#and he's literally married to Ian but he's sitting their blushing as he talks about how he cut off the sleeves of his security vest because | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

restapesta · 3 years

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Mickey had no idea how the fuck Ian even fell.

One minute, they were walking along the sidewalk, the next, Ian's ankle was twisting and he was toppling down onto the rough pavement right next to Mickey's feet.

"I'm fine," He grit out through clenched teeth, but he struggled to get up as Mickey tried to haul him up by the elbow.

There were people around them staring--Westside assholes who needed to mind their own business in Mickey's opinion--but Ian simply ignored the eyes following his every movement, a tinge of red coating his cheeks.

"I'm okay, seriously," He repeated, and he gestured for Mickey to loosen his grip on his arm.

Mickey complied reluctantly. "How did you even fall?"

Ian shrugged, and the first step he took ahead had him wincing in pain.

When Mickey balked at him with wide eyes, he just said, "I used to be an EMT. This is nothing, just a bruise forming probably."

The 'just a bruise' part didn't ease Mickey's worries--and neither did the pained expression on Ian's face as they moved forward.

Ian's face was scrunched up and he was limping, unable to even hide the fact the fall hurt him more than he initially thought.

"Man, we need to get that checked out."

"No, Mick. It probably just has to do with my past injury. It's the same leg I broke last time."

Mickey maneuvered them to a bench that was facing the park they were passing. Ian went without protest, practically skipping on one leg to the polished wood. "Just more reason to go see a doctor."

"Since when do we see doctors, Mick?"

"Since we got insurance," Mickey slowly placed Ian's leg across his lap, prompting Ian to settle back against the side of the bench. He cuffed his husband's jeans.

Ian probably knew more about injuries and fractures than Mickey did, since he used to be an EMT and all--but even Mickey, who had his fair share of broken bones, knew this was more than just a simple bruise.

The 'simple bruise' was turning a deep shade of purple on the lateral side of Ian's ankle, and the tissue around it had to be swollen. Mickey chanced a glance at Ian who was staring at his ankle with a sullen look on his face.

"Fuck," He muttered.

"Doctor?"

Their eyes met and Ian's were narrowed in disdain at the prospect of it. "Yeah."

Mickey was about to slap Ian's leg on impulse, but he stopped mere seconds before when he realized what the fuck he was doing. Instead, he just made sure the foot on his lap didn't move an inch.

"Guess we need to call the ambulance."

Ian shut his eyes in pain at that, and Mickey stifled a smile as he took out his phone to dial 911.

---

The first thing Mickey supposed he would hear upon entering the hospital room Ian was in were the words 'it's not that bad', or even, 'don't baby me mickey'.

Both possibilities were stupid when Mickey remembered the fact that Ian literally fractured his ankle like a little kid, and deserved to be coddled, at least as a reprimand for his clumsiness.

But instead, when Mickey entered through to door, he caught sight of Ian's leg propped up on a pillow on the bed, as Ian just stared blankly at it. His face was lax and devoid of any emotion, and--

"He's on high drugs." The doctor confirmed as Ian finally whipped his head up to look at who the doctor was speaking to.

When his eyes landed on Mickey...

It was the widest Mickey had ever seen him smile.

"Mickey!" He exclaimed like a kid in a candy store. "Mickey, come here!"

Mickey moved slowly to the bed as he listened to the doctor say, "It'll wear him off in ten minutes or so. Just stick with him until he falls asleep."

Ian was grinning from one ear to the other, and Mickey felt laughter bubble up in his chest.

Certainly a fucking improvement from the grump he had trudged to the hospital.

"How you holding up?" He asked his husband who was suddenly getting lost in thought while he ran his eyes appreciatively over Mickey's figure.

It was as if in slow motion--his eyes moving down from Mickey's eyes, lingering on his chest, abdomen, crotch, and thighs--and then up again, eyes staying glued to the thigh and crotch area the most until his green eyes met blue.

Mickey was about to tease him for it, drugged up or not, when Ian said, "Are you taken?"

Mickey choked. "Am I what?"

