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egoludes · 4 years

Text

the greatest gift of all.

note: so, to be honest with y’all...i have no idea where this came from. i was just minding my business this weekend, @adorecevans and i started talking about one (1) headcanon scenario, and now here we are! this is going to be a v casual series, basically just snippets of dom!chris and sub!reader (in no particular order) building a relationship. future installments will explore the history more, but what you need to know for this one and the series overall: dom!chris meets sub!reader through a dom/sub dating app of sorts and have been engaging each other long distance for a few months. reader has no idea that it’s chris evans for the obvious reasons, and since he doesn’t give a name at all, she addresses him as Sir. i’ll explore all that background more in the future, but for now: i really hope you enjoy!

credits: unsplash for the stock image, and an anon in @honeychicanawrites‘s asks one day for the image of cevans calling his lady ‘mama’... i had to do it.

warnings: masturbation, voyeuristic vibes, intimacy over video call, dom/sub dynamics, long distance / virtual relationships, sex toys, use of title as name (sir).

wc: 2.3k

The thought comes to you on a Sunday afternoon.

You’re on your belly thumbing through texts, legs up and crossed at the ankles with Sir’s newest gift -- a pretty pink slip -- and your laptop beside you. The screen is dark, save for a grey circle with an initial in the center that lets you know he’s there, listening, when you say: “Have you ever tried one of those dildo molds, Sir?”

The initial silence is suffocating, and you worry for a second that the idea - spur of the moment, really - goes too far. You’re just learning each other, after all; still adjusting to the pictures, the calls, the gifts you model for him with pride.

But then, he speaks, a familiar rasp to the words that makes you clench in your fitting black shorts. The question comes from a place of genuine curiosity, but you’ve riled him up still, which excites you; always does. “That’s what you’re thinking about over there, huh? Feeling me?”

Your body heats, conditioned already to react to that dangerous tone in his voice; but you try to keep your expression reticent when you turn it to your camera. There’s another moment of nothing -- just you watching the lens like it’s him before you. Then, your lips curl, lids narrow, and your voice turns playfully sweet. “Well, when am I not?”

He hisses, a sharp sound that makes you preen, and you can hear him on the other end, adjusting his screen. “Easy, mama,” he growls, earning himself a giggle, “it’s too early for you to be working me up.”

You laugh again, this time with more body before resting your cheek on your palm. Without his video on -- a compromise you’ve grown used to -- you can’t know that he’s actually watching you. But you lean into it all the same, swinging your legs behind you. “But, have you?”

He clicks his tongue, a thoughtful sound, and you imagine what his features must look like, twisted by consideration. “No - I don’t think I know anyone’s who has either.”

You hum, eyes glinting with something that makes him suck in a breath. “I’ve always wondered about it. Not just the process, but just...having one,” you murmur, settling deeper into your pensive stance. There’s a dreaminess to your tone that not even you notice; but he, that ever-mindful man, takes note.

You continue on, none the wiser.

////

A week later, you come home at the top of rush hour, grateful that you’ve made it so early, but burdened all the same. Stress is a fickle, but poignant thing, and you’re feeling its weight extra today as you make your way up to your apartment. You’re excited for the time to yourself, thinking on what you might make for dinner, when you see it - a small, but noticeable box at the foot of your door.

Immediately, your expression turns, confusion and wariness turning your mouth into a scowl. You don’t remember ordering anything, nor are you expecting something for anyone else. You hope the label will give you a clue about what this could be, but to your chagrin, it has no company - just your address and a generic return location.

Still, you take it in, setting it on the kitchen counter, where it stays forgotten as you shower, eat, and pour yourself a glass of wine. You’re halfway through the second when the package re-snares your attention from the corner of your eye. You drain the rest of your drink with a gulp, wiping red off the corners of your mouth before you stand, determined, to approach it.

The box is unassuming; plain cardboard with nothing but the barebones label to distinguish it. You lift it again, this time with both hands, to measure it and feel something heavy shift inside. It’s enough to pique your curiosity, and you tear through the packaging until you can see what’s in it.

At the center is another, smaller box made of sleek black velvet. A card is attached with red ribbon, careful lettering penned in dark ink. Even before you fish it out, you can work out the message, but it doesn’t feel real until the note sits in your hand and you’re reading it up close.

For my favorite girl; so you can feel me any time you want.

Sir.

Your eyes dance over the words a few times before their meaning sinks in and you realize it’s a gift from him. Then, you’re practically rabid, tugging out the box out and flipping the lid in one motion.

When you see what’s inside, it’s all you can do not to buckle at the knees. In the middle of the box, set up almost regally on a bed of plushy silk, is a veined, pink dildo. You don’t need to touch it to know that it’s heavy, but that doesn’t stop you from doing it all the same. Your fingers take it by the base first, wrapping firmly above the balls to test the weight. And you moan at it, that delicious thickness as you lift it from the box with both hands. Your palms curve around it, twitching with want, and you realize then that this is what he looks like, what he feels like.

What you would get if he came home to you for real.

The thought is too much to bear. Your breath quickens, fingers dancing deliberately up and over the shaft to size it up. You tell yourself that this is all you need for now ---- you know better than anyone that to use this toy for the first time without him is a test of his patience you’re certain to fail. But, the more you touch, the more you need, and before you can reconsider, you’re on your hands and knees on your couch, panties pressed sloppily to the side as you guide the heft of Sir’s length past your aching entrance.

The impact is immediate. You fall forward with a gasp as every inch stretches you open and by the time it’s fully seated, your face is completely hidden in your couch cushions. The fabric muffles your voice as your hips start to move, a slow, languid grind to make sure everything is felt.

You get so lost in it, you don’t hear your phone buzzing until it’s almost too late. But, at the nth moment, you recognize the ringtone you’d chosen just for him and, despite the clear risk of answering, you reach for the device, trembling with nerves, excitement, and lust, at the dangerous game you’re about to play.

When you answer, there’s nothing but darkness from his end and your face in the corner. You’re sitting on your butt now, legs carefully spread and hips angled to keep from jostling the toy inside you. But, it’s hard not to squirm in a situation like this; even more so, when he starts to talk, voice raw from the day.

“Hi, honey,” he breathes, the endearment -- your favorite -- making your heart swell, “almost thought you were already asleep.”

You shake your head, biting back a knowing smile. “No, Sir… I’m still awake, just...watching tv.”

“Yeah?” He says, something skeptical in the tone. Even without his video on, you can almost feel his gaze burning a hole in your expression. Like he’s inspecting it, picking it apart for clues. He must find one, because he hums lowly; a dip in the sound that makes it sound like he’s smirking. “Only watching tv?”

“Y-Yes, Sir…”

“Okay, okay -- what’re you watching? Is it any good?”

Your eyes flicker towards the television to glean what’s playing, but Sir catches you before you can get a good look. “Nuh uh -- eyes over here.”

Despite your better judgment, you pout, all but caught now, and the expression makes him laugh. He’d had a number of subs before you -- people who had piqued his sexual interest, but never quite held up to any of his other, more innocent expectations. But you ---- even if he wouldn’t call you something as invested as a lover, your personality makes it hard to be anything but endeared to you. Before he knew it, he was in headlong, calling you for sessions a couple times a week, sending gifts even more than that. You’re fun to just exist with, even in this moment as he’s so deliberately toying with you.

“Can’t be too good if you can’t tell me anything about it without looking, huh?” His voice drops, a dangerous timbre taking it, and you feel your body shake. “So you gonna tell me the truth before you get yourself in more trouble?”

A whimper breaks past parted lips and you bite down a little too late to stifle the sound. “T-The toy,” you whisper, clenching around his cock despite him being hundreds or thousands of miles away. The irony isn’t lost on you - if anything, it’s making your need spike. There’s something so odd, but so enticing about the whole thing. “I couldn’t wait, Sir… your cock just looked so good.”

Sir curses near the phone, so close that you swear you can feel the breath of it on your palm. “Jesus...I knew you’d be hungry for it, but I didn’t think it’d get you this much. Breakin’ our number one rule and everything.” You shift on the couch, free hand reaching to pull out the dildo in anticipation of his punishment. It’s likely to be no orgasms for the night which, as disappointing as that is, seems almost worth it for the pleasure of this weight inside you. Then he speaks again, forcing you to pause in your motion.

“Get on your computer ---- I want to see the way I fit inside you. Then, we can talk about your punishment.”

The minutes between your phone call and the start of the call on your laptop are equal parts tantalizing and tortuous. You’ve only broken this rule once prior and ended up having to watch him fuck his hand through two sloppy orgasms before getting sent to bed without touching yourself even once. So the fact that he seems to be inclined to let you keep the dildo in gives you pause.

But it’s the sort that’s almost intoxicating. Your adrenaline is pumping, thighs slick with want, and by the time you’ve gotten the video up and running, you’ve shed your panties completely, legs wedged open with the camera trained between them as directed.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetie… look at that pussy eating me up.” You whine out for him, walls clenching visibly at his words in a reaction that makes him purr. “That good? Everything you thought it would be?”

You nod in a daze, cock drunk even with your hips still, and Sir shifts on the other end, the telltale clink of an open belt alerting you to how good it feels for him too. You’re in two minds to beg him to see, even if it’s just a view of the waist down, when he beats you to the punch. “Take it out --”

You blink, trying to focus on his words enough to make sense of his command. He can see the confusion in your face and has to try not to laugh. “Take it out,” he repeats, “and sit on it. I want to see you take it properly.”

It’s a scramble after that -- you, shifting and guiding the toy out of you until you’re hovering over the tip of it on your knees. Lidded eyes dance towards your laptop as you still there, body wound tight in anticipation, and like many times before, you hold his gaze through the lens as you sink down, down, down onto the dildo he made for you.

If you thought you were full before, you’re certainly learning your lesson. The change in angle has the cock dizzyingly deep, enough that it punches the air out of your lungs. You can feel the balls against your bare skin, a permanent reminder of how much you’ve taken, and when he calls for you again, adoration in the breathy tones, you can’t help but buzz.

You love to make him proud of you.

His tone is so tender that you nearly forget you’re in trouble and are about to lift your hips and give him a show when he stops you. “You heard what I said, honey,” he teases when your confused expression returns. “I want you to sit on it. You stay right where you are.”

The urge to beg is potent -- a searing kind of desperation that you’ve never minded indulging with him. But before you can form words in your head, let alone out loud, the dildo comes to life inside you, shaking with such force you cry out from the suddenness. Between being full, and the toy revealing itself to be a vibrator, it’s all too much, so much, and you’re falling back into the couch knees shaking beneath you.

“Now, now, don’t give up on me yet,” Sir coos, a distinct click sounding from his side of the screen and confirming your suspicions when the vibrator turns off right after, “you wanted to feel me, didn’t you?” He pauses long enough for you to nod, gasping in a breath as your teary eyes dance blindly over the screen you wish you could see him on. There’s another click, then a cry as your body arches in an involuntary jolt.

“Then, be a good girl - show me how well you can handle it.”

#chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfic #chris evans writing #dom!chris evans x reader #chris evans masterlist #honey and sir.

