks. His pink lips slotting between mine. I pulled away, shocked. Electricity had sparked between us, my heart was pounding, my body was a torch. Then I ran away from him. I couldn't understand what If just felt. I had never seen him in that way. We never mentioned it again.

Maybe that's what has made him colder. I still haven't acknowledged what happened that night. I keep thinking that he was too drunk to even remember it, but maybe he does. I'm not going to bring it up. Especially now. Especially in this restaurant with everyone sat with us.

"I'm sorry, Lucia."

My heart drops. Bobby is looking at me. Downcast. Entire state is disjointed. His mouth just said that, his brain just formulated those words. 

"What?" I must've heard him wrong. Imagining it. This time I must be hallucinating.

"I'm sorry about that night."

Mindreader. He knew what I was thinking about. What my mind has been lingering on. The weather reminds me, his scent reminds me, his hands remind me, his jacket reminds me. That night. London. The night after Troxy. The wind — cut-throat, sharp, steely — the rain, and my tear-stained bedsheets. The taste of his mouth and the dejction locked into his eyes as I left him. Like I'd made a terrible mistake. Like running into my hotel room, alone, was the worst possible option I could've chosen. 

I'm wearing the same earrings as I did that night — these ribbon ones that a fan made for me. Bobby had pointed them out — which he shifted between his fingertips and said they suited me. He's eyeing them now, hands curving, resisting any urge to touch them again, to drag us back to that moment. 

The waiter takes my order. Bobby's words properly forage the depths of my mind, the veins and the arteries circling around my body, the aching crevices of my heart. I ask for the first thing I see on the menu and a Fanta. I want to stay sober. I want to savour all that will happen beyond this second. Bobby also doesn't get alcohol. Shockingly. The Bobby I know would never turn down a pint of Guinness. But he gets a 7up instead and takes a long, hard gulp of it when the waiter comes back. I'm counting the cracks on the table, how squeaky the chair is, the coffee stain on the ceiling — trying to guess how they managed to get up there. Musicians like to occupy their brains. They don't like to think too much - just do. 

"I'm sorry..." I whisper. Finally giving him a reponse after a long pause for thought. 

He had been waiting for an answer. He catches it. Twists uneasily in his seat. Wood creaks. Rain patters.

"...It was wrong of me to leave you." The image of his despair still rings through my bones. I swear when my cells divide they keep trying to recreate that look on his face.

"I shouldn't have..." his voice lowers, heat pf his mouth glides by my ear "...kissed you."

I'm trying to drink my Fanta with no reaction. Sugary greatness. Cold, slightly wet fingers. Orangey flavouring. But his voice is so low, trickling, burning, goosebump-inducing. I can't look at him. He's too close to me. It's too hot in the restaurant. Soundcheck is in 20 minutes. I want to run away again. I always want to run away. 

Down my Fanta, smooth my skirt, breathe in deeply. 

"I liked it." I similarly glide my lips over his ear when he's least expecting it, returning the favour.

He coughs. Chokes a bit on his drink. Then he eats his Pesto pasta with the pinkest neck I've ever seen on a person. Jacket off to reveal long, tattoo-covered arms, and the muscles that have progressively been getting bigger over the months. I join Ryan and Matt's drummer conversation to stop staring. It's weird. Being attracted to him feels wrong. Teenage Lucia would be ashamed. She’d slap some sense into me.

Dinner ends quickly. We're thrusted back into Dublin air before we can even adjust to the complete switch in environment. Running to the venue, through alleyways, shooting splashes of water all over the place, we realise how late we are. I feel better than I did in the morning. That dreaded train ride. Bobbys giving me the silent treatment again. I hate it. I hate it more than when he's being downright horrible to me. 

-

Our set was unbelievable. The best show I've ever done. The crowd was unreal, the size of the place was absurd. We had never sounded so great. Everything went according to plan. We're crying now that we're offstage. We need something to uplift us. Nieve's idea is to party in the back. Which is one of the best parts of the night.

We find a spot just before Inhaler goes on. Screams bleed through the room, adoration written in teenage faces, phones held up to capture the moment. The five lads on stage. One final time. I scream like I'm sixteen all over again, dancing as the first song 'These Are The Days' begins to play. Shouting along, throwing my hands in the air. I don't think I've ever been so happy and fulfilled before.

The setlist is the usual. I didn't expect them to change it. Eli gives a little 'thank you' speech, mentioning us at the end. Then suddenly encore starts and I'm met by a mildly unfamiliar song. The crowd seems just as confused as I am. Bobby is wearing that stupid black vest and I swear his bass has been lowered all the more. The next time they perform, it'll surely be grazing the floor. 

Bobby doesn't normally speak to the crowd at shows. It's always Eli. But as they play the intro, he begins to speak, "Hi everyone. Hope you're all having a good time." Commotion, screams, chanting 'Bobby' as if it's a cult gathering, not a concert. His eyes are searching through the crowd. The party in the back turned into moshpits and luckily I got pushed near to the front. His eyes land on mine. I can tell he's looking at when he plays with his earring — like it's a code between us. He keeps playing the same few notes on the bass lazily as he grabs the mic stand. Everyone is silent and listening as he says, "This is 'You Might Get What You Want'.

I recognise it now. I'm sent back to high school. 6 years ago. Practice room at school. Instrument cases strewn all over tha place, broken drumsticks leant against the wall. I'm sat at the piano as Bobby announces, "This is a new song I wrote." He passes me the chords starts singing. My thoughts are quiet. The external world is too loud for me to think. I'm lost in the music. The song is beautiful — lyrics, chords, arrangement, Bobby's voice. That was the day when I wanted to ask to join the band. Then Bobby was horrible to me so I changed my mind. I even asked him what the song was about. He looked at the Jim Morrison poster on the door, hand against his buzzed head as he thought up a response. "A girl," was his final conclusion. I thanked him for his specificity. He told me, quite frustratedly, it was 'none of my business'. Then he was riled up and told me to leave because I was 'playing it all wrong'. One of the last times I ever played with the band. So when I hear the song again — I'm back, sitting at the piano with my school uniform, waiting for cues to play the next chord.

The crowd goes wild at the fact that Bobby is singing alone. This is unusual. The majority of the crowd don't know the song. Reminds me of their first gigs in tiny venues. I sing along, staring at Bobby as he stares back. I wonder which girl the song was actually about. At seventeen, he hung out with every girl in sight - parties, random town meetups, gigs. The way he is looking at me is shattering me down to my core — eyes painted with affection and how he keeps moving his earring. For some reason, I wish the song is about me. Then he sings, 'You Might Get What You Want' whilst pointing right at me. Has anyone else noticed his staring? Nieve and Fran seem clueless. It could all be in my head. His face appears on the screen. I stare. Not ashamed. Appreciating his beauty for as long as we have left. Only tonight. Then nothing. Only the possibility of seeing eachother once again. It won't be set in stone.

I'm a sweaty mess by the end of the show. Last goodbyes, last waves, last shocked stares at the extent of the crowd. I always forget how boiling it gets in the standing area. I'm almost at the point of suffocating. We leave with the crowd, taking a few selfies with fans along the way. I stand in the merch queue. I need something to remember this. Something I can keep and wear and just be brought back to this venue, to this atmosphere. I buy a black tour shirt with the bubbly lettering, slipping it over my tank top. I just know the change in temperature will murder me. The more layers I have on, the better.

We slip through the crowd. Thankfully, it's quieter after my long time in the merch queue. I'd never seen such a long amalgamation of people. 

Back at the hotel, I crash straight down onto my bed. Don't even turn on the lights or take off my clothes. I just close my eyes and stretch out my body like a cat. It all happened too quickly. I left the band early to head back, although I heard the rest of them were going to the tour bus to get drunk. I've already had so much fun. I just need to relax. Alone time. Silence. Comfort.

A knock on the door.

I jump up. Still in my Inhaler shirt and lacy white skirt, I feel like taking a shower. But whoever just knocked has impeded any plans. I could just pretend I didn't hear them. I could fall asleep and they'll just walk away. 

Another knock. I jolt up this time. It's louder.

This time I reach the door. Sliding the keyhole open, I see him. Of course it's him. Of course. Of all the people that could be here right now. His hair is wet, mussed up. He's holding his jacket under his arm as it's completely drenched. Looking from side to side, he seems to contemplate giving up and leaving me solitary.

I open the door. Let my guard down. I want to talk. Rant. Let out all the garble mixing up and stuffing my skull. He'd listen to me. 

"What are you doing here?" I ask. I don't say it rudely. Make sure to keep my tone quiet and curious. The rise of his head to meet my eyes is almost film-like, tracing along my skin, photographic.

"I need to talk to you."

"Come in then." 

Close the door behind him. He drops his jacket onto the floor. Slides off those shoes with a groan. They really are too small on him. He can hardly untie the laces without sucking in a quick breath. He looks at himself in the dodgy mirror, trying to fix any flying pieces of hair. His beard is growing a little — little moustache fading in above his mouth.

He sits down on a chair by the table.  His lengthy legs reach up to the end of the bed where I'm sat. He picks up a tea bag, sniffs it then puts it back. I'm worried about what he's about to say. He looks like he's gone through hell and back to get here. I've never seen him so dishevelled. 

"You were amazing today." I hate the silence. I fill it up. "You all get better every time."

He's been so serious since he came in but the ghost of a smile haunts his lips. They twitch then fall. "So do you."

“Is this about your weird For You page because I’m pretty fucking worried.” I’m trying to forget I saw any of those edits. 

“It’s not that.” He shakes his head. He's hugging his chest, arms shivering. My eyes narrow. Each hair on his arm is stood to attention.

"Do you want a blanket?" I'm about to look for something to warm him up when his hand clasps around my wrist. He's stood up. I'm sat down, looking up at him. His thumb traces the inside of my wrist, over a bracelet I have. One that he gave me when I was sixteen. A friendship bracelet he'd brought to one of the rehearsal sessions. I wore it just to get a reaction out of him. This is the first time he’s noticed it. 

I want to ask him what he's doing. But then he's sat next to me with his arms around my body and I forget what I was going to say. 

"Robert..." I don't normally say his full name. It's the only word that's coming to mind. His wet hair is dripping all over my skirt, his head is against my chest, he won't look up at me.

When I pick up his face, stretch my hands over his cheeks, I find his crystal eyes glossed over. Tears. He's crying. I don't know how to react. He buries his head back into the crook of my neck like he's embarrassed. Then he's breathing heavily. Heaving. Sniffling.

"What is it?" I whisper. I stroke every inch of his hair, the nape of his neck, the thin material of his vest. I trace the tattoos on his arm. Finally landing on the music notation inked into his wrist.

"I don't want you to leave." He holds onto my waist, under my shirt, cold skin. "Stay here. With me. Please."

I wipe the tears from his face. I must look like a beetroot. I'm boiling. 

"Really?" I think I'm crying as well. I can't help it. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him so unguarded, so helpless.

"I only sang that song so you'd hear it." He looks up at the ceiling, cogs turning in his brain. "It's not just about a girl. It's about you."

"You're kidding." I have to laugh. 

"I'm not. I wrote it during the summer holidays before high school. I had some weird thought that you were going to call me and ask me out. I was always a prick to you so I don't know where that idea was coming from exactly. It's just when you want something so badly—I guess your brain manifests it into reality. Like every time I turned around a corner, I thought you'd magically appear. I thought you'd say that you liked me. But then you went off to Uni, the band got big. And now this. You're in fucking Nieve Ella's band. I thought I was going to throw up when I saw you get out of the train. Everything just came back. I didn't put the song on the album because every time I hear it, I just remember what an idiot I am for not treating you well and for not telling you how I feel. Singing it brought me back to the practice room, to that shitty piano with pedals falling off the hinges. How you made such a disgusting piano sound divine. I don't want to make the same mistake. If I let you go now, I'll be regretting it for the rest of my life."

"So you were looking at me? When you were singing?" I tilt my head, thumb below his eye. 

"I might have been." He's not crying anymore. His voice is less rough. He sounds like normal Bobby again.

"I'll stay with you. As long as you want."

"Forever?"

"Bit too long. I can only deal with you for about three hours at a time."

"Then we should make good use of the—" He looks down at his watch. "—Two hours and 43 minutes we have left."

"What do you have planned?" I'm getting closer to him. His nose bumps against mine.

"What do you want to do, Luz?" He's challenging me. Thumb swirling over my lips. 

"This." I kiss him. Lips to lips. Two notes in perfect harmony. Everything we've been through culminating into one simple kiss. It's a peck. A tease. I pull away as I feel him yank me closer. 

His hands find my ears and it's like that night again. His mouth tastes the same. Sweet. Lukewarm. He still grazes my bottom lip with his teeth when he feels me shift back. 

"You're an angel," he says.

At that, I'm kissing him again. This time with more passion. Exploding fireworks. Jumping into the ocean, water floating around you. The ringing in your eyes after an explosion. An earthquake. A tidal wave. So many feelings at once. He's trying to take my shirt off. I let him. Pulled it over my head so quickly I thought he might get my neck off as well. He throws it onto the nearby chair, looking at me, with those glimmering eyes and perfect eyebrows. Beauty spots and smooth skin. I attempt to take off his shirt too, although it's pretty much stuck to his chest. He helps me out, laughing at my stress. 

"It's not that hard." He smirks, tugging at the top as I manage to unstick the bottom. 

"Fuck off." I roll my eyes. 

He pushes me down onto the bedsheets, helping me up until my head is on the pillow. I look over his frame. Long torso, large biceps, chain around his neck. It's too much to deal with. Hooded eyes, smirk on his lips, happy trail leading down to his belt. He knows how he's making me dizzy. He leans down, curling over me, scent hanging, cool skin against mine. I throw my head back. I've never been touched like this. So precise. So gentle. Like I'm his favourite bass guitar. I'd never noticed how long his fingers were until they were splayed over my bra, until the other hand was sliding up my thigh.

He kisses my neck, my shoulders, my collarbones, the valley between my breasts, tongue flat, teeth sharp. I hold onto his hair, then onto his toned shoulders. This morning, I would never have expected that this would happen. That the boy I loathed was admiring me and tasting me with unrelenting adoration. Now, the thought of leaving him makes me sick to my stomach. I pull him a little closer, kiss him a little harder and remember just how red teenage Bobby's face was after he'd sang that song to me. How defensive he was when I asked him about it. Now it all makes sense.

I won't ever leave him again.

#robert keating #bobby skeetz #inhaler dublin #inhaler band #inhaler imagines #inhaler fanfiction #fanfiction #inhaler oneshots #elijah hewson #josh jenkinson #ryan mcmahon #nieve ella #inhaler fanfic #inhaler #eli hewson #robert keating fanfiction #bobby skeetz fanfiction #louis lambo #inhaler imagine #fanfics

[killersfool]

IM LOVING THESE REQUESTS PLS KEEP THEM COMING!!! btw the more detailed, the higher chance of me writing it.

