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pingutats · 3 years

Text

wake up in some promised land

despite his best efforts to keep their relationship out of the public eye, harry & y/n are photographed together as they leave a party one night —and harry has an interview the very next morning.

warnings: a little bit of angst about trying to navigate fame and a relationship. harry has a foul mouth. but there’s a happy ending!

word count: 2.2k

. . . . .

Harry was decidedly not in a good mood.

It had been a late night. He’d had a few more drinks than he usually did. In his defence it was earned—he’d just released an album, it was soaring to great heights on iTunes charts all over the world and already receiving overwhelmingly positive reviews—so sue him if he indulged in some expensive champagne, a couple fancy cocktails, too many rounds of shots for him to remember clearly… It was a good night all around.

The headache he has right now though, brought on by the sudden blare of his alarm (far earlier than he would have preferred), threatens to tarnish the memory. He even considers swearing off drinking forever so he’ll never suffer like this again.

When he voices this intention to a dozing Y/N as he pulls a shirt on, his only feedback is a pillow-muffled, “You’re such an old man, H.”

He leans over the bed and kisses the small part of her forehead that’s exposed between the pillow and the blanket. “Come on, love. Time to get up.”

“You can get up. I don’t have a radio appearance to make.” She jerks the blanket up to cover her head entirely. “I’ll stay here, thank you very much.”

He manages to drag her downstairs with him anyway, with promises of making her coffee and a hot breakfast. In the kitchen she yawns and stretches, the over-sized sleep shirt opening like bat wings as she raises her arms above her head. He has to force his fond gaze away to concentrate on turning the coffee machine on and pulling eggs out of the fridge.

“This is a really ungodly hour,” she comments, watching him rummage around in a cupboard for a frying pan.

“No such thing as a good night’s sleep when you’re as successful as I am,” he tells her wisely.

She doesn’t even indulge him with a laugh, which tells him exactly how tired she is.

The coffee’s done quickly—Harry is so addicted to the stuff he could probably make it in his sleep with all the practise he’s had—and she grabs the cup from him with greedy fingers, closing her eyes and sipping as she’s perched up on the counter.

Harry nearly lets out a moan when the caffeine hits his lips. It surely can’t work that quickly, but already he’s starting to feel alive again. He turns to the stovetop and cracks the eggs in the frypan with one hand, using his other hand to cling to his cup for dear life.

His phone starts ringing and the sound pierces through his head. His manager’s name is displayed, which is a good thing because if it was anyone else calling right now Harry would probably be tempted to kill them, and even if no publicity is bad publicity, he’s not sure a murder charge would be good for his album sales. He slides his finger across the screen to answer it and tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder while he adjusts the heat on the stove.

“Hey, Jeff,” he says.

Jeff laughs on the other end. “You sound fucked.”

“Big night,” Harry grumbles. “You don’t sound to pretty yourself.”

“All I’m saying is you better get yourself set in the next half hour, ‘cause a voice like that on the radio isn’t going to help you sell records.”

“I’m makin’ breakfast,” Harry retorts. “Got a coffee, I’ll be fine—oh, shit—fuck!” He’s mixed up his hands as he tried to flip the eggs, and poured coffee in the frypan. “Give me a second.”

He sets his coffee down on the counter and unsticks his phone from his cheek, turning it on speaker and placing it next to his cup. He stares at mess in the frypan and decides he’s going to have to try drain the liquid into the sink, without losing the eggs. He accepts this challenge with humility and grace, because he knows it’s his own stupid fault.

Y/N is cackling behind him. On any other day he might have been annoyed, but her laughter this morning just means that she’s in a better mood than earlier. He’d give anything to keep her happy, so if it takes fucking up their breakfast to have her smiling—so be it.

“Okay,” Harry says to Jeff once he’s secured the situation.

“Is everything okay over there?” Jeff’s voice is slightly tinny through the phone speaker, but his stress is evident in his tone.

“Yeah, we’re just—“ he looks at the eggs, dyed brown by the coffee, and glances over his shoulder apologetically at Y/N. “We’re having caffeinated eggs. You’re on speaker. Y/N’s here too. Say hi, baby.”

“Hey, Jeff,” Y/N chirps.

Jeff sighs. “Hi. Listen, it‘s probably good that you both hear this anyway. There are a couple of photos of the two of you from last night that are doing the rounds on Twitter this morning.”

Harry stiffens. “What?”

Here’s the thing: Harry and Y/N are definitely an item. It’s happened pretty quickly. They’ve been dating for a few months and now whenever they’re in the same city they’re practically living together. They’ve said “I love you” to each other often enough that its utterance isn’t a special occasion anymore. So, sure, they’re boyfriend-girlfriend, and if all goes to Harry’s plan, they’ll be more than that soon enough.

But in the meantime, she’s also his best-kept secret. There have been rumours, of course. They’ve been spotted having lunch together or going on walks. Anyone paying attention knows they’re good friends, but Harry has been careful not to let the other dimension of their relationship slip out into public yet. He conducts himself on public outings (secretly dates) like a Victorian gentleman, constantly vigilant that his affection never goes beyond what’s appropriate between friends.

“They’re not bad,” Jeff says quickly. “It’s just pretty obvious what’s going on. I’ll send them to you, hang on.”

Y/N slides off the bench and comes to stand right behind Harry, leaning around him to stare at the phone. The minute of waiting for the photos to come through feels like forever. Y/N must sense his tension, because she puts her hands on his shoulders and squeezes.

A notification pops up at the top of his screen: from Jeff, 8 images attached. He taps it quickly and frowns at the photos.

They must have been taken as they were leaving the bar that the album release party was at. He notices Jeff and others also crowded on the pavement outside, lit by the orange glow of streetlights. The focus, however, is of course on Harry and Y/N, who were putting on something of a show for all their friends—and, apparently, the rest of the world.

The first couple are okay. There Harry is, his arm slung around Y/N, clearly not sober as he bellows something up to the sky with a massive grin on his face and closed eyes. They were singing, he vaguely remembers, the karaoke they were doing inside the bar spilling over the rest of their night. Y/N is laughing at him, clapping her hands together.

Harry drags his finger up the screen to scroll to the next photos in Jeff’s chain. These ones start to reveal the two of them as much more than just friends. The arm around her dropped to her waist, pulling her into his body. And then he was bending his head down. And then he was kissing her.

He scrolls down even further.

In this one, he’s groping her ass in full view of the camera.

“Harry, you lecher!” Y/N scolds, smacking his arm in good humour.

He just shakes his head, staring at the photo. “There’s no plausible deniability, is there?”

“There isn’t,” Jeff says over the phone. He laughs weakly. “You two put on a real show.” He must sense the panic that Harry’s feeling, because he adds, “Listen, Harry, I can blacklist questions about it if you want. Just tell me what you want to do.”

Harry looks at Y/N, chewing on his lip. He feels like a teenager again, out of control of his narrative and at the mercy of the media. He’s meticulously developed his skills of privacy for years, now, and one night of insobriety and bad luck undid it all.

Jeff clears his throat. “The thing with blacklisting is that it might raise more questions. And even if you don’t talk about it, you’ve gotta remember that everyone else will be.”

“Yeah.” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Look—“

Y/N puts her hand on his cheek, patting him. “Hey,” she says gently. “It’s okay.”

He sucks in a deep breath through gritted teeth and holds it in for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says finally with a sigh.

She scoffs. “You’re not the only one in these photos.”

He frowns. She doesn’t get that he’s apologising for more than just the photos. It’s the fact that they have to deal with this at all, that it’s such a big deal for them to simply act like a normal couple. It’s the fact that it’s him, and he is who he is.

“H,” she presses further. “It’s up to you. Your decision. But I want you to know that I’m happy whichever way you choose.”

He searches her eyes for any hint of doubt. She didn’t manage to clean off all her make-up last night, and there’s a smear of glitter on her temple and dark smudges of mascara underneath her eyes. She looks tired, but she’s definitely serious about what she’s saying.

“You get what it means to be public with me, though,” he says at last. He hesitates. “It’s… intense.”

She shrugs and gives him a cocky grin. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.” She’s holding his head in her hands, her fingers smoothing his unruly curls off his face. “It’s just a few photos. It isn’t everything.”

It isn’t everything. Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then leans down to kiss her gently. It’s just an innocent peck, but the feel of her soft lips against his is enough to ground him.

Jeff clears his throat awkwardly.

They break apart with embarrassed smiles. “Sorry,” Harry says, but he isn’t really.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, sounding uncomfortable. “You’re going to have to make a decision soon, because we’re really cutting it fine.”

Harry looks at Y/N, who nods.

He turns back to the phone. “Don’t worry about it,” Harry says. “Let them ask the questions.”

“Yeah?” Jeff asks. “Okay then, that saves me a load of trouble. Good luck, man. Enjoy it.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, hanging up with a sharp tap on the screen. He turns around to Y/N with a grin on his face. “Where were we…”

Y/N giggles as he gathers her into his arms, pulling her in close for a kiss that no one else can see or hear, a kiss just for them. When she pulls back to breath, he peppers his lips all over her face until she’s squirming away—“Harry, that tickles!”

He lands one last kiss on her cheek before his gaze lands on the time display on the oven behind her, which tells him he has ten minutes before he needs to be on the Zoom call for the interview.

She notices the sudden shift in his demeanour and glances behind her to see what caused it. She turns back around. “I’ll sit with you.”

He nods. “Yeah, okay, I’d like that.”

“It’s Harry Styles!” the presenter cries.

“It’s me! Hello, hello,” he says, waving at the screen. The laptop is set on the coffee table and he’s sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees as he grins at the screen. “How are ya?”

“Oh, we’re wonderful,” the presenter replies. “More importantly, how are you? Looks like you had a big night last night, judging by these photos we’re seeing!”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Big night,” he echoes, dragging out the word.

The presenter laughs. “Sounds like a great time. Well deserved after this masterpiece of an album. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you’re quite close with somebody there. Would you explain what’s going on here, Harry?”

Harry peers at the photo displayed on his computer screen, even though he knows exactly what it will be. The one they chose is a sweet one, with Y/N’s arms wrapped around his neck and kiss that he seems to be melting into. He can’t suppress his smile at that. “Oh, well,” he says. “That’s my friend Y/N.”

The presenter raises his eyebrows at that. “Good friend, is she?”

Harry glances up over the laptop to look at Y/N, sitting on the other couch, her cheeks pink and round from her smile. Harry surreptitiously reaches his arm towards her, out of frame, and she leans forward to hold his hand.

“She is. She’s a lovely girl.” He squeezes her hand. “Yeah, we’re very good friends.”

. . . . .

thank you so much for reading! this fic is based on a request from @kissmyaxe140 — i really intended this to be a shorter blurb of a few hundred words, but i’m incapable of brevity. apparently. this grew into a little monster but i rlly had fun writing it!! the title is a lyric from secret life by bleachers.

if you liked this fic, a reblog and/or any kind of feedback would be very much appreciated. my masterlist can be found here and you can send me messages here. have a gorgeous day!

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #fic

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bbdaydreams · 3 years

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Courage My Love// Semi Eita

Pairing: Semi Eita x Reader

Summary: You like Semi and come up with a plan to confess to him, unfortunately it takes a turn. You meet again a couple years later by chance.

Chapter Five: Old Friends

Series Masterlist•<previous•next>

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“Thank you all so much for coming out tonight!” Semi spoke into his mic, sweat dripping down his face from all the jumping around he’d done in the past thirty minutes. “We’re coming up on time so this next one is going to be the last one. Once again thank you so much!”

The boys were currently playing a well known venue in their area that offered a standing room for shows and seating towards the entrance for those looking to eat. It’s small but mighty, especially when it’s filled at max capacity at least once a week. The boys were regulars, performing at least once every other week.

When they finished the song, they all walked off stage and headed backstage to put away all their gear so the next band could play.

“God, I love playing here,” Subaru started.

“Yeah, we’re lucky to get to do this,” Jiro added on.

“Imagine if we played a bigger venue. I don’t know how I’d act,” Semi continued.

“Crazy, right?” Ranmaru and a strangers voice added on. The four young men turned to the source of the voice.

“Hi, I’m from Misfits Records. You guys have quite the following and I’d like to sign you guys. I’ve been to a couple of your shows and I think you guys have what it takes to make it.”

The boys turned to look at each other before looking at the man, Jiro being the first to speak. “Are you sure it’s us you want? There’s still more bands playing after us,” to which the rest of the boys responded by punching his arm.

“He means yes. We’d be honored,” Semi took over.

Fast forward two years now, your band has blown up and you now have listeners all over the world. You’ve had the opportunity to travel to 4 different continents, some tours lasting a week, the longest being three months. Getting to open for bigger bands was always becoming normal but being invited for guest vocals during sets and songs was even more frequent.

You’ve gotten the chance to perform at festivals and events like Warped Tour which is what really helped expose Courage My Love to even more people. The first time you were invited to join the run, the four of you spent the entire tour talking to people as much as you could, being kind to strangers, thanking fans for their support, and checking out other bands and complimenting their performances. All that wasn’t to promote yourself, even though that was the goal. Everything you did was genuine, and you four genuinely wanted to get to know others. This caught the attention of many passerby’s which caused them to check out your music. It made other musicians want to befriend you for being so honest which was something that was hard to find in the music industry nowadays. People were so hungry for fame, they weren’t above using others to climb higher. Your rise in popularity caused curiosity which made you guys get more interviews.

“Hey, hey, hey, we’re here in Courage My Love’s tour bus! Say hi everyone!”

“Hey!” You four greeted when the camera was pointed at all of you.

They asked general questions about your formation, how the tour was going and about the second album you just released months prior before deciding to ask more personal questions.

“We can all agree that dating is hard enough as it is, I can’t even imagine how it is for you guys since you’re on the road so much.”

“You’re right about that. We’re all happily single at the moment though, right?” Yui answered causing you and the others to nod your head yes.

“We definitely have tried to date but yeah touring definitely gets in the way,” Izumi added.

“We’ll have you guys ever thought about dating another musician? Maybe someone throughout the tour? Anyone caught your eye?” The interviewer asked suggestively.

With interviews, you always had to be careful with how you respond. You never want something to come back and bite you in the ass. You also had to watch out for suggestive questions like the one asked, those are just trying to fish out some drama.

“Personally, no. I don’t think I could simply because it’d be a lot of time away from your partner which isn’t fair to either of you,” you answered before looking at Haruka so she could answer the rest.

“We take everything we do pretty seriously despite how we can come off sometimes. Dating someone you’re touring with just seems like drama waiting to happen which is something none of us want to be a part of,” she finished with a smile.

“I see. Well, what is it like to be an all female band in the music industry?”

“You can just check out our newest single, Now You Know, for that. I think it explains itself pretty well.”

“Oh! Looks like we’re out of time, thank you so much for hanging out, see ya next time!” She thanked you guys personally for your time and you all did the same before her and the crew left.

“I can’t believe she tried us with that,” Yui spoke, stretching in her seat.

“It was pretty bold of them,” Izumi agreed.

“It’s sad. I just know they wouldn’t ask guys that. We’re here to make music just like them,” you added, getting up from your spot to go to the small kitchen to start dinner for you all.

“Being a woman sure is hard, and for no reason,” Haruka finished, grabbing her drumsticks to tap the table to get some frustration out.

Album release day! Courage My Love released their third album the following year, coincidentally the same day Semi’s band released their first album, whom unknown to you changed their name from Eagle Thorns to Won’t Regret. Courage My Love reached the number one spot in the rock category that week, a huge milestone. Won’t Regret reached top 20 which was a much better response than they expected. Both bands spent that day celebrating by having a small party at their respective label’s office.

The next day when you went into the studio your manager delivered you with the news for your next tour. “You guys are going to be touring with ONE OK ROCK in the US! You’re going to be the second act. Big things girls, big things.”

“We’re touring with them?” You asked, not believing the fact that you were going to be playing shows with one of your favorite bands.

After reassuring you, you reached out and grabbed onto Yui’s arms in excitement jumping up and down. While you were hyping yourself up, Haruka asked their manager who the opening act was going to be resulting in her eyes going wide.

“We’re touring with who?” The boys asked their manager, leaning forward in their seats with mouths wide.

“You’re gonna be touring with ONE OK ROCK and Courage My Love. Your latest single really blew up, the singer of ONE OK ROCK loved it so much he actually asked for you guys specifically.”

“No fucking way,” Semi spoke in awe.

“We’re not doing it,” Ranmaru announced, making the rest of his band members jump in surprise and disagree.

“Are you crazy? We can’t decline an opportunity like that!” Subaru started.

“Yeah! This is such a huge opportunity and you’re gonna say no?” Jiro added.

Semi stayed quiet, knowing he was the reason why Ranmaru said no. The two of them were pretty similar in mindset which made it easy for them to call each other. “I’ll do my best,” Semi said, looking at the bassist.

“Eita, we don’t need drama on our first big tour.” Ranmaru did feel bad for being blunt but he knew it was how he could get his point across. This tour could either help make them or break them. “I want us to succeed. I want us to keep playing music together.”

Subaru and Jiro stayed quiet, now understanding why Ranmaru reacted the way he did. They both had to agree with him. They’ve all put years worth effort into the band, it’d be a shame for it to fall apart after they had just made it.

“I know. I don’t want to ever not play music with you guys. I owe you guys a lot and I’m tired of holding us back. I swear I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ll apologize the moment I see them. Won’t Regret comes first, always has and always will.” Looking around the room he saw the small smirks on their faces, giving him comfort.

“Whatever you say, leader,” Ranmaru joked, pushing Semi’s shoulder so he wasn’t so stiff.

“We’re right behind you dude,” Subaru laughed.

“We’re gonna do it!” Jiro jumped bringing his band mates into a group huddle.

“You guys won’t regret this tour, I promise,” Semi said earning a smack on the back of his head from Subaru.

“Bad pun, Eita.”

Hey, this is Taka from ONE OK ROCK!

You guys are probably preparing for tour since it starts in a few days but I’d like to invite you and your band mates to dinner to meet you all!

Let me know if you can make it

-Taka :)

That was the text that you had received that led to you and the girls getting mildly dressed up to go eat at a restaurant the day before tour started. The tour was going to last six weeks and starting it off by having fun with everyone you were going to be performing with sounded like a great idea.

The four of you walked into the dimly lit restaurant together resulting in the hostess to escort you towards the table that had been reserved for your group. “Oh! Ladies you have arrived! Please have a seat,” Taka spoke, getting up to pull open the chairs so you all could sit.

Upon announcing your arrival, everyone looked up to face your group. Your face immediately grew warm when you saw the familiar faces, locking eyes with the one person you never thought you’d cross paths with again and even though Semi was fully aware this was going to happen, he still couldn’t believe it. Breaking eye contact with him, you gave a look to Haruka as if asking for help since Yui and Izumi already sat in their seats. Your actions didn’t go unnoticed by your old friend, reason being you used to give him those same looks all those years back. Haruka nodded her head and took a step towards the empty seat next to Semi before being stopped.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to come off as rude but I’d like your singer to sit here. I’d like to talk about vocal and stage stuff with them if you don’t mind,” Taka apologized. Knowing he was being sincere and understanding where he was coming from, you knew you shouldn’t argue and instead just suck it up. Haruka gave you a gentle smile before sitting between Yui and Jiro. Sitting down on the chair between Semi and Izumi, Taka pushed it in for you like a gentleman before going back to his own seat. “Alright, let’s order!”

A waitress came over to the table and gave her regular spiel of the specials as she handed out the menus which you unfortunately had to share with Semi since they were short on them.

“You can order first,” Semi spoke softly, letting you have the menu to look through. He wanted to tell you so much more. Apologize right then and there and try to fix things between you two but he couldn’t knowing he had to be professional right now. Ranmaru and Subaru kept glancing at him over their booklet as a warning to not fuck up the nice meal for them while Jiro chatted with your band mates. Semi just wished you two could talk like old friends.

Accepting the tall binded leather booklet, you gave a small thanks before opening it to look through it. This was going to be a long night.

—————

a/n: filler chapter but look!! They finally reunite!

Taglist: @pluviophilefangirl @yourstarvic @sunaswife @mynscorner @syaziahvg @discountkiyoko

#haikyu #haikyuu!!#semi eita #semi x reader #semi haikyuu #semi eita x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyu x y/n

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oyesmendes · 4 years

Text

a year later

a/n: remember the person who asked for whiskey and pendants part two? and i told her no? well i was wrong. i made this a 5SOS and Shawn Mendes crossover LOL don’t killme

@mendesficsxbombay hope i didnt rip too hard

One year. They’ve been broken up for one year as of today, not that anyone was counting. Y/N couldn’t be bothered to count the number of days since the supposed love of her life broke her heart into pieces and left her hanging by a thread. She had better things to worry about. Like how she was on her way to an album release party for 5 Seconds of Summer, in her favourite scarlet red dress, the fabric clinging on to her body and hugging the curves she was once too shy to show off. Her hair was now cut short, the messy waves of her hair doing wonders to frame her face. She got a tan from her recent trip to Bora Bora, figured that she would go even if Shawn wasn’t the one to take her there. It was a solo trip to foreign land, scary yet exhilarating, and somehow in-between her time in Bora Bora and the party that she was now on the way to, Y/N found herself. She started dating again, no surprise one of the 5SOS band members, Calum. But she also finally knew how she wanted to live her life by her own rules, to play the game her way. She let herself love in the ways she hadn’t done before, and honestly, she was making good progress. Y/N was happy, so fucking happy and content with her life.

“We’re here” the driver announced as the car came to a stop. Y/N thanked him before stepping out of the car, making her way into the building. She met with her friends at the rooftop bar, nursing a cocktail as they caught up and discussed the album tracks. The band had greeted her with a wide grin on their faces, throwing around too many inside jokes they had made during the course of curating the album. She then shared the deepest, most loving kiss with her boyfriend and then left him to party the night away with his brothers. Y/N was having a good time, dancing to the songs that she had painstakingly produced. That was until he sauntered in.

One of her friends nudged her slightly, turning her attention to the entrance where Shawn stood, exchanging hellos with the band. She would’ve guessed he would be here, after all he was friends with the band before she worked with them. There was a pang in her chest when she actually took in his appearance. He had an acid wash denim jacket on, signature white T-shirt with black skinny jeans, not forgetting his worn out Chelsea boots. He looked fresh as hell she wasn’t going to lie, his hair styled perfectly and the smile on his face as wide as when he first locked eyes with her. Before she could even react, Shawn’s eyes were scanning the crowd. It was as if he knew she would be there, and of course why would he not know? Her name was on the record for God’s sake. She quickly turned to face the bar, her friends providing the adequate distraction as they went on about their lives. Though it wasn’t long before a hand landed on Y/N’s shoulder, and the look on her girl friend’s faces was enough to tell her who it was.

“Hey” She breathed out. He had a beer in his hand, cheeks flushed from the influx of alcohol. Shawn grinned stupidly, babbling out a response to her. Y/N got off the bar stool, turning to face him.

“Nice to see you again.” A genuine smile was on her face now, because it was really nice to see him again, and the fact that he looked happy was good.

“I almost didn’t recognise you with your hair, and wow, this dress.”

“Thanks.” Y/N said shyly. The confidence that she brewed over the past year was now gone in an instant while she was under his eyes. She cursed at herself mentally, standing up straighter in her black stilettos. He never saw this side of her before and to Shawn, it was absolutely stunning. An awkward silence fell between the both of them, the chatter of the rooftop bar insufficient to fill the air. Y/N played with the rings on her fingers, hands still wrapped around the half empty glass.

“Can we talk? Maybe somewhere quiet?” Here we go. Y/N nodded, grabbing her glass off the table as she followed behind Shawn. They made their way through the small crowd, stopping to greet mutual friends every once in awhile. Shawn let them to a corner with less people, and a view overlooking the Los Angeles skyline. It felt like their first meeting all over again just that this time, her heart was in different place and the feelings between them far from mutual.

“This is nice isn’t it?” Shawn sighed, letting the cool wind brush his face. She hummed in response, watching the lights sparkle below them.

“I’m sorry for that night, Y/N” He tilted his body to face her. Throughout their two year relationship, Y/N was like an open book and Shawn knew her every move before she even thought about it. But right now, the book was closed, and he was trying really hard to read the words that weren’t there.

“I am too.” She turned to face him as well, and that’s when she noticed the pendant sitting on his chest. The one that she left on the floor of his apartment lobby, the one that brought them together and broke them apart. Her breath hitched in her throat when she felt Shawn grab onto her hand softly. There was no more spark, at least for her, it was just a shockwave sent through her system as she quickly pulled her hand back. Y/N watched as Shawn’s face dropped, him nodding understandingly.

“I just wanted to say I miss-“

“No, please don’t do this” She ran her hand through her hair, the messy curls now a disheveled mess.

“Let me apologise, Y/N. Let me fix this.”

“What for?”

“For the sake of our love.” Y/N let out a humourless chuckle at those words. This was some cliche scene straight out of a movie and right now, she wasn’t having it.

“For the sake of our love? Are you out of your mind, Shawn? There was no love between us the moment you led that stupid blonde chick- Sarah, come into our life. There was no love the moment you left me to clean up the pieces of that broken glass that afternoon.” Her voice was raised ever so slightly, earning the attention of some people nearby. She turned to face the skyline again. It felt like a sick joke to Y/N - now that she was happy, he wants to come rolling in? No God damn way.

“We both had a part to play that afternoon, Y/N.” Shawn stated as a matter-of-fact. Two can play this game.

“Yeah, but I didn’t have a part in sitting on your lap throughout the party that night.”

“I just wanted to apologise, why do you have to make this so hard?” Shawn sighed. Now Y/N felt the anger bubble in her chest. She slammed her cocktail down on the ledge to make a point.

“Do you think I had it easy? I look put together yes, but the scars from the heartbreak are still here, Shawn. I was hurt but I’m getting over it, I’m happy. As much as you would like for us to kiss and make up, I can safely tell you that it’s not going to happen. I’m not the same person anymore.” As if on cue, a six foot tall Australian made his way to Y/N’s side, hands wrapping around her waist protectively.