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lambourngb · 3 years

Note

“It was supposed to be a regular, boring morning shower”

First line tag

A million years ago, an anon sent me this ask for the first line meme. I woke up possessed and wrote “stuck in gravity, clawing for some bravery” in 10 days. This story is complete, 23,000 words. I put the first two chapters up on AO3 early in honor of the news of our show coming back. The rest goes up tomorrow.

beta thanks to the wonderful @tasyfa

Pairing: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Alex Manes/Forrest Long, Michael Guerin/Maria Deluca (past) Kyle Valenti/Maria Deluca (implied/mentioned)

Tags: Starts Forlex ends in Malex, Getting back together, Nebulous Season 3, Angst, Pining, Alien Soulmate Bullshit, Emotional Infidelity, Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comforot, Explicit Sexual Content, Dirty Talk , Telepathy, Handprint Sex

Summary: A year after Crashcon, Michael knows three things for certain.

1. He loves Alex and he probably definitely always will.

2. Having Alex as his best friend makes everything in his life better.

3. Knowing, thanks to his bullshit alien biology, that Alex still fantasizes about his body regularly while dating someone else for a year, well, that is a little more difficult to navigate.

It’s fine. It is all just fine.

Author Notes: This content is probably not appropriate for review by a college writing class on tumblr, just saying but you’re welcome to leave a kudo if you like it.

*****

It was supposed to be a regular, boring morning shower for Michael.

His first Sunday off in over three months deserved a little self-care, he had decided. The summer had brought an abrupt uptick in work at the garage with increased summertime driving leading to more careless accidents and stranded motorists to tow to safety. While Walt would deny it to the end, Michael couldn’t help but notice the old man had slowed down in his work. Between doing his best to keep Sanders’ in business and taking shifts at the Crashdown to fill in for the still-absent Liz so Arturo and Rosa could have their own break, taking the time for more than a perfunctory late night wash down felt luxurious to Michael.

There was a point to staying busy, with filling every hour inside an engine or on a different project around the junkyard with his trailer and that point was distraction. Distraction from the awareness that everyone was thriving. Max and his new-found ‘cousin’ Jones were reconstructing the history of their people’s language and literature together. Isobel had recently celebrated her three-month anniversary with Monica, an artist who shared the same studio space as Rosa. Maria had made exploring her alien-rooted abilities the focus of her life outside of the bar, combining her knowledge of yoga and meditation to crack the ability of moving forward in time. With that success, she had managed to bring back the answer to saving her brain from damage from the future. Her work with Kyle in developing the treatment for her and Mimi had led a new romance there. Then there was Alex, the true focus of Michael’s need for distraction, marking a one-year anniversary with Forrest.

It was fine. All Michael had ever wanted was for Alex to be happy. The distractions he had filled his life with helped soothe the edges of knowing who was at the root of Alex’s new-found peace.

In the last year, Michael had built a permanent wooden deck out in front of his Airstream, transforming his fire pit into an outdoor brick barbecue oven, before moving on to recycle discarded auto glass into window panes for a small greenhouse complete with a rainwater cistern off the rear of the trailer. The actual interior boasted its own changes, an expanded shower stall and more of a kitchen set up than a hotplate and kettle with a small split-level stove and expanded countertop. The next task was building a canopy to shield the deck from the elements. At some point, Michael had acknowledged to himself that each piece he had worked on had turned his portable, transient can-go-anywhere Airstream into a stable fixture at Sanders’.

A home with roots.

A home without Alex and he had accepted that, respecting Alex’s choice of partner. They were the right people for each other, but were always meeting at the wrong time. For a while, he had waited patiently for things to end with Forrest. He had been happy enough to work on being Alex’s friend in the meantime. Then, once they were truly friends sharing every stupid moment of their days via a text message or over a beer at his trailer, he had felt the betrayal of his selfish thoughts keenly. What kind of friend would root for a break-up? What kind of friend would wish heartbreak on the other?

The asshole kind, he had concluded.

As the hot water from the shower head poured over his head though, the acceptance he had about Alex moving on was just a little farther from his reach because Alex was currently thinking about him. They weren’t platonic friend-thoughts either.

A ghost sensation of a hand skirted down Michael’s body, lingering over his chest hair, and fuck, Alex had really loved to card his fingers through it. His mind was awash with impulses not his own, hot anticipation and the thrill of pleasure dropped down his body like the free-falling crest of a rollercoaster. Michael closed his eyes, soaking in the feelings. A gasp escaped his mouth, heard by no one in his trailer. Good God, Alex was really ready, waking with morning wood or to someone — Wrapping his own hand around his hardening cock, Michael stroked himself in time with Alex’s thoughts, pushing aside his own. It was best to just give into temptation and enjoy the moment.

It was something he had learned to embrace with varying degrees of eagerness over the last few years.

The connection with Alex had formed apparently sometime after the shed, but it had taken him over ten years and Alex moving back to Roswell to realize what was going on between them. The summer they had turned eighteen, they had barely been able to keep their hands off each other in the desert, and when Michael was alone, all he could think about back then, was Alex. His head had been a complex swirl of emotion, slingshotting him from the highs of seeing Alex to the lows of facing his own aborted future. There was the longing for Alex, the sadness that he knew their time was limited because Alex was going to go places, and he was stuck in Roswell watching over Isobel, but in the background, of what he thought was a relic from Jesse’s attack, was always a sense of sick fear, of being caught. Again.

Then over the last ten years, Michael would experience this awareness, and suddenly all he could think about was Alex. How it felt to touch him, the wickedness of his mouth, the burn and the stretch to accept Alex’s cock as he took him inside with a bitten lip- Michael thought it was just his mind, giving him a touchstone to happiness and the remembrance of being loved briefly by Alex. Nostalgia. Afterwards as he caught his breath, with his chest splattered with come, the sadness would seep in again, stealing whatever light that was made by those memories.

It wasn’t until after the drive-in, when Alex had spent almost two months avoiding him in person, that Michael had realized that those moments, late at night or early in the morning, were tied to Alex. It took falling into his bed one night, after visiting Isobel in her pod to finally piece it together. His face had hurt from crying on the drive home and the urge to sleep and never wake up again had been so incredibly strong that it took a moment for him to realize he was thinking about Alex. His cock hadn’t even been on his radar, but suddenly all he could think about was getting sucked off.

Fuck, he hadn’t wanted it then, too sad and scared about Isobel to feel much connection to his body for the purposes of pleasure, but the sensations and feelings that had overtaken Michael were too intense to fight that night. Later as he panted, open-mouthed and staring at the ceiling of his Airstream with distant thoughts of cleaning up, his phone rang once. Only the once. Then a ding of a text.

Alex -is home: Sorry pocket dialed.

The rush of self-loathing that hit Michael as he read the message had been so strong he had dropped the phone on the floor of the trailer. That’s when he knew it wasn’t his feelings in his head because in all the years of knowing Alex, of loving Alex, he had never once felt disgust toward himself for his feelings for Alex. From the moment across a borrowed guitar, Michael had accepted the tilt of his axis toward Alex Manes as a fundamental fact, like force equalling mass times acceleration.

Alex hadn’t shared that comfort, and the more Michael tuned into what was going on in Alex’s head, the more his heart broke. Two things became clear to Michael over time; the occurrences were sporadic enough for him to know that he only felt them when Alex was specifically thinking about Michael when he jerked off, and the post-orgasm feelings of disgust and self-loathing were not isolated incidents for Alex to feel afterwards.

“Sometimes things end in a whimper, Guerin-” and Michael had numbly accepted that as proof that while Alex might enjoy thinking about his body, about the ways he had pleasured Alex in the past, Alex had no desire for anything more from Michael. The sex was epic, fodder for a late night fantasy, but Michael himself? He was not someone that Alex wanted to want.

He had changed Alex’s name in his phone from “Alex -is home” to “Alex -is a bad idea” after that and then cursed himself for the trick of alien biology, doomed to be forever aware that he was an example of backsliding to Alex. When Maria had reached for him that night in Texas, he had welcomed her because she seemed at least self-aware of the fact she didn’t want to want him. There was zero chance of a misunderstanding between them that night, even as he kicked himself for still following after people who swore to him that it would never happen again.

For a long time after Caulfield, he had thought perhaps the grief of losing his mother had broken the link with Alex, setting them both free in the wreckage and dust of the prison. The dying psychic screams of his people had rolled over him, scorching his thoughts into cinders as that last connection to love and hope burned out in his mind, his mother’s life extinguishing under the thunder of Semtex and C-4. Then one night shortly after moving his trailer to the Wild Pony, it had happened again. The same overwhelming feeling of need, of longing, but this time the self-loathing afterwards had been accompanied by a crippling feeling of guilt. He had laid there in the twilight of the Wild Pony’s loft, having silently come into his palm while the sound of Maria’s breathing brushed against his ear. For the first time, he had joined Alex in that feeling of self-hatred.

It was past the time for him to flip the switch from ‘tortured lust’ to some semblance of friendship with Alex, if he could and so tentatively, he agreed to work on uncovering his mother’s past together with him. He updated his phone again with that decision in mind to “Alex -sup bro”.

After Maria had learned the truth about Rosa and sent him away with betrayed eyes, he experienced a moment of weakness for Alex after the visit they had made to the Long Farm. There had been a lightness in how Alex had moved that day, his steps had been considered but committed as they had explored the last place his mother had felt at home on earth. Inside of Michael’s heart, he had been able to feel the pieces moving together while he had stood in a place where Nora had had a family, next to a man who had always represented that promise to Michael. The openness of Alex’s smile as they had waited for Forrest Long to reappear had had Michael thinking dangerous thoughts again about a future with him.

What if. What if Alex were ready to take a step toward him without the weight of the past?

That tenuous hope had lasted until the night after Alex had given him the piece of the ship’s console. Standing in his bunker near two am, he had been examining the new piece of his ship, of his past, puzzling over why it wasn’t bonding with the rest of the console when he had felt the awareness of Alex creep into his cells, into his DNA. Eagerly he had opened his jeans with both hands and had fisted his cock, letting himself go with the pull of Alex’s desire. In the aftermath, he had found himself on the floor of the bunker, with come dripping off a fallen drawing of a ship’s engine, but near tears with the knowledge that nothing had changed for Alex. It had still been the same fear flooding his veins, still the same anchor of tortured longing and deep shame weighing his limbs down even as he had been left wrecked by how good his body had felt.

It had been madness for Michael the next few months as he had fallen in deeper with Maria, while the connection with Alex had kept tugging at his soul. There had been little rhyme or reason to when it had happened. Weeks would pass where he apparently hadn’t crossed Alex’s mind once, and then there had been a week when every night Michael had been hit with the same mix of love, lust and bottomless need. Thankfully it had matched with the week-long retreat Maria and Mimi had taken together, saving Michael the work of explaining to her why he was wearing out the washing machines at the Fluff N Fold with his dirty sheets.

The self-torment Alex had felt about him had slowly lifted, to the point when Michael had found out the truth about Walt Sanders, he had called Alex without hesitation. The contact in his phone had changed to ‘Alex- best bro’. If he had finally become a measure of comfort for Alex to remember in his most personal moments, then perhaps Alex could also become a comfort to him, without the mire of their trauma holding them frozen in place.

