#i currently swear that nothing that I have on AO3 currently will ever be deleted and made into a for-profit book

[somebluemelodies]

almost gave up on writing this bc all my progress got deleted over a couple weeks ago but i am nothing if not determined (read: a stubborn shit) so i finally came back to rewrite cross-posted to ao3 here :>

As a kid, Roier was obsessed with the sea. He loved everything about it. Including the merfolk.

Every book about mer and their lore he could get a hold of, he read. They fascinated him to no end.

It's why he's never trusted the Federation. Why he never told his abuelo about his fascination. Roier knows what they do to the mer they capture.

His abuelo is a long-time Federation officer, and he remembers overhearing many a work-related discussion at night when he was younger, or reading his classified documents when he wasn't home.

The Federation "studies" mer, asking people that if they ever see a mer, to report the sighting to an officer. And by that, they experiment. All under the guise they preach to the public of "studying" them.

(Deepsea mer get it the worst. Labelled as aggressive, human-killing monsters, the Federation has made everyone fearful of them. Roier pushes everything he's ever read about a captured deepsea mer to the far back of his mind.)

(Surely they can't be that bad, can they?)

When Roier was old enough, he took off to live a life on the sea. A pirate, if you will, because that's what the Federation calls everyone smart enough to not conform to their overbearing ways. And he's been thoroughly enjoying his life ever since.

As it stands currently, he and the rest of the crew - friends, really - have been docked for a few days now for reparation and selling purposes. He tries to ignore the fact there's a plethora of Federation officers wandering the town, with a base of operations just outside of it, and instead spends much of his time wandering up and down the beach.

It's what he's doing this late afternoon. About to walk past a cave, a slight glint in his peripherals has him glancing into the mouth of the cave and freezing in his tracks.

Roier finds himself staring at a mer, who appears to be tangled in a net. Their tail almost looks black, but under the light of the sunset, he realizes the scales are actually the deepest emerald green he's ever seen. Looking around to make sure no one - no officer - is watching him, he slips inside.

His boots in the shallow water catch the attention of the mer, whose head snaps up at the sound. Piercing blue eyes almost seem to glow in the dim light, glaring daggers at him, and Roier freezes, holding his hands up. "I just want to help! I'm not here to hurt you or something. Can I help you?"

(Can the merman even understand him?)

The silent question is answered by the snarl on the mer's face gradually dropping, followed by a hesitant nod. His eyes continue to follow Roier closely, though, who tries to mask his surprise at the fact he's just been comprehended by a mer.

Kneeling next to the mer, he's able to make out more detail. Most notably, a bunch of scars, be it a long, thin one stretching across the bridge of his nose or the sheer amount littering his arms.

(It looks like there are more on his torso, but his arm is covering the lower half. Alarmingly, Roier swears he sees red underneath, too.)

(One step at a time.)

Roier pulls out his dagger, and starts the process of carefully cutting the merman free from the net. While doing so, he notices one signature detail of the net.

It's white.

"Did the Federation try to capture you?" he asks, sparing a brief glance up at the merman's handsome face. "And you managed to escape?"

(Focus. Focus.)

The mer nods. Roier sighs. "Fucking hate those guys, man."

He perks up a bit, as if to say "you too?" and the pirate offers a small smile in turn. But it fades after a moment. "I know what they do to you guys. It's not fair."

Silence befalls them, save for the slicing of his dagger against the net. It takes a bit, but he's finally able to pull the netting off of the mer and toss it off to the side.

The mer looks some semblance of thankful, although it turns to a grimace when he goes to move his arm that's been wrapped around his stomach this whole time, and it resumes its original place.

Roier frowns. "You're hurt. Let me see."

He doesn't move his arm, though, and it takes Roier gently prying it away so he can inspect the damage. Doing so reveals some type of stab wound, but from what, he isn't quite sure. It's not life-threatening, that much he also knows, but it's certainly bad enough to warrant concern.

(And he's very concerned.)

But he quickly realizes yet another problem. Said problem being that he has no medical supplies on him. Granted, he could go back to the ship for some, but that means either running into another member of the crew or worse... someone else stumbling upon this mer.

(Is it worth the risk?)

"Okay, bad news," he speaks up again. "I don't have any supplies to help you on me, but I might be able to--"

Roier is cut off by watching the mer reach for a satchel he didn't even realize the latter had. "Oh, shit-- Do you have your own supplies?"

The merman nods, but before he can take out any of the supplies on his own, the pirate is reaching out to take the satchel. "I can help you again," he offers. "It'll be a lot easier than trying to fix yourself, you know?"

He seems surprised by the offer, but holds out the satchel after a few moments, watching him with a look Roier can't quite decipher.

(Apprehension? Fondness? Incredulousness?)

(All he knows is those bright eyes are a lot less scary than they've been made out to be.)

The patching-up process takes a little longer than the untangling, and Roier has to light up the lantern he brought with him now that the sun has set, but he finally finds himself wrapping the mer's torso, sitting back slightly on his knees to inspect his work. "I think that should do it. Just... be careful, okay?"

Another nod, and Roier takes another few moments to study him. Between the glowing eyes and the scars, the slight rips in some of his fins, thinking about his initial attitude...

"Are you a deepsea mer?" he asks after a beat.

The mer freezes, watching him closely and seeming to scan him for any signs of hostility. Roier only looks back at him, though, making no subtle movements, and he finally nods slowly.

Roier hums. "I figured. But for all the Federation talk about you guys being ugly monsters... you look like the opposite." The merman looks stunned. "You're... very pretty, you know? Handsome."

(Beautiful, even.)

It's his turn to be surprised when the mer smiles for the first time. A relatively small smile, but one nevertheless, and it's one that makes something warm start to bloom in his chest, everything feeling just a little fuzzy.

The mer then picks up his satchel again, rummaging through it until he pulls something out. He grabs one of Roier's hands, holding it up and gently placing something smooth in his palm before closing his fingers around it.

(Roier mourns the loss of the brief contact, and then immediately mentally kicks himself in the ass for the fact.)

("Please be careful, okay?" Another nod.)

With the high tide coming into the cave, the merman is able to start making his way out with relative ease, sparing a brief glance back to Roier and waving before disappearing under the water with a glint of emerald under the moonlight.

For several moments, he stands there in silence, processing. And then, he looks down at his hand, opening it.

A sizeable piece of dark green sea glass rests in his palm, and he can't help the smile that etches its way onto his face.

The pirate carefully pockets it, and, on his way back to the ship, can only hope to whatever god is listening that this isn't the end, but only something just beginning.

#MER AU MY BELOVED #in every universe spiderbit will always be love at first sight idc what anyone says #these bitches are so gay for each other it transcends every au #qsmp roier #qsmp cellbit #spiderbit #qsmp #blue writes qsmp #spiderbit mer au #i did NOT proofread this please bear with me </3

[bouncydragon]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @amidnight--dreary!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

Currently 46. No doubt there will be more to come, once I manage to actually finish any of my WIPs.

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

234.084. I'm a little disappointed in myself right now.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The bulk of my AO3 fics are for the MCU but I have moved on from that and I'm mostly writing for Peaky Blinders right now (and possibly in the future as well). I have two unfinished MCU fics that I will eventually finish, I swear. There's also a few fics written for other fandoms but it's usually single fics.

4. Top five fics by kudos

In order: The King Is Dead, Long Live The King, Winter Butterfly, A Simple Act, Early Bird, and Sleepy Head.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes. Though I'm sure I have missed some...

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh, hm. I think it would be Dead Boy's Poem, which in my not so humble opinion is a great story, it's just that it ends very badly.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'm sure there's a few that qualify... At the top of my head I'd pick there goes my mind racing, just because it's a story that's very dear to me and one I actually love to reread. But honestly, there's probably a few fics that qualify, A Simple Act would be one of them for example. Winter Butterfly might fall in that category once it's actually finished...

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I think I remember getting some way back when but I can't remember what it was about, not that it even matters. I do recall having a brief argument with the person, I just deleted the comment thread. Nothing since then I think... I hope it remains that way.

9. Do you write smut?

Ah, well, not really. I have tried my hand at it but it wasn't anything explicit, basically everything but, so right leading up to the steamy stuff. I felt a bit awkward writing that, so I probably stick to hinting at stuff etc. But who knows, perhaps in the future...

10. Craziest crossover?

Well, I don't think I've written crossovers. As far as crazy stories go though, it's definitely the two stories involving the Avengers and resurrected dinosaurs. (Don't ask.)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so, which is good. Hopefully it won't ever happen.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Sadly not. I have translated my own shit though. Well, one. I wrote it in my native language and later translated it to English to post it. That's also one of the first fics I ever posted on AO3, way back in 2019.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! Winter Butterfly is a project of the wonderful @worstloki and me, which we really have to finish at some point... I recall that we talked about it at the end of last year, and I forgot to check on the fic since then... Sorry.

14. All time favorite ship?

Ah damn. I have to say that it's probably Tofie (Tommy and Alfie from Peaky Blinders). It's the ship I write mostly for now and also the ship that kind of has stolen my heart, so to speak. I just live bisexual disaster gangsters. It used to be Frostiron. It's the one I've written most for and it still is dear to me but unfortunately it has been dethroned.

15. What’s a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh. At the top of my head it's a fic called "When Dragons Cry", which I haven't posted and it just sits in my docs and judges me. It's Frostiron and Loki is a dragon and his egg has been stolen. There's convoluted lore to it as well.

But also a fic/series called "here I am alone between the heavens and the embers" which is about Tommy from Peaky and ghosts. Do ask me about that. Maybe if I talk about it, I will actually fucking work on it. It's so ambitious in my opinion, and I don't know if I am confident enough in my abilities to actually write it. I mean, I have started it and I do like what I've written, but damn...

There's probably more... Now I feel awful for all the abandoned projects... Anyway!

16. What are your writing strengths?

I cannot answer this because I don't know. Even if I think longer about it, I probably won't be able to come up with a satisfactory answer. It's probably something others are more capable of answering for me.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Honestly, same answer as 16. Though I guess I could say smut because it's just something I haven't practiced as much.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I think it's good. Though my language knowledge is very limited. I have used some in the past but it's usually very simple phrases that even a translator cannot fuck up.

19. First fandom you wrote in?

I've had that question recently and my answer is still not any more definite. It's probably Naruto, NCIS or Warriors. Though the more I think about it, the more I believe it was Warriors. But can't remember honestly.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

There's a bunch but if I have to pick, I'm gonna pick Lest We Forget again because it's a fic I'm very, very proud of and which deserves more attention in my not so humble opinion.

Tagging some writers, hope you don't mind, also no pressure obviously... @poormeowmeowcollector @justhallucinating @rabentochter @whentommymetalfie @justrainandcoffee @andtherewerefireworks

#writer asks #peaky blinders #tommy x alfie #marvel #frostiron

[pixlh3art]

Hi just wondering did you delete birds of a feather?

I did! It was quite a long time ago - I planned to, and still plan to, publish a very revised version of it as a full novel, and therefore pulled it from AO3. Honestly, the two "versions" of it are by now incredibly different, but I still felt like this was the best decision in an overall legal sense. I made sure to give readers plenty of time to download the work initially, and added a chapter announcing as much so that they'd know to download it if it was one of their comfort fics- something that I still have no problem with, for the people who did. I apologize for anyone who was disappointed and wanted to read it, but I'm standing by my decision - and have since written several hundred thousand more words of fanfiction that I hope readers can enjoy.

#i still don't feel spectacular about depriving people of it #but your girl DOES gotta theoretically eventually make money under capitalism #and also if enough publishers reject it or whatever then i might just re-upload the new version with metroid stuff added back in #because i DID edit the whole thing and if people can't enjoy it for money then i'll make sure to let them do it for free #but i DO write literally hundreds of thousands of words of fic that IS and will always remain free #i currently swear that nothing that I have on AO3 currently will ever be deleted and made into a for-profit book #i once deleted a oneshot because nobody told me the characters were 19 and 14 because the animators drew them as 17 and 16 respectively #but that's the only kind of reason i'd delete one of my fics #also for the record if i somehow become a famous author then i will still write fanfiction #i still LIKE writing fic and it's much easier and more carefree than working on an ultra-refined project #so yeah! #also i should mention i did PAY an editor to help me revise Birds #like... that's the level of serious i am about publication #okay anyways goodbye now to all 2 people who read these tags

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 28: Summer Changes (School)

AO3

Prev

A week after the Disney movie marathon, Marinette was finally back on patrol. No thanks to her dad though. If it was up to him, she’d probably never patrol again. Luckily for her, (unluckily for him) her brothers were adamant on her coming back to the field. Which led to her current problem. Hanging upside down from a gargoyle near Wayne Enterprises.

“Ukht, what have you done?” Damian asks, and though she can’t see his face, she can tell by his voice that he’s exasperated. Join the club, she thinks, at least you’re not upside down.

“Why do you automatically think I did something?” She asks, trying desperately to turn around so that she can talk to him. It was really awkward talking to someone when you couldn’t see them but you knew they were near you.

“Because you are the one hanging upside down,” Damian says flatly. She huffs.

“It’s not like I want to be, Robin. It just kind of happened,” She says.

“And how exactly did it happen? I have never seen your yoyo betray you like that before. Not even in the videos when you were still very new.” Damian says, and she swears he’s smirking. He’s definitely laughing at her on the inside, and as much as she wants to be frustrated, she can’t. It wasn’t easy amusing her little brother (unless you were an animal) so she wasn’t about to ruin it.

“Hood made a bet relating to this exact gargoyle and I’d never been this way before and I just, I don’t know. Somehow I misjudged where my yoyo was going and next thing I know, I’m tied up and Hood is gone.” She says, sighing.

“Where did he go?” Damian asks.

“Over here so I could record the dumbass trying to untie herself.” Jason says with a snort, she manages to turn just enough so she can see him and stick her tongue out at him. He chuckles. “You’re the one who somehow tied herself up with a magic string, I’m just getting the proof so I can show Wonder Woman.” He says and Marinette’s jaw drops.

“You wouldn’t dare!” She screams, struggling against her yoyo, finally able to get the string to loosen slightly.

“Oh, I’d dare.” Jason says and Marinette just knows he has a huge smirk underneath his stupid helmet.

“But Wonder Woman is the coolest person ever and she can’t see me like this!” Marinette complains, trying not to grin when she feels the string start to move the way she needs it to. She ignores Jason’s next remark, instead focusing on the string and- yes! She free falls for a moment, laughing at her brothers’ panic before she swoops up and jerks Jason’s phone away from him.

“You little shit!” He calls after her, starting to chase her.

“You’ll get it back once I delete the videos!” She calls back, laughing as she continues swinging through Gotham, a warm feeling in her chest as she looks over the city that has quickly become her second home.

---

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” A voice screams, making Marinette jump out of bed with a yelp. She clutches her hand over her heart, glaring at her oldest brother.

“Are you trying to make sure I don’t make it past my fifteenth birthday?” She asks with a huff. Dick just grins.

“Happy birthday kiddo! I can’t believe you’re already fifteen!” He exclaims, picking her up in a giant hug. She wants to complain, ask him to let her down, but it’s nice, so instead she returns the hug the best she can. Until she glances out the window.

“Richard Grayson.” She says in a tone she usually reserves for enemies. She feels him stiffen, the hug turning into more of a restraint than a cuddle.

“Yes?” He says.

“Did you honestly wake me up, before the sun, because it’s my birthday?” She asks.

“Yes?” He says, his voice cracking slightly. She purses her lips and lets out a long sigh.

“Dad has a no killing rule.” She says, and suddenly she’s back on the ground.

“Oh would you look at the time, Mar’i needs another bedtime story loveyousomuchgottagobye.” Dick rushes out, practically sprinting out of her room. She just smiles and shakes her head. She’d learned intimidation tactics from Jason and Damian, who both claimed her size made her an easy target against bad guys. They were right, of course, so she was fine with a few extra lessons. Seems they were working. Deciding to call her Maman and Papa since she’s already awake, she frowns as it goes straight to voicemail. It would be nearly eleven in Paris, so the bakery shouldn’t be too busy. She quickly checks the Akuma Alert App to make sure she hadn’t missed anything while she slept. Nothing. So why weren’t they answering? She had assumed they would be waiting for her call since it was the first birthday she’d spent without them. Sighing, she lays back down on her bed, closing her eyes and trying to fall back asleep.

As she lays there, she frowns as a realization hits her. This was the anniversary of her birth mother’s death. Her mood instantly sours and her stomach churns. It was the first year that she could do something about it, the first year she could visit her grave. Quickly making a decision, Marinette throws on a pair of black leggings and an oversized black hoodie. Hopefully no one would spot her.

“Kaalki.” Marinette calls out quietly, not wanting to wake Tikki (who had somehow slept through Dick’s intrusion).

“Oooo, Guardian, are we sneaking out?” They ask, an amused smile on their face. Marinette frowns.

“Yes, but it’s for a good reason.” She says, and Kaalki snorts.

“Whatever the reason, I’m happy to be of assistance.” They reassure her. Marinette smiles and calls the transformation, opening a portal in the cemetery where her birth mother is buried. Her Maman had taken her once, right after telling her she was adopted. It was extremely hard to avoid being akumatized that day, and Marinette steels herself before dropping Kaalki’s transformation. Today would probably be even harder. Pulling the hood over her head to try and hide her identity, she glances around the cemetery, unsurprised to see the small place empty. Despite its small size, it was well taken care of, with beautiful trees adding shade and creating a melancholy feeling. Taking a deep breath, she walks over to the tombstone in the far corner, underneath the Willow tree. Bridgette Le. Died July 9th. Marinette barely notices the tears that start to form as she sits down, tucking her knees into her chest.

“Hi Mama. I-I’m sorry I haven’t really been by to see you much. Did you know I’ve been spending the summer with Dad? Sometimes, I wonder if you would’ve been okay with that. None of us really know why you left, why you didn’t tell him. I’m not blaming you, I just wonder if you would’ve been okay with me knowing him.” She talks, though she knows she’ll never hear a response. And she tries to pretend that fact doesn’t hurt her. “I have brothers. Four of them. They’re all great in their own ways, but they all also make me want to rip my hair out. Three of them are older, Damian’s younger than me. He kinda acts like a big brother at times though. And I have a big sister, Cass. She doesn’t say much, but she’s awesome. She’s in Hong Kong right now, so most of our conversations have been video calls. I have a niece, too.” Marinette stops, wiping furiously at her eyes. She didn't want to cry. At all. But knowing her birth mother would never be able to be part of her life, would never know any of these people like she did- it was hard.

“Guardian, please breathe.” Kaalki says, floating up to sit in front of Marinette’s face. Marinette blinks at the Kwami before listening to them. If they were worried, then Marinette was more lost in her head than she originally thought.

“And today’s my birthday. I was excited at first, and then I remembered the other thing that this day was. Remembered that it’s also the day you-” Marinette pauses, and grits her teeth. “I am so sorry, Mama. I am so sorry that I caused your death.” She chokes out, dropping her head onto her knees, trying to suppress the sobs threatening to break out of her chest.

“We need to go. Marinette, we need to go.” Kaalki urges, patting her cheek urgently. Marinette calls the transformation and falls through a portal, closing it quickly to keep the butterfly that was surely after her from following. She definitely didn’t need to test how far the victim had to be to be akumatized. The second she lands, she lets the transformation drop and the sobs break out.

“Shit Pixie.” Jason curses, and suddenly she’s wrapped in a warm hug, sobs tearing through her as she continues to apologize.

---

Jason Todd had been through a lot of weird shit. Waking up in a pool of green water after being fucking murdered by the Joker, was weird. Emotional baby sister falling through a portal into the room and sobbing? Also weird. But also heartbreaking. He grabs onto her and just holds her, desperately trying to give her some type of comfort.

“Shhhh, it’s okay Pix. I got you.” He mumbles, holding her close. Damian rushes in, sword drawn, face scrunched up when he sees them. Jason shakes his head, this wasn’t something that they could fix with a sword. He wasn’t exactly sure why his baby sister was crying so hard, but he had caught a couple of muffled apologies, so whatever it was, he didn’t think it was something that he (or Damian) could kill. Or, rather, maim, since she was against murdering people that were against her for some reason.

“Has anyone seen Mars, she’s not in her room-” Replacement starts, freezing as he walks into the room.

“Excellent situational awareness, Drake.” Damian mutters, glaring at him. Jason shoots both of them a glare, now was not the time to be fighting. Especially since the kid’s other parents were on their way to celebrate her birthday. If they showed up and she was sobbing, they’d take her home and never let them see her again. And Jason was NOT going to let that happen.

“Anyone know if M’s decided to not kill me yet?” Dick asks, walking into the room with a huge grin that falls the second he sees what’s happening. Jason resists the urge to roll his eyes. Apparently none of his brothers could read a fucking room. Instead of staying at the edge of the room like Damian and Tim, Dick walks over.

“Hey kiddo, it’s okay. We’re here.” He says softly. The kid pulls away from him, though he can tell it’s a little reluctantly, before launching herself at Dick, her sobs starting to die down. Jason lets out a short huff, running his fingers through his hair as he tries to think of what could have set her off. There were no akuma alarms, but she fell out of a portal. Which means she was out of the manor when she got upset. He watches as Dick pats her hair gently and whispers to her. God, he’s such a dad. Then again, he’s been mother henning him and their other brothers for years, so it’s not really a surprise.

“I’m sorry guys.” Marinette says suddenly, her voice small as she stays hidden in Dick’s arms.

“No need to apologize, Pixie Pop.” Jason reassures her. She finally pulls away from Dick and Jason’s heart, honest to god breaks at the broken look on her face.

“She died in childbirth, you know.” She whispers, and suddenly it makes sense. Why she was sitting there sobbing on her birthday, why she’d fallen out of a portal.

“That is not your fault.” Damian says firmly, walking over and standing face to face with Marinette, something Jason knew annoyed the girl. Damian was two years younger, but a little taller than her. She didn’t seem to mind now, though.

“But it was. If I hadn’t been born-” She starts and Jason frowns at the thought.

“The world would be a much shittier place.” He says with finality, not leaving room for her to argue. “Pix, you’re amazing, and the world would really suck without you. Never be sorry you were born.” Jason says firmly, stumbling slightly when she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“Thank you Jay.” She mumbles, and he can tell she’s crying again, but this time it’s not sobs, so he thinks it’s fine.

“Come on, let’s all watch a movie.” Repla- Tim suggests and Jason raises an eyebrow at the idea, briefly wondering what kind of movie he’d pick. They all pile on the giant sectional that Bruce had bought specifically for impromptu movie nights as Tim sticks the DVD in. Jason just snorts as the title card for “The Addams Family” comes on, settling back in the couch, ready to watch one of the greatest movies ever.

---

“Thank you again for flying us out here for her birthday.” Sabine says, smiling at him. Bruce returns the smile and nods.

“Of course, thank you for letting her spend the summer here. I know she’s appreciated the break from her classmates.” He says, his smile quickly fading at the confused look on both Sabine and Tom’s faces.

“What do you mean?” Tom asks.

“Marinette hasn’t told you?” Bruce asks, suddenly regretting bringing it up. Why hadn’t she said anything? They were her parents too. Sure, she’d made it clear they couldn’t know about Ladybug, but her class wasn’t a hero problem. They were a civilian problem.

“We knew that she wasn’t hanging out with them as often, and that she didn’t talk about her class as much as she used to. We just assumed that she was busy.” Sabine says, her face a mixture of sadness and anger.

“My apologies, I assumed she’d talked to you.” Bruce says, feeling as if he had crossed a line. Would they be mad at him, for her telling him something she hadn’t told them?

“She’s always looking out for others first,” Tom finally sighs, a tired smile on his face. “She probably thought she was saving us from being akumatized.” Bruce’ jaw clenches. Had Marinette really suffered in silence to avoid being forced to fight her parents?

“We can continue this conversation later, right now we should focus on her birthday.” Sabine says, placing a hand on Tom’s arm. He nods and Bruce makes a note to talk to the two about the possibility of her switching schools.

“She’s probably in her room.” Bruce says, leading the two towards the stairs.

“Actually, Master Bruce, the children are all in the informal sitting room. I believe they snuck down to have a movie night after Master Dick woke Miss Marinette to wish her a happy birthday.” Alfred says, Bruce watches his face and knows that’s not all, but doesn’t press. It had to be something that he couldn’t talk about in front of the Dupain Cheng’s.

“Of course they did. Thank you, Alfred. Alfred, this is Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain, Marinette’s parents. Tom, Sabine, this is Alfred Pennyworth. He’s the man who raised me.” Bruce says, smiling at him. The three exchange pleasantries and soon Bruce is leading the two to the sitting room. He pushes the door open gently, careful not to let it slam. He spots a sword on the floor near Damian and quickly grabs it, moving it away. If he was woken up suddenly, he would still panic and attempt to fight his way out.

“She looks so peaceful.” Sabine whispers, and Bruce smiles, a genuine smile, he didn’t have to fake a smile when most of his children were together and safe and happy. Or, quiet, at least. It was rare.

“I’ve found them like this several times.” Bruce admits, pulling out his phone to show the two all of the pictures he’d taken of the kids piled together sleeping. Sabine and Tom smile widely at the pictures and Bruce quickly sends them their favorites.

“B, I swear to god, I can sense you in here. Let us sleep.” Jason mumbles grumpily.

“Sorry Jason, Marinette’s parents are here so it’s time to get up.” Bruce says, amused at the way his son’s hair was attempting to defy gravity. Jason looked around sleepily, waved lazily at Sabine and Tom, and then collapsed back on the couch. Bruce sighs. “Would the two of you like to have a cup of coffee while we give them a few more minutes to sleep?” He offers.

“That would be lovely.” Sabine says, and Bruce leads the two to the kitchen, hoping Tim (who had sat straight up after Jason flopped down) would take the hint and wake up the others.

---

Marinette sighs happily as everyone sits down at the table for dinner. The day had been amazing, despite the rough start. And her Dad had even flown her Maman and Papa out to spend the day with her. They couldn’t stay for long, they had the bakery to run after all, but it was still nice to see them. Marinette glances at the end of the table where a place was set, but no one sat.

“What’s with the extra plate?” Jason asks, turning to Alfred who was sitting in the chair next to it instead of his regular seat.

“It is for Miss Le.” He says, and she can almost feel everyone freeze. Her throat tightens, but she still smiles at him with watery eyes.

“Thank you, Alfred.” She says quietly. He nods.

“You are quite welcome, Miss.” He says. She clears her throat and looks back at her Maman, noticing that her smile was also a little sad. It had been all day, but Marinette was certain it wasn’t anything to worry about. Bridgette had been close with her Maman, surely she was just mourning her today, openly for the first time in a long time.

---

Marinette groans at whoever is trying to wake her up.

“Five more minutes.” She mutters, burrowing deeper under the covers. It was summer break, why wouldn’t anyone let her sleep?

“Come on sweetheart, your Papa and I want to talk to you and Bruce.” Her Maman says, and she immediately sits up. Was she in trouble? Had her Maman figured out the whole Batman thing? Had she figured out the Ladybug thing?

“Uh, okay.” She says, sliding out of bed and stepping into slippers. She wasn’t sure how serious the conversation was, but since her Maman didn’t stop her from walking out of the room in her pajamas, she relaxed slightly. It couldn’t be that serious, right? She follows her Maman into her Dad’s study, glancing wearily at the clock in the corner. Her Maman was often too observant. Hopefully she didn’t notice anything odd about the clock. They all sit in silence for an entire minute until Marinette can’t handle it anymore.

“Am I in trouble?” She asks hesitantly, looking between her parents’ faces.

“Of course not, we just- We noticed how different you are.” Her Maman says and Marientte frowns, furrowing her eyebrows. Different? She was different?

“How?” She asks.

“You’re happier than I’ve seen you in months honey. Your smile reaches your eyes, you talk freely, you seem peaceful.” Her Maman says softly, and Marinette blinks in surprise. Had she really been so easy to read in Paris? Had her parents really been able to tell? She’d wanted to hide it from them, not let them see how everything was piling on her, crushing her. She didn’t want to worry them.

“What do you- how-” She stumbles over her words, trying to figure out where she messed up.

“We didn’t know why until we talked to Bruce.” Her Papa says and she turns to glare at her Dad, feeling a little betrayed. He holds up his hands in surrender.

“Marinette, you didn’t tell me not to tell them about your class.” He reminds her, and she huffs.

“Guess we can cross mind reader off the list of things you can do.” She mumbles, making her Papa snort.

“It wasn’t just that though. We’d seen how restrained you had become, how you never went out with friends and you stopped talking about them.” Her Maman says softly. Marinette grits her teeth, hugging herself to try and hold herself together.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” She says, her voice barely audible. That wasn’t the main reason though. She didn’t want to fight her parents, and if they knew everything going on with Lila, they’d definitely be akumatized. She couldn’t fight them. Not if she could help it.

“What would you say about transferring schools?” Her Maman asks suddenly, and Marinette jerks her head up, looking at her with wide eyes. Transfer schools? It would be great, amazing, fantastic, but- but her classmates would still come to the bakery. Still give her the same odd looks they’d been giving her since they found out that she’s a Wayne.

“What school?” She asks, because yes, that makes a difference. Chloe had transferred schools not long ago, and Marinette did not want to trade Lila for Chloe. She’d rather not deal with either of them, if she was being honest.

“Gotham Academy.” Her Maman says, and Marinette feels lucky that she wasn’t drinking anything, because she would have definitely done a spit take. Gotham Academy? As in, live in Gotham year round? What-

“Are you giving me up?” She asks, suddenly hurt. Her Maman’s eyes widen and her Papa pulls her into a giant hug.

“Of course not honey.” He says, rubbing her back gently and squeezing her lightly.

“We asked Bruce if he thought Gotham Academy would be a good school for you. He offered to let you fly home some weekends, and any of the breaks you want. Or to fly us out here if you have time off school. You don’t have to say yes, and you don’t have to make a decision right now.” Her Maman reassures her as her Papa lets her go. Marinette turns to look at her Dad, his face unreadable.

“Would you really be okay with that?” She asks, and he nods.

“We all just want you to be happy, Marinette. Wherever that may be. And we’re all willing to work together to do that.” He says and she smiles, letting out a soft sigh.

“I- I’d need to think about it a little more,” She says, running through the idea in her head. It seemed perfect, besides the whole ‘bouncing back to Paris for attacks’ thing. But she’d been doing it all summer, it had been fine so far. And maybe, maybe, Hawkmoth would even be defeated by the end of summer. No matter what, things were changing and Marinette was trying her best to keep up.

Next

Tag list:  @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @laurcad123 @waiting247 @jayjayspixiepop @mizzy-pop @jjmjjktth @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82 @lady-bee-fechin @corporeal-terrestrial

#maribat #maribat fanfiction #maribat fic #mbdbwm2021 #maribat bio dad! bruce wayne month 2021 #maribat bio dad bruce #maribat bio dad au #maribat bruce wayne #maribat jason todd #maribat dick grayson #maribat damian wayne #maribat tim drake #platonic dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic daminette #platonic timari #maribat marinette dupain cheng #day twenty eight school

[lassluna]

CSJJ 2020 Day 1: Good Times, Bad Decisions

Emma Swan was supposed to go to a Halloween party. It was a set up and she knew it. Honestly, the last thing she wanted to do was go to this party. She was not supposed to end up sleeping with a pirate.

AN:  This is my contribution for @csjanuaryjoy​ 2020! I'm so happy to be apart of this event for the third year in a row. I can't wait to see all the amazing creations this fandom can create! (Title from Bastille, Quarter Past Midnight)

Ao3 FFN

The last thing Emma expected to do was spend Halloween with a pirate she met at a bar.

It had begun with a simple idea, get a drink and text Mary Margret with a quick excuse as to why she wouldn’t be going to her Halloween party. It certainly had nothing to do with the neighbor her childhood friend invited that would supposedly be perfect for Emma. 

No not at all.

But it wasn't the first time she'd done so, and Mary Margret had pretty bad taste in men when it came to Emma. Emma had initially reasoned that enough of their friends were going to act as a buffer for whatever low life she'd invited. 

But honestly, the last thing she wants to do is spend her evening engaging in small talk and finding delicate ways to let both the guy and her best friend down easy when it came to romance.

Emma didn’t even want a relationship. She'd tried it. Once. It didn't take.

Her plan was going well. She'd gotten her drink, so she was halfway there, but the text message wasn’t going so well. She kept seeing her ecstatic face, how excited she’d been at the prospect and- well she didn’t have a good reason.

Emma had just caught her last skip yesterday, so she had the money to relax for a few days, a fact she'd mistakenly told her friend’s husband, David. She couldn’t help it. He was the cop she handed all her skips to.  

So she got another drink, then another, the third purchased by a hot pirate who also seemed to be avoiding something.

(She distantly remembered his phone going off a few times)

By the fourth and fifth, well Emma Swan did have a good reason. She was too busy making out with the hot british pirate in the corner of the bar.

Not that she told Mary Margret that. By that point the keyboard was just a blur. She’d tried sending something, but she knew that whatever garble of a message she concocted was terrible and she deleted it. 

"Want to get out of here, love?" He'd whispered in her ear after he'd made her see stars just by sucking at that spot below her collarbone."A nightcap perhaps?" She saw his eyes, blue and absolutely staring right into her soul.

She'd nodded and gone with the pirate to his apartment just down the block.

Sleeping with the pirate on Halloween was one thing she did not regret. 

It was filled with more searing kisses and probably was the best sex she’d ever had. 

Waking up the next morning with said pirate in his bed was absolutely not the plan. Like, not even remotely in the plan. She didn’t remember how she planned to get home last night, but sleeping over is never the plan. She usually makes plans to avoid that option.

So, in typical Emma Swan fashion, she grabs her clothes, thrown around the room at drink six or seven.

Emma barely takes a glance at the sleeping man in the bed, eye liner running over his face, and still somehow looking too fucking good, before heading towards the exit of the apartment.

She was well prepared to do the walk of shame back to her car, then back to her apartment where she would beg her friend’s forgiveness for completely standing her up.

But well, that was not in the cards because Emma got blasted in the face by gusting winds and snow. 

"Fuck." Emma cursed, pulling the door closed as fast as she can. The storm threatened to rip the door off the freaking hinges with its howling. 

There was no way in hell Emma was going out in that. 

Which led her to her current situation sitting on the bottom of the steps, still in her jeans and hoodie. Clothes not at all appropriate for an absolute blizzard. 

Who the hell heard of a blizzard in freaking october?

Climate Change! 

The news articles announce as the cause, which honestly more people should pay attention to, but that doesn't at all help Emma's current predicament.

Staying the night was bad enough, but being trapped here was beyond bad. It was terrible. What the hell was she going to say to a man that she'd just slept with and had planned to run out of without a word?

Her phone buzzed in her hand from all the unread text messages.

Emma can you pick up beer?

Don't worry, got some.

Are you coming?

What time are you arriving?

He's here if you're wondering. I promise he's a good guy.

All from Mary Margret. Emma sighs; feeling guilty for not responding.

If you're on your way, don't bother, there's a freak snow storm coming in. We're snowed in, everyone is crashing on the couch, or in our spare bedroom.

This was from David. Emma sighs, knowing that if she was half the friend they were she wouldn't be in this situation.

But at least I'm not bunking with the rando Mary Margret found. Emma thinks.

She's a terrible friend. Absolutely terrible.

"Bloody hell." Says a voice behind her. Emma turns around, and the pirate is there on the bottom level of his apartment bleary eyed and in skull and crossbone boxers. The smeared makeup is mostly gone, as is his shirt. 

(even like this, he was absolutely as attractive this morning as last night)

Emma raises a brow. "Seriously taking the pirate thing all the way don't you think?" She asks.

He smirks at her. "I pride myself on my commitment." He tells her. "And I assume you got the same weather alert as I did." Emma nods. "18 inches of snow, who'd a thought?" He asks. 

Definitely not her. 

"Then let's go back to my apartment to ride it out." He offers. "According to the news, it won't be clear until tomorrow; which means a whole day in the home of a stranger.

Emma hesitates. 

"I promise love; I'm still a gentleman, even without the leather." He says with a teasing tilt of his brows.

Emma sighs, because she honestly doesn't have a better option. So, she makes her way back to the apartment she woke up in.

Silently, and still without putting more clothes than his boxers, he proceeds to his kitchen and puts on a pot of coffee.

Next, he goes to his fridge and pulls out a carton of eggs. Emma watches in silence as he methodically makes them both scrambled eggs and toast.

"Cheese?" He asks like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"I typically don't do this you know." Emma blurts out.

"The one night stand?" He asks, glancing back at him.

"The staying the morning after." Emma clarifies. "So don't think that this." She gestures between them and at the eggs for good measure. "Means anything. I would've been gone if it there wasn't a blizzard outside." She assures him. “This is just a one time thing.”

The last thing Emma needs is him getting the wrong idea.

He nods, looking her solemnly. "Of course." He says. Even without the alcohol, Emma swears his blue eyes can still see into her soul. Emma wonders what he sees.

"But that doesnt tell me if you like cheese in your eggs love." He's smirking now. Emma rolls her eyes.

"Who doesn't love cheese?" She asks. Putting her stuff down on the couch nearby. "Now where are your mugs, I think the coffee is ready."

Breakfast is surprisingly easy, the eggs taste good, he has a varied collection of jellies for the toast, and the coffee is already doing its job to combat the hangover induced headache she had woken up with.

"So love." He asks as she stuffs a fork full of eggs in her mouth. "I regretfully have forgotten your name." He says, scratching behind the ear. Emma can already tell that the guy does that when he's embarrassed. 

Not that it matters of course.

"Emma." She replies. "And I probably didn't give you my name, or ask yours, I think we had better things on our mind..." She trails off. God she'd been so drunk.

“Or bigger.” He says with another waggle of eyebrows; it makes Emma flush brightly.

“Oh my God.” She moans at his joke. “Do I have to call you Captain Innuendo now?” She says. 

"Killian will do just fine." He says with a laugh, standing up to clear their plates. A silence takes over the room, because of course it does.

Because what does one say to a stranger you met in a bar and properly slept with?

"What made you dress like a pirate?" Emma blurts out watching him wash the dishes.

 She instantly regrets her question when she sees some serious scarring over his left hand. She vaguely recalls that one of his hands had a hook. It feels insensitive all of a sudden. 

It catches him off guard, but that might just be the fact that he’d caught her staring at his hand. He instantly hides it from sight. "I was supposed to go to a costume party." Killian says, 

"But soon after I arrived, I learned the hostess was trying to set me up with someone and well..." he says trailing off. "I’d prefer not to have others interfere with my life so much." he reasons, another sheepish smile. 

Emma nods in agreement. "I feel the same way. Would you believe my friends were doing the same thing?”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“I’ve always been a bit of an outsider, I’m a glass half empty kind of person. But my friend is convinced that there’s someone out there perfect for me, that I should open my heart to love and romance and all that stuff she loves but...” She trails off.

“Love has been all too rare in your life hasn’t it?” Killian asks. He’s doing it again, that looking-into-your-soul thing. It makes Emma feel a bit exposed. But at the same time, she sees something reflected back to her. A familiar gaze she’s seen all too often.

He laughs, breaking the odd tension.  

"Bloody hell, looks like we both dodged a bullet then." He says. "Because as odd as this current situation is, I’d much prefer this than rebuffing the attention of someone while also not insulting my friend..." he says trailing off. 

His phone buzzes on the counter. He reaches for it. 

"If you excuse me." He says disappearing into the bedroom with his phone. She can hear him talking with his friend, it seems a bit tense if Emmas honest, but thats none of her business. 

Rather than eavesdropping Emma surveys the room. Considering Emmas been in Bail Bonds as long as she has, she can tell quite a bit about a man by the condition of his apartment.

Its neat. That’s the first thing she notices; neat and organized. Everything has a place, and everything is returned to its place. His bookcase is full, she notices most of his books are worn from frequent use. 

They had eaten on a kitchen island with three chairs, not a dining room in sight. 

His couch is of moderate size, but the reclining armchair has more use.

Emma takes him for an orderly person who reads quite frequently; he must even reread his favorites when he’s stressed, cooks for himself but not often for a group. He’s a loner. But not alone.

"Turns out the girl didn’t show either." It makes Emma jump in surprise to see him standing behind her as she snoops. "Sorry love, didn’t mean to spook you." Killian says with another sheepish expression.

It makes Emma wonder about the swagger he had last night. She chalked it up to the rum.

"Wanna watch something?" Killian asks, gesturing to the Tv. Emma nods her head.

“Do you have Netflix?”

//

They put on a rom-com. Something light and funny, How to lose a guy in 10 days, one of Emma’s favorites.

“Honestly.” Emma says. “They’re both trying so hard to be people they’re not. She’s trying to be terrible, and he’s trying to be perfect.” 

Killian shrugs. “It’s definitely funny.”

Once it ends, Killian makes them a frozen pizza while they put on the next movie. Stardust. Emma had never seen it so Killian had insisted.

It was about a boy who was alone, an outcast and a girl desperate to get home, hunted by absolute nutjobs but risk it all for each other. 

Honestly, Emma kinda loves it. It also definitely confirms what Emma thought she’d seen in him. 

“You were alone too weren’t you?” She asks. He’s not surprised by her comment. Not in the slightest. 

“Lost sees lost. That’s what my brother always says.” He murmurs. “My mother died when I was six, our father walked out on us soon after and my brother and I were put in the system until we aged out.”

Emma nods. She understands his lack of details. It’s not someone anyone wants to talk about. “I was abandoned as an infant, maybe hours old.” She replies. “Love’s been all too rare in your life hasn’t it?” Emma repeats. It brings a sad smile to his face. “What are the odds that we’d meet last night?” She asks. 

“Perhaps we saw something in each other?” He wonders. 

“I’m pretty sure you just thought I was hot.”

“Still think you’re hot.” 

Emma laughs, easing back into his couch. It’s comfortable, both the couch and hanging out with this man. It was nice in a way Emma didn’t expect.

//

They move on from movies to books and he had a lot of books. Emma had fallen a bit behind on reading lately, but considering she had nothing but time today and Killian’s massive library, it felt like a good use of her time.

“How do you have time to read all these books?” Emma asks, flipping through a few to try to decide what to read first. She had Pride and Prejudice in her hand currently.

“I’m a librarian.” He replies with a smile. “So being well read comes with the job.”

She nods. A librarian makes sense for him, considering his books, his quiet sheepish expressions, and his way with words. 

(But it didn’t explain the scar on his hand, that was not from a papercut, not that it was any of her business.)

She ends up reading Pride and Prejudice for a bit. She’s definitely beginning to enjoy it, when her phone buzzes in her lap.

Emma, are you alright? The snow is clearing and David’s heading over to you’re apartment. Considering the drunk text you sent me last night, I have a feeling they’re not finding you there...

Emma grimaces. She didn’t remember sending Ruby a text... She scrolls up to see it.

sLeepin wt pirates no paty don be ma.

Yup. Pretty bad. 

Instead of replying, she decides to call her friend.

“Well the dead arose.” Ruby snickers as she answers the phone. 

“Ha ha.” She says standing up to go to Killian’s bedroom for privacy. “Was Mary Margret mad?” She asks. “I honestly was going to come but...” She says trailing off. 

“Nah. You know how she is, forgiving as always. David was a little peeved, the guy left a few minutes in but damn Emma, he was hot with a capital H.” Ruby says. Emma can practically hear the wolfish smirk that was characteristically her. “But what about you? Spend the night with a hot pirate?”

She hums in agreement. “I’m still at his place.” She says. “Got snowed in.”

“Dang! You never stay the night.”

“I never get that drunk. But honestly Ruby, I’m having a good time. It’s strange.” She says. “Like really strange.” 

“Oooh.” Ruby says. “What his name? Tell me everything.” She says. But Emma’s not sure. She’s scared that voicing her thoughts into the universe would ruin whatever it was.  

  She thinks maybe that this isn’t a one time thing.

Then of course, she sees something that ruins everything. Because on Killian’s nightstand was a photo. A beautiful woman with Killian. She was in a wedding dress, he in a tux.

It was a wedding photo.

           “Ruby. I have to call you back.”

 //

“You’re not married right?” Emma blurts out. Because there’s no point beating around the bush. 

Emma refuses to even consider fantasising about a married man, not that she was fantasizing of course. 

She would rather walk back home, than be here another minute if he truly was-

“I was.” He states, not looking up from his book. “She died.” He responds. “Which is why I don’t want my friends to set me up with anyone. Because I know that I won’t find her. The perfect person they want me to find. Because she’s gone.” He’s looking at her now.

All the anger fades from Emma at his words. Because of course he’s not married, or cheating. Of course this good man wouldn’t do that. Not to her, not to the woman that he obviously loved so very much.

“I’m sorry.” she says softly. All of a sudden feeling like the biggest ass in existence. 

“Car accident, if you’re wondering, that’s how I got this.” He says lifting his hand, showing off the jagged scar that starts at his wrist and goes up his arm. “I was lucky.”

He says lucky like he doesn’t believe it. “Tell me, have you ever been in love?”

“Yes.” She says softly. 

“Then you know that I was anything but lucky that day.”

“I do.” She replies. Because she knows that pain, knows a pain so very similar it hurts just to think about. Like touching an old scab that still stings.