“Everything alright, love?” Calum kissed the top of her head, looking at her then at Shawn. Y/N could only smile and nod though the hurt on Shawn’s face was evidence that nothing was right. Calum acted oblivious to the situation, pulling her in even tighter.

“Then is it alright if I steal her away from ya for a minute?” Shawn nodded with a tight lipped smile as he watched her cuddle into the Calum’s side.

The rest of the night felt like a blur to Shawn. Y/N disappeared with Calum after the encounter with him to the other side of the bar so she could calm down. Once she emerged in the crowds again, Shawn had his eyes following her as she jumped from group to group with her boyfriend, if not she was stuck to the side of his bandmates or their girlfriends. He wanted to get to her, explain everything and let her punch him if she must. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, and how much he loved her. He wanted to show her the pictures of Aaliyah’s graduation, the new song he wrote a couple of weeks ago that he thought would be perfect for her to produce. And most importantly he wanted to show her the ring he meant to give her that night a year ago. But he couldn’t.

She looked too happy and confident in her own skin that he couldn’t bear stripping that away from her. She was in love, the glow of her skin and look in her eyes as she stared at her boyfriend didn’t keep anyone guessing. A loud laugh erupted from her lips while she stood next to one of the band members. Her eyes found Shawn’s and she looked for a brief moment before returning her attention back to the group.

“If you’re going to stare, at least be more discreet, mate” Calum said as he took the seat next to Shawn. Shawn stayed silent, eyes still following her as she leaned on the shoulder of one of the girls.

“I know you still love her.” Shawn looked at Calum who was undoubtedly a little drunk, but he was right, even a blind man could tell Shawn was still head over heels for her.

“I do.”

“But you’re in love with the old her.” What the fuck was this man talking about? Shawn thought to himself. He downed the last shot of tequila, wincing as the alcohol slid down his throat. Shawn wanted to get up from his seat and bolt out those doors, but Calum’s next words glued him to the bar stool.

“I know this is stupid, and trust me mate I can’t believe I’m talking to my girl’s ex-boyfriend, but yeah Y/N’s changed.”

“In what way?”

“In the smallest as well as the largest of ways.” Calum took a swig of his beer, “She no longer drinks whiskey like how she did a year ago. Made me get rid of all my whiskey glasses.”

Calum didn’t know it was a low blow, but Shawn felt the knife stab his heart. He waited for him to continue, “She’s so confident of her work now, and she’s one of the most creative people I know. She’s comfortable in her own skin, she’s happy-“

“You don’t know that.” Shawn cut him off but Calum could only smile to himself as he set his bottle down.

“I do, she wasn’t like this a year ago in that club.” Both their eyes flickered over when a large chorus of laughs came from her and her friends. She was dancing and twirling around, something she would never have done with Shawn.

“I get why you still love her, Shawn. But that’s the old her you’re seeing. This is a brand new Y/N, I hope you know.” Calum pat Shawn on the back before joining his friends. He watched as she kissed him softly on the lips and pulled him to dance with her. She was happy.

Shawn could only push the tray of shots back to the bartender as he made his way to leave the bar, to leave the woman he once called his own.

#shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes x reader #shawn peter raul mendes #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fic #5 second of summer imagines

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calumcest · 4 years

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even when the night changes it will never change me and you

okay yes i know i have literally just dropped off the face of the planet and i show up a month later with almost 2k of nonsense pseudoangst but you know what. sometimes life just be like that i have a lot going on right now so i can’t promise i’ll be back here often but i will try i’m adjusting to a new (and INSANELY busy) routine but hopefully once i’m more settled in that i’ll have more time to be back here and also time to write more britpop i MISS writing britpop

Grief isn’t new to Ashton.

He’s grieved relationships, grieved lost relatives, grieved phases of his life, grieved friends that have come and gone. He’s mourned endings of tours and album cycles and futures that could have been but weren’t, cried for himself and for others and for nothing in particular. Ashton’s life has been full of grief from the moment his father had scooped out a part of his heart and run off with it, leaving a clumsy, too-young Ashton to try and learn how to grow the rest of it back again.

But he’s never grieved someone who’s still there.

Grief is marked by a sense of loss, and until now, it’s made sense to Ashton. People flit in and out of his life, marking his days with laughter and a heart fit to burst and then a stomach so hollow it feels like when they’d left, they’d taken yet another part of him with them. He must be scattered at the four corners of the world by now, a bit of his heart here and a piece of his soul there and maybe even a part of his lungs somewhere too, the breath stolen from him by a face he can barely remember but still makes his newly-stitched-up stomach ache. And the more abstract things have made sense too; endings, that ring of finality, that gut-wrenching moment in which the world stands still and he stands still with it and nobody else does and he realises that’s it, it’s over, and I’m the only one who’s noticed. Grief is loss, he thinks, and maybe solitude, that crushing awareness that whoever said he was born alone and he’ll die alone was right, that even though he’s got everybody else alongside him they can’t ever be with him.

And there is a loss with this grief, too, but he can’t put his finger on what it is, because Luke’s still here.

He’s still smiling brightly at Ashton when they wake up in the mornings, blue eyes a little hazy as the remnants of sleep drain out of Luke’s irises, seeping through his bones and into the mattress they should probably replace by now. He’s still yelling for Ashton when there’s a spider on the wall, the same note of panic in his voice as there always has been, the same escalation in pitch when Ashton doesn’t defy the laws of physics to get from the upstairs bedroom to the downstairs bathroom in the space of three milliseconds. He still turns his face to Ashton when they’re watching TV, blinking slow and breathing even and lips already curved up in a soft smile because he knows Ashton’s going to kiss him before even Ashton does.

So why is Ashton grieving him?

Or, not Luke, specifically. Luke’s still Luke, always has been Luke, and there have been times Ashton has found himself on his knees in a pew praying to a God that he doesn’t believe in that he always will be Luke, too. No, Luke hasn’t changed, and Ashton hasn’t changed either, but they’ve changed. Or, no, that’s not quite right either. Nothing has changed, but something has shifted. Something’s moved, and Ashton doesn’t think it’s a bad thing, but it’s not a good thing either. It’s just- it’s just a thing. Nothing’s grown, nothing’s shrunk, but something’s been shuffled around, and Ashton’s still reaching for it in its old place, knuckles knocking against the edge of it rather than fingers curling around it.

But it’s unnerving, because he doesn’t know what it is.

He finds himself picking up letters from the doormat addressed to Luke, and he falters, stares at Luke’s name for a moment, something curling uncomfortably in his stomach. He finds himself drinking in all of Luke across the table as Luke tells some animated story about one time in Year Nine, right, when me and Michael hated each other, and the words wash over him because there’s no room left in Ashton for them to sink in, not when he’s so full of an unsettled feeling at the sight of Luke’s bright blue eyes and pretty pink lips, the same as ever, but a few millimetres to the left of where they used to be in his heart. Most of all, though, he finds himself aching, finds every cell in his body turning itself over and over, left to right, right to left, up and down, trying to discern whether it’s here that things have changed, whether it’s here that he can find that old comfort and safety hiding away.

And it’s confusing, because he hasn’t lost anything. His way, maybe, or his mind, but somehow it feels like something more than that, something bigger and extrinsic. Or maybe it’s intrinsic, and that’s the whole fucking problem. His fingers are scrabbling at the worn fabric of himself, at the soft fabric of Luke, at the well-known fabric of the two of them, tough and sturdy thread weaving in and out of glinting silk, but it all feels the same. Maybe it’s his fingertips that have changed. Maybe he’s got new fingerprints, leaving brand new stains all over himself and over Luke, marking him up as his all over again.

He doesn’t tell Luke. What would he say? Something’s changed, but it hasn’t. Nothing’s changed, but it has. He doesn’t need frog-marching to the doctor. He needs to find where things have moved, needs to follow the spotlight as it crosses the stage, not stay three feet behind it, unable to guess where it’s going to move next. But he doesn’t know how, because he doesn’t know what’s moved, and until he knows what’s moved he won’t know where it’s moved, and until he knows where it’s moved he won’t know where - or whether - it’s going to move after that.

He does tell Calum, though.

He’s only planning on saying one carefully constructed sentence, one throwaway line that he’s neatly built up with sharp new bricks, but it seems like he might have forgotten the cement, because it all comes tumbling out, tongue twisting in on itself as the words try and form themselves before Ashton can see their shapes and stop them in their tracks. Calum just listens, though, nods, doesn’t interrupt or stop him or frown or even look like he’s thinking about it, like he’s already formulating a response in his mind. He just listens, and then when Ashton’s finished, he looks at him, dead in the eye in that way that Ashton hates because Calum’s the only person besides Luke who’s found the direct line between Ashton’s eyes and his soul.

“That makes sense,” he says.

“No it doesn’t.” How the fuck can it make sense to Calum, when it doesn’t even make sense to Ashton?

“It does,” Calum presses, unbothered by Ashton’s resistance. “It’s not grieving the loss of a person or loss of a stage of life, but the loss of your old perception of how things are. It’s just adjusting to a shift.”

“Why would it change?” Ashton wants to know, like Calum’s the keeper of the keys to Ashton’s own mind.

“Just happens,” Calum says, with a shrug. “You change, so your perception changes. Would be a bit weird if you still saw the world like a nine-year-old, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t feel like I’ve changed.” Ashton knows he’s being stubborn, but he can’t leave with a half-thought, needs Calum to lead him right up to the water and cup his hands in it and then bring them to his lips for him. Or maybe Ashton’s already in the river; maybe that’s why he can’t seem to find anything to drink, because how is he supposed to know to drink what appears to be his ground?

“Change doesn’t always have to come in eureka moments,” Calum says. “Things can change you without you noticing. And you can change you without you noticing.” Ashton steeps himself in those words for a moment, lets them bleed into his core and half-expects them to burn at him like acid, but they just surround him, soothe him like coolant on an overworked engine.

And suddenly, Ashton finds the spotlight. It’s not three feet away. It’s right next to him, waiting patiently for him to step into it. Nothing has changed, he was right about that, and something did shift; he was right about that too. It’s just his perception - he’s the same, Luke’s the same, and they’re the same, but Ashton’s perception of them has changed.

“Oh,” Ashton says, and Calum doesn’t say anything else, because he’s brought the water to Ashton’s lips now, and it’s up to Ashton to learn to clumsily do it on his own.

It takes him a while.

It’d be nice if it were a simple process, if change did all come in eureka moments, so he could simply turn his back on the smiles that make it all the way from his heart into his lungs and up his trachea but falter just before his lips, so he could look at Luke without his stomach flipping uncomfortably, but it isn’t. The smiles stay forced, and his stomach tries its best to earn a spot in the Gymnastics Australia Olympics squad, but it gets easier. It’s not permanent, now, and it gets less and less, until instead of feeling thick in his mouth Ashton’s tongue is curled around laughter and I love yous that he means almost more than he’s ever meant them before. And it’s not like he ever didn’t mean them - nothing changed, after all; he always loved Luke as much as he always has - but he’s starting to feel his way into his place again, finding the taped X on the stage right in the middle of the spotlight that he’d managed to miss somehow.

And then, before he’s even realised it, he’s stood right in said middle of the spotlight, feet placed perfectly on the X, watching the little particles of dust as they float around him, disturbed by his steady inhales and even exhales. And when he looks out, tries to make out something other than the column of light he’s bathed in, he sees a figure in the front row, beaming at him, like he’s the entire show they’d come to see.

Luke. It’s always been Luke.

(And when he picks up the post one morning and sees Mr L. R. Hemmings, he falters again. To smile at the envelope, to feel that familiar warm glow in his heart, to feel the way his fingers curl around that inscrutable thing rather than bumping against it.

Loss doesn’t always have to mean grief. Sometimes it can be hope.)

#lashton #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5sos slash #yeah i wrote this in like 20 minutes embarrassing #anyway back to my reading about tacit knowledge <3 at least its not internalism/externalism anymore #however i think i have time at the weekend to FINALLY read sam and bellas birthday fics for me #i am so excited i cant even tell you #however i have to say hilarious that part of this fic is taken from the internalism/externalism debate we had today #thats literally sending me my masters degree...put to use for 5sos fic...

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fyexo · 4 years

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191220 K-Pop Stars EXO Reflect on How Far They've Come — and How Far They'll Go

As Chen tells Teen Vogue, this year has been “a time for EXO to reflect” on their past, present, and future.

Chances are, even if you didn’t know it at the time, you’ve seen the members of the legendary K-Pop group EXO before. Their musical prowess speaks for itself, but even beyond that, their careers have taken over TV, fashion, celebrity culture, and more in the past year.

Maybe you've seen rapper and multi-instrumentalist Chanyeol, 27, shaking hands with Zendaya at Paris Fashion Week. Or perhaps it was breathtaking dancer and rapper Kai, 25, cracking 7th place on British GQ’s Best-Dressed Men of 2020 list. Or singer and composer Lay, 28, becoming Calvin Klein’s first-ever Chinese global ambassador. You might’ve watched rapper and youngest member Sehun, 25, on Netflix’s detective program Busted, or glimpsed leader and vocalist Suho, 28, waving from the red carpet as an honorary ambassador of the International Film Festival & Awards Macao. These are just a few of the places and memories that stamp the proverbial passport of EXO’s lives this year.

It’s been an equally powerful year musically for EXO too. With two members — Xiumin, 29, and D.O., 26, — currently completing their mandatory military enlistment and Lay promoting in China, the remaining six members of EXO have explored their own individual musical identities in 2019. Power vocalist Chen, 27, released two solo albums that chronicled love and heartbreak through mature, heart-warming ballads, while Baekhyun’s groovy solo album, City Lights, broke the highest monthly sales record for a solo artist in South Korean chart history with over 500,000 copies sold. Sehun and Chanyeol teamed up this summer for the debut of EXO-SC, EXO’s hip-hop sub-unit, while Baekhyun and Kai joined forces to “jump and pop” in SM supergroup SuperM.

As Chen tells Teen Vogue, this year has been “a time for EXO to reflect” on their past, present, and future as they reunite to promote their sixth album Obsession.

It’s December 4th, 2019, and the six members are dressed in thick, woollen, neutral-toned sweaters and trenchcoats to protect themselves from the arctic winds billowing throughout Seoul. There’s a warm camaraderie to their interactions as they laugh amongst themselves and take sips of their iced coffees. The atmosphere feels comfortable and familial, born from an understanding of each other’s mindsets and quirks that has been learned organically over the group’s career.

“It’s been seven years since we debuted and we’ll be hitting eight years next year; that’s a long period of time,” Chen says. His humble, calm demeanor is a balm for the rest of the group who cling to his introspective thoughts. “We reflected on our past journey and tried to make improvements in this new album. It’s been a grateful and fun time.”

This desire to continuously push boundaries both musically and creatively has been at the crux of EXO’s identity since their debut in 2012. Originally split into two groups, EXO-K and EXO-M, EXO performed their shared discography in both Korean and Mandarin in an effort to appeal to two major music markets simultaneously. The groups came together in 2013 to release their debut album, XOXO, and the album’s repackage released later in the year saw EXO’s popularity hit a fever pitch with the funky, dance-pop single “Growl.” Since then, each of EXO’s last five albums have sold over a million copies in South Korea alone, earning them the title “quintuple million sellers.”

The group is not only a staple in South Korea but across the globe too. From performing in front of the world at the closing ceremony of the 2018 Winter Olympics to becoming the first K-Pop group to have their faces projected on the Burj Khalifa in Dubai, EXO has stamped their name in the annals of pop history with their devotion toward their music, fans (called EXO-L), and each other. As they’ve matured over the years, that dedication hasn’t wavered.

“In our early years we just played together, whereas now we’ve grown up and matured,” Baekhyun replies. The singer’s personality is brighter than his shining white hair, and he thrives on the reactions to the jokes he makes throughout our chat. “We share a lot about where we’re headed in life, what we want to do for the upcoming album, and discuss how we can come together closer as a team to improve our teamwork.”

That tight-knit teamwork manifested itself in multiple ways throughout this year. From congratulating each other on Instagram like Lay did for Baekhyun’s solo debut to Xiumin and Sehun emceeing Chen’s solo album press conferences, the members have made it a point to support one another with every milestone they achieve, both individually and as a group. It also took center stage as the group embarked on their fifth world tour, Exo Planet #5 – The EXplOration, this July.

Part of the decision to go on tour, according to Suho, is because it makes the fans “happy,” which in turn makes EXO happy; this treasured time spent with fans also one of the reasons why the group worked tirelessly to release their new record in between their jam-packed personal schedules.

“Since the year EXO debuted, we’ve released an album every year. We’ve never skipped a single year,” Suho answers. With attention-grabbing ruby red hair, the leader holds himself with a quiet confidence and classic charm. “Even though it wasn’t a formal promise we made, it’s been a tradition to release an album each year, even if that means we have to make the promotion period short. Everyone’s been having hectic schedules, but it’s very meaningful for us to spend the end of the year with the fans.”

Heavily rooted in the group’s constant state of reinvention, the concept for Obsession sees EXO face off against their evil, superpowered doppelgängers X-EXO. Superpowers have been a common thread that has tied EXO’s music video multiverse together since their debut single “MAMA”, with each member utilizing their own signature power ranging from Chanyeol’s pyrokinesis to Kai’s teleportation abilities. When X-EXO arrives ready to destroy the planet in the group’s music video, the result is an explosive, superhero-style brawl between good and evil that leaves viewers enthralled.

In the lead up to shooting the music video, EXO emphasized the importance for both of their characters to have their own distinct, contrasting identity. While EXO dressed in weathered, straight laced black cargo pants and berets as if ready to march into war, X-EXO celebrated their eccentricities with jewel toned hair colors, white eyelashes, and uniquely cut clothing that bridged the gap between menacing and seductive.

“Our main focus was to draw a big contrast. All of us thoroughly discussed with our makeup and hair artists to bring that contrast, almost to the point of exaggeration,” Chanyeol says. He’s as jovial as his bubblegum pink hair and is openly expressive with his emotions, which light up his face whenever he speaks. “We tried to make X-EXO look very dark. EXO, on the other hand, was the good, righteous EXO like what fans have seen in the past. They came easy and naturally.”

“Like Chanyeol said, we discussed thoroughly with the makeup, hair, and costume team so that you could see the contrast right away,” Kai continues. Conscientious and thoughtful, Kai surveys the older members before answering so he doesn’t interrupt them. “Our attitudes also play a key role because they add to the strong visuals. Since it was a video, we all tried to make our performances convincing. X-EXO showed something that EXO had never done before — something mischievous.”

Amongst the members, X-EXO wins in a landslide over the team they liked the most.

“X-EXO had a stronger visual impact,” Baekhyun explains. “Personally, I wish that we made the plain EXO look cooler. That would have been right, because EXO was supposed to be the revolutionary army against X-EXO! I feel like they were visually weaker; I wish we had expressed more passion as EXO.”

With every album, EXO releases a bold title track that shatters the current K-pop paradigm, like the sinister “Obsession” or the reggae, EDM hybrid track “Ko Ko Bop." The remainder of the tracks on the albums typically allow EXO to explore new genres and make them their own, which range from hip-hop dance tracks like “Ya Ya Ya”, which samples ‘90s vocal trio SWV’s “You’re The One”, to heart-fluttering ballads like “Butterfly Effect."

Kai’s favorite track on the album is “Jekyll," which he loved from the first listen. “It starts off like a sweet R&B song, but the chorus suddenly changes into this shouting, which I think is in line with the duality expressed in the album,” he says. “I immediately thought that we could show a very different type of performance for this song — I can’t wait to perform this on stage and show the fans.”

“I like “Obsession” the most,” Sehun answers. Although under the weather, he makes a point to attend the interview to support his older members. “It was good enough to make the title track, so it’s my favorite.”

Chen picks the dreamy “Groove” because: “I love all the other tracks, but this song made me wonder if I could pull it off when I first heard it because it was such a different genre. It was challenging while recording it, but I love the result. It’s one of the songs that I feel most attached to.”

Chanyeol also fell in love with “Jekyll”, but is also partial to the similarly haunting reggae track “Trouble”. “The song came out to be great; I think we pulled it off pretty well,” he says happily.

“‘Day After Day’ for me,” says Baekhyun. While the other members have been discussing their favorites, he’s been silently exchanging silver rings with Suho. He nicks Chanyeol’s wire-rimmed glasses and puts them up his face backwards, reveling in the laughter he receives. “The song reminds me of a certain type of weather. I like songs that remind me of something — a song with a theme or story. ‘Day After Day’ does that for me.”

“I was going to say the same,” Suho says, shocked. A mischievous grin spreads on Baekhyun’s face. “Stop it,” he teases.

The room is whipped into uncontrollable laughter as Suho jokingly grasps the collar of Baekhyun’s sweater, as if he’s about to wrestle the other singer mid-interview. Suho’s faux fury only makes Baekhyun’s smile grow wider and he lets out a loud ahh, ahh! before Suho lets go.

“It reminds me of rain!” Suho complains, but a smile is working its way across his face too. “That’s because the lyrics have the word ‘rain’ in them,” Baekhyun dryly quips. “Choose something other than ‘Day After Day’,” Kai urges in between laughs. “Day after tomorrow? Two days after tomorrow?” The laughter doubles.

In the end, Suho chooses “Baby You Are." “The song uses band sounds and I really like the sound of the guitar,” he answers, before replying in English: “The intro is the best!” He flashes an assured smile and gives a thumbs up to further prove his point.

“The intro is your part!” Chen lovingly chides. “It’s because you sang that part!”

The most emotional track on the album is “Butterfly Effect," which is a direct callback to the group’s 2013 song “Don’t Go” (which literally translates to “Butterfly Girl”). The song, according to Chanyeol, was selected as a way to thank fans for their unwavering support over the last seven years.

“After viewing the different universes portrayed in EXO’s albums, you’ll be able to see a connection between Obsession and our previous records,” Chanyeol says. “In songs like ‘Don't Go’ and ‘Butterfly Effect’, there are butterflies that resist the Red Force [the canonical evil force mentioned throughout EXO’s music videos] and protect EXO. To us, these butterflies represent our fans, who are always beside us no matter what. They are why and how we exist.”

He continues: “Because of our fans — through their love and support — we are able to overcome any difficulties [we face as a group]. This is probably one of the biggest messages that we wanted to share on this album.”

Prior to their debut seven years ago, the members’ goals for the future were heavily built upon their dream to debut together. Chanyeol recalls that, before they were ever officially called EXO, each member was bonded together by a “common goal to create good music as one” as well as their frequent discussions while training to “work together for a very long time."

“At the time of our debut, we had achieved nothing and everything was up in the air. We talked about working together for a long time, hitting number one on the chart, winning awards, and more,” Kai replies, tone contemplative as he leans closer. “Personally speaking, when we eventually achieved all those goals, I realized, yes, winning awards and being successful is important, but more importantly being able to perform happily as an artist is what mattered the most. There were times when I obsessed over our sales record, stages, and something tangible, but now my goal and dream is to be a happy artist, being satisfied with what I do.”

At the end of Kai’s answer, EXO breaks out into a hearty round of applause. Kai bashfully shines on the encouragement with a soft grin. “He’s like a supervisor,” Baekhyun teases. Chanyeol concurs, “He’s like a CEO!”

Looking ahead, EXO’s goals for the upcoming year aren’t the grandiose, tangible achievements of their youth, but rather to keep the promise they made to each other all those years ago: to make music together for a really long time. “I’m wishing all the members’ health and happiness [in the future],” Chen says.

“Being able to perform for a long time as one, being able to meet the fans for a long time…” Kai reflects. “That’s the most important.”

source: emlyn travis @ Teen Vogue

#exo #suho #baekhyun #chen #chanyeol #kai #sehun #t: info

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prolestariwrites · 4 years

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The Wish [2]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Vergil, Nero, V, Lady, Eva, Sparda, OC Rating: General Tags: Family, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Typical demon hunting violence

Summary: A demon gives Dante the chance to have his greatest desires made real. When he finds himself in a seemingly idyllic life, all seems well until it starts to unravel. Will he sacrifice himself to save the family he lost, or will he choose to give them up for the truth?

Now Posted: Chapter 2, in which Dante hunts for clues and to who he is, and where he is, when he reconnects with a long-lost relative.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Chapter 2: Pictures and Clues

Dante spends a full ten minutes just sitting on the bed in his underwear. He reviews every step of the night before: Nero texting him about this job, catching the train to Fortuna, the two of them driving out to the warehouse with the radio blaring and picking up burgers on the way. Then the demons, dozens upon dozens, that weren't difficult but packed to the brim so that when they pried open the front door of the building they swarmed like roaches.

He had found the queen at the top, but there it gets fuzzy. It talked to him, but about what? Something about his family? Every time he gets to that part, his headache turns a little sharper, so Dante decides to give thinking a rest so he can figure out where the hell he actually is.

His jeans are slung over a chair so he grabs them and fishes inside for his cell phone. It's different from the one he normally has, and he frowns as he turns it on and finds a passcode. He tries the first thing he can think of—1, 2, 3, 4, easy enough—and luckily it works. Quickly he dials Nero's number, but isn't really surprised when the automated voice comes on the line to tell him that number is not in service.

Dante scratches the back of his head. He's here, in a strange house with a woman who knows his parents, and Nero is… somewhere. Got it.

But then he wonders if something might have happened to Nero. What if he needs his help? Then this has got to be a dream, right? So how does he wake up?

Once he pulls his jeans on and finds a t-shirt in the other set of drawers, he tries the door. Cautiously he opens it, but the house is quiet, so Dante slips into the hallway. There are two other bedrooms and a bathroom which look suspiciously normal. Even the closets are tidy, and Dante snorts when he gets to the linen closet. This must be a dream. Who owns so many towels?

Next, he heads downstairs to the main floor. At the bottom is a living room, complete with a comfortable-looking sofa and a big-screen television. Dante stands in front of it and admires it for a minute before grabbing the remote control. He lets out a low whistle when he sees the picture quality, thinking if this is a dream, he's got good taste.

That demon's got good taste.

Dante shakes his head and continues his search. A small dining room is to the left, and to the right is a hallway leading to another half bath. The kitchen is nice too, the dishwasher humming and a pot of coffee warm on the counter. Even the refrigerator is stocked, and Dante helps himself to a piece of chicken he finds in a plastic container, figuring he can eat whatever he wants in a dream.