He had been fooling himself completely in the aftermath of Alex’s abduction that friendship would ever be enough for him. The wounds from his breakup with Maria had still been bleeding below his skin when he had stepped into the Wild Pony to hear Alex singing about him. About them. Then he had been hit with the connection, blossoming open for the first time ever in Alex’s actual presence under the spell of his song.

There had still been a ghost of darkness in Alex’s feelings for him, as he had sung about fighting battles but for the first time in a long time, Michael had felt that there was hope that Alex was finally finding peace with Jesse dead. Despite Isobel’s prodding him to stay and make a move, he had known that it wasn’t their time yet. There had been too much grief and regret swirling in his head, and not just from Alex, but he could be patient for them both for the right moment. The connection had never felt more alive between them that night on the promise of a future.

At least that was what he had thought, until time had kept passing yet here he was, standing in his shower with his hand on his dick a year later, while Alex was across town in someone else’s bed but clearly thinking about him.

Michael watched as his seed dripped down the fiberglass walls, the shower spray sending it down the drain in an eddy of his own frustrated longing. His body was calm, at least, and his mind was buzzing with happiness from Alex. He concentrated on the euphoria floating between them in particular. Alex had soaked up pleasure this morning, pursuing it with a greed that Michael couldn’t help but admire, and then he had let himself go without any hint of shame. God, it felt good to know that Alex had finally found that comfort with himself.

He breathed in and out, counting the seconds down until the connection faded. Once it was over, he gave himself five more minutes under the hot spray, letting whatever was welling in his eyes, slip unseen down his face. He cursed his stupid alien biology in the same breath that he clung to it for giving him Alex again, if only briefly.

After he was dressed for his brunch plans with everyone, he checked his phone before he left, to find a text from Alex. The contact had been updated one more time, six months after the Crashcon, from “Alex -best bro” to “Alex -bf”. Isobel had been way too excited to see that notation, until Michael had patiently explained it had stood for ‘best friend’. Maybe in another universe it was ‘boyfriend’, just not this one.

This wasn’t crumbs, he had argued to her, Alex was still a feast for him in whatever way he could have him. He read the text with his mind still working to box up the feelings that lingered for Alex, “Tell everyone we will be late- overslept”. The ‘we’ was what puzzled Michael the most about the whole situation over the last year. Why was Alex still thinking about Michael the way he did while he was with someone else?

AO3 link for more

#malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #getting back together #season 3 #set a year after the crashcon 2x13 #not forrest long friendly #alien soulmate bullshit #publishing this ask and posting a link is self-indugent but wanted nonnie to see it #Anonymous #alien soulmate shenanigans #cosmic soulmates

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zwritestuff · 4 years

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Are you doing prompts?? 32F with Lemyanka please?! With all the angst you can manage!

Lemyanka anon here, sorry I forgot!! Can you do 5 times they nearly revealed their feelings to each other but didn’t? X

jesus this got long. i tweaked the dialogue prompt, hope you don’t mind. i’m sorry for the delay!

32. “But do they fuck you like I did?” / F. N Things (ex: ‘5 times x did y’)

Admittedly, Lemon’s best ideas come to her while she’s drunk - Priyanka, however, is the only exception.

It was meant to just be a casual thing; they were just friends with benefits and no strings attached. They hung out with the rest of their friendship group with normality, sometimes they went home together and other times they left from the bar with a new stranger.

Everything was good and emotions were under control, until Lemon realized the tug in her heart whenever Priyanka flirted with other girls.

She texted her one day asking if she wanted to hang out once she was done with her lectures, having decided to tell her about her feelings, and that they should stop sleeping around before Lemon is in it too deep - but Priyanka said she had something lined up already and couldn’t cancel. Lemon brushed it off, saying it was okay and wishing her to have fun, thinking she’d have her opportunity soon.

Priyanka drops the bomb that she’s seeing someone while they’re studying with Rita and Starzy. Lemon’s heart stops for a second, paralyzes mid-movement as she searches for Priyanka’s gaze. She doesn’t seem concerned or awkward at all, and it only adds to the feeling of suffocation invading her.

She rambles about how great she is, and how much she likes her even though it’s been just three weeks since they started seeing each other. The monster of jealousy is fighting to take control over Lemon’s senses, to make her spit bitter words like, “But does she fuck you as good like I did?”

But she doesn’t. Because she has some dignity left, and their affair was kept from their friends, so it wouldn’t be intelligent to reveal themselves like this.

“Pri,” Lemon calls her once they’re done with their study session, trotting up to meet her. “Can I talk to you for a second?” She tries not to sound too choked up, but it’s easier said than done.

Priyanka stops in her tracks, turning around to see her with a careful look. Lemon has seen that look before, and she hates it. She asks if it has to do with the fact she’s seeing someone, and before Lemon has any chance of replying, she goes on to say that she doesn’t want to make things awkward, and that they can act as if nothing happened if that’s what she wants.

“Woah, I was just going to ask you when are you gonna give me back my yellow dress. I have my brother’s birthday party on Sunday,” she lies with surprising ease, and Priyanka blinks repeatedly, a blush creeping on her cheeks as she tells her she’ll drop the dress by her dorm later today.

Lemon tries to get over Priyanka by downloading Tinder again, but she rarely matches with girls that spark her interest.

Boa’s birthday happens, and they go to a club to celebrate. They get ready in Lemon’s apartment, chaos ensuing as soon as they step foot inside. It’s a welcomed type of chaos, though, one she’s learned to treasure. She gets a call from Priyanka while she’s doing Juice’s make-up, and excuses herself for a moment to lock herself in the bathroom so that she can hear more clearly.

“Pri? Are you coming?” She asks, shutting the door behind her.

“Yeah, I’m on my way. I wanted to ask you if you wouldn't mind if I crashed your place with Tynomi.”

Lemon blinks repeatedly, her mind jumping to the worst of conclusions. “Tynomi?”

“The girl I’ve been going out with,” she explains, and Lemon’s heart aches when she can clearly hear the smile on her face. “I’ve asked Boa if she doesn’t mind her tagging along, and she said it’s fine, but I forgot to ask if she could come with me to your place.”

The grip on her phone tightens, as she takes a shaky breath and steals a glance of herself in the mirror. She wants to scream, tell Priyanka of her feelings, of how she foolishly let herself fall for her and now it hurts her that she’s moved on and she can’t keep pretending that everything is okay. Because it’s not.

“Yeah, sure,” she says instead, reluctantly.

Lemon stares at the letter, blinking once, twice, until tears are flooding down her cheeks. She breaks down in the middle of the cafeteria, drawing attention her way, but she doesn’t care. She’ll cry if she wants to - she got accepted into a prestigious dance school in New York with a full ride scholarship. Anyone would cry in her place.

“Girl, are you okay? What did that letter say?” Kiara asks, confused, stroking her back in an attempt to soothe her. All Lemon is able to do is give her the letter, gasping for air. Kiara’s eyes grow wide as she reads the first few sentences. “Holy shit,” she muses.

“What happened?” Priyanka asks, approaching their table with a worried expression. Kiara hands her the letter, as Lemon is still struggling to form coherent sentences. “Holy shit indeed,” Priyanka echoes, looking back and forth between Lemon and the letter. “You’re leaving us?” She asks, with a tone Lemon can’t quite put a finger on.

She simply nods, still too choked up to babble for hours about how this has been her dream since she was a child, and she’s not going to pass up such an opportunity.

Priyanka looks at her with an indecipherable look before saying, “You deserve it, Lem.”

The months slip away from Lemon’s fingers, and before she knows it, it’s the night before she leaves for New York. Her parents had been crying all day long in anticipation, repeating over and over again how proud they’re of her. Her friends had treated her to dinner, promising to be there before she boarded the plane.

Priyanka had hugged her tightly when they said goodbye, holding onto her for a second longer than the rest. She took her hands in hers, and Lemon could feel the unsaid words lingering on her lips.

“I’ll miss you,” it was all that she said, letting go of her hands. Part of Lemon wished there would be a heartfelt confession on her side, since she wasn’t dating Tynomi anymore, but it had been foolish of her to think so.

She wants to send Priyanka a text confessing her feelings before she’s in a whole other country for the next three years.

The text is half written on her notes app before she deletes it, turns off her phone and turns around to try to sleep.

+1.

It’s you. It’s always been you Lem. I miss you. I’m sorry.

Priyanka’s message is two years late, and Lemon can’t help but to shed a tear before she types out a reply.

It was you, too. Was. I’m sorry.

She turns off her phone, not waiting for a reply, and goes back to allowing her fast asleep girlfriend to spoon her.

#asks #anon #fics requests #lemyanka #lemongivesyoulife #priyanka love #rpdr fanfiction #my fanfiction

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hypnoshatesme · 4 years

Text

Reminders

[[This is a...continuation, kind of, of You’re Home, for the anon who asked for more ace Michael :)]]

For the sixth time, Michael was checking the fridge. “Are you sure you’re going to be fine Gerry? If you need anything-”

Gerry had been watching him all day, as he fretted and hurried back and forth between his room and every other room, packing. Or doing anything but. Gerry was fairly sure that he had learned every corner of the apartment that might make any problems twice by now. He didn’t mind, though, because Michael had been gradually getting more and more stressed out as the day approached. Gerry had expected this.

He still couldn’t quite keep himself from chuckling as he answered, “Michael, I’ve been living on my own for quite a bit of my life. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Michael sighed, closing the fridge - it was full, had been the last times he checked - and turned towards Gerry, who was leaning against the counter. He hadn’t bothered to get dressed today and was still wearing Michael’s pyjamas, which were basically his by now anyways.

The fact that Gerry’s clothes were literally in the next bedroom didn’t change the fact that he felt very cosy sleeping in Michael’s clothes. He also quite enjoyed Michael’s utterly smitten face whenever he saw Gerry like that in the morning. Even now his lips pulled into a small, fond smile as he took Gerry in, before he was back to stressing out.

“I know it’s just...this was timed badly.” Michael ran a hand through his hair, further messing up the braid he had to redo twice already. “I didn’t want to leave you alone as soon as you moved in.”

Gerry cocked an eyebrow, “Michael, I’ve been living here for nearly two weeks.”

“Well, but I haven’t been in my right mind for most of that time!”

That was one way to put it. Michael had always been the anxious type, but in the weeks that followed his last exam he was tight-stringed the whole time. The day right after they had celebrated the stress being over, but it really only got replaced by a new kind. Michael had barely slept. When the grades were finally out, he has released a breath so deep Gerry was wondering if he had somehow been holding that for two weeks.

Gerry laughed, “I wonder at your self-awareness. It’s fine, Michael. We’ll have plenty of time when you’re back, it’s only a weekend.”

He sighed, “I already miss you.”

“You’re being so dramatic. Come here.” He pulled Michael into his arms and squeezed him lightly. “It’s going to be okay.”

Michael sighed, “I...I don’t know. I haven’t been...there for so long. I’m just...I don’t know how it might go.”