“I was in love once.” She says. “He was everything to me, but it wasn’t-it wasn’t real. He didn’t-” She loses the words. “He didn’t love me like that, he left me and I was...”

Broken

“It’s not the same thing. I know that.” She says. “I know my friends mean well but I can never let anyone hurt me like that again. Ever. But they’re so sure that there’s someone out there, someone who will never leave me, not like everyone else has.”

“But you’re not so sure.” Killian says, he’s standing now and Emma’s not sure when he did that. “I assure you Emma, take it from someone who’s known you only a short time. You are not someone who deserves to be left behind.”

She bites back a gasp at his words.

“And maybe there’s hope for us yet?” Emma responds. He reaches out and hugs her. Then he kisses her and well...

They end up in bed together once more. 

//

The storm stops and reality settles in. It’s time for Emma to go home.

“I never did get to finish this.” She says, putting the book back in his shelf.

Killian smirks at her, he’s in real clothes now, she has on a band T-shirt and sweats. It’s a size too big on her, but it’s a lot warmer. “Keep it.” He assures her. “Keep it as a reminder, that if we can cohabitat for a day, then perhaps...perhaps someday...our friends will no longer need to play matchmaker.”

She smirks at that. 

He looks at her for a moment and Emma thinks he's going to ask for more. He's going to ask for something stupid and romantic like an actual date or a kiss in the rain, or any of those chic flic things.

But after everything, a part of Emma wants him to. She wants him to want her to stay, to tell her it wasn't just her, that he felt it too. 

The spark, the connection, a kindred spirit in her that just wanted something. That it wasn’t just drunk sex, that it wasn’t just two ships in the night.

And yet, all Killian does is put on a smile, offer out his hand and shake hers.

"It was nice riding out a blizzard with you."

Emma smiles back. 

Because of course he doesn't say any of those things. Emma had said herself, that this was a one time thing.

Emma Swan doesn’t do relationships. She'd tried it once and it didn’t take.

It wouldn’t take here either. Not that Emma thought it would.

She walks away from Killian Jones, prepared to never see his smiling face.

 //

The last thing she expects is to see him again on New Years Eve.

Part Two to be released January 30th

#csjj #CS fanfics #captain swan january joy #csjj 2020 #Good Times Bad Decisions

[nny11writes]

For the fic writer ask game: What’s a trope that you’d like to never hear about as long as you live, let alone write? (Feel free to rant :) )

Hahahaha, sorry were you looking for one trope? 

I’m usually so positive so now you’ve done it. You’ve unlocked me complaining about random shit that doesn’t usually matter. Because the damn busted wide the fuck open! Okay, so I’m going to approach this as outside of smut fics with intense kinks I can’t stand (vore, foot fetish, scat play, etc), because that’s me getting squicked and/or triggered and not just tropes that I wish would die in a fire.

My only disclaimer up front is that if you love most of these (hopefully it’ll be obvious which ones I will not forgive/excuse you from), that’s awesome! Go for it! Read it, write it, print it out to loving re-read and paste on the walls! Fandom is, in large part, about finding your niche and enjoying what you enjoy pretty much shamelessly. So I’m not passing judgement on anyone who enjoys reading or writing (most of) these.

CW: rape, sexual assault Also I’ve had a shit few days, so if you don’t want to read someone just being negative and bitching this is probably not the post for you friend. But it all below a cut so people can avoid!

Crossover Fics/Rule 50

My main gripe with this is that without fail a series I love get crossed over with a fandom I either don’t care about or hate. Every time I’ve tried to force myself to read one it’s never worked out for me. Sometimes fics aren’t properly tagged and I’m getting into the setting only for other characters from another fandom to suddenly show up and literally I instantly loose interest. The closest I got to writing a crossover fic, was on FF.net where I had all the characters I wrote for “talking to me” when I hit a big wall of writer’s block in the hopes that writing something so different and strange for me would help. It didn’t. It was interesting for 0.2 seconds to wonder how characters would interact, but then I instantly lost interest because I end up leaning so heavily of character tropes to make it work which, for me, isn’t fun to read or write.

Like, just write fusion! I like fusion! I’m currently writing a SPOP-SW fusion! It allows me to play with characters in a fun world that I already understand, but without the frustration of characters becoming more 2D or very OOC (or both) to force them to interact with one another. Rage Fics

Honestly? If you write and post rage fics, fuck you. Full stop. Fuck you. 

I’m about to tangent, but I swear it’s related. This is the equivalent of someone tagging a character or ship or fandom they hate in a post bashing them or blasting them to hell and back. Fucking beyond rude and obnoxious. That’s what rage fics are cranked up to 11. You are 100% allowed to hate on fandom/character/ship/trope/whatever the fuck, but when you do that shit you are forcing people who enjoy the media to see/interact with your BS because you fucking tagged it to show up where we are. A great example here in SPOP is Catra. I love her! I understand why some people don’t, and they’re 100% allowed to hate her and resent that so many people like her. Recently I went to the Catra tag to find art and fic, maybe some of the top notch meta this fandom puts out if I was lucky, and got stuck seeing post after post after meta post comparing her to another character in the show to explain why she’s an awful person, badly written character, and anyone who likes her (but didn’t like the poster’s fave) was an idiot/asshole/troll/bitch/dumbass and you know what? I went from having a decent time decompressing after a shitty day at work to getting fucking sent around the sun with stress. Like, bro, I’m here to ENJOY myself thanks, and when you tag things I go to for fun and fluff when I’m out of spoons and ready to snap to ranting about hating it, you make me want to scream.

Y’all don’t know how many people are lucky that I write up responses in word so I can get it out of my system and then just DELETE the whole fucking thing. Rage fic is that same fucking set up, but instead of being a relatively quick post (where I can block the poster here on tumblr), it’s a fanfic that people are going to continue to click into over and over and over again for fun only to get body slammed. There’s no way to warn people on AO3 if something is a rage fic beyond not leaving a kudos and dropping a comment. I don’t know a lot of people who read comments first so it doesn’t always work. 

If you post rage fics, grow up. Stop that shit. Fuck you. Instead, try not purposefully interacting with fandom that makes you so mad that you think doing this is an appropriate reaction. Block tags, block users, regulate comments, go whole fucking hog. You should be able to enjoy fandom too! But if you can’t do that without tearing down other people in fandom then you make me want to beat you over the head until you self-isolate to play by yourself in a different sandbox. Seriously. Fuck you if you do this.

Troll Fics

Did you think I came on strong for rage fics? This is worse. 

If you do this? Fuck you. You get NOTHING but my pure rage and if I find this shit I will report you however I can and then shout from the rooftops about it. And I’m sure if you do write troll fics because you enjoy being purposefully offensive and triggering then you’re probably delighted that my reaction to just thinking about this is wishing I had the power to fuck up your life. 

Like, the ONLY thing I can say for rage fic is that at least typically the person writing it actually enjoys some aspect of the fandom or fandom in general. 

Troll fics are just meant to be offensive on purpose and if you write and post that you’re a bad person. No exceptions. You can make different choices and work to become a better person or a good person, but right now, right this second as you do it? You’re a bad person. You should probably figure out why you get so much joy out of posting things with the sole purpose of hurting/triggering/being cruel to others. And you might need help to do that. I legit think you should reach out to people with different opinions from your own to try and break out of it. Get a therapist. Do fucking something worthwhile, because posting troll fics is not worth anyone’s while. Fuck you. Rape as a Backstory

I hope I don’t have to fucking explain why this makes me want to literally explode. I’m purposefully not writing that as R*pe so that people with rape tagged don’t see this.

If you think that rape is the only way to push your story forward or is a great way to give a character “free and easy trauma”, literally stop. Just. Fucking. Stop. There are other ways. Really look at your work, really think about /why/ it’s so important to you that the character /has/ to be raped. Most of the time the real answer is you don’t have a reason you just chose it because you either don’t care, think it’s not a big deal, or never considered other possibilities. There are stories where rape does need to be included, stories that address the topic kindly and/or tag appropriately for it. I’ve read some of these that were really amazing, both short (<1k) and long (>100k) because the author actually took a hot second to address the topic in an intelligent way. Whether that was to dive into how it’s harmful, address their own trauma, or (honestly) even for the smut porn of it but with all the proper tags on it. If you have it to be purely enjoyed by yourself and/or others with dubcon or noncon kinks, cool, good for you, TAG IT APPROPRIATELY. Fucking bless writers who still use “Dead Dove/Do Not Eat” tags y’all are doing great work. But the vast majority using this trope? 

They aren’t that, they aren’t anything like that at all, they aren’t always tagged correctly or at all and that’s by design, it’s often for shock value or a quick ‘well that’s why they’re anti-social’, it’s sometimes used as an excuse for one character to swear off sex until the “right person” comes along to “cure them”, and they shouldn’t have ever been posted.

Redemption Equals Sex/Sexual Karma

I know this is spring boarding a bit, but please stop writing these two tropes. 

I’m exhausted  y’all. And not just because I’m asexual. This trope is disgusting and usually comes with heaps of sexism, racism, and homophobia. If you want to write smut please just write the fucking smut. I’m literally posting smut fic and am planning to work on another one tonight! JUST WRITE SMUT WITHOUT MAKING IT DISGUSTINGLY ANTI-MINORITY GROUPS AND PLAYING INTO HARMFUL STEREOTYPES.  If bad guys become good(ish) guys because a woman saw past their barriers, took care of them, are a surrogate mother, and then had wild and kinky sex with them then it’s a bad fic. Likewise, if a character is punished for having sex, or is sexually assaulted to show that they’re now bad then it’s a bad fic.

If a character’s suffering is rewarded with sex to “cure” them and “make them better” then it’s a bad fic.

There are so many ways that this shit becomes a seriously harmful fic.

Please. Please, stop doing this. I am on my knees. Stop!

I am sick of ‘Draco’s in Leather Pants’ (can’t fucking believe I’m whipping that term out again holy shit what year is it) getting redeemed because they slept with someone and now found a reason to care. Sex leading someone on the path towards redemption is so EXTREMELY rarely handled in a way that’s well done. Just. Don’t. Be an unapologetic villain lover, slap them in an AU where they aren’t a pure villain, but don’t do this. Like I wrote above, I’m also just sick of (usually, but not always) dudes who put rape in to punish (usually, but not always) female characters or to punish weak/pushover characters (usually, but not always males). And equally tired of traumatized characters “casting off their shackles” to enjoy wild and kinky sex because someone with a magic dick/strap/fingers/tongue “showed them it’s okay” and “made it all better”.

Just, don’t. Be a fucking decent human being and don’t.

Character/Reader Fics

I...I really just don’t get this? It’s very uncomfortable to me and I’m assuming that’s due to me being aroace, I can’t read them and if I try to I either become so uncomfortable I stop or so rage filled I stop. 

I don’t mind 2nd person stories, but most of the ones I see are character/reader fics and it’s...like, it’s just bad. Not “cringe” just enjoyable for me. I can’t explain why I hate this so much considering I do enjoy some 2nd person fics. Idk, I really don’t have the words to explain why these bother me so much. :\

I ain’t got an alternative, if you like these you like them, and if you don’t you just don’t. Thank you for tagging so I can avoid. Have fun on your own! Song Fics and/or Audio/Sound Cue Fics

Sorry guys, I just hate it. I can’t really read a fic and listen to music at the same time, it becomes background noise 100% and detracts from both for audio cue fics.

Fuck, just realized I don’t know if people know what those are. Audio/Sound cue fics are fics where you’re reading along and all the sudden there’s a link or URL that you’re supposed to follow to help set up the next scene/enhance it. Hate it. Hate, hate, hate. It detracts from your story and makes it weaker while being annoying and breaking me the reader out of my enjoyment of your story. Hate! Telling me in the A/N that this (or these) are the song(s) you listened to while writing, song(s) you based the story on, or even that you think they’re good songs to get you in the mood for the story is totally okay! I’ll probably ignore it unless I went head over heels for it, in which case I WILL go back and listen to all of them. (Why hello Rhythm and Blues, you punched me in the face and I now listen to every song even vaguely mentioned in the story or A/N, you’re that good, it’s so fucking good guys, I can’t stop talking about this fucking series it’s just so good?????????) Song fics are also typically in this boat for me. And I want to be really clear, not fics where a character is singing in the fic with lyrics written out. That doesn’t bother me, that song is now effectively part of the story and draws me in. But if it’s paragraphs of description before suddenly cutting it’s annoying. Why, oh why, do I put up with this misery? Still looking for a reason For now it is a mystery to me Why, oh why, do I put up with this misery? Still looking for a reason But for now it's ancient history to me

So yeah I’m making an example to complain about the example. 

But question. 

Was that needed? 

All I did was make overly explicit my feelings in this text that was already there in what I’d written. Song fics feel to me like writers who aren’t confident that their writing is good/understandable/relatable and so they are desperately throwing someone else’s creation into their own in the hopes the reader will get it. Friend, I promise you, we’ll get it without the song! The song lyrics detract when they’re just floating out there, and have taken goods fics and made them frustrating. Either that or you think you’re so amazing that your shit don’t stink and the rest of us idiots can choke because of your brilliance. I’ve found several song fics that if I copy and paste them into a word document and delete the song out, I really enjoyed the fic itself on it’s own merits in a way I literally couldn’t with the lyrics in there. Again, if you are weaving music into your fic, weave it in. Have characters sing, write the lyrics out as a character is listening to the music, quote the song in your fic (preferably without it being super obvious. I’m not saying my take on that was the best, but I did write a Catradora fic on giftly request based on a song and I 100% used lyrics from it in my prose and built my whole plot around it without breaking out to quote the song explicitly), just do something that’s not, like, punching me in the face because “clearly I couldn’t get it” or from a fear that “they won’t understand”. At best you seem insecure and unsure about your story, which is fantastic without the song. At worst it seems like you’re saying your fic is so beyond the average reader that we would never understand your vision without someone else’s original content in it.

#cw: rape #tw: rape #negativity #fandom #fandom negativity #me actually complaining about shit explicitly #and I still edited it a lot to make it not rage ranty #my anxiety won't let me live if I don't #about the author #tag game #writing game #writer game #fic game #fanfiction game #oh my god Imma post now otherwise I'm going to dive back in and scream A LOT MORE BECAUSE MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM #bobkitten

[bytheangell]

Make It Right

(Read on AO3)

“I don’t need this ridiculous app,” Alec mutters, flipping through the start-up questions of the dating app. “I can just go meet someone if I want to go on a date.” 

He doesn’t need to see the ‘uh-huh, sure’ looks of clear disbelief that Jace and Izzy are giving him to know that they aren’t buying it. He doesn’t blame them - the three of them lived together for years and almost all of Alec’s current friends he made through one, or both, of his siblings. But then Izzy and Clary got engaged and Izzy moved out, leaving just him and Jace; and as entertaining as experiencing Jace’s flavor-of-the-week girlfriends first hand is, Alec just couldn’t keep up the commute to his new job and live with Jace. Barely two weeks ago Alec moved into his own place much closer to work, alone.  The decision was easy knowing it was only a matter of time before they all went their separate ways, figuring it’d be easier to start now and acclimate. 

Alec thought it’d be freeing to separate himself from his siblings. Instead, all it did was make them even more concerned that he was just going to sit alone in his apartment for the rest of his life when he wasn’t teaching. 

He wishes he could say otherwise, but less than two weeks in and all he’s done is prove them right. 

It didn’t take long for him to extend his office hours at the university and make more time to volunteer at events around campus. He also spends longer on campus, staying to support some of the sports teams at home games, but he talks to plenty of people while he’s at work. He tells his siblings - and himself - that spending more time at the University is just what he has to do as an Assistant Professor to make a good impression, and swears up and down that it isn’t just a distraction technique. 

They all almost believe it, himself included.

“Fine,” Alec agrees, hoping to humor them enough to get them off of his back about this. “One week. And if I hate it, I’m deleting it and you’re never forcing me to fill out another one of these profiles again,” he concedes. 

Jace goes to argue but Izzy cuts him off. “Deal,” she agrees quickly. “Now, let me take a photo of you for your profile.” 

“What’s wrong with the one I’m using now?” Alec asks, having planned on just using the same one from his Facebook on here. 

“If you have to ask that’s a sure sign you need my help,” Izzy sighs. “Now, smile.” 

...43 minutes later, Izzy has a photo that she’s satisfied with. It’s a ‘very casual’ picture of him sitting by the window in his apartment, in a plush armchair he got second-hand, one leg dangling over the arm while the other curls underneath him. It was horribly uncomfortable even if he manages to hide that fact from the photo itself. 

“There!” She exclaims proudly, putting some sort of filter on it before posting it so that none of the colors are the same as the original photo, something which he definitely doesn’t understand but knows better than to question.  “I’m not sure how you manage to make an exposed ankle look so attractive, but I think it’s going to work for you.” 

“...thank you?” Alec says, the question heavy in his voice over what he can only assume is meant to be a compliment, even if it is the strangest one he’s eve received. 

“Alright, so what you’re going to do is swipe left when--” Izzy starts in, though Alec is quick to stop her. 

“I said I thought it was stupid- I don’t live under a rock. I know how it works.” In all honesty, he had used one or two of them in the past. But back when he was fully closeted he always just closed it in a panic the moment he even considered swiping right on an attractive guy.  Also he never in a million years would’ve told his siblings when he had them because he knew what would happen. 

And he was right, because it’s happening now. 

 “And I’m not going to do it while you’re here. So let’s just pick a movie, and I’ll look at it later.” He turns his back to them to head into the kitchen to grab some popcorn and drinks, and doesn’t even look back to check their reactions before adding, “I promise!” 

He hears them finally move at that, shifting the sofa so it’s closer to the table in the middle and gathering all of the pillows up into one area from their respective chairs. 

They watch the movie, end the night early because they all have work in the morning, and Alec waits until Izzy and Jace are both safely miles from his apartment before he pulls his phone back out and opens up the dating app. 

He flicks through the profile for a few minutes, looking at the photo Izzy chose and wondering why he couldn’t just use something that didn’t look staged. In fact, the longer he looks at it, the more he doesn’t like it at all, and ends up closing back out of it without doing anything. 

“...well, I only promised to look at it later.” Alec mutters to himself before setting his alarm for early enough to stop by the coffee shop on campus on the way to his office. 

---

The line for coffee the following morning is twice as long as usual - something he should’ve anticipated given the fact that it’s Monday and half the campus seems to need some extra help recovering from their weekends. He’s in the process of very visibly judging a group of freshman wearing frowns full of regret as well as sunglasses indoors when a voice sounds behind him, just next to his shoulder. 

“Oh, come now, Alexander. Surely you remember those days.” 

Alec spins around to see Magnus Bane who is sporting yet another new jacket, this one with some sort of adornments on the shoulders paired with pants tailored so perfectly he looks as if someone plucked him off of a runway. Alec knows the jacket is new - Magnus’ second new jacket this week - because he’s spent the better part of the academic year making a mental note of every outfit Magnus wears, determined to experience just  one that doesn’t make Alec’s breath catch at first glance. Right now he’s 132 for 132.

Not that Alec is counting. 

“Not really,” Alec admits. “I wasn’t a big drinker.”

He shifts his gaze from the students back to Magnus to find the other Professor giving him a quick once-over as if sizing him up. “No… I suppose you weren’t.” Magnus says after a moment of consideration. 

Alec is pretty sure he should be offended by that, even though he brought it up first and Magnus is only agreeing. 

Despite his immediate crush on Dr. Bane, one which only got worse as the year went on, Alec kept (and sadly, continues to keep)  his distance. For starters, he isn’t out at the University yet, not to any of his students and certainly not to any of the faculty.  He’s new here and still warming up to them, careful to keep any talk of dating or relationships vague enough to not be a lie while also not giving too much away. Secondly, when Alec started Magnus had a girlfriend, and after 3 months of burying any hint of feelings he felt it was just easier to continue on that way even after  he got wind that they broke up. 

There’s also the small fact that every time Alec has the chance at starting something new with someone, he ends it before it can even begin. He catches  himself doing it with Magnus the past few months- every time Magnus tries to extend an olive branch and be proper friends Alec practically runs in the other direction. He’s made a fool out of himself with fumbling excuses and forced abrasiveness more times than he can count - why Dr. Bane is still so nice to him, Alec  doesn’t think he’ll ever understand. 

Normally this is where Alec would excuse himself, but unfortunately the line is crawling along at a snail’s pace as Magnus continues, forcing Alec into the first proper one-on-one conversation they’ve had in months. 

“I, on the other hand, still can’t get enough of a good club. I assume you haven’t been to any around here?” Magnus waits for the shortest pause, already knowing the answer, before going on. “I know a few secret gems just far enough out of downtown to be mostly student-free, if you’d ever like to go sometime.” 

“I’m not much of a dancer, either” Alec says with a shrug, missing the flicker of disappointment fall across Magnus’ face as he side-steps the offer. “My sister Izzy says she won’t  even dance with me at her wedding because she’s afraid I’ll end up breaking her toe or something.” 

That startles a laugh out of Magnus and Alec smiles back at the sound of it, melodic and carefree. He finds that he’s far too pleased with himself for being the reason behind it and does his best to bite back a grin of his own. 

“Sounds like you just need the right partner.” There’s something undoubtedly suggestive about the tone Magnus’ voice takes at the suggestion, but thankfully Alec’s turn to order comes about right at that moment and he doesn’t have time to overthink it. 

“Red eye with one cream,” he orders without hesitation before taking a step to the side to make way for Dr. Bane. 

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Magnus orders immediately after, and Alec raises an eyebrow at that. He should ignore it and continue his track record for suffering in stoic silence, but now that he’s finally allowed himself the start of an actual conversation with the other Professor he doesn’t want to stop, which is exactly what he knew would happen. Instead of speaking again, Alec compromises with himself and simply continues to look over at Magnus with a questioning expression. 

“What?” Magnus asks with feigned innocence, moving imperceptibly closer beside him to stand while they wait for their drinks. 

“You didn’t strike me as the type to drink red eyes,” Alec says. 

“Nothing good ever happened from playing it safe. What’s a Monday morning without a little adventure?” Magnus asks with a wink. 

“...wait, you mean you just copied me on a whim?” Alec huffs out a laugh. “Oh man, are you in for a surprise.” 

“It can’t be that bad,” Magnus says, though there’s a hint of doubt in his voice now that wasn’t there before as the barista calls out their orders and sets them on the counter. They each grab one, and despite his reluctance to meet Magnus’ gaze earlier Alec holds it steadily now, watching his reaction as he takes a sip of the coffee. 

...and nearly spits it back out into the cup. “You willingly drink this?” Magnus demands, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, face still scrunched together in disgust. 

“It’s an acquired taste,” Alec admits, already heading towards the door. “See you around, Dr. Bane.”

“Please, just call me Magnus,” Magnus says, knowing full well Alec isn’t going to listen this time as much as he hadn’t the last dozen times.  

Alec tries not to think too much about that little run-in the rest of the day, or the tone Magnus’ voice took that one moment, or the way he seemed to crowd Alec’s personal space. After all, that’s just the sort of personality Magnus has, right? Alec could’ve been any other acquaintance of Dr. Bane’s and he would’ve done the exact same thing. 

Nothing to see there, nothing at all. 

---

Alec is taking a quick break from grading when he remembers the app on his phone and decides to look through it for a bit to kill some time. He flips through a few photos, hesitating over one or two but finding himself slightly put-off by some of these profiles. A lot of them sound like they could’ve been written by Jace which is more than a little concerning, and when someone’s only selling point is half a dozen photos of their abs he knows it’ll be pointless to even attempt a conversation. 

He’s about to give up and close the app again when he sees it - or, more accurately, sees him. 

Magnus. 

The photo Dr. Bane has set on his profile is absolutely sinful - he’s sitting in the VIP lounge of a club and the lighting is dim but the people casually draped around him seem to almost frame him in the set-up rather than distract from him. Alec can see so much of Magnus’ chest that he might as well not be wearing a shirt - and Alec almost wishes he wasn’t. 

Suddenly abs as a selling point doesn't seem like such a horrible idea, though he knows for a fact that Magnus has so much more to offer than the impressive body layered in sheer fabric and dangling chains on the phone screen in his hands. Perhaps that’s what makes seeing this sort of photo that much more enticing to him. And that isn’t the only photo - there’s one of Magnus lecturing, one of him at the gym, and another of him sitting on the ground surrounded by at least half a dozen cats. Of course he’s perfect outside of work, too. 

Keeping the app open in the background Alec pulls up his contacts and, after a moment of consideration, clicks Simon’s name. 

“Hey, I have a theoretical question for you,” Alec starts. 

“I have a theoretical answer,” Simon counters without missing a beat. “Shoot.” 

“Say you come across a coworker on a dating app. And they’re attractive… but you’re not out at work. And also acting on a crush on a coworker is only going to end in awkward disaster… but you want to know if he’d swipe right on you, you know, just out of curiosity…” Alec rambles, letting his predicament to hang in the air. 

“Well they’re going to know you aren’t straight if they see you on there anyway, right? I mean, you wouldn’t show up for them at all unless you had your profile set to match guys, soooo… that cat’s already out of the bag whether he picks you or not.” Alec can practically hear Simon’s shrug punctuate his observation on the other end of the phone line.

“Shit. Right, well, that’s fine. It isn’t like I’m denying it or anything.” Alec may not parade the information around but he won’t hide it if it comes up. That isn’t the main issue anyway. “I don’t want him to think I like him, though.” Alec conveniently leaves out the part where he does like Magnus, he just doesn’t want Magnus to know.  “So swipe left, then.”  “But I want to know if he’d swipe right on me. And the only way to do that is to swipe right on him and wait to see if we match.” 

“...so swipe right, then? Dude, I’m not sure what you want me to tell you to do here. I don’t really have a lot of experience with those apps anyway, I’m probably not the best person to ask. Have you tried Izzy or Jace yet?” 

Alec groans, putting Simon on speaker so he can go back to looking at the app again while they talk. 

“I don’t know if I want you to talk me into it or out of it,” Alec admits. 

“Alright, look at it this way. If you swipe right he’ll never know unless he does, too. And that means he thinks you’re hot too, so there’s no harm done, just some mutual appreciation. And if he swipes left on you it isn’t like he’ll know you swiped right, no harm no foul.” 

The idea of Magnus Bane ever choosing him on a dating app - especially considering the sort of attention and responses Alec is certain that profile photo gets him - is almost laughable… but Alec wants to know if he would or not just the same. Even if it means he feels the need to avoid Magnus even more than usual at work afterward as a result. 

“Alright. I’m going for it. Thanks Si.” Alec resolutely ignores the tiny spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, something more might actually come from this, but it’s definitely there. 

“Let me know how it turns out!” Simon says before hanging up. Alec allows himself a moment to take a deep breath before swiping right and waiting to see if the ‘It’s a Match!’ screen pops up. A second or two pass. 

Nothing. Well then. 

He reminds himself that maybe he just got to it first -- maybe it isn’t that Magnus swiped left on him, but that Magnus didn’t see his profile to make a decision just yet. That, somehow, is even more terrifying than the obvious option of accepting he isn’t Magnus’ type. What if Magnus does the same thing, just to see what Alec did but not really interested in him? 

 Alec is already formulating a plan in his head to excuse this whole imaginary future scenario away by saying his siblings took his phone and used the app for him when there’s a knock at his propped-open door. 

Alec drops the phone out of his hands and onto the floor when he looks up and sees Dr. Bane. 

“Jumpy today, Alexander?” Magnus asks, eyebrow raised. 

“Sorry. Guess that coffee earlier kicked in too strong,” Alec lies, standing from his chair to bend over and grab the phone. When he stands back up he’s positive he catches Magnus’ looking at his-- no, absolutely not. Alec immediately dismisses it, clearing his throat. “Can I, uh, help you with something?” 

Magnus takes this as an invitation to step fully into the room, leaning back against the wall once he’s inside. “No. Just saw your light still on; I’m pretty sure you’ve been the last one here every night this week, I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

“I’m good. I shouldn’t be here much longer,” Alec lies, eyes darting back to the pile of essays to grade in front of him. 

“Need some help? At the very least I could grab you some dinner so you don’t starve to death locked away in here.” Magnus makes the offer so casually but it sends Alec’s stomach into sweeping flips, finding the kindness behind the thought impossibly endearing before immediately wondering how pathetic he must look for Magnus to offer in the first place.  

“No,” Alec insists. “Really, I’ll be out of here in no time. Thanks, though.”  Magnus hesitates for a moment before sighing. “Alright, suit yourself,” Magnus says, and Alec swears he hears Magnus mutter something about playing hard to get under his breath as he turns and heads back into the hallway. 

Alec sinks down in his chair and lets out a sigh of relief, but when he turns back to his grading it takes twice as long to get through as he stops to check his phone every few minutes, just in case. 

---

“How is your back holding up these days?” Magnus asks, a strange glint in his eyes. 

“Why?” Alec frowns at the question. It’s only 9 am but he’s been grading for the last two hours straight, determined to finish the final pile of essays before lunch. Reaching for the cup on his desk he takes another sip of coffee to fend off the exhaustion he feels creeping in from the combination of the late night and early morning. 

“Well, I simply figured with the way you spend all of your free time reading books slung over that armchair so haphazardly, it probably does a number on your spine.” 

Alec nearly spits out his coffee. His profile photo. Of all the ways he imagined this moment of acknowledgement taking place this wasn’t even an option, and he doesn’t know if he’s more thankful or annoyed. On the one hand they can laugh this off and maybe, if he’s lucky, even act like it never happened. On the other hand, this is a bigger deal to Alec than it clearly is for Magnus who probably does stuff like this all the time. 

“I suppose I should ask how the small animal rescue league you run off your balcony is faring, then?” Alec retorts, recalling the photo with all the cats. Not the most impressive comeback but it’s the best he has after being caught off-guard. 

“All but one of them are strays, for the record. And they’re all doing lovely thank you for asking.” Magnus’ eyes never leave him no matter how much Alec averts his gaze and attempts to look too busy at his desk to have this conversation. When he looks back up Magnus is still in the doorway. 

A silence falls between them when Alec doesn’t reply. He actually has been busy all morning, buried under a pile of blue books to grade, which is why his phone is still in his bag, forgotten. There’s no longer any doubt that Magnus saw his profile, but whether he swiped right or not Alec has no idea, he hasn’t checked his alerts in hours. Honestly, after the night passed and he didn’t have a notification about Magnus on his app he just assumed Magnus didn’t match with him, which was fine, probably for the best. 

Or so he thought. 

“So, it seems like we’re a match?” Magnus continues conversationally, taking a slow step forward into the room before pausing, continuing only when Alec makes no move to stop him. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised...” 

Alec’s heart, which is beating far too fast for his own good, now feels like it drops straight into his stomach. Of course Magnus is surprised, to imagine Alec ever thinking he could match up with someone like him-- 

“...after all, you’ve done nothing but shut down my attempts to flirt with you for months now.” 

“What?!” Alec sputters. 

“Please, Alexander, don’t play coy. I haven’t exactly been subtle.” 

“No, you were -- I thought you were just being nice because I was new,” Alec admits, which is mostly true. That’s what he convinced himself of this whole time, after all; that Magnus’ particular brand of niceness happens to border on flirty sometimes, not that he ever means  anything by it. 

“I’m not that nice to just anybody, which is probably a side-effect of being friends with Dr. Fell for too long.” Magnus points out. “Nice would’ve ended the first two or three times you shot me down. This was shameless, almost desperate at this point, flirting.”  

Alec gapes, unable to process this information. Sure, Magnus offered to grab lunch once and a while, or drinks, or-- oh. Alec just thought those were all just extended invitations so he wouldn’t feel left out as the new guy. Somehow the idea of them potentially being dates hadn’t even crossed his mind until just now. Every time Magnus joked around with him, all the teasing he now realizes very belatedly was actually flirting, Alec dismissed entirely. He wrote off the invitations Magnus extended him as pity, but now…. 

“Wait, you said we’re a match. You swiped right on me?” Alec says with clear surprise, finally realizing the implication of Magnus’ previous statement 

“What part of ‘I’ve been flirting with you for months’ didn’t register?” 

“Pretty much all of it, clearly,” Alec says, the words tumbling out before he can think twice about them. 

Just like that Magnus is laughing, the noise filling the silence between them, easing it. “So you don’t hate me, then? Because if I’m being honest I was starting to get a bit of a complex about it. I’d think all the signs were there but the next minute you’d practically sprint in the opposite direction.” 

“Do me a favor and please don’t ever let my sister hear you say that. She doesn’t need to know I’m exactly as much of a disaster as she thinks I am,” Alec groans, considering his next words carefully. This can backfire spectacularly, whether Magnus means his end of it or not. If they end up going on a date and hating each other… or if Magnus is only doing this as a bet or something, to mess with the new guy... 

But looking up at Magnus’ expression while he waits for Alec to continue, Alec doesn’t see anything there but genuine interest and curiosity in his eyes. Alec lets out his momentarily held breath and decides to take one step forward this time without the two steps back in return. “Sorry I made you think I hated you, it’s… it’s quite the opposite, actually.” 

There it is. He doesn’t know why he’s as nervous as he is even after everything Magnus just told him, but his heart is still racing in the few beats of silence that follows. 

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Magnus points out, but there’s a small smile spreading across his face now. “So if I ask you out for drinks after work today, you’re not going to turn me down again?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Alec points out, the small smirk that tugs across his face appearing much more daring than he actually feels, but the laugh Magnus gives again makes it totally worth the fear. 

“Alexander, darling, would you like to grab a drink with me after work tonight?” Magnus asks. 

“I don’t know, I do have an awful lot of grading to get through…” Alec starts, and the look of incredulity on Magnus’ face breaks the serious expression Alec tries to hold almost immediately. “...but I think I can fit you in.” 

“Perfect, it’s a date,” Magnus gins as he shifts towards the door again. “Try not to work too hard.”

“No promises,” Alec laughs. “And uh, yeah. I’ll see you later then, Dr--” he starts, a force of habit, before catching himself. “-Magnus.” 

It’s such a slight shift but it’s undeniable, and the way Magnus practically beams at Alec finally calling him by his first name at work is contagious - Alec can’t keep the smile off his face the rest of the day. 

And later, when Magnus swings by his office after classes to see when he’d like to leave, it’s the first night in weeks Alec isn’t the last one there. As it would turn out, it’s just the first of many. 

#malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #shfanficnexus #HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRI! #have some super not angsty Same Professions trope for your day <3 #I hope you have the most amazing day! #elle writes a few deadbeat lines

[the--sad--hatter]

Name Calling (40)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU, DEADPOOL & X-MEN

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION -  

Vernichtung - Destruction, Annhialation.

It was what you were named and what you were supposed to be but the only thing you wanted to destroy was Bucky Barnes.

The ongoing and bloody war of words between you and Bucky turns in your favor when a disgruntled one night stand of his lets slip a secret when you run into her in the elevator… Now you have all the ammunition you need to destroy your enemy but you don’t plan on killing him quickly. Oh no, Bucky Barnes was going to suffer and you were going to enjoy every second. You just didn’t count on enjoying it quite so much.

But when your past catches up to you in the form of the mad scientist who made you, Bucky might be one of the only things that can save you from yourself. You can’t run from what you are but with his help, you can fight back.

Current Word Count -  114,250

MASTERLIST  or   Read on Ao3

Moodboard by @talesofakindredspirit

Chapter Forty - Growth

“What do you remember about the last couple of days?” Bucky asked you quietly.

“It’s all fuzzy, like it really happened when I was a kid. I can remember pieces. I remember there being lots of bubbles in the bathroom and my dad laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes, I remember Sam wearing a tiara and drinking fake tea from a teacup and Wanda and Vision taking me for a walk. I remember feelings more than actual events I think.”

“I know it was barely two days but it felt like a whole childhood. There was so much love. Everyone made it so special.” You said, your eyes shining.

“Except me. I avoided you.”

His face was heavy with guilt and you didn’t have the words to make it better so you stood on your tiptoes and gently kissed him. He didn’t respond straight away but finally his lips parted slightly as they moved in sync with yours.

“James you’re allowed to be weirded out by seeing me running about as a toddler. It’s not a failure, you didn’t let me down. Besides, I replaced you pretty easily.” You told him, mischief dancing in your eyes.

“You did what?” He growled.

“Didn’t you hear about Bucky Bear? I’m definitely keeping him.”

“You didn’t.” He groaned.

“Everyone loves Bucky Bear.” You laughed.

“I don’t.”

“That might be a problem.” You admitted.

“Doll you have the real thing, you don’t need a bear.” He said, wrapping his arms around you to illustrate his point.

“But I love him!” You protested.

He released you and pushed you away with a scowl and you laughed loudly at his reaction.

“I love you more.” You promised.

“Hmmph” Was the only response.

“Alright, I’m going to go see everybody else. Let them know I can legally drink again.” You said, still laughing.

“Wait.” He asked and you paused at the door.

“I love you too. And I’m tired of something getting in our way when we’ve barely started. Run away with me for the weekend.”He asked.

Your jaw dropped.

“I know a place where we...”

“Yes.” You interrupted.

“Really?” He looked as close to deliriously happy as Bucky ever did, it was all in the eyes.

“Really.”

He smiled so brightly then that you couldn’t breathe at the beauty of it and just surged forward to wrap your arms around him and let him kiss you until you couldn’t think. It wasn’t until you heard Tony yelling from your room in a panic you pulled away.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When you had reappeared as your adult self your dad had hidden the flash of disappointment on his face behind a grin and dragged you to the lab.

“Bruce!” He called.

“Tony if she sneezed again I swear... Oh.” Bruce was startled to see you waving sheepishly at him.

He shook off his startlement and hustled over to you, and in his eagerness to make sure you were ok practically ended up making you deep throat a thermometer.

“This is fascinating. To have the chance to study the effects of rapid de and re aging on a human.” He said to himself as you gagged.

Tony was hovering like the overly concerned parent he was. Bruce rolled his eyes at you and you stiffled a snort of laughter.

“Is she ok? Do you feel ok? Does anything hurt?” Tony asked.

“I’m ok, I feel fine, nothing hurts. I actually feel really good.” You assured him.

“I’d like to run some basic tests, just to be sure.” Bruce told you and you nodded your assent.

“Go for it Dr Banner.”

“Are you hungry? Shall I get you some breakfast?” Tony asked, already heading for the door.

“I’m not a toddler I can get my own... actually yeah, can I have coco pops?” You responded as he strode away and he shot you a thumbs up.

“Don’t start.” You murmered at Bruce who was giving you a look of wry amusement.

“Before Tony comes back, do you want me to give you a booster shot on your contraceptive? Just in case?” Banner asked you subtly.

You nodded meekly.

“Can I take some blood?” He asked.

“Banner, I trust you. You are the only scientist in the world I will ever let study me, you don’t have to keep asking. Just tell me what you need.” You reassured him with a kind smile.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“You’re back!” Sam crowed, picking you up and spinning you around.

“Aww, I’m going to miss having little you around.” Clint pouted.

“Clint I’ll still come with you to toy stores. And I’m keeping the lego sets you bought me.” You told him.

“So you remember everything?” Natasha asked.

“Not everything. It’s all childhood memories to me, I remember stuff but not it all and it’s fuzzy.” You admitted.

“Ok, so what do you remember?” Wanda pushed.

“Stop fishing guys.” You sighed and they looked at each other.

“I know you’re all soft, I know you all adore me and I know that Friday has all the proof.” You said smugly.

“Well now that you’re back, we need to decide what to do about Loki.”

“Little one, I can not apologise enough for my brothers actions but I swear he did not mean to harm you.” Thor said, his eyes imploring you to forgive them.

“I’m not mad. Not anymore. As far as I’m concerned it was just a really good prank.” You admitted.

That announcement didn’t go down well with anyone.

“He’s still evil.” Tony insisted.

“Is he though? He had the power to turn me into a child, he could have done something much worse. I think the fact that he didn’t turn me into a slug and squish me kind of proves he’s not evil. He’s just a dick.” You scoffed.

Thor sidled over to stand beside you since you were the only one on his side.

“It doesn’t change what he’s done in the past.” Clint argued.

“He could be telling the truth about that not being his choice. And think about it, he deliberately and carefully pissed off The Avengers. He masterminded his own defeat.” Sam jumped in.

“You weren’t even there.” Tony snapped.

“I’m not suggesting we welcome him with open arms, but we have to at least consider the fact he might not be evil. Put him on probation. I’m sure Strange can cook some way of keeping an eye on Loki up.” Sam rebutted.

“Dad I know you hate him but he wouldn’t be the only person in this room to get a second chance.” You pleaded.

“Really? Do you have a thing for reforming killers? Should I be expecting you to fall in love with Loki next?” Tony scoffed.

“No, I still think he’s an asshole and I fully plan on pushing him down the stairs but he is Thor’s brother, I think we owe it to Thor to try and Loki deserves a chance to show us who he really is. If he screws up then we... I don’t know how you kill a god, fire him at the sun?”

“I trust your judgement.” Sam said, agreeing with you and coming to stand with you and Thor and you felt Bucky move to stand behind you, silently making his allegiance known.

“I was given a chance to do right after I had done so much wrong. I support them as well.” Wanda said, joining your side.

It was you, Thor, Sam, Bucky and Wanda vs Clint, Natasha, Steve, Bruce and Tony.

Vision seemed unsure.

“Logically it is unlikely this situation will end well.”He stated.

“They’re right. Loki might be as evil as we think but he might not. We should be careful but give him a chance.” Bruce sighed heavily and shuffled over to you with an apologetic look at Tony.

“This isn’t a democracy and even if it was, not everyone is here.” Tony sputtered.

“Spiderman’s with me.” You said, holding your phone as you shot off a text.

Tony glared at you.

“Lang will be with us.” Clint insisted.

“Nu uh.” You rebutted.

“Enough.” Steve said calmly.

You all turned to look at him.

“Loki can’t be allowed to walk away from everything he has done. People died, good people. But... If there’s a chance he was a victim in that situation it would be unfair and hypocritical of us to punish him.” The Captain decided.

“So what do we do Cap?” You asked.

“He can stay IF he agrees to our terms. We’ll have Strange help us with a way to moniter Loki’s use of magic while he’s on a probationary period. And nobody outside of this team can know about this.”

“I agree to your terms.”

There were a few unhero like shrieks of surprise (from you) as Loki appeared in the middle of the room.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You were sat on your bed flipping through the photo’s the team and Friday had sent you. Your day of childhood was well documented.

“Friday. Can you have these printed out for me?”

“Of course Miss Stark.” She answered.

You stopped on a photo of you squished between Tony and Pepper, all of you mid laugh. Absentmindedly you toyed with your locket, the one Pepper had given you on your birthday and you hadn’t taken off since.

You finally worked up the courage to do something you should have done a while ago and opened Pepper’s contact info on your phone, deleting her name and replacing it. She was no longer ‘Pepper Potts’ in your phone or your heart. She was ‘mom’.

“Kit Kat, can we talk?” Tony asked you, knocking and poking his head through your bedroom door.

“I’m sorry we were on opposite sides of the argument again but you were the one who gave me a chance at life. I can’t deny that to somebody else if there’s even the smallest chance they are innocent.” You told him.

He came and sat on the end of your bed.

“I know, I’m not mad. I let Barnes in, I can let Loki in. That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“Oh, Is this about the accords?”

“No.”

“Bucky?”

“No.”

“Deadpool?” You were running out of guesses.

“Kit Kit I know who your biological father is. I didn’t try to find out, I swear. I just sort of stumbled across the information.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want to lie to you. If you want to know, I’ll tell you. If you don’t, I’ll forget what I know and never bring it up again. Either way, I’m still your dad. No matter what you do or don’t sign or how many psychopath's you adopt.” He told you.

You bit your lip as you tried to stop your eyes from watering.

“Kit Kat I love you, I do. I always will. It doesn’t matter if you’re a child or an adult, you’re my child.”

You gave up on trying to be strong and tucked yourself into his side, letting the tears fall.

“Do you want to know who he is?” Tony whispered.

This was a huge decision and you couldn’t help but feel it would change everything no matter what you did. But you had Tony, you had a dad. Did you really need to know? Did you want to?

You opened your mouth and answered with one word.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Even I’m annoyed at that cliffhanger and I wrote it... 

Short chapter but it’s setting up a lot of stuff. Yes this means Loki is officially sticking around for a while. 

@nerdandproud-86 @harrison-shot-first @thejourneyneverendsx @thelostallycat @inquisitor-selvala @the-corruptor @iovher @kendrawr-kitkat @phoenix-whiskey-tears @the–real-wombat @buckitybarnes @fairislesheets @angieptt @meganjonezzzz @dugan365 @fluffeh-kitty @memanda17 @krystallynx @theonelittleone @piscesbarnes @free-as-fishes @tarastudiesalot @captainamericasbeard @dropthepizza346 @jaynnanadrews @likes-to-smell-books @drdorkus @life-wanderer @metalarmlover @animegirlgeeky @jsmith509

#bucky x reader #hattersmarvelverse #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader

[shewas-agaystripper]

The Clinic: Part Sixteen

The Clinic: Part Sixteen

Brian is sent off to Queen Mary's Psychiatric Hospital to cure his depression and borderline. His roommates, John in particular, help him push through this difficult time in his life

Hello dear people! It’s been a while since the last part part of The Clinic was uploaded, which has mainly to do with the fact that my original blog of six years was deteled by Tumblr without any sign or warning, and they would not react to any mails so I had to start all over; and two weeks into waiting for them to reply my laptop broke down and I had to take it back to the store. They said it would take 3-4 days to fix it but it took 18 so that was great! However, I now have my laptop back, and I have a new blog (with basically the same name but different dashes). Please feel free to talk to me and shoot me messages! I’m feeling kind of lonely on my new blog still :s

Anyway! The good news is that I finished Part 16 on an alternative laptop, and Part 17 will be finished before the end of the week also, and will follow suit! 