Out the kitchen window he can see a little backyard, and Dante sighs as he leans against the counter and chews thoughtfully. It's a nice enough house, something any ordinary couple might buy for a starter home. He glances down at the gold band on his finger, holding it up so he can examine it closely. Setting the chicken down, he wipes his hand on his jeans and slips it off, turning it over until he notices an inscription on the inside: Dante and Lir Forever.

He pictures the cute blonde who was half his size but acted more than familiar. "Lir," he murmurs out loud, slipping the ring back on as he looks around.

Wandering back through the house, Dante notices some pictures sitting on the windowsill in the living room. He walks over and picks up the first one, his face going a bit pale. He is in a suit, and that woman‚ Lir, is in a wedding dress. They are posed and smiling in front of a cake, holding a knife together as if to cut it. He turns it over but there's nothing out of the ordinary about it, and Dante snorts as he sets it back down again.

The next few are of them as well: a selfie in winter gear, posing in what Patty would call "Sunday attire", in bathing suits at a beach, arms around each other and grinning at the camera. He's gotta admit, they look pretty good together. His brain did a good job dreaming this girl up.

The next photo, however, feels like a punch to the gut. It's a double-sided frame on a hinge, and on one side it's him and a man who looks exactly like him, only his hair is slicked back instead of hanging in fringes around his face. In fact, he looks exactly like what Vergil would look like. If he was still alive.

Dante's hand shakes as he examines the picture. It is Vergil, it's got to be, the same slightly slimmer build and the half-inch in height that made it possible to tell them apart. The only thing that shocks him more than seeing this picture is the one opposite. Across from Dante and Vergil posed with small smiles is Vergil and Lady, her hand in his arm as they smile into the camera.

Gripping the picture frame, he grabs the next one and braces himself. Staring up at him are two people he somewhat recognizes, as if he had seen them in a dream. They are older, in their 60s maybe, the man grinning with his arm around his wife, sitting together on a couch. He has longish silver hair, not unlike Dante's, a pair of glasses hanging around his neck. Her blonde hair is swept up into a bun, streaks of white only making her more dignified, her hand on the man's knee. Dante brings the picture up so close his nose nearly touches it, and that's when he realizes that the woman is a dead ringer for Trish, if Trish was about 40 years older.

His cell phone rings in his pocket, startling him out of his examination. Dante fumbles for the phone but freezes when he sees the name Vergil appear on the screen. It takes another three rings before he gets the courage to answer. "Yeah?"

"Did I wake you or something?"

Dante staggers to the couch and sits heavily, still clutching the two pictures in his hands. He knew what to expect, but nothing could have prepared him for hearing that voice on the other end. "Dante," it says again. "You there?"

"Y-yeah," he stammers, his voice cracking around a dry throat. "Verge, is that you?"

"Of course it's me. I want to talk about tonight." Dante's eyes close as he listens, trying not to freak out. Even Vergil's exasperation for him is the same. "I'm paying for dinner, and I don't want to hear anything about it. We need to settle this now so we don't argue at the restaurant."

"What uh…" Dante's mind is spinning and he shakes his head to clear it. "Yeah uh, Lir mentioned something about a dinner. Do you know Lir?"

"I'm surprised you forgot, Dante. Usually you remember these sorts of things." Dante leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tries to breathe. "This dinner tonight is important and I don't want a scene. Just let me pay for it, and afterward we can agree on how you'll pay me back your half. Agreed?"

Dante swallows thickly. "Yeah, yeah that's fine. Vergil. Vergil."

Even saying his name gives Dante the shivers. "Well I expected more of an argument. Glad you're going to listen to reason. Don't be late."

"Wait, Verge?" Dante looks down at the picture in his hand, something hot and tight tickling his throat. "Can I see you? Can you come over?"

"What for? I'll be seeing you tonight, and I have the kids. Are you sick? Where's Lir?"

"She covered a shift," Dante replies. "Please, Verge, I got… I need to say some things."

"Well say it tonight. I'm not driving all the way over there when I'll see you in a few hours."

Dante chuckles, swallowing tears as his breath escapes in a laugh. "Okay. Yeah. Hey uh, is mom and dad… they really gonna be there? At this dinner thing?"

There is a long pause, and then Vergil huffs, "Don't be stupid," before hanging up on him.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The rest of the afternoon Dante spends figuring out his life. He finds photo albums in the closet, handmade scrapbooks that Lir definitely made. They chronicle some of their vacations, and he smiles as he turns the pages to see them camping, at the beach, at Disneyworld. The wedding one makes him wince a bit, the smiling faces of his brother and his parents making something in his chest tight. The date on the preserved invitation tells him they've been married about ten years, which is pretty funny since the longest relationship he's ever had was about ten minutes after getting dressed.

He looks weird in a suit, and Dante snorts to think what Lady or Trish would say if they saw him. But Lady is there, on Vergil's arm, and that is a mystery he can't wait to solve. And Trish kind of is there, in the form of his mother, looking slightly older but just as lovely.

There is a drawer in the desk in the office that has some bills, and he boots up the computer to take a look through. The email is pretty normal, receipts from online orders and utility companies, messages from the family and people he doesn't know. There is a link to a bank account and Dante's brows lift to see the balance. Compared to his normal finances, the amount seems like a small fortune.

There must be something a god of fortune can give you.

A cat appears suddenly, jumping onto the desk and stalking across the keyboard to plop across his arms. Dante pulls back in reaction, which earns him a very annoyed look from the cat. "Hey uh, there," he says, tentatively reaching out to pat its head.

The cat snaps at him, and Dante rolls his eyes. He never got along with animals as a rule. "So you want to sit on my computer as I'm using it but I can't pet you, hm?" he grumbles. The cat yawns in response, so he decides to go find lunch instead.

There's not much more to discover after having a sandwich. His life seems completely ordinary, although he doesn't know exactly what he does or even if he's still in Red Grave City. The other question still to solve is Nero. If Vergil is alive and married to Lady, then does Nero even exist? His face goes a bit hot to think of the kid not being around. But Vergil had mentioned kids on the phone… is it possible?

He is dozing on the couch and watching television when the door bursts open. Dante is on his feet and reaching for his guns that aren't there when Lir hurries in, her arms filled with dry cleaning as she comes like a whirlwind into the living room. "I'm so sorry I'm late! I can't believe I got stuck there! I told them I couldn't stay, and now look at the time!"

She pushes the clothes and plastic into his arms and pulls her cell phone from her purse. "Did you take a shower yet? You still need to shave. You are going to shave, right? You can't look like a sasquatch at the party."

Lir looks up at him expectantly, and Dante shrugs. "Yeah, I guess?"

"Good. Wait. Are you okay?" She steps up and presses a hand to his forehead. "You were sick this morning. How do you feel?"

"I'm okay," he assures her. "I had a weird dream."

She smiles, and his heart actually skips a beat. His brain is good. "Good. Did you feed Claudius?"

"Claudius?"

"Yes. The cat." Lir laughs and pats his chest. "Was he a problem today?"

Dante thinks about the cat that interrupted his computer search. "No. And no, I didn't feed him."

"Okay. I'll take care of it. You go shower and get dressed. And don't take too much off, you know I prefer a bit of facial hair." She takes the dry cleaning from his arms and pulls one of the hangers to hand back to him. "Here's your shirt and pants. I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Yeah." He watches her step around him, draping the rest of the clothes over the back of a chair before disappearing into the kitchen. If this is a dream, it's more vivid than any he can remember.

The shower feels good, even if Dante is amazed by how many things are on the shelves. He's never lived with a girl but is there anything needed really other than a bar of soap? In one of the drawers under the sink he finds a shaving kit and goes to work before the shower fixing up his face just like she asked. It occurs to Dante that this is his dream and he can do whatever he wants, but something makes him not want to disappoint her, so he makes sure to leave a nicely trimmed beard while removing the rest from his cheeks and neck. Once the shower is hot, he goes for the least-strange sounding soaps before finishing up and drying off with a nice fluffy towel.

He peeks into the bedroom and finds it empty. Quickly he hurries over to the bureau and opens the top drawer, rummaging around for some underwear. Dante just has his first foot in when Lir enters, and he yelps when he sees her. "Hey! I'm getting dressed!" he protests.

She freezes and looks at him in surprise as he pulls his boxer briefs up. "Yeah. I see that." With a laugh she moves to the closet and hangs the rest of the dry cleaning up before disappearing into the bathroom.

Dante frowns before he remembers, they are married. He rubs his hand on his face with an internal groan. He is going to have to get used to this as long as this dream or whatever lasted, including being half-dressed in front of her. While she's gone he quickly pulls on the dark slacks and gray dress shirt before heading to the closet. He finds some black dress shoes he figures Lir will like, and once he's all ready he stands and looks at himself in the full-length mirror that is propped against the wall.

Dante barely recognizes himself without the low-slung denim and some red leather, but he figures he still looks pretty good. As long as he looks better than Vergil, he'll be satisfied, chuckling to himself at the thought. But then he sobers a bit as his stomach turns, wondering what it will be like to see Vergil again. The last time was on Mallet Island, and before that, watching him fall off the Temen-ni-gru. Did that even happen in this place? There had to be a Temen-ni-gru if Lady was here, right? He shakes his head, confused as ever. He needs to figure this out, and fast.

Lir steps past him, again dressed in only a bra and panties, and Dante quickly looks the other way as she pulls her dress over her head. "Will you get this zipper?" she asks as she steps into a pair of heels.

Clearing his throat, he steps up behind her and carefully pulls the zipper up as she smooths her hands down the front. It's a sleeveless blue little number that fits her just right, and when she turns around to fix his collar he admires how nice she looks. "Okay," Lir smiles. "You ready to go? Dinner with the family is always interesting."

Dinner with the family. "Yeah, I'm ready," he grins. Maybe the mystery-solving can wait until after seeing them again at least. Couldn't hurt, right?

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc dante #dmc vergil #dmc oc #dante sparda #vergil sparda #fan fiction #the wish #myfic

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dailyexo · 4 years

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[INTERVIEW] EXO - 191220 Teen Vogue: K-Pop Stars EXO Reflect on How Far They've Come — and How Far They'll Go

"As Chen tells Teen Vogue, this year has been “a time for EXO to reflect” on their past, present, and future.

As Chen tells Teen Vogue, this year has been “a time for EXO to reflect” on their past, present, and future as they reunite to promote their sixth album Obsession.

Amongst the members, X-EXO wins in a landslide over the team they liked the most.

“I was going to say the same,” Suho says, shocked. A mischievous grin spreads on Baekhyun’s face. “Stop it,” he teases.

“The intro is your part!” Chen lovingly chides. “It’s because you sang that part!”

“Being able to perform for a long time as one, being able to meet the fans for a long time…” Kai reflects. “That’s the most important.”"

Photo links: 1, 2, 3

Credit: Teen Vogue.

#EXO #EXO K #EXO M #191220 #exo im #exo k im #exo m im #p:news #t:news #fs:teen vogue #comeback:Obsession

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almondharry · 5 years

Text

the pages of summer

Prompt: Romance 101: Y/N is participating in a study abroad program for school when she meets Harry; who is in the same place writing his new album.

This is prompt 12 of @always-jackedup Sarah’s 25 days of summer challenge. This is my first time writing a y/n blurb! Here is what I came up with! Do give a click to the other prompts done by the talented authors who are apart of this!

word count: 9k

————

Studying abroad for a semester was Alice’s idea. She was the loud-mouthed girl who had taken the empty seat beside you in your freshman Intro to Asian Civilization course. You’ve been super glued at the hip for as long as you can remember; she’s the first number on your speed dial, the only one who can make sense of your nervous ramblings. The building blocks of this friendship stacked up one after the other, from stressing over impending midterms to complaining about shitty boys, and of course, empty tequila bottles.

She was the type of girl who thought going to the movies alone was embarrassing, so it wasn’t a surprise when she claimed she needed someone to go halfway across the world with.

“Think of it as a grad trip!” she exclaims with arms thrown in the air, her eyebrows almost touching her hairline.

The carpet on the floor is itchy against your bare thighs from where you’re sitting on her bedroom floor, legs pretzled. Your finger twirls the loose fray of your denim shorts.

Alice has a huge rectangular cardboard display in front of her, the type students used for science fairs, but without the flaps on the right and left. It’s no longer the plain white that you remember it being when she bought it from the dollar store years ago. Instead, it’s full of cut outs in all different shapes and sizes; you particularly like the tiny airplane stickers dotted at the right corner. Your eyes catch a magazine article clipping—Travel on a budget now!—and a picture of some exotic beach; the highly saturated water meant she pulled it off of google images. This moodboard has been a work in process for as long as can be.

Alice started it as a motivator to get her through the times where she desperately wanted to drop out of university. She’d always said that she would reward herself with a trip at the end of her studies.

“We’re not graduating for another semester, Alice.”

“So what? Let’s call it a pre-grad trip! We owe it to ourselves!” She gathers her pin straight hair an inch below the crown of her head before fastening the shiny black strands with an elastic from around her wrist. “You’ll be off to law school and I’ll be starting a full-time job. We can’t really push it to after graduation now, can we?”

A gust of air leaves your lungs in a sigh. She’s right, there is no denying it. Who knows what flexibility your schedules will allow if you delay this into the future. You recall back to the relentless hours you spent in preparations of your LSAT exams. You had deprived yourself from a social life for months, studying for the most important test in your life did take off some years of your life span. Now that your acceptance letter came in you think you can treat yourself to jetting away for a semester with a great friend. You’ve earned it, you tell yourself.

Alice is looking at you with expecting eyes. The anticipation that gleams in her eyes is childlike, the look is enormously similar to a little kid about to open a christmas present they’ve been yearning for.

As a smile slowly crawls on your lips, her eyes double with realization. You agree. The rate at which she jumps up and throws her lanky arms around your neck suggests someone lit a round of firecrackers under her. Her high pitched squeals leave your left ear ringing.

You roll your eyes and laugh into her bony shoulder. “Alright, alright! Let’s bring the globe.”

***

The reason why Alice and you get along so well is because you agree on the same things. You’ve decided to stray away from common study abroad places such as London, New York, Toronto, for your semester. You want to experience life somewhere completely different. Also the fact that those placements have already been snatched up by other students narrows down your pool of options by quite a bit.

You both settle on the city of Tariz. It is a secluded area with a decent population, not large enough to be a well known staple city, but enough to have a bustling sense of community. Their language is a mix of Turkish and broken English.

The brochure you are given and the exploratory google searches here and there only feed your excitement.

Most of the architecture of the city is ancient. High arches and intricate stones decorate multiple streets. The streets are more like tight valleys, the rusted bricked walls of neighboring houses and stores transport you into another time period completely. There is even a dated sculpture planted in the middle of the town circle, it’s details are so well preserved that it seems life like—you’re dying to feel the smooth stone under your fingertips.

Your laptop displays all the potential flight times and costs. With a tap of your finger, the plane ticket is confirmed.

***

The first words you learn are Kirree and Poffasa.

Kirree is local drink of Tariz. It’s a bitter coffee with a splash of milk and two drops of essence that smells like roses. You prefer to sweeten it with honey, rather than sugar. Poffasa translates to please. The combination of these words are used every time you step into the corner shop located on Cardin Street.

The bell clanks above you and signals the worker behind the counter of your arrival. A welcoming grin pulls at his lips, you’ve come in enough times for him to remember your name. He knows to talk to you with more hand gestures and use short words.

You found this family owned cafe on your second week here. It’s situated beside a book store and a florist. There is an open patio outside which you take advantage of every once in a while when the humidity won’t poof up your hair. When the wind blows your way, it carries a strong scent of light florals—it’s quite poetic. It’s also only a ten minute walk from the university you are taking your courses at and two streets down from the apartment Alice and you rent.

“Kirree?” The man behind the counter—Amjad—inquires with a raised brow.

“Poffasa.” You smile.

He taps your order into the system and you drop some copper coins in the cup of his palm. Amjad moves with ease behind the counter, his fancy coffee machine makes a churning sound as he holds the rim of a cup to its long narrow mouth. He stirs milk and essence in a way you��ve seen him do countless times. Although you miss seeing a Starbucks within every ten steps, you’re grateful that you are able to experience a sip of someone else’s culture.

Amjad passes you the drink, it’s a simple latte cup with a bleach white plate at the bottom. Another smile is exchanged between you two, this is usually where the conversation stops.

“Tib tu,” you say. It’s a casual thanks people say to one another, you had picked it up recently.

Amjad’s eyes brighten up instantly. His smile becomes impossibly wide in a way that tells you he’s proud of your slowly developing ability to communicate. You can’t hold a fluent conversation just yet, but enough to keep a casual one going.

“Tib tu!” He laughs and wipes the counter with the rag previously rested on his shoulder.

You are engrossed into your course review settled at a circular table. Your laptop informs you of the requirements for the essay due next week, you crack open the novel and highlight potential quotes to help support your thesis. It is a simple Wednesday afternoon, business is slow, which is ideal because it doesn’t interrupt your concentration.

Hours pass by and you bob your head every once in a while to the soft radio filling the small shop. Neon yellow ink bleeds over a particular line you find interesting when the bells above the door chime and bring in a gust of humid air. Your upper lip curls in disdain momentarily because of the thick sticky air cuts through the coolness of the AC. You lick the pad of your index finger and flip the page.

The steady thump of boots against the floor gets louder as the person nears the counter to your right. Amjad had ducked in the back a moment ago so the customer waits patiently. This would’ve been fine, but then they begin to whistle a tune under their breath. Your focus on the essay in front of you shatters like delicate china.

You look up to see the artist behind this pesky noise. From your position, you are granted the view of his side profile and your eyes widen gradually. Sharp jaw, wavy hair, high cheekbones. He is cute. Something about him screams so familiar; maybe it’s because he has the same build as your ex or maybe the tattoo on his arm is close to the one Alice has. Your brain tells you you’ve seen him before, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

Amjad comes out from behind swinging doors and your head drops back to your books.

“Zerki! Tim tu ga?”

“I’m sorry—English only.” It’s a British accent, the words are timid and he blends the first two together.

“Ah!” Amjad nods quickly with a wide, understanding smile. You can tell he is excited because this is a new customer. Although this cafe isn’t a tourist location, the university located near it brings in countless study abroad students. You assume he is another student somewhere from Britain.

Amjad swipes a plastic menu from behind him before placing it in front of the customer. You remember him showing you this on your first day here. The descriptions didn’t help much because it wasn’t in English, but the corresponding pictures did clarify some fog.

He puckers his lips and the deep frown between his brows is enough to say he hasn’t been in this city for more than a couple days. His index finger taps a picture and he looks up expectantly to Amjad. You pick up bits and pieces of the conversation. He is trying to ask a question about an ingredient, but Amjad thinks that’s what he wants to order. There is a lot of hand gestures and frowns and crumpled brows as they try to understand each other. This goes on for about five minutes until Amjad looks around the shop with a sigh. His eyes land on you and he instantly brightens up.

He calls your name and your head shoots up. “English? You English speak?”

You remember giving this information when telling Amjad what you’re studying in uni. Your eyes bounce back from the customer to Amjad before slowly nodding. He wants you to briefly translate something for him. The legs of your chair screech against the tiles as you get up and walk towards them.

When you come to stand beside the customer, you can smell the shampoo he uses. The citrus wafts into the air and when mixed with the smell of fresh brew, it is an odd yet pleasant scent. “What are you trying to ask?”

“I just want him to take the sweetener and milk out of this.” He points to the image on the laminated menu.

You raise a brow. “You sure? The Kirree is going to be really bitter, like worse than black coffee.”

“Yeah, that’s what I like.”

You give him an odd look but turn towards Amjad. “Kirree, na sarr, na dou.”

“Ah!” Amjad nods right away, plucking a cup from a tall stack before grabbing a marker. “Nama?”

You meet the green of his eyes. “He’s asking for your name.”

There is a pregnant pause in the air. It lasts long enough for you to second guess if you said your sentence loud enough. Then you see the beginnings of a smile ghosting his lips, the corners are upturned, but barely. Like he knows something you don’t.

He brings his index finger to rub horizontally below his nose. “It’s um, Harry.”

The scratchy sound of Amjad scribbling letters on the cup fills the silence. He turns his back to prepare the drink at the counter.

“Thank you,” Harry says.

“‘Course, it’s no problem.”

You occupy your previous spot and get lost in developing the arguments for your body paragraphs.

***

It’s childish. A part of you prides yourself on the fact that you are a regular at the cafe. You come here so often that you can find your way even if you were left blindfolded on the street. Amjad and you have gotten to know each other so well that he doesn’t have to ask for your order anymore. Hell, the table that you religiously sit at probably has your name neatly engraved on it. It is your quiet cafe.

Then you see Harry. You don’t think much of it when you see him after a week. Then he comes once again, four days later. Then again, two days after that. The days between his visits get shorter and shorter to the point that he is here everyday. You feel the crown that you’ve titled yourself with slowly slipping off your head.

He doesn’t make much noise because he reads—a lot. His designated place is at the table on the other end of the shop, you catch yourself stealing glimpses of him. Sure, it’s attractive that he’s a cute boy who likes to read, but what really gets you are his expressions when he finds a specific line or passage interesting. You’ve seen his brows draw in when he is upset. You know the two deep dimples that poke his cheeks when he finds something witty. You’ve witnessed his lips part slowly when he reads something poetic.

Right now, his chest vibrates and the corner of his eyes crinkle as he shakes his head. He is wearing a plain black sweater. A string of planets coloured in pink, blue and yellow, start from one shoulder and end at the other. You want to drag your finger over the knit material.

It’s slow. The swirls begin in the pit of your stomach and gradually increase in size. The last time you felt something develop this quickly was when you were in grade school, toes hidden in hot playground sand and eyes fixed on to your crush. You could’ve sworn he had an ever present halo hovering above his head. You still have one thing in common with your eight year old self, you both admire from afar and never build up the courage to go after what you really want. One sided pining and yearning is all you know.

Your attention gravitates towards the window when you become numb to the words on your laptop screen. You allow yourself these little breaks to lessen the stabbing strain your eyes develop. You lean back into the chair, from this angle you have a perfect view of the fountain outside. A butterfly flaps its wings insistently to keep its little body afloat, it circles the pointy tip of the structure. The water sparkles under the setting sun, it looks like a picture cut and pasted out of paradise. You wonder what it would be like to thread your fingers in its ripples rather than gripping a pen to your notepad.

You entertain this daydream for a moment longer. Then something pricks your skin, like a million tiny thumbtacks. The feeling of being observed passes over you; it’s silent and formless. You tear your eyes away from the scenery and your line of sight reflexively falls on soft green eyes. They are already focused on you, imploring and bated. A jet of warmth shoots down your spine.

You bite the inside of your cheek and deliberate looking away, but there is something magnetic about holding his stare. It’s playful, yet holds a pulling weight. He isn’t giving up either, hasn’t made one effort to try to blink away. It’s like you both hold one end of a rope, challenging tugs are given from each side to see who will break first.

A smile spreads across his lips, it’s slow like dripping molasses, and suddenly the butterfly isn’t circling the peak of the fountain. It has made a home in the pit of your stomach, thrashing wildly against your ribcage.

The bells clank above the door as a new customer walks in, and like a delicate twig under a heavy stomp, the moment is broken. It’s a middle aged woman with a toddler balanced on her hip. You blink away quickly and pretend to type a sentence on your keyboard. An Indian summer heat bites at your cheeks.

The sigh you release is deep rooted in your belly. The moment you shared was like clutching a fistful of sand. The grains quickly slipped from your hold and before you know it, you’re left with dry, empty hands.

***

A bead of sweat drips down the nape of your neck and trickles down your spine. Your cheeks are splotched red and baby hairs are matted to your forehead. The humidity levels are sky high today. The short walk from your lecture to the cafe is equivalent to a small marathon. You take a right at the intersection and the figure walking in front of you looks disgustingly familiar.

It’s Harry, and he is also walking towards the cafe.

He wears a simple black cotton t-shirt which shouldn’t make your heart skip like a stone over water, but it does. His shoulders slope in humble curves, but hold strength. The material moves with each step he takes and clings to his shoulder blades. Your mouth goes dry from the way his muscles flex under the fabric.

Your gaze flickers down to his left arm, it’s covered in detailed ink whereas his right arm is more sparse. A particular floral tattoo grabs your attention, the petals of the expansive rose begging to be traced. In his palm he clutches a worn leather journal, a long tie of the same material wraps around it multiple times. You’ve seen him spend hours with hunched shoulders and a pen pressed tightly to the papers, you wonder what secrets it wraps. In the same hand, he holds some sort of novel, you see a dog ear folded near the first few pages. You don’t have the opportunity to analyze a title because he is pulling the heavy glass door of the cafe.

The door doesn’t open fully, it stops awkwardly at a forty-five degree angle when he catches your image reflected in the glass. You don’t miss the slight jump of his brows when he first notices that it’s you.

He shuffles to the side with his fingers still wrapped around the handle of the door. With his movements, the door opens wider. The crisp, conditioned air flutters from inside the cafe and goosebumps pimple the skin on your forearms. It takes you a second to realize he is holding the door open expectantly.

“You first.” He cocks his head towards the shop.

You press your lips together to hide a budding smile.

It’s just a door, you tell yourself. People hold open doors for others all the time. It’s a common courtesy. Nothing extravagant. As you step in the space, you can’t help the warmth that slowly spreads in your chest—like a drop of watercolour staining a white sheet.

You don’t have time to overthink this simple act of kindness, you take in the shop you notice it is brimming with people. Kids and teens sip colourful refreshers and lemonades and almost everyone has an iced drink to combat the heatwave passing over today. As you notice most of the tables are being taken up, your eyes immediately pull towards your designated table. A relieved breath escapes your lips as you see that it is the only vacant spot. Your feet rush to it in a hurry and you drop your bag on the chair to stake claim.

You make eye contact with Amjad and gives you a nod, as if saying he’s already in the middle of preparing your drink. Harry is the second person in line and browses the pastry options while scratching the scruff on his face. You take this time to get situated by pulling out your agenda, laptop, and a textbook.

