#the stage actors have rehearsals together so it's not a stretch to think they probably record the songs together too

[navyhyuck]

after hours.

pairing | na jaemin x reader (female)

genre | suggestive, humor, high school!au, theatre!au, enemies-to-lovers!au (i suppose? not quite lovers but it’s something)

synopsis | a certain night after rehearsal hours has you questioning the reality of an everyday rivalry.

warnings | swearing, underage alcohol consumption, a dumb party game (again), a makeout scene (…again), pretty suggestive, jaemin’s teetering over the masochism pit

word count | 3.6k

part of | kiss-and-tell & let’s play!

notes from vee | another self-indulgent piece of writing that i may have written back before august 13th aka before this man turned of drinking age in the country i live in but alas it’s been a bit (just a tad bit) since then and i have decided to post it now. just a warning that it’s a little ridiculous, and that’s probably why i hid it for so long. this is called humbling myself, and damaging my ego. enjoy & pls leave feedback if you do!! :>

Deciding to take on the role of head of the stage crew is a huge commitment. Not only because you find yourself calling out actors for attempting to sabotage props, or because the technology crew tampers far too often with on-stage mics, but rather due to the time and effort needed to present a perfect performance. With stage rehearsals every day after school and on select Saturday mornings, you’re constantly bombarded with issues here and problems there that always keep you on the tip of your toes. And although it’s stressful, you manage the stage perfectly, leaving you and the rest of your crew ultimately satisfied with the final product.

You’d think that your only headache would be Lee Donghyuck, the second male lead who spends more time wiggling his eyebrows at the technical crew than actually rehearsing for the play, but you’re positive that the main male lead is more of a nuisance than him. Sporting a new hair color every month and whisking the whole school population to their knees, Na Jaemin remains the only individual on the entire set to send your blood pressure rising through the roof.

Everyone calls him a sweetheart, including your mother, who seems to have a soft spot for everyone’s child but her own, but you think that’s the ultimate stretch. Sure, he’s got one of those magazine-worthy faces, but the cocky smirk that plasters on his face each time he manages to one-up you is exactly what keeps you away from him at all times. In fact, the two of you could never last in a room together for more than twenty minutes without some sort of petty argument breaking out. He’s a headache, and your relationship with him is a headache for the rest of the stage crew. It leads you to believe that no one, especially no one taking part in the production of the musical, would go out of their way to get you two to interact. No one would, of course, no one other than the devil incarnate himself.

Donghyuck’s persuasion powers may have increased in success over the years, considering after hours of nagging at your ear and after days of tugging on your hand, you finally caved in. Although a theatre kid at heart, he’s always been notoriously well-known for his over-the-top, college-acceptance-rescinding ragers; perhaps you’ve attended a few back before you were utterly consumed by work and school, but the popularity of them had grown ridiculously over that short amount of time. Soon enough, the day of the next party rolls around, and you find yourself squeezed against Renjun—your fellow stage crewmate who had also been convinced over the span of a week—in the large expanse of Donghyuck’s living room.

It’s going decently, well, as any high school party would go–red Solo cups floating from hand to hand, cheerleaders hanging from the arms of their mindless boyfriends, and glances shooting from head to toe that lead to one of the several bedrooms upstairs. You’ve kept yourself sober, or so you say you have, although you vaguely remember taking a drink from that one cute guy in your physics class, Jeno, you think his name is, and taking a few sips from it. And your self-proclaimed sobriety is exactly what pulls you down onto the floor, now sandwiched beside Donghyuck and his friend Mark.

“Goddamn, Hyuck,” you murmur under your breath, pushing his knees away from your lap. “Ever heard of personal space?”

The boy beside you doesn’t budge, being too busy shouting out names and yanking random figures down onto the floor with you. Soon enough, there’s a small circle formed by several people, and Donghyuck is finally turning towards you and sending you a quick wink. Before you can respond, he grabs your hand, pulling it up and screaming, “where the hell is Na Jaemin?!”

You hiss in annoyance at the sudden name, bringing your hand down immediately and scowling at him. There’s a bit of buzz from the crowd before a path clears out and said boy is pushed through, deep chuckles falling from his mouth as he stumbles into your view.

“Here he is, the man himself!” Donghyuck announces loudly, lazing over to you and smirking when you roll your eyes. “No worries, Miss Director of Stage Crew, I’ll keep Mister First Male Lead as far away from you as possible, alright? I don’t want blood in these shags, babe, but a little rivalry never hurt anyone.” Your scoff is voluminous, but the length of his lie is even larger than you expect.

Considering you’re at a rager with the most talked-about guy around the block, you shouldn’t be so surprised to hear the words ‘we’re playing suck and blow’ resonating around the basement. Thankfully, the game is not nearly as vulgar as it sounds; Mark, who chuckles from beside you when you groan, presents a deck of cards to the group. He plucks one out of the several, and hands it to Donghyuck.

“For anyone who doesn’t know how to play,” he starts, waving the seven of diamonds around, “I’ll explain. Basically, it’s pseudo-kissing. You suck on one side of the card and pass it off to the person to your right. And that person passes to their right, and so on. The catch is that you can’t drop the card. If you do, it’s a penalty.”

“What’s the penalty?” A voice pipes up from the circle.

“That, my friends, will be determined later on. But for now, let’s get with it. Hyunjin, if you could be a dear and start the game for us.”

Hyunjin, a boy you recognize from the technical crew, takes the playing card from his hand and presses it against his lips. After the boy beside you counts down to the start, he immediately turns to his right, grabbing onto the shoulders of the next person and crashing the card against their lips. You involuntarily wince at the harshness of the move, jumping your eyes from person to person as they do their best to quickly avoid a penalty and pass the game.

Donghyuck makes a show of it with you, however, when the girl to his left passes off the card with a deep sigh, gesturing you closer and placing his hands on your waist when your knees touch his. Raising an eyebrow, you decide to ignore the proximity; you lean in, trying your best not to melt under the gaze of several individuals, and press your lips tentatively against the playing card. By creating suction between your mouth and the surface, you manage to easily pull away from the boy, and turn over to the right.

Expecting to see Mark, you move as fast as you can, maneuvering yourself in his direction before you finally look up, and freeze. Instead of black hair, you’re met with an obnoxious orange, with snickers from behind you confirming that the host is behind it all. Jaemin sits in front of you, looking slightly disheveled and completely shocked and staring right into your now-shaking eyes. There’s a nudge at your shoulder, urging you to continue the game, but the excessive thumping of your heart has you hesitating for a moment. You glance up at the boy, whose expression is turning from surprised to prideful. Before you know it, there’s a hair curling smirk etching on his face and a look of victory shimmering in his pupils.

And by god, you’d do anything to wipe that smile off his face.

Shuffling your legs, you perch yourself on your knees, raising your eyebrows challengingly when Jaemin’s face falters. With a hand pressing down on his left knee, you push yourself as close as you can—narrowly avoiding looking directly into his eyes—and wait for a response. Your heart skips a beat when you feel fingers trail up your bare thighs, tingling your skin and setting your nerves on fire, so much so that the thin card sticking desperately to your lips decides to betray you.

A throaty laugh fills your ears when the card falls into your lap, followed by scattered cheers and giggles and chortles belonging to the rest of the club. Before you can pick it, however, there are quick hands brushing purposefully against your skin, making a show of plucking the card away. The motion leaves you flushed and a little bit breathless, and it’s more than enough to inflate Jaemin’s ego to the max.

“What’s the punishment?” You ask quickly, averting your gaze back to Donghyuck. He taps on his chin thoughtfully, as if he hadn’t already planned it all out, before his face lights up.

“Seven minutes in heaven,” he responds, leaning back on his palms and glancing over at Jaemin, “with him.”

You attempt to protest, but all the words that leave your mouth seem to dissolve right into the air, mingling with the mist of alcohol and smoke that clouds in front of you. Donghyuck manages to hoist you to your feet, tugging relentlessly on your wrist to push you through the short crowd and towards a small door in the corner of the room. Shooting him a glare, you yank your hand away, only to be shoved into the closet with a giggle-filled ‘goodbye.’ The door shuts unceremoniously as you stumble forward, nearly falling into the various cardboard boxes that line the wall, and catch yourself right before you fall. Groaning, you turn around.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” the dip of Jaemin’s tone already makes you want to rip each strand of your hair from your head, but you refrain, adjusting your eyes to the darkened room and the lack of light. Your tongue lets out an annoyed click, and a short laugh fills the air. “No need to get your panties in a twist already, sweetheart. We can do everything and more in seven minutes.”

“You can do me a favor and shut up,” you quip back, hearing a hiss from his mouth as you move to the wall and lean against it. “I can’t believe Hyuck invited you.”

A few shuffles, and he’s beside you, scoffing at your tone. “Why not? Because he didn’t ask Miss Stage Director? Aw, sweetheart, should I get you tissues?”

“I’m leaving.” You announce, biting your cheek and moving to the door. Your hand twists at the knob unsuccessfully, and Donghyuck’s voice bellows from the other side. “What the fuck?”

“It’s seven minutes in heaven,” Jaemin reminds you, as if you weren’t already aware. “You can’t just leave when you feel like it. Or, you certainly can. But you’d just be admitting defeat to me, and I’m assuming you wouldn’t enjoy seeing me succeed.”

Your jaw clenches as his comments sear through your brain as they always do, burning in marks that would otherwise cause an outburst of unprofessional words. You choose not to respond to him, instead pressing your back against the opposite wall and focusing on breathing carefully. Surely, if you stayed quiet for the rest of the time being, your time spent in hell would soon be up, and you’d be free.

“Can’t you let go a little, Y/N?” His voice, now a whisper, still nags at your brain, gnawing in like an unsatisfied woodpecker to a maple tree. You’re about to snap at him again, unleash all the pent-up frustration that isn’t doing good for your heart, but footsteps clacking towards you stop you. Soon enough, you can hear him inches away. “All that tensing up isn’t good for you. Don’t narrow your eyebrows like that, it’s not good for your forehead muscles.”

A sigh leaves your mouth in exasperation as you turn away. “As if you actually give a fuck.”

The simple pause makes you believe that you’ve done enough for the evening, but the sound of shuffling changes your mind. Although you can’t see him, you’re unable to ignore the growing proximity between the two of you—with the warmth radiating off his body enough to cause a contradictory shiver. He’s so close now, and you have nowhere to run. “You’re always such a bitch, huh?”

Comments remain at the tip of your tongue, but refuse to fall out. You scoff, letting it go. “Only for you.”

The fog grows, thickening as Jaemin lowly chuckles, lightly ghosting over your arm. Even without a touch, you still respond with a sharp inhale which doesn’t go unnoticed to him. “You’re a fucking handful.”

The words are loaded, but quietly said. You hear another clack of a shoe: another step closer.

“Those boys fucking love you, you know that?” He inquires, clicking his tongue roughly. “All of them out there–Donghyuck, Renjun, Chenle. You’re like a sweetheart to them, their pretty little girl. Did you see the way Mark was looking at you? He’s heard of you before, and he’s not even part of the play.”

Jaemin’s tone shifts from taunting to unrecognizable, making you slowly absorb his words. The sudden understanding that your theatre members view you in such a way has you in disbelief, but not entirely. An involuntary gasp leaves your mouth as your breathing falters, and the boy takes it as his cue to continue.

The zippers of his jacket collide as he leans in, moving impossibly close to you until the tips of his hair are tickling your skin. “And you know, they’d all volunteer to take you home any day.”

Your assumption of the phrase is enough to have the boy laughing in your ear, feeling each wave of embarrassment dissolve into the waiting air. The quietest ‘oh’ leaves your mouth before you gulp, suddenly feeling conscious of yourself. You want to deny it, yet your throat isn’t strong enough.

“I couldn’t be the one to fall in line, though,” he says, lowering into a softer whisper. “And I tried so hard. You don’t treat me like you treat them. You don’t smile at me the same way. You resent me. You argue with me and bicker with me and spit in my face. You think we don’t get along. Of course we don’t. How would we, when I always poke you where it hurts?”

Your throat is dry now, and Jaemin’s fingers are resting cautiously on your arm. You don’t push them away.

“I don’t know, Y/N, it sounds so stupid,” he sighs, nudging his nose against your ear. You flinch momentarily, inhaling loudly enough for him to notice. “But I fucking love it when you yell at me.”

“Huh?”

He hums in confirmation, the short vibration racking your body with clouding thoughts. The heat rising to your cheeks increases in speed, spreading to the rest of your body until your skin is warm to the touch–a clear result of Jaemin’s words. You’re unable to process it all at once, but the last sentence throws you off by a mile.

“You’re turned on when I yell at you?” You ask, both breathlessly and incredulously.

“Yeah.” Jaemin responds nonchalantly, finally making you whip your head towards him. He regards you slowly. “What? Weren’t you expecting this?”

“Wha–no! How could I possibly expect this?” You can already see a smile beginning to form on his face, one that irks you. It makes sense now, all the smiles of victory when you’ve clearly won and the gazes of desire when you’re putting him in his place, the evidence is right in front of you. “I always thought you were some demon version of Hyuck. A fucking tease. And now you’re saying what? You’re horny?”

“I’m not horny, Y/N. Just satisfied with your reactions.” Jaemin laughs humorlessly. “It’s too fun to mess with you sometimes. You’re cute when you’re angry.”

Your eyebrows furrow, with your eyes focusing and refocusing on the boy’s minute movements. He’s avoided the specific words, but it still manages to flip the smallest switch inside of you. Gulping again, you move to raise a hand towards him, but think otherwise, only glancing away when he notices. Instead of teasing you, as he usually does, you feel his fingers curve around your wrist, searing the skin with his touch before he brings it to his shoulder. You lay it there awkwardly until arms make their way around your waist and yank you in.

“Didn’t I tell you not to do that?” Your torso presses softly into his, making you feel each and every ridge of his body. Thumbs come up to smooth out your forehead, rubbing gently over your eyebrows while the rest of his fingers go to hold your face. “Good. You look so pretty like this.”

“Stop,” you say, your voice a weak command against his deep gaze. “What–what are you doing?”

“Well, sweetheart, I’m trying to say something. It’s important but a little difficult when you’re interrupting me.” Jaemin cocks his head to the right, smiling sweetly in a way that confuses you. You’re not sure why your heart is beating out of your chest anymore; he’s called you sweetheart countless times before, mostly in efforts to tweak at your nerves, but the name sounds different now. It sends a sudden flare up your body, and a chuckle leaves his throat. “Can I talk now?”

You nod slowly, averting your eyes away.

Stroking your jaw carefully, he pulls in closer, glistening in a heavy breath under dim lights. “It’s so hard to get you alone. You’re always around, though, of course you are. I wish I could see you, just you, minus everyone else. And look at me now, I’ve granted my own wish.” You gulp hard, following his lingering gaze as you press your lips together, trying to gain some grip on the situation. “Wanna go out with me sometime?”

A breath you don’t remember holding in releases. “What?”

“You heard what I said.”

“I’m processing it.” You hear him suck his teeth at your sharp response, and he lightly taps at your jaw in warning. The hand resting at the base of his neck threatens to travel upward and squeeze, but you refrain for the moment. He would probably enjoy it too much. “You want to go out with me?”

Fingertips tingle the surface of your skin, smoothing downwards until fingers grip tightly at your chin. Your lips part right as you meet Jaemin’s waiting eyes; they train shamelessly on your mouth, watching with a sort of deep desire that soils your sweetest dreams. Without verbal confirmation, he nods, lifting the corner of his mouth high enough to stop you from responding. The air is clear now, only tainting every now and then from the sounds of the rager outside, and you’re rendered breathless for once.

Your hand grips at a shovel when you wonder if he wants to kiss you. The mind always has enough fuel to rethink the same thoughts over and over until they’re dissolving into an abyss of nothing. The shovel is plunged into the earth when he speaks to you again, saying something along the lines of ‘want you’ and ‘need you.’ It’s okay, you can no longer see the difference between the two phrases. You begin digging when you reply positively, affirming that you’re in agreement.

A hole begins to form when his hand moves down, slipping over the smooth material of your dress and resting idly—waiting for a prompt of some sort. You continue digging, with your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt.

“Just kiss me,” you mumble, quietly enough to maintain your dignity. Jaemin all but chuckles, leaving the most chaste peck to your cheek. “Asshole.”

“I can’t give you everything that easily.” He whispers directly against your ear, brushing carefully against your skin to cause a shiver. The hole grows incredibly larger, making it increasingly difficult for you not to fall in. “You gotta work for it.”

The shovel disappears–it’s played its part–and you topple over the edge.

Lips meet lips in a delicate crash of desperation, fueled by months of misunderstandings and disagreements left untouched. Hands press in at your waist, gripping tightly enough to push you against the small wall and knock the breath from your lungs, before they trail down to rest at your hips. Fingertips play with the slim fabric of your dress, feeling the textured material, until they’re sliding down to the ends. Shivers rack your body when he pulls back–gauging your swollen lips in the darkness–and nudges your head to the side, now opting to plant heated kisses up the column of your throat.

A short yelp leaves your mouth when Jaemin raises your leg up into his grip, allowing him to run his hand up the expanse of your thigh, and pushes it harshly against the wall; the action has the slightest sigh leaving your mouth in an aftershock, making him smile against your skin as he leaves lasting marks. Right when you guide his mouth back against yours, and his hand travels a bit too far upwards, a quiet knock breaks the building tension in the room.

The orange-haired boy disregards it completely, instead guiding you by the chin to meet his lips once again. You would’ve never imagined yourself in this position, pushed up against the wall of Donghyuck’s basement storage closet with your mind fuzzing due to kisses, but you from a few minutes ago would’ve vehemently denied any sort of contact with Na Jaemin whatsoever. Yet you’re here, kissing him hard until it hurts and completely forgetting your surroundings.

On the other side of the door, Mark sits back in between Donghyuck and Renjun on the couch, and sighs.

“Which one of you is telling her that she was in there for twenty minutes?”

Both boys shake their heads in unison.

[3:29 a.m.] haechan (other male lead): ik you and y/n left but pls tell her to check her phone

[3:29 a.m.] haechan (other male lead): i need her to compensate me for playing matchmaker

all rights reserved © navyhyuck 2022.

#neowritingsnet #neoturtles #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #jaemin scenarios #jaemin x reader #na jaemin x trader #nct-writers #nctcreations #i hope these are enough tags #hope this doesn’t flop oops

[yourtamaki]

the broken melody of us

matsukawa x f!reader

word count: 4k

request: mattsun hurt/comfort + neglect?

warnings: hurt/comfort, neglect, body worship, praise kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming

it was a song and dance at this point. a well rehearsed play with a blinding spotlight on the exhausted actors onstage. both of you go through the motions, no life behind the words you’ve spoken so many times they held no meaning anymore. you don’t know why you keep up the charade. you never expect a different result yet still you pick up the phone everyday and call your boyfriend. 

“you think you’ll be home in time for dinner?” 

sometimes you get a different, automated message. “maybe. might have to stay late,” or “can’t, i’ve gotta finish something up,” or your least favourite. a simple, clipped, “no.” 

“don’t stay out too late.” you should cut this part from the script, he never listens. 

“i’ll try.” 

“i love you.” this line is always to be spoken quietly, followed by holding your breath while you wait for his response. it’s the only reason you make these calls. this is your only chance to hear him say it and pretend he means it as much as he once did.

“love you too.” the line goes dead, the lights dim and he’s gone. you’re alone on an empty stage staring out at a bored audience. bored of the foolish protagonist who keeps them locked in the theatre, playing the same ending over and over and expecting something to give, to change. they watch on, silent and judging while you barter away what little dignity you have left. 

let them watch. 

the rejection doesn’t sting as badly as it used to. you’ve learned to bear it, swallow down the hurt that sits like a stone in your gut and go about your day, filling it with any meaningless errand that would stop your mind from wandering back to him. 

mattsun was subtle, you could give him that much. the way he slowly pulled away from your arms until you could hardly remember how he felt beneath your palms. the realization that you don’t really know your boyfriend anymore was slow to hit you but it knocked the air out of your lungs when it did. it crashed down on you when you woke in the middle of the night and turned to stare at his back gently rising and falling with every breath. his hair is longer then you remember and you don’t know why the thought has a lump forming in your throat. you focus instead on the broad expanse of his back. he’s tense, even in sleep, shoulders rigid and you’re sure if you could see his face, his brows would be furrowed. subtle changes that are enough for you to realize you’ve been shut out of his life.

you used to know him. when you were university kids who thought the future would never catch up to them and spent countless days in each other’s company. it wasn’t so much you knew him, it felt like you were him. and he was you. less attached to the hip and more intertwined with one another. you two were of one mind, to the point where you knew what the other needed before they’d even say it. 

your mattsun who was always just a text away. 

your mattsun who would indulge your late night drives, who would look at you with a permanent crooked smile on his face and love in his eyes. 

“you think we’ll always be like this?” you said one night, straddling him in panties and a baggy hoodie in the backseat and lazily kissing beneath the stars. and because he was yours and understood every little anxious thought that crossed your mind, he didn’t question why you were asking, didn’t make you explain what you meant, didn’t try to make a half assed joke about it. 

his hands trailed up your sides as he contemplated his answer, sending shivers up your spine. “probably not. things always change. we’ll change with them.” 

“what if things get worse?” 

“they might. but what if they get better? just cause it’s different doesn’t mean it's scary, angel.” 

“i know. but i hate thinking about it cause things are so good right now. i want it to last forever.” 

“we got time. let’s make the most of it, yeah?” he gripped your hips, slowly grinding you against his growing bulge and pulling you back into a kiss, sighing as your lips slotted together. you took control of the pace and grinned against him when a groan spilled into your mouth. 

“is that your way of saying we should hurry up and fuck?” 

“it’s working, isn’t it?” before you could pull your sweater up over your head, he cupped your face and brought your forehead to his, sincerity shining through his dark eyes. “i’ll always love you. that’ll never change. got it?”

“got it.” you managed to push the words out despite the lump that formed in your throat. he kept his eyes locked on yours as he slid your panties to the side and sank inside you, the familiar stretch a welcome one. 

it was nothing special, one night of many spent panting into each other’s mouths with an unspoken promise still hanging from your lips. but it was a memory you circled back to often, so often you could hear the echo of his vow ring through your head. 

your fears came to pass not long after that. life caught up and tore him from you, leaving you a shattered mess in the aftermath. you tried to fit jagged pieces of yourself back together in an attempt to remake the person you used to be but what stared back at you only left you keenly aware of the empty space he used to reside. 

these days, you like going to the roof of your apartment and letting the wind blow through those countless gaps in your soul. you feel whole for a short while as it whistles through you, the air filled with the broken melody of you, of the relationship that slips past your grasp more everyday. it’s shrill and ear piercing and leaves goosebumps littered on your skin. 

you can’t stop listening to it. 

it’s where you were now, staring out as the sun dipped below the horizon and listening to the haunting sound that’s been your only company in recent memory. later, you’ll go home and crawl into bed desperate for any warmth and no time to miss the heat of a body next to yours. your phone lights up bright in contrast to the darkening sky and it takes you a few moments of staring blankly at the screen for it to sink in that mattsun is trying to call you. 

this isn’t part of the script. 

you don’t know your lines. 

and yet you find yourself answering anyway, hitting the green button before the call drops and you raise your phone to your ear silently. 

“are you okay?” his voice comes out rushed and strung together almost before your phone is pressed to your ear. 

“why’re you asking?” 

“remember that time you failed that essay? i think it was third year and you hid in your room all day and wouldn’t answer the phone?” you did remember. how you couldn’t bear to face the world that day with the crushing weight of failure hanging over you and how shocked you were to see mattsun standing at the front door. “did i ever tell you why i checked up on you?” 

“no.” 

“the whole day i felt, in my gut, like i needed to see you. i can’t describe it, it was like a stab that just dug deeper until i went to your place. would you believe me if i said i have that feeling right now?” 

“i- i would.” you say quietly, wondering if he could even hear you over the roar of the wind. 

“are you okay?” he repeats. there’s a weight behind his words that has tears springing to your eyes. 

“no, issei ‘m not.” 

“i’m almost home, i’m parking right now. i’ll be up in a few minutes, okay? wait for me, angel.” 

you were always waiting for him, weren’t you? what's a couple more minutes? you hang up and try in vain push down the wave of anxiousness that hits you. it’s just mattsun, you try to remind yourself. even if it’s been awhile since you’ve really felt like a part of his life, he’s still the person you fell in love with. right?

even if the issei from the past would never have made you feel so alone. the issei that was free from the hardships of real life, of 9-5s and bills due and rent to pay. you miss that issei, mourn for him on empty rooftops everyday. maybe he’s still alive somewhere within this new issei but it’s not like you would know. 

you head off the roof, shivering slightly as you make your way home. the days were only getting colder, you should’ve known not to stay out for so long. you were trying to get your shaky hands to cooperate and unlock the door when you hear the elevator dings open and your name being called out. 

“you weren’t home?” he asks, gently prying your keys from your grasp and opening the door for you both. as soon as he locks it behind you, his hands are covering yours once more. “baby you’re freezing.” 

words. where were your words? you couldn’t call up any as he brought your joined hands to his mouth, blowing hot air on them and rubbing them between his to warm them up. this is the closest you’ve been to him in who knows how long and you couldn’t summon up a single sentence. it’s not your fault. his attention has always stunned you into silence. 

he thought you were painfully shy the first time you met and though that was half true, you mostly found yourself silently panicking about the handsome man that suddenly sat beside you. the professor had paired the class off to discuss the readings for that lecture and your interest had only come to life when you saw the dark haired man make his way to you. 

“i’m gonna be honest.” he said as he plopped down beside you and showed you the blank document open on his laptop. “i have no idea what we’re supposed to be doing right now. do you?” 

it was his eyes, you decided much later, hugging your pillow and staring at the text you just received from a new number. you came alive under his gaze like you could finally catch your breath, everything dull until his eyes landed on you. you don’t believe in love at first sight, this was something different. it was the dust of collapsing stars finding each other once more. it was strings of fate being braided together. it was more profound, more important than love and it all happened in a moment. 

you nodded in response to his earlier question though it was clear neither of you were paying any attention to what was going on in class, too caught up in the small bubble that surrounded you and drowned out the rest of the world. 

“matsukawa. i’m- my name’s matsukawa.” you must’ve given your name in return judging by the smile he gave you in return. “so what’re we doing, partner?”

this time, you forced a proper response, intensely aware of how you held yourself in a way you’ve never been before. “yeah, she just wants us to talk about today’s reading.” 

matsukawa watched you pull up your notes, resting his head in his hand while you began explaining the general concepts. you paused when you noticed he was still looking at you and not at the notes you had angled towards him. 

“am i explaining it okay?” 

“we’re a month into the semester, how have i not noticed you before?” 

“guess you don’t notice something you’re not looking for.” 

just then the professor grabbed everyone’s attention, the student’s quietly migrating back to their seats but matsukawa stayed where he was. instead, you could just hear him speak under his breath, more to himself then to you but you still managed to pick it up, your face going hot as it echoed in your head. “trust me, i’m looking now.” 

the memory leaves you more vulnerable than you expected, soft in his arms as the numbness finally fades and the shaking stops.

“where were you?” he says.

“the roof.” his brows furrow, lips pulled down in a frown. it’s strange feeling yourself falling back into reading him so easily, not needing him to ask to know he wanted you to explain why. “i like going up there. this place is too quiet with just me in it.” 

the longer you watch him, the more you pick up from his body language. the confusion then understanding that flits across his face, the underlying care you’re so familiar with as he smooths his thumb over the back of your hand. but more than anything you start to see his guilt. his muscles are rigid with it, it swims in his eyes that never quite seem to meet yours. 

“i’ve fucked up, haven't i?” he finally says when he realizes you won’t be the one to breach the subject. 

“issei…”

“no, i have. things have been so endless, i feel like i’m half awake and i’ve hurt you because of it.” 

you squeeze his hands, trying to reassure him. “just talk to me. please.” 

“i hate it. work is nonstop, everyday is the same shit over and over. it’s just a wave that keeps knocking me down and i can barely get my footing before it pushes me down again. and every day i think about quitting just to get ready the next morning. 

“if i was alone, if… if i didn’t have you i would’ve quit so long ago but i want to give you the life you deserve and i can’t do that if i’m broke. and it all might be for nothing cause i might’ve lost you already.” 

the confession ends with mattsun clearing his throat, blinking fast and concentrating solely on your laced hands. you can’t seem to catch your breath, struggling under the weight he had carried silently until now as he finally shares the burden with you. 

“you haven’t lost me, issei. look at me.” you wait until his eyes meet yours before dropping your voice to a whisper. “you haven’t lost me.”

“i don’t deserve you.” 

“it’s not about deserving, i chose you. i chose to love you, i chose to stay when things got bad. yeah, you hurt me.” it’s impossible to miss the full body flinch at your words, “and i’m not ready to forgive you just yet. but that doesn’t mean i’m giving up on us. i don’t want you working yourself to death for me. i don’t care where we live or how much money you spend on me. i don’t need all of that, i just need you. got it?” 

“got it.” you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows down whatever feeling overcomes him, “i’m sorry.”

“i know.”

“tell me what you need, please. i need- i need to make this right.” 

you answer by leaning forward and mattsun meets you halfway. the kiss is soft in contrast to the way you bundle the front of his shirt in your fists, afraid the moment might end before it’s even begun but mattsun takes his time cherishing you. there’s regret and gratitude and love that dances across your tongue and the taste has pressure building behind your eyes. 

it isn’t enough. you need him closer, need him to line the cracks of your soul with his touch. you pull just far back enough to break the kiss and mumble against his lips, “more, ‘sei please. i’m so cold.” 

“anything you want, pretty baby. let me make you feel good, yeah?” 

his lips crash back down on yours with renewed eagerness. there’s a desperation that wasn’t there a moment ago fuelling you both and urging you to stumble blind into the bedroom, barely letting your mouths detach as you fumble and undress each other. 

it’s not until you’re naked before him that your head clears a bit and shyness comes creeping in. he cups your face as though he could sense you curling into yourself and simply says, “beautiful.” 

the utter conviction in his voice is enough to dispel any insecurities before they have a chance to latch on and you turn your head to kiss the center of his palm, silently telling him you were all right. together you land in a tangled heap in bed, his half hard cock resting on your thigh. mattsun kisses his way down your neck, licking and sucking at every sensitive spot he had mapped out over the years. 

“issei…” you say, impatience tinging your voice as you feel your core throb with need. 

“i’ll get you there, angel, you know i will. let me take my time, i missed you.” 

true to his word, he began kissing every inch of skin he could reach. your tits, your stomach, your thighs all the way down to your ankles, he made sure to shower with affection. it’s nearly overwhelming. you knew you were starved for his attention but it feels like something breaks loose inside you the longer his mouth trails over your body, whispering declarations into your skin that left you tingling in his wake. by the time his fingers dip between your legs, your thighs are sticky with arousal, clit thrumming and begging to be touched. 

“look at my pretty baby’s pussy. all wet just for me?” 

“mhmm ‘s all for you, issei.” 

he hums, swirling his middle finger around your entrance and pressing the thick digit inside with ease. it’s only a few pumps later he adds another, stretching out your gummy walls. his other hand drifts over your mound, his thumb finally giving your clit some attention as his fingers graze over a spot inside you that has your hips rising off the bed. 

“stay still. you want to be my good girl, right?” the quiet authority that radiates from mattsun has you clenching around him, doing your best to do as he asks and keep your legs spread for him. “there you go. you’re taking me so well, baby. you’re close, aren’t you? i can feel it” 

mattsun loves showing off how well he knew your body, how it never took long for you to crumble beneath him. a few more idle circles with the pad of his thumb and your orgasm washes over you, rising gently and leaving you relaxed in its wake. 

that state didn’t last long as he replaces his thumb with his mouth, sucking at your clit that twitches against his tongue, still sensitive from your high. “issei! w-wait please give me a sec-” 

his glare is enough to cut through your babbling, his fingers never slowing in their strokes against that sweet spot. you let out a low moan as he adds yet another finger, the stretch just shy of uncomfortable but it’s quick to fade into pleasure once again. the flame in your gut is far more intense this time and you can’t stop the whimpers he pulls from you. you thread your fingers through his dark curls, tugging on them and pulling him deeper into your folds.

“that’s it, princess. cum on my tongue and i’ll stuff you full, i promise. you can do it, c’mon baby.” 

the encouragement has the coil in your gut tightening once more and the lewd sounds of mattsun lapping up every drop that escapes you is enough to snap it. when the blood stops ringing in your ears, you realize he’s shifted your positions. he’s sat cross-legged on the bed with you pulled into his lap, legs locked around his waist. his cock is pinned between your stomachs, smearing precum on your skin and your mouth waters as you catch sight of the blushing tip. 

he whispers your name to grab your attention, naked devotion plain on his face when you gaze up at him. “i love you.” 

this. this was your breaking point. the words you longed to hear every time you picked up the phone for those dreaded calls. your vision blurs with tears that well up and spill down your cheeks before you could blink them away. “you do?” 

“i do, baby, with everything i’ve got. i-“ he falters for a moments, visibly steeling himself for what he wanted to say. “i want to spend the rest of my life with you. there’s not a future i can picture that doesn’t include you. you’re it for me.” 

“i want that too ‘sei.” you hiccup, more tears trickle out faster than you can wipe them clear. 

you feel his whole body relax, hands rubbing at your sides to soothe you. “don’t cry, angel. wait till i’m inside you at least.” 

“shut up.” your laugh comes out watery but it feels good to smile. “how do you go from sweet to nasty so fast?” 

“just wanted to see you smile.” you try and fail to suppress another grin that only widens when mattsun peppers your cheeks with loud kisses. “so pretty and all mine.”

“all yours.” you repeat, grinding your soaked folds along the underside of his cock. “and you’re mine, right?” 

“that’s right, princess. go on, take what’s yours.” 

sinking down on mattsun feels like coming home, the empty ache finally gone as he fills you and you both moan when he bottoms out. there’s no way for you to bounce in this position but you find that you don’t mind. you feel closer to him like this, what little space there is between you vibrating with how vulnerable you both were. 

it’s relaxing, slowly rolling your hips against each other, not building towards anything and indulging in the other’s touch. your hands roam across his broad back, sucking dark marks into his neck while he grabs at your ass, kneading and groping so possessively you clench around him. 

“fuck.” he groans next to your ear. “keeping squeezing me with that princess cunt, you feel so fucking good. just like that, good girl.” 

“issei…” you whimper, pressure gradually building in your gut as your grinding gets sloppy and legs grow weak. 

“what is it, baby? use your words.” 

“want more, ‘sei i want your cum.” 

“yeah? want me to fill up this greedy pussy and keep you warm with my cum?” he leans forward, keeping you cradled in his arms as your back hits the mattress, your legs still crossed around his waist keeping him as close to you as possible. 

you nod, half delirious with need and mattsun begins thrusting in earnest. his cock is so thick he nudges against every sensitive spot along your walls, his tip battering just below your cervix and hitting so deep you swear you can feel it in your throat. his hands pry yours open from where you had been gripping the sheets and laces his fingers with yours. a swell of love rises in you and has you gasping for air as he fucks you into the mattress. you can’t even hear your own moans over the squelch as you grow wetter and wetter and the smack of his heavy balls against your ass.

your orgasm takes both of you by surprise, ripping through you so violently you’re left a shaking mess. mattsun’s hips stutter, bucking wildly into you as he nears his own high and you stare in awe as he reaches it. it’s a sight you’ll never get enough of, how beautiful he looks as he spills endlessly inside you, mindlessly grinding it deeper with his softening cock. 

“you okay, angel?” he asks, pulling you in for a sweet, lingering kiss. 

“mhmm. can we stay like this?” you weren’t ready to put any space between you, not so soon after reconnecting.

“‘course we can.” he settles over you, knowing exactly what you need. his weight a reassurance that grounds you in a way words never could. it’s a conversation in its own right, one that could only pass between two people who knew each other as well as you knew each other. in the quiet afterglow he tells you that he’s here with you. that you were going to work on being okay again. that he wouldn’t let you feel that lonely ever again. and you believe him with every fibre of your being. 

dedicated to: @honeykeigo @ohno-otome @keigobaby @saintdabi @toshidou @sawam0chi

#matsukawa x reader #matsukawa smut #matsukawa angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu angst #matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei smut #matsukawa issei angst #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu!! smut

[outofsstyles]

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️ PART 1 ☁️

word count: 20.3k

warnings: language

//

Sweet tea in the summer

Cross your heart, won't tell no other

And though I can't recall your face

I still got love for you

- Seven, Taylor Swift

//

“Can you bend your arms one last time, please?” Harry quickly angles his arms, holding them at chest height to show Marcus what he’s referring to.

He stands in front of Harry, dressed in his full Gaston outfit for the last fitting before opening night. The atelier has gone hectic again now that everyone’s gotten back from their lunch breaks, a mess of fabrics and papers taking over every surface in the room. There’s a low mesh of voices blending with Moyra’s playlist playing on a speaker that’s probably lost somewhere by now. Someone rushes across the room in a speed walk and almost bumps into Harry, muttering a quick apology before disappearing behind the doors leading to storage. 

As the week approached, Harry was warned by pretty much every single one of his coworkers about the chaos that it would be. After all, it’s the last week of rehearsals, and the first time the actors would get in characters with their full costumes. All arrangements have to be done by Saturday morning, is what Lisa said with her stern voice the previous Friday, with no space for wardrobe malfunctions. She meant it as a warning, but Harry took it as motivation, knowing he works better under stressful situations — which is not the healthiest working ethic, he admits, but it gets the job done.

On top of it all, your unprompted visit has surprisingly given him the boost he needed to finish up most of his work with an entire day to spare. 

It’s only been two days since you appeared on his front door with a Brit statuette and a promise to make up for the years lost in each other’s lives. Your suggestion to go out for a coffee quickly showed itself to be a bit more complicated than both of you thought it would; as neither of you expected the conflict in your schedules when making those plans. This was a busy week for Harry and an even busier opening weekend. The only time he’ll actually be able to catch a breather is by Monday, which, coincidentally, is the same day you’re catching a flight back to America.

Still, none of you seemed to want to wait another week to meet again. So he proposed to meet after his Friday shift. Which is why he spent the entirety of Thursday inside the costume studio, being the last one to leave just so he could wrap everything a few hours early to meet you back at his flat — by your request.

Even with a day cut short, however, there’s been barely enough time for him to focus on anything other than measurements and fittings. It’s a good thing when it comes to his nerves; the tight schedule giving him no space to let any butterfly drift on his belly. Without the anxiousness on the way and work to keep himself busy, it’s as if the clock has gone with a leap. He sewed back details that had fallen off an extra’s costume while swallowing back the salad he’d brought for lunch, made sure Lumiere’s candleholders were fixed in place, and that no feathers from Plumette would sweep around the stage. Now, after having to make an adjustment to Gaston’s shirt - thanks to an unexpected problem with the stitching - he’s finally able to allow his shoulders to relax a bit.

Marcus mimics the movement shown to him, keeping his arms still as Harry takes a step to examine the character’s signature red shirt with his fingers fiddling with the tip of the measuring tape hanging around his shoulders.

“Does it still feel tight around your chest?” Harry asks, noting how the stitching on the sides is not stretching anymore. “Or under your arms?”