Have fun reading, and any sort of feedback or suggestions is appreciated!

P.s. Normally I’d link all the previous chapters here, but as SOMEONE @staff) deleted my whole entire blog, they’re now gone. If you haven’t read the previous chapters yet, or would like to reread them first, here is the whole thing on my AO3 account!

‘We’ll see you tomorrow, then, in doctor Imholz’ office. Try and fill in as much of this paperwork already, and make sure to be on time.’

With that, a stack of files, and a handshake from each of the individuals present in the dusty but surprisingly spacious staff meeting room, Brian was given permission to leave the room, and he all but stumbled outside. When he closed the door behind him, he could not help but lean against it with his back, close his eyes, and take a deep breath - something he felt like he had been unable to do for the past two hours. 

After having announced to Nolan and doctor Imholz the evening before that he intended to file for a reassessment to try and be dismissed from Queen Mary’s for the sake of being able to support John when he was released, his mentor had called together what they had called a crisis meeting in which staff discussed the viability of Brian’s wish to be released before. It had been a long and stressful meeting, one in which Brian had largely been left to sit back and let people he’d never been aware were responsible for his progress throw technical terms and mental jargon at each other. He had hardly been asked to explain his reasons for wanting to leave Queen Mary’s so soon, but the overall consensus in the end was that they would grant his wish for a reassessment. That was - he had been at Queen Mary’s for at least three months; had never perpetrated any acts of disobedience, vandalism, violence, and the like; had never skipped any meetings with his superiors; had always displayed what Nolan had called ‘proper and respectable behaviour towards staff and patients’, and, borderline or not, he was deemed capable enough to make his own decisions and understanding the consequences of them. 

Thank God. At least they still treated him as human despite the label they had stuck on him.

‘How’d it go?’

Brian recognised the voice of the speaker sooner than he saw him, even though he should have been able to see him from - as a matter of speaking - miles away. Being one of the few patients with long blond hair, Roger always stood out a bit; but now that he was the only one to be seen in the otherwise empty hallway, let alone that he was leaning against the wall right across from Brian, really made hi unmistakeable to Brian, even now that his mind was spinning like a whirlwind. 

‘Eh… I think it went alright?’ Brian said somewhat hesitantly. ‘They said I meet the, uh, qualifications to apply for a reassessment.’

‘And?’ Roger asked, eyes brightening with hope but still a bit cautious, as he, of course, had no idea what had been discussed in his absence. 

‘They said they’ll make a phone call to the board right this afternoon to formally open the process of reassessment.’

‘No way! That’s great news! You’ll get to leave!’ Roger all but shouted across the hallway, and before Brian could prepare for it, he was tackled in a hug so sudden and so tight that he almost dropped the stack of papers he had been clutching against his chest. To be fair, he was still clutching them against his chest; now that Roger had enveloped him in a nearly reckless embrace, there was no other place for him to put his arms other than squeezing them tight against his body. It was uncomfortable for a bit, mainly because Brian wasn’t so outgoing himself, and wasn’t used to Roger behaving this way either. However, as Roger continued to hold him tight and seemed to try and rock him encouragingly by skipping from one leg to the other, all while unintelligible but nonetheless encouraging sounds escaped him, Brian could not help but smile. It was good to see Roger, who he had seen so down and helpless during multiple relapses into whatever drugs he could find himself, be in such a positive mindset again. Of course, nothing was set in stone yet, and Brian realised all too well that chances were that incriminating information against him could be found during his trial, that the psychiatrist who would be called in to examine him could vote against him leaving, and that the jury might deem him unable of returning to society as of yet. But if the official start of his procedure to try and be acquitted from Queen Mary’s brought his friend so much hope and joy, then who was Brian to bring him down?

‘Oh my God, and you’ll be able to leave Queen Mary’s and live happily ever after with John far away from this clown academy!‘ Roger continued to mumble against Brian’s shoulder, and Brian snorted. 

‘That’s a name for Queen Mary’s I haven’t heard before.’

‘Am I wrong though?’ Roger asked, looking up at him in all seriousness. His blue eyes shone brighter than they had done in ages, and Brian couldn’t help but wish that Roger could always be like this, bright and bubbly and alert and happy. 

‘You’re not. But if you don’t stop crushing me now, this clown will have to be admitted into the infirmary with a pair of broken ribs.’

Roger let go of him with a sigh. ‘Don’t think I will leave clown academy alive if John finds out I broke your ribcage.’

Brian felt his heart skip a beat at the mentioning of the name of his partner. John, who had gone through a dreadful night filled with tearful wake-ups and nightmares, and who unfortunately had been least comforted by the idea that Brian was filing for a reassessment among the four of them. Brian had hoped that making that promise to John would alleviate his worries, but it hadn’t quite been the miracle cure he had hoped for. Looking back at it, he should have known better than to think that John’s grey skies would turn to blue at the mere mentioning of the option of reassessment. Despite the fact that John’s depression turned every good news bleak, it was also not at all guaranteed yet that he’d actually be allowed to leave. After this morning’s meeting they had clarity at least to the extent that Brian could be filed for a reassessment, but this of course did not mean his case would be approved of, or how long it would take for his psychiatrists to come to a conclusion. It might take months for all he knew - months of time he simply did not have. 

‘How is he?’ Brian asked carefully. 

‘Very quiet ever since you left for that meeting. We couldn’t persuade him to go out with us to play, so we stayed with him in our dorm.’

‘Thanks,’ Brian said. ‘That you didn’t- didn’t go off without him.’

‘Of course not. We know he’s not very stable at the moment, and he might do things that he’d…’ Roger’s voice trailed off as he searched for the right words to express what they both knew was possible but which neither of them was particularly eager to speak out loud. ‘Either way, he’ll be glad to hear you’ve been approved for reassessment.’

‘Yes, we should go tell him,’ Brian said, trying to oppress the hint of excitement he felt; after all, he had no idea how or even if John was going to react to this spark of good news. ‘Where is he?’

‘In the canteen with Freddie. Can you imagine how confused I was to see Freddie having to drag John to the canteen instead of the other way around?’ Brian, who could not picture the scene at all, shook his head. ‘Come on, I’ll take you there. Lunch started about ten minutes ago but I’m sure they saved us a plate. I’m bloody starving.’

Brian again nodded in agreement - that was, to the part where Roger said they would head back to the canteen. He was not exactly hungry, and would not mind at all if John, in his current state of depression, and Freddie, with his current solitary task of keeping an eye on John, hadn’t thrown some mediocre sandwiches and milk cartons together for their missing friends. Roger might mind a little more, though; he had gone without heroin for quite some days now, and as a result of this was starting to get food cravings. The evening before he had eaten more than all of his roommates together, and breakfast this morning had followed the same pattern. Freddie had looked at him with a glance of horror and Brian could swear he could see Freddie counting up the number of calories and the grams of fat in his head as Roger was making his way through his third serving of milk and honey loops. Personally Brian didn’t think of it as a problem at all. Roger was skin and bone after years of heroin dependency, so if this sudden food /sprawl/ would result in a few extra pounds, it would probably be for the better.

Brian followed Roger through the hallway, half-heartedly listening to his talk of the constant headaches and cold shivers that he experienced now that it had been numerous days without heroin or any other addictive. He nodded and said ‘yes’ and ‘amen’ when appropriate, but it wasn’t until Roger shouted at him to watch his step that he was taken out of the depth of his own mind.

‘Is it Tuesday today? I hope it’s Tuesday, it’s when they sometimes have croissants at lunch. If so, I hope Freddie saved me some, because I’m seriously craving some croissants with jam right now- watch your step!’

A strong hand around his wrist tugged him to the side, and Brian almost lost his balance. His first instinct was to scold Roger for catching him off guard all of a sudden, but when he looked down at the floor below him, his flurry of anger disappeared at once. Half leaning against the wall, half sprawled across the floor was a young man, whose closed eyes and pale face at once struck Brian as a corpse. 

‘Oh my God, Oh my God, Roger-’ Brian clamped a hand over his mouth and staggered a few steps back, staring in pure disbelief at his friend, who somehow remained completely calm and unbothered as he crouched down next to the body.

‘It’s okay. It’s nothing,’ Roger told him. ‘Or well, nothing- just some drugs. He’s still breathing and I can feel a pulse,’ Roger said, his hand around the man’s wrist. ‘Alexej, can you hear me?’  

‘You know this guy?’ Brian asked, still keeping at least a six feet distance between him and the guy who seemed more dead than alive.  

‘Of course. We’re in counseling together every morning. Group therapy or whatever it’s called,’ Roger said nonchalantly. ‘Alexej, can you hear me?’ he repeated - and then, when the guy again did not reply, a sharp slap to his left cheek made Brian shriek and Alexej groan and open one tired eye.

‘Roger!’ Brian whimpered.

‘Don’t worry. I’m in this scene, I know what I’m doing,’ Roger replied without looking up, and Brian was unsure if this answer should console him or stress him out even more. ‘Alex, say something.’

‘Hnn… I feel fuckin’… awful, man,’ the guy said under his breath, but Brian was still able to hear, besides the Slavic accent, the slur in his voice. He had no idea how Roger stayed calm in the midst of this, but then again - Freddie had also always remained calm and collected whenever Roger messed up his clean streak again and was found lying on the dorm room floor with a syringe lodging in his elbow. It was something some people could apparently get used to, but Brian had known right from the start that he was not among these ‘happy few’, or whatever one wanted to call them. 

‘Bet you do. Now, listen. Did you do this yourself?’ Roger asked him. Alexej nodded slowly, and Roger did so too. ‘How much?’

‘Wha?’ Alexej opened one eye again.

‘How many grams?’

His eye fell shut again. ‘Don’t… recall.’

‘Right. Well, sit still, I’m taking this syringe out of you.’ With trained expertise, Roger pulled the needle out of the man’s elbow. It was only when the object had been removed that Brian could see how bruised the skin in and around the addict’s elbow was. The image of it made him queasy, even though he had beheld similar sights on Roger’s arms time and time again. 

Alexej grunted when the tip of the needle was removed from his skin, and a drop of blood trickled down from the small puncture. Roger wiped it away and held the syringe up in the air to inspect the item at close quarters. Brian could not have determined anything from the injection, but Roger, an expert of the field, shook his head condemningly.

‘The filler area is still half full, and there are particles in it. Where’d you get this trash?’

‘Geoff sold it to me.’

‘Of course he did,’ Roger rolled his eyes. ‘Listen, don’t buy his shit again. If this is baking soda or whatever it can cause serious problems,’ he lectured, as if doing heroin wasn’t dangerous enough on its own. Brian would have snorted if the entire situation wouldn’t have been so pathetic. ‘It can clog your blood vessels or even arteries, and you can die from that. I know life in here is shit but it’s not worth dying for. You’re with me?’

‘Got it,’ Alexej grumbled.

Roger nodded, then held the injection up in the air again. ‘This syringe must be rather new. The needle is still very sharp - you don’t see that often in here,’ he said, lightly jabbing the tip of it against his forefinger, which made Brian more than a little nervous. ‘You don’t mind if I keep this as a reward for helping you, Alex, do you?’ he asked, and brought the injection up to the back pocket of his jeans.

‘Roger!’ Brian hissed, and his friend looked up with an innocent expression that definitely was completely unfit for the current situation.

‘What?’ Roger asked.

‘Put that back!’ Brian told him, and Roger, bringing up the syringe again, stared at the object, then at the source of it, and then back at Brian.

‘You mean like this?’ he asked, and Brian couldn’t prevent a gasp of horror when he saw the tip of the needle disappear into the bruised inner area of Alexej’s elbow - quite literally the place it came from indeed.

‘Roger! Stop that!’ he whimpered.

‘Just joking,’ grinned Roger, who then showed that he’d slid the needle right past Alexej’s arm, but which from Brian’s viewing angle made it look as if he’d jammed the injection right back into his arm.

‘Not funny,’ Brian all but pouted, unsure if his heart rate would recover from this stunt of Roger’s anywhere soon. 

‘It was hilarious and you know it,’ Roger said before turning to the person still on the floor. ‘Now, let’s get you on your legs and to the infirmary,’ Roger concluded and placed his hands under Alexej’s armpits, but his patient moved away from him with the little strength he could still muster.

‘No,’ he protested. ‘No infirmary. Been there. Isolation…’ From these half-sentences Roger and Brian were able to conclude that Alexej didn’t want to be sent to the infirmary out of fear that they’d put him in isolation to sober him up, but Roger clearly thought this objection was irrelevant.

‘I’m not gonna have you die on me, Alex,’ he said, gesturing for Brian to come over and help him haul the man off the floor. Brian cautiously stepped closer and positioned himself at the other side of his body, and hesitantly followed Roger’s example of placing his arm under Alexej’s armpit.

‘Won’t… just… no nurses,’ their companion said, struggling to try and keep himself on the floor when Brian’s and Roger’s joint power tried putting him back on his feet. Roger and Alexej argued back and forth, until Roger eventually told his groupmate that he could go if he’d be able to climb the stairs up to the dorm rooms himself. Having made this deal, Alexej allowed Brian and Roger to pick him up beneath the armpits and escort him through the hallway and towards the stairs, on the way of which they fortunately did not come across any staff members who might notice that something was off.

It took some time, persistence, and Roger’s threat of calling in the nurse after all to get Alexej upstairs and in bed. Brian judged that he looked somewhat better than he had done before, and after having gotten him a glass of water and Roger promising him he’d drop by later that afternoon to check up on him, the two men left the room behind to finally go to lunch and meet their friends. Roger was a little disgruntled at having missed the largest share of lunchtime, as he was still ‘hungry enough to eat an entire horse,’ and Brian was anxious to see John and bring him the news. They skipped downstairs, paced towards the canteen, and Brian had Roger somewhat begrudgingly throw the syringe he’d gotten from the encounter with Alexej in the bin before they entered the canteen. They found their friends at the usual spot at the back of the canteen, and Brian all but ran towards them. Somehow Roger was still faster than he was - presumably because he saw a plate loaded with croissants in the middle of the table, the promise of which seemed to make him forget about the syringe he’d just had to throw away on Brian’s watch. 

Once they reached the table, Roger was the first to slump down on the chair next to Freddie, and Brian sat down across from him on the vacant chair next to John. John did not look up at either of them, which made Brian’s heart sink a bit - but the smallest of a smile appeared on his partner’s face when he put his hand over those John had placed in his lap.

Roger was the one to do the talking once he’d settled down and grabbed a croissant from the plate. ‘Sorry we’re late. Had to patch up someone of my drugs group again.’

‘Henry again?’ Freddie asked.

‘No, Alexej. The Latvian guy,’ Roger mumbled between two bites of croissant.

‘Don’t think I know a Latvian guy around here,’ Freddie frowned. ‘But what do I care! How did the meeting go, Brian? Please tell me you’ve got some good news.’

Brian smiled at him, which was really all he had to do; the mere curling of his lips made Freddie squeal in delight.

‘You were approved for reassessment! Oh my God!’ Freddie flashed the biggest smile he’d ever seen him do, and even John looked up with a sparkle of hope in his eyes. ‘You’ll get to leave with Deaky!’

‘I’ve merely been approved, Freddie,’ said Brian, who - despite loving Freddie’s enthusiasm - knew he had to remain realistic. However, now that he had seen John smile at the good news, he allowed himself to share some positivity between the four of them. ‘But they’ve gone to my records and found nothing against me. No drugs smuggling or violence or being disrespectful towards the staff or anything, so the process can go ahead.’

‘Darling, that’s amazing news,’ Freddie said. ‘So what happens now? When will you have meetings with your psychiatrist and such?’

‘I’ll be assigned a new psychiatrist to evaluate me. Someone neutral, they said. I’ll get to meet him tomorrow morning,’ Brian said.

‘What’s his name?’ Freddie asked.

‘You probably don’t know him - he’s coming from an external mental hospital. They have to make sure he doesn’t know a thing about me yet and can’t be prejudiced in any way. Even Sarah and Jasper and doctor Imholz don’t know him,’ Brian said. ‘But his name is Fisher. I hope he’s alright.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be alright. And even if he’s dumb, all you’ll have to do is keep up with him for what, two sessions or so?’ Roger said, grasping the second croissant of the plate.

‘Five sessions,’ Brian corrected him. ‘I’ll see him once every day starting tomorrow until the end of the week. Then he’ll make a judgement about whether I’m ready to leave or not, and if he approves, he’ll vouch in favour of my request at the final hearing.’

‘Final hearing?’

‘Yes, in like three, three and a half weeks my case will go to a kind of court that will decide what to do. You know, two people from the board that rule this and other mental hospitals across the country will hear my case, and make a final decision. Those and - and my former psychiatrist.’ Brian could hear his own voice fall when he mentioned this past member of the jury. He had repressed every memory of professor Sumner for the past few days, even though he knew that once he’d go for a reassessment he would be standing eye to eye with him sooner or later. The thought of it was enough to make him shiver, which John seemed to realise, too. Somewhere along the line of the conversation, Brian had retreated the hand he’d placed on top of John’s hand to be able to awkwardly pluck at his own nails, but now he felt John putting his hand on his upper leg and gently stroking him as a form of wordless comfort. They shared a sideways glance with each other and smiled, which was enough to make Brian realise that his partner’s happiness was worth having to deal with Sumner again a thousand times over. 

Roger, still, was unimpressed with the entire procedure. ‘I think just skipping over the barbed wire would be easier than going through all of this crap. But I’ve gotta admit that I’m pleasantly surprised. I never would have thought Queen Mary’s would be able to pull off an actual protocol like this.’

‘Well, we don’t know that yet,’ Brian said. ‘They called someone in to evaluate me, is all they’ve done so far. And handing me two threes worth of paperwork to fill out.’ He nodded at the pile of papers he had dragged along from the meeting, and Freddie was the first one to pick up the documents lying on top to have a look.

‘Code of conduct. Mental health statement. Mental health history. Family background. Plan for return to society,’ Freddie read out loud. ‘It’s as if you’re to become the British ambassador to Saudi Arabia or something.’

‘I’ve definitely got my work cut out for me,’ Brian said, massaging his temples with his fingertips. Nolan had quickly gone over many of the papers he’d have to fill out in the following weeks, but the amount of them had been so staggering that Brian had felt himself drift off after half a minute. He knew he’d have to bring himself around to fill everything out as well as possible, but the idea of it seemed so daunting. It was so weird, so final, to know that this could be his way out of Queen Mary’s. That within a month he could be free again, free to go and do as he pleased, instead of being locked behind the barred windows and the barbed fences of a mental health institution. It was as if he had been at Queen Mary’s for years, yet at the same time he felt like it had been just yesterday when he had handed over his suitcase and said goodbye to his parents. He wanted nothing more than to leave, especially for the sake of John, but he was nervous. What if he wasn’t ready for it yet? His depression was nowhere near cured, and since no one so far really seemed to know what caused and what could alleviate borderline, he doubted he was very much cured in that area. What if he was to leave Queen Mary’s only to have a breakdown, and be shipped right back in? What would become of John if Brian proved to be unable to deal with the mental mess he still found himself dealing with?

‘When is all of this due?’ asked Freddie as he piled up the lot of papers again.

‘The first papers for tomorrow. Not all of it, but… quite some, I think,’ Brian said. A mere look at the stack of paper was enough to make him feel nervous. 

Roger whistled shortly. ‘I was gonna invite you to go outside and play some music, but I’m afraid you won’t have time for that then?’ 

‘I’m afraid not, no,’ Brian answered. ‘This is, eh, kind of more important at the moment. I need to get this done as much as I can.’

‘I’ll come with you. I’ll help you fill them out,’ John said resolutely, and Brian felt his heart swell.

‘Thank you. I’d love that,’ he whispered at his partner, who smiled at him a little shyly. 

‘Marvellous. Do you want us to help you, too, or should we make way for you to get down to paperwork?’ Freddie asked. Normally Brian would have been too nervous to tell them off, but now that so much was at stake and four people working on the same task would probably just distract him, Brian politely told them John and he would manage on their own - something that, much to his relief, went down well with Freddie.

‘Great. But first the two of you got to eat. Both of you haven’t had any lunch yet, and the canteen is closing in like five minutes. Can you believe that I’ve actually gone through an entire croissant while you weren’t here?’

‘An entire croissant?’ asked an obviously surprised Roger, who never would have expected his boyfriend to eat something like that if not directly faced with the threat of being dragged into the infirmary if he would not budge and eat the calorie bomb.

‘Don’t get too excited, dear. I was merely trying to persuade John to eat,’ Freddie said, which, Brian decided, sounded a lot more like something he would do.

‘You haven’t had anything yet, then?’ Brian asked John, who shrugged.

‘No. Not really hungry.’

‘Even not now that Brian’s come back with such good news?’ Roger asked, but the answer remained no. ‘Come on, Deaks, you have to eat something. Or do you need me to use my techniques for Freddie on you for a change?’ 

John now grimaced, and picked up a croissant from the plate, from which he slowly started plucking strips of bread. Roger, Freddie, and Brian enthusiastically spoke of the progress Brian’s case might be making and what to say to doctor Fisher when he would be standing eye in eye with him - whether to be all upbeat or to be sincere about his emotional condition. Brian, in the meantime, could not really get a hold on what John was feeling. On the one hand he did nod and smile every now and then, and answered without a problem when he was asked a question by one of his friends. Still, his heart did not seem in it, and when the lunch lady came over to tell them lunchtime was over, he had only munched down about half of the croissant, and seemed relieved he was now able to toss the remains of it back on the plate. It was Brian who tried to see if there would be some leeway that would allow them to take some food up to their room.

‘Could we maybe just finish these last croissants upstairs?’ he asked the middle-aged woman, who scanned him and his friends over for a few seconds. ‘It’s just that we had a special meeting with our psychiatrist and only got here five minutes ago,’ Brian tried, which seemed to make the lady think.

‘You know that officially I can’t allow that. It’s against policy,’ she said.

‘Please? John here has barely had anything yet,’ Brian added.

‘It’s okay,’ John said. ‘I’m not hungry. I’ll just have a cup of tea and we’ll go back to our room,’ he said, giving a nod into the direction of the vendor at the other side of the canteen.

‘I’m afraid that won’t do,’ the woman said. 

‘Are you in that much of a hurry to close off the canteen?’ Brian asked. He knew staff had been given orders from above to close off the canteen right after mealtimes, but did that really leave no room for someone to grab a drink before leaving? 

‘Darlings, have you been living underneath a stone?’ Freddie asked. ‘The coffee and tea vendor has been dismantled.’

‘The coffee vendor- why?’ Brian asked with genuine surprise.

‘Because last week Drew threw a cup of burning coffee in Clyde’s face, and he had to be taken to the local hospital for who knows what sort of degree facial burns,’ Roger said with an equal amount of amusement as irritation in his voice. 

‘I don’t even know why this sort of thing surprises me any longer,’ said Brian, lowering his face into his hands. If anything, it should surprise him that none of the masterminds they were surrounded by had come up with the idea of pulling off this prank earlier.

‘This is why we can’t have nice things, I suppose,’ John sighed, the legs of his chair scratching over the floor as he stood up.

‘You know, just take your croissant. You don’t strike me as the trouble-making kind,’ the woman said, which made Freddie grin mischievously, telling Brian that something undoubtedly inappropriate was about to leave his lips.

‘Obviously you haven’t met cold turkey Roger before his seven o’clock shower blowjob yet,’ Freddie said with one arm sneaking around Roger’s waist, but it was quickly batted away by his less than amused boyfriend. 

‘Thank you. We’ll be on our way,’ Brian said to the woman who now looked at them as if she saw water burning. He caught Roger’s lower arm to drag him along and make sure he would not stay behind to say anything in reply to Freddie’s comment that could make the situation even worse than it was already. John understood the hint and followed right behind with the stack of papers Brian had left on the table, and Freddie, probably out of fear of being left to explain himself to a now traumatised lunch lady, wasted no time in following suit. 

Brian all but ushered the couple out of the canteen, and only let go of Roger when his friend was done threatening Freddie that he would take revenge on him one way or another. By the time this happened, they had reached their bedroom already; John opened the door and practically burst into their safe haven. Putting the paperwork on Brian’s nightstand, he flopped down on his own bed, covering his face in his hands. 

Brian was not too sure what to make of this behaviour. John had always seemed relieved to be back in their room after a long morning of group therapy and two shared mealtimes, but his relief to be able to crawl back into seclusion again for the upcoming hours seemed to consist of something more this time. John was still stressed out and feeling down regarding the judgement which had been made concerning his more or less forced removal from Queen Mary’s in a month, and the steps Brian had undertaken to try and be admitted in time with him had so far done little to ease his nerves. He wished he could do something for John to help him ease out of the whirlwind of worries and depressive thoughts, but for the time being, there was little he could do. Promising John he would be right there with him on the day he would be acquitted would be too risky; after all, even though things looked good for him so far, he could not guarantee that his case would be approved of by the jury of mental health experts he would have to appeal to at the end of this trial. Even if it was, he did not know when he would be set free from Queen Mary’s. The judgement date had been set at approximately three and a half weeks from now, meaning that he’d get to hear the decision a few days before John’s expulsion date. He doubted however if Queen Mary’s would let go of him right away, or if - just like in the case of John - they’d allow another month between the judgement and the date of dismission, to allow for a month of transition time. John was currently in the dismission period, which meant he had sessions with social workers who tried to help him establish a routine for when he’s got to leave and return to his old life.

Not that there was much left of his old life, in all honesty. Both his mother and the aunt and uncle he had lived with had thrown him out, and he had no other addresses to return to. The address Brian and he had discussed was that they’d go and live with Brian’s parents for the first few months, before finding an apartment on their own somewhere in the city - which was a plan Brian’s parents had approved of once they had overcome the shock of hearing that Brian was going for a reassessment to leave Queen Mary’s less than six months after he had been sent to it. The counsellors John had spoken too, however, were less convinced of this plan - mainly because it was of yet unsure if Brian would be released at all, or when exactly this would be. They were busy trying to set John up with guided community housing for people just released from hospital, prison, or mental institutions like the one he came from, taking no note of the fact that it would make John miserable to live in a community setting with around the clock guidance and interference. Brian knew that these social workers meant well, but he thought it really rather objectionable that they refused to listen to John’s opinion on being sent to a housing group, and kept pushing forward their vision regardless of the wishes of the one they worked for. The inability of the counsellors and John to see eye to eye on the question of where he was to go after Queen Mary’s would deliver him back into society made John cooperative to the counselling sessions, and brought stress and tension to his days and nights. Brian wished he could drag the counsellors over the desk by their ties and tell them what he thought of their method of ‘helping’ his partner, but since the sessions were closed to John and his mentor only, there was little he could do. All that was within his power was trying to convince his partner that they’d work their way around it, that his parents were willing to let him in even if Brian would not have been set free yet, and pray that his case would be approved of as soon as possible.

‘I’ll just grab my lyrics book and then Roger and I will be on our way,’ Freddie said as he dug through the stack of notebooks in the drawer of his nightstand. ‘Is there anything we can do for you before you leave?’

Apart from a handful of witty comments in the style of ‘burn down Queen Mary’s’ and ‘bribing the judges to make sure they approve of Brian’s case’ John and Brian had little serious matters to ask for, so Freddie and Roger left them with the promise that they’d be gone for a few hours so that the other couple could have lots of time to get down to the paperwork. They left with a handful of pens and a few notebooks, and before they knew it, Brian and John had the entire room to themselves.

‘Well then,’ said John, who by now had removed his hands from his face and reached out for the bunch of papers. ‘Shall we get going, then?’

Brian, in all honesty, was a tad disappointed by John’s offer to get right down to business. He would have preferred to first take a moment to talk about how John was doing today, with the eye on his partner’s reassessment case and the idea of having to leave sooner or later, but he could tell that John had brought up the idea of doing straight to the paperwork that needed to be tackled just so they would not have to talk about how he felt. Brian was not entirely sure if this was the right way to deal with one’s emotions, but after recent events, he knew better than to push John into talking when his boyfriend clearly did not want to. 

‘Alright,’ Brian said, taking a seat on his own bed. ‘What’ve you got there?’

John skimmed through the papers. ‘Family background and Code of Conduct. What do you wanna start with?’

‘I’ll have Code of Conduct. If I’m not mistaken that’s just the way I’m supposed to behave after I leave Queen Mary’s,’ Brian said, holding out his hand for John to give him the papers. Their beds had moved close enough to be at an arm’s length from each other, and Brian suspected it would not take long before they’d permanently shove their beds together just like Freddie and Roger did. 

‘I’ll have a look at the family background. See if there’s anything weird in there,’ John said, to which Brian nodded. For a moment or so they both quietly read through their assigned papers, the only sound being that of flicking papers and that of John’s humming. Though it distracted Brian from reading a little, he had never heard his partner hum before, and decided to let it be - it was cute, after all, and a sign that John felt comfortable. 

‘It says here I’m not supposed to spread overly negative opinions about Queen Mary’s,’ Brian eventually said. ‘And that I’m not allowed to reach out to the press to share negative experiences anonymously.’

‘So does that mean you can share negative experiences un-anonymously?’ John asked.

‘I guess so. Maybe because they can trace me down and beat me up then,’ Brian said.

‘They would if they’d have staff they could miss,’ John grinned.

Brian flicked the page, and read in comfortable silence until a question popped up in his mind. ‘Have you had similar papers to sign? You know, since you’ll be leaving soon?’

‘Yeah, these things sound kind of familiar,’ John said. ‘I just never paid much attention to them.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘Not after I asked if they would keep me if I refused to sign, and they said I’d be let go of regardless,’ John said, and Brian felt a pang of hurt when he was reminded once again that John did not really want to leave this place that was the only home he’d known for these past two years. ‘These papers are just a formality.’

‘Oh. Should I just sign then regardless?’

‘I don’t think you’ll be approved of if you refuse to sign their dumb codes of conduct, I’m afraid,’ John judged. ‘Besides, spilling the beans on Queen Mary’s doesn’t seem like something you’d do anyway.’

‘Probably not, no. Let me just get a pen,’ Brian said, leaning over to open the drawer of his nightstand, then his pencil case, and fish out one of the only two pens he possessed at the moment. Given that Queen Mary’s had a strict no-sharp-objects-policy, getting to keep two pens was a luxury that Brian had come to cherish and a right he wished to protect. With the ballpoint pen in his hand he skimmed through the last paragraphs - something about keeping confidential information confidential and not slandering the names of any of the staff or his fellow patients - he went to put a somewhat shaky signature on the dotted line at the end of the handout. Just as he was halfway through adding the date and location of signing to the document, John caught him by surprise with a business-like question.

‘What is the gross yearly income of your father?’

Brian blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Not for my interest. It’s one of the questions they ask you to answer in this family background. Along with your parents’ work experiences since the age of eighteen, and their involvement with law enforcement for the past twenty-five years, including petty crimes like parking fines and speeding tickets and such.’

Brian took a few seconds to reflect before replying. ‘It really is as if I’m becoming the ambassador of Saudi Arabia,’ he eventually mumbled. ‘Seriously though, how am I supposed to know whether my father was ever fined for driving through a red light before I was even born?’

‘Guess we’ll have to cross-examine him when we see him this weekend,’ John shrugged, straightening out the paper. ‘Both of your parents are coming, right?’

‘Yeah, they should be,’ Brian said. ‘At least that’s what mum said on the phone.’ He could sense John looking at him, but he did not have the courage to look him in the eyes at the moment, so he focussed his attention on the pen he now rolled between his thumb and forefinger. 

‘Are you nervous about seeing them again? Now that- well, since you broke the news to them yesterday?’

Brian hadn’t expected John to ask this question. He wasn’t usually the one to talk about emotions, let alone to bring up the topic if he was not coaxed into doing so. However, even though Brian wasn’t sure if he was quite in the mood to talk about it, he supposed he owed John something of an explanation at this point. He had told John that he had broken the news of trying to leave to his parents, and that they agreed to his request of letting them move in until they’d get an apartment for themselves, but other than that, he had been rather quiet about the whole matter. Part of it was because John hadn’t been very talkative about his reassessment either, but his parents’ emotional reaction had also been weighing in. This was something he had not told John, but he had a feeling that his boyfriend had been able to sense it - and now that he directly addressed the matter, it seemed best to Brian to break it to him.

‘A bit, I guess. My dad wasn’t happy, and my mom - well, eh, she cried. Said I was wasting my chance of healing by getting away from Queen Mary’s before they could complete their job,’ Brian mumbled, and he could feel John’s empathetic eyes on him. ‘But she said that if it was really what I wanted, then she would support me,’ he shrugged it off, even though he still had not completely overcome his mother’s reaction. It was weird in a way, because he had heard her cry a lot over the past six months - the days prior of his admission, the day of his admission, upon saying goodbye, the first few times they had telephoned, the first visit his parents had paid to him at Queen Mary’s - but this seemed different for some reason. Different, perhaps because now she cried not because she missed him, but because she felt so powerless now that he was leaving Queen Mary’s before his treatment was over - she might even be afraid of what was to become of him now that he might soon be out and about in society again. Because she was disappointed in him, or at least with his decision - which was incredibly hard to stomach for Brian. 

‘I’m sure she will support you,’ said John, who reached out a hand to put on Brian’s shoulder. ‘And your father will also come around sooner or later. He always does, you told me once, right? This will be no different.’

‘Probably, yeah,’ Brian said somewhat vaguely. ‘I mean, he’s got little choice - my mum already said yes to our plans, and regardless of what my dad might think, it’s my mum who wears the pants around the house,’ Brian chuckled, but his amusement faded when something else came to mind. ‘She was also the one to send me here, now that I think about it.’

‘She did that because she cares about you, sweetie,’ John said in the softest, most tender voice - one Brian would only get to hear when John tried to comfort him. ‘She couldn’t know it would be such a shitshow in here. She did what she thought would be best for you.’

‘It was, in a way,’ Brian sighed. ‘I never would have met you and those other clowns if I hadn’t been sent here.’

John pulled a face. ‘Out of all possible nicknames you could have called me, clown would be the one I personally never would have used. I’ve never said anything funny in my life.’

Brian begged to differ. ‘You called this place a shitshow like three seconds ago. And Roger called Queen Mary’s a clown academy just this morning.’

‘Sounds like him,’ John snorted before he pulled his hand away from Brian’s shoulder and tucked it under his head, taking in the sight of the ceiling for a moment before he said: ‘I’ll miss him when I’ll have to leave. You know, despite all the drama with his addiction and his vulgar comments and his annoying- annoying everything, I’ll still miss him. And Freddie, of course. I’ll miss him and his stupid enthusiasm about everything.’

Brian smiled at John’s way of appreciating their roommates, who overtime had become so much more than that. ‘I know. I’ll miss them too if I do get to leave. We’ve become such a team overtime.’

‘I never would have thought so before you got here,’ John admitted. ‘When I’d been assigned to a room with Freddie and Roger about a year ago, I thought I’d lose my mind. They were so… loud and intense and dramatic. I didn’t talk to my psychiatrist for a week when he refused to have me switch to another room. But I got used to them, and then you came around… And it just fit. You brought balance between all of us. You’re like… I don’t know. Some kind of glue that stuck us together.’

‘You’re so sweet,’ Brian smiled. ‘I’m sure Freddie and Roger will miss you just as much. I already overheard their plans of jumping on you for the longest hug you’ve ever had in your life on the day you leave here.’

John, contrary to what Brian had expected, did not pull a face but smiled back at him. ‘And you’re just letting them have that record?’

‘You know you can tell me if you need a cuddle,’ said Brian as he dragged himself up from his own bed in order to join John on his.

‘I can’t. Too antisocial to ask for physical intimacy,’ John said, although he did stretch out his arms to invite Brian into his bed and, more importantly, into his embrace. 

‘Physical intimacy, you say?’ Brian wiggled his eyebrows at John.  

‘This sort of thing is the reason why I’m antisocial in the first place,’ John sighed, but he leaned into the touch of his boyfriend anyway.

‘But you’ve made great progress,’ Brian remarked, tucking a loose strand of John’s hair behind his ear. ‘You talk during group therapy sessions, you go out and have fun with us and even with other people sometimes, like that time in the gym. You’re even allowed to leave because you’re doing so much better socially.’

‘Forced to, more like,’ John muttered. ‘I don’t want to leave.’

Brian, who felt like this might be a gateway to talking about John’s emotions concerning leaving Queen Mary’s in more depth, asked: ‘Even not if I go with you?’ 

‘That’s better, of course, a lot better. But I’m still - afraid. You know, what if I’m just a burden to your parents? What if they send me away just like… like everyone else?’

This was something Brian heard for the first time, and something that caught him by surprise, even though perhaps it shouldn’t have. John had seemed relieved when Brian had told him that they could live with his parents when they would first be dismissed from Queen Mary’s, but every place he’d ever lived had eventually kicked him out - his family home, his aunt and uncle’s place, and now Queen Mary’s. His fear of being expulsed again was reasonable, but Brian wished to tackle it. ‘What? They’d never send you away, honey. Trust me, they’re not that kind of people.’

‘But what if they don’t like me?’ John asked.

‘Why would they dislike you? You’re sweet and quiet and respectful. My parents will adore-’

‘Because I’m the reason you’re leaving prematurely,’ John burst in. ‘I’m the one who- you know, took away your chance at healing if all of this goes through.’

Oh, Lord. That was an aspect Brian hadn’t considered yet, but when John mentioned it, it hit him like a brick. Of course John worried about the effect he’d have on Brian now that his partner was trying to leave Queen Mary’s for his sake, and of course he worried about what Brian’s parents would think of him if this was to be one of his first impression on them. It explained John’s recent quietness and reticence, and Brian could hit himself in the face for not having seen it earlier.

‘Oh darling, is that why you’ve been so quiet about my reassessment?’

‘Maybe,’ John shrugged. ‘I just feel guilty.’

Brian, cuddling closer up to John said: ‘Never feel guilty. I never could have healed at this place of - of what exactly? Of staff members getting bitten in their arms when they try to break up a fight? Of dismantled coffee machines because the risk of people throwing hot coffee in each other’s faces is too high? Of secret isolation cells in the basement for if staff can’t handle the patients anymore and is not allowed to call the police out of management’s fear for inspection?’ Brian summed up. ‘I never could have healed here, John, and neither can you. This place is in the best interest of neither of us.’

‘I know,’ John gritted. ‘But that’s the thing - I want what’s best for you. And I’m not always sure that that’s me. Especially now that you’re about to be set free from Queen Mary’s, I’ve been wondering if I- if I should also set you free,’ John said with a sniff that Brian had a feeling preluded tears. It broke his heart seeing his partner like this, hearing how he felt about the influence he had on Brian, and his brain was working overtime trying to figure out something to say to show him that he had it all wrong - that being with him had made Brian feel infinitely better, and that he was the best thing that had ever happened to him, especially while here at Queen Mary’s. 

‘John- John, listen, honey. You are what’s best for me. I could never have imagined having come this far again, to the extent where I’m able to see that life is out there, and that I want to go back to it again. That’s all thanks to you,’ Brian said, cupping John’s face in his hands when his partner tried to shy away from his eyes. ‘Not because of Sarah’s endless chatter or Jasper’s enthusiastic but bloody annoying ‘thought schemes’ or whatever he calls them, but because of you. If it wasn’t for you, I would have stayed here, biding my time, waiting until they would either admit me back to my parent’s place again, or would ship me off to a long stay clinic. It’s thanks to you that I want to leave this place, go back to school, be back in touch with my friends and family, make a life again, together with you. Because you’re the one who showed me love again,’ Brian whispered, and he could swear he could see the tears in John’s eyes by now - and if those had just been an illusion, they were definitely there when he added: ‘I never thought I’d experience love again until I found you.’

‘Fuck, Brian,’ John choked out, using the back of his sleeve to wipe away his tears. ‘You can’t just… make speeches like that on a regular afternoon and expect me to be okay.’

‘It’s okay to cry. It shows that you care.’

‘I know. I just still have to get used to like… emotions and stuff,’ John said. ‘Fuck, this is unbelievable. They really think they can put me back and have me be a functional member of society? This place honestly doesn’t know what they’re doing,’ he said, desperately trying to wipe out another line of tears, but the smile that shone through underneath told Brian that he was happy despite it all. 

‘Maybe they don’t, but we do,’ Brian said. ‘We’ll go out there, sort ourselves out, get a nice studio apartment, buy some cheap pots and pans and floral furniture you wouldn’t want to be found dead on at a second-hand store, go back to school or work or whatever we want to do. We’ll visit Freddie and Roger until they’ll be let go of. We’ll play music until the neighbours knock on the walls, and drink lukewarm tea from a dysfunctional hand-me-down kettle that already seemed too good to be true.’ John’s smile grew a little wider, and Brian added: ‘And we’ll have one of those weird spider plants that grow all over the place if you don’t watch it. We’ll adopt a scrawny old cat that sleeps in our bed and hangs in the curtains at least twice a week. Your turn.’ 

John blinked for a bit. ‘Oh, eh… Well, I’ll ruin at least three shirts because I can’t iron for the life of me. We’ll have instruments and strings and guitar picks all over the place.’

‘We’ll have to accept ugly knitted pillow cases and crocheted tablecloths from our mums, which we’ll only bring out when they come around to visit,’ Brian followed up.

‘We’ll have an old radio or TV which keeps buzzing regardless of how well you tune it, and we’ll hit the screen with a rolled-up newspaper if we’re frustrated, as if that will make things better.’

‘We’ll have joined showers because there’ll be too little hot water for the both of us to shower separately. And I only want biscuit tins that actually contain biscuits in the house. No needlework or lightbulbs or clothing pins or the like.’

John, who by now seemed to get the hang of the game, said: ‘We’ll spend all of our excess money on records, and hang sleeves up on the wall as decoration.’

‘We’ll dump out that dumb kettle and buy a decent one, and we’ll try out weird tea flavours all day. Pineapple tea, cotton candy, or tomato-broccoli flavour or so.’

John pulled a face. ‘And I’d dump it right into the plant pots when you’re not looking. That might make those weird spider plants stop growing.’

Brian snorted. ‘And then I’d buy a cactus, and we’ll be known as the first couple ever to manage to kill a cactus. I also want a bed with at least twenty pillows and five different sorts of blankets and duvets on it so we can roll around all night. All as mismatched as possible - really kitschy.’

‘We’ll play guitar in bed until late, until I fall asleep with my bass pics still in hand. And when we wake up in the morning you’ll make your nasty tea and I’ll put on a record on the record player next to the bed so we can stay in late and listen to the Beatles, and we’ll be happy.’

Those last words were the most meaningful Brian had heard John say concerning their upcoming freedom - whether Brian would be released at the end of this reassessment trial or whether he would have to sit out his time at Queen Mary’s until the end, they would stay together, and they would be happy. They’d overcome the turbulence of their youth, the problems of the past, the battles with themselves - they’d be together, united, and they’d be happy together. They’d have each other even if the world around them would crumble, and catch each other if they would fall.

Brian tightened his arms around John’s torso, and pulled him in for a chaste but meaningful kiss on the lips.

‘And we’ll be happy.’

# # # 

Unfortunately for the pair of them, John’s new-found positive outlook on Brian’s reassessment and leaving Queen Mary’s behind did not last long. A mere few hours after Brian and he had signed paperwork and reunited with Freddie and Roger for a game of mensch-ärgere-dich-nicht, a bomb threat from an anonymous culprit - most likely to be an ex-patient or relative to a patient of Queen Mary’s - destroyed whatever had been left of the atmosphere as the entire populace was escorted into the basement while police flocked around the building. Nothing was found, but the threat and the stress of hours spent in suspense waiting for the police report had put a permanent strain on all four of the members of Room 41, and none of them slept well during the night that followed. The usual drill of incident-filled mealtimes and hostility in the hallways and activity rooms took their toll on John, who was further discouraged from the forced acquittal process through another string of meetings with counsellors who tried arranging help he didn’t want and resources he didn’t need. 

Brian tried to keep John somewhat upbeat by reminding him of the upcoming visit of his parents, which he hoped John would see as a safe haven to stay after Queen Mary’s, but it seemed to have the polar opposite effect on John. Instead of taking comfort in the fact that there would be a family waiting to take him in when he would be released, the mere idea of moving in with people he did not know and living at their expense seemed to freak John out, and no amount of reassurance from Brian that his parents would not mind and would love to take him in could convince him otherwise - to the point where on the day of the scheduled meeting, John hardly dared to come out of his bed.

‘Come on, lovie,’ said Brian, who had seated himself on the bed next to John. His partner, currently lying on his stomach with his face buried in a pillow, tried hard to ignore him. ‘Nolan will be here in a few minutes. You have to get up.’

‘Don’t wanna,’ John murmured into his pillow. 

‘I know, but you’re going to do great.’ When John ignored this comment, Brian sighed, running a hand over John’s back. ‘What are you most afraid of?’