You’ve opened up your last draft and skim over some lines to jog your memory of what you left behind. You had grown accustomed to the quietness of the cafe, but today, the lack of it makes it harder for you to focus on the words in front of you.

The wave of light citrus in the air causes you to halt your typing. Your eyes catch the plaid printed trousers that taper in at the ankles from the corner of your eye. You lift your line of sight to see a simple blank shirt tucked in at the waist. Higher are the ringed fingers which grip two plates that are topped with Kirree cups. Finally, you look up to see it’s Harry, a journal and novel is tucked under his armpit.

His eyes are a muted green, framed with thick lashes. Reading glasses are perched on his head, they keep the few disobedient curls from sweeping over his forehead. You know he gets annoyed by them when he reads or writes, especially when they poke his left eye.

He releases his bottom lip from behind his teeth. “Amjad sent this over.” The Kirree in his right arm raises towards you.

You quickly reach forward to take hold of the plate, making extra sure you don’t let the steaming liquid trickle over the rim, or even worse, accidentally brush your skin against his. You’re positive the latter would leave a deeper burn. “Great, thank you. You didn’t have to bring it over.”

“S’alright. I was headed here anyway.”

You tilt your head to one side, silently urging him to continue.

He scratches the back of his neck, the curls at the nape of his neck shift. Harry’s neck cranes as he looks around the shop. His jawline sharpens when he looks completely to the left. Today everything is bustling. A kid pulls the hem of his mother’s dress with a deep frown to get her attention. Two little girls with matching pigtails fight over a specific coloured crayon two tables down from you. A group of students fill up the remaining tables; from their flashcards, it seems as though they’re conducting a study group. The whole town has chosen this cafe to seek refuge from the brutal heat.

The time he takes to analyze the buzzing environment, you press the rim of your drink to your lips.

“The only other empty chair is this one.” His eyes flicker to the simple white plastic from across you. The tips of his ears are impossibly red. “Mind if I sit?”

You almost choke on your sip, but you contain the liquid from spluttering out by downing the scalding gulp. “‘Course.” The urgency behind your immediate reply makes your face hot.

He lifts the chair slightly before pulling it from the table. The small courteous act of avoiding the ugly screech against the floor sends your heart flooring.

You think your heart would tire eventually, but the annoying thing continues to jackrabbit even after a solid ten minutes of him being seated across from you. Your palms are sweaty and your brain is firing up with a thousand different thoughts every second. How long had you wanted him to sit across from you? How long had you wanted him to exchange more than a smile with you? You’re getting words from him. He’s actually talking to you. It’s all a bit overwhelming.

Hours later, you’re fed up with the mundane reading. You had set a goal to read 800 pages, but you can make it barely through the 200 mark. It stares back at you from your laptop screen, challenging and daunting. A deep defeated sigh leaves your lips and your shoulders sink.

“What are you reading?” He asks, his eyes trained on the novel in front of him.

“It’s a reading for my modernism course. I rather individually pluck my eyelashes out.” He purses his lips to suppress a smile; A candlelight flame dances in your chest. You squint at the cover shielded behind his fingers, but you can’t quite make out the picture or title. “You?”

“Bukowski.”

Your lips part slowly. “Oh.” His eyes follow your movements when you raise a hand to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “Sorry.”

“No, no it’s okay—it’s hard to see because the cover is well loved.”

“No, I meant I’m sorry that you have shit taste in books.”

His face is blank for a minute, not giving away anything as he mulls your words over in his head. Then the corners of his lips poke up. When you see the dimple is more prominent on his left cheek, you almost let a strangled, breathless Fuck slip out. “You think so?”

You scrunch your nose and nod.

“You should try something by Murakami.” Multiple titles run through your mind and you purse your lips as you mentally browse which one to offer. Something about recommending a book, a song, or another piece of art, can be so vulnerable because people only like things they can see themselves reflected in. You pray to whatever higher powers that exist that Harry won’t think twice about it. “Have you read Norwegian Wood?”

He wets his lips with his tongue. They become a vivid pink, like fresh peonies or a sickening sweet birthday cake frosting. “I’m afraid I have not.”

Your fingers dip into the slit of your bag and before you can register what is happening. Your copy of the novel is slightly curving at the corners and feels more weighted from when you first bought it. This is because countless sticky notes and page markers you’ve stuffed in between the front and back cover. You can’t believe you’re freely handing over your annotated book, it’s full of all your thoughts and views and it seems intimate to give him access to that. You think to take a moment to rip out all your work, but your arm is already extended and he clutches the other end of the book.

***

“He held a door for you,” Alice notes.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“He sat with you. For hours.”

“—Because the place was full.”

“You caught him staring at you! This sounds exactly like a dreamy movie!”

“It’s not, it’s just—” Your palm gestures vaguely in the air. You’re at a loss for words because if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t know what this is. What you do know, is the childlike glee you get around him and the stolen glances you pocket away and the shy smiles you exchange. “—Harry from the coffee shop.”

Alice stresses your name in a pointed tone. “Please.” She drags a tiny brush over the sparse area of her toe nail, the fushia pink compliments her newly tanned skin. The smell of polish and acetone is poignant in the living room. “We both know you’re clueless as can be about these things.”

Your jaw meets the floor as you prop up your weight on the cushion of the sofa. “Am not!”

“Are so!” Alice twists the cap on the nail polish tightly. She flips the small bottle and shakes it to insure it won’t drip. “You need people to literally spell out if they like you or not!”

“Being clear is a good thing!”

“But… where’s the romance in that?” You should’ve known telling Alice about Harry would get twisted into something. Alice is adamant that he has a thing for you, but you can’t connect the dots. You thought asking for an unbiased perspective on this situation would bring some clarity, but all Alice knows are the countless rom coms on Netflix and the wall full of cheesy lovey dovey novels she collects. “From where I see it, you both are longing from a distance. How long has this been going on for?”

“Like almost two months.”

Her eyes double in size. “Jesus!”

“I know, I know.” A palm comes to rub over your face to hide the red colouring your cheeks.

“Before we leave you need to do something about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Find a moment, grab him by the shoulders and lay one on him. It’s not like he’ll see you again.”

You roll your eyes.

***

Harry doesn’t sit alone at his table like he previously used to do. After that day you gave him the novel, he has glued himself to the seat across from yours. It’s nice. You both work in amicable silence together with occasional conversation; you switch between your laptop and novel and he scribbles some words in his journal. It’s not a stream of consistent thought, the words are broken and spaced out and formatted differently. You assume he writes poetry.

It’s an unspoken rule that you’ve both made together. Every week you pick something new off the chalked menu items and alternate buying. Today you pick a slice of carrot cake. You remember him saying in passing that he was fond of it and wondered how different it would be from traditional American or European cake.

The plate sits dead center of the table, a fork at each end. You dig the metal to the pointy end of the cake and cup your palm underneath the utensil when you bring it to your mouth. Harry does the same except he doesn’t use his palm. It’s endearing that a crumb is stuck to the left corner of his top lip. You make deliberate eye contact while you both chew slowly. A rating becomes more clear in your mind as time passes and you see the same behind his eyes.

“Love it,” he concludes.

You continue chewing your bite for a little longer, he’s waiting, expecting to keep this conversation going. Harry scans your features as you derive your final thoughts. He doesn’t realize this, but his eyes have a weighted tenacity that you find yourself squirming under. It’s not uncomfortable, more so intense—He makes you feel like you’re an exceptionally important person. You run a tongue over your teeth before letting yourself speak.

“It’s good.”

“Just good?”

“Good,” you confirm.

He has gotten a sense of your rating scale without you defining it for him. He remembers the coconut slice was mind blowing. The strawberry was amazing. The peanut butter, nutella and banana was exceptional. He recalls you closing your eyes briefly because they rolled back in bliss. The indulgent moan you let slip through made his brain short circuit. The high points of his cheek were the same colour as the cherry drizzle that topped the rhubarb cake.

He digs his fork once more to grab another bite. You refrain.

A sweet smile dances on your face as you tuck your chin in the palm of you hand, your elbow anchors your weight on the table. You don’t know when to tell him that with each bite he takes, he adds on a couple more crumbs to his face. A part of you doesn’t want to tell him at all because it’s so adorable.

“What?” He prompts when he sees you observing him.

“You’ve...” You trail off, but then roll your eyes last minute, deciding not to let him in on it. It’s a miniscule thing. “Nevermind.”

“Now you’ve got to tell me.”

“It’s fine.”

The sinking feeling in his stomach knots his intestines together. A plunging fear of his identity being revealed is something he doesn’t know that he’s ready for. You had asked him what his name was for Amjad to write on the cup. You clearly didn’t know anything about him. He wanted to see how long the cloak of invisibility spell would last on him. There’s something about meeting someone without them having preconceived notions set about him. It’s rare and refreshing for him and he wants to prolong this with you. He gnaws at his lip momentarily, do you know?

“Did you google something?”

You splutter a confused laugh. “What?”

“It’s—I” He threads his fingers through his hair. A panic bounces in his eye. He knows the inevitable, you will find out sooner or later. Should he just tell you now? “Did you—”

Before he gets a chance to finish his sentence you crumple a napkin in your hand and lean slightly across the table.

He is taken aback by your sudden closeness, but relaxes his tense shoulders when the floral notes of your perfume floats around him.

You drag the napkin at the corner of his mouth and collect the persistent crumbs. You feel his eyes trained on one side of your face. There is a charged intimacy in the air that both of you don’t acknowledge. This innocent act speaks louder than any words between you two could. You tell yourself that maybe this feeling is one sided, a complete travesty, but then you see his adam’s apple rise and fall has he swallows a nervous gulp. It’s enough to let you know he feels it too. To keep yourself from doing something you might regret, you pour all your focus to the task at hand. This moment lasts for a couple seconds at most, but the fervor behind it could outlive even the oldest stars.

“There,” you say, your back meets your chair once again. “That was all.”

***

“How much have you gotten through?”

“I’m at the halfway mark. A few scenes have stuck out to me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyes immediately flick up meet his. Curiosity and anticipation pull at each end of your lips to form a smile. Your wrist finishes jotting down the last of correction on your essay, the red pen in your grasp moves on autopilot because Harry has once again captured all your attention. He’s done it numerous times before, it’s just something he is good at. “Which ones?”

There is a soft grin on his lips. “When Toru lets go of the firefly on the roof.”

“Why did you like it?”

“It was such a simple act, but probably meant so much more.”

“You’re right, it did.” You nod. Red ink strikes out two sentences, but your ears are still perked up. “What else?”

“Naoko’s birthday.”

“Really?” The pitch of this word is higher than your previous ones, you’re surprised. You once had a conversation with someone who passionately claimed the scene should’ve been ripped out Norwegian Wood. You stop writing completely and give him your utmost undivided attention. You elbows press to the surface of the table as you lean it slightly and drop your volume to an octave lower. “Is it because they fucked?”

“Yeah,” he nods after a moment of contemplation. You shoot him a look, not because of his scene choice, but his lack of explanation, and he backtracks immediately. It would be awfully disheartening if that is all he had to say about that. “No, no, no. It’s not what you’re thinking. It was just so sad and lonely and—” He takes a deep breath and his nostrils flare. “I really felt for Naoko. It’s an oddly relatable thing—being in that state of mind, feeling that, all while giving yourself to someone. I don’t know, it’s just—”

His words hang in the air, but from the crumpled look on his face, you know exactly what he wants to communicate. The impervious silence between you two stays for a moment.

Talking about books with him was something you look forward to. He likes when you push him to read certain books. He admits once with a bashful look that he was intimidated by you. Your list of recommended books—it only went up to five, ink scratches on tissue you handed him one night before parting—made you seem very well read in his eyes. You dismissed it quickly with a wave.

A smile quirks your lips. “That was one of my favourites too.”

The praise balloons a feeling in your chest that would only contribute to one-sided feelings. You told him your list is no match to what is really out there; your goal isn’t to be a pretentious well-read girl, but it’s to find more titles that make you feel a spectrum of emotions.

He takes a minute to absorb your words. With an understanding nod he goes back to writing in his journal. You think you pick up on a musical note or chord, but you can’t be sure.

***

The blanket of humidity suffocating the town finally breaks on a Friday. In the wee hours of the early morning, you hear the clap of thunder rip through the clouds and pour down a bucket of water. It transitions into a romantic drizzle as noon rolls around.

It was one of those odd days where you are at the cafe before Harry. Your plain black umbrella sits in his chair, drops of water fall off the pointy tip and splatter against the floor.

“What’s this?” Harry grips the hooked handle of the umbrella as he lifts it up. The folded flaps of the fabric move like the arms of a ceiling fan before hitting against each other. “You’ve replaced me already?”

He has a pleased look on his face, clearly too proud of his joke.

You drop all traces of expression from your face and force your eyebrows to curl in a deep, confused frown. The slight tilt of your head to the left completes the faux look. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

He rolls his eyes, pinching his lips to on side in an effort to subdue the smile you both know is about to flourish. “Funny.”

You laugh under your breath. He wipes away the remaining droplets of water on the chair before taking his seat. Fingers comb back his hair, you notice it is a darker brown, a wet curl curves at the shell of his hair in a perfect swoop.

Like always, hours go by without you noticing. The sun has long bid its farewell. You’ve shared casual conversation, another slice of cake, and another book recommendation.

Amjad begins to flip the stools upside down on their respective table, the sound makes you look up. The lights are toned into a dim buttery yellow rather than the stark white you’re used to. He’s closing up for the night. It’s just you and Harry in the space, both of you begin to collect your belongings. You tuck your laptop into its sleeve before plucking your highlighter and pen into your bag. The novel you used is carefully bookmarked and pressed into your tote bag.

“Shit,” Harry hisses. Through the glass window you see the sky is an angry black, flashes of white remind you of when you had taken your high school graduation pictures. The rain is no longer a shy drizzle, it’s a wrath coming down so hard as though it seeks age old revenge.

You are thankful that you’ve brought your umbrella, but Harry can’t say the same for he is looking at the scene in front of you while scratching the back of his head. As he turns to you, you can see the same thought floating in his head.

“It’s alright, I’ve got one.” You wave the umbrella in your hand as you hike up the straps of your bag to your shoulder.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “We’re headed the same way anyways.” You know your stop comes before Harry’s, it’s only a short walk from the cafe, you plan to pass the umbrella to him so he can continue his path back home.

As you near the door, you call out a farewell to Amjad. “Ta ra!”

“Ta ra!”

The sound of rain drowns out the clanking of the bells as the door shuts behind you. You quickly press a hidden button and the metal arms of the umbrella spread wide open. You shelter yourself under it and shuffle so Harry has enough room under it.

“You’re good at it, you know?” He says as you both begin the trek. The raindrops make a muted pattering against the material of your umbrella.

You face him and raise a brow. “What?”

“Just—living here, communicating, and all that sort. I would’ve never guessed you weren’t from here until I heard you speak English.”

“Yeah?” You breath in the smell of fresh rain, the wind mists some water on your face and a calmness seeps into your bones.

Harry shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his shoulders cave inwards. “Would’ve probably just sat at my table like a fool and wonder why you come here so religiously.”

A smile pulls at your lips. “You would wonder about me?”

“Maybe.”

You laugh at his reluctance to say a proper yes. You know it’s a solid yes. Your eyes focus on the potholes in the sidewalk, rain water creates puddles and you strategically place your steps. “I would too—about you.”

“Now, you’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Sure,” he hums.

A cool breeze circles the lonely streets, the thin hair on your arms stand up tall. The silence that makes itself prominent is comfortable. You decide this a perfect moment to tell him. You can’t begin to imagine the hurt on his face when he steps foot into the cafe and you’re not there. You’ve been practicing a speech in your bathroom mirror for two weeks now, trying all sorts of combinations to find the right words. Nothing has stuck so you bite the bullet and blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’m going home.” Your heart is in your throat. Your voice is no where near bold and sure as you’d like it to be. It’s a timid whisper and you’re just thankful you haven't stuttered from the bundle of nerves in your gut.

He doesn’t reply immediately, you begin to ponder if the sound of rain submerged your sentence.

“We both are.” He gives you a weird look.

“No—I mean, I’m leaving Tariz. My semester here is ending, for the study abroad thing.”

Though the humidity in the air is long gone, you feel a thick heaviness in it.

“Oh.” The tone of the word suggests that he wasn’t expecting this. Harry scratches the back of his neck looking down at the pavement. “When’s your last day?”

The silence speaks for you.

His eyebrows jump. “Really?”

You roll your lips together before replying. “I’m afraid so.”

“Well, did you like it? The experience.”

You grin. Of course he could ask you this. You haven’t given much thought to this question up until now. You know when you go back home this will be the first thing people ask you, you take the opportunity as a way to practice an answer.

“Loved it,” you say without a shadow of doubt. “It went beyond my expectations.”

Harry gives your hand that fists the umbrella stem a push from below, urging you to raise it slightly higher. When you look up to see him, you realize the material grazes the top of his head. You mumble a quiet sorry before complying, he ignores your apology by prompting another question. “Favourite part?”

“There are loads. But the Kirree, the culture—”you take a brief pause, it builds the anticipation. “Amjad.”

“Amjad?”

“Amjad,” you confirm. It takes so much from you to not laugh at his ridiculous tone. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” The shrug of his shoulders is anything but casual. “I just thought, nevermind.”

You chuckle, shaking your head while trying to keep your smile at bay. “You’re so obvious.”

Wet hair strands glue to your face with the help of the rain. Your fingers peel them from your skin before tucking them behind your ear.

A deep sigh leaves him.

“I am, aren’t I?”

You both stop at the abandoned intersection. A red palm glows from the other side of the road, halting you from taking a step. You both could make a run for it because no cars are zooming the streets at this time, but you don’t. You feel the heat lift off Harry’s shoulder, there is something so intimate about being under the same umbrella on an empty street with him.

A sigh slips through your lips. You’re going to miss him the most. The routine, the secretive smiles, the tension. Alice’s words inject into your skin like a long needle. Do something.

“I liked meeting you too, for the record,” you say after a moment.

“Yeah?” His nose scrunches up as he looks to you. The traffic light above waves from the wind, a colourful glow lights up his profile emphasizing the sharp cut of his cheekbone and jaw. “It was good, seeing you every day at the cafe. Liked it—quite a lot actually.”

The sentence would’ve been fine as is, but the last four words he tacks on the end adds a double meaning. They put a tangible definition to the feeling that you both had been dancing around since day one. A painful silence settles between you two, it’s razor sharp and so prominent. You both know that it’s something you can’t avoid for any longer.

It’s a brush of fingers at first. Innocent enough to be an accident between strangers on the subway or two people walking in opposite directions on the same side walk. Then it happens again. This time his fingers slot between yours. The silver metal of his rings are frigid against your heated skin. You hope the relentless pattering of rain against pavement masks the boistourius thumping of your heart.

You think you’re imagining it all, but then he shifts his body towards you. His towering height looms over you and he leans in slightly. His breath is warm as it puffs on your cheek, a dizzying contrast against the cool drops of water that rest on your skin. Your lips slowly part in awe and his eyes immediately flicker to them.

The sharp tug he gives your hand is enough to pull you in a step closer, chests press against one another. The touch makes you tighten the grip on the handle of your umbrella, your knuckles become a snow white.

“This okay?” He asks softly. It’s a whisper, silvery and light, but flares a torrid heat in the pit of your stomach.

A stated latency is introduced into the wet atmosphere around you, it traps your bodies into a secluded bubble. His thumb brushes a long stroke from the diviot where your thumb and index meet all the way up to the tip of your pointer finger. The slow, tender pace of it almost makes you whimper.

Only when he sees your chin move in a nod does he press the tip of his nose to the skin of your cheek. You almost cry then. It’s a cruel, calculated torture for him to drag his nose from your cheek to your temple. Your fingers slip from his in favour to clutch the fabric of his sweater. You pull the threads closer to you, a silent plea to move his lips near yours. You feel his smile press against your temple. His palm rests on your hip then gradually slides to your lower back. Your lashes flutter momentarily before resting on your flaming cheeks.

His lips brush the smooth, thin skin of your eyelid twice, he plants a gentle kiss at the corner of your eye. He moves down to the apples of your cheek, the cupid bow of his lips lovingly traces the skin there. Your fingers crawl up from his chest and rest where his shoulder and neck meet. As he continues his innocent torment, the pad of your thumb traces the bump of his adam’s apple.

He brings his free hand to tilt your chin up, he aligns his forehead with yours. You both stay there for a moment while taking calming breaths. You notice his skin his warm under your fingertips and the rise and fall of his chest isn’t steady. You never put sugar in your Kirree, it’s always been honey for you. This is because the grains don’t fully dissolve and sit stubbornly at the bottom of your drink. As you crack your eyes slightly open, you see he has something golden on his lips. Shiny, sticky, inviting.

“Please,” you breathe.

His lips are warm, slick, and sweet against yours. You’d seen them quirked up in a smirk, in bashful smiles, in teasing grins. You wonder what they look like pressed so delicately against yours. The pads of his fingers dig into your flesh as he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. His tongue laps in just the right way—slow, with the tiniest bit of pressure. You cradle his cheek and follow the line of his jaw with your finger.

When you sigh into his mouth, he lets out a tremulous whimper. Harry was like a cup of freshly brewed coffee; scalding hot and tempting. The steam dancing above the rim would blister your mouth, but you took a sip of him anyway. You know when weighed, all the benefits surpass the costs. You’d rather feel him on the roof of your mouth all day than never at all.

His arms snake around your waist and hold you in place. Your lips part for the length of a blink, the glistening of his mouth is mesmerizing under the light of the lamp post hovering above. You can only draw half a breath before he’s leaning in once more. This time his lips are ferocious. The iron grip you have around the nape of his neck pulls tightly at the curls resting there.

Every nerve ending in your body is screaming, ablaze with the same intensity of molten lava. Your mind is swimming with too many emotions, you don’t begin to label what they are, it will be useless in your dazed state. Your palm presses flat against his chest, you feel his heart jackrabbit through his sweater. There is a tingling sensation in your palms that shoots sparks up your arms.

When you both finally pull away, he doesn’t let go of you. He keeps you close to resume his light brushes; his lips against your cheek, chin, temple. It’s when the tip of his nose bristles against the bridge of yours, your shoulders sag with a deep sigh.

“We...” the word wavers when you say it.

“Yeah?”

You gulp. “We missed our walking signal.”

The slow grin that crawls on his face says he is willing to miss a million more.

***

“Aww,” Alice coos towards her laptop screen. A dopey grin splits her face in half. It tells you she’s either looking at the current royal wedding pictures or reading another one of her romance novels. “That’s so cute, she must be so lucky.”

“What are you on about?” You inquire from your position on your bed. Although you had no complains while studying abroad, you firmly believe there is something so delicious about sleep in your own bed.

“I’m reading the Rolling Stone article about Harry Styles’ new album,” she says without turning back. He is her newest celeb obsession, you think it will pass over in a month. Alice has her laptop situated on your work desk that you’ve placed in the corner. From her position, her back hides the screen she is reading. “He said he wrote a song about a girl who he met in Tariz when working on his new album. Isn’t it crazy how small the world is, like we were there just last year.”

“We were,” you agree from behind a parted novel. It’s another Murakami novel. You woke up today and your fingers had a mind of their own when they plucked him off your reading shelf. Something in your bones was begging you to read it. “I’m glad you took me.”

Alice ignores what you say, she’s too busy gushing over the guy on her screen. She is speaking way too fast and going off in a million different tangents all fueled from her excitement. You think you hear her say something about psychedelics and sex. You shoot her a worried look and before you know it, she’s pushing the device onto your lap.

“Here, just look!”

The fans of the laptop start up and blow a gust of heat on your thighs. As you blink to the article pictures in front of you, your heart drops to your stomach.

“Alice,” you say breathlessly as if you’ve just seen a ghost. You blink quickly to help clear the image, maybe you’re seeing things. But the longer you stare at it, you become more and more sure of the face staring back at you.

“What?”

Sharp jaw, wavy hair, high cheekbones.

“Oh my God.” Your mouth is dry. “Oh my God.”

“What! What is it?”

You point an accusatory finger in the direction of the webpage. “It’s him! That’s him!”

Alice’s forehead wrinkles. “I don’t follow.”

“The guy I snogged from the cafe in Tariz!”

Her eyes become the size of Saturn. “No...”

“Yes...”

As the confirmation is uttered in the air, a stillness floods in. You both stare at each other, blinking slowly with blank faces. The suspended silence makes it harder for you to draw a breath. You see the gears turning and locking in place behind her eyes as she grasps onto this new piece of information.

The high pitch squeal that comes from her wind pipes can be easily mistaken for a hyena sound effect. “Fuck!”

“I’m—” Your face is burning and your palms have a sheet of sweat, but your neck and chest is like ice. You fan yourself with your palms. “—I think I’m having hot flashes.”

“I would too if I snogged Harry fucking Styles.”

Blood rushes to your face. “I didn’t know!”

“How did you not know?!”

“Because I live under a rock, you know this. I just thought he was another study abroad student like us!”

“This is so fucking funny.” Alice is howling with laughter. She clutches her stomach and leans forward without any shame. You can’t blame her though, if the tables were turned you doubt you’d react differently than her.

“Fuck, he wasn’t writing poetry.” The inside of your palm slaps your forehead. You feel a sharp throbbing pain pulse at your temples, so you clutch your head and clamp your eyes shut. “Those were probably songs, oh my God, I am so stupid!”

“Babes, babes.” Alice drags the pad of her thumb under her eyes to catch fallen tears. “We’re buying tickets.”

The pillow you throw at Alice lands with a loud smack.

“There is no fucking way I’m going to another study abroad thing with you—ever again.” Your arms limply flail about. “Look what this first one made me do.”

Alice scoffs. “You made out with a rockstar.”

The pointed look you shoot has enough strength to bring down civilizations. “Not the point.”

“Well, I wasn’t insinuating buying a ticket to another place.”

Your lips part with confusion. “Then what?”

“We’re going to catch his show.”

————

Don’t ask me where the city of Tariz is in the world, I made it up. Also all of the language is made up. So is the drink. Lol. Can you tell I didn’t want to do research? My mc is dumb, that scene in NW was ass. Anyway, let me know your thoughts?