“Nope,” Marcus answers with a pop, relaxing his arms back down when Harry turns to write something down. “Fits like a glove, mate.”

He clicks his pen down on the table. “Then we’re all good.” 

“So, I’m free to go?” He jumps down from the platform, loosening the black leather belt that’s fastened around his waist.

“You’re free to go,” Harry confirms after a double-check at the file sitting on the table, making sure there’s no other change that’s needed on his costume. “Just put everything back in the bag and hang it on the rack.”

“Yes, sir.” Marcus shifts with the curtains of the changing room before disappearing inside of it.

“And make sure the label is still stuck to it!” Harry calls over his shoulder, listening to the mumbled response before turning back to the files on his hands. 

While he waits for Marcus to return, he gathers everything he needs to leave. A quick look at his phone that was left forgotten on top of a roll of blue-dyed camel tells him it’s around four, meaning he’s just in time. Checking the pages he’s been focusing on, Harry walks to the rack, selecting the two bags carrying the costumes he still needs to make adjustments on, placing them carefully over his work table before making his way to fetch his backpack.

As soon as Marcus is out, he gives a double check to see if the label is still stuck to the bag he just hanged - not entirely trusting the cast’s attention to those details - before collecting his belongings and heading for the door. He bids his goodbyes on his way out, catching the attention of Alice, who’s standing on a platform near the door while Moyra works on the skirt of her yellow dress with a few pins placed between her lips.

“Going already, H?” She asks, her eyes big as she looks down at him.

He stops in his tracks with a hand on the door handle gnawing on his inner cheek as he turns to face her. 

As soon as he meets her gaze, he notices the subtle tinge of pink painting over her cheekbones. It’s something that Harry’s gotten used to by now when speaking with Alice. 

He could tell she was shy from the moment he got to meet the entire cast, always standing quietly to the side reading her script, keeping her chats restricted to the same two people (which is funny enough of a contrast with her stage persona, considering she has the main role). But with Harry, she’s always been especially timid, and it didn’t take too long for him to learn from Moyra that the girl had taken a fancy on him — if the blushing wasn’t a big indicator.

It’s sweet, he reckons. She’s lovely enough, from the limited amount of conversations they had, and Harry finds it that maybe if she opened up a bit it would be nice to get to know her. Julia’s the one that always pesters him about it, though urging for Harry to make a move from the moment he told her about the girl’s crush on him. She says his romantic side gets especially annoying when he’s lonely, and he knows she’s right, but would never admit it to her face. So he just brushes it off, saying he’ll take the time to talk to Alice.

Except now. Harry knows he’s on the clock if he wants to make it in time to meet you. The last thing he wants is for you to have to stand on the street because he got caught up in her mutters. 

So he keeps his grip on the handle, hoping it’s enough of a hint for the conversation to be cut short, as he motions his arm that holds the clothes’ bags at the crook of his elbow. “Yeah, I- Lisa let me work on these at home.”

“So you’re not having a drink with us tonight?” Alice rushes out, eyes darting up at him, and her blush gets a shade stronger. When her lips part again, her voice comes out a bit lower,  “It’s the last one before opening night, and you haven’t gone in a while...”

“Harry’s too cool to hang out with us.” Moyra barges in the conversation, glancing teasingly at Harry from over her shoulder as she takes the last pin from between her lips.

“Shut up, Mo.” He rolls her eyes slightly, grip tightening on the door as he prepares to leave.

Before he can do so, Alice speaks up, her eyes falling again to her fingers that poke at her nails. “You know, bringing work home sometimes can cause stress… And stuff.” She peeks up at Harry, shrugging slightly. “I read about it somewhere, anyway.”

“I think I’ll be fine, really, but thanks.” Turning the knob, he cracks open the door.  “Just got something today.”

Moyra doesn’t waste a second before blurting, “A date.”

“Don’t.” He warns with a sigh. “I’m seeing an old friend.”

“That’s nice.” Alice nods.

“Yeah.” He takes a step out, being painfully aware of how he’s a second away from being late. “Uhm, I gotta get going then.”

The girl looks up at him fully then, giving a small wave. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, yeah, for sure.” He calls over his shoulder as he’s out the door.

The tube’s just starting to get filled again with people like Harry, who are likely on their journey back home. Shoulders tense and frowns scrunching their faces, they barely pay any mind to him as he finds a spot opposite to the exit doors — preferring to stay closer to them as to get off quicker. He leans against one of the many metal rails that outline the inside of the train car, his vans bouncing nervously as he adjusts the bags at the crook of his elbow, feeling as if today it’s traveling slower than usual. 

Picking up his phone to check the time once again, he’s met with a text. It’s not from you, as he’d hoped, but from Julia. A picture of her and Blake, faces squished together as they force a smile a bit too big for the camera, their hairs meshing together in a mix - Julia’s darker curls tangling with Blake’s shorter blonde locks - and Harry can just about make out the outline of a bright orange sofa from Blake’s living room behind them. The message that reads under it is short, yet playfully demanding.

Juls: impromptu movie night!!! bring chocolate!!!

He smiles down at the screen, but it quickly turns into a frown as he realizes that he won’t be able to make it. Biting down his bottom lip, his thumb hovers above the keyboard, not sure how to respond. There’s not a chance he can fully tell the truth to her, not over text. Even if he brushes over it, he knows his friend, and how nosy she can be sometimes — which has never bothered him before until he found himself in this position. He contemplates lying. A white one, there is. Just say he got caught up with work or something along those lies. Something he knows she’d understand. But the simple thought of it makes him feel guilty; as if he’s leaving her out.

So, he opts for the ladder, pushing the responsibility for his future self to deal with the interrogation afterwards when he sees her again. Maybe if he finishes the tv show she’s been nagging him to watch in time, it’ll be enough of a distraction so she won’t ask him many questions. His answer comes a bit slower than usual — not only due to his internal battle but also for finding it a bit tricky to type with one hand. By the time he clicks the send button, Julia has already sent enough interrogation points to cover half of the screen.

Can’t tonighttt got something...

Juls: what’s something

I’ll tell you later, send Blake a hug for me.

Juls: no :(

With a chuckle, he pockets his phone,  noticing he’s just a couple of steps away from his own. Once he’s out of the station, just a couple blocks away from his building, the bundle of nerves he’s been avoiding all day sweeps in. They’re not overwhelming, they don’t make his chest tighten or his palms sweat, no. They’re the nerves that give him a spring to his step, that make him take deeper breaths, and that speed his heart just the tiniest bit.

It’s a strange feeling to be going home with the sky still shining a clear blue, instead of the purple-pink that comes just before the sun hugs the horizon. A cloudless day. Thanks to the previous streak of rainfalls that washed away the angry greys. The colors painting his surroundings seem somehow more vibrant, more welcoming. The greens of the trees greet him with a gentle breeze. The maroons of the bricked buildings warm under the sunlight. Even the yellow and the pink of his dirty vans feel a bit brighter as he strolls around the corner of his block.

It’s almost like it matches the way he feels. And Harry knows that from now on, with spring at its peak and summer becoming more present, the weather is bound to become even more pleasant. He hopes it’s some sort of sign. Maybe the universe is getting gentler with him. He’d like to think that.

Part of him still dwells on the feeling the slightest bit, finding a strange sort of uncertainty over how quickly you’ve got at the palm of your hand again. He barely got any sleep after you left his house just thinking about it, actually. There’s no denying that your presence again has brought back the fondest memories of his teenage years. Ones he tried too hard to bury as to ease the ache in his heart that came with them for a long time. But now, having you back, it’s as if they’ve taken almost a hopeful feeling. The reminders of how close you used to be came crashing into him like a wave, enveloping him. That was the first time he ever opened up so fully to someone, after all. And that comfort of having someone that knows him better than he knows himself is something he craves so deeply within himself that, as soon as even the slimmest possibility of having it once again presented itself, he grasped it so quickly that now he’s afraid he’s letting himself dive too deep.

He’s so inside of his head, thoughts rushing inside his mind, that he almost glances over you when he finally approaches his building. 

Paying little to no mind to your cream trousers as you kneel on the sidewalk, a paper bag propped under your arm and a disposable cup holder in your hand hugging two paper cups, you focus on a collie that’s enjoying your hand caressing the fur down its neck. A gold pendant from your necklace reflects the weak rays of sunlight, glowing in a contrast with the black of the short-sleeved turtleneck you’re wearing, tucked under your trousers. 

It’s only when he lets his eyes focus on the company you have that he immediately recognizes the pup, as well as the older lady holding the leash while smiling down at you interacting with her pet.  

Margaret is one of the oldest residents of the building, taking a permanent spot at the very first apartment on the first floor. She was the first neighbor he got to meet, bringing him homemade jelly tarts on his first weekend at his apartment. They chatted for an afternoon and, after admitting he’s not the best cook, she vowed to bring him some of her dishes every time she could. And true to her world, around twice a week she knocks on his door with a warm trail and a sweet smile. Harry likes to visit her as often as he can, knowing she lost her husband a few years before he moved, and has no children to keep her company — that is, apart from her collie, Duchess.

“Harry!” Margaret is the first to acknowledge him with a grin, her voice causing your head to snap up from where you kneel. “You’re early today, my love.”

“Actually, I’m a bit late.” He chuckles, glancing at where you’re standing up while sweeping your trousers. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh! No worries, I just got here.” You brush it off, finding a place next to him before gazing back at Margaret. The older lady attempts to look discreetly between the two of you, brows arched, and Harry knows from the look in her eyes he’ll probably have to face another interrogation later on. Though, in this case, he’s sure she’s oblivious of your public image. “And, thankfully, I bumped into these lovely ladies who kept me company.”

“Stop that! You’re a very lovely lady yourself, darling.” Margaret reaches for Harry’s wrist as she smiles at you, giving it a squeeze, and he quickly nods, agreeing with her. She looks up at him, lips tight in a grin that’s enough for him to realize her assumptions about why you’re here, and, from the way you’re holding back a laugh yourself, he’s sure you’ve noticed, too. He clears his throat, gazing down at his shoes, trying to cover up the warmth that creeps up his neck, and that seems to be enough for Margaret to take a hint, letting his wrist go with another gentle squeeze. “I’ll leave you two be, Duchess and I still have to grab groceries before it gets dark.”

Harry scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “‘Ave a good day, Marg.”

“You too, Lovie.” She gives his hip a soft pinch before turning to you. “It was lovely meeting you.”

“Right back at you!” You answer excitedly, waving back as the older lady starts her stroll. “Have a nice walk! Bye, Duchess.”

For a second, you quietly watch the duo walk further away from where you stand. A faint hum of car engines can be heard, being cut only by the high-pitched voices of two children, seeming not much older than ten, as they appear at the other side of the street. The peek over your shoulder is quick before you turn your back to them, turning fully to Harry with a slight smile tugging at the side of your lips. 

He clears his throat again, adjusting the bags he’s still holding. “Hi.” 

“Hey.” You answer in a beat, nodding towards him. “Your hair is down.”

“It is, yeah.” His voice comes lower than he intended, the warmth still present on his cheeks, and he quickly motions towards the front door. While fiddling with the side pocket of his backpack in search of his keys, he picks up as you lean into the bricked wall next to the entrance.

“It looks great, really! Wasn’t expecting it to be this long.”

“Yea, I- Thanks.” He shoots you a look once he fetches the keys. “Have been growing it out for a few months now.”

You give him a knowing hum. “Any reason for it?”

The click of your boots against the wooden steps echoes around the narrow walls of the building’s staircase. Harry leads the way up, climbing the steps in a bit of an awkward position as he tries to look back at you.“Uh, not really, no.”  He shrugs. “Just having fun with it, I guess.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be!” You exclaim. “It really compliments you, I mean it.”

“Thank you.” He rubs his nose, coming to a stop as both of you reach his front door. “You- Uh, I- You look very nice, as well.”

“Oh!” You look down at your outfit with a chuckle. “I rarely go around this fancy, but I had a meeting today.” You brush it off. “Which is also not an excuse for me to dress up but I didn’t know most people there so I had to make a good impression, or whatever.”

A dimple pokes at his cheek as you ramble, a habit you seem to haven’t lost. He unlocks the door with ease, pushing it in and motioning for you to walk in. “‘S nice, very pretty, I- I mean, your trousers are very pretty.”

Your smile grows as you support yourself on the wall while toeing off your shoes. If you notice the blush on his cheeks, you don’t mention it. “Thank you! Means a lot coming from you, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you’re the fashion student, after all.” He’s not sure why your answer comes in a bit of a letdown, almost as if he was expecting you to say something else. “By the way, I got us some goodies on the way. Didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I just took a wild guess. Here, try it— If you don’t like it you can have mine, it’s a cappuccino, very sweet.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, watching for his reaction as he sips on the hot beverage. “So...?”

“It’s perfect.” He takes another small sip of the cup you handed to him, trying not to make a face at the slightly bitter taste that comes with it (he’s still not the biggest coffee fan, if he’s honest). He makes his way to lay the bags that now have slid down his elbow at the arm of the couch. Noticing you’re still standing awkwardly by the front door looking around, he points at the counter next to him, quickly sweeping his arm over it to brush the stack of papers to the side.  “You can set everything in here, please feel at home.”

This is the first time you properly get to have a look around his place, which is weird enough of a concept when you take into consideration it’s not the first time you’ve come here (and the flash memory of that night alone is enough for you to fight back a cringe). You recall the path to your right leading towards the bathroom where you spent an hour sitting inside his bathtub before having to answer a not-very-pleased Sonia calling your phone. The rest of the place, however, is a bit of a blur in your memory, so you take this moment to take in his home.

Surely, the space itself is quite modest, but it doesn’t mean there’s not a lot to take in. From your position across from him, the island separating the two of you, you can still scan most of his living room. 

You like that it’s not completely tidy (those sorts of crystal clean homes always freak you out a bit). Upon a first glance, it’s clearly the residence of an undergrad. A couple textbooks pile on top of a center table. A shut laptop sitting next to the cushions on the navy blue couch. Even a few houseplants amongst picture frames spread on shelves and stands. It’s cute, you think, but you barely sweep your eyes over those details.

What calls your attention are the glimpses of the life you’ve missed on. It’s the magazines decorated with sticky notes. It’s the rolls of fabric peeking out from the couch arm. It’s a box of yarn tucked in the far corner, on top of other boxes that are shut closed. Those details seem to have replaced his canvases and paint sets. It makes you wonder if he still keeps them hidden somewhere. If there’s still anything left of the life he had the last time you saw him. 

Oddly enough, you smile at the thought. Somehow glad that he found his passion, even if you weren’t there to support him through it. And it brings you back to why you’re here in the first place. Make up for the lost time.

“Thank you for agreeing to do this here.” You speak up as you focus back on taking the sweets you so carefully picked out from inside the bag (you weren’t entirely sure of his dessert preferences now, which caused the slightest rise of panic as you tried to decide on what to pick from the vast array of options). “I know it’s weird to ask you to, like, have me at your house instead of just meeting at a cafe, but the one I usually go to is closed for renovations and I get a bit wary at, uh, public places.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind having you here.” A small grin tugs at his lips, and it’s hard for you to ignore the warmth that comes to you with it. 

You clap your hands together, gazing around quickly before focusing back on him. “So! I finally get to properly see your place— sorry about that the other night, by the way, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He chuckles. “It’s really okay, like I said, don’t mind having you here.” He repeats, clearing his throat. “It’s, uh, not that big but-”

“I love it, seems so cozy.” You interrupt before he can go on any further, hating the way he feels the need to apologize to you for something like the size of his home. “And it’s a perfect place to have just for yourself.”

“Actually, I-” His lips stay apart for half a second before he continues, blurting the next words out as if it’s a confession, “I have a flatmate.”

“Oh!” You blink in surprise, taking a second to process the information. 

Of course he does. Why did you even think otherwise? Most people share flats these days. Despite that, the possibility of him living with someone didn’t even cross your mind. It’s hard to ignore when it comes to you the riskiness of it. Whoever this flatmate is, you don’t know them, and the possibility of them spilling anything makes you a tad uneasy. It could easily ruin any possibility of a friendship with Harry before you can even get close to him again. 

There’s a wave of anxiety that hits you with the prospect of being the cause of his face printed on the cover of money-hungry tabloids, but, before you get deeper in your own nerves than you already have, you sum what’s left of composure within you to ask,  “Do they... Have you told them about-- well, me?”

He tears up a piece of banana bread, picking at it as he shakes his head, clearly unaware of your change in moods. “Not, really. She’s at her girlfriend’s for the week, so I haven’t been able to see her.”

You try to hide the way your eyes widen the slightest bit with the information that said flatmate is a she. “Is she a fashion student as well?”

“No, she’s a journalist. She works— well, interns for a music magazine, actually.”

Of course she’s a fucking journalist. When you think it couldn’t get any worse. “Anything that would ring a bell?”

“I don’t think so, they’re quite small.” He shrugs, sipping at his coffee.  “Don’t even have an office, they do most of the work online.”

“That’s interesting.” You nod, nails picking at a few crumbs dotted around the counter. Scrunching your lips, you try to consider how to word what you’re about to say. Knowing this conversation would have to be brought up eventually doesn’t make it any less awkward for you to have it. You peek up at him from under your lashes, only to find his oblivious state as he smiles back at you. “Harry… Can I ask you for a favour?” 

“Course.”

Inhaling deeply, you attempt not to let your voice come out as calculated as the words that roll out of your lips are. “Could you… Just for a bit, not mention anything about me to her?”

Harry’s expression falls to a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Just--” You pause, resting your cup down before turning to face him fully. “Just for a little while, I-- You have to understand that I would like to be a bit more private… About us?”

“Us?”

“Our friendship… I-” There it is again, the gust of panic. It makes you spit out the words before you can even process them,  “I wouldn’t want any headlines.” 

This only seems to worsen everything it seems, as Harry sits back on his stool, putting more space between you two. He shakes his head, “Julia would never do that.”

“I’m sure she wouldn't!” You rush, attempting to fix it. “It’s just… She could mention it to someone, and-- I don’t know, these things get out of hand really fast.” 

“So you want me to lie to her?”

“Not lie.” You chew at your bottom lip, sure that you’re a word away from getting kicked out. “Just, not to mention it… Just for a little while, it’s not like it can be a secret forever.”

“Right.” He slowly starts to nod, falling quiet for a beat too long. “Sure, yeah, okay.”

You exhale in relief, softening your expression. “Thank you.”

A silence falls between the two of you and, for the first time since your reconnection, it’s not much of a comfortable one. You have to swallow back the guilt that threatens to take over, knowing the awkwardness is mainly your fault for dealing with your request in such an awful way. Of course, you would have to have the privacy talk with Harry eventually, ideally being sooner rather than later. But asking him to lie and insinuating that his friend could use you to sell her magazine is most certainly the worst way you could’ve chosen to go about it. And there’s nothing to stop yourself from feeling completely stupid while picking at the brownie in front of you.

There’s a part of you, one that comes a bit louder now, that ponders if even bother continuing this in the first place; if it wouldn’t be better to spare him the burden that the simple association with you will bring into his life. You know it would be easier, better for him even, if you just collect your stuff now and walk out the door to never contact him again. If you excused this meeting as a lapse of rationality on your part. And just like that, you could let him go on with his regular life, having to come to terms with him painting a picture of you as another arrogant celebrity that just toyed with him for a bit before she got bored. It would hurt, sure, but this part of you tries to reason that it’s the best you could do for him.

Another part, though, a more selfish one that is, can’t bear the thought of standing up from your stool and just simply turn your back to this as if it never happened. No, you can’t bring yourself to do that. Not when meeting Harry again has brought you a sense of comfort you hadn’t even realized you’ve been lacking for months now. Not when he feels like the only person who doesn’t have an image of you shadowed by this big bright monster of fame — one that calls everyone’s attention before they can even take a proper look at you. You know he doesn’t need that, because of all the versions you present of yourself, he’s one of the few people that know which is the real one. 

This part of you makes you act thoughtlessly, letting your emotions speak louder than your brain. It makes you want to follow the immediate sense of relief that comes in knowing there’s no need to change anything to fit an imaginary narrative someone has made of you. There’s no need to do that with Harry. You’re so desperate to keep that ease that comes with being in his presence, that any thought of how it’ll eventually come crashing down on you is pushed to the back of your mind.

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you risk a glance up at him. To your relief, there’s not a crease between his brows like you expected. He doesn’t seem upset about your question anymore, his shoulders relaxed while he focuses on tearing a piece of the banana bread and shoving it into his mouth. The realization makes you straighten your posture, a sudden rush of determination flushing through your body. You’ve come here to get to know him again, and you’re not letting a poor start weigh you down. And, as your gaze falls to the costume bags lying across the couch arm behind him, an inquiry that has been floating through your mind comes back to you.

“So…” You clear your throat, leaning your elbow to rest on top of the counter as you rest your chin on your palm. Harry’s eyes shoot up at you, and you grin a bit as you point to the spot behind him. “Are you going to tell me a bit about that?”

His brows frown for a second as he looks back, finding the bags that called your attention from the moment you saw him on the sidewalk.  “What would you like to know?”

“Well, last time we spoke you were talking about working in a gallery.” You circle your cup in your hand, bringing it up to your lips but not yet taking a sip.  “And now, I have the information that you dropped out just a wee after; how did that happen?”

"It took a while for it to happen, actually.”  He crosses his arms on top of the counter, leaning in slightly. “Dunno if you remember but, uhm… This might be a bit awkward.”

Your brows raise towards your hairline, his words only enhancing your curiosity. “It’s okay, whatever you feel comfortable sharing.”

“I don’t mind it, just- well, after we broke up,” He starts, clearing his throat as his gaze searches for yours, eyes flickering between your own in search of a reaction. He was right. This is awkward. You try to remain a calm expression, nodding in encouragement for him to continue — although you want nothing more than to flinch at the words. “I was, uh, well, sad.” He lets out a quick chuckle. “A friend of mine- James, dunno if you remember them- they recommended a knitting group class kinda thing that they were in every Wednesday, told me it was quite therapeutic and calming, and stuff.”

“That’s cute.” You comment, trying to brush off the way your chest tightens at the brief mention of his feelings post-breakup, knowing how hard it was for both of you.

He smiles at you before continuing, “Got the hang of it pretty fast, actually. James was right being therapeutic. After a bit, I started going twice a week.” He reaches to brush his fingers over a napkin. You watch as his fingertips slide gently along its edge. “The lady that taught it, Laura- you’d ‘ve loved her, used to bake us biscuits every week. She had graduated in fashion, actually owned a boutique for a good fifty years.”

“Holy shit,” Your lips part in awe. “Can you imagine doing something for that long?”

“‘S exactly what got me thinking.” He peeks up at you, lips twitching up. “Around that time I was so confused about what to do with an art degree, and I realized it wasn’t really something I saw myself doing for decades on end.” 

Understanding, you give him a warm smile, toying with the lid of your cup as to not reach for his hand. Even though you weren’t around anymore at the time the events he’s describing took place, you still remember how confused he was right from the start. Harry’s always had an artist in him, and that’s something that wasn’t hard for anyone to see, but it was clear then how he wasn’t completely satisfied with his path. Back then, before you two parted ways, you recall thinking he was still adjusting with uni, and that eventually, he’d find his passion within the arts. It never occurred to you he might not be in the field he loved, after all. 

Looking back at it now, it makes sense.

“Laura helped me a lot during that time. She was the one that even introduced fashion as a possibility for me, we would talk for hours.” It’s hard to miss the fond smile that tugs his lips at the memory. “She even started inviting me for a cuppa outside of class hours, answer all my questions- even the stupid ones, she was really patient. Was almost like a mentor of sorts.” 

“She sounds like an awesome human.” Your voice is gentle, admiring how the words come out of him with an admiration that makes you warm all over.

“She was.” His eyes fall to his hands. Your expression softens, suddenly noticing how he’s been using the past tense when talking about her. “She told me once that sometimes making a career out of a hobby is not always the way to go, you know? Takes away the fun of it if you feel obligated to do it. It was then when I decided to switch.”

“Were you scared?” 

“Terrified.” You two laugh. “I was choosing a path that I’d never even considered before. It was so new, I was so scared I wasn’t making the right decision. It scared me that maybe fashion wasn’t also my thing, you know? Cause if it wasn’t, then what?”

“I get that.” You risk resting your hand next to his, sticking your pinky out to brush against his. He quickly interlaced them, smiling down at the gesture. “I’m glad it worked out, and you found something you’re passionate about.”

“Me too.” He replies, mimicking your position as he brings the hand that’s not enlaced with yours to rest under his cheek.

You smile, and he smiles, too.  

//

“Why can’t we just stay in tonight?”

The question leaves your lips in almost an annoyed huff. The third one in the last five minutes. Aya doesn’t spare you a glance this time, her eyes focusing solely on sweeping the white eyeliner over her eyelid as she finishes the last few touches of her makeup.

Her apartment is lit up with a golden glow, the lights having been lowered and the flame of a couple of green lavender candles helping set the relaxing energy of the room. It’s the primary reason you love staying at Aya’s; her place is always cozy, no matter which house of hers you’re in (even though you have a softer spot for her New York apartment). And it helps to have company, since your place has been uneasily empty lately. 

The original plan was simple: make dinner while catching up with the last Game of Thrones season. You’ve been looking forward to it all week. After days of hopping from long meetings to recording sessions, only to go home to your cold bed, reuniting with Aya was the one thing that kept you from catching the first flight back to London as soon as your errands were dealt with. So, it’s hard not to express your disappointment about having to attend some dinner party a good thirty minutes away from her warm apartment.

The thing is, the suggestion didn’t even come from Aya, but rather a surprise guest you weren’t even expecting to be here at the same time as you, Claire. 

And it’s not like you don’t like Claire, you do, well, you try to, which is the best you can do for now. She's been friends with Aya for a couple of months and, with Aya, it’s not that hard to become friends with her, if you’re honest. So you never really bother to keep track of the ones that come and go as quick as the pendulum of a clock. It’s something you’ve grown used to with the years of friendship. But unlike most of them, Claire seems to have stuck like an annoying piece of gum at the bottom of your boots.

In reality, you know it’s unfair to her to be annoyed when she’s really done nothing wrong. The sole reason for you two not mashing that well is more of a conflict in personalities than anything else. Usually, you manage to ignore that in order to keep at least somewhat of a friendly relationship with her during nights out -- more for Aya’s sake than yours. And sometimes you even enjoy her presence! When she’s not surrounded by big groups of people  (rare) and doesn’t feel the need to be obnoxiously loud for no reason, at those times when it’s just the three of you, she’s actually quite nice to talk to.

But now, you honestly wish you could glue her lips together and quite literally kick her out the front door. As she rushes around the place, - from the walk-in closet to the bathroom to the bedroom and so on - her voice so loud in attempts to speak over the playlist she put on just over two hours ago. The mesh of noises is so much you’d be sure no one heard your complaint if it wasn’t for Aya’s reply just a minute later.

“We stay in every day.” You watch as she bends over the sink, getting closer to the mirrored wall as she applies her lipstick carefully. With a smack of her lips, her eyes meet yours in the reflection. “I think it’d be good for you to go out.”

“Just two months ago you were complaining about how much I go out, and now you complain that I don’t go out enough?” You arch your brows, fully aware of how whiny you sound.

“Well, not my fault you don’t know how to balance your social life.” She focuses back on herself, opening a product you can’t make out what it is and tapping it against her cheekbones. “It’s either going out every single day to the point of no sleep or becoming a hermit inside your house.”

You pout. “I’m working, you know tha-”

“It’s cause she only goes out with her LA friends now, Meme.” Claire blurts out as she appears from inside the closet, holding one of Aya’s transparent coats. You keep a straight face as you turn to look at her, trying not to cringe with her nickname for Aya. She seems oblivious of your annoyance, though, making her way to lean on the archway leading to where Aya’s finishing getting ready. “Now it’s all about Dora and - what’s his name?”

Aya interrupts before you have the chance to bite back, “It’s not even that, C, think she’s found something more interesting keeping her in London.” 

The smirk she shoots you from over her shoulder makes you avert your eyes, a blush creeping up your neck, warming all the way to the tip of your ears. The knowing look on her face could almost make you entirely flustered, as if she knows exactly the reason you’ve been so comfortable staying in London by yourself — especially now that the sole thought of being alone sends a tight grip to your chest. But you know there’s no reason for you to be nervous about it. You haven’t told a single person about your reconnection with Harry yet, somehow feeling an odd sort of protectiveness over it. And you’re not sure why this new flame of happiness still feels so fragile to you, so delicate, that a simple, outspoken word to the wrong person could take it away from you. 

And oh, how scared you are of it being taken away as quickly as it came to you.

So you’ve kept it within your grasp for as long as you can. Away from prying eyes and greedy hands. It’s the one thing that you have now that feels just yours, the one part of you that no one else knows about. That’s the sole reason you even asked him to keep it a secret in the first place.

Still, that doesn’t mean that people around haven’t noticed the sudden change in you — as small as you thought it was, it surely didn’t go unnoticed by those that know you so well. Sonia was the first to mention it. When you couldn’t keep yourself from checking your phone every five minutes during a studio session, she had teased you about it. You brushed it off, and she made no more comments about it, thankfully. But you didn’t miss the looks she gave you every time you excused yourself to make a phone call.

With Aya, though, you know it won’t be as easy to get her to disregard your behavior. You hoped she hadn’t caught on when earlier in the afternoon she nudged you about being all smiley while reading a text (Harry had just sent you a picture of Duchess wearing a knitted vest he’d made for her and you had it open when Aya peeked from over your shoulder to see what you were looking at, so you just said it was a message from your sister before quickly locking the screen). 

However, after her comment, you’re sure she’s clearly aware that something’s up. And, knowing Aya, you’re aware she won’t drop this subject until you tell her exactly what it is that’s keeping you in London. Before she has the chance to poke further, you’re saved by none other than Claire, who did not pick up on Aya’s grin shot towards you. Barely registering the meaning behind her words at all, actually, as she makes her way to sit at the foot of the bed. “Well, whatever it is, I think I might have something to keep you here with us.”

Thankfully, Aya drops the subject, only widening her eyes slightly at you, almost in a warning at what’s coming. “Here it comes.”

You frown, glancing from your friend that stands opposite you to the girl that’s scooping closer to where your legs rest. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re still having a hard time after Noah.” The words spill from her lips and you almost choke on your own saliva at her bluntness. There was a sort of silent agreement between you and Aya about not mentioning your ex by name. So hearing it being outspoken without expecting it surely comes in a bit of a shock. But Claire still seems oblivious of it, only reaching to grip right under your knee in what’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture, you guess. “But it’s been so long now! Maybe you need a little push with, like, getting over him.”

“A push.” It’s hard to keep the affronting expression that tugs down your lips.

“Someone.” A squeeze to your knee. You want to push it off. “There’s this guy-”

That’s it. You close your eyes with a deep breath. “Claire-”

“Before you say no, listen to me!” She holds out her hands, in a habit of gesturing her words when she explains herself. “There’s this guy, okay? He works with my brother at NYT and I met him a couple of times, and- Just listen! The whole time we were talking, I could only think of you! I was like ‘oh my god, she’s gonna love him’ cause he’s totally your type!”

You scoff, glancing over at Aya who’s clearly trying to keep herself occupied. “Is this why you’re dragging me out tonight?”

Her deer-in-the-headlights eyes meet yours in the reflection. “Hey, I have nothing to do with Mr. Perfect here. As I said, I just think it’d be good for you to go out.”

“Just meet him, okay? You don’t have to go out on a date or anything just-” Claire brings your attention back to herself. “Just talk for a bit, see if you click. I think it’ll be good.” Her voice gets softer, shoulder dropping. “I’m just trying to help.”

There’s not an ounce of you that wants to engage in any sort of small-talk filled conversation, having close to no patience in getting to know someone new at this moment of your life. The prospect of having to sit and pretend whatever this man is going to tell you about himself interests you for god knows how long is enough to make you want to swim all the way back to England in your stilettos. But it’s clear that Claire’s intentions with this are far from malicious in any way, and you can’t help but feel bad for lashing out at her. So you just sigh, letting the words fall from your lips before you think about it enough to regret them,  “Okay.”

Her face lights up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll chat with him.”

She squeals. “You’ll love him! I’m telling you-”

“Claire,” You interrupt before she can get ahead of herself. “You sound like you’re envisioning a wedding already. I agreed to chat. That's it.”

“Chat. Okay, it’s a start.” She nods, a smile too big for her face before squealing again, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Right, Meme? Don’t you think it’ll be good for her?”

“Please, I’m just the audience in this conversation.” She calls back, turning to face you after a second to motion to the coat sitting on Claire’s lap. “Is this the coat you chose?”

Claire jumps from her spot in the bed at the mention of it. “Yes! What do you think? Wait- I’ll try it on, see if you can still notice the pink details on my dress.”

The girl bolts towards the walk-in closet where there are larger mirrors she can see herself better on and, just as she turns her back, Aya shoots you a wink before following her. 

You relax back into the arrangement of pillows, another sigh leaving your lips as it comes to you what you’ve just agreed on. Sometimes you wish you weren’t so easily persuaded by a pair of puppy eyes, knowing the consequences of it almost always have to do with you doing something you’re not too comfortable with. Your eyes shut close and you have to refrain from rubbing your face as not to ruin the makeup Aya applied so carefully. The night has barely started and you already feel exhausted mentally. Not wanting to dwell on it further, you make a mental note to yourself: learn how to say no.

Turning your face, you pick up the phone that was left forgotten next to you during the chat with Claire. To your surprise, the screen lights up showing a text from Harry received just about five minutes ago. You try not to sit up too suddenly, as not to call attention to yourself, while you swipe your thumb over the screen to open the message. 

A smile tugs on your lips before you can even read what it says, simply reacting to the picture attached to it. The first thing you notice is his hair, poking out of his head in a messy mesh resembling somewhat of a mane. You bite back a giggle at the thought. His face is lit up, mouth parted in an open smile as he gives a thumb up to the camera. You take a moment too long looking at his face until you realize what the picture is meant to show. You. Next to him, on the screen of his telly, grinning with the blue sunglasses you wore to the music video shoot.

The text under it is short, but it causes the most beautiful flowers to bloom under your chest.

H: Found this cutie while browsing todayy

H: Looks familiar? ;)

//

“That’s definitely too much.”

You glanced back at Harry as your eyebrows shot towards your hairline, challenging. His own face mimicked your expression, peeking down at the cup of flour in your hands before meeting your eyes again. With his locks being pulled up with your hair tie, it’s hard to take him seriously after you’d teased him about resembling a sprout when he first walked into the kitchen, ignoring his protests to playfully sweep the tiny bouquet of curls with your finger.

“How many times do I have to tell you, this is the exact amount?” You replied, trying to keep a straight face.

“How do you know? You’re not even measuring it!”

“It’s a muffin, Harry, how difficult can it be?” You rolled your eyes in feign annoyance, turning the cup into the mixing bowl before he could protest it. “I can do it by eye just fine.”

“This is chaotic.” He scrunched his nose, shaking his head in disbelief at the cloud of flour that floated through the air at how abruptly you threw it. “Making a bloody mess, you are.”

“Yeah, yeah, now tell me what’s next.”

He exhaled a chuckle, secretly enjoying your antics, before turning to check the open recipe book that sat on the counter. His finger followed the words written in instructions, and you observed with amusement the crease forming on his face as he attempted to decipher your nan’s handwriting. It took him a second before he clicked his tongue, “We should’ve mixed the wet ingredients first.”

“Does it make a difference?” You bit back a smile, knowing your words would get a reaction out of him.

And, as you predicted, Harry’s face turned into an appalled expression. “Does it make a difference?” He repeated your question, astounded. “Of course it makes a difference!”

You giggled, reaching for the milk carton. “I’m sure the muffins will be fine if I put in the milk after the flour, they won’t even notice.”

“Christ,” He shook his head again, a few curls falling loose against his forehead with the motion. “Baking with you is going to make me go gray by the time I reach my twenties.”

This time you let out a full laugh, mouth falling open in fake offense. “You’re so dramatic!”

Harry smiled, then, both dimples poking deeply into his cheeks as he reached to take the carton from your hands. You two finished mixing the batter, taking a bit too long to get it inside the oven as you enjoyed pestering Harry in the process a bit too much. Every so often someone walked into the kitchen to pick up some drinks or leave dirty dishes by the sink, checking in on the both of you with that smile adults always give you when you’re with Harry (usually followed by some corny joke about young love that made you roll your eyes).

It was the day of one of the barbecue parties your parents always threw at the beginning of summer break. They would invite their closest circle of friends to spend the day in your back garden, usually followed by a ‘luau’ (as your dad called it, even though it was definitely not a luau) once your parents got tipsy enough to bring out the guitars and light up a fire. 

When everyone was a tad lethargic from lunch, relaxing back into their chairs as the sun felt hotter as it shone proudly on the cloudless sky, you had the idea of baking your nan’s recipe of blueberry muffins.

Usually, the tradition of baking a dessert to be freshly served in the afternoon was left to your mum and sister -- who was almost passing the age in which she wanted to have a hand in everything to call attention to herself. But you were faster this time, volunteering to do the task, and dragging Harry with you, as you were eager to have some time alone with him without having someone interrupting to ask him yet another football question that left you bored out of your mind.

So, you take advantage of having the kitchen to yourselves, bumping your hips against his as you two swept the counter quietly, cleaning the mess you’d made earlier. Your aunt had just left the kitchen after making one of those comments regarding marriage that are meant solely to embarrass both of you, and a faint blush was still visible on his cheeks. It made you want nothing more than to reach up and press your lips to them, only to feel the spot of his dimple deepening with a smile.

The air was smelling sweeter when you threw the dirty cloth inside the sink, leaning back into the island as you watched Harry crouch to peek inside the oven. You couldn’t help the grin as you noticed the muffins spilling out of their cases as expected. 

“Told you it would work out.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” He stood, resting a hand on the counter next to you, leaning into it. “Do absolutely everything wrong but still manage to make it work.”

“Hey!” You giggled, pushing him softly with your hand as you dragged out the word. “I did absolutely everything right just… In my own way.”

“Yeah?” His finger twirled on the hook of your jeans, pulling at it as he moved to stand in front of you, keeping a hand resting on the counter next to your waist. “The world bends its rules for you, it seems.” Pressing a peck at the corner of your mouth, he mumbled, lips close enough that you could feel every word caressing your skin, “Don’t blame it, though.”

You chuckled. “Oh? Do you bend your rules for me too?”

“Of course,” His nose tickled the apple of your cheek, causing you to shrug your shoulder slightly. You felt his warm breath as he exhaled a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Would never let anyone else butcher a batch of muffins in my presence like you just did.”

“Harry!” You cried out, shoving him off playfully. “I’m never baking for you ever again, you can starve during lunch from now on, see if I care.”

He laughed again, leaning down to bite the tip of your nose before you quickly tried to push him away. “Stop, baby, you know I’m just joking.”

“Too late now, you already lost your dessert privilege.”

“Ouch.” Harry pouted, attempting to pull his puppy eyes to get you to budge, but you simply raised your brows at him, chewing your inner cheek to prevent a smile from growing on your face. He started to lean down to press his lips on yours but he could barely move before the doors leading outside slid open again, startling both of you, causing Harry to quickly step back.