Gerry had wondered about that. Michael didn’t talk much about his family, to the point where Gerry was surprised he even called them to share the news about finishing his studies. And then agreed to come home to celebrate. Michael didn’t seem entirely opposed to the idea, but still very anxious. Gerry didn’t ask. Michael looked nervous enough, and for all Gerry knew this might just be the normal thing to do.

“You’ll have me to text and call if you need, okay?” He rubbed Michael’s back gently.

“Yes, I know.” Michael pressed a kiss to his hair before returning the hug, "Thank you."

They stayed like that for a moment but Gerry knew Michael would want to leave soon, even if it was still too early to be worried about missing his train.

“Okay, I should get going, I guess.” Michael pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll text you when I’m there. Take care and...tell me if you need anything, okay?”

Gerry nodded, “Will do.” He squeezed Michael’s hand one last time, and Michael smiled before leaving the kitchen and getting his things.

Gerry brought him to the door and they shared a short kiss before Michael opened it.

“Take care yourself,” Gerry mumbled.

Michael smiled, “Will do. Until Monday.”

Gerry nodded and waved his hand as the door closed behind Michael.

Gerry had a Leitner to hunt for over the weekend, so he kept himself busy. It was still a little strange to return home to an empty apartment. He hadn’t spent too much time in it on his own before, and it suddenly felt foreign. It never had before. He had spent plenty of time in it even before moving in.

Even though he spent plenty of nights alone in his bed, it just felt strange knowing that Michael wasn’t on the other side of the wall.

It was late, but when Gerry checked his phone to work through the messages he knew Michael had sent while he had been looking into the book. He saw that Michael was still, in fact, online, which was impressive considering he had barely slept the night before. Gerry pointed that out to him, but couldn’t deny he was glad to see the typing symbol from Michael as soon as he sent the message.

Things apparently seemed to be going fine, which was good to hear. Michael had found a couple of things in his old room he wanted to bring back and apparently met some of his old friends. When Gerry inquired about why he was still awake, he explained that his old room felt weirdly familiar and foreign at the same time. While he apparently had calmed down a little when he arrived, he was feeling anxious again.

Gerry suggested calling, but Michael was afraid to wake anyone, so he tried to help via messages. It was way past 3am when Michael stopped responding and Gerry knew he'd regret staying up so late in the morning himself. Though at least he was exhausted enough to fall asleep without much fuss.

Sunday flew by and when Gerry checked his phone at night there were only a couple messages throughout the day. He guessed it made sense. It had been the day of the actual celebration, and considering how drained Michael usually got from such gatherings he probably had had little trouble falling asleep.

There was still something soothing to answering the messages he did have. It reminded him a bit of the beginning, when they had spent many a night texting instead of sleeping, neither wanting the conversation to stop despite being tired. He smiled a little as he sent a - rather rather belated - ‘sweet dreams’ before turning the screen off and trying to find a comfortable sleeping position.

Monday came and with it the anticipation of having Michael back. It really shouldn't have been this dramatic but Gerry did miss him. He decided to channel his own nervous energy into baking some muffins. It wasn’t something he’d done before - at least not on his own - but he had helped enough times to be confident he could make something without setting the kitchen on fire or something.

Gerry was just closing the oven when he heard the door being opened. He smiled, washing his hands before going to meet Michael at the door. Michael was stepping out of his shoes when he arrived, but Gerry didn’t get to say anything before Michael threw his arms around Gerry’s neck and pulled him into a tight hug.

For a second, Gerry was too surprised to even react. He felt Michael bury his face in his hair, letting out a relieved sigh. Gerry returned the hug, then, and Michael melted into it a little.

“Everything alright?,” Gerry mumbled, a little bit worried.

"Yes,” Michael sighed. “I...I'm just glad I'm home again." Gerry heard the smile in his voice and relaxed.

"I missed you, too," he chuckled, squeezing Michael a little.

Michael straightened up, sniffing the air, "Did you bake something?"

Gerry grinned up at him. "Muffins in the oven. Just put them in."

Michael returned his grin with a wide smile, "Okay. I’ll just take a quick shower while they’re baking, then.” He stepped away from the hug, picked up his bags and started walking to his room.

Gerry nodded, "Do that, love. What do you want to drink?"

"I think I could do with tea," he called back before disappearing into his room.

Michael felt much better after his shower, as usual. He changed into something comfortable before walking into the kitchen, following the sweet smell. Gerry was cleaning the counter when he entered, back to the door, and Michael halted.

He hadn’t noticed before but Gerry was wearing a dress he had never seen before. It left his back fully exposed - how had Michael missed that? - revealing the row of tiny eyes along his spine.

Michael felt oddly watched as he dragged his eyes over them, despite being rather used to the sight on the mornings Gerry spent in his bed. He finally tore himself away from the door and stepped up to Gerry, running a finger over the eyes. Gerry shivered, looking up at him.

"Perfect timing. I just got the muffins out." He smiled as Michael bent down to press a lingering kiss to his lips.

"New dress?" His finger wandered back up to Gerry’s neck.

"No, I found it again recently." He grinned up at him "Felt like wearing it."

"I love it." He pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade. "You have such a pretty back."

Gerry chuckled, "Thank you. Let's eat on the couch." He said nodding towards the plate he had been putting the chocolate muffins on. "Can you grab the tea?"

Michael nodded and did as told before following Gerry to the couch. Michael let out a content sigh when he sat down, closing his eyes for a moment. He had missed the comfort of their couch.

"Guess I wasn't the only one you missed?" Gerry teased.

Michael opened his eyes again and grinned at him. "Jealous?"

"Incredibly." Gerry grinned resting his head against his chest. "So, how was it?"

Michael sighed, "Odd? It...it wasn't too bad. But it's weird...I haven't been there in so long? And they...well, I'm no longer the same person I was when i left? But they expect me to be so I try but...it's exhausting, honestly. After taking so long to get more comfortable with...myself."

"Sounds like it.” He took Michael’s hand into his and squeezed it, “Why don’t you update their perception?”

Michael bit his lip. "Not comfortable with that. We don’t- never really...talked? That much."

Gerry could understand that. Communication wasn't really a thing with Mary, either. He could feel that there was more to this but Michael didn't want to talk about it. Hel sometimes took a while to organise his thoughts before he dared to speak them. Gerry was fine with that. He bent forward to get a muffin of the plate and gave it to Michael, who accepted it gratefully.

Before biting into it he looked at Gerry. "What about your weekend? Busy?"

Gerry shrugged, sipping his tea, "A bit. Followed a false lead at first which was annoying...but in the end the book was easy to snatch."

Michael watched his face and ran his finger over a small scratch on Gerry’s jaw, "New acquisition?"

Gerry sighed, "Yeah well...it was easy but it could have gone smoother."

Michael chuckled, wrapping one arm around him to pull him closer. Gerry sighed, melting against him. Michael bit into the warm muffin.

Gerry looked up at him. “Are the muffins any good?”

Michael nodded, “A bit dry.”

Gerry shrugged, taking one for himself. “Guess you’ll have to help me again next time.”

Michael chuckled and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Gladly.”

They spent the rest of the day on the couch, neither wanting to leave the other’s presence for too long. It wasn't like they had any other plans in the first place, so they simply decided not to move from it. Michael's hand eventually found his way back to Gerry's back, drawing patterns, following the eyes with his fingertips, and Gerry melted further into the touch.

“Can I kiss them?”

Gerry’s eyes fluttered open again, "Huh?”

Michael smiled at the sleepy expression, pressing a quick kiss to his eyebrow. “The back tattoos. Can I kiss them?”

Gerry nodded slowly, sitting up and turning his back to Michael, “Sure. It’s been a while, I guess.”

Michael hummed in agreement, running his fingers through Gerry’s hair and pulling the hairtie out that hadn’t been doing much in keeping his hair in place for a while now. He brushed through the slightly mussed hair with his fingers, smiling when Gerry leaned into the touch. Michael considered for a moment, before deciding to put the hair into a bun.

The dress covered up the eye right at the base of Gerry’s neck, but not the thin scar disappearing into his hair, so Michael pressed his lips to it, fingers dancing over Gerry’s back. Gerry sighed contently as Michael moved to kiss his way down his spine, one eye after the other. He hugged his knees, resting his face on them as he enjoyed the feeling of Michael’s lips down his back, eyes fluttering close.

Gerry was faintly aware of Michael probably putting himself in some ridiculous position to reach the lower back. There had been a lot of shifting and readjusting if all the rustling Gerry had heard was anything to go by, but Gerry was too cosy to bother looking. He didn't want to interrupt the kisses, either.

"That can't be a very comfortable angle," he ended up mumbling anyways, partly to keep himself from falling asleep.

Michael chuckled against his back, "I don't know what you're talking about, this is the most comfortable I've ever been."

His tone was teasing, clearly a reaction to Gerry’s own blissful one, and he wrapped long arms around Gerry’s middle, pressing his face into his back with a sigh. He couldn't really complain about discomfort - even if he was half-hanging off the couch by now - with Gerry’s warm body right there. He had missed the warmth, the scent. Michael definitely had missed home, even if it had only be a weekend, even if Gerry was surely going to be gone for longer one day for one of his hunts. He’d deal with that then. Right now he only wanted to enjoy being back.

"D'you want dinner?" Gerry yawned when it was getting dark outside the window.

Michael eventually had had to admit he was getting rather uncomfortable, so they had readjusted their positions, Michael now comfortably lying on the couch, head in Gerry’s lap. He looked like he was close to nodding off as Gerry twisted one of his curls around his finger, feeling rather tired himself.

Michael blinked up at him and yawned, too, before sitting up. "Uh...no. I think I'm fine."

"You think too much," Gerry teased, pressing his lips to Michael's jaw. "Bed?"

"You sleep in mine tonight," Michael mumbled, wrapping his arms around Gerry and pulling him close.

"That an order?" Gerry grinned, pressing his face into Michael's neck.

"Yes." Michael kissed his hair before slowly getting up and pulling Gerry along to the bedroom.

Michael was clearly still mulling over whatever was bothering him the next day. He had woken up early and left the bed pretty much right away, which was unlike him. Gerry could just feel that something was bothering him. He was antsy, worrying his lip while still looking at the empty plate in front of him where his breakfast had been.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Gerry tried.

He shook his head, "I...no. its nothing really…"

Gerry caught his eyes, "Well, I'd listen to nothing, too, you know."

Michael gave him a small smile, "I do. And thank you, but..." He sighed.

Gerry shook his head, “Okay.”

There was no point in forcing him to speak, even if something was clearly bothering him. But he still disliked seeing Michael upset. Maybe a little distraction would help.

"How about something to get your mind off it, then? There's a exhibition I wanted to check out this week."

His smile went a little wider. "I'd love to."

It was a cloudy day as they made their way to the tube. People were staring at them, some not even trying to be inconspicuous. Michael was used to it by now. It had been a little uncomfortable in the beginning but he had managed to calm down when he realised the eyes were mostly on Gerry. Which he understood.