Thank you for amina @harrysdodgyankles for editing the moodboard

My wonderful betas are the best. Thank you so so so much to @drivingmekiwi @midnightcities @shelvesandwhelves @fireawaynjh

#1dff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles prompt #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #self insert #y/n fic #harry styles writing #one direction fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles #let me know what u think?#summer

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Reminder: July schedule posts are due by the end of August 7 KST. Please do not post schedule posts in the fmdschedule tag.

OVERALL COMPANY

Last month’s photo sessions for the base Culture Complex were a success and it seems like the project is off to a solid start, although some idols may be called back in for reshoots, especially for the 3D imaging, as necessary this month. All of the idols under BC, Dimensions, and Gold Star have been tasked with a new duty for the building this month: filming videos that will accompany some of the museum exhibits. The videos will be once again filmed in a studio, this time in front of a green screen, and the idols will be asked to talk about their feelings about important career events like their trainee days, debut, song releases, and major achievements. They will be given all of the subjects they are expected to talk about beforehand to rehearse their answers, and the director may request different wording or delivery of their answers as seen fit. (admin note: Muns have freedom about the specific topics muses are asked to talk about here within the guidelines given above, but any talk about scandalous or negative occurrences will be avoided.)

Important dates:

August 1-August 31: base Culture Complex museum intro videos filming (admin note: muses may encounter idols from other companies while there).

DIMENSIONS SOLOIST 1

Her comeback single is recorded, so it’s time for her to get the choreography down and optimize her performance for the catchy dance performance and charisma she’s so known for. She also has her second fittings ahead of teaser shoots and music video filming next month to decide on the final comeback wardrobe, and at the end of the month, she’ll be joining the company’s other two soloists in Los Angeles for a weekend for KCON.

Important dates:

August 23: Second MV and stage outfit fittings.

August 29: Performance at KCON LA (also performing: Dimensions Soloist 2, Dimensions Soloist 3, 7ROPHY, and Gold Star Soloist 2).

DIMENSIONS SOLOIST 2

He holds two solo concert dates in Seoul this month, where he’ll include “When You Call My Name” in his set list to give his fans a preview of his next release (and so that Dimensions can monitor fan reactions and decide how much promotion budget to give the song). The following weekend, he’s off to Los Angeles with the rest of Dimensions’ soloist roster for another KCON, this time on the west coast of the US.

Important dates:

August 22: Zero concert at Yonsei University Main Auditorium in Seoul.

August 23: Zero concert at Yonsei University Main Auditorium in Seoul.

August 29: Performance at KCON LA (also performing: Dimensions Soloist 1, Dimensions Soloist 3, 7ROPHY, and Gold Star Soloist 2).

DIMENSIONS SOLOIST 3

She continues to rehearse for her upcoming solo concerts this month, and will continue to be filmed throughout them for her reality show. The domestic market is by far Dimensions’ focus for her now since she’s shown such potential success in it, but they’ve decided to send their full soloist roster to KCON LA this month, which means she’s giving her first solo performance overseas this month, too.

Important dates:

August 29: Performance at KCON LA (also performing: Dimensions Soloist 1, Dimensions Soloist 2, 7ROPHY, and Gold Star Soloist 2).

GAL.ACTIC

August brings their ninth anniversary since debut on the 28th, thought Dimensions hasn’t organized any event for the full group to celebrate for fans in lieu of hoping to raise anticipating for tenth anniversary activities next year. Members are still encouraged by management to put some extra thought into reaching out to fans this month, though. In the meantime, they continue preparing their comeback by learning and rehearsing the choreography for the title track and the choreography for b-side “Bad Man Crying”, and attending fittings as usual. From August 23 to 26, they’ll be in Los Angeles for a festival performance.

Important dates:

August 10: MV and stage outfit fitting.

August 25: Performance at Korea Times Music Festival at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, CA, USA (also performing: Decipher, Unity, and Fuse).

ALIEN

Alien continue music show promotions throughout the month, alongside a busy schedule of fan signs. The album does well, only improving on their past sales, and the song is received well by fans despite going mostly under the radar for the public as most of their releases have since the lawsuit. The end of promotions signal continued work on their first English album as they’ve been doing for the past year or so now, as they film the MV for ”Middle of the Night”, which they’ll have finished recording in the studio earlier in the month.

Important dates:

August 1: Fan sign in Gangnam, Seoul.

August 2: Fan sign in Yongsan, Seoul.

August 9: Fan sign in Mapo, Seoul.

August 10: Fan sign in Yeouido, Seoul

August 17: Fan sign in Gangnam, Seoul.

August 20: End of music show promotions.

August 21: “Middle of the Night” MV filming.

August 29: Performance at KCON LA (also performing: Knight, Alien, Lucid, and Gold Star Soloist 3).

MARS

Preparations for MARS’s Japanese comeback continue as they’re taught the choreography for “Can’t Say” in the early weeks of the month. The wardrobe is simple for the music video this time, so they won’t have full fittings before the filming day for the music video comes on the twentieth. Mid-month, MARS are also met with the news that they’ll be making a Korean comeback in the fourth quarter and they’ll record the album in the second half of the month with a return to form of what they’re most known for: a darker concept.

Important dates:

August 20: “Can’t Say” MV filming.

7ROPHY

7ROPHY are fully dedicated to focusing on filming Queendom this month. For the cover song task, they’ll be covering a song originally performed by the group the NPC Soloist competing on the show originally belonged to, so the stakes are high to prove what they’ve got, especially after coming off such a successful first round for them. Full details of Queendom filming for this month can be found here. From August 28 to August 30, they’ll be in Los Angeles to perform at KCON LA.

Important dates:

August 24: Queendom episode three & four filming (cover song stage).

August 27: Episode one of Queendom airs.

August 29: Performance at KCON LA (also performing: Dimensions Soloist 1, Dimensions Soloist 2, Dimensions Soloist 3, and Gold Star Soloist 2).

UNITY

It’s comeback season for Unity after a full year without a comeback and it seems the wait has paid off. The comeback earns them not only the best digital charting of their careers, but also A-tier boy group physical sales and a music show win. There’s no questioning that they’re now the best-selling boy group of the company physically, even if MARS still outdoes them in the public recognition that earns high digitals. Dimensions grows more eager than ever to see the heights Unity can reach as the month draws to a close, and the general attitude of staff around them reflects both the pressure and relief of a successful comeback.

Important dates:

August 7: “Kick It” MV reaction video filming.

August 7: Release of “Kick It” & Unity Zone album, music show promotions continue through September 7.

August 8: Fan sign in Mapo, Seoul.

August 9: Fan sign in Gangnam, Seoul.

August 15: Fan sign in Seocho, Seoul.

August 23: Fan sign in Songpa, Seoul.

August 25: Performance at Korea Times Music Festival at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, CA, USA (also performing: Decipher, Gal.actic, and Fuse).

August 29: Fan sign in Gangnam, Seoul.

↳ CHAMPION

As Decipher finishes promoting their comeback and Unity makes their own comeback, a hold is put on touring, but BC and Dimensions have managed to land the members of the sub-unit a deal with Korean Air and they’ll be recording a special CF song for a music and safety video collaboration to bring more international attention to Korean Air following CHAMPION”s success overseas and to bring more domestic attention to CHAMPION, who are still not wholly accepted as a unit by fans of their main groups.

Important dates:

August 27: Korean Air x CHAMPION “Let’s Go Everywhere” MV and Safety Video filming.

LUCID

Lucid wraps up their Welcome to The Dream World tour on the second and then they fly back to Seoul to finish preparing for their comeback. They film their music video on the sixth, but in addition to comeback rehearsals, they also begin rehearsing for their LOL Showcase tour, which will tour Asia and focus on the “normal realm” side of their concept instead of the nightmare one they just toured for. This tour is far less performance-focused due to having a more fanmeeting-style set list with games, longer talk sections, and a hi-touch at the end of each show, so the rehearsal period is much shorter. Their comeback on the seventeeth proves they weren’t a one-hit wonder as Navillera soars to the top of the charts like “Rough” did and “You and I” failed to.

Important dates:

August 2: Welcome to The Dream World concert at Teatro La Huaca in Panama City, Panama.

August 6: “Navillera” MV filming.

August 17: Release of “Navillera” & LOL album, music show promotions continue through September 17.

August 23: LOL Asia Showcase tour at Yes24 Live Hall in Seoul.

August 30: Performance at KCON LA (also performing: BC Soloist 1, Knight, Alien, and Gold Star Soloist 3)

#fmdschedule #queued post

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abundanceofsoph · 4 years

Text

SkyFire 1: Chapter 19

New Year’s Eve in London 2014 & early January 2015

Word count: 1.8k

SkyFire 1 MASTERLIST

In the days between Christmas and the New Year, Aurora and Harry spent many hours in the conservatory off the back of the house, watching the snow softly fall in the back garden. Harry would occasionally pull out his acoustic guitar and entertain Rori while she sketched the scene, or they would simply cuddle up under a blanket and talk. The sense of time standing still enveloped the house and allowed for the young couple to remain wrapped up in each other, revelling in the cosy winter atmosphere. On the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, Harry loaded up the car and they said goodbye to Anne and Robin before driving down to London. They arrived well after sunset and while Harry carried in their bags as soon as they arrived at his house, Aurora headed to the bathroom to shower and wash her hair to get ready for the party they were both attending later that evening. She was mostly finished, her hair washed, and legs shaved, when the glass door opened, and Harry joined her under the warm spray.

“Mind if I join?” he murmured, pressing himself against his girlfriend’s back, taking the loofa from her hand and finishing scrubbing the body wash across her stomach and back. Rori chuckled as she turned in his arms, kissing him deeply as he tipped his head under the water to wet his shoulder length curls. She pulled back from the kiss to rub shampoo into his hair, smiling happily as she recalled seeing online that the fans had been calling it his Prince Harry hair.

After they’d both rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, they wrapped themselves in large fluffy towels and Aurora set about drying and styling her hair before getting started on her make up. By the time she was finished and slipping into her skinny jeans and lacey blouse, she turned to see Harry walking out of his large walk-in closet, black skinny jeans hugging his legs and a black button up short open at the collar.

“Help me with the buttons?” Rori asked him, and he stepped forward, pushing her long curls out of the way to button up the back of her shirt. He placed a soft kiss on her bare shoulder when he finished, looking to the mirror in front of them.

“You look beautiful,” he told her softly, earning a beaming smile in return. “Car should be here soon.”

They both turned towards the door, Aurora scooping her clutch purse of the end of the bed as she passed and they made their way down the stairs to the front door, slipping on their winter coats before walking outside and climbing into the waiting uber to take them into the city.

The car dropped them off at one of the many docks along the Thames and they made their way down towards the medium sized boat waiting at the waters edge. The party onboard was already in full swing by the time the pair made it aboard and Rori found herself recognising most of the faces in the crowd, despite having never meeting most of them before. There were other singers, song-writers, producers and other behind the scenes members of the British music scene. Harry soon had a glass in his hand as they pushed through the crowd on the back deck, looking for their friends. Eventually they spotted Louis and Liam towards the back of the boat and exchanged hugs.

“Where’s Niall and Zayn at?” Rori asked as she pulled back from Liam’s arms.

“Zayn bailed to hang with Perrie and Niall’s on his way,” Liam replied.

They continued to chat, laughing as they filled each other in on the Christmas’ with their families until Niall finally arrived a little over half an hour later. The boat pushed from the wharf around 10.30 and the party was swarming on the decks as the clock neared midnight. Since she wasn’t drinking, Aurora was feeling the chill of the winter wind blowing up off the water and headed into the spacious cabin for a while to warm up, knowing she would want to go back out when the fireworks started at midnight. She was sitting on a bench seat along a long bank of windows looking out at the city sliding past on the riverbank as she slowly felt her hands warming back up when Nick Grimshaw sat down next to her.

“Hello love,” he greeted, throwing an arm around her shoulders when she returned his greeting.

“Not drinking?” he asked, noticing the half empty bottle of water next to her.

“I don’t drink,” Rori replied simply.

“Probably a good idea,” he chuckled. “I think everyone else is gonna be feeling pretty miserable tomorrow morning. Mind if I ask why?”

“My dad’s a recovering alcoholic,” Rori replied, shocked that she’d been asked given that not many people had noticed over the years that she didn’t drink, and even fewer had ever bothered to find out why. “Apparently I’m genetically predisposed to addiction, so I just decided not to tempt fate.”

“So, you’ve never had a drink?” Nick asked, not shocked, but certainly curious.

“I tried a sip of Harry’s champagne once but otherwise nope.”

“Huh,” Nick replied, sipping at his own drink and the conversation turned to other things.

Aurora was still sitting there with Nick when Harry found her half an hour later.

“There you are,” he cheered as he stumbled over to her and she could tell that while he wasn’t completely trashed yet, he was well on his way to drunk and she laughed when he fell onto her lap as he attempted to sit next to her. “Sorry love,” he drawled, sliding sideways, his leg still hoked over hers as he sat beside her, his arms wrapping around her waist, “The boats a bit rocky and I don’t think I’ve got my sea legs yet.”

“Yeah, the boats rocky,” Rori parroted sarcastically. “That’s definitely why you can’t walk straight.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed, snuggling his head against her shoulder and Rori laughed deeply, always enjoying how clingy Harry was when he was drunk. She placed soft kisses along his hairline as he hummed, and Nick excused himself to go find someone to dance with him back out on the deck. “Couldn’t find you,” Harry murmured, “got worried about you.”

“I’m sorry babe,” Rori said, rubbing her hand up and down the length of his back. “I just got a bit cold, so I came inside to warm up.”

“I could warm you up,” Harry offered, lifting his head to kiss up along her neck towards her jaw.

“That’s very sweat of you H, but I’m not having sex with you on a crowded boat,” Rori chuckled. Harry pouted and returned to leaning against her shoulder, his arms tightening around her waist instead.

“You’re such a buzzkill,” he mumbled into her skin.

“I love you too,” Rori laughed in reply. “How about we go find the boys. It’s almost midnight.”

Harry agreed and Rori quickly moved his arm around her shoulder and held on to his waist as they headed back out onto the deck. She managed to keep her tipsy boyfriend on his feet as he stumbled along and was grateful when she quickly found Louis and Niall amongst the dancing party guests.

Liam was nowhere in sight when the countdown began, a cool wind whipping through the partiers aboard the boat. Louis and Niall raised their glasses to the sky as they screamed out the count with those around them, drunkenly kissing each other on the cheek as the clock hit midnight and Harry pulled Aurora to him, kissing her deeply. The night sky lit up with the fireworks display, the colours bursting and reflecting off the surface of the Thames below them.

“Happy New Year, H,” Aurora whispered when the pulled apart. “I’ve got a good feeling about 2015.”

“Me too, love. Me too,” Harry replied, smiling broadly down at his girlfriend as the party continued on around them.

xXx

Harry and Aurora were wrapped tightly around each other in Harry’s bed, savouring the final hours before Aurora's flight when her phone started ringing on the bedside table. Harry was closer so he reached for it, passing it over and she briefly saw Marks name and face before she pressed it to her ear, her cheek still flush against Harry’s bare chest.

“Have you been online today?” he asked.

“Hello to you too Mark,” Rori chuckles, “and no I haven’t. I’ve been a little busy.”

“Well you need to,” her agent replied. “The response to the Rascal Flatts cover you posted a few days ago is great. Everyone loved it, including Rascal Flatts.”

“I’m sorry, what now?” Rori gasped, earning a questioning look from Harry at her change in tone.

“They tweeted out a link to your video and they want to collaborate with you for their next album,” Mark explained, a smile clear in his voice as he pictured her excited expression.

“Holy shit,” Rori said. “Holy shit. Holy fucking shit Mark!” She placed the call on to speaker, opening up twitter and scrolling through her mentions until she found the one she was looking for.

>RascalFlatts: So incredible to find out that the wonderfully talented @.aurorastark covered our song Riot. You absolutely blew us away Aurora and if you ever wanted to come down to Ohio to write with us, we would love to have you.

“I don’t even know how to process this,” Rori said, not sure if she was speaking to Harry or Mark or just speaking out loud for the sake of it. She was freaking out and started scrolling through the replies to the tweet.

>AuroraFan77: Aurora and country music was the crossover I didn’t know I was missing from my life

>RascalFlattsFan8: every pop collab they’ve done has been incredible, so I’d been keen for this @.taurenwells @.justinbieber @.natashabdnfield & now @.aurorastark

“Do you want to do it?” Mark asked when she fell silent.

“Obviously.”

“OK well I’ll reach out and see if we can lock down a time for you to fly to Ohio. You don’t have a lot of free time though. You’re still planning to join Harry on tour as soon as classes finish?”

“I am, yeah,” Rori agreed.

“I think we’ve got some free time around the Ohio shows, Mark,” Harry butted in. “I’ll send you the tour schedule to see if you can fit something in.”

“Thanks Harry,” Mark said. “Anyway, you too enjoy the rest of your day and I’ll talk to you in a few days Rori.”

“Talk to you soon Mark.”

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

#skyfire #skyfire fic #aurora stark #dad!tony #iron dad #step dad steve rogers #stony #stony fic #boyfriend harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #superfamily #harry styles #tony stark

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ravenvsfox · 5 years

Note

hello meghan my love my darling when are you going to post the next chapter of the rockband au???? you should do it on or before the 2nd for absolutely no personal reason at all. but anyway ilysm???? i hope you’re doing great now that it’s starting to warm up (seasonal depression whomst?) 💖💖

(hello ily honeyy happy happy happy birthday I’m sorry this is late)

Neil wakes up, as usual, to the pinging of a text message. He doesn’t bother to look at it. He knows what it will say; the unassuming number, the conspicuous silence whenever he writes back.

He rolls over so that the thinning comforter pulls and sticks beneath him, and he slits his eyes against the pre-dawn light.

Yesterday he’d deleted the number ’36’ from his messages and jammed his bare feet into his boots. He’d walked all the way out back to the dumpster with the cellphone cracking in his fist before his fear won out, and he’d pocketed it again.

He knows what day the zero should fall on. He’s learned to dread countdowns because he’s lived to see what comes on the other side of them, surfed the sand in an hourglass as it ebbed out from underneath him.

The monsters keep him busy, and so do the Foxes, now. They pull him in different directions, divide his attention, pique his curiosity. He’s acutely aware of how devastating it will be for him when he has to leave them, what a terrible thing he’s done by letting them close enough that they’ll notice when he’s dead.

But no one endures like the lonely people who end up at Palmetto, and he knows no one will stumble for long.

He reaches into the swath of blankets and holds the phone in his hand. It buzzes again, the nudge of the same message insisting upon being read. He feels frustration crest and fall in his chest, and then he wonders if anyone else is awake. Sometimes Andrew will get up early and make eggos, or Kevin will go for a run before the sun is up, but they’ve been inconsistent while they sloshed through the songwriting process.

He’s heard Aaron making endless pots of coffee and Nicky in the basement, practicing licks without an amp in the middle of the night. Once, Neil wandered down and knelt the wrong way on the couch to watch him play. He wasn’t quite awake, and the music twanged against Nicky’s goofy grin and made Neil smile back at him.

Now that Ausreißer’s album is edited into submission, sent off for packaging, all of their tireless work crystallizing somewhere, he’s promised Foxes that he’ll record a vocal for them. It’s strange to think of them wanting his serious voice worked through their bright sound, incongruous as salt in coffee. It’s even stranger to think of the way his voice will be broadcast after he’s dead, perpetually echoing after his disappearance.

Their album is set to be released in a week, and then the next leg of their tour will roll up to meet them, and sometime in those delicate, dwindling months, Neil will be found. He fantasizes about leaving a ripple when he’s taken, and then he thinks better of it. When his mother died, he watched the fire take her skin, and her hair, and her eyes, and he thought, death would be easier if we didn’t let ourselves matter to one another.

He lets the phone sink back into the sheets, and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. Someone knocks twice on the door, just the edge of a knuckle. Andrew.

“It’s open,” he says.

Ever since Andrew had burst in, answering questions that Neil hadn’t even thought to ask, he’s taken to leaving his door unlocked.

Andrew opens the door and promptly crosses the room towards Neil’s dresser, not even sparing him a glance. His hair is unkempt, a riot of blond that won’t part correctly, fluffed up from sleeping on it wet.

Unlike the rest of the monsters, who’ve buckled back down into their routines, Andrew’s been acting increasingly erratic. He’s been self-medicating more often, and holding himself back from something so effectively that Neil can’t quite see what it is. Sometimes he seems to glitch out, cutting himself off mid-sentence, cagey and self-contained.

The drugs should make his tongue looser, but mostly it seems to make him say more of everything. It’s harder to find whole kernels of truth in a bowl full of bravado that’s puffed out like popcorn.

Andrew puts both hands on the knobs of Neil’s drawer and waits there. Neil nods, amused. He’s long since found a lock for the bottom drawer and secreted away his money and information. Andrew pulls the top drawer out, sawing it back and forth when the dufflebag catches. He digs briefly through Neil’s small selection of shirts, and picks out something in faded green. He throws it and some light-wash jeans in Neil’s direction.

“Up, get up. Renee’s already at the studio.”

“You have today off,” Neil says.

“Well deduced,” Andrew says. “I’m driving you.”

Neil hesitates. “I’m fine with walking.”

“Do what you want,” Andrew says flippantly. “I have an errand to run near the studio, and you can come with me or you can waste Renee’s time and mine.”

“That’s not manipulative,” Neil says sarcastically.

“I’m giving you a choice,” Andrew says. His gaze finds the burner phone nestled in Neil’s bedding, then trails up to catch his eye.

“Yes, okay. Just let me change.” He’s secretly glad to be ferried to the studio, to have earned Andrew’s passenger seat, and to not have to think about who could be tracking him on foot. Andrew crosses wordlessly to the threshold of his bedroom and closes the door behind him. He can hear him shifting his weight outside, guarding Neil’s privacy.

He dresses quickly and quietly in the clothes that Andrew picked out for him, feeling strangely flushed about the whole thing. He doesn’t want Andrew to know that he’s doing exactly what he suggested, or that it’s become a habit for him to do so.

They leave not ten minutes later, after he’s stopped in to use the bathroom and splash water on his face, teasing fingers through his hair and swigging Nicky’s mouthwash.

Andrew waits at the door, turning keys over in his hand, hair still wild, belt buckled kind of askew with the tail of it sticking out.

“Are you ready?” Neil asks tentatively. Andrew cranks open the screen door in response, and steps out into the sweet spring morning. Neil follows, watching his even gait, the full, yolky yellow of his hair.

They climb up into the cold barrel of the van. When Neil reaches for the dial to turn up the heat, Andrew catches his wrist.

“I can’t get any warmer.”

It’s around this point that Neil suspects that Andrew might already be high.

Maybe balancing the creative chaos of their album with the newness of Neil has taken more of a toll on Andrew than it has on the others. Something about working constantly, writing feelings into rhymes that you can chew and rinse and spit with has made him itchy and distracted.

“Did you take something?” Neil asks.

“Not yet,” Andrew says, reversing violently onto the street, much too broad a maneuver for such a large vehicle. He clips the opposite curb before he cracks into drive and takes off.

Neil watches his inscrutable face, the tightness around his mouth and the brightness of his eyes. He can’t tell.

“No one drives like this when they’re sober.”

“You know I do,” Andrew tells him. Neil does. He’s seen Andrew stoned, laughing like he doesn’t want to be doing it, the way people do when they’re being tickled. He’s also seen him drunk, soaked through with sweat, sticking to the seats, and he’s seen him storm-cloud sober. He always manages to make it feel like the van is on ice skates.

“Did Wymack ask you to hold my hand?”

Andrew considers this for a moment too long. “Depends on what you mean by that.”

“Babysit me,” Neil clarifies. “Drop me off and pick me up so I don’t cause another incident.”

“No,” Andrew says simply, turning left so sloppily that he almost clips a crossing pedestrian.

“Then why would you—why are you doing this?”

“Million dollar question.”

“Is there a million dollar answer?” Neil asks.

“There are no million dollar answers,” Andrew says. “There are disappointments.”

“So no one asked you to do this for me.”

Andrew looks at him. “You may have noticed that I do not do what people ask me to unless it’s in my best interest.”

“You’re not as selfish as you want people to think,” Neil says, looking away, out the window. The studio is creeping up on them, three intersections way, then two. He’s come to know the route well, imagining the bends in the road when he’s trying to fall asleep. “Defending Kevin could bring the yakuza down on you, and you’ve always known it. Just like you had no guarantee that killing Tilda for Aaron wouldn’t kill you too.”

“Most people wouldn’t give murder as an example of selflessness,” Andrew says. “Does it make you feel better, to make us into good people?”

“No, actually,” Neil says honestly. “It makes it harder to pretend I’m one of you.”

Andrew pulls up into the shaded side of the studio, and Neil breathes out heavily. The honesty comes so much easier now; after those first botched pricks to his veins the blood has just flowed and flowed.

“Here,” Andrew says, pulling his keys from the ignition and prying the ring open. He slips a little bronze key from the loop and hands it to Neil. “To our front door. Allison’s going to drive you home, and none of us are going to be there to let you in.”

Neil’s hands go cold with surprise, and he opens them both for Andrew. “Just for today?”

Andrew shrugs and drops it into his palm. “It’s yours.”

“Why?” Neil asks quietly, pressing two fingers to the ragged edges. The metal is still warm from Andrew’s hand. He thinks of his name looped into a contract, thinks of sharing a microphone with Kevin and bumping fists with Matt. He pictures himself unlocking the door to a home on a residential street and hearing their record playing somewhere inside.

“You live there,” Andrew says, bored. “It’s convenient.”

“It’s more than that,” Neil says fiercely. “You know it is.” He wishes suddenly that he could give Andrew a key to something, an access code to a vault of secrets or a missing piece that would topple Riko’s threat. Before he’d found a stolen twin and a frantic cousin, he had even less of a home than Neil did. The teeth of the key eat into his palm.

“Do not lose it,” Andrew says. “I’m not cutting you another one.”