John huffed. ‘Everything.’

Well, that was not exactly a conclusive answer, but Brian knew what he meant. John feared meeting his parents, their reaction to him, the paperwork they’d have to sign, and most of all, the finality of his time at Queen Mary’s the meeting would signify. They would talk of plans for the future and questions would be asked regarding his background, his mental situation, his ideas for the upcoming years - the mere idea of which Brian knew freaked John out. Still, he remained hopeful that he could convince his boyfriend to get up, brave his fears, and go out there; it was important that John would get to see his parents at least once before permanently moving in with them, regardless of whether Brian would be joining him right away or not. Especially if Brian’s request of reassessment would be denied it would be important that John at least knew who his parents were, given that he’d then go to live with them without having Brian there to be his rock in an otherwise unknown environment. 

‘You shouldn’t be. My parents won’t think anything negative about you, believe me.’

‘I’m sure they’re thrilled to find that their only son came home with a suicidal college dropout who was disowned by his own family,’ John said, and Brian felt his heart sink in. He hated having to hear his partner talk about himself in this manner, and was determined to make him feel more secure about himself - especially in the light of the upcoming visit.

‘Everyone in here is a dropout of some sort. Does that mean we’re all failures? Does that mean Roger, Freddie, and I are failures?’ Brian knew it was a bit cruel to put John on the spot like this, but his words seemed to have some effect on his partner.

‘Of course you’re not. You have plans to go back to school and make something of your life.’

‘And you don’t?’ Brian asked him. ‘You don’t want to go back to college at some point in time?’

John shrugged. ‘I guess.’

Knowing that this was likely to be the most he was going to get out of John at this point in time, Brian said: ‘You will. We’re going to get out of here, take some time to readjust, go back to school, find ourselves an apartment. I’ll finish my degree and you’ll finish yours, or find a job you enjoy, or- or whatever makes you happy. I’ll support you regardless of what you choose to do.’

John now turned around to lie on his back and looked at him, and it looked like he wanted to say something - a word of thanks, or an affirmation that he’d do the same for Brian - but he ended up just looking at Brian until his gaze was eventually pulled away from his boyfriend when a knock on the door distracted his attention.

‘I’ll go get it, dears,’ said Freddie as he bounced off the bed with a bit too much enthusiasm for his emaciated body, but he nevertheless made it to the door without too much visible trouble. The door was opened and Freddie enthusiastically exclaimed that Nolan had arrived (a useless statement really, given that no one else but their mentor would ever approach their ‘stink cave,’ as Roger had taken to calling their room as of late) but neither of his friends reacted to the announcement. They just sat there, each on their own side of the bed, looking at each other; Brian with a glimpse of hope and John with a look of desolation on his face. Brian knew John would have given it all he owned to be able to skip this meeting, which gave Brian all the more reason to try his best and pick his boyfriend up from the depth of the mental rabbit hole he had dug himself into.

‘Come, let’s get up. Nolan is waiting for us,’ Brian said. He deliberately let out the fact that his parents must be waiting on them, too - the mere mentioning of the presence of his mum and dad was enough to make John slide back into desolation. Brian had never seen anyone as anxious about a meeting as John was at that given moment, and he was running out of things to say to comfort him.

‘Baby, you know you won’t be alone there. I’ll be with you the entire time, and so is Nolan,’ Brian said. John didn’t react. ‘Do you need anyone else there? Maybe Freddie or Roger…?’ he said with a hesitant look towards the other side of the room, but he was luckily met with smiles and nods.

‘Of course!’ Roger said, the overly enthusiastic tone of his reply quickly explained when he added: ‘I’ll have to miss my counselling for once, but I don’t think that will matter too much.’

‘No, I’m fine. Just Brian and Nolan will do,’ John said, much to the relief of everyone apart from the proposer himself.

‘Well, Nolan and I are ready whenever you are,’ Brian told him, then corrected himself when he realised the vast liberty this statement would grant his partner to stay in their room for the remainder of the day. ‘Nolan and I are ready, and we’d like to go. There’s a lot to discuss and they’ve planned an hour for this meeting,’ he said, careful to address the discussion of future plans with his parents as neutral as possible.

‘Hm-hmm,’ John hummed as a form of answer, but his eyes were empty, and he made no movements that indicated he was planning on getting up from the bed anywhere soon. Brian thus took matters into his own hands and stood up from the bed, taking a few steps to the left so he could stand in front of John.

‘Come on, honey. Time to go. We have to take care of this sooner or later.’ Brian reached out a hand towards his partner to help him get up from the bed, but John merely stared at it. Brian heard the soft murmur of Freddie’s and Nolan’s voices behind him, and he sighed deeply before crouching down to John’s level.

‘Listen, darling. I know you’re not very comfortable about meeting my parents and talking about what to do when you have to leave Queen Mary’s, but you’re only making it harder on yourself by not cooperating. You’ll have to leave in about three weeks, and we can’t change that. The best thing we can do is arrange something so we can stay together and support each other.’

John blinked, then finally spoke. ‘But what if you won’t be allowed to leave?’ 

‘Then I want to make sure you’ll be in the best place possible until I’ll be dismissed. And that place is going to be at my parents’ house. Please, John, give this a chance. I know you’re nervous, and you don’t want things to change, but things will change, and we’re gonna have to deal with that in the best way possible.’ Brian’s voice was a bit more insistent than he would have liked for it to be, but it at last seemed to have an effect on John.

‘Promise me you won’t leave me alone in there,’ John whispered - pleaded, nearly.

‘I promise. You just have to say the word to let me know you’re no comfortable. And you don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to answer, in case anyone might ask them,’ Brian vowed. ‘Come with me?’ he asked. He stretched his hand towards John again, and this time John took it.

John was still visibly nervous - the smile he gave Nolan when they came face to face with him in the hallway looked tensed rather than sincere, and he kept his head down as they walked through the hallways, past the canteen and the staff rooms and into the corridor leading to the visiting area. Brian had only been to the place a few times before, but he remained uneasy each time a guard opened the multiple barred doors they crossed on their way. 

‘Your parents have already arrived, I’ve been told,’ Nolan said to Brian. ‘They’ve also signed the paperwork in which they vow to take in John and you, or just John in case of- well, in that case,’ Nolan cut himself off when Brian shot him a look. Brian was glad that his mentor understood the hint - right as John was heading for the meeting he’d been dreading since the very moment it had been planned was not exactly the right moment to bring up all that could still go wrong in Brian’s process. The string of meetings with Professor Fisher, the independent psychiatrists who had been assigned to supervise the case and oversee Brian’s ability to return to society, had gone well, and the professor had given his blessing to Brian’s appeal. It had been a victory for Brian and all those around him - apart from John. Every time an obstacle was removed from Brian’s path towards accelerated freedom, all John seemed to be able to see were the new mountains showing up on the way. 

To some extent, John had a point. Even though he had managed to push his appeal for freedom past the internal staff of Queen Mary’s and an outsider in the form of a psychiatrist, Brian had no guarantees that the eventual jury he’d have to beat up to would grant him leave. Especially the presence of his former psychiatrist Doctor Sumner did not sit comfortably with him, but he refused to let this prospect weigh him down; he had a task in front of him, and he was going to give it all he could. Nothing, not John’s negativity nor his own nerves, and most of all not Doctor Sumner’s preening eyes and tight-lipped smile were going to hold him back.

Nolan babbled on about the contact he’d had with Brian’s parents over the phone - something Brian had been unaware of, and something he did not know whether to appreciate or to be wary of - but it was only when they reached the last door that separated the three of them from his parents that Brian really felt his attention resurfacing to the presence. The guard who had walked them all the way over searched their pockets for forbidden items and had a small fit over the shaving cream bottle cap Brian had forgotten he’d put in his back pocket that morning for no particular reason other than not knowing where to leave it as he was shaving. Nolan managed to convince the guy that it was nothing, so the item was confiscated and they were given leave to enter the heavy iron door.

‘Alright, folks. Are you ready?’ Nolan asked with his usual upbeat expression on his face as he stepped over the threshold of the door. Brian was ready to do the same, but one look at John was all he needed to know that John needed a few more words of encouragement.

‘One second, Nole,’ Brian said, not realising he just called his mentor by the nickname Freddie sometimes used to refer to him in private. He stepped into the direction of John, who was still standing next to the guard - and who slipped back a few steps when Brian approached him.

‘John…’ Brian said quietly.

‘I- I can’t do this,’ John told him. ‘I need more time. I can’t do this now.’

‘But there isn’t more time,’ Brian said. Then, stepping close quickly enough to make it impossible for John to back away from him any further, he placed his hands on either of his boyfriend’s shoulders and said: ‘Listen, John. I wish I could give you all the time in the world, but we don’t have that luxury. We have to step up now to make the best out of the situation; we’ll regret it if we let Queen Mary’s rehabilitation services figure out our future for us,’ Brian said. ‘And I know you think you’re expected to go out there and put on your brightest smile and act like the perfect foster child or whatever for my parents to take you into their house, but you don’t. You don’t have to live up to any expectations. You don’t have to be perfectly sociable and nice - it’s not a competition where the winner takes it all and the loser is left behind. There is no losing here, you see?’ Brian took a second to take a break from his monologue, but picked it up again before John could disagree with him. ‘You’re going to get out of his Godawful place and move into a home where people will care for you, regardless of whether I’ll be released right away or a few months later. My parents already signed the papers and they promised to take you in and take care of you for as long as needed. And you don’t have to worry about them liking you or not, because they will.’

John had remained perfectly blank throughout the soliloquy, but he snorted at those last words. ‘They won’t. I’m a disappointment.’

‘You’re perfect and they’re gonna love you. You’re smart and funny and polite - if you choose to be so - and perfect company. My parents have always wanted to have a second child, and getting one at the age of twenty doesn’t mean they’ll be any less enthusiastic,’ Brian said with a little smile, and he could see that John’s face copied his despite his lover trying to look away from him. ‘And as for you… You could do with a family after all these years. A real family.’

At the mentioning of these words, John turned his face away from him even further, but this did not prevent Brian from seeing that tears were brimming his eyes. The idea of having a family, a house to come home to every night, a space where he did not have to feel like an outsider, a burden, an unwanted alien - Brian could tell that it touched John, and he knew that this was the right moment to usher him through the door before either of them could think better of it.

‘Come on. Let’s go in,’ Brian whispered with a soft yet steady hand on the small of John’s back. He heard John smother a sob and saw him wipe the back of his hand across his eyes, but once this had been taken care of, he allowed Brian to gently usher him towards the door through which Nolan had just disappeared. John halted for a second when they neared the threshold - his hand seemed to be seeking Brian’s, and the guitarist placed his hand on John’s and squeezed it shortly. 

‘I’m right here with you.’

‘I know,’ John whispered. With that, he stepped over the threshold; Brian followed him, and then the guard closed the iron door behind them, leaving no way back until the end of the meeting. It was a thought that Brian knew should freak John out, but personally he was rather relieved to know that there was no other way for John than to follow him to his parents.

The meeting room seemed a lot larger than the last time to Brian - which was probably at least partially to blame to the fact that it had been filled with patients and their family members and at least a handful of guards and other supervisors the few times he’d visited so far. This time, however, his eyes darted around the room without seeing more than a single guard flicking through a leaflet in the corner of the room. There was one single occupied table at the other end of the room, towards which Nolan was currently making his way. He could make out the figures of his parents, who were standing up from their chairs as the stranger approached them. He could see his mum shove her handbag into her husband’s hands as the mentor reached a hand towards her.

‘Good morning, folks!’ Brian could hear Nolan say with a perfect mixture of politeness and informality. ‘I’m Nolan Ferrier - we’ve spoken on the phone.’ Brian watched as first his mother’s and then his father’s hand was pulled into a strong handshake from Nolan’s side. They seemed to share a few more quiet words, and Brian suddenly realised that Jon and he had not moved on any further than perhaps three feet away from the door. 

‘Come, let’s go over there. I’ll go first.’ Without awaiting John’s reply as to avoid giving him the opportunity to protest, Brian walked past the first row of empty tables. He heard the sound of John’s shoes clicking on the floor behind him confirming that his partner was following him. He then changed his walking pace to a more rapid one - he did not want to waste any time that could be used for coming to agreements for when either John came to live with them, either on his own or with him straight away.

The second his parents caught sight of him, the polite discussion of some sort they had been following with Nolan was wrapped up; hands were detached and excuses were made, and they turned to walk into his direction. He could hear his mother call his name - first softly, then louder - and his smile brightened. He hadn’t seen his parents since the last family visit, which had been at least three weeks ago at least. Their enthusiasm for seeing him, however, never seemed to subside; they were as happy and emotional as they came to him now as they had been the very first time they’d been granted entrance into the visiting room of Queen Mary’s to come see their son. Brian could already hear his mother’s first sobs before they had even gotten towards each other, although it was only a second or so later that they met in the middle. Brian was caught in the surprisingly strong grip of his mother’s arms, followed by those of his father. Being embraced by his parents always felt so secure, so safe - it was like coming home regardless of how far away he was from his paternal house.

‘Oh, Brian, my love! How are you?’ The voice of his mother was high and shrill so close to his ear, but it did not seem to Brian that this was an appropriate moment to say something about it.

‘I’m fine, mum. You know you don’t have to worry about me,’ he mumbled against the shoulder of his father. This time there were no guards telling them to break up and sit down - just the three of them getting a moment to express their love for each other through touch rather than through words. Not that that stopped Brian’s mother from blabbering on, though…

‘But you know I do,’ his mother sighed. ‘A reassessment! I didn’t even know what it was! Or that it was possible! And that you were already working on it-‘

‘Don’t wind yourself up too much, dear,’ Harold interrupted the stream of words flowing from his wife’s mouth. ‘Mister Ferrier will tell us all about it in a moment, I’m sure.’

Brian opened his eyes at the mentioning of his mentor, whom he had completely ignored since the moment he had met eyes with his parents. Much to his relief he saw Nolan smiling at him lazily, but the same, he assumed, could not be said about John. His boyfriend, who remained standing a few feet behind him, could hardly be comfortable around the family scene he was currently witnessing. Brian thus pulled himself away from the arms of his parents, and took a step back to line up next to the person he’d momentarily neglected.

‘Mum, Dad, this is John, my friend and roommate.’ Brian felt himself beam with pride as he introduced the boy around whom he’d centred his life for the past few months, and his parents seemed equally eager to meet him and exchange some words with the person their son had been unable to shut up about lately.

‘Oh, John! How good to finally meet you!’ his mother all but cooed, extending a hand towards him. ‘I’m Ruth May - Brian’s mother.’ John followed her example and shook hands with her and introduced himself somewhat awkwardly.

‘Er, it’s great to see you too. I’m John Deacon.’ He forced a small smile and withdrew his hand as quickly as possible; Brian hoped his mum would take no offence. He had told them during their last phone call that John was incredibly nervous - and that his antisocial personality disorder meant that he was not one to enjoy himself in social situations - so that they should be a bit lenient on him. Knowing his parents, they would behave just so; but Brian did feel that a lot of questions concerning John would be coming up as soon as his boyfriend would be out of their sight, especially when his father took his turn to introduce himself.

‘John, I’m Harold May,’ Brian’s father told him as he took John’s hand in his own. ‘We’ve heard a lot about you.’

Brian saw the smile wash off John’s face. ‘Is that an, uh, good or a bad sign?’ he asked with a renewed fake smile and a hint of humour, but Brian knew that it was really the joke which John tried to play it off yet. His mother laughed her typical, high-pitched laugh, and said she loved his humour, and his father was chuckling still when he disclaimed it had been a pretty good picture that had been painted of him by their son. Neither of this worked, though - and it was only when Brian put an arm around him that his tensed body relaxed a little.

‘A good sign, Deaky. Do you think I’d tell them bad stories about you? Do you think I even have bad stories to tell about you?’

John looked at him thoroughly at first, as if he was deciding whether Brian was playing with him or not, but eventually the slightest of a smile broke through. The somewhat awkward silence, however, by then had already prompted Nolan to speak up.

‘Shall we sit down and go over the arrangements? We’ve got quite a bit to discuss.’

John seemed to be most enthusiastic about following Nolan’s proposal. He agreed whole-heartedly and paced towards the table on which Brian’s parents had been sitting before. Nolan, who - as usual - seemed to sense exactly what he was feeling, made sure to sit next to him on the one side, and made Brian sit down on the other. Harold and Ruth sat across from them and waited for Nolan to bring out the papers he’d brought with him in a dark red folder with Brian’s name and patient number printed on the front. Brian saw John getting fidgety with the hem of his shirt while Nolan looked for the right papers, and placed a hand on John’s leg underneath the table.

‘Alright,’ Nolan eventually declared when he’d found the papers he had been looking for, and closed the folder to put it aside. ‘What we’re here for today is to go over the agreements which have been made for John’s rehabilitation into society, and that of Brian in case that his reassessment will be approved. I’m first just going to go through some formalities,’ Nolan announced. ‘Is it correct that you are Harold and Ruth May, parents of Brian May?’

‘Correct,’ Harold said.

‘So far so good,’ Nolan smiled. ‘And you were the ones who applied for your son to be admitted into Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital, together with his psychiatrist Doctor L. J. Sumner?’ Brian felt his stomach turn at the mere mention of the name of his previous psychiatrist, but he buckled up for the sake of everyone around him. His father once again confirmed, together with the date on which they had filled out the application and the date of approval.

‘Then, according to this file right here…’ Nolan’s voice trailed down near the end of the sentence as he searched for the right paper. ‘Ah, here. According to this, you handed Brian over to the care of Queen Mary’s on March fifteen, nineteen seventy-one, by bringing him over and seeing to it that he was taken in.’

‘Yes. Wasn’t it you that took him in?’ Ruth asked. Nolan nodded with a small smile.

‘It was. It’s just that the protocol tells me to have you confirm all these details - because, as the next point tells me, you volunteered and were approved to take Brian back under your roof and carry parental responsibility for his well-being and further recovery when he would be released from Queen Mary’s?’

‘We are. And we still stand by that,’ said Harold, which preceded the next question Nolan was to read out loud. They were reminded of what it meant to be the guardians of Brian in a mental health context, and of which people to inform and turn to in case things went downhill again. That, if Brian had a fallback, he could be reported and taken back into Queen Mary’s, but that this would first need investigation, and could not happen overnight. This point seemed to make his mother more than just a little nervous - but, upon Brian ensuring her that chances of this happening were small, and Nolan telling her that help would always be available in case of acute danger, she eventually agreed. A few more such questions were answered and considered before Nolan placed down the papers and started looking for another set.

‘Now, as we all know, these arrangements will be critical in case Brian gets released after his reassessment trial. We cannot guarantee when or if that will happen, but what we do know is that John will be released in three weeks,’ Nolan said, and Brian saw John’s jaw clenching. The soothing hand stroking John’s leg seemed to be able to do little to soothe him when Nolan spoke on. ‘John Richard Deacon, taken in on September three, nineteen sixty-nine at age eighteen, after his foster guardians Alec Baldwin and Molly Baldwin-Forester signed him up to be taken into Queen Mary’s when they could no longer deal with his mental problems.’

‘Foster guardians?’ Ruth sounded surprised, if not a little afraid. Nolan looked at John as to find out whether he was allowed to tell them what happened, or if he should tell them that John would tell them later. Brian remembered having told his parents at one point during this past week’s phone calls and conversations that John could not return to the aunt and uncle with whom he had lived before being taken into Queen Mary’s, but he was afraid that his mother at the moment failed to see that the foster guardians which Nolan referred to were nothing more than John’s aunt and uncle. He knew the official documents referred to them as his foster guardians, but he understood how different, how dramatic this sounded - as if John had been a problematic child who had gone through multiple sets of foster parents over the years, the last pair of which had sent him away to a mental institution. It was far from the truth, but Brian could hardly blame his parents for getting an idea like this in their head.

To his utter surprise, John hardly blinked when he offered an explanation to Brian’s parents. ‘I was taken in by my aunt and uncle after my mum could no longer combine the care of my disabled sister with taking care of me,’ he said, which Brian had to admit was not a lie - just a very polished version of what he had actually gone through with his entire family locking him out. Brian could not blame him, though, for John only telling part of the truth to his parents. He doubted he would have been able to disclose more about his terrific past to a pair of strangers upon first meeting them - especially in John’s current state of being.

‘Disabled sister-’ Brian heard his father mumble, but he effectively managed to shut him up by giving the man, who was sitting across from him at the table, a light kick against the shin. His father’s face retorted, but he did not protest; he seemed to understand that this was not the right time or place to discuss the ins and outs of John’s life. Besides, Brian had clearly instructed them not to pry into John’s personal business; he would tell them what he wanted them to know as soon as he felt comfortable around them.

Nolan, like the hero he was, continued his story. ‘Alec and Molly Baldwin thus handed John over to the care of Queen Mary’s, but while our staff has reached out to them to tell them their nephew will soon be released and to ask them if they are willing to take him in again, they have declined their responsibility, and do not wish to be involved in backing John up in his rehabilitation process whatsoever, as they stated in a formal letter we received the other day.’ A light brown envelope was brought up and put in the middle of the table. Four pairs of eyes stared at it, but no one seemed to dare make a move or say a word. ‘John’s mother has also been informed, but she- she declared herself to be unfit of taking care of John again, referring to- her daily task of taking care of-’

‘Of my sister, yes. I expected so,’ John finished the sentence of Nolan, of whom both Brian and he was currently making up a more socially acceptable answer to refuse to take in a son again than what she really had told the staff upon being contacted. Brian wondered if she had yelled, if she had cursed her son, if she had laughed viciously and asked if they were out of their mind to ask her to take back the person who she deemed the one to have ruined her life. Brian guessed he would never know, and perhaps it was better like that - especially if John would also be spared from the probably /scalding/ reply his mother had made to the request.

‘Your sister, yes. Your mother sees herself currently unfit to combine, eh, her care with that of you,’ Nolan said. ‘Other family members we unfortunately could not reach. So that…’ he stressed while looking at the couple sitting across from him, ‘is where the pair of you come in’. 

Silence for a moment while Ruth and Harold looked at each other. Brian could see the doubt and uncertainty in their eyes. He realised he had sort of convinced them overnight to have both him and his secret boyfriend come back to live under the same roof as them over the past few days; after all, there had not been more than about a week between the first moment he had rung them to tell them about his plans of getting a reassessment, and this meeting which had been scheduled last-minute as his psychiatrist had approved him for the first round of his trial. He knew his parents were hesitant people in general, and the fact that they both did not know John and that they realised he suffered from mental problems wasn’t making it easy on them. Learning now that he came from a troubled family background also wasn’t making matters any less complicated for his parents, but Brian refused to let their fear of the unknown ruin his opportunity to escape Queen Mary’s with John - and, much more importantly, John’s chances of a stable future to make up for all the pain he had gone through in the past decade. 

‘Yes. Mum and Dad are willing to take in both John and me when we are released,’ Brian said in what he liked to consider a helping hand, but which his parents obviously had a different opinion about. 

‘We- yes. We are certainly willing,’ his father said, straightening his tie. ‘But, er, there are certain… uncertainties that will need to be clarified first.’

‘Of course,’ Nolan said in the most understanding of tones. ‘Of course. We have come to understand that, as far as we have been informed, you have no experience with caring for foster children - foster patients, in this case,’ Nolan said. Brian hated the word foster patient already. 

‘Exactly.’ Ruth shook her head vehemently, glad that Nolan understood they had reservations about the case now that everything was starting to get so real so quickly. ‘We have no prior experience with taking people in, and especially not young people.’

‘You’ve dealt with me for twenty-four years,’ Brian reminded them, but this unfortunately was not what they meant.

‘Of course it feels strange to let someone into your house at first - especially when it is someone you are not related to,’ Nolan admitted. ‘But experience leans that guardians and subjects, as they are commonly referred to, usually get into a good flow quickly, and can grow tight bonds.’

‘I see,’ Ruth said, obviously still doubting. Brian chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

‘You do not have to worry about finances either - as John is under twenty-one, one can appeal to the state for subvention. After he turns twenty-one, you can still get subvention for taking care of someone with mental health issues. We can help you fill out the application,’ Nolan said in what seemed like another attempt to convince Harold and Ruth not to come back on their promise to take John in. Brian appreciated it, but unfortunately his parents did not take the bait. 

‘Oh, the finances I’m not too worried about. But is there any sort of - aftercare after Queen Mary’s?’ Ruth asked. ‘To make sure John won’t… slip back into old habits?’ Brian was not entirely pleased about his mother using the word habits when referring to John’s depression and anti-social spells, but he was given no time to protest.

‘Naturally,’ Nolan assured her. ‘Queen Mary’s has an extensive programme, which consists of weekly meetups with either a patient’s psychiatrist before coming here, during their stay, or one that specifically works in our aftercare programme. Furthermore every ex-patient will also enroll in a programme to help them either find a job or go back to school, and help them build up their future.’

‘I would love to go back to college,’ John broke in shyly but confidently. ‘I want to finish my studies. I used to do electrical engineering at Chelsea College in London. It’s a- uh, College of Advanced Technology. Known as one of the best around the country,’ John said in what sounded to Brian like a helpless plead to make himself desirable to his parents. Brian felt a knot form in his stomach by merely listening to it - it was disheartening that his parents were being so distant and doubtful all of a sudden, especially right in John’s face. John, the person he loved with all his heart; the person who deserved the world and more, especially after continuously having been held down from it. The person for whom Brian hoped for a good ending to this entire mental health drama more than he did for himself or anyone else in the world. Seeing him being denied by his parents was one of the most painful things he had ever witnessed, and he had gone through quite some disheartening situations at Queen Mary’s.

Harold, either not seeing or ignoring his son’s deadly glares, nodded slowly. ‘Electrical engineering. A fine subject. You’ll never be out of work with a solid degree like that.’

‘Absolutely,’ Nolan agreed. ‘It will give him something to focus on - make sure he keeps himself busy. Studies show that people recovering from mental illness are three times more successful when they have a job or studies to focus on.’

‘I can also find a weekend job on top of that,’ John offered. ‘So you won’t have me hanging around the house, you know.’

‘Oh, that is not- not at all what we’re worried about, John,’ Harold said. Then, clearing his throat, he finally said the thing Brian had been fearing for the entire meeting. Putting his hand on that of his wife’s, he brought up to Nolan: ‘An issue I feel that my wife and I are currently facing, is that we are not… we are not mental health experts. We were not trained to deal with depression, and borderline, and-‘ he paused for a second as he looked at John, and eventually concluded his sentence with the words: -‘similar issues.’

‘Dad!’ Brian hissed at him, but this only made matters worse.

‘Your father is right, dear,’ his mother intervened. ‘We do not know how to deal with mental health issues. We don’t know John and his… his mental situation, or how to deal with it. You know what happened when you were at your worst…’

‘But he’s not at his worst anymore, and neither am I. John is being released because he’s doing so well,’ Brian said - which was not entirely the truth, but which he decided his parents did not need to know that it was either being let go of or getting locked up into long-stay facilities - ‘and I am the first person to qualify for a reassessment in years. Right, Nolan?’ Brian said, turning to his mentor sharply. ‘Right?’

‘Er, yes,’ Nolan said, clearly taken aback somewhat by Brian’s sudden fierceness. ‘You are the first in years to qualify, and John is doing well enough to leave Queen Mary’s.’ Again, this was only technically the truth, but Brian was grateful to his mentor for helping both John and Him. Nolan probably realised just as well as he did that this was the best chance John had to make a head start and not to end up in some shabby rehabilitation home and programme focussed on substance abusers and victims of domestic violence rather than on his antisocial personality disorder, and have his life spiral down even further than it had before. 

‘See? There will be no problem, Dad. I promise,’ Brian said with as much confidence he could muster. 

‘I am sure that John will behave well, and that chances of problems arising will be slim,’ his father tried to hush him. ‘But his - what was it, asocial personality?’

‘Antisocial personality disorder,’ Brian grumbled.

‘His antisocial personality - I fear it works just like your depression and borderline. Things can go well for a while, but when you had fallbacks, we could do absolutely nothing to help you. You were either unattainable, or overly emotional, or unreasonably angry and depressed - and that was just borderline, as to say so. What if John ends up in one of his antisocial spells? What are we supposed to do with that?’

‘You will be given guidance prior to taking John in, mister May,’ Nolan tried, but Brian was not as calm as his mentor was.

‘Then you leave him be! He’ll manage, and he’ll come back to himself in due time! Being antisocial in essence just means having moments of not wanting to interact with anyone and wanting to be left alone - a whole lot easier than dealing with my troubles, let me tell you.’

‘Brian…’ John called his name carefully. 

‘We understand, dear,’ Ruth said. ‘But we know you - we know what to expect of you.’

‘Yes, you knew what to expect,’ Brian said dryly. ‘That’s why you sent me away to Queen Mary’s, right? Because you knew exactly how to handle me.’

‘Brian.’ His name was called again, but this time in a more threatening fashion, coming from his father. ‘You’re our child - we’ve known you all your life. We do not know John, do not know his illness, his family, his background, his life story…’ 

‘So that’s a reason not to take him in and help him? Because you can’t verify that his parents are a decent middle-class couple with a husband working nine-to-five-hours at a company of national importance, and a happy housewife who has dinner ready at precisely six o’clock each day?’

‘Of course not,’ Harold objected. ‘You’re being ridiculous now.’

‘No, you’re being ridiculous!’ Brian said. He could hear Nolan telling him not to talk to his parents like that, but could not move himself to care about what anyone thought of him telling his parents some home truths. ‘You promised to help John, to take him in and give him a chance! And if you care to know his background so much - John came from a perfectly fine family, including nine-to-five job holder and happy housewife, until his parents lost a son, his sister was left severely disabled after an accident, and within the same year, his father died. Are you happy now?’

Brian could hear John take in a sharp breath of air beside him, and somewhere deep inside, he felt bad for having told half of history so casually to his parents for the sake of making a case against their hesitation to take someone they didn’t know under their wing. However, his frustration and determination to fulfil John’s promise of letting him move in with his family and building a stable background where he would be loved, accepted, part of a larger community, left him unable o do much more than put his hand on John’s shoulder and staring at his parents with cold eyes.

Harold was the first to break the silence when he coughed and shifted in his chair. Turning to Nolan, he said: ‘Gentlemen, could you give us a moment? A word between my wife and me and our son?’

‘Most certainly,’ said Nolan, who seemed almost eager to remove himself and John from the battlefield the discussion had turned into. ‘John and I will be just around the door. Call us when you need us again - because, and I don’t want to put pressure on anyone, but the papers will have to be signed today. Both to strengthen Brian’s case for his reassessment, and for John - because if he cannot stay with your family, our staff will have to arrange a place for him in a communal home.’

Brian could feel John’s eyes turning to him, wild and panicky, and he had to count to three before allowing himself to look at John out of fear that he might either start crying or start yelling if he did so right away. He was hurt, frustrated, angry, humiliated, betrayed - all of those both on his own account but mostly on that of John, who he had promised that he’d be allowed to live with his family upon being released from Queen Mary’s. His parents had promised him so, after all. They had been inviting and understanding and tolerant when speaking of the matter mere days ago, but now that things were starting to get real, they seemed to be getting cold feet. It made Brian feel sick and disgusted - it made him feel ashamed of being their son. 

‘It’s okay,’ he gritted when he eventually gathered the self-control to calmly look John in the eyes. ‘I’ll fix this, I promise.’

The legs of Nolan’s chair scraped along the floor when he stood up. ‘You coming, John? I think the May family needs some time to discuss.’

John looked at Brian with a sense of desperation, but nodded stiffly and stood up also. Brian put his hand on John’s briefly in passing, but John did not look up; he simply followed Nolan towards the exit of the room, leaving Brian with a taste of bitterness in his mouth and the feeling of his cold, thin fingers on his own. 

Brian found himself curling the fingers of his right hand into a fist, and tensed them until the knuckles grew white and the back of his hand pale and veiny. He stared at it in a determined mission to avoid any sort of contact with his parents until the heavy iron door of the visiting hall fell shut behind John and Nolan. 

His father was the first to talk between the three of them. ‘Look, Brian, we understand that you’re angry, but we need some time to process everything we’ve been told today,’ Harold said. ‘It’s not nothing to take in someone new, and to be responsible for them and live with them under the same roof for the upcoming God knows how long.’ Brian knew his father was looking straight at him as he spoke, but he refused to look back or acknowledge his presence in any other way.

‘Besides, what do we know about his condition? What if his anti… antisocial behaviour comes up again when he lives with us? Or worse, perhaps, if his trauma comes up?’ Despite himself, Brian looked up to face his mother as she mentioned the word trauma. He immediately regretted it as it seemed to give her the idea that she had made a point she ought to elaborate. ‘Everything we heard today about his father’s death, his sister’s disability, living with his aunt and uncle until they sent him away… It’s a lot to carry. Both for him and for us.’

Brian leaned back in his chair when his mother had finished her part of the monologue. So that’s what they were afraid of - that John would bring his trauma, his troubles, his history, into their lives. That having to live with someone who’d gone through a rough childhood would be hard on them, and not on the person who actually had to pick up his life again after having taken such a terrible start to it. It hardly surprised Brian to hear that his parents, two painfully average lower-middle-class citizens leading a painfully average life in their painfully average semi-detached suburban three bedroom-house, were opposed to take someone in from a less fortunate background out of fear that it would inconvenience their perfectly shallow little lives. It was shallow and embarrassing, and Brian did not have the words to properly tell his parents what he thought about their attitude. 

‘So that’s what you want, then?’ he eventually ended up saying after having chewed the inside of his cheek raw. ‘To break your promise and have John be sent off to a bloody communal home? My best friend, with whom I’ve spent the past half a year here? An anxious twenty-year-old with a traumatic family background and the remains of a depression, living with a bunch of crackheads in a filthy communal home in East End London?’

‘We never promised-’ his father calmly intervened, but he was interrupted just as quickly as he had taken the floor. 

‘But you did!’ Brian said, voice louder now. ‘You said you’d take both of us in, or him first and then me if I wouldn’t be released after this fucking trial, and allow us to build up a life again until we could stand on our own two feet! You promised!’ He was close to tears now - tears of anger and frustration and sheer humiliation that these liars called themselves his parents. The two people across the table shared a look that Brian couldn’t quite make out with his blurry tearstained view, but he knew they realised he was not going to take this breach of trust sitting down. 

‘I know, Brian,’ his father eventually said. ‘I know we did that. But that was before we knew the circumstances.’

Brian huffed out a laugh despite himself. ‘Circumstances? I told you about John, and his antisocial personality disorder, and that his sister was disabled, his father was dead, and that he used to live with his aunt and uncle before being sent here! You knew that all along, half of this even before there was even talk of either him or me being released. And now you’re changing your mind because of it? I’m calling bullshit.’

‘Brian!’

The person addressed ignored his mother’s admonitory calling of his name. ‘It’s bullshit. You’re just using it against John because you’re too lame to help him. To help us! I thought you cared about me!’ Brian realised that especially this last sentence was a petty low shot, but he was willing to steep down to whatever level it took to either convince, threaten, or sabotage his parents into letting John come home with him as they had promised him. 

‘It’s not that easy, Brian. It’s just- it’s very hard to take someone you’ve only known from stories, with a troubled background, into your house and just see what happens,’ Harold said. ‘Your mother and I have had a very rough time while you were away. We don’t know if we could handle having someone else in our house right now. Besides you, of course,’ was added quickly - something Brian didn’t know made matters better or worse. 

‘Oh, yes. I’m sure it’s been very hard on you,’ Brian said cynically, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘It must have been very hard, sitting around at home living your normal life while we tried to survive at Queen Mary’s. Saw people drugging themselves down at the daily. Fights in the canteen and people ending up at the infirmary with broken bones. Someone knocked John to the floor and tried to stab my eye out. Someone was murdered while we were in there, Goddamnit, and you talk about having had a hard time because you didn’t have someone to share boring stories about your nine to five job or the coffee visit to the neighbours with during dinnertime!’ Brian realised he was shouting now, and saw the guard stepping a few steps closer to their table from the corner of his eyes. He wondered if Nolan and John could hear him from the other side, but eventually decided that the iron walls and doors probably had been designed so as to not let through any noise. He did not particularly care so much about Nolan or the guards outside the visiting hall overhearing him, but he’d rather not upset John by having him hear his lack of emotional control in the given situation.

‘They tried- your eye? Someone was murdered?’

Brian should have known that breaking the news of the recent gang wars, the almost daily injuries, and Jimmy’s death-bordering-on-murder to his parents would not be something they’d take lightly. They of course expected their son to be safe at Queen Mary’s; this had been the entire reason they had sent him there rather than keeping him at home to see where his mental problems would take him. However, as he was in the mood to shock and make a statement rather than to comfort his parents about his safety at Queen Mary’s, he raised his voice again.

‘Yes, that’s the place you sent me off to! That’s the place I’ll have to stay in for even longer if they won’t let me go. That’s where’s John’s been in for two years, and the place you’ll send him off to again if you let him be taken into a fucking council house full of drug addicts and criminals and other people he shouldn’t have to deal with! Because unlike me,’ Brian breathed with an index finger prodding into his own chest, ‘unlike me, he doesn’t have a backup plan, or family to take him in! He’ll be left to the government, or a resocialisation programme for criminals and other freaks he doesn’t belong to, or simply to- to the streets!’ Brian could hear his own voice faltering and eventually breaking, so he cut himself off before real cracks would appear in either his voice or his iron facial expression. He knew that Nolan had spoken of a rehabilitation plan hosted by Queen Mary’s, but what this really meant was that people who did not have any family, were disowned by them, or did not want to return to them, were sent to join resocialisation programmes that hardly ever tailored to people recovering from mental illness. They often ended up addicted to drugs, in prison for dealing or robbery, or worse than that. It made his heart ache to even think of the possibility that John might be exposed to scenes like those if he would not be given a proper foundation upon leaving Queen Mary’s - a foundation it seemed that, for the lack of connections and resources of his own, only Brian’s family could provide at the moment. 

‘Oh, darling…’ 

A tissue, produced from his mother’s handbag, was pushed over to his side of the table. Brian hadn’t previously noticed that he had been crying, but moving the back of his hand over his right cheek once proved that he indeed had been doing to. He grabbed the tissue and pressed it against his eyes in an attempt to smother his tears - without much luck, that was. They kept coming and coming and wouldn’t stop, and Brian had no other choice than to give in to them,

‘Brian, my darling...’ The familiar voice of his mother was soft and soothing, but it did not give him any comfort - and neither did the words she spoke, even though Brian knew they were meant to bring him peace of mind. ‘We’ll find a way, okay? I promise we’ll find a way.’

‘What if I was in his place?’ Brian then asked, crumpling the soaked tissue into a ball in his hand. ‘If you- you couldn’t take care of me because you w-were occupied or dead, wouldn’t you want someone else to take me in to recover?’ he asked, now looking directly at his parents with eyes blurred with tears. ‘Or would you rather have me discarded to the streets and venture for- for myself? Would you?’ 

‘We wouldn’t,’ his father said. ‘Of course we wouldn’t. We’ll work this out, Brian,’ he said, but the words didn’t quite land on Brian, who was so far gone into the image of John being expulsed from any sort of society and having to roam the streets at night to find a place to sleep, that the words of his parents didn’t reach him any longer.

‘John is so sweet and good-natured and… and he deserves better than this. So much better than this. Please, you have- you have to help him!’ Sobs now properly overtook Brian’s body, and he rested his face on his hands on the table top. Sounds of chairs scratching the floor and heels clicking on the tiles approached, and then there was an arm around his shoulders and a hand stroking his hair and indistinguishable voices soothing him. It was as if he was five years old again and had screamed for his parents with all of his might after waking up from a dreadful nightmare. He was unsure whether it was a comfort or plain sadness that his parents still came running towards him to soothe him, but it at least felt good to have them at his side again instead of just having them look at him from a distance and staring at him with that weird, empty glance, trying to figure out what on earth was going on in his mind. 

‘It’s okay; everything will be okay.’ His mother stroked his cheek, and Brian thought he felt her press a kiss against his unruly hair. ‘We’re gonna help John. He’s- we’re going to take him in.’

We’re going to take him in. Brian looked up at his mother through teary eyes when these words, the ones that had once been promised and then denied him again, were spoken. Like a magic spell, he was drawn to them, and through a choked sob he whispered: ‘Really?’

His mother exchanged glanced with his dad first, but then pulled away her glance from that of her husband and nodded. ‘Really. We made a promise, after all.’

Brian felt a wave of relief flooding through his veins; one that allowed the muscles throughout his entire body to unclench and his mind to untangle. ‘Thank- thank you,’ he managed to squeak out. His mother smiled a sad smile - one not so much of happiness but one of acceptance - and stepped away from Brian. His father followed her example.

‘Come, dry your tears and come down to yourself,’ she said while handing him another tissue. Surprisingly enough, it was actually feasible for Brian to carry out these instructions now that he had been comforted about the fate of his partner. He wiped his face clean of tears, and by the time he was able to stifle most of the last remaining sobs, he could look his parents in the eyes again.

‘So you promise you’ll let John in? And you… won’t come back on it again?’ Brian asked, just to be sure. After all, he had been let down once before, and he did not know if he could take it to have all of his hopes shatter just like that again.

‘We promise for real this time,’ his father answered without skipping a beat, which Brian took as a good sign. ‘Your mother and I are just overwhelmed, is all. Within a week we got to hear that you would be going for a reassessment, that you wanted to have your new best friend move in with us because he can’t go home, then all these people called us and we received forms to fill out through the mail concerning our responsibilities when you’d be released and all the people and institutes we’d have to be in touch with still… So we just…. Went with it all hoping to be able to talk things over today, but we arrive in a storm of more papers and receptionists and mentors telling us to sign more documents, and then there’s John with this- excuse my languages but… problematic background, and I think we just- didn’t know how to handle it anymore.’

‘But then you should have said so. You should have told Nolan and us you needed more explanation or more time or more guidance, instead of taking ten steps back and breaking your promise to John and me. I haven’t seen him so- so hurt in a long time,’ Brian said. His saliva felt heavy and tough when he swallowed. ‘I told you how nervous John was to meet you over the phone just the other day. I spent a week to convince him to even come along to this meeting; he was too afraid to say or do something that would make you reject him. And then you go and… attack him and push him away for the reasons he can help least? His trauma following the death of his father, and the accident of his sister? His having to live with family because his mum couldn’t take care of him anymore in the depth of his depression? That was- that was plain low, dad. And you too, mum. Really, really low.’

It was only when Brian had uttered this entire soliloquy that he realised when he had said - and he immediately regretted it, despite having meant every single word of it. He knew his parents were not going to take kindly to being lectured by him about what they should and what they shouldn’t do. However, just as he expected to be told off for reprimanding his parents for behaving the way they did, the glance of his father’s face softened.

‘You are right. We were wrong to treat John like that,’ Harold said. Not seeming to know what he was to say afterward, he turned to his wife for support.

‘We will say sorry to John in a minute. I hope we can make him feel welcome still,’ Ruth told Brian, who nodded slowly, thankfully, at his parents.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘That means a lot to the both of us.’

‘It’s just… I know it’s no excuse, and I know that Queen Mary’s must have been a lot harder for you than it was for us,’ his father acknowledged. ‘But I think I speak for both your mum and myself when I say that I’ve been lying awake during the last few nights, wondering if this is really what you want.’

Brian frowned. ‘Whether what is what I want?’

‘This… all of this. To leave Queen Mary’s before your time’s due,’ his dad said.

‘My time is due,’ Brian said with some insistence. ‘I go where John goes, and he goes where I go.’

‘I know,’ his father said. ‘I know- and that’s what I’ve been worried about. That you’re not thinking about your own sanity and well-being, but about John’s only. You understand me?’

‘I do, but-’

‘Doctor Sumner worked hard to give you a spot here at Queen Mary’s, and despite the… circumstances we’ve heard about, we know that trained people do all they can,’ his mother interrupted. ‘Are you sure you want to put all of that aside?’

‘Absolutely positive,’ Brian answered. ‘I’d put everything aside for John - and not just because I… care about him so much, but because I know John is the best help I could possibly have.’

‘But what about your therapy, then?’ his mum asked.

‘He is a better help to me than any of the therapists I’ve spoken to so far, and any therapist I will ever meet in my life,’ Brian said. His father opened his mouth as to say something, but Brian held up his hand to summon him to be quiet. To his own surprise, it seemed to work. ‘John supports me through everything in a way not a single medical professional could ever do. He is always there for me, always tries to cheer me up and cheer me on with everything I do. He’s my rock in a way that no one else could ever be. He’s been my real help at Queen Mary’s, and the real reason why I’m in a much better place now.’ 

By the time Brian had finished this monologue, he noticed his parents really had fallen quiet, and simply blinked at him as to take in all they had just been told. It was at this point also that he realised he was a little out of breath, and, upon placing his hand on his cheek, he found that it was warm and glowing. My God, I must look like an idiot right now, Brian thought to himself. Fortunately for him, though, this was not the message his parents had taken away from the scene he had put himself in.

‘You really care about him, don’t you?’ There was a small smile on his mother’s face as she asked this.

‘Yes,’ Brian sighed. ‘More than about anything or anyone in the world.’