If you haven't already, please make sure to read my elijah hewson full length fic on wattpad ('evergreen'). It's on my masterlist. I poured my heart and soul into that fic !! And it's completed. The first ever fic I've actually fully finished. It's about a group of friends who are put together for a duke of edinburghesque expedition. Eden, the main character, initially detests the two irish lads in her group (robert and eli) but after a rollercoaster of emotions, traumatic shared experiences, she begins to warm up to them. It's inspired by my expedition so it's personal and has all kind of random little things sprinkled into it that i have personally been through. From heating up mouldy, soaked socks in a stove to eating tortillas with nutella to playing Uno and wanting to kill the rest of your group when you don't win.

Also just wanted to thank anyone who is interacting with my work. Even if you're just liking or giving it a read, it honestly makes me really happy. I feel like fanfiction has helped me to grow as a writer. I've been doing this since I was about 13 and have always felt welcomed into any fandom I've written for. I love the sense of community on tumblr/wattpad/ao3. If you have anything to say about my writing (whether that be positive or constructive criticism) do send it my way. I always want to improve. That's why I'm doing this. If you read my first fanfics, you'd be crying your eyes out with shock and confusion. They were terrible.

Okay. Rant over. Thanks again :)

#elijah hewson #inhaler band #inhaler imagines #inhaler oneshots #robert keating #bobby skeetz #fanfiction #inhaler dublin #inhaler fanfiction #josh jenkinson #ryan mcmahon #eli hewson #louis lambo #inhaler imagine #inhaler #elijah hewson oneshot #elijah hewson imagine #elijah hewson x reader #bobby skeetz fanfiction #robert keating fanfiction

[killersfool]

i will be getting on with requests asap!! if anyone has anymore pls feel free to send them because the more the merrier. i am feeling very inspired after watching inhaler play yesterday :)

#inhaler band #inhaler imagines #elijah hewson #robert keating #bobby skeetz #ryan mcmahon #josh jenkinson #bobbyskeetz #bobby skeetz fanfiction #inhaler fanfiction #inhaler dublin #fanfiction #inhaler oneshots #elijahhewson #elijah hewson imagine #elijah hewson x reader #elijah hewson oneshot #eli hewson

[killersfool]

hii! not sure if you’re open to requests but i’m going to give u a few ideas! most of these are for elijah hewson😭

falling asleep on the couch, waking up to not only a blanket around them, but eli squeezed in behind them

being in the studio with the band and messing about?? making jokes and being silly!

kissing and dancing in the kitchen to an old singe they both like?

eli taking care of you when you’re sick and just being super soft and caring!

spending valentine’s day together!

something about the reader playing with eli’s fingers to calm them down?

softly smiling at each other from across the room and also reassuring touches!

telling each other how much they love them

them cuddling in bed and pulling eachother closer

hope these spark your writing :))))

Kiss It Better | ELIJAH HEWSON

here's a short little thing inspired by this request!

PAIRING: elijah hewson x f!reader

WORDS: 1.5k

SUMMARY: eli's girlfriend is ill, elijah comforts her.

GENRE: hurt/comfort, fluff

WARNINGS: references to throwing up

I've never been so ill in my life. My nose is so runny. I've almost used every single packet of tissues in the kitchen cabinet right under the sink — which used to be a lot and now is very little. I've thrown up my insides into the loo way too many times to count on my fingers. Bent over the toilet, eyes pricking with tears, I've never felt so useless. At least the thought of my boyfriend getting back after his gig gives me something to look forward to. But it's far too late.

I'm staring at the TV screen. I hug my knees to my chest, attempting to generate some warmth. The blanket is upstairs — probably hiding in the space between the bed and the wall. Surely, if I attempt to stumble upstairs now, I'll just get stuck and end up falling asleep in the corridor.

I can't stop glancing at the door. I'm hoping for a doorknob twist, knock, ring of the doorbell, stamp of boots, low and raspy post-concert voice. But I'm just met with nothing. No signs of his arrival. He hasn't called me. He usually doesn't. He likes to surprise me. After having the worst migraine of my life, it would give me some comfort if he just gave me a hug. A warm Elijah Hewson hug would cleanse my mind.

Starting to realise that the TV is doing more harm than good, I switch it off. I'm beginning to see blurry triangular shapes and my eyes burn like they're on fire. The living room is pitch black. I'm freezing. I'm tired. I take two paracetamol tablets and chug some water. Curling up on my side, legs on the armrest, I close my eyes.

-

I wake up. Sunlight gleams through the gaps in the white curtains. My body is wrapped in a duvet, soft and warm. Skin is against mine. Arms are around my body, squeezing me tightly. He's shirtless. I can tell by the tufts of chest hair flicking at my shoulder. His head is on my back, curls all over my skin, lips between my shoulderblades. I don't want to move. I don't want to speak. He's asleep. Gentle snores, deep breaths, in and out.

I must've fallen into a deep sleep because I have no recollection of his arrival or him ever taking me upstairs. I'm usually a light sleeper. This migraine fully knocked me out. That's the best nights sleep I've had in a while. I'm especially thankful I managed to escape from work for the rest of the week.

Elijah's normally the little spoon when we hug like this. It's funny how the tables have turned. I think I prefer this though. But lying awake and tracing the muscles in his back always seems to calm me down.

I want to ask him how the show went and the reason for his tardiness. He had been playing in Glasgow, thankfully only a few miles away from me and had bought me tissues, chocolate and gave me an endless supply of kisses before he had to run down to meet the band.

Opening my eyes fully, I take a peek over at the bedside table. He's brought me more tissues, face masks, more chocolate and a box of sleep teabags.

I realise Elijah's awake when his fingers start to walk along my bare stomach and his mouth is at the juncture between my back and shoulder. He pulls my hair to the side, presses his wet mouth to my neck. He smells clean. I'm sure he's showered. His hair feels a little damp.

He keeps pulling me closer. Arms tightening like he's a boa constrictor. Cool rings on my stomach, large hands tugging at the waistband of my shorts.

"You feeling better?" He asks, between kisses, tongue tracing my jugular vein. It's unsettlingly nice. His words are always gruff the morning after the show. All the singing takes a toll. Makes him sound more mellow. Sometimes I worry for his vocal cords.

"Not really." I groan. A mind-numbing headache is still prodding at my brain and the brightness of the sun makes my eyes burn. He's got a hand on my forehead, cool fingers against fiery skin — checking the temperature.

"God, you're pale. And you're burning up. I should get the thermometer." He gets out of bed. The loss of weight of his body makes the mattress shift. I glance over at him. His hair has stuck up at the top, his bare back glows under the sunlight. He stands up. Sweatpants cling loosely to his hips, revealing the muscles of his abdomen and a chain circles around his neck. He leaves the room — not even giving me time to utter a word of annoyance at the sudden lack of touch.

Then he's back. He crawls into bed. The thermometer is between his index finger and thumb. I look at the cross tattoo on his palm, see the concentration on his face as he plays around with the buttons.

"It's just a migraine," I say but he's already turning it on and pointing at my mouth. I roll my eyes and separate my lips. He gives me a sly smirk, just making me sit like that for a moment. Then he puts the device beneath my tongue and waits patiently. I'm trying not to laugh at how awkward this is. I close my eyes to evade his gaze but I can still feel the force of his stare.

"You've got a fever." Dr Hewson alerts me with his expert diagnosis although the furrow of his brows makes him seem unsure. He looks down at the numbers displayed, rubbing his face with worry. "A really bad one." He's now searching up on his phone what it means.

"Should I go to the doctors?" I shuffle away from him. I don't want him to catch what I have. He has gigs all week, I don't want to ruin anything for him.

He notices my movement. Shaking his head, he drags me back towards him, making me nestle into his chest. His eyes are still darting along a website.

"I think you just need to rest. I'll make you breakfast." Elijah kisses my nose before running downstairs with his mind set solely on making some decent food.

Through the corridor, into the kitchen. He's forgotten where half the things are in the room. Opening cabinets, searching through the fridge, putting water into the kettle. Most of the time he'll get his breakfast on the way to a show. Maybe a café, maybe he'll steal some food from Ryan. Today, however, he's lucky enough to not have a gig and actually have time to look after his girlfriend. Although he's definitely going to make a mess of the place.

His final decision is to make omelettes. Oil on the frying pan, ham—leaving it to heat up until it's a little crispy. Two eggs, cracked and swirled in a glass. Cheese on top, grated with masterful excellence—at least that's what he believes. Folds it over to make it fill half of the pan. Let's it continue to fry. Then he's running over to make a cup of tea. He uses one of the sleep teabags he bought. He's just about to plate up when footsteps echo behind him.

I have to stop for a second when I walk into the kitchen. It's a rarity to see Elijah here, cooking for me. We started dating at the beginning of the tour which unluckily means that he's hardly ever home. He has to leave early in the morning and gets back really late. Whenever he has days off, he takes me on dates and walks, or we just laze around at home, basking in eachother's presence. There's times when he brings me along to the recording studio so that I can reprimand all the band members or give an outside opinion of their new songs.

Elijah seems so focused on getting this omelette perfect. He's running around the place. He grabs two pieces of bread to turn his dish into an omelette-sandwich. I stand in the doorway for a while, just watching him. But, I can't stop myself from nearing him. As he cuts an apple into a slices, I slide my arms around his stomach, pressing my head to his shoulder. He sighs quietly. I breathe in his scent, his comfort.

"You should be in bed," he whispers, although he doesn't seem to want me to let go. I shake my head as he looks at me.

There's music playing on the radio. I turn it up. It's a song by The Smiths. I'm swaying to the beat, moving Elijah along with me. He's still carefully chopping fruit into perfect pieces. Watermelon, strawberries, mango. My mouth is watering just looking at the vast array of flavours.

Elijah drops his knife, turns around to face me. His hands find my waist, his lips find my neck, his head burrows into my chest like he's a mole hiding under soil. We dance along to the crackle of music, feeling the melodies trickle into our bones. Just his presence makes me feel better, every kiss turns my negative thoughts to mush.

#elijah hewson #elijah hewson oneshot #elijah hewson x reader #elijah hewson imagine #eli hewson #inhaler band #inhaler imagines #inhaler oneshots #inhaler dublin #fanfiction #inhaler fanfiction #robert keating #bobby skeetz #josh jenkinson #ryan mcmahon #inhaler #inhaler fanfic #inhaler imagine

[killersfool]

Chemistry | ELIJAH HEWSON

PAIRING: elijah hewson x original f!character

GENRE: mutual pining, high school days

SUMMARY: leah vazquez lives next door to the loudest band in the world—a band which includes the nightmare boy who’d asked her for help with chemistry homework. invited to a party by rob, a whole lot of truths come to light.

WORDS: 6.8k

WARNINGS: kissing, alcohol, mentions of smoking

Being next door to the loudest band in the entire world was enough to make Leah want to throw eggs into their garden. Every day, from the small hours of the morning to the late evening, she'd hear that bleeding guitars and those crashing drums. The summer holidays were meant to be a period of rest and relaxation but all she could hear were those three irritating boys attempting to cover Nirvana. She'd see them with their smiling faces and instruments, making their way to the garage every day. They resided at Rob's house. Leah's parents were friends with Rob's so there were many family dinners. This was the longest period of not having one. Leah was thankful.

Leah was sat at her desk, head pressed to a Chemistry textbook, trying to wrap her head around electron configuration. The whole lesson at school was filled with sarcastic comments. No one understood a word leaving the teacher's mouth. Funny thing was that Elijah Hewson was in her class. One of the idiots who made fun of her if she got an answer wrong. He'd blame a bad grade on anything but himself. His favourite pastime was talking, constantly speaking his mind, even if it wasn't necessary at all. Teachers loved him, girls snapped him, attempted to make him laugh. He sat down with all the 'popular' people. A huge table of liars and attention-seekers who looked down on everyone else. Leah would glance at them from her seat, see him on Snapchat for the majority of free periods. The only time he'd spoken to her outside of class was when he was confused on the Chemistry homework. She had been sat down in the study room, chair under the circular tables and textbooks scattered all over it. She was trying to simultaneously finish a sketch for art and do exam questions as revision. It wasn't going well.

Elijah Hewson pulled out the chair next to her, plonked himself down without even asking her if he could sit there. He dropped his backpack. Unzipping it, she gave him a glare, slid her headphone off of one ear. She muttered, "Make yourself at home." She wouldn't move her textbooks to give him room. Anytime she walked past him in the corridors, he wouldn't even bat an eyelid or turn to face her. Now, he was pulling out his day folder and pencil case like they were best mates. As if there was nothing weird about this at all. "You know there's about eight free tables, right?"

Elijah glanced up. Gum in his mouth, curls falling over his forehead, almost so long they were grazing the table. He hadn't heard a word she'd said. His airpods were in his ears, blasting music.

"Hewson?" She tried. She was debating running to the doorway, leaving all of her stuff there. She could make an excuse and hide in the toilets. They were grimy though. Most of the toilet seats had fallen onto the ground, none of the doors would shut properly because they'd all been messed with. The floor of each cubicle was always covered with liquid — probably piss. You'd think that now that they were in high school the hygiene would have improved but it was actually worse.

Leah was a lot happier in the peace and quiet of the study room. Now it was just her and Elijah. No one else. Too quiet. She was cold. It was a cool Winter day and wind was trickling through the half open window. She could hear younger students doing PE outside — bucket hall — all freezing in just shorts and a shirt.

"Oh didn't see you there," Elijah muttered. There was an obvious smirk playing at his lips and a lilting quality to his voice that he always used when attempting to be mischievous. He peeled his calculator from his bag and the dreaded Chemistry homework that had been driving Leah mad. An insane asylum would be her best bet at the end of the year. Why did she even choose the stupid subject? And, still, why the hell was this eejit still here?

"Do you get the homework?" Leah asked. She'd given up with being confused. Maybe he could offer her some guidance. He wasn't the greatest at Chemistry though. He'd barely scraped a pass in the last assessment.

Elijah bit down on the end of his pen, held it like a cigarette, pressed it against his lips a few times. Her eyes fell to his pink mouth: the cupid's bow, the shaving nicks on his chin, the shadow of a moustache above his top lip. Her artistic eye always overanalysed people. She'd never been so close to him before.

"Miss Lane's shite teaching fucked me up."

There it was. Blaming it on anyone but himself. The target this time was their teacher. Leah agreed with him. Miss Lane had squeaky shoes and an even squeakier voice. When she told people off, no one could take it seriously. Students would laugh under their breaths, hands over their mouths to keep her from seeing. At one point, Elijah pretended to fall over so that he could hide under the wooden table and laugh. He'd seen the layers of gum left beneath it, stuck his own one there to add to the collection.

"I thought you could show me how to do it, seeing as you know your stuff."

"I really don't."

"You really do." He flicked to the Chemistry section of her folder, pressed his finger onto the test they'd just done. "You got the highest mark in the class on this." He tilted his head, hair now splayed across his cheekbone. She'd never realised his eyes were hazel or how he tapped his shoes when he spoke — a nervous habit. Was he nervous?

"That was pure luck. The multiple choice questions were stupid. I guessed all of them. Just put CBA over and over."

"I guessed all of mine and got them wrong."