He knows that he would never misplace this proof of the flimsiness of Andrew’s apathy, this symbol of belonging, this ticket to normalcy. He also knows that Andrew would make him another if he really needed it, and that it means something distinct to both of them.

Andrew watches him mildly. “Go inside. Find your Foxes. If they try and wash your voice out with shitty effects, walk away.”

Neil smiles a little. “You told me yesterday that you don’t care about musical integrity.”

“I don’t want to hear you complain when the track flops,” Andrew says.

“Right.” Neil pops the door open. “I’ll see you at home,” he says tentatively, and when Andrew waves him off, he closes the door between them.

He lets himself uncurl his hand to look at the key, slowly, like it’s a living thing, something he unearthed. He studies the pattern of it, the tangy metallic smell clinging to his fingers.

When he looks up again, Andrew has pulled away. He forces himself to ease the key into his pocket and lower his eyes before the van disappears around the corner.

______

He finds Renee alone in the biggest upstairs studio, sipping demurely from something that smells natural and fruity. She smiles warmly at him when he comes in, and he feels caught in the suspended moment between springing the trap and suffering the consequences.

“You’re early,” she says.

“Interesting. Someone told me I was late.” He shrugs off his jacket and drops it over a music stand.

“Interesting,” she echoes.

Neil crosses his arms. “Where are the others?”

She pauses with the rim of her travel mug at her lips, then lowers it again. “Struggling to get out the door, probably. Allison likes to take her time primping.”

“Okay,” Neil says, uncomfortable to find himself alone with the only person at Palmetto that he can’t really read. “Warm up?”

“If you want,” Renee says easily. Infuriatingly. “Or we could talk, like Andrew so obviously wants us to. I recognize his machinations when I see them.”

Neil considers the slender silver cross at her neck winking in the overhead light. She has the nimble, capable hands of a musician, and the inexplicable ability to garner the respect of someone like Andrew. It’s more than enough to warrant his curiosity.

“What could he possibly want us to talk about?” Neil asks, sitting gingerly in a stray chair across from her.

Renee shrugs. “He’s not usually forthright with details.”

Neil tilts his head and decides all at once to play along. “What is it that he likes so much about you?” he asks.

Renee takes his rudeness in stride, her mouth pursing a little with amusement. “He discovered that we have a lot in common. Rich histories of bad situations and terrible exit strategies. The only difference is that I have my faith and he has his nihilism.”

“And what exactly constitutes a bad situation, for you?”

He’s seen Andrew’s sleeves of scars, he’s seen him wake violently from dreams that never seem to be anything but nightmares, and he’s seen that shallow look in his eyes that says that he’s been hurt as badly as he can be, and everything else is just smoke after fire.

He can’t see any of that on Renee. Her faith is gentle as candlelight, her mannerisms easy as warm water, and he doesn’t like the waxy, tepid feeling of being around her.

Her smile cinches, as if yanked closed by pursestrings. “How much time do you have?”

Neil shrugs. “As much as you do.”

She pulls a hand awkwardly through the hair at her neck — as if, for a moment, she was expecting it to be longer.

Neil waits. Renee sighs. The overhead clock ticks.

She tells him methodically about her mother’s whirlwind of abusive boyfriends, the years that compounded into a deadly pressure that would only give when she took knives to it. She doesn’t hesitate when she tells him about causing her parents’ death, running with gangs until it landed her in juvie, and then into foster homes. For a moment, Neil can see something of Andrew in her face like a familial resemblance.

Renee worries a fingernail in her mouth for half a second, distracted, before she explains what Stephanie Walker did for her. The way music and faith entered her life at once, twin forks on a lightning bolt. Church choir first, and then violin lessons.

Cruelly, he resents her for having someone who desperately fought for her, for letting her mother die so quietly in jail. He also understands, for the first time, why he’s been so unsettled by Renee; she walked out of her tragedy and shut the door. Neil can never latch his while Nathan’s foot is wedged in the gap. He has the most unsettling feeling that Andrew’s door has been wrenched off of its hinges.

“So why aren’t you with Andrew?” he wonders aloud. It’s not the right thing to say, but it’s the only complete thought he’s had since she started talking. Her story reads like a high quality forgery of Andrew’s. Renee complements him just as well in friendship as she does in music.

She smiles like she was expecting this question. “Why would that matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Neil says quickly. “Matter. I don’t care. It just seemed like an obvious fit.”

“We’re kindred spirits in some ways, and I have a hunch that we’ll always be friends. But I’m not his type.”

“I can’t imagine who would be, if not you,” Neil says. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as an accusation, or a compliment, so it sits uncomfortably between the two.

“That’s a puzzle,” she says, smiling impishly.

“You know the rest of your band is placing bets on you?” he asks.

She laughs. “Sure. Gotta pass the time between sets somehow.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all. Allison’s in on the joke, and that’s half the fun — bluffing together. Finding your allies.”

“In on— in on which joke?” he asks, vaguely frustrated.

Her eyes drift sideways, away from him and towards the door. She pushes up her sleeves carefully. “Andrew and I aren’t just unlikely. We’re impossible.”

“Why impossible?”

She shrugs. “I don’t date men, if I can help it.” Neil barely has time to process this before she adds, “and Andrew doesn’t date women.”

“Oh,” Neil says dumbly.

“I wouldn’t spread that around, though,” she says. “It’s not common knowledge just yet.”

“So why would you tell me?” he asks.

She smiles again. “If he suspected that you were curious about my relationship with him, and still engineered this conversation, I don’t think he would be surprised to know that I’ve told you this particular truth.”

Neil turns this thought over in his head. Andrew puts his secrets at such a remove that he completely avoids being confronted about them. Their impact disperses and melts away before he even makes an appearance.

He thinks about Andrew’s complete disinterest in the fans who throw bras at the stage and shake posters with his name on them. He doesn’t think their gender has anything to do with his apathy, but those instances still tint and change in his memory.

Renee sits good-naturedly through his bout of silence, and then she says, “I hope I helped uh— fill in the blanks a little more for you. I know I don’t really know anything about you, even though we’re all really trying to. Your bandmates though—you breathe the same air and play the same songs day after day, so they can’t help but know you a little. And I know them. So maybe we can be friends someday too.”

Neil feels a distant pang of regret that he won’t be around long enough to prove her right or wrong. He’il be pried from this life with the abruptness of a needle lifting from the middle of a record, and the truth will die, unspoken, on his wasted tongue.

He doesn’t reply, and lukewarm silence stretches between them until Allison comes teetering into the room on platform heels a minute later. She puts her iced coffee on the table and tugs affectionately on the ends of Renee’s hair, and Neil thinks, of course.

A memory surfaces—Andrew twisting dye into his hair and his eyes slipping involuntarily closed—but Dan and Matt parade into the room, arms full of store-bought water and gatorade, and whatever the thought was going to be slips away.

_____

It takes them hours to nail the recording. Neil is dissatisfied with every take, Dan keeps thinking up ideas to beef up their harmonies, and Matt messes with the controls, stripping back the distortion to ‘show off Neil’s pipes’.

They break for lunch at 1pm, and Neil finds himself drifting away from the others, wandering all the way downstairs and through the door, out to the shade where Andrew had left him that morning. He takes out a cigarette that he’d stolen from the console in the van, and the backup lighter from the bowl of keys in the foyer.

He lights up, flame chewing its way towards his fingers. He turns his back against the brunt of the cold and keeps his shoulder to the wall, hair washed forward over his eyes by the wind.

A car rolls up somewhere behind him, and then there’s a snap like a briefcase being closed.

Someone says, “Nathaniel.”

Neil whips around. His fingers tense so that the cigarette nearly snaps in half, but he clings to it and the lighter, the only weapons on his person.

There’s a sleek black SUV parked several spots away, and Riko Moriyama is leaning out of the open side door.

“It is time for us to talk,” he says.

Neil takes a step back. He can see at least two other people in the vehicle, and when he looks up, the shades are drawn over every visible window in the building.

“If you run it will only drag this process out for all of us,” Riko sighs. “We don’t offer civil discussions often. I would take this rare opportunity.”

“You have a knack for making threats sounds like kindnesses,” Neil says. “But then, most bullies do.”

“Get in the car,” Riko says. “Or your real name goes violently public.”

Neil’s teeth clench hard enough to crack. He drops the cigarette on the pavement, and walks forward two steps. “Can I say goodbye?”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Riko says, and his upper body disappears into the car. Neil follows him in, trying to conceal the way his legs have gone stiff with terror.

In the cab of the car it is just Riko across the expanse of cool leather in the back, and two older men whom Neil doesn’t recognize in the driver’s and passenger’s seats. They peel smoothly out of the parking lot and onto the street.

“They’re expecting me back,” Neil says. One of the men in the front passes Riko an ornate black cane, and he levels it in Neil’s direction.

“I don’t want to hear anything from you until I have finished speaking. In fact, do not talk unless you have been prompted to. I already know everything about you that I care to.”

“I’m at a disadvantage then, since all I know about you is that you are a sadomasochist with the bravado of a much more interesting person.”

Riko raps the cane into the side of Neil’s head with such force that his teeth clatter together and his ears ring.

“I guess pleasantries are over, then,” Neil says.

Riko regards him with distaste. “In another life, perhaps, you could have been an asset. Your father’s reputation precedes him. We might have recruited him if he were as easy to pin down as his son seems to be.”

“What would the yakuza need with another butcher?”

Riko raps him on the hands this time, a warning. “Don’t. Speak.” He watches the redness bloom immediately on Neil’s knuckles with flushed pleasure.

“It would be easy enough to send word to his colleagues and have them at Mr. Hemmick’s front door in a day or two, but I’m not sure that you wouldn’t stir up a mess in the meantime. The publicity from your death could bolster Ausreißer’s success. The disappointment from hearing that you’ve left voluntarily is a boycott and a think-piece away from cutting them off at the knees.”

“You want me to leave the band,” Neil says incredulously.

“Of course,” Riko says.

“I’m aware that you have sway in many circles, but not here,” Neil says. “The people in this studio are inside each other’s pockets more than they’ll ever be in yours. They won’t accept this. They won’t.”

“Your interpersonal connections mean nothing to me. Kevin belongs on my team. Andrew and his monsters have been a nuisance, but you are an insufferable offence.”

“So you’re removing your biggest threat?”

Riko’s lip curls. “I found vermin in my house, and I will return it to the sewers where it was born unless it gets out of my way.”

“Even if you did scare me with your posturing, my hands are tied,” Neil says. “I have a contract. He—they won’t let me go.”

Riko’s expression shifts, sand dunes moving in the blowing wind. “You think the drummer will protect you?”

Neil doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want to betray Andrew’s position. He’s like a pipe bomb in a mailbox or a chess piece in check.

“Oh, Neil. He couldn’t even protect himself.”

“What,” Neil says flatly.

Riko waves the cane in a relaxed circle, like he’s deciding where it should land. “I would have thought that someone with your trust issues would have done better research on the people around you.”

Neil stays silent.

“Andrew was a foster kid, yes? It’s chaotic for kids in those crowded houses. So many mouths to feed. Or fuck, in Andrew’s case. I’m sure it was traumatic for little Andrew to be passed around like that, from bed to bed. No wonder he’s so hot and bothered over our intervention. He knows what it looks like when someone’s overpowering him.“

“You’re lying,” Neil says, thunderstruck.

“Mention Drake Spears to your little bodyguard and see how quickly he loses it. Or better yet, just look up the Minyard trial. Andrew can drink the past away, but he can’t erase it from the news. Drake was a fascinating man. Not that rapists in uniform aren’t common, but to break someone like Andrew in I’m sure takes a little extra finesse.”

Neil lunges for him, and Riko counters a beat too late with the cane. Neil clips his eye, and the cane makes contact with his throat a second later. He splutters and reaches, trying to get a hand around Riko’s throat.

“That’s not true,” Neil’s saying, over and over. He twists the flesh on Riko’s neck, scrabbling at his clavicles, physically pressing him to be honest.

Riko looks annoyed, but not deterred as he holds Neil’s hands at bay. “How did you think he got to be a monster, exactly?”

It knocks the breath out of him. His grip sags. He’s aware suddenly that the car has stopped moving, and that anyone in it could kill and dispose of him without so much as interrupting their day.

“You’re not a monster because of what other people do to you,” Neil says, seething.

“Nonetheless. Leave the band, or one of the other members goes missing,” Riko offers. “I don’t care which, but Andrew is so nicely broken in already.”

Neil’s hand darts for him again, and Riko catches it, bored, cracking it back at the wrist. The door pops open at Neil’s back, and he’s hooked halfway out of the car by one of the other men, forearm screaming with pressure where Riko has him clamped in his fist.

Cool sweat breaks out on his brow from the pain as Riko leans down to face level, nails piercing his skin.

Before he can speak, Neil chokes, “you can’t set Andrew up. I won’t let you.”

Riko looks suddenly fatigued, and he lets Neil go so that he rocks back onto the sidewalk. “The more you underestimate my family’s clout. the more people suffer by our hands. You must understand that I am the only thing keeping any of you alive right now.”

“You’re wrong,” Neil says.

“You’re likely to be dead by summer, Nathaniel,” he says evenly. His eyes are black in the shadow of the open car door.

“That’s not my name.”

“If you want to lose allies and make new enemies in the meantime, it is your choice. But I don’t want to see you on stage again.” He shuts the door quietly between them, and Neil stumbles back several steps, momentum almost overbalancing him.

He watches the SUV depart and thinks of all of the leverage they have over him, how laser focused their will is to scrape Ausreißer off the charts and clip Neil’s loose end. His defiance had almost no affect on them at all. He had rubbed up against Riko’s temper, sure, but it was no harder than squeezing the trigger on a gun that’s already in your hand.

He squints distractedly at the studio several metres behind him, the bustle of midday spilling through the streets. The pleasant murmur of a city heralding in the end of Neil’s life.

He keeps thinking, if Riko knew about Neil’s past, he had no reason to lie about Andrew’s.

He keeps thinking, how could he be stupid enough to imagine that he had the biggest secret in the band — like Andrew wasn’t writing him a roadmap with songs, like his past wasn’t melted down and repurposed into lyrics.

He thinks, the target on his back just swallowed everything and everyone around him.

He thinks, I have to talk to Andrew.

______

He can’t bring himself to go back inside and excuse himself from rehearsal. There’s no explanation that they would accept without also understanding that he’s dragged them all down into danger with him.

He let them believe that his problems weren’t active case files and bleeding wounds. He pretended that he could broadcast his voice and maybe the music would be so sacred that no one would come looking for him.

Neil takes the bus home, scraping together spare change from his pocket. He finds his key while he searches, and his heart sinks. When he’s slouched in an aisle seat, he looks down at the shape of his hands, the grit under his nails, the old slice across his pinky, and the key nested in the intersecting lines of his palm.

Rain starts to patter against the window, blurring the colourful shapes of people outside who were hopeful enough to dress for much warmer weather.

He whirs with anxiety, searching for an out so desperately that it becomes a physical act, a shaking and a sweating. He should leave the city while he can still bear to. He owes it to everyone at Palmetto studio to take such a volatile element out of their equation.

It used to be his favourite solution when things turned ugly, dumping his life and name and letting a car carry him to a new one. The ritual of dying his hair and popping in lenses always felt charged with possibility.

Now he can’t let himself consider it. The idea of never seeing Dan or Wymack or Nicky or any of them again, of abandoning his deal with Andrew and dropping his new key into the nearest storm drain — it’s different now.

They were the first people to squint past his face-paint and recognize him as a lost kid. They gave him a key and a home with a locking door and passed him a microphone with the name he chose taped onto the handle. They gave him all sorts of contracts, but most important was the unspoken one that, for a minute, looked like friendship.

He gets back to the house two hours ahead of schedule, but it still feels too late. He thinks about letting himself in but suddenly can’t stand the thought of walking into the home that he’s about to ruin.

He knocks and steps down onto the second stair to give himself some distance. After a minute, someone stirs inside, and then there’s a thumping of footsteps, and the whine of the screen door.

Andrew stares down at him through the mist of rainwater.

“You have a key, don’t you?” he says. Neil looks up into his wan face, studying the way he’s holding himself up with the door, washed out in the bleak light from outside. Neil climbs warily to the top step, feeling a lived-in sadness settle into him.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Got it in one,” Andrew says, smiling with one half of his face. “So very very perceptive all the time.”

It’s such bad timing that Neil laughs, then holds a trembling hand over his mouth. “I can’t have this conversation when you’re like this,” he says.

“Which conversation is that?” Andrew asks sharply. “Do be precise.”

“I need you sober,” Neil insists.

“You don’t need me anything,” he sneers.

“I’m making you coffee. And then we have to talk about the Moriyamas.”

Andrew looks immediately more alert. His hand slips from the door, and Neil just barely catches it before it closes on him.

“Why are you back early?” Andrew asks slowly. Neil closes his eyes.

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I came.” He should be hitchhiking over state lines. He should be in someone’s truck bed with the rain in his hair. He should be using the cold to forget what warmth feels like.

“Not a good enough answer,” Andrew says. He steps backwards into the entryway and turns, calling “keep trying” over his shoulder. Neil follows him solemnly, nudging the doors closed at his back. He steps out of his shoes while Andrew disappears silently into the kitchen.

When he rounds the corner, Andrew’s sitting on top of the dinky round table by the window, legs crossed beneath him. His cigarettes and lighter are at his side, and a bottle of Smirnoff is open on the chair behind him.

Neil moves towards the coffee maker, but Andrew snaps his fingers at him.

“Tell me why you left recording, no non-answers s’il vous plait,” he says. Neil hesitates, then climbs quietly up onto the table across from him, boosting himself with one socked foot on the cushion of a chair. Andrew looks surprised and red-eyed as Neil settles in, knee to knee.

He swallows thickly. “I have to leave.”

“You just got here,” Andrew points out.

“I have to leave the band,” Neil explains.

He waves this off. “Oh, no, I’m pretty sure we have our contractual claws in you, Neil Josten.”

“There are people, more now than ever, who have… more deadly claws in me.”

Andrew taps his lower lip thoughtfully. “Is it claws though, or is it talons? I know how the Moriyamas enjoy their raven motifs.”

“Riko’s threatening the band.”

“What’s new?” Andrew says.

Everything, he wants to say. Everything’s reaching a new and chilling level of dangerous.

“He stopped me on the street,” Neil says quietly. There’s a hand on his jaw immediately, turning his face towards the overhead light fixture. Neil lets his eyes unfocus in the harsh light. Andrew puts a finger to the bruise from the cane Riko was borrowing. “It’s fine.”

“You will be fine up until the moment that you’re dead,” Andrew spits, one hand moving to inspect Neil’s tender wrist.

“I’m fine if I can walk away,” Neil argues. “I’m okay if I stand up and move on, and that’s what I need to do here.”

“You took some heat from Riko and now you want to run away,” Andrew extrapolates. “Which is great, except you told me you weren’t ready to give up our deal.”

“I kind of assumed all deals were null and void in the event of a deadly threat.”

Andrew uses his leverage on Neil’s chin to tilt their faces close together. “I,” he says, “am a deadly threat. Riko is a little boy playing with his father’s knives.”

Neil flinches at his phrasing, shaking his head. “He has connections I can’t begin to understand. He told me things about my past, about yours—“

“Did he?” Andrew interrupts. His voice is the kind of inescapable cold that turns all of your exposed skin red, then blue, then black.

Neil tries to turn his face out of Andrew’s grip, and the pressure on him is immediately lifted. “Who’s Drake Spears?” he asks.

“Oh,” Andrew breathes, and then he laughs. “A dead man. Aaron’s gift to me.”

Neil’s face goes lax with surprise. “He killed him?”

“We like to keep our violence in the family,” Andrew says, smiling again, joyless. “Or rather, they did. We ended the cycle.”

“So Riko wasn’t lying about what happened to you,” Neil says slowly.

Andrew takes his cigarettes in one hand and shuffles them against the tabletop for a long moment. “Unlike you, Riko doesn’t always think that lying is in his best interest. It’s not one of his favourite sins.”

Neil stews in this revelation for a moment, trying to outlast the directionless rage streaking through him.

“I wish I’d known, before.”

“Why? So we could waste our time excusing ourselves in miserable circles for things that other people did to us? So I could explain to you what all of my scars mean and make you feel better about yours?”

“So I could have killed him myself,” Neil says fiercely. Andrew eyes him steadily. The rain picks up outside, and Neil can see it coming in through the window cracked over the sink.

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

“It’s not supposed to mean anything to you. It’s just the truth,” Neil says. “If I can’t kill my own demons, I—would’ve liked to kill yours.”

“Much too late for that,” Andrew shrugs. “Not too late to stay here with us. If Riko threatens you out of the band on his first try, then you’re not as tenacious as I thought you were.”

“I’m afraid,” Neil says, “that someone else will suffer for my pride.”

“It’s not pride, it’s trust,” Andrew says, and then his face clouds over like he’s sobering up, remembering himself. “In case you’ve forgotten since I reminded you two minutes ago, we have a deal. Protection for participation.”

He shouldn’t believe that this volatile, five foot nothing stage performer could rebuff the yakuza, but he does. He can’t look at Andrew’s eery, wavering certainty without wanting badly to trust him.

“Right,” Neil agrees, feeling hours-old tension ebb out of his shoulders. He came here, he realizes, knowing that Andrew would give him a reason to stay. “I’ll wait it out. But you have to promise me that you’ll watch your back.”

Andrew shakes his head and pulls a cigarette from the pack. “He can’t touch me,” he says, flicking his lighter open. His eyes are hazy as he props one hand up and smokes on autopilot. Neil’s not certain that he knows for sure who Andrew’s talking about anymore.

The tour isn’t for another couple of weeks. He can keep his face out of the news and slog his way through all of this new information, maybe turn over a solution somewhere in the muck. At the very least, he can spend these final weeks pretending that he’s not afraid of the dark at the end of the tunnel where the rest of his life should be.

______

It’s the bark, not the bite

the prelude to a fight

the gleam of bared teeth

when they catch the low light

the revving beneath

the thought that you might

with the last of your breath

get our ending right

Neil turns the demo down on the car radio, embarrassed, and Dan grins at him from the driver’s seat.

“That’s a sexy little lyric.”

“Shut up,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“I like the weird synth in the background, that’s baller,” Matt pipes up from behind them.

Nicky groans. “Don’t tell Kevin that, he thought he was a fucking genius for stringing together six notes by ear.”

Dan laughs brightly, easing onto the freeway that’ll carry them out of the city.

Their album was released at midnight, and they’ve spent the morning watching the charts and listening to Nicky read out reviews as they were published, waiting to see if they’d be rejected or absorbed into the musical bloodstream.

It was exhilarating to see the finished product saturating their little corner of music culture, to watch people forming opinions, and to pop up in playlists and news feeds. Someone had already posted a guitar cover of one of their tracks before noon.

Neil watched the locked door of their house and hoped furiously that Riko wouldn’t take this new music as defiance and show up to drag him away. Foxes had shown up instead, with congratulatory champagne and a novelty card for Neil that read “baby’s first album”.

Both Ausreißer and Foxes were scheduled to take the weekend off before they’re all launched into promotions and tours on opposite coasts. Dan had suggested a Palmetto-wide retreat to lake Jocassee, and Neil had jumped at the opportunity to dodge the pressure from the Moriyamas and corral everyone out of harms way.

“This is going to be such a rowdy time,” Nicky says, chin tucked onto the shoulder of Neil’s chair. “I can’t believe you convinced Andrew to come.”

“Yeah, what the hell,” Matt says. “How did you manage that?”

Neil shrugs. “I asked.”

“Oh, you asked,” Dan says, nose scrunching under her sunglasses. “Do you know how long we were playing nice with the monsters before you showed up?”

“Neil’s got that magic touch,” Nicky says.

“Just how magic a touch are we talking?” Matt asks slyly.

“Don’t,” Neil warns.

“He won’t let us bet on them,” Nicky complains. “He’s just like, not fun.”

“It’s bewildering to me that you clowns are wasting your time when we all know who Andrew’s into,” Dan says. She keeps talking, and Neil hears Renee’s name, but he’s uninterested in the direction the conversation is taking. He looks distractedly out at the sun-split highway.

He thinks of how quiet the other car must be, stacked with supplies, caught in that constant vortex of tension between the twins, plus Kevin with his headphones on as always. Or what Renee and Allison talk about, tucked into Allison’s baby-pink convertible, the wind catching their bleached hair.

“Damn, are they passing us already?” Nicky asks, and Neil looks back in time to notice the massive shape of the van swerving past on their left. He catches the tail end of Aaron flipping them off, and Nicky laughs, craning into the front to return the gesture.

“They left like half an hour later than us, what the hell,” Dan says, revving a little, reluctant to fall behind.

“Andrew’s driving,” Neil says. The van jolts awkwardly into the lane in front of them, and Neil smiles as it streaks ahead. “They’ll beat us by a mile.”

“If they don’t crash first,” Dan grumbles.

“Look at it this way — if it’s not that, it’ll just be some other disaster,” Matt says. “That’s what you sign up for with the monsters.”

“You say disaster, I say a great time. Am I right, Neil?” Nicky asks, flicking at his shoulder to get his attention.

“I’m staying impartial.”

“You literally can not fool me,” Nicky says, affronted. “You love having an opinion.”

“He doesn’t want to incur your wrath by agreeing with us,” Dan teases, winking sideways at him.

“My wrath? This is the guy who taunted Riko Moriyama on sight, and you think he’s afraid of me?”

“We all are,” Matt says solemnly, and Nicky socks him in the arm.

They keep bickering, but Neil mostly tunes them out. A song that he helped write is still playing at half volume from the sound system, rounded out by Kevin’s deft bass solo. The car is warm enough to lull him to sleep, and he can see the rest of the Ausreißer crew fading into the scorched horizon ahead.

______

They arrive in staggered bursts to a spacious cabin, swallowed in overhanging trees on all sides. It’s two stories high, with a broad, wrap-around porch — courtesy of Allison’s string-pulling.

The twins are sharing a bench when they pull up, talking seriously, and Neil has to squint to make sure he’s seeing them correctly. Three hours in a car together and against all odds they’re still sharing space.