‘Well… It really seems like the only way to help you right now is to help John,’ his father remarked, which Brian realised summarised the current state of affairs pretty well. ‘So that’s what we’re going to do, then.’

Even though this decision had already been secured beforehand, it still made a wave of relief flow through Brian’s veins now that it was reinstigated. They were going to allow John to come live with them; John would have a place to go to; and, sooner or later, depending on the outcome of the reassessment, Brian would be there to live with John and his family again. They’d be together, just the two of them, without any of the disorder and the violence and the overall chaos of Queen Mary’s that currently formed the framework of all they did and said, and they would be happy.

‘We will do that exactly,’ Ruth confirmed, then, turning to her husband, she said: ‘Why don’t you go and fetch John and Nolan, dear, and let me have a second to talk to my boy alone.’ Despite the innocent smile on her face, Brian knew that his mother had something on her mind. His father must have realised this too, for his glance lingered between his wife and his son for a little too long to be just casual, but he then nodded and took his leave either way. 

Ruth waited until her husband was out of earshot, and then turned around to face her son again. 

‘Brian?’ She leant in a bit closer to him, as she would do when she had something serious or confidential to share with him.

‘Yes, mum?’ Brian said, hoping she would not notice how tight his voice sounded already.

‘About John… He’s not just your roommate, or your friend, now is he? He’s more than that.’

Oh, Lord. That was a lot quicker and a lot more to the point than Brian had expected it to be. Of course, he had foreseen the likeliness of his parents expecting something sooner or later once they’d live under the same roof with his parents. He’d thought of the possibility of his mum wondering out loud why they insisted on sleeping in the same room, or his dad remarking that they never left each other’s side. The way they would look at each other, smile at each other, sit a bit too close whenever they got the chance - he had thought of what to say when such matters would be raised. He had not, however, prepared himself for something as straightforward as this question, and in the heat of the moment, he did not trust himself to lie and tell a more socially acceptable answer. Besides, his mother looked at him with such a kind and comforting expression on her face that Brian was positive he could have discarded of a body on her behalf if she would have asked him.

Therefore, he nodded nearly invisibly in response. ‘He is. He’s… We are… everything to each other,’ Brian whispered. ‘I just… need him like I’ve never needed anyone before.’ A smile broke through on his face, but no matter how badly he would have liked for it to have been one of happiness or pride, it would be incorrect to say so. It was a long-hidden feeling of insecurity towards the future, of what people would think of them - of embarrassment and a feeling of failure. Not for loving John, but for breaking the illusion his parents had had of him for so long. An illusion he had had of himself for so long - one that never might have come to the surface if it hadn’t been for John and him crossing paths. Meeting John had changed the entire road of life he had always had in sight for himself, and the realisation that moulding his life around John and what they were together was going to be a reality, in all of its good and bad points, suddenly struck him. Tears filled his eyes, and when his mother did not respond to any he had said and simply looked at him, he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’ she asked gently.

‘For- not being what you thought I was,’ he managed. ‘For not coming home with a girl.’

‘Darling…’ Brian knew that voice, and he could feel his mother’s hand reaching out to place itself on top of his own hand before she even completed the action, as a matter of speaking. ‘I don’t care who or what you come home with - whether they’re male or female, or Catholic or Anglican, or black or white or purple with yellow dots. What I care for is that you come home as you, alive and well, unlike - unlike some of the stories you hear sometimes,’ she said, leaving Brian unsure if she meant stories from mental health clinics in general, or the ones he had witnessed and shared with her. ‘I want you to come home happy again, and I can tell that he makes you happy.’

‘He does,’ Brian smiled despite himself. ‘He makes me happier than I’ve ever been.’

‘I know, and that’s what matters to us,’ his mum said. ‘Listen, Brian. Your dad and I wanted for you to come home happy again - that’s what we sent you to Queen Mary’s for. The first few nights after we’d taken you here I could do nothing but crying and praying that sending you here would make you feel better, happier, regardless of how this happiness came about. And God must have heard my prayers.’

‘John is a gift from above,’ Brian smiled. ‘He makes me happier than I’ve ever been, or ever could have imagined being.’

‘That’s settled then.’

‘Really?’ Brian asked, not having thought his mother would be so quick to deal with the fact that her only son came home with a guy. ‘But what about- you, or dad, or grandma, or the rest of the family? Especially dad. He’s- he’s always talked about how he can’t wait till my wedding day, and to see his grandchildren…’

‘I know. He’ll have to readjust his expectations, then,’ his mother shrugged. ‘This isn’t about him or me or anyone else apart from John and you.’

‘Thank you,’ Brian smiled broadly at the recognition he had not ever even hoped to get from his family so soon. Then, a less pleasant thought dawned upon him. ‘Mum, will you tell him?’

His mother did not need any context to know what and who he meant. ‘Do you want me to tell him?’

Brian thought for a second. On the one hand it felt liberating to tell the truth, to tell his parents where he and John really stood – but on the other hand, after already having told them more than he had already planned to do and without John’s permission, he decided against the plan in the end. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to discuss it with John. It’s not something that concerns me only, you know.’

‘Of course. It’s not just you on your own anymore from now off,’ his mother said with a small smile. ‘It’s going to be you and your better half.’ Brian felt himself glow at the mentioning of these words. John really was his better half – and his mother was accepting of the position John played in his life. Maybe things were finally looking up for him. 

Things definitely seemed like they were heading in the right direction when the iron door burst open to reveal John, who skipped his way through the visiting room on his mission to find Brian. Brian heard and saw him coming from what seemed to him like miles away – he pushed his chair backward with more force than necessary, almost tripped over his mother’s bag, but did not let this stop himself from dashing towards John and catching his boyfriend into his embrace hallway down the room. When he squeezed John into a hug – and was similarly squeezed into one by John from the other side of things – his partner’s body felt warm and vibrant and alive; so much more alive than Brian had seen him in ages, or perhaps ever before. The grip of John’s fingers on the back of his grey uniform shirt was tight, like he wanted to avoid ever being separated from him in his life; as if Brian was going to allow anyone to come between the pair of them when John looked at him with the most appreciative and loving eyes he had ever been looked at with.

‘They’ll let me in,’ John squeaked in a voice squeezed with happiness and relief. ‘I’ll be allowed to stay and- and live with your family and- and with you.’ The arms around his back moved on to be placed above his shoulders, and Brian could not oppress the urge to put his own hands below John’s armpits and lift him off the floor for a spin. John squealed at first and then laughed, and when his feet were safely planted back on the floor, he threw his body against Brian’s so tightly that it took all of Brian’s strength to not lift up his chin and kiss him right there and then in the middle of the visiting room. He contained himself, though, and made a mental note to shower John in a thousand kisses once they’d get back to their room; a room which they might, with a bit of luck, exchange for Brian’s real bedroom, inside his real house before too long. 

‘Of course they will. I told you they were going to love you,’ Brian replied with the biggest smile. A side glance towards his smiling mother revealed that she really did approve of this statement of his.

Harold and Nolan caught up with them, and Nolan, obviously content and relieved with the turn-out of the meeting, was quick to produce the required paperwork that needed to be signed. Brian held his breath until the moment his father had put his signature on both the file ruling that he’d take his own son back in and on the file ensuring John would be placed under their care also. It was then that he knew there was going to be no return, a thought that made mellow happiness spread through his body as he rested his hand on John’s shoulder when his boyfriend signed the paperwork with a shaky but determined hand.

The formalities then having been taken care of and the time planned for the meeting being almost up, Nolan started shaking hands and speaking of next steps to be taken – financial compensation and guidance for family of what was clumsily referred to as ‘the mentally afflicted’ and other matters Brian could not find himself caring for at the time being. All he cared about was that they were one step closer to completing their plan of escaping Queen Mary’s before the place would turn either one or the both of them out of their minds, or possibly worse. 

Brian stepped forward to hug his dad and kiss his mum as a form of goodbye, and received some more words of comfort – that they would be there for his trial in a few weeks, and that John really would be welcome in their house regardless of how matters turned out for Brian. If Brian remained somewhat skeptical to that point, the last traces of doubt left his mind when he saw John willingly letting himself be captured in an embrace by both of his parents and receiving words of welcome, comfort, and encouragement. John managed little more than a series of ‘thank yous’ and ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am’,  but Brian could tell by the radiant look in his eyes when he broke away from his family-to-be that he was finally, after all this time, gathering some hope for the future – for their future.

‘We’ll see you soon, Brian. And you too, John. We’re looking forward to it,’ Brian’s mother said when Nolan turned to lead his patients out of the same door they had come from an hour ago. John turned around once more to flash them a smile, and give them a wave; Brian followed his example, then placed his hand on John’s back and guided him through the door.

‘Phew. That was a wild ride,’ said Nolan, who pretended to wipe the sweat off his forehead. The iron door fell shut behind him, and he started moving towards the exit at the other side of the hall. Brian and John followed close behind. ‘For a moment I was afraid that – you know…’ They all knew what it was that Nolan was referring to, but no one was particularly keep on speaking the words out loud. ‘But I’m glad they turned around, Brian. That whatever you said worked, and that John won’t have to worry anymore.’ John smiled for a bit, but Brian could tell it wasn’t genuine. 

‘What’s wrong? Aren’t you relieved?’

‘I am,’ John confirmed. ‘But I still worry. What if you don’t get out, or if your parents change their minds on me…’

‘They won’t,’ Brian said before the thought could properly settle in John’s mind. ‘They’re not going to change their minds. And as for me – I’m gonna give it all I’ve got during the final hearing or whatever they call that. And if that’s not enough, I’ll… I’ll find a way to be out of here as soon as possible, honey. I’ll show the best of behaviour and cooperation they’ve ever seen in the history of this place, or try another reassessment. I’ll find a way to leave, I promise.’ John looked skeptical still, but luckily Nolan came to Brian’s rescue. 

‘You won’t have to open a second reassessment. Jasper and Sarah and others are all on your side of the case – and with such strong support and all the effort and dedication you’ve shown in filling out the paperwork, attending sessions with the new psych, keeping up your mental diary your diary, and your exemplary behaviour at Queen Mary’s, there’s not a single objection I think they can make against your case. I can see no grounded reason for them to turn your appeal down.’

‘See?’ Brian said to John, pretending to be not in the least surprised by this claim of Nolan’s that his admission was almost a fact already. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘But Doctor Sumner will be there,’ John muttered. ‘He’ll find a way to let you stay.’

Having arrived at the other side of the hallway, Nolan held open the door for them; but Brian halted his step the second John brought up the name of Doctor Sumner.

‘Sorry, who are we speaking of?’ Nolan asked innocently. Brian was sure he must have read the name of his former psychiatrist in one of the papers concerning the trial, but how could Nolan know the evil intentions of the man behind the name?

‘Thank you, Nolan. We’ll see you in a bit,’ Brian said with what he knew for a fact was the fakest smile he’d ever produced. He could tell his mentor was confused by their sudden secretiveness, but – God bless him – he nodded politely and disappeared through the door. Brian waited until the door fell shut again before he looked John in the face.

‘You know Doctor Sumner is going to be there,’ John stated, more firmly this time.

‘I know,’ Brian gritted. ‘I just hoped you had forgotten about him.’

John snorted. ‘As if.’ 

‘Fair enough,’ Brian sighed. The truth of the matter was that Doctor Sumner had also crossed his mind more than just incidentally lately. Ever since Nolan had informed him of the fact that one was to be judged by a panel of three psychiatrists, one of which would be one’s former psychiatrist or another mental health expert who could testify to one’s character and mental illness, he had feared the possibility of Doctor Sumner disapproving of his being released out of fear he would speak up about the injustice his former psych had pulled him through. He had repressed these fears as much as he could, however, and had hoped that John would have forgotten about Doctor Sumner completely. It seemed like there was no such luck for him though; the handful of times he had brought up the nightmare of a psych during trips to Queen Mary’s garden had obviously stuck in John’s mind, and he himself remained unsure of his destiny with Doctor Sumner playing a role in it.

‘Look. I know the situation is hardly ideal, but Nolan is probably right. Sumner has no valid grounds to restrain me to Queen Mary’s without revealing his fear that he used me for his experiments to get his breakthrough in the medical world or whatever. And if he doesn’t remember so, I might just have to remind him of it.’

John’s ears seemed to prick up at the hint of such a bold thing to do. ‘You’re thinking of doing that?’

Brian, not wanting to admit that he devised this plan literally a split second ago, turned to open the door and let his lover pass through it. ‘Perhaps. If he leaves me no choice – if he’s the one to make me stay I guess I might have to bring it up. It’s not like I’ll have anything to lose in that case anyway,’ Brian grinned. ‘But I’m sure it won’t come to that point – as Nolan said, the judges have no valid grounds to keep me here for, so they’ll probably let me go. And if Sumner is the only one who disagrees… Well, I’ll just say it’s suspicious and ask him if there’s anything from our shared past that might hold him back, and leave the ball in his goal from that point.’

‘Stone cold but clever,’ John snickered. ‘You know, when you first got here, I never thought you’d have it in you to be like that.’

‘Your talents must have rubbed off on me,’ Brian shrugged.

‘My talents were not the only things that rubbed off on you.’

‘John!’ Brian called out in surprise, turning to the side to see his grinning lover catch up with him. ‘Cheeky! You did not get that from me!’

‘No, that must have been Freddie’s doing,’ John contemplated. ‘Having lived with him for a year or so has taken its toll on me.’

Brian stopped for a second. ‘Has it really been that long for Freddie?’

John nodded. ‘Same for Roger - he arrived only a month or so later, if not less. It’s kind of surreal when you think about it.’

‘It’s so weird - day to day life here passes so slowly, and yet in the grand scheme of things-’

‘May.’

Brian halted his sentence when he heard his last name being called out quite loudly in the otherwise empty seeming main hallway. It was early in the afternoon, and with no mealtimes, therapy groups, or other activities running - and a ban on residing in the canteen outside of meal hours out of a fear for fights and confrontation - there was little more than the occasional lone patient passing by.

‘Did you also hear…’ he turned to John, but was not given the time to await an answer.

‘Yes, you there. Brian.’

Brian could now no longer deny the presence of someone calling out for him, but it came as quite a shock to find that the source of the sound was no one other than Drew. Drew, the bully and murderer of Jimmy; the one who had threatened to cut his eye out, who had belittled and teased and pushed Freddie and Roger on multiple accounts, who had knocked John over and given him the biggest black eye Brian had ever witnessed - that Drew was now leaning against the matte glass wall of the canteen, with his arms crossed over his chest, a - strictly forbidden - toothpick between his lips, and for some reason a ground for calling Brian to him.

Brian could see John take a step back behind him, but then step forward again in what seemed like an attempt to show Drew that he was not going to back away. It made little impression on either one of them, for they all knew that despite the tough attitude John tried to keep up, and despite having stood up to Drew and having embarrassed him in front of all of his followers and enemies not too long ago, John did not feel comfortable around him. Hell, no one at Queen Mary’s felt comfortable around the brute of a guy; he was violent, unthinking, remorseless, and had shown on multiple occasions that he was capable of releasing the entire institution into chaos by planting his fists into the face of someone from the other side of things. Luckily he was on his own right now, but Brian nevertheless felt awkward and unsafe around him. Moreover, he could tell that John was feeling unsafe - and whatever Drew wanted from him, was not something he was going to burden John with. 

‘I’ll deal with this,’ he mumbled to the man standing beside him. ‘You can go to our room if you want to - I’ll catch up.’

‘No,’ John answered softly yet resolutely. ‘I’m not leaving you here.’ 

Brian was unsure whether he should be grateful for Jon’s determination to stay at his side or worried that whatever Drew wanted to get back at him for would now be shared with John also. But, like always seemed to be the case when anything happened for which he would like to be given time to think about and ponder the consequences, he was given absolutely no more than a split second before he had to act and speak up.

‘Brian May,’ Drew repeated his name. The look on his face was intense, as if he was trying to figure out Brian’s blood type with the help of nothing with his eyes. He remained exactly where he was and made no attempts at moving closer, as he was usually prone to do when trying to intimidate someone, but Brian still was not comfortable.

‘Drew Myers.’ Brian hoped the shiver in his voice wasn’t too audible - and that the last name he had picked up in the canteen a while back actually belonged to Drew. Drew at any rate did not comment on it being incorrect - in fact, he made no derogatory comments or showed otherwise unpleasant behaviour at all. 

‘Heard you’re going for a reassessment in a week,’ he said coolly. The little wooden toothpick between his lips switched to the other side of his mouth.

For a second Brian wanted to ask him how he got to possess this piece of information, but he realised soon enough that the news of the only successful attempt at leaving Queen Mary’s early must have spread like wildfire among its patients and staff. ‘You heard right,’ he therefore said just as coolly. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he crossed them in front of him in the same fashion as Drew did - which, he realised, must not have looked as cool on him and his 6’3, 130 pound body as it did on Drew’s be it somewhat shorter but a lot broader and more muscular one. Fortunately for him, Drew did not seem intended on calling him out today.

‘I’ll cross my thumbs for you. Hope you’ll get through.’

Brian was caught by surprise by this unexpectedly kind comment. He could feel John turning to look at him, but in his moment of surprise he could not unlock his eyes from Drew’s face. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Drew said without a hint of doubt. ‘You deserve better than this.’

‘Er, thanks,’ Brian uttered after having shared a short glance with John despite it all. ‘We’re, eh, hoping to leave and pick up our lives again.’ He did not know why he said this, why he tried to make conversation with someone who had basically threatened to take their lives on multiple accounts, and who had done worse besides that. But Drew didn’t show a sign of violence or malice now; he seemed calm and reasonable and perhaps even civil, and Brian found himself unable to treat Drew the exact same way in his place. 

‘As you should,’ Drew nodded. ‘You never did seem to belong here, you know. Neither did you, John.’ His hands unfolded to give a quick little point at John, who swallowed a little painfully but remained constant otherwise as Drew’s attention turned to him. ‘Way too good for a place like this. You two are better than the whole bunch of us together.’

Brian had never expected Drew to say something so kind to them.

He had also never expected that Drew saying something kind to them would simultaneously be the last thing they’d ever hear him say. A mere three days after their unexpected meetup, Drew was stabbed between the ribs with a kitchen knife one of his newly admitted rivals had acquired during a secret trip to the staff kitchen and dining room. Nolan and Derek had given CPR, an ambulance had been called, but Drew had, as the story went, been pronounced dead upon his arrival at the hospital.  

Another life wasted. 

All Brian could do was hope his case would indeed be approved, or else he feared that the name of the person he loved most in the entire world might soon also have to be added to the list of victims Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution had produced. 

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed - feel free to send me PMs or messages or anons about your opinions and suggestions for The Clinic, or just to come talk for a bit. I love and appreciate you all! <3

#the clinic #fanfic #queen fanfiction #breaky #brian may/john deacon

[phantasticworks]

Do You Know How in Love With You I Am (Please Notice)

Phan!The Office AU I wrote based on an incredible piece of art by @laurainlilac so please go follow her and look at her art (she’s the mvp of phanart) so all credit for the prompt goes to her! 

read on ao3

Words: 22k

Description: Dan works at a small paper company, but the good thing about this mundane and meaningless career is that his best friend Phil sits only a few feet away at reception. The bad thing, however, is that Dan’s is irrevocably in love with said best friend. Oh, and also, Phil’s engaged to someone else. But don’t worry! There’s a happy ending somewhere in here.

Warnings: swearing, reference to emotionally abusive partner, implied history of domestic abuse/violence (nothing too explicit), lots of fluff and some angst, also a very poorly written smut scene that I already regret writing, but it’s kinda long so I can’t delete it now. 

IMPORTANT: There is detailed smut in this, so if you’re not comfy reading that, it begins at the first ~ and you can stop reading at the second ~. It’s mainly there for the sake of characterization, but it’s totally fine to skip it. 

Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!

Dan Howell was never really a fan of customer service or human interaction, but somehow here he was, working in the sales department of a small paper company and trying his best to sell paper. It wasn’t that he hated people, really. He just hated interacting with them.

Well, that is, except for his best friend, Phil, who luckily worked four and a half paces away from Dan’s desk. Which was super convenient, if you asked him. Sitting so close to his best friend allowed him to hate his job significantly less, and whenever the woes of the corporate nightmare he was living got to him, he could just walk right over to reception and complain about it to his best friend.

Currently, he was tossing a ball of rubber bands in the air from the comfort of his own desk, his eyes on Phil. The ebony haired man was staring at his monitor, but Dan could see how hard he was trying to hide his smile, and Dan knew that Phil knew he was staring at him. When he finally raises his eyes to meet Dan’s, the younger man raises his eyebrows, holding the ball as if he’s about to throw it to Phil.

Phil shakes his head frantically, and Dan snickers. He’s well aware of the total lack of hand-eye coordination on Phil’s part, so he mercifully doesn’t throw the ball. Instead, he sets it back on his desk and grabs a random sheet of paper from his desk, folding it into an airplane quickly. Phil rolls his eyes, smiling as he looks back to his screen.

“Psst!” Dan whispers obnoxiously, causing Phil to quirk an eyebrow, fully taking his attention away from his computer.

“What?” Phil whispers back, brushing his quiff back with one hand.

Dan doesn’t respond, instead holding up the airplane craft, moving his hand as he goes to throw it.

Chris, Dan’s unfortunate desk cluster-mate and his unofficial enemy, decides to jump in then and ruin their fun. “Uh- that’s not going to fly, stupid.” He says rudely.

Dan raises an eyebrow at him, looking at the paper airplane in appraisal. “I dunno, I reckon it will,” He shrugs before tossing the plane, watching with only mild disappointment as it curves through the air, only to fall to the ground barely two feet away from him.

Phil purses his lips and gives him a round of pity applause, and Dan grins as he stands, bowing slightly. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here till five.” He announces proudly as he picks up the airplane.

Chris snorts from behind him. “Loser. Can’t even make the simplest piece of paper aircraft actually fly. Pathetic.” He snips, shaking his head as he stares disdainfully at Dan.

Shrugging, Dan drops the paper on Chris’ desk. “Why don’t you give it a shot, then.” He suggests, quirking an eyebrow in challenge. “I mean, if you think you can do it. It’s pretty hard.” He adds.

“Please,” Chris scoffs, snatching the paper up. “I’ll make the best damn airplane you’ve ever seen in your pathetic existence.”

Dan shrugs, crossing over to reception, where Phil is waiting with a smile. “He’s going to make me the best damn airplane I’ve ever seen,” Dan informs him helpfully as he leans against the counter, looking down at Phil.

Phil nods seriously. “Right. And I’m sure you’re really quite excited about that?” He laughs, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Of course,” Dan says as if it’s completely obvious. “Can you imagine? I’ll have the best paper airplane in the world, made by our very own Chris Kendall.”

Phil snickers, sorting through some papers on his desk. “Wow. I can’t believe you’ll be the sole recipient of such an esteemed item,” he teases, his blue eyes flickering up to meet Dan’s.

Dan swallows hard, trying to ignore how incredibly attractive Phil is. There’s not a lot of things to do during the day as far as distractions go, but coming over to talk (or shamelessly flirt, in Dan’s case) with the office’s receptionist definitely made the days go by quicker. “I imagine you’re pretty jealous, huh?” Dan asks, tilting his head to the side and propping his chin on his hand.

“Oh, yeah,” Phil nods, a serious look coming over his face. He sits up, tilting his head back and angling his face closer to Dan’s. “Definitely jealous,” he says quietly, nodding seriously.

Biting his lip, Dan tries his hardest to fight his smile. Just as he starts to speak, they’re interrupted by a different voice.

“There,” Chris calls from the desk cluster he and Dan sat at. Dan and Phil both turn to look at him, and Dan nearly laughs at the pure ecstatic expression on Chris’ face. “This was so easy a stupid baby could do it,” He taunts, standing to show the airplane to Dan.

Dan considers this before shrugging. “So, you’re saying I’m smarter than a stupid baby, so I couldn’t figure it out?” He asks, living for the way it riles up his coworker.

“No! I was implying that you were stupider than a stupid baby. Idiot,” he seethes, shoving the airplane into Dan’s hand.

“But, you said a stupid baby could do it. Which implies that either you are the stupid baby, because you did it, or that I’m not a stupid baby, since I couldn’t do it.” Dan explains casually, eyes on the ceiling as if he’s really considering it. He wasn’t, he just liked to wind Chris up. Phil giggles from behind him, making Dan smirk.

“No, I- just fly the damn thing!” Chris snaps in exasperation, crossing his arms and stepping back.

Dan shrugs, lifting the plane. “Sure.” He pauses then, leaning against the receptionist desk once again. “Phil, tell me where I should try to aim this at.” He instructs, glancing over his shoulder.

Phil stands so he can see easier over the tall receptionist desk, scanning the room, considering. “Hm. How about... oh, see if you can hit one of Chris’ bobble heads!” He says excitedly, smiling brightly at Dan.

Dan hides a laugh, but nods.

“Wait- no! Don’t hit my stuff.” Chris protests, reaching to take the plane out of Dan’s grip.

“But it’s a paper airplane, Chris. It won’t hurt it.” He supplies with a shrug before aiming the airplane.

Before Chris can protest again, Dan launches the plane, and they all watch as it goes straight for all of a foot, before plummeting down.

“Huh. I guess you’re not a stupid baby after all,” Dan shrugs, turning to look at Phil.

Chris, however, is much more bothered. “What? I fixed it, it should’ve worked! Dan, what did you even do?” The man demands, grabbing the plane off the ground.

Dan raises his hands in defense. “I just launched it. I didn’t mess with it, mate.” He takes in Phil’s incredulous expression at the anger in Chris’ voice, and tries not to laugh.

“Well, it should’ve worked.” Pushing his glasses up, Chris aims the plane and launches it himself, only to get the same results. “What?!” He all but screeches.

Dan shrugs, patting him once on the back. “Does it have propellers?” He asks, plucking a random word associated with aircraft out of his memory, keeping a straight face as he stares at Chris.

Phil snickers behind him, but Dan shoots him a look.

“What- no! Of course not, it’s a paper airplane, you idiot.” Chris snaps, still fumbling with the paper aircraft.

“Well then maybe that’s your problem,” Dan says helpfully, shrugging.

Chris groans in frustration as Phil laughs. “Shut up. Idiot.” Chris grumbles before stomping back to his desk, tossing the airplane into a wastebasket on the way.

“Well, that was an event.” Phil murmurs as Dan turns back around.

“Yeah. You know, I can never quite tell if Chris hates me or if he’s secretly in love with me.” Dan says jokingly, pushing a curl off his forehead.

“Probably in love with you,” Phil nods. “I can see why he would be.” His cheeks flood with color after he says this, but he only looks up at Dan, as if waiting for him to disagree.

Dan feels flooded with warmth, and he grins, his dimple likely showing as he does. “Yeah?” He teases, but he feels his heart racing as he waits for an answer. Not yours, not yours, not yours, the silent mantra repeats in his head, but he ignores it. He wants this. He wants Phil to want him, even if he knows they can’t be together because Phil has someone else.

Phil only blushes darker and looks down at his desk. “Of course.” He says softly. Dan feels as if his heart is about to burst with joy, but then Phil speaks again. “You’re my best friend, Dan, of course I think you’re lovely.” He says this so sweetly that Dan nearly melts right there on the spot, but then the real meaning behind his words sink in.

Dan tries very hard not to let his face show the pure disappointment he feels swelling up now. “Oh,” he says softly in response. “Yeah, of course.”

Before Phil has a chance to respond, their boss, PJ, comes out of his office.

“Meeting in five! Five seconds, everybody, find your asses in those chairs in five, four, three-“ PJ yells from only a foot behind Dan.

Dan cringes at the booming voice right behind his ear, turning to look at Phil with an incredulous expression. Why, he mouths, shaking his head in bewilderment.

The older man giggles, shrugging as he grabs a notepad and pen to take notes for their boss during what was likely to be a very pointless meeting.

“Phil, hurry up. Come on, guys! Meeting, now!” PJ is chirping behind Dan.

Dan sighs but shrugs away from the receptionist counter anyway, shoving his hands into his pockets. Dan pauses beside PJ, lowering his voice as a few of his colleagues make their way past him and into the meeting room. “Hey, you know you don’t have to yell, right? There’s only like, nine of us in here. And, well, it’s a pretty small room.”

“Don’t listen to him, PJ. You’re asserting your authority.” Chris, ever the suckup, says snidely from behind him.

Dan sighs, staring up at the ceiling before he notices Phil standing by the door to the meeting room, smiling at him. The younger man can’t help but return the smile, his face flooding with warmth.

“Yeah, actually, Chris is right. Sorry, PJ. I’ve got a meeting to get to actually, but hey, good job rounding up the crowd.” Dan pats Chris’ shoulder before sliding past him and their boss, gesturing for Phil to walk in ahead of him.

“One day he’s going to figure out that you’re just being a smartass.” Phil whispers as they take a seat next to each other.

Dan shrugs, smirking. “Probably, but I’ve worked here for five years and it hasn’t happened yet,” he reminds the ebony haired man next to him.

Phil rolls his eyes, tugging on the red cardigan he’s wearing over his white dress shirt, and Dan tries not to stare at his long fingers as he fiddles with the buttons.

As a distraction from his thoughts, he shifts closer, bringing his mouth close to Phil’s ear. “I have a great prank in the works for Chris. Are you in?” He asks quietly. Pulling away slightly to see Phil’s reaction, he’s a little surprised to see a blush on the older man’s cheeks, but he figures he might be imagining that.

Phil grins, nodding. “Absolutely. What are we doing?” He asks, waggling his eyebrows conspiratorially.

Dan bites his lip, trying to hide his goofy smile. Phil was just too cute for his own good. Of course, Dan couldn’t say that to his best friend. It’s not something you say to someone you’re so close to in a platonic way, because there’s no telling what that could do to their friendship. And it wasn’t as if he could have Phil, anyway.

Just as PJ steps in after the last few stragglers, Chris marching close on his heels, Dan dips his head down to whisper his plan into Phil’s ear, ignoring the way Phil shivers lightly when his lips accidentally graze the shell of his ear.

When Dan has laid out the plan, he sits back, waiting for Phil’s judgement. A look of awe and surprise sits on his face, and Dan tries not to fidget as he waits for the verdict.

“Dan Howell,” Phil whispers as PJ begins speaking. “That is positively rotten of you.”

Dan’s face falls a little, thinking maybe this time his childish, pranking ways had gone too far, pushed Phil to realize that he was actually just a bored loser struggling for the attention of the cute receptionist.

That is, until Phil nudges Dan’s arm with his elbow, causing the brunet to look up in confusion. “I’m in,” the older man whispers just as Chris whirls around, glaring at them.

“Shut up, you two. Some of us care about this meeting.”

Dan smirks, nodding as if he’s apologetic. “Sorry, Chris. We’ll keep it down.” He says casually, trying not to laugh. Phil giggles beside him, covering it with a very not-subtle cough.

Chris doesn’t seem to find this out of the ordinary, as he turns around with a huff. Dan rolls his eyes at Phil, nudging him gently. “Nice,” he whispers teasingly.

Phil nudges him back, smiling. “Shut up,” he responds quietly.

Dan just smiles, and they both pretend to be very invested in the meeting, which turns out to be about whether or not PJ should ask his supervisor, Sophie, to their office Christmas party. Dan effectively tunes out after that, instead taking the notepad and pen from Phil, who raises his eyebrows in question.

Wanna play hangman? He writes, shifting the notepad so that Phil can read.

Phil smiles widely, his tongue poking out between his teeth, the cutie he is. Dan allows his eyes to flicker to his lips for only a few seconds before he looks back to his bright blue eyes. Phil takes the pen from him, writing messily underneath Dan’s question.

Can I go first? He’s written, shooting Dan a questioning look. Dan grins and nods, gesturing for him to continue.

He pretends to focus on the meeting while sneaking glances at the notepad, where Phil is currently drawing slightly uneven spaces on the paper. He notices that up in the top corner, Phil has written the category, which apparently for this round is books. Dan watches as he draws several lines, taking up a good majority of the page. Smirking, Dan leans closer to him, bringing his lips to hover closely around the shell of Phil’s ear.

“I think you’re just supposed to do the title, not write the book itself,” he murmurs, biting his lip when Phil shivers.

Phil rolls his eyes, nudging Dan’s arm off their shared armrest. “Shut up,” he says with a fond laugh, counting the lines to himself before slipping the notepad over to Dan.

Dan raises an eyebrow and stares at the many lines for a moment, counting them up in his head. “Twenty-four letters?” He whisper-shouts in surprise. “Is that even allowed?”

Shushing him with a grin, Phil taps the notepad. “Yes! Now, start guessing.”

Chewing on his lip thoughtfully, Dan tilts his head closer to Phil. “Do I get any sort of hint? Who’s the author?” He asks.

“That’s not a letter,” Phil protests.

Dan shrugs. “I’ll take an ‘i’ first. But I want to know the author, at least.” Dan prods.

Phil sighs, then goes through the blanks on the page, filling in all the ‘i’ spots that there were. “Stephen King,” he admits quietly, glancing over at PJ once before his gaze returns to Dan. “That’s the only hint you’re getting, though!”

“Hm… old or new? Like, give me a year of publication.” He barters, pointing to one space. “And I want an ‘e’ next.”

“No,” Phil complains, biting his lip to hide a smile. “You don’t get a year of publication. You may have the ‘e’ though.” Phil begins writing again, mouthing the letters to himself. If Dan was a cheater, he’d focus harder on that and try to win the game all at once, but he enjoyed humoring the childlike tendencies of his best friend.

“Fine,” he relents, studying the letters. Smirking as a thought pops into his head, he leans even closer to Phil, this time purposefully bringing his lips to brush against Phil’s ear. “Can I have the ‘d’ please?” He breathes.

Phil visibly stiffens at this, then shivers as Dan’s breath flows over his neck. “Oh, um-“ He fumbles, his cheeks reddening comically.

Dan smirks as Phil shakily fills in two spaces with the letter he’d chosen, trying not to feel too proud of himself for the reaction he’d gotten. “First word is ‘the’ so, fill in those ‘t’s and ‘h’s, bub.” Dan says smugly.

Grumbling to himself, Phil fills in only a couple of blanks, turning to face Dan with a smug look. “Try another letter, Danny,” he whispers.

PJ seems to realize that they’re not paying attention then, and calls Dan out. “And the expense reports are due next Friday, right, Dan?”

Dan knows PJ’s probably trying to catch him off-guard to prove that he’s not paying attention, but luckily for him, he’d had this conversation with Phil earlier and knew that PJ was tricking him. “No, actually they’re due the week after that.” PJ looks surprised, and a little embarrassed, and just to be an ass, Dan adds, “Although, we do have updated client reports due next Friday.”

Their boss looks a little surprised that Dan had remembered this, and Dan just levels him with a casual smile, quirking an eyebrow in challenge. “Oh, er- right.” PJ stutters out, returning to his speech about whatever it was he was that he had been discussing initially.

“Nice,” Phil whispers from beside Dan, closer to his ear than he had been before. When Dan turns his head, he immediately flushes at the lack of space between them.

He’s engaged! A little voice yells in his head. Heeding this warning for once, he leans away slightly, clearing his throat as nonchalantly as possible. “Thanks,” he mumbles back pleasantly. Glancing down at the notepad, he whispers, “I’d like ‘a’ next.”

A flash of hurt crosses Phil’s face, but it disappears so quickly that Dan realizes he must have just imagined it. “Nope,” Phil says gleefully, drawing the head of the stick man corpse on the gallows at the top of the page.

“Well, damn,” Dan mutters, staring hard at the letters and spaces left on the page. “Um… ‘l’ I guess.”

Phil fills in all the letter ‘l’s that there are, and Dan feels almost slightly more confused. “Next letter,” Phil prompts, poking Dan’s arm with the pen.

Dan sighs before shrugging. “Um… hm… this is hard, Phil.” He stalls, trying to rack his brain for all the Stephen King novels he’d read. If he could think of the title of something that was long enough, he might guess the whole title correctly.

“That’s what he said,” Phil giggles.

Dan’s jaw drops open slightly and he shoots a surprised look at Phil. “Phil Lester,” he whispers, shaking his head. “You’ve changed,” he simpers, turning away dramatically.

Phil elbows him in the ribs sharply, and Dan gasps. A few of their coworkers shoot them dirty looks, and Dan just bites his lip, sending apologetic smiles their way. “You’re no better,” Phil whispers. “You asked me for the ‘d’ earlier.” He reminds him.

Rolling his eyes, Dan shifts in his seat, dropping his arm onto the shared armrest between them, subtly brushing their arms together. “Yeah, but I didn’t specifically ask for your d.” He mutters.

Phil flushes, ducking his head. “Pick a letter,” he hisses, laughter in his tone.

Smiling, Dan guesses another letter, and another, until he’s gotten down to only six blanks, his stick man hanging precariously with two arms and one leg already. “The… girl! The second word is girl.” He says excitedly, tapping his finger on the blanks. Luckily for them, PJ has sort of opened the floor for open discussion for something or other, so there were a couple other people talking, keeping them from getting called out again.

“Finally,” Phil rolls his eyes, writing in the letters, and then going down to the last word and filling in a ‘g’ and a ‘r’ there, too.

“This is so obscure,” Dan shakes his head as he stares at the letters, still confused about what the answer actually is.

“You’re just saying that because they never made a movie about it!” Phil whines.

Dan rolls his eyes. “Well, duh. Obviously, I don’t know what the hell it is if there’s not a movie.”

The older man shifts, pushing up the sleeves of his cardigan slightly. Dan tries not to stare at his beautiful pale wrists, but it’s hard to avert his eyes. He had very lovely hands, and those hands were connected to very lovely wrists, and arms, and… well, you get the idea. “C’mon, Dan. Just a couple more letters.”

Dan sighs, but looks at the notepad again. “The Girl… who! Second word is who…. The Girl Who Lo… Loved… Tom Gordon?” He trails off, unsure.

Phil’s face lights up, and his tongue pokes out between his teeth in that way Dan likes so much. “Yes! That’s it!” Phil fills in the last of the letters and smiles proudly.

“What the hell is that?” Dan asks incredulously, his voice bubbling with laughter.

“It’s a book! I’ve got a copy of it that I can lend you,” Phil’s gaze drops to the notepad again, his fingers twisting around the pen. “I mean, if you want to read it.”

Dan smiles broadly as he studies Phil’s profile. “Of course. I’d love to read it, if it’s something you care so much about.” He says honestly.

Phil smiles at this in response, but before he has the chance to say anything, they hear a tapping on the wall of windows behind them, which separates the conference room from the main office. They both stretch to see who had knocked, and Dan’s face drops considerably when he sees that it’s Charlie Stratford. Otherwise known as Phil’s fiancé. When he sees that he has their attention, he crooks a finger at Phil, indicating for him to come out of the conference room to speak to him. His eyebrows are knitted together, and he has his lips pressed into an angry line, his entire stance exuding irritation.

Dan frowns, glancing over at Phil in worry. Phil only looks down, closing the notepad before awkwardly getting to his feet. “Um, I should- I’ll be back in a minute.” He mumbles, leaving the notepad on his seat and stepping out of the conference room. PJ barely spares him a glance, having seen Charlie waiting outside no doubt, but Dan can’t help but allow his gaze to follow Phil out of the room.

He watches with rapt interest as Charlie clenches his jaw as he begins speaking, too quickly for Dan to read his lips properly. Phil is staring down at his feet, but Charlie brings his hand up, snapping his fingers right in front of Phil’s face to bring his gaze up to meet his own. Dan feels his blood boil at this action, and he has to literally grab ahold of the arm rests to keep himself in his seat, rather than doing something stupid like walking out there to intervene.

Not yours! Not yours, let it go! His mind reminds him helpfully, but Dan tells that voice to shut the hell up. Instead, he watches quietly as Charlie gestures to the window where he’s sat, poking Phil’s chest with his index finger several times right after. Phil seems to speak up then, bringing his arms up as if to hug himself tightly. He shakes his head sharply at something Charlie is saying, his eyes clenching shut. Whatever Charlie is saying must really piss him off, because he turns suddenly, as if to walk back into the conference room.

Dan doesn’t even have a moment to feel relieved that Phil’s getting out of that situation before he’s watching in mute horror as Charlie brings his hand up to grip Phil’s bicep, yanking on his arm harshly to pull him back to face him. That settles it for Dan, and he’s up and out of his seat immediately, holding a hand up to PJ when he questions him.

Having the sense to shut the conference door behind himself, Dan comes to stand beside Phil, tucking his hands in his pockets casually, as to not appear threatening to Charlie. He wasn’t afraid of the twat by any means, but he also wasn’t stupid; Charlie could probably kick his ass in no time, considering he definitely spent more time at the gym than Dan currently did. “Everything alright out here?” He asks pleasantly, trying not to frown at the way Phil cringes when he hears his voice.

“We’re fine, Howell. This is really none of your business, though, so, if you could just go, that’d be great.” Charlie drawls easily, his hand still gripping Phil’s arm tightly. Dan watches as Phil tries to take the distraction as an opportunity to pull his arm out of his grasp, but this only seems to spur Charlie on.

“Maybe you ought to let go of his arm, mate,” Dan suggests instead of leaving, ignoring that notion completely.

Charlie’s eyes narrow, and Phil takes in a deep breath, only to hold it. “Listen, mate,” Charlie starts. “I’m not sure who you think you are, but-“

“Char, please,” Phil whispers, staring pointedly at his fiancé’s face.

The other man drops Phil’s arm only to hold that hand up to his face to silence him. Dan clenches his fists in his pockets at the action, but otherwise remains motionless. “No, no, I want to know what business Howell thinks he’s got coming out here-“

Dan rolls his eyes as he cuts him off, lifting a hand of his own up to silence him. He smirks at the shocked look that crosses Charlie’s face. “I’m his best friend, Char,” he says mockingly. “And no offense, but you’re acting like a dick.”

Phil suddenly turns to face him, his eyes wide. “Dan, stop.” He says sternly. Dan’s taken aback by this, and his eyes flick between Phil’s and Charlie’s for a moment, trying to grasp what it is that he’s supposed to do. “Just… just go. I can handle this myself, just go.” He waves him off, not quite meeting Dan’s gaze.

“No, Phil, he’s-“ Dan protests, gesturing at the twat that Phil’s currently engaged to.

“Go. This isn’t any of your business,” Phil says harshly. Dan takes a hesitant step back, furrowing his eyebrows together in confusion. Phil’s eyes are full of guilt, but he just shakes his head slightly, gesturing to the conference room. Charlie is smirking smugly behind Phil, which Dan ignores.

Dan hesitates, but at Phil’s weak smile and nod, he steps back into the conference room, meeting a few concerned gazes as he goes back to his seat. He can’t help but glance back out the window at Phil, and his heart clenches when he finds that he’s staring down at the floor, his hand holding the portion of his arm that Charlie had been gripping so tightly earlier. And even after being so blatantly dismissed from that altercation, Dan can’t help but feel as if Phil needed him.

---

When Phil finally returns to the conference room a few minutes later, Dan is looking at him with concern, watching him closely. Phil doesn’t meet his eyes, and only flips his notepad open to an empty page. Dan waits patiently for him to speak, but when he doesn’t, Dan nudges him gently on the arm.

“Hey, are you okay?” Dan asks softly, frowning when Phil slowly shifts away from him.

Phil only nods, not meeting his gaze. “Mhm.” He murmurs, carefully writing notes as PJ speaks.

“Oh… okay.” Dan says in confusion.

The older man doesn’t respond, and Dan can only sit by and wonder how badly he’d truly fucked up.

---

It’s almost a week later when things finally go back to normal. The weekend had apparently given Phil the space he needed to get back to his normal self, but Dan wasn’t sure if he really had the same relationship with him as he had before. This caused a few awkward interactions on Monday, but when Dan had gotten up to retrieve some candy from reception and Phil had reminded him that Chris’ birthday was coming up (which they always used as an opportunity for a new prank), they slipped back into their usual banter.

Now, Friday afternoon had rolled around, and everyone was getting excited for the company outing they had planned that night. Every year their boss liked to put together a ridiculous award show for their branch, and this year it was being hosted at a restaurant called The Factory House. Generally, it was a huge waste of time for everyone, but PJ was always super excited for it, and generally everyone was put on the same tab, which was covered by the company, so at least it was a free meal.

“So, Philip Michael Lester,” Dan drawls at the receptionist desk a couple hours before quitting time.

“James Howard,” Phil stutters out, his blush likely due to Dan’s memory and usage of his full name.

Dan puts on an overexaggerated frown, sniffing dramatically. “You don’t even know my name!” he whines, his voice obnoxiously high-pitched.

Phil smirks, typing on his keyboard in feigned nonchalance. “Daniel,” Phil sighs, shaking his head. “Of course, I know your full name. It’s Daniel James “I like to annoy the receptionist” Howell.” His tongue pokes out between his teeth at this, and Dan only laughs.

“Ouch! Phil, I’m wounded.” He brings a hand up to his heart, grinning down at the older man.

Rolling his eyes, Phil stands, grabbing a post-it note that probably held a message for PJ. “Do you even have anything in there to wound?” He questions, nodding at Dan’s hand placement.

His jaw dropping slightly at Phil’s meaner-than-usual insult, Dan lets out a sharp laugh. “Damn, Lester. Who hurt you?” He asks jokingly.