Your sister’s face peeked up curiously from her spot at the door frame, a juvenile smile teasing at her lips at the scene she’d just interrupted.

“What do you want, Ly?”

Lyla shot you a condescending look from your harsh tone, “I’m not here for you, dumb face.” She took out her tongue, and you rolled your eyes — sometimes she’s too much of a thirteen-year-old. “Auntie Sue said you were done and Harry promised to help me with a project.”

“A project?” You raised your brows, glancing at the boy next to you who was already adorning a guilty smile on his face.

“I did promise that.”

“It’s a secret project!” Lyla’s voice raised to a higher pitch.

“Okay, then.” You sighed, looking between the two of them before setting your eyes on Harry again. The pout is clear in your voice as you speak up,

“Seems like your presence is being required.” You nod towards Harry’s vibrating phone that sits on top of the table behind the two of you.

“Oops, sorry.” He shoots you a guilty smile before reaching over his shoulder for the device.

You avert your eyes as he glances down at the screen, focusing on the sunrays that peek from between the leaves of your green fence, painting the tips of the grass gold. It’s been just over a month since your first coffee date (you only call it that for lack of a better word) and, with summer just around the corner, the days are beginning to stretch longer. The sun is still bright and proud as the afternoon meets the evening. There’s a warmth that’s not yet too insufferable, but more like welcomed after months of endless drizzle and sharp winds. 

It’s perfectly fitting for a nice lazy day like this one. 

This is the first time you got to properly have him around for the day. Despite Harry having wrapped his term just about a week ago and your agenda keeping you in London for the next few months, both your schedules only seem to have gotten tighter. You spend most of your time during the week inside the recording studio — the sessions dragging into the evening hours more often than not, as you find yourself too caught up with them. Meanwhile, Harry’s back to working his regular working hours now that Act One has officially started working on the productions for the summer season.

Surprisingly, though, you fell into a routine of sorts quite easily. You still chat every day, not limiting your communication to texting alone (though you still love receiving Harry’s random pictures throughout the day), but also making phone calls most days once both of you have finally settled in bed after long working hours. And it’s not like you’re not able to see each other with these scheduling complications, it’s only that those hangouts are limited to either weekends or early evenings. 

On the two-week mark, after you met again, you could finally take him to the proper coffee hangout that you’d promised. The cafe in question is one you’ve been going to for over a year now. A friend recommended it, and you instantly loved it for how hidden it is, and most frequented by an older audience — which means you’re able to sneak in and out with no hassle. You took Harry there on a Sunday morning, and it surprised you to find that the place is actually much closer to his flat than your house. So, after cups of iced coffee and shared muffins, you two walked all the way to his place, enjoying the laziness that allows people to sleep in as the week reaches an end.

That was one of your favorite days with him. It had been a long while since you allowed yourself to simply relax during a walk; forgetting how it feels to be aware of every corner you turn. That’s the easy thing about being with Harry, you’ve found the simple concept of relaxing. He allows you to let your guard down, to enjoy those things you’ve once taken for granted. The ones that bring a sense of normalcy that can easily be overlooked by those who don’t get to experience the other side of it. It’s something you’re sure Harry doesn’t even realize he’s brought back to your life, but you still show your silent gratitude in any way you can.

It’s what made you invite him to your house for lunch in the first place. It didn’t go unnoticed to you how most times you end up back in his flat and, as much as he repeats how he enjoys your presence there, it doesn’t stop you from feeling the slightest bit self-conscious about it. 

“Shit.” Harry mutters under his breath, his fingers tapping swiftly on the screen, a frown deepening on his face.

Raising your brows, you wait a second before speaking up, afraid of interrupting whatever it is that has him alarmed, “Everything alright?”

“Julia’s making dinner tonight.” He replies, eyes scanning the device in his hands before sighing. “Completely forgot.”

“Oh. Is it, like-” You pause, glancing down at your phone that’s left forgotten in your lap, pressing the home button to check the time. The screen lights up, letting you know it’s just around six, meaning Harry’s been over for just about seven hours now. “Shit, I’m so sorry, didn’t mean to keep you-”

“Don’t apologize.” He locks his phone, shooting a reassuring smile your way. “My fault, really. Just completely slipped off my mind.”

You nod, watching him gnawn at his bottom lip, brows meeting in a frown as he gets deep in thought. Parting your lips. You don’t let any word out at first, afraid that if you do, he’ll remember it's time for him to go back. There’s a selfish voice in your head that wants to ask him to stay a bit longer, to not part ways yet, to just call off on this dinner. But you know better than to say any of it out loud, opting to suck in your lips instead, as if the words could just slip out without your consent.

Harry sighs, and you can’t help but let your shoulders fall, knowing what’s coming. “I should get going.” He picks up his empty glass, pocketing his phone as he stands with a huff. “Julia’s not very happy that I’m late.” He chuckles. “Again.”

Laughing, you get up from your chair as well, patting the back of your thighs as you feel your skin a bit sore from sitting for so long. Before you can answer him, however, your attention snaps towards the opened door leading to your kitchen, as a small figure comes rushing towards you. You feel the soft fur against your legs before you can properly register the pup circling you. Once you realize what’s going on, as the familiar black spaniel greets you, you freeze in your spot, glancing from the dog that now jumps excitedly on Harry’s legs to the door where he came from.

“You didn’t tell me you had a pup.” Harry smiles, his voice getting a higher pitch as he kneels to pet behind his ears. “Hey buddy, where did you come from?”

“I don’t.” You reply, walking towards the house as you search for the owner who’s likely already found her spot in the kitchen.

“Huh?” You hear from behind you as you stride towards the house. 

Surely, as predicted, you spot her hiding halfway inside your fridge, back turned to you. You notice how Bella’s blonde locks are way shorter since last time you saw her — now stopping just above her shoulders. As surprised as you are, you don’t comment on it, simply staring at your intruder of a friend as you try to figure the situation in hand. 

This isn't exactly how you’d planned to introduce Harry to your friend group. Well, shit.

Bella doesn’t pay any mind to you at first, but certainly senses your presence as she speaks out from over her shoulder. “Hey, did you not buy any more greek yo- Oh.” She stops as she turns, just in time when Harry walks in with the dog cradled in his arms. Her eyes jump between the two of you as she pushes the fridge’s door to a close. “Hi.”

“Hello.” You shoot her a look.

Harry puts the pet down, “Hi.”

“Uhm,” You stand awkwardly, playing with the rings hugging your fingers. Bella raises her brows in a silent question and you sigh. It’s not like you can do anything now. “Harry, this is my friend, Bella. Bella, this is Harry.” You motion your arms between them as you introduce one another.

Harry clears his throat. And you can only suppose how confused he must be, considering you mentioned nothing about a friend visiting today. But it’s not like you were aware of it, either. Bellas and you are at that point in your friendship in which you don’t find the need to announce your visits anymore, simply making yourselves at home every time both of you are in town.

He glances at you for a second, before nodding at your friend. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She grins politely. There’s a beat of quietness that no one really knows what to say next, and you can feel a silent pressure for you to break it. When you don’t, Bella points vaguely to a spot behind her, “Uh, I can come back tomorrow…”

Your lips part as you try to stop her, but before you can do so, Harry beats you to it.“You don’t have to, really. I was just leaving, actually.” He scratches his nose. “I don’t mean to intrude on anything you two have planned…” 

“Oh, no, that’s not it!” Bella rushes.

“We have nothing planned.” You assure him, glancing between your friends. “Bella just comes to visit whenever she’s in London.”

“Yeah, I was the one interrupting.” She backs you up, clicking her tongue. “Should’ve called first.”

"That's okay.” You tell her.

“Well, I hope you two enjoy the rest of your day, then.” Harry nods, eyes meeting yours as he mutters, “I really need to get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You say, “I’ll take you to the door.”

With one last wave to Bella, he follows you as you guide the way towards the front door. You open it for Harry, allowing him to step out first before you let it close behind you — as to avoid the dog from running out. Leaning back against it, you shoot him a small smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was coming.” You point back. “She has the keys so…”

“That’s fine.” He reassures, hands hiding inside the pocket of his jeans. There’s a second of silence, as you two just enjoy each other’s presence for a little before having to bid your goodbyes. You can’t help but let your eyes fall to his shirt once again — although being a simple white tee, the words I spread like strawberries embroidered to it have been haunting you all afternoon. Once your eyes move up again, you don’t find his, as he glances down at his shoes, a cute reddish tone painting the apple of his cheeks. When he speaks up, he peaks up at you from under his lashes, “I had a lovely time, as usual.”

“Me too.” You bite down a smile, tilting your head. “As usual.”

He nods, looking over his shoulder before back at you. Chewing down the side of his lip, he asks, “I’ll see you?”

You try to think of a date to give him, knowing as summer progresses your schedule will only get tighter with the studio sessions. “Uhm, probably sometime at the end of the week, maybe? I’m a bit busy, but I’ll let you know.”

“Alright.” He nods, staring for a second before stepping forward to embrace you into a hug. “Take care, love.” His words come out a bit muffled as he squishes his face on the crook of your neck.

You giggle as the strands of his hair tickle the side of your face. “You too, H.” 

Pulling away, he steps backward, pointing at you in a playful warning. “Still owe me a lemon tart.”

“Gotcha.”

Taking a deep breath, you watch for a bit longer as he walks away, waving a last goodbye before disappearing back inside your house. You give yourself a moment to prepare for the wave of questions waiting for you as soon as you step back into the kitchen. 

You find Bella twirling on a stool propped next to the island, spoon in her mouth and an open package of greek yogurt sitting on the counter. As soon as you walk in, she stops, pulling the spoon out as her brows shoot towards her hairline. She doesn’t wait a second before questioning, “So…” A smirk grows on her face and she points vaguely with her spoon to a spot behind you. “Harry?”

You groan, taking a seat next to her. “You were not supposed to walk in on that.”

“Well, I’m sorry! How was I supposed to know?”

“I don’t know, maybe try calling?”

“I never call before coming here.” She challenges, and it’s true. Picking a spoonful of yogurt and shoving into her mouth, she watches you for a second. You simply glance back, aware of her expectant stare attempting to pry you to speak up first. You watch her swallow, lips quirking as you refuse to give what she wants. She raises her brows again, this time voicing her question, “Is he…?”

You shake your head at her implication. “No, he’s… A friend.”

“That was a pause.”

“Well, he was my ex before he was my friend.”

“An ex? Is he-” Bella frowns for a bit and you can almost see the wheels inside her head turning. “Holy shit! Is he The Harry?”

Now it’s your turn to form a crease between your brows, confused. You don’t recall ever mentioning Harry to her. “Don’t know what you mean by The Harry, but, yes, he was my first boyfriend.”

“You’ve told me about him before.”

“Have I?” You blink at her. “When?”

She thinks for a second before pointing the spoon in her hand at you.“Yes! It was in one of your Halloween parties- actually, right after it.” She looks over at you, only to find a confused expression still settled on your face. “The one we had a sleepover, and I broke your lamp.”

“That was two years ago, yeah, I remember.” As much as your Halloween parties have a tendency of meshing together in your memory (as they’re mostly the same apart from one or two remarkable occurrences), this one in particular you remember quite well as it was the first time Bella slept over at your house. In the middle of the night, she knocked on your room to ask you if she could sleep with you. Her words were coming mumbled because of the alcohol still affecting her bloodstream. The two of you barely slept a tick that night, as you spent hours whispering stories to each other and, at one point, she got so excited as she was telling you about some sort of vacation she had taken (you don’t remember it that well) that she elbowed your lamp causing it to shatter as it fell. You try to rack your brain to find any recollection of mentioning Harry that day, but all that comes to you is the two of you falling into a fit of giggles when you told her about a past hookup of yours. This only causes your frown to deepen. “The party, I mean. I don’t remember mentioning Harry.”

“You were drunk.” She shoves her spoon inside the yogurt as she speaks. “Was sitting at one of the patio chairs, scrolling down on your Instagram page and you saw a picture of him, think you said it was his sister’s profile? I don’t know. But you were whiny for like an hour because of it.”

“What?” So it was at the party? You have a flash of panic, wondering who else was there to hear you whine over your ex boyfriend. “I have absolutely no recollection of this.”

“It was cute, really.” She tries to comfort you, still focusing on her pot of dairy. “You didn’t say much- you weren’t making a lot of sense, really, but I remember you saying he was the first person you were in love with. Didn’t know he was your first boyfriend.”

You fall back into your seat. “Yeah… That’s him.”

“How long were you together?” Bella glances back at you, brows peaking in curiosity. 

“Almost four years.”

“What?” Her eyes bulge. “How come you never told me that?”

“Don’t know, was a bit of a sensitive topic, I guess.” You know it was. The only reason why you refrained from mentioning him to anyone for a long time was because of the tightness in your chest that followed the sound of his name. “But yeah, we started dating right after his fourteenth birthday.” The memory comes to you as a smile. “His birthday’s in February and he asked me on Valentine’s day, was really cute. I don’t think anyone thought it would last that long at the time.”

“That’s super sweet.” She whines, her shoulders falling as she huffs. “Ugh, I hate love.”

You chuckle. “Same.” 

“So you broke up when you were, what, eighteen?”

“Yup.” 

“Was it because of distance and stuff?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” You think back to the time you two started drifting apart, a thought you haven’t revisited in a long time. “We were already very distant even when we were together.” Shrugging, you try to push back the heaviness in your chest. “Guess we were just meant to go different ways.”

"That's poetic.” She nods. You assume she’s noticed the way your voice has taken a lower tone, as her own grows a pitch, shoving you as she tries to cheer you up. “But now you’re together again!”

Breathing out a laugh, you roll your eyes slightly. “We’re friends.”

“Right.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “But, you know, you went each your own way and somehow crossed paths again. Do you know what that’s called?”

You close your eyes, already familiar with your friend’s antics. “Bella…”

“Fate.”

“Oh my god.” You shake your head at her, hoping she doesn’t notice the blush that creeps up your neck.

“I’m just saying, if I were you, I wouldn’t let this opportunity escape.” She bites down her empty spoon to hide the smirk that grows on her lips. The way her brows wiggle before she says anything allows you to prepare for what's to come. “I mean, with all due respect, he is very fine.”

“I knew it was coming.” You pucker your lips to avert from smiling, trying to seem casual before confessing, “But yes, he looks really good.”

“The long hair? The tattoos? Girl!” Her eyes widen. “If he wasn’t your ex, I would’ve been saying some really inappropriate stuff right now.”

You groan, hiding your face behind your hands. “Please, don’t.”

“I said ‘would’!” She emphasizes the word as she tries to pull your hands away from covering your eyes. “I’m only thinking about it, relax.”

Rolling your eyes again, you nod towards her half-empty pot. “Eat your yogurt.”

//

The air inside the flat somehow is warmer than the outdoors. The large windows opposite the kitchen are wide open to have some sort of breeze flowing around to relieve the heat coming from the stove. A generic scent of fried dough dances around the small space with it. It’s one that Harry recognizes from past times that Julia’s made the dish, and it makes his mouth water as soon as he steps inside.

Julia’s at her spot in the kitchen taking care of the food, her back turned to him as she bumps her hips along with the beat of a song he doesn’t recognize. Next to her, Harry recognizes Mitch’s back reaching for the small pile of plates inside the cabinet with Blake standing right behind (he assumes because she’d asked for his help with the task, considering she usually has a hard time reaching the last shelves). 

Their voices mesh together as they seem too lost in their conversation to notice Harry’s arrival. Right as the door clicks closed, however, Blake takes the plates from Mitch’s hands, turning to catch Harry right as he toes-off his shoes.

“Look who’s decided to show up!” She speaks up, calling the attention of both friends that still stood oblivious of the boy that now sports a guilty smile. Blake raises her brows at him, setting the plates on top of the island counter. “For what do we owe this honor?”

“Finally!” Julia barges before Harry can even start with the apology he went over in his head during the entire tube ride. “I was completely outnumbered in this discussion. Tell them that our plates are nice!”

He stops right by the edge of the kitchen tiles, furrowing his brows at his friends’ request. “What?”

Harry tries to search for an explanation from Mitch, who simply leans back onto the counter with his arms crossed, and an amused smirk painting his lips as he nods towards Julia.

The girl has turned back to the stove, a colander spoon in her hand moving the pastries around inside the pan filled with oil. She huffs before she explains, eyes trained on the stove, “They’re being incredibly rude, calling our plates tacky!”

Without even looking at the plates in question, Harry chuckles. “Oh, is it the floral ones?”

He confirms his assumptions when glancing at the dishes set on top of the island counter. The collection was sent by her parents around the new years after her visit for the holidays — she’d told them about how they cracked most their dishes at the edges and they sent in a full set as a replacement. And, as much as both of them found the action heartwarming ly thoughtful, they both had a good laugh upon opening the box when it first came in. 

Because they were, after all, a bit tacky. 

Each has its edges painted with a different color, with matching roses circling around it. To make matters worse, the center of them have each a different phrase. Harry couldn’t make sense to them at first, as they’re written in Portuguese, but from what Julia’s translated it doesn’t go far from those catchphrases you can find at the Live, Laugh, Love side of Pinterest.

That’s something Julia very openly makes fun of her parents about; what she says is their lack of taste for just about everything. And Harry was very aware of the fact, not only by the way she teases them to no end about it but also by her choices of presents to send back home (for instance, that god awful umbrella -- may it rest in pieces). With their time together as flatmates, it’s almost become somewhat of an inside joke between the two of them. 

But, as much as both of them have taken the piss about it before, they still have a fondness heavily attached to them. So it’s understandable Julia’s annoyance at their friends’ tease, especially when both bark into laughs at Harry’s question.

“You’re not helping!” Julia throws him a look from over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to confirm!” Harry raises his hands in surrender as he watches the girl roll her eyes before focusing back on the pan in front of her. He pulls one stool next to the one Blake’s taken for herself, sitting on it before glancing down at the dish in front of him. He spins it slightly with the tip of his finger, watching the yellow roses move with it. “But Jul’s right, stop attacking our plates.”

“I wasn’t attacking them, if I have any right to a replica.” Mitch moves from his spot to take the stool in front of Harry. “If I recall correctly, I even said they were very charming.”

“Your sarcasm doesn’t impress me, Rowland,” Julia replies from her spot, not looking back. “Just say they're ugly already! Since you guys hate them so much!”

Blake shoots Harry a knowing look, a smile poking at her lips from being too used to her girlfriend’s dramatics. She pushes her stool back, standing before she walks over towards the grumpy girl who’s now focusing on taking out the pastries and laying them on a trail that’s covered with napkins. Embracing her from behind, she presses a kiss between Julia’s shoulder blades before whispering something just for her to hear.

Harry watches them for a second, not helping the part of him that wishes he could have someone like they do. It verges a tragedy, he thinks, to be a hopeless romantic and not be in love.

"Food is ready!" Julia speaks up, her voice this time taking a higher pitch. Harry doesn’t miss the look the couple exchanges before finding their seats across from each other.

Julia sets the trail in the center. The pastries take a half-circle shape and are organized neatly in two rolls, their golden crust looking very appealing, making Harry realize how hungry he actually is.

“So, explain to me,” Mitch begins, nodding towards the dish. “What are those guys?”

“These, my dear, are called pastel- you know, like the color shade,” Julia explains, picking up one of them. “They’re basically, like, a pastry. You can stuff them with anything you want, really. I made the most common ones which are cheese- the ones on this roll- and meat.” She points to the rolls showing where each one line. “We usually have them as, like, a snack, but I was really missing them so I made it for dinner. And we also eat it with sugarcane juice, but y’all don’t have it here,” She shakes her head. “Tasteless.”

“Sugarcane juice?” Mitch raises his brows.

Julia goes into one of her rants that Harry’s heard about a hundred times before by now — the ones that come up every time she talks about her country, which he finds rather cute how passionate she gets when talking about her culture. His head shuts off for a bit, though, already knowing the information by heart, as he focuses on his groaning stomach. 

For a moment, they just eat while having more of a casual chat. Julia rambles for a good portion of it about her life back home, and, soon enough, they all share their own experiences that make them miss their hometowns. It makes for a nice bonding experience, four people from different spots in the world that found themselves in London at the same time. All sharing a meal as they recall the parts of them they left behind when they choose to leave. For a moment, Harry forgets all about the apology he’d rehearsed on the way back from your house. 

It doesn’t even slip into his mind how he escaped any sort of immediate interrogation about his whereabouts. He’s even naïve enough to think that maybe Julia’s even forgotten about it as well, thanks to the plates’ discussion. 

Harry soon finds himself to be wrong, though. And the worst of it all, it catches him completely off guard.

The group has just quietened down from a story Mitch’s told from back in the days he used to work in a pizza place. Blake’s just offered to clean up the dishes, standing from her stool as she collects the plates. Harry hands her his, glancing at her as he mutters a quick ‘thank you’. He doesn’t notice the way Julia stares at him, eyes narrowed and lips puckering, as she leans into the counter. It only calls his attention once she speaks up, her words coming out slow but almost calculated, as if she’s been thinking about voicing them for a while, “So, H, are you gonna tell us what’s up?”

He doesn’t realize what she’s referring to at first, only furrowing his brows in his confusion. “Huh?”

���Don’t ‘huh’ me, Styles, you’re hiding something.” She points at him and that’s when he realizes, breath hitching on his throat. “And I think that something’s actually a someone, so spill.”

He hears Blake chuckling from her spot at the sink. “Guess we’re going straight to the point, then.”

Harry tries to even his breath, holding back the urge to bite down at his bottom lip as not to show he’s nervous. “What makes you think that?”

Julia grins as if she’s been waiting for him to ask that. “Well, should we go over the list? You suddenly have a life outside, barely stay at home, you’re almost always late to hang out— and that’s coming from me, a Brazilian- oh! You’ve also been baking?” She puts out a finger at each topic on the list, emphasizing the last word as if it’s the most absurd concept to grasp. “And I caught you taking a selfie the other night, which would be odd on itself if I wasn’t sure that you sent it to someone right after.”

Harry nods slowly. “Okay. You kept a list.”

“So?”

“I-” He feels himself panicking, not knowing how to explain himself. On one hand, he hates lying, especially to people he loves. He also knows how upset Julia gets when people lie to her, considering honesty is one attribute she values the most in a person. So the prospect of not only going against one of his own principles but also letting down one of his closest friends, almost makes him sick. But he gave you his word that he would not tell anyone until you were ready to do so. And he wants to keep his word and respect your wishes, knowing that if he doesn’t, it could mean losing everything he’s gotten back these past months. It could mean losing you. So for a moment, he stays there, lips parted but not saying anything. There’s gotta be some sort of middle ground.  “There’s… Someone, and-”

A loud thud comes as Blake drops one plate inside the sink, turning around with wide eyes and soapy hands. “What?”

“I knew it!” Julia slaps her hand on the counter as she exclaims, her mouth dropping in the shape of an ‘O’. “I knew it! How do you get a girlfriend without mentioning it to me? I thought we were friends?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Harry blurts out.

“How could you keep this from us?” Blake comes to stand behind her girlfriend, her face still wide in shock before she turns to Mitch. “Did you know about this?”

“I did not have any involvement in this, no.”

Julia continues her inquiry, “Who is it?”

“Jul-”

She interrupts Harry before he can properly form a word, “Is it that girl from work? The one that had a crush on you? What’s her name again-”

“Julia, please.”

“Alice!” She snaps her finger, her grin widening as she looks at him as if she just solved an enigma. “It's her, isn’t it? Did you finally make a move? Oh my god.”

“I- It’s-” Harry’s fully panicking now, eyes moving quickly between his friends as they stare at him, waiting for a confirmation. Is this the middle ground he wanted? No, he thinks to himself. This will only make things worse. He should just say he wants to keep it private for now. It would annoy them, sure, but they’d have to understand, right? It’s the rational thing to do. But Harry’s not working with rationality at the moment, and his mouth works before his brain does, “Y-yeah, it’s her.”

Blake gasps. “Harry!”

“I can’t believe you!” 

He needs to fix this. “We’re not dating.” 

“Yet.” She points before squealing, reaching a hand over her shoulder to hold Blake’s wet ones while placing her other over her heart. “Look at you! They grow so fast…”

“Please, don’t.”

“Babe, let him breathe for a bit.” Blake breaks her hand from her girlfriend’s grasp, reaching for a napkin and using it to dry her hands. She smiles at him, “I would like to see a picture of her, though.”

Before he has the chance to answer, Julia’s already talking, “You should’ve invited her to come today! There’s enough food-”

“No, it’s… Uh, it’s not like that.” Harry tries to come up with something to explain himself as not to dig a deeper hole than he already has put himself in.

Blake frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Just-” He pauses, glancing between his friends. They all show different stages of confusion. “We’re taking things slow.”

Julia rolls her eyes, “Harry, you’re already the slowest person I know.” She states as a matter-of-fact, shaking her head at him. “With your pace, we’re getting this relationship announcement in five years.”

He huffs, the insistence annoying him a bit. Maybe it’s because he knows the more they keep this subject, the deeper the hole he can get himself in. So he simply avoids feeding more into it, choosing to ask her instead,  “Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me in a relationship?” His eyes meet Blake’s in a silent plea for an intervention.

“Because I want to have cute double dates!” Julia whines.

Mitch deadpans, “What’s this, then?”

“Okay! We have desert!” Blake seems to find her cue to barge in, clapping her hands together before continuing, “And it’s made of chocolate!”

Harry smiles at her, shooting her a look of gratitude. “Chocolate sounds perfect.”

“Sounds marvelous,” Mitch adds.

Julia, however, is not dumb. She narrows her eyes slightly. “You guys are changing the subject.”

Her girlfriend barely bats an eye at her statement, though, only squeezing her shoulder gently, “Babe, why don’t you tell Mitch about brigadeiro? I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”

The girl sighs, shooting Harry another knowing look before giving up on the subject for the time being. He only gives her a small smile, watching as she begins to tell Mitch all about desert. 

Well, he really dug himself a hole with this one.

//

Harry loves Sundays.

This is funny enough of a statement, considering how he used to despise it when he was younger. Back when he knew it meant that he’d have to be up early the next day to walk the cracked sidewalk leading to his school, fighting to keep his eyelids halfway open. The entire day would feel like a countdown (just eight more hours until the weekend’s over!). The only thing that made the day the slightest bit enjoyable was that he used to visit his nan every Sunday right after breakfast. He still remembers how he and his cousins would sit in front of the telly with their toys scattered around them, the entire house adorned with the scent of vanilla.

He’s not sure exactly when the switch of opinion for the day happened, but he knows that you’re one of the main reasons for it. Sunday’s were your days. They were the only days in which you were sure to be free from babysitting duties with your sister, hence why there was a silent agreement that settled between both of you to spend it together. So you reserved Sundays for the two of you. And Harry’s sure some of his fondest memories with you happened on a Sunday.

So it was hard not to love the day when it brought you to him every time.

Although years have passed, his attachment to the day hasn’t faded. Especially now, when you seem to fit back into his Sundays just as perfectly as you used to. 

The cafe smells just like his nan’s house used to when he first walks in - the only major difference being the scent of coffee that meshes with the vanilla in the air. It’s the third time he comes with you here and, just like the previous ones, there’s a surprisingly low movement for it being mid-morning. Most of the customers that frequent it, as you’d informed him the first time you took him there, are elders. There’s a couple right at the door enjoying the cloudless day at the chess table that’s carefully prompted just outside the cafe that bids good morning as the younger pair passes by, not paying much attention to them. Meanwhile, inside, the other four or five customers that sit scattered around the armchairs barely bat an eye towards them as they walk in, focusing only on their newspapers or crossword magazines that sit in front of them as they quietly sip on their drinks.

Despite you not sharing loads with him regarding your public image, from what he could gather, it’s clear how much you value your privacy. So it’s easy to understand why you enjoy coming here, as your presence comes and goes as just another one. 

And he quite enjoys it too, especially noticing how carefree you get in a space you’re comfortable with. Usually, on other few occasions, the two of you go out to public spaces that you’re not as used to, it’s clear how alert you are, even if you’re enjoying yourself. You limit yourself to plain clothes to not call any attention, always with what’s become your signature big sunglasses shielding part of your face -- you even wore them when you went to the cinema to which, although Harry understood the reason for, he didn’t refrain from teasing you about it. 

But today, you abandoned the hoodies and large shirts in various shades of grey. Harry knows the riskiest part of your day in being recognized would be the short walk from his building to the cafe. Still, that thankfully didn’t stop you from going back to your usual wardrobe. Instead, you’re wearing a white dress with red stripes lining along your curves, the skirt flowing all the way down your calves, showing the white sneakers covering your feet. The sunglasses are still present, of course, but you quickly push them up as soon as you walk inside.

Harry watches for a second as your eyes scan the menu written on the wall behind the counter, chuckling to himself as he knows you’re still going for the same order as usual. Before you can step closer to voice your order, however, he says, “Go find a table, I’ll get your order.”  You glance up at Harry, brows shooting up, challenging. “Medium iced coffee and a chocolate muffin.” He grins proudly as he recites your order. “Anything else?”

“No, that's it.” You bite back a smile. “You’re not paying for me, though.”

Of course, you’re insisting, he thinks, already shaking his head. “You paid last time and the time before that and, if I recall correctly, you didn’t let me have a say in it when I tried to intervene in either of them.” Harry pokes your side, nodding towards the table area. “So, go get a table. I’ll be right there.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you stay silent for a beat, clearly debating whether to keep insisting. “Fair enough.” You sigh, walking backward as you point at him. “But I’m paying next time.”

Chuckling, he keeps his eyes on you for a tick longer to catch where you’ve sat, his face warming the slightest bit once you throw him a wink as you settle back in the chair. Once he places the orders for the both of you, he notices some drawings stuck to the wall behind the counter as he waits for them to be done with. They all have a clear childlike trace to them, some more than others, and Harry assumes the more abstract one must’ve been done by a younger child. He smiles to himself, finding it an adorable addition to the place, even if it could easily go unnoticed by an inattentive eye.

“They’re from my granddaughter.” The barista smiles at Harry as he places two cups on top of the counter, nodding back towards the artwork that caught his attention. “Just turned eight. Loves drawing.”

“They look lovely.” 

“This one, actually,” The barista points to one that seems to be more recent, as it’s stuck on top of the others. It shows what looks like two girls holding hands; a smaller one holding a heart on her free hand, and a taller one with a star on top of her head. The man nods to a spot over Harry’s shoulder, “It’s her and your friend, she’s a big fan.”

“Really?” Harry’s lips part in surprise. “That’s very sweet.”

“It’s how I found out she was known.” The man lets out a low laugh, opening the display to reach for a muffin. “Millie was proper mad that I didn’t know who she was when she came to visit, but your friend was a sweet thing, signed her shirt and everything.”

Harry smiles at the story. “Sounds like her.”

“Sure does, seems like a lovely lady.” The man’s attention gets called as the front door opens with a ding. He shoots Harry one last smile, “Duty calls. Enjoy your coffee.”

Harry reaches for the cups with one hand, picking up your pastry with the other. “You too, have a good one.” He feels the words slip before he can register them and, as he realizes his mistake, he quickly turns to head for the table, eyes wide and a blush tainting his cheeks.

You lock your phone, setting it down as soon as Harry approaches the table. He sees a grin twitching on your lips as you glance up at him and he avoids your gaze, knowing it’ll only worsen the warmth on his face.

“What’s got you all flustered?” You ask, your voice verging a laugh.

“Stop.” He scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “Just told that man to enjoy his coffee.”

“Oh, no.” You burst into a fit of giggles and he peeks up at you, holding back a laugh himself as he shakes his head — he loves making you laugh. “C’mon, H, everyone does that. I’m sure he didn’t even notice.”

“Still embarrassing.”

“Just a bit.” Biting down at your bottom lip, you squint your eyes, pushing the muffin towards him. “Here, have a bite, you’ll forget all your problems.”

He breathes out another laugh, reaching to pick a piece of the sweet before shoving it into his mouth. Soon enough, his embarrassment gets lost in conversation, the rosy tone on his cheeks no longer making themselves present from shame but from laughing too hard from something you say. You two get lost in your little bubble for a good while, taking your time sipping on your drinks. Every so often, Harry steals a bite from your muffin — at first, he does it just to have a piece, but once he gets a reaction out of you, eyes narrowing at him adorably as you scrunch your nose in feign anger, he does it just to watch you.

There’s no better way of learning about you than watching, he’s found. One of the biggest changes that he noticed upon getting close to you again, is how you seem to have closed up in a way. And it’s difficult to catch on. He figures that someone who didn’t know you years ago probably doesn’t even realize how much of yourself you keep bottled up. You’re a rambler, that much is easy to pick up. But Harry’s realized that as much as that part of you remains intact, your chatters become much more superficial. You talk about specific events and memories but always narrate it as if you were a mere expectant. You rarely go into detail about your personal life all that much.

Apart from the day you were drunk on his bathtub, he’s barely got a glimpse of feelings regarding him. 

So, he resorts to picking up those bits and pieces you let escape without realizing. He enjoys noticing you (and he’s aware that’s a bit creepy of him, but he can’t help it). How you mention you light a candle before going to sleep cause it helps calm you down. How you refer to your friends with the fondest smile picking up on your lips (but also how you let slip out you only have a person or two that are close to you because getting to know new people makes you anxious). How you always smile at dogs whenever you are — sometimes you even wave at them. How you have the habit of circling your drink in your hand when you’re comfortable, much like you’re doing right now.

The last one always warms his chest. He’s realized you only do it when you let your guard down, allowing yourself to get lost in your world without having to be alert all the time. For all you know, the world outside this small table could’ve stopped spinning and neither of you would notice.

Maybe it’s why you don’t pay any mind to the two teenage girls that enter the cafe. Not until both of them stand right next to the table.

It’s the call of your name that snaps you out of your head. The girls barely blink as they stare down at you, their mouths agape in shock as they hold each other’s hands. “Is it you?”

Harry thinks there’s a flash of panic in your eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. You smile as you stand, and he doesn’t fail to notice the way you turn your body slightly to shield him. “Last time I checked, that would be me, yes!” You chuckle. “What are your names?”

“I’m Lauren.” The taller one speaks up, her hand clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles are almost white. She looks down at the other one who simply stands there, wide eyes not leaving your figure for even a second. Once the other says nothing else, Lauren answers the question for her. “And she’s Georgia. She’s a bit nervous cause she’s a big fan.”

“That’s very sweet, thank you so much.” You tilt your head a bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” Georgia says, her voice trembling and the hold on her friend’s hand. “Uhm, do- could we- if it’s not too much of a bother, could we get a picture with you?”

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s the best time right now, I’m sorry, loves.” Your voice is soft as you talk to them, but it quickly takes a more joyous tone as you suggest, “But I’d love to sign something for you if you’d like?”

“Yeah, if you can! If not, it’s okay, really.” Georgia nods, the words all but stumble out of her mouth. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“It’s no problem at all! It’s a pleasure to get to meet both of you.” 

Harry tries to watch discreetly as not to call any attention to himself, recalling what you once said about not wanting headlines of the two of you. So he only peeks up when you turn to fetch a pen from inside your bag, meeting your eyes for a second before you turn your attention back to the young fans. You chat with them for a little as you sign their phone cases, and he can’t help the tug in his heart at seeing you being so attentive to them.

“There we go.” You say as you hand Lauren her phone.

“Thank you so much!” Georgia exclaims, and even from his spot, Harry can make out a glossiness in her eyes. You pull her into a hug. “You’re really, like, one of my favorite people.”

“I’m honored.” You giggle as you back away, giving her friend a hug as well. Softening your voice once again, you keep a gentle hold to the girl’s shoulder, “Just one more thing, I’m sorry to have to ask you that but, would you mind not posting about this location?”

“Of course!” They say in unison, and Georgia is quick to add, “I wasn’t planning to!”

“Thank you for understanding.” You nod with a smile. “It was really lovely meeting the two of you! Hope we get to see each other again. Enjoy your day.”

The girls bid their goodbyes to you, and you give them one last wave before retaking your seat. Harry observes how you keep an eye on them for a beat longer before meeting his gaze, an apologetic expression adorning your face.

“That was sweet.” 

You sigh, “That was unexpected.”

“Thought that kinda thing happened a lot.”

“It does, just-” You pause, frowning your lips slightly. “Never happened in here.”

You tap your fingers against the wood of the table in a nervous tick, bringing your other hand to your mouth as you bite down on the nail of your thumb. It’s clear how alarmed you’ve gotten now that the girls are gone, eyes scanning every bit of the room. Looking anywhere but to Harry’s own worried ones. He doesn’t need to be able to read minds to know that yours is probably rushing right now from a simple glance at your face.

He reaches for your hand on top of the table to call your attention. Once you snap your gaze back on his, you let your shoulders relax a bit. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah! It’s just…” You try to brush his worry off, glancing back at the entrance before sighing again. “Do you think we could take this back to your place? Is Julia there?”

He shakes his head to your last question, “Of course, it’s not that far, anyway.”

“Thank you.” Your expression softens as you move to gather your belongings hanging from the back of your seat. “I’m sorry, I always do this.” Your shoulders fall, the edge of your lips frowning down.

“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you?” He bumps his arm against yours as both of you stand to get you to relax. “You don’t have to apologize, I understand.”

“I appreciate it.” You nod, but the crease between your brows doesn’t ease. “I just want to avoid a possible mob in case they end up posting about the location.” 

Harry tries to ignore the way his heart drops at your words. He wonders how many times you’ve been caught in a situation like this that ended up badly. “I get it.” 

The way back to his building is much different than when you were coming to the cafe a few hours ago. It’s noticeable that you’re tense as soon as you step outside, the sunglasses earning a permanent spot on your face for the time being. Even with your eyes covered, however, Harry still notices how you take in your surroundings almost cautiously. He tries to bump his hips against yours every time you do it, trying to distract you from your worries. It helps, as you shoot him a smile every time, bumping your hips back.

Screams from a nearby park call both your attention as you get closer to his building. As the day approaches the late hours of the morning, people have decided to enjoy the rare dose of sunlight that gave a break to the frequent rainfalls that cloud the city. On the other side of the road, children run around in a playground as their parents watch them from near benches. A few runners make their laps on the sidewalk lining the edge of the block as well as dog-walkers that take more of a stride sort of walk.

“Such a nice day.” You say, glancing down at the floor ahead to allow your hair to cover a bit more of your face. “It’s a shame we have to go back inside.” 

It breaks his heart to hear the way your voice takes a lower tone. He tries to meet your eyes, “Can tell you’re beating yourself up about things out of your control.” Harry pitches your arm, his next words coming out in a playful warning, stretching the word as to get you to smile.  “Stop it.”

“I can’t help it.” You let out a humorless laugh, coming to a stop at a corner to wait for a red light so you can cross. He looks down at you, but you keep your gaze trained ahead. “It is kind of my fault, you know?”

Harry frowns. “Except it’s not.”

“Thank you for trying to make me feel better about it.” You give him a small smile, shaking your head. “But in a way, it is. I know it is. And I don’t mean to complain about it or anything! Cause I’m aware of how privileged I am to get to live my dream and all that… It just-” You shrug. “It’s not always a field of flowers, I guess.”

“You’re allowed to not love every second of it, doesn’t make you ungrateful.” He argues, his hand meeting your shoulder as he gently turns you to face him. “Especially when it comes to all this privacy stuff, you deserve to have your space.”