Besides the obviously eye catching aesthetic, Gerry was a rather intense presence. His neutral expression looked about as neutral as his usual getup. He looked like he was ready to start a fight any moment, eyes somehow becoming more intense when he spaced out rather than going out of focus, mouth in what looked like a tight, pissed off frown.

Michael still remembered the first time he had caught that expression in the low light of the bar. He had been equally scared and drawn to it. It had been the most beautiful thing he'd seen that night and he had spent a fair amount of time staring himself. That's why they were here after all.

He brushed a little at the memory watching Gerry’s face from the corner of his eyes. He didn't even seem to notice the eyes on him. Or he didn't mind. Michael wished he could be like that. Oh, now Michael was staring, too. Gerry’s face hadn’t become any less beautiful since he had started seeing it on a more regular basis. As usual, Gerry noticed him staring, meeting Michael’s eyes with a knowing grin. He squeezed his hand.

“You’re going to walk into something.”

Michael’s cheeks flushed red as he quickly looked ahead again and mumbled, “Ah, I’m sorry. I...got distracted.”

Gerry’s grin only widened. “I can see that.”

He still wondered if Michael would ever stop getting lost looking at him. It was still somewhat odd, but Gerry couldn’t deny he quite enjoyed the attention. And the expression hadn’t even changed after he told him about the books and fears and all. Part of Gerry had expected Michael’s eyes to meet him with fear or concern, or maybe even to look at him like his mother, without seeing him. It had been an irrational thought, but Gerry was still filled with relief when the very next morning Michael let his tea get cold because he got too distracted watching Gerry’s face with the usual dreamy expression. It was nice to be looked at like that.

Still, Gerry would rather he watched where he was going while walking. The grin didn’t fade from Gerry’s lips as they walked on.

Michael let Gerry lead the way when they arrived at the gallery. They had been to one before a while ago and Michael had realised, then, that Gerry loved them. It wasn't much of a surprise. Michael had noticed all the art-centred books in Gerry’s apartment. He still hadn’t realised how passionate Gerry could be about it.

It had been quite the experience to see Gerry talk so much in such an animated manner, eyes bright as he found something particularly interesting in whatever piece they were looking at. Gerry wasn’t quiet, necessarily, but he rarely talked about something for that long. The only time Michael could remember that happening was when he told Michael about the fears and all. And he hadn’t been happy while doing so.

Had Michael not been utterly smitten with Gerry before, watching and listening to him talking this excitedly about anything would have probably made him fall in love with him. It was the most wonderful thing Michael ever experienced and he had came back from that date with the urge to read some of the books Gerry had mentioned, learn about the things he had talked about so the next time - if there would be a next time - he could understand him better, and maybe contribute to the conversation instead of just watching and nodding and hoping the date just never ended.

Michael hadn’t gotten to do too much of the reading with university keeping him occupied, but he did feel a little more prepared this time as Gerry started talking. It was great, because now he occasionally knew exactly what to say to make Gerry continue, and Gerry’s eyes would light up at some of the questions, clearly more than happy about Michael showing interest in what he was saying. It was the most lovely expression on a face Michael could never get enough of in the first place.

It was raining when they made their way back outside after having walked around for hours. Neither had looked at the time and the light from outside had been the same overcast grey since morning, so they got a little lost. They didn’t complain about it. If it hadn’t been for starting to get hungry, they might have stayed even longer.

Gerry was about to walk out into the rain, but Michael caught his sleeve and pulled him back. Gerry gave him a confused look and Michael got out the umbrella he always carried, earning an eyeroll from Gerry.

"It's barely raining, Michael."

Michael raised an eyebrow and looked out at what wasn’t quite a downpour, but certainly was beyond a drizzle. "I disagree,” Michael said, opening the umbrella, “And even if it were, a little rain can get you just as wet and cold." He pulled Gerry close so it would cover him too. "And I don't want you to catch a cold or something."

Gerry wrapped his arm around Michael’s, chuckling, "I can't even remember the last time that happened."

Michael returned his grin. "And if you let me it’ll stay that way."

Gerry shook his head, still grinning, before walking into the rain with Michael. Gerry didn’t know if he would ever get used to the feeling of being doted on, cared about like this. It certainly still felt weird, but Gerry embraced the warmth it always made him feel. He leaned his head against Michael’s arm, a soft smile on his lips as they made their way home.

Michael was having trouble falling asleep. The rest of the day had been rather uneventful and he had hoped the distraction would have been enough to let him sleep, but he had no such luck. Doubts were always most difficult to keep out at night, for some reason. He lay forcefully still, trying to breathe as softly as he could, trying not to wake Gerry.

When he felt Gerry shift next to him, not in the way he sometimes did in sleep, but in a rather deliberate manner, he knew he hadn’t succeeded. Gerry was looking at him, eyes a little bleary. He had managed to fall asleep, somewhat. But not enough to not notice that Michael was struggling doing the same.

“Michael?” Gerry’s voice was still thick with sleep, “Can’t sleep?”

Michael sighed, sitting up. “No.”

He bit his lip, trying to determine whether he should just finally talk or let Gerry sleep. He could just take Gerry’s bed. He knew Gerry wouldn’t push if he just said he didn’t want to talk and left. But Michael was getting frustrated. No matter how much he tried not to think about it, his brain didn’t stop.

Gerry was sitting up next to him, turning to face him. “What’s keeping you from sleep? You were quite tired.” He stifled a yawn, blinking a couple times to try to wake up.

Michael felt a pang of guilt watching him. As cute as he looked like this, Michael shouldn’t have disturbed Gerry’s sleep. He might at least try to not make it pointless that he had.

“Are you still...okay, with this? With...me?”

Gerry took a moment to catch on. It had been a while since Michael had asked him. He seemed to have gotten a lot better with not constantly being worried about Gerry having a problem with his asexuality. Gerry furrowed his brows.

“What makes you think I might have changed my mind? Did I do or say something?” Gerry at least couldn’t remember anything, but then again, sometimes he didn’t quite know what might make Michael spiral into anxiety.

“No! No, it was...you know how it is-” Michael stopped himself, shaking his head, “No, actually, you probably don’t, sorry. But there’s always a lot of...personal questions when family gets back together...or friends. It just...it made me think?”

Gerry’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What did they say?”

“Just...the usual?” He sighed, playing with one of his curls, “About the right one surely changing my mind, considering whether you are said right one if you didn’t…” He bit his lips. “I shouldn’t let it get to me but...I did. I mean, what if they are right? Maybe they know better, I don’t know, I-”

“I don’t think they can know better about how you feel than you do yourself.”

“I don’t know how I feel sometimes, Gerry,” Michael mumbled.

Gerry sighed. “You know how you feel about this. Or it wouldn’t be bothering you.”

“I mean...yes.” Michael hesitated, “But they sound very convinced about me being wrong.”

Gerry raised an eyebrow. “People sound very convinced about the shit I run into on jobs not existing, but I assure you it does.” He took Michael’s hand, “You know it does.”

He sighed, "it's not really the same is it? If they'd be attacked by a monster they would change their mind. But there is no...proof. For me."

Michael was clearly underestimating human denial, but that didn't seem relevant right now. Gerry simply put a pin in that and decided to tell him about that later.

"You don’t owe anyone any proof, Michael.” He squeezed his hand, looking at Michael’s face. “Are you comfortable? Happy? With how you - we - are right now?”

Michael returned his gaze, “I am, but what about you Gerry? I want you to be those, too."

Gerry took his other hand, shuffling closer. "I am. Believe me. I'd tell you it that'd change, but I just...don’t see that happening just because of your sexuality, Michael.”

Michael looked at him, uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“I am.” He leaned against Michael’s arm and sighed, “I think you're perfect the way you are."

Michael rolled his eyes, “Oh yes, I imagine you must love being woken up in the middle of the night to help me out of the anxious rabbit hole i’ve fallen into.”

Gerry grinned, "I do. Would never say no to spending some time talking with you."

Michael blinked, a little confused, and blushed, mumbling, "That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"You can't expect eloquence from me before sunrise,” Gerry yawned.

Michael squeezed his hand. "I meant more that it sounds a bit cheesy"

Gerry considered for a moment, before shrugging and looking up at Michael’s face through sleepy eyes. "What? You dislike my cheese?" He somehow still managed to sound teasing while also sounding tired. Mostly, he was just managing to look really cute.

Michael carefully brushed a strand of hair out of his face, smiling. "No, I do. It’s my favourite.”

Gerry pinched his eyebrows together sceptically, "Considering you don't seem to like any cheese, that doesn't sound like much of a compliment."

Michael huffed out a laugh, slapping Gerry’s knee gently. "Oh, shut up.”

"Might need help with that," Gerry mumbled with a wide grin, batting his lashes.

Michael rolled his eyes, grinning himself as he let go of Gerry’s hands to bring his own to Gerry’s face instead. Gerry looked at him expectantly, making Michael chuckle a little.

"Let me assist you," he mumbled, before pressing his lips to Gerry’s.

Gerry returned the kiss for a moment, slow and sweet, before pulling away and running a hand through Michael's hair.

"Do you feel better now? Do you believe me?"

Michael nodded, "Yes...thank you. I do. I know I shouldn't let comments like this get to me but...well."

He sighed, defeated, following the line of Gerry's cheekbones with his thumbs. Michael did believe him, he did. That wasn't the source of the problem. Michael just couldn't quite believe he got so lucky.

"It's fine." Gerry smiled. "Guess we can all do with a reminder about things once in a while."

"Oh?" Michael raised an eyebrow, "What do you need a reminder for?"

His smile turned into more of a grin, but it looked a little tight. "Maybe the fact that this is okay despite me clearly bringing you in danger? The apartment has protections but I’m still sure it'll only be a question of time-"

Michael shook his head, determined, curls bouncing as he did. "Not a detail I consider reason to give you up."

Gerry rolled his eyes. "Same with your asexuality for me, okay? And I might add that one of the two is probably not going to get either of us killed."

"Okay." Michael's smile was apologetic. "I'm sorry I kept you from sleep to have the same conversation all over." He pressed his lips to Gerry's forehead.

Gerry hummed, "'Tis fine. Do you think you can sleep now?"

Michael nodded and let go of Gerry's face to lay down again. He was tired - had been before - but the tight knot in his stomach that was keeping him awake was loose now. He wrapped his arms around Gerry when he laid down again, too, and it didn't take too long after mumbled 'goodnight's for sleep to settle over them.

#gerrymichael #mostly fluff some anxiety #asexual Michael

31 notes · View notes

jenomark · 5 years

Text

Make You Feel Loved

○Pairing: Yuta x Reader (Female) ○Other Members/ Characters: Taeyong (very very briefly) ○Genre: very angsty + a lil’ smutty ○Warnings: i feel like there should be a warning for an abusive type of friendship/relationship here + sex ○Word count: 3,762

→Summary: You and Yuta recall a friends-with-benefits type of relationship you used to have that didn’t end well. When you run into each other and time didn’t exactly heal all, what will happen?

→Notes: ✨ Anon Requested✨pls do one where yuta is your bff and you guys always have sex when you're brokenhearted but he starts really liking you so he can't keep doing that anymore?? kinda angsty pls but it can have a happy ending if you want to!!