He barely notices it as Phil turns away, but there’s a clear shift in his expression, from joking to slightly alarmed. Dan’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, as he had clearly meant that as a joke. “I’ve got to take this to PJ. Be right back,” Phil mutters, walking around the receptionist counter without meeting Dan’s gaze.

“Oh… Okay.” He frowns as his gaze follows Phil, but just as he steps into Peej’s office, the main door opens, and Dan cringes when Charlie steps through.

Charlie brushes a blonde strand of hair up off his forehead, nodding to Dan with a look of feigned indifference. “Hey, mate,” he uttered, looking reluctant to even acknowledge Dan’s presence.

“Er, hey,” he responds, nodding uncertainly.

Sighing, Charlie steps closer, leaning on the counter about two feet away from Dan. “Look, Dan,” he begins. Dan braces himself to be chewed out for the other day, sure that’s exactly what’s about to happen. He and Phil hadn’t acknowledged any of it, which made Dan equal parts confused and worried, but that doesn’t mean that Charlie hadn’t addressed Dan’s intrusion with Phil. “I just wanted to say thanks. You know, for the other day.”

Dan stares dumbly, even more confused. “Um… you’re welcome? Wait- for what?” He asks uncertainly.

Charlie shrugs, looking awkward to even be saying this. “Well it wasn’t any of your business, obviously-“ Dan clenches his fist at this, but just nods, setting his jaw so he doesn’t say anything stupid. “-but it’s nice to know that Philly has someone here to look out for him. You know, help him get through the day and stuff. I appreciate that.” Charlie smiles pleasantly, as if it’s perfectly normal of him to thank Dan for interrupting their argument, even though at the time Dan had every intention of telling the blonde to fuck off.

“Oh… um… sure, mate.” Dan says awkwardly, really uncertain about what he should even say at this point. He certainly didn’t do it for Charlie, so he didn’t really deserve his thanks in the first place. Especially given the fact Dan couldn’t stand him.

“Charlie?” Phil’s voice says uncertainly from behind them. Both men turn to look at him, and Dan can’t ignore the way Phil seems to retreat into himself in Charlie’s presence. He looks small and uncertain, and Dan loathes the man who made Phil feel like this.

“Hey, babe,” Charlie says with a smirk, stepping closer to Phil and placing a broad hand on his hip. Dan looks away just as Charlie leans down, probably with the intentions of kissing his fiancé.

“Not here,” Phil hisses. Dan’s eyes dart back to them, only to find Phil turn his head at the last second, his eyes meeting Dan’s. He doesn’t hold his gaze, his cheeks flooding and his eyes dropping back to the floor.

“Oh, come on. Dan doesn’t mind. Do you, Dan?” Charlie inquires, and Dan might be imagining it, but he’s pretty sure there’s a challenge in his voice.

Dan shrugs, and as much as he tries to keep his mouth shut, his smart-assery makes itself present. “I’m not into non-consensual voyeurism, so you can keep that to yourself, actually,” he says smoothly before smiling slightly at Phil, tapping the counter once before slipping away to return to his desk.

“Smartass.” Charlie mutters, just loud enough for Dan to catch.

Unable to keep his mouth shut, Dan smirks. “Thanks, mate. I’ve got a degree and everything.”

Dan catches the look of surprise on Charlie’s face, which quickly turns to anger as Phil giggles. “Hilarious,” Charlie remarks dryly. Dan shrugs, sitting in his chair, acting the part of someone who is totally unbothered. However, he does notice the way Charlie smirks before gripping Phil’s waist tightly, shoving his mouth against the ebony-haired man’s roughly. Clenching his jaw hard enough to pop it, Dan reminds himself that there’s absolutely no reason for him to feel burnt up with jealousy and hatred right now, and yet here he is.

“Enough, Char. I’ve got work to do. I’ll see you later, okay?” Phil is saying, pushing Charlie away. Dan glances over as he crosses his arms over his stomach, stepping away from the blonde as if he doesn’t want to touch him. Dan figures Phil must have a thing about PDA, but it pisses him off that Charlie doesn’t seem to realize or respect that.

“Okay, fine. What time is the stupid award thing?”

Phil sighs before answering. “It starts at seven.”

Dan tries to busy himself with a file on his desk, trying not to eavesdrop so obviously. “Okay. See you later, babe. Bye, Howell.” Charlie calls slightly louder to Dan.

Refusing to acknowledge the douchebag, Dan only stares at his desk until he hears the door to the office close. His eyes dart up to look at Phil, who is staring down at the floor with a look of embarrassment on his face. Dan’s heart clenches tightly, and he sits back in his chair slightly. “Haribo, Phil?” He says softly, grabbing the container of gummy snacks that he kept in his desk. He liked them, but Phil loved them, so Dan always kept some around.

Phil turns to face him, a grateful smile gracing his features as he nods, coming over to lean against Dan’s desk. “I think I’d really love some haribo.”

---

Every year it seemed like a miracle that they weren’t kicked out of the restaurant PJ insisted on hosting their award show at. There was always his terrible attempt at hosting, which involved bad and often offensive impressions, as well as office-themed parodies of various iconic songs. Along with this was Chris’ terrible attempt at DJing, which Dan always found hilariously awful. There was also a couple of people who ended up getting too rowdy (generally because PJ says something offensive that, shockingly, offends someone) and occasionally someone would get really drunk. That someone was usually Hazel, but everyone was pretty sure that she was an alcoholic anyway.

This year, it seemed, would be no different than usual, as PJ had started them off with a terrible rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody (which Dan found personally offensive) which he followed by an impression of Tommy Wiseau (which was surprisingly accurate, just very disturbingly so.) Dan had high hopes that this would be the worst of the evening and that maybe it would improve from there, but he’d already been subjected to several years of these stupid ceremonies, so he knew that was only wishful thinking.

It would be slightly more tolerable if he could sit with Phil, but as he had been every year now, Phil was sat with Charlie and Jimmy. Jimmy was an alright guy, the foreman of their warehouse, and if he wasn’t friends with Charlie, Dan figured he’d probably like him a lot more. Phil sat close to Charlie, but he looked uncomfortably rigid. The blonde had an arm thrown around the back of Phil’s chair, and his hand was resting on Phil’s shoulder in a possessive fashion. Dan tried not to stare at that hand, but he was secretly hoping that maybe he had some hidden pyrokinetic powers that would do something fun, like set Charlie’s hand on fire. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.

“So welcome, everyone. This year is going to be a little different,” PJ was announcing into the microphone loudly, and Dan tried his hardest to tune in, filtering out the conversations of Louise and Tom, who he was currently sat with. “We won’t be doing one tab this year, so if you could, just put everything on your own tabs,” PJ continues, his words garnering a predictable response, which was anger on behalf of many of his coworkers, who usually only showed up for the free meal.

“You said we could invite our families this year!” Felix says pointedly from a table behind Dan, and Dan can’t help but agree with his anger. Felix had brought his wife, and he was probably excited to have an excuse to take her somewhere nice without having to pay for it himself.

“Yeah, well, it’s not my fault you actually listened to me for once, Felix.” PJ barely even bats an eye, continuing on as if he hadn’t just disappointed pretty much every one of his colleagues. Dan didn’t particularly care himself, since he was going to have to eat dinner whether he stayed or went home, and he’d rather not cook tonight.

Apparently, some people didn’t share this philosophy, as he notices Charlie and Jimmy standing to leave. “Come on, Phil,” Charlie is saying, tugging at Phil’s arm.

“No, Char, why can’t we-“ Phil is protesting, gingerly trying to pull his arm from Charlie’s grip.

“I won’t say it again, Philip,” Charlie’s voice is low and dead serious, and Dan can only watch helplessly as he manages to drag Phil off his seat, tugging him to the door. Phil glances over his shoulder, his gaze meeting Dan’s, a frown clear on his face.

PJ notices their departure and calls them out, but Charlie just shakes his head with a roll of his eyes. Dan stares at the door where they’d disappeared, but there’s nothing he can do. He sighs to himself, tuning back into the conversation Louise and Tom are in.

“I’d love to stay, honest, but I left Liam at home with the girls because I thought I’d get a nice dinner for free,” the blonde blushes at this, but Dan knows she doesn’t mean this in a bad way. She was a busy woman with two small kids, of course she’d jump at the chance to go out for the night with a paid dinner. “Tom, would you mind driving me? I’d hate to ask Liam to come pick me up since he’s probably making dinner for the girls.”

Tom shrugs but stands and pulls his jacket on. “Sure, Lou. I’m in it for the free food myself, so not much keeping me here.” He jokes. They seem to notice Dan just sat there, and Tom claps him on the back. “You staying here, mate?” Tom asks.

Dan nods. “Yeah, might as well. Someone’s got to stay and report back on all the worst moments on Monday.” His lips quirk into a small smile.

Louise frowns, bringing a hand to touch Dan’s arm. “Are you sure, love? If you’d like you can join us for dinner.” She turns to Tom then. “You’re invited too, dear, since you’re being kind enough to play chauffer.” She says sweetly, always living to host.

Tom grins at this. “Oh, definitely, Lou. I accept.” He too turns to Dan, shrugging. “Suit yourself, mate, but you know where to find us if you change your mind.”

With another small smile, Dan nods. “It’s fine, really. I’ll see the both of you Monday.” He waves them off.

Sending an apology to PJ, Louise and Tom quickly make their exit, and Dan sighs to himself, flipping the menu around to scan it for something that isn’t too expensive. He’d already ordered a beer, which sat by his left hand, mostly untouched. He’s trying to tune out PJ’s parody of Toxic by Britney Spears when the chair across from him squeaks, someone joining him.

His jaw drops in unfiltered surprised as he sees Phil sitting across from him, his cheeks rosy in what looks like embarrassment. “Mind if I join you?” He asks timidly.

Dan smiles broadly then, shaking his head. “Course not. How’d you manage to get away from Sir Charlie?” He teases, pushing his beer across to Phil when he sees him eyeing it.

“Thanks,” Phil sighs, taking several large gulps of the alcohol. Dan had never really seen Phil have more than a couple drinks over the years, mainly at various work functions and a couple house parties of mutual friends. He watches quietly as Phil downs nearly the whole glass before lowering it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His cheeks flood with color when he meets Dan’s amused stare. “Sorry,” he apologizes, before seemingly remembering that Dan had asked him a question. “I told him I wanted to stay. I’ll get a ride from Louise or someone later.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

Dan almost laughs, but he just clears his throat. “Well, Tom actually drove Louise home, since I think Liam drove her here.” Phil’s face falls at this information, so Dan continues timidly. “But I can give you a ride home later,” he offers, looking down at the menu casually.

Phil brightens at this, nodding immediately. “Thanks, I’d appreciate that, actually.” He nods happily, and Dan smiles to himself. Phil downs the rest of the beer quickly, and Dan quirks an eyebrow. Phil shrugs. “After the week I’ve had, I think I deserve this.”

Dan smirks before waving over the waitress. “Can we get two of the blue margaritas?” He requests, smiling when Phil’s face lights up in excitement. The waitress nods before disappearing, and Dan tilts his head at Phil. “Is that okay with you?” He asks, suddenly unsure. Phil just seemed more like the type to enjoy sweet alcoholic drinks, and he really did seem like he needed a drink.

Nodding frantically, Phil opens his own menu. “Yes, absolutely.” Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “Charlie never lets me drink.”

Trying to hide his frown, Dan hums. “Really? Why’s that?” He asks mildly, trying his hardest not to sound too pressing or nosy.

Phil shrugs as if the question doesn’t bother him in the slightest. “He says he doesn’t like me when I’m drunk.” He gets a thoughtful look on his face and looks up at Dan suddenly. “I don’t like him much when I’m drunk, either,” he admits, sounding almost as if he’s just realized this.

Before Dan gets a chance to unpack that, PJ is announcing an award, and their coworkers are clapping with feigned interest. Dan joins in clapping half-heartedly, still looking over at Phil with a frown etched on his face. He wonders idly what their relationship is like behind closed doors, and he tries his hardest not to notice the way Phil’s eyes just look so, so tired.

When the margaritas arrive, Dan only takes a sip out of his before he splutters, hearing the groan- no the moan, loud and way too sexual to be garnered from a simple drink- that slips out of Phil’s mouth. Dan raises his eyebrows, ignoring the heat swelling in his stomach at the scene in front of him. Phil’s lips are wrapped tightly around the small straw in his glass, and he has this blissed-out look on his face as if it’s the best thing he’s ever tried. Dan’s mouth goes dry just looking at him, and he feels as if his face is burning with how red it is now.

Phil opens his eyes and slowly meets Dan’s gaze, and Dan isn’t prepared at all for the lazy smirk that crosses his face. “What?” he asks, sipping his drink as if he truly has no idea what kind of effect he’s having on the younger man.

Dan swallows hard, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he stutters out.

Gesturing to the glass that Dan is just idly stirring, Phil asks, “Are you going to drink that?”

Dan chokes out a laugh, grinning as he slides the margarita over to Phil. “I think you can have it,” he laughs, watching as Phil grins, finishing off his own before promptly dumping his straw into Dan’s glass.

“Thanks,” Phil beams. Shaking his head, Dan tunes in to their boss, who is announcing an award for Best Procrastinator. With a groan, Dan fully expects it when his own name is called. As he stands, Phil starts cheering loudly, his voice already slurring together with the alcohol coursing through his veins. “Woo! That’s my best friend! Go best friend!” He shouts loudly, earning a few curious and amused glances from the others in the office.

Dan takes the award with an embarrassed smile, nodding his thanks at PJ before stepping back over to his table. Phil smiles broadly at him, doing the tongue thing again as Dan sits. “I guess this is better than what I got last year,” he shrugs, mostly to himself. He looks up at Phil, who’s got this soft sort of smile on his face. “Remember last year when I got the Straight Up Lad award because of that one time I talked to PJ about England’s football team?”

Giggling, Phil nods. “That was hilarious.” He gushes out, his eyes slightly unfocused.

Nodding along, Dan shrugs, unthinking about his own words. “It was ridiculous. There’s nothing straight about me.” At this, he blushes profusely, glancing up at Phil. Of course, Phil wouldn’t judge him for being gay, Phil was gay himself, after all. But this was the first time Dan had said it so explicitly.

Phil stares at him for a moment, surprise on his features, before he suddenly bursts out laughing, his eyes squeezing shut as he throws his head back to laugh. Dan only stares at him fondly, wishing more than anything that he could see him laugh like that forever. He felt such a warmth in his stomach from getting that kind of reaction out of Phil, and he knew it had everything to do with his crush on him. Dan had never felt it hit him so powerfully, however, and he found it hard to resist his instinct to lean over and kiss Phil, which is what he wanted more than anything.

Wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, Phil glances up at Dan with a smile. “Wow, Dan,” he sighs. “I can’t believe you.”

Dan shrugs sheepishly, unsure if this is meant in a good way or a bad one. “Yeah… that was… That was pretty bad,” he agrees, watching as Phil slurps up the rest of his second margarita, tossing the straw out to tilt it back into his mouth, catching the last dregs and the ice cubes. Dan smiles fondly at this.

Just as he goes to speak again, maybe to tease Phil about being a lightweight, PJ breaks the moment. “Now this next one, goes to our very own receptionist, Phil Lester,” He starts. Dan immediately cringes, hoping and praying to a god that he doesn’t believe in that PJ isn’t about to do the same shit he always does. Every year for the past three years since they’d gotten engaged, Phil had received the “Longest Engagement” award. Phil didn’t know it, but about a week ago, when PJ had been discussing award ideas with Dan, he’d begged PJ to pick something else, anything else.

Phil too, seems to tense up, probably expecting the usual embarrassment over his silly award. Dan doesn’t think before he reaches across the table, brushing his fingers against the back of Phil’s hands in a comforting fashion. Phil’s blue eyes flicker to his, a small smile quirking at his lips.

PJ continues his speech, and Dan clenches his jaw. Please not again. “And I’m sure all of you know just what it is that Philip here is getting,” PJ teases, enjoying the drama of drawing this out as much as possible. Dan glares daggers at him, but PJ either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. Before Dan can say anything, PJ continues, “We all know Phil Lester as the man who’s been engaged for going on four years and has yet to set a date for this wedding.”

Phil closes his eyes, shaking his head lightly. Dan wonders vaguely if he wishes he was less drunk right now.  “No,” he whispers, probably thinking this is going in the direction is usually does.

“But, there’s more to Phil Lester than meets the eye.” PJ is saying, causing Dan and Phil to share a confused look before looking to their boss. “No, Phil is also the receptionist, and Dan’s best friend, and also one of the hottest in the office, let’s be honest.” There are a few laughs at this, and Phil’s just drunk enough that he barely blushes. “But no, Phil is also a family man. And by this, I mean that Phil spends a lot of time talking with his mum, or about her. I feel like Kathryn’s best friend sometimes, Phil, from how much I know about her at this point.”

Phil does blush at this and looks down as if he’s ashamed. Dan just smiles broadly, still a little unsure where this is going, but definitely glad that it’s not the same way it usually is. “I just love my mum,” Phil mumbles defensively, causing Dan to chuckle quietly, earning him a light kick in the shin from the older man.

“So, without further ado… Phil, come collect your Biggest Momma’s Boy award!” PJ announces, causing laughter and a round of polite applause to erupt from their colleagues.

Dan smiles broadly, clapping loudly. “Woo!” He mimics Phil’s earlier actions. “Go best friend!” He cheers, grinning smugly when Phil sticks his tongue out at him.

Phil stumbles unevenly to their boss to collect his trophy, and he’s got a wide, uneven smile on his face. Dan props his chin on his hand, staring at Phil fondly. He truly was adorable. Phil takes the trophy in one hand and the microphone from PJ in the other, and Dan raises his eyebrows, curious to see what kind of musings drunk-Phil is about to share with them. “Wow, guys. Thank you so much, I- I don’t even know what to say.” Phil slurs, staring down at the trophy. A few people laugh at this, and Phil flushes.

“Speech!” Dan calls, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Smiling, Phil nods. “That’s a great idea! I’d like to thank my mum, first of all. I love my mum.” Dan snickers at this good-naturedly. Phil hums into the microphone, looking around the room as if he’s thinking. “Oh, and PJ! Thank you, Peej, I like this award. It’s better than the engagement thing. That hurt my feelings.” Phil frowns as he lets this slip, and stares at the floor with his eyebrows furrowed.

Dan frowns, biting his lip as he glances to PJ. Their boss looks guilty, and he reaches for the microphone with an awkward smile. “Right, well, we should move on…”

Phil ducks out of his reach, shaking his head. “No, wait! I also wanna thank Dan, cause, you know, he’s my best friend and I love him.” A confused sort of round of applause goes around their coworkers, and Dan’s cheeks heat up as he looks down. “Oh! I almost forgot!” Phil adds, PJ holding the end of the microphone while Phil holds the top. Dan’s almost certain he’s about to bring Charlie into this, but instead he’s surprised when that’s not what comes out. “I’d like to thank God, too. I feel him here tonight.”

One of the more religious coworkers of theirs starts clapping loudly at this, and Phil just grins widely before releasing the microphone all together. The applause he receives dies down as he stumbles over to his seat, tripping over his own feet. Dan jumps to his feet and manages to catch him just before he falls on his face. “Woah, easy there, tiger,” Dan chastises, pulling Phil up to stand straighter.

Phil looks up into Dan’s eyes, leaning in close. Giggles tumble out of his lips, and he’s so close to Dan’s face that he can feel his breath ghost across his own lips. “My hero,” Phil whispers. Then, surprisingly quick and precise for someone so drunk, Phil ducks forward and presses his lips to Dan’s firmly, catching the younger man completely by surprise. Dan can’t help but squeeze Phil’s sides where he’s holding him steady, responding to the kiss gently.

Pulling away, Phil blinks slowly, staring at Dan’s lips. He giggles then, loudly. “Sorry,” he whispers, bringing a hand up to pat Dan’s cheek.

Dan clears his throat, nodding and stepping away, helping Phil to his seat. “Uh- it’s- it’s okay.” He nods, trying his hardest not to fixate on the fact that he had just felt Phil’s lips against his own.

He glances around, and he’s surprised to see that basically none of their coworkers are even giving them a second look. And sure, it wasn’t like they had made out or anything, but he’d definitely expected some kind of reaction out of them. He awkwardly returns to his seat, running a hand through his curls as he glances over at Phil, who is resting his head on his arm on the table, trailing his hand through the ring of water left behind from one of the margaritas.

“Phil, you okay?” Dan asks quietly, leaning over the table to speak to Phil.

“I don’t feel well,” Phil admits, closing his eyes.

“Oh, um… Do you want to go home?” Dan asks, slightly disappointed.

Phil shakes his head slowly. “No. Wanna eat something first.” He whispers.

Dan smiles at this, pulling his menu out from under Phil’s arm. “Yeah? What would you like?”

Inhaling deeply, Phil’s eyelids flutter. “You,” he says, almost inaudible.

Dan clears his throat at this, glancing around quickly to ensure that no one heard that. Phil was drunk, he probably had no idea what Dan even asked him. “No, what would you like for dinner, Phil? Do you want the chicken alfredo? I know you like that.” Dan’s barely grasping for straws here, trying hard to move the conversation to a safer place.

Phil hums at this, and his eyelids finally flicker open. “Yeah, that sounds good. Can I have another margarita?” He asks hopefully.

Smiling gently, Dan shakes his head and waves over the waitress. “No, bab- Phil. I think you need some water.”

Phil sighs, but nods. Dan relays their order to the waitress, and then sits back, watching as Phil traces shapes onto the table with the water. PJ’s voice is just background noise, and Dan feels his heart flood with warmth when Phil’s eyes flicker up to meet his. “What?” He asks softly.

Dan bites his lip, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he assures him.

Smiling, Phil props his head up with his hand to look Dan in the eyes. “I’m glad Charlie left,” he states easily, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah?” Dan inquires, mirroring Phil’s stance and leaning forward across the table.

Phil nods seriously. “Yeah, he was being a dick.”

Dan laughs at this, but nods. “Mhm, I noticed.” He tries not to sound so thrilled that Phil has confessed this to him, but given the events of the night, it was hard to keep his emotions in check.

Sighing, Phil drops his eyes to the table. “Sometimes I really wish he had picked someone else,” he whispers softly.

Dan pauses at this, unsure of what exactly it is he needs to say. What?

Before he has the chance to ask for clarification, the waitress returns with their meals, placing them in front of them before asking if they need anything else. Dan just smiles tightly and shakes his head, asking her to bring it to them on a shared tab. He’s glad Phil is inebriated, because if he wasn’t Dan’s pretty sure he’d try to argue with him about paying for his meal.

They eat in silence, Phil making appreciative humming noises when Dan asks if his food is alright. He asks for a cup of water to go from the waitress before sending her off with his credit card to pay for their food. The award ceremony is dwindling to a close, and Dan figures they could go ahead and leave when his card is brought back. Phil finishes off his food and sits back with a sigh, smiling tiredly at Dan.

“Did you have enough to eat?” Dan asks him sweetly.

Phil smiles, a soft look to his face as he nods. “Mhm. It was really good. Did she-“

“Here you go, sir. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” The waitress returns with Dan’s card, and sets the cup of water down in front of Phil.

“Thanks,” Dan smiles at her, pulling his wallet out to return his card to its proper spot.

Phil furrows his eyebrows at Dan then, his lips dropping into a pout. “Did you pay for mine?” He asks in a small voice.

Dan chews on his lip uncertainly, suddenly wondering if Phil would be genuinely upset. “I-“ before he can finish, Phil interrupts him.

“Charlie never does that,” he whispers, staring hard at the table.

Dan swallows a lump in his throat and nods, standing and tugging on his coat before going around to grab Phil’s off the back of his chair. He holds it out for him, nodding. “C’mon, Phil. Let’s get you home.”

Phil shoves his arms into the sleeves, mumbling something Dan can’t really hear. PJ doesn’t spare them much of a second glance, probably realizing that Phil was completely trashed at this point. Dan gingerly wraps an arm around Phil’s waist, guiding him to the door as the older man stumbles around. “Easy, careful. Watch your step,” Dan says quietly as he helps Phil out to his car. Phil giggles as he climbs into the passenger seat, clearly finding his inability to walk in a straight line to be pretty hilarious.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Phil murmurs as Dan gets in the driver’s seat and helps Phil buckle his seatbelt.

“You’re welcome,” Dan smiles over at him as he starts the car.

Phil breathes deeply, closing his eyes. “No one ever takes care of me.”

Dan’s heart clenches tightly at this, and he can’t help but lean over and grip Phil’s hand. “I…” He swallows hard before continuing, knowing he can’t say this, he can’t mean this, because he just can’t, Phil’s not his, and yet, he still says it. “I’ll always do my best to take care of you, Phil.” He whispers.

Phil doesn’t answer, but he does squeeze Dan’s hand. They ride in silence for the next few minutes, and it isn’t until they get closer to the apartment Phil and Charlie share that Dan begins to let himself feel sad. He doesn’t want to do this, to just let Phil go back to that douchebag. Because Dan’s selfish and he wants to keep Phil for himself.

“Phil? We’re almost there. Do you want to drink some more of this water to sober up before you go home?” Dan asks, because he’s not a dick, and he’s not going to overstep his boundaries here.

Surprisingly, Phil shakes his head, and then sits up as if he’s remembered something important. “Please don’t make me go home,” he pleads suddenly, turning to face Dan with a look of panic on his face.

Dan frowns, glancing over at Phil as he takes a turn onto the street Phil lives on. “What? Phil, I-“

Phil shakes his head frantically. “I don’t want to go back to Charlie. I can’t, I can’t do it, Dan.” His voice wavers then, and Dan feels his hand come up to grip his forearm.

“I… Phil, what do you mean? You don’t want to go home tonight, or…?”

Phil seems to swallow hard then, glancing out the window at his apartment building that Dan has just pulled up in front of. “I don’t love him anymore,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

Dan draws in a deep breath at this, holding it for a second as he tries to process what he’s just been told. He lets it out slowly and gradually, letting the car idle, never taking his hands off the wheel. His head is swimming with thoughts, most of which he has absolutely no clue how to address. “Okay…” Dan says slowly. “You need to tell him, I think,” he says softly into the quietness surrounding them.

“I can’t,” Phil protests, shaking his head. “He’ll… I don’t know what he’d do if I did that, but I just… I can’t be with him.”

Struggling to make sense of this but knowing that he’s got to come up with some sort of solution here, Dan sighs. “Do you want to come stay at mine tonight, and try to figure this out tomorrow?”

Phil nods, his eyes wide and full of unshed tears. Dan’s heart breaks a little at the sight. “Yeah, I’d like that.” His voice is quiet and full of gratitude.

Dan nods, smiling sadly before pulling back onto the main road towards his own flat.

There had been a couple occasions where Phil had come over, but never on his own. It was always with a group, when Dan had parties and such and invited the people they worked with. It was rare, but it had happened a few times, so Phil already knew what Dan’s flat looked like. Still, Dan felt awkwardly nervous about inviting Phil in.

Dan unlocks the door with one hand, his other resting on Phil’s lower back comfortingly. “C’mon,” he says quietly, guiding Phil in.

Phil glances around the lounge, looking slightly out of place. Dan smiles at this, shrugging of his coat and pushing his shoes off by the door. “You can just make yourself at home,” he stated, gesturing to the sofa. “I’m going to go get you some ibuprofen tablets. Do you need anything else?” Dan asks, propping his hands on his hips.

The older man glances at him, a soft smile on his face. “No, I’m good.”

Dan smiles and holds up a finger to indicate that he’d be back in a minute. He stops in his bedroom and shucks off his pants and his button-up, pulling on his pajamas quickly so Phil doesn’t have to wait on his own very long. He stops in the bathroom and grabs the ibuprofen before returning to the lounge, where Phil is waiting, his phone held up to his ear. He glances up at Dan with a frown on his face, but only shakes his head when Dan gives him a concerned look.

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Yeah.” He hangs up quickly after that, sighing deeply. “That was Charlie. I was just calling him to let him know that I wouldn’t be home tonight.” He explains to Dan, standing up and stumbling slightly.

Dan nods, scratching the back of his neck uncertainly. “Here, take these.” He hands the pills to Phil, nodding to the to-go cup on the coffee table, still mostly full of water.

“Thanks,” Phil says softly. He takes the tablets quickly, swallowing a few sips of water before setting the cup back down and rocking on his heels awkwardly. His eyes are still wet with tears, and Dan looks at him in sympathy.

“Come here,” he whispers, grabbing his hand and bringing him in for an embrace. Although Phil was four years older, Dan was a good inch or two taller than him, and so he easily tucked Phil’s head into the crook of his neck, pushing a hand up through his hair to hold him there. Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s waist and Dan’s heart clenches when Phil begins shaking, silently crying. “Shh. It’s okay. Everything is fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil gasps against Dan’s neck, which is quickly growing wet with tears.

Shaking his adamantly, Dan tightens his grip around Phil’s shoulders. “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing to be sorry for. If anything, I should be sorry that you’re engaged to such a dick,” he says in a poor attempt at lightening the mood.

Phil has a similar sense of humor and manages a wet laugh. “Soon to be ex,” he responds glumly.

Dan swallows hard at hearing the words spoken aloud for the first time. Sure, he’d expected Phil to break up with him, but he was still a little pleasantly surprised that he actually planned on doing so. Rather than ask about the when and how of this like he very much wants to, Dan pulls away just enough to look Phil in the eyes. “C’mon. I know what’ll make you feel better.” He slowly steps back, taking Phil by the hand to pull him towards the bathroom. Phil’s eyes widen comically, probably assuming Dan meant something completely different, and the younger man only laughs. “A bubble bath, you spoon.” He rolls his eyes fondly when Phil’s mouth drops into an ‘o’ in understanding.

Turning the faucet on and checking to make sure the water is at the perfect temperature, Dan shoves the stopper in before turning to grab a basket of assorted bath bombs and salts. He was a bit of a diva when it came to his baths, and he liked having a lot of good scented stuff to choose from. He hands it to Phil, who looks amusedly surprised. “Here, pick whatever you like. I’m gonna go grab you some pajamas and I’ll be right back.”

Phil nods, digging around in the basket and checking a few of the names on each of the products, likely checking for a scent he would like. Dan smiles to himself before ducking out of the bathroom, grabbing a pair of boxers, an Undertale t-shirt, and a pair of sweatpants. He normally slept in boxers himself, but he’d probably be sleeping in his Game of Thrones pajama pants tonight since he was planning on offering to let Phil share his bed. He knew that was probably crossing a line, but there wasn’t a spare bedroom and the couch wasn’t long enough for either of them to sleep on. It really only made sense to offer Phil the other side of his bed.

When Dan returns to the bathroom, he’s greeted with the sight of Phil already standing with his shirt off, folded neatly on the counter by the sink. He seems to be debating about his trousers when Dan walks in, and the older man’s face floods with color when Dan smiles at him. “Did you pick some of the bombs and things out?” He asks, holding up the pajamas to show Phil before setting them on the sink as well.

“Oh, um, yeah.” He points to the things he’d picked out and Dan wanders over, smiling when he sees that Phil had picked a strawberry-scented Pokéball bath bomb and a small packet of mint-scented salts.

“I have some bubbles too,” Dan informs him, reaching onto the shelf and grabbing the bottle. Without waiting for his reaction, Dan pours a generous amount into the slowly filling tub, setting the bottle back before grabbing the bomb and unwrapping it, tossing it into the tub. He can feel Phil’s gaze on him, and he tries hard to ignore their close proximity as he pours the salts in as well. “There we go,” he announces proudly, turning around to face Phil.

Phil’s expression has shifted into one of determination as he steps even closer to Dan, and Dan barely realizes what it is that he’s doing until he feels Phil’s hands on his waist, tugging him closer. Phil leans in, and just as he presses his lips to Dan’s, the younger man tilts his head just to the side, so that Phil’s lips fall on his dimple instead.

Dan swallows hard, feeling Phil tense up when he realizes his kiss had been rejected. It takes everything in Dan to do it, but he gently leans away, putting a little more space between them so he can look into Phil’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“No, no. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what got into me.” Phil shakes his head adamantly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, avoiding Dan’s gaze pointedly.

Sighing, Dan gingerly brings a hand up to Phil’s chin, tilting it so that their eyes meet. “I want to. Believe me, I really, really want to,” he says slowly, staring straight into those blue-green eyes and hoping that Phil understands how much he wants him, how much he has wanted him for years. “But, you’re still engaged. Whether you’re ending it or not, right now you’re an engaged man, and I’m…” Dan trails off, struggling to find the right words. “I’m not going to be that man, the one who does… that.”

Phil stares at him for a long moment before nodding slowly, a kind of resigned look on his face. “Okay,” he whispers, sounding sad, but at the same time understanding.

“I want to, though. I’ve wanted that since I met you, really. But I just… we can’t do that. Not now, at least. Okay?”

Nodding, Phil steps away from him. “Okay. I… I think I respect that.”

Dan tries his hardest to hide his smile. “You think?” He asks, biting his lip.

Phil rolls his eyes, but grins. “Yeah. I think so.” He turns around to see that the bath is basically full at that point, and Dan turns to leave. “Uh, Dan?”

“Hm?” The younger man turns back around, quirking an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Can you… um, will you stay in here with me?” He asks timidly, looking embarrassed for even asking.

Dan smiles at this, and nods. It’s not like they’re doing anything. Phil just needs the company, and Dan is more than willing to grant him that. “Yeah. I’ll, uh-“ he points to the door again, gesturing to Phil’s clothes with the other hand. “Just tell me when you’re in the bath,” he says quietly as he turns around to give Phil privacy to undress.

He hears the sound of Phil’s zipper, followed by a stumbling as he no doubt struggles to stand up straight as he removes his clothes. A minute later, Dan hears the sound of the water sloshing against the side of the tub as Phil slips into the bathtub. After a minute of silence, Phil whispers, “okay.”

Dan turns around slowly, ensuring that Phil really is ready for him to do so, and he tries to keep his heart still as he sees Phil looking up at him with soft doe eyes, surrounded by bubbles. Smiling at how adorable he is, Dan walks over and sits himself on the side of the tub. “Is it warm enough?” He asks, dipping his fingers into the water at the edge of the tub.

Phil nods, his hands on his lap. Dan tries very hard to ignore the fact that there’s nothing but water and bubbles separating Phil from Dan’s gaze. He feels his face heat at the very thought, and when his eyes return to Phil’s face he’s smirking, likely because Dan had just been staring at his crotch area. Dan blushes even more profusely at this, purposefully turning away to stare at the wall behind Phil’s head.

He jumps slightly when he feels something wet and soft come up to touch his hand that’s resting on the edge of the tub to support himself. He glances down, a small smile gracing his face when he realizes that it’s Phil’s hand. Tracing his thumb over the wet skin, Dan’s eyes stay focused on their hands as Phil speaks. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Dan shrugs. “You can stop saying that. You’re my best friend, I’d do anything for you.” He would be embarrassed at how sappy that sounds, but he knows that it’s the truth. He absolutely would do anything for Phil.

“Still,” Phil shrugs. “I wasn’t kidding when I said no one ever takes care of me. Generally, I’m the one that does that for Charlie, but he’s not the same way with me.” Phil glances down at the water then, his lips curved into a frown.

Frowning, Dan brings his hand up to push back the hair that had fallen out of Phil’s quiff and onto his forehead. “Well, I’m not Charlie.” He shrugs simply, nodding to the shampoo bottle on the other side of Phil. “Hand me the shampoo.”

Phil does as asked, handing the bottle to Dan and then watching with rapt attention as Dan pours some of the fruity-smelling liquid into his hand. Dan shifts so that he’s got better access to Phil’s hair, grabbing a cup that he keeps on the edge of the bathtub for this very thing. “Close your eyes,” he breathes, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the intimacy in this moment. His hands shake as he fills up the cup with water, his eyes tracing over the line of Phil’s neck as he tilts his head back to avoid getting water in his face.

With a careful hand, Dan manages to wet the black hair completely before lathering it in the shampoo, taking his sweet time massaging Phil’s head as he does so. Phil’s making the most adorable little sighs, and every now and then he’ll make a noise that sounds like a hum, which doesn’t help Dan’s growing… problem in his pants. “Are you enjoying this?” Dan asks, intending for it to come out sounding like a joke, but at this point he’s a little breathless and it come out sounding nearly seductive.

Phil doesn’t even seem to notice this, only nodding. “Feels nice,” he whispers.

Dan smiles proudly before finally rinsing off the shampoo. He grabs his conditioner next and gives him a repeat, although he lets the conditioner sit longer. “I’m guessing you don’t get your hair washed by someone else very often?” He asks quietly, a sadness to his voice. Dan honestly always loved having his hair washed or washing someone else’s. His last boyfriend enjoyed sharing a bath as much as Dan did, so they did it pretty often. Too bad he was a cheater.

Phil shakes his head slowly in response to Dan’s words. “No…Sometimes Charlie wants to… um…” he trails off and his cheeks flood with color, and Dan smirks.

“Sometimes he wants to have shower sex?” He guesses easily, biting his tongue when Phil smacks his arm lightly.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, laughter in his tone. “But yeah. Something like that. And like, that’s fine, but sometimes…” He sighs then, as if he’s not sure what he’s even trying to say. But Dan gets it, honestly.

He gingerly raises the cup of water to rinse off the conditioner, running a hand through Phil’s hair as he does. “Sometimes it’s nice to be taken care of,” he says conversationally.

“Yeah,” Phil whispers.

Dan only smiles before focusing solely on rinsing out his hair, which he does without getting a single drop into Phil’s eyes. “There. All done,” he murmurs when he’s finished, leaning back and wiping his hands on his pajama pants.

Phil opens his eyes slowly, smiling up at Dan with such a fond look that it grips Dan’s heart. “Thank you for washing my hair,” Phil whispers. Dan only nods wordlessly before standing, grabbing a towel and setting it on the edge of the tub.

“I’ll step out, so you can get dressed.” He nods to the pajamas before stepping out of the bathroom, hearing the sound of the water draining out of the tub behind him. He walks to his room slowly, taking a minute to catch his breath and let himself process everything that’s happened tonight. It’s been a truly long evening, and he knew that Phil was likely feeling much worse than he was, since he would likely have a hangover tomorrow, while Dan wouldn’t. He sighs as he sits on the edge of his bed, glancing at the digital alarm clock beside his bed, which reads 10:03.

“Hey, um,” Phil says from the doorway, shifting around awkwardly. Dan smiles at how cute he is standing there in Dan’s clothes, but then he’s thinking about how Phil is in his clothes and his heart is racing again. “Do you have like a blanket I can borrow?” He asks, sending Dan briefly into confusion before he realizes he hadn’t told Phil the sleeping arrangements for the night.

“Oh, you can sleep with me. I promise I don’t talk in my sleep or anything like that, and it’s comfier than the sofa.” He says, biting his lip as he waits for Phil’s response.

Please don’t freak out, please don’t freak out.

Phil looks surprised, but he chews on his lip as if he’s hiding a smile. “Okay… are you sure?” He asks again, his face unsure.

Dan nods, shifting on his bed and pulling the duvet down on the side he doesn’t sleep on, patting the space in invitation. “Yeah, come on. Just turn the light off on your way.”

Flicking the switch and casting the room in darkness, Phil stumbles toward the bed, sinking down slowly when he reaches the mattress. Dan crawls under the duvet himself, turning to face Phil on his side as he waits for the older man to get comfortable. He can just make out his face in the darkness, and Dan smiles at him. “Warm enough?” He asks, reaching out to pull the duvet further up onto Phil’s shoulder.

“Mhm. Very cosy.” Phil’s voice is quiet in the darkness, and Dan’s heart swells as a little voice reminds him that they’re actually sharing a bed.

“Good.” Shifting a little to tuck his hand under his pillow, Dan tries to keep a respectful distance away. He’d rejected Phil’s kiss not an hour ago, he needed to be careful with how he proceeded here.

“I’m scared, Dan.” Phil’s voice breaks the silence as Dan settles into a comfortable position. “I’m scared that Charlie is going to be mad when I tell him I don’t want to be with him.”

Dan takes a slow inhale, really unsure with how he needed to respond to that. “I know,” he starts slowly, because he did know. Of course Phil was nervous to do that, it was a terrifying thing to do, especially with someone as neurotic as Charlie seemed to be. “But I can go with you, if you want. I don’t want you to do it alone.” He tentatively reaches out, finding Phil’s hand in the darkness.

Phil’s fingers intertwine with his, the older man squeezing gently. “Thank you. I think I’d like that.”

Dan’s mind catches on the “think” part of his sentence, and he idly thinks about how a lot of things that Phil says include that word, as if he feels that he can’t just say that he’s sure about something. It almost feels like a safety net to Dan, but perhaps that’s just him projecting; with several years of therapy for his own issues under his belt, he can confidently say that he tends to do that sometimes.

His thoughts are interrupted as Phil pulls his hand away slowly. “Hey, Dan?” He asks quietly.

“Mhm?” Dan responds in the same tone. There’s a pause, and Dan props himself up on his elbow. “What?” He asks, concerned.

“Can you… Can you turn around? Like, can we… nevermind. Goodnight.” Phil’s words are rushed, and Dan feels the bed shift as Phil turns around.

Dan frowns, staring at the back of Phil’s head, which is kind of just a blur in the darkness. Tentatively, he sets a hand on Phil’s shoulder. “What do you need, Phil? Do you…” he’s unsure if he’s projecting here or if maybe, just maybe, Phil wanted the same thing he did here. “Do you want to cuddle?” He asks, feeling silly even asking.

To his relief, Phil rolls back over, and Dan can just make out the smile on his face in the darkness. “Please,” he whispers.

Dan smiles at this and settles back down. “Do you want to be the big spoon?” He asks, Phil’s earlier words bouncing around in his head.

Phil nods quickly, confirming Dan’s thoughts. Dan dutifully turns around and scoots back to press his back to Phil’s chest. This is okay, right? He can cuddle with his best friend. It’s not like they’re doing anything that would compromise a relationship, even if that relationship was coming to an end. This was just simple, platonic cuddling.

“Better?” Dan asks as Phil drapes an arm over his waist, intertwining their fingers. Phil’s left arm is pillowing his head, and Dan feels small and safe like this, something he rarely feels. Even if this evening had been about making Phil feel safe and taken care of, Dan feels that this might be doing the trick for him too.

“Mhm. Much. I never get to be the big spoon,” Phil mumbles sleepily against Dan’s neck. Dan squirms as he feels his lips brush the space there, his neck an incredibly sensitive place for him generally. “Sorry, I forgot about your neck thing,” Phil whispers, holding his face a little further away.

Dan smiles at how considerate he was, closing his eyes as he truly lets himself feel how exhausted he is. “It’s okay. I don’t mind,” he responds quietly.

Phil laughs softly then, and after a few moments, Dan feels his breathing slow down, getting slower and deeper. Dan smiles at this and starts working on matching his own breathing to Phil’s. Falling asleep like this is nice and almost therapeutic for Dan, and the last thing he thinks of as he falls asleep is that by the following night, Phil would be a single man.

---

The next morning is a little strange for both of them, mainly because when they wake up, their legs are tangled together and there’s not an inch of space between them. Phil’s left arm had somehow managed to shift last night to cushion Dan’s head, while his right hand had somehow wound up tucked under Dan’s shirt. While Dan had blushed at this, he also thought it was sort of adorable. He feels even breaths on his neck and just lays there in silence for a moment before he feels Phil slowly tracing shapes on his stomach. So, a good strange, but strange nonetheless.

After getting up and making coffee, Dan suggests that they have pancakes before the inevitable part of the day where he drives Phil back to his apartment, where he’s going to break things off with Charlie. Dan doesn’t want to feel good about this, at least on Phil’s behalf, because he knows better than anyone that sometimes even a toxic relationship can hurt when you let go of it. So, he was determined to be there for Phil, in whatever capacity he could be.

They have a quiet breakfast, mainly due to the fact that Phil is still a little hungover and his head his hurting, but Dan makes him eat enough to take some ibuprofen, insisting that he take some and drink two glasses of water.

“It’ll make you feel better,” he sing-songs, trying to be as convincing as possible.

Phil groans, but nods, swallowing another bite of pancake before scooping the tablets into his mouth and downing them with the water Dan handed him. Dan doesn’t move from his side until he’d drank the whole glass, and only after he’s refilled it and set it back down does he go back to his own breakfast.

After washing up the dishes and cleaning the kitchen a little, Dan goes to his room to get dressed, offering Phil some of his clothes so he’s not re-wearing the same thing he’d worn the night before. Phil comes out of the bathroom wearing a black sweatshirt and a pair of black jeans, looking slightly embarrassed. “Everything you own outside of work clothes is just pitch black, isn’t it?” He asks, shoving the long sleeves up his arms a bit.

Dan shrugs, gesturing in his closet with a smile as he grabs his phone. Phil peeks around and lets out a low, “oh,” before turning to look at Dan with a look of surprise on his face. “That’s like, a black hole, Dan.”

“My favorite kind of hole,” Dan grins at the way Phil rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated by Dan’s lame jokes. “Ready to go?” He asks, gesturing to the door.