"That's rough." Leah sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

She pulled out the homework from her folder, along with a whiteboard and periodic table. Elijah moved his chair closer to hers. Her head was close to touching his bare shoulder. He had a Joy Division shirt on, leather jacket hung on his seat and jeans that didn't comply with the dress code. His luck of being a teacher's pet and Bono's son meant dress codes hardly fazed him. The only time he'd been sent home was when he wore a crop top — 'midriff showing is distracting, girls and boys'. He'd kicked a chair in the cantine and dramatically slammed the door behind him.

Leah couldn't understand how he was warm. There were goosebumps all over her skin, every hair stood to attention. Elijah put his airpods into his case. She glanced down at his biceps, the sun-tanned skin, the beauty spots, the freckles, his large yet nimble fingers. The tiny airpods make them all the more gargantuan. Skin was flaking away on his index finger — that's how she figured he played guitar. He'd been picking at it, dried blood remained there. His veins were prominent and nails neatly cut. His hands were like the ones she'd draw in her sketchbook. She was analysing again — way too much.

"So, where do we start?" Elijah's voice cut her staring competition with this rather big mole on his arm short.

"What about the first question?" Leah smiled to herself.

"Never would've thought of that one. Wow." Elijah scoffed. He read over the inked words. "Spin diagram for Magnesium? What the?"

"I'll show you."

The free period was basically an entire hour of Leah drawing weird arrows in boxes, trying to get Elijah to grasp the topic.

She didn't meet his eyes for most of the time. She didn't like the look on his face. He was studying her weirdly. She hated when he'd slouch back on his chair, legs apart, head thrown back in frustration. Or when he'd yawn but really over-exaggerate it to the point where she'd roll her eyes and kick his shin to wake him up again.

By the end, he understood the topic better than Leah herself. He was teaching her at that point. Taking the whiteboard and showing her that she'd done the whole order wrong. They finally completed the homework, checked answers with eachother then called it a day.

"Do you get it now?" Leah said. She finally looked him in the eye. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He liked her dark eyes, her saccharine smile.

"Yeah, thanks." He packed his things away, drank a long gulp of water. He then asked, shoes bouncing again, "Are you cold?"

Leah could feel his gaze on her arms. Being part Spanish meant the great gift of dark hairs everywhere. At least they gave her some sort of insulation, Biology had taught her that.

"I'm fine. It's always a bit chilly up here."

Elijah stood up. He tucked his chair in, placed his fingers on the back of the wooden seat, stroking his jacket. She watched his fingertips, as he scrunched the material in order to pick it up.

The room smelt of him. His minty chewing gum was one of the strongest aromas. He carried such a particular scent along with him everywhere. It was as if there was a fairy hidden in his backpack, sprinkling his cologne in each corridor, each classroom.

He stopped, squeezed his lip between two fingers, played with the earring in his left ear. He wanted to say something but wouldn't spit it out. Running through all the possible responses to the question, a computer testing different codes, an enzyme trying to find its matching substrate.

"You can have my jacket," Elijah murmured, quiet. "It's a gift for all of your help."

"What? Forever?" She made a face, almost like she was going to throw up. That was the last thing she was expecting he'd say to her. She thought he was going to insult her, tell her that she looked like shit. Mornings were not her favourite time of day.

"If you want it forever?" He laughed, an actually hearty laugh that she'd never heard before. The glowing smile staining his lips was very different to his concentrated face before. The last time she'd heard him laugh like this was when they did a practical. A titration. He messed up the experiment at least five times and couldn't stop giggling.

"You could buy me something from the cantine instead. Them brownies are lush. I'm starving."

"I'll buy you something too. Just put it on. You might freeze to death."

Elijah had left the study room in a matter of seconds. Leah was still extremely and utterly perplexed. His jacket was resting on the seat. She looked around, made sure no one was there then put her arms through the holes. It was far too big on her. At first it was freezing against her skin but it gradually warmed up. His scent clung to it. His lighter had been left in the bottom pocket. And some cash.

Moments later, Leah's friend came running through the door, Polly. She was holding some tissues in her hands. Without a word, she plonked this tissued contraption onto Leah's desk and said, "Hewson gave it to me. Said it's for you. Since when the shit are you talking that bellend?" Polly had her arms crossed over her chest. She then looked at Leah's jacket. "You weren't wearing that in form. Is it his as well?"

"Poll..." Leah took a deep breath. "He was just being nice."

"Elijah Hewson? Nice? He'd throw paper aeroplanes at me and Rick every Music lesson and detuned my bass before the concert."

"That was a year ago." Leah didn't know why she was defending him. She was delirious. Tired.

"Well he's a player, you know that don't you? Snapscore's like five hundred thousand, dated almost every girl in our form—"

Leah put her head into her hands. She couldn't deal with this. Maybe he had been pretending. Maybe that whole thing had been a cruel game to him.

-

Leah's eyelids were heavy and drooping. Her pencil had broken, her pen had run out of her ink and her ruler had cracked into two separate pieces.

Then she heard banging. Drums. Guitar. Bass. Then that stupid jarring voice that her ears would somehow cling to. Nirvana was playing in her headphones, a way to drown out the terrible cover she'd heard the night before. Smells Like Teen Spirit by The Inhalers was bedlam. Pure bedlam. She needed Kurt Cobain to cleanse her ears. They were probably filled up with blood.

It had been months since the Chemistry incident. As she expected, he didn't speak to her again.

"Leah?! Rob's family are coming over for dinner tonight! His friends are coming too. I'm not sure if you know any of them. I heard Ryan and Elijah are lovely boys." Leah's mum had just announced the worst possible thing to ever happen. Jumping out of the window seemed like a viable option, or just locking herself in her room.

"You coming, Lee? It's paella, your favourite." Her Dad knocked on the door. "I know you don't like all their music stuff but they're nice boys. It would be good to get to know more people in your year, wouldn't it, sweetheart?"

Leah couldn't say no to her Dad. Or his cooking. "Fine. I'll be down in a second."

She heard the doorbell ring, then the click of the door opening. Greetings poured out of mouths and footsteps crashed all over the place. She had seen the three lads leave the garage, climb over Leah's garden fence and knock on the back door. Not scary at all. Definitely not the slightest bit worrying. She hated how perfect her view was from the window. She could see how long Elijah's hair had grown across his face and the white vest pressed against his frame.

Opening her closet, she saw that horrible leather jacket still hung up. She'd left the money and the lighter inside of it. She hadn't worn it since that winter's day and never had the chance to give it back to him. She didn't even know if he wanted it back.

She shrugged a cardigan over her dress then walked down the stairs. What's the worse that could happen? Well, for starters, Rob was showing Elijah the culmination of baby photos on the wall of the staircase. She worriedly ran towards them and pushed Elijah's shoulders to keep him away. He was finding it all quite hilarious. He was pointing to one of her crawling around as a baby, cookie monster toy sat beside her.

"Really funny, isn't it?" Leah sarcastically said. They were thankfully metres away from those pictures. "Almost as funny as you guys practicing for ten fucking hours a day."

"Geez louise, Leah. What's gotten you so riled up?" Rob's blue eyes struck her. He was so tall now. She hated it.

"Your shite playing that's what."

"It's not that bad." Elijah snorted.

"We are shite, Eli, she's right." Ryan appeared, the drummer. Leah had never spoken to him before. He was in her maths class.

Down the hallway, Elijah and Ryan had a prolonged discussion about whether they were good or not. Ryan kept telling him: 'there's a lot of room for improvement.'

"We need a lead guitarist. One that's actually good. Sorry Eli. You're alright on rhythm but lead..."

"I'm leng at lead. Shut up."

"Chillax mate. Did I strike a nerve?"

"Fuck you."

If not for the familiar scent of smoked paprika, Leah would've walked away from them. They were both sat at opposite ends of the table, fed up with each other. Leah's parents decided to sit in the garden to leave the four teenagers to their own devices. Rob was the only one making conversation. He was asking Leah about school and how she was finding her subjects. They weren't really close friends in school, but they'd gotten to know eachother through all the weird family gatherings. His buzz cut made her laugh every single time she saw him.

"Are you going to the party? Anna's one?" Ryan alerted Leah with a jab of his fork against his glass. A high-pitched note rung out.

"You really think I'm mates with Anna?" Leah had to put her cutlery down to laugh. She then started to scrape the rice around on her plate. She'd seen Rob's countless Instagram stories of her parties. Those red plastic cups and boys jumping on top of one another. She'd see all the worst people in her head, all bundled together in one sweaty room, twisting bodies dancing to terrible grime music. That was her vision of hell.

Ryan awkwardly looked between his friends.

"Uh.. we could bring you as a plus one," Rob offered.

"She was disrespecting our music ten minutes ago, is that really a good idea?" Elijah reminded his two friends.

Leah took a short sip of her coke, feeling the condensation of the bottle grace her skin. She watched the three boys whisper and argue. Her parents seemed to be relaxed in the garden, the complete opposite of the thick tension between the inner four walls. The sky was a pale shade of blue. Each passing cloud was larger than the last. There was one that looked a lot like Elijah. Even had the irritating strand of hair that he always left to fall over his forehead.

"I'll go if you put some decent music on." Leah could not handle the songs the partygoers had on their Instagram stories.

"Will always picks the music. He'll get pissed off if we change it." Ryan was unsure.

"Let's piss him off then." Leah downed the rest of her coke.

-

Anna's party was as messy as Leah expected it to be. Meeting Rob beside the park by Anna's house was already an ordeal. Her mobile data wasn't working properly and the massive house was in the middle of nowhere. The park had neon green swings with murky water dripping off of them. Leah felt bad for any kid in the neighbourhood. Although she doubted that anyone sane lived on that eerie, cobbled street. She was sure she'd knock on the door and a vampire would be there, floating midair with pearly white fangs. But no, it was Anna, the pick me girl of the year. Even when she had a boyfriend, she'd be all over the boys, whispering in their ears and putting on a baby voice whenever she wanted their attention. Leah couldn't comprehend the bee-like swarm of boys always huddled around her. Overhearing any of the conversations between them was enough to make Leah want to vomit.

"Rob! Hey!" Her baby voice came out as she trapped the tall boy into a bear hug. He looked uncomfortable, stood like a penguin. "And... Leah?"

"Hi." Leah tried to bring her hand up to wave but felt like a right numpty.

Anna could definitely see through Leah's fake smile but still said, "Come on in. The more the merrier I guess."

Music booming, teenagers jumping up and down, smell of alcohol thick through the air. The house was huge. Insanely. They were in the richest part of Dublin but still... Leah had to stop to take it all in. The multitude of people squished together made the house seem smaller. Cramped and sweaty. Leah could see faces from school every few steps. Most people there she'd never seen before. She didn't like it.

Rob led her through the kitchen, the living room and out to the garden. There was a swimming pool dug into the ground.

Dark, wet curls caught her eye. An iridescent smile. Elijah.

He was in the pool next to Ryan. They were splashing water onto eachother and messing around with floaties. Rob pulled off his shirt, trousers, leaving him in just boxers and jumped in. Cannonball. Water flying all over Leah's pristine, white dress. She bit back a shout or an insult. He laughed at the mess he'd created.

Elijah pulled himself out of the water. Leah wouldn't even glance in his direction — she could see how girls turned their hands to catch a glimpse. She didn't like how she found him beautiful. It was a problem. She would draw him on summer evenings. When her cluttered desk was looking down on her with disdain. There were times he'd leave the garage with a cigarette in hand, sat down on Rob's rope swing and blew smoke away. His silhouette would be dark but sometimes  —  when the fairylights strung along the fence lit him up at the perfect angle — she'd be able to see the intricacy of his features. She would sketch him. A way to drag her thoughts away from homework or any kind of stress pent up during the day. It had turned into an almost daily habit. It was the saddest hobby known to man.

She ran straight back indoors, into the kitchen and grabbed the first bottle she saw. Didn't read the label, didn't check the percentage. She'd never properly had alcohol before. It was strong and weird and disgusting. She almost drank the whole bottle before a wet hand pulled the bottle away.

"Holy shit, Leah. That's way too much." It was him. The fountain of her inspiration. The embarassing muse. The wet-haired, dog out of water, hazel-eyed boy who now had an arm around her shoulders.

"I can drink as much as I want, dickhead." Leah pushed him away. His white shirt was glued to his chest and a denim jacket clung to his shoulders. His eyes scanned along her face, checking she was okay. She was attempting to reach for another bottle. He stopped her.

"Could we have a walk?" He breathed. "That will clear your head better than this will." He shook the transparent liquid around, contents splashing.

Leah felt the hand on her spine. Her backless dress meant that his calloused fingertips were cold against her. He'd never touched her before. She could sense how his hand caressed her gently, massaging to calm her down. The drink was already making her senses more heightened, making her focus only on his touch, how his lips were moving as he whispered, how her shoes crashed against the floor. Her body felt too heavy and the room felt too big. The music was becoming more bassy, slowing down until it was like she was moving in slow motion.

Elijah didn't even wait for her response. He knew that she had to be taken somewhere quiet. He managed to guide her to the gazebo in Anna's garden. It was unoccupied, thankfully. He had to peek over the door to ensure that he wouldn't walk in on anything weird. Leah sat down at the end of the wooden hexagon, stumbling around before she plonked herself down, legs stretched out completely. Elijah sat down opposite her. He watched her hold her head between her hands and groan.

"Why do people like drinking that? It's —" She couldn't even speak properly. Her words were slurring, the lights above her were simply hues of colour, Elijah was a blur.

"You drank half a bottle of vodka, love. It's not the tastiest first drink." Elijah couldn't believe what this evening had turned into. The boys had been fools for dragging her along. She'd be much happier at home, doing whatever she normally did on a Friday evening. He pictured her sat down at her desk, headphones on her ears and paintbrush in hand. He would purposely leave band practice to see her through that thin piece of glass. His view was far from remarkable and his excuse was slowly getting less believable but he missed being able to see her every day. Across the cantine, across the chemistry classroom or at the weekly assemblies. He would make it his mission to look for her in any crowd — no matter how big or how small.

Leah, the smartest person he'd ever met, the most geniune person stood on the soil of this very earth (in Elijah's most accurate opinion) was now sprawled helplessly across the splinter-inducing wood, eyes glued shut and teeth chattering. Somehow she was always cold. Elijah couldn't understand her at all.

"Are you hungry?" Elijah attempted. He knew his chance of a response were almost nil. But he'd try anyway. Anything to get her to talk, to open up to him. He'd been an idiot for distancing himself from her for the past months. She was an angel. Especially with her flowing white dress and endless black hair, he couldn't look away, couldn't even take his mind off of her.

He pulled out a box of pizza from under his arm. He'd stolen it from the house before they went outside. He slid it across the wood. She took off the lid. It had pepperoni all over it.

"You know I'm a vegetarian?" Leah grinned at his kindness. He seemed so proud of himself. His features drooped down at her comment.

"Sorry," was all he could manage to reply. He closed the box and moved it away.

"You can eat if you're hungry." She nodded towards the pizza.