○ I definitely let my imagination run a little wild with this one. Sorry it’s a little sad. Thanks for the request!!

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You didn’t want to ruin the friendship. You knew there would be no going back if you made the first move. You had told yourself it wasn’t a good idea and had been through all the reasons why it would never end well. There had been movies made about relationships like these. People were not made to love in this way, and although you had lived your whole life in agreement with this, you still knowingly went through with it.

He was kind. He said all the right things that night. He had been your best friend through everything, never judging you in your weakest moments. You wanted him to be able to handle the weight of everything. He could take away the pain for a moment, a few hours, maybe. And you were both adults. That’s what you told yourself to make it better. You could make your own choices, and he had made his.

The first time was new. He felt familiar, in a way. He was a friend-shaped human with eyes so big and needy, a soft face for comfort. He looked at you like you stole the sun and placed it in your smile. It’s the only way you can describe how you affect him. A little harmless crush throughout life, and what you thought was an unbreakable mutual bond.

Yuta was good. He was better than what you thought. His body, lean and muscular from sports, knew all the right ways to make you forget. He fucked slow and fluid, treating your body like it was something he couldn’t get enough of. He was different from your other lovers in that he knew where the clit was, and he wasn’t afraid to make you know it.

You came quickly with him. Maybe it was the delicious sin of it all, the forbidden territory of man on top of you, or maybe it was a desperate need to feel something so badly that you settled for anything.

The second time was sweet. You were happy to be near him, to touch him, to let him roll over you. You couldn’t help but smile in the choke hold of heartache. Yuta was there to pick you up, to fuck you bent over counters and give you head on lazy Sunday’s while you watched trash television, him occasionally coming up for air to comment on the program. You set the tone for the future the second time when you led him to believe that life could always be like this.

You were selfish, you knew. Every time your heart would break from some loser, you would run back to him. He’d fuck you as a friend and then you’d fuck him over. You could feel that you were chipping away at his own heart, as big as it was. When you were feeling particularly rotten, you would ignore his calls and let him wither away.

You weren’t always like this, of course. Back when you took responsibility for the things you did and before you hated yourself, you were also kind. You took interest in Yuta and his music. You texted first. You took his feelings into account and let them rest in the crook of your arm to sleep, carrying them with you as a measure of importance. You’re not really sure when it had changed, but it was getting harder to head back to the start.

The third time you wound up at his door, he was visibly annoyed. It wasn’t fun or new or exciting anymore. He knew the way you tasted. He knew what you looked like when he made you came. It’s hard to lie to someone who knows your true orgasm face, especially if they choose to still love you even after you look that ugly.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he had said. “You let these people do this to you. It’s your own fault.”

Your face was streaked with tears. It wasn’t just about a man. Everything was going wrong in life and you needed an escape. Yuta was a safe haven, a place to remember who you were. He built you up from the ground.

“I know,” you said. “I’m stupid.”

You always got him like this: calling yourself names. Stupid. Whore. It didn’t matter. He was putty in your hands when you degrade yourself. Sometimes, he would worship your body. Other times, he would tuck you into bed. The third time, he tried shutting his front door in your face.

You should have ended it there. Let him pity you, if that’s what he had to do. Instead, you dropped to your knees and started clawing at his pants. You couldn’t stop crying. Why couldn’t you stop crying.

“Get up.” Yuta said.

His face always betrayed his real emotions. He wasn’t as angry as he wanted to be. The lines around his mouth were softening. He pulled you to your feet and told you to go home. When you didn’t, he invited you inside to calm down. Eventually, you fucked on his living room floor, your knees getting rug burn as you rode him.

It continued like this for sixteen months or so. You never really noticed time slip by unless you were miserable and then time seemed to slow. You weren’t sure of the time frame exactly, but you knew it had gone on for too long. The fourth time turned into the tenth time. By the fifteenth time, you wondered why it was him you kept going back to.

Yuta had fallen in love with you. You could feel it scratching at your insides whenever he looked at you. With him, you were always a ‘what if’ kind of mild curiosity. He’d make comments about how good you might be together. He would laugh about it but you knew he was serious. He wasn’t writing diary entries with your name in love hearts but he had stopped his entire life to wait for you, and that was worse.

“I could be married now,” he said once. “I could have a wife and kids and be living in the countryside away from this life.”

His cock was in your mouth at the time. You hated when he talked because he talked himself in circles, especially if he was particularly annoyed with why you had stepped into his life on a certain day. You tried sucking him into silence, but he kept going.

“It could be you.” he said.

You didn’t like playing with his feelings but you were terrified of being without him. If you could just keep him here in the moment, he would come to his senses and feel the way you wanted him to feel.

When you didn’t play along at all, he asked you quietly why you wouldn’t let him go.

The end wasn’t as explosive as you anticipated. He was so tired. He kept mentioning that there was this girl in his life that wasn’t you and how he wanted to be with her. It was serious, he had said.

“Okay.” was all you could manage.

“I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”

“Okay.”

“It’s too much.”

“Okay.”

“I feel like I’m suffocating.”

You were angry at yourself for feeling angry at him. There was a vicious cycle happening where you ached to reach out to him and feel his mouth on yours. Your heart hurt. You never imagined that Yuta would be the cause of all the pain.

“Okay.”

“Is that all you can say? After all this time?” Yuta asked.

You asked him what he wanted from you. He paused. There were tears in his eyes that made you feel like the worst person in the world. He said there was nothing he ever wanted from you again.

Yuta was doing well. He never expected to see you again. Time had passed and words were exchanged and neither had been pleasant, but awkward. It had been a little over a year since you parted ways. They say that sometimes you have to let go of people who aren’t good for you, but they never tell you that those people take a part of you with them.

You looked pretty, a little older and more self-assured. He noted you were alone and trying to avoid him. He imagined this scenario a million times before. You would meet in a busy place and your eyes would lock across the room. Maybe he would smile, but that would be it. Your stories weren’t written well, but they were permanently etched on every corner of his heart. Admittedly, he thought of you from time to time. Never when he was happy.

“Hi,” he said.

Your smile was tight. It brought out all the ugly parts of you, he thought. Catching himself thinking negatively about you made him realize he was never quite over it.

For him, the first time was nerve-wracking. He couldn’t believe you had kissed him. He had always looked at you like you had stars in your eyes, but being so close to you and feeling your eyelashes against his face, made him panic. He was sure that is what you were seeing whenever you looked at him. Touching you made his hands shake. He was sure you could feel how anxious he was. He was very unsure of himself. He tried really hard to pass it off as excitement.

All Yuta could remember from that first time was how he held you.Your one complaint with the man before him was that he never held you enough and he made you feel unlovable. Yuta only wanted to make you feel loved. He never expected to be the one to fall in love.

You dated a lot. It didn’t bother him in the beginning. You were two different people on two different life paths. You were always honest with him and with your intentions. He knew you didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

The second time hurt. Yuta thought about asking you out on a real date. A romanticist at heart, he had it all planned out. He didn’t want to move too fast because you were recently heart-broken. Your ex was still texting you mean things you didn’t want to face about yourself, and Yuta felt there was a time limit on your attention. After sex, you mentioned how you were going to continue seeing your ex, which prompted Yuta to drop any thought of dating you from his mind.

He didn’t know why you had remained friends. You were half-assed at every relationship in your life, so why would anything be different with him. Once he fooled himself into believing he was special, but that’s how everyone in your life felt. Everyone was special and no one mattered. By the third time, he was going to end it so that he could save his pride. It was only twice and he could crawl his way back to the start of the line and begin again. He knew he couldn’t erase your mouth on his, or the way your fingers inched down his spine, but he could make it easier for you. He hated that everything ended up being for you. Himself included.

“I can’t do it, “ Yuta told his friend, Taeyong. “She’s inside of me. All over me.”

Taeyong listened intently but could offer little advice. He had never met you. He didn’t know what kind of sickness he was dealing with, couldn’t feel the way you wormed your way into people’s thoughts.

“Let her go.” Taeyong offered.

“If it were that easy, don’t you think I would have by now?”

Taeyong shrugged. “What’s so great about her, anyway?”

On days where you were truly present, Yuta loved basking in you. You were funny and clever. Your thoughts weren’t shallow but made him think deeply. You offered advice without him asking, and you were so damn strong when you wanted to be. Losing you meant losing parts of himself he thought he owed to you.

And then came the end. He was angry all of the time and it spilled over into his work life and his social life. You came over occasionally, fucked, and then left. You argued with him a lot about little things that he couldn’t change about himself. He felt himself beginning to bend, and sooner or later, either he broke, or the both of you did.

For the first time in his life, Yuta chose himself.

“Hi.” you answered back.

You were trying hard to make everything seem easy. This was a meeting between old friends only. You were too casual, even Yuta could feel himself relax a little.

“How are you?” you asked.

A million answers flashed before Yuta’s eyes. He had just gotten out of a long relationship with a girl he stayed friends with. She understood that he had a lot of emotional baggage because of you. He wondered if the rest of his life would be a revolving door of women who could see the way you were still existing in every crevice of his being.

“Okay.” he said, echoing your old words.

Recycled. That’s how he felt. You had thrown him out time and time again, always coming back to someone you thought would be brand new and ready to be used. It had gone on for so long that Yuta began to think of himself in the same way.

“That’s good.” you said.

You couldn’t remember talking to Yuta ever being this awkward. Conversation tended to flow in one way with him and it could be simple when it wasn’t about either of you.

“Yes.” Yuta said.

He looked different to you. Younger. More handsome. His hair was a little shaggy around his ears and it made him look like someone different. He even dressed better. You looked at his jeans, his button-up shirt and could see the touch of a woman. Jealousy reached out and choked you like the dominating bitch she was.

“Yes.” you agreed.

“I hate this.” he said.

You couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t laugh with you, but you didn’t expect him to. He was always too serious for his own good.

“Are you hungry?” you asked.

“I already ate. I’m actually leaving.”

“Oh?”

“I’m on my lunch break,” he said. “But I work from home.”

“You’re alone?” you asked, looking around.

Time had changed you, he could sense it. There were callouses over your soft parts and they rubbed against the rest of you the wrong way. You were playing it too cool and acting like what he said couldn’t affect you, but he noticed the way you sized him up.

“Yes. Alone.” he said. “I broke up with my girlfriend quite a bit ago.”

At that, your ears perked up. You wanted to feed into his words but you knew he had latched onto your game right away. He always did know you better than anyone else.

“Me too,” you said. “Another day, another boy.”

“I guess we’re on the same playing field.” he said.

“Both of us broken-hearted.”

“I’m not broken-hearted.”

“Ouch” you said, softly.

People were moving around you on the sidewalk. You hadn’t even noticed you drifted outside of the lunch spot. Both of you were aware of everything going on around you : the construction workers using a jackhammer down the street, the slices of phone conversations from passerby.

“I should go.” you said.

“Always the first to leave. Not much has changed.” Yuta said.

You had the sense to look ashamed at his words. You opened your mouth to apologize but nothing came out. None of it would really change things, and there was something about moving forward that was addicting to you.

