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justice4harwin · 3 years

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Light’s Corruption- Chapter VIII

Summary: With few friends at the Little Palace, Alina must work to win the favour of her fellow grisha and their commander, who makes her feel light headed every time she sees him.

After training in Os Alta for two years, the king grows tired of waiting and demands the Sun Summoner joins a western post near the Fjerdan border along with the rest of The Second Army to test her abilities.

Something happens. Suddenly, Alina wants blood to run down the rivers and those who stand in her and The Darkling’s way will be blinded by her light and swallowed by his shadows.

It won’t be pretty.

Pairing: The DarklingxAlina

Rating: 18+

Do I have a playlist for this story? Yeah

Do I also have a separate bff playlist for Genya and Alina? Duh

Click here for chapter 7 in case you missed it.

Chapter 8: Alina the Baker

Grisha at the Little Palace had a day of the week off every other week, which meant that Alina could catch up on some precious sleep in the confines of her soft, warm bed filled with softer pillows. Even with the weak winter sun shining down on her, Alina could've slept all day and well into the night. In fact, it was even better, for she'd be warmer. There was no such thing as 'too much warmth' for her. The hotter, the better.

Curled up like a cat over the luxurious bed, the Sun Summoner intended to sleep all day and night.

Then there was a knock on her door.

She didn't hear it and rolled over in a most unnatural way.

The knocking got louder.

She began to stir.

"Get up, Starkov!" Genya yelled from the other side.

"Maybe if I don't make any sounds she'll leave." Alina thought, clutching her eyes tightly shut.

"You know I can go get the keys, but that'll only give me time to get angrier!"

Groaning, Alina threw herself onto the floor and made for the wretched door.

The redhead swung in with her usual grace, her kit in hand as she hummed a melody strange to Alina's ears.

Slowly, Alina followed her.

"Wash your face and come sit here." she instructed, pointing at the vanity.

After doing so, the Tailor began to work on her hair.

"Do I have somewhere to be?" Alina asked, yawning.

"No, but with the Winter Fete so close, I wanted to try some different styles for your hair and make-up, so we won't waste so much time on the actual day." she explained. "Besides, the Duke is still here, so the queen's daily naps have become longer, which only makes it harder for the Duke to talk whatever it is he wants to discuss with the king."

Alina made an odd face through the mirror; Genya smiled at her ingenuity.

"They've been fucking like ra-"

"Ah, ta-ta-ta, I get it." the Summoner closed her eyes and waved her hands, not wanting to picture any of it. "Does the king know?"

Genya snorted, joining two braids into one.

"Please, he's a dumb child."

Alina yawned again, loudly.

"Look, I don't think my hair matters too much for the Fete, so how about we take a nap?"

"Lazy."

"It's early."

"So?" a red, perfectly trimmed eyebrow rose softly. "Who would imagine the Sun Summoner herself wouldn't want to raise with the sun?"

"Technically, the sun is always out."

"I'm also using you as an excuse to get out of the Grand Palace."

"Can we do something else, then?"

"No!" she yanked Alina's hair once more and tied it. Leaning over her friend, she arranged the three mirrors which sat atop the vanity so the other woman could get a good look at it. "What do you think?"

Alina stared at her reflection. Two braids started at the top of her head and joined as one at the base of her neck.

"I like it."

Genya placed a slender finger to her lips.

"Too simple." With a flourish of her hand, Alina's hair was freed once more, falling in dark waves down her shoulders. "Turn."

When she did, her friend leaned over and took her face gently.

"I thought you were sleeping better." she mumbled as she ran her fingers underneath her eyes, ridding it of bags.

"I am, I think."

"Have you been summoning?"

"Yes, but, …"

"But?"

Genya leaned against the vanity, waiting patiently.

"I don't know." Alina said, looking down at her hands. "I know Baghra is horrible, and she still hasn't called back for me-"

"Then you go to her."

"I don't want to." Alina confessed, even though she probably should. Who else would teach her? The Darkling? He was always on and off the Little Palace grounds. "What if I mess up too bad and no-one's there to stop me?"

"So you haven't been summoning." Genya concluded.

"I have!" she fought back. "Just a little."

To prove her point, she closed her hand into a fist, opened up, and let a small orb of light fly up to Genya's face, not too close to make her uncomfortable. The Tailor watched the light with a small smile, and slowly reached out.

"I thought it might burn me."

"I think it would if I wanted to hurt you, or if I put more effort into it."

"But you love me too much."

"I tolerate you." she joked, moving the orb up and above her friend's head. "Now you look like a saint." she said, trying to turn the orb into a halo. It flickered and didn't exactly do as she commanded, only shone brighter over Genya's features.

The redhead shook her hand.

"Move. With this light, I can probably mask my age a bit more."

"Oh yeah," Alina said as she stood up, a playful smile on her face. "Because you're soooo old."

Alina didn't actually know how old Genya was, but she was sure they were about the same age.

"Tomorrow I will be a year closer to grey hair so," Genya's fingers went over her face, getting rid of imperfections Alina couldn't see. "One can never start too early."

"Tomorrow's your birthday?" Alina asked, starting to smile.

Genya didn't seem so excited. She merely shrugged.

"Yes."

"What are you planning on doing? Are you having a party? How many people will be there? Are presents mandatory? Cause I don't have permission to go to the city to get you one, and it doesn't really matter because I have no money and I don't have time enough to do something myself. What sort of ca-?

"Alina!" Genya had to raise her voice a little to get her overly excited friend to stop. "We don't celebrate birthdays here. It's just another day."

The Sun Summoner frowned.

"So, not even a cake? Or the day off?"

The Tailor huffed, amused.

"What for?"

"To celebrate." Alina was no longer bouncing on her heels.

"Trust me, the last thing anyone in these palaces would think of is to celebrate my silly birthday." she said as if it meant nothing.

Alina sat on the carpeted floor; legs crossed.

"That's depressing."

"If you say so." she remained indifferent.

She peered up at her friend and got an idea.

"Should we have some tea?"

"After I test how to work your face."

Later that night, standing outside the kitchens of the Little Palace, Alina ran her hands over her kefta and stood as straight as she could, putting on her best scowl. She hoped she had picked up a thing or two from Ana Kuya and Baghra

She entered the place like she owned it. At first, nobody took notice, too busy with their tasks. She cleared her throat.

Nothing.

She clapped her hands twice, like Genya did to call upon the attention of her miserable shrews -not that Alina considered the kitchen staff to fall into that category- and everyone in the kitchen turned to her, adopting various expressions at the sight of her.

No-one seemed to know what to do or what to say.

Trying to seem somewhat commanding, Alina cleared her throat once more.

"I need ingredients to make a cake." she stated.

One of the cooks swallowed hard before she began to speak.

"If you'd like a cake, Miss, I can make-"

"I want to do it myself, actually." she said, placing both hands behind her back and praying to all the saints she could remember -there weren't many- that they took her seriously.

Still, nobody moved.

Alina guessed that it wasn't every day that a Grisha showed up and demanded to cook something by themselves.

Not wanting the kitchen staff to feel offended, she spoke again:

"It's for a friend, you see, so I'd like to give her something I made with my own hands."

Slowly, the same woman who had spoken nodded, and then smiled tentatively.

"There's fresh eggs over there, Miss."

As it turned out, Alina did need some help after all. She knew how to make a basic cake, but as soon as she said it was a birthday cake, a middle-aged man jumped on her, offended on behalf of Genya.

"You can't just give your friend something so bland." he had said, his face red as he gestured widely at the cake, like it was a disgusting piece of work. One might have thought Alina had insulted his family. "You need to fill it with something, decorate it, give it life and flavour!"

Yes. That, she had no idea how to do.

He pushed her aside hastily.

"Saint can summon light but can't make a decent birthday cake." he muttered.

Alina's mouth hung open, offended, but she said nothing.

She hurried up the steps with a big cake held as if it were a precious new-born child when she heard him:

"Miss Starkov?"

"Holy Saints!"

She came to such a sudden halt, the cake moved precariously on its base.

"Yes, sir?" she called, tense, not daring to turn back.

"I am glad I came upon you;" The Darkling said, and she could hear him approaching.

It was so great to have him back, but why did he have to arrive at that time? Couldn't he have waited a few more minutes?

"Was there something you needed?" she asked.

"I can't believe myself, but please say 'no'"

"No, no, I just wanted to inform you that you shall start training with me tomorrow. I will see you at the entrance just before dawn."

"I thought you had no time for personal training." she was reminded of their conversation one season prior. "And that you didn't want to show favouritism."

It was probably stupid of her to say those things, to make him look like he couldn't make up his mind, but she find it hard to filter her thoughts when he was in the vicinity.

"I remember our conversation very well, Alina." he said, and she could hear his voice closer. It was so deep and smooth. Alina took a deep breath and tried to steady her heartbeat. "But some circumstances have changed, and I decided to make an exception."

Any other day, she would've melted at his feet at the way he spoke, as if it were almost a dirty, scandalous secret only meant for them.

But she had Genya's cake in her hands. It was big, and heavy, and he couldn't see it.

"That's great!" she said, and she meant it. "Thank you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to go. Moi Soverennyi." she bowed, and then clutched her eyes shut, cursing herself silently. Nothing showed more respect for one's General than showing them their behind.

"Are you hiding something, Alina?" he asked, sounding far too amused to her liking.

"Nope."

"Right. And I am the Black Heretic." he almost snorted. Alina frowned; he sounded so…normal when he did that. She wanted to hear it more often, she realized.

She craned her neck so she could get a glimpse at him. His eyes shone with mirth; the corner of his mouth was tilted up. She wanted to freeze him like that forever.

"It's nothing bad or illegal."

He chuckled, and his nose crunched up a little. Alina found it adorable, and she wanted to kiss him again, cuddle next to a fire by him, and make him laugh until his sides hurt.

"Alright, then. I shall let you be on your way." he took a step back, and Alina took a few steps forward before stopping at the end of the stairs.

"It's good to have you back."

She climbed up the stairs so quickly one might've thought a Squaller was pushing her up, and didn't give him opportunity to say anything back.

Alina moved her tea table to the centre of her room, where she placed the cake and a few flowers she had stolen from the various vases around the Little Palace to give it more life.

Smiling like an idiot, she closed her eyes and called her light just as there was a knock on the door.

Her light answered and her hand shot up, leaving a thin layer of golden dust hovering near the ceiling, giving the space a lovely ambience.

Hastily, she made sure everything was in order. The tea was hot, and there was plenty of kvas and wine for at least ten people. The kitchen staff had been more than happy to provide for her when they found out who Alina wanted to celebrate. Apparently, Genya was well liked among the otkazat'sya who worked on the Little Palace.

She hurried to open the door.

Genya waited on the other side, standing straight, an eyebrow arched up.

"You called for me? Is it urgent?"

"Yes!" The Sun Summoner answered, taking her friend's hand and dragging her across the expansive room.

She turned abruptly and placed her hands on Genya's eyes, blocking her view.

"For all the Saints, Ali, I don't have time to play around." she complained as she was dragged some more. "Just because the queen is spending another afternoon with the Duke of Balakirev doesn't mean I don't have other things to do and-"

Alina uncovered her eyes.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" she squealed, taking a step to the side and extending her arms to showcase the cake.

It was rectangular, decorated with red, blue and yellow flowers all over it. No white. Nothing about that cake was white.

The Tailor stared at it.

'Happy Birthday, Genya!' it read, in black, messy letters. While the middle-aged man from the kitchen had done most of the decorating of the cake, Alina had insisted on writing the words herself.

Still, The Tailor stared at it, mouth agape.

Slowly, Alina's smiled dropped, and looking at her friend in the eyes, she was horrified to find them wet.

A tear fell down Genya's pale face, and Alina rushed over to remove it.

"Gen?" she asked, extremely concerned. "What is it?"

But Genya couldn't say anything. Her mouth opened, then it closed, and it opened again as a small cry left its confines, the tears falling freely now, like a turbulent river.

Alina hugged her, rubbing her stiff back in circles.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." she said over and over again. "I just thought you might like it. I'm so sorry. Do you want me to throw it away?"

She felt how her friend shook her head, clinging to her with a vice like grip.

Alina was the one who wanted to cry now, seeing her closest friend in such a state made her eyes tear, and, oh damn, she was crying now as well.

They stood like that for a few moments, weeping like idiots, the hug a bit awkward since Genya seemed to hover over smaller Alina.

Slowly, the Tailor disentangled herself from the Summoner, and her friend let her go.

Genya delicately passed a finger underneath her eyes and adverted her gaze, although Alina could see the red in her eyes.

"Thank you, Ali. Truly." she said, her voice slightly hoarse.

Alina was at a loss of words.

"It's just a cake, Gen." she shrugged. "I just thought, we could celebrate together, if you wanted. We can invite anyone you want." she suggested.

Smiling just a little, Genya looked down at her hands and played with her fingers.

"No, it's just…"she took a deep breath and let it out. Alina waited patiently. "No one ever really did this for me before." she said, raising her arm towards her cake.

"A birthday cake?" Alina asked slowly, her voice tremulous and trying not to sound sad. "Well, it's not a big deal!" she tried to shake it off, waving a hand with a forced smile. "Back in Keramzin there was only one plain cake per month for all the children so-"

"No, "Genya interrupted, her voice a mere whisper that cut through Alina's heart like a sharp blade. "I mean, celebrated. No one's ever done this much." her eyes were like crystal again. "Thank you."

Alina felt uncomfortable. She really did feel sad for her friend? Had no one ever truly celebrated her birthday? She knew she had been given to the queen at a young age, but even before that, had her parents ever made something for her? Or at least said anything on the day?

Alina didn't remember much of her parents, but she did remember once a year, her father coming up to her with a small, strawberry tart. He and mamma would hug her more than usual and kiss her cheeks and play with her all day until the sun went down and her eyes dropped closed of exhaustion.

"Chasing the waters." she thought, absentmindedly.

Even before the Little Palace, had Genya never had any of that?

"I'm just, sorry I couldn't do anything grander on such short notice." Alina tried to smile. "I have a present for you" she was now grinning, although so very nervous on the inside. She walked over to her desk and took the envelope. "I didn't have time to make something so… it was very last minute. She came back to stand before her friend and extended the envelope, which Genya took with a look in her eyes that resembled disbelief and wonder. Alina's cheek reddened. "It's nothing. Really. Open it."

Genya did as she was asked, and Alina bit her bottom lip, trembling as she recalled, word by word, what she had put down on the paper with her finest ink.

"I have a friend,

with bright, red hair.

She has a loudmouth,

and a brusque, yet marvellous touch.

She and I have known each other,

for only a couple of months,

But I know that in my soul,

She's well settled for long.

Some will say she's pretty

Others will say she's pricky,

and while those all ring through,

I know the person behind those needle-like replies.

I have a friend,

with bright, red hair.

She's always there for me,

as I'll always be there for her."

It seemed as if an eternity had passed before the Tailor looked up, fresh tears in her eyes.

"Did you write this?" she asked, voice cracked. Alina nodded sheepishly, and Genya said: "This is the shittiest piece of poetry I have ever read."

The Summoner tried to not let her hurt show on her face, but a moment later she was being engulfed into another bear hug.

"I love it." Genya whispered almost fervently, clutching her tighter. "Thank you."

They spent the afternoon drinking tea, eating cake, talking and laughing. Genya had admired the piece for a long moment, as if trying to burn it into her memory, before she cut into the first two portions.

After a while, when there was no more tea and they grew tired of cutting, they sat themselves down on the carpeted floor, cake and all, and dug in directly from the base as they helped it pass through with kvas and wine.

"What do you mean?" Alina asked as they both laid on top of the soft, fur carpet of the floor, facing up, unable to move.

"Another rule of the General to keep his Grisha humble: no birthday parties." Genya answered, her speech slurred and the last part with a deeper tone, like she wanted to imitate Kirigan.

"That sucks!" Alina spat, just as drunk as her friend.

"Yeah!"

"Parties are…cool." she stated, raising her index finger as if to make a point. "There's cake,"

"Ugh." Genya's hand flew down to her stomach. "I can't move."

Alina ignored her.

"There's presents, if you're not an orphan." she giggled at her own misery. "There's more cake, and there's people."

"There's always p-people at the Tiny Palace." Genya reminded her, kicking off her boots.

Alina did the same, her hands blindly reaching up to the couch for the small pillows.

"Yeah;" one of the pillows hit Genya in the face, and the Tailor whined about it as she placed it underneath her head. "But there's no birthday cake, thanks to General Handsomest. And no birthday parties." She counted to three in her head, shot up, grabbed the blanket at the back of the couch, and let herself fall again on top of the rug.

Saints, how had she and Genya managed to eat that entire monstrosity?

She threw the blanket over her body and kicked until it covered her feet. Genya clumsily pulled at it so it'd cover her as well.

Alina frowned.

"There's people at parties."

"Yes, Alina." Genya closed her eyes.

Alina's frown deepened, some of the blurriness in her mind clearing.

"People talk at parties."

Genya opened one eye.

"Are you going to get us in trouble?"

Alina, who could barely put the dots together as she thought of how full of cake she was and how funny everything looked from where she was laying on the ground, and how handsome the General was, and how she wanted to kiss him again and slap him for leaving her like that, turned her face towards her friend.

"Only if General Handsome caught us." she said.

Genya sighed.

"Fine. But turn your head to the other side. I don't want your puke in my face."

Giggling at the disgusting image, Alina did as she was told.

Their hands found each other underneath the blanket in a soft hold.

"Happy birthday, Gen." Alina mumbled, the lack of sleep due to her preparations for the afternoon and all the alcohol catching up to her.

"Thank you, Ali."

A/N: Hope you liked it! This is probably the last sweet chapter before things gradually start to get darker *evil laugh*

Click here for chapter IX

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfic #alina starkov #aleksander morozova #shadow & bone trilogy #alina x darkling #alina x aleksander #The darklingxAlina #Genya Safin #its a birthday party my dudes and dudettes #fanfic

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imagine-that · 4 years

Text

Wonder

Warnings: a little angsty I guess? Kinda sad at some parts? Idk lol.

Pairing: (young) Sirius Black x reader

AN: this is my first song based imagine eeeeeeeeeeeeeppppppppp!!! I listened to wonder a few hundred times already and this popped into my mind as I was listening for about the tenth time I believe and it just unravelled into this from there. I love the Marauders, I love Shawn and being able to mix the two makes me so damn happy.

AN 2: ALL LYRICS USED ARE FROM THE SONG WONDER BY SHAWN MENDES, I put the song right below so you can listen and maybe get a feel for my inspiration or for the imagine itself a little more. Hope you love it as much as I do 🥰❤️☺️

Grabbing one last carefully decided on sweater, you slip it into your trunk, carefully closing the lid over top.

As you struggle to push it down to shut properly, the Marauders come bounding into the room, laughter following their entrance, nearly scaring you out of your skin and making you fall back and the trunk to burst open much to your dismay.