He scratched his head. "I'm stuffed. Just ate about five slices of cake. It's my birthday."

"Shit? Is it? Seventeenth of August, right? I still remember those primary school birthday hats they'd give us. I wish I had one I could give to you."

Leaning back, he watched her smile as she reminisced. Those days felt so close yet so far away. He could hardly remember anything about primary school. Maybe flashes of teachers, or the world book day's where everyone would come in the strangest costumes, fingers crossed they'd win the prize. The birthday hat was something that had completely drained from his head, down to the sewers of memory. But Leah bringing it up made him remember when the teachers forced them to do a 'birthday dance' infront of the entire class. It made everyone dread their birthday every single year. People would skip school just to miss it.

"Do you remember on your eighth birthday Bono came in for a singalong?" Leah couldn't think straight anymore. She was spouting random thoughts out now, just hoping to get a reaction out of him.

He rolled his head back, adams apple shifting as he scoffed. "Don't even."

"I'm never going to let you live that down."

Elijah knew that his face was warming up as Leah looked at him. She was staring. Eyes drifting along his skin, biting down on her bottom lip. Then she was crawling towards him, seemingly finding it very difficult to move and plonked herself next to him.

"I never gave you your jacket back," she muttered. Her head was on his shoulder, her hair smelt like roses, strands were grazing his collarbone. Part of him ached to pull her even closer, to press his lips to her forehead but he was frozen. "Do you still want it?" She looked up at him, nose on his chin.

"I did leave my lighter in it, didn't I?" His whole plan at the beginning had been to plant that lighter in as a kind of bait. He wanted to have an excuse to talk to her, to ask her if she could give it back to him. He never built up the courage to go up to her. He was left borrowing Rob's lighter that hardly even worked. His final plan was to ask her when they got back to school, or to jump Rob's fence and try to muster up as much Romeo energy as possible. He'd imagined himself climbing up the pipe to her window, confessing how he felt toward her, how much she made his heart strain and palpitate. He had his chance now. To use the bait he'd created. To follow through and actually be honest with her. To tell her how he hadn't stopped thinking about her since he got full marks on that homework, only due to her help.

"You did." She recalled. He was warm. His chin was stubbly, his perfect mouth was centimetres away.

"I think I should take you home." Elijah's final decision was to make sure she got a good night's sleep. She was about to drift off there and then. He would let her. But he knew she wasn't comfortable.

"No...no don't. This is nice." She closed her eyes. He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her. She traced his bicep softly. His cells weren't working. His brain wasn't working. She was killing him. Beneath her he was just a mess of flesh and bone, breathing into her skin, moulding into her touch.

He stroked her hair, fingers raking through the layers. Her dark eyelashes were long and blinking.

"I think I've got splinters." Leah pulled up her hand to find a thin piece of wood piercing her finger. It was swollen and red.

Elijah held onto her hand and tried to squeeze the piece out. It wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. She was seething against his arm until finally he caught it between his nails and threw it out of the gazebo.

"Thanks." She sucked onto her finger, draining the metallic flavour out. "I think that's our sign to get out of here. You should be in there having fun. It's your birthday. Go on. You're seventeen! You can listen to Dancing Queen and relate to it on a whole other level. I'm not ruining today for you."

"I'll walk you home first."

"No you won't. I'll go on my own."

"I'm going with you. End of."

"Hewson—"

"Come on. Get up. We can listen to Dancing Queen on the way there." He took out his airpod case from his jean pocket.

Leah gave up with arguing. He was being polite. Offering to keep her safe. It made her warm and fuzzy inside. In truth, if she'd tried to go home on her own, she would've gotten lost amidst the crooked streets of Dublin. It was hard enough to make her way their in daylight. Now, in the darkest part of the night, it would be all the more difficult.

Elijah helped her to the front door. He ignored any of the people called his name, only focused on finding the way out. It was hard to squeeze through the amount of people in there. He had to ensure he kept her close or he'd lose her.

"Eli? Leaving so early?" Anna caught the pair as he opened the door. She looked between the two of them with two raised eyebrows. "Is she drunk? She looks pissed. Holy shit. Are you okay taking her or do you need any help?" Anna had lost the baby voice. She actually sounded concerned... how strange.

"I'll get a taxi. It's okay." Elijah thanked Anna for inviting him. "I'll see you at school."

"See you. Make sure she gets home safe."

"I will."

-

Elijah had to carry Leah from the taxi to her front door. He was pacing back and forth with her in his arms, trying to figure what to say to her parents. He had to ring the doorbell about five times before they answered. Her dog was barking extremely loudly and kicking at the door. She looked so peaceful as she slept, her skin a ghostly white under the bright light of the entrance.

The lurid red door shot open to reveal two stupefied faces. They were both in pyjamas. Leah's mother grabbed onto her daughter, falling into hysterics with tears stinging her eyes, "Is she dead? Oh my God. Dear Jesus—"

"No! No, Mrs Vazquez. She isn't dead!" Elijah worriedly shouted. "She's just very tired." Definitely tired. Not black out drunk.

Her Dad took his daughter from Elijah with a kind smile. She was still wearing his jacket. "Thank you, my boy." His strong Spanish accent rang out though Elijah's ears like a sweet melody.

"No worries." He stepped away from the doorway, glad to see the family back together. The puppy had been biting his jeans like they were slippers. It was a wild beast. Probably not suitable for domestication. It'd be better off in a forest with a pack of wolves. It was tiny though. Pocket-sized.

When the door closed, Elijah sat down on the bottom step leading to the house. His head fell into his lap, his thoughts were far too loud. He wanted to bang his head down onto the pavement. He wanted to scream out curses up at the clouds. He wanted to lay out his heart on a silver platter and deliver it straight to Leah's bedroom. Everything was driving him crazy. The whistling wind, the flashing streetlights, the honk of cars at the roundabout.

He walked to Rob's house. Tomorrow he would become Romeo. Tomorrow he'd either fuck everything up or make things the slightest bit better.

-

Leah awoke with a a burning headache. She couldn't feel the pillow beneath her head or the duvet on her body. Her bedding smelt of Elijah. She was wearing his jacket. She was still breathing in that scent that followed her everywhere.

Then a knock at her window. She gasped and pulled open the blinds. She looked up. It was that face again. Hewson. He was outside her fucking window. How long had he been there? How the hell did he get up there? Too many questions. She didn't want to move. She didn't want to leave him there, probably not in a very stable position. She unlocked the window. He crawled in.

"What the fuck?" She rubbed a hand over her eyes. There was too much light shining into the room. She was a vampire. Sat down in her very own coffin. Probably just seeing hallucinations. Until she was proved wrong by the bed dipping under his weight. He'd made sure to peel off his shoes and throw them onto her floor before he jumped down. The springs squeaked, silence echoed.

Leah knew she looked a mess. Her hair was probably frizzy, eyebags made her look like a zombie, there was sleep in her eyes that she was trying to pick out.

"Thank you for taking me home," she said. Why was he looking at her like that? It was 9 in the morning. Grey clouds brimmed the sky. Birds sang in Rob's garden. A few were eating from his bird feeder.

In just a white vest and sweatpants, Elijah seemed so bare. He was always in jeans or band shirts. This was different. Too intimate. She was glad she wasn't in pyjamas.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" He finally opened his mouth. She blushed beet-red, her eyes wide.

"Hewson, the actual hell?" She tried to wrestle with the fact that this was real life. That he was actually sitting only a metre away from her. That the eyes watching her weren't just part of a daydream. He had just said that. He had just scanned her whole frame and let those six words fall from his mouth like they were just milk to a cup of coffee, a sugar cube to a cup of tea. Something you don't even think about doing, something you just do without overthinking it.

"What's that on your wall?" He pointed up at one of the drawings above her bedpost. It was one of him. He was sat on the rope swing, smoke curling around him, lips around a cigarette.

She jumped to the side, leant back against it to keep it covered. This was not happening. This was not happening. She should've left him out there in the cold. Why did she even open that window?

"Is that me?" He tried to look over her shoulder.

"What are you talking about? You? Where?" She tried to laugh. It came out as a very nervous laugh.

He started to properly laugh. He tried to catch her off guard by throwing a pillow at her. She dodged it. That left the painting in perfect view.

"Elijah... it's not what you think it is." She saw him smile up to his ears. A cheshire cat. Elvis-like. Cheesy. His eyes crinkled at the corners, dimples forming. "You're just always there. I know it's creepy—"

"It's not." They were sat like they were the night before. But this time he had his head on her shoulder. "You're not only really fucking smart but also great at painting."

She was still blushing. More with every passing second. His hands were warm against her thighs. He just let one hand linger there. She stared at it. The dextrous fingers, the veins, the rings.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper. She kissed his forehead without even thinking about it. His heart was pounding. "Why are you here?"

"Why do you think I'm here?" He watched her grab her duvet, threw it over them. The whole room smelt only of her. He wanted to stay in that position forever. Feeling each movement of her shoulder, feeling her heartbeat against his ear, feeling her play with his hair.

"To embarrass me." She was referring to the painting. She pulled it off the wall and dropped it beneath her bed. Her plan was to throw it into the fireplace and watch it burn.

"That and something else." Elijah was now tracing over her silky dress, along her stomach, across her back.

"What's that?" She felt the weight of him drift away. He moved back to look at her.

"For you."

Then both of his hands were on her cheeks. They were cold. Her skin was boiling. Still bright red. He'd never seen her blush like that. Sure, whenever she got an answer wrong in class, she might stare down at the textbook and have a little splatter of pink graze her ears. But this, this was completely different. He lowered his head, parted his lips. He was taking his sweet time. She grabbed onto his vest and pulled him straight onto her, making their lips crash together in the movement. Hands on his waist, nose bumping into each other, his smile wide in the kiss. She couldn't believe what this had all turned into. Thinking was one of the most difficult things to do as Elijah Hewson pulled her onto his lap to get her even closer. His mouth fell down to her neck, peppering kisses along her collarbones, tasting her skin like it was a delicacy that had never once been tasted before.

"Leah! Are you awake! Breakfast is ready!" Knocks crashed on her door.

Elijah and Leah both stared at each other with complete terror in their eyes. She jumped off of his lap and dragged him straight into the closet, leaving him to pull his lighter out of the leather jacket. He also found that extra cash that she'd never used. He left it there for her instead of taking it.

Leah's mum gave her daughter a pointed look. "What was that about last night?"

"Nothing, Ma. I was just at a party. I got really sleepy."

"I bet you had fun with Elijah. You're always talking about him—"

"Ma!! No I don't." Leah snorted. Her words came out really loudly.

"Ever since primary school you've been talking about him. Don't lie, Leah. He's a handsome boy. I get it."

"Ma! Stop!"

"Breakfast. Chop chop."

Leah nodded. She stared at the closet. "Let me just get my clothes on."

Her mum looked around suspiciously. "Alright."

The door closed. Leah wanted to lock Elijah in the closet. She knew exactly what the look on his face would be when he got out.

He jumped out as quickly as possible.

"None of that was true. She's a compulsive liar."

"Sure, sure." He rolled out of the closet and jumped back onto her bed.

Then they were kissing again.

What he wouldn't tell her was that he had liked her since he was eight. Since the stupid Bono singalong. She'd wished him happy birthday as they stood in the lunch queue. Plastic trays in their hands, trying to look for their friends in the crowd of seated people, glancing over the dessert options with excitement. He had never known he could smile so much. Or so widely.

#elijah hewson #inhaler dublin #inhaler fanfiction #hewson #ryan mcmahon #bobby skeetz #robert keating #inhaler #inhaler band #eli hewson #imagines #inhaler imagines #inhaler oneshots

[killersfool]

Special Guest | ROBERT KEATING

PAIRING: robert keating x original f!character

GENRE: strangers to lovers

SUMMARY: hina and her band are invited as special guests to inhaler’s show in germany

WORDS: 7.3k

WARNINGS: kissing, swearing, alcohol use

I clutch onto the handle of my suitcase, feeling it bump against my fingers as the wheels roll along. It's a boiling day. It's so stuffy within the airport and the pace of our steps really isn't helping. My other hand is clutching a cup of iced coffee from Starbucks. It's freezing cold and as I gulp it down, I start to feel a little bit cooler. Sweat lines my back and neck. I really need to get out of here.

Michael, the band's bassist, has decided to lob all of his things into a luggage trolley.  I pile my suitcase and rucksack onto it. My arm needs to rest for a while. Especially since I'm going to be playing piano tonight. I need to make sure that my fingers are actually intact. Or else everything would probably go wrong.

"Where's the exit?" Sadie calls out. She's got her drumsticks out already. Eager. She's walking around in circles, glancing around corners, shifting through people. She stands out amongst the crowd of tourists. Her blue, braided hair shines under the glimmering lights above her. She's wearing a silk dress and fishnets, completely oblivious to the world around us. She doesn't seem to care. She's instead focused on trying to find the way out. If only airports were simpler. Us idiots can never understand what the bloody hell is going on. The fact we're in Germany in making it a lot worse. My German skills are almost nil.

"Hallo! Wo ist der Ausgang?" Michael is the only mildly intelligent one out of the band. He's got google translate on his phone and is talking to a random man.

"Es ist hinter dir. Hast du kein Augen?" The man seems to be rather pissed off.

"Danke!" Michael points to the sliding doors only metres ahead. Sadie had somehow looked in every direction except the right one. "Wasn't that hard was it?" Michael says.

"What would I do without you?" There's sarcasm dripping through each of Sadie's words. She shakes her head at the sight of the sliding doors.

We walk out of the airport. Michael's bass case gets trapped in the door. He groans frustratedly and uses all the strength he has to pull it out. We laugh at him. German families side-eye us.

"I want to see Bobby Skeetz already, " I say as we leave the airport. There's dozens of cars and taxis dropping off groups of people. "I'm still pissed at him."

"About what?" Eric, the lead guitarist, is clueless as always.

"About blocking me on Instagram, that's what. Just because I commented that his hair needed a wash or summat. I'm going to have a right word with that—"

"Hina —" Michael interupts me. I ignore his attempts.

"—complete total bellend-sucking rat." I grin to myself, downing my drink. The rest of the band are staring at me as if I've killed someone. Sadie's eyes are so wide I wonder if her eyeballs are going to fall out. Eric has a hand over his mouth. Michael is completely frozen in place which is rather unusual.

"Nice to meet you too."

I stop in my tracks. An Irish accent rises behind me. It's close. I can almost feel the words press against my sunburnt neck. I'm trying to mouth questions to my band mates, trying to ask them who it is that's standing behind me. If it's Bobby, I'm fucked. If it's Eli, we could probably laugh it off. If it's Ryan, he'll throw his drumsticks at me. If it's Josh, I'll jump off a cliff. All great options.

I pluck up some courage. Cautiously, my feet swivel around. Then my legs, then my torso, then my head. I take a thankful breath at the sight of dark, curly hair. This feeling deteriorates when right beside him, blue, piercing eyes are staring me down. Arms are crossed across his chest. Lips are pursed tightly shut. Messy hair has been blown in all directions due to the light, fluttering wind. Sunglasses are resting atop his head. I try to look anywhere else but him. He's taller than I'd expected, he looks down at me and I'm finding it very hard to escape those eyes. I stare at the sliding doors we'd just passed through. Eli is laughing to himself. Just as I had suspected.