“It was nice seeing you,” you said. “It’s been awhile.”

Yuta was searching for a snide remark, but knew he had already won. He didn’t even know if what he won was worth it. He had lied about being broken-hearted, and against his better judgement, you still made him feel something for you.

“You too.” he said.

As you turned to leave, Yuta grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him. The kiss he placed on your lips was unemotional and stiff.

“What was that for?” you asked.

“I wanted to see something,” Yuta said. “If I had feelings.”

“And?”

Yuta shook his head no. The lie sat inside his mouth like a poison, but if he was going to die from it, so would you.

The way he shook his head made you ache inside. For you, the kiss brought back everything you had felt but never said. The feelings were confusing but they were there, simmering underneath layers of self-deprecation and narcissism.

Things moved fast. Yuta leaned in for another kiss. The way he felt made you dizzy and feel out of control. You constantly felt like you were chasing after something you couldn’t have. As he wrapped you up in his arms, only then did time begin to slow down long enough for you to catch your breath.

“My new place is around the corner,” Yuta said.

You didn’t want to let go of this moment. You wanted it stuck in your throat like a sickly sweetness.

“Show me the way.” you said.

Touching him was like a heart break you had to live through so many times. He felt like memories bottled up inside of you, fluttering against your rib cage, his kisses setting them free. You begged him to make you forget, but all he could do was make you remember.

Yuta loved to feel your skin warm with his touch. He loved the way your body grew splotches of pink whenever he dragged his teeth against your stomach and your thighs. He loved to part your legs and eat you out until his name became a whisper on your lips. He loved to make love to you, spooning you from behind and moving your hair out of the way so he could kiss your neck. He loved to fuck you, taking the time to learn what made your body feel good.

It was harder to be with you than he thought. All of the color had drained and so much of your lives was left in black and white. The sight of you made him want to forgive you for everything in the way an ugly painting evokes feeling. He touched the parts of you that became fleshy and stretched across the canvas. He didn’t feel like he was kissing the same person, but someone who was a cheap imitation of a person.

You sucked his cock like you could wash it all away with your spit, working at him as if he would praise how hard you were trying. Everything felt wrong. His cum tasted different. The way he looked at you was apathetic and cold. He moaned when you rode him, gripping your hips so tight his hands left marks, but he didn’t look at you like you were important.

When you were finished, your body hurt. You resisted the urge to curl up in a ball and cry. You wanted him to see that something was wrong, to come to you and make everything better. Yuta threw you the clothes you came in with and watched as they fell at your feet.

“I’m sorry.” you told him.

“It’s too late.”

It was getting dark outside. You didn’t know if he meant that you were too late for him, or if he was commenting on the time. The both of you had fucked the day away, but you were the only one unaware that he was fucking you away as well.

“I don’t know what to say.” you said.

“Seems to be a common theme.”

Yuta pulled on a pair of boxers. He went over and picked up the clothes at your feet and handed them to you a little more gently. You took them, but didn’t put them on.

“I really fucked things up, “you said. “Like I do everything.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry,” he said. “You do everything you want to do. You are one hundred percent who you’re supposed to be.”

You pulled on your clothes and brushed your hair with your fingers. Your mind was racing but none of the thoughts could formulate a coherent sentence. Moving on autopilot, you walked across the room to touch him but he rejected you.

“I’m also who I’m supposed to be,” he said. “I love you. I think I’ve always loved a part of you that didn’t exist, but that is my fault. I thought that if I never saw you again I would get something of me that i lost but you’re all over everything I eat, I touch, I breathe, I fuck. You’re a disease. How can someone I bring the best out of bring the worst out of me?”

“That’s not fair,” you said. “You let me in. We fucked up together. You don’t get to pin this all on me. You think I don’t love you? You think I don’t hate myself for what I did to you, to myself? I think about you every fucking day, Yuta. I always have, even though you deserve none of my bullshit.”

“Please,” Yuta said. “Enough with the ‘I’m a horrible person’ shit. I’m exhausted.”

Yuta pulled on the rest of his clothes and shut out his bedroom light, encasing you in darkness. You followed him out, trailing behind him like a petulant child.

“I hate you,” you told him. “You were a horrible friend.”

Yuta turned around and fixed you with a stare so hateful it made you stop in your tracks and retreat a little bit. He walked to his front door and tossed your shoes at you.

“This was a mistake.” he said.

You tried shoving on your shoes but the laces were too tight. You kept pulling at the strings, but the more you pulled at them, the tighter they got. Tears sprang to your eyes. You hastily wiped them away with the back of your hand.

“We had good times.” you said.

Yuta laughed. “I can’t believe you.”

“Well , believe it, baby,” you said.

You gave up on your shoes and stood up with them in your hands. You walked towards him. He stare was intense and unloving.

“I don’t want to say goodbye.” you said.

“I don’t want to see you again.” Yuta said.

He couldn’t keep count anymore. This was the last time.

#yuta #nct #nct 127 #yuta angst #yuta smut #nct smut #nct angst #ahhhh #this was fun to write #please forgive mistakes i haven't slept yet and i'm exhausted

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taexual · 5 years

Text

Rear View / WinWin x Reader

You aren’t able to juggle your studies, work, and a boyfriend at the same time, so Sicheng tries to put you both out of the misery of a neglected relationship.

pairing: Sicheng x Reader

warnings: ANGST! + strong language

words: 3.2k

disclaimer: please let me know if the gif belongs to you so i can give proper credit

ANON REQUEST: Hi my dear, could I request a NCT Winwin angst, the scenario can be anything you want!

Sicheng has never been in a similar situation before. He’s seen you late plenty of times in the two years that the two of you had dated, but it’s been over forty minutes now and you showed no signs of arriving at the restaurant that he was waiting for you in. You weren’t even answering your phone and he didn’t know whether something had happened to you or if you just forgot.

“Would you like to order, sir?” the waiter asked for the fifth time that night, trying not to show his impatience. Sicheng didn’t blame him, there were people waiting for a table and he was occupying one without bringing any profit.

“One minute,” he told the waiter, trying to give him an apologetic smile as he got his phone out to send you another text message. “I’m very sorry.”

“It’s alright,” the waiter replied, no longer sounding as polite as he did the first few times he’d tried to take his order.

After receiving no response from you yet again, – Sicheng didn’t know why he was still expecting you to reply, to be quite honest, – he sighed heavily before he finally gathered his things, left a lot more money than the glass of water he’d ordered cost, and walked out of the restaurant before the waiter could return.

He debated heading straight home but then he realized that he couldn’t live with himself if something had happened to you and he didn’t check, so he decided to go to your place first. It was likely that you were just busy working but he wasn’t willing to take the chance of the reason for your disappearance being something else.

Unsure if he was about to be disappointed or terrified, he rang your doorbell. He rang it again twenty seconds later just to be sure but the door wouldn’t open. It was clear that you weren’t home and yet Sicheng was still too concerned to leave so he dialed the phone number of your closest friend and co-worker. If she’d tell him you weren’t at work, he’d head straight to the police station.

“Sicheng?” your friend picked up on the first ring and, for the first time in his life, he was almost relieved to hear another girl’s voice.

“Yes, hi,” he said. “Listen, uh, have you seen my girlfriend today?”

“I—of course, she’s across the room from me,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’ve been working overtime the past few nights because our boss is a huge dick – but you know that – and I think her phone might have died. Is everything okay? Do you want to talk to her?”

“No,” he said with no hesitation. His mind decided to fill his entire being with unavoidable disappointment and he wasn’t sure if he could bear hearing your voice right now. He felt almost pathetic, really, so he chose not to reveal how long he’d waited for you at that restaurant, “can you tell her I’ve canceled the reservation? I tried to call her to tell her before but—”

“The reservation?” your friend interrupted and judging from the silence that followed, Sicheng concluded that she was looking at the calendar. “Oh my God, it’s your anniversary tonight!”

“Yeah, uh—”

“What?” Sicheng heard your voice in the background of the call. “What day is it today?”

“I have to go,” he said, his voice rushed. “Tell her that I have some stuff I need to do, so I, uh… I might be unavailable today, okay? Thank you.”

“Maybe I should—”

He hung up before your friend could say anything else – or worse, pass the phone to you – and headed towards the elevator and then out of your building.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go home because he knew he’d spend the remaining night thinking of you and what was left of your relationship. He’d beat himself up and probably end up calling you in the middle of the night. Not to mention, he knew you might show up, guilt-ridden and teary-eyed, and he’d forget you everything as soon as he saw your tears.

So, needing to get himself together, he gave Yuta a call and then agreed to meet him at the bar of the nearest hotel. Perhaps Sicheng could stay there if he still didn’t feel like going home after a few drinks.

“And she didn’t mention that she was staying late, working?” Yuta asked as the two boys settled down in a booth at the very end of the too fancy of a bar in a hotel downtown.

“No,” Sicheng sighed. He seemed to sigh a lot since his friend got here and the first round of drinks came. They were only on their third now and yet both of their minds seemed to be buzzing. “I know she’s busy. She’s studying, she’s working, she has her family, her friends… but I asked her specifically if she wanted to go for dinner on our anniversary and she said yes.”

“When was this?”

“Two nights ago,” he said. “I made the reservations in advance, of course. I would have canceled if one of us wasn’t able to go. I wouldn’t have been pissed if she said she couldn’t make it or anything, it’s just—it’s shit now because she said she’d be there.”

Sicheng didn’t mean to make it sound as if he was annoyed he spent so much money and time on getting that restaurant reservation but Yuta understood. He knew you both well enough to understand that the two of you rarely ever worried about superficial things like money when it came to each other.

“Did you talk to her today?” Yuta asked.

“She texted me before she left for work,” Sicheng replied. “It was just a usual good morning text, though. I’m sure she doesn’t even feel herself texting me anymore, it’s become a habit. I replied, wanting to make sure she was really able to come tonight and she never answered. I called a few times, but I heard nothing back. Obviously, I didn’t want to stand her up, so I went to the restaurant anyway, thinking that maybe she’d show up after all, but…”

Yuta sighed, finishing his glass. “I’m sorry, man. This sucks.”

“Yeah,” Sicheng agreed, responding to his sigh with one of his own, but not finishing his drink just yet. With every glass he emptied, he could feel his stomach fill with an undesirable sense of sorrow that no amount of alcohol could drown. “I don’t know what to do. She’s probably worried now that she’s realized what’d happened.”

“Well, are you mad at her?” his friend tried to ask, hoping to help him understand his feelings better but, really, Sicheng had no clue what he was feeling.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “If I say I am, it’ll seem unfair: as if I don’t understand how busy she is while she's been putting up with my schedule just fine.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever left her hanging like this, though.”

“No, but—” Sicheng sighed again. “Does it matter? I’m not mad at her for not showing up. I’m… I’m mad because it doesn’t feel like we have a relationship anymore.”

“Have you felt like this for a long time?” Yuta asked.

“I think so,” he answered, uncertainty evident in every word he said. “I think I just pushed the thoughts that something was wrong away, you know? I didn’t want to admit it to myself but now it’s loud and clear. The last time we’ve gone out together–just the two of us–was two months ago. We talked on the phone a month ago. We just… text. Sometimes.”