“Boys! I almost had that shut.” You groan from the ground, sitting up to give them each a playful glare.

“Sorry y/n! Didn’t realize you would be in here I’m afraid. Are you alright? Not too beat up I hope?” Sirius says worriedly, reaching down towards you and offering you a hand to get up.

You giggle at his dramatics, taking his hand in your own and hoisting yourself off the ground.

Sirius, though a majorly known flirt with every girl at hogwarts, held a special place in your heart. You were best friends till the very end. Perhaps sometimes even closer than he and James were.

Little did you know, he felt the bond between you was more than just that.

I wonder if I'm being real

Do I speak my truth or do I filter how I feel?

“I’ll live though my clothes may not be there every step of the way.” You laugh, the melodic sound filling Sirius’ ears, much to his delight. You gesture to your wide open trunk, making the boys flash a look of mock guilt. All of them except for Sirius of course, who looks genuinely sorry.

“Sorry ‘bout that y/l/n. Mind if I help you?” He asks, an eager smirk on his face. You just laugh, nodding your head as he walks over to the trunk and pushes down the lid hard, a loud smacking sound ringing through the air.

“My hero!” You cry, running over and wrapping your arms around him tightly, catching him off guard.

He hugs back tightly, scared that if he let go you might disappear or something.

“It was nothing fair maiden.” He whispers teasingly, his breath warm by your ear and making you giggle softly, a smile creeping across his face as you do so.

You could vividly remember the first day you’d met the boys, they’d been teasing Sirius about his families beliefs and their tradition of getting Slytherin as a house, the most evil of them all according to them.

Horrified by what they were saying, you’d jumped to his rescue. You scolded the other three for their behaviour and Sirius had been more than amused by your performance. He was immediately taken by you, not that he’d ever tell you that.

I wonder, wouldn't it be nice

To live inside a world that isn't black and white?

Since that day, you and the group had been inseparable and you and Sirius were connected at the hip.

“You’re such a dork Sirius.” You giggle again, your forehead against his chest as you laugh.

He’s thankful for this, knowing you can’t see his reddened face. The other boys however, mock Sirius in his shockened state.

Anyone would be shocked at this sight. No one had ever seen Sirius Black so flustered. It was the strangest thing to see.

“Right back at you y/n/n.” He chuckles, regaining his composure before you can see his previous reaction.

“Hello? What’re we, snivellus snape?” James cry’s out, catching both of your attention as you turn your head, not quick enough to notice the scarlet faced Sirius beside you.

I wonder, what it's like to be my friends

Hope that they don't think I forget about them.

“You could’ve used a simple charm you know...” Remus mutters, earning a sharp look from Sirius and an elbow jab in the shoulder from James.

“Oi! You two! Picking on Remus won’t help you with anything, it’s just rude.” You mock lecture, pulling away from Sirius to pull the shorter and smarter boy in the group in for a hug himself, unknowingly making Sirius more jealous than ever before.

Remus felt a slight discomfort, knowing you were completely oblivious to the tension between the two at that very moment.

“So, packed up for the holidays already y/l/n? My parents won’t stop talking about how excited they are that your family is having dinner with us. I think they might like you more than they like me, their own bloody son!” James exclaims, looking as though the mere idea was completely crazy to him.

“Well Potter, I don’t get into nearly as much trouble as you so I wouldn’t blame them.” You tease, messing up his hair as you often did.

Your two families had been good friends for years and you’d known James since you were born. You’d grown apart over the years but after you both met Sirius the bond grew stronger than before.

Sirius’ eyes widen as he realizes that means spending time over the holidays with you, seeing as he was staying at the Potters this year as well. His parents were, as usual, furious at him for whatever reason.

The idea of being in close quarters with you during such an intimate time of year made the poor boys heart flutter inside his chest.

I wonder, I wonder...

——————————————————————

A few weeks later...

“James for god sake, stop hogging the every flavour beans!” You could hear Sirius cry out as you entered the Potter family home.

“Already fighting I see?” You ask with a playful grin. Sirius and James stop bickering, looking over to greet you only Sirius is at a loss for words.

You’d dressed as nicely as you could, but you’d still brought pants with you in case you needed them to run after the boys and their troublesome antics. However, you’d opted to wear a simple black skirt with a y/f/c top.

“Y/n, looking ugly as ever.” James teases. Just as you’re about to swat at his arm, his mother enters, looking furious.

“James Potter, did I just hear you say what I think I heard you say to sweet y/n?” She demands. James’ eyes go wide in fear as he gulps nervously.

“No I-.” He starts but his mother is already dragging him out of the room, scolding him for his lack of manners.

“Wouldn’t want to be him right now.” You chuckle, watching after the two.

“Yeah... he was only joking you know. I don’t think it’s even possible for you to look ugly y/n.” Sirius admits shyly.

You look at him with a coy smile and surprised y/e/c eyes, your face heating as it tinges pink.

Sirius tries to hold back a grin at the sight, never wanting to look at anything other than your face in that moment, knowing he’d more than likely have some sort of magnificent dream of it later that night, or at the very least have it running through his mind on a joyful loop as he tried to get some sleep.

Right before I close my eyes

The only thing that's on my mind.

“Of course not. It is James after all.” You agree, breaking the silence between you as you nervously run a hand up your arm.

“Yes of course.” He mutters before leaving the room.

The next few hours are spent in bliss, sharing stories between your two families and exchanging gifts and a delicious supper prepared by both of your mothers.

The minute dinner is over, you and the two boys race outside, quick to get away from the chance of chores.

“So Potter, any luck so far this year with Lily? Or are you still getting rejected every bloody time.” You ask with an eyebrow raised in amusement as you walk together.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I have you know she isn’t rejecting me. She’s simply having trouble making up her mind.” He sighs.

You snort at his argument, remaining unconvinced.

“Sure she is Potter.” You say sarcastically.

“Alright then y/l/n. This is only fair, so is there anyone you fancy yet?” He asks challengingly.

Sirius looks at you expectantly, waiting for the answer more eagerly than you could tell.

Been dreaming that you feel it too

I wonder what it's like to be loved by you, yeah

“No I don’t believe so.” You laugh, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him.

Sirius’ face flashes with disappointment for a moment but it’s gone as soon as it has appeared, making you question if it had really been what you’d seen at all.

Shaking off the feeling of suspicion, you dare the boys to race with you down the hill you’d decided to sit on to take a breather. They both gladly take the challenge, practically crashing down the hill into each other.

As they reached the bottom, you continued your slow and relaxed pace, watching with a smile as they both stop to catch their breath desperately.

“We win... y/l/n.” James pants, trying to control his breathing.

“I’m well aware. I just wanted to watch the two of you nearly kill yourselves running.” You say, falling into a fit of giggles as the two chase you around the field.

You squeal excitedly as they catch up to you, both grabbing hold of you at the same time and pulling you back towards them as you kick and flail, failing to break free through your fit of laughter.

The two tickle you together, making you giggle even more, your rib cage aching from the feeling.

“S-stopppp! I get it!” You screech, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard.

The two move away, leaving you on the ground to recompose yourself. You take a few deep breaths, staring up at the sky as you calm down, blissfully watching the clouds.

James waggled his eyebrows at Sirius wordlessly, teasing him for the look of pure admiration he was fixing you with, though not to your knowledge.

I wonder what it's like

I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

After a while, the boys decide to join you, sprawling out on the ground on either side of you.

The three of you lay there for hours, watching the sky darken and chatting about everything you could think of. As you tease James about his crush on Lily Evans, he decides to work up the nerve to send her an owl.

Though you wanted to talk him out of it, you opted not to, too interested in what the outcome may be.

“He’s a real nutter thinking that pestering her will earn her affections.” You laugh to Sirius, your head rested comfortably on his shoulder.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’m not sure Evans will much appreciate his attempts.” He agrees.

The two of you once again sit in a comfortable silence, happy to be in each other’s company. A few moments later, Sirius notices your trembling figure, seeing your arms covered in goosebumps from the crisp early winter air.

He pulls away, making you glance over at him in question as he removes his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders to protect you from hypothermia.

“Thanks Siri.” You whisper as you return to your previous position, the nickname a habit at this point.

“Of course y/l/n. I’m nothing if not a gentleman.” He laughs, hoping you don’t notice his slight stutter of nerves. No matter how many times you would snuggle up to him late at night or even during the day when you were getting sleepier, he could never stop the way his heart skipped a beat when it happened.

He always worried he would say the wrong thing and reveal his feelings or make you question his intentions.

I wonder, why I'm so afraid

Of saying something wrong, I never said I was a saint.

You look over the skyline with a smile on your face, tugging his jacket closer to you blissfully.

“So why aren’t you with your family this year Siri? I mean, I know they’re not exactly the greatest of people but it is the holidays and I know you miss your little brother.” You question, leaning back to let your head rest on the grass.

He sighs, putting his arms behind his head as he lays down next to you.

“They aren’t my family, haven’t you heard? I’m a Potter through and through!” He jokes bitterly and you frown over at him placing a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it in circles soothingly.

“I know you are. But you’re also a black. You’re brother needs you sometimes too, he’s just too much of a stubborn bloke to admit it.” You murmur, rolling over onto your side so you’re able to face him.

He groans, looking up at the sky and avoiding your gaze as he runs his hand through his hair.

“I bloody well know that y/n. But my mother all but disinvited me to holidays at home anyway so what was I supposed to do.” He mutters, sitting up with his face buried in his hands.

You look at him in surprise, never having seen much of this side of him. You saw the teasing side, the playful and friendly side and the flirty side. You’d only ever seen the deeper, darker side of Sirius once in your life and it hurt like hell watching him torment himself with his own thoughts this way.

“Your mother is a bloody wench.” You growl, picking at pieces of grass with a scowl.

He chuckles bitterly, pushing his hair back with one swoop of his hand.

“Tell me about it, she sent me a letter, practically a howler actually, just to tell me I’m basically the biggest disgrace our family’s ever seen and that I’m basically not a real black.” He whispers.

Just as you go to speak, you’re interrupted by his sniffles. You glance over to see him fighting back tears, practically ready to start bawling right there.

“Hey, Siri. It’s ok to cry you know.” You promise, pulling him into a tight hug. He gets a whiff of your perfume and feels immediately more comforted and loved than he ever had with anyone else, even the boys.

“I don’t know why I’m even crying. It’s not as though I even wanted to be there that badly. I’m being too sensitive.” He musters, his shoulders coming to a slow but sure halt to their shaking.

“You are not. You have every reason to be emotional Sirius. It’s not a bad thing.” You promise, running your fingers through his hair absentmindedly.

He glances at you doubtfully, not totally sure whether you were right or not.

I wonder, when I cry into my hands

I'm conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man.

“I won’t tell anyone.” You promise quietly, smiling sadly over at his tear streaked face.

He stays quiet, staring out at the falling snow wordlessly, not wanting to further embarrass himself in front of you.

“Are you ok Sirius?” You ask worriedly, scared to have not heard so much as a peep out of the usual smart talkers mouth.

He blinks back more tears, wiping his face a bit and giving you a weak smile.

“Never better. No ones ever really wanted me anyways, at least it’s a fact now.” He jokes, clearly trying to make you think he’s feeling better.

He goes to get up and away from you, not wanting you to see him lose control of his emotions again but the gentle feeling of your fingers brushing against his arm makes him stop, looking at you in curiosity, his breathing finally fully tranquil.

“What y/n?” He asks tiredly, running a hand through his hair yet again. For as long as you’d known him, that’d been his biggest tell to when he was upset.

“I want you.” You say softly, meeting his eyes shyly, your hand overtop of his. “And the potters want you. Remus and Peter do too.” You add shakily, your face blushing furiously, looking lighter thanks to the moonlight.

His heart warms at the tone in your voice, the way your voice softens so slightly. He didn’t know why you sounded so innocent, you never did usually but there was something different in the way you were speaking to him. It felt different to Sirius, but it was a good kind of different. It almost made him forget about all his troubles, the way you often did.

“And whoever you even start to think doesn’t is wrong. Like, incredibly, madly wrong.” You continue, making him laugh slightly and bringing a small smile to your lips. “Your family is wrong about you Sirius. Someday, even they’ll see that.” You promise, moving over and enveloping him in another hug.

And I wonder if some day you'll be by my side

And tell me that the world will end up alright.

As the two of you pull out of the hug and away from each other’s embrace, you immediately feel a lack of warmth, not just outside but in your heart. You miss holding him, and vice versa. But neither of you dares to vocalize your realizations.

Instead, you sit, staring up at the stars and grinning at each other.

Though Sirius still felt the pain of his family’s words inside, his overwhelming sense of comfort and admiration with you was overpowering the negative, making his smile bright and genuine.

“I’m sure James is having a good time with that letter.” He jokes, making you giggle warmly.

“Yes, I’m sure he finished it forever ago.” You pipe in, both of you falling into a small heap of laughter.

He stands, bending down slightly to reach for your hand, pulling you up off the ground.

Not expecting the amount of force he’d decided to use, you fall forward as you reach your feet, practically flying into Sirius’ arms. He holds them out just in the nick of time, catching you right as you land smack dab against his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso on instinct.

“You alright there y/l/n?” He asks, obviously flustered by the sudden proximity between the two of you.

“Y-Yeah.” You stutter, your face going a bright beet red.

He looks down at you for a second, your eyes meeting as he quietly moves his hand and gingerly moves strands of hair off of your face, pushing them delicately behind your ear.

To both your silent delight, your eyes never leave each other’s. Suddenly, the gap between your bodies is shutting until finally, your lips have made their way to being a mere inch from his own.

I wonder, I wonder...

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rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 6 years

Text

The Little Big Things (2/4)

(@ricksanchezdwc) So like we had done not too long ago, me, @hoodoo12 @porkchop-ao3 @rickstexaschick are doing the same prompt cause we all loved the idea. Thanks to @dorklyevil for allowing me to use a line from one of her comics. And I didn't mention it before, but this story references Labyrinth, and it follows the events of this fic As The World Falls Down.

This is part 2. If you haven't read part one then read it here. (Read Part1 Here)

________________

Chapter 2: The Scientist Who Became A King

Here, it was evergreen, and it never rained.

You had never known a time without the tears of God; the rain, which washed the earth clean of its trials, and its yesterdays, welcoming the oncoming morrows ever to come. Though, there was a time, you did without it, and you longed for it, and the places it touched upon; once upon a dream.

“Rick,” you wondered, as you did about many things. “does it rain here?”

“Only during certain seasons. I-I know there is a lake on the west side of this planet, but it's - it's a-a bit far from here. Why d-do you ask?”

“Hmm, I was just wondering.”

“Hohoho,” he chuckled. “as y-you should. Curiosity means a-a desire t-to learn or know about anything, and it isn't - I-I-I don't dislike it. ” He admitted with a wink. “Just in case y-you were wondering.”

You pouted, which made him laugh, a full on belly laugh. The little tease, perhaps the Rick in him couldn't resist.

______________

Side glances, soft smiles, random stories from Citadel, he was in another one of his talkative, happy go lucky moods. Blame it on the scenery, or you telling him an hour or so ago how cute he was, but he was running on happiness. “And th-thats how I-I got this lucky penny.”

Holding your hand out, you giggled. “Can I hold it? Maybe something good will happen.”

Glancing between you and the penny, he placed a quick peck on your cheek and dropped the coin on your palm. With a blush, he replied softly. “F-for extra luck.”

You gave it back, and continued walking, allowing him to wait anxiously, before blowing back a kiss that made him tear up a little. Damn it he was cute. Perhaps, you felt uninhibited, though Zeta-7 had that effect on you a great deal of the time; that or you two really were being affected by the environment. You two walked among enormous flowers for what seemed like hours.

The blood red blossoms drooped heavily from above, their faces turned down towards your tiny forms; their blessings hidden in the wind and its whispers. For a while you couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity. It was as though the world around you was calling for you to return. You wanted to roll around, and tumble down hill, and the flowers gave you the strongest sense to climb them; their perfume thick and sweet, emitting a soft, amber glow. Petals drifted down like leaves falling in autumn. Each time one touched the ground, a soft sound could be heard; like a chord being struck on a harp. A great symphony was all around you two, with no beginning or end. Feelings of deep peace and satisfaction were within you; as well as nostalgia from false memories.

The thing about memories, they were like homemade movies; messy and out of focus, with the select few which were hidden gems, located in the corners of the basement in a random cardboard box; only remembered when stumbled upon. Though, if you closed your eyes, you would be back there, in that place where you had lived a second lifetime. And you'd remember that as charming as it had been, it truly was melancholic; like the rain. You'd remember the days you were almost a princess, and the loneliness of the mountain.

At the very top of the white capped mountains, it would sometimes rain for days, especially on the ones when you were the saddest; perhaps the mountain king had his own sadness too.

It made you wonder, if it was because Zeta-7 had been longing for you, or if he knew you were longing for him. For now, observing him, and seeing him happy, made you hope it really wasn't all that bad for him. If it had been, you would do all you could to make it better.

________________________

The ground was soft, and with every step you took, you'd sink a little into the moss pillows before bouncing back up; a lilting tune encouraging your playfulness. This place had a charm akin to the forest in the middle of spring, whose flowers and trees had spread themselves to enjoy the filtered beams of light. Of course, if you replaced the trees with flowers, and the light with that of bioluminescent pollen, then there wouldn't be much difference. Oh, that opened up a whole other line of questions which you could ask later, but for now you were giddy, and every time you bounced back up, you'd erupt into a fit of giggles. A few times, Zeta-7 had to stop and make sure you didn't hurt yourself, but for the most part, he'd stand back and watch, or take pictures of your amusement. A few times, you caught him wiping at his eyes, but he'd say it was nothing; you knew better of course, but let him be.

Later, there was laughter in his voice when he said, “Y-y-y-y-you enjoying yourself?”

You nodded in between giggles, and when you had enough, you stepped off the moss, and leaned against one of the flowers stems, breathless and tired. My, how the light filtered through the canopy of leaves, the low humidity, the intoxicating scent, and the view made you wistful. “The garden fairies had told me about a place like this once, as well as...” you faltered, suddenly afraid of triggering bad memories.

Though, he picked up where you left off. “A-a place you saw once upon a dream?”

“Yeah. Um, is it okay to talk about it?”

With his back towards you, Rick nodded as he unpacked the contents of his backpack in search for a snack. “If y-you want to.”

Sometimes, his passive responses stopped you from talking any further. You assumed it was a trait he had picked up or learned in order to avoid drawing attention to himself or to stay out of trouble, but it also made you uncomfortable at times. If he wasn't interested, then usually you would avoid the subject, but this time you carried on; even if with reluctance. “We haven't talked much about it since it happened.”

“I-I know.” His voice picking up that endless guilt.

“It's not one of those things that's going to go away,” You sighed. “and to be honest, I haven't gotten over it.”