Ian seemed to be talking to himself. "I think my husband wouldn't mind if I took you to bed, like, wow."

Mickey pretended not to notice the heat in his cheeks. "I think your husband would mind you taking anyone to bed, even me."

Ian thought about it, tongue poking out against the side of his cheek. "You're right." He finally said. "He's really possessive."

Mickey scoffed, wanting to disagree, but Ian continued. "It doesn't matter how hot you are." He looked away indignantly. "I won't fuck you because my hot husband is enough."

I'm your hot husband, you dumbass.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes." Ian nodded his head viciously.

Mickey took steady steps towards Ian, and his husband's eyes followed him warily. The second it was in reach, Mickey glided his hands over Ian's thighs. The redhead shuddered at the touch.

He must've already forgotten about his hot husband because he was grinning mischievously. "Mickey," Ian drawled out. "Come here."

"What about your husband?"

"My husband's a really good kisser, but I think you are too."

Mickey blushed again.

Ian pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before Mickey could even figure out a response.

Ian was smiling contently when he pulled away. His eyes were lit up with happiness.

"Hot and a good kisser." He said. "Wonder how you are in bed."

"My husband doesn't have complains."

"With that ass, I wouldn't either."

They were still staring at each other, and Mickey was a second away from telling Ian to just get some shut-eye, when, all of a sudden, Ian's face crumbled, a look of complete and utter devastation seen in his features. Mickey blanched.

What the fuck was going on? Was Ian in pain? He was just about to call for the nurse--press the red button next to the hospital bed when--

"I just cheated on my husband." Ian sobbed, actual tears streaming down his face. Big, heavy tears poured from both eyes, overflowing on Ian's cheeks.

Mickey would've laughed had Ian not been wailing in front of him.

"Ian," he tried, pushing Ian's hands away that were shielding his face in shame. "Ian, I am your husband. You didn't cheat on me."

Ian sobbed. "No. My husband's dark, handsome, average height... He has the sweetest smile, a really hot body, an amazing sense of humor..."

"Ian, fucking look at me, do I not seem familiar to you?"

Ian looked up, eyes pinched. "You're not as grumpy as Mickey, you're just a fraud."

"Well fuck you too!"

Ian looked surprised at that. "You're really Mickey?"

Mickey frowned, all in hopes Ian would calm down, because fucking hell. "Yes, I am really Mickey."

"The one I married?"

"You know another Mickey?"

"I need to test you."

Mickey's eyes were wide as saucers. "Test me?"

"What's my favorite food?"

"You don't remember me, how would you remember your favorite food?"

Ian didn't relent. "What is my favorite food, fake Mickey?"

The answer came easily. "It's that stupid lasagna from the Italian place near our apartment."

"Hm. What's my favorite position in bed? Only the real Mickey would know that."

"Seriously? Face-to-face. Anything else?"

"Do you want kids?"

Mickey was too stunned to answer, and those seconds of hesitation were apparently answer enough to Ian.

He nodded. "Yeah, okay, you are Mickey."

A moment of silence ensued, followed by hiccups on Ian's side, and a slight shock on Mickey's.

Then came a blinding smile. "Mickey."

"Ian." He sighed exasperatedly, mind already off the questions.

"Mickey..."

And then he passed out.

Fucking hell.

---

"Did I do anything weird while I was under?"

Mickey glanced at Ian from the corner of his eye. He was sitting on their bed, leg propped up.

He shrugged. "You sobbed because you cheated on me."

Ian's face was confused. "I didn't cheat on you."

"Oh, yeah you did," Mickey teased with a smile on his face. "You kissed me who you thought was incredibly hot."

"What?"

"First you said you wouldn't because your husband was enough. But then you did and you cried because you cheated."

Ian stuffed his face in his hands, groaning. "That's so embarrassing."

Just like in the hospital, Mickey pushed his hands away, gazing straight into his eyes. He chose not to tell him about the questions--those were for another time.

"I don't know if I should find it endearing you would only cheat on me with me, and that you would fucking cry about it later, or get mad because you would cheat on me."