No one bothered to unpack the van, so Neil keeps himself busy by hopping into the back and pulling out duffel bags. Allison and Renee arrive soon after with coolers full of booze and perishables, and by the time everything has been lugged inside, there are three guitars propped up and abandoned in the foyer.

It’s surprisingly easy, once all of them are talking at once. Kevin drinks enough to stay loose, which always seems to relax Aaron in turn. The girls sit on the floor of the dining room while Matt unpacks groceries. Nicky chatters about getting everyone hammered so they can play “sweet, genre-fucked music” together. Someone lights a joint, and it makes the rounds.

Neil hops up on the kitchen counter, and Andrew leans against the fridge beside him.

Neil relaxes at the sight of him. “Aren’t you glad you came?” he asks, a little louder than he intended. He can sense the others pretending not to eavesdrop, their conversation dropping and then starting back up again, overly bright.

“Remains to be seen,” he replies.

“You were talking to Aaron,” he says. Andrew stares passively back at him. “I’ve never seen you speak one on one like that.”

“It was a long drive.”

Neil hesitates. “Did you tell him—“

“Andrew,” Nicky calls. “I’m comin’ through with groceries, can you free up the fridge?”

Andrew moves wordlessly aside, and then all the way out of the room. Neil watches him go with a dull sort of disappointment. For someone who is so frequently difficult to parse, Andrew is such an obvious font of honesty and clarity that speaking to him sometimes feels like an antidote to his own lies.

“Come on, Neil,” Renee trills. “We’re talking about the collab.”

“I want to hear the track,” Kevin says.

“You want to critique it,” Neil counters, wandering closer.

Dan throws a hand out towards him. “Exactly!”

“I think I have a right to know how you’re utilizing my lead singer.”

“Oh jesus, Kevin’s going to start talking about music theory, isn’t he?” Allison says. “I’m gonna need to drink so much more.” Dan cracks up, passing her a mickey of spiced rum.

“We all do,” she agrees, raising a full bottle in toast. “It’s a Palmetto tradition. Work hard, play hard.”

“Thanks coach,” Matt snorts.

“C’mon, bring it in.” They all tilt bottles together, some of them unopened, eyes rolling. Neil can see Andrew watching from the next room, and when they drink, he takes a drag from his cigarette.

______

Neil drinks too much.

He’d half planned on it, but his stomach is empty and his anxiety is just barely held down by sobriety, and it all gets to him so fast. His elbows keep chafing against other people’s, and his fear keeps blinking back at him from between branches outside and through passing headlights and in his own reflection.

They’re all seven or eight drinks deep when someone brings out a guitar, and then it’s a chaos of bad singing that coasts into real singing, someone upstairs laughing hysterically with someone else, someone on the porch with a bong.

He likes how it feels, the old safety of staying numb, like the back of the bars where nobody knows you, so you don’t have to bother to know yourself, and there’s nothing to be afraid of except the throb of a hangover at the end of the night.

But it’s different, now. Dan gets in close and thumbs both his cheeks, and Allison puts little, almost undetectable braids in his hair. Matt tells him how happy he is that they’re all together over and over again. The longer Neil looks over at Andrew the more he’s aware that he’s looking for something that isn’t there.

Nicky looks solemnly into his eyes in the bathroom mirror and asks to see his tongue piercing. There’s a strange moment, when he opens his mouth, where he thinks Nicky might grab him by the tongue.

“Come here, come here, come here,” someone says, and Neil looks at Allison’s reflection where she’s hanging in through the doorway. “Convince Andrew to play us something.”

“I can’t,” Neil’s mouth says. He tries again. “He won’t.”

“He does whatever you want,” Nicky says, looking much too serious.

“You—no,” Neil says. “You guys ask for whatever you want. I ask what he wants.“

“Whatever,” Allison says. “Semantics. Come out here.”

Nicky puts his hands briefly on Neil’s hips to sidle by into the hallway, and he and Allison chatter all the way back to the sitting room. Neil looks blearily at his reflection. His hair is so long now, it softens the angles of his father’s features. Makes his eyes look less painfully blue. He blinks, and breathes, and tries to think about nothing.

His feet carry him out to the rest of them. Dan cheers when he enters the room. She’s so flushed, and even though she’s sitting, Matt’s holding her steady.

Andrew’s sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, his posture relaxed, lips wet, drink in hand. Neil walks as steadily as he can to his side. The room goes nearly silent.

“Will you play something?”

Andrew looks up at him flatly. “Why would I?”

“I want to hear you sing,” Neil admits.

“And?” He takes a sip of his drink.

Neil shrugs. “I’ll trade you something for it,” he offers.

After a long moment, Andrew says “I’m not interested.”

“I know you’ve been writing new lyrics,” he says softly.

Andrew watches him for a minute, then nods towards the place where his notebook is sitting unassumingly on the coffee table. “Then sing them yourself.”

Neil considers this. He retrieves the book and holds it in both hands, giving Andrew time to back out. He doesn’t, and someone breathes out behind him.

“Okay,” Neil says. “Fine.”

He flips to the centre and finds blank pages, then beyond that, two that are flush with words and annotations. There are chords written out for four more pages after that, and then just scores and scores of melodies and poems and the lucky places where they meet.

He thumbs through songs he recognizes and new, title-less ones, still standing, everyone watching his search with interest.

He comes to a page near the back with the title burn this, and it reads:

Hands off never used to be a bad thing

It would be better if I never heard you sing

I know it’s winter, you can’t tell me that it’s spring

I want you without wanting anything.

Then a few lines are scratched out before the next fragmented stanza. Neil looks up into Andrew’s face, and he’s already staring back, eyebrows hitched so, so slightly together.

Neil crosses the room, and wrestles a little portable synth out of his bag, carrying it over to the couch. Some of the members of Foxes ‘ooh’ dramatically.

He nudges it on, cracks his knuckles, and toggles a couple of switches. He holds the book open on his knee, and starts to arpeggiate the suggested chords that Andrew’s written above each line.

He sings, improvising the melody, those first four lines and then —

It was too easy not to feel

when the drugs still told me you weren’t real

I always knew you were here to steal

We started this, me back on my heels

and you—beneath me.

There’s more, but Neil can’t bring himself to keep singing. His throat sticks and his vision goes spotty.

“Kind of a bummer,” Matt says.

“I think it’s pretty,” Dan says softly.

“Hard to believe the monster wrote it,” Allison says.

“You must know by now that we can write good lyrics,” Kevin says, irritated.

Aaron says something, but Neil’s still stuck staring down at the words on the page. Something is angrily crossed out in the second stanza, just completely struck through, unreadable. He feels remarkably sober all of the sudden, and he trudges to the precipice of an understanding so large that he has to step away from it, or he’s sure it’ll call him down to his death.

Andrew stands, somewhere in the field of Neil’s vision, and lets himself out onto the porch.

“Whoops,” Matt says, when the door closes behind him. “Do you think we took it too far?”

“He offered the book up,” Allison points out.

“To me,” Neil says.

“Well, yeah, but I think ‘sing them yourself’ was pretty self explanatory,” Dan says, missing the point. “So are we supposed to know who that was about?”

Neil stands, and the synth slides off his lap and into the crease between couch cushions. He walks to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of water, downing it all. Then another. He tries to remember exactly what the lyrics said and finds himself less and less certain.

For the second time that week, he thinks, knees knocking with terrible anticipation, I have to talk to Andrew.

______

He finds him curled on the bench outside, drenched in the yellow light from an exposed bulb, still nursing the same whiskey from before. He looks up with what Neil now recognizes as carefully tailored interest.

“Why does Nicky think that you’ll do whatever I ask?” he asks, voice wavering.

Andrew taps his fingers erratically on the rim of his glass. “Presumably because your track record has been good so far.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Andrew’s lips purse. “Then ask a new question.”

“Fine. I’ll play,” Neil says. “What was that song about?”

“It was about wanting something that I can’t have.”

“I didn’t think you wanted anything.”

“No,” Andrew agrees. “Except maybe to see if you sound as good in bed as you do on stage.”

Neil sits down, hard. He’s half-surprised when gravity still works, and the wicker footstool catches his weight.

“You like me,” he says weakly.

“Not really,” Andrew replies, expressionless. “Want and dislike are not mutually exclusive.”

Neil dry swallows a couple of times. He thinks of their eyes connecting darkly in a bathroom mirror, Andrew’s fingertips gliding over his scars, the passenger seat left open for him, his mouth and then Andrew’s on the same flask. He thinks of lyrics on their own album about running and lying and wanting without taking, and he remembers the deal that has kept him upright and safe and sane for so long.

Andrew’s amused interest when he’s high, the cryptic things that Nicky said to him on the night they met, the conversations where he gives away his secrets but doesn’t feel like he’s losing anything, it all completely restructures in his head.

He’s dizzy, still drunk, one foot in the reality where he was little more than a hindrance to Andrew, and the other in one where he writes songs about how much he wants him.

“You didn’t tell me,” Neil says dumbly. “You never said.”

Andrew shrugs. “There’s no point,” he says. “I’ve thought about it. Written about it. But I know better.”

“Okay,” Neil says, even though it’s not. Andrew shifts in his seat, and Neil watches his broad hands, his shiny lower lip, his squared shoulders. The night chirps and smokes with faraway firewood, pitch dark beyond the line separating the porch from the wilderness. Andrew might be the brightest thing for a thousand miles. “Okay,” he says again, but this time it splits in his mouth, and he reaches for Andrew’s face.

#the boys are back in town and emotionally? they're doin bad #aftg #the foxhole court #andreil #tfc fanfic #rockband au #abuse tw #violence tw #drugs tw #this one is a bit of a rollercoaster tbh #sorry if this is kinda poorly edited I've been at this for hours and gd hours #mine #philosophium #ask #long post

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har-rison-s · 5 years

Text

death on two legs

Reader x Queen

A/N: Hi. I love this idea! Very smart, very thought-through. I tried my best to write this correctly. Happy reading!

@inlovewithmiddleagedcelebs : Can I request something where reader is a member of Queen and she is so pissed off with the management so she wrote the lyrics to Death on Two Legs and when the boys read it, they started asking questions which led to reader storming off because of annoyance. Roger followed her outside, comforts her and led her back to the studio. When she gets back they apologized and said that it's great especially Freddie so they recorded it.

warnings: stress, sexism ig

main masterlist

borhap masterlist

roger masterlist

Being the woman in Queen doesn't have a day where it's easy. If it's not her drowning in sexist comments, rumors and allegations, it's certainly the management's discrimination against her. Always at the back of the album cover or a poster, sexualised in some way in a photo-shoot, forced to wear revealing costumes. Y/N would say that also having the smallest cut of the earned money is the worst, when really the pressure and sexism gets her down the most.

You suck my blood like a leech,

You break the law and you breach,

You screw my brain till it hurts,

You've taken all my money - and you still want more.

The management gets on her nerves everyday, and finally, Y/N has had enough. If before she thought that their behavior and 'requirements' is acceptable and normal, she has now realised that no part of how they treat her every day is normal nor acceptable. And Y/N wants no bit of this abuse, which is practically hiding in plain sight. She wrote a song, putting in words the way she feels.

Freddie, Brian and John are very supportive of Y/N, what about Roger... she isn't sure. She isn't sure what he thinks about her, cause frankly he has always—since the beginning of the band—given off the feeling that he hates Y/N. He barely talks to her, and if he does - his words are very conservative and the amount of them he speaks to her is much less than to the others. Some days it was so bad that Y/N wanted to cry, always inwardly begging the answer to “Why do you hate me so much?”.

Roger's and the managements's behavior is stealing all the good energy from Y/N, and even her inspiration and creativity. So, writing a song, for which she hasn't yet created a title for, is all she could get out of herself.

Misguided old mule,

With your pigheaded rules,

With your narrow-minded cronies who are fools of the first division.

The management says everytime that everything's taken care of and 'there's nothing to be worried about'. That statements make Y/N sigh and roll her eyes. “Of course,” she says to herself quietly. They were being ridiculous. Someone has to know. Y/N's complaints needed to be heard, by someone, one person, at least, and that's what her new song is for.

She closes the door of the studio behind her and hangs her jacket on the knob on the wall. There's chatter in the room she walks towards, and she greets the smoking Freddie, Brian, who's standing next to him, and John and Roger who are both sitting down on the sofa.

“Hey, boys.” She speaks to them plainly. Y/N notices Roger's eyes lingering on her longer than the others', after they've greeted her, as well. “Is there a bug on my face or something?” She asks, really not having the energy to deal with his nonsense today, or any of the following days.

Roger shakes his head to that and shrugs. Y/N looks back at Freddie with raised eyebrows. “Yes, my dear?” He asks, looking at her carefully.

“I have a song in mind.” She says and takes a few pages of folded paper out of her jean pocket, handing it over to him. Y/N folds her arms over her chest. Freddie unfolds the papers and gestures for John and Roger to get up and read this as well, Brian moves closer to Fred so he can read as well.

Death on two legs,

You're tearing me apart... (..)

“Right, who did you dirty this time?” John asks with a raised eyebrow. Y/N shrugs and a faint chuckle pushes its way past her lips, and they continue reading.

But now you can kiss my ass goodbye!

“Wait, you're leaving the band?!” Brian exclaims. She sighs and shakes your head.

“No, Bri—“

Do you feel like suicide (I think you should)?

“What is so wrong that you'd wish someone suicide?” Freddie asks. “You know, I'm all for jokes and fun, but did something happen?”

“Seems like an awfully aggressive song.” John adds.

Although there aren't many questions or comments from the boys and Roger is quiet, it pisses Y/N off greatly and she scoffs before heading right back out of the studio. They don't want to record it, and won't take it seriously, so what's the point?

She doesn't care if any of them will misuderstand her outburst or if they would come after her, everything's bubbled up and she can't take your anger out on other people. She needs to get outside to calm herself.

The air of London spring is crispy and a bit cold, but the sun makes it all better. Y/N crosses her arms back over her chest from the slight cold and sighs out, her breath faltering from the anger she's holding in. Y/N takes a few deep breaths, fearing that tears will come soon enough.

Roger's footsteps are drowned out by the grass of the studio's lawn, and he notices Y/N by the fence. His feet start moving faster towards her, although he's kind of scared to approach. “Y/N,” he says quietly, but she doesn't seem to hear him. “Love, are you alright?” Roger asks louder and Y/N turns around to him.

Her undoubtedly pretty face is warped by stress and anger and she wipes the escaped tears out of her eyes. “I'm—I'm fine, uh...” she trails off and looks away. “Go back inside, I'll be there in a minute.”

“No, no, I'm here, you can, uh, tell me what happened.” Roger tells her. Y/N gives him a side eye. “If anything happened, I'm not saying—“

“Roger, I know you don't actually care, so go back inside. It's not obligatory.” Y/N tells him and turns away from Roger. He furrows his eyebrows and steps closer to her.

“I do care. And you can tell me whatever you're not comfortable with telling the boys.” Roger says to Y/N and she hears that his tone is honest and sincere. Maybe he does care after all, he certainly says so. Y/N opens her mouth to ask about he always seems to ignore her presence and act coldly towards her, but decides against it, now is not the time.

She gives Roger one last look of doubt, and thinks “to hell with it”. Y/N sighs. “It's, uh... it's our management that gives me problems, they always have.” She admits and Roger becomes confused. “You probably wonder why I never told you boys about it, but it's not that I don't trust you. I do trust you, I just didn't want to have any complications, and I want perfect relationships with you all, but I can't, and it's hard, and...” Y/N looks down at her feet, breathing out deeply.

Roger puts his hand on her shoulder and the gesture makes Y/N calm down a bit. “What are they... Are they doing something to you?”

“Well, yeah.” She nods, responding in a snappy tone. “I'm always either at the very front with the most horrible outfit, or at the back, looking like yous' shadow. And—believe it or not—I'm getting the smallest cut of our cash out of all five of us.” Y/N tells Roger, and he can't help but gasp. “It's all because I'm a woman.” She says quietly.

“What? That's outrageous!” Roger exclaims, but it's no breaking news to Y/N.

“They never deny the rumors about me sleeping with any four of you, and in fact, they wanted to use that for business—to gain more recognition!” She throws her hands in the air, moving away from Roger.

“What the fuck?” Roger whispers to himself. “You—We should fire them!” He

“Roger, they're most likely to fire us, and not vice versa.” Y/N states. “I'm quite used to it by now, but this song's about them, dedicated to them, our management.”

Roger sighs. “Alright, the words completely make sense now.” He puts his hands on his hips and looks at Y/N. “Look, let's go inside and tell the rest, alright?” Roger suggests. She contemplates, but agrees to Roger's suggestion, nodding. “Come 'ere.” He says, stretching his arms out to Y/N, offering a simple hug.

Y/N is hesitant, but steps closer to Roger. She immediately finds comfort in the warmth of him and hearing his calm heartbeat, and rests her cheek against his chest. Roger's arms lock around her, and they stay like that for a while. “I think it's a great song.” He admits truthfully and Y/N chuckles, a few tears again slipping past her eyes. “Really, I think it's very powerful and sort of a way to get your feelings out.” Roger says.

“Thanks, Rog.” Y/N responds. She never thought that Roger would be the one talking to her and calming her down, out of the four of them, if she ever expected pity. John's the one who she talks to the most. But she doesn't mind, although it's weird, after how Roger acts through every day.

“It's going to be alright, you will be fine.” He sooths her, and then looks down at Y/N. “Let's go inside?” He asks and Y/N nods at his question. They pull apart and make their way back into the studio building, Y/N sniffing a couple of times and getting her face proper again.

“Darling!” Freddie greets her with open arms once she comes into the recording room. She smiles at him weakly, Freddie pats her back. “Listen, I think this one is great. I already have a sound in mind for it, no offense. Let's record it!” Freddie's ecstatic about it, she can see and it makes her very glad.

“Don't I need to tell you all what it's about?” Y/N asks, looking also at Brian and Deaky. They're silent, and Y/N sighs. “It's about our management. Because they're pissing me off.” She explains and the three raise their eyebrows in shock. “I'd love to go into detail, but—“

“We're so sorry, Y/N.” Brian interrupts her in a caring voice. She throws her hand at Brian, as if to say that there's no need. “No, no, come on, we are.” He tries to convince her, his arms spread out so that the four of them can hug the poor girl. She chuckles as they all come around her.

“You're sweet, boys. Thank you.” Y/N says, looking all of them in the eyes, one by one. “You're all probably wondering how they're pissing me off, but really, I don't want to talk about it now, I just want to record my song if you do.”

Deaky smiles at her and gives Y/N's shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Tell us when you're ready, there's no rush.” He says and Y/N smiles at him in response.

“I want to record it, as well.” Brian chirps. “Shall we start?” He suggests with a little doubt, looking at all his bandmates. Everyone nods, their thoughts unified. “Let's start, then!”

Everyone breaks apart their group hug and Brian and John walk into the other room, headed for their untuned instruments. Freddie leaves to go to the bathroom and Roger looks at Y/N, who's reading her written words again.

“You alright?” Roger asks and Y/N looks at him.

“I will be, won't I?” She fires back with a question, and winks at Roger. He laughs, realising she's repeating his own words. Roger gives her another pat on the shoulder and leaves her alone to her thoughts, joining Brian and John tuning their instruments.

Then make yourself null - and - void, Make me feel good, I feel good.

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littleliv1 · 5 years

Text

Too Much Love Will Kill You- Brian May

A/n: sooooo. I had this idea. I have some ideas for how this could go, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’ve looked absolutely everywhere for a little while now and couldn’t find any stories that were like this one, so yeah, I hope I’m not steeling anyone’s ideas. Idk if this will be a one shot, a few parts, or an actual fic, I guess it just depends. We will see :D also sorry for not being able to put “read more” and my docs just taking up space, my laptop finally died

Summary: You were at a concert with your girlfriends to see the band Queen. You fell in love with their music, and had taken a liking to the guitarist, Brian. You had met them a few times, seeing them at parties of mutual friends, etc.

Warnings: an affair, kissing, a lot of angst, sex, smoking weed

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were with Emi, your best friend since birth, at Queens concert. They were on The Magic Tour, so it was formally named, in the name of their latest album A Kind Of Magic. As the end of the night neared, they closed out with One Vision. You and Emi sang the lyrics as loud as you could. Because of your wealth, you got front row seats. This rewarded you to make prolonged eye contact with Brian. The whole time. You had been making flirty eyes at him, unintentionally but also intentionally, but he didn’t seem to mind, it only made him go harder. You all waited for rows to clear so you could be escorted out, meeting up with Emi’s “secret” boy hot, David Bowie. He was handsome to say the least, you only wish you’d have nabbed him before she did, but she really liked him. “Ready to drink our body weights?” I asked her, she giggled, nodding her head. She had short black hair that she wore in a bob. She always smelled like David, only you knew what went on behind closed doors.

About an hour later, you arrived to the after party. Things were going well, but no sign of that tall brunette. You found a few friends, and started drinking. It was a good time. You all talked about nothing, and everything. That ended as soon as someone whipped out karaoke. You couldn’t resist when they started playing your favorite songs, but you took over when they started playing I Want To Break Free by Queen. Emi couldn’t help but to die of laughter, throwing dollar bills at you, as you jokingly stripped off your jacket. But, how embarrassing is it when the writers of the song come waltzing in? Your drunken self didn’t care, but you knew your sober self sure as hell would. But, you’ve put that bad boy to bed three drinks ago. As you finished, the boys clapped for you, laughing. “Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all night!" You said, bowing. “What a mess you are, (y/n)!" Emi said, clinging on to David. “I don’t get embarrassed anymore, love," you stated. It’s true, you didn’t. You do dumb shit but you own it.

You walked over to Brian and Freddie, holding you third martini of the night. “Loved your show tonight!” You stated, louder than intended. “We could say the same about you, darling!” Freddie said, hugging you and kissing your cheek. “Marvelous to see you again, thought after your last album took off you wouldn’t be caught dead at our concert!” He said. You threw your head back in a sarcastic laugh. “Ha! Sweetheart I wouldn’t be caught dead doing a lot of things. Never in my life will I ever be shamed of seeing my favorite rock band!” You said, playfully and drunkenly punching his arm. You turned to Brian. “And how are you? Haven’t heard from you in a while,” you said, sipping your drink. He smirked, taking a pint of lager from a Roger. “Good, Good. Can’t complain,” he said. He looked over at the stand, and nudged you to look over. You did, finding Emi singing Fat Bottom Girls. You could have doubled over in laughter as she walked over to you, slapping your bum at the lyric “You make the rockin world go round!” You giggled a bit to this. You were busy with your friend that you couldn’t have noticed how Brian was completely lusting over you. He’s always loved how you were so outgoing. Chrissie would never embarrass herself like that. She was never one to be outgoing and crazy, that’s why she never went to any after parties, even before the kids.

“I need a smoke,” you said, digging in your purse, pulling out a carton of cigarettes. “Anyone like to join?” You asked, holding them out. “I’m okay, I just got back from smoking one,” Roger said. Brian stood, taking one. “I’ll join,” he said. You both walked into the cool, winter air, as you lit the cigarettes. “I don’t think I’ll be going home with anyone anymore, Emis probably run off with- someone.” You said, stopping yourself, remembering how no one can know about David and Emi. Little did you know, Brian knew you had to stop yourself from saying a specific someone, and he wanted to know. “Who is she with?” He asked you, you giggled because you knew something that someone else didn’t. “I can’t tell you!” You said. Your giggle made him smile, as he held your elbows when you leaned into him while giggling. He looked away, debating on the comment he was about to make as he licked his lips slightly, biting his bottom lip. “Secret for a secret?” He said. Now that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. “Hmmmhmhm,” you giggled into your mouth. You pulled his frow down, finding his ear, causing him to laugh because, well, you were a bit shorter than him, even in your heels. “She’s secretly dating David Bowie,” you said, placing a finger on your lips, shushing him. “It’s a secret and no one can know!” You said quietly, releasing hair. He looked inside to the two, now understanding as he nodded. “Nice,” He said. You poked at his belly, teasingly. “Your turn!” You said. He flicked his cigarette. “How drunk are you?” He asked. “I’m conscious, but I cannot drive myself home.” You said with a straight face, your total mood change earning a laugh from him. “Now tell me,” you slightly whispered. “I’m,” He started, letting out a small ‘I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this’ laugh. “I’m very attracted to you,” He said, having no regards for his wife and kids. He couldn’t hold it back, but he couldn’t help how he was feeling. But a bubble of regret comes over his body, as he sees you go sober immediately. Your eyes pierced into his, your lips slightly parted, taken a back. You were at a loss of words. As soon as you were about to say something, John walked out. “They’ve got a cake, Brian! It has our names on it! Come see!” He said, pulling Brian inside.

The end of the night rolled around, and you were drunk once again, but now with a belly full of cake. “Still drunk?" Brian asked from behind you, your conversation was hours ago and you hadn’t talked to him since. You turned to face him, nodding your head, showing him your glass of what-ever-was-handed-to-you. He smiled, looking down. “Let me drive you home, make sure you get home alright, Emi left hours ago.” He said, you chugged the rest of the glass, nodding your head. You didn’t look too bad for being very drunk. Things were blurry, but you still knew what was going on. But about half way through the night, you took of your heels and you’re pretty sure you made out with a groupie. He drove you home. You lived about 35 minutes away, but he drove kind of slower so that you didn’t vomit. He pulled into the drive way, running to your side and let you out, walking you inside. “Thanks, for taking me home,” You said, the drive had given you some time to calm down, you didn’t feel as drunk anymore. But damn were you hungry. “I have left over pizza, if you want to join, as a thank you for making sure I don’t die,” you tried to crack a joke, hoping it wouldn’t make things awkward. He looked at his watch. He could stay for a bit, he thought to himself. It wouldn’t hurt to eat. It was 3 am. “I’d love to.” He smiled, causing you to smile. You opened the fridge to a full box of pizza. “I always order some before parties, I usually wind up home alone, I like eating cold pizza at times like that,” You said, leaning on the island in your kitchen, taking a bite of it. He took a piece, eating it with you, leaning back on the counter. “So, what you told me before,” you said. Someone had to address the elephant in the room. “Were you just really drunk? Or do you actually,” You said, motioning to him. He nodded his head. “I do actually,” he repeated the motion you had made. You look at his hand, with a ring. He’s married, you thought to yourself.