“I know that but...Well, I signed up for it, you know? I knew my life would never be just mine once I started getting big.” You adjust the glasses on your face. Harry’s close enough that, if he focuses, he can see your eyes under the dark lenses. “And in a way, I’m used to it now, I’ve learned how to live with it.” You sigh, frowning at your lips. “What makes me uneasy when stuff like this happens- what makes me want to keep a low profile when we’re out, it’s not to protect me. It’s to protect you.”

Him? “Me?”

“Yeah…” Your voice is small, almost shy as the confession leaves your lips. Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes down as you quick some loose pieces of concrete from the sidewalk. “It’s the same with my parents or to Lyla or anyone that doesn’t have a life like mine.” You explain in a rush, trying to cover the timidity that warms your cheeks. But when you continue, it’s still clear in your tone, as the words come from your lips in almost a shame, “You don’t deserve to be exposed to all of it just because you’re part of my life. It’s not fair to you.”

It takes Harry a second to let it sink in. To understand the whole reason behind your uneasiness when going out. Why you’re so adamant about keeping your ties to him a secret. Why you try to separate him from your public side.

All this time. You’re doing it to protect him.

There’s no denial of how the confession brings a tightness to his chest. He knows it’s not what you mean to do. But he can’t help it when you sound as if you could be a burden in his life — when, in reality, it couldn’t be the furthest away from the truth. So his shoulders lump as he watches you keep your gaze away from his again, lips frowning down as he uses every ounce of self-control within himself to not pull you to him.

Instead, he ducks his head, trying to find your eyes under the lenses of your glasses. When he speaks up, his words are soft, to embrace you in a way he can’t physically, “Is this why you get so stressed about going out in public? Why you asked me to not tell anyone?” You look up at him at the question and he adds, “To protect me?”

“Of course.” You reply as if it was obvious all along. “W- Did you think it was… Something else?”

“I-I don’t know.” From his peripheral vision, he can see cars coming to a halt as the streetlight turns red, but neither of you makes a move to keep walking. The world around doesn’t matter right now. “I think I just assumed you didn’t want the media assuming…” He motions vaguely with his hand. “Anything.”

“Well, yes, to protect you from that.”

“You-” He shakes his head incredulously. There’s no denial of the bouquet of butterflies that bloom on his stomach at the prospect of you wanting to protect him. At how you say it as if it’s obvious that you’d do it in the first place. Almost treating it as if it’s your duty to do so. But he also can’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt from it, knowing how this is the main reason that gets you anxious when you’re together. His hand reaches for your shoulder again, caressing it in silent gratitude as his expression softens, “You don’t have to do that, to stress yourself because of me. Do you know that?” 

“But I do.” You’re quick to argue. “You don’t know what it’s like, H. People are brutal. I won’t have them pestering you. I won’t have that.” There’s a clear quiver in your voice at the last few words, and Harry has to fight back the lump on his own throat at the sound of it.

“Love-”

You push up your sunglasses so you can fully glance up at him, “I’m serious.” Your eyes are set, stern, as you lock them on his. But they’re also getting glossy at the edges. “I won’t let them get to you too.” You whisper.

“It’s not your duty, love.” Harry insists, hating how you’re clearly beating yourself up for it. “I can take care of myself in case anything happens.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The smile that tugs on your lips is weak, and you shake your head. “If you knew what it would be like...” You trail off.

“Is this why you don’t have any friends with- uh, a regular life?” Harry cringes at himself but doesn’t know how else to word this without making you feel abnormal.

You nod. “Pretty much, yeah.” 

“I understand where you’re coming from.” He says, eyes trained on yours as he wants you to take in every word that he speaks. “I do, but you maybe you shouldn’t allow those people to dictate your happiness.”

You give him a sad smile that twists his heartstrings. “That’s not what it is.”

“It’s what it seems like.” He argues, desperate to get you to understand where he’s coming from. 

The more he takes in the way your eyes water and your lips twist, shoulders falling almost in defeat — as if you’ve accepted the responsibility that you’ve weighed upon yourself — the more he has to hold back his own emotions. It’s clear the toll that this position takes on you; you’ve told him about it before. You’ve told him how you barely have anyone that you consider close — those in the industry being too worried about building their own careers on top of each other’s backs for you to be comfortable sharing any meaningful exchange (apart from very few exceptions). And now he knows why you don’t find these ties with people that have a life outside the spotlight.

 “Doesn’t it get lonely?” He questions out loud.

“All the time.” You let out a humorless laugh. “People don’t realize how lonely it can be to have a career like this.” It comes as a vent and you take a deep breath, your hand quickly coming up to wipe the sides of your eyes though there’s yet a tear to fall. “Like, yes, you have this big team with you, and everyone fawns over you everywhere you go, but-” You pause, exhaling. “After the shows, and the lights, and all that...In the end, when you go to bed, it’s just you and your pillow.”

Harry doesn’t stop himself now, taking the step to close the gap between the two of you, arms circling around you as he pulls you to him. “I hate that you have to feel like this.” He mutters into your hair, feeling you melt into him. Angling his head a bit so his voice doesn’t get muffled, he whispers, “From now on, you have me, yeah? If you ever need anything- anything, I’m just a call away.” 

You hug him tighter at the assurance, your own words coming in a breath that could have easily been missed if they weren’t spoken so close to his skin. “Thank you.”

//

“You should probably get that.”

Jack, your producer, nods towards your phone as it begins to vibrate on top of the wooden table again. You sigh from your spot on the couch, cursing silently whoever’s been blowing up your phone for the past ten minutes. Mondays in the studio are already hard enough to concentrate as it is - especially as you and Jack have been trying to get the guitar riff just right for the past hour - so to add your buzzing device to the mix feels like a cherry on top to your stress cake.

You shoot him an apologetic look as you reach for it. You wanted to wait until you were done to pay attention to whatever’s been going off so as to not lose your focus, but it seems like whoever’s been trying to reach out has been very adamant about your attention.

So you step outside, letting your eyes fall closed for a second as the outdoor breeze relaxes your senses a little. Jack’s balcony right outside his home studio is quite small and doesn’t stand very tall from the second floor, but you love how you can still have a view of a park close enough that the sunset in the back paints the full leaves of the trees gold. After a moment of peace, you sigh as you’re reminded of your duties once the phone in your hand vibrates once again.

Your brows all but meet as you take in the notifications on your screen. There are two missed calls from Sonia, and a couple of messages, not only from her but from your publicist as well. Opening up the chat, your tired eyes just give a quick scan over the words before falling on a link attached to them. Just before you click on it, you can feel your heart sink as you realize it’s a The Sun article.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You mutter to yourself as you wait for the page to load. When it does, you can feel every ounce you get cold as your dread shows itself to be true. What calls your attention first are the pictures, ones taken yesterday as you recognize your white and red striped dress. And you recognize the look of adoration in a click, perfectly timed when you took off your sunglasses. And worst of all, you recognize Harry, holding you close at the corner just before his building.

When you finally remind yourself to read the headline, you’re not sure how you don’t drop your phone all the way down at the words that stare back at you.

NEW ROMANCE? This year’s favorite breakthrough artist is spotted on a coffee date in London with a mysterious brunette!

//

AAAH It’s finally here!! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one but I got very busy very suddenly at the end of the year but I promise next one will be here sooon!! As usual, if you enjoyed it please reblog and leave some feedback, I’m very excited to hear what’s everyone’s thoughts!! 

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader

[mcwriting]

Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!

In which the reader is the musical guest at Saturday Night Live the same week Tom Holland is hosting.

Ship: Reader x Tom Holland

Word Count: 5747 (what in the heck?? my longest piece ever lol)

Warnings: Mild alcohol consumption

Rating: K

Preface: I mention the NBC page program, which is like an intense internship/fellowship with the company where college grads work with at least 3 parts of the company over a year to get job exposure. A lot of famous actors and actresses were pages!

***

Walking into 30 Rockefeller Center on Wednesday afternoon was a surreal experience for sure. As a young NBC page led you through hallways and up to studio 8H, you were getting butterflies.

On one side of the hall was a sign for studio 8G, which hosted Late Night with Seth Meyers, but the page turned the other way, guiding you through doors to the Saturday Night Live studio.

There was hustle and bustle all around you as she took you to your green room, which had a sign printed with your name on it over an NYC skyline. You almost pinched yourself.

You had known for about a month that you’d be performing as the musical guest for SNL the upcoming weekend, but now that you were here for your first rehearsal, things were getting real. 

When your manager had asked if you wanted to play the show, she’d been met by your enthusiastic “YES! Are you kidding me?!” It was even better when she mentioned who the host would be:

Tom Holland.

You’d watched every season of SNL since you were probably in middle school. You could easily name off every cast member but would have to remember to keep your cool until after Saturday.

Another thing you’d need to stay cool about was Spiderman himself. You had the biggest crush on him, but who your age didn’t? He was charming and British, disregarding physical features. You were most nervous to meet him. 

The page let you put your things down and took you to Lorne Michael’s office where he and some of the production team wanted to talk to you about your set. You’d only get two songs, but one of the writers also asked if you’d want to be in a couple sketches, too.

Later that evening would be the normal pitch meeting, where writers who’d spent all Tuesday afternoon and night into the early hours of Wednesday writing finally got to show the host and cast their ideas. They’d narrow it down to eight, so you were surprised they wanted you in not one, but two sketches.

It wasn’t difficult to say yes to that. You wouldn’t be present for the pitch meeting, however, because in just a few short hours you’d be heading down to studio 6B to film a segment for Jimmy Fallon’s show. 

Your management team stayed behind at the hotel to work on details for a couple concerts you had and were planning to head up to the studio before your interview.

After the meeting, you were shown around to familiarize yourself with the studio and stage before starting your first rehearsal. For one song, it would be just you and a piano, but the other song would have a band playing while you sang and did some limited choreography. 

You sat in front of the keys of a beautiful grand piano, stretching your fingers. Someone requested you play one of your songs, so you looked around, as if asking for permission. Everyone in the room nodded for you to play, so you began the tune of your favorite song from your album.

Your voice wasn’t warm and there wasn’t a mic on you, but you got lost in the lyrics and chords like you always did. By the song’s end, you’d drawn a small crowd. They clapped and you blushed when you finished, closing the lid and standing to do a sheepish curtsy. 

Most of the small crowd dissipated and you were talking to some crew about stage setup when someone interrupted you.

“Sorry to bother, but that was incredible. Can’t wait to hear how good you’ll be this weekend,” said a male voice with a distinct London accent. You turned to find Tom Holland right in front of you. 

“Oh, well, thank you! I- I uh, didn’t expect to meet you so soon,” you stuttered, thrusting out a hand. “Y/n y/l/n.”

He gripped your hand firmly and shook it, nodding his head once, too.

“Tom Holland. You know I was excited when I heard you’d be performing the same week I host. The last film I did, we listened to your music like, all the time. You could say I’m a fan.”

Was this real? Tom Holland was a fan of you!? You chuckled.

“I could definitely say the same for you. I love your movies. ‘Been a fan for years.”

You both smiled happily and Tom was about to respond when the page who’d been showing you around the whole time came up.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Miss y/l/n, they’ve asked to get your measurements in costuming if that’s okay.”

“Oh! Yes of course!” you said to her, then turned to Tom. “Sorry. It was nice meeting you! See you around?”

“Of course! Nice meeting you also!”

As the young girl led you away again, you missed where a younger brother of Tom said to him,

“Think you’re in love yet?”

***

After an eventful visit at the Tonight Show that included you and Jimmy playing box of lies and performing one of your songs for the audience, you headed back up to 8H alone. 

You’d remembered leaving something in your dressing room and had let your team go on back to the hotel without you. You’d felt confident that you could sneak back to your hotel safely without causing a big ruckus. It was only a few blocks away.

You were digging in your bag for your phone when you bumped into someone. Each of you said a quick “oh, sorry!” before looking to see who the other was.

It was Tom again.

You hadn’t realized before, but his room was the one right next to yours. It made sense, both of you being guests and all, but you were still caught off guard. 

“Headed out?” he asked. You felt yourself blushing a little.

“Yeah, well. I just finished at Fallon’s and they don’t need me back here until tomorrow so I’m heading back to my hotel to order pizza for my whole team and then crash,” you laughed. 

“Oh yeah? That sounds about like what we’re doing,” Tom gestured back to his brother and best friend, who you shook hands with gladly. 

You talked as you wound through the halls and quickly realized you were all staying at the same place.

“That’s crazy! We were just going to get a cab if you want to just come with us. I’m already paying for it, so...” he offered. You were surprised.

“What? No, no, I couldn’t just ride on your coattails like that,” you started.

“No seriously, y/n. It’s fine! We’re literally all going to the same place and no one can bother us from a taxi cab. You don’t even have to talk to us if you don’t want to.”

You looked at the other two boys questioningly and they nodded, encouragingly nodding for you to accept the offer. 

“Okay, okay! If all of you are fine with it, I’ll come.”

They cheered and you continued in happy conversation as you headed downstairs. A doorman called a cab for you and you piled in. Harry took the front and you offered to take the middle, sandwiched between Harrison and Tom.

Never in a million years had you expected to be in such close proximity to one, much less all, of them. It was a short drive and the driver took you to a back entrance, the place celebrities usually entered.

You still weren’t quite used to the star life. Up until you’d hit it big, it was normal for you to do pretty much everything yourself and stay in relatively cheap hotels like any other person.

Now, your management team handled most things and you were staying in five star places with secret celebrity entrances and prices that would probably make your grandmother faint.

Inside, you’d also realized you were on the same floor, both of you staying in large suites used by many elites over the years. You parted ways, anticipating seeing each other in the morning for rehearsals and later that evening when you’d be doing Seth Meyers’ show together.

***

The studio was buzzing when you entered Thursday morning. Your small team headed straight for the dressing room as you were taken away to a sketch read. Both sketches the writers had asked you about had been greenlit, so you were excited to work on them

“Morning, y/n. How was the pizza?” Tom asked cheekily when you first walked in. A couple of people passing by gave strange looks but said nothing.

“Well, who doesn’t love a good New York slice, huh? I’d say it was pretty darn good. And you?”

“We ended up getting room service, but pizza’s definitely next on my list,” he joked before you were handed scripts and asked to review them. The writers and cast were trying to figure out some basic spacing as you looked over your lines and cues.

You finally got to work rehearsing the two sketches. You broke a couple times when Kate landed a punchline and when Beck accidentally tripped. 

When they decided to move on from those, you where whisked away to wardrobe and makeup to shoot "bumper” stills and videos, the photos and clips between sketches and commercial breaks. 

You were excited to see how they envisioned your style and personality and would bring it to life. The photographer collaborated with you and shot some really incredible photos, both serious and goofy.

Next you were back in music rehearsals figuring out more about the staging and running some diagnostic sound checks. Once lunchtime came around, your stomach was growling.

You just barely caught Tom as you went for lunch, he was finishing up as you built your plate. As it always seemed, you only got a few words in with each other before someone was dragging Tom off for his own photoshoot.

You got to talk to Harry and Harrison for a little bit, too, until your manager asked to have a quick meeting about your schedule. Once you were free, you were taken to costuming to try a few things on and figure out hair styles that would fit the show.

There were more music rehearsals and you read the new scripts (as they had already been rewritten twice now). You were pretty tired by the time someone asked you to head across the hall to prepare for Late Night.

You grabbed a quick bite to eat on your way out of 8H and finished is by the time you were in the doors of 8G and a page led you to your green room, once again located next to Tom’s. 

Since you were both doing SNL together, you and Tom were going to be interviewed together, but you also had the added bonus of being the musical guest again. 

You only needed to rehearse a couple times to get the sound down (it’s not like it’s live, so you could easily restart if something went wrong). Once you were finished, they brought in the studio audience and you got a chance to go back to your green room and chill for a little while. 

Seth had a couple other guests, so while you were waiting, you knocked on Tom’s door to greet him and discuss the talking points each of your management had given Seth.

As the in-house band was warming up, Seth came into the room.

“Well I didn’t expect to see both of you in here,” he joked, shaking both of you hands. Tom had been on the show before, but this was your first time meeting the host. 

After a couple minutes, Seth was informed of the time and made his leave, going out to meet his audience and begin taping. After his monologue and the first guest, you and Tom were called to the stage.

“Now for our nexts guests we have both the host and musical guest of this weekend’s Saturday Night Live, Tom Holland and y/n y/l/n! Come on out here!”

Tom gestured for you to go ahead of him, so you walked out, waving to the cheering crowd. You took the seat nearest to Seth’s desk. 

“Well hello, there. Good to see you two,” he greeted as you settled in. “Welcome back, Tom, and welcome for the first time, y/n.”

“Wait this is your first time here?” Tom asked incredulously. You laughed.

“Yeah! Up until a few months ago like, no one knew who I was. Not even Seth!” you poked right back. Seth jokingly agreed. 

The interview went well, both of you telling some funny stories and explaining how the week was going. Finally, you cut for a commercial.

“Alright we’ll return with y/n and Tom after this short break!”

You were right back to the interview after the commercial “break.” Towards the end of it, you all got off on the subject of alcohol.

“You are 21, right?” Tom asked you. You rolled your eyes and gave an exaggerated hair flip.

“Yes, I am of the legal age. You should know as well as anyone what it’s like to have a baby face,” you roasted, causing the audience to go “ohh!” and Tom and Seth to raise their eyebrows.

“Wow looks like we’ve got a little rivalry now. The real question is who can handle their alcohol better. I think we oughta bring you two back for my day drinking segment to settle this!”

Both of you overconfidently pointed at yourselves when Seth asked who was better with alcohol.

“Now that’s an idea I can get behind!” you exclaimed before the interview finally wrapped up and you got ready to go sing. Tom and Seth stayed at the desk while you performed, which thankfully only took one shot.

As you wrapped up the show, you gave final waves to the audience and then headed offstage. You and Tom walked through the halls together and Seth caught up with you after finishing his outro.

He thanked you both for being on the show, you took a few pictures, then talked for a while. Seth was eventually called away to look at something, so you said your goodbyes to him and continued towards the green rooms.

“You were great tonight. Your voice is phenomenal,” Tom said to you. “and honestly I can’t believe you haven’t been doing talkshows that long. You’re a natural.”

“I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I love to talk about myself,” you quipped. “But seriously, thank you. Everything leading up to now has happened so fast, it’s hard to really gauge if things are going well or not.”

“I can relate to that. It’s hard, but having my family and brothers helps keep me grounded, you know? Harrison, too. They know that they can call me out and, yeah, I might get mad at first, but I understand that they’re keeping me from getting a big head.”

“Yeah I can’t imagine how overnight it must have been for you. My family and friends definitely don’t miss the chance to poke a little fun here and there to keep my ego down, too. You know, it’s nice talking to someone who understands for once. I love them, but unfortunately they’ll never fully get what it’s like, but you do,” you smiled.

You talked a little more, then spilt off to actually go to get ready to leave the building for the night. The upcoming Friday was going to be a long one.

Once again, you let your manager and assistant and everyone leave ahead of you. Regardless of whether you would hitch a ride with Tom again, you could find your way around easily.

You waited by the door until you heard their voices nearing and the boys came into the hallway.

“Oh y/n, you’re still here, too,” Harry said.

“Yeah, I was trying to decide what to do for dinner tonight before I head back to the hotel.”

“Well we’re going to grab some pizza if you want to join us,” Harrison offered happily, causing Tom to look at him funny. 

“Y/n probably doesn’t want to be bothered by us all day every day and plus, she had pizza last night, I’m sure she doesn’t want it again. Sorry, y/n, don’t feel pressured by this div,” Tom said apologetically.

“Honestly, I could eat pizza everyday, so that’s not an issue, and I honestly love hanging out with you guys. You remind me of my friends back home. If y’all want to eat together, I seriously would not mind.”

“Really?” Tom asked incredulously, then recomposed himself. “Well, yeah, sure. We were gonna head back to the hotel to change clothes and then figure things out from there, is that okay?”

“That sounds perfect, except I’m paying the cab fare this time.”

***

In most situations, a group of guys you’d only known a couple of days asking you into their hotel room would be a major red flag, and it probably still should have been, but you threw caution to the wind and went to Tom’s suite anyways.

Harry answered the door and let you in, and inside you found Tom and Harrison on the floor of the living space drinking beers. They both raised their cans up to you as you came in.

All three of the boys were in simple sweats and t-shirts, similar to you in your leggings and sweatshirt. It wasn’t much later that Harry went to the lobby to retrieve the pizzas they’d ordered and you were all digging in, seated around the coffee table talking.

You all discussed random things, poking fun at each other like you were old friends. It was like they’d already accepted you as one of their own.

“How you think this weekend’s gonna go, y/n?” Tom asked between swigs of his ale.

“I’d say pretty good. I’m hella nervous though. SNL is like its own universe.”

“You can say that again. This is like nothing I’ve ever done before.”

“Oh, come on. You two are both going to do great Saturday. Don’t think too much about it and just have fun,” Harrison encouraged as you continued eating.

Throughout the evening, you couldn’t help but pick up on the way you and Tom kept making eye contact. It was brief, but it was different than how you and Harry or Harrison looked at each other. There was something else there.

Your stomach fluttered. Who else could say that they spent an evening drinking with their biggest celebrity crush? And then continually exchange flirty looks?

At one point Tom even tossed a wink at you after cracking a joke, causing your heartbeat to quicken momentarily. 

After getting lost in conversation with the boys, you realized the time and prepared to excuse yourself back to your own room. The coming morning was going to be an early one, after all. 

“Oh man, I better head out. We’ve got a long day ahead of us,” you commented, stretching as you stood up. The boys followed suit.

“Wow I didn’t even realize how long we’ve been sitting here,” Tom added.

“Yeah. Thanks again for letting me come over tonight. I haven’t gotten to do something like this in a while so it’s nice to just spend time with people who I don’t pay to hang around me all day, you know?”

“I understand and definitely can agree, since these divs are kind of paid to hang around me.”

You all laughed as Tom walked you to the door. 

“Well. See you bright and early...” you trailed.

“Yeah, see you then,” Tom answered, awkwardly sticking out his arms for a hug. You obliged, squeezing your arms around his neck as his held your waist.

And goodness did he give good hugs.

***

You were definitely tired walking into 8H Friday morning. The caffeinated drink in hand helped a little, but late night beers paired with waking up early didn’t quite go hand in hand.

It wasn’t really a hangover either, since you hadn’t been fully drunk, but it didn’t help the exhaustion from traveling, working the past two days, and a lack of sleep.

The first thing you had to do was rehearse your songs for Saturday as the set team worked on transporting and putting together large set pieces that had been made at the navy yard in Brooklyn.

Tom and the cast weren’t far away, figuring the live show with costuming and quick changes along with doing some pre-filmed sketches. The writers were continually making adjustments and figuring out how things would be done. 

They eventually called you over, too, to rehearse your sketches and film one of them. You had to get used to the costumes and cue cards and blocking of each. There had been some minor changes as well, so you had to be quick on your feet.

By lunchtime, all the cast took a well deserved break to sit and have a bite. The writers were having to shuffle around while they tried to eat as you and Tom sat down to talk some more.

“Hey, sorry to bug you, but do you guys mind if I take a picture or two for the SNL social media accounts?” a page asked while you were munching on sandwiches.

You and Tom looked at each other and shrugged.

“Fine with me,” you answered, Tom giving a similar reply. The two of you leaned in next to each other, holding up your sandwiches and laughing.

A few photos were snapped and you and Tom approved of them to be posted online. You thought nothing of it as you went to more rehearsals, working through the show’s order and trying to get down timing before Saturday’s dress rehearsal and show.

You couldn’t help but laugh watching the sketches, as this was your first time seeing the ones you weren’t a part of. Tom’s comedic timing and dry British humor paired well with the material he was given.

When the day came to an end, you were looking through instagram and gathering your things. You went to SNL’s page and put the post of you and Tom together onto your story, adding the text “Can’t wait for everyone to see my favorite sandwich partner host the show tomorrow!”

As before, you thought nothing of it and posted the story, heading out the door to ride back with Tom and the boys.

***

At the hotel, you and Tom had decided to not hang out for the evening since you’d be having a late, late night Saturday and wanted to get some sleep. You opened up social media as you laid in bed to wind down.

You decided to look at the picture of you and Tom from lunch again and read some comments, hoping there would be some funny ones and whatnot.

Instead, you found hundreds of comments saying “omg ship” and “my two faves together” and “this couple would be everything!!” 

You were honestly shocked to see people saying that about you, especially since you had never heard of your fans indicating that they wanted to see you two together.

Twitter was also buzzing over you and Tom’s picture, some fan pages just talking about either one of you, while others also talked about shipping you.

In your heart, you kind of enjoyed it, since you were hardcore crushing on Tom now, but you had no idea how he felt.

Did he like you back? Did he just think of you as just a friend or acquaintance? Was he secretly dating someone and you were just reading too much into it? 

It was much to think about, so instead you closed your phone and fell into a deep slumber.

***

You didn’t have to be in the studio as early as the past days since dress rehearsal wasn’t until 8pm and the show started at 11:30. You felt better rested than the day before, but butterflies were constantly erupting in your stomach.

You and Tom caught each other at the building’s entrance and went up the elevators together.

“Ready for tonight?” you asked, tapping a foot anxiously.

“Absolutely not. You?”

“Same here. Not only is it going to be watched by millions, but some of the most important people in my life are coming and I’m freaking out a little.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked softly. “And who would that be?”

“Well, my parents and some friends from home. I can sing in front of sold out stadiums but I still get nervous if I know they’re in a crowd. It’s stupid, I know.”

“No I totally get it. My parents and brothers will all be here, too, and my heart races when they watch my work. The best advice ever given to me, though was ‘turn nerves into excitement,’ and that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

You nodded and smiled up at him.

“That is pretty good. Thanks,” you replied as the elevator doors opened. 

The halls were bustling with what seemed like every employee as you headed to your green room. It wasn’t long before you were being thrown updated scripts and rehearsing again.

Finally as dusk turned to night, the dress rehearsal audience seats began filling up. You were bouncing nervously in the hall as you watched the cast begin the cold open on a monitor.

“Nervous?” a male voice asked quietly next to you. It was Tom, of course. You bobbed your head from side to side.

“Excited,” you replied cheekily. He smiled and was about to say something else when a crew member came by to lead him to his starting place for the monologue. He gave a quick wave before heading backstage, instead. 

The dress rehearsal went okay, certain jokes and lines being cut and rearranged by the end for time. Thankfully the audience received everything well, for the most part. 

Your own music and sketches felt like a rush, but you were proud. Tom’s advice had really gotten to you, because you were bubbling with excited anticipation for 11:30 broadcast to begin.

There was about an hour between dress and the actual taping, so you scarfed down a few bites of food and tried to shake out some jitters. You also sipped some caffeinated hot tea and did vocal runs to stay in tip top shape. 

Your friends and family stopped by the green room to say hi before they joined the audience, giving you hugs and encouragement for the evening ahead.

As the clock neared 11:30, you were walking down a hall already dressed for your first song when you almost bumped into Tom.

“Oh, hey! Great job at dress! You’re gonna do amazing,” you immediately said, making him beam.

“Thank you! And you too! Your voice is on fire tonight, as if it’s ever not.”

“You haven’t heard me try to sing sick, then. I sound like a diseased animal.” You shook your hands and head to dismiss yourself. “But, uh, earlier I was gonna tell you ‘break a leg’ and then I remembered you used to dance, sooo... merde.”

Tom raised his brows and chuckled. 

“You know that phrase too?” You nodded. “Well then merde to you, too. Oh, and I was wanting to ask if tonig-” 

Tom was cut off by someone once again needing to drag him away to prepare for the show, causing you both to toss waves at each other again. Maybe he’d finish his thought later.

This was it. The real deal. 

You took that as a cue to find your place by the monitors until after Tom’s monologue and the commercial break, when you’d start moving to stand with the band.

The cold open landed well, and you felt chills hearing two of the cast yell,

“And live from New York, IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT!”

The classic jazz music of SNL played over the intro and Tom made his way down the iconic steps to do his monologue. 

Your heart fluttered seeing him stand on that stage with a wide smile, waving at the crowd. He was dressed in a blue suit and his curls were styled just right. He looked incredible.

The monologue landed well and you felt an even bigger flutter as you heard Tom lead into commercial, saying the iconic line,

“We have a great show for you tonight! Y/n Y/l/n is here! So stick around we’ll be right back!”

With that the camera panned out and cut, and chaos began as the crew moved everyone to set the first live sketch. In the meantime, a prefilmed sketch played, the one you had participated in.

The audience cheered and laughed at your surprise appearance in the sketch, which made you feel really good. You had moved now to a place where you could see the stage in person.

The camera panned in as the audience applauded and the next sketch began. Even after having seen it multiple times that week, you couldn’t help but laugh as the ridiculous character Tom played so well. 

When they cut to another commercial break, it was your time to get ready to sing the first song. 

Your stomach fluttered like it always did before a show, but Tom shot you a thumbs up before the break ended and boosted your confidence. A camera was pointed in his face as he calmly said,

“Ladies and gentlemen, y/n y/l/n,” as he gestured towards you.

The lights came up and you began playing, and you became lost in the music like always. It came and ended quickly, and suddenly you were listening to the cheers of the audience. You waved and bowed in thanks as the cameras panned again.

Up came the weekend update, your favorite part of any Saturday Night Live. The jokes for the segment were typically written on Saturday, so many of them were new to you. 

Tom came and stood next to you during the update with a bowl-cut red wig dressed in khakis and a sweater vest over a button up. You looked him up and down amused.

“Your performance was amazing,” he whispered.

“Thanks. You’re doing great out there. They love you,” you whispered back.

“I sure hope so. Hey I’ve been trying to ask if-” he started, but then was cut off by someone grabbing him and leading him towards stage for the next sketch. Your stomach fluttered again.

What could he possibly want to ask me?

The live sketch transitioned into a prefilm and then you were up again, this song was more energetic and included some choreography, and you felt confident in the shimmering gold bodysuit and boots you were wearing. 

You happily danced and sung after Tom reintroduced you to the crowd and got a large round of applause. There was only one sketch left of the show and you were in it, so the team rushed you into a quickchange booth offstage to put on your costume and a quick wig.

The sketch began and you stood to the side nervously. When your cue came, you burst onto the stage clumsily, as directed by the script. Your character made some inappropriate comments to Tom’s which garnered you many laughs again.

It was satisfying.

Once the sketch ended, all that was left were the goodnights, so you were again rushed off to change into a cute jumpsuit and reaffix your hair. Tom came out in a blue suit with the jacket unbuttoned, a black tee underneath. 

You rushed to take your place next to him as other cast members filed in around you, Lorne standing in the middle of the room watching to make sure everyone came out. The audience applauded as the music played and camera panned.

After they gave the final countdown, Tom began giving thanks to many people, from cast and crew, to family, and to you.

“I want to give a huge thanks to tonight’s musical guest, y/n y/l/n,” he exclaimed, gesturing to you. The crowd cheered and you laughed and waved, giving him a joking elbow. 

“I love you all! Goodnight!” he finally exclaimed. 

With that, the music was brought up and everyone began hugging as the credits rolled. You immediately turned to Tom and he to you, both of you throwing arms wide. 

You wanted to hug him forever, but realized that it would look fishy and there were many people you still wanted to hug and thank.

Both of you pulled back, giving each other a quick “good job!” before turning to others.

***

You were finally offstage and had said quick goodbyes to your family, who wouldn’t be staying for the afterparty. As you headed towards the greenroom for the last time that night, you were stopped by Tom.

“Hey! Y/n,” he said, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Oh my gosh there you are!” you said, turning to give him another hug, this one more emotional and less performative.

“I’m serious y/n, you were incredible. I know I’ve said it a million times but you have a real gift. Not to mention your acting skills,” he said into the crook of your neck.

You pulled away to look at him, arms still loosely wrapped around him.

“Well thank you, but you were great too. Everyone loved you. I loved you out there.” You paused for a moment, arms sliding from his shoulders as you continued to walk down the hall. “You know I had a lot of fun this week. Doing this and just hanging out. I was really nervous to meet you.” 

“I did too, and yeah, we were all super nervous to meet you, too. Like I told you before, we listen to your music a lot. But, uh, that being said. All night I’ve been trying to ask if you’d like to go to the afterparty with me?”

“Oh yeah that’s perfect! Are the guys coming too?” you asked enthusiastically, not detecting the nervousness in his voice.

“No, no. I mean, yeah they’ll be there but...” he stopped and you followed suit. “I’d like you to go with me with me. And ideally leave with me... alone.” 

Your eyes widened and breath hitched. Now it clicked. He was asking you out.

“Oh! Well then... I’d like that very much.” You smiled.

“Yeah?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yeah,” you answered.

Let’s just say you were singing a different kind of tune that night once you left to your empty hotel room “with him.”

***

A/N: omg omg omg I started this story forever ago but finally got around to finishing it! No new marriage project chapter this week, I thought I’d just post this to hold y’all over ;) Thanks for reading!

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#live from new york it's saturday night #snl au #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland oneshot #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield #Harry Holland #tom holland spider man

[harley-sunday]

Encore [01]

Summary: The new Disney+ show ‘Encore’ brings together former castmates of a high school musical, tasking them with re-creating their original performance in a high school reunion like no other. Emotions run high as you face faded friendships, long-forgotten controversies, killer choreography, and an ex-boyfriend you haven’t seen in eighteen years.

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader [unnamed OFC, nicknamed ‘Ace’)

Warnings: None

Word count: 8.4k

AN: So, here it is, the re-write of Encore. For those of you who have read it when it was first published, there are some subtle changes in this first part, but the real fun doesn’t start until part 2, which will be online tomorrow. Hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think :)

Masterlist

Cursing quietly you set out in a jog, one hand holding your purse close to your body while the other is clutching the double espresso that made you late in the first place. You make a mental note to check if they’ve replaced the coffee machine in your hotel room when you get back tonight, because you really don't want to go on another early-morning Starbucks run tomorrow in case they haven’t.

Still, you’re parked relatively closeby and so it’s only a short run to the double doors which you all but burst through, coming to a sudden stop when there are two people in your way who look like they’ve been waiting for you. They introduce themselves as part of the crew and help you with your microphone, telling you to keep it on as much as possible and not to forget to hand it back at the end of every day. You only half listen because all of a sudden the familiarity of the place hits you and you’re surprised to see nothing has changed, not really anyway. It’s almost like time has stood still and the sense of melancholy that washes over you makes you a little weak in the knees. 

There’s no time to reminisce any further though, because once your mic is in place they tell you everyone else is already here and waiting for you in the theater room, and so you’re off again, running towards the other end of Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High School for the first time in eighteen years. 

You’re a little out of breath when you get there and want to allow yourself a moment to catch it again, maybe calm your nerves a little, but you know they’re waiting for you and so you take one last deep breath and open the door. 

There’s a group of nine people on the stage who, like you, are the show’s main cast. They’re all talking to each other amicably and you wonder if they’ve kept in touch all these years. One by one they turn to you as you make your way towards the front and it does absolutely nothing to calm your nerves. Some of them look surprised to see you and you don’t blame them, because once you left Sudbury after graduating high school you had no intention of ever coming back and so you cut ties rather vigorously. 

Two of the four cameras that are spread out across the room are now trained on you, but you try your hardest to act natural, because that’s what it said in the production brief they sent you last week, and so instead you try to focus on the people you haven’t seen for so long. 

It’s Nicole Matthews who greets you first, running towards you as you walk on stage. She presses a kiss to your cheek before she gives you a hug, a quiet, “So glad you made it, babe,” whispered into your ear. You hang on to her just a little longer because now that you’re finally getting to hug your best friend again for the first time in eighteen years it’s hard to let go. 

After Nicole you make your way down the line at a steady pace, greeting everyone with a hug, except for Michael Pratt who insists on doing the secret handshake he taught you during rehearsals all those years ago. You hand your coffee to John Ryan on your right, because unfortunately you’ll need both hands for this. It takes a little practice but then you remember the full routine and you can’t help but laugh when you nail it on your third try, earning you a wink from Johnny when he hands you your coffee back, “Still got it, huh kiddo?” 

All too soon there’s only one person left to greet and you know all eyes are on you when you walk towards Chris, the talking from before quieting down to a hushed whisper. It’s fine. You get it. You would want to know what happens next too. 

“Hi.”

He seems unsure what to do and after a second or two he pulls you in for a hug that’s a little awkward and might have not been such a good idea after all.

You give him a quick pat on the back before you pull back, and step to the left, trying to hide from view a little. There’s a whole range of emotions you’re going through right now and you’re not sure which one to settle one. If somehow you could walk out of here and just forget this ever happened, you probably would, even though you are sure Nicole would never let you. 

It’s then three more people walk in and so everyone’s attention shifts to the newcomers before they have a chance to ask questions you don’t have any answers to. 

The two men and one woman introduce themselves as the director, choreographer, and musical director for this project and tell you there’s a lot of work ahead of you, even though from tomorrow there will be some professionals to fill some of the minor roles and help with the choreography. They seem so unfazed about having a celebrity there that you can’t help but wonder if they got instructions from production or if they’re just used to working with well-known actors. You suppose, and hope, it’s the latter. 

“So, Grease,” the director, Coy, comments with a smile when he hands the scripts to Nicole to pass down the line, “that was already a classic by the time you performed it.” He asks everyone to tell him who had which role in the original production, taking notes and nodding fervently when he hears who played who. 

Coy looks up and smiles, “So, we have a lot to do, of course, if we’re gonna do a show in five days, but Grease doesn’t work unless you have fun. Unless you’re having fun, the show falls flat.” He looks to Adam, the musical director, “So today we’re gonna have a little bit of a singing session. That’ll let us know where you are, vocally.” 

Adam has the group form a semi-circle and hands each of you a piece of paper with the lyrics of ‘I Want it that Way’ by the Backstreet Boys on them, because, as he reasons, it was one of the biggest hits the year you performed Grease and you all need to go back to that place in time. 

Nicole starts, a little hesitant at first, but then she decides to go for it and it’s amazing and, like nineteen years ago, you are absolutely in awe of her voice. As more and more people sing their rendition of the song, you are actually surprised at the level of singers in the group and how serious everyone takes this. That is until Johnny and Michael decide to remake the song into a duet once it’s Johnny’s turn and their very serious facial expressions and interpretive dancing have you crying from laughter in no time. 

Chris is up next and finally you get to take a good look at him. He’s wearing a dark blue sweater that stretches across the muscles in his arms and chest, paired with black jeans, and sneakers, and it suits him. His voice is soft but clear and you can’t help but wonder why he never did more musical theater. You’ve followed his career, of course you have, and you’re proud to see what he’s accomplished, because you know how hard he’s worked to get there. 

It’s your turn then and instead of butterflies it feels like there’s a herd of elephants stomping around in your stomach. You step up anyway, because, with the exception of the three professionals, they’ve all heard you sing before. You haven’t sung in a long time, but you still know how to carry a tune, although you never really take any risks, and so if anything your rendition errs a little on the boring side. Still, you make it through the song without any real struggles and at the end Adam praises the group, saying he’s impressed at everyone’s vocal capabilities. 

Coy looks up from his seat then, where he’s been taking more notes ever since Nicole started singing, and informs you that they have decided to honor the original casting.

And so here you are, once again playing the Rizzo to Chris’ Kenickie. 