Ian groaned again, pressing Mickey against him. "Fuck you. I'd only cheat on you with you when I'm drugged up. You're the only one I find good enough to cheat on you with."

"I'm gonna get a seizure."

Ian laughed, kissing the crown of his head. "Then shut the fuck up and pretend it never happened!"

With a feigned heavy heart, Mickey sighed and agreed. "Sure."

"Thank you."

"Don't think I won't tell Lip about this."

It was only Mickey's luck Ian couldn't walk that he managed to escape before Ian strangled the life out of him.

All the while, they laughed.

#gallavich #gallavich drabble #drabble #fan fic #gallavich fan fic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #stupid humor #hope this is as funny to you as it was for me #also gallavich week is coming #hope you guys are ready #can't wait to read what ou guys come up with

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mirrorballparkers · 7 years

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museum dates — peter parker

requested: nah. idea popped up into my head randomly.

tagged: @ttholland @t-oodles @cmonspiderling

- yo so i fucking am a god damn art geek myself, so why not write this? also, i am SO SORRY that it’s been so long since i’ve posted any fics. i’ve just had a lot going on personally, and also had a lot of job interviews (I GOT A JOB !!). not to mention i’m taking a college placement test this week so i’m just a mess. but, i digress. ENJOY THIS FIC! thanks for being patient, lovely humans.

warnings: a shit ton of fluff and a reader who legit has NO CHILL and peter is such a soft, sweet human bean.

summary: cute art headcanons with peter parker

- you grew up on art. always going to the local art galleries to discover new artists and collect some of their paintings and sculptures

- you’d always gush to peter about a new art piece you bought or a new artist you discovered

- “babe! oh, my god, look at this new Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun piece i got !! isn’t it absolutely alluring?”

- you’d sometimes feel bad that you geeked out so much, but peter thought it was so adorable. you had so much passion in your eyes, voice, and physicality it made his heart go fucking wild.

- “keep going, pumpkin. tell me more please.”

-when he told you that he got the two of you ticket to the museum of modern art

- your heart busted a nut

- you literally smothered peter with a bunch of kisses, so happy and thankful that he would do something like this for you. it wasn’t very cheap to visit museums these days.

- peter thought you geeking out was so cute

- he researched for hours and hours to find the best museum just for you

- when you got to the front entrance, you couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face and you were jumping up and down like a little kid because, actual nerd

- “HOLY SHIT. peter, this place is so beautiful. the detail, the atmosphere, my heart is bursting right now you don’t even know how excited i am right now. this is the best day ever. ”

- peter would just be looking at you with heart !! eyes !! because you were so cute and this genuinely made you happy and excited.

- he was very proud of himself for researching until 4 am on a school night for the best museum in new york

- you were more excited to be with peter though just sayin’

- when you saw him looking, you got a little embarrassed

- “sorry..didn’t know i was acting so childish”

- you calmed down

- for 0.5 seconds until you two entered inside then ya heart went ‘SKRRRAAA PAP PAP PAP PAP PAP’

- you held onto peter’s arm and you were like: !!!! looking around at everything

- it was so mesmerizing !!! like you had never seen a place filled with such unbelievably beautiful pieces your heart busted a nut !!!

- peter would sling his arm around you and kiss your head like a soft cutie

- he was usually too shy for that shit, he prepped himself in his head

- ‘don’t be a pussy, she’s your girlfriend just do it. YOU’RE SPIDERMAN.’ he’d tell himself in his head

- walking around the museum and honestly your heart was busting a nUT everything was so mesmerizing and PERFECT.

- you’d jump up and down like an actual child holding on to peter’s arm as you’d hand the lady in the front your tickets.

- bragging that peter bought you these tickets TO RANDOM ASS STRANGERS THAT CLEARLY DIDN’T GIVE A FUCK BUT YOU WERE SO BLESSED

- “hi, yes my cute ass sweet ass boyfriend bought me these.” you’d say while doing finger guns.

- “YO, LADY WITH THE CHURRO: MY CUTE ASS PRETTY BOYFRIEND BROUGHT ME HERE AND BOUGHT THE TICKETS, ISN’T HE GREAT? yeah, you don’t have to tell me i know bitch.”