Phil nods, sighing. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Dan gives him a sympathetic look before walking out of his flat, locking the door behind him before leading Phil to his car. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be right outside if you need me, you know.” He hesitates before figuring, fuck it, reaching out to take Phil’s hand in his. “I’ve been there, but trust me, it’s going to be fine. I’ll be right there with you,” he reassures him, watching the way that Phil smiles tentatively, nodding.

The drive to Phil’s flat is quiet, and Dan idly wonders if he’ll kick Charlie out. A distant memory, one of Phil mentioning that he’d moved in with Charlie after they officially got engaged about three years ago, floats into his mind, and he cringes. The flat is likely in Charlie’s name only, meaning Phil wouldn’t have anywhere else to go. Dan already knew he’d offer his own flat, but he was uncertain about whether Phil would accept or not.

When they pull up outside of the towering brown brick building, Dan turns the car off, turning to study Phil. Phil’s not looking at him, his gaze locked on the door to the building, a terrified look on his face. “Hey,” Dan says gently, reaching out to touch Phil’s arm gently. Phil’s fearful eyes flit to meet Dan’s, and he reaches up to grip Dan’s hand. “I’m right here, okay? Do you want me to go in with you?” he asks softly, not really wanting to but willing to do it if it would make him feel more at ease.

Luckily, Phil shakes his head. “No, I can do this on my own. I need to do this on my own. But… Can you like, wait outside the building? In case he does try to do something?” Phil sounds nervous just asking this, but Dan’s already nodding before he can finish.

“Yeah, of course.” He unbuckles his seatbelt immediately, slipping out of the car, Phil quickly following behind.

Phil stares at the door, a pained look on his face. “Okay. I’ll be right back. Hopefully this won’t take long,” he mutters before glancing at Dan.

Dan only nods, stepping to lean against the side of the building while he waits. “I’m right here if you need me,” he reminds him gently before Phil nods and disappears into the building. Dan sighs then, settling in to wait, his stomach twisting with nerves.

---

As it turns out, Phil is right. It doesn’t take as long as Dan thought it might, as he’d expected to be out there anywhere from half an hour to a full hour. So, although he was impatient and more than ready for Phil to come back, he’s surprised when Phil comes through the door, a duffle bag slung over one arm, a backpack slung over the other. Dan steps forward to ask how it went, but it’s not until then that he realizes that Phil isn’t alone.

“You,” Charlie hisses, his voice full of venom.

Phil spins around at this, glaring at Charlie. “Drop it, Char. Leave Dan out of this.”

Charlie completely dismisses this, stepping closer to Dan, who is quickly feeling claustrophobic and nervous. “So, I was right. This is all your fault. I fucking told Phil, I told him that I didn’t like you two hanging out. What did you say to him? Huh? What the fuck did you tell him?” He’s screaming into Dan’s face, and if Dan was a smarter human, he’d probably think before speaking.

“Get the fuck out of my face, for starters,” Dan says calmly, a weird kind of adrenaline thrumming through his veins. He’d been bullied as a child, but he’d also been a smartass. He knew the script for this scene, and he knew that Charlie wasn’t likely to actually do anything out here, on a busy street; or at least, he hoped that was the case.

“Excuse me?” Charlie growls, his voice threateningly low.

“Charlie, stop. Dan, come on,” Phil tries, standing just behind Charlie, pleading with Dan with his eyes.

“You’re excused. And, if you’ll excuse me, actually, I’m gonna get going. Nice chat.” He nods cordially to Charlie before gracefully sidestepping him, moving over to Phil.

“Fuck you, Howell!” He shouts, his face red and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“No thanks,” Dan calls over his shoulder with a shrug, taking the duffle bag from Phil to put in the car.

“Fine. Whatever. You know what? You can have him. Fucking slut.” Charlie seethes, crossing his arms.

Dan pauses from where he’s setting the bag in the car, and he turns to face Charlie as he shuts the door. Phil catches his gaze, a questioning expression on his face. Dan only shakes his head slowly, his eyes meeting Charlie’s. Every fiber of his being is screaming for him to go over there and punch this idiot in the face, but Dan’s not an idiot. He’s well aware that Charlie could hurt him, and even then, he knows that Phil is strictly against violence, and he wouldn’t dare initiate a fight with his ex, especially not in this situation.

“I feel sorry for you,” Dan says simply, putting as much pity into his voice as he can. “You’re bitter, and hateful, and sad. And now you’re losing the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” Dan shrugs then, nodding for Phil to get in his car. Phil complies, and after seeing that he’s put his seatbelt on, Dan turns back to Charlie, who looks unsettled, underneath the set jaw and defiant stance. “But you know what? You fucking deserve it. Bye, asshole,” He mutters as he slides into the car, slamming the door behind himself.

Phil watches Dan as he slides his seatbelt on, starting the car at the same time. They’re silent as he pulls out of the parking space and onto the main road, neither of them sparing Charlie a second look. “You didn’t have to say that,” Phil says quietly.

Dan cringes, worried that he’d offended Phil, even though that hadn’t been his intention. “I’m sorry, I know-“

“No, I mean… You didn’t have to defend me… and you did.” Phil’s voice sounds inquisitive, and Dan spares him a glance as he takes a turn, heading back to his own flat.

“Of course I did,” he says gently. “I care about you, I’m always going to do that, Phil.”

Phil looks down at his lap, and Dan catches the smile that stretches across his face. “Thank you,” he whispers, still looking down.

Feeling bold, Dan reaches for his hand, intertwining their fingers and bringing Phil’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. “Anytime.”

---

“You can stay here as long as you need, Phil, I promise you’re not intruding. I live alone, remember?” Dan says later as they’re in the kitchen making dinner. They had spent the majority of the day after the whole Charlie situation just lounging in the living room, watching anime. Phil hadn’t brought the whole thing up until a few minutes ago, when he’d followed Dan into the kitchen, where he was making stir fry. He’d asked Dan if it would be okay for him to stay the night again, and Dan nearly laughed.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother,” Phil says uncertainly, rubbing his arm as he watches Dan move around the kitchen.

“Of course. I love having sleepovers, Phil. This’ll be fun for me, I promise.” Dan reassures him yet again.

Phil nods, still looking unsure, but slightly more willing to accept it. “Want any help?” He asks, gesturing to what Dan is doing.

Dan shrugs, but there’s really nothing for Phil to do. “Well, not right now, I’ve just gotta keep an eye on this until it’s done.” He smiles slightly, nodding to the lounge. “You wanna go watch some more anime while I do this? I’ve seen most of that season anyway,” he suggests, not to get rid of Phil, but just to give him something to do.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Phil looks kind of embarrassed as he speaks. “I kind of just… wanted to be with you,” he admits, his cheeks dusting with that adorable pink color that Dan just wants to kiss right off.

Dan grins when he processes his words but tries his hardest to appear nonchalant. “Yeah?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. “Well, here I am,” he says jokingly.

The older man nods at this, biting his lip as if he’s debating on something. “Can I…” He trails off, his cheeks reddening as he looks at Dan.

Stirring the food in the pan, Dan glances over his shoulder, waiting patiently for Phil to continue. When it’s clear he isn’t going to, Dan frowns. “Phil, whatever it is, yes. It’s fine.” He shrugs, figuring that nothing Phil could be considering could be too bad. After all, Dan had been basically in love with Phil for years, the fact that he was now single made him even more certain that he was perfectly willing to comply with anything Phil suggested; within certain limits, considering he was still very much in the middle of making their dinner.

Phil studies him for a moment, and Dan only smiles reassuringly at him. This seems to prompt Phil into action, and he steps closer, positioning himself right behind Dan. Dan swallows hard at the warmth he feels against his back, but then he’s gasping quietly as Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s waist, holding him against his chest tightly. Heart racing wildly, Dan tries so hard not to grin or do anything stupid like laugh hysterically; this is harder than it should be, as he’s been longing for this kind of intimacy with Phil for years.

“Is this alright?” Phil whispers into his ear, his chin propped on Dan’s shoulder.

Dan nods, clearing his throat. “Yeah, this is fine, Phil.” He brings his hand that isn’t stirring their food up to tangle in Phil’s hair, petting gently. Phil hums at this, and Dan smiles, feeling completely warm as they stand in his little kitchen like that, Phil clinging onto him like a lifeline. But Dan didn’t mind this; quite on the contrary, as it felt refreshing to feel as if he was needed by someone.

And so, they stand there like that until their food is done, and then they take it into the lounge to eat while they watch Netflix, Dan insisting that the dining table was strictly just for decoration in his house.

---

It’s not until nearly two hours later, dinner long gone, and plates deposited into the sink, that Phil finally acknowledges the day’s events.

“Dan,” Phil says softly from where he’s sat leaning against Dan’s side.

“Mhm?” Dan responds, his eyes straying from the episode of Stranger Things that they were on to look over at Phil.

Phil swallows hard, and Dan’s eyes shamelessly trace the way his Adam’s apple bobs. Dan always finds this insanely hot, so he quickly moves his eyes back up to Phil’s face, feeling guilty for even having that thought. “There’s a reason I couldn’t marry Charlie,” he admits softly.

Dan frowns at this, moving to sit back so that he has a better view of Phil’s face. “Other than the fact that he was an emotionally abusive dick who took every opportunity to treat you horribly?” Dan asks, trying his hardest to make it sound light and joking, when in reality his opinion of Charlie was even worse than that. But he definitely wasn’t about to tell Phil what he really thought of his stupid ex.

“No, believe it or not, there were other factors,” Phil tries to match his tone, but it too falls slightly far of humor, but Dan smiles anyway.

“Yeah, and what were some of these other factors?” He asks, bringing his hand up to brush a stray hair out of Phil’s eye.

Phil glances away briefly, taking a deep breath. “I’m in love with someone else.”

Dan’s heart plummets at those words, and he slowly withdraws his hand. His mind is suddenly flooded with various thoughts, most of which are just completely confused. He really thought, after Phil kissed him at the restaurant, and then tried to do the same again in the bathroom… He’d really thought that mean that he felt the same…

Phil seemingly realizes that Dan has gone into full panic mode, and he sits up. “Dan.” When he’s met his gaze again, Phil carefully sits onto his knees, throwing one over Dan’s legs so that he’s straddling his lap. Dan swallows, his heart pounding as his blood rushes south. “I’m in love with someone that isn’t Charlie.” He says this slowly, and Dan furrows his eyebrows, and he’s pretty positive that Phil is trying to make a point here.

“But…” He stutters, looking past Phil, trying to make sense of this. He’s not in love with Charlie… which Dan already knew… But he didn’t say…

“Dan,” Phil says softly, bringing his hands up to cradle Dan’s face. “It’s you. I couldn’t marry Charlie because I’m in love with you.”

The words leave his lips and enter the air between them, and Dan can only stare dumbly up at the man on his lap, his mouth dropping open as if he’s got an actual response. He feels as if his mind has had some sort of glitch, and he can only process the ladder half of Phil’s announcement. “I’m in love with you,” echoes around Dan’s head until he finally manages to get his brain back to communicating with his mouth.

He opens his mouth to say something, an affirmation that he felt the same perhaps, but what comes out of his mouth is not exactly what he thought. “Are you sure?” He asks, immediately blushing as the words tumble out.

Phil opens his mouth at this, and then pauses, tilting his head as he looks at Dan. Instead of annoyed, however, his face floods with a fond look, and he smiles. “Positive.”

Dan sees it coming this time, naturally, because Phil’s hands are still holding his face, so of course Dan fully realizes what his intentions are when he leans in. Unlike last night, however, Dan has no intentions of stopping him.

~

Their lips brush tentatively at first, and Dan brings his hands up to settle gently on Phil’s hips. At the contact, Phil seems to gain a little more confidence, and he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. Dan almost groans at this, swiping his tongue across Phil’s bottom lip in question. Phil barely hesitates before opening his mouth, allowing Dan to explore inside. They sit like this for several moments, until Phil shifts, and Dan gasps at the friction that his movement causes.

“Wait,” Dan gasps, pulling away slightly. “Are we- do you want to...?” He trails off a little, but at his words, Phil only groans, grinding down hard into Dan’s lap, causing his half-hard cock to swell in arousal. “Fuck, okay. Bedroom.”

Phil only nods before sitting up, tugging on Dan’s hands to pull him from the sofa and down the hall. Dan’s in a daze at this point, his arousal taking away the majority of his common sense as he struggles to grasp the reality that this is happening. He’s about to have sex with Phil, who he’s been pining after for close to six years. He groans when Phil sits on the edge of the bed, pulling Dan closer by his waist.

“This okay?” Phil asks against his lips as he drags his hands down to the zipper of Dan’s jeans.

“Yes,” Dan gasps, pressing his lips to Phil’s with fervor as the older man works on getting his jeans undone. Meanwhile, Dan is thinking Phil’s got entirely too many clothes on, and he begins tugging at his shirt incessantly. “Off,” he whispers, pulling away just enough to tug the thin material off his head, tossing it somewhere behind him carelessly. Sure, Phil looked good in his clothes, but Dan imagined he looked even better without them.

Dan takes a moment to just look then, and as his hands trail along Phil’s chest, it occurs to him that Phil only just broke up with his fiancé a few hours earlier. Despite the fact that Phil had initiated this, doubts suddenly creep in, and Dan slowly pulls away.

“What? Are you okay?” Phil asks, pausing his movements of tugging Dan’s jeans down his legs to look up at him in confusion.

Dan nods uncertainly. “Yeah, it’s just... you just broke up with Charlie, Phil. Are you sure you’re ready?” He doesn’t mean to ruin the moment, really, but he can’t help that nagging feeling that he needs to ask, just to be absolutely sure.

Phil smiles fondly then, bringing his hands up to cradle Dan’s face like he had done before. “Yes, Dan. I’ve wanted this for so long. Please, please let me have it.” His words are almost begging, and even a stronger man couldn’t resist that. Dan only nods, his throat too tight to say anything. “Besides,” Phil adds, almost conversationally. “Charlie and I haven’t slept together in almost six months.” His voice has an embarrassed tone to it, but Dan sees the frown on his face.

“Hey,” He says gently, reaching down to brace himself on Phil’s shoulders as Phil tugs the jeans off his feet, one foot at a time. When Phil meets his gaze, Dan smiles reassuringly. “I’m not Charlie, okay? So, whatever you did with him, whatever sex or anything was like with him, just forget that for now.”

Phil nods at this, albeit a little uncertainly. Dan decides that’s the best he’s going to get and tugs his own shirt off before gently pushing Phil’s shoulders back, motioning for him to move further up on the bed, so that his head is resting on the pillows and the rest of him is spread out. Dan gives himself a moment to just look and appreciate the tapered waist and his broad shoulders, and the soft trail of hair that leads to the top of his underwear. Dan licks his lips then, his dick swelling in his pants at the thought of what’s to come.

“Are you going to keep looking at me or are you going to touch me?” Phil finally whines softly.

Dan smirks at this, but brings his hands up to his zipper, undoing it smoothly before tugging the offending fabric down his legs. It takes a moment of struggle and giggles to pull the jeans completely off, but Dan smiles when they’re on the floor and out of sight. “So beautiful,” Dan murmurs, trailing his hands up Phil’s thighs, tucking one up the leg of his borrowed boxers, tracing the soft skin there with his index finger.

Phil shifts on the bed, clearly growing impatient. Dan watches his face, waiting for him to demand to be touched. When no such demand comes, Dan frowns. He was generally a bottom, and while he didn’t mind topping, he’d certainly not imagined their first time going any other way. He figures maybe this is just something Phil needs a little direction on, maybe he’s not used to taking the lead on these sorts of things.

Despite the idea that this might ruin the mood, Dan figures it’s in their best interest to just ask which way Phil would prefer to do it. “Er- do you want to bottom or top?” He asks, suddenly nervous of the answer. Of course he wanted to do both with him, but he could see the outline of Phil in his boxers and knew that he himself was slightly smaller. He didn’t think Phil to be a size queen, but he also didn’t want to disappoint on their first time. With being a bottom, Dan knew he couldn’t really fail; one of his many personal prides was the fact that he took cock so well, after all.

Phil looks positively puzzled by the question. “Oh, um, I just assumed I’d bottom.” Seeing Dan’s expression probably, Phil continues. “That’s what I always did with Charlie. He didn’t like to bottom.” He bites his lip after he says this, looking up at Dan in what is very clearly uncertainty.

Dan sits back on his heels, his hands leaving Phil’s thighs in favor of resting on his knees gently. “Okay, is that what you want to do now?” Dan asks, sensing a little reluctance on Phil’s part.

This seems to give Phil pause. “I... I’ve never really been given the choice,” he says softly. Dan’s eyes widen slightly, and he tries not to let Phil see his surprise.

“Would you like to top?” Dan asks sweetly, stroking Phil’s knee and the smooth skin just above it gently.

“I... I don’t know, with Charlie I always-“

Dan cuts him off then, tired of how many times the name Charlie had already made it into their conversation. “Nope, no more Charlie. I’m not asking what you did with him, Phil. I’m asking what you want to do with me, right now.” As if to get his point further across, Dan brings his hand up to Phil’s cloth-covered bulge and squeezes gently. Phil groans at the contact before leaning forward and grabbing at Dan’s arms. “What do you want, Phil?” Dan whispers, trying his hardest to give it a seductive quality.

“You, god- wanna be inside you.” He gasps out as Dan continues to squeeze and massage his cock.

Dan smiles down at him, squeezing him gently once more before crawling towards his nightstand. Phil is panting beside him, and Dan fumbles with the lube when Phil brings a hand up, slipping a finger under the band of Dan’s underwear teasingly. Phil smiles innocently when Dan turns around to shoot him a look, and Dan only rolls his eyes as he finally gets hold of the bottle of lube he keeps in his drawer. It was half-used already, although Dan hadn’t slept with anyone in well over a year. He just enjoyed fingering himself, and when you’re twenty-seven and you live alone...

“Do you want to stretch me or do you want me to do it myself?” Dan asks Phil, holding the bottle out to him in offering. Phil sits up at the sight of it, taking it tentatively.

“Can I do it? I’ve never done it to another person,” he requests quietly, glancing down as his cheeks flush.

Dan only nods frantically. He loved to be fingered, and it was even better if it was someone else, so heat was already pooling in his stomach in anticipation. He sits up on his knees then, and with a confidence he doesn’t entirely feel, he pushes his boxers down to his thighs, freeing his cock from the confines of the material. He blushes when Phil’s hand comes to rest on his thigh, his long, pale fingers trailing up gently.

“Dan,” Phil chokes out, his eyes trailing over every inch of his skin, while his fingers continue to trace up and down his thigh.

Dan only smiles, shifting to pull of his boxers entirely. He sits up and gently pushes Phil to lean back on his hands, slowly dragging his hands down his pale chest. He allows himself a moment to marvel at the hair that trails down underneath the band of the older’s boxers, petting softly. Phil shifts, and Dan smirks when he meets his gaze and sees Phil biting his lip harshly. Feeling slightly guilty for teasing for so long, Dan leans forward and kisses Phil’s chest softly before tucking his fingers into the band of his underwear, slowly dragging the material down.

As he drags the last piece of cloth down Phil’s legs, Dan can’t help the soft noise that leaves his lips as his eyes zero in on his cock. “Oh my god,” he mutters lowly, swallowing hard. He’s long and thick and Dan’s fairly certain Charlie is a fucking idiot disaster gay if he didn’t want to bottom for him.

Phil smiles shyly at him, moving his legs to push his underwear off the rest of the way with his feet. Dan shoves the material off the bed before crawling between Phil’s legs, pulling him in to press a kiss to his lips. “Are you sure about this?” Phil asks, pulling away a little, just enough to brush Dan’s curls back.

Nodding, Dan trails his hand down, wrapping his hand around Phil’s swelling arousal. Phil sucks in a sharp breath at this, and Dan only smirks to himself as he starts moving his hand slowly. “Can I suck you first?” Dan asks quietly, locking his gaze with Phil’s.

The older man nods, his eyes just barely open. “Please,” He whispers. Dan smiles as he pushes gently against Phil’s shoulders, guiding him to lay back on the pillows.

Dan starts out slow and teasing, pressing kisses to Phil’s neck first, gently sucking on the skin above his collarbones. Phil sighs contently as Dan slowly makes his way down his chest, grazing his teeth over one of Phil’s nipples, staring up into his eyes to gauge his reaction.

“Dan,” Phil gasps, his hand coming to rest in Dan’s hair. “Do... oh. Do that again.”

Ever the people pleaser, Dan complies easily, placing his lips over the nub of flesh and sucking gently. Phil arches up, and Dan smirks against his skin. He pays careful attention to each of them before he continues on his way, heat building in his stomach as he gets closer to his destination. If there was one thing Dan enjoyed, it was having a dick in his mouth, and the fact that this was Phil just made it so much better.

Teasing, Dan presses a kiss to the head, pressing his hands against Phil’s hips to keep him still, as the contact had made him buck up. “Stay still,” Dan murmurs before wrapping his lips around Phil’s cock, swirling his tongue around the tip slowly.

“Dan,” Phil sighs above him, throwing his head back on the pillows.

The younger man just grins before sinking down suddenly. It’s a good thing he had the foresight to hold Phil’s hips, because he has next to no control, squirming around under Dan’s touch. “Good?” Dan asks smugly. He knew it was, he was good at this.

“Yes. God, yes.” Phil raises his head up off the pillow to meet Dan’s eyes as he sinks back down on Phil’s length, and his gaze darkens. “God, Dan. You look so fucking good.”

Dan only bats his eyelashes at this, currently unable to speak. He sets to work, stroking the base with one hand as his mouth works the top, but after a couple minutes, Phil is tugging at his hair, pulling him off. “Are you okay?” Dan asks as he pulls away, a string of spit and precome trailing from his mouth to Phil’s leaking cock.

“Yeah, just- I wanna finger you now.” His cheeks somehow flush from saying this, and Dan’s eyes nearly roll back. Somehow even while they’re in the middle of something so intimate, Phil makes Dan’s heart flutter, his heart filled with affection for his best friend.

“Yes, fuck, yes.” He lays down, switching positions with Phil so that he’s now kneeling between Dan’s legs. Dan hands him the lube before spreading his legs, his hands gripping onto his thighs to hold himself still. He’s basically vibrating with excitement at this, and he’s surprisingly unbothered by how open and on-display he currently is.

Phil stares at him for a long moment before lifting his hands to Dan’s legs, slowly working his way up. When he reaches Dan’s inner thighs the younger man inhales sharply, shaking with excitement. “Please,” he whimpers as Phil strokes one finger along his rim, applying no pressure as he does it.

“What do you want?” Phil asks, and Dan groans. He loved this, Phil gaining the confidence to ask him things and to take the lead. It was sexy as hell.

“Your fingers. Please.” Dan pushes himself down, chasing the friction of Phil’s finger.

Phil only smiles, a fond look on his face as he reaches for the small bottle next to Dan. After pouring a liberal amount into his hand and warming it up, Phil shifts, grabbing one of Dan’s legs for leverage as he drops his hand down. “Ready?” He asks, his blue eyes searching Dan’s face for any sign of discontent.

He wouldn’t find any, because Dan is nodding frantically. He starts to say something, but then Phil is pushing a finger in and he’s gasping. “Oh,” he mumbles, his eyelids fluttering close.

“Hey,” Phil whispers, slowly drawing his finger out before pressing back in. “Look at me.”

Dan complies easily, opening his eyes and bringing his gaze to meet Phil’s. He swallows hard at the soft look there, his heart racing.

Phil only smiles at him, the hand on his leg stroking the skin softly. “I want to see your eyes,” he says softly, his gaze unwavering.

Swallowing hard, Dan struggles to make a joke. He feels so open and vulnerable with this unwavering eye contact, but he also feels incredibly hot, like he’s on fire. “Is that a kink of yours?” Dan jokes quietly.

Phil smiles, but shakes his head slowly. “Not exactly...” He slowly presses his middle finger in beside his index finger, and Dan sighs at the burn, pleasure coursing through him. “Charlie didn’t like to meet my eyes when we... but I like it.” He says timidly, dropping his eyes to where his fingers are working, a light pink dusting his cheek.

Dan frowns at this, bringing a hand up to cup Phil’s cheek, tilting his head to meet his gaze. “Okay. So look at me.”

Phil smiles at this, keeping his eyes locked with Dan’s as he spreads his fingers apart inside the younger man, stretching him open. Dan lets out a soft sigh at the feeling but doesn’t drop his gaze. If this was something Phil had been denied, he was more than willing to give it to him now.

“You can add another,” Dan eventually murmurs. Phil quirks an eyebrow, but complies easily enough, the third finger pressing in beside the others, causing Dan’s breath to hitch.

Their eyes stay locked as Phil tilts his head to the side, kissing Dan’s wrist, as his hand is still lightly resting against Phil’s jaw. Dan’s heart swells suddenly, and he feels choked up at the light kisses Phil presses to the fragile skin of his wrist. “Phil,” he breathes, unsure what he even wants, just knowing that he wants him.

“Ready?” Phil asks softly against the skin, changing the angle of his hand slightly. Dan knows that he’s searching for his prostate, and he shifts his hips, gasping when the tips of Phil’s fingers brush against that little bundle of nerves. Phil smiles, pressing against it more firmly, causing Dan to let out an embarrassing whine.

“Please, please. I’m ready.” He nearly whines again at the loss of Phil’s fingers, but he knows that it’s only going to get better.

“Do you have a condom?” Phil asks, pointing to Dan’s nightstand.

Dan bites his lip in contemplation. He did, but he really didn’t want to use one. He knew he was clean, he got tested after every time he slept with someone, and it had been about three months since the last time he’d done that. “I’m clean,” he breathes out, watching Phil’s face carefully to gauge his reaction.

Phil nods slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He pushes his hair back up into the quiff, looking down at Dan. “I am too. Are you positive about this?” He asks, searching for confirmation one more time.

Nodding, Dan sits up and brings his hand to wrap around the back of Phil’s neck, his fingers stretching up into the hair on the nape of his neck. “Yes, I’m a hundred percent sure.” He pulls Phil closer to press their lips together, sighing as Phil’s tongue swipes against his bottom lip.

“Lay down,” Phil murmurs a moment later, pulling away from the kiss. Dan quickly complies, laying back against the pillows and drawing his legs up, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he waits for Phil to get settled. Phil takes another dollop of lube and applies it generously over his bare cock, and Dan’s breath hitches as he watches him stroke himself. “Ready?”

Dan nods, reaching up to push Phil’s hair back as he shifts, his hard length pressing against Dan’s entrance, a whisper of what’s to come. They lock eyes as Phil slowly, slowly sinks in, inch by inch. Dan can’t help it; his eyes clench shut as he drops his head back as he feels himself being stretched around the thick length and he groans loudly. “Fuck, Phil.”

A chuckle is heard above him, and then Phil’s hand is pushing underneath the back of his head, lifting gently so that Dan has little choice but to look at him. “You’re so pretty, Dan,” he murmurs, his voice soft and affectionate.

Dan feels as if he could come right then, just from the affection in his voice. It’s so real and right and fuck, he’s bottomed out and Dan is panting, struggling to fully relax himself around the intrusion. It’d been several months since his last hookup, and this was more than he’d been stretched in a long while. Phil was probably the biggest he’d ever had, so even with the stretching, he was struggling to cope with his size.

“You okay?” Phil pants, arms shaking as he tries his hardest not to move inside Dan, giving him time to adjust.

Dan takes a few deep breaths, waiting for the burn to subside considerably before nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.” He experimentally clenches around Phil, gasping sharply as this causes Phil to buck his hips.

“Sorry, sorry.” He’s quick to apologize, moving his hand to stroke Dan’s cheek. His other hand slides off Dan’s leg and moves to prop himself up by Dan’s head, and Phil shifts slightly so he’s leaning in closer. “Are you okay?” He says, his tone full of worry.

Dan hadn’t realized it, but tears were slipping out of his eyes, rolling down the side of his face and crashing to the pillow. He nods, smiling as he reaches up, catching Phil’s hand in his. “Yes, I’m just... I’m a bit overwhelmed, just give me a minute.”

Phil’s face softens at this, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to the corner of Dan’s eye, his tongue darting out to swipe at the tears there. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry.” He says softly, repeating the gesture on the other eye. “Do you want to stop?”

“No!” Dan almost shouts, firmly against the idea. He blushes when Phil’s lips pull up into a smirk but shakes his head. “No, I just need a second. You’re a little bigger than I’m used to, it’s just going to take a second.”

Nodding, Phil ducks down to press his lips to Dan’s, softly sucking Dan’s bottom lip into his mouth. Dan lets out a soft sound, closing his eyes as he loses himself in the feeling of Phil’s lips on his while he’s buried inside him. Shifting his hips a little, Dan decides he’s ready.

“Okay, you can move,” he breathes, clutching Phil’s shoulders as the older man pulls out slowly, before pushing back in again. “Ngh-“ Dan grunts, his head falling back.

Phil doesn’t give him much time to feel guilty about the loss of eye contact before he’s pounding into him, a little faster than Dan would prefer in the moment. He certainly wasn’t against quick and rough, but for their first time he definitely wanted to go a little slower. Hoping that Phil wouldn’t be offended, Dan drags his hands down, gripping Phil’s hips tightly, slowing his movements. “Phil, Phil. Wait.”

“Is something wrong? Oh, god, did I hurt you?” His voice is full of worry when he halts his movements, and he brings a hand up to Dan’s head, brushing his curls back.

Dan laughs breathlessly at this, shaking his head fondly. “No, not at all. Just slow down.”

“Oh.” Phil’s face flushes even darker red, his eyes dropping to Dan’s chest. “I thought it was better-“ he starts, sounding suddenly uncertain.

Dan shakes his head, dragging his hand up to swipe his thumb across Phil’s bottom lip. He’s shocked and flustered when Phil opens his mouth and wraps his lips around the tip of his thumb, but he tries not to blush too obviously. “I’m not Charlie, remember? We don’t have to go fast for it to be good.”

Phil releases his thumb and nods, uncertain. “But...”

“Phil. The goal isn’t to have a fast orgasm, it’s to have a good one.” His hand moves to caress Phil’s jaw, and he smiles when Phil’s cheeks flush, probably at his bluntness. “There’s going to be other times to go fast, alright? Just slow down for right now.” He instructs gently. He giggles when Phil ducks his head, looking embarrassed. “Are you embarrassed right now?” He asks, unable to help himself.

“Yes!” Phil whines, covering his face. “You’re sitting here talking about sex and orgasms!” He sounds positively affronted, and Dan only laughs harder.

“Phil, your cock is literally in my ass. I’m not sure how talking about it is all that weird.” He snickers, enjoying this far more than he should.

“Dan!” Phil shrieks, ducking down to hide his face in Dan’s chest.

Grinning, Dan runs a hand through his soft black hair, debating with himself. “Sorry,” he mumbles, craning his neck to kiss his hair. “Here, why don’t we try something a little different?”

At this, Phil perks up, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “What?” He asks slowly. Dan rolls his eyes at his apparent lack of trust, but he wonders if maybe Charlie suggested they try things that he wasn’t in to, or perhaps never suggested anything at all. Dan shudders to think that; he was a firm believer in trying new things and developing many different sexual habits with a partner. But he wasn’t going that far tonight.

“Roll over,” Dan instructs, lifting himself off Phil’s dick so he can follow his orders.

Phil does as requested and Dan wastes no time in climbing over him, swinging his legs over Phil’s waist. The expression on Phil’s face is one of surprise, but his eyes darken as Dan reaches back to position him at his entrance. They lock gazes just as Dan sinks down, a broken sound leaving Phil’s lips as he bottoms out. Dan sighs in content, the pleasure of being so full almost overwhelming him.

“Fuck, Phil. Feel so good like this,” Dan mutters out, slowly lifting himself before dropping back down, causing Phil to hiss out. “Is this okay? I figure- god, Phil....” he pants as Phil shifts his hips up to thrust into him. “I figured this way you’re still technically topping, but I can set a slower pace. Is this-“ his voice breaks off then as he shifts his hips, sending the head of Phil’s cock directly against his prostate.

“This is perfect,” Phil gasps, his hands trailing along Dan’s thighs, and up to hold his hips. “You feel so good, Dan.” Phil grabs Dan’s hair and gently guides him down to press their lips together, putting a bit of a pause to their movements. Dan moves his hips around in a circular motion, and Phil breaks away, gasping into his mouth. “Fuck, that’s- that’s good.”

Dan smiles and presses his lips to Phil’s jaw, trailing down his neck. “See? Told you slow was good.”

“Shut up,” Phil mumbles, catching Dan’s lips again. He keeps moving in slow circles as they kiss, but eventually he pulls away.

He presses his hands to Phil’s chest for leverage as he begins bouncing slowly on his cock, biting his lip hard to keep an embarrassing moan from slipping out. Phil pants beneath him, running his hands over Dan’s thighs, the blue of his eyes taken over by his blown pupils. “Good?” Dan gasps out in question.

“Yes, god. So good. Fuck.”

Dan smirks, leaning back slightly to change the angle just a bit. “Never heard you- fuck, right there,” he interrupts himself to whine, unintentionally closing his eyes as his every movement sends Phil pressing directly against his prostate. “Never heard you say that word much before,” he mumbles out.

“Yeah?” Phil says, his voice sounding choked. “Well, you just feel so fucking good.” If Phil thinks that him swearing turns Dan on, well, he’s right. Dan shakes, so turned on he feels like he can’t even breathe. “Dan, can we… can we flip over? Wanna…”

Dan nods, his thighs shaking too badly to really keep a steady pace. “Yeah, yeah.”

A position change and a deep kiss later, and they’re right back to it, but this time Phil is sliding in slow, the drag of his length inside Dan making the younger man whimper in pleasure. It’s slow and deep and good and Dan’s basically choking back tears at how good he feels. Maybe it’s partially due to how long he’s been celibate, but he feels that the main reason it feels so great is because it’s Phil and he’s wanted this for so long.

“Baby, don’t cry, please don’t cry,” Phil’s murmuring above him, pressing his lips to Dan’s eyes like before. Dan hadn’t even realized he was, he’s just so sappy he can’t even help it.

“You’re so good, Phil, fuck. Wanted-“ he chokes as Phil thrusts in particularly hard, a moan escaping his throat. “Wanted this for so long.”

“Me too. Fuck, Dan. I… Can I tell you something?”

Dan tries to nod, but his head is just rolling around uselessly with the movement of their bodies rocking together, so he groans out, “Yeah, anything.”

Phil doesn’t say anything for a moment, leaning down and pressing his lips to Dan’s, working against them slowly and gently. The intimacy of what they’re doing floors Dan, and he’s got a very dangerous thought in his head, and he’s relieved that his lips are otherwise occupied at the moment. Phil thrusts into him a few more times, and Dan’s breath hitches as he feels that coil of heat and arousal tightening in his stomach, ready to release.

“Phil, close,” he gasps against his lips, in hopes that maybe Phil would work towards his own orgasm. So what if Dan was a hopeless romantic and thought it was sweet to finish together? That’s his business.

“Dan,” Phil chokes out. “I love you. I’m in love with you, Dan,” he sobs, dropping his forehead to Dan’s shoulder.

Dan’s hips stutter against Phil’s before quickly pushing back against him, his hand winding into Phil’s hair to pull him up to bring their gazes together. “I love you too,” he whimpers as he feels that white-hot pleasure coursing through him. He tries his hardest to keep eye contact as his orgasm washes over him, but he’s helpless against the sensations, and he keens as his eyes screw shut, his dick twitching between them as he comes all over his chest.

He knows he’s squeezing around Phil, who’s still rocking into him, a little faster now, as he chases his own release. Dan purposefully clenches around him in an attempt to help him along. “Fuck, oh fuck. Oh god, Dan.” His voice breaks and then Dan feels Phil’s release filling him up, his movements not stopping as he fucks himself through it.

They’re both panting hard when they’ve finished, and Dan idly notices how sweaty they’ve gotten. The air smells like sex, but Dan’s too exhausted and satisfied to care. Phil’s careful, even after his release, and he slowly pulls out of Dan before collapsing onto the bed next to him. Apparently uncaring that Dan’s covered in sweat and come, Phil wraps an arm around his waist and draws him close so they’re laying chest to chest, petting his hair.  

~

After a few minutes, they’ve caught their breath and there’s a silence settled in the room. Dan’s mind is exhausted, but Phil’s words are bouncing around in his head. I love you. Deciding that there’s only one way to know for sure, he tilts his head back to look at Phil’s face. “Hi,” he whispers with a smile when he sees that Phil is already looking at him.

“Hi,” Phil repeats, a fond smile on his face.

Dan shifts slightly, so that he’s lying on the pillow, eye to eye with Phil. “Did you mean it?” He inquires softly, glancing down at his hand as he traces patterns on Phil’s chest. “Or did you just say it in the moment, since we were both… you know.” He blushes despite himself at this, mainly due to the context.

Phil studies him for a second, likely trying to gauge his reaction before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I did.” He pauses, timidly bringing a hand up to Dan’s face, brushing his curls back gently. “Did you?”

Dan nods, smiling as he ducks forward, pressing his lips to Phil’s. “I’ve been in love with you for about… I dunno, when did you start working with me?” He says, almost joking, but not quite. He really only crushed on Phil at first, because he was cute and sweet, but then he got to know him, and well… he fell fast, that’s for sure.

Grinning, Phil presses his lips to the corner of Dan’s mouth. “Funny.” He sighs then, a thoughtful look on his face. “I don’t think I realized how much I liked you at first, but then, a couple years ago-“

Dan interrupts him then, surprised. “Wait, a couple years ago?” He demands, shocked. “I thought this was a new development for you! Like, I thought this was something you had only just figured out within the last couple of weeks!”

Phil shoots him a perplexed look, then shakes his head. “No, of course not.” He smirks then, quirking an eyebrow. “Do you think I would have just told you I’m in love with you if this was something I had just figured out?” He asks rhetorically.

Shrugging, Dan watches his own hand as he trails his fingers up Phil’s chest, dragging them through the light smattering of chest hair there. “I dunno,” he mumbles. “I guess I just figured if you knew you would have said something sooner.”

A hand comes to grip his chin, and Phil tilts his head so that he can meet his eyes. A serious look is on his face, and Dan gulps. “No, Dan. I’ve known for a couple years that I liked you more than a friend, but it wasn’t until the last year or so that I realized that I was in love with you.”

Dan shakes his head slowly, finding this a little strange to believe. “But, you were going to marry Charlie,” he says, confused.

Phil sighs, but shakes his head. He holds up his left hand, and it takes Dan a minute to realize that it’s devoid of the band that had been there for so long. His gaze shifts from Phil’s eyes, to the space where the ring used to be, and then back again, struggling to grasp what this means. Phil smiles sadly, dropping his hand back to Dan’s curls. “I gave him the ring back eight months ago. I told him I wasn’t ready, and he just made me promise that I would marry him eventually, even if we broke off the engagement.” He takes a deep breath then, staring at Dan’s curls as he flattens them and watches them bounce back up. “That’s why we were fighting last week. I told my parents that I wasn’t going to marry him, and my mum called his.”

Dan’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out in his surprise. They sit in silence for a moment before he finally manages to speak. “Oh,” is all he says.

Phil’s quiet as he nods. “Yeah,” he whispers.

They sit like that, in the quiet, for a long time, before Dan finally speaks. “I love you,” he says timidly, unsure if Phil will return the sentiment now that they aren’t currently in the middle of an orgasm.

Phil smiles at this and presses his lips to Dan’s forehead. “I love you too.”

A silence settles over them until Dan remembers something. “Do you want to move in with me? I mean- fuck, that probably didn’t sound right. I meant like, since you can’t go back to Charlie’s. Or like, until you find somewhere else, if you want. Which, I don’t mind if you don’t, you can stay here with me-“ Dan rambles, suddenly unsure if he’s crossed a line. He doesn’t want to seem like a clingy girlfriend after they only slept together once. Sure, they’d also admitted that they love each other, but still; he tended to overthink these things.

Cutting him off effectively, Phil presses his lips to Dan’s firmly. “I’d love that,” he whispers against his lips before swiping his tongue over Dan’s lower lip.

Dan smiles and returns the kiss with tired enthusiasm, his body feeling weak with fatigue. “Can we sleep now?” He asks, pulling away a little.

Phil crinkles his nose before glancing down. “Maybe we should clean up first?” He must catch the grimace on Dan’s face, and he rolls his eyes. “I’ll run you a warm bubble bath and we can cuddle in it,” he bribes, raising an eyebrow.

Dan pretends to consider this, but of course he’s going to accept, he’s not an idiot. He sends up a silent thanks to whatever god there is that his bathroom has a bathtub big enough to fit the both of them, but maybe he should just thank the designers of this flat. “I guess I can cuddle with you in the bath,” Dan sighs, as if it’s the biggest inconvenience ever.

Laughter bubbles from the older man, who is already getting up and tugging Dan along with him. “Thank you so much for you sacrifice,” he retorts, fond sarcasm coloring his tone.

And sure, maybe some things had changed. Charlie was out of the picture, and Dan and Phil were more than friends now. They both knew where the other stood, and someone it seemed that they were standing in the same place, which Dan figured was a good thing. But at the end of the day, Phil was just the dorky receptionist Dan had fallen in love with all those years ago, and Dan was still just a cocky paper salesman with an affinity for good pranks and cute blue-eyed boys who shared candy with him. So, all in all, not much had changed really.

#phan #phanfiction #phan!theoffice #this is based on phanart that I did not make #fluff #angst #smut #poorly written smut #bed sharing #friends to lovers #best friends #au #drunken kisses #bath cuddling #idk this was a lot more than i expected to write im sorry

[paradisobound]

I Want It, I Got It: Chapter 8

Summary: Phil Lester was a worker for the BBC in London. Working in the advertising department, he was content being alongside his friend and fellow coworker PJ during every shift. However, the BBC is temporarily being used as a film set for a new movie staring Hollywood ‘It’ star, Daniel Howell. Being stuck as an extra on the set, Phil finds it’s hard to ignore the famous star. And maybe, just maybe, Dan finds it hard to ignore Phil as well.

Word Count: 2.3k (this chapter)

Warnings: Occasional swearing

Rating: Mature (for right now)

Updates will be every Wednesday at 4pm and Sunday at 1pm EST

**MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3**

Work returned to normal within just a few days and it was like nothing had ever happened at the BBC. Phil wouldn’t ever hear the whispers anymore from the people who were once so infatuated with the idea of big stars like Mimei Lake and Dan being in the same building. 

And although the filming had played such a massive role in the BBC the last few days, it was almost like it never happened. But of course, it had to have happened. Because if it hadn’t, Phil wouldn’t currently be on Skype with Dan Howell who is currently 8 hours behind him in Los Angeles. 

Phil almost didn’t agree to the Skype call when Dan asked for his Skype name. Mostly because Phil was extremely nervous to be seeing Dan again face to face after their day in London that didn’t go as planned. But Dan was pretty adamant that he’d like to speak with Phil in a way that wasn’t over text and Phil decided to comply. 

“I feel like there is a lot I need to explain.” 

Those were the first words out of Dan’s mouth as the grainy laptop camera focused on Dan’s face. “You really don’t need to explain anything.” 

Dan looked down at his lap and let out a sigh. “But I also have to because I feel like it’s not fair to you that you didn’t get to show me around London like we planned because my anxiety got in the way.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“But it feels like it is.” 

“Dan.” It was the first time that Phil had really used Dan’s name directly to him and it felt a bit odd. “You never have to apologize for the way something bothers you. If that situation was making you uncomfortable, you had every right to want to go back to your hotel and be alone.” 

Dan let out another sigh. “This life isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.” 

Phil felt the sadness coming from Dan through the screen. 

“When I was young, I dreamt about these days of my life where I could sit back in my Hollywood hills mansion and look at my awards and think ‘damn, I fucking did it.’ But now that this is my life, it’s so much more than I’ve ever thought it to be.” 

There is a stall in Dan’s words and Phil can see that he’s trying to think over what to say next in his head. “I’m not saying that this isn’t the life I want―it’s just that maybe this life isn’t for me? I mean for God’s sake, I couldn’t even handle it when a few fans found out I was on the London Eye.” 

“They shouldn’t have followed you.” Phil said, finding his gaze staring directly at the brown eyed male’s. “That’s a breach of your privacy.” 

“They don't care about that.” There was a sharp pang in Dan’s words. “Most of them do in fact care about my privacy but others are looking for a peak into my life when they don’t need one.” 

“Kind of like how a bunch of them tried to figure out who I was?” 

Dan nodded and smirked. “To be fair, they did a good job. But I’m not too fond of them all assuming that you’re my new boyfriend. Like granted, theres nothing wrong with that, but not every person I’m seen with I’m dating.” 

“Isn’t that how it always works though?” Phil asked, genuinely curious. “I mean look at Ariana Grande or really any celebrity out there.” 

“Well, of course. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be annoyed when it happens to me.” 

Phil shrugged. “Fair enough. It’s been odd to see people try and write up a story about me and I’m not even a known person. I’m just Phil from the BBC.” 

Dan flashed a smile at him and cocked his head to the side. “Just Phil from the BBC?” 

Phil laughed. “Does sound kind of lame, doesn’t it?” 

Dan let out a hearty laugh and fell backwards onto his bed, his laptop falling down with him. As the camera fell with it, Phil couldn’t help but notice how soft, yet pillowy, Dan’s comforter looked underneath him. 