The rest of the day passes by in a blur of read-throughs, choreography, and more singing, and even though you know you’ll be dead-tired once you get back to your hotel tonight, you also can’t help but feel excited. You never pursued a career in acting or performing and so Grease was both your first and last venture out into the theater world, but God, did you like it.  

You’re a little lost in thoughts, watching a scene you’re not in from the side of the stage, thinking back on your days as a theater kid, when Chris comes up beside you, “How you holding up?” 

You know what he wants you to say, because this has been your spiel whenever you found each other in the wings, but you just can’t get the words out, there’s eighteen years worth of pain and heartache that needs to be dealt with first. Instead, you keep looking straight ahead at the scene in front of you, shaking your head ever so slightly to let him know, what, you’re not exactly sure.

He takes a step back and doesn’t say anything else until it’s his turn to enter the stage.   

There’s no time to unravel what the hell just happened because Nicole comes off stage and joins you then, gently bumping her hips against yours, “You ok, babe? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“The ghost of my fifteen-year old self,” you mutter quietly. A little louder then, hoping she’ll let it go, “Don’t worry about it, Nic.” 

“Well, at least no one’s gonna complain about the age difference between you two now,” she says with a grin, nodding towards the stage where Chris is going through his scene. She shakes her head, “God, I still can’t believe it was such an issue back then, only because he was, what? A year older?”

“Almost two,” you offer. You remember Mrs Linton pulling you aside to inform you there had been complaints about you being cast as Rizzo. She told you there were some people who were worried the age difference between you and Chris could be perceived as inappropriate, especially because you shared one very steamy makeout scene right before intermission, that went on for at least a few minutes. You were just a junior and so shocked to learn people had a problem with you that you offered to step down, but it turned out Mrs Linton was on your side, and she told you she’d kick your butt all the way back to second grade if you even so much as thought about letting them win.

You never found out who she meant by ‘them’ but you always thought Jessica Mullen, the girl playing Sandy, and Fiona Warren were behind all this. Jessica and Fiona were best friends, two of the most popular senior girls, and it was no secret Fiona had a huge crush on Chris back then. She also auditioned for the part of Rizzo, but Mrs Linton favored your approach to the character and so Fiona ended up being offered a role in the ensemble, which she declined with a temper-tantrum unprecedented by anything any two-year old has ever thrown. 

Ultimately, as a compromise, Mrs Linton made you and Chris skip the makeout scene during rehearsals, which seemed to stop the protests somewhat. You've often wondered if she would have done things differently had she known Chris and you were already dating for two months by the time rehearsals started and so steamy make out sessions were part of your daily routine anyway. Then again, you always had the feeling she very much knew about your relationship and was just playing her part. 

Nicole nudges you then, pulling you out of your memories, “It’s your cue, go!”

The producers thought it would be nice to have all of you go out to dinner after the first day back together, and so you find yourself at the Oak Barrel Tavern, sharing a table with Nicole, Johnny, Michael, Eric, and Chris, enjoying what everyone still considers to be the best burger in Sudbury. Funny how some things never change, you think, as you take a bite of your fries. 

Except for you and Michael, the rest of the table all graduated in the same year and are already two beers deep into a play-by-play of the many senior stunts they pulled. You watch Chris as he animatedly tells the story of how he, Johnny, and Eric toilet papered the principal’s house the night before graduation. Two cameras circle your table and you are certain some part of this story will make it to air, because it’s too good not to. Johnny tries to chime in, but instead keeps letting out these roaring laughs whenever he remembers another detail of that night and you can’t help but smile at the familiarity of it all. 

It’s strange, you think, how something as insignificant as performing a musical together made you form a bond with these people which even after nineteen years is still there. Sometimes you wonder if leaving Sudbury all those years ago really brought you the peace of mind you were looking for. Maybe you wouldn’t feel so restless now if you had just accepted that this would always be your hometown and this group of people would always be here. You realize then that there’s hardly been any catching up going on tonight and so you figure they must have all kept in touch in some way or another.

You and Eric get to talking then, during a lull in the conversation, and he easily admits that hadn’t it been for Chris he would have liked to asked you to go to Senior Prom with him, revealing that back then he had a  major crush on you. Your cheeks heat up at his confession and you can’t help but glance at Chris, who quickly adverts his eyes when you do. Turning back to Eric you try to make a joke about how he should have, because at least then you would have had a date, but the moment the words leave your mouth the awkward silence that follows makes you wish you hadn’t said anything.  

Chris throws you an angry look and Nicole just stares at you in disbelief, before coming to your rescue and telling everyone that it’s getting late and maybe it’s time to go home. 

You throw her what you hope is a grateful smile and get up, following the rest of the group outside, where the same crew that fitted you with your mic this morning is waiting for you and so you hand everything back to them like they asked you to

With a wave and a, “Goodnight everyone,” you head towards your car, not completely surprised when Nicole catches up with you.

“What the hell was that?”

“I-” you shake your head, “I don’t know. It came out before I knew it.”

“Well,” she says as she puts her hand on your shoulder and kisses your cheek, “we’ll discuss it over dinner tomorrow night.”

“Can’t wait,” you answer, a hint of sarcasm in your voice even though you are in fact looking forward to it. “See you tomorrow, Nic.” 

“Bye, babe,” she says as she opens her car door and lowers herself into her seat. You wait until she’s backed up out of her parking spot before you give her a little wave and continue on towards your car while you rummage through your purse to try and find the keys to your rental. You push the button needed to unlock the car and are about to open the door when you hear someone come up behind you. Of course. You let out a sigh, “I know what you’re gonna say-”

“You don’t,” he says, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans and his foot kicking at the loose gravel near your tire. He looks up at you, his voice much softer when he says, “I can’t believe it’s been eighteen years, Ace.”

Hearing him use his old nickname for you sends a shiver down your spine and you hate how it brings back an onslaught of memories. You don’t say anything, just look at him, wondering where he’ll go with this. 

“Eighteen years is a long time.” He looks up at you, a sadness to his eyes that would make you a little weak in the knees had it not been for his next words, “Do you think that maybe it’s time to leave the past behind us? Maybe we could just start over?”

“We could just- Sorry, what?” You open your mouth to say more but find yourself at a momentary loss for words after what he’s suggested and so you stand there gaping like a stupid fish, which makes you even more angry. You shake your head and get in your car, “Goodnight, Chris.” 

The drive to your hotel only takes a couple of minutes, which means you’re still pretty upset when you get to your room. Your purse ends up being flung into a corner somewhere before you make your way to the minibar and grab all four of the miniature bottles of whiskey that are in there, taking them out onto the balcony with you. Downing the first makes your throat burn in not an entirely unpleasant way, although it does nothing to relieve you of your anger. 

Putting your feet up on the railing you lean back in your chair, head resting against the wall, and uncap the second tiny bottle. To hell with your good intentions of going to bed early, you think, knowing you won’t be able to sleep now anyway.

Today’s run to the theater room is almost a carbon copy of yesterday’s, down to the Starbucks cup in your hand because they didn’t replace the coffee maker in your room like they said they would and of course you forgot to check. The only difference is that you have a pounding headache and might just be a tad hungover. Oh well, there’s a first time for everything, you think as you make your way down to the stage once they've put your mic on.

Nicole eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t say anything, although you do see her glance in Chris’ direction not much later, the rest of the group just nodding and some of them mumbling a “Good morning,” to you. Chris keeps his distance, probably thinks you’re still mad at him, which, you know, you are. Sort of, anyway. It sounded so casual when he suggested leaving the past behind you, like none of what happened matters anymore. Then again, maybe it doesn’t. It’s all just very confusing and you guess that’s what annoys you most of all.

Adam steps onto the stage then and tells you his plans for today, wanting to go through the songs in order, with choreography, for now not bothering with the scenes in between. It’s the only thing you’ll do today, except for some wardrobe fittings after lunch, and so he warns you it’s going to be grueling and that you won’t get to stop until everyone’s at least ninety percent there. A few more people come on stage and are introduced as the extras, professional actors who will make up the ensemble and help with the choreography where needed. 

Your headache-induced bad mood helps you pull off ‘Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee’ with an attitude your sixteen-year old self wishes she had and even ‘There Are Worse Things I Could Do’ goes as well as it could. But then ‘We Go Together’ has you paired up with Chris for the first time and it’s awkward, and stiff, and when Coy reminds you that Rizzo is no longer mad at Kenickie at this point, you just nod and try to put in some extra effort to make it seem like there’s nothing going on between you and Chris, wanting to get it over with. 

Coy doesn’t comment on it any further, but pulls you and Chris aside at the end of the day, when the rest of the group is dismissed after what Kelly, the choreographer, deems "A great day of work."

Both you and Chris are sitting on the edge of the stage, Coy standing in front of you, looking from one to the other and back, almost as if he’s studying you. He waves his hand around then, “What am I missing here?” 

You shrug and out of the corner of your eye you see Chris do the same. You can’t help but smile when you realize it’s still very much you two against the rest of the world, even now, even when you’re sort of fighting.  

“Fine,” Coy says with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you don’t have to tell me. I’m just sensing some history here that I hope won’t get in the way of your performance.” He looks up at you, “Don’t let this become about you two, ok? There are eight other people who deserve this to be a good show. So whatever it is, work it out.” And then, before you have a chance to respond, he walks away, muttering something that sounds like, “High school drama, man.”

Next to you, Chris sighs and looks at you, “Maybe he has a point.” 

“Hmm,” you shrug in a very non-committed kind of way. Your headache has reappeared, and you’re tired, and honestly, you just want to get back to your hotel room and take a quick nap.  

Chris seems unfazed by your attitude, like he always was, “We really should talk about it.” He jumps down from the stage, “Why don’t you come over? We could get some takeout and, I don’t know,-’

“Chris,” you scoff.

“You rather do this here?” He raises his eyebrows and nods towards the camera on your left, which, no doubt, is still rolling.

“I’d rather not do this at all right now,” you mutter quietly, although you know it’s not fair. A little louder then, “I’m having dinner with Nicole tonight, so-"

He just nods, “Fine,” even though his jaw sets in a way that tells you it’s anything but.

“Come in, come in!” Nicole steps aside to let you pass and tells you to walk straight ahead to the kitchen, where you are greeted by the rest of her family. Her husband introduces himself as Keith and tells you it’s great to finally meet you, before he points at the two little boys sitting at the table, “That’s Leo, and the other hooligan’s Robby.”

“I’m five!” Leo exclaims proudly, holding up four fingers.

You chuckle, “That’s awesome!” 

“The boys wanted you to sit in between them,” Nicole says from somewhere behind you, “hope you don’t mind?”

“Are you kidding me?” You wink at Robby, who looks at you expectantly, “Best seat in the house.” 

Dinner is spent catching up with Nicole, or trying to anyway, because Leo and Robby keep interrupting, wanting to tell you about anything and everything they deem important enough to share. Which, as it turns out, is a lot. After dessert, Nicole asks Keith to take the kids into the living room, because, as she puts it, “Mama needs some peace and quiet,” and so you find yourself, glass of wine in hand, on the back porch not much later. 

“You have a gorgeous family, Nic,” you tell her before you take a sip of your wine. “It’s really nice to finally get to meet them.” 

“Thank you.” A mischievous smile then, “So. You wanna tell me what’s going on between you and Evans?”

Never one to beat around the bush, you think and laugh, “Nothing’s going on, Nic.”

“Uhu,” is all she says in reply, folding her arms in front of her chest as she keeps looking at you, one eyebrow raised for good measure. 

You just shake your head but her looking at you like that makes you a little nervous and so, against better judgement you offer, “It’s complicated.”

“Uhu,”

“It is,” you reply, your voice suddenly an octave higher. You hesitate for a moment, but then you figure she knows most of it already anyway, and so you turn in your seat so you can face her, “You know I haven’t spoken to him since we broke up, Nic, and I don’t know it’s- It’s weird.”

She nods, encouraging you to go on.

You sigh and rub your temple, “Eighteen years is a long time, Nic.” 

“It is,” she agrees, “but maybe it’s time to bury the hatchet and at least try to be friends?” Her eyes grow kinder then, “You were always so good together.”

“I don’t know, I mean- And I know I keep saying this,” you hold up your hand when she starts to protest, “but it’s been such a long time. So much has happened. And none of it we went through together, you know? Does that even make sense?” You shrug and shake your head, “I guess our history together is both a blessing and a curse at this point.”

“You need to get out of your head, kid,” she offers with a stern look. “You’re setting this up for failure before it has even started.”

“This?” 

“Oh come on,” she shakes her head, “don’t tell me it never crossed your mind.” She sits up, “I’m going to ask you something and you need to swear on Bubbles’ life that you won’t give me some bullshit answer.” 

“Nicole,” you gasp, hand to your heart in pretend shock, but laughing at the same time. “You want me to swear on Mrs Linton’s dead goldfish? That’s fu-” but then you hear the french doors open and see two little boys running towards and so you have to adjust quickly and throw her a look for good measure, “-funny. Super funny. Funny haha. You’re funny.”

Nicole lets out a laugh and throws you a wink before she holds out her arms and smothers her two boys in kisses once they jump onto her lap, “Goodnight my little rebels, I love you.”

A chorus of “I love you, mama,” makes you smile and you watch the boys run back inside where they give you a quick wave from behind the door before they disappear upstairs. 

“So?” Nicole asks, as if nothing ever happened.

You glare at her, knowing she’ll never let it go, “Fine.” 

“Would you have come back to Sudbury to do this show if it weren’t for Chris?” 

You let your bottom lip roll between your teeth while you contemplate your reply, but of course you know the answer already. It wasn’t just for shits and giggles that you searched all the gossip sites for any information on his relationship status when you first agreed to do this. And so you shake your head, “No.” 

“You know I told Keith I wasn’t sure you’d even come back, right?” Nicole shakes her head, “After all you’ve been through after you and Chris- You know-”

“Yeah,”

“I still have all your letters,” she confesses with a smile. “Every single one of them.”

“Nic-”

“It was my way of keeping you close,” she says and shrugs. She tries to act as if it’s no big deal, but her voice catches on the last word and when she tries to smile it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She clears her throat, “I’m just glad to have you back.”

They’ve replaced the coffee machine in your room while you were out yesterday and so there’s no running towards the theater room once you make it to Lincoln-Sudbury this morning. You walk through the hallways at a leisurely pace, enjoying how much everything still looks the same, down to the blue color of the lockers lining the wall. 

You’re actually a little early and so you’re one of the first to arrive, only finding Johnny and Michael on stage. Michael insists you give the secret handshake another go and you can’t help but laugh when you nail it on the first try this time. 

Johnny gently pats your back, “It’s really good to have you back, kid.” He runs a hand through his hair, letting it rest at the base of his neck and looking a little flustered, “We always wondered what happened to you, you know, after you and Chris broke up and you left Sudbury-” 

“Thanks, Johnny,” you reply with a smile, “that means a lot.” 

“But you’ve been good?” Michael asks.

You nod, “I am now. It’s good to be back.” 

The door opens then and you see Chris and Jessica walk in together, Jessica telling him something that makes him laugh and all of a sudden you feel a pang of jealousy that you’re not necessarily proud of. You try to get back into the conversation with Michael and Johnny, but they’re talking about last night’s football game and so you just stand there, trying your hardest not to stare as Chris and Jessica step onto the stage. Before it can get awkward though, the rest of the group walks in and so all of a sudden there are nine people surrounding you and your attention is diverted elsewhere. 

Nicole waves at you from the other side of the stage and you smile back at her, mouthing a, “Morning,” at her.

Coy, Adam, and Kelly walk in next, followed by the ensemble, and not much later you find yourself reciting your lines over and over again because Coy wants to do a complete runthrough of the show this afternoon to prepare for the two dress rehearsals planned for tomorrow.

You find Chris on the side of the stage in between scenes and stand beside him, not saying anything because you’re so nervous you don’t even trust your own voice right now. But, you promised Nicole you’d do this, promised her you would try to make things right, and so here you are, reaching for his hand, your finger’s brushing against his skin before you gently tap the inside of his wrist four times. Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Meet me after practice

It’s been nineteen years since either of you last used this shorthand, but he must remember what it means because he nods in reply. 

You wait for him in what used to be your usual spot, all the way in the back of the parking lot where there’s a bench tucked away in the tree line. It’s been a while since you were dismissed by Coy and you worry he might not show up making your stomach turn. 

Letting your eyes fall to the ground you distract yourself by trying to get your breathing under control, hoping it will help you calm your nerves. When you look up again you can’t help but smile, because there he is, walking towards you and looking just as nervous as you feel, “Hi,”

“Hey,”

“Listen, Chris-” you start, just as he says something that you don’t quite catch. He nods for you to go first and so you clear your throat and start again, “You were right. We should talk-”

“Come again?” He grins, “Did you just tell me I’m right, Ace?” 

You stare at him, shaking your head, but there’s a smile playing on your lips because this is the best response you could have gotten and so you shrug, “I guess I did.” 

“I guess you did,” he echoes. A little more serious then, “What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, because honestly you didn’t think this far ahead, “maybe grab a bite to eat somewhere?”

He smiles apologetically, “I have somewhere I need to be tonight, but why don’t we do this tomorrow? That way we can both think things over a little and-”

“I’d like that,” you admit easily. 

“You want to come over to my place or should I book a table somewhere?”

Biting your lip you weigh the pros and cons, quickly realizing you much rather have this conversation in the privacy of his home than somewhere in a restaurant and so you nod, “I’ll come over.” You give him your phone number and watch as he saves it in his phone, smiling when he puts you in as ‘Ace’.

He pockets his phone when he’s done, “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah,” you nod. It’s a little awkward then and so you turn around, a quick wave over your shoulder to tell him goodbye.

You hear your name being called from somewhere behind you when you walk from your car to the entrance of the school and can’t help but smile when you see Nicole hurry to catch up with you. You kiss her cheek once she joins you, “Morning.” 

“Hi, gorgeous,” she beams back, “you excited about today or what?”

“Dress rehearsal?” You shrug, “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Uhu,” 

You raise your eyebrows and look at her as you push the double door leading into the building open, unsure if she’s saying what you think she’s saying. You shake your head when she starts laughing, “How do you even know?”

“I didn’t,” she holds up her hands to let you know she’s telling the truth, “but I saw you in the parking lot together after practice yesterday and I just figured, you know, maybe you kept your word about wanting to work things out with him. And then you totally gave it away just now, so-”

“I hate you,” you mutter quietly as you pick up your pace.

“You love me,” she counters, easily catching up with you. “And you’re going to tell me exactly what you’ve got planned for tonight.” 

Like he promised, Coy wants you to run through the entire show at least twice today, choreography, outfits changes and all, and so you take your place, not particularly looking forward to all the dancing. The first half of the show goes as well as it could, although Johnny keeps forgetting his lines, and Jessica takes too long whenever she has to do an outfit change, and ok, fine, you mess up the choreography more than you care to admit too. 

When you finally get to the part right before intermission, where you and Chris have to make out for at least two minutes, Nicole is quick to inform Coy that you never rehearsed that scene when you first performed the show, and wouldn’t it be great if you didn’t do it this time around either? Coy seems interested as to why and so Nicole gives him an abridged version, and to your surprise he quickly agrees to skip the scene until the show tomorrow, because, as he reasons, it will add some drama. 

A quick glance at Chris earns you a wink from him and you know he’s probably just as relieved as you are. 

You find Nicole in the dressing room not much later, where she’s getting fitted for her Frenchy wig and when you walk up to her all you say is, “Thank you.”

She nods in response, “Of course.”

At the end of the day you’ve run through the show almost three times and Coy seems somewhat confident that you’ll manage to pull it off tomorrow. He has some kind words for everyone and tells you all to get a good night’s sleep and to meet back again here tomorrow afternoon at five, for a last dinner together. 

Chris texts you his address after practice and tells you he’ll have dinner ready around seven, with a smiley face at the end that lets you know he’s just as nervous about this as you are. It’s funny how easily you can still read him after all these years, you think, as you connect your phone to its charger before you hop in the shower. 

Your outfit of choice is simple and not too dressed up, but still nice enough for whatever this is. Definitely not a date, you think, but then again, maybe it is. You grab your phone and purse before you head out, nerves suddenly taking over and for a moment you wonder if you should just cancel. You’re going back to Philadelphia on Sunday anyway, so maybe it’s better to just leave things the way they are, you reason. You give yourself a very stern talking to then, because you can’t keep running away from this. You’ve been doing that for the past eighteen years and look where that’s gotten you. No, time to get some closure, you decide as you close your hotel room door behind you and head downstairs to your car.

You pull up to a heavy iron gate about fifteen minutes later, only the roof of his house visible from the road. Pushing the call button you tap your steering wheel to the beat of the song that’s playing on the radio until he answers with a kind, “Hi.”

“Hey,” you reply with a smile and watch as the gate opens in front of you. After about half a mile the house comes into full view and you let out a quiet, “Wow,” because it really is a beautiful farmhouse. You park your car next to his not much later and just as you step outside his front door opens and a dog comes running towards you. 

“Dodger, sit,” Chris says from where he’s standing on the front porch and the dog does as it's told.

“Hi cutie,” you say as you walk up to the dog and scratch behind its ears, “hi.” It gives you a moment to take a deep breath, because you’re so nervous it feels like there are hundreds of butterflies fluttering around in your stomach right now. 

Dodger runs back to Chris then and so you follow him, meeting Chris on the steps, where he holds out his arm and pulls you in for a side hug, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“Chris,” you protest quietly, although you don’t really want him to let go either. 

“I know,” he whispers, “I know. I’m just glad you’re here.” He lets go then and motions for you to follow him inside. He leads you through the house to the kitchen, where the opened French doors reveal a large deck where a table has been set for two. 

“Come on,” he says and walks outside where he pulls out a chair for you, “sit down. I’ll be right back.” 

You watch him walk back into the kitchen, curious to find out what he’s up to but then Dodger sits down next to you and gently puts his paw on your knee to let you know he’d like some more scratches, thank you very much and so you don’t really see Chris come back with two glasses of champagne until he puts one down in front of you. 

He sits down on the opposite side of the table before he raises his glass and smiles, “It’s good to have you back.” 

“Yeah,” you reply, before you clink your glass against his and take a sip. 

Dinner’s a little awkward, both of you not quite ready to stray away from the small talk and so you mostly just tell him what you’ve been up to these past eighteen years, albeit it a slightly abridged version. No need to tell him about how you’ve never really seemed to have been able to find your place in the world and still feel like an outsider everywhere you go just yet. 

He tells you about his career, how much everything has changed once he agreed to play Captain America, and how he secretly would like to do more behind the camera from now on. Maybe step away from the spotlight a little because he still gets these bouts of anxiety and your heart goes out to him because you remember how much he struggled in high school. 

To lighten the mood you tease him about doing this show because it seems so small in comparison to what he’s been doing, but he assures you he never even had to think about it when they asked him to take part. 

“I’m guessing you were a little more hesitant?” 

You nod, “I was.” 

He doesn’t push it any further and you’re grateful for that. 

You offer to help him clear the plates after he suggests to maybe move things inside because it’s getting colder. It takes two trips to the kitchen to clear the table and once again you compliment him on the amazing pasta dish he tells you he made from scratch. You believe him, only because you know his mother taught him well and you fondly remember her cooking. 

He tells you to make yourself at home while he clears away the last things and so you find yourself in his living room, smiling when you see the wall filled with family pictures. Most of them are recent, but there’s one of him and his brother Scott that you know for a fact was taken at his parents’ house right before Chris’ Senior prom. You know this because you were the one that took it. And because you were his date.

“That was a good night,” 

You look over your shoulder to see him walk towards you, holding a glass of whiskey in each hand, and can’t help but smile, “It was.” 

He hands you one of the glasses and touches it with his then, “To all the good memories.”

“Chris-” 

“I know,” he says, “but it wasn’t all bad, Ace.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” you agree easily. “It was good, Chris, right up until the very end.” 

“Yeah, about that-” He clears his throat before he speaks again, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry. For everything.” 

You want to tell him that it’s ok, that it was no big deal, that maybe you overreacted at the time, but you guess you both know that’s not true and so you just say, “Thank you.” 

He nods.

You take a sip of your drink then, relishing in the way it burns your throat, as a welcome distraction to the tears that have started to form in your eyes. You let your gaze drift back to the same picture when you say, “I wish you would have just told me.”

He lowers his head, “I know.”

“That’s what hurt me the most,” you swallow back a fresh set of tears. “Because it wasn’t so much that you couldn’t make it to my Senior prom, I mean, I understood working on your first movie was more important at the time but- To find out you were at some random B-list celebrity’s party- And not because you told me, but because someone shoved a magazine with your picture in it under my nose-” you shake your head trying to rid yourself of the memories, but failing -”draped over some girl.” You lift your glass and put it to your lips, fully intending to finish whatever’s left in one go. 

He starts to say something but you hold up one finger to let him know you’re not done yet. A tear rolls down your cheek and you’re not sure if it’s because of the whiskey or because of everything else, but it doesn’t really matter anyway. There’s something you have to admit, “Maybe I should have reacted differently, or at least given you a chance to explain, but I-” a sob escapes you then, “I was so angry. So hurt. For me breaking up right then and there was the only thing that made sense.” Another tear spills over but you don’t even try to wipe it away, knowing more will follow soon. Instead you let out a humourless laugh, “But then suddenly every single thing in Sudbury reminded me of you and every memory was like a knife to the heart, and so I had to- I just had to leave.” 

He nods and from the corner of your eye you see him run a hand through his hair. 

“Turns out it hurt all the same no matter where I was,” you continue softly, “but it took me years to figure that out.” You clear your throat, trying to find the right words. Yes, it still hurts, but maybe it’s time to let the past be the past. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry too, Chris. I should have-”

“Don’t,” he says, his voice kind. “There are a lot of things we both could have done differently, but we were still so young and, I don’t know, I think we both did what we thought was best. We can’t change what happened,” he turns towards you, “and I don’t want to make excuses for what I did, because,” he clears his throat, “it would be far too little, far too late.” He lowers his eyes, “All I know is that it’s been eighteen years and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you.”

“Chris-”

He looks back up at you and smiles, “It’s my turn now, Ace.” A hand on your arm then, his touch soft and a gentle squeeze to let you know what he’s going to say next is important, “I know there’s still a lot left unsaid, but we’ll get there, eventually. And this might sound crazy, and I’m not saying we should forget what happened but, I don’t know, maybe we could try to start over and just see where it leads us. What do we have to lose?” 

You let the weight of his words sink in, wondering if you are able to just forgive and forget this easily. It’s then you remember admitting to Nicole that you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Chris and the possibility to get some closure and so you agree with a quiet, “I’d like that.” 

He seems a little unsure of himself then, so you put down your glass and take his hands in yours, draping them over your shoulders before you wrap your arms around his waist. He holds you tight, presses a soft kiss to your temple that feels maybe like the most intimate thing he’s ever done, and quietly whispers, “I’ve missed you, Ace.”

He offers you his guest bedroom after another round of whiskey and some smalltalk, because somehow you’re both still hesitant to open up completely. It’s ok, you tell yourself, you’ll get there eventually and there’s no need to rush. You find yourself in the ensuite bathroom not much later, putting on one of his Patriots shirts to act as your pyjamas for the night. It’s all a bit surreal and you’re grateful you’re on the opposite side of the house, because it would be too weird otherwise, even though you know that doesn’t really make sense either. 

Sleep comes surprisingly easy once you’re under the covers and so the next thing you know there’s a knock on your door and for a moment you’re confused because this isn’t your hotel room. You hear his familiar chuckle on the other side then before he lets you know breakfast is ready if you’re up for it and it’s then you remember where you are. 

You take a quick shower before you make your way to the kitchen where you find him leaning against the counter top, enjoying a cup of coffee, Dodger at his feet. He pushes a full cup towards you and smiles at you from over his, “Morning.”

“Morning,” 

“Sleep well?”

“I did, yeah,” you admit, even though it still surprises you. You pick up the steaming hot cup and wrap your hands around it, the smell of freshly brewed coffee waking you up even more.

He motions to the kitchen island where there’s a plate of pastries, “I got you some Danish,” he almost looks embarrassed then, running a hand through his hair, “you used to like those, right?”

“I did.” You’re quick to correct yourself, “I do. Thank you.” 

“You got any plans for today?” 

You shrug, “Not really, maybe drive around a bit to do some sightseeing, you know, see how much has changed over the years.” You grab a pastry then and immediately Dodger’s attention shifts from Chris to you. 

“No,” Chris warns him and Dodger’s quick to lie down again. “Good boy.” He looks back at you, “Until when are you here?”

You’ve just taken a bite and so it takes a while before you answer, “I’m flying back on Sunday.”

“To?”

“To Philadelphia.”

He nods appreciatively, “That’s not too far.”

You spend a few hours driving around the area, thankful that he didn’t ask if he could come. You guess you both needed some time alone. 

The trip down memory lane is nice, but after a few stops you don’t really know where else to go and so you drive back to your hotel, where you have a few hours left until you need to get ready. You kick off your shoes once you’re inside your room and sit down on the tiny balcony before you fish your phone out of your back pocket and call Nicole, who picks up on the first ring. 

“Tell me everything!” 

“Hi Nicole, how are you,” you mock, but can’t help but laugh. “Lovely weather today, isn’t it? Are you excited for tonight?”

“I hate you,” 

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” she agrees, “but you better start talking, babe, or else.”

And so you do. You tell her about dinner, about the talk you and Chris had after, about how you spent the night, laughing when you hear her curse quietly after you’ve told her nothing happened, and how you and Chris agreed to start over. 

“Oh honey,” is all she says, but you know exactly what she means.

#Chris Evans x reader #Chris Evans fanfic #Harley Sunday x Chris Evans #Chris Evans #Encore

[allsassnoclass]

“Every day you wake up and make it my problem” Luke to Ashton

alrighty a theatre au for the only person in the theatre department who can handle me <3

Opening night brings a palpable excitement in the air, a nervous energy that can only naturally be produced at this point in the production process.  The scenes have been blocked, the lines memorized, the sets built, the costumes sewn, and every piece of design meticulously brought together to create something ready for sharing.  As Luke hangs up the laundered costume pieces and ensures that the dressing rooms are prepared for the night, he can already feel the excitement amongst the crew milling about.  It will only be compounded once the actors arrive for the night.

Luke has his sewing kit, numerous pins, extra hairspray, and a bite light.  There aren't many quick changes in Hamlet, and all of them have been easily doable in dress rehearsals.  He's ready.

When he wanders out to backstage, Calum and Michael seem to be ready, too.  Calum is sitting on the acting block Michael has commandeered as his seat since tech, scrolling through his phone while Michael goes through his pre-show duties on the other side of the stage.

"Ready for tonight?" Luke asks, making Calum jump.

"Yeah.  Is the laundry up?"

"Costumes are all clean and accounted for," Luke says.  "If you want an empty dressing room, now is your time."

He stands and stretches, wandering over to the dressing rooms.  Luke takes his spot and watches Michael  continue to double-check props on the other side of the stage.  Once satisfied, he heads back over, stopping short when he sees Luke.

"You're not my boyfriend," Michael says.

"He went to go get ready before the rush," Luke says.  "Ready for tonight?"

"Very," Michael says.  "No one has broken anything yet, which is a bit worrying, but I'm fucking ready to open."

"No one's broken any props or sets, you mean.  I've had to resew numerous buttons and seams.  Ashton can barely keep his clothes on."

"I bet you like that," Michael says, waggling his eyebrows.  Luke flips him off, too used to Michael's teasing to be truly bothered.  Ever since he first saw their lead actor and tripped over his own feet he hasn't known peace.

In his defense, Ashton is very beautiful.  It is not Luke's fault that he got flustered during their first interaction.  At least he was only writing down measurements instead of having to take them, because being that close to him without time to mentally prepare would have been embarrassing for everyone.  (If he still has to take a few breaths when helping Ashton get on his more intricate costumes, that's his business, especially because being under the stage lights only enhances all of Ashton's best features.)

"Ashton gets to make out with your boyfriend every night.  Stop laughing," he says flatly.

"Yeah, and it's fucking hot," Michael says, nudging Luke out of his seat.

Luke rolls his eyes.  Reducing the relationship between Hamlet and Horatio to a "fucking hot" make out scene is a disservice to all of the painstaking work that Ashton, Calum, and the director have done to seamlessly incorporate it into the story without alienating or reducing Ophelia, but Michael isn't exactly wrong.

Ashton seems like a good kisser.  Luke wants to know what it'd be like to be on the receiving end of that when there's no acting involved.

Luke kills time with Michael until he has to go on headset, signaling that it's late enough that Luke should probably check on the actors.  Gertrude's zipper on her dress keeps getting jammed to the point where Luke is really considering replacing it.  It works most of the time, but Luke is getting sick of having to finagle it.  He helps her get it up and makes a note to replace it before tomorrow, then he heads to men's dress, ready to camp out until someone else needs him

"Luke!" Ashton greets exuberantly as soon as he steps in the door.  He has his makeup on, just simple things to ensure he doesn't get washed out under the stage lights, but he looks stunning.  He isn't even in his main costume yet, an intricate black tunic with gold embroidery meant to blur the line between historical and contemporary like everything else in the show, but Luke wants to swoon.

"Hi."

"Thanks for fixing my buttons," he says.  "Again."

"Try not to rip them off tonight," Luke says.

"I always try," Ashton says.  Somehow, Luke still feels like he's going to be fixing a button.  Ashton doesn't restrain himself onstage.  It makes him captivating to watch, but it also means that unnecessary rips and button tears occur, sometimes in ways that Luke thinks should be impossible.  Being wardrobe head for this production has taught him many new ways to break a costume.

He helps the actors here and there with things like hair or specialty makeup, distracting himself from Ashton changing in the background and passing the time until the actors go to warm ups.  Rosencrantz has managed to misplace his socks because he hadn't zipped his laundry bag when he gave it to be washed and Gildenstern can't find one of her shoes, but otherwise there isn't much for Luke to do with this show.  He wanders out by Michael, knowing by now where he can stand to watch from offstage and when he'll have to move so he's not in the way.

When the lights go down and the warnings about flash photography and food in the theater play over the loudspeaker, Luke's heart starts thumping harder in his chest.  Michael turns on the fog machine for a bit of haze at the beginning, Bernardo and Francisco take their places onstage, and the play begins.

Even after having seen the show during the crew view and hearing it over the monitors backstage every night since, he manages to get lost in the story.  Each performer is on top of things tonight, none more so than Ashton.  From the moment he steps out on stage the charismatic actor is gone, replaced by a moody but no less magnetic Hamlet.  His grief and anger is palpable in his introductory scene, and his relief at seeing Horatio for the first time perfectly sets up their dependency in the rest of the show.  His scene with the ghost is heartbreaking, and Luke finds himself subconsciously biting his lip and leaning forward, wanting nothing more than to erase his pain.  Hamlet is enamored by Ophelia and broken by her betrayal, and every soliloquy is captivating.  No one can command a stage like Ashton Irwin.

Intermission sees Luke attending to his actual job as a dresser, helping with the laces on a few costumes and checking with all the actors to be sure there's no issues.  Ashton grabs his shoulders and blurts an excited sentence about crowd reactions, then immediately goes backstage to get "back into the Hamlet zone."  Calum watches this interaction with raised eyebrows.  When he heads backstage, Luke hopes he's not going to gossip with Michael.

The second half of the show goes just as smoothly as the first.  Michael has him take care of the actress playing Oscric when she feels a little bit faint, but once she gets more water in her she perks back up and Luke can return to watching Ashton's breakdown on stage.  The ending duel scene is more polished and realistic than they've ever done it, but it's Horatio's final moments with Hamlet that leave Luke speechless.  Something about Calum cradling Ashton in his arms while Ashton commands him to stay alive and tell his story has Luke tearing up.

He leaves during curtain call to grab the laundry bag and set himself up outside the dressing rooms, ready to take everything that needs to be washed.  It feels anticlimactic to have the first night of the show done, but Luke typically doesn't feel the same sense of accomplishment as the actors do after each individual performance.  It never truly hits him until strike, when he has to put everything away and reset the theatre and costume space to prepare for the next show.  Luke congratulates every actor that passes and waits for them all to leave so he can go home.  There's no one waiting for him in the audience tonight and he wasn't told about any after-parties, so he's looking forward to getting sleep before returning to the costume shop tomorrow to take care of the notes he has.

"Ashton's the last one in men's dress," Calum says when he hands in his own laundry.  "He asked me to send you in."

Luke had been hoping that Ashton would be able to make it an entire show without a costume mishap.  Apparently that hope had been misguided.

"It's Luke," he announces, knocking on the door.

"Come in!"

Ashton is pulling on a t-shirt, giving Luke an accidental glimpse at the dimples in his lower back.  When he turns around he looks sheepish.

"I lost a button during the duel."

Luke sighs.

"I promise I'm not deliberately being destructive," Ashton says.  "I'm not trying to make more work for you."

"Yet every day you wake up and make it my problem," Luke says.  "Can I see which button?"

Ashton brings him his dueling vest, pointing out where a simple black button had fallen.  Luke will walk by the stage to see if it's still there or Michael found it, but if not then it won't be difficult to replace.

"I'm really sorry," Ashton says, still standing close.  "I swear I won't make you fix my costume tomorrow."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Luke says.  "You have the worst track record with costumes out of everyone I've ever worked with."

"Well, I need some excuse to keep talking to you."

Luke blinks at him.

"That was a joke.  I mean, I do love having a reason to talk to you, but it'd be shitty of me to be deliberately making your job hard."

"Oh," Luke says.  "You don't need a reason to talk to me.  You can just do it."

"There's not a lot of time for it in the middle of a show," Ashton says.  "Unless you'd want to see me outside of work sometime?  Say, for a coffee or dinner?  As a date?"

"Me?" Luke asks.  Ashton makes a show of looking around the empty dressing room.

"I don't see any other tall, attractive blond men named Luke who keep putting my clothing back together."

Luke smiles, not trying to hide his excitement.  He's a shit actor anyway, and Ashton would see right through him.

"I could do that, but only if you stop ruining your costumes every night.  Make it through tomorrow with no mishaps and we'll go on a date."

"You drive a hard bargain, Hemmings, but I'll try my best.  For you, I'd sew everything back together myself if I had to."

"Please don't," Luke says.

"You don't trust me?" Ashton pouts.

"No," Luke laughs.  "You keep destroying your costumes.  I'm not about to trust you to fix them correctly."

Ashton shrugs.  "Yeah, okay.  I'm not a good sewer, anyway."

"That's what you have me for," Luke says.  Ashton smiles, just as dazzling under the dressing room lights as it is onstage.  It takes Luke's breath away, just a little.

The dressing room door opens, bringing Luke back to Earth.  Calum pokes his head in.

"Hey Ash, your siblings want to see you.  Stop flirting with Luke and get out here."  He doesn't wait for a response, thankfully leaving them alone again for another moment.  Ashton ducks his head, scuffing his shoes against the floor.

"I shouldn't keep them waiting," he says.

"It's hard being a star," Luke replies.  It makes Ashton smile again, which is an exhilarating experience in of itself.

"We'll check in about the date tomorrow," Ashton says.  "No more costume mishaps, cross my heart."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Luke teases.  Ashton snorts.

"Have a good night, Luke.  Congrats on the show."