- taking those typical pics where you’re standing in front of some art piece !!

“should i put a hand on my hip..?”

“maybe like idk uh just stand still. pretend you’re just posing for a picture.”

“but how will i know you already took it? i don’t wanna be standing here forever, pete. there’s a whole bruce nauman exhibit with my name on it.”

- peter would make a clicking noise for you to know when he took it so you wouldn’t be standing and hurting your feet. he was a considerate boy.

- he thought you were so cute !!! screw the painting, you were the actual art

“ ew my hair looks weird here let’s take another”

“shut up you look cute af babe”

- peter was whipped so he did as u asked n took more for u cuz the more photos of ya cute ass he would be able to have in his phone and show aunt may how pretty u looked after the date

- “no,no, delete that it makes my butt look bad.”

- peter would blush n shyly say

- “but u have a cute butt…….” bRO

- he wasn’t lying homie thought ur butt was cute

- Even though u would get a lil embarrassed you’d start to get a little more confident and feel ya selffff

- “okay out all the 60 that i’ve taken of u doing cute lil poses i think we have a winner. ALL OF THEM, YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL.”

- you’d gasp every single time u saw a sculpture or a painting, anything

- “babe look at this one !!”

“ooh look at this one lOOK AT THAT DETAIL AND TEXTURE”

- peter giving you all kinds of sweet kisses to assure his feelings for you

- cheek kisses

- nose kisses

- temple kisses

- FOREHEAD KISSES

- he’d even pull you to a corner to low key make out with you

- SO !! MUCH !! KISSES !! AND !! HUGS !!

- peter would hold your hand to his heart and just smile, feeling so warm and happy he was with you

- getting yelled at for touching things

- sassing the workers for getting yelled at for touching things under your breath

- “ the fuck? you don’t tell me what to do fuck you.”

- peter would calm you down but inside he’s like “that’s my baby girl !!”

- linking pinkies as you walk through all the exhibits

- peter wouldn’t even be paying attention to the art

- he dead ass would be just looking at you the entire time, so !! in love !!

- “why’re you not looking at this Ian Chung piece babe?”

“why go to an art museum when i can just look at you for art.” he just !! said that !!

- you’d get all shy and shit

- “aww, my pretty girl.”

- he’d always check to make sure you were hydrated

- “babe you want some water? i haven’t seen you have water all day and i just wanna make sure.”

- “wanna stop and have some water?”

- “do your feet hurt? it looked like you were limping just now.”

- he felt like he was bothering you, but really you were really tired and sore, possibly dehydrated from the hours and hours of walking.

- “i think we should sit down, sweets.”

- you’d finally agree after he told you that you looked kind of pale, so the two of you sat down on a bench and you rested your head on his lap as he played with strands of your hair

- before aunt may picked you guys up, you two went to the gift shop

- you bought so !! much !! amazing !! things !!

- peter lost you at least 3 times

- he kind of lowkey panicked every single time because you were his precious daffodil and he’d freak out if he lost you

- “hey, where’d you go?”

- “daffodil, you need to stop wandering.”

- “bABE, IF YOU WALK AWAY ONE MORE TIME"

- you picked out cute matching rings, even though it was incredibly cliche.

- you had at least 5 items in your hand: a coffee traveling mug, a shirt, magnet, and two hats. you didn’t need two hats bitch what the fuck.

- peter wouldn’t dare to let you spend all that money on you

- “peterrrrr, it’s fine i have money. you’re already buying the rings!”

- this soft boi was too stubborn and bought them for you anyway

- “your total is 32.50.”

- “pETER WHAT THE FU-”

- you’d already put the hat on the second you walk out the gift shop and peter thought it was so cute, so he snapped a picture without you seeing it and captioned it as: ‘she’s so extra, but i like her a lot so it’s fine.’

- putting the matching couple rings on for each other as if ya’ll were about to fucking get married.

- taking snaps of each others hands with the rings and putting dorky captions

- your whole body was aching from all the walking so peter would be all cute and give you a piggy back ride to his aunts car

- when you got in the car, you rested your head on his shoulder completely worn out.