Everything that had happened, at least the parts you remembered, you didn't want to forget. Well, except for the loneliness; you didn't like that part. In a dream, you had a family, friends, and almost became a queen, but what did you almost lose in order gain all that? Forgetting Rick? Almost losing your life? The lesser of two evils was your current life, but it didn't always feel that way.

You rubbed your arm, suddenly finding your shoes a bit interesting. “Am I supposed to bring it up casually, or what?”

“Do what y-y-you think is right I ugh - I suppose.”

“That's sort of the problem. I don't know what's right anymore” This caught his attention, as he had stopped moving, and soon after began to wring his hands. Damn, you needed to remember to control your tone. You continued, in a gentler tone. “You take me to these dazzling, wonderful places, and we usually go home happy and tired, with a handful of stories to add to our memory jars, and I enjoy that, and what we do. However,” You paused, nibbling your bottom lip in hopes of finding something better to say, but continued on. “there's something we haven't addressed, and that's me, and how what I do affects you. When we flirt with death, and get injured, because I wanted a good photo or something, how come you don't get mad? I mean, you deserve to after you went on a journey that could have been avoided in the first place if I would've listened. And forgive me if I sound shrill, but I almost forgot you. Doesn't that bother you?”

Placing the items back in his pack, and slipping it over his shoulders, he stood there so frighteningly still, you wondered if you had finally crossed the line. Then, he took out the penny he talked about a few hours ago, and gave it a squeeze. “It - it does, but y-you didn't forget me. At least not completely, and I-I-I guess I left a deeper impression then I had pr-previously believed..”

“But if I would have? Don't you see, I'm not prepared for this. We've gone over the other hypothetical, important what not, but not about the incident, at least not in detail. And I think it's about time we do, that way we're both aware of what not to do next time, and how I can avoid making an ass of myself. Don't you agree?”

Turning around, the lines around Zeta-7s eyes deepened, as well as the creases of his forehead, and there was a pensive cloudiness of his usually electric blues. The sweet songs around you had transitioned almost without your notice. Adagio, the melody now reminded you Clair De Lune, and Gymnopédie. “Well, I-I-I-I thought you - I assumed it made you uncomfortable, and that's the last thing that I'd ever want you t-t-to feel. W-w-we can talk if you're - you're ready.”

“If I'm ready? Are you?”

“P-p-possibly.”

“Honestly, I am uncomfortable talking about this,” you admitted, which compelled him to pull you close, rubbing your back in soothing circles. Enveloped in the warmth of the man you loved, and a distance away from everything else which could possibly hurt you, you second guessed on whether it really was a good time to think of it again, but how else would you two get past this? You continued, in that small, girlish voice that pained him. “but it's not because of what happened to me. I couldn't care less if I had gotten hurt, but if it meant hurting you, and if what I've put you through has, then I wish I hadn't been so careless. I thought I had it all together, and knew what I was doing, but all I seem to do is give you trouble. God, I'm such idiot.”

“Shh,” he cooed, brushing away a lock of hair. “th-thats not true. Y-you're thoughtful, and - and perceptive, and s-s-so clever.”

“What have I ever done that's so clever?”

Leaning forward until your foreheads touched, he confessed. “Y-y-y-y-you got me to - to loosen up and try new things, and showed me its okay to get e-emotional. Why, y-you even brought me t-t-to the moon without ever leaving the ground.”

“What do you mean?”

“I-I-I have wanted many things during my life,” he admitted, pulling back enough to study you. “but none of them have been as - as wonderful as you. And I've - you know that I've traveled across the universe, but it's usually been alone

I'm - I-I-I don't want to be alone anymore. Having you around has inspired me t-t-to get back in touch with my surroundings a-and the world, but I - you're m-my world. Gosh,” he blushed as he caressed your cheek, his thumb brushing away fresh tears. “you're - you really are more beautiful than the night and stars combined, and y-y-you don't even know it. Y-you're my satellite, m-m-mi Luna, and it takes a strong women to put up with me. You're my treasure, and I'd - I'd do anything t-t-to protect you. That's why I-I-I-I chose t-to do it, to go and find you. We're all w-we got, and despite what I thought might of - of happened, I'm s-s-so happy I found you, and that you're safe. W-w-with me.”

“What did you think would happen?”

With serious, but tender eyes, Zeta-7 answered. “Th-that you would have forgotten me completely, and never woken up.”

“And?”

He cleared his throat in the manner he did from time to time, trying to piece together the right words that wouldn't upset you. In a voice above a whisper, he finished. “And p-p-p-passed away.”

“Oh.”

“Th-that blue moss did a-a number on you, but there doesn't seem to be any residual side effects. I'm glad a-about that.”

“What if I would've had brain damage? What then?”

Jokingly, he answered. “Hmm, then I guess I-I would've gone back and used Mr. Needfuls gift.”

“You…..you would've done that for me? No, that's outrageous. If you did that, then you wouldn't have been able to do your science stuff.”

With a shrug, he softened. “Th-that's true, but we would have had other stuff w-we could do, and I-I-I still would love you. Diminished intelligence d-doesn't affect happiness. On the contrary, we'd only focus on - on what truly matters. That, and I'd have the joy t-to learn it all over again.”

“Rick, I love it when you get cheesy, but you couldn't mean all that.”

“I-I-I do, but it's okay if you don't believe it. I'll - I'll prove it, but for now let's not - not think about it too hard. Everything bad th-that happened, we'll - we'll talk about it and g-get through it. T-t-together.”

“So, I can ask whatever I want?”

“Y-y-yes, wherever, whenever.”

You knew he meant it to sound sweet, but it took a moment for it to sink in what he actually said, and you couldn't help it when you giggled. “Rick, I'm pretty sure that's the title of a Shakira song.”

“Hohoho, r-really? Was she on - on American idol?”

His obliviousness only made it worse. How cute. You really were lucky to have him, this patient dork of a man. “No, but nevermind that. I'm glad I still have you too.”

“I'm glad y-you're still as adorable and lovely as - as ever.”

Giving him a playful shove, despite the heat in your cheeks, you hid your face in the scratchy fabric of his linen shirt,. “Rick, how can you say stuff like that with a straight face?”

In his matter of fact way, he answered. “B-because I mean it.”

This man really would one day kill you with kindness, and this time it was your vines which stretched out, wrapping themselves on his arm, and it's flowers kissing wherever they could touch; his neck, cheeks, eyes, forehead, and mouth. It was amusing to watch him laugh and squirm, which encouraged his vines to do the same to you, but you two pulled back a little, and they returned to place, and behaved; at least for the moment.

________________

Rick decided to call the silly, cheeky, little vines from your matching bracelets Ioculus vines, which meant funny if you heard him correctly. Anyway, they were mischievous, and had minds of their own; or so you said, because you didn't want to admit how fun it was to tease Rick. Why, he might have been in the middle of an explanation, and they'd by climbing up his arm, and across his back, but he'd only squirm and continue. Though, the one time your Ioculus managed to kiss the back of his neck, he jumped back so violently, you'd swear he had seen a ghost. And watching him lightly scold the Ioculus as though they were children, then apologize for getting annoyed at them, not only made you laugh wholeheartedly, but it made you imagine him as a father, and what it would be like if he had to be a disciplinarian.

Perhaps it was but your girlish dream at work, but you could see him playing with two or three kids, telling them stories, showing them the magic of science. If they misbehaved, he'd take them aside, and explain why they might be getting disciplined, but never out of anger, and always reassure them that it was all out of love, and that he'd always care for them. And if you were honest with yourself, you pictured yourself sitting on his lap, after they had gone to bed, listening to how his day was, and how much he missed you. And you'd tell him….. Oh, but those were just thoughts; and you imagined a lot of things.

You wondered if the ioculus worked like mood rings and acted upon your feelings for each other. Did they know what the heart truly wanted? Because, as long as the two of you were close, the vines along your wrists seemed to interact with one another, but when Zeta-7 distanced himself, the blooms growth was stunted, and withered a little. And after a while, whether it had to do with the sensory overload, or your bending the forces according to your will, you were drained. “Rick, is it okay to rest for a while?”

“Of - of course.”

Leading you by the hand, he took a moment to spread out a blanket and you proceeded by laying beside him, feeling more worn out then you had anticipated. “Ughhh, I'm so tired. Honestly, when we get home, I might just go straight to bed.”

“Do y-y-you want to go home now?”

“No, I’ll be fine if I rest for a while.”

“Are you hungry? D-do you want a snack? I-I have fruit, sandwiches, and I-I even brought granola.”

“Maybe later.” you yawned. “Come here, I want to use your chest as a pillow.”

Carefully, he laid back, making a little old man sound as he settled himself. With your head resting above his heart, you kept quiet for a little while, listening to his heartbeat, the plants around you, and the Ioculus interact. When they did this, there was a sense of completeness, and you'd look at Zeta-7 and wonder how you could adore him so much. The way he wrinkled his nose, his ever changing expressions, soft skin, his sweetness, his everything; you adored it all. Aware of how vulnerable you've become with him, you just want to melt into him, and give him everything; anything that would make him happy. “Rick?”

“Yeah?”

Tentatively, you combed his hair with your fingers, gauging his response as you traced shapes lazily along his scalp. “Are you happy?”

He chuckled, draping an arm over you, answering softly. “When I-I'm with you I am.”

“Flirt. What about your hair, who cuts it?”

“I-I do. Why,” he tensed. “sh-should I change it?”

Brushing his bangs away from his forehead, you pressed a kiss on his brow. “No, I like it this way. It's part of your charm. I guess I was just curious, because it's not even in the back.”

“Oh that, well it's - it's not always easy t-to reach it.”

“Do you mind if I help you next time? I wouldn't want you to go out, not looking your sharpest.”

“I - I don't mind.”

“You'd probably mind if I kissed whatever I could reach. Especially right here.” you softened, pressing a light kiss on his neck which made his heart beat faster.

“I - I do mind that, but it's - I-I-I'm sure you'll probably just tease a-a-a little.”

“You're right, but I might surprise you. Maybe, I won't try anything and I'll just cut your hair. You'll just have to wait and see. Though, this isn't what I meant to talk about.”

“I ugh - I-I didn't think so. What's on y-your mind? You can tell me, if y-you want.”

Snuggling yourself closer, you wondered.“When you were in my dream, you knew about me, but I knew little to nothing about you. How did you become the mountain king? I mean, you don't seem like the type to rule or lord over anyone. So, how did that happen?”

“Oh, it's - are y-y-you sure you want to hear it?”

“I do.”

Caressing your hair, he sighed. “I-I will admit, that it - it wasn't as exciting as y-you think it was, but if y-y-you are sure, then I'll tell it.”

“I am, but tell me just the good parts. Oh, and the parts with me in it. ”

His blue eyes shone with amusement, as he kissed your temple. “O-o-okay just th-the good parts then."

TBC

#doofus rick #j19z7 #doofus rick x reader #rick sanchez dwc #dwc

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megaphonemonday · 6 years

Note

Mega Mama: love all of your Bawson fics. Would love a Hallmark style prompt of Ginny moving to a quaint small town and renovating a charming little house. Her cantankerous contractor is none other than Mike Lawson who once hosted a renovation show with now ex wife Rachel. Money pit style calamities and hilarious mishaps and of course the budding romance. Has been on my mind for a while, I'm just not a writer. Please and greatly appreciated:

oh man, i love me some hgtv, so why the heck not? (also, thanks for trusting me with this! i hope you like it!)

i’m ignoring the near-impossibility of a single, recently graduated person actually buying their own home let alone having the money available to renovate it. Millennials aren’t killing the housing market in this fic 😉

handyman special | ao3

Ginny Baker did not run from her problems.

(Did she give up when the Varsity baseball coach didn’t want her on the team or did she show up every day of try outs and prove she was just as good as the boys? Not that showing up every day actually got her on the team, but still. The point stood, okay?)

If it seemed like that was exactly what she was doing by breaking up with her boyfriend of three years the evening he proposed and moving all the way across the country, well, that was just a matter of perspective, wasn’t it?

Her mother called it a disaster waiting to happen.

Personally, Ginny preferred to think of it as moving on. Making a fresh start. Realizing her very own Manifest Destiny.

Just with way less dysentery and genocide.

She didn’t mean to snort at her own joke, but it wasn’t like Ginny’d been spoiling for laughs lately. And, really. What else did she expect with what she’d gotten herself into? There wasn’t a lot to laugh about at the moment.

Or anyone to laugh with, for that matter. It was—to be fair, not unexpectedly—difficult to make friends in a small town like this, and Ginny hadn’t made any inroads on that front. And that was the least of her problems.

There were no fewer than seven voicemails waiting on her phone—though it was a toss up as to whether her mother or Trevor had left more. She’d been living out of her carry on the past week, both her checked bags having been misplaced by the airline. The air mattress she slept on definitely had a leak somewhere because no matter how full Ginny made sure it was before she went to bed or how many duct tape patches she applied, she kept waking up with her shoulder and hip digging into the hard floor.

Which was only happening because Ginny’d checked out of the tiny motel after she bought the house to cut down on costs.

Because, oh yeah, three days into what was supposed to be an extended vacation in a small, California beach town to get her head on straight, Ginny had somehow bought a house. Like, an entire house. An entire house in desperate need of renovation.

(She’d spent the first two days doing nothing but lounging on the sand and wading into the warm water of the Pacific. Ginny had hoped that the waves would wash away some of her worries, but she’d never been that good at waiting around, hoping for the best.

So, she always went looking for it.

Which was what propelled her into exploring the sleepy little town, and what led her straight to the wind-scoured, long-neglected bungalow with a “For Sale” sign in the yard.

That no one would classify her house as the best of anything was undisputed, but Ginny liked it, and that was what mattered.)

Friends (and hopefully the rest of her stuff) would come. This house thing she needed to sort out pretty immediately. She couldn’t keep brushing her teeth with bottled water because the bathroom sink emitted something that was alarmingly brown. She couldn’t keep surviving on sandwiches from the beachside coffee shop down the road. Cara the barista was beginning to look concerned for her dietary choices. It wasn’t Ginny’s fault that every time she used the microwave, all the lights in the house flickered ominously.

And she really couldn’t keep sleeping on that goddamn air mattress.

Clearly, Ginny had bigger problems on her hands than a lack of friends. Anyway, it wasn’t like she’d really been swimming in friends back in North Carolina. The only thing keeping her there was her family and Trevor. And Trevor’d always been more interested in being her boyfriend than her friend.

Now that she thought about it, Ginny actually couldn’t imagine him being just her friend.

Maybe if he had been, if he’d been satisfied with just her friendship the way she’d initially wanted, she’d feel guiltier now about leaving him behind.

But she didn’t. She was happy to be in California. Excited to start a new life.

A new life that required a new house she could actually live in.

Which was exactly where the grumpy, bearded man currently frowning at, well, everything in Ginny’s newly acquired bungalow came in.

Ginny had a hard time imagining him ever being her friend, too.

Which was fine. It was fine! She couldn’t imagine his social life was particularly fulfilling, anyway. Not if he went around frowning like that at everyone he met.

Who cared that the sight of him at her door had kindled something dangerously close to interest? And not just friendly interest, either. With his chest testing the limits of the seams on his worn in flannel and his backwards ball cap, what else could it be? Ginny was only human, okay? And it’d been a long time since she’d let herself notice other men. By all appearances, this guy wasn’t a bad place to start.

Too bad appearances could be so deceiving.

Given the way he hadn’t spoken more than fifteen words to her in the half hour he’d been here, too busy judging her house and clearly finding it lacking, that initial burst of attraction quickly fizzled without anything more to fuel it.

(It’d been a close call when he bent over to inspect an outlet, though.)

No. Mike Lawson certainly wouldn’t be one of her new friends. But maybe he could be her contractor.

He didn’t even bat an eye at Ginny’s snort, just continued scribbling things down in his worn notebook as he prowled around the mostly empty house. There was just Ginny’s one small suitcase, a cheap desk lamp, and her makeshift bed for him to avoid. The few dishes and flatware she’d picked up were tucked away in the kitchen cabinets, but once it became clear the house needed the kind of work Ginny’s high school shop class wouldn’t cover, she figured she’d wait to get anything else. What was the point in blowing a bunch of money that could be put to better use on renovations?

So the rest of the house was bare, showing off the well-worn hardwood floors, freshly painted walls, and bright shafts of sunlight filtering in through the stained glass in the bay window.

Ginny forced herself to focus on these things, trying to figure out how they would come together once the warm afternoon light spilled across furniture and rugs rather than naked floorboards. Better that than trailing after the unfairly good looking man in her house. He hadn’t appreciated any of her attempts at small talk; following him around silently was just creepy.

She’d have to wait for his final assessment.

But not long, thankfully.

Mr. Lawson—he hadn’t corrected her when she greeted him at the door, and Ginny was nothing if not a good Southern girl, manners and all—came out of the small, out of date bathroom, finished making the last of his notes, and blew out a long breath that didn’t do much for Ginny’s confidence.

“What’s the verdict?” she asked, rising from the window seat and trying to manage her expectations.

Mr. Lawson glanced up from his notepad, lips quirked almost charmingly to the side. Before Ginny could go getting any ideas about rekindling any interest, though, he had to go and ruin it.

“You think there’s any chance the bank hasn’t processed your down payment yet?”

She blinked, sure she’d misheard him. “Excuse me?”

“This place is a disaster,” he said, blunt. “I’m surprised there was an inspector alive who let it go on the market like this. ”

Ginny glanced around. Was he seeing what she was? Did he not see the lovely built ins or the back porch that practically ran up against the beach? Sure, there was a long crack running up one of the walls and any time she ran the tap for more than a few seconds, the pipes made a distressing groan, but those things could be fixed. It was his job to fix them.

“So it needs some rehab,” she said, feeling absurdly defensive and protective of this house for all she’d lived in it less than a week.

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “That’s one way of putting it.” Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “You said this place was built in the 30s, right? It hasn’t had any significant work done on it since then. It’s falling apart. There are definitely leaks in the roof, the pipes are probably still lead, I’d be shocked if there weren’t asbestos in the insulation, and who knows what kind of shape the wiring’s in.”

Ginny just stared at him, feeling the indignation really settle in.

Whether or not Mr. Lawson sensed this was unclear, but he sighed and took on a slightly more conciliatory tone. “Look,” he said, “you called me in for a professional opinion, right? Well, in my professional opinion, you should get out of here as soon as possible. You’re not the first person to take this place on and I’m guessing you won’t be the last. Do yourself a favor: pawn this place off on someone who can handle it.”

That was all it took to harden Ginny’s general annoyance into fury. Who the hell did this guy think he was?

“I can handle it,” she bit out coldly, jutting her chin into the air and staring down the asshole.

She almost couldn’t believe she still wanted to hire him. It wasn’t like she was really spoiled for choice, though. She knew exactly three people in town: her barista, her realtor, and this guy.

“If you could handle it,” he replied, condescending amusement coloring his words and overriding any pleasure Ginny might get out of seeing his big arms cross over his chest, “I wouldn’t be here.”