"You too," Luke says.  "You're really amazing up there."

"Thank goodness," Ashton says.  "It'd be a bit late to replace me otherwise."

Luke rolls his eyes with a smile.  "Get out of here, superstar.  Go see your family."

Ashton blows him a kiss and ducks into a bow with a flourish on the way out the door.  Luke stands in the middle of the dressing room, running his finger over the spot on Ashton's vest where the button is missing.  He should probably be annoyed, but he's not.  He's going on a date with Ashton at some point, and that's worth all of the lost buttons and torn costumes in the entire production.

#my writing #lashton #drabble #I want to be involved in a production of hamlet SO BAD #SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!! #also hello I miss traditional theatre #zoom theatre is great given the circumstances but I can't wait to actually Watch A Show In A Theater again #and be involved in one

[skzsauce01]

In Fair Verona︱Chapter 1

Synopsis: Jisung knows he is the Romeo to your Juliet. He could wax poetry about you all throughout rehearsal and even a little after. Except Hwang Hyunjin is the one playing Romeo in the school play, not him. Jisung is just another tech crew member that you don’t know, but he’s determined to win your heart... by any means necessary. 

Warning: none... yet

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairing: fem!reader x Jisung; fem!reader x Hyunjin

updates every Wednesday and Sunday @ 11 PM PST︱chapter list

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou, her maid, art more fair than she.

You really are the sun. With your easy smile and warm laugh, you radiate light everywhere you go. Even on the dark stage with no spotlight on you, you shine. Everyone is captivated by you and your aura, and he is no exception.

He can’t focus on the calls and conversations in his ear when you’re around. When the stage manager tells him to step back because he’s too far out on the stage, it barely registers. Another floor crew member has to yank him by the back of his shirt to drag him out of view. He apologizes and promises it won’t happen during the main shows, but he knows it’s a fragile vow.

As Romeo continues to recite his lines — in a manner so unconvincing, Jisung thinks he himself could do better — you pretend to admire the nonexistent stars in the nonexistent sky before choosing to settle your gaze on the lights hanging above the audience. You angle your head up, and he wonders if you will do the same when you kiss him. He can see the scene in his mind: your long lashes fanned out on your cheeks, your pink lips pursed together, your breath against his skin. He feels his heart racing as he clutches a hand to his chest in a vain attempt to slow his breathing. The floor below him sways, and he tries to shuffle his feet to steady himself, but he stumbles backwards into the black curtain that masks the wings of the stage. The curtain ripples, and someone in the comms chastises him for being careless. He apologizes and promises it won’t happen during the main shows, but he isn’t so sure.

The girl in charge of costumes seems to realize that he’s acting strange. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder and asks, “Are you okay? You seem off today.”

The heat from her palm seeps through his worn t-shirt, and he is acutely aware of how close she is. He wishes it were your hand instead. He shrugs it off, feeling uncomfortable from her foreign touch. “I’m fine, Ryujin,” he assures her. “Just stressed by school and tired from no sleep.”

She nods knowingly. “Yeah. And you’re moving around things a lot too. Must be tough.”

He doesn’t try to continue the conversation. When she finally takes the hint and leaves him be, he turns his undivided attention back to you. The spotlight on you is bright and blinding and a cheap imitation of luminosity compared to you. Even with it directly in your eyes, you look at the audience and say your line with ease. Then you sigh as if your heart was shattered into a million pieces, and he wants to do nothing more than run on stage and shove Romeo aside. Let him be your new Romeo and sing of your praises, let him wax poetry about your beauty, let him give you the happiness you deserve.

Romeo says two lines before being cut off by the director for not being adoring enough. A smug grin replaces the serene look on Jisung’s face as he hears the director criticizing Romeo’s lack of emotion. In the meantime, you lean against the balcony railing, resting your forearms and head there. The mic crackles as your hair brushes over it, and you mumble a “Sorry.” Your eyelids flutter, and you suppress a yawn. He reaches out a hand to stroke your hair before he remembers you are halfway across the stage and on a platform. He continues to extend his arm, pretending to stretch, and he slowly closes his fist around your form, pretending he can hold you.

The director decides to end rehearsals a little early, citing that it’s getting late and that everyone seems tired. She thanks everyone for their hard work and reminds the actors to meet in the green room for notes. You climb down the balcony set piece, picking up your long skirt as you go. Jisung retreats farther into the wings and makes sure to bump into you as you weave through the mess that are the props and stage pieces. Your mic is off, so he is the only who hears you swear.

“Sorry,” you quickly whisper. You step to the side to let him walk first.

“It’s okay. You can go,” he says.

“Thanks.”

After a moment’s hesitation and more directed at your back than you, he adds, “You were really good today. Especially during the party scene.”

“Oh!” you say, surprised to be receiving such a compliment. You tuck your hair behind your ears before turning to face him. “Thanks.”

He sees a small smile forming, and excitement rushes through his body. Your smile grows, and he feels heat spreading across his cheeks. It dissipates when he sees Romeo’s actor approaching. He ignores Jisung, brusquely walking past him and almost knocking him into a rack of clothes.

“Hey, Juliet! Nice job today!” he smiles.

You fiddle with your mic and the piece of mic tape on your cheek. “Not too bad yourself, Romeo,” you reply, more breathlessly than possible for someone standing still.

“Ah!” He runs a hand through his hair, and Jisung doesn’t miss your sharp inhale. “Ms. Park’s gonna give me so many notes for the balcony scene. I bet she’s going to make me run through it with her during class tomorrow.”

“I thought you were good. I almost believed it.”

“See? ‘Almost believed it!’”

You laugh, reminding Jisung of windchimes in the summer breeze. Romeo joins in soon after, and Jisung has never felt more like an extra in his life. You and Romeo walk out the side doors, shoulder to shoulder, still chatting about rehearsal. You tilt your head up when speaking to Romeo, and Romeo lowers his when speaking to you. An unfamiliar heat flashes through Jisung. It makes his heart race, but it’s a different kind of thumping from when he dreamed of kissing you. He stares at the now-closed side door, trying to figure out the feeling. He taps his foot at the same beat as his heart.

“Hey, Jisung,” the floor chief calls, “Help me move the balcony to stage left.”

Jisung stops his rapidly increasing tapping and gives Changbin a thumbs-up. “Let me take off my headset first.” He leaves it on the tiny table where Changbin’s binder of cues are usually located and then follows him to the main stage.

They push the set piece to the stage left and leave it behind one of the black curtains. The tech director begins with his notes when he sees that all of the crew is seated somewhere in the auditorium. He starts with lights, then sound, and finally stage crew. There’s a small argument between Changbin, the floor chief, and Felix, the stage manager, about calling cues, but Jisung gets the brunt of the criticism for being too slow during blackouts and for not paying attention to calls. Notes end with the tech director thanking the tech crew for their hard work and bidding everyone good night.

After helping Changbin sort out the set, Jisung goes to the drama classroom that doubles as the green room to pick up his backpack and books. He sees you out of your costume, sipping on a bottle of water while sitting on top of one of the many tables scattered about. You hold your phone with your other hand, a frown on your face. Taking a look around, he notices that you and him are the only ones in the room. He uses this opportunity to approach you.

“You okay?” he asks.

You swallow your water with an audible gulp, and Jisung tries to not pay attention to the motion of your throat. “Yeah. I’m just waiting for my mom to pick me up. She still hasn’t seen my text yet though.”

“I can drive you home,” he blurts out. “If you want.”

You give him an appreciative smile. “It’s alright. She’s probably just finishing her show. She’ll be here soon.”

Jisung nods and shuffles his books. He doesn’t want the conversation to end, but he doesn’t know what else to say. His eyes wander around the room, looking for inspiration. Whiteboard markers? Gray hoodies? His search is cut short when Romeo — Jisung still doesn’t know his name — comes in with two bags of chips.

“Catch, Y/N!” He tosses one to you, and you barely do so in time with two hands.

Jisung’s presence is forgotten as you grin at Romeo. “What’s this for?”

“Just ‘cause. The vending machine gave me two instead of one, so I thought I’d give it to the first person I saw. Which happened to be you.”

Liar is the first thought that goes through Jisung’s mind. He hugs his books to his chest and glares daggers at the floor. You lying, lying liar.

You either believe him or don’t care. You open the bag with vigor and pop one into your mouth. “Thank you, vending machine gods.”

Romeo sidles up to you and tilts his head towards you with a similar grin to yours. He reaches a chip from your bag, and you playfully smack his hand away. Jisung somehow feels less than an extra, like someone who’s watching on the other side of a television screen. It’s more than he can bear, so he mumbles, “See you tomorrow,” and leaves.

Neither you nor Romeo notice him exiting.

Jisung drives home with one arm dangling out of the window. His car is suffocatingly stuffy after sitting all day in the sun, and he feels hot after having spent all day basking in your sunshine. A love song quietly plays in the background, and he wishes you were in the passenger seat, singing along, thinking about him.

~ ad.gray

#stray kids #skz #han jisung #hwang hyunjin #stray kids han #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids au #theatre au #high school au #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfiction #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #skz au #stray kids x reader #slow burn #yandere #20200819

[missnxthingg]

hello sweetheart, I hope you and your loved ones are safe 💛 So an idea: becoming a choreographer/dancer in dancing with the stars and being selected as Tom's partner. Since it's your first time, you're quite nervous at first but you two soon become friends and all the rehearsals being fun and cute! And idk, maybe once the show's over, one of you asking the other out 💚 thank you for your imagines, they're sweet!

Summary: You finally got chose to be on Dancing With The Stars and you’re paired with the pretty cute British actor, Tom Holland.

A/N: Hey love, we’re all fine, I hope yours are safe as well. Your request was so sweet, thank you for the support! It’s Valentines Day in Brazil today and even though I don’t really care about this date, I thought about doing something sweet today. I actually never watched Dancing With The Stars, but I know it’s pretty similar to one program we have here in Brazil, so I just took that as a base. Hope everything is okay with it.

Words: 3.7 K

Pairing: Tom Holland x Dancer!Reader

Warnings: Some swearing and PURE FLUFF. Like really, it’s so cute, I can’t.

masterlist | main blog | gif source (i made the gif out of this video) | fic playlist | song title

TINY DANCER

“I got it!” You shouted once you opened an email from Dancing With The Stars. You were sitting in your friend’s apartment while you got one of the most important emails in the world.

“The Dancing With The Stars spot?” She asked excitedly and you nodded, making you both jump to celebrate.

You’ve been dancing around every room since you were little and it didn’t go away with the years, making you major in dance in college and now you were a professional dancer. You worked in many places over the years, in concerts, in theatres, even movies, but you always wanted to do silly things like Dancing With The Stars because you loved to watch it growing up.

“God, I can’t believe I got the spot! I’ve been dreaming about this since season one.”

“You’re gonna be fantastic! I can’t wait to see which celebrity you’re getting.”

“I hope it’s not one of those that no one really knows what they are famous for.”

Your first day was one of the most terrifying ones. It was mostly to meet your partners and to be introduced to the people, but still, it meant that the very next day you were going to have your ass off to get the prize. You didn’t know what to expect, celebrities can be super mean and maybe you got a pretty horrible one, but you were going to make everything to be perfect. By the end of the first airing show, you knew you were partnered up with Tom Holland. The Tom Holland you’ve been watching on movies through so many years and one of the prettiest boys in the world. To add it up, he was the sweetest guy in the universe and just with a few seconds into meeting him, you noticed it.

“Hey, I’m Tom. Nice to meet you.” He stood his hand in the air, which you took it.

“I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you too.” He smiled softly at you and you smiled back, with a tiny bit of shyness.

“So, this is all pretty cool right?” You nodded, clearly nervous to be around here. “Yeah, I’ve never done something like this before. I mean, I know how to dance, but I bet you’re gonna make me ten thousand times better.”

“I hope.” You blushed and he smiled. “You’re not one of those mean celebrities who’s gonna show up really late for rehearsals, right?”

“God, I hope not. If I’m being one of them, give me a heads up.” He winked and you nodded. “It was really nice to meet you, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you there.”

You couldn’t believe you were set up with Tom Holland and you lied awake all night thinking about this. You were so nervous about screwing everything up and being eliminated on the first day. You didn’t doubt your dancing skills, because you knew you could be amazing if you wanted to, but maybe your nervousness could get in your way of work.

The next day you woke up feeling very anxious. You even had a small dose of Whiskey for breakfast, maybe it would help to make you feel better. You didn’t look as glamorous as you did the previous night when you were live on television. Of course, you dressed up nicely and even did a natural makeup because there were gonna be cameras and a lot of people looking at you, but you couldn’t just show up wearing a long dress and full makeup. You stook to simple, black leggings, sports bra and a grey hoodie. You packed normal clothes and a pair of heels for rehearsing. Tom arrived earlier to rehearsal and was drinking something out of a mug while waiting for you. He wasn’t much different from you, with sports pants and a simple grey shirt. Just him, no cameras around.

“Hey, am I late?” You asked when you entered the room and he shook his head.

“I’m early, don’t worry about it.” He smiled and stood his mug in the air. “Tea?”

“No, thank you. Not actually into tea.”

“Sooo American.” He hummed and you frowned.

“You English and your goddamn tea.” You tied your hair and removed your hoodie. Tom blushed when he got to stare at your body and quickly looked away in respect. 

“Tea is amazing. Coffee is only for when you’re tired.” You sat next to him and both fell into an uncomfortable silence. “You don’t talk much right?”

“I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.” You didn’t look into his eyes and he smirked.

“Okay, look at me.” You looked up to him and he chuckled. “It’s just me, Tom. There’s nothing to be afraid about me, I’m an ordinary guy. If it helps, we can have a farting contest to bond.” You laughed with him and shook your head.

“I don’t think we need that.”

“We’re gonna be really close for the next weeks, so we need to talk a little, or it will be weird.”

“Yeah, I totally agree with you.” He shot up and turned up the music, playing the first song on his shuffled playlist, which was Madonna’s Vogue. “What are you doing?”

“You’re a professional dancer, so I guess you love to dance? I don’t know, maybe we could dance once together before we start our work and this room is full of cameras. What do you think?”

“I think it’s really weird that the first song on your playlist is Vogue.” You laughed and he rolled his eyes with a grin.

“It was on shuf- Oh shut up and get over here.” He pulled you to the centre of the room and you started to laugh with the sloppy and weird movements he was doing. “Come on, you’re not even trying to dance.”

“This is too weird, I can’t.” He grinned and gripped on your hips, swaying you awkwardly around the room. “This is the worst choreography for this song I’ve ever seen before.”

“No, it’s the most awesome.” He rocked your arms with a grip of your hands and turned you around slowly.

Eventually, you gave in, moving around the room with him and actually doing a pretty good choreography. Tom wasn’t so bad at dancing as he presented himself a few seconds ago, he was actually pretty good on his dance moves, he just wanted to make you laugh a little. By the time the song ended, you were scattered across the floor, hands of your bellies and laughing so hard it hurt.

“Okay, that was a pretty good ice breaker.”

“You don’t have to be nervous around me. I’m just… me.” Tom seemed genuinely nice and he was really trying to make you comfortable, the least you could do is be nice to him and come up with good choreography.

“Okay, so what do you know about dancing?” You sat on the floor and started to stretch, signing with your head for him to do the same.

“I danced for a play back home, Billy Elliot.”

“Oh, I helped choreograph it once in college. Obviously not in London, but in New York.”

“You went to Julliard?” He asked stretching his arm and copying your every move. You nodded with a small grin. “That’s awesome. You must be pretty good.”

“I’ve been dancing since I was a little girl.” You started to stretch your neck and Tom was always copying your movements. “I think I’ve been attending ballet classes since I was three and I’ve always loved to do it, so much that I followed my dream to be a professional dancer.”

“I know what that’s like. I feel the same about acting and I’m really glad that I got to do what I love. Not everyone gets lucky in art.”

“Only the really good ones, like you.”

“For what I just saw, you are pretty awesome when it comes to dancing.”

“Thank you.” You blushed and were interrupted by a full team coming inside to record every step you take during the rehearsals. You were kind of bummed out by it because it was so good to be around him so far, and cameras will probably get in your way to connect.

But Tom still was a sweetheart when the camera was on and it was really fun to work with him. He got the choreography easily and you worked along like two pieces and it was so easy to move around the room with him catching up every step you could. It was a long week of rehearsals, and they all followed a pattern. You two arriving earlier, doing a dance to break the ice and stretching while making conversations. Soon, the day of the presentation arrived and you were waiting for your turn backstage and that you were freaking out was an understatement. What if you’re not good enough and you got eliminated on the first day?

“I know what you’re doing and you should stop.” Tom called from behind you and he could see the uneasy rise and fall of your chest, and uneven breathing caused by anxiety.

“I’m really nervous.” You blushed and he took your hands, pulling you to a private corner. “Tom, what are you doing.”

“Come on, breath with me. It’s a little thing my mom used to do with me before I went on stage when I was Billy Elliot.” He used two fingers to gently close your eyelids. “Okay, take one hand in my chest and try to sync our breaths.” He started to slowly breathe deeply and you trusted him, syncing your breaths and slowly calming down. “Feeling better?”

“Much better.”

“We can do this okay? We were awesome during rehearsals and everyone’s gonna love it. Just pretend it’s only you and me out there, no one around and judging us. And even if we don’t get through today, it would have already been worth the experience because you’re awesome and I loved meeting you.”

“Yeah, me too.” You smiled at him and he pulled you to wait for your names.

When they finally called you onto the stage, you were pretty sure you were going to faint. You looked at Tom and boy, he knew how to send a message with his eyes, a comforting one. You nodded and the music started to play. Everything went according to rehearsals and the presentation was absolutely flawless. You were really nervous, but you did what he said, pretended it was only you and him up there and it just worked. By the end of the night, you had the highest score.

“Told you we would be awesome.” He winked and you chuckled. “I’ll see you Monday for rehearsal.”

“See ya’ Tom. Get some rest for another long hard-work week.”

“Will do, ma’am.” He removed an invisible hat and gestured to you.

“Idiot.” You laughed and walked away to get your car to go home.

You crushed it in the following weeks, always scoring high and taking everyone’s breath away with your dances. While you kicked some as with your moves, you got much closer to each other. You knew every movie he was going to be in and swore some secrecy, you knew a lot about his family and how much he cared about them, and you knew his favourite foods and tea flavours, even if you don’t like tea. Tom knew every project you were or was going to be involved, he knew that it was your dream to have a dance academy someday and that you loved musicals more than anything. You were really starting to be fond of each other and week after week made it clear that it was going to be hard to let it go once it was over.

“Morning.” You said mouth stuffed with a donut and your free hand having trouble to hold everything in place.

“Morning.” He chuckled to see you having trouble to carry your stuff and rushed to help you with your things. “Clumsy.”

“I am late.” You said and he frowned.

“There’s still half an hour before we schedule our rehearsals.”

“I know, but we agreed to always arrive earlier to do our little thing.” He nodded with a grin and glanced down to your donut. 

“That smells really good.”

“Do you want a piece? I didn’t have another one, I got is as a gift from my friend.” You offered putting your donut ahead of you.

“Maybe just a bit.” He leaned forward and took a big bit at it, making you chocked.

“You said just a bit.” He laughed and shrugged.

“My mouth is just too big. Come on, we’re still doing our little dance before we start rehearsing. You still need to teach me how to dance the tango.”

“Yeah, there’s a pretty good chance we get eliminated this week because I suck with tango.”

But you still made until the next week, and the one after that, you managed to go all the way to the finals. By that time you were already really close, you spent so many weeks together and rehearsing non-stop, doing your little bonding before the cameras were recording you. It was so clear how your chemistry was so good and you were absolutely loving it and you might even be falling for him, which in your head was stupid, because Tom was a celebrity, maybe after all of this is over he won’t even remember you. Though there were some small things that always made you think otherwise and your heart would beat faster. On the last day of rehearsing, you arrived early like always, except that this time it was a little bit earlier than usual because Tom asked you to. You were surprised to find the boy with a full box of donuts, your usual coffee order and his tea.

“Tom, what’s this about?”

“A little thank you to the best dancer in the world.” He shrugged and you opened a wide smile.

“Thank you, this is amazing.” You hugged him truly thankful for what he did to you.

“Also, it’s my way to say I’m sorry for the big bite on that donut once.” He said in your ear and it made you blush, thank God he couldn’t see your face.

“Come on, let’s eat.”

You finished the whole box together and had a lot of fun talking about random things such as the many experiences you had in life, during high school, college or any part to be honest. It was always nice to get to know him a little better, it felt like you got closer with every word said.

“We still have one last dance before rehearsing.” He reminded and you nodded.

“You choose the song today.” He nodded and started to go through his playlist.

“What about this one?” A song started to play and you could swear your heart skipped a beat when you noticed it was a slow song and a pretty romantic one.

“I don’t know man. Can’t help falling in love is a pretty cliché love song.” You started and he chuckled.

“But I like this one. It’s really pretty.”

“Yeah, it is.” You smiled when you saw him approaching. “C’mere Holland, one last song.”

You pulled him closer, taking his hand with yours and the other one resting on his shoulder. He rested the other remaining one in your waist. He started to slowly sway you side to side and you both couldn’t get the stupid smiles off your face. Also, you didn’t dare to say a word, afraid it would ruin the moment. You prefered to just get lost in those pretty lyrics and each other eyes. Along the weeks you danced to all sorts of songs, but this one was definitely different, much more intimate. Eventually, he let go of your hand and joined his other hand on your waist. You rested your head on his chest, taking him much into a hug. Another slow song started to play, and another after that one and you just danced to every one of them, because it would be too painful to let each other go. By the end of the third song, you were interrupted by the shooting team, making you blush hard and just skip your stretching and go-ahead to work together. It was one of your best days of rehearsing so far because you were extremely connected and it all worked out just fine.

Well, you were always nervous about going on stage and presenting your dance, but today was even worse. You woke up feeling anxious and it didn’t go away. You made it really far and you were afraid that you were gonna lose it on finals. Tom didn’t like to admit it, but he was nervous as well, the kind of nervous that he didn’t even want to eat anything. You notice it on each other eyes the moment you got to the studio to get ready.

“We’re gonna be fine.” He said and you nodded. “But I’m also a little nervous. I wanna win this so bad!”

“Me too!” You admitted and he looked at you with concern. “At least it’s gonna be you and me together out there dancing one last time.”

“You’re terribly mistaken if you think that’s the last time we’re gonna dance together.” He laughed and you frowned. “Come on, you’re the best dance partner I’ve ever had, I’m not letting you go this easily.”

“I’m always gonna be here to dance with you.” He hugged you and kissed the top of your head, something he had never done before and it got you surprised.

“I’m gonna get ready. I’ll see you soon.” He waved and rushed to his dressing room.

By the time you got to the side of the stage, you were trembling and you could just vomit right there. You wanted to run and don’t do this, but as soon as you felt hands holding your arm and pulling you softly to your corner, you already relaxed a little, at least you didn’t think about running away right now.

“Hey.” He smiled and fixed one stray of your hair. “You look so beautiful today. I really loved this dress.”

“Thank you.” You blushed and slightly lowered your head. “I think I want to throw up.”

“You’re still too nervous.” You nodded and Tom chuckled, taking your hands. “Remember the exercise we did on the first day? It really helped, right?” You nodded again and he pulled off your hands into his chest, resting his on top of yours. “Darling, close your eyes and try to focus on my breathing.” You did as he told but for a second it wasn’t helping. He leaned in and glued your foreheads together. You relaxed instantly and your breathing started to even out. When he noticed you were less nervous, he pulled you into his chest and hugged you again.

“Thank you.” You mumbled against his chest and he pulled you onto the stage.

The stage was dark at first and you positioned yourself right next to him. You searched for his eyes in the dark and he comforted you in the best way possible, even searching for your hand to give it a squeeze, making you feel much more confident. Your performance was flawless, like every other one you have done. But this one was extremely special because you got to do it the way you wanted it to be and you totally killed it, getting the highest score of the season and making you both win. When they announced your names, you and Tom were thrilled. He looked so amazing under those lights and a big smile on his face, you could just kiss him right there. After a long time commemorating it on stage, you both got out of there together, he hugged you and started to spin you around.

“I can’t believe we did it.” You mumbled and he nodded excitedly.

“We’re fucking amazing. Just wait a minute.” He said and rushed away to get something on his dressing room, coming back with a huge bouquet of red roses, hiding his pretty face. You eyes watered to see it and your mouth fell into a perfect O.

“Oh my God.” You mouthed, still a little shocked about it. He gave it for you to hold it and you were now fully crying about it. You got many flowers all over the years after your presentations, but this was the biggest bouquet you ever got and it was so beautiful.

“Did you like it?” He asked, a little nervous about your response.

“I loved it so much. Thank you, Tom.” You hugged him with one of your arms, truly happy about it. “This is the most beautiful bouquet anyone ever got me.”

“I remembered one conversation we had and you said you loved to get bouquets after presentations. I thought I could make this one very special.”

“You just made my whole day.” Your eyes were still watering, but you were so happy you could explode.

“(Y/N), can I kiss you?” He asked and you wiped your tears from your eyes.

“Of course, you idiot.” He took you into his arms and closed the gap between you too, giving you the sweetest kiss of all time. You were so happy about everything that happened that night and that kiss was enough to settle it with one of the best nights of your life.

“I want to be around to see every new conquest you achieve, and I want to be there with a big bouquet in the end. Any flower you want to. I wanna be there for your musicals, for every single one of your presentations, for when you open that academy you dream of.” He said it with such adoration in his eyes that your heart melted. “I really like you, (Y/N). Please let me take you on a date.”

“Yes! It’s everything I’ve wanted for a while.” He kissed you again and even lifted you slightly off the ground, having a little hard time because of the bouquet.

“Come on, let’s go celebrate our victory with our family and friends.”

“And then dinner.”

“Anything you want. I’m all yours.”

“And I’m yours.”

…………………

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[three-drink-amy]

All the Shine of a Thousand Spotlights

masterlist - AO3

Chapter Five - There Was Something in the Air That Night

I walked onto the stage, clutching my cup of tea tightly. The cast that was required for the day was already gathered and were chatting amongst themselves. I set my things down on the table off Stage Left. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed Jamie caught up in conversation with one of the actresses in the show, Laoghaire MacKenzie. I closed my eyes, shaking my head slightly, trying to ignore the impulse that immediately came to mind. 

“So you’re really Scottish?” I heard her ask. 

“Yes.” 

“My parents are Scottish!” she said excitedly. 

“Nice. Have ye ever been to Scotland?” I tried not to look in the general direction of their conversation, pretending instead to be checking my email before rehearsal started in earnest. 

“Oh, no. My parents were both born there though,” she replied. 

“Ah,” he said shortly. “Seems like I’d have a lot to talk about wi’ yer parents, then.” I choked back a laugh, covering it as a cough and finally gave into the urge to glance over. Jamie was walking away from her and onto stage. 

I followed him, calling everyone’s attention. “Let’s get started, people!” Opening my script, I turned to the right page. “Act One, Scene Five today,” I reminded them. The blocking was completed last week, now was seeing how it all worked. 

Jamie fell back by the bookshelf downstage and stared at his script intently. I found myself more and more often watching him as he worked on his craft. It was captivating to me to see how someone getting their first big role adjusted to it. Granted, almost everything he did was captivating to me, one way or another. It was a terrible spot to be in, but here I was. I backed off the stage, walking down to sit in the front and gestured for Joe to start. 

I watched as the words I’d been enthralled by were blended with the directions I’d provided and the actors’ own decisions. I treasured the magic of watching a show come together, of being able to watch a scene play out and mentally put a check mark by it, knowing it was completed enough to move onto another scene. John and I — and I suppose, Marilyn — had cast plays together a few times. I knew we were good at it. But watching the actors gel together and become something of their own while adopting their characters was always a thrill. I made notes as I watched it play out — things to correct, lines to emphasize, blocking to tighten. It was routine to me, and yet somehow still unique. I loved this part of it — watching it all come together, bit by bit. 

After hours of hard work, we finally broke for lunch. There would be more scenes to go through after lunch. I needed more caffeine and my favorite soup from the deli a few blocks away. I ran in, disappointed by the long line. Releasing a sigh, I resigned myself to wait. I wanted that damn soup. 

* * *

Jamie watched Claire leave as lunch time finally approached. He walked slowly out of the theater, deciding to find somewhere to eat on his own. By the time he was out on the street, he’d decided what sounded good. It had only been a few weeks ago that he’d found the place, just a few blocks from the theater. As he made his way there, his mind was on the way the morning had turned out. He kept hearing Claire’s notes in his mind as he waited for the next walk sign to turn. 

As it always did, thinking on Claire’s directions somehow morphed into just thinking about Claire. It was terrible, and was certainly part of the reason he was reluctant to take the role in the first place. Second only to his fears of accusations and rumors. But then there was Claire, the gorgeous, smart, funny woman who was basically his boss now. And he knew exactly what she looked like when she fell apart. Nothing could happen — he reminded himself of that daily — but it didn’t mean there wasn’t a part of him that wanted it to. 

He opened the door to the deli, trying to shake Claire from his mind. Jamie would have laughed to himself if he wasn’t so surprised by the fact that Claire was standing in line, two people ahead of him. “Claire?” he asked, unable to pretend she wasn’t there. 

She turned around, looking past the people between them. A smile crossed her face and he hated himself for how much he felt it. Claire stepped out of line, letting the two people between them go ahead of her. “You like this place?” she asked. 

He nodded, looking around. “I’ve only been here a few times, but they’ve the best pastrami sandwich I’ve ever had.” 

Her nose wrinkled at his meal choice. “Really? That’s your go-to?” 

Jamie shrugged. “Why no’? It’s good.” 

“I guess if that’s what you like.” She turned back to look toward the counter. 

Jamie couldn’t let the conversation die. It was the first one they’d had in a long time that wasn’t somewhat related to the play. “Well, what’s yer go-to, then?” 

Claire turned back, a small grin on her face. “Their soup. It’s delicious.” 

“To each their own, I suppose.” 

“You’re not a soup person?” 

He shook his head. “Nah.” 

“What if you’re sick?” she pressed. 

One brow raised thoughtfully. “Perhaps if I’m sick, I’ll eat it. But I’m just no’ much of a soup person.” 

“Okay, so what do you eat if you’re stuck inside on a cold, rainy, Scottish day?” 

Jamie let out a loud laugh. “I dinna ken. A sandwich?” he replied with a shrug. “I dinna usually let the weather determine what I’m eating.” 

“Hmm.” Her face was towards the front again, as if she needed to decide what to get. “So, this pastrami sandwich,” she continued, “anything special about it?” 

“No pickle,” Jamie told her. “But other than that, no. Just a normal sandwich. And a side of chips. I’m no’ that fancy. Perhaps, one day, if I’ve been on Broadway for years and years, I’ll get a more pretentious order,” he teased. 

Claire whipped back around and shot him a look. She knew he was kidding, he could tell by the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know how soup is pretentious.” 

“Is it a bisque?” he joked. 

“You’re impossible.” 

Claire stepped up to the counter when it was her turn to order. He stood a respectful distance back, even if he wanted to stand right next to her like they were together. At one point, she leaned closer to the register, talking in a smaller voice. The cashier nodded, glancing quickly at the line behind Claire. Paying and restashing her wallet, Claire held her hand out for the bag with her ready-to-go soup in it. She thanked the cashier and turned around. Giving Jamie a small smile, she walked out of the deli, most likely going right back to the theater. 

Jamie stepped forward to order and the cashier handed him a plastic number. He looked down at it with a confused expression. “That lady in front of you already placed and paid for your order,” she explained. “This is your number.” Jamie’s mouth hung open as he tried to process what she was saying. The woman cleared her throat and gestured for him to move aside. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, walking over toward the pick up spot. He glanced out the door, waiting to see if Claire was lingering. She wasn’t. It didn’t really make sense why she’d pay for him. Either way, he was touched by the gesture, even if it did nothing to ease the way he felt about her. Adding unnecessary generosity to the list of her qualities, he waited for his number to be called. 

Jamie quickly ate his lunch at the deli, wishing he could think of anything but Claire. He couldn’t help but wonder if she ever had the same problems he did. Did she ever think of the night they’d spent together? Did she ever wonder what would have happened if it had been a different play he’d been auditioning for? Did she ever talk to him and then examine it all later? Rolling his eyes at himself, he took another bite of his sandwich. 

No, she probably didn’t do any of that. He got the distinct feeling that Claire wasn’t as pathetic as he was. She was a damn professional and had acted as such the entire time of production. It was only him that imagined that her praise was just for him. It was only him that pictured joining her after a day at the theater and spending the evening together. He needed to move past it, but it was nearly impossible when he spent all day with her. One day, he’d be able to move on. Well, hopefully. But today, he was still caught up in how easy it was to be around her. In how delightful it was to hear her laugh. In the way his stomach clenched at the memory of her in his arms. 

As he threw away the remnants of his lunch, he tried to start building the facade he’d need to go back and face her again. 

* * *

Production continued and I was pleased with how things were progressing. There were plenty of long days that sometimes stretched into the night, but we were all determined to get things right. Straight shows had less production time than musicals (for obvious reasons), but I was ready to use each available minute we had to get things perfect. 

The cast, however, was not necessarily in agreement. 

I could see it in their eyes on days when I’d kept them too long, run them too ragged, repeated a scene too many times. I never apologized for it, because in the end, it would make us better. But, there was the soft part of me that wondered what they thought of me on those days. Would they all go out and berate me? Would I be called a stick in the mud or accused of having one up my arse? I’d heard those comments and worse. And while I never enjoyed hearing it, I knew that they could bitch all they wanted because when opening night came, I’d have them in tip top shape whether they wanted it or not. 

One Friday, in the early evening, I could tell the cast was getting drained. It wasn’t in my nature to care all that much, but for some reason, I did. I shortened the schedule from two scenes to the one we were working on. As soon as we finished it, I allowed them all to leave for the weekend. I’d justify it to myself with the reminder of other things I had to work on. A director’s job was more than just overseeing rehearsals, after all. 

I watched them all talking as they readied to leave. Gathering my things, I prepared to return to my office, but I was stopped as I packed my bag. 

“Claire,” Jamie said as he approached me, “I ken we’re done for the day, but I was hoping to ask ye a few questions about the script if ye had time.” 

Looking over at him, I nodded. “Of course. Wrapping up early was more for everyone else’s benefit.” 

“Ah, that’s kind of ye,” he commented. I smiled, pretending like I didn’t take it to heart. Pointing to his script, I reminded him of why he walked over. He shuffled it open to the page he wanted. “Okay, so in this scene — I was working on it and it just felt a bit...off.” 

“How so?” 

He started to explain what he wanted to be able to do and I was caught in another bout of being in awe of him. All actors found a way to connect to their characters, but watching Jamie work was just mesmerizing. The ideas he had and the way he wanted to do this monologue were brilliant. I felt myself nod along as he continued to elaborate on the scene. 

“How does that sound?” he asked, his face a bit nervous. 

I tilted my head, looking at him. “I think it sounds like you have a really good handle on your character,” I told him honestly. 

“Really?” 

I smiled and nodded insistently. “Yes, really.” 

A shy smile crossed his face. “Thank you. There was another scene I wanted to discuss wi’ ye.” He flipped pages quickly. “Alright, this one where he’s by himself at home, going over the revelation from the scene before. I’ve been doing it one way until the other night a different line jumped out at me and I thought of it from a different perspective. It changed everything to me.” 

“Okay. So how do you want to do it?” 

He looked at me, passion behind his eyes as he started to explain his new interpretation. Midway through his explanation, he was interrupted. 

“Jamie!” Laoghaire called, running onstage to grab his arm. He looked over at her with a stunned expression. “Since we’re off early, a bunch of us decided we’re going to go to a club. You should come with us!” she exclaimed, pulling his arm, trying to get him further from me. 

“I’m actually trying to go over some scenes right now,” Jamie told her, gesturing to his script and me. Laoghaire shot me a look. I knew she wasn’t my biggest fan. She couldn’t do anything about it, though, because I held her career in the palm of my hand. 

“Okay, well when you’re done, you should come meet us,” she insisted, playfully tugging on his arm. I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible. Jamie was nothing to me but one of the actors in my play. That’s all anyone needed to know. Laoghaire shouldn’t be bothering me so much. 

“Sorry, but no. I appreciate the offer, but it doesna really sound like my thing,” Jamie brushed off, trying to get his arm back. 

“Come on, you have to!” she whined. 

“He said no. And I rather thought no meant no,” I interjected. Grimacing at myself, I glanced over at Jamie but saw an amused expression on his face he was desperately trying and failing to hide. Laoghaire stared at me for a moment — glared, really. “Sorry, we’re just trying to get something accomplished here.” 

She let go of Jamie’s arm with a huff. “Sorry to interrupt,” she replied in a formal tone. The girl was halfway off the stage when she turned back. “Jamie, maybe when you’re done here, you’ll reconsider. I’ll text you where we’re going.” 

He rolled his eyes at his script. “Aye,” he called back without looking at her. When the door closed behind her, he released a sigh. “Sorry about that,” he said in a small voice. 

“Don’t worry about it. So, you were saying how you wanted to do that second monologue.”

“Aye,” he reminded himself. His eyes closed for a second, recentering himself. “Okay, so I was thinking…” he trailed off for a moment. Looking at me, he had a question in his eyes. “Do ye think I could just show ye what I was thinking instead of explaining it?” 

I took a step back, gesturing for him to take the stage. “Of course. Please do.” 

“Great,” he said as he stepped into place. I watched as he took a moment to get back into character. He was transformed in front of me. Words were coming out of his mouth but he was no longer Jamie; he was Peter. Following the directions already set for the scene, he acted out the monologue, this time with a new take on it. I found myself captivated, even more than usual when I watched him. It was an emotional scene and he was taking it to new heights. 

The monologue was interrupted by a loud notification from my phone. I cringed, holding my hand up in apology. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” I grabbed my phone and looked down. “Oh, my food is on its way.” 

“Ye ordered in?” 

“Yeah, I have more work to do. It’s easier to just do it here. I won’t get distracted as easily by my TV,” I reasoned. 

Jamie laughed. “I suppose that makes sense.” He walked closer to me. “Would ye mind if I ordered something here as well? I have some other parts I wanted to ask yer advice on.” He took a deep breath. “I ken ye have other stuff to work on, though.” 

“Jamie, you have the weekend off. We don’t have to go over everything right now. You’re allowed to go enjoy your weekend. You’ll only get so many of them before it’s 8 shows in 7 days,” I reminded him. 

“I ken that, but I’d rather have my questions answered so that I can be rehearsing the way I should be,” he explained. My eyes widened slightly as I looked at him. “Is that stupid of me to say?” 

I shook my head, no words coming to mind for a moment. “No,” I said in a small voice. “It’s just…” I tried to think of how to explain it. “It’s just been a while since I worked with someone who was so excited about it all. You know? I mean, take Joe for example. Joe loves what he does and you can see that, but he’s been doing it forever. I haven’t had someone in a while — maybe ever, actually — who asked my opinions on their performance and visibly put so much effort into it.” 

“Sorry,” he replied sheepishly. 

I reached out, grabbing his arm. “Jamie, that’s not a bad thing at all! It’s admirable. You’re taking it all so seriously and working your arse off and it’s wonderful.” 