Josh and Ryan are beside the two other boys. They're laughing as well. At least they're not taking it too seriously. I didn't mean it. I think.

I'm caught in the most awkward silence of my life. My lips have parted out of pure confusion. No one is saying anything. I don't know whether I feel stupid, embarrassed or proud. I just stay there, rooted to the ground like an oak tree, standing as tall as I possibly can.

"I was not expecting that," Eli tries to ease the tension rising in the air. I silently thank him through the motion of my eyes. Who knows how long we'd just be stand there if he hadn't have said anything?

"Well, shit. Hi," I say. For some reason I'm standing in front of the others. They've left me to fend for myself. I probably shouldn't have said that. I can never really control my mouth. I guess this is karma. "Nice to meet you too..."

Robert isn't speaking. I take a look at his clothes. He's got shorts on and a plain white tee with the words 'The Strokes' upon it. There's a hat atop his head which barely fits him and sort of hangs off his head. His long eyelashes flutter upwards and downwards as he traces his gaze towards me. He's still giving me a certain look. It's angered but it also seems as if he's trying to contain a smile.

"Sorry about that." I look at Robert.

"I'm very hurt." He feigns a look of sadness. He lowers his gaze to the ground, downturns his lips and shakes his head from side-to-side. "I can't believe you could ever say that."

"Oh shit-" Michael murmurs behind me. I kind of want to hit the three of them. They're not helping at all. God... is he joking or not? Elijah and the other lads seem to be taking it seriously. They're patting his back awkwardly.

"Where's the nearest exit?" Sadie's already planning an escape route. She's taken a few steps away from the group to look around at the airports different paths.

"Geez, Robert, I wasn't being serious-"

"Only joking, you tossers." He cuts me off with the biggest laugh I've ever heard. He finally breaks through the morose facade, revealing a toothy grin. His earrings glint as he tilts his head. The other members are having none of it. They all punch him playfully in the stomach. He groans. "Welcome to Berlin," Robert continues, raising his hands up in the air. My friends are still unsure about this whole situation. I am too. We start to stride down past the airport to a long stretch of streets.

"I really fucking hate you sometimes," Elijah says to the blue-eyed boy with an irritable sigh.

Robert grins. "Oh, I know you do." He then approaches me. "Did I actually block you?"

"Yeah, you did. I was heartbroken."

"Don't remember doing that." He snorts. The tension between us is starting to diminish. "Must've been drunk. Or played one too many rounds of bird bingo. Gets me angry, to be fair. Probably went on a blocking spree. Went through all my followers and eeny meeny miny moed them."

"Bird bingo?" I try not to make fun of him. It's proving to be a difficult task.

"Don't even try to disrespect it- I will actually burst into tears if you dare say a word against it. We'll show you at some point. It's life changing." He's stepping down a stone path, trying not to step on the cracks. It's the most Robert thing I've ever seen. "How's the new album going?"

I didn't expect him to ask that. By the cheeky smile upon his face, I was sure he was going to make some weird comment. "A lot worse than the first one."

"I'm sure it's class," he assures.

"It really isn't."

"I bet it is."

"It's not."

"Alright. It's shite then."

"Better."

Eli has somehow become our tour guide. We're following him now down the streets. "We've booked you a hotel down in Berlin. It's grand."

"Brill, thanks," Sadie says. She's been flirting with Josh for the past half hour. She'd been eyeing him up and down at the airport and is now making him laugh like crazy. They'd be a great couple. I watch them walk together. I just know that they'll be a thing by the end of this.

"Where are we actually going?" Michael, as usual, is the one asking the sensible questions. We've been following Eli like blind puppies. We could literally be walking into a trap. They could kidnap us right now and we would never have expected it.

"The tour bus," Eli explains. "It's green. If you see it, shout."

Michael and Eric are talking to Ryan. They're talking about all things music theory, tour, favourite songs. Just your typical musician conversations. Eli is at the front, navigating. He's spotted the green tour bus in the distance and is making sure we're all going the right way. It's helpful because none of us really have a sense of direction. Robert is walking with me for some reason. He's been a few steps in front of me for the whole time. It's probably because he's got longer legs. I think he's cute. Sure. I might have stumbled across some Twitter edits of him and daydreamed about him a few times. In person, he's just as pretty— prettier in fact. I feel annoyed at myself for making a fool of myself.

I watch the muscles in his back as he strolls before me. His shirt has stuck down due to the nightmarish temperature. I thank the sun for it's service. I don't think it gets any better than this.

We continue through the streets of Berlin: winding paths, brick graffiti-stained walls, little German cafes. I've been to Berlin only once before. It feels different this time. My brain has somehow warped and I can now appreciate the simplicity of each street. Maybe it's because I focus more on the world around me as a songwriter. Ice creams are melting, music is thrumming from little speakers where buskers are singing in German. I close my eyes, feel the heat dance across my skin.

"I'm sorry about earlier." I decide to break this weird oath of silence we've somehow agreed to.

"What, the bellend-sucking rat thing?" Robert says with distaste. He now turns to look at me. He raises a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. Silver rings adorn his slender fingers. He seems to be taking a long, hard thought about what to say next.  "I forgive you. I mean, fair enough."

"What?!" I'm flabbergasted.

"I deserved it. Had it coming. I guess I've learnt my lesson to not block Hina Irvine." The way my name falls from his lips is so effortless, so smooth. Honey spilling onto a morning toast or yoghurt upon granola. It almost feels practiced. As if he's said it countless times before. I let the two words echo in my mind, dance through my skull.

"Good," I say, an afterthought. I'm glad it's settled. "Are you going to unblock me then?"

"Later. Phone's dead."

"That's what they all say."

"No, honestly. Eli drained the battery because he was calling his mam. They would not stop talking." He rolls his eyes.

"Why didn't he use his own phone?"

"He 'left' it in the bus." He moves his index and middle finger to make parenthesis. "Five minutes later, lo and behold, out appears the phone he'd supposedly 'left'. I don't know why I trust him. He's just got such a trustable face. God. I hate him."

"If any of my friends did that to me, there'd be consequences."

"I'm sure." He nods.

We follow Eli into the doors of the tour bus. It's pretty much a physical form of the band. Posters are scattered across the walls, stuck in by little silver pins. Their instruments are leaning against the two little green sofas sat in the corner. There's music playing on a bluetooth speaker. It's a song by 'The Strokes' which is perfectly matching Robert's shirt. There are a few cowboy hats sat on top of a coffee table. They've probably started accumulating them after each show.

"Ignore the hats." Josh is the first to address the mess. He picks up the hats and takes them away. He passes a green curtain to what I assume are the beds.

There's still one hat to spare which has the words 'Cheer up Baby' made with black glitter. It's bright pink with little frills across the sides. I plonk it onto my head without a second thought. I'm sure glitter has just splattered everywhere.

"Make yourself at home." Eli points over to the sofa. There are dark green pillows planted all over the place and a black blanket is draped across it. I glance at the polaroid pictures of each of the band mates that are pinned to the walls. There is one where Robert is half asleep on the ground. His hair is messy, his arms are across his chest as if he is a vampire. Each of the photos tell a story and they are all set out in chronological order. The oldest is from 2017. As I take my gaze to the first ones, I notice how much younger they all look.

The keyboardist, Louis, appears out of nowhere. He's been in the other room and is holding a cup of coffee. He greets all of us, compliments our music then begins talking to Eli.

I sit down. Ryan passes each of us a cup of orange juice. I accept it gratefully. I'm parched after being in the heat for so long. The tiny fan beside the coffee table is a welcome relief. I sigh as the cool air reaches my skin. I watch the ice cubes swim inside my cup, nudging them along with my straw.

Robert has sat down beside me. He's adding songs to the Spotify queue on Ryan's phone. He's been swiping through a playlist. I see one of our songs on it. His thumb hovers over the 'add to queue' button. I push it down onto the screen. He startles at my touch. I only realise how close I am when he turns around.

"Good song, right?" I joke. His hair has just swiped across my cheek. I try to ignore it just happened.

"Yeah..." He continues staring at the screen. It's almost as if he's scared to look at me.

"Who wants to drive?" Ryan asks.

Michael jumps up. "I will. I'll need some directions though."

"I'll co-pilot," Elijah offers. "I think I know where we're going."

The pair walk to the front of the bus. It starts moving. I drift from side-to-side as we turn corners. My head hits Robert's shouder more times I can even count on my fingers. He's still evading my gaze. He's pulled out his bass guitar and is playing through some of the songs. I watch his thin fingers dancing across the fretboard. He's got his eyes closed as he plays. I'm trying not to stare down at his hands or the muscles in his forearms. It's proving to be a very difficult task. His movements are so skillful. He makes it seem so easy.

Sadie somehow has a sixth sense which helps her detects where the nearest bottle alcohol is. Every party we've been to, every place we've performed at. She arises from the most random of places with a glass of wine or vodka. I remember one of our first gigs was in Edinburgh. There was a room backstage where we'd been left to get prepared. Michael had mentioned wanting some drinks. Sadie literally picked up a piece of the wooden floorboard to find a secret stash of whiskey. I never doubt her powers now.

She's pulled out a bottle of vodka which had been left behind the sofa. Fleetwood Mac is playing. She turns the music up and starts waving her hands in the air, already drinking shots. Eric never really know how to control her. Ryan and Josh entertained. They're bopping their heads to the music. I contemplate moving away from Robert. They're all having so much fun. Robert has gone quiet. He's still picking notes on the bass guitar.

"Hina? You want a shot?" Sadie shouts for me over the loud music. She pours some vodka into each of the boys' cups.

"Yeah, sure." I'm about to hold out my glass. Instead, I grab the bottle and take a swig. I instantly regret it. My features contort into a look of disgust. I can barely even feel my tongue. I hold it in place at the roof of my mouth to try to find any sensation. Nothing works.

Robert, now awoken from his trance, peels his head from the sofa. His eyes open until they're half-lidded. A little blue is visible under those long eyelashes. His head is tilted to the side as if he's questioning something. The bass guitar is still resting on his thighs.

"D'you want some?" I manage to say after staring at him for far too long.

His eyes fall from my face to my hands. He takes the bottle from me. His fingers brush softly over mine, all calloused yet delicate. He, similarly to me, takes a drink straight from the bottle. The others make some drunken noises of excitement. I don't even know if we'll be able to perform in this state. Sadie is standing on top of the coffee table, holding Josh's hands. Eric and Ryan are jokingly slow dancing together with cheesy smiles. Elijah has appeared and is on the phone to his mum yet again in the corner.

"We'll be at the venue in five minutes everybody!" Michael shouts down the bus.

Everyone begins to cheer. I lean against the sofa, now suddenly realising I'm sort of alone with Robert.His hands are behind his head and his eyes are closed again. He's humming along to the song that is playing. It's Love Story by Taylor Swift. Eric surely suggested it. He's obsessed with Taylor. Robert is sitting with both of his legs parted. Manspreading. I don't think he understands the effect he has on me. Especially on my intoxicated mind. I just want to crawl onto him and-

"Hina," he whispers, eyes still closed. I like the sound of my name from his mouth. It sounds like he's singing it. "When we perform tonight. Can I sing a song with you?" He looks at me. His hands are wrung together. One goes to play with his hair and his voice is hushed, nervous.

"Really? One of my songs?" I remark. I can't help but smile.

"No.. nevermind." He turns to face away from me. "Yes. Really." He says those words with more force. He leans forwards in a way of accentuating his point. "It'd be an honour."

"What do I get in return?" I challenge. He's getting closer by the second.He smells like blackberries and melted chocolate. It's a cozy scent. Inviting. I'm trying to figure out what's going on in his head. He's lost in his thought. Gears are cranking, mechanics are whirring. Until, he nods to himself as if an idea has appeared. A lightbulb has turned on. I hope he'll spit it out. Hopefully soon because the bus is going to stop any minute now.

"After the things you've said about me... I'm not sure if you deserve the incredible the thing I'm about to offer you. Like, not to burst my own bubble or anything but this is just- out of this world," he begins to ramble. I wonder if it's nervous dribble or if he's buying time because he doesn't want to say it. He leans away from me. His cheeks are a little flushed and his lips are parted the slightest bit.

"What is it, Rob?"

He takes another sip of the vodka before murmuring something incoherent.

"What was that?" I put a hand to my ear.

"A kiss!" He says it far too loud. Ryan gives us both a look, his eyebrows thread together in confusion.

I feel like we're teenagers again. "That's a shit offer." I glance down at his lips, they're pink and a little chapped. I then see how red his cheeks are now. His hair has fallen over his eyes. I ask myself whether he'd be a good kisser. Would he cup my face with his hand or grip my waist? Would he be delicate and soft or rough and practiced? My mind begins to wander to all kinds of places. I've got into a spiral of thoughts. Would he kiss me here on the sofa or press me against the wall of the bus? In the venue? At the hotel? In a bed..? I swallow. Breathe out.

"Well?" He runs his tongue over his lips, teeth appearing. He's trying to tease me, trying to make me nervous.

I bite down on my bottom lip. I try to find an answer in those angelic eyes. There's nothing. Singing with him would be great. He's got an amazing voice. Kissing him would be... well-

"Fine," I murmur.

"Now or later?" He points between us with a devilish smile.

I scoff. "Later. Don't get too excited. Which song do you want to sing?"

"Nightmare," he says. It's the title track of the album and my personal favourite. His harmonies will surely add more to the song, flesh it out all the more.

He's sat there, studying me as if he's a painter. Maybe he's asking myself the same questions I had been asking myself a few minutes ago. That's a strange thought.

"We're here!" Eli announces. Thank God. Saved by the bell. I take this as an excuse to run away from Robert. I meet with Sadie. She wraps her arm around me to steady herself as we step off the bus.

"Think you can still play drums?" I pass her the drumsticks she'd left on the sofa.

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, of course. I'm not even that drunk." Her words are incredibly slurred.

"Doubt that."

"What's going on with you and Bobby?" She winks.

"Nothing."

"Hmm. Didn't look like nothing. I think he likes you. Josh said he wouldn't shut up about how great your songs are."

I blush. "Oh? That's..."

"Yeah."

It's still warm outside but there's a slight chill that strikes me. It's windy. It's nice. After being cooped up in the bus for so long, fresh air is a gift from the heavens. My hair blows away from my face and I breathe in.

We've reached the venue and parked at the back entrance. There's thankfully no fans around. They'd probably be scared of us, seeing how drunk we are. We walk over pebbled ground. Stars are glittering up above us. There are street lamps everywhere, illuminating everyone's faces.

I'm pretty sober compared to the others. I make fun of them as they stumble around like total idiots. It's my favourite pastime when touring with the likes of Sadie Green. They're all unloading their instruments from the bus, carrying them on their backs. As the keyboardist and singer, I don't have to take anything. They already have a piano in the venue and microphones. Louis has his own keyboard and synth stuff. I feel a little out of place with everyone else.