- peter was VERY excited to show aunt may all the pictures he took

- “hon, these are all of her, not the art.”

- “what’re you talking about, may? SHE IS ART.”

- you fell asleep on his shoulder bc it was going to be a very long drive home.

- he’d be very sweet and take off your shoes for you so your feet wouldn’t hurt anymore

- peter eventually fell asleep too, hands intertwined with yours and his heart very full

- it really was a perfect date.

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bigbirdfics · 7 years

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Nisa & Harry Part I

Dear Harry.

Scratch that.

Harry. No.

Dear Harry,

Fuck.

Harry,

I’m sorry I screwed up.

I’m sorry I screwed us up. It wasn’t meant to be that way. Actually, I don’t know. You know I don’t believe in “meant-to-be’s”.

My mum told me this story, about why we put marriage rings on the left ring finger. You probably know it. You’re fed up with these kinds of stories. Anyways, she told me there was an invisible red cord (how can it be invisible and red at the same time? I asked her then -- she shushed me) that went from our hearts to our left ring fingers, and when we put a ring on it, the red cord would be attached to our partner’s cord forever. That’s why we get married once, she said. (Also, I told you she’s been married three times, yeah?) It’s creepy, I think.

Or scary, you would say. To be tied to someone. It makes it so much more difficult to cut contact, you know? To break the bond.

I don’t know why I’m still writing this e-mail.

You’ll never receive it.

You know I don’t believe in meant-to-be.

Even with you.

Five months before.

(Or, Month One - September)

Harry

It had happened this afternoon, as I was sitting on the couch with her resting on my chest and me stroking her short blond hair mindlessly. She’d sniffed and I looked down at the sudden noise coming from her, as she’d been so still the whole time we’d been sitting on our damn couch. And then, never looking at me, still staring at the turned off telly, she’d said it. I think we should break up. My ears started to buzz and my whole body stilled, my own lungs forgetting how to function for a moment, relishing in that stillness. She’d sat up straighter then, taking the wrist of my hand that was still resting on her hair to put it away from her. Suddenly, she had felt ten meters away, not centimeters. I’m breaking up with you, Harry, she repeated. As if she needed too, as if my body reaction wasn’t proof enough that I had heard her. My throat dried up, but I had still managed a word: why? That’s when she had stood up, a big heavy sigh leaving her lips before she started one of her infamous monologue. She didn’t feel it between us anymore, I couldn’t procure her with what was awaiting in her life next. She felt a need to grow that I couldn’t procure, and my dreams were crushing hers. Bringing hers down with mine.

Those words were the hammer to the glass-shaped heart my fundamental organ had become. When she had finally finished her speech, destroying me with each words, she had asked me to leave. So, still without saying a word, I had gone to our bedroom, hers now, took most of what was mine in a big fabric travel bag, strapped my guitar on my back and closed the front door behind me. It had took fifteen minutes for the uber to take me to Reilly’s flat, two to go up the stairs and ten seconds to knock on his door.

Later that day, after I had told Reilly everything and barely eaten the dinner he’d made me, he called Ian. Ian, who told Reilly he would come straight away and whisk me out into the night to get me smashed. That’s how Ian and I had found ourselves at some shitty bar that wasn’t where Reilly worked. Rei had made us promise not to cost him his job and Ian was pretty sure me being drunk and heartbroken would have done the trick. So we’d gone to the next best place. This no name’s bar had cheap alcohol that got the job done quick. The ground and counter were both slightly sticky and the walls and every furniture pieces were dark enough to make it even harder to see anything with the dim lighting. The music playing was as mellow as my mood. My vision was fuzzy but as unfocused as my head was, it took it too much effort trying to bend my broken heart to do any other work. So, my vision was blurred and my hearing seemed out of sorts, every sound pounding in my ears.

And, God, it hurt in my heart.

“It hurts in my heart.”

It wasn’t that much of a strange thing to think to say, considering I was heartbroken. I’d never thought it would literally hurt in my heart. But the thing was squeezing, ripping into shreds, and contorting into a shape that is not a heart, but rather in some sort of nothingness.