He nodded, understanding what I meant. “I dinna want to squander the chance ye’ve given me.” 

“You’re not, I promise you. Nor will I think you’re squandering it if you take a weekend to just relax,” I assured him. 

“I still would rather get things down, if that’s alright wi’ ye. I can go, though, if ye’d rather work on yer other things or just have some time to yerself. I can –” 

“Jamie,” I interrupted him, “it’s fine. You’re welcome to stay.” 

He smiled, nodding at me. “Thank ye.” Pulling out his phone, he pointed to it. “I’ll, uh, take a minute to order something, if that’s alright.” 

I laughed lightly. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He clicked away on his phone before placing it back in his pocket. We workshopped scenes until both our orders had arrived. Jamie was ready to spread out on the stage and eat, but I motioned for him to follow me back to my office. I liked to eat at a table if ever possible. 

We sat on either side of my desk and I pointedly ignored the other work I needed to be doing. Conversation flowed easily between us. But then again, it always did. We talked about the play. About the cast. About John’s easily excitable spirit when it came to Broadway. We talked about everything. Everything except us. 

“What made you want to become an actor?” I asked, verging dangerously close into personal territory. 

A sheepish look crossed Jamie’s face. “Ye’ll make fun of me.” 

“No, I will not!” 

He sighed deeply, like he was about to say something he’d regret. “Okay, so when I was 15-years-old, a tour of Mamma Mia came to Edinburgh and my sister demanded I had to go wi’ her.” 

My mouth flattened into a line as I nodded for him to continue. 

His eyes narrowed at me briefly. “So, ridiculous as the show is, I was in awe of it all. They looked like they were having the time of their lives and I wanted to do that too.” 

“Mamma Mia is a fine show,” I told him. “It’s just surprising to me that that was the show that did it.” 

He shrugged. “So ye’ve seen it, then?” 

“I grew up on Broadway. I’ve seen everything.” 

A grin spread across his face, like he’d found a new challenge. “Okay, then what’s yer favorite show?” 

“Musical or straight show?” 

His eyebrows raised. “Both.” 

I felt the corner of my mouth tug into a small smile. “Straight show is A Raisin in the Sun.” I could answer that easily. 

“And yer favorite musical?” His grin widened. I knew he could sense my hesitance. 

I sighed dramatically, not wanting to answer. More than one person had teased me when I told them my true answer. He raised one brow at me. “Fine. It’s Phantom.” 

A laugh escaped him, though I knew he was trying to hold it back. “Why are ye so ashamed of that?” 

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Because as a part of the Broadway world, I feel like I’m supposed to have a more sophisticated choice.” 

“So, then, why Phantom?” he asked, a grin still on his face. 

“Well, it was one of the first musicals I ever saw. I was maybe 12 and something about the Phantom was just captivating. I think it might have been the mask. I think it awakened something within me.” 

Jamie laughed loudly. “Wow. So let’s say ye’re at a masquerade party. Are ye just wildly turned on the whole time?” 

I laughed in surprise at his question. It was a dangerous turn in conversation, to be sure, but I didn’t hate it. “Well thankfully, I’ve never been invited to a masquerade party. That could be a hairy situation.” 

He shook his head, continuing to laugh. “I’ll give ye this, it is a verra entertaining show. And that soundtrack. “Music of the Night” is so good.” 

“I always liked “Think of Me,” personally.” I swallowed, cursing myself. The song seemed a bit too poignant at the moment. Just looking at him across my desk, one line rang through my head. Don’t think about the way things might have been. 

Jamie nodded, a polite smile still on his face. “Aye. That’s a good one as well.” His expression almost seemed strained. 

For the first time, I considered what he might think of our situation. Shaking my head to myself, I was reminded of his reaction to knowing me. I cleared my throat, trying to get past this moment I’d accidentally gotten myself into. “What about you? What are your favorites? Mamma Mia?” I asked, teasing him. 

It got the desired effect. He laughed a bit, shaking his head. “Nah.” 

“So what are they?” 

“My favorite straight show is Much Ado About Nothing.” 

“Really?” 

“It’s Shakespeare! Tis just a classic. And no’ as depressing as any of the dramas,” he reasoned. 

I nodded slightly. “I’m surprised as a Scot you’re not saying the Scottish Play.” 

“And potentially curse us? We’re in a theater!” He chuckled. “As for my favorite musical…” He tapped his chin, thinking. “Do I have to have seen it?” 

“You can’t say Hamilton if you haven’t seen it!” I declared. 

He laughed. “How did ye ken that was what I meant.” I just raised an eyebrow. His eyes narrowed in my direction. “Have ye seen it?” 

I fought a smile as I leaned back in my chair. “Yes. I actually saw it Off-Broadway.” He glared at me, shaking his head. “You’re the one who asked!” I couldn’t help but make him a bit more irritated with me. “And then I saw it a couple of times on Broadway as well,” I informed him, following up with a small snicker. 

“Ye’re the worst,” he informed me. “What are ye going to say next, that ye’re close friends with Lin-Manuel Miranda?” 

I laughed loudly, leaning forward. “I wish. He seems like a cool guy. Sadly, no, we’re not friends. Although, I did meet him once.” 

Jamie’s glare returned. “Let me guess, at the Tony’s.” 

I nodded happily. “Yes, in fact.” I took a sip of my water. “You never said what your favorite musical is. If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to assume it’s Mamma Mia.” 

“Ah, yes. It’s actually Rent.” 

I smiled fondly as I leaned back in my chair. “A classic for certain. You can’t really beat “Seasons of Love.”” 

He nodded his agreement. “Aye. Ye missed it the other day when we broke out into it in the green room.” 

My eyes went wide. “You’re kidding.” 

Jamie shook his head. “No, I’m no’. And I can tell ye, myself included, that there’s a reason some of us are no’ in a musical right now,” he informed me with a guffaw. 

“Can you make this organically happen again when I’m around?” I practically pleaded. “I would love to witness some trainwreck like that.” He laughed, but I grew a bit serious. “Those types of fun moments never seem to happen when I’m around.” When I finally looked up at him, he had an almost sympathetic expression on his face. “Don’t worry, I know it’s because they don’t like me.” 

“They like ye,” he tried. 

“Jamie, you don’t have to –” 

“No, they do. They’re just a bit scared of ye,” he explained. My eyebrows rose. “Ye’re pretty much their boss, though.” 

“So, you’re saying I’m the scary bitch boss?” 

“I wouldna say that. Tis more like the boss ye’re intimidated by, but have an immense respect for.” Looking at him, I could see the earnestness on his face. “It’s clear ye ken what ye’re doing and that ye’re no’ afraid to ask what ye want. They’re afraid of pissing ye off.” 

“What about you?” 

Jamie locked eyes with me. I could feel something between us, but I couldn’t name it. “That immense respect sounds about right.” 

I felt the warmth of his statement, a small smile spreading on my face. “But are you afraid of me?” 

“Do you think I’d be sitting here if I was?” He sighed as he sat back in his chair. “I’m perhaps a bit afraid that at some point, ye’ll realize ye made the wrong choice casting a no name and ye’ll want Bradley Cooper.” 

I laughed. “That’s one thing you don’t have to be afraid of, Jamie. I promise you that.” 

He smiled, looking down at his clasped hands in his lap. “So what’s yer favorite part of a show?” 

I knew my answer, but it seemed a bit cliche. “Opening Night,” I told him. He could sense there was more and nodded for me to continue. “It’s when everything’s come together. The play has been cast. The lighting cues are set. The music is selected. The costumes are finished. The blocking is done. The rehearsals are over. And it’s time to see if it’s all come together in the right way. It’s terrifying in a way, but so exhilarating. Seeing it all fall into place — the months of planning it — and suddenly, it’s there. People are seeing it and hopefully enjoying it. It’s what I love most about directing. Getting to the part where it’s not just all in my head.” 

An impressed look crossed his face. “I like that answer. Soon enough ye’ll be there again.” 

I nodded thoughtfully. “What about you? What’s your favorite part of a show?” 

“The curtain call,” he told me without hesitation. I raised one brow. “Ye just see how happy they all are. They did it, usually with no big disasters. And they come together and seem genuinely thrilled to be there. It’s the first time ye get to see them as people and no’ just their characters, ye ken?” I smiled as I nodded. “I canna say why, but I’ve just always loved to watch the curtain calls.” 

“I could see as an actor why that would be your favorite.” I tilted my head a bit, looking at him. “You’re almost there too.” 

He took a deep breath, nodding at me. His wrist turned and he took a glance at his watch. “Shit,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Claire. I’ve kept ye from yer work and now it’s late.” 

I looked at my own watch and found he was right. I’d have probably been home by now if I’d eaten by myself. We’d gotten caught up in conversation and chatted for hours without really realizing it. I hated how comfortable it all felt. It shouldn’t be this easy with the person I couldn’t be with. I shook my head at him. “It’s okay. There are other days for it.” I sat forward to throw away my takeout box. “And this wasn’t totally unpleasant.” 

Jamie grinned, seeing through my comment. “Well, I should get going.” 

“If you wait just a moment, I’ll walk out with you,” I told him as I packed up my bag. Some of my work I could do at home this weekend. He waited by the door til I was ready to go. We walked side by side, but far enough apart that our hands wouldn’t accidentally touch. Just in case, I pulled my hand up and held it on the crossbody strap of my bag. 

When we got outside, I turned to lock up. The janitorial squad was long gone. That should have been my indicator that Jamie and I had stayed too long. We had been oblivious to anything that wasn’t us. I tried to ignore what that could mean. It means nothing, I insisted mentally. 

“Do ye, uh, need any help getting home,” Jamie offered. 

“I have successfully done so every other day of my adult life, but thank you,” I teased. He blushed a bit, shaking his head. “I appreciate the offer,” I added. “Besides, your home is a lot further away.” 

His eyes landed on mine, holding my gaze for a moment. And I’d done it. I’d acknowledged the fact that I knew where he lived. The entire time we’d been working together, we’d done our best to pretend that night had never happened. But my comment brought it all back and I could see it in his eyes. I’d broken the unsaid rule. 

“Ye live somewhere verra nice, don’t ye?” he asked, his tone light. I was thankful for his ability to just sidestep that moment. 

“I don’t know,” I avoided. “Is Central Park West nice?” 

 He shook his head with a small laugh. “Perhaps.” His eyes rolled a bit. “Christ, ye probably thought my place was a dump.” 

I stared at him for a moment. He was breaking the unsaid rule, too. “I didn’t,” I promised him. His eyes lingered on me longer than I was expecting. I took a deep breath. “Besides, if we’d have gone to my place, the jig would have been up pretty fast.” 

“What, do ye have yer name in lights across yer flat?” he teased. 

“Thankfully, I’m not quite that conceited.” 

“Would it have been yer Tony Award wi’ yer name carved in it then?” he pressed, somehow reading my mind. 

“Perhaps.” 

“I would imagine it’s prominently displayed.” 

“Perhaps,” I repeated. 

“As it should be.” He swallowed harshly. “Then, I suppose it’s a good thing we didna go there.” His eyes were on his feet now. My breath drew short at his comment. Maybe he didn’t regret it after all. I knew I didn’t, even after all the awkwardness. 

“I suppose,” I whispered. 

Our eyes met again and held. There were so many things I wanted to say. So many things I wanted to ask him. I couldn’t. And he couldn’t answer them. I didn’t know how he felt, but the feeling of his eyes watching me brought back that spark I’d felt that night. The same spark I’d felt several times since then, but only in his presence. 

Finally, he cleared his throat. “It’s late. You should be getting home.” 

I wanted more than anything to invite him home with me. But yet again, I couldn’t. Instead, I just nodded. “Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “Goodnight, Jamie.” 

“Goodnight, Claire.”

Next chapter

#outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #my writing #all the shine of a thousand spotlights

[ryuukia]

[Translation] Tsukihana Kagura Message Cards

If you’re one of the lucky people who got to buy this pamphlet, you probably got some message cards with it. I only got Hajime and Arata, but with Ruby’s help I managed to gather all the messages (thanks again).

I translated Tsukiuta, SQ and Alive, Ryota translated the Vazzrock and infinit0 messages. Enjoy~

Please don’t repost/retranslate/reuse my translations. Likes and reblogs are appreciated.

Six Gravity

Shiwasu Kakeru:

“Kou-kun’s refreshments are so, so, so delicious……. I’m always the first one to take my share! I-it’s not like I’m waiting in front of the desk!“

Mutsuki Hajime: 

“I ended up taking a nap while waiting, and when I woke up in front of my eyes was Issa-san’s sleeping face. I was ready to get up due to astonishment, but then I realized Shun was glued to my back in his sleep. I had to ask Haru to help me out. Stop laughing.”

Kisaragi Koi:

“The costumes are once again so cool! They’re so cool I can’t help but get excited! When I’m so excited I feel the strongest! Tsukihana Kagura, Kisaragi Koi, ready to dance!“

Yayoi Haru:

“Random Tsukipro miscellaneous knowledge: Among all our idols, those who can memorize the script fast are Hajime, Tsubasa-san from SolidS, Ryo-san from Growth, Takaaki-san from VAZZY and Ruka from ROCK DOWN. I guess I should get to work too.“

Uduki Arata:

“Why can we have team muscle training, but we can’t have team strawberry milk? Because it’ll make us more thirsty? That’s not true. Would you like to have some, Ouka-san?“

Satsuki Aoi:

“Rikka-san and I engaged in this blissful discussion about herbariums while we were waiting. We promised to go to a course about it together as soon as we’re done with Tsukihana Kagura. I can’t wait.“

Procellarum

Minaduki Rui:

“I made Russian pudding for the first time in a long while. Roa got the ‘bullet’ and I got a nice reaction from him. Rei laughed.”

Fuduki Kai:

“Kensuke and I got so pumped up after talking about ramen that we started visiting shop after shop together! The others told us to stop because we’ve already eaten too much! All these rehearsals are making me hungry!”

Haduki You:

“This scent coming from ROCK DOWN’s Reiji…… is it, by any chance…… First Love & Rose?“

Nagatsuki Yoru:

“Eichi from QUELL taught me the recipe for his Horimiya-style dry curry. I’m looking forward to giving it a try after we’re done with this.”

Kannaduki Iku:

“When I talked to Ren-kun about how Rui's been teaching me to play the piano, he said "Let's perform together someday!"... I gotta practice more!”

Shimotsuki Shun:

“Each dance reflects its unit’s personality and charm, I guess that goes without saying. …...But among them! Hajime’s! Kagura is!! Bewitching!! Amazing!!! The best OF the best!!!! That sleeve you see waving in the air is mine!!!!“

SOARA

Ohara Sora:

“Who’s been waiting for it? The day when this guy will be performing the ‘kagura’ is coming……!! I’ll dance!! With elegance! And beauty! Achoo!“

Arihara Morihito:

“Hearing Sou during the reading practice reminded me of our school days. When we talk to each other across the desk, it feels like nothing has changed since then. “

Kagurazaka Soshi:

“While we were practicing the kagura, Sora sent his folding fan flying. “Nice catch!’ my hat. From now on we’re under intensive training. Look at Ayumu-san and Haruto-san, that’s the kind of dancing posture you should have.”

Munakata Ren:

“Talking with Sou-nii and Eichi-san about training clothes got me really excited. With their build, they’d really look good in that. I wish my shoulders were as broad as theirs. “ 

Nanase Nozomu:

“It seems in this play we have traditional Japanese instruments! I want to try playing the shamisen too~! The charismatic shamisen player (?) is here!“

Growth

Etou Kouki:

“It's really fun talking to the other units’ members whenever the refreshments I bring catch their attention. The first one to notice when I bring refreshments is…… I’ll keep that a secret (laughs).“

Yaegashi Kensuke:

“This odd group consisting of Kakeru, Koi, Iku, Naosuke, Takaaki-san and I went yesterday to a shop that sells Sichuanese food~! It was so spicy I think it made me sweat more than the rehearsals did (laughs)?“

Sakuraba Ryota:

“It’s better for you to stretch properly, Mamoru. If your body is not warmed up enough, you might end up injuring yourself.“

Fujimura Mamoru:

“Ryo-kun is a demon when it comes to stretching! But I think he’s so strict with me because he cares about me! In other words, all I have to do is give my best!”

SolidS

Takamura Shiki:

“With my other jobs’ deadlines and the stage play rehearsals overlapping each other, I’m slowly starting to feel like I’m caught on a battlefield. After I get past this mountain, I think I’ll be able to dance naturally.“

Okui Tsubasa:

“Whenever we have to wait, Dai-chan and Kai from Procella always work on their muscles, but at one point the number of members increased so much that now it feels more like a club activity~ (laughs). Kai is the head and Dai-chan is his assistant!“

Sera Rikka:

“Lately, Shiki’s been in high spirits. But considering his current work situation, that excitement came to surface because this play gives him the chance to escape from reality. Whenever he’s in a tight spot during rehearsals, he ends up resorting to ad-libs.  Right now he’s in need of a lot of attention (smiles bitterly).”

Murase Dai:

“The number of people joining us in muscle training during rehearsals has been increasing. Futaba from VAZZY and Gaku from ROCK DOWN are in really good shape.  Seeing them makes me want to practice sports.“

QUELL

Izumi Shu:

“Seeing familiar faces in the training hall made it very fun. I guess it was also a good boost for Issei and Ichiru.“

Horimiya Eichi:

“The apple pie I baked together with Aoi-kun from Gravi was a delicacy! The stewed refreshments brought by Yoru-kun from Procella were also really tasty, so…… won’t you tell me the recipe after this?“

Kuga Issei:

“Since Haru-san and Morihito-san were reading something during break, I asked them to recommend some books. I want to give them a try after this. Both of them are thirsty for knowledge.“

Kuga Ichiru:

“With You, Nozomu, Issa and me part of the red team, our colour team’s dance skills level is high! I have to keep up with them!  Alright! I’ll do my best“

VAZZY

Mamiya Takaaki:

“I went out to drink with a few of my old colleagues ♪ We talked a lot about so many interesting things like what parts of us have changed and what parts haven’t.“

Kira Ouka:

“I’m still in the middle of learning how to be an actor, so I observe a lot of things in the practice hall. Arata and Aoi seem to have stage experience, so I consult with them about how to conduct myself on stage.“

Kiduku Issa:

“I’m looking for a place to sleep in, y’know? They’re practically people I’m already familiar with. Sho, Hajime, Arata, etc. They won’t mind even if I sleep next to them.“

Kiduku Futaba:

“I’m training extra hard with Nao-kun and Yuma-kun for the kagura! It’s pretty difficult dancing in a kimono, isn’t it? I’m trying hard to make sure not to have my sleeves hit me in the face… (bitter smile) “

Oyama Naosuke:

“It’s so fun talking with the other units during the joint stage! I was talking about cats with Procella’s Rui-san the other day! Yay!“

Shirase Yuma:

“I’ve gotten along with Issei-kun and Ichiru-kun after we went out to eat one day. I managed to give them their birthday present, too!“

ROCK DOWN

Onoda Sho:

“What I was looking forward to during rehearsals was tea time with Shun. We’ve been told that the ‘atmosphere feels weirdly white’ when we talk, you know?“

Kujikawa Haruto:

“Since the traditional costumes are very heavy, it can become taxing both physically and mentally. But since the back is not tied up, it feels a bit more loose. I'll try to do this with dignity.“

Amaha Reiji:

“Just watching the other units in their costume is fun. Koi and You and… Oh, Tsubasa, too. It seems like they were interested in other units too, because they ended up approaching me the other day (laughs).“

Tachibana Ayumu:

“The Japanese sweets I was given yesterday were so delicious they moved me. Like that one I got from Growth’s Kouki-kun. I’ll ask him where he bought that next time.“

Oguro Gaku:

“I stretch and do muscle training at our rehearsal hall. I’m next to Procella’s Ikkun a lot, so we’ve become friends ♪“

Nadumi Ruka:

“Signing the promo posters turned into a competition against Gravi’s Arata! I won’t lose~ ☆“

infinit0

Sukigawa Rei

“I was expecting the design of Mamoru’s costume to be a pachira, but I was wrong. Guess that’s obvious (laughs). I was really interested in hearing about your song-writing, so let’s talk more next time, okay?“

Mikaze Roa

“This is my first time putting on a costume like this! I’m so excited ☆ But Taka-chan, please stop tickling my sides~! If you do it to me, I’ll fight back! There!”

If you want to support Ryota and her work, you can buy her a ko-fi right [here]. I also have my own [ko-fi] page and [commission page] linked here.

#tsukino production #tsukiuta #tsukipro #tsukihana kagura #english translation #agf 2019 #tokuten translation #six gravity #procellarum #alive #soara #growth #sq #solids #quell #vazzrock #vazzy #rock down #infinit0 #my translation #translation by ryota

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

The Part-Time Puppeteer - Chapter 04

<= Chapter 3

Summary : Lukas has a totally normal day at work (spoiler alert: he doesn't). Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828971/chapters/57890368

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New chapter ! I hope you'll like it ! Don't hesitate to leave a comment if you did, it helps me a lot, I can assure you !

Sorry about the drawing not being finished, my tablet is dying and I couldn't do more. I probably won't be able to draw anything for this fanfic until I either solve the problem or buy another tablet...

Anyway, happy reading !

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Chapter 4 - “I’m… I’m sorry?”    

Kaleb did say that Lukas was going to have a lot of work because of the auditions… But the young man really thought it wouldn’t be that bad. For several hours, the student had to do many tasks, a lot of which involving physical efforts. He wasn’t very sporty usually, so it was quite demanding for his body. All his muscles seemed to beg him to stop after a while. After all, spending a few hours moving heavy props around and building stuff was not easy for a young nonathletic man like him. When his mentor, Tom, told him he could take a break, Lukas felt like he was hearing angels singing in the background. The student stretched, feeling his joints crack at the action. Oh, he so needed that.

Lukas approached the coffee machine in the room and prepared himself a cup. He had to drink at least one cup if he wanted to survive for the rest of his shift. He looked at his watch and was relieved to see he only had an hour or so before the end of his workday.

“Thank God,” he thought to himself with a sigh. The day had been quite tiring, both mentally and physically, and the idea of just collapsing onto his bed was extremely appealing to him. Though he knew he had some assignments to finish and that he wouldn’t be able to go to sleep before midnight. Welp, this had to be expected, with his studies and the fact that most of his free time would be taken by this gruelling job.

At least, Mike had done everything to make him feel at ease. His new friend also helped him to get acquainted with the other members of the team and Lukas was really thankful for that. The other man also got to explain why his evil twin was there and it only made the student’s day even more tiring than it already was. Apparently, when the guy had learnt about his brother’s participation in the project, he had “offered” to play a role and was given the antagonist part. However, “offered” wasn’t quite the right word and Lukas guessed that MJ forced himself in the project, from Mike’s face while the latter was explaining it. In a way, his presence was a good thing for the show, since MJ was very famous, even among children. His participation in the project would only raise the ratings of the show and this was something they deeply needed for the show to keep airing. However… MJ’s attitude on set was definitely not needed.

The guy was absolutely detestable, an opinion apparently shared by most people in the team. He was like a diva, but ten times worse. Not only did he criticize most of the stagehands for things he had no responsibility in, but he was also unquestionably disrespectful and odious to everyone, even Grooves himself! The nerves this guy had! He seemed to think he was superior to every person in this room! The only one to whom he was less displeasing was his brother, though Lukas didn’t envy him. If MJ wasn’t mean to him, he was at best condescending and at worst passive-aggressive.

Lukas also had to deal with him at some point, with MJ always pointing at his mistakes and wondering aloud why they hired a student out of all people in need of a job. No need to say that the only thing preventing Lukas to punch him in the face was the money he really, really needed at the end of the month. He hadn’t noticed how patient and calm he could be until now, if he had to be completely honest.

Did this execrable actor have some quality to compensate how rude he was? Not really. However, he did know how to act, almost perfectly. The young man had to admit that, at least. If only the other’s personality wasn’t so terrible… Lukas had been admirative of MJ in the past, when he didn’t actually know him, but now, his admiration had been thrown away. Very, very far away. The question was why no one had actually talked about it on the Internet or in the news. He would have to ask Mike about that, the next time he was alone with him.

His inner monologue was cut short when he heard a knock on the studio door. Well, that was unusual, since the team members came in and out without knocking. It then opened, revealing a man in his forties, soon followed by a little girl, hand in hand. The man was wearing a formal suit, as if he had just left an important meeting. His haircut was well-groomed and while the suit made him look like a strict person, his face seemed rather welcoming.

The little girl was quite young. She probably was an eight or ten years old kid, though Lukas didn’t know much about children, to begin with. She was wearing a black shirt with a glittery pattern the student didn’t recognize from where he was and she had white sleeves underneath. She was wearing light blue jeans overalls as well as a red jacket tied up to her waist by the sleeves. Nervousness could be seen on her face as she and her (probable) father entered the room.

They were probably here for the audition. The studio was looking for children for the main protagonists. Other families had come during his shift to have an audition, though Lukas had been too busy in the backstage to actually watch them. This time, however, he hoped he would be able to during his break. Witnessing an audition in a famous studio! If he had been told that a month ago, he wouldn’t have believed it.

The family was greeted by DJ Grooves and the little girl was handed a script for the scene. Lukas couldn’t hear anything from where he was standing, but he had no problem imagining that the child was been explained the scene she was going to play. Well, she probably rehearsed it plenty of times before, though the anxiety could still make her look for her words. It was just a precaution.

The director then called MJ over. Since the latter was the only actor playing one of the main characters, for now, he had to help with the auditions. The student thought the other would see it as a chore but, on the contrary, he was way too happy to show off his acting skills.

Yep, that was it. Lukas couldn’t stand that guy.

Lukas got closer to the shooting set, hoping he could watch a bit of the audition before going back to work. He held his cup of coffee to his lips, pretending to drink it when he had actually finished it a bit earlier. At least, he would look somewhat busy.

The little girl got up on the shooting set, doing her best to remain calm and taking deep breathes. Her father was watching her carefully with a mix of worry and pride on his face. MJ, on the other hand, seemed just fine and absolutely not anxious. Well, he was used to that kind of thing, so that made sense. And then, MJ’s eyes met his and the other smiled at him hypocritically, just to mock him. Lukas replied with a glare, which only made MJ snicker.

The student hated him. So much.

The actor took a puppet which had been given to him by one of the other stagehands. He readied himself and held it as if it was floating around the child. It was a puppet representing a character with blue skin and a red long coat. His head had the form of a croissant, and its eyes were grey and red, one of them having red diamonds in it. Its fingers were sharp like claws and some fangs could be seen from the puppet’s mouth.

Woah. Creepy.

Just as they were about to start the audition, a loud noise interrupted them, just like Lukas’s train of thoughts.

The door of the room had been opened abruptly, revealing the Conductor, out of breath. His face was covered in black, as if something had exploded next to him. The student did his best not to laugh at his frustrated and angry expression and looked away, not wanting to incur the Conductor’s wrath.

-“You’re late, darling”, remarked Grooves, without his usual glamorous tone. The reproach in his tone of voice was crystal clear, though. The other director lifted his hand to make him stop talking.

-“Oh don’t pecking start, Grooves!” retorted the Conductor, with his strong Scottish accent, emphasizing his partner’s name in a hateful way. Welp, they really couldn’t stand each other, could they? The Conductor approached DJ Grooves as the latter started talking again:

-“Well, I guess someone had another accident today,” said the DJ with a mocking tone: “What was it this time? The train engine blowing up in your current movie?”

The older man took a seat next to Grooves, not even greeting the little girl and her father while doing so. Boy, this audition sure was lively… Lukas couldn’t help but hope the child wouldn’t get too distracted by it. He couldn’t imagine how he would feel in her shoes.

-“Peck off, I’m not in the mood,” warned the Conductor darkly, before taking a speaker cone next to him. DJ‌ Grooves simply rolled his eyes and sighed, as the other director shouted a loud “action!”, still not greeting the family. Well, seemed like Lukas found another person to add in the “not having any fucking manners” list. It sure was getting long after only two days of work…

The child jumped at the loud order but quickly pulled herself together. She took another deep breath and started talking, saying her lines with a confidence Lukas would never have. She was really talented and, even if he hadn’t seen the other candidates earlier that day, he couldn’t help but think she had something. Something which made her different. The way she moved across the stage, the way she said her lines and reacted to MJ’s ones, the fake expressions on her face as she acted… She was talented. Well, Lukas didn’t know much about acting anyway, but he did know that he was really impressed at the performance. It was also easy to see that the little girl was having a lot of fun playing her role. The student didn’t think this day would be enjoyable in any way, but there was something about watching this audition that made his shift infinitely better than what it was before.

That’s why he was astounded when he heard Grooves interrupting the audition with a “cut!”. Why? The young man didn’t understand! She was skilled!

The child’s expression went from the excitement of acting to a much darker one which Lukas knew very well: a mix of anxiety, sadness and disappointment. He felt a huge heartache seeing her like this and couldn’t help but relate. “How disappointed she must be!” was all the student was able to think as he was looking at her.

However, his distress disappeared completely with Grooves’s next sentence:

-“I don’t know… There’s something bothering me with the puppet.”

The words hit Lukas like a train as a huge feeling of surprise settled over him. The… Puppet?

MJ seemed to have the same reaction as him. His eyes widened, as if he had never expected criticism in the first place, which was probably the case in retrospect. The actor furrowed his brow, confused and slightly offended at the same time.

-“What do you mean?” questioned MJ almost innocently, yet it was very easy to see that he absolutely disliked where this conversation was going.

-“Well…” Grooves thought for a few seconds and then pointed to the puppet: “I’m wondering that maybe it might be a little too scary for the children watching the show.”

MJ was about to retort something but the Conductor was quicker and added:

-“For once, I’m gonna agree with DJ Peckneck,” the name made his colleague pinch his nose in disapproval: “It’s terrifying.”

MJ remained speechless for a few moments as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Well, it was true: Lukas was not a puppet specialist or anything, but it was scary as hell. The fangs, the claws, the corpse-looking skin… How could it not be creepy?

The actor straightened himself, looking around him like he couldn’t understand what was being said to him. He seemed like he was searching for someone who could back him up. Mike, who had entered the room not long ago, certainly because of the sudden agitation, noticed his brother’s distress and carefully approached the directors:

-“I-I’m sorry, but…” the lead designer gulped and tried to support his twin: “You asked for a spooky puppet, so I tried to-”

He was soon cut short by the Conductor, who glared at him:

-“Well, yeah, but look at it!” he demanded, pointing to the puppet.

Grooves agreed:

-“It is quite unnerving, darling. Can you, perhaps… Make it cuter or something?”

-“Cuter?!” MJ’s offended voice echoed in the room. His eyes glanced between the directors as he spoke again, full of sarcasm: “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted a villain, not a tea-party monster!”

-“MJ…” Mike warned his twin, surely knowing very well where all of this was going, by the expression on his face. But MJ was not having it.

-“What, Mike? You’re going to let them criticize our work without saying anything? What are you, a doormat?”

Lukas winced at the words and felt his anger coming back full force. How could someone say that to their own brother?

All the stagehands had stopped working and were witnessing the young actor’s outburst.

Mike only remained silent, as the Conductor slammed his fist on the armrest of the chair he was sitting on:

-“That’s enough!” yelled the older director, without even needing the cone speaker to be heard all across the other side of the room.

A few moments passed with deafening silence, as MJ gave the Conductor a death stare, clenching his fists and his jaw, refusing to lose. But the other man was much more persistent than him and soon, MJ just threw the doll onto the floor with a force intensified by his anger.

-“You know what? Fine,” concluded the diva, with a faked gentle tone: “See if you can finish the audition without me, I’m done for today. Do not bother me.”

Lukas saw Mike cringe at the sound of the puppet hitting the floor. As a lead designer, the student couldn’t imagine how painful it must be to see the props you worked so hard on getting thrown away like they were just garbage.

That was it. Lukas was done taking that guy’s bullshit. He had to say something! But what if he lost his job after that? He couldn’t allow himself to lose an opportunity like this! Sure, the job was hard, but this was the only way he had to fund his studies! If he ever lost it…

His nervous and conflicted thoughts were interrupted as he saw MJ leaving the scene, stomping with fury. But as he was walking with heavy steps towards the door, one of his feet got caught up in the multitude of cables laying on the ground and he fell onwards. The actor’s face met the ground with a loud bump, resonating in all the quiet room. A quiet room which was soon filled with powerful waves of laughter. All the stagehands, even the directors, were laughing at the entitled actor’s fall. Mike, on the other hand, was the only one not laughing at all. On the contrary, the lead designer was watching his brother like one would watch a bomb about to explode. MJ lifted his face off the ground, utterly humiliated and Lukas found it absolutely priceless. The guy got just what he deserved!

And so, Lukas opened his mouth and laughed.

The actor’s face! The way he just fell down to the floor! This day had started so badly but now it was a hundred times better! Oh, he would never forget that!

He laughed for a few more seconds until he felt like something was wrong. And then it hit him like a train: he was the only one laughing now.

The student stopped immediately, closing his mouth as the realization hit him. That’s when he noticed that everyone was staring at him, their eyes widened and their face full of surprise. Oh gosh. It had happened again, hadn’t it? Lukas had laughed too loud and everyone had heard him. Instantly, he put a hand on his mouth.

The young man had always been very insecure about his laughter. For many people, laughing was something normal and easy, but for Lukas… He was absolutely ashamed of the sound and volume of his laughter. A lot of people had made fun of it at school just like many others had pointed it out to him years later.

Thus, with years of bullying and self-confidence destroyed little by little, Lukas had come to hate the sound of his laughter. And now, everyone was just staring at him in bewilderment. As for MJ, the man was glaring at him like he had never before, clenching his teeth and squinting his eyes. Oh, well, now Lukas’s hatred for the guy was mutual. Great.

The student wanted nothing more than to dig his own grave and bury himself in it. This was only his second day of work and somehow, he had managed to screw everything up again. God, what could he do to fix that? Could he even save himself from this situation? And oh, he couldn’t even imagine how MJ was going to go back at him with that… The student was not sure he would stand new hours of bullying about his laughter when he had just managed to keep his anxiety under control only a few years ago. And said anxiety was still hard to control today!

Lukas let out a nervous chuckle, glancing at the other team members, dread settling over him. What could he do, what could he do?

-“Hum… Sorry. I- uh, I’m going to go to the toilets now… Sorry again…” he mumbled, pointing to the door tensely and trying to speak as the words had trouble leaving his mouth. He had to get away, otherwise he would become a total nervous disaster. He had to get away, get away from all these people staring at him…

-“Hey, wait a second,” the Conductor’s voice arose in his back as he tried to leave, stopping him on his track. Oh God, could he get fired for laughing too loud? No, he knew it wasn’t possible, he knew how laws worked! This was just his anxiety talking! He was being irrational! His feelings were a mess and so were his thoughts.

Lukas just wanted to disappear as soon as possible. Yet, he turned back, facing the crowd of people again. The directors were staring at him with a look the student couldn’t recognize. His anxiousness intensified even more. Oh great, even more things to get scared about. He only waited, feeling like he was waiting to be given a death sentence. Finally, after what felt hours to Lukas, the Conductor started talking again:

-“Did you…” he paused, glancing between Grooves and the young man with a mix of confusion and curiosity on his face. It was strange not to see a negative expression on the director’s face. Seeing how the Conductor was looking for his words, Grooves took the reins of the discussion, though very much confused and curious as well:

-“Is that your real laugh, darling?” was the question the DJ asked him.

Lukas was mortified. He was only able to nod slightly, absolutely unmoving. In the corner of his vision, he saw MJ getting up, throwing the cables away from him furiously. When the latter looked up and met the student's eyes, there was definitely hatred in there. Yet, there was something else. And when the other started to smile, Lukas understood that he had been right: the actor would never let him forget what happened today.

He was so screwed.

The directors looked at each other, then glanced between Lukas and MJ. Wait, why were they staring at him too? The student felt like he had missed something, something huge. And when Grooves opened his mouth again, the young man was dumbfounded:

-“How about you got your chance at an audition?”

The word “astonishment” was clearly not strong enough to express Lukas’s state of mind at that particular moment. What?

-“I’m… I’m sorry?” he wondered aloud, certain he must have misunderstood something. There couldn’t be any possible way that he had been asked to try auditioning!

Grooves was about to answer but another voice interrupted him: MJ.

-“Are you kidding me?!” yelled the actor, both furious and confused: “He’s a student! He knows nothing about acting! What role would you give him anyway? A fucking tree in the background? Hah!”

MJ scoffed at his own joke, glaring both at the directors and the student in a superior way, as if he knew that he had always been right all along. But then, the Conductor answered his question, absolutely blowing MJ’s mind, just as Lukas’s.

-“We’re going to give him yours, you peck neck diva.”

Lukas felt the world turning around him. This was all a dream, right? This couldn’t be possibly happening! He was going to wake up and laugh at his stupid dream, and start his day as if nothing had happened! Because that could only be the case, right? This couldn’t be real!

But MJ’s scream, on the contrary, was very much real:

-“What?!” the actor’s voice resonated in all the room: “You’re going to do what?!” His intonation was loud and deadly serious.

Grooves was the one to reply, darkly, glaring at the young actor through his star-shaped glasses:

-“You heard us, darling,” was all the DJ had to say to shut MJ up.

A few moments passed where the latter stayed motionless, shaking from the rage he was trying to contain. In the other side of the room, Mike was watching his twin with extreme worry. And then, the bomb exploded. MJ screamed and stomped to the door, knocking all the shooting equipment on his way out, still screaming all while he did so. All the other stagehands could only stare in bewilderment, not knowing what to do. But before anyone could try to stop him, the actor stormed out and slammed the door behind him. Mike soon followed him, though it was easy to tell from his face that it wasn’t the first time something like that happened.

Lukas, on the other hand, remained unable to move, completely swamped by the events. It is only when he felt a tap on his shoulders that he came back to reality. He turned back, his face extremely pale. His eyes widened when they met Grooves’s ones. The latter was handing him a script, which the student stared, astonished.

-“We still have an audition to finish, darling. Why don’t you come help us to take it up again?”

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t possibly be real!

But then, the student’s hand mindlessly grabbed the script and, when his fingers felt the soft surface of the paper against his skin… He knew that he was very well awake.

How did he get himself into such a situation…?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Welp, what a day for Lukas, right? And that's when MJ's true hatred for Lukas starts :)

See you on the next chapter ! Stay safe everyone !

Chapter 5 =>

#A Hat In Time #hat kid #hailey #snatcher #lukas #The Conductor #Conductor #dj grooves #Grooves #MJ #Mike #moonjumper #puppet au #The Part-Time Puppeteer #fanfiction #my art

[angrylizardjacket]

insufferable {Joe Mazzello}

Summary: Joe is the star of the college musical you’re lighting, and all he seems to care about it goofing off, which irritates you to no end. Maybe he’s just an asshole for asshole’s sake... maybe not.

A/N: 2390 words. College AU. No pronouns for reader. Friends, show week fortnight is OVER, so many things in my life have changed in the past two weeks, I have a 3000 word essay due tomorrow, and this literally took me over a week. I’m sorry it took so long, I hope you enjoy it. As always, feedback is appreciated!! Also @sitonmyhot-seatoflove, @cosmicsskies, and  @borhapbxtch 😘

Joseph Mazzello III (or as you liked to refer to him as; Junior, The Second) was the lead of the musical one of your friends had written. For your part, lighting an original, college musical wasn’t exactly how you wanted to spend two weeks of your life, but a promise is a promise, one that you were rapidly regretting with every moment you spent in that little theatre.