A crash sounds. The backstage door opens. We all turn at the exact same time. There's an old man with hair like a storm cloud who waves at us. "Willkommen! Welcome! I'm Albert. Come in, my friends!" His strong German accent catches me off guard. "You're just in time. The crowd is getting loud."

"Hi!" Eli shakes Albert's hand.

We follow Eli into the building. It's has a pale, beige exterior with moss growing against some of the upstairs windows. Robert walks in before me and holds open the door. He's staring right at my lips. Not even being subtle. I kick his shin once I've got inside. He makes a mouse-like squeak.

"What was that for?" He trying to act serious but he's most definitely holding in a laugh. He softly kicks the back of my leg once I've passed.

I ignore him and continue down some stairs into a dressing room. Eric, Michael and Sadie are already getting their stuff ready.

"You four are on in ten minutes, we've already set up everything for you on stage." Albert steps into the doorway. He looks like the type of guy to wear a monocle. His pocketwatch is in his hand. He gives each of a bag of German sweets. "I must say, I am a fan."

"Thank you," Eric says as he rips open his bag and begins munching.

I put my bag into my blazer pocket. I drop the cowboy hat down onto the floor, forgetting I even had it on. I sit down in front of the mirror and begin to do my makeup. Eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, eyeshadow. The speed of my movements is impalpable. I never knew my hands could move this quickly. By the time I'm finished doing my dark blue eyeshadow, the Inhaler boys come to the door.

"Good luck. You're gonna smash it," Josh says. Sadie jumps towards him and pecks his cheek. There's a lipstick stain left there once she pulls away. He cups his hand over his face with a nervous smile.

The other boys all wish us luck as we begin to file out of the room. Eli gives us all fist bumps, Louis gives us hi-fives. Ryan, Josh and Robert just wave us off. I'm the last to leave the room. I pick up my water bottle then pass all the instrument cases to get to the door. I give Eli a fist bump and I'm about to give Louis a hi-five when Robert grabs my arm. My gaze falls down to the hand on my bare skin. His fingertips are warm and soft. He just whispers into my ear, "Be prepared for the unexpected."

"What?" My nose scrunches out of confusion. I didn't think he'd be sending some random quotes in my direction.

"Hina! Hurry up!" Eric shouts from upstairs.

I just shake my head and keep walking. Now, I'm worried. Is he going to do something when he comes onto stage? Something stupid? Am I going to regret agreeing to this dumb deal? I just continue forward. I need to focus on what I'm about to be playing, how I'm going to cope multitude of people just down the hallway.

We reach the wings of the stage. Sadie is the first to go on. The crowd erupt into a frenzy at the sight of her. I glance around the corner to see dozens of smiling faces. The majority of people are hidden under the cloak of darkness. But, the ones at the front are coloured blue by the lighting above us. The crowd looks endless from here. There's a knot forming in my stomach as Eric and Michael follow Sadie onto the stage. They plug in their instruments to the amps laid out. I finally step onto the stage. The crowd screams all the more. I wave as I place my water bottle beside the mic stand. There are little golden stars painted all over the floor of the stage. I step onto one, deciding that it's going to make me lucky. This is all going to be great. Definitely.

I sit down at the piano. I press my foot onto the peddle. Sadie begins playing. The beats of the drum crashing through the air sound perfect. There's not even a single sign that she's drunk at all. This is probably the best I've ever heard her play. We play through two songs from the album. The crowd recognise them and they sing along at the top of their lungs. They're punching their arms into the air, filming us, laughing as Eric cracks his signature jokes.

By the end of the second song, I'm sweaty and pretty out of breath. I don't know how Inhaler cope with the amount of songs they do. I already feel like I'm on the verge of passing out.

I take a sip of my water. I turn to the side to see all of the Inhaler boys in the wings. They're holding their thumbs up. They had been singing along to both of the songs.

"I'm going to have a special guest for this song-"

At that, Robert decides it is his cue to run onto the stage. He doesn't even let me finish a sentence. The crowd begins chanting: 'Bobby Skeetz. Bobby Skeetz.' I laugh awkwardly into the mic. Robert sits beside me at the piano, wrapping a lazy arm around my waist. My head bumps into his side. The other band members are all mouthing words to eachother.

"Hello," Robert whispers into the mic. The crowd go silent. He's changed into some flared jeans and a white button down shirt. There's a silver chain around his neck, sitting just above his collarbones. It's weird to see him on stage without his bass guitar. It doesn't really feel right. More people have pulled up their phones to film this strange interaction. "This will be the duet of a lifetime." His hand is still at my waist, fingers lazily moving around my lower back. I drop my head upon his bare shoulder, closing my eyes at the feeling of his cooler skin.

"Are we sharing a mic then?" I whisper into his ear as Michael starts playing the bass riff. Some people at the front of the crowd instantly figure out the song. They're jumping around like lunatics.

"Is that really a bad thing?" He smirks.

"Fuck off."

"You're stuck with me now, darling." His fingers traipse up the length of my spine.

"I could stage dive right now."

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

The introduction finishes. I start to play chords on the piano. Robert sings the first line. He sounds like a fucking angel. He waves his hands along with the audience. They're loving this. No one is singing. They're all listening to his voice. I'm in some kind of trance. I can barely even remember the words. Words that I literally wrote myself. He's driving me crazy.

I near the microphone. My head brushes against his. He doesn't want to move. He's still holding onto me. I sing along with him. He starts to harmonise and I almost melt on the spot. He's looking at me with those eyes. He's smiling, freckled cheeks tinged pink. His nose bumps against mine once we get to the chorus. I swear I hear someone below us scream. There's a little beard growing that I hadn't noticed before. Little spots of acne are on his jawline. I'm using all the strength I have in myself to not kiss him right now.

As we sing the next verse, for the whole time, he just rests his head on top of mine. Strands of his hair are drifting over my forehead. He harmonises every other line. Each word is spoken softly as if he's speaking to me. It's like the crowd isn't there, or the band, or anyone. It's just me and him and the piano.

His mouth reaches my ear again. I shiver as his lips brush across the lobe. "I want to kiss you so much," he says, breathless.

"Don't." I feel a warmth in my lower stomach. I point to the crowd. They look like they're waiting for something.

"I know." He removes his hand from my back, moves away. He's using all the strength he has to not kiss me right now. He grins at the crowd. The song draws to a close. Michael plays the bass riff for a final time.

Shouts reverberate throughout the room. Robert puts his hands up and down as if he's worshipping me. I smile. He laughs. The crowd are loving it. Eric and Michael are still extremely confused but they also seem pleased. We walk towards the wings after bowing. I have a bouquet of flowers in my hands. It had been thrown in my direction by a fan.

"After our set..." Robert is at my ear again. He's panting like a dog after a walk. "Meet me in my dressing room. For, you know, bird bingo of course."

"Yeah, yeah. Course." I leave him to get prepared for their performance.

"That was bloody awesome!" Ryan gives Robert a pat on the back before they walk on the stage. "We fucked up not making you the lead singer."

Eli snatches a drumstick from Ryan's hand. He holds it centimetres from his friends face. "Don't make me do this!"

"Chill out, Eli. I'm just better." Robert crosses his arms over his chest.

Eli just scoffs. "You tell yourself that, mate." He pauses. "But, honestly, you two sing so well together."

They all go onto the stage and start playing. I'll admit this, I have seen them on stage before. I went to one of their concerts about a month ago in Dublin. We had been touring up and down the UK and somehow ended up in Ireland.  I kept it a secret from my band mates that I was going to watch Inhaler. I needed some time to myself. It gets tiring being with the same people for such a long period of time. That was one of the best nights of my life. The music, the atmosphere, the band. It was brilliant. I don't think any of them remember me being there, thank God. Sadie still thinks I disappeared that night because I'd met a fit Irish actor in a pub.

I sit down on the ground, taking a massive gulp of water. My friends are all breathing heavily. I always enjoy the feeling after the show. I always have the best sleep. I'm so tired. I can barely process any thoughts. A comfortable silence dances between us. We're all drinking and laughing.

"Should we just hire Robert at this point? The chemistry you two had was- can't even describe it." Michael is leaning against the wall, his long legs are sprawled across the dusty floorboards.

"I thought you two were going to start making out or something," Eric admits. "Sexual tension was off the charts."

"Stop." I laugh to myself.

Sadie hasn't spoken. She's too focused on Josh. Her eyes are gliding across his whole frame. She gasps everytime he plays a solo.

"You too as well. Get a room. I swear to God." Eric has had enough of us. He really can't take us seriously. "I mean, fair enough. They're pretty hot."

"Exactly!" Sadie seems to be thankful of where she's seated. A front row view of Josh. Robert has been looking at me for this whole time. He's making that unbothered face. Each time that he sings into the mic, I can't stop myself from looking at his lips. I can't stop thinking about how they'll feel against mine.

-

Robert's dressing room is a mess. His bass case has just been left on the floor. There are picks everywhere. His jacket is on the chair, his cologne is also on the floor. I glance into his open bag. There are a few records inside. He must've bought them recently because they've still got plastic seals on them. I pull them out carefully. One is 'Bleach'. I love Nirvana. I slide my fingertips over the plastic. I contemplate strealing it. I replace the record then pull out the other. It's our record. I'm in the centre of the picture with the others staring at the camera beside me. I hold it to my chest, trying not to smile too widely. I then place it back as if I'd never even seen it.

I lie down on the cold, hard ground. It's so quiet down here. They must've finished playing. My eyes fall shut. I want to fall asleep. My mind then goes to Robert. I'm in a daydream. We're both walking through a field. He's holding my hand, pointing out the birds up above us. I'm trying to focus on the words leaving his mouth but in the harsh light of the sun, he looks perfect. I'm just about to lean it to-

"Hey, Hina." The door opens. My eyes first land on long legs that seem to go on forever, then a belt, then a sweaty shirt and a sweaty face. The thin material sticks to his chest. He closes the door behind him. "What you doing down there?"

"I don't know. I'm tired."

He wipes a hand over his face. "Same."

He sits down beside me then falls back, resting his head on the floor next to me. I roll my head over to see his side profile. Perfect nose, perfect lips, perfect jaw. His hair has gone wet from all of the sweat and he's tried to move it out of his face. I'm sure he can feel me staring because he starts to smile.

"It's nice down here." He's staring at the ceiling. Our hands are so close together. I hold onto his thumb. His fingers twitch at the sudden touch.

"How was the show?" I ask him. He's still not looking at me.

His fingers intertwine with mine. "Good. I couldn't stop thinking about something though."

Now, he looks at me. His eyes run from my chin to my lips to then they meet my gaze. I don't think a guy has ever made me this nervous. I don't know why we're still on the floor. I kind of like it though.

"We don't have to... if you don't want to." I press a hand to his cheek, moving any stray hairs from his face. His skin is so warm. I want to keep my hand there forever.

"I want to," I say. I start to close the gap between us. He parts his lips when I'm just about to meet them.

"Wait." He turns away from me. I press my forehead to his ear, pepper a few kisses along his jaw. He's going red. I love it. "You were at that show, weren't you? The one in Dublin."

"No I wasn't." I grin as I nibble on his earlobe. "Must've been someone else."

He sighs as I start to kiss along his throat. I keep it delicate. I run my hand though his hair, feel each strand fall between my fingers. "Yes, you were. Near the front. You had that dark green cowboy hat. You knew all the lyrics to every song. I remember seeing you and thinking: 'I know who she is'. For the whole show, I was trying to figure out who on Earth you were. Well, now I know."

"Don't tell the others. It's a secret, okay?" I now hold my face just above his.

He places his hands carefully at the back of head. He rubs up and down the nape of my neck. "Okay."

He brushes his lips across mine, teasing me. I close my eyes as our mouths crash together. There's passion in the way he kisses. I imagined him to kiss slowly, softly but instead he's kissing me as if the world is crumbling around us. He's rough yet the movement of his hands across my skin are gentle. He tastes of coffee. His tongue drifts into my mouth, searching, tasting.

I grab fistfuls of his hair, pulling a few pieces. He groans into my mouth. I found his weak spot. I smile into the kiss.

I pull away from him. He raises an eyebrow at the movement. I then clamber on top of him, my legs wrapping over his sides. He puts both of his hands onto my hips to hold me upright. He looks up at me. He's exasperated. I think he's trying to formulate some snarky comment but all he can do is stare at me.

I lean down to kiss him again. He starts playing with my hair, kissing along my collarbones. He sucks and bites every now and then. I play with the chain at his neck, my other hand nearing the top button of his shirt. I tilt my head up to allow him better access. He licks along the base of my throat.

"I thought you said one kiss," I mutter. He's surely painted my skin with a whole load of lovebites.

He just shuts me up by kissing me once again. This time is more passionate that the last. He's bring down softly on my lips, tongue still looking around my mouth. My body is pressed flush against his. He loosely wraps his fingers around my neck, thumbs running up and down. I grind my hips against him. He grunts. "Hina..." He looks up at me. He's now bright red. He's still got his hands around my neck.

I hook my fingers to get under his shirt, slide my hands under the fabric. He leans his head further against the floor as I lean down to press my lips to his lower abs. My fingertips feel every part, as if I'm sculpting a God. His body is too good to be true. I start to suck down on his skin. He's sighing and breathing heavily. He holds onto the back of head for dear life. I start to unbutton his shirt. He puts his hands underneath my shirt as I do, cautiously sliding upwards. Once I've undone every button, I lick a stripe from his lower abs to the centre of his chest. I'm driving him insane. He keeps muttering words under his breath.

"Do you regret blocking me on Instagram now?" I move away from his torso to admire my work. There are at least ten lovebites on his skin, all scattered around his body. He pulls his body upwards to allow me to take of his shirt. I then throw it off to the side.

"Maybe." His hands are cupping my boobs over my bra. He just lets them stay there for a while.

I run my fingertips over the muscles in his back. His shoulder blades shift around. I fall on top of him. We're both tired out of our minds.

"I want to— you know. But, I'm so tired," he admits. "I don't think we'll enjoy it that much."

I glance down at his jeans. I could feel how hard he was. "I could..."

"It's fine," he whispers. He pulls me down against his bare chest. He starts to fiddle with the little braids scattered through my hair. "I just want you here. Hina, you're fucking perfect."

"Says you." I still can't get over how good of a kisser he is.

"I want to stay here forever." He presses his lips to my forehead.

I take a deep breath. Kiss him again. Now, he kisses me slowly. I drift back down to his chest and listen to each pounding beat of his heart until I'm lulled into a deep sleep.

#robert keating #bobbyskeetz #inhaler #inhaler band #inhaler oneshots #inhaler imagines #elijah hewson #ryan mcmahon #josh jenkinson #bobby skeetz #fanfiction #inhaler fanfic

[killersfool]

Guitar Lessons | JOSH JENKINSON

It's late on a Saturday afternoon and I've just finished recording my violin part for Inhaler's new song. I'm sprawled across the sofa. Both of my legs are hooked over the arm rest and my head is crushed against an assortment of different pillows. Eli and Ryan have left as it's getting pretty late. Rob is packing up his things at the opposite end of the room.