God, how did he manage to get any clients with an attitude like that?

“If you only take clients who are capable of doing the work themselves, I have to wonder how you stay in business,” she snapped. He could try and convince her to give up on this project all he wanted, it was only going to make Ginny more determined to see it through. This was her house; it was going to be her home. Whether Mike Lawson liked it or not. “I’m well aware that this project requires a professional, which is why I called you in. But if you don’t think you’re up for the challenge, I’m sure I can find another contractor who is.”

It didn’t matter that Ginny had no idea where to even begin looking for another contractor. Her real estate agent had recommended Lawson Restoration Services when she made her offer, said they were the best in town. (Ha. They were probably the only ones in town.) And while Ginny’d been inclined to trust Evelyn Sanders’ judgment, perhaps she needed to reassess that impulse if this was what it got her.

Across the room, Mr. Lawson’s eyes narrowed. Ginny could practically hear his teeth grind in annoyance. Good. He’d been enough of a pain in her ass, he could deal with a little payback.

At her smirk, he just shook his head and huffed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling like he couldn’t quite believe what he was about to say. “If you’re serious, then I’m in.”

Ginny didn’t let herself second-guess him. Instead, she stepped forward and held out her hand. After a long moment, he gave in and shook, looking like he was already regretting his decision.

She just smiled, pleased to have gotten her way. “Then it sounds like we have a deal, Mr. Lawson.”

The greatest things about being self-employed and mostly working from home were that Ginny could set her own schedule, count everything in her closet as business-appropriate, and avoid dealing with coworkers prying into her personal life because she didn’t have any.

(She could also move all the way across the country without worrying about finding a new job when she settled in, but she liked to think that one had limited usefulness.)

In North Carolina, those had been unequivocal pros.

Here in California, where Ginny’s house was constantly occupied by a small circus of workers and their prickly—still! After three whole weeks seeing each other every day—ringleader, it was more of a mixed bag.

Sleeping in was off the table when a chorus of hammers and drills and buzz saws started every day promptly at 8:00 AM. Similarly, pants were no longer optional with a team of strange men swarming her house.

Ginny couldn’t decide which she missed more.

She couldn’t even really work from home. Not when her home-to-be was an active construction scene with no internet. Lawson had actually laughed in her face when she floated the idea of getting a wireless connection set up right away. Laughed and laughed and laughed until she gave up and walked away. Ginny’d managed to switch everything around in his tool belt so he kept coming up with the wrong thing in retaliation, but he figured it out too fast for it to be really satisfying.

Sometimes, she set up shop on the beach just beyond her back door. It was nice to be on hand if Lawson needed to run something by her, and even better to watch the project progress. More often, though, Ginny'd walk down the street to the coffee shop to hang out with Cara, listen to gossip about people she mostly didn’t know, and use the wifi when necessary. Which was basically all the time. Such was the glamorous life of a web designer.

Both got her out from underfoot, which was the important thing. Ginny had always considered herself a fairly handy person. Her pop had made sure she knew how to fix a leaking pipe and change a flat tire just as well as she could throw a screwball. Watching the crew tear apart the bungalow and slowly piece it back together, though, she was uncomfortably aware that nothing her pop had taught her could’ve prepared her for this.

Sometimes, when she needed a break from tweaking layouts for clients, she’d scroll through the (massive and still growing) folder of photos titled “neverending construction” just to reassure herself that things were actually getting done. Progress had been made.

So Ginny continued to document that progress and tried to learn as much as possible as she went. At least once a week, she spent some of the day drifting through the wreckage of her house and snapping more pictures than she had since her time on the school newspaper. It was nice. Even if Ginny learned early on to make sure Lawson was unaware if he happened to be in the shot. Not only did he frown less when he didn’t know he was being watched, he couldn’t complain about what he didn’t know was happening.

Which, of course, didn’t keep him from grumbling about Ginny distracting his guys from their jobs.

On the bright side, she was definitely meeting people.

There was Salvamini, who surfed on his lunch breaks in spite of Dusty’s conviction that sharks would get him one day. Livan had a dangerous smile, but a love of cilantro Ginny could not abide. Omar was shy, but sweet, while Sonny, Butch, and Javanes hid most of their sweetness beneath many, many layers of ego. Blip, the construction manager, was apparently married to her realtor, which certainly explained Evelyn’s recommendation.

There were more of them, too, a largely friendly gaggle of dudes who cycled in and out, taking away bits and pieces of the house and leaving behind fresh drywall and newly finished floors. They seemed to like her well enough, and not just because she fed them pizza and beer on Friday evenings.

The only one Ginny still couldn’t get a solid read on was their grouch of a boss. Lawson was the only one who was on site every day, and he was the only one Ginny hadn’t managed to learn anything about. She thought he found her amusing more than annoying, which was something.

In her head, and whenever she had occasion to say it out loud, she’d finally dropped the “Mr.” off his name, but only because the entire crew burst into laughter the first time they heard her call him Mr. Lawson. She couldn’t bring herself to call him just Mike the way everyone else did. Not when he was still mostly a mystery.

Which worked well enough for them. They were mostly content to leave each other be: Lawson to his work and Ginny to hers.

Still, sometimes Lawson’s work meant they had to meet in the middle.

“Hey, you got a minute?”

Ginny paused in slipping on her headphones and backpedaled to the Mission Control Center—which was really just a card table strewn with blueprints in what would be the dining room—where Lawson oversaw and planned everything. (Some nights, after the guys had long gone home and the house was quiet, Ginny’d flip through the papers, trying to make out his scrawl and see how much of it made any sense. It usually wasn’t much, but she was getting better at deciphering his handwriting.) She’d just come in to change for a run, but that could wait. She’d been running a lot lately, both to blow off steam and because it was her only way to explore town. God, she missed her truck. The only reason she’d wanted to go now was because she couldn’t stare at her computer screen or the ridiculous doggy haute couture store she was supposed to build for another second.

“What’s up?”

“Just wanted to make sure I can send the drywallers home.”

“Why couldn’t you?”

Lawson rolled his eyes and Ginny only just managed not to roll hers right back.

“If you suddenly decided you wanted to knock down the wall between the bedrooms, that’d probably stop me.”

“Oh.” Ginny thought it over for a moment, but didn’t see much of a point in it. “Uh, no. No walls to knock down.”

Lawson snorted, but it wasn’t quite as derisive as it usually was. “What, you don’t wanna go fully open concept with this place?”

Honestly, Ginny didn’t even know what that meant. HGTV hadn’t ever been all that high on her watch list. She said so and Lawson laughed again, for real this time.

It did nice things to his face, making his eyes crinkle and cheeks round. Not that Ginny cared about any of that. Or the way he licked his lips before replying.

“You’re not missing out on much,” he promised, shaking his head.

“If you say so.” She shrugged and considered the original question. “I guess you can send the drywallers home, then.”

“Livan will be so disappointed,” he drawled.

Was it just Ginny, or was there a hint of something in that observation? An edge, perhaps?

One way to find out.

“Well, it’s not like he doesn’t know where to find me.”

Lawson rolled his eyes again, which didn’t give her any answers. That was pretty much his go to response for, now that Ginny thought about it, everything. “I don’t think even he’d go so far as to stalk you, Ms. Baker.”

Ginny’s nose wrinkled, though not at the mention of stalking. Ms. Baker? Really? After all this time? He hadn’t been Mr. Lawson in weeks. Still, she didn’t bother correcting him.

All this renovation stuff would be over soon, and they’d never see each other again. Sure, the process of repairing the foundation had taken longer than initially planned and all the insulation had to be replaced along with most of the plumbing and the entire roof—to his credit, Lawson never said anything about having predicted these exact problems, but Ginny was sure he’d thought it at least once—but it seemed like it was all coming to an end. It’d been weeks since she last saw the exposed studs of a wall. The house actually felt like a house again.

Rather than say any of that, though, Ginny just shrugged. “If he does, I know who to blame.”

Lawson waved her off with a huff. “Go on your run, then, and get outta my way.”

Ginny did as he asked, but she stuck her tongue out as she went, and Lawson’s laugh echoed in her ears all through her run.

The first morning Ginny wasn’t woken up by the chorus of nail guns or the steady drone of a circular saw, she lay on her semi-deflated air mattress and tried not to think how strange her life had become. Here she was, hardly two years out of school, living in a largely unfurnished house some 2,500 miles away from the town she’d lived all her life. 2,500 miles away from the people she’d known all her life.

And honestly, she couldn’t be happier. Last, week, after Lawson practically threw her out of the house, saying she couldn’t sleep there with all the varnish fumes that came with finishing the floors and baseboards, she’d gone home. Well, back to North Carolina, at least. Mostly so she could reassure Will and her mom that she hadn’t been inducted into a cult the way they seemed to think.

She made it 38 hours in Tarboro before loading up her truck, which had been once been her pop’s, and hitting the road for California. And why should she stay? She’d seen everyone who mattered.

Trevor, she hadn’t heard from at all.

Which, she supposed, wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

The drive across country had been a little lonely, and by the end of it Ginny was happy to be back in her sleepy seaside town. Happy to be back in her—every day less and less—ramshackle house. Happy to go to sleep on her halfhearted air mattress. (Though she was less happy to be waking up in it now.)

She’d almost been happy to see Lawson’s grumpy, bearded face, even.

Which, of course, was just perfect since he was officially done being her contractor.

Between the foundation repair and plumbing issues, not to mention the almost entirely new roof, there hadn’t been enough money for Ginny to justify paying a whole team of guys to sand and paint and seal and otherwise turn the house from a construction project into a home.

She’d been so sure she could take it on, but now, in the cold light of morning, Ginny was beginning to have some very serious doubts.

As she’d had occasion to find out over the past six weeks, web design and interior design were two very different ballgames. Sure, there were some similarities: a general attention to aesthetics and detail, but the implementation couldn’t be more different. Where a few keystrokes and commands were all it took to get a website in working order. Restoring and decorating a house required actual heavy lifting.

Naturally, it was something of a daunting task, and Ginny told herself she was just easing herself into it slowly. So slowly, she wasn’t even getting out of bed yet.

She had felt so eager to take on the challenge, anticipation ratcheting up as workers she’d gotten to know over the past few months began to disappear in ones and twos, off to work on other projects. Soon enough, only Lawson was left, finishing up with the tile in the kitchen and the bathroom, sanding down the last rough edges.

Just last evening, all his work finished up, he’d handed over his spare set of keys and told her, “Well, Baker. It’s all on you now.” If he said it with more than a bit of trepidation in his voice, Ginny thought it was at least a little bit of a joke.

She was about 75% sure.

The remaining 25% was a certainty that he was worried she would either manage to kill herself or pull all his hard work down around her ears.

Which was progress where she and Lawson were concerned. It wasn’t so long ago Ginny would’ve been completely offended by his lack of faith and determined to prove him wrong. Now, she was just determined to prove him wrong.

Honestly, she thought Lawson’s snobbery was mostly funny, though that might have been nostalgia talking; it was strange to be in the house all by herself. He’d been so scandalized when she mentioned she had no idea how to refinish cabinets, but was sure the internet would help her out.

The internet always knew what to do. Even—especially—when she didn’t.

He’d grumbled when she laughed, but only said she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone he’d worked on the house if she ended up ruining it.

With that taunt bolstering her resolve, Ginny rolled out of her deflating bed and one question answered itself easily enough.

This mattress? Yeah, it had to go. It had never been all that good at it’s intended purpose, but Ginny was increasingly sure that if she tried to force the issue, her sad, second-hand air mattress would give up on retaining air altogether. She needed to get a real bed and a real mattress as soon as possible. And if, in the process, she created a real bedroom rather than just the place where she passed out every night, Ginny wouldn’t complain.

It would be nice to have some place to come back to at the end of the day that didn’t do such a good impression of a squatter’s nest.

Which was how, hours later and verging on exhaustion, Ginny found herself standing in the middle of the hardware store’s paint aisle, contemplating the difference between Fuzzy Duckling and Smiley Face. Was there one? And what the hell was greige?

She was still frowning at the mind-boggling array of paint samples when someone interrupted with a gruff, “Excuse me.”

“Sorry,” Ginny replied automatically, stepping out of the middle of the aisle, and checking over her shoulder to make sure there was enough room for their heavily loaded cart to get by. It was then that she noticed who was pushing the cart. “Oh. Hi.”

Mike Lawson paused and actually took her in. Ginny did the same, not that she’d had a chance to forget any important details in the past 12 hours. His beard was the same as ever, thick and dark and framing his mouth in a way that wasn’t intriguing. His flannel was the one he’d worn pretty much every Thursday of their acquaintance, the blue and gray one that sometimes strained around his arms when he lifted something heavy. His wry smile, once recognition lit in his eyes, was the one he always gave when he found her particularly amusing.

“Didn’t I just finish with you?” he asked in lieu of a real greeting.

“You might have moved on to bigger and better things, Lawson, but my little house still needs some work.”

“That’s putting it lightly.” The corners of his mouth tugged, like he wanted to grin. Ginny couldn’t say why he didn’t.

“Says the man who left it in such shambles.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest. He’d offered to work out some kind of payment plan to get some more work done, but Ginny was actually looking forward to the challenge of doing this herself.

“And you decided to get right to it, huh?”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

He laughed and that little flutter of pride that came every time she managed to startle that sound out of him woke up in Ginny’s stomach. In the beginning, it’d always been a shock that her forbidding contractor was even capable of laughing. As they got to know each other, though, Ginny came to realize Mike’s sense of humor was very much alive. He laughed all the time. At her stupid Laffy Taffy jokes, at Blip’s stories of his twins and the intrigues of the second grade, at his guys almost constantly. Though that was generally at their expense in a way this laugh wasn’t.

“Don’t know why I’m surprised,” he said with a rueful shake of his head before turning to face the wall of paint chips Ginny’d been eyeing. “If you want my two cents, don’t go too dark in the dining room; there’s not enough light. Test out a few of the sample cans and see what you like, though.”

“So you’re a designer now, too?” Ginny teased, more familiar than she ever would’ve imagined during that first meeting.

Something flickered across Mike’s face and the smile he offered her was tight. “Something like that. I’ll leave you to it.”

He didn’t even give her a chance to demand a better answer, instead walking up to the cash register, pausing to pay, and then heading out the door.

All Ginny could think was something that she often found herself thinking when it came to Mike Lawson:

What the hell is his problem?

It was another few days before Ginny got around to trying out the samples she picked out. (Fortunately, none of them were Fuzzy Duckling or whatever the hell greige was.) Which wasn’t to say she hadn’t been busy. She’d driven up and down the coast in her dad’s pick up more times than she could count, scoping out estate sales and flea markets, trying to find furniture to fill the bedroom. And the rest of the house when she found the perfect dining room table and an antique carved screen she had no idea what to do with, but it was too pretty to just leave.

Sure, it would’ve been much easier to just go to the nearest Ikea, but that felt too close to cheating. The house itself would be such a labor of love, she couldn’t just fill it with the same dresser and couch combination as every college student in America.

So, she waded through heaps and piles of junk, hoping to find a few things that spoke to her, or whatever.

Okay, maybe she’d been watching some HGTV in her spare time, or at least had it on in the background as she coded. Ginny was relatively sure her intention—gaining a few interior design instincta purely through osmosis—had been largely unsuccessful, but she’d definitely picked up on the lingo.

Things like window treatments and wood finishes spoke to her now. She had opinions on chair rails and subway tile. Barn doors were beyond over done, but she kind of liked them anyway. And if Ginny never heard anyone say the words man cave again, she would gladly sacrifice her soul to whatever kind god was looking down on her.

And yet, she still found herself cuing up another episode of House Hunters to play in the background as she finally tested out the three shades of blue she’d picked for her bedroom walls.

Ginny must have dropped into some kind of painting zen because the next thing she knew, she was laughing along to Mike Lawson’s familiar snark, as she swept broad swathes of her final sample, a delicate robin’s egg blue, onto one wall.

At first she didn’t realize it wasn’t actually him. She almost called out a reply, the way she had when it was only them in the house, when reality caught up to her.

Ginny blinked, shaking herself. Was she hallucinating? Had seeing him at the hardware store triggered some delayed response to how alone she was all the time now? Before Ginny could really settle in to psychoanalyze herself, another voice rang through the house.

Unless Evelyn had neglected to mention some very active ghosts in the house, Ginny was relieved to believe that her mental health was still intact.

Dropping her roller brush back in the tray, Ginny padded over to her computer, which she’d left well out of the way of the open paint cans. Thankfully, the screen was still paint free. However, the clear screen didn’t help her in figuring out what the hell was showing on it. Hulu continued to play, but that was not a good enough explanation for what she was seeing there. It took her a minute to process it, actually. It didn’t matter how long she looked, though, her brain always reached the same conclusion.

That was Mike Lawson.

Mike Lawson talking into a camera outside a construction project.

Mike Lawson on his own TV show.

What in the actual fuck?

Staring first in confusion and then amusement and back to confusion, Ginny struggled to wrap her head around the sight of him, a few years younger and a beard (and probably a few pounds, though Ginny didn’t think it did much for his appearance) lighter talking into the camera, smiling charmingly as he explained something about what he must’ve been working on.

What was even harder to wrap her head around was the pretty redhead leaning into his side.

“Y’know, I was sure Rachel’d lost her mind when she told me to save all that old flooring, but she was absolutely right. That’s why she gets to make the decisions, and I just follow orders.” He looked adoringly down at the woman beside him, who laughed, tossing her long, red hair.

“It’s true,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder and beaming straight into the camera. “I made him put that in our wedding vows.”

Automatically, Ginny paused the playback.

She blinked. Then blinked once more. She hadn’t realized Lawson was married. Then again, she didn’t actually know anything about him aside from his general disdain for open-concept living spaces and laminate flooring. Well, that and how well he got along with his crew, as both their leader and their friend. And how good his forearms looked when he had his sleeves rolled up to work the power drill—

Okay, back to the topic at hand.

The man was married.

Or had been, Ginny rationalized as she struggled to recall if she’d ever seen a wedding band in all the time she’d known him. He was definitely wearing one on screen.

She could still see it under the dark overlay announcing, “You are watching: Building Character.”

Telling herself that what she was feeling was not disappointment, not at all, Ginny pressed play again.

It wouldn’t hurt to watch a little more. Just to satisfy her curiosity. Nothing wrong with that.

Before she knew what she’d done, it was dark outside, the paint had dried out in the tray, her laptop was about to die, and Ginny had watched half a season of Building Character.

Which at least had the distinction of not being the worst name in the HGTV pantheon.

She forced herself to close Hulu’s tab and shut down her computer for good measure before plugging it in and leaving it alone for the rest of the evening.

What she did the next morning, however, was an entirely different story.

If asked, Ginny wouldn’t be proud to admit that she looked up the show’s Wikipedia article before letting herself get sucked back in the next morning, but she was curious, all right? There were worse reasons to do things. Mike Lawson did not seem like the type to get on board with being followed around by a camera crew, and she wanted to know what could possibly convince him it was a good idea.