The most irritating thing about Joe wasn’t the fact that he could never seem to find his light, or that he liked touching the buttons on the fog machine, or that the director seemed to adore him, it was that he was genuinely talented. The second most irritating thing about him was that he couldn’t seem to shut up for five minutes.

You’d met him at the first script reading; Ellie, the director and another friend of yours, had gathered the whole cast and crew at her little shoebox apartment for dinner, and to familiarize everyone with the script. Joe had caught your eye where he was tucked up against one end of the sofa, eating party pies like his life depended on it. He’s pretty, has a certain aura about him like he’s got some sort of magnetism about him, and everyone speaks fondly about and to him. When he smiles, something about it has your heart beating unexpectedly faster. 

And then he starts speaking.

That’s not to say he’s annoying first off, actually he’s quite funny and charming. He’s the leading man, and with good reason. He gives a good cold read, humming along when Ellie pulls out her guitar to give demos of the songs she’d written, and bantering easily with the other cast members every so often if it fits the scene. He’s warmhearted, well-spoken, and completely affable.

But he also turns out to be a fucking pain to work with.

Maybe it’s that he’s too good with people. You adored watching him in rehearsals, loved hearing him sing along with the band, and enjoyed his company well enough when you hung out with the group. 

But right now, it’s six at night, you’re only halfway through the lighting plot after an already long day, and he’s got the stage manager on his shoulders, chicken fighting his costar, who’s got the AV designer on her shoulders. This is the fourth time you have had to break out the God Mic in the last hour; Ellie is too tired to reprimand her cast and crew for their behavior, not that she would, she hates playing the bad guy.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is absolutely harmless and sweet as you death glare the cast and crew from bio-box where you’re operating the lights from, “am I interrupting you?” You ask, tone sharp, eyes tired.

Joe’s actually the first to look to where you were, and is quick to lower the stage manager back to the ground.

“No, you’re fine Y/N,” he says with a laugh, and that boyish smile that you’re too irritated to enjoy right now, “we were probably interrupting you-”

“Joe,” you cut him off, lips against the microphone for emphasis, “that’s the joke.” You tell him absolutely humourlessly. He obligingly shuts up. For about five minutes.

It’s the most painful lighting plot you’ve ever done; between Joe and the rest of the cast goofing off, the stage manager not writing down cues and having to borrow your copy of the script at the end of the session, and the director not knowing exactly what she wanted but that she’d know it when she saw it (which she didn’t, she just liked whatever you did, and made indecisive noises whenever you asked her opinion), you needed a damn drink.

It seems the rest of the cast and crew have the same idea, however, and they invite you along. You don’t want to seem rude and say no, but if Joe doesn’t shut his damn mouth you’re gonna punch him. He’s not even talking about anything irritating, you’re just sick of hearing his voice.

You found yourself coming to hate Joe professionally, and it seemed that that was starting to bleed into your personal opinions of him too. You made sure to stay well away from him at the bar you all headed to, a few blocks away from campus and within reasonable walking distance of your home.

It's a nice enough night, all of you excitedly discussing the development of the show, all crammed together in a little booth at the back of a poorly lit pub. You've got the director on one side, and you're practically falling out of the booth on the other, but you don't mind too much. Joe, from where he's sitting in the middle of the seat opposite you, will occasionally give you a scrutinizing look when he thinks no-one else is looking, and he's always quick to look away, crack a joke, when you catch him.

Call time for the actors for the tech run the following day is ten. You're there at nine, your phone plugged into the aux cord and blasting your favourite album through the speakers as you refocus a light diligently. It's where you feel most at home, on top of a ladder, on top of the world. 

“You really know what you’re doing up there, don’t you?” There’s something almost awed in the voice that greets you, though it comes as a surprise, and you have to grab the bar you’re rigging the light on to steady yourself when you jump. It’s Joe, leaning on the stage, bag slung over one shoulder. You bite back the first sarcastic response that comes to mind, and you smile, tired.

“Of course, that’s why they pay me,” you laugh, a little put out for being thrown off your rhythm, despite the music still playing.

“We’re not- you know we’re not getting paid, right?” He asks, a little confused. You roll your eyes.

“It’s a joke,” you replied, going back to your work.

“I feel like we have different definitions of joke.” 

“Why are you here so early?” You were quickly losing patience with him, pulling the gates of the light by the bulb out to widen the beam of the light. There’s a moment of silence, of hesitation, and when you look to Joe, he’s looking over the set. “No reason?” You prompted, and it snapped him out of his thoughts enough to look at you.

“Came to go over choreography before the run,” he admitted. That does get you to smile a little, he’s nothing if not diligent. “You?”

“Just fixing a light.”

He’s stretching and warming up, earphones in while you struggle to put the ladder away, and that quiet moment in which you thought he was diligent evaporates.

“I will fade to black in the middle of his solo.” You growl, sitting by the window of the on-campus cafe, watching the steam rise from your drink on the morning of opening night.

“Please do not,” Ellie sighs around her mouthful of granola. You make a face, but she holds up her hand for silence, chewing and swallowing before she speaks again, “listen, if you two could stop bitching about each other for five minutes you’d see that-”

“He’s bitching about me? I’m just doing my job!” You cried, and Ellie looked like she regretted even opening her mouth, not that you really cared; it felt as though your blood was boiling. “I’ll cut the lights before he comes out for his bows, I don’t give a fu-”

“I know you’re joking, but honestly I don’t have the energy to talk you out of it,” Ellie tells you, and she leans back, out of the conversation, her gaze turning to the window as you fume quietly. She’s right, you wouldn’t actually do anything to jeopardize the show, but something about Joe just got on your nerves.

Each show goes off without much of a hitch, and for the sake of the sound operator and stage manager, who are sharing comms with you, you keep your complaints to yourself and focus on your job and enjoying the show. For the record, it’s very easy to enjoy the show; Joe’s even entertaining enough on stage that you forget how much he irritates you. He’s a wonderful singer, an exuberant performer, and the crowd and the rest of the crew love him.

But then comes the afterparty.

You’ve been drinking. He’s been drinking. You’ve had to listen to drunk, emotional Ellie gushing about how he ‘saved the production’. It’s more malicious than you intended, when you spit that he’s an entitled asshole.

“He’s not an asshole! That’s why people love him, okay?” Ellie fires back, expression defiant. She won’t remember this.

“Is that why you’re constantly defending him? Because you wanna bang?” You asked, scowling. Ellie’s expression fell, avoiding your gaze; she’s picking at the label on her cider, because she hates beer.

“I’m defending him because he’s transferring to this course next year, and I don’t want you scarring him off.”

Oh.

You find him by the bonfire, poking at it with a stick, expression contemplative. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence as you stand opposite him, by the fire.

“How was your first show with us?” 

“Do you mean like, with the course?” He asks, frowning, “You’re not even in it, though.” He wasn’t even pretending like he wanted to make small talk with you.

“Yeah,” you forced a smile, “but the course is good, from what I hear, and I just-”

“You don’t need to make small talk, you can tell Ellie and the rest of them that I’m still joining the course. I know you don’t like me.” He added, and your mouth snaps closed, tone turning defensive.

“I don’t not like you-” but you’re cut off by his gentle laugh.

“Dude, do you think I’m an idiot?” He doesn’t let you answer, which your drunk brain wants to. He drops his stick into the fire and finally looks at you. “Don’t answer that; I know you don’t like me; that’s no skin off my nose. The show’s over.” 

Silence hangs between the two of you; his gaze is so intense in the firelight, and for a moment you remember how handsome you’d thought he was at that first table read, before you’d known him.

“You’re talented, but disrespectful.” Tumbles from your lips.

“I’m fun, you’re just too uptight.” He laughs, but he doesn’t look particularly hurt by your words. In fact, he’s smiling. “You know this isn’t a professional show, right?”

“I- I’m used to-”

“No, I know,” he nodded, with a smirk, “I can tell. The way you hold yourself- you know you sound demanding when you’re working, right? Like you expect everyone to be on the same wavelength as you without even trying. They’re not. I’m not. This is fun; we’re not getting paid. We’re just trying to have fun.” He shrugs, before picking up the bottle of spirits he had by his feet that you hadn’t been able to see. “You should learn to have a little more fun.” He muses, before taking a swig of the alcohol, and offering it to you.

“I am fun,” you huff, taking the bottle from him and having a swig. It’s rum, cheap rum, and it burns, but you swallow it.

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” he nods with a faux seriousness that makes it clear that he does not believe you in the slightest. You scowl, but take another sip.

“See, you’re still being an asshole.”

“You’re fun to rile up.” He shrugged, before grinning, “but I don’t mean to be an asshole... mostly. You just don’t like me, so everything I say-”

“I did like you, but then I had to work with you.” You pass back the bottle, and Joe actually laughs, and it’s such a genuine and lovely sound.

“Well then, maybe we shouldn’t work together again,” his smile now is much more genuine, and you feel your cheeks heat up, which you can’t entirely blame on the fire, “because I don’t like having you hate me.” He’s making his way around the fire now, standing beside you, looking at the flames as they’re beginning to die down.

“I don’t hate you.” You admit, bumping your shoulder against him. Joe laughs.

“I know.”

“God you’re cocky-” you scoff, turning to look at him, but he’s looking back at you, expectant grin on his lips.

“Yeah, but I’ve seen how you look at me.”

“With loathing?” You deadpan.

“Sometimes.” He agrees, laughing a little. Your heart beats a little faster, with the endeared way he’s smiling at you. “It’s so hard to make you smile when you’re in like, work mode, you know?” He muses, “you just think I’m an asshole.” That you have to agree with. “But when, like, a light hits just right, or someone mentions how hard they’ve been working, or-” he actually flushes a little as he ducks his head, “someone comes in early to practice, say, choreography on their own time? You smile so big, so damn big.” And the fact that he’d noticed, your expression turns surprised. 

Oh. Everything he’s said or done over the past three months suddenly shines in a new light.

“You like me? That’s what all this was about?” You can’t help but laugh, wrapping an arm around him, and Joe snickers, nodding a little sheepishly. “Wait, does Ellie know? Is that why-?”

“Unfortunately she has had to listen to me complain about every time you give me a dirty look in rehearsals,” he sighed, and you feel embarrassment well up within you.

“No wonder she was so ready to go to bat for you,” you murmured, a little horrified with yourself, before turning to Joe, looking both mortified and apologetic. “We can never work together again.” And he’s never agreed to something faster. “I really did - do - like you, I just thought you were being-”

“I know, I know; you’re too professional for your own good, and I’m a fan of goofing off, and that just doesn’t mesh well. Professionally.” He clarified, and then paused, finally looking back at you.

“Professionally.” You agreed, quietly. Your smile is genuine and wide as you lean in to press your lips to his.

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagine #BoRhap cast #borhap cast imagine #the angry lizard writes

[likeshipsonthesea]

Silence

A sequel to Pretty. Kind of necessary to read first.

Warnings for homophobia and f-slur.

*~*~*

Coming home from Samwell the summer after his freshman year, everything was backwards. It was cooler in Maine than it’d been in Massachusetts, and the freedom from the confines of classrooms suddenly felt more like loss. Dex stepped off the bus to an onslaught of sea-salted air and it tasted somehow like blood.

JJ picked him up at the bus stop and jostled Dex’s shoulder without saying anything. The drive back to the house was silent, too. Dex watched his town blur by. Familiarity was dulled with time, and the emotions in his chest belonged to a boy who’d grown away from anger, but it was difficult to disconnect the two when it was the only thing that felt normal, here.

Regardless, he fell into the routine of summers without much friction. Uncle Finn didn’t talk much on the boat, nor did any of the others, and so Dex worked and watched the waves and wondered without pause, skin turning pink, and then finally tan, and hair going golden with each passing day. Freckles appeared, some he recognized, others he didn’t. As the days wore on, the person in the mirror shifted until the boy from Samwell drifted away, quiet like he’d learned not to be.

Graduation meant that Luke returned to town later than the rest of the college students. On his second day back, he showed up at Dex’s house, and they fucked on a beach far enough away to be safe. The press of Luke’s fingers against Dex’s mouth left bruises, or at least they felt like they did, and in the afterwards, the smell of sweat mingling with that of a new car, Dex stared through the sunroof of Luke’s stupidly expensive Audi and tried to make sense of the constellations.

Nursey was always going on about the stars. Probably because he’d grown up in New York City. Things always felt more important when you’d gone so long without them. Dex’s fingers twitched for his phone, wondering if anyone would still be up, doing time-zone math in his head. Chowder, maybe.

The car ride back was silent. When Dex got out, Luke rolled down the window, and said, “See you around.” It was not a question. Dex went into his childhood bed and curled up beneath thin sheets he’d had since before he could remember. By the moonlight, he could see the scars on his knuckles, and he traced them with callused fingers. Some things never left.

On a day off from the boat, fishing restrictions and all, Dex worked a shift in his other uncle’s hardware store. He had his phone out, texting in the frog group chat and smiling without notice at pictures Chowder sent of a baking expedition gone awry.

“Will?”

Dex looked up from Chowder’s smile doused in flour to see Isabella standing in front of him. Half her head was shaved and she wore a pair of shortened overalls. She had a nose ring. She smiled, and it was the first thing Dex had felt since arriving home.

“I thought that was you,” she said, leaning into the counter. “Though with the size of your family, you can never be sure by red hair alone.”

Isabella explained that she was getting supplies for the set she was building. The town rec center was putting on Annie with the kids and Isabella had volunteered to direct. By the time Dex rung up her hammers, nails, and what-have-yous, she’d extracted a promise from him to help build the set.

At dinner that night Ma asked him how his day had gone. Dex told her about Annie and Isabella and the rec center. Ma’s eyebrows wrinkled, the same way Dex’s did, when he was confused. “Oh,” she said. “Isabella from high school?” Dex nodded.

Ma’s fork clattered unpleasantly against her plate and Dad explained with a sympathetic frown that they’d heard things about Isabella, while Dex had been at school. “Just be careful,” Dad said. “We don’t want you getting mixed up in anything.”

Dex nodded and didn’t ask what “things” they’d heard, on the probable chance they would apply to him, too. That weekend, he showed up at the rec center with his toolbox and some wood another uncle had hooked him up with and got to work building a fake orphanage.

For the first time since summer began Dex felt like he had back at Samwell. He’d helped out, there, with a few productions. A guy named Jamie with the kind of smirk that whispered hints of heartbreak had invited Dex to work on Pippin across a pillow. He’d been shirtless at the time and Dex had little incentive to say no.

The general part of it Dex told to Isabella, who took credit for getting Dex into theater as she imperfectly nailed a hammer into a 2-by-4. She then told him about the group she’d become involved in at school, that a fellow drama kid had introduced her to. “It’s nice,” she said, smiling long enough at Dex that he had to look away. “I can be myself.”

Weekends were spent at the rec center. Isabella talked at Dex and Dex infrequently responded as they worked on sets. Sometimes Isabella hummed tunes from the show, sometimes Dex joined in. Slowly, everything came together bit by bit.

On weekdays, Dex was on a boat, with Uncle Finn and his band of silent coworkers, or at the hardware store, where people Dex knew from church came in and asked after his parents, his brother, and his time at school, and Dex gave one-word answers, safe answers. Sometimes, after work, his parents would be home for family dinners, and sometimes Luke’s car would be parked down the road and Dex would spend the night on a familiar beach, staring up at the stars as Luke breathed into his neck. Sometimes, Dex would call someone from school, and listen to them talk about their summer, and beg off before he could be asked any questions in return.

A few weeks before opening night, Isabella asked if there was any way Dex could come in during the week to make sure things got finished in time. He rearranged his schedule and started coming in during late afternoons and nights, when the kids were rehearsing.

As he worked, children moved around him, singing and dancing and reciting lines. The little girl who played Molly came up to him one day and asked him what he was doing. He explained the basics of screwing in a screw and then she demanded to try it herself. She couldn’t reach it on her own, so Dex hoisted her up to let her try and it took her three times as long as it would’ve taken Dex and the gap-toothed smile she turned on him when he told her she’d done a good job made up for every lost second.

She introduced herself as Patricia, but said everyone called her Pat, and then was called back to rehearsal before Dex could reply. On the next five-minute break, Dex had a horde of little actors swarming him to try and help build the set, too. Five minutes turned to half an hour as Isabella allowed Dex to give an impromptu class on screwdrivers. That night, he regaled the group chat with his adventures and their reactions ranged from “aw”s to cry-laughing emojis, and Dex felt like he’d done something good.

Still, the only times he felt that way were at the rec center. Outside of that theater, his town felt small for the first time in his life. It had always been suffocating, but in the way that breathing air at high altitudes eventually became the norm. Dex’s spoiled lungs screamed, now, unfamiliar with the blood soaked air, and he began to live for the reprieves of the rec center similar to the way he’d lived for hockey during high school.

Except during high school he hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t had anything to compare it to, really. Now, during the brief minutes as he washed dishes or drove to work or went on his morning runs, his mind drifted to existential questions he’d rather leave well enough alone. He’d try to focus on other things, like the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the ground, but soon the thoughts wound around the beat in avoidable lyrics.

It seemed that each day was farther and farther away from when the season would begin, when he would get to leave his hometown and go-- home. The person he’d learned to be-- learned to love-- there drifted, replaced with the quiet and the lies and the tanned, brittle smile. In high school, he hadn’t had anything to lose. Now he had everything, but it moved farther away with each passing day.

What would not stop approaching was opening night. The set for Annie was almost finished with a week to spare when Pat’s parents got stuck in traffic on the way home from work and couldn’t pick her up in time. Isabella had to run to make a date with a “friend” and so Dex waited with Pat while her older brother came.

“Do you like singing?” Pat asked, swinging her legs against the side of the stage.

Dex shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“I like singing,” Pat said, puffing her chest out. “And dancing, and soccer. What do you like to do?”

Dex leaned back against the row of chairs in the audience. “I like going to school,” he said, and Pat wrinkled her nose. “I play hockey,” he added, to appease her.

“My brother plays hockey.” Pat kicked at the side of the stage. “He’s stinky.”

“Am I stinky?” Pat shook her head. “So it’s probably just your brother that stinks. Not hockey players.”

Pat pursed her lips, thinking for a moment, and then nodded. “That makes sense.”

“What makes sense, pea-for-brains?” said a voice, drifting from the back of the theater. Pat’s nose wrinkled again and Dex turned. The familiarity of the voice had dulled with time but as Jules stepped from the shadows like a comic book villain Dex’s spine straightened all the same.

Jules faltered, a few rows away. Dex remembered what he’d looked like with a black eye. It had faded, from deep purple to a sickening yellow, and a part of Dex had felt guilty watching the process, remembering the bruises he’d hid from his parents for years.

After a beat, Jules smirked, and any guilt Dex felt drifted away. “Dex,” Jules said, stretching out the word. “Long time no see.”

A voice that sounded worryingly like Nursey muttered, How cliche can you get, in Dex’s head. He smothered the urge to smile and nodded. “Jules.”

“We don’t see each other for a year and I don’t even get a ‘hello’?” Jules clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Talk about poor manners.”

Jules stood a few feet away, skinnier than he’d been in high school. Less muscle mass, Dex thought. A lighter stuck out of his front pocket and his thumbs were tucked into his belt loops. His tongue flicked out at his bottom lip and, when Dex met his eyes, Jules’ gaze had drifted downwards.

Statistically, there had to be some number of queer people in their town. How many had turned out like him? Anger turned outwards, drenched in bad decisions and cigarette smoke, daring the world to crush them like it already hadn’t. How many were Luke? Pretending perfection, even after college, drowning in stolen moments that weren’t anything like the real thing, a smile with too many teeth to compensate for the dullness in their eyes. How many were Isabella? Free and sweet and happy, talked about over dinner tables like some kind of pollutant, known and persistent despite it.

Dex swayed into a theater seat. How many were like him?

“You’ve got the worst manners of anybody,” Pat said, standing with her arms crossed over her chest as she stepped up next to Dex. “Stop being a meanie to Dex.”

Jules huffed. “Turning against your own blood for some fag? Wow, kid.”

“Miss Bella says that’s a dirty word and you’re bad for saying it,” Pat said, her entire small face screwed up in a frown. “I’d side with Dex over you any day.” With that, she huffed (not unlike Jules had) and marched her way out of the theater. Dex expected Jules to go after her, make sure she didn’t get into trouble, but he didn’t move from his spot.

Dex stared after Pat. “She’s a good one,” he said, quiet. His eyes refocused, on Jules, staring. “Don’t ruin that.”

Jules’ tongue flicked out at his bottom lip again. He huffed. He didn’t say anything as he left the theater. Dex sat down and waited for a while. He didn’t really know why, but he had a vague urge to cry. He didn’t.

When he got home that night, Luke Rossi’s expensive Audi sat innocuously at the end of the block. Dex parked his truck in the driveway and walked down the street. He got into the passenger seat with vague ideas of things he wanted to say, and continued to come up with them as Luke drove them out of town. He thought, You deserve to live a true life, as Luke tugged open the buttons of Dex’s shirt. Are you really happy, doing this? Dex almost asked, clinging to Luke’s shoulders. I wish it could be different, he said, trapped between his teeth, as Luke covered his mouth to muffle noises no one would ever hear.

The next week, on opening night, Dex stepped in to work the lights and watched a bunch of elementary school kids sing and dance and act their hearts out. Parents in the audience stood for ovations and Dex almost looked for Jules’ face in the crowed. Both shows went off without a hitch-- except for one brief part when Daddy Warbucks couldn’t find his tie and started crying, because it was his dad’s and he’d been told to be very, very careful (it turned out Pat had it, for no reason anyone could discern)-- and on the second night, the little girl who’d played Annie walked up to Isabella with a bouquet of flowers and she cried as Annie handed it to her.

Dex, manning the spotlight that lit her up, nearly cried himself. He was smiling, though.

After the show, the kids forced him into a group picture, which Isabella sent to him without him asking, and Dex sent it to the group chat with no caption and watched the emojis explode.

In two weeks, he’d be back at Samwell, training for the upcoming season. He would get coffee at Annie’s with Chowder and listen to him sigh about Caitlin and complain about comp-sci. He would help Bitty with pies as Bitty imperfectly hummed Beyonce and gossiped about everyone from the little old ladies in his church back home to the captain of the Samwell soccer team. He would endure Ransom and Holster’s delightful weirdness and help Lardo build her strange sculptures and, maybe, spend some time with Nursey, muffling smiles at the shit that came out of his mouth.

There, he would know exactly who he was. He would be Dex, d-man and ginger and friend. It would be enough. It would be perfect.

For now, he was Will, carpenter and son and nephew.

Maybe next summer, he would learn to reconcile the two.

#dex #william poindexter #check please #my writing #actual writing #? #who knows #homophobia #angst #f-slur #now i want to write the next summer #where he defo does not learn to reconcile anything #bc that's the summer when shit blows UP #oops #also wanna write a post-samwell fic where dex goes back home #be of ~reasons~ #and befriends jules begrudgingly #anyway hopefully this works in the same fashion as pretty did? #it's defo different in a bunch of ways #but i like it regardless #enjoy!!

[daybreak-academy-fanfic]

Daybreak Academy: Chapter 36

We’re Just Too Casually Cruel

Summary: In which everyone notices that something is wrong with Skuld. Word Count: 1,481 First | Previous | Next ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

If Strelitzia didn't know any better, she would almost say that there was one director for this year's play. But that was absurd- surely not one person alone signed up to help. She, personally, only saw the ends in the costume department – she was proud costume adjuster for four years strong – but it was becoming more obvious that only one director was helping the other departments.

Because of her rather menial role in the play, Strelitzia only saw Skuld in passing most of the time. Maybe that was why she could tell that Skuld had lost a lot of weight over the past month. Strelitzia had thought it was only her imagination the first time she thought Skuld's half jacket seemed a bit too big. But it wasn't even a week later and her jacket continued to fall off her shoulder as she was talking to Olive. It really annoyed Skuld, but she didn't question why it was happening.

The oddities didn't stop there either. Everyone in the costume department was confused on who Anora was, and what exactly her role was in the play. The main rumor was that she was only an understudy. And, sure, it wasn't unusual for understudies to sit in for rehearsals. But they never tended to show up in the same frequency she did. Anora had been present to every rehearsal in the past month. Strelitzia wondered if Anora knew she didn't have to- or maybe it had something to do with that boy that came with her.

Of course, that was the other rumor; the rumor that Anora was only trying to worm her way into some guy's business. Or bed. The rumors were everywhere and they all hurt. Strelitzia always tried to divert the conversation- it's not like there wasn't a lot to do so they needed to gossip about other students. Seeing Skuld apparently work alone only made Strelitzia want to work harder.

“How's everyone doing here?”

Speaking of Skuld…

Olive was the first to notice Skuld. She turned to give her the report before getting a good look at Skuld's complexion. Strelitzia couldn't help but look up from her sewing to see what was going on. Skuld looked awful. There were deep, dark bags under her eyes, and there was a thin definition of her rib cage from under her shirt. If Strelitzia had to guess, she'd almost think that Skuld was more skeleton than human.

“Are you alright?” Olive asked, her eyes growing wide.

“It's fine.” the Seventh Year dismissed. “I think I'm getting a cold. Haven't been sleeping too well while trying to get this play together.”

But Olive didn't believe her for a second.

“We'll be fine here for now.” she told the director. “How about you go get something to eat? I hear the cafeteria made extra marshmallow bars earlier and are practically giving them away.”

“I'm not hungry.” Skuld quickly dismissed. “If you don't need my help, I'll see how the other stage prep is going. Thank you for your time.”

Olive watched with uncertainty as Skuld walked away. Slowly, carefully, Strelitzia started to return to her sewing and pretended she didn't see a thing. They were both incredibly worried and by now everyone knew that you couldn't change Skuld's mind easily. But someone needed to do something. Skuld wasn't going to make it another day if she kept this up.

. . .

Anora knew now that she didn't need to sit in on every rehearsal. If it wasn't for Ephemer, she probably wouldn't be here as often either. It did feel nice to see how the play started to come together. The closer they got to the play's debut, the less need there was to constantly have an understudy at the rehearsals. Still, Ephemer insisted that Anora be there. So Anora started to sit in the auditorium's front row seats, giving small feedback on the others' performance as they went on.

She wasn't aware that Strelitzia was carefully making her way over to Anora as the actors on stage went over a second act monologue again.

“Anora…?” the older girl's small voice whispered, coming from the left of her. Anora turned her head around to see Strelitzia. Raising an eyebrow, she gestured for Strelitzia to come on over. Well, Strelitzia shuffled over, as if she were afraid of making Anora mad for some reason. When they were close enough, the older girl didn't even look the younger in the eye.

“I have a note for you.” Strelitzia quickly told her, presenting the folded paper with a small bow. Anora recoiled a little before carefully taking the note. Strelitzia didn't waste any time leaving after.

Weird, Anora thought for a moment before turning her attention to the note. She flipped it open to reveal a handwriting that looked familiar for some reason.

'I'm not sure how familiar you are with this year's director. But I think you need to talk to her. I do not think she is doing well, no matter what she says.'

Something in Anora jolted in revelation. Strelitzia's note… was it talking about Skuld? Anora honestly hadn't seen much of Skuld after the first rehearsal. There wasn't much Skuld needed to do when it came to the actors themselves- at this point in the play it was all preparation for the first dress rehearsals, which meant costumes, lighting, and background changes.

But still…

Anora held Strelitzia's note a bit tighter as she turned her attention back to the actors. Her eyes trained onto Ephemer- suddenly aware of his body language as his character started to accuse another as the villain. The boy held himself as if it were all some sort of game. As his character went on about the villain's motives, Ephemer would recreate the motions with his whole body to illustrate his character's point. But while his body was obviously enjoyed having the upper hand, there was something in Ephemer's eyes that didn't seem right.

Ephemer's eyes seemed to dart somewhere off stage, trying to find something he couldn't see. Occasionally he'd steal a look at Anora herself, gave her a confident wink, then turned his attention back to the other actors. But something still wasn't right. Anora wouldn't have thought much of it had it not been for Strelitzia's note; let her deductive reasoning be damned, she was sure that Ephemer was worried about Skuld.

When the actors called for their break, Anora was the one to get Ephemer instead of the other way around. He was very surprised to see Anora before he could get her.

“Really desperate for a break today, huh?” he playfully teased as grin stretched onto his face.

“Have you seen Skuld recently?”

Ephemer immediately looked like Anora had chosen to insult him out of nowhere. His face then started to pale slightly as he carefully asked, “Why?”

Without saying another word, Anora gave him Strelitzia's note. He looked at her with skepticism for a moment before reading the note over.

“I knew it.” he murmured under his breath. He looked back up at Anora- a glimmer of fear in his eyes. “Anora, can you do me a favor?”

She must have looked surprised because Ephemer bit his lip in thought. He nervously crushed the note into a ball with his hands. He didn't want her to do this. He had a really, really bad feeling about asking her to do it.

“I haven't been able to get in touch with Skuld for awhile. She doesn't meet me at the cafeteria, and I've seen her less around here since stage rehearsals. I've tried calling her phone but it's always busy.” He gave a long, conflicted sigh before going on. “This rehearsal is scheduled to be a long one, and I don't think I'd be able to flag her down before curfew. If I give you her dorm number, can you go check on her for me? I'm worried.”

At first, Anora wanted to say she couldn't. She was getting just as bad a feeling as he was about this whole ordeal. But over the past month it had become quickly apparent that Skuld had been working on the play alone. There had even been a week where no one could find her- only for Skuld to say that she had been busy with the set designers. Now, it seemed that it was becoming remarkably apparent that Skuld was putting her personal health aside for the play.

Anora's eyes quickly darted around the room before finally training on Ephemer. His desperation of knowing that status of his oldest friend was not lost on her. Despite herself, Anora gave him a small nod of agreement.

“Thanks Anora.” her friend sighed. “You're a lifesaver.”

Little did either of them know that, in the next 24 hours, that one little phrase would become an incredibly drastic understatement.

#daybreak academy #chapter 36 #kingdom hearts fanfiction #Strelitzia #Skuld #Ephemer #Anora #Spring Play 2020 #Season 1

[deaky-disco-queen]

Stained With Love - Breaky Week Day 6

A/N: Prompt: Stage Wear. I can’t stop genderbending and I’m sorry. I just wanted to write some crushing lesbians. 

Can also be read on AO3. 

+++

“You’re staring.” 

Johanna flinched and swirled around, coming face to face with Crystal who was leaning against a wall behind her. He was grinning, obviously amused by having caught her and came over to her to wrap his arm around her shoulders. 

    “I’m not staring.” She denied weakly, letting him pull her into a side-hug. 

    “Of course not, Deaky.” 

She playfully swatted at him but wrapped her arm around his waist before bringing her attention back to the stage. They were just hanging out backstage because technically, neither of them were needed yet and they had nothing to do other than watching the actors rehearse. And in Johanna’s case, one actress in particular: Brianna. 

Johanna’s little crush on Brianna had started a few months after she had joined their group. At first, she hadn’t really paid her much mind. Johanna didn’t really hang out with any of the actors except for Roger and Freddie but when they started hanging out with Brianna, Johanna happened to spend some time with her too. Brianna proved to be incredibly smart and witty and just fun to be around and- of course- Johanna developed a crush on her. Especially since she really appreciated the effort of the tech crew. All it needed for her to get a crush on someone was a pretty woman thanking her for her work and telling her she did a great job. It was kind of pathetic. 

It didn’t help that Brianna was an amazing actress, too. She had a great stage presence. She didn’t demand all the attention like Freddie did as soon as he stepped on stage but she drew Johanna- and many others if she believed some of the reviews of their plays- in with her movements and voice. And what a voice she had. Johanna didn’t know a lot about singing except the things she gathered from being around Freddie and Roger but she didn’t need to know much to know that Brianna had a great voice. 

She watched Brianna walk across the stage, wearing a pair of sweats and a loose, long-sleeved shirt that kept slipping off her shoulder while she read her lines off the script to Roger. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun with several strands framing her face and she kept brushing them behind her ear without success. 

    “You’re such a disaster.” Crystal teased her gently and she scoffed. 

    “Shut up. It’s not like she likes me back. She’s probably straight anyway.”

Crystal sighed and pulled her tighter against his side, squeezing her shoulder gently.

“You’re an idiot.” 

Johanna scoffed again and rolled her eyes at him just to get distracted when Brianna really got into her monologue. She was gesturing wildly with one hand and Johanna fell a little bit more in love with her as she strutted across the stage, her face a mask of concentration. 

She looked beautiful. Johanna sighed wistfully.

    “Do you think Roger’s ass looks good in those pants?” 

Johanna pulled a face, barely suppressing a disgusted sound and pushed Crystal away. He started laughing, shoulders shaking and pressed one hand over his mouth to not make any noise. 

    “You’re gross! That’s Roger. Don’t talk about his ass to me! I don’t want to hear it!” 

    “Oh, but it’s a pert little bum! Very nice and firm, too! Don’t you just want to pinch it? Or give it a nice smack? He likes it, believe me.” 

Johanna gagged silently, glaring daggers at her friend. 

    “I don’t want to hear about your bedroom adventures! Shut up! Oh my god! Shut up! Shut up! Shut uuuup!” 

They were both laughing, their faces red from holding back any too loud noises. Miami, their stage manager, still shot them a glare and they quickly abandoned their position to hide in the control room where nobody could judge them and they wouldn’t disturb anyone anymore. 

    “I seriously need you to never talk about your sex life with me ever again.” Johanna said, still grinning. “I do not want to think about you banging anyone and especially not Roger.” 

Crystal gently knocked their shoulders together. 

    “I won’t if you at least try to flirt with Brianna.” 

Johanna snorted and punched him lightly in the shoulder. Crystal groaned exaggeratedly, putting one hand to his chest like an old lady clutching her precious pearly and slumped in his chair, tongue hanging out of his mouth. 

    “Oh god! You got me! The pain!” 

    “God, shut up!” She laughed. 

He pushed her playfully and ruffled her hair, much to her disdain. She only rolled her eyes at him before sighing and leaning against him. 

    “Flirt with her.” Crystal said. 

    “Tell Rog you want to be more than a occasional fuck.” 

They started laughing then, giggling helplessly. It was ridiculous, really, and they were aware of it. 

+++

Johanna groaned and stretched her legs, wincing when her knees cracked loudly. She cursed quietly and wiped her hands on her pants, observing her work. The speaker had stopped working properly during practice today and she had needed all day to fix it. It was tedious but she liked her work anyway. 

She packed her tools up and massaged her shoulders, trying to get the pain out of her tense muscles before lifting the speaker up and carrying it back so she could set it back up where it belonged. 

    “Do you need a hand?” 

Johanna jumped and cursed, almost dropping the speaker just to have Brianna rush towards her and grab it to help her. 

    “Sorry! I didn’t meant to scare you.” 

    “It’s fine! I just didn’t expect anyone to be still here.” 

Brianna helped her carrying the speaker to the stage despite her- admittedly weak- protests and even offered to help her set it up but Johanna declined politely. She really didn’t want to bother her too much. 

    “What are you still doing here, anyway?” She asked, then grimaced. “Sorry, that sounded rude, didn’t it?”

    “No, you’re fine. It is kind of late, isn’t it? But, uh, Freddie gave me a couple of costumes to try on and- I got tired of it. It’s kind of boring if you just try on clothes on your own, you know?” 

Johanna shrugged, not really understanding it but not wanting come off as uninterested. Brianna didn’t seem to think so because she kept on talking while she installed the speaker again. It was nice, not having to work on her own and having someone to talk to. She usually hadn’t because all the other sound techs were busy somewhere else and Crystal was busy somewhere because there was always something wrong with the lights. There was always something wrong with something so once the tech crew got involved with the play, there wasn’t much time to talk anyway because everyone was busy somewhere else. 

    “Do you want to see my outfits?” Brianna asked, not looking directly at her. 

    “Yeah, of course. I’d love to.” 

Brianna smiled then, wide and sincerely and waited patiently until Johanna was finished before bringing her into the girl’s dressing room. Johanna had never been in there since she wasn’t really needed in there ever. It wasn’t anything special, just rows of mirrors and vanities, some sinks and lockers. Make-up and other things were scattered across the tables but Johanna was quickly distracted by Brianna pulling out a clothing rack.

    “Don’t tell Phoebe I brought them in here, I am supposed to leave it in the costume room but I don’t like changing in there.” 

    “I won’t tell.” Johanna promised and they shared a small smile. 

She let herself fall into one of the chairs while Brianna went through her clothes. It had to be Brianna’s spot because there was a picture of her with what she assumed were her parents and a couple of others, including one of Brianna bent over a guitar, focused on playing the instrument. 

    “You play the guitar?” Johanna asked. 

    “Hm? Oh, yeah, I built it with my dad when I was a sixteen. How does this look?” 

Johanna as about to say something but was caught off guard by Brianna wearing a white pair of pants with a black and white striped shirt with a white cape. The pants were skin tight and showed off her legs nicely. 

    “Oh.” Johanna said softly, taking her in. “You look beautiful.” 

Brianna blushed, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She looked almost shy, not posing or anything like Freddie would and not bragging or making any suggestive comments like Roger would. 

    “You think so?”

Johanna nodded, suddenly feeling shy, too. Brianna was almost beaming and it was very endearing and cute. 

    “Do you want to see my favorite one?” 

    “Of course I do!” 

She didn’t dare to look in Brianna’s direction as she got changed. She didn’t want to come off as creepy or anything and be accused of being a pervert. It had happened before. Also, she really didn’t want to give her crush any more fuel by knowing how Brianna looked partially undressed. She was already hopelessly pining, she didn’t need to lust after her, too. 

    “Okay, ready!” 

Brianna looked ethereal. She wore black velvet pants and a white shirt with wide, wing like sleeves. She did a little turn, her arms spread out. She came to a halt with a giggle, looking incredibly pleased with herself but in a humble and shy kind of way. 

“You look like an angel.” Johanna whispered. 

Her blush deepened and she chuckled, looking a little bit embarrassed but happy at the same time. Johanna felt her own cheeks heat up. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“I mean it.” 

Brianna bit her lip and looked at her through her hair, angling her head to side. She opened her mouth, then closed it again just to open it again. 

    “I- uh, do you- I have one more to show you if you want to.” 

Johanna nodded again.

    “Show me, I want to see it.”

The next outfit consisted of a floor-length dark blue skirt with a low-cut top that left her sternum exposed and she was incredibly ashamed of it but her eyes were drawn to the slight swell of her breasts before snapping back up to her face again. 

    “It’s not my favorite but I like the skirt. It’s flowy and very comfortable.” 

    “You look great.” Johanna assured her. 

Brianna changed back into her normal clothes and Johanna didn’t really know what she was supposed to do know. 

    “Do you maybe want to go and grab something to eat? I’m here with my car and… could drive us somewhere? If you want to.” 

    “Yes!” Johanna said, then cleared her throat, afraid to sound too eager. “Yeah, I’d love to.” 

Brianna smiled and Johanna couldn’t help but return it, her heart fluttering in her chest.

#breaky #BreakyWeek2k19 #fem!breaky #genderbend!queen #king!au