And then it hurt behind my head.

“Ow, what the fuck Ian?” I said wincing, patting behind my head to try and sooth the pain.

Ian was sitting besides me at the bar counter, nursing a rum and coke similar to my own. Except his wasn’t empty.

“Stop being so melodramatic, Harry. You look like a pile of shit,” he scoffed, taking a sip of his drink, his eyes flitting behind my head. He winked. Probably to a girl standing not too far behind me.

I sighed, “Thanks. I think I’m drunk.”

His eyes came back to my face, half squished on my hand supported by the counter. He scoffed, “I know you’re drunk, you’re metamorphosing into some sort of shitty poet. Of course you’re drunk.”

I was. Very drunk. Especially because I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol all the time I was dating Liz. She was good at that, making you do things you didn’t really want to do. Like banning alcohol for instance, or quit bad foods, or become a vegan when you were allergic to legumes. But there was this thing about Elizabeth. It was that light in her eyes.

Anyways, I was so drunk I don’t remember anything until I was climbing the security stairs from Reilly’s flat. When I climbed through the window that night, banging my head on the wood, wincing like a baby, and breaking some sort of cat ornament I didn’t know existed, I didn’t know it’d be such a hassle in the morning. Granted, I even walked in the dark, took my coat, shirt, and boots off and laid down on the couch (that I thought was supposed to face the other way), for a well-deserved rest. Maybe Reilly had done some redecorating after Ian and I had gone, never knew with him. It didn’t occur to me, not once, how a little grey ball of a kitten could sleep on my face, when, kind of, maybe, Reilly didn’t own a cat.

In the morning, when I wasn’t woken up by the morning sunlight peaking through the curtains, but by a blood-chilling scream, it all made more sense.

The scream made me jump out of my skin and falling off the couch in no time. My elbow hit the corner of a table that wasn’t supposed to be there, the kitten that was once upon a time on my head was screeching and hiding under the couch and... I swore (fuck, fuck, fuck, not the fucking elbow, Jesus). I realised then that the bloody couch was dark purple and cozy looking and not grey uncomfortable leather. That the walls were blue so light it was almost white and not that prime coat that Reilly never got to paint. That the girl had stop screaming and was looking at me with amused and disturb interest.

“Hi,” I croaked. It wasn’t everyday I found myself in a situation like this: slightly still kind of, maybe, definitely drunk (a little bit), shirtless, and sleeping in the wrong bloody flat.

The elbow was still sore and my head was pounding but the smile I sent her was trying really hard not to be creepy. She, with her dark brown hair and almond shaped eyes and pretty legs and amused crooked grin, crossed her arms and threw her head back and laughed (what a laugh) until it was all gone and she could talk again.

“Hi. You should tell me right now why you’re in my flat.” The girl said in a very authoritative voice. She looked like she didn’t know if she had to be scared or amused. For a split second, I realised that by finding me this morning, a strange man sleeping on her couch, I might have shattered her sense of safety. And that made me blurt my words out.

“Yeah, um, I’m Harry?” I said like a question. This whole situation had me unsure of my own name, “‘m so sorry about that. Was um… kinda drunk last night.” (I do not know why I was still on the floor.)

“I can see that,” her arms were crossed, a stance of protection.

I passed a hand over my face, wincing, “Yeah, so I think that maybe I’ve mistaken your window with my best mate’s,” I explained, pointing vaguely outside.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, her eyes shifting to the front door.

“Yes, he, um, I assume he’s your neighbour, probably, I hope.” God, I hoped. Because it would have mean I was really freaking drunk last night if not only I didn’t go through the right window, but wasn’t even in the right building.

“I kind of hope too.”

“Yeah?” I said, scratching behind my head.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want you to be a creepy dude that sneaked into my flat,” she said, lifting one eyebrow.

I winced again, “Touché.”

“Yep.”