“I’m exhausted.” Dan says, turning on his side and positioning his laptop to lay next to him on his bed. “My flight got in last night and then I was expected to be on set early this morning.” 

“Go get some sleep then.” 

Dan snorted. “As if you can talk. Isn’t it like 3am in the UK right now?” 

Phil looked at the time on top of his laptop. “It’s only 2:38am, thank you very much.” 

“You should be the one going to bed.” 

“I don’t have to work tomorrow.” Phil argued. That wasn’t a lie. He really didn’t have to work tomorrow. 

“You shouldn’t be staying up because of me.” 

But I want to. 

“I don’t mind.” 

“But I do.” Dan quipped. “You should go to bed and I should too even though it’s only 6 and I should be eating dinner.” 

“Go eat dinner and then get some rest.” Phil felt himself yawn and Spike shifted on the bed next to him in protest. 

“Okay.” Dan didn’t protest any longer, but Phil could see he was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Can I just say something before this call ends?” 

“What is it?” 

“Thank you for being my friend, Phil. I don’t have many of those nowadays.” 

Phil felt his heart jump in his throat but he didn’t have a long time to process Dan’s words because suddenly Dan’s phone rang and he sympathetically cut off the Skype call to answer it in private.

But Phil laid awake for a while that night, trying to decipher Dan’s words. He could only just barely see where he fit into everything.

***

@Danielhowell 

I could sleep for the next ten years zzzzzzz

The first thing Phil saw when he woke up the next morning was the notification for Dan’s tweet from the night before. He found himself smiling and opening the tweet, letting his phone take him to Dan’s Twitter. 

It was posted only two hours ago, but given that it was nearing 10am in the UK, that meant it was only 2am in Los Angeles and he was sure Dan was sleeping by now. But something inside of him still moved his fingers for him and suddenly he was typing out: 

to@danielhowell 

amazingphil: hopefully you’re finally sleeping by now! 

The moment that Phil’s fingers subconsciously pressed reply, he had a sinking feeling that this was going to backfire. But he didn’t bother to delete the tweet. He quickly exited the app and threw his phone down beside him. 

Spike was curled into a ball at the end of his bed, snoring in a way where his breath hit Phil’s feet and made them a bit too warm for Phil’s liking. But Spike was sleeping and clearly comfortable so he wasn’t going to bother him. 

He closed his eyes, beginning to feel like he might sleep for an hour or so more when his phone buzzed and he picked it up out of instinct. Seeing what was there caused his eyes to bug and he let out a shocked noise. 

to@amazingphil 

danielhowell: I still can’t sleep :( 

And with that reply set off a minefield in the replies. Phil’s Twitter began to be spammed by people replying to him or to Dan. He suddenly had people following him that he had no idea who they were but they had Dan’s name in their Twitter handle. 

People were screaming in the replies about the interaction and many more were screaming about how they ‘shipped’ him and Dan together. Phil didn’t even know what that meant. 

He was starting to panic, anxiety rising in his throat. From the end of the bed, he could hear Spike whimper and suddenly, his pup was running to him. Phil wrapped his arms around him and held his dog close, burying his face into Spike’s short fur. 

He took deep breaths. Everything was going to be okay. He had to keep telling himself that. Dan has mentioned his fans multiple times. He’s apologized on behalf of his fans multiple times. 

He was going to be fine.

Phil let go of Spike and picked his phone back up, daring to look at everything. It still looked bad…but not as bad as it was before. He unlocked his phone and went back onto Twitter, assessing the damage. 

Well, there wasn’t a lot of damage per se, just a lot of random people suddenly @‘ing him and following him. He even had a few dm’s but he wasn’t going to open those. He was sure they were from fans who just wanted to know more information about him that he wasn’t willing to give. 

In a freak moment, he went into his settings and privated his Twitter, making it so no one could follow him and no one could message him. He didn’t need that in his life. Not now. 

He was trying to continue to calm down when he got a text from Dan that came through. 

Dan: OH MY GOD i’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for that to happen. 

Phil: It wasn’t you. I’m sorry for even replying. 

Dan: You shouldn’t be sorry for that. 

Dan: Point blank, my fans can be intrusive and they can be dicks. I’m really sorry. 

Phil lets out a breath and reaches up, rubbing his hand across his face. If it wasn’t for all that had just happened, he might have felt that his eyes hurt from leaving in his contacts over night. But he’s not concentrated on that. He’s concentrated on this entire…mess. 

His phone suddenly vibrates and Dan’s name pops up that he’s calling him. 

Phil answers without a hesitation. 

“I…I can’t believe that happened, Phil.” 

“I’m not sure I can either.” Phil answers honestly. 

“Did anyone bother you? I saw you privated your Twitter really quickly.” 

“I had quite a few mentions and also I think some dm’s?” Phil felt his breathing pick up. “I’m quite nervous to read them.” 

He heard Dan let out a loud sigh. “Please just―don’t let them bother you, okay? I know that I let them bother me sometimes but you don’t deserve to be bothered.” 

“I’ll try.” 

Phil could almost hear the smile that he was sure Dan now had. “I feel so bad. You have no idea.” 

“It’s not you.” Phil repeats. “I just never thought about the backlash of me replying to you.” 

“This is all a right mess, isn’t it?” Dan laughed. 

Phil found himself laughing too. 

Dan let out another sigh before beginning to speak again. “I have a question and I feel like this is probably coming at a really bad time but I’ve been meaning to ask.” 

Phil feels his heart pick up it’s beating and his hands begin to shake. Spike begins to whimper again and Phil reaches out to pet him to feel better. “Yeah?” 

“Would you care if I came back to London next week between filming?” 

***

“When did you get chummy with the movie star?” 

Phil looks up from his laptop to his brother sat at the small kitchen table in his flat, working on his own laptop for the clothing business that he owned. “What are you talking about?” 

Martyn scoffed. “You know what I mean. Everyone saw what happened on Twitter this morning.” 

“I just replied to him and he replied back.” Phil shrugged. “It can happen to anyone.” 

“Don’t pull that shit on me, Phil.” Martyn laughed. “Are you and Dan dating?” 

Phil quickly shook his head. “No! We’re just friends.” 

Martyn cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?” 

“Martyn…come on.” 

Martyn shrugs and Phil lets out a loud sigh. “We’re not dating. We’re barely even friends.” 

“Do you want to be dating?” 

Phil has to admit that his dating life wasn’t something he had thought about in a while. If he was being fully honest, he was kind of assuming that he was going to remain single for the rest of his life. Mostly considering that he was newly 32 and hadn’t been able to keep a relationship for over a year before it fell apart. 

Phil did find Dan attractive, but who didn’t? Dan was stunning with his brown curls and honey eyes. Phil will never forget how beautiful Dan looked the first time that he met him in person. 

He couldn’t wait to see Dan again next week. 

They had spoken for a while on the phone this morning before Dan complained that he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore and Phil told him to go to bed. Dan wanted to come to London but he said he wanted to keep it a secret best he can. So he asked to stay at Phil’s flat and Phil agreed. 

He was nervous for it. But he was also excited but he felt like this would be a really good time to really develop a friendship with Dan that he wanted. He really wanted to be friends with Dan. And if it led to something else―well, he wouldn’t be mad if it led to something else. 

But that’s only an if. 

“I wouldn’t mind if we did but I also just want to be his friend right now.’ 

Martyn scoffs again. “You’re lying.” 

“Not every guy I’m friends with is someone that I want to date.” Phil comments with a laugh.

“Well, no.” Martyn says. “I’m not daft enough to believe that. But you’re really going to sit there and tell me that you don’t want to date Daniel Howell?”

“I―I wouldn’t be opposed to it.” 

“Wouldn’t be opposed to it?” Martyn mocked. “Just admit it, Phil. You find Dan attractive. It’s okay.” 

Phil felt his face flush and finally, giving in, he muttered a quick. “I think Dan is really attractive.” 

Martyn let out a little laugh again and went back to typing on his laptop and Phil went back to his own work. 

It felt good for Phil to say that for once. It felt almost as if a weight had been lifted off from him. 

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #au #famous!dan #moviestar!dan #normal!phil #princesslexi763fics

[nurseydexunsolved]

My first ever nurseydex fic! Please go on ao3 and leave comments and reblog & all that jazz, I’ll love you forever. Also! If you have a prompt you desperately want someone to fill, just send it my way! Okay enjoy :)

//

William Poindexter was wheeling someone, but for the life of them, no one in the haus could get him to confess who.

Nursey noticed it first, entirely on accident. Dex had walked into the kitchen, shoulders at least two inches lower than they usually were, expression calm, and when Nursey knocked over his water, Dex just laughed and said, "Don't worry, I'll clean it up."

Nursey stared at him, shocked. The shock had to be the reason he said something as stupid as what he said next: "Whoa, bro, who took the stick out of your ass? You're acting... weird."

Unfortunately for Dex, Ransom, Holster, AND Shitty were all in the kitchen (preparing for the kegster that night) when Nursey said this, and the way they all immediately stopped their conversation and zeroed in on him was truly frightening. Dex barely had time to give Nurse the stink eye before he was being devoured by their well-meaning but invasive friends. Nursey wanted to join in on the chirping, but he realized he was feeling a little bit sick to his stomach, so he escaped upstairs.

Despite this, or maybe because of it, Nursey was the first person Dex told.

A couple days later he still hadn't cracked, to the endless irritation of Ransom's spreadsheets. They were hanging out in the library with Chow, but when Chris went to the snack shack downstairs, Dex tapped Nursey's foot with his.

"Hey," he said, which made Nurse's heart start thumping a little bit harder, because what could he possibly have to say that Chowder couldn't hear? And Dex's expression didn't help. He looked... nervous. And a bit vulnerable, like he was made of glass, which of course was never a good combination with Derek's clumsy ass.

"Yeah?" he said, trying to be delicate.

"I kind of have a question."

"What's it about?"

"Well, it's about... poetry," he said, looking anywhere but Nursey's eyes."Poetry? Bro, have you been holding out on me?? Do you need me to critique your couplets? I'll do it, I promise, there is nothing I want more than to read poetry written by Mr. Grumpy—"

"Shut up," Dex laughed, the tension eased a little bit. "No, it's not my poetry. It was written... well. It's kind of, um, about me. And I want you to tell me if it's good."

Nursey's heart plunged into a cold lake. "Oh, for real? Well, I mean, there isn't really such a thing as bad poetry, you know. I'm not elitist about that sort of thing." The look on Dex's face told him that was the wrong answer. "But, I mean, I'll take a look. Do you have it with you?"

Dex wordlessly handed it over, and Derek read.

 "I've never been very religious I believe in entropy and science, experiments and evidence, gravity and stars But then I look and I swear, there is something in the glow of your golden eyes and well that is an unexplained phenomena if I've ever seen one And perhaps you were always meant to disprove my hypothesis Because I swear I found Virgo in the constellations on your collarbones And there must be a gravity around you because I feel it like a tug on my sternum when you leave And if there is a God, he must be a sadist Because I am sure he made you and thought, "Here is a smile they will start wars for.""

 There was a lot going through Derek Nurse's head.

First, his English major brain started critiquing it: too short, not a very smooth flow, some odd sentence structures.

Then he thought, God, who could describe Dex in cliches. Gravity? Constellations? I would have said—

Then he stopped himself. And started to panic. And realized this person was really in love with Dex, because duh. They weren't wrong about the smile.

He glanced down and saw he'd been gripping the page tight enough to crinkle, and smoothed it onto the table.

"So?" Dex said, searching Nursey's face almost desperately. "Is it good? Do—do you like it?"

Nurse almost laughed at that. Was it good? Yeah, maybe. Did he like it?

Fuck no.

He focused on the first question.

"Um, well, I really liked the way she tied the subject to her questioning religion and science, almost making him a messiah-like figure, and the continuity of that metaphor—"

"Nurse. This isn't workshop. I asked you if you liked it."

Derek tried to imagine that he'd been presented this piece in workshop, and not by his d-partner, who was currently giving him the most unbearably eager expression. Nursey couldn't imagine why his opinion mattered to Dex, but he glared down at the paper and said, "Yeah, overall, I liked it."

Dex stared at him for another really long moment, and Nursey didn't know what to do with his hands, and then Dex grabbed the paper and shuffled it around.

"So. I mean, not to pry, but obviously—"

"His name's Evan," Dex said. "I met him at that Sunday kegster, the day party. He told me he wanted me to 'look' at his poem, but it's obviously about me, and I don't know. He's really nice and cute and it's just." Dex sighed, avoiding Nurse's eyes. "It's nice to know someone looks at me like that. That someone could, in any fucking universe, describe my eyes as 'unexplainable phenomena.' But I didn't know if it was just bullshit or what, so I wanted to show it to—to you."

Dex finally looked him in the eye again, and—oh. Nursey had been so fucking stupid, he was so mad he hadn't thought of writing poetry about Dex's eyes first. They were so raw, so expressive. He was a tad dumbstuck, until he managed to sputter out, "Well, do you—do you like him too?"

"I think I could," he said, like it was a confession. He looked away, toward the window, and Nursey really wished he was a photographer in that moment, so he could capture that look. "I really think I could."

//

In the end, Evan gave himself away.

Dex and Nursey were sitting alone at the kitchen table, with Bitty humming happily at the counter, when Derek saw it.

Before he could help himself, he whispered to his phone, "Oh, you know not what you do."

This earned him a very confused look from Dex. He simply handed over his phone, watching Dex's eyes bug out, as he raced to unlock his own phone and delete the incriminating evidence.

It was too late. They heard the loud, "Dude!" followed by Holster's booming "DUDE!!!" before Dex had even pulled up instagram. Ransom was on insta almost as much as Bitty was on twitter.

Dex's fate was sealed.

"Ummmmm DEX?" came Holster's voice down the stairs before he thundered into the kitchen. "Who is this HOTTIE commenting WINKY FACE EMOJIS on your selfies??"

"It's not a selfie—"

"Actually Holtz, I believe the comment in question was, 'looking good dex,' then the winky face emoji."

"Oh, of course, how could I be so foolish."

"Did y'all already send the screenshot to the gc?" Bitty asked, looking down at his continuously vibrating phone. "Oh, give Dex a break, will ya?"

"Yeah, I would love to, Bitty," Rans said, grinning at his phone with what could only be called malicious glee, "but it turns out Dex's new boo-thang has been posting delightful candids of our boy here along with captions written in—wait for it—free verse poetry."

"How the fuck did you find--? He's on private!" Dex objected, the confusion momentarily distracting him from hiding his very red face.

"Dude, this kid can write," Holster said. "Are you sure he's not only dating you for an excuse to write autumnal prose?"

"YES!" Rans yelled. "The poetry drew her in! Lardo joined the flaming!"

"GOD," Dex groaned, muffled into his sleeves since he was facedown on the table. "LET ME DIE HERE.”

"Now, of course we all support you and your sexuality, but in the interest of equal opportunity chirping—"

"SHUT UP HOLSTER!"

//

The real problem began when Nursey went to his poetry writing seminar on Wednesday, because now he knew what Evan looked like. He’d put a face to the poem, and discovered the proof confirming Evan’s sadist theory that God was personally TiVo-ing Derek’s Actual Life and laughing his ass off, because Evan?

Evan was in Derek’s poetry writing seminar.

Even better, when the prof counted them off into groups for mini-workshop sessions, Evan was in his group.

Guess which poem he brought to workshop?

Derek would have been the first to admit that he maybe didn’t handle the situation as maturely as possible. He had a reputation in their class of being opinionated, but even he knew as the words were coming out of his mouth that he was going overboard. He talked about this metaphor not hitting just right, that line maybe wasn’t totally accurate? (After all, he did know who the poem was about. He could judge accuracy.) By the end of class, he had practically rewritten the whole thing for him, but to his credit, Evan took the whole thing like a champ, taking notes on everything Derek said.

“By the way, are you married to the whole second-person thing?” Derek said, hating the words even as they came out of his own mouth.

“Um, well, I kind of conceptualized it as a literal love letter. Like, I wanted to evoke the feeling in the reader of like, the person who I love is pouring out their soul to me in an ode, and all that’s missing is some cursive and a postage stamp in the corner,” he said.

“That’s a really cool idea,” Derek gritted out, mostly because he meant it. “Is that why it’s so vague?” he asked, because maybe there was hope. Maybe he really just wanted Dex to read his poem.

“What?” Evan replied, looking surprised.

“Well, I mean, you don’t have any particular details in it: this could be about anyone. Did you do that intentionally so the reader could envision it being addressed to them?” And, honestly. His prying was getting a little pathetically obvious now.

“Oh. Um, I guess you’re right, but that wasn’t intentional. Actually, it is about a really specific person. Ha, guess it’s just the closeted queer kid in me, avoiding any obvious markers of gender or whatever. You’re totally right, I’ll work on that.”

Derek sunk back into his seat, real guilt settling on his chest as their groupmates sent Evan sympathetic looks.

It would have been much easier to hate Evan if Derek didn’t like him so much.

//

He didn’t mean to write the poem.

Honest. It just spilled out of his fingers, typed into a shame-note on his phone, not even titled.

Well, until the third draft. Then he titled the note, “Freckles.” And then he had to transfer it to google docs, where all his poetry went, just to be safe.

And somehow, some way, Derek ended up in the library printing out 20 copies for his entire workshop to read.

It wasn’t that he hated himself; nor even that he was convinced that it was that great of a poem. The whole “having feelings for Dex” thing was too confusing and intense and new for him to be able to be objective at all. It was just, he’d procrastinated the hell out of the assignment, since he'd had two essays due the same week and thought, “It’s a poetry prompt. I have notebooks stuffed with poetry. I’m sure I have something.”

Except, then it was the night before Wednesday, and he realized he didn’t have anything that fit the prompt.

Well. Except one poem.

Which was how he printed out and handed his own ode to Dex right into his boyfriend’s fucking arms.

Oh yeah, because that was a thing.

A couple weeks ago, half the team had “accidentally” run into Dex and Evan on a date, where Dex had introduced Evan as his boyfriend and Evan had tried to chat with Nursey about their seminar and Nursey had excused himself to the bathroom, to quiet his shaking hands.

Since then, whenever Dex went to kegsters and the bars and even a house party at one of Rans's Weird Sciencey Friends's place, Evan was with him. Which like. If you didn't know they were together, you probably wouldn't even guess it. Nursey had never seen them kiss, and the most PDA he'd spotted was Dex dragging Evan out of a kegster by his hand. Technically. But the thing was, Dex was so...different when he was with Evan. Evan made him laugh, like belly laugh, all the time. Dex was constantly smiling or laughing or joking whenever Evan was in the room, and Nursey really just could not deal. If he'd thought he had it bad before, that was literally a joke compared to the sight of Dex animatedly telling a funny story, swinging his arms everywhere, barely able to finish for laughing so hard.

The problem was that he wasn't telling the story to Nursey.

All this, maybe, possibly, Nursey could handle. He could move on. If Dex hadn't walked into their room looking extremely distraught less than a week ago.

Well. Extremely distraught on Dex looked like mildly perturbed on most other people but Nursey could read Dex pretty well at this point.

"Dex?" he said, "Are you alright?"

He expected a brush-off, like every other time Nursey inquired after his emotional state. What he got was, "I don't know."

Nurse swiveled away from his laptop, full attention to Dex. "What's up?"

Dex gave a frustrated huff. "It's just...ugh. It's gonna sound shitty."

Nursey raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Dex huffed again. "Okay. But I might not say it right. Um, so Evan has some... mental health issues. Which is fine! That isn't the problem. I like all of who he is, not just... ugh. The problem is... I don't think he's really... dealing with it?"

Nursey kept his face impassive. Dex knew about Nursey's mental health struggles as well, and yet he chose to come to him for this. He would withhold judgement until Dex said what he had to say.

"Like he... he makes me happy, and he makes me laugh, and he makes me feel good about myself. But he puts himself down all the time. And I don't think he's fishing for compliments or reassurance or anything, but it feels like, if I don't reassure him every time, I'm just feeding into it and reaffirming those thoughts and making everything worse. And that's like, a lot of pressure? And he has some really concerning symptoms. Like, he'll just casually drop that he had a panic attack in class or that he dissociated for hours this morning and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help. I can't, I am so not qualified for that. So I'll be like, 'maybe you should see a therapist or get a diagnosis or like...talk to someone'? And he'll just be like 'I probably should' and then do nothing. And I try to tell him nothing will change or get better if he doesn't do anything, and I'm just starting to feel like if I don't make his mental health a priority then no one will, and because I care about him, I want to see him, I don't know, be okay. But that means taking it all on, and I just, I don't, I've been monologuing about this for long enough and please help."

Nursey nodded, face still carefully composed. He'd been in a similar situation with a cousin, and told Dex he was on the right track and had to take care of himself first, and to talk to Evan about it first, and if after that he couldn't prove he was making an effort to improve his health then Dex should end the relationship. All in all, Nurse was quite proud with his maturity in handling the situation, and could sleep well knowing he gave Dex the advice he would give anyone.

Except.

Knowing this was so detrimental to Nursey's dumbass feelings-for-Dex heart balloon, which expanded with shallow, selfish hope with the knowledge that Dex wasn't totally happy and that Evan had, like, at least one flaw.

It was the stupid balloon that had made him write the poem in the first place. He just had to let some of the air out before it popped. How could he have known it would end up like this?

He reread the poem nervously while class was winding down, tuning out the prof's droning about atmosphere.

 i bet you heard that your freckles were constellations, stars scattered across shoulders but i have never heard something so wrong stars are dead things, explosions of heat and gas, and what we see are the remnants of light, hanging on only to the echo but your skin is a living masterpiece a splattered miracle of pigment and sundrops and pointilism you might be the water droplets that bead up on the car ride home, as i watch two drops race each other to avoid looking at your hair or your eyes or your freckled fists on the wheel, because i know if i look i will do something stupid like fall in love— but it's too late. i didn't see it coming because i always thought it would be gradual, but all it takes is for me to see the fireworks of freckles on your sternum, permanently burned onto your skin like the imprint of the sun on the back of my eyes and it explodes in my chest, this thing that i let happen so no, dear, you are not like the constellations so fickle, disappearing every morning, hiding behind the clouds your freckles are like freckles because i have tried and tried, but i cannot for the life of me think of a more beautiful word

 An elbow in his side jolted him back to class. It was Evan's.

"Can't wait to read your poem!" he said.

"Haha, thanks," he said.

Haha, fuck, he thought.

//

"Nurse. I read your poem."

Nursey's eyes tracked slowly up from his reading to the puppy-dog eyed boy in front of him. Evan. Shit.

"I can explain," he said.

Evan slid into the booth next to him at Annie's. "I need your advice."

Nursey repeated Evan's word in his brain once, and then twice, and then a third time, really breaking down each word, and he was still confused. "What?"

"With Dex. I have eyes. You obviously really care about him. Like, you're in love with him, I mean. And maybe that makes me stupid for asking you, but I don't really have anyone else I know who'll hear what I have to say and have Dex's best interests at heart, and so I'm trusting you to be honest with me, because I don't really think I'm capable of being honest with myself right now."

"I'm sorry, are you asking me for relationship advice?" The words left his own mouth but they still didn't make sense.

"Kind of. It's just. Has Dex told you anything about me?"

He knew what Evan was asking. "He told me you had some mental health issues, yeah. And that it's been... well. A support system can't be one person."

Evan nodded, like this was what he had been wanting to hear, which only succeeded in confusing Nursey more.

"Yes. Exactly. So. I wanted to ask someone who actually knew Dex about it, because I don't think he's being honest with me. I mean, I think he's trying to hide his feelings because he's afraid it will like, break me, or make me feel worse, or whatever. I guess my question is... am I hurting him?"

And, fuck. All of Nursey's irrational dislike of Evan flew out the window when he heard that soft little question, Evan's voice almost too raw to bear.

Which was why Nursey knew he was being honest when he whispered, "Yes." He rushed on to amend, "Well, it's not actually your mental illness, whatever that is, Dex never specified. It's that Dex feels like the responsibility for your mental well-being is entirely on his shoulders, which is not healthy for anyone to feel, ever. He really cares about you, Evan. But from what I gather, you're putting a lot of weight on him. You need to have someone else besides Dex: your family, other friends, maybe a therapist. Okay, no, as someone with bipolar, you actually should definitely have a therapist. But it's gonna take a while, dude. And until then... yeah. You are hurting him."

The fucking look in his eyes, man. "I need him," he said.

"I know," Nursey replied. "Which is probably why you have to let him go."

Evan sighed, a release of understanding, of learning something you already knew. "Thank you. I just needed someone to say it out loud to me." He looked down at his hands, picking the skin off the side of the nail. "Um. Do you know how... where would I find a good therapist? Do you think?"

//

Things after that were harder. But also better.

Dex was devastated, he was. But Nursey could also see the relief in the set of his shoulders. That Evan would be okay, or he was on his way to being okay, and it wasn't Dex's job to fix him. Or anyone's job but Evan's, honestly. Nursey had almost forgotten the whole ode to Dex thing.

Almost.

Until Dex burst into their room, paper in hand, yelling, "Hey, Nurse? What the fuck is this?"

Nursey froze at his desk. He didn't have to look. He could feel the words on the paper in the room with them, haunting him. Why did he have to be so melo-fucking-dramatic all the time?

"What's what?" he said instead of all that, swiveling around calmly, thinking maybe if he acted chill his blood pressure would be fooled and decrease.

(Or maybe it would increase just enough that he could have a heart attack and be in the ER and not this room?)

"Nursey. Please don't insult my intelligence."

He risked a glance up to Dex's face, which didn't look mad or embarrassed or any of the emotions Nursey would immediately associate with an unwanted love confession.

"Look, you were never supposed to see it, okay—"

Dex let out a laugh, one of those laughs when there's some sort of emotion in you and you don't really know where to put it and it just bursts out into a laugh. Nursey thought of volcanoes and pillow fights and popped balloons. His fingers itched for a pencil.

"Oh, so you were just gonna let me be ignorant forever? You were really never gonna tell me this is how you feel?"

"I—" Nursey watched Dex's face, but he really couldn't reconcile Dex's tone with his words with his face. They were all criss-crossed, like Dex's eyelashes when he woke up from a nap.

His hand actually made it all the way to the pen on his desk, screaming to write it all down, before he forced it to return back to his lap just to fiddle with. It wasn't his fault Dex looked so beautiful like this. So alive.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

This was clearly not the right thing, because he saw the irritation settle into Dex's face, like tinder on a campfire, before he closed his eyes, leaning back, and breathing in deep.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come in here picking a fight. I want you to be honest with me. Please."

"I—" Three seconds ago, he'd been composing poetry, prose, metaphors about his feelings. And yet somehow in this moment, he couldn't think of one single thing to say.

"I'm obsessed with you," he blurted. "It's kind of embarrassing, actually. I think about you literally all the time. And I always write what I'm thinking about. So I wrote that."

Dex shook his head, his lips turned up faintly in disbelief, like he was laughing at a joke no one had told yet. "I'm sorry, when did you write this?"

"Um...like... a month ago? I think? Maybe."

Dex's eyes closed, like he was having trouble with the math. Dex was really excellent at math.

"So you're telling me you've liked me about as long as I've been with Evan."

Nursey mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "maybe."

"What about his poem?"

Nurse blinked. "What about it?"

This time Dex really did laugh. It sounded a bit delirious. "When I showed you his poem! Did you really think I wanted your opinion on his prose?"

Nursey said nothing, but the look on his face probably betrayed that yes, that was what he'd thought.

"For someone who can write such brilliant shit—" he waved the paper around, "—you really are dense sometimes. I was giving you a chance! To say something, to stop me, I don't know. But then you said you liked it, so I thought, 'well, that settles it, he's not into me. Time to move on.' And then I did. And then you have the audacity to write this motherfucking—"

Dex looked like he was edging into full on rant mode, so Derek stood up quickly and interrupted with, "Hey Dex?"

Dex hit the brakes, looking up at Nursey like he very much wanted to finish. "What?"

"Can I kiss you?"

And, man. Dex was so beautiful like this, arms askew in the middle of the point he'd been making, hair mussed, face confused, like his words had stopped but his brain was veering off course. He kind of looked like a mess. Derek's heart swelled.

"Okay," he said.

Derek rushed in, worried if he waited any longer Dex would keep talking.

He didn't.

Dex's hands found Nurse's waist, paper still in hand, gripping at his back and grabbing him, pulling him closer. Nursey framed his hands around Dex's face, dragging him into the kiss. One of his hands gripped at the back of Dex's neck, sliding up over his short hair, like he'd wanted to do for months.

His mouth was so warm, just like the rest of him, but more, somehow. Nursey opened his mouth, sucking on Dex's lip. Dex's hand reflexively squeezed Nursey's waist. Before he could get too cocky about that, Dex caught Nursey's bottom lip in his teeth, scraping slow over it, sending chills down his scalp over his whole body.

"Wait, wait, wait," Dex said, pulling away, kinda, in the sense that his mouth was no longer attached to Nursey's, but he was still pretty entwined all up in Derek. He leaned his head down to catch his breath, his panting blowing over Derek's neck, giving Derek the mental image of Dex kissing him there, which, fuck—

"I was gonna say something," Dex said, eyes still looking kind of scrambled.

"Mm-hmm," Derek hummed, leaning in close again. One of Dex's hands left Nursey's waist and brushed his own lips, and yeah, Nursey knew the feeling. His mouth was literally humming, floating away from the rest of him.

"I can't remember," Dex said, grinning, already leaning back into Derek.

"That's okay," Derek murmured against Dex's pulse, which he could actually feel thrumming rapidly against his lips. "We have time."

And he kissed and kissed and kissed him, until there wasn't a single freckle left untouched.

#nurseydex #dexnursey #derek nurse #william poindexter #dex x nursey #nursey x dex #omgcp #Check Please! #my fic #my nurseydex fic

[texanredrose]

Vent Post

Alright, I don’t typically do this, but I’ve hit my limit. Please understand, while I appreciate the love and support my stories have received, there is a trend that I have to address because it’s gotten to the point where it’s beyond ridiculous. After talking about it here, I honestly don’t want to have to bring it up again, and I expect no one to go harassing others over it. This isn’t directed at a single person and, for the most part, y’all have been wonderful; I truly couldn’t be more thankful.

However, if you’ve ever left a comment/review regarding Queens of Vale on another work of mine, especially if you didn’t ever leave a comment/review on Queens of Vale itself, and doubly so if you did that without actually reading the contents of the work in question? This is for you.

TL;DR: to everyone who loves Queens of Vale, I’m so sorry the next chapter hasn’t been posted yet. I would love nothing more than to return to it. But I also haven’t gone two weeks without someone using one of my other works to try to guilt trip me into posting it, and that kinda ticks me off.

Text contents of the above picture: “YYBB does have a point. I would LOVE to go back to working on QoV- or Freezerburn fics in general, really- but the amount of comments in that vein I've received have made it a sore spot, to the point where I've considered deleting it from FFN and AO3 entirely just so I don't have to deal with it anymore. It's also a big reason why I don't post promptly from tumblr to AO3/FFN, because each time I do- even though I've completely stopped writing FB and QoV- I get at least one comment/review/PM like this. I thank you for at least addressing the contents of THIS fic, since a lot of the ones I've received don't do that. You've also at least reviewed QoV before which, again, is something most people DON'T do when they leave comments like this on my other fics.

None of my fics are forgotten or abandoned. I go back and reread them myself and work on updates for them all the time! The next update for QoV, for instance, has been nearly completed for the better part of a year now. But I write what strikes my fancy in the moment and constantly being treated like my hobby should be dictated by others is extremely discouraging. Ultimately, I'm going to do what makes me happiest, because until writing starts paying my bills, I've really no inclination to put undue pressure on myself by compromising my free time to meet arbitrary deadlines.

I DO appreciate that you love the story. A lot of people do and that's fine! I'm absolutely FLOORED by how many fell in love with it! But, if people stopped hounding me to update it (the current record is less than two weeks), it would've HAD an update by now, much like several other fics that I updated or wrote sequels that no one asked for.

I also apologize for the wall of text. This just happened to be the straw that broke the camel's back. (I usually delete the aforementioned comments/reviews- which is hard as hell to do on FFN btw- but silence isn't getting me anywhere, so it seems like a tumblr post is in order.)”

For well over a year, I’ve been receiving all manner of comments/reviews/PMs/asks regarding the next update for QoV. They’ve ranged from polite questions to outright demands. At first, I tried to take them with a grain of salt- for anyone who actually read the Author’s Note at the end of the last chapter, you’ll know that I had to rewrite chapters, and thus it would take time for the next update to come because I had other commitments- but as time wore on, I became discouraged from continuing it when the other, smaller things I’d written started getting reviews/comments addressing QoV instead.

I love the stories I’ve written. I love the characters I’ve written. I genuinely care about each and every one and try to put the same love and care into all of them. Can you imagine how frustrating it can be when someone who didn’t even bother to tell you they liked something only mentions it when you’ve offered up something different? And people trying to guilt me into it, like I owe anything to people who couldn’t give the five seconds it takes to type up “this is cute” or “I like this”?

Understand, I’ve been putting up with this for three years- you would be shocked by how many people combed through my previous works to comment about how “it’s too bad you don’t write [ship] because your writing is so good!” Like, examine that statement for a minute; if my writing’s that good, does it matter which ship I write? Judging by how many people have responded to even the most niche ships I’ve written for, I’m going to answer that: no, it absolutely doesn’t. It’s just a method of trying to make me doubt my own abilities and passion, to push me to write something I don’t want to write. 

Incidentally, my NOTP list? Entirely comprised of the suggestions other people have provided in reviews/comments like that. Because I don’t believe in rewarding bullies or praising bad behavior by bending to it, even for ships I honestly wouldn’t mind writing. So I’ve dealt with this, on a regular basis, all this time, in silence.

But enough is enough. The ones I’ve gotten recently? Couldn’t even be bothered to read the “this is a commission” literally at the top; the story’s written (mostly), I’m just posting at the customer’s request. 

Do you know how infuriating that is? Here I am, writing something that literally tells you what’s up, but you aren’t going to read it because... you want to read... something else? ??? Where is the logic? How can I even be sure you read any part of QoV- because, again, a lot of people doing this didn’t comment/review, so it’s not like I know for sure- and aren’t just doing it for some sort of smug satisfaction? Really, there’s no motivation here to even open the draft.

Y’all, I’m sorry for getting so long winded about this, but it has been building for a while. I’m a little annoyed, to put things lightly. And, yes, I have considered pulling the story from the internet entirely; I’ve gotten to that point before because if anyone thinks I’m scared of threats, they’ve got another thing coming. I’ll call your bluff and look you in the eye while I do it. I’ve tagged people before, telling them to save a local copy- that’s how close I’ve been to just washing my hands of it.

And the thing that hurts most of all is knowing that a lot of really good, kind people love the story, too. People who’ve been patient and understanding would love to see an update. Hell, I only even wrote it because Maka made the suggestion! Y’all are the only reason I haven’t deleted QoV and keep working on the draft. But if I post it, the people who’ve been hounding me will think their tactics worked, and they’ll either try to do it on another work of mine or to another writer entirely, and that’s the last thing I want.

So I’m just coming right out and saying it. Until I can go three weeks without someone using another fic of mine to demand an update, QoV will be abandoned. It sucks because I was so looking forward to this arc, which was going to set up some really epic scenes towards the end and focus pretty heavily on the relationship between Yang and Weiss, as well as their relationship with the rest of Patch. I was so looking forward to it, y’all don’t even know! Whenever I start reading over the draft, I get excited all over again!

I really wish it hadn’t come to this. I put out what I think is a lot of content- I’m already over 331k words for 2018, and there’s still more to come; I’m on track to exceed last year’s 340k words- but I’m doing this for fun. I love writing and telling stories, but I’m going to tell the stories I want to tell and I’m too damn stubborn for that to change any time soon.

I’ve always told y’all I’m an asshole. I’m sorry to be a dick but I’m not going to back down because a bunch of people who haven’t spent hours working on stories of their own think it’s okay to dictate how I should be doing it.

And I swear to God if someone waits three weeks and one day to do this shit again, y’all will know. Y’all will know immediately.

#Tex has some shit to get off their chest #and the sad thing is I already KNOW the people who need to read this won't #so this is just screaming into the void #but goddamnit the void's going to listen

[winteriron-trash]

About Me/FAQ

Hey, welcome to my blog! This is my -well, usually- Marvel-centric blog that has everything WinterIron, Bucky Barnes, and Tony Stark, as well as some general shitposts of my own wild adventures. I figured it’s best to keep up this trend of updating my ‘About Me’ page every follower milestone. So thank you all so much for over 3,000 followers, I never expected to break that many followers, let alone in less than a year on Tumblr. I appreciate each and everyone one of you, so really, thank you for sticking around with my bullshit.

Per the usual, I don’t do drama, I don’t do discourse. If you have a serious problem with me or anything I’ve written/done on this blog, please take it up with me personally. I will delete anon hate (if I get any, I haven’t gotten any yet…) and I think it’s all just pointless. I can be salty and derpy sometimes, but I will never purposely say something malicious. I’m not here for that negativity.

Now, to the FAQs.

Do you have an Ao3/Pillowfort/other social media?

I do have an Ao3, you can find me at Gothic_Lolita. I don’t cross-post everything, and a lot of my stuff on Ao3 isn’t WinterIron or even Bucky or Tony-centric, so if you’d like to see some other stuff I write, feel free to check over there. I don’t have a Pillowfort, nor do I plan on getting one. It took me forever to get this platform right, I’m not in the place to bother learning how to navigate a new one. I don’t do Snapchat or Instagram or Twitter because I am not nearly basic or cool enough for that stuff. The only social media I use is Tumblr and Pinterest, and trust me, my Pinterest is nothing interesting enough to be worth linking.

Do you have a tagging system?

I’m… trying, honestly. I’m trying to adjust my tags and systems because of the… wildness Tumblr is having with blocking and purging certain tags. I try to be funny in my tags, and I swear a lot, and apparently ‘fuck’ is being filtered out of the tag search, so that’s fun and completely screwed me over. As it stands, the important tags are ‘winteriron-trash writes’ (my writing tag), ‘shitposting with becca’ (any wild shitposts of my own sad creation), ‘not about marvel’ (any posts that are my general bullshittery and not Marvel related), ‘becca gives mediocre writing advice’ (a new tag I’m trying to use that’ll tag any post that I give writing advice on), ‘becca spills the tea’ (a tag for whenever I post my metas or opinions on Marvel characters, plots, etc), and the citrus scale which I explain in a post here

Do you write original fiction?

Yes, but I rarely, if ever, post it. I think I have all of one poem on Tumblr, any absolutely nothing original on Ao3. I write original works all the time, especially poetry and novels, but I’m super shy about being vulnerable and putting my stuff out there. I do wanna post my original writing somehow, but considering a fandom blog and Ao3 aren’t really the place for it, I’ll just keep it all hidden inside of me, and one day I’ll die. You’re more than welcome to ask me about any of my original writings, trust me, I am always willing to ramble about the shit I write, it’s pathetic.

What type of fanfiction do you write?

For this blog, mostly WinterIron fics or gen fics focused on Bucky or Tony. I do write about OT3s on here occasionally, but they usually include WinterIron in some way. Most of the time. I’ve somehow gotten to writing some weird stuff lately, to be honest. I’ll work with MCU, Sony Venom, and Spiderverse characters and canon, with the occasionally comic canon shoved in there. I have occasionally written crossover content with DC characters, but that usually relies on comic versions -or at least my own remixes of them- rather than the DCEU. On my masterlist, you can check out all the things I’ve written!

What are your ships besides WinterIron? NOTPs?

I’ll ship almost anything, and I’m a huge fan of rarepairs/interesting relationships simply to explore the possibilities of it, particularly when they include Bucky or Tony. My top OTPs besides WinterIron are currently Phlint, FalconShield, and BlackPepper. As for NOTPs, I strongly dislike Stucky, Stuckony, Thorki, and Staron for reasons of just not being able to see those characters together romantically. Feel free to send me the wildest rarepair your mind can think of, chances are I’ve probably already thought of it myself so I’d love the chance to ramble about/write for it. I’m a big fan of weird OT3s as well, just see the weird shit on my masterlist.

Are you in any fandoms besides Marvel?

I’m into DC, Star Trek, classic literature, Percy Jackson/HoO/Kane Chronicles, She-Ra, Carmen Sandiego, indie gaming, Supernatural, vulture culture, HYDRA Trash Party, and musicals. Yes, I’m aware I was born to be a geek. Trust me, I’ve grown very used to it.

Do you take prompts?

Honestly, sending me a prompt/headcanon/idea is a shot in the dark. I have prompts sitting in my inbox that has been there for about a year that I’ve been meaning to write. Chances are if you send me a prompt yes I’ve seen it, yes I think it’s lovely, but god I do not have the time. Occasionally a prompt will really grab my eye and I’ll just have to write something for it, but sometimes even that can take months to finish. Don’t be surprised if you send me a prompt and I randomly fill it seven months later. I’m prone to doing so. I love being tagged in existing prompt/headcanon posts and asked to write it (as I have a bad habit of hijacking posts to write stuff for them to begin with…) just know that once again the chances of me writing it are about a 50/50. Also, make sure the OP is okay with you asking me to write it, it’s never my intention to steal someone else’s spotlight, I just want to take cool ideas and throw my two cents in.

Is there anything you won’t write?

Drugs and alcohol are hard nos for me. They’re personal triggers that if you really want to know more about, you can send me an ask or message about. If I’ve listed something as a NOTP, I will not write anything with it. I strongly dislike writing kid fics, mundane AUs, damsel in distress Tony fics, and A/B/O, but I’m willing to work with an idea if it’s good enough. It really depends on the situation.

Do you offer writing advice/reviews?

Yep! I’m down to answer any questions on writing fanfic or just writing in general. I love talking about writing and all that. Seriously, I like talking about writing almost as much as I like talking about Marvel. I’m more than open to reading a few chapters of your fic or book or whatever and telling you my honest thoughts, but I probably won’t have time to read all of it if it’s more than 5k long, because I’m just a busy person. And I will be honest because I want to be helpful. Don’t ask me for my honest opinion if you just want your ego stroked.

Can I ask your opinion on [insert topic here]?

Always. I am always open to sharing my honest opinions, regardless of backlash I’ll receive for it. I’d rather be my honest self online -the one place I can be my honest self- then a fake mask made to please others. Whether it be fandom ships, in-universe meta, or non-fandom related topics, feel free to ask me. I love talking meta, or just general thoughts and opinions on random stuff. Trust me, I’m far too opinionated for my own good. Ask literally anyone who’s met me.

How long have you been writing?

All seventeen years of my sad, sad life. I loved writing stupid little stories when I was a kid, that slowly morphed into shitty “books”, then I went through a poetry phase in junior high, and when I was about 14 I wrote my first fanfiction. I posted my first fanfic when I was 15, and have been posting fanfiction for over a year and a half now. I started Tumblr in late February but didn’t start writing fics here until about March because I am a shy bitch.

Aaaaaaand now for some stupid shit about me you didn’t ask for.

My name is Becca, or Winter, or Dumbass, whatever you prefer, and I’m a dumbfuck 17 yr old lesbian from upstate New York. (The ‘upstate’ part is important. Don’t ask me if I live in NYC. Just don’t.) I’m a junior in high school and planning to study English and Marketing in college, to hopefully become an editor. Hopefully. I’m actually a pretty boring and dumb bitch, which makes it all the more concerning that I am steadily gaining popularity on this hellsite. Someone help me.

I mentioned some of my interests above, but some other stuff I’m into includes knitting, playing piano, tea, collecting (hoarding) notebooks, photography, editing, music, and being a general idiot. I’m a wild child in ripped jeans and a leather jacket, which should not fool you because I’m far too shy and afraid of everything to be cool like that. I sound a lot cooler online because I’ve gotten so used to online interactions from making friends and running my own Discord server, but in real life I am unrecognizable. I’ve been in a grade of 60 people with the same people since kindergarten and some of them still don’t know my name.

I’m mentally ill and all that, but we’re working on getting… better. Writing schedules are a mess from me and sometimes I’m falling apart so, that’s fun. It doesn’t usually affect my blog because I internalize that shit, but occasionally the self-deprecating humor can get to be a little too close to the truth. And just the general spastic nature of my blog reflects the utter chaos of my mind.

So anyway, that’s me, please be my friend. Also, because this seems to come up more and more. Please don’t be afraid of me/intimidated by me. I know I look all cool and popular, but I am literally a hot mess just like the rest of us. If you want to climb your way into my messages and just,,,, scream at me about something you think I’d like, or just scream in general, go ahead. I really won’t mind, I promise. I need… friends, or so my therapist tells me.

Oh, and here’s a face reveal.

Yes, I am that absolute idiot of a person, lying splat in the middle of my elementary playground field for,,,, reasons???? I don’t really remember the story behind that picture tbh, but it’s my entire personality in a single picture, so I dig it.

And here’s my actual face, with a cheap ring in my mouth and a fox filter because I thought I looked cute, okay? Leave me be.

Tadah.

I swear I’m funny and talented sometimes, please like me.

As always, feel free to send me an ask or a message about anything you’d like. 

Check out my Masterlist if you want, and join my Discord Server.

#about me #personal #not about Marvel #now you know who i am #updated #3k