There were no answers on that front, but she did skim over sections on the show’s premise and ratings, scrolling until she hit one titled: “Cancellation.”

It was a short paragraph, hardly even deserving of its own heading. All it said was: “Building Character was cancelled after its second season, aired in 2014, following several developments within the cast. Many speculated that its cancellation was due to competitor Bravo’s announcement of a new interior design show in development in the vein of Millionaire Matchmaker or Flipping Out, which Patrick had been tapped to headline. The series shot a pilot, which was never picked up. Patrick also filed for divorce from Lawson at this time.”

That wasn’t nearly enough information. It was hardly even information. There weren’t any sources cited, and no way to tell how true it all was.

Ginny had questions. About a million of them, actually.

(Even if her most burning one had been answered pretty definitively.)

And what better source for answers than the show in question? So, telling herself it was merely to sate her curiosity, Ginny felt only slightly weird about pulling up the next episode to play in the background as she went back to her neglected tasks from yesterday.

Ginny’s discovery left her in something of a strange, quasi-ethical quandary. At what point did she tell Lawson that she’d found his TV show? Should she even? No one on the crew had ever brought it up; he probably wasn’t trading on his semi-fame to drum up business. If he was, he definitely wasn’t doing a good job of it. Maybe Lawson just wanted to leave it in the past? If his short stint as a TV personality had ended in his divorce, there were probably some pretty bad memories tied up in it all. Ginny didn’t need to go digging that up just to sate her curiosity and soothe her vaguely guilty conscience.

And what was there to be guilty about? So what, she watched a publicly available TV show. A publicly available TV show that happened to feature someone she actually knew, but who didn’t know she’d seen his—

It was weird, okay? Just super weird.

Luckily, it was an easy enough conundrum to ignore when Ginny didn’t actually have to see the man in question. Well, not in person at least. In spite of her (more than) daily trips to the local hardware store and even striking up something of a friendship—well, Ginny was determined it would be a friendship by the time she was through—with its curmudgeon of an owner, Al, she hadn’t run into Mike Lawson again.

She thanked God that she hadn’t started her HGTV kick earlier. If she’d found the show while he was still around every day, slowly growing on her, Ginny couldn’t begin to imagine what she would’ve done. He probably would’ve ended up quitting and she would’ve been left with a real problem on her hands.

For all Ginny had actually met the man before she stumbled across his cancelled home renovation show, she wasn’t prepared to come face to face with Mike Lawson again now that she had this information. It was easier to separate them into two entirely different people: Lawson, the grumpy contractor who’d made her house technically livable and wasn’t always as big of an asshole as he’d first seemed was miles away from Mike, the TV personality who both provided Ginny with some excellent inspiration as she fumbled her way through her DIY restorations and was utterly smitten with his pretty interior designer wife.

(Well, ex-wife now.)

Of course, just because it was easier didn’t mean it would always be that way.

Or would even last that long.

A few days after stumbling on Building Character, Ginny was once again at the hardware store, ready to pick up all the paint for her house, as well as drop cloths and tape and brushes and all the other supplies the internet had told her she’d need.

She was just loading the last of her freshly mixed paint cans into her cart when a far too familiar voice drawled, just behind her, “Of all the gin joints in all the world.”

Ginny whirled, paint clattering to the bottom of her cart, a hand to her chest. “Jesus, are you stalking me?” she blurted, ignoring any irony in her accusation.

(Watching a TV show wasn’t stalking, okay? Even if she was using said TV show to glean a few personal details—

Okay, okay. She got the picture.)

Lawson squinted at her, like he wasn’t sure if she was being serious or not. Ginny wasn’t sure either, though at least half her discomfort had to come from the fact that over the past week, she’d binged every episode of Building Character. She kept getting flashes of his TV self, leaner and fresher faced, laid over the current one, like a double image.

“No,” he finally answered, something like a smirk playing over his mouth. “And, y’know, I’m the one who’s been coming to this store for years. Wouldn’t you be the one stalking me?”

Ginny laughed, a little too high and a little too hard to be completely natural. “In your dreams, Lawson.”

“Just Mike is fine.”

The laughter dried up in Ginny’s mouth as her eyes went wide. “What?”

“Mike. That is my name.” His head tipped to the side as he regarded her, curious and amused and too much for Ginny, in all honesty. “You might as well use it if we’re going to keep running into each other.”

“How do you know we’re going to keep running into each other?” she demanded, scrambling to find her footing in this exchange and focus on the Mike who existed in the present, not just on her laptop screen. “So much for making me believe you’re not a stalker, by the way.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not such a big town, and Al likes to gossip. He told me you’ve been in at least once a day all week. Given the shape of your house, you’re gonna be here pretty often.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” she said, dodging the question of whether or not she’d be calling him Mike any time in the near future. Maybe when Building Character and the way she’d chattered at the show like Mike was actually at work somewhere in the house as she painted was further in her mental rearview. God, she needed to make some friends around here. People who would keep her from talking to Hulu to feel like she had company. “There is a lot of work left to do.”

“And you’re starting with the painting?”

Grateful for the segue—and it didn’t even sound nearly as judgmental as she was sure he wanted to be—Ginny eagerly latched onto this topic. “Sort of. I’ve been getting some furniture, too.” She couldn’t seem to stop the steady flow of chatter, even as she was aware Lawson couldn’t be that interested. “Oh! And I just picked up this door from a flea market down in Encinitas. It’s got this art deco stained glass that’s all ocean waves. I’m thinking of painting the shutters blue to match.”

Mike nodded along anyway, but when he opened his mouth, it wasn’t to praise her thriftiness or design instincts. Instead, he asked, “You’re putting a door from a flea market in your house?”

Ginny shrugged. It was cheaper than getting a brand new one and it fit in the frame she already had. Which was exactly what she informed a despairing Lawson. Plus, how many people have hundred year old front doors?

“There’s a reason for that,” he said, clearly exasperated. “It’s gonna splinter the first time someone tries to bash it in.”

It was the sheer grouchiness in his voice that finally shook Ginny out of her awkwardness. This man in front of her, the one frowning so forbiddingly, was Mike Lawson. The one she’d gotten to know over piles of 2x4s and through a fine sheen of plaster dust. Whoever he’d been when Building Character was filmed didn’t really exist anymore.

All she needed to do was look at his beard to know that.

“Who’s bashing in doors around here?” she joked, trying to settle back into their customary banter.

“You can never be too careful,” Mike replied without actually answering the question.

“I’ve managed to protect my house from burglars just fine on my own, thanks.”

Lawson was still frowning when he asked, “You’re really doing this by yourself?”

Ginny rocked back, surprised by the shift in topic. “How else am I supposed to do it? You got me through the difficult stuff. I can manage to strip some cabinets and install a few light fixtures on my own.”

He was smart enough not to argue, though his skepticism was hard to miss. “I’m sure you’re more than capable, but that doesn’t mean you have to do it on your own.”

Ginny snorted, but didn’t bother to explain herself at his curious look. Lawson must have forgotten what it was like to be new in town. Especially a small town like this. Vaguely suspicious stares and curious murmurs still followed Ginny almost everywhere she went, though she’d done her best to present a friendly face, willing to wait out the distrust. Having grown up in a small town of her own, she knew that strangers weren’t always met with open arms. She had her small circle of friends—Blip and Evelyn, Cara, Livan and most of the other guys, and even Lawson on good days—which was so much better than what she’d started with. Ginny could afford the wait on this front.

“Well, I’m going to,” she replied, decisive and determined. (And entirely missing the thoughtful frown on Lawson’s face.)

After all, what other choice did she have?

As it turned out, Ginny had more than a few choices.

Somehow—and the exact mechanics of this information exchange were never quite nailed down to Ginny’s satisfaction—word got around quickly among her limited acquaintance that she might be in a little over her head.

The first person to show up and offer her help was Evelyn Sanders, Ginny’s realtor. Ginny had seen the woman a few times in the past months, but it was mostly in passing. Friendly smiles as they maneuvered past each other at the grocery store and quick hellos in line for coffee. So, Evelyn’s sudden appearance on her doorstep, ready to work, was nothing short of a shock.

Ginny nonetheless invited her and her two rambunctious seven-year-olds inside, falling back on ingrained manners to get over her surprise.

“I’m so sorry it took me so long to come check up on you,” Evelyn said in place of an actual greeting as she ushered her boys in ahead of her. The kids, a set of twins by all appearances, looked up at Ginny, and she looked back, at a loss. Their frank curiosity was a refreshing change of pace from the veiled interest that dogged Ginny’s steps in town. At their mother’s permission, however, they both scampered out the backdoor to the waiting beach. No stranger could compare to the pull of the ocean to two seven-year-olds. “There was this whole thing—there was a house and a contested will and a court order—that just took forever to wrap up, and then Gabe and Marcus started school…”

Evelyn smiled winningly as she trailed off and Ginny looked uncertainly back.

“Oh,” Ginny said, upon realizing the other woman was waiting for a response. She was very aware that she’d gotten a streak of paint in her hair earlier in the day and could in no way compare to Evelyn’s spotless dress. “That’s all right?”

Evelyn flapped her hand, “Thank you, but I still should’ve come earlier. I always try to come for the housewarming, at least.” Then, with an evaluative glance around the living room, which had mostly turned into storage for Ginny’s estate sale finds, she added, “Although maybe I’m not as late as I thought. Blip told me he was done working on the house.”

Right, Blip. It’d honestly slipped Ginny’s mind that Lawson’s right hand man was married to her real estate agent. She hadn’t seen him in so long; he’d been one of the first to disappear from the project, apparently heading up the next one a few towns over. “He is,” she assured. “But I’m not.”

With the enthusiasm of a woman who loved a good project, Evelyn demanded all the details. If she was disappointed that Ginny was largely flying blind, she didn’t show it. She did, however, march through the house to take in the state of things for herself. In no time at all, showing off a mind built for organization and a personality for delegation, she’d helped Ginny catalogue all the remaining projects and construct a feasible timeline to finish them. As she left barely an hour later, apparently late for the boys’ baseball practice, she promised to take Ginny to all the best antique stores and salvage yards.

Ginny wasn’t holding her breath. Evelyn clearly had a lot on her plate, and while the help today was certainly appreciated, Ginny was more than prepared to finish this thing on her own.

All too soon, though, she learned just why no one underestimated Evelyn Sanders twice.

Not only did the realtor make good on her promise to take Ginny bargain hunting, she proved to be a formidable haggler and a determined friend.

Whether she liked it or not, Ginny was going to become part of the Sanders’ social circle.

(She definitely liked it.)

Suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, Ginny’s house was the new place to be.

On the weekends, some combination of the old crew—Sonny or Melky or even Livan, taking a break from his punishing social schedule—came over and helped her pull out the overgrown tangle of weeds in the front yard and, when that was done, moved on to repainting the siding. Blip would sometimes show up with the boys after school to jump in on whatever needed doing. He said he wanted them to learn the value of hard work, but since they were seven and had the attention spans to prove it, they mostly ended up eating cookies and milk in the kitchen while their dad and Ginny stripped cabinets, shit talking one another’s taste in basketball teams. Evelyn would breeze in after her office closed, take a quick tour to survey the newest improvements, and round up her boys so Ginny could “have some peace and quiet.”

Sometimes, she even rounded Ginny up and brought her home for “a proper home cooked meal,” which Ginny would never turn down, even if she thought she should. The sandwiches Cara made down at the cafe were good, but there were only so many of them that she could eat.

In payment, Ginny always made sure to have more than enough beer (or juice for her underage helpers) in the fridge and pizza to feed an army waiting at the end of the day. She, personally, thought she should be doing more in repayment, but every time she offered, they all shook her off. All they’d take was food and gratitude.

Which Ginny was more than happy to give.

She would’ve given a lot more for the comfort that came with knowing there were people here who had her back.

Even if one of those people wasn’t Mike Lawson.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t around. She’d see him at the bar when Livan dragged her out of the house to escape the paint fumes, or at the hardware store when she inevitably had to go back to pick out a different sealant for her salvaged dining room table. He regularly showed up at the Sanders house for their bi-weekly potluck, and never empty handed.

Okay, Ginny saw him a lot, actually.

And every time she did, they got along just fine. Better than fine, even.

It was funny, getting to know the real him, and not just whatever version of Mike Lawson had been deemed fit for TV. On screen, he was clearly meant to be someone’s wish fulfillment: An appropriately rugged man’s man, but also a dedicated husband. Someone who not only worked with his hands, but could appreciate the finer things in life, too.

He was pretty much a walking wet dream.

And, don’t get her wrong, he did an excellent job of it, but he wasn’t quite real, either.

The real Mike had a bit of a dour streak, one Ginny hesitated to believe grew into existence along with his beard. He couldn’t stop rolling his eyes if they were in danger of falling out. He was terminally inclined towards grumpiness.

But he also watched out for his guys like they were his own brothers. He was funny, with a sarcastic bent that Building Character utterly failed to reveal. While he was personally affronted by Ginny’s taste in movies, and threatened her with a Film 101 crash course every other time they saw each other, he didn’t treat her like a moron for liking Mean Girls more than The Maltese Falcon.

Honestly, Ginny liked the man she was slowly coming to know even more than the one she still watched on Hulu sometimes.

For all his faults, Mike always listened to her progress, and Ginny got to pick his brain about particularly stubborn problems she ran up against. He offered advice and Ginny mostly took it with grace. Ginny fed him gossip from his guys, and he pretended not to squirrel away every bit of intelligence.

She even divulged that she’d found his show.

(“I didn’t know I’d hired a famous contractor,” she teased, elbowing him as they both waited for their drinks at the bar. Ginny probably didn’t need any more; she was already pretty buzzed. If she weren’t, there was no way she’d consider this an acceptable topic of conversation. As it was, she kept going. “You had your very own TV show, and you didn’t tell me.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, sheepish. “It’s not something I really advertise.”

“Well, if I hadn’t heard you complaining about cherry finishes first hand, I wouldn’t have believed it. I never would’ve recognized you.”

“No?” Mike asked, one eyebrow raised and a corner of his mouth turned up, too.

“Nope,” she answered, ignoring how good he looked with that sly grin. “That thing you’ve grown on your face is a pretty excellent disguise.”

He laughed, a sharp burst of surprise that, like always, made Ginny’s stomach flutter. “Don’t hate on the beard, Baker.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Whatever I feel about the beard, it’s only what it deserves.”

The fact that it was the truth, no matter which way she meant it, only made it harder for Mike to argue.)

They were, at least in a casual way, friends.

But he never came to her house.

Ginny tried not to read into it. He renovated homes for a living. Of course he didn’t want to do it in his spare time, and for no money to boot. She couldn’t blame him for spending his free time doing other things. Things that didn’t involve her. (Even if they often involved other women, if the gossip around town to be believed.)

It didn’t mater that he always made sure to seek her out at Blip and Ev’s or the bar or even when they crossed paths in town. He was just being nice.

That was all.

“Son of a bitch!”

Ginny glared down at her phone, though the Lou the tow truck driver had already hung up and could appreciate neither her cursing nor her unimpressed stare. One of the unexpected problems of living in a small town was when there was a big accident up the coast, the only available tow truck was going to be kept busy for a while.

Which meant she was currently stuck on the side of the road, victim of a blown tire.

It was too dark and too far for Ginny to risk the walk into town, though Lou’d assured her he didn’t need her to stick around for the tow if she wanted someone to pick her up. Unfortunately, though, everyone she would’ve considered calling was busy somewhere that wasn’t the side of the road.

Blip and Ev were having a date night down in San Diego, Livan didn’t believe in answering phone calls (and was probably already knee deep in some flirting at the bar), and, well, those were the only people Ginny was actually comfortable calling. Cara the barista had insisted on trading numbers back when it became clear Ginny would be a new regular, but they rarely talked outside of the coffee shop. Their first foray into friendship couldn’t be Ginny demanding a favor.

Mike’s phone number was still somewhere in her contacts, not that Ginny actually had any plans to put it to use. He wasn’t that kind of a friend.

She sighed and flopped back in the bed of her truck, flinging an arm dramatically across her eyes for good measure.

She was so wrapped up in her pity party, she didn’t even hear the other car drive up. She also didn’t hear its driver kill the engine, get out, close the door, and make it within five feet of her.

“Need some help?”

Ginny bolted upright and was immediately blinded by a set of halogen headlights. All she could make out was a large, dim shadow approaching her. She jumped to her feet and immediately wished she’d thought to grab the tire iron or something from the bed of the truck. It might not’ve helped with her blown tire, but Ginny’d seen Criminal Minds, okay? If someone wanted to try and grab her, it would’ve been a hell of a help.

Panic flooding her veins and well before she’d gotten a good look at whomever had approached her, Ginny jabbed out with a fist. Who cared that she didn’t know who it was? She was alone on a dark road, but she was not going to end up as inspiration for the writers of Law and Order.

Unfortunately, blinded as she was, her aim was pretty shoddy. Her hand collided with something solid and unforgiving.

“Ow! Fuck!” her assailant protested, knocking her next punch out of the way. “Jesus, Baker! It’s me.”

“Lawson?” she demanded, reason catching up with panic and battling for control. She squinted against the glare of his headlights, and realized that: yes, she had just tried to punch out Mike Lawson. A hysterical burble of laughter climbed out of her stomach, and she pressed a hand over her heart, trying to calm its furious rhythm. “You scared me!”

He grimaced, holding out his hands placatingly and stepping to the side so Ginny didn’t have to stare straight into the light. Bright spots danced across her eyes, but she could still make out how guilty and concerned he looked. “Sorry,” he said, making sure to keep his distance. “Just, I saw your truck and pulled over to make sure you were all right. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Ginny’s heart was still thundering away in her chest, but she managed to nod. “Okay,” she said, swallowing back the bitter tang of adrenaline. As it went, she felt her knees begin to go, too. Before they completely dissolved beneath her, she leaned back against the lowered tailgate, hoping it seemed nonchalant and not necessary. “I get it. Next time, though, maybe try to avoid startling a woman alone at night.”

“Noted,” he agreed, his eyes sweeping over her in something almost like worry. “Are you okay?”

She waved him off, though the furrow of his brow didn’t ease up at all. “I’ll survive. And maybe by the time Lou gets here with the tow truck, I’ll have my heart rate back to normal.”

Mike ignored her dig in favor of frowning. “Tow truck? What’s wrong?”

“Blew a tire.”

“Don’t you have a spare?”

“That was it,” she replied, nodding to the shreds of rubber still clinging to her back wheel. Carefully, she eased herself up onto the tailgate. Her knees felt less watery now, but the tow truck was still a good half hour away. Might as well settle in for the wait.

Mike rolled his eyes. “You know you’re not supposed to drive around on it, right? It’s just to get you into a shop.”