"This sounds grand, Avani." Josh has been listening through the final take. He's tapping his ringed fingers along to the tune, dreads shifting with each bop of his head.

"Thank you." I play around with the bow of my violin. I thank it for actually working with me today. I've been so nervous lately whilst helping them with the album. Josh had called me a few weeks ago, remembered me from our music class as the only violinist. I was so glad to hear from him again. I'd always looked up to him as a brilliant musician.

Rob zips up his bad, slings it over his shoulder then gives us a wave. He seems to be in a rush. Normally, he has a smoke before he leaves but now I can hear the echoes of his fast footsteps speeding down the corridor.

"It's getting late, isn't it?" I remark, checking my watch. It's just gone 11pm. Josh has been walking me home after each session. We're usually the last people left here. I can't really be bothered to move anyway. It's nice to hear Josh picking notes on his guitar. I can only see the back of his head from here, the muscles in his arms flexing as he plays.

"I've just got to finish these parts then the song is done. Thank God. I didn't think we'd ever finish." Josh continues playing around on his guitar. He's testing out ideas. He hums every now and then, searching for some kind of melody. I find it incredible how easily everything comes to him. He's flicking guitar pedals on, turning up the speakers.

"I don't know how you do it," I admit.

He swivels around on the chair. He's smiling. "What?"

"Guitar confuses me a lot."

"It's not too bad."

I scoff. "Right."

"No, honestly. Do you want me to show you something?"

"Sure?"

I almost jump when he plonks himself beside me. He pulls the guitar strap over his head, places the guitar gently on my lap. I awkwardly grab onto the instrument. He laughs to himself at the sight. He grabs the neck of the guitar, positions it so that it's not about to wack my face. He then grabs onto one of my wrists, brings his hand up to the first few frets. His fingers are cold and his grip is so very careful. I take a look at his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, he's completely concentrated of the placement of my hands.

"Okay.. now..." He's whispering under his breath. I love the warmth of his voice. I've learnt to enjoy the tone of it. Each time he speaks, I'm drawn to the sound.

He begins pulling my fingers around and presses them down on the strings. I just let him work his magic. He's wearing a black shirt. The top two buttons are undone. It's a nice sight. His boots are clacking upon the ground. He's breathing softly. It's so very quiet in the room.

"Here. That's a C." He motions down to my other hand to strum the chord. I do it. One note at a time until it creates the entire chord. He proudly smiles.

"You should properly give lessons." I play the chord over and over again. It feels nice to know I can actually do something on the guitar.

He shakes his head, kicks his legs up on the other armrest, his boots just beside my head. "I'd be shite."

"No, you wouldn't. I'd pay for lessons."

"Oh, yeah?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Mhm..." I hold the guitar up. "Show me something else."

I suddenly realise just how silent the room is when we're both looking at eachother. He's planning—I can tell by that glint of wonder in those soft brown eyes. He fiddles with his bracelet. His eyes are gliding across my frame. I don't think he's really looking at me. He's zoned out, lost in his thoughts. He kicks his boots next to eachother beside my head. I'm still strumming the C chord. I'm sure it's annoying him. It's annoying me, to be fair.

He then, out of absolutely nowhere, grabs me by the waist. The touch is unfamiliar and I almost squirm at the randomness of it. He somehow picks me up and drops me flat down on his lap. I'm now sat on top of him, guitar still on my legs, his hands resting on my waist. I want to say a word, ask him what he's doing but my mouth doesn't want to work with me. Instead, I keep silent and let him do whatever he's doing.

He leans forwards slightly. My back presses against his chest. He then puts his head over my shoulder. He smells like bloody heaven. Cinammon and digestives. I'd brought a whole pack of chocolate digestives to lighten the mood, he enjoyed them a bit too much. He's also extremely warm. I've been pretty cold in this room and his warm chest makes me forget I'd ever been cold at all. He's never been this close to me. I always thought he was too shy to even come near me. This is different.

"Here, take this." He passes me a dark blue guitar pick. I take it in my hand. The sudden words leaving his mouth fall so very close to my ear. He then notices me shifting around. "Is this alright? I'm sorry." He's always been one to apologise about everything.

"No, Josh, it's fine," I reply. I'm smiling to myself. He holds the neck of the guitar then moves my right hand down. He positions it in a manner so that he can move it around to pluck the notes. His hands are a lot colder than his chest, that's for sure. He's breathing more now and I can feel each exhale land onto the back of my neck.

"You okay?" I ask. He's still trying to fix my hand into the right position. I turn slightly so that I can actually see his face. His cheeks are a whole lot pinker than they'd been before.

"Yeah.. yeah.." He pauses his motions to look at me. He smiles. He has the sweetest smile. "You're so beautiful, Avani."

I turn away from him now realising just how interesting the wall can be. There's something about the way he said those words. So low, so honest. He has a vice grip over my heart. I manage to reply a quiet, "Thanks."

He starts to play the It Won't Always Be Like This solo using me as his pick. It really isn't going as he planned. It's a complete mess. By the end of it, we're both laughing like crazy. He's resting his head on my back as he laughs, his hair is rolling along my shirt. I place the guitar on the ground and lean against his chest and close my eyes. He wraps his arms around me as if this is a normal thing. If anyone saw us together like this, they definitely wouldn't think we're just friends.

"That was terrible," I say, trying to fill the silence. He tightens his grip. His arms are against my stomach, his cheek now against mine. "Should we go home?"

He seems to ponder the question. "In a bit. Can we just...?" He pulls me even closer until my entire body is against his. I curl into him like I'm a dog nesting in its bed.

I guess recently I've been trying to force myself to not look at him for too long or act in any way suspicious. Maybe my talent crush on him has evolved into something more. Especially now, head on his chest, heartbeats thumping in my ears. He plays around with my hair, seemingly marvelling at the softness with each touch.

"D'you want to go out for coffee someday?" The sudden confidence of his words makes me lurch up to face him. He's nervously biting down on his lip, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean, if you want. Like, I'm not forcing you to or anything—"

"I'd love to." I plant a gentle kiss on his cheek to interrupt his trail of thoughts. He blushes.

#josh jenkinson #inhaler imagines #inhaler oneshots #inhaler band #fanfic #fanfiction #elijah hewson #robert keating #bobby skeetz #ryan mcmahon

[msmoony7]

12 days of fics!!

Hi guys! I'm doing winter themed blurbs for the twelve days leading up to Christmas (December 14-25)!!! I’ll update these with the links to the fics once they’re posted. These are what and who I'm writing about! I’ll be doing some for inhaler and some for the marauders. all of them are fluff but the last one, which is nsfw.

Day 1: playing in the snow with james Day 2: NYC trip with ryan Day 3: baking cookies with sirius Day 4: gryffindor christmas party with remus Day 5: holiday decorating with bobby Day 6: mistletoe with james Day 7: snowboarding with josh Day 8: movie night with remus Day 9: decorating gingerbread houses with ryan Day 10: ice skating on the great lake with sirius Day 11: inhaler christmas show with eli Day 12: snowed in with james (nsfw)

#harry potter #hogwarts #marauders #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #ryan mcmahon #josh jenkinson #elijah hewson #bobby skeetz #robert keating #bobbyskeetz #ryan mcmahon inhaler #holiday fics #inhaler #inhaler band #inhalerdublin #inhaler dublin #james potter blurb #christmas fic #marauders fics #james potter fanfic #james potter fluff #remus lupin fluff #james potter smut #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #robert keating x reader

[killersfool]

Irish Goodbye | RYAN MCMAHON

Naomi swirled around the contents of her cup, in an out-of-it corner of her mind. She couldn't concentrate on the croaky vocals thrumming from the two humongous speakers—karaoke—some Journey song, the name had slipped away, under some pile of dust lodged within her creaking skull. Pulp was climbing up the glass, a green gooey sediment had collected at the bottom on the cup where, on the glass, miniscule flowers had been painted. Maybe if she was more of an optimist, she'd be imagaining the cup was, in a way, similar to a field. The green liquid being the glass and the coloured shapes being the flowers blooming.

She was bored, as you can tell. Very, very bored.

Imagining herself upstairs, watching a few episodes of Father Ted, she smiled contently. She ate a few crips from the glass bowl left on the bar. One was cheese and onion, the next prawn cocktail and the final was a quaver. Her favourite. It melted upon her tongue and she rolled it around her mouth to devour any straw flavour.

"This party's far from grand, isn't it?" A distant voice alerted her senses. She turned like a barn owl, her head almost making a compleye 180 until she met black, monochromatic eyes. He was one of the first boys she'd encountered in that grimy pub who's clothes were not black-and-white, devoid of colour, like the life had been sucked out of them. They were all virtually just walking mummies or corpses or a mixture of both. The second thing she noticed was his accent, Irish, which rose and fell as if he was a poet trying to prove a point.

"You can say that again." She spun her bar seat around to get a proper look at him.

"I was just about to head out and get an icecream. I'd been craving it—might be because everything in this place tastes the same." She watched how his hands moved along as he spoke. She didn't know whether to focus on his eyes, or his hands, or his hair which was a mess. He awkwardly swiped a stray hair from his pale forehead. His fingers lingered there as he breathed in rapidly. "I thought you might want to come along. Going to get icecream on your own feels pretty pointless. I don't think Sarah will care anyhow. You're Naomi? The journalist?"

Naomi had never met such an odd man in her twenty-five years of living. He wasn't odd in the sense that you'd want to run away from him or hold your keys like a knife in case he tried anything. It was more of a—why would some random bloke want to leave a pub, party, carnage for... icecream? He seemed like the type to hang out with party animals. Sarah had told the group that he was a drummer for some band. They'd been friends since they were very young. He was always bringing excitement to the most boring festivities. Gradually, it was becoming a necessity to invite him.

Naomi blinked twice, gulped about half of the glass of her green drink then slid the glass across the counter. It halted just before reaching the edge. She decided that she was going to take his offer. Anything to get away from the overpowering aroma of sweat that was burning the insides of her nose. Anything to get away from Sarah's shrieks filling the air everytime a karaoke song came on that she recognised. Naomi should've invested in some earbuds to block out the sound.

"Are you coming then?" The guy tried again, this time with a questioning tilt of the head. He beared his teeth, loosened his tie, ruffled his hair. "I'm Ryan by the way. I don't think we've ever been properly introduced."

Naomi shook the dark-haired boy's hand with a nervous, barely noticeable smile. "Nice to meet you and yeah, sure. Icecream sounds great."

She removed her jacket from the bar stool, placed her arms through the holes, ate another handful of crips before tucking in the stool and following Ryan out of the pub. She felt like she was breaking the law by not telling Sarah that she was leaving. This was unusual. They were both clinging to the shadows, glued to the dim half of the pub where the lights weren't really working.

"Are we Irish goodbying this?" Naomi whispered as they passed the gambling machines and pool tables. Her stomach was in knots, adrenaline pumping through her veins, heart beating at a double tempo.

Ryan stopped in his tracks before he pushed open the backdoor. Two words 'fire exit' in green were painted upon it. "Irish goodbye? Is that a saying? Or are you making fun of my accent?"

"No, no. It's a saying. I like your accent. It's like leaving an event without telling anyone." Naomi clarified. She had heard her friend using the phrase before. She'd never encountered a way to describe such a specific thing.

"Let's Irish goodbye this shit."

The pair crashed through the back door. A tidal wave of wind prickled across Naomi's skin. Goosebumps appeared upon her bare arms, moonlight poured onto the rain-covered pavement, scent of cigarette smoke hung in the air. The sky was a darkened pink as the sun glided on the horizon.

Naomi's heels splashed water everywhere as she stepped down the stairs leading to the alleyway. Her hair was all in her face due to the constant flow of wind dancing across her frame. Somehow Ryan's hair was pretty much intact (although it had been very messy beforehand so Naomi couldn't really tell how much it had changed). The clothes he was wearing—a leather jacket, Bowie shirt, jeans—meant that there was not a single inch of skin for the wind to knife and torture. Naomi missed the warmth of the pub.

"I like your accent too." Ryan had let her words sink in. He'd brainstormed them out in his mind to find the deeper or hidden meaning. He was like that. Always searching for the truth between sentences, through the way they spoke—it was weird. Maybe it was because he liked her. He'd seen her at countless of these parties and festivities. She was funny. Loud. Today he found a chance to actually speak to her, after many failed attempts prior after becoming too fearful or self-conscious. A blend of the two was not good on his brain.

"Thank you," Naomi murmured in response.

"It's just across the road." Ryan pointed to a flashing blue sign with the words 'Sally's Sundaes'. He led the way for Naomi, jumping in puddles every few steps like he was Peppa Pig.

"Do you do this often then?" Naomi was finding it hard to catch up with Ryan's energy. He must've been drinking a lot, or eating a lot of sweets because his pace was inhuman.

"What? Escape Sarah's party to get icecream?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes." He paused as they stopped at the road. He looked both ways before crossing with Naomi beside him. The street was narrow, packed with many cars. The icecream shop cast a blue, flourescent hue onto the pavement. There was no one inside the shop except for an elderly woman in an azure uniform; her hat with little ocean waves painted on it. She was just about to flip around the 'open' sign when she spotted Ryan through the windows. They stepped inside, hearing a faint bell clash above the entrance. The worker approached the pair, her badge with the name 'Sally' glistened. She grinned from ear to ear at the sight of them. At this hour, business was at an all time low. Ryan was a regular though.

This time, however, Sally noticed the girl that was with him. A pretty girl for that matter. Sally was already questioning what was going on between them just by the way Ryan was looking up at her—all nervous, fingers twiddling like he was drumming a beat against his thigh. Seeing Ryan nervous was a rarity-this girl must have some superpower.

"Hey Ryan! Who's this with you?" Sally's cheerful demeanour eased any tension in the air.

"I'm Naomi," she introduced herself.

There was an array of icecream flavours in the fridge. From bubblegum to lemon sorbet to tiramisu. Naomi's mouth watered all the more with every movement of her eyes. They offered an Icecream Sundae deal with two scoops, a topping and sauce of your choice.

"It's like your song," Naomi laughed as she glanced through the options. She hummed the melody under her breath.

"Very true," Ryan said with a smile.

Ryan and Naomi sat down at one of the window tables after choosing their Sundaes. Naomi had never tasted such a flavoursome icecream in her life. Ryan allowed her to try some of his—vanilla and pistachio—which she had told him was rather boring. He had pouted and scoffed when she chose mango sorbet and chocolate chip. He believed that they just didn't go together at all. He was proved wrong when he tried some.

"Thanks for bringing me here," Naomi said after another mouthful of her sorbet. Outside, the sky was dark and the moon was high. She felt knackered even after doing pretty much absolutely nothing. Most of the day, she'd just been sitting down but just seeing the stars floating beautifully made her eyelids droop.

"It's no problem. You didn't seem to be enjoying the party." Ryan licked off the final residue of icecream from his tiny transparent spoon. He thought back to Naomi sitting alone, watching everything unfold just metres away from her. He'd been watching her from one of the sofas, wondering what was going on through her mind as she stared at Sarah. Any of her thoughts had surely been negative. She had watched the group of friends with distaste.