It took a moment for us to move. I was looking at the floor when I realised I still hadn’t put my shirt on. I didn’t want to make the girl any more uncomfortable that that situation was probably putting her in. But I was hungover, and my brain was slow, and for some reason it didn’t occur to me to run out of there as fast as possible. So, I got up on my feet, swaying while doing so, and threw my shirt on the fastest way possible for a man that was probably still a bit drunk. The girl was, still, kind of amusedly staring at me.

“What?” I said, standing there like a moron. (still not leaving).

“Nothing,” she shrugged. She looked up, as if she was debating something, then uncrossed her arms, patting her thighs at her side in a nervous manner.

Cleared her throat, “I’m Nisa, by the way. Want some tea?”

I nodded my head too fast, borderline breaking my neck and throwing up from the movement, because of how scared I was of being thrown out. Even though I’d told myself several time to leave already. She laughed at me, a laugh that wasn’t complete somehow. Probably still in shock from having this weird half-drunk dude in her living room.

“What a laugh.”

She smiled, looking at me sideways. I realised I had said it aloud. My blush began to my neck and went to the roots of my hair.

She walked to her kitchen, and I followed, not too close behind. She boiled water in her electric kettle, and got two mugs and two bags of tea out as I watched. When the kettle beeped and she purred water in the cups, she sat on the countertop and beckon me to join her with a sign of her head before giving me my cuppa. I, with my wild bed hair, flattened out on the right side of my head, my dark circles, hollow under my eyes, trying to smile without looking more creepy than I probably was. Nisa, with her irises as dark as the night, giant green forest sweater on to match, pajama shorts and her cotton socks. Sitting side by side.

“So,” I said once my cup was empty and we’d sat in silence for too long.

“Hmm?”

“I’m very sorry. For scaring you and all. I mean… It really wasn’t something I intended to do, and um… I should probably go now,” I said finally, jumping off the countertop, putting my cup on the counter and taking my coat from the couch.

“Yeah,” she said, “maybe I’ll see you,” She nodded, joining me at the door as I opened it.

“Maybe.”

The door closed on my back, and I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the wall in front of me. Now that I didn’t have to focus on not creeping the girl out, I could feel how dizzy I was. My heart was pounding in my throat, and I needed to keep my lips shut or I would very certainly throw up. Unfortunately for my hangover, it took a while and a tiny bit of effort to realised that Reilly’s flat was two doors on the left.

“You look like shit,” Reilly said as soon as his front door closed behind me. I collapse beside him on the couch, a hand on my forehead in the delusional idea that it would stop pounding.

“Thanks.”

After giving me some ibuprofen and water in a beer glass, Reilly finally asked where I’d spend the night. Ian had texted him the night before to know if I was okay or if I’d died from alcohol poisoning. Fortunately for me, Reilly had only seen the message this morning, or he would have probably called the cops on my disturbing disappearance. Or not.

“Fuck if I know,” I answered, standing up so that I could get rid of all that alcohol in my body.

Vomit. I was going to vomit.

Nisa

It had been a month. A month to the day that somehow… my perspective on life had change. A month since I’d talked to my mum, more since I’d talked to him.

I didn’t want to stay awake the whole night. Not again. So, I had taken some sleeping pills Elaine had given me the week before. To see if it would work, to see if I could finally get rid of those awful dreams. Those pills worked too well maybe. They were the only explanation I was willing to give myself for not hearing this boy get through my window during the night.

The pills had worked anyhow. I didn’t remember falling asleep, nor did I woke during the night panting and sweating. It had been only blank, darkness and then… light. I had to tell my body to move so I could get out of bed and have breakfast, my body still kind of heavy because of the sleep I wasn’t used to have. I had dragged my feet on the floor, my eyes half closed as I went to the bathroom to pee. It was only when I was coming back towards the living room, planning to watch telly, that I realised something wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I yelled when I realised it was a boy. Luna screeched and hid away as she tended to do. For a moment, as he startled awake and out of the couch to the floor, with his disheveled hair in his face and his messy clothes, I had no idea if this boy was going to hurt me or not. I step back as he swore, crossing my arms in front of my body. Somehow through my panic I snorted at him, his clumsiness at trying to get up almost endearing.