Ginny rolled her eyes right back. “No, I had no idea, Lawson.” At his unimpressed stare (maybe it was just the shadows playing tricks on her eyes that made her think he was smiling a little reluctantly, too), she threw her hands in the air. “I was prioritizing, okay? I’d rather definitely be able to take a shower than maybe prevent, well. This.”

“What happened to your shower?”

“Nothing. It’s great.” It was. It was maybe her favorite place in the house, and not just because it was the only thing she hadn’t had to put any work into. Mike had turned what was once a tragically outdated bathroom into a mini spa, and Ginny would be lying if she said it hadn’t affected her tiny crush on him at all. “But the hot water heater died last week, and I had to get it replaced.”

He shook his head and heaved himself up onto the bed of her truck, too. “That house is a money pit. How you haven’t already gone bankrupt is a mystery.”

Ginny ignored his halfhearted probing in favor of leaning away from his warm and far-too-close bulk.

“What’re you doing?” she demanded, maybe a tiny bit shrill. But it was only natural. The only times she was ever this close to Mike Lawson, they were surrounded by other people. Now here they were, sitting in the bed of a pickup on a deserted road. It was like they were teenagers parking, only without any of the making out. As Ginny was all too aware.

“Getting comfortable,” he drawled, eying her askance. Once he’d settled in, leaning back on his hands, he let out a gusty sigh. “I’ve been on my feet since 6:00 AM.”

Ginny didn’t need to check her watch to know it was well past 9:00 now. She elbowed him, and replied to his affronted expression, “So you should be going home. Not waiting around in the dark for a tow truck that’s still twenty minutes away.”

Why she didn’t tell him that they didn’t, actually, have to wait at all—could, in fact—leave the truck for Lou to pick up, Ginny couldn’t say. Probably, she didn’t want to impose, didn’t make him drive all the way to her house when he’d done such a marvelous job of avoiding lately.

“I think that’s a pretty good reason for me to stay, actually,” he responded, dry as kindling. “Can’t go around abandoning damsels in distress, can I?”

“Such chivalry.”

“Someone’s gotta keep real manners alive.”

“Well, you’re not much good to me if you’re falling asleep,” Ginny grumbled, feeling warmth rise up her chest. She’d made the mistake of turning to look at Mike, and nearly lost her breath. His eyes were closed, face relaxed and tipped up into the cool night air. He seemed so at ease. Even just sitting on the corrugated metal of her pickup’s bed.

He laughed, low and rich and the goose bumps that erupted across Ginny’s skin had nothing to do with the breeze.

“Just wake me up if someone tries to kidnap you,” he said, laying back and getting comfortable.

She didn’t reply, or even look at him. Just curled her fingers around the edge of the tailgate and tried not to flinch as his automatic headlights went out, plunging them into darkness. With only the moon to illuminate them now, it all felt dangerously intimate. Which was ridiculous. Just because Ginny thought he looked perfectly climbable (and there was a thought she shouldn’t be having about her friends, no matter how their jeans clung to their thighs) didn’t mean—

Her phone buzzed just in time. Before Ginny could become too aware of the sound of Mike’s breathing next to her, or the warmth of his thigh practically pressed against hers.

Eager for the distraction, she pulled it out to see a message from Blip.

Hey, Lou said you’re stuck somewhere on Route 11. Do you need me and Ev to come get you?

Jesus, news traveled fast around here.

“Who is it?”

Mike’s voice was a little dreamy, distant enough to make Ginny turn and look at him against her better judgment. His arms were tucked behind his head, biceps straining against his sleeves in a way that was embarrassingly familiar. In the dim glow from her phone, Ginny could make out one eye open and squinting towards her.

“Uh.” She swallowed and made the plunge. She couldn’t sit out here in the dark with Mike Lawson for much longer. “Lou. He said I should find a ride because the pile up north of town is taking forever to untangle. I can leave the key under the seat.”

Automatically, Mike pushed himself upright, only groaning a little on the way. “All right, let’s get going, then.”

Still, Ginny hesitated. “You sure?”

“Huh.” He paused, like he was thinking it over. “Now that you mention it, yeah. I’m gonna go ahead and leave you here alone.” Ginny didn’t laugh, so he leveled her with a wry glare even as he offered her a hand down. “C’mon, Baker. I’m takin’ you home.”

Trying, and mostly failing, to rein in her grin, she took his hand and followed him back to his car.

The ride was pretty quick, passing easily as Ginny and Mike traded bits of news and gossip. You heard Salvamini’s wife is pregnant again? They think it’s twins this time. Natalie Luongo and Oscar Arguella think they’re doing such a good job at this secret dating thing, but half the town’s talking about them anyway. Tommy Miller got in another brawl with Theo Falcone; he’s lucky he didn’t break his other hand this time.

In no time at all, they were pulling up to Ginny’s house, which was looking more and more like a place someone actually lived. When it wasn’t pitch dark, the blue shutters stood out cheerfully against the window boxes of yellow and white tulips. A jasmine vine curled over the front door, and wafted its scent through the open windows. The place had some curb appeal again.

Mike parked and killed the engine, but Ginny didn’t make a move to get out. She didn’t want this moment to end yet.

“You painted,” Mike pointed out, rather obviously.

“Yeah,” she agreed, feeling a well of words bubble up and not knowing quite how to stop them, “that dingy tan wasn’t working for me. Maybe white’s a little on the nose for a seaside cottage, but I like it.”

“It looks good,” he said, a little too surprised for Ginny’s tastes.

“Thanks,” she replied, dry enough to make him chuckle. Then, in the interest of fairness, she added, “I did have help.”

“So I heard. By all accounts, it’s gone pretty well.”

“All accounts, huh? You gossiping about me, Lawson?”

In the darkness of the car, it was hard to tell if his ears flushed a dull red the way she’d sometimes seen them do when he got caught out in a lie. Still, he tried to play it off, saying, “You hear things around town.”

“Uh huh,” Ginny said, grinning wide and not bothering to conceal it.

He rolled his eyes. “When basically everyone you know is doing something, you hear a lot about it.”

“When everyone you know is doing something, you’d think you might check and see what all the fuss is about for yourself.”

When Mike remained stubbornly silent, refusing to meet her gaze, Ginny’s eyes narrowed. She let herself wonder why exactly Mike had not once shown up when most of his employees and friends—though, okay, the Sanders were the only people in town Ginny could say with any certainty Mike actually liked—were helping her out. Even Al had finally warmed up to her persistent small talk.

(But only after she mentioned having to go see his daughter Natalie after an unfortunate incident involving a hammer and both of Ginny’s thumbs. As it turned out, Al could take a shine to anyone who gave one of his children a compliment. Well, if someone had told Ginny earlier, she’d have been singing the Luongo girls’ praises as soon as possible because she definitely could’ve used that Friends and Family Discount back when she had no idea what she was doing. Now that she mostly knows what she’s doing, it’s still pretty handy, though.)

But Mike had remained curiously absent. Conspicuously absent, now that she thought about it.

“You sent them all, didn’t you?” she demanded indignantly, things falling into place. “You felt bad for me and told everyone I was in over my head!”

“No,” was his immediate response, sure and firm. “I maybe suggested to Blip that Evelyn check up on you, but everything after that was all her. And you, too. You won over people on your own.”

Ginny frowned, trying to hang onto her annoyance even as it fled as quickly as it’d come. “I could’ve done it on my own.”

“I know that,” Mike replied, easy as anything. “But you shouldn’t have to. You know how many people have tried to take on this house and failed? More than I can count. Here you are, though, all on your own and refusing to back down no matter what gets thrown your way. Kinda blows me away.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she just ducked her head and smiled. When she finally felt up to it, Ginny glanced at Mike through the screen of her eyelashes. This time there was no mistaking the flush riding across his cheeks.

“Thanks,” she murmured, shy.

“It’s just the truth,” he said, trying to frown forbiddingly like if he was gruff enough now, Ginny’d forget the soft center hidden behind all that sarcasm and flannel.

“Okay,” she replied, opening her door and flooding the interior with light. Mike blinked, and he looked so endearingly startled, Ginny couldn’t help the next words that came out of her mouth. “Wanna come in and see the progress?” At his hesitation, she teased, “I bet it’s been killing you not to tell me exactly what I’ve been doing wrong.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was already pulling the keys from the ignition. “Fine. But only so I can make sure you haven’t ruined all my hard work.”

“I mean, if you’re pulling everything down to the studs and changing the entire layout, can you even call it a renovation anymore? It’s basically new construction.”

Ginny, who had no horse in this race, just shrugged, making Mike scowl a little. Well, a little more than he already was. It didn’t seem to matter how good of a mood he was in, he was usually scowling at least a little. It made his grins all the brighter.

Except, Ginny had other matters on her mind right now. Well, other matters that should be on her mind. Namely, installing the new faucet she’d picked out for the kitchen sink. The old one had sprung a leak and was ugly as sin, anyway.

Mike had offered to put it in for her, but Ginny’d gotten this far without his help; he only showed up after she’d gotten the old one mostly taken apart, after all. She wanted to finish it herself. He accepted that easily enough, but still claimed he was going to stick around to “supervise.”

If “supervising” meant complaining about the current lineup of HGTV shows, he was doing a bang up job.

He had, at least, managed to keep her from giving up in frustration when it turned out the old faucet was basically rusted into the water pipes. He’d deigned to wedge himself under the sink and put some elbow grease into the wrenching required to free the plumbing from the leaky faucet. If Ginny’d appreciated the picture he’d painted, his shirt riding up a little over his stomach, more than the actual help, that was her business.

Mostly, that was par for the course when Mike came around. He didn’t do much actual work around the house, but he’d show up and look over what she’d accomplished since he was last there. Every so often, he’d be her muscle, wrestling a door into the frame or helping her move around furniture.

More often, though, he was just eye candy.

Not that Ginny ever planned on telling him that.

“Seriously,” he continued, leaning heavily on the counter as Ginny finished tightening the new handles and checked over the coupling between faucet and pipe, “what’s the point in buying a old house if you’re just gonna rob it of all the things that make it unique?”

“What do you do when someone wants to knock down all the walls in a house, then?” she asked because she couldn’t help herself. “Just tell them no?”

“With more tact than that.” At Ginny’s snort, he straightened and pointed a finger at her. “I can be tactful. I can be downright charming when I want.”

Ginny snorted again and set aside her wrench. “Sure you can. You think I can try turning this on?”

Mike shrugged, though he did run a critical eye over the setup. “You can definitely try.”

Since that was as good as she’d get, Ginny ducked down to turn the water on again. When she straightened, his eyes didn’t dart away from her, but there was a hint of pink blooming across his cheeks. Biting back a smile Ginny paused with her hand poised dramatically over the handle. “Moment of truth.”

He rolled his eyes, but came to stand next to her. “All right, Baker, let’s see what you’ve got.”

She flipped the handle and beamed as water began to flow from faucet head. Ginny turned to preen up at Mike, but before she could annoy him into congratulating her, an ominous hissing sound came from the kitchen sink.

In horror, they both turned and watched as the stream slowed to a trickle and stopped for a moment as the pipes began to rattle. Then, right from the base of the faucet, a gushing spray of water burst forth.

“Shit!” Ginny shrieked, ducking away from the sputtering faucet and right into Mike’s warm, firm chest. His arms, which had been reaching around her to fix whatever she’d done, now caged her in, right in the path of the spray. She cringed back from the cold water, further into his embrace. “Mike, move!”

She had to duck under his arm to get out of the way, since he didn’t react quickly enough. Any thrill that she had at being caught up in Mike’s arms was dampened by the situation.

Literally.

Water dripped from her hair into her eyes, and she could only imagine where it hit Mike as he took the full brunt of the spray now that she wasn’t shielding him. He squawked a little, flinching away. Ginny scrambled to reach into the cabinet and shut off the valve.

The spray stopped and kitchen descended back into quiet. Ginny straightened and took in the sight before her.

Mike stood, dripping water like an angry cat. Drops fell from his hair and beard and rolled down his already soaked flannel. It clung to him like a second skin, which was not what Ginny should’ve been taking away from this, but she was only human, okay?

He dashed water out of his eyes and glared as giggles helplessly fell past Ginny’s lips. She covered her mouth with her hand, but she couldn’t stop. She shook her head in apology, but that just made her ponytail swing from side to side, splattering them both with more water as it went. Mike’s grimace finally lightened, his own mouth twitching as he struggled to keep his own laughter in.

When it burst out, it mingled with Ginny’s, a harmony she’d never get sick of hearing.

And there was a thought she shouldn’t really be having. Mike was her friend, and that was all. Get over it, Baker, she told herself, trying to school her features and take a deep, calming breath.

“C’mon,” she said. “I just had the washer and dryer put in. We’ll get your shirt drying and then come back and clean this up.”

“Did you pay someone to come and install it?” He frowned, following her anyway to the hall closet that now doubled as her laundry room.

“No, they do it for free when you buy the warranty.”

“Yeah, ‘cause the warranty’s already a rip-off,” Mike grumbled, stripping off the sopping wet flannel. The white t-shirt he wore underneath was a little damp, though it already fit across his chest in a way that, ironically enough, made Ginny’s mouth go dry.

She blinked and turned to fiddle with the machine’s controls, pulling off her own soaked sweatshirt and tossing it inside with Mike’s flannel. Her tank top had a few damp patches, but it was a dark red and didn’t present the same issues as Mike’s. And there definitely wasn’t a part of her that wished that it did; if there was no reason for Mike’s eyes to go dark with desire, there was no reason to be disappointed when they didn’t.

“Well,” Ginny finally made herself say after getting the dryer started, “I didn’t have much of a choice. If I can’t even install a kitchen faucet correctly, I don’t think there’s much hope I could’ve handled this.”

“You would’ve been fine,” Mike replied with a certainty that always made Ginny’s gut tighten in gratitude. For all he’d been so skeptical of her ability to let someone else fix this disaster of a house, Mike definitely didn’t think that now. And every reminder of that fact, his quiet belief, bolstered her on. “And you could’ve called me, y’know.”

“I could’ve?” She eyed him sidelong, sure that if she faced him head on, she’d do something stupid.

Stupid maybe, but also so, so satisfying.

“Yeah.” There was no eye roll this time, which made Ginny turn and lean one hip against the rumbling machine. Mike’s face was open, even a little fond. “You could’ve. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Ginny’s smile froze and she found herself nodding automatically. When Mike’s brow furrowed, she rushed to cover up any of her disappointment. “I’ll keep that in mind, old man.”

Mike just laughed and shook his head. “Old man, huh? Now I’m definitely not telling you how to fix your faucet.”

He eventually did, but only after Ginny’d pouted at the offending object for a full five minutes, unsure of where she’d gone wrong. When he finally came over to lean against the counter beside her, she soaked up both his advice and his body heat and tried to tell herself that just friends stood this close all the time. And just friends smiled at each other just like this, too. And just friends thought about how easy it would be to pull one another into their bedroom and become more than just friends.

Okay, maybe that was just wishful thinking.

(It definitely was.)

Later, Ginny would blame that for what she did next.

When she turned on the faucet again and they weren’t treated to a second impromptu shower, she maybe forgot herself. Just a little.

Before she really thought about what she was doing, Ginny’d flung her arms around Mike’s neck, laughing in delight. Immediately, one of his arms wrapped around her back, his big hand splayed out over her ribs and pulling her in. Not that she needed much encouragement, rolling up onto her tiptoes to stay as close as possible. She hid her smile against his shoulder and only pulled back when he did. For a long moment, they stared each other in the eyes, Mike’s hand still firm on her waist, fingers flexing. She was so, so sure, something was going to happen.

She wanted something to happen.

And Ginny would swear that it was going to, except—

His phone rang.

Even hours later, as she lay in bed, Ginny couldn’t get the feel of him pressed so tight against her out of her head. The way he smelled, the sound of his pulse near her ear, it all played over and over, making it impossible to sleep.

There was no way her dreams would live up to reality.

What also made it impossible to sleep was the way he’d stepped away to take the call and dismay rushed in to take his place. For a second, she couldn’t quite look at him, feeling like her cheeks might really burst into flames if she did. Nonetheless, Ginny could feel his eyes on her, even as he listened and nodded along to whatever he was being told.

She lifted a hand to her lips, telling herself she couldn’t still feel his breath on them. Her heart threatened to pound its way out of her ribcage, but it wasn’t panic. No, it was thrilling and electric, bright enough to make her feel like she could take off flying.

As soon as Ginny came to this realization, Mike ended his call and disheartening silence rang between them.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, looking anywhere but her. For her part, Ginny couldn’t look away now, cataloguing the bob of his Adam’s apple and the almost invisible spray of freckles across his nose.

She might as well, since she had a sinking suspicion she wouldn’t be seeing much more of them in the near future.

Sure enough, Mike made up some excuse—offering up far too much information about the lumber crisis Blip was having for it to be anything but a lie—and was out of the house before she could protest.

No matter how much she’d wanted him to kiss her, he hadn’t.

And she was starting to think he never would.

That didn’t gut her. Not even a little bit.

In spite of her slightly inconvenient—because, really, he’d given no real indication that he wanted to be anything other than friends—feelings for Mike, life did go on. So, while Ginny tried to get over her stupid crush, she also threw herself into finishing up the last repairs and furnishing her house.

In a whirlwind of determined activity, from which there was one conspicuous absence, Ginny threw herself into finding the perfect area rug or refinishing the desk that would go in the guest bedroom or hanging the swing for the back porch.

Anything to take her mind off that absence.

Not that it was all that easy to do. For all Mike had made himself pretty scarce lately, it seemed like he was all anyone wanted to talk about. Everywhere Ginny went, people were dying to give her updates. She heard through the rumor mill that he’d taken on a huge project up near LA, run into his ex-wife, and hadn’t been back in town for weeks.

Well. That was fine. It was even fine that people always seemed to give her this gossip with sympathetic smiles and pitying looks.

Ginny didn’t need his help. There were plenty of other people who would help her out.

And soon enough, all that help and hard work had paid off.

The ramshackle little beach cottage she’d bought on impulse a little more than three months ago was finally finished.

To celebrate, Ginny invited everyone who’d played a role in buffing her diamond in the rough to its current shine to a housewarming party. She set up a bonfire out on the beach and bought enough marshmallows for her own Stay Puft Man. That was exactly what a grown up housewarming party needed, right? S’mores.

For other food, Cara, her barista friend and the woman who’d kept her fed while she was functionally kitchenless, brought all the leftover pastries from the café and Al insisted on manning the grill. Natalie put in an appearance, too, strategically timed so her dad wouldn’t notice she and Oscar showed up in the same car. Of course, so did all the guys from Mike’s crew, along with Blip and Evelyn and the boys.

She even invited Mike, though she didn’t really expect him to show up.

Which, of course, meant he had to go and make an appearance, anyway.

It was late into the evening before he showed up. Well after some guests had already been and left. Still, there were enough people milling around not to make his presence too strange.