‘Nothing can happen, (y/n), don’t try.’

You both sat there, eating your food, thinking to yourself. He had felt like this for so long, he wanted you for so long. It got to the point where he had to drink before making love to his wife, so he had the chance of seeing you instead. He hated himself for it. For feeling this way about someone else. He knew Chrissie deserved better. He couldn’t fight the feeling in his stomach. The kind of feeling that forced him to move near you. You had always been attracted to him. Who wouldn’t be? On nights where you came home alone, you had only dreamed of waking up next to him. There felt like a magnet in your belly that was pulling you to him; the kind of magnet that you couldn’t fight even if you tried, and you were. You tried to plant your feet, until you noticed him moving closer. You went to grab a piece of pizza, to try and disguise it. Soon enough, your faces were so close. You were both mentally begging the other to close the gap. So you wouldn’t be in the wrong. But when you both took a deep breath, the kind of deep breath the fills your belly and chest, you both took that as the other going in. As he grabbed your face, you wrapped your arms around his neck, and your lips met. It was a kiss full of list, desire, and passion.

The kiss that lasted but a moment, felt like a lifetime; or at least you wanted this for a lifetime. You were the one to pull away, looking up at him with lustfilled eyes. It was more than just list, however. There were feelings. Feelings that you didn’t know you could feel for someone. Feelings that he had bottled up for so long. You opened your mouth to speak, but what you were trying to say, you didn’t know. He gripped your hips, pulling you in for another kiss, this one deeper than the last. You were pushing against eachother so desperate to be closer to the other. But he was stronger, as you felt yourself walking backwards. This had continued until you were in your room.

Your house was very simple, yet cute, but not too girly. You had a lot of patterned pillows, soft lights hanging from the celling, almost hippy like, your home was. It was cozy. Your mother always told you about how crystals can heal a hurt Ora, or a happy environment could give you good vibes. Your bedroom wasn’t any different. As you stepped in, you kicked the door shut, in case Emi walked in, not that she would at this hour, but just in case. He started to kiss down your neck, cocking your head to the side. You could see in the mirror what was happening, Brian’s face tucked into the crook of your neck, your lipstick smeared, as it was all over Brian’s mouth. Your lips felt swollen, along with other parts. Your hair was a wreck, as it had his hands tangled into it. You couldn’t help but to feel like he might have been thinking about his wife, maybe he was so drunk that he thinks you’re her. But how could he have driven so well? You tried to think about any excuse possible that could explain why this was happening. That is until he noticed the stress in your eyes. “Are you okay? Do you not like it?” He asked. He was worried, not only did he know how completely shitty this all was, but he didn’t want to displease you. You nodded your head. “No, yes I’m okay, and you’re doing great, wonderful even. But, what about Christie?” You asked him, his hands around your waist and your hands pressed against his chest. He looked down.

“Maybe you’re right,” He said. He sat on the edge of your bed. “Things just aren’t going well. She doesn’t talk to me anymore, not in the same way at least. After we got married it was like she became a whole new person. She hardly ever wanted to go out, she just. Wasn’t who I thought I was marrying.” He said. You had to feel sympathetic for him. That situation must suck, you thought. You sat next to him in the bed, rubbing his arm. “It’s okay, you can talk about it,” you say. You just wanted him to be alright, even if it meant you didn’t have relations with him. He looked to you, lust in his deep eyes.

He gripped your face. Maybe it was the euphoric feeling he gave you to be with him, in this way. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was your sleep deprivation kicking in. But the next while, you couldn’t remember. But you know it was full of passion. It wasn’t just dirty and messy, how his hips snapped to yours, he cradled you and placed sweet-like-candy kisses to your face and neck and all over your body. Also not forgetting to place sweet bruises on your neck and chest and tummy. You felt like being with him was like being on cloud nine. You felt like you were floating.

About an hour after you all had finished, you couldn’t sleep. How could you? You were now apart of an affair. What hurt was that you didn’t know if he’d ever talk to you again. But what hurt worse than that was that you felt like that. You knew he was going to chose his wife of many years over someone younger. Not by much, but he may think that you’re just a twinkie. Nothing more. Next thing you knew, you woke up. When you fell asleep, you weren’t sure. And looking over, he was gone.

#brian may #brian may x reader #brian may angst #brian may fluff #brian may affair #im sorry i cant write smut #its quit laughable #queen fanfiction

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chyornaya-vdova · 5 years

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Set it all free

I got this idea after being hella addicted to Scarlett Johannson's song in SingxD I couldn't help but imagine that Natasha's singing this and poof, here it is. Also they're all a bit younger here.

Also posting it for the Brutasha Week 2019. Prompt of the day: Music

AO3 ff.net

Bruce usually didn't go to bars, but he didn't have a choice that night because Tony forced him to go there with him. Again. He had no idea why he let him persuade him.... And as usual Tony got a lot of attention from everyone. After all, it wasn't every day that they got to see a rich guy who also happened to be the CEO of Stark Industries. And Tony loved the attention but for his sake he told everyone to just leave them alone and they surprisingly did.

Bruce felt always out of place there. But he knew Tony just did it to cheer him up and he kind of appreciated it. They spent a few hours there and at the question if they could go, Tony suggested to get one last drink before they left. Bruce just agreed, knowing that his friend's gonna bother him more if he said no.

Tony led the way to the bar and Bruce followed, but he didn't get far when he suddenly ran into someone. “Oh, I'm sorry!” He quickly said, as he looked down at the red headed woman, he practically tackled. And the moment he saw her jade green eyes, he felt like he could stare at them forever.

But he quickly snapped out of it, not wanting to look like a creep and decently looked her over. Her red hair was short and curly and looked so soft, that he wished he could touch them. She was really thin, too. Like healthy thin. Like...forget it. She wore some comfortably looking shorts that reached to her knees and wore a black T-shirt from a band he didn't know. “I'm really, really sorry.” He repeated, talking loud enough so that she could hear him over the music. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, don't worry.” Even through the music her voice sounded amazing. “You alone here?” She asked then and Bruce needed another second to snap out of his creepy state. “Uh, no. I uh, I'm with a friend.” He answered and looked up for the first time, noticing that he'd lost Tony. He most likely was at the bar already. “And you?” Bruce asked back and he knew if she said she's alone, then he'll sure as hell abandon Tony and make sure she stays save.

But of course it's only because there were dangerous men everywhere who'd take advantage of beautiful women like her. “Me too.” She answered and he immediately felt disappointed and embarrassed and very stupid to think he'll abandon Tony like this. “He's grabbing us some drinks.” After that Bruce had no idea what else to say and he became awkward. And that meant he absentmindedly fidgeted with his hands and looked around more. He wanted to keep talking to her and quickly thought of a topic they could talk about but his mind was completely blank.

But then fortunately, or unfortunately however you want to see it, Tony came back with two glasses of beer in his hands. “There you are, bud. I was looking for you.” He said and gave him his beer, before noticing the redhead. And Bruce rolled his eyes, when he saw that certain grin on his face. “Hi there.” He greeted, before taking her hand and kissing the back of it. Meanwhile Bruce didn't know if he should puke at Tony's poor flirting or punch him in his face. “Nice to meet you, I'm...”

“Tony Stark, I know.” She interrupted him. Of course she knew him, everyone did. “I'm Natasha Romanoff. And you are?” When she looked back at Bruce, he was nervous all over again. Damn he totally forgot to introduce himself! Stupid! “B-Bruce Banner. Hi.” He said and shook her hand. Her skin was really soft, he noticed. “Natasha. What a beautiful name.” Said Tony, continuing his flirting attack even after getting a warning glare from Bruce. “Are you from Russia?”

“Yeah, good guess.” Said the redhead in a somewhat teasing tone as if she knew he's gonna say that. Well, her name did sound very Russian...”But you don't have any accent, that's amazing.” Right now Bruce wished he could just make him shut up already. “Thanks. I've been living here for a long time now.” Then she looked through the crowd of people around them and a second later seemed to have found what she's looking for.

“I have to go now, my friend's looking for me already.” Then she turned back to the two guys. “Maybe we'll see each other again.” She said and kept looking at him as if it's meant for him only. “I do hope so, Ms. Romanoff.” Said Tony charmingly, not noticing the look she gave him. Bruce noticed that he hasn't said anything for a long time now, but still couldn't figure out what to say. Once again, she made him snap out of his daze by lightly touching his chest —which made his heart beat faster even more— as she went past him. “Bye, Big Guy.” She said and winked at him, before vanishing in the crowd. And immediately Bruce felt stupid for not even saying good bye to her.

“Wow.” Said Tony then and Bruce prepared to hear how much he wanted to make a move on her. “I didn't think I'd ever see you having a crush on someone.” Bruce's eyes widened at his words. “W-what?!” His friend laughed and put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on! I saw how you were looking at her! And how you looked at me when I was talking to her.” Damn, was he that obvious? “Just wanted to make sure you really gave her heart eyes there, and I was right!” Not knowing what to say, Bruce just grumbled and drank his beer.

“Don't worry, I'll back off. She's all yours.” Yeah, that's what he wished. But he knew that someone like her wouldn't ever think about to like someone like him.

The next day went as normal as ever. Bruce and Tony worked together in their lab, just talking when it's necessary, until...”Got it!” Said Tony suddenly, grinning at his screen. “What? You solved the problem?” Asked Bruce amazed and went to him to look at his screen, but was shocked at what he saw. That bastard hadn't worked at all! He was googling that girl from the bar! “What the hell are you doing there?!”

“I found her on the internet.” He stated the obvious and shrugged. “And guess what I found out.”

“I don't care...” He mumbled, but actually he really wanted to know what he found out about her. “She's in a band.” Tony informed anyway and showed him all the pictures of her playing a black e-guitar with green lightning bolts and a black widow with the rest of her band.

Three of the four band members were male and blonde. Different shades of blond, but still...The other e-guitarist was probably the ‘good looking guy’. He had a picture of a hammer on his instrument that looked like Thor’s hammer from the Norse mythology. The one on the bass-guitar looked to be the ‘good guy’ and had a star on his instrument. And the one on the drums was probably the ‘cool guy’ and there were hawks all over his instrument. The band's name was ‘the Avengers’ and that reminded him of the shirt Natasha wore.

“Interesting, right?” Asked Tony then. “They even have a gig in a few days. It's something like a talent show for newbies and whoever wins will be able to bring out their first album and become famous.” Bruce hummed as if he didn't care about this, but he'd go there just to see her one last time. “Of course we'll go there and watch them play. Right, bud?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think I'll just forget the fact that you've got a crush on someone? No way, we'll go there, you get to know each other and start dating. That's the plan.”

“I can't believe it...” Mumbled Bruce and went back to his work, trying to ignore Tony. “Yeah right, it's unbelievable that you finally found someone!”

Today's the big day. Today they're gonna play for a few thousand people and hopefully get a recording contract. They've practiced the whole time for this and now they're ready. Now there were just two more bands, before they could play. Natasha was just talking everything through with second guitarist Donald Blake and their bassist Steve Rogers, when their drummer Clint Barton dragged her away. “Clint, what the hell-?”

“I have to show you something, Tash!” He just said and pulled her to a perfect place to see the whole audience. “Isn't this the guy you dumped me for?” He asked and pointed to someone. “What are you talking about?” The redhead grumbled, but looked at the direction he pointed at anyway. It took a while, but eventually she found the guys from the bar. Bruce and Tony.

“I haven't dumped you, you ran away and I ran into them.” Well, to be honest it wasn't really an accident that she ran into them. She's seen them in this bar a few times already and waited for a good opportunity to talk to Bruce. And she was right, he was a huge dork. But a cute one. “Anyway, do you think I never saw how you looked at him the whole time?”

“Shut up.” Was all she said, as she went back to the others. “Something wrong, Nat?” Asked Steve when they came back, but Nat just shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Everything's fine, Cap. Tashas crush is just out there.” Said Clint and earned himself Natashas famous murder glare. They all had nicknames Clint gave them. Clint himself was called 'Hawkeye', because he loved archery and is actually pretty good at it. Natasha's called 'Black Widow' because Clint always said she's scary and he's kinda scared of spiders. Donald's called 'Thor' because he did look like a Norse god to him and they all agreed. And Steve's called 'Captain America' just because he's patriotic. “She has a crush?” Asked Thor, who was just as surprised as Steve. “I don't-”

“Yeah and I'm sure he's just here to hear her sing. So, how about we change our song?”

“What?!” Clint just ignored her and went on. “I think we should play Nat's song. You guys in?”

“Clint...” Grumbled Natasha, but it still fell on deaf ears. “I'm in.” Agreed Steve immediately. “Let's do this!” Said Thor and Natasha had no choice but to agree, too. “Whatever...”

“Don't worry, he'll love it.” Said Clint and wrapped an arm around his best friend, but immediately got an elbow in his ribs.

For the umpteenth time Bruce was asking himself why he was there in the first place. He kinda felt stupid for this, but maybe when they're playing they won't see them. Well, actually there were so many people there, it's kinda obvious that they won't see them. It's still making him nervous though. And the worst thing was that Tony was booing everyone off the stage and complained how long it took till the 'real band' came to the stage.

Okay, the worst thing was when they actually went on the stage and Tony acted to be like their biggest fan even if he never heard a song from them. They went to their respective places —they even wore the same band t-shirt— and after Natasha greeted the audience and introduced the band the lights went out and she was on the spotlight. It was just a second, but Bruce could've sworn that she looked at him.

And she even held his gaze when she began to stomp her foot in time with the drums. Bruce quickly looked down embarrassed, before she began to sing.

I followed my heart into the fire, got burned, got broken down by desire. I tried, I tried but the smoke in my eyes left me blurry, blurry and blind.

Then the lights went back on and the guys began to play. And now her eyes roamed over the people cheering on them.

I picked all the pieces up off the ground got dirt on my fingers but that's gone now. Got the glue in my hands and stick into the plan. Stick into the plan that says

I can do anything at all. I can do anything at all.

In just a few seconds, she grabbed the guitar that hung behind her back, swung it to the front and joined the others.

This is my kiss goodbye. You can stand alone and watch me fly. 'Cause nothing's keeping me down, gonna let it all up. Come on and say right now, right now, right now! This is my big hello, 'cause I'm here and never letting go. I can finally see, it's not just a dream, when you set it all free, all free, all free!

You set it all free!

Bruce couldn't stop staring at her. The song was amazing, her voice was amazing, she was amazing! Uh, they. They were amazing. They played really great together and it looked like they were very good friends. All three guys did the background singing, but Bruce was barely paying any attention to them.

I was a girl caught under your thumb, but my star's gonna shine brighter than your sun. And I will break so high, shoot so far gonna hit, gonna hit, hit every target. Make it count this time. I will make it count this time.

While she sang her eyes always found his, or was he just imagining it? She couldn't possibly look at him, right? Why would she anyway? Except she's just singing for him. No, he shouldn't read so much into this. They didn't even know each other!!

You set it all free! You set it all free! You set it all free!

Now came her solo and god was that amazing. She really had talent and when they won't let her win then someone had to die. Of course that was just a joke...During her solo she turned to her band members and he could clearly see how much fun they had together. “Yeah!” Yelled Tony then and Bruce tried everything to ignore him and make sure that people didn't see they're friends. “You guys rock!” The scientist held his forehead when Tony cheered for them as if there's no tomorrow.

You set it all free! You set it all free! You set it all free! You set it all free! You set it all free!

Tony went crazy when the song was over. That was probably the most embarrassing experience of his life...He even yelled for an encore and soon enough Bruce wasn't the only one annoyed by him.

The rest of the show was pretty boring to be honest, since the best band already played. But what happened next was really unexpected. At least for them. Natasha's band didn't win! Both he and Tony were furious about it but only Tony let everyone know, booing the winners and yelling how their music sucked.

Bruce held his forehead, trying to hide his face when Tony dragged him into this and yelled that they preferred the Avengers. “Booo! You guys suck! Even my dead grandma can play better than you!”

“Tony, shut up they're gonna kick us out!” Bruce yelled/whispered at his friend, but he kept going until they eventually were kicked out. “Tony, was that really necessary?”

“Of course it was! Your girl didn't win and they were the best!” Bruce sighed and looked down to hide his blush. “She's not 'my girl'...”

“Yeah, but she can be.” Sometimes Bruce really wondered why he's friends with Tony Stark in the first place...Before he could say anything, Tony looked past him and waved. “Natasha!” He called and Bruce's eyes widened. He was almost afraid to turn around, but it would be rude not to. And then even Natasha and the drummer went to them.

And in that moment he realized something and felt extremely stupid for not thinking about it sooner. What if she already had a boyfriend? N-not that it would be that important, but still...”What are you guys doing here?” She asked, but judging by the tone of her voice and how she looked at them, she already knew they're here. “Ah, you know, enjoying some music and stuff.” Answered Tony and nudged Bruce with his elbow. “You guys were the best. Right, bud?”

“Uh, yeah. You should've won.” Agreed Bruce shyly and earned a smile from Natasha. “Thanks, but we're not too sad about it.”

“Yeah, there's always next time.” Agreed Clint and wrapped an arm around the redheads shoulder. That broke Bruce's heart a bit, but then she pushed his arm off of her. “Yeah, we just need to practice more.” She said and shrugged. “No, you don't need to. You guys are great and that's why I want you to come to Stark Industries tomorrow and we'll have a little talk.” All three of them looked at Tony confused. “Talk about what?” Asked Natasha, while Tony just grinned.

“See you tomorrow. Around twelve-ish, okay?” With that said, Tony went to the parking lot, leaving Bruce, Natasha and Clint standing there. What did he plan now? “Uh, I guess see you tomorrow?” Said Bruce and just got a simple “We'll be there.” from Natasha, before he followed Tony to his car. “Tony? What's your plan?”

“You'll see.” Was all Tony said and Bruce could only hope that he won't do anything stupid...

Natasha had absolutely no idea why Tony Stark wanted to talk with them, but they decided to just give it a try and went to the Stark Tower 'around twelve-ish'. A Woman named Pepper brought them to Stark's office and Bruce was there, too. Did they work together?

“Guys!” Greeted Tony loudly when they entered the room. He got up from his chair, his arms up in the air. “Lady! Welcome! Please sit down, let's talk business.”

“What kind of business?” Asked Clint, but Stark didn't answer and just raised his hand to tell them to be quiet. “First of all: consider me your biggest fan. I have no idea about the music business —yet— but that won't stop me from wanting to help you. I wanna sponsor you.” Everyone in this room —including Bruce— looked surprised.

“Are you serious?” Asked Steve eventually, saying what all of them thought. “Of course.” Tony stood up and walked around the office. “You guys have a lot of talent and potential. I love you already. And that's why I want you. I want you to take over the world! Plus an amazing band like you will give me and the company a great image, too. Win win, right? So what do you think? Are you in or are you in?”

The band members looked at each other, having a silent conversation with each other. “Well...” Began Natasha. “We need some time to think about it.”

“Of course. This is gonna be a big decision, your life will change forever! Take all the time you need! You're welcome to stay as long as you want, I can even prepare some rooms for you.” Was he really telling them they could live here? “Wait what?” Said Bruce then, who obviously had no idea what Tony planned. “Tony, what are you talking about? You want them to live here?”

“Sure, why not? I know you guys live in a tiny apartment together, so why not change it to this?” Stark was a really crazy man, but it did sound tempting. “When we're working together it's gonna be easier this way, don't you think? All of your stuff will be here, I'll prepare a room to create your first album, I'll be taking care of your career and you'll be save from crazy fans and paparazzi. You know what? We'll give you some time to talk about it and then you can tell me your answer.” With that said, he pushed a protesting Bruce out of the room.

The guys were silent for a moment, trying to realize what happened. “Did you guys hear that?” Asked Thor, who was just as confused as the rest of them. Clint nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. What do you think about it?”

“It could be our chance...” Mumbled the redhead. “But we should ask him what he wants from us in return.”

“Well, I wouldn't mind that. Maybe it's gonna work.” Continued Steve. Clint sighed, but had to agree. “And our apartment really is tiny.”

“Is anyone else wondering how he knows where we live?” Asked Thor then, while the shook their heads. “Nah. It's Tony Stark we're talking about.” Mumbled Clint, before leaning back in his chair. “I say, let's try it. That's definitely not the worst thing to happen to us and when we don't like his methods we'll just get the hell out of here.” The drummer looked at his team mates questioningly, while they agreed one by one.

“Great!” They jumped in surprise when Tony suddenly threw the door open. “I knew you'll be in! You won't regret it! I don't want anything from you, I just want you to stay amazing!” Maybe they should be angry that Tony eavesdropped, but to be honest...they weren't surprised he did. Natasha noticed Bruce slowly following him in, hiding his face behind his hand. It did put a smile on her face, but she wiped it off as soon as it came. “I can let someone fetch your stuff right now.”

“Hey, wait.” Said Steve and stopped Tony's enthusiasm. “Isn't this going a bit too fast?”

“Not at all! We can't start our little project soon enough. If you ask me that’s not going fast enough! Anyway, do you guys have any more talents that I should know of?”

“Well, Nat and I speak a few more languages and play more instruments.” Answered Clint and earned a very interested look from Tony. “Tell me about it.”

“Well, I can speak Japanese, Russian, Arabic and Chinese.” Said the archer.

“I’ll just name a few. I can fluently speak Latin, Russian, French, German, Chinese, Italian and a few others.” At this Tony and Bruces eyes widened in surprise and awe. “Amazing. And what else can you play?”

“Piano, violin and drums.”

“Piano and Guitar.” Natasha and Clint answered like it’s the most normal thing in the world to speak and play multiple languages and instruments. Which it was for them. “You guys are crazy talented, I love you.” Said Tony impressed, before standing up. “How about I’ll show you guys where you can stay and in the meantime someone will make the contract?”

Nat looked to her boys who nodded, because why not? “Okay.”

Tony led the way, dragging the boys with him, while she and Bruce were left standing. “I’m sorry. Tony’s weird sometimes.”

“Noticed.”

Then they followed the others out, but as soon as they left the room the door of the elevator closed with the boys inside. “Need to be faster!” Called Tony as the door closed and Nat caught a mischievous grin from him.

“Looks to me like he’s always weird.” Mumbled Nat and only got an agreeing hum from Bruce. They were quite for a few minutes then. It was a very awkward silence. Nat already thought about what they could talk about, till Bruce broke the silence. “So...Thor, is that his real name?”

“Oh, no. It’s just a nickname. We all have one.”

“I see.”

Nat could hear from his voice that he’s curious about their nicknames and so she answered his silent question. “Clint gave us the names. He always said he looks like a norse god, that’s why he called him Thor. Then this name just stuck with us. Steve is the patriotic one of us and we always call him Captain America to tease him. Clint is very skilled in archery and since he doesn’t miss a target we call him Hawkeye. And I’m Black Widow.”

“Black Widow, huh...? Why, do you actually eat men?” He joked and even though she’s heard this so often, Nat couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, don’t worry. Clint’s just afraid of spiders and also thinks I’m scary. Maybe he only picked this spider because it’s very deadly.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re scary.”

For this Natasha just had to scare him a bit. “Oh, but you should be scared of me, doc. I could crush your skull with a simple peanut butter sandwich.” The redhead was satisfied when she saw him swallowing.

Then the doors to the elevator opened and they entered it in silence. He pushed the button and a moment later the doors closed again and the elevator moved up. Maybe she scared him too much? “Wait...how did you know I have a doctorate?”

“I didn’t. You look like a doc to me.”

“Well, good guess then.” He replied, smiling as if she didn’t threaten him two minutes ago. “Natasha? May I ask how you learned so many things?”

She kinda saw this question coming. There were many things she couldn’t talk about now. Not even Clint knew everything about her and they were friends for years. “Let’s just say...I lived in an orphanage and they forced us to learn different languages to find our place in the world. I was always skilled with instruments, so they properly taught me how to play violin and the piano. But then I was sick of this and taught myself the guitar. And when I met Clint he taught me to play the drums, while I taught him to play guitar.” This is all he needed to know. Maybe if they got to know each other more she could trust him with the full story.

It would be nice. He was totally her type. She kinda liked dorky but smart guys and he’s the dorkiest and smartest she knew.

“Sounds amazing.” He mumbled, while Nat wished she could agree with him. But this place was far from amazing.

Three months passed since then. The Avengers were high up on the charts with their first album. They lived in the Stark Tower and every band member got their own floor. Tony kept his promise and made sure they looked as cool as possible. They had all the creative freedom they wanted, but also occasionally promoted Stark Industries as promised.

Tony even made some contracts for a big video game company —these songs were in their album, too— and now they even had the dates for their America tour already. This guy was really the best that ever happened to them.

With Nat and Clints multilingual skills, they've got songs in other languages. And anytime Clint had the singing part, the two best friends just switched instruments, so that Clint won't vanish behind his drums.

During this time Nat got also closer to Bruce. Everyone’s already teasing them that they should finally start dating. Well, Natasha's not against the idea and Bruce seemed to like her as well. Nat wanted to make a move on him anyway and then she’ll see how things will go.

Avengers Album

FF Dissidia 012 Duodecim – God of Fire (Natasha)

FFVII BC – Theme of Elfe (Natasha)

Marvel Disk Wars – Tsuki Yabureru! Time to SMASH (Clint)

FFVIII/Black Mages – Otherworld (Natasha)

ScarJo – Set it all free (Natasha)

Green Day – She’s a rebel (Clint)

Billy Talent – Devil in a midnight mass (Clint)

Billy Talent – Fallen Leaves (Clint)

Christina Stürmer – Ich lebe (Natasha)

Christina Stürmer – Nie genug (Natasha)

Christina Stürmer – Schwarz/Weiß

Christina Stürmer – Glücklich

Silbermond – Passend Gemacht (Natasha)

Silbermond – Verschwende deine Zeit (Natasha)

Silbermond – Immer am Limit (Natasha)

Silbermond – Durch die Nacht (Natasha)

Silbermond – Irgendwas bleibt (Natasha)

Silbermond – Das Beste (Natasha) -> Clint&Nat @ Laura&Bruce

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