“Hi,” he croaked after giving up on standing, looking around in panic and raising his head to look at me. He looked lost, his hand rubbing his sore elbow he’d just banged on the coffee table. His jeans riding up his ankles, all twisted around the legs, his torso and arms speckled with tattoos I found myself being intrigued with.

Through my panic, I felt myself laugh, like a nervous laughter bubbling up my throat and out there to form a sound I didn’t know would come out. When the laughter dried out, I felt myself focusing again on the boy in front of me instead of the weird reaction my body was having. I was pretty sure these sleeping pills were still fucking up with me.

“Hi,” I said, before taking a deep breath, “You should tell me right now why you’re in my flat.”

When I stopped talking, I saw something flashed in his eyes, like comprehension or realisation. He said, “Yeah, um, I’m Harry?” his name sounded like a question, and I wasn’t sure if this meant he was more confuse than I was or if he’d just given me a fake name, “‘m so sorry about that. Was um… kinda drunk last night.”

“I can see that,” I said, my hands squeezing my sides even more. I was still waiting for the explanation. This twenty-something boy had the lowest and slowest voice I’d ever heard out of a man. My dad had that loud, extravagant and rapid tone he would boast out to tell his stories, and Evan, it hurt me to think, had a tone low but sweet, his words tumbling one on the other as he talked.

He winced at my words, “Yeah, so I think that maybe I’ve mistaken your window with my best mate’s,” he said, pointing to the window.

I hummed, still waiting. I didn’t know if his slow manner was due to his drunkenness or if it was a natural state.

“Yes, he, um, I assume he’s your neighbour, probably, I hope.”

“I kind of hope too,” I said, smiling tightly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want you to be a creepy dude that sneaked into my flat,” I said, lifting one eyebrow.

He winced again, “Touché.”

“Yep.”

I was still looking at him as he stared at the floor, probably thinking about what to do next. I didn’t know why I was still standing there like a moron instead of throwing him out of my flat like a normal twenty-something girl would do if she found a strange boy sleeping on her couch in the morning. My mind was going fuzzy with thoughts and questions. But my eyes were staring. Staring at his shoulders and the tattoos on his collarbones and at his hair, soft, wispy, that ended at the start of his head and the end of his neck. At his hands, searching on the floor for what I assumed was his t-shirt. He stood up suddenly, finally, and I averted my eyes for a second as he put his shirt and boots on. I looked again, he’d managed to make his hair messier than it had been previously.

“What?” he asked suddenly, catching me looking at him.

“Nothing,” I shrugged, hiding my smile. I closed my eyes for a second, uncrossed my arms. I was probably an idiot for doing this, and my mum would probably find out about my murder in the newspaper tomorrow, but I sighed, cleared my throat and said, “I’m Nisa, by the way. Want some tea?”

He nodded, looking a bit green after the act, and a laugh bubble up my throat again somehow, but I caught it, just in time not to look completely crazy. I heard him without registering what he said straight away, and a smile grew on my face that I couldn’t stop.

“What a laugh,” he’d said under his breath.

I turned around to hide my slow blush as I walked to the kitchen, put water in the kettle and let it boiled. I got my favorite green mug and a red mug out and two english breakfast tea bags before putting the boiled water in the mugs. I kept both teas black as I gave his to Harry without asking if he wanted something in it. He nodded without complaint and sat beside me on the countertop as we both drank our cuppas in silence.

“So,” he said, cutting the silence. I kept the still warm mug in my hands as I hummed at him to continue.

“I’m very sorry,” he started as I lift my head up to him, “For scaring you and all. I mean… It really wasn’t something I intended to do, and um…,” he waited, nodding to himself, “I should probably go now,” he said finally, jumping off the countertop, putting his cup on the counter and walking towards the couch to take the coat that was sprawled on it.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “maybe I’ll see you,” I said as he walked to the front door and opened it. He turned to me, a shy smile flashing on his lips.

He said, “Maybe.”

I closed the door behind his back, my forehead leaning on the cold wood. I leaned back taking a big breath as I locked the door, turning around to stare at the window he had come from.

“Fuck.”

It was ten a.m. and I needed a drink.

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