Ginny looked up in the middle of a conversation with Sonny and Butch, and even before she caught sight of him, frowning faintly at the arrangement of furniture in the front room she knew he was there. She actually liked her delightful hodgepodge of things. None of it was supposed to go together, not when she’d found it all at estate sales and salvage yards and antique stores, but once it was in the room, it felt like home.

For some reason, it felt even more like home with Mike standing there, too.

Like her weeks of disappointment meant nothing at all, Ginny felt the flutters erupt back to life in her stomach. God, she’d missed him, no matter what she’d told herself.

She made vague excuses to Butch and Sonny, ignoring their smirks and knowing glances, and made a beeline straight for him.

“You made it.”

Mike looked up from inspecting the cushions she’d put on the window seat, maybe startled, maybe not. “You invited me.”

“And I never heard if you were going to come or not.”

“Sorry, I can—”

“No,” Ginny blurted, reaching out when he turned over his shoulder towards the door. She stopped herself just in time from taking hold of his wrist. Her hand fell back to her side, dangling limply. “I was just surprised.”

He nodded, and an awkward silence descended over them both.

Ginny searched for something to say, chewing on her lip and looking over her remaining guests, all of whom were very studiously avoiding this area of the living room. A hot flush started to climb up Ginny’s cheeks.

Just as she was about to make an excuse to leave herself, Mike broke the quiet, gesturing to the eclectic mix of furniture. “Where’d you even find this stuff?”

“Here and there. Evelyn reads the obituaries so she can get a jumpstart on all the good estate sales.”

He snorted and Ginny felt her shoulders relax. Like that was the cue he’d been waiting for, Mike offered her a soft smile.

“I can’t tell if there’s a theme or not,” he grinned, taking in the wingback chair placed next to a Lucite side table. “Am I missing something?”

“Unless ‘Stuff I Like’ is a theme, not really.”

“Not if you’re planning on a career as an interior designer, it’s not.”

Ginny wrinkled her nose, the prospect of having to do all this again making her head spin. “I think one house was all I had in me.”

“That’s a relief,” he said, grinning but still making it sound nothing like a joke. “I’ve had more than enough of interior designers.”

She shrugged, but didn’t bother to wipe the exuberant smile off her face at the certainty in his voice. “Good thing I like my job, then.”

“Good thing,” Mike agreed, his head tipping at a slight angle to take her in.

Ginny simply looked back, the flutters in her stomach now a veritable rush of quivers. Hope clogged up her throat, making her eyes shine.

He shifted, his shoulder closing in on her, creating a pocket of space, just for them. In response, Ginny could feel herself rock forward, just ever so slightly, onto her toes, ready for whatever move Mike might make. Just as he opened his mouth to say something more, something that looked so promising, Livan called out for Ginny from the kitchen.

Ginny shouted a reply automatically, but by the time she’d answered to his satisfaction and turned back, Mike had closed his mouth again, a bland smile on his face.

“I’ll let you get back to everyone.”

“Okay,” she agreed, prompt and more than a little hollow. But what was the point in that? Ginny was sick of missing opportunities with one man when she didn’t let any others slip through her fingers. “Don’t try and leave without saying goodbye, though.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and nodded a polite agreement.

In all honesty, she didn’t much expect him to keep his word on that front.

So, it was with something of a jolt that much later, while taking a short break from collecting the empties littered across the sand behind the house, Ginny looked up and caught sight of Mike through the window above the sink, sleeves rolled up his arms as he washed dishes. He was the only one left in the house, everyone else long gone.

She blinked, but he was still there when she opened her eyes.

He hadn’t left. She would’ve sworn he left.

But he hadn’t.

Ginny let her feet carry her to the back porch as she processed this information. But rather than open the door and step inside, where Mike was blithely washing her dirty dishes, she sank onto the swing and tried to reorder her thoughts.

Here was what she knew:

Mike Lawson, against all odds, had gone from grumpy contractor to one of Ginny’s closest friends. Mike inspired feelings that were distinctly more than friendly in her. Mike had disappeared on her after sharing an arguably romantic moment. Mike may or may not have seen his ex-wife recently, which could have done any number of things to his mindset. Mike had come to her party.

Those were the facts. (Though nothing close to all of them. What was she supposed to do with the fact that he smelled the way fall should or that he liked alfredo sauce more than marinara? How about the fact that what he called her “constant interruptions” only annoyed him about half the time? Or the fact that she wanted to know more and more until there was nothing she didn’t know about Mike Lawson?) She just wasn’t sure what to make of them.

Before she could reach any conclusions, though, Mike’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“There you are. Aren’t you gonna come in?”

Ginny stared up at him wide eyed for a moment too long. His head tipped to the side and it was so similar to how he’d looked at her earlier tonight, eyes soft and shoulders relaxed, she couldn’t take it. Not another close call with no resolution.

“There’s so much sand in there!” she babbled instead, unwilling to give any of her other thoughts voice. “I’ll never be able to get it out.”

“You live on the beach,” he pointed out, a chuckle not quite burbling through his words.

“My house is very close to the beach,” Ginny corrected. “Which should stay outside where it belongs.”

“I’ll make sure it gets the memo.”

Ginny laughed, but when Mike didn’t say anything else, just continued leaning against the door frame like some kind of burly male model, she scrambled for something appropriate to say because “Can I climb you like a tree?” definitely wasn’t it.

“I should’ve made everyone rinse off before they came back in. How hard would it be to put a spigot right here? Or an outdoor shower? Those are things, right?”

“For you or me?” He pushed away from the door and ambled closer, making Ginny all too aware of how quickly she was breathing. Mike didn’t seem to notice, though, sinking down next to her, a warm shield against the chilly ocean breeze.

It didn’t seem to stop her shivers any.

“Are you an option?”

It was out of her mouth, the hurt and confusion she’d tried to ignore embarrassingly clear, before she could help herself.

He ducked his head and winced. “I probably deserved that.”

She didn’t argue, just waited.

“It’s been a long time since I felt even close to the way I feel about you, Ginny,” Mike admitted to the dark. “And that scared me. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t feeling anything, but…”

“But?”

“It hasn’t worked.”

Around the knot of hopeful expectation wedged in her throat, Ginny managed a breathless, “What are you saying, Mike?”

“What am I—” He cut himself off with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m saying that I’m an option. For more than just home repair, if you’ll—”

Ginny didn’t care that he’d undoubtedly get on her case later for interrupting him again. She didn’t want to hear it, not when he’d finally given her more than a hint that she wasn’t in this thing alone.

So, she laid her hand on his cheek, turned his face towards hers, and silenced him with a kiss.

He pressed back against her, his mouth stretching to mirror Ginny’s grin before moving gently, insistently against it. One of his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close and making the swing sway. She threw her arms around his neck for the second time in her life, sighing into his mouth.

When they drew away, foreheads still resting together as their breath mingled, Ginny knew she had to say something. “You’re the only option,” was what she came up with. Thankfully, Mike’s responding grin only grew when she followed it up with, “For home repair, too.”

Their laughter twined together once again, rising into the night like smoke from the dying bonfire. But nothing about Mike and Ginny, except maybe all of the home improvement projects, was at an end.

It was a little funny. Ginny’d left North Carolina—her home, her family, and the man who wanted to marry her—in search of a fresh start. She would never have expected she’d need to buy and renovate an entire house just to find it, but just because the process wasn’t what she’d planned didn’t make the results any less sweet.

As an ocean breeze rocked the porch swing where she sat cuddled into Mike’s side, Ginny was happy to realize that she wouldn’t trade this house, or any of the headaches it had given her, for the world.

Ginny rose and turned to pull Mike up along with her. He came willingly enough, but she answered his silent question anyway.

“You missed the grand tour,” she announced, studying him from beneath her lashes.

Mike, who’d seen every square inch and worked on most of them, just quirked a brow. “Oh, did I?”

She nodded solemnly, struggling to keep her giddy smile under control. “And it might go very late. Too late for you to drive home. You’ll have to stay the night.”

Clearly, he had no such reservations about letting his blinding grin free. His cheeks appled and his eyes sparkled from the sheer force of it. Ginny didn’t get much of a chance to admire it before he was back in her space, his hands buried in her hair and lips pressing against hers. Only once his tongue had swept into her mouth, making her clutch at his broad shoulders as her knees went weak, did he pull away.

“Staying sounds perfect.”

Ginny didn’t need to hear anything else. Shy and excited all at once, she took his hand and led him inside the house.

Except it wasn’t just a house.

It had taught her how to stand on her own while still accepting the help she needed. It had given her friends and a new family all of her own. It had given her Mike, who might not want to marry her, but the thought of someday being his wife didn’t make her want to run for the hills. Which was definitely a step up from where she’d been just six months ago when she’d come looking for something new.

Maybe she was feeling a bit sappy—and who could blame her when she was still swimming through the daze of kissing Mike Lawson for the first time?—but this place really was so much more than a house.

It was her home.

(But one day, it just might be his, too.)

#Anonymous #Bawson #bawson fic #pitch #pitch fic #i wrote something #what's ginny's job you ask?#¯\_(ツ)_/¯#wait no i did actually put something in #it's web designer #where does she live?#idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#somewhere vaguely north of sd #how long do home renos take?#we just can't know

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words-writ-in-starlight · 6 years

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TAZ FIC ASKS: I have my own interpretation that I'm enormously fond of, but how do you think one Julia Waxmen met one Magnus Burnsides?

Bless you. I swear that Julia shows up at some point here, this just…got away from me in grand fashion.

Magnus Burnsides wakes up with what is frankly the most hideous hangover of his entire life. It feels less like he’s been drinking and more like someone’s been rummaging through his brain, and if he had any marks to prove it, he’d think he’d had his clock cleaned to boot. But he doesn’t have any marks, he just has the worst headache that the gods ever laid on a living being, and he’s in–well, he’s not sure where he is.

Magnus is only twenty-three and not necessarily an expert at waking up in unknown locations, but he flatters himself to be a professional at waking up hungover, so he lies there with his hands over his face for a while longer, and doesn’t try to take stock until it feels less like he’s holding the fragments of his head together. Only then does he sit up–slowly–and look around.

He’s dressed, and he has his belt pouch with his coins, so he’s going to assume that he hasn’t been robbed. Except for the headache and nausea–he can’t tell if the headache is causing the upset stomach or not, and doesn’t feel inclined to test it–he seems to be all right. He’s in a room with the clean, impersonal look of an inn, somewhere that’s never really been someone’s home, and the heavy curtains are closed, which he appreciates as anything brighter than the light filtering through around the edges might actually kill him.

It takes a few more minutes to muster his strength to stand, and all his joints complain, like he’s been sleeping on the ground rather than a passably nice bed. He’s not sure he can afford this inn, on closer consideration, but then he supposes that depends on how much money he spent on getting exceedingly drunk.

Someone in his immediate vicinity is baking fresh bread. The nausea must be part of the headache, because he’s dying to have some.

Magnus follows his nose out into the hall–he only remembers to check his pockets after hearing the lock on his room click into place, and turns out drunk Magnus really knew his shit, because there’s a key fastened to his belt so he doesn’t lose it–and down a flight of stairs to a small tavern beneath the rooms. There’s a Drow woman with her hair piled up in a thousand braids pulling loaves out of an oven in the kitchen, and a half-orc pulling chairs down from tables.

“Hey,” the half-orc says with a grin, “he’s alive.”

“Yeah,” Magnus says ruefully, shading his eyes as he steps far enough inside to take the sunlight right in the face. “I’m not thrilled about it either. What time is it?”

“Ten or so? We expected you to sleep until dinner, with how hammered you were last night.” The half-orc comes over and steers Magnus by the shoulder into a chair, then disappears for a moment and insinuates something into his hand. It’s hot and tastes acrid and sharp, but something in Magnus says better finish that, kid and he knocks it back as fast as he can. His eyes don’t feel like they’re being pried out of his skull anymore, once it’s gone, and he blinks.

“Last night?”

The Drow comes out of the kitchen, sweat beaded on her black skin and the sharp points of her teeth flashing at him. “You must have been drunker than we thought. We didn’t even get a name off you.”

“Magnus,” he says, toasting her with the empty cup. “Magnus Burnsides.”

She nods and laughs and says, “Now that’s a goddamn name. I’m Opal, and that’s Jolene. You can call her Jolly. How much do you remember, Magnus Burnsides?”

Magnus considers that question for a minute.

“Where…the fuck am I?”

Jolly whistles from behind the counter and Opal raises a white eyebrow. “Bud,” she says, and she sounds almost impressed. Magnus just sort of shrugs at her, because…well, yeah. Fair enough. “You’re at Red Door Inn, in the hostel column. You feeling okay?”

“I feel kind of like my head’s been stomped on,” he says. “And I’m actually gonna need a little more than ‘Red Door Inn.’“

Opal’s other eyebrow joins the first. “Bud. Do you–is there someone we can find for you? Like, are people gonna be worried that you just–fuckin’ disappeared on them?”

Magnus frowns and thinks about that one. “No,” he decides, because the most recent people he can think of is the merchant caravan he was traveling with, and that was a while ago. “No, I can’t think of anyone.”

Opal sighs, swoops away the empty cup and replaces it with a mug full of what smells like very dark tea and a slice of bread with a small pot of jam, the bread still steaming gently. “Here,” she says, in a tone of command. “Eat something. Careful with the–the all of it, it’s hot.”

“Thanks,” Magnus says, and stuffs the entire slice of bread into his mouth in four bites with absolutely no consideration for the temperature. Once he’s done with it–it’s good, rich and warm and sweet and it soothes a little more of the headache–he swallows a couple mouthfuls of the black tea and looks up at Opal. “Where did you say this was again?”

Opal smiles at him, and so does Jolly, from behind the bar. “Welcome to Ravensroost, Magnus Burnsides.”

***

Opal and Jolly are nice enough to let him stay there at half-price, because drunk Magnus was apparently smart with his money but no version of Magnus is exactly rolling in gold, while he figures himself the hell out. He takes the first day to recover from his headache, because the idea of facing unfiltered sunlight is just…bad. It’s bad. He’s not into it. He talks to Opal and Jolly and lingers in the tavern while people trickle in and out for the lunch rush, but he can’t seem to get anything back about the night before, and he reluctantly writes the whole situation off as a loss. Magnus wishes, idly, over dinner, that he had people to drink with, because he thinks that would be better. At the very least, if he had some people who had stuck with him, they would be able to do things like say “hey, thug, you accidentally went walkabout while you were drunk and here’s where you started from.”

Oh well.

The downside to Magnus’ largely itinerant lifestyle these days is that traveling costs money, it’s going to start getting cooler soon, and Magnus does not currently own a jacket or any other weather-appropriate gear that would enable him to travel, which costs more money.

So the day after he wakes up in Ravensroost, Magnus wanders downstairs–at a more reasonable hour, because he isn’t dying today–and asks Jolly where a guy could get some work in this town.

“Well,” Jolly says as she wipes down the counter and prepares to open. Jolly is a methodical kind of person, steady and efficient at her job, and she looks intimidating for someone who apparently hides behind the counter when the elf she has a crush on comes inside. “What kind of work? You want to wait tables or some shit? You look more like a brawler.”

“I don’t know,” Magnus says. “Probably not waiting tables, though.”

“Yeah, you seem like your customer service could use some work.” Jolly wrings out her rag thoughtfully. “Well, there might be a merchant caravan in for the market, they might be looking for laborers there. Short of that–I don’t know, we’re mostly a crafters town, you know what I’m saying? Not exactly a lot of places looking for a dude the size of a brick wall.”

“Crafters?”

“Yeah, you know anything?”

Magnus looks down to where he’s absently playing with the knife in his hand–his grandfather’s knife. His muscles know how to hold it to whittle a curve, to smooth a line. “You got carpenters here?”

“Hell yeah!” Jolly says, grinning at him. “You want directions?”

“No,” Magnus says. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

Magnus does not figure it out. He’s managed to get handily lost by the time he washes up on the outskirts of a marketplace, and he would swear he was better at this directions thing, but apparently not. He’s not even sure he can get back to the inn. He’s lingering at a stand displaying scarves and kerchiefs and other cloth items, fingering something in a bright shade of crimson and trying to decide what to do, when someone behind him clears their throat, amused.

“Hey,” says a voice, rich and throaty, a little raspy and–laughing at him. “Do you want to buy that scarf or take it out to dinner?”

Magnus turns, startled, and there’s a woman–human, middling skin freckled darker across her broad nose, wild curls pinned back–smirking at him. She’s tall, less than a head shorter than Magnus and Magnus is very tall indeed, and she has a burn scar across the back of her forearm, and she’s…she’s something.

“What?” Magnus says, in a moment of dazzling charisma.

“I mean,” the woman goes on, “don’t let me stop you, hot shot, but I walked past twenty minutes ago and you were still here, so I’m starting to think maybe you’re lost.”

Magnus feels a little like he’s been slapped in the face, but in a good way? His brain doesn’t seem to be agreeing with itself about this experience.

The woman’s face softens a little, although she doesn’t stop grinning at him. “Seriously, though, are you lost?”

“Yeah,” Magnus says. It surprises him a little that it didn’t even cross his mind to lie. “I’m new in town and I kind of need…money. I was trying to find a carpenter’s shop that might need an assistant or something.”

“Are you a carpenter?” the woman asks, curious.

“Not much of one,” Magnus admits. “I haven’t had a lot of practice. But I can whittle, and to be honest–uh, recent events sort of make me think I might need a new line of work. Maybe a line of work with…a house or some shit like that.”

“Recent events?”

“I–sort of ended up here by…accident,” he says. “I was…real hammered.”

The woman laughs properly at that, and it’s a loud, full sound that comes from the depths of her core and doesn’t seem to give a damn about anyone looking at her, and it drags a grin out of Magnus.

“It’s destiny,” the woman proclaims, still laughing, and pawns a shockingly heavy bag on Magnus without missing a beat. He takes a peek and sees metal ingots, of all things, inside–small ones, silver and even a small one made of gold, but still. “Come on, hammer boy, let’s go.”

The woman is already walking away at a decent clip by the time Magnus catches up with her.

“Where are we going?”

“To my dad’s shop,” she says, grinning up at him. She loops her arm through his and they fall into step and Magnus wonders, a little bit, if he’s been kidnapped, possibly. “Waxmen’s Woodworks. We’re thinking about a new name, now that I kind of work there too–I do metalwork, see? So we gotta switch that up. Dad likes Waxmen and Daughter, but I keep telling him that it needs to be catchier.”

“Your dad’s a carpenter?”

“Yeah, obviously. Didn’t you hear me say some bullshit about destiny? Keep up, hammer boy.” She plows on ahead, still smiling warmly, and Magnus doesn’t remember the last time he felt like this–it’s not that she’s pretty, although she certainly is, but there’s a level of unthinking care for him, just because he was lost and she knew how to help him. Compassion, maybe? Something like being adopted on the spot, and Magnus doesn’t remember the last time a stranger offered him that. Even Opal and Jolly, benevolent innkeepers by any measure, are being paid for their generosity.