"I just wasn't feeling it today," Naomi admitted.

"Sarah's parties really drain the life out of you."

"Honestly. I have no clue why I even go to these things anymore. I guess I've just known her for so long, I'd feel bad if I skipped it." Naomi remembered the one time she'd forgotten about a party. Sarah had bombarded her with countless messages asking for her whereabouts. Naomi knew that Sarah just wanted to be her friend. She was a nice person. Not the greatest karaoke singer though.

"I get that. I've been mates with her for donkey's years. I only come along when I'm in England—which isn't too often. But, she really is intense. Like very, very, very intense. I'm a bit overwhelmed each time that I see her."

Naomi nodded with each word he said. "How's touring going by the way? I've heard a lot about your band." She was reminded of the time that Sarah invited 'Inhaler' to play at her birthday. Naomi thought they were good. Really, really good. Each of her Spotify playlists had at least one of their songs in them. She'd been especially impressed by Ryan's drumming. Seeing someone play their instrument always fascinated her. It just looked so natural for him to be holding drumsticks and banging cymbals.

"Tiring. Nerveracking. I just love that feeling when you get off stage, the adrenaline rush. I can't explain it. It just feels amazing." Ryan's wrist rested against his cheek as he watched the cars passing like blurs through the window. Naomi traced her gaze over Ryan's features; curved nose, wavy hair that was tousled across his forehead due to the wind, sharp jaw, pretty smile. She understood why Sarah invited him to every party. There was just some way about him, a certain confidence always emanated from him and he could bring life to even the most quiet rooms. Even in this calm state, there was comfort in the simple commodity of his presence.

Ryan placed his spoon back into the cardboard cup before shifting to look at Naomi. It was true, he did feel nervous around her. He could barely attempt to formulate a word as he watched the gentle cadence of her chest raising then falling with every breath. It was something so normal, so straightforward but it was all he could focus on. Her very presence was intimidating. He tried to plan out what to say next, let some words come together within his mind but he was sure that whatever he'd say, he'd make a total fool of himself.

"Do you want to watch a film or something?" Naomi piped up. She nudged the icecream cup along the table gently. She couldn't look him in the eye. He was staring at her with raised eyebrows and a sly smirk.

"Where?" He watched as her fingers tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her hooped earrings shuffled around as she moved.

She nervously looked forward to evade his eyes. "Mine."

The implications of that word rattled his mind. His boots clicked against hers under the table as a short, uncomfortable silence rippled between them. "Yeah, okay," he said, faintly, his accent hiding behind his words. "Sounds good." Wanting to act cool and actually coming across as cool was a very difficult thing. Naomi thought he was pretty cool.

They scuttled out of the shop after thanking Sally for their sundaes. Ryan offered to pay for Naomi as it was his idea to bring her there.

The streets were empty aside from the ocassional car that passed every few minutes. Streetlamps shone, making Ryan's skin glow with warmth and aliveness. Step after step, street after street. Her apartment appeared and Naomi opened the door, after struggling to find her key and letting out an irritable sigh. Ryan watched her with delight, snorting at how difficult she was finding this. Naomi resisted the urge to lock him outside and watch him shiver in the cold. Who knows how far his hotel was from here or whether the other boys in the band would even bother to pick him up. They were probably all asleep for all she knew.

Climbing up the stairs felt like climbing Mount Everest. She didn't know why she'd chosen them over the lift. Although the lift did scare the living daylights out of here. It was a square box that had malfunctioned too many times to count on her fingers. She'd been called by her neighbours after they got stuck inside or it started making some weird noises. If she ever had the chance to make a horror film, she'd film the entire thing in that creepy lift. She wouldn't even need a monster or a villian to take its place.

"Which one's yours?" Ryan was already on the third floor. He paced up and down the hallway, waiting for her response.

"Thirty-two. Third one on the right." Naomi reached the top of the stairs. She was panting. Her fingers clung onto the banister before she hoisted herself up to the door of her room. Ryan was leaning beside the dark oak, his shoulder squeezed against the white paint. He was making it hard for her to open the door again. Her hands were shaking as she turned the key. He was having this weird effect over her.

Ryan shrugged his Doc Martens off of his feet and dunked them to the side. Naomi offered to hang up his jacket and he passed it to her, revealing bracelets around wrists and strong drummer's arms with tattoos scattered along them. She glanced over them discreetly whilst putting his jacket on her coathanger. "You like Bowie?" She was first drawn to the tattoo of David Bowie's face that had caught her eye.

"Who doesn't?" He laughed to himself. He turned his arm forward to present the tattoo to her. She traced her fingers over the inked lines, his face warmed up at the subtle touch.

"I've got some of his records," she said as she pulled her hand away. His lips fell down at the sudden lack of touch.

He followed her along through the apartment, which perfectly encapsulated her. Plants were dotted around with shiny, perfect leaves. They were well looked-after. Posters of all kinds of films and musicians were pinned onto the walls. Bags of Quavers were on top of her kitchen table. She turned the kettle on as Ryan explored her apartment like he was discovering another country. He regarded all the intricacies, the typewriter in the living room, the disordered folders of her articles on the coffee table, colourful cushions on the sofa. The whole place smelt like flowers and freshly cut grass, when the trimmings float through the air and you can't help but breathe it all in. It was so homely compared to the hotel room he'd been trapped in with the band. It was nice to be somewhere different. Especially with good company.

He found her records stacked up in the living room and was also met with a pleasant surprise of the DVD box set of Father Ted. He had the exact same one in the tour bus. It was one of his favourite shows. He grinned as he flicked through her records; from Blur to Bowie to Taylor Swift—she had quite the collection. He picked out 'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust', carefully pulled out the vinyl and placed it on the record player. The stylus glided downwards and the gentle drums of 'Five Years' emerged from the speakers

"Good choice." Naomi mused as she brought two cups of tea into the room. She'd taken off her blazer and was wearing fluffy socks. "I don't know how you like your tea so I've got some sugar and milk here." She placed his cup beside her sugar container and jar of milk.

"Thank you," he murmured as she settled down on the sofa, dipping her chocolate hobnob in the boiling drink. She hadn't had a guy in her apartment for ages and the sudden invasion of privacy was strange. The living room was a mess. Discarded headphones and magazines were amongst the clutter just left on the floor. Her bedroom was at least ten times worse. Journalism was a generally messy job. She had highlighters, folders, post-it notes, all kinds of random stuff thrown everywhere.

Ryan hadn't acknowledged any of clutter. He was too focused on trying to learn more about her through her music taste. He then picked up the Father Ted box set and held it up, looking at her with a small smile, "Didn't think you'd like this."

"Oh, I love it. I'm not usually a sitcom person but it changed me."

"Should we watch some?" He was already turning on her CD player and placing the first season disc in. She kicked up her feet onto the coffee table, resting her head on her armrest.

She didn't even need to respond because he'd already put on the first episode. He sat beside her, pouring some milk into his tea. "I've watched this show so many times. It's an addiction," Naomi muttered. "I sort of find Father Ted fit." She took in his expression then laughed, "I have no shame."

Ryan gulped a long drink of his tea, eyebrows furrowing with scepticism. "You're kidding."

"He's leng."

"I'm a bit scared of you."

"Why does no one agree me with me?" She pressed her face into the armrest. Ryan was laughing along with every joke whilst trying to figure out what Naomi saw in Father Ted. "I dunno if it's his face, the accent or the amount of times I've watched this show. It's probably altered my brain chemistry."

"I see it." Ryan tried to hold a straight face as he said those three words but he couldn't help the chuckle that left him.

"Bugger off. I shouldn't have told you that. Fuck's sake. You're going to tell Sarah and that lot, aren't you?" Naomi could already imagine him hosting a weird meeting, or making a groupchat with everyone. She'd be ruined. The thought of them making a joke everytime she entered a room sounded far from ideal. Having to spend hours with them was bad enough but this, this was dangerous. Ryan could possibly be the worst blabber on Earth.

"I'm not like that. My lips are sealed." He motioned his fingers across his mouth like he was tying a zip, circled them around at the corner then threw the made up key down into her plantpot. Naomi had been lost in a trance—gaze focused on his lips—they were thin, smooth and gently pressed together. He followed her shifting eyes until she snapped them away, back to the TV screen.

Dougal was now onscreen—Naomi wasn't particularly focused on any words leaving the priest's lips, or the laughing track almost breaking the sound barrier. She was now sat on the sofa properly: her legs crossed and her head on a cusion. Ryan was sat similarly, on the opposite end of the sofa, but instead with his legs hanging off the edge of the seat. He looked so calm with his cup of tea which had been specially selected by Naomi. It was a present her Dad bought her when she got her first job. The design was simple—sunglasses with a sparkle in the corner. She thought it was insanely cheesy when she first saw it but maybe it was given to her for a reason. All the months of dust collecting upon it, the times she'd left it in the back corner of cupboard to sit alone. Maybe Ryan was supposed to be the one to drink out of it. The holder perfectly complimented his slender, ringed fingers.

Overthinking. She was overthinking everything.

It was late, she was tired. This was the hour when her mind would reel like a projector in an empty cinema. Just her in the back row, watching all her thoughts roll across the screen.

"You alright there, Nao?" Ryan clicked his fingers a couple of times, waved a hand palm before her face.

Naomi pushed herself off of the sofa and turned the key on the window. Fresh air poured in. She sighed. "Sorry. It's just a bit stuffy in here."

"I can go if you'd like. It's getting late. I don't want to keep you up." Ryan stood up, fixing the cushion back into its original place.

"No, Ryan. You're the best company I've had in a long while. You're really cool and nice and a great drummer. I'm still buzzing after watching you play."

Naomi plopped down on the stool beside her keyboard, her head falling into her hands. She scraped her hands through her hair, raking through each strand. She jolted forwards when a light pressure was applied to her back. Ryan was standing beside her and said, "You're a lot fucking cooler than me. Your articles are mindblowing—they're funny, sad at times, just a general rollercoaster of emotion." He gently traipsed the length of her shoulders with his fingers.

"You read my articles?"Naomi now looked up at him, her eyes a little teary and lipstick smudged. "I'd write one about you." There was something so overwhelming about all of this. She then looked at the wall—a little flustered. "-I mean the band, of 'Inhaler', of all of you." Father Ted was still playing the background. Too many Irish accents for Naomi to cope. Although Ryan's was most definitely her favourite, no doubt about it. If he read her a bedtime story or even just the bloody shopping list, she'd be asleep in a matter of seconds.

His gentle touches were driving the oxygen out of her lungs. "That would be an honour." Ryan tucked her hair behind her ears, carefully wiped away the red smear of lipstick with his thumb. He was just about to pull his hand away when she grabbed it, held it. His fingers were a little clammy but so were hers—the heat of the room was immeasurable—the light draft of wind was barely making a difference. But now, Naomi felt more at peace. Especially as she traced along his knuckles, his fingernails, his cuticles. It was weirdly intimate. Ryan thought he might be glowing pink. It was like he was in a vacuum, completely detached from his body, unable to move or speak. She made him mental.

"Did you know that the guy who played father Ted—who sadly passed away—was actually from Dublin like you."

"Interesting."

"Right? Well, anyway, uh. He sounds a lot like you, almost the same. Now that I've been talking to you for a while—I can hear the similarities." She stammered on, still transfixed by his hands, now outlining the veins along his forearms and each tattoo that she passed. His other hand was still on her shoulder, drumming his digits to the beat he'd been playing when they went to get icecream.

"Is that a good thing...?" He paused, ran his tongue over his front teeth as he stopped in thought. "Didn't you say that one the reason you might find him fit is because of his accent?"He sucked his lip under his teeth as he hesitantly spoke. The room felt a lot smaller as if the walls were crushing in. He was challenging her, proving that he payed attention to every word that she said.

"I didn't — wait fuck yeah I did, didn't I? Well, I've dug my own grave." She shook her head, trying not to lose herself in Ryan's eyes. They were pools of comfort. "Yeah, I find your accent pretty hot. Is that bad?"

His entire vocabulary had vanished by the boldness of her statement, the smirking playing at her lips. "I don't know what to say," he babbled, accent somehow thicker with every word. His pushed his knuckles into his cheek, feeling how warm it was.

"Then don't say anything," she said, barely a whisper.

A newfound confidence surged within Naomi. Just his smile sent her into some haze, she could get drunk on it. He was kneeling before her. His jean-covered knees were resting on the carpet and he was anxiously scuttling. The air was getting thick was silence — silence on their part — Father Ted was still speaking. Ryan reached for the remote and turned the TV off, leaving David Bowie's 'starman' gently playing in the background, serenading them. If Naomi told Ryan to not talk, he would listen.

Her hands rested on either of his cheeks. They were rather pale in contrast to her skin, and cool compared to the room. He neared her. His breath swam across her lips, smelt of tea and a hint of vanilla — from the icecream. He whispered, "God, Naomi," no longer falling victim to the simplicity of silence, of wordlessness. The way their foreheads were together, like two jigsaw halves blending into one, it was too perfect. The way Ryan spoke her name — like it was his lifeline. He said it twice more and her heart strained, her eyes closed and his eyelashes scrubbed across her brows. His fluffy hair cascaded over her temple and she let her right hand feel though the curls.

David Bowie's voice, the echoes of cars passing in the distance, the rustle of clothes. Each sound added to the intimacy — the quietude. They stayed there for a while, just relishing in the moment. They both acknowledged the importance of this. They both needed it. Time away from any carnage, from anxious whispers, from parties, from life —they had found safety in one another. They were both hoping — a lingering thought bloomed between them, in the slight gap left between their touch, just like those flowers on Naomi's glass cup — maybe this could blossom into something good.

#ryan mcahon #inhaler band #inhaler dublin #inhaler fanfiction #inhaler imagines #inhaler fanfic #inhaler oneshots #bobby skeetz #robert keating #elijah hewson #eli hewson #fanfiction #fanfic

[killersfool]

hiii i have a request but i just wanted to say i love your work so much. i’ve read all of it on wattpad and recently discovered you post here too LOL. but your writing is so good i literally eat it up every time and am always waiting for you to post (no pressure).

as for my request i have one for bobby.. i think it would be a fun idea if the oc and the band have been friends for a while, and she’s been on tour with them the whole time.. but at their last show in dublin, they preform you might get what you want as a surprise song (i’m so sad they didn’t change the set list for the last show). and the entire time he’s like staring at the oc and singing to her.. and at the end of the show he admits to her that he wrote it all by himself, all about her, and how he needs her to stay with him after tour yk!!! 🤞🏼🤞🏼 and maybe end it a little steamy like your ‘special guest’ fic… whatever you want tho babes!!

sorry if i’m not getting my thought across properly but that’s the best i know how to explain it. you can change it or add anything to it you want, i’d love anything you write. or don’t write it at all… i won’t be hurt.

thanks! ♡︎

thank you for this amazing request! you really inspired me! here it is:

you might get what you want

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