“I could suck at carpentry, for all you know,” Magnus points out as they climb one of the columns, a spiral path winding around the outside and passing shop fronts every few yards.

“Well, do you?” she asks. Magnus…isn’t sure, he realizes. It must have been longer than he thought, since he whittled something. He shrugs, and the woman seems to take his word for it, and nods decisively. “I mean, Dad’s always saying that if you know which end of a knife to hold, you can probably figure it out, so if you suck, I guess you can just figure it out. You’ll stop sucking eventually. Besides, Dad’s in the market for an assistant, not a master craftsman. You look like you could carry wood.” She gives him a cheerful thump in the arm.

“I could be an axe murderer, for all you know.”

“Nah,” she says. “I’ve got a good feeling about you.” She jerks him into such a hard right he almost falls over, and she throws open a door to a room that smells of sawdust and smoke and lacquer. “Dad! I brought you a present!”

There’s a thump in a back room and a fondly exasperated voice precedes her father into the showroom. “Baby girl, I swear to god–who’s this?”

“This is your present,” she says, and pushes Magnus forward like she’s displaying a particularly good find at the market. Magnus supposes that she sort of is. “Hammer boy, say hello to your new boss. Daddy, you’re going to hire hammer boy. You were talking about wanting an assistant, and he’s a kind of shitty carpenter who needs work and a place to live. It’s fate.”

Her father–Waxmen, apparently–looks past Magnus to his daughter with a tolerantly amused look on his face. “And do I get to interview hammer boy, or is he just hired now?”

She shrugs. “I mean, interview him if you want, but just think how guilty you’d feel if you kicked him out on the street.” Waxmen narrows his eyes at her, and she beams, sailing past Magnus to reclaim her bag full of ingots and kissing her father on the cheek as she passes him by. “Thanks, Dad. You have fun, hammer boy!” she calls over her shoulder, and then she’s gone into the back room, and Magnus is alone with, apparently, his new boss.

It’s only then, staring after her in shock, that Magnus realizes that he never got her name.

#taz #the adventure zone #magnus burnsides #julia burnsides #taz fic #starlight writes stuff #otp: the arms that have held my wife #2500 words later....#i'm sorry this just super got away from me #i am not married to this but i do really like the idea of julia just....swooping magnus up in her little hurricane #and dropping him off at steven's doorstep like some kind of craig's list matchmaker #i've decided that i like the idea of julia doing fine metalwork #like filigree and pretty hinges and shit like that #i'm also thinking that probably steven changed the name of his shop once there were multiple people working there #but yeah anyway the only things i'm committed to here are the tongue-in-cheek references to magnus' lost memories #and julia waxmen the fucking human hurricane in a sundress #it's fine magnus is into that #fic request #sroloc elbisivni #asked and answered #taz balance

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typical-trope · 7 years

Note

Are you still accepting asks for fics? In that case 2/10/14. (I know I'm probably being very greedy but any of these will do ) :)

Hi anon! It’s never too late! I will always take prompts! I just moved halfway around the world, though, so this took me a while. I hope it makes it to your dash! Thank you so much!

PINING FOR AGES

Erik waved at Charles from across the hall, checking the traffic patterns before even attempting to cross over. Charles sent him a distracted smile as he continued his discussion with Hank. “Why are you so insistent that I can’t handle the workload? I’ll be fine double majoring. It’s not as though people haven’t done it before.”

“Of course you’ll be fine. That’s the point! You should be better than fine! Think of the things you could accomplish by just choosing one major! Or even doubling in related fields!”

“Psychology and biology are not mutually exclusive. Really, Hank. College is about finding what’s right for you. Experimenting. Making mistakes. I don’t even know if I’ll want to graduate with a biology major.” Erik scoffed at the idea of Charles not wanting to focus on science. He’d been working on his undergrad for two years already, and would be able to go straight into his main courses.

Charles sent Erik an annoyed look, obviously upset that his friend wasn’t backing him up. Hank shook his head, frustrated, and walked away to his physics club. “Hello, darling. Are you ready to head out?”

Erik nodded towards the door and fell into step with his best friend. “How was our lovely Ms. Jones, today?”

“Sick. The knitter was our sub, so we reviewed for half the class, then played cards. What brought on that old fight? I thought Hank had given up trying to convince you not to double major.” Erik swayed left a step so his arm brushed his companion’s. His heartbeat sped up for a second at the contact, and he had to remind himself not to dwell on his emotions. Charles was a telepath, and while his powers varied in strength, he was bound to be a strong one, once he managed to control them. Erik didn’t ever want his oldest friend learning of the large crush Erik had been nursing since fifth grade. While Charles was accepting of any and all sexualities, he had declared himself straight, and Erik didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

Charles waved at a passing friend before holding the door to the outside world open for Erik. “Raven popped by and said she was going to be my first patient when I became a psychiatrist. To her, I am bound for med school.” He gave a sardonic grin and led the way to his car. “Do you have to work tonight?”

Erik threw his backpack into the trunk and climbed into the passenger seat. “Not today, but Mama wants me home for dinner. You’re welcome to join us, if you think you can stand Ruth.” Erik grinned at his friend, amused.

It’s seemed that crushes on rich telepaths named Charles ran in the Lehnsherr family. Ruth had been sporting her own crush on the boy ever since he had begun teaching her piano. Charles was very aware of her feelings, and was never sure how to act around her when he didn’t have a clear topic to focus on. Charles blushed and chewed on his lip as he navigated the busy streets towards Erik’s apartment. “I think I can handle Ruth, since we’ll be in different cities soon,” he reasoned quietly.

Erik’s stomach twisted at the reminder. He wasn’t going to college. He couldn’t afford it, and hadn’t gotten enough scholarships. It wouldn’t have mattered, though. He never would have been able to leave the states and go to Oxford with Charles. Family was too important to Erik. “Why do you always have to bring that up?” Erik crossed his arms and looked out at the passing scenery.

“Because it reminds me to cherish the time I have left with you. I’m going to miss you, Erik.” Charles spoke softly, but his car cut out all background noise, and made it impossible not to hear the admission. Erik chose not to respond, and convinced himself that the disappointment he felt was only his own, and not leaking from the telepath. “What is Edie making for dinner?” Charles asked in a brighter tone, obviously done with the moment.

“Probably just spaghetti with a salad. She had to go in early this morning.” Erik eyed the dog walking alone on the path, trying to judge whether it was lost, or a stray.

“We could make something! What time does she get home?” Charles sounded so earnest that Erik had to snort.

“Do you remember the last time you tried to cook? We had to throw away the casserole dish, because the cheese wouldn’t come off.” Charles blushed and kept his gaze pointedly on the neighborhood traffic. “We can put the spaghetti on before she gets back, and make some pasta sauce, rather than just using the canned stuff,” Erik conceded.

“What about bread?”

“Are you going to run out to the bakery? It’s not like Mama keeps yeast lying around.” Charles huffed and pulled up to his normal spot across the street from the apartment building. “Bring your homework. We might as well do something productive. I’m not failing my finals just because you want to play Mario Kart again.”

The pair made their way to the apartment and ended up playing a round of Mario Kart, regardless. It was the arrival of Ruth that chased the boys off to Erik’s room with the excuse of needing to study.

They actually managed the task for once. Erik had set an alarm for when to start dinner, and both boys were startled out of their books when it finally went off. “I’ve been practicing, Charles!” Ruth swung her legs against the cupboard doors as she perched on the counter. “I’ve almost got four pages memorized!” She had a wide, gap-toothed grin of pride spread across her face. Charles praised her and helped keep her entertained as Erik chopped vegetables. His control on the knife was shaky with Charles so close, and it only became worse when the shorter boy grabbed his forearm to try and help him focus.

The kitchen knife fell to the wood block with a clatter, making Ruth jump and the boys laugh. “You imagine holding it with an actual hand. That’s not what your power is, and it limits you so much. Try imagining it like wind guiding a leaf. You control everything metal. You aren’t limited by limbs.” Charles spoke softly, his accent filtering through the room as he stood just behind Erik’s shoulder.

Erik took a deep breath, acutely aware of his arm brushing against Charles’ chest. This time, he tried to imagine what Charles had suggested. He could feel all the different metals around him, but struggled with the concept he was going for. It was too abstract, and while he managed to shake the cutlery drawer, he feared his control wouldn’t be strong enough, and the entire room would be upturned. Eventually he gave up and decided to just chop the ingredients by hand. Ruth went back to pestering Charles about what he liked most in England, and what he was going to do. If he was going to get a girlfriend. Would he ever come back and visit? The questions made Erik uncomfortable, and he tried to tune the other two out as he started the tomato sauce.

Charles answered them all diligently. He liked the understated humor, and he was going to study hard for his classes. He didn’t plan on dating anyone over there, but who knew what could happen. Of course he’d come back to visit.

Erik felt his mother’s old station wagon pull up outside their window and stuck the pasta in the water. “It smells heavenly in here.” Edie walked through and kissed Ruth and Charles before greeting her son. “You didn’t let Charles near anything, did you?” She and Erik sent the telepath amused smiles, laughing outright when they saw the blush covering his face. “Oh, schatz, don’t worry so much.” Edie smiled as she cupped her second son’s cheek affectionately.

Charles grinned before pulling away to set the table. Ruth followed diligently with the silverware. Erik tested a noodle as he glanced up at his mother. The woman was studying Erik closely, her gaze guarded. “What?”

Edie hummed lightly and stepped up next to Erik, taking the spoon from him and trying the pasta sauce. “I love you. You know this.” Edie kissed Erik’s temple and went off to the dining room. He heard sharp laughter as he dished up the meal and went to join his family.

Erik wiped sweat off his brow as soon as he came out from under the truck. “Lehnsherr, you’ve got a visitor.” Azazel closed the door between the front and the garage almost immediately. Heading to the front with a frown, Erik tried to push down any trepidation he was feeling. The only reason he could think of someone visiting him at work was Ruth with news of their mother.

What he found instead was a young man with shoulder length hair in a very familiar wheelchair. “Charles! What are you doing back?” Erik’s heart and stomach flipped as he stepped forward to hug his friend.

“I have great news, my friend! I–”

“Ah! This must be your vozlyublennyy! We have heard much about you.” Azazel stepped around the counter and took Charles’ hand in both of his. “Erik did not exaggerate. Do not be modest on my account, dah?” He gave a wink and sauntered back to the counter, tail swaying high behind him.

Erik cough and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to control his embarrassment. “Ignore him. Azazel likes to stir up trouble.” Charles gave Erik an understanding smile and cocked his head towards the street side doors. “Taking lunch.” Erik followed his friend out, watching strong shoulders flex under a tight purple shirt as they made their way to a small diner nearby. “What was your news?” Erik finally managed as they got comfortable in a booth. He was afraid to ask, willing to bet it had something to do with Moira MacTaggert and an engagement ring. Charles had been dating Moira for three years, and Erik had never heard of them having problems.

Charles shifted up in his seat and leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement. “I’m coming back! I’ve been offered a professorial job at Columbia, I’m looking into apartments now.” Erik was positive his smile matched his friend’s, and he wanted nothing more than to hug him close, suddenly hating the table between them. Charles had been off in England for six years getting his doctorates, and had only managed visits back twice a year. Erik had tried several times to save up for a trip out to visit his friend, but something always came up.

Now, Erik reached across the table and gripped Charles’ hand, pushing all his excitement at the telepath. “That’s amazing! When do you start?”

“In two months. I came as soon as I got the call. I thought we could go out and celebrate tonight, if you’re not busy.”

Erik agreed and messaged Ruth, letting her know what was happening. His sister sent Charles a congratulatory snap and warned Erik to behave.

The pair agreed to meet at Erik’s place around seven for dinner, and Charles hugged Erik close for long enough that Erik was tempted to bury his nose his friend’s hair. Instead, he drew back and gave a jovial pat on the shoulder before heading back to work. Only after he walked back through the door did he think to ask how Moira felt about the move.

“Enough, Mama. Please don’t bring it up.” Erik was laughing with his head in his hands as his mother threatened to ask Charles about his love life. He had talked with her about his sexuality about a year after graduating, and had been shocked to learn that she hadn’t been surprised at all. She was fully supportive, and had simply asked if he was currently in love. When he’d said yes, she hadn’t needed to ask who. Ever since then, she had been pestering him to talk to Charles. He obviously hadn’t, and likely never would.

“Edie, if he’s telling you to keep blackmail from me, I must forcefully disagree. How have you been?” Charles rolled in with a bouquet of colorful daisies on his lap and a warm smile on his face.

Erik felt his heart squeeze at the sight of his mother and the man he loved hugging each other close over hospital bed bars. “I’m afraid to say, he’s trying to save you from my badgering.” Charles let out a surprised laugh as he handed the bundle of flowers over. Edie cooed for a few seconds before handing them off to Erik to put in a vase. “How are you and Moira doing?” Her blue eyes were sharp and waiting, spearing Charles as though she could feel the answer out of him.

Erik didn’t doubt that she could. Force wasn’t necessary, though. Charles had never been one to withhold information. “We separated, actually. A few weeks ago, yeah.” He glanced over at Erik before leaning back in his chair. “I always wanted to come back, and I’m afraid Moira had planned to return to Scotland. It was an amiable parting, though.” Edie tsk-ed and patted his hand comfortingly. Erik tried to look anywhere but at Charles. “When is your surgery scheduled for? Soon, I hope. Hospital food is only palatable when high on morphine.” And just like that, the room was relaxed again.

Erik had offered his bed for Charles until his friend could find his own apartment. He had tried insisting on sleeping on the couch, but Charles had insisted that since they had been sharing beds since primary school, there was no point stopping now.

And so Erik found himself laying on his back staring at the ceiling while the man he had secretly loved since fifth grade used his bicep as a stuffed animal. Charles had always been a cuddly sleeper. Erik resigned himself to a long night up when he felt Charles squeeze his arm.

Looking over, the telepath’s eyes shined in reflected moonlight, gazing at Erik. “Do you need more room?” Erik began to shift away automatically, but Charles kept him in place.

“Why would Azazel call me your sweetheart? I had been meaning to ask you since last week.” Charles whispered out of reverence for the night. Erik whispered only because of Charles.

“He’s an ass. You’ve been my best friend for so long that he’s heard a lot of stories about you. He didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t worry about it.” Erik made himself look back up at the ceiling, avoiding watching the relief wash over Charles’ face at the reassurance.

It apparently wasn’t good enough, though. “Are you sure that’s it?” Erik’s stomach tightened, and his lungs seized up enough to make his breathing shallow. He hoped Charles couldn’t feel the fear coursing through his body. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m not going to ever stop being your friend.”

That was it. Charles knew, and in his own way he was letting Erik down gently. Carefully, doing his best not to knock against his friend’s limp legs, Erik extracted himself from the bed and stood up, collecting the small bit of pride Charles had left him with. And with it, he bent down and kissed his friend’s forehead. “I love you,” he murmured before rising and going out to the living room.

Erik didn’t get any sleep that night, and rose from the couch as soon as he recognized black had turned to gray. He left a note for Charles letting him know the apartment was his to use until he found somewhere better, and that Erik would be staying with Azazel.

He knew it was the coward’s way out, but Erik was also aware that he wouldn’t be able to face Charles without feeling a ball of angry guilt pummel his defenses. He wouldn’t even be able to explain himself, since he had left his phone on the kitchen counter.

“You’re not staying with me just because you’ve had a spat with lover boy. Emma is with me this week.” Azazel wore the smarmiest smile as he thought of the White Queen. If Erik hadn’t known her so well, he might have been worried for the woman’s safety. As it was, the pair was perfectly mismatched, and Erik really didn’t have any desire to be near them. He ended up crashing in Ruth’s dorm that night, much to his and her dismay. Erik would be hard pressed to say who was more against the outcome, though. Ruth loved her brother, but it seemed her roommate prescribed to love at first sight, and neither sibling was thrilled with that particular interaction.

Erik decided that one full day plus a couple hours was long enough to avoid doing the mature thing, and ended up sitting on his couch after work wondering when Charles would get back from apartment hunting.

When the door finally opened, Erik was napping on his couch, which was far more comfortable than awkwardly sharing a long twin with his sister. He had to blink a few times to actually focus on the man in front of him. “You’re an arse.”

That got Erik’s attention. He sat up and rubbed his eyes before being able to fully take in the irritation wafting off of Charles. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t just bloody well tell me you love me, and then run away like that. It’s not fair.”

“Oh, forgive me. I thought you had already made your affections clear. You’ll always be my friend, remember? I never needed you to explicitly remind me of how straight you are.” Erik shook his head and stood up, heading for the kitchen. He needed to distract himself from the whirlwind of emotions he was currently experiencing. Tea had always calmed Charles down when the press of minds had become too much. By habit and repetition, it had the same effect on Erik.

“And just how straight am I, Erik? Why don’t you tell me?” Charles rolled in after him, movements sharp and staccatoed. “I had a boyfriend for three months while in college. I went home with several other men before Moira. I’m not precisely straight.”

“You experimented. It’s not the same.” Erik knew he was making a mistake. He wanted so badly to take his words back. Have the power to erase time, or to just stop whatever was already making its way to the front of his mouth. “I’ve been in love with you for twelve years. I don’t want to just kiss you, or fuck you. I’ve wanted to cook for you, to laugh with you. To hold you whenever you fell apart. I’ve wanted all of what you’ve already given me, and then the rest of you. Because you have had that from me for as long as I can remember.” Erik felt the spokes of the wheelchair spin as Charles neared, but he kept facing the sink, his shoulders hitched high in the hopes of hiding the tears trailing down his cheeks. “Don’t say anything, Charles.” The telepath’s hand gripped Erik’s firmly and turned him around. Erik kept his eyes closed, tilting his head back as Charles pulled him down to his level. “Please don’t say anything.”

Their foreheads touched, and Erik could feel concern, hurt, loyalty wrapped up in a thick blanket of love cross over from Charles. The impact made Erik gasp and look at his friend.

Charles had his eyes closed, focusing only on his powers, making sure to pull them back to a steady stream of love rather than the wave. “It just took me a while to recognize, darling. But I do love you.”

Erik found he was having trouble breathing steadily, and despite that, he wanted to kiss Charles. Years of holding back and repressing froze him, but Charles had always been good at taking what he wanted. Combined with Erik’s near inability to deny the young man anything, the press of lips was inevitable.

For it being as limited as it was, Erik was grateful when Charles pulled back with his own shaking inhalation. “So the apartments I’ve been looking into are big enough for two people. And you’ve been complaining about this building for a year now. What do you say? Roommates?” Erik grinned at the ceiling for half a second before nodding at Charles, matching the feeling of relief filling the room.

Waiting had been hell, but he had never been one to hold back on his dedication to this relationship. He was all in.

#my fic #cherik #powered au #modern au #anonymous #prompt

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