“How have you gone so long without talking to her about this?” Yuta continued. He might have suspected that there were problems in your and Sicheng’s relationship but he wasn’t aware of how bad it really was.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Sicheng said. “I want things to go back to what they used to be. We’ve been together for a long time. We’ve gotten to know each other really well. She’s one of my closest friends but… it feels like I don’t know her at all anymore.”

Raising his hand to order another round of drinks, – tonight was going to be a long night, – Yuta patted Sicheng’s thigh, no longer wanting to ask him anything else because he could tell that Sicheng didn’t need any more questions. He was looking for answers.

“You’re going to have to talk to her eventually,” Yuta told him.

“I know that,” Sicheng agreed, his mind already conjuring up the image of you crying as he tried to confront you. He wasn’t sure if he could put either of you through this. “I-I just don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t want to be the third person here, so I can’t help you with that,” Yuta replied. “But honesty is usually the best policy. Especially in relationships.”

“Yeah,” Sicheng located his phone and absentmindedly tried to check the time before he realized that he’d turned his phone off, wanting to avoid all that was inevitable for just one night.

It hurt him to know that you were probably worrying about missing the date but he couldn’t dismiss all that happened and say that it’s fine, and he didn’t feel like arguing tonight, either. He needed some time.

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” Sicheng decided and felt his chest contract painfully as he continued, “I feel like I’ll break both of our hearts and I don’t think either one of us is ready for that.”

Even though he’d lost count of how many times the waiter stopped by their booth last night, Sicheng didn’t blame the hangover for his headache. He knew it wasn’t the night out that was causing him pain that no amount of aspirin could get rid of.

The clock barely showed nine on a Sunday morning and, even though Sicheng couldn’t remember falling asleep, he didn’t feel tired in the slightest. He was anticipating what was to come and chose to stop delaying the confrontation with you by turning his phone back on. Missed calls and text messages from you immediately poured in. He was surprised that his phone hadn’t died yet, despite being turned off.

However, before he got a chance to open a single text, he heard a knock on his door. He didn’t have to ask who it was to know. He’s been with you for so long, he could basically feel your presence already.

“Sicheng, please,” your voice behind the door rang through his room. “I know you’re home. I called Taeil, he told me you’d be here.”

Sicheng groaned. He should have warned Taeil not to say anything to you beforehand.

Not having prepared what he was going to say to you once he saw you, Sicheng opened the door and inhaled deeply in a last-ditch attempt to prepare himself for everything that was about to happen.

You looked beautiful. Your eyes were red, you had no make-up on, your hair was everywhere, – clearly, your night was as rough as his, – and he still couldn’t help but feel his heart swell.

He loved you. So much more than he probably should have.

“I’m so sorry,” you said as soon as your eyes met. “God, you have no idea how sorry I am.”

Walking away from the door, he opened it wider. “I think you should come in.”

You were in the middle of another hasty apology but you closed your mouth at the sound of his stern voice and chose to walk into the room instead of saying anything else.

Perhaps your apologies had to wait, Sicheng looked like he had a lot to say to you. However, he did not speak for the first few minutes after he closed the door, the two of you – and the thick, painful silence – being the only ones in the room.

“Have you eaten?” were the first words he finally allowed himself to say.

“No,” you replied. “I’m not hungry.”

He nodded thoughtfully, not quite liking the answer but not having an appropriate response to it ready. It was difficult to switch the topic to something that was very literally life-altering, and Sicheng spent a good minute considering if he should just forget all that happened last night – and all the months leading up to it – and just move on. That’d surely spare you both the pain of having to discuss your relationship.

“We should probably talk,” you ended up saying after he stayed quiet. “I-I’m very sorry about last night.”

“I know,” he said, exhaling slowly as he tried to get his thoughts to stop running through his mind. “I’m sorry, too. I should have called you. I guess I just needed some space.”

“No, I understand,” you said although you didn’t really understand. You nearly ran out of tears last night after you realized what you’d done. You just needed to explain yourself to him and he wasn’t willing to listen. “It’s my fault. I’m very sorry. Work has been overwhelming lately and I have finals coming up, you know what it’s like.”

“Yeah, of course,” Sicheng nodded, sounding understanding but looking distant. “I’m sorry if I’ve put pressure on you by forcing you to make time for me, I—”

“You’ve never forced me to do anything,” you disagreed and, although he stopped talking, you could tell that he wasn’t hearing you. “I want to spend every minute of every day with you, you know that. I just—I can’t right now.”

“I get it,” he said. “Maybe you need a break. From me. From… us.”

It was easy to say it, after all. The difficult part was looking at you after the words left his lips.

He felt like he wasn’t being fair by staring at the floor, though, so he dared to look up at you and immediately started to wish he hadn’t done that. You looked almost feverish. Your red eyes glistened under the flourescent lights of his room and your entire body was starting to shake.

“Are you saying we should break up?” you asked slowly, every word twisting the knife Sicheng had inserted into both of your hearts deeper.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, choosing to follow Yuta’s advice and be as open and honest with you as it was possible. Perhaps you two could find a solution together because, clearly, dating wasn’t really working for you. “I don’t know what the right thing to do here is. I’ve never been in a similar situation before.”

“Well, I haven’t either,” you replied, not noticing how high-pitched your voice was getting. “But I’m sure that breaking up is rarely ever the right choice.”

“What is, then?” Sicheng asked. “We don’t see each other anymore. And you know I’m not exaggerating. Last time I saw you was when I brought you lunch two weeks ago. And I only got to hang out with you for ten minutes. I can barely even remember our last proper date because it was so long ago.”

You found this rather unfair.

“I wait for you,” you said, unsure what would come first – the anger or the tears. “Every time you’re busy, I wait for you. We’ve gone months without seeing each other when you’re promoting. What’s different now?”

“Everything!” he countered. “It was never like this. We talked on the phone every night when I was away. We stayed awake long enough to Facetime with each other even if we were in different timezones. None of that is happening right now.”

“I-I don’t have the ti—”

“I know!” Sicheng said and then lowered his voice when he noticed the first tears fall from his eyes. It took him everything to restrain himself from crossing the room and wrapping his arms around you. “I don’t blame you. I don’t think you’re doing this on purpose. I know you’re busy. And that’s exactly why I feel like we need a break.”

You shook your head, wiping the tears away from your cheeks. “There’s no such thing as ‘a break.’ It’s just a prequel to a break-up.”

“Okay,” he nodded, biting his lip as he looked away from you, his heart tearing itself apart inside of his chest. “So be it.”

You sniffled, trying to keep the tears in. A part of you saw this coming – every night you spent alone, counting the hours and then the days since you’ve last seen your boyfriend, you had a feeling your relationship was headed towards its end – but his words still seemed to take you by surprise. Evidently, you couldn’t really prepare yourself for an end to one of the most important chapters of your life.

“So, this is it?” you asked quietly, not finding enough strength in yourself to put up a fight because, deep inside, you knew you’d have been fighting for a lost cause. “We’re giving all of this up?”

“I love you,” Sicheng said closing his eyes as the next words burned his throat, “but I don’t think there’s anything left to give up anymore.”

You couldn’t look away from him – your eyes were glued to him as if you were afraid that this would become real as soon as you looked away – but tears were slowly starting to cloud your vision, bringing you back to the cruel reality: your relationship had fallen apart and there were no words—no apologies—that could have saved it. If relationships had an expiration date, yours was already way past it.

Admitting that you were essentially powerless against time and could not go back to the old days when everything was still fine—when both of you still managed to find time for each other—was the most difficult thing you’ve ever had to do. You’d never wish for anyone to give up when all they wanted to do was fight because your entire being hurt from the utter helplessness.

“I’m sorry,” you said for the last time, “I should have tried harder.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Sicheng agreed, his eyes losing its shade and slowly turning empty. “Maybe the timing wasn’t right for us.”

“Is it ever?” you asked, trying to smile and failing miserably. You had a feeling you weren’t going to genuinely smile in a long time after you left. “Time isn’t very generous with perfect opportunities.”

“That’s true,” he said. “But I still hope for an opportunity to see you again.”

The hidden meaning of his words was that he was hoping for another chance with you. Perhaps neither of you would grow out of this love. Perhaps your love could endure the test of time and allow you to try this again.

Or perhaps both of your hearts were so desperate for any kind of comfort that they were willing to believe anything.

“Yeah,” you said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky for once.”

Silence – so cold and unfamiliar – seemed to engulf you both when there was nothing left to be said. The only noise in the room was the sound of your heart tearing itself in two and leaving one half of it on the floor of Sicheng’s room. You’d never ask for it back.

“I love you,” he reminded you as you headed for the door. His voice broke as he spoke, the change in octave stomping on your already exhausted heart. “Despite everything. I really do.”

“I know,” you whispered, not turning around to face him anymore. “I love you, too.”

You knew that we all got only one shot at first love and you were afraid that this was the only bullet life had given you. You’ve made your shot already. It took two years for the bullet to travel – and it never reached the target.

You didn’t know if you’d ever get a chance at another shot again because you’d wasted this one. You didn’t know how long it’d take for you to fix the damage you’ve done. How long it’d take for you to mend your broken heart. To stop loving him.

It was ironically sunny on the worst Sunday of your life and your eyes were the ones that provided the rain, attempting to wash away the truth: the once promising future with your first love had ended before it even began.

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unkindnessofone · 6 years

Text

Unhook The Stars PT 2

PART ONE IS HERE. I would love to hear what you think. I’m not so sure about this part. This story is dedicated to the anon who told me to listen to She Used to Be Mine from Waitress. It’s such an Emmy song and I love it. Also, the song Michael sings in this can be found here .

She still couldn't figure out what happened to her. The words didn't come as she didn't properly understand what she was feeling. However, Emmeline had experienced things being taken away from her before. As a little girl who threw more than her fair share of temper tantrum, she had had the promise of movie nights, ice cream, and one highly anticipated shoe shopping trip yanked from her screaming self. Emmeline knew that smelly Kyle Larson stole her pudding cups at lunch time in grade three and Tanya Faulk was constantly 'being inspired' Emmeline's ideas and style when they were in junior high together. Not to mention that she felt as if her family was being ripped away from her as of lately. Emmeline figured that Ted Garry was a thief and he had, somehow, managed to rob herself of who she was. As she stared at hospital parking lot, the same hospital in which she had been born, Emmeline tried to piece together enough parts of herself so that she could talk to the nurses that she knew would be speaking to her inside.

“I can stay outside or I can come in.” Molly reminded her friend as shut off the car once she had parked, taking her a grand total of six tries until she was in the spot. She had come in from Bond University just for Emmeline, Ashton knew that Emme was not interested in seeing her own parents and probably wouldn't feel comfortable with him taking her to see a doctor. Molly was always one step ahead of her school syllabus. Her professors were not even the slightest bit surprised when she turned in her assignments early instead of asking for an extension.

“I don't know yet. Can we play it by ear?” She hated not being decisive. It had always been something she liked about herself: she always had an answer.

“Of course. I'll do my readings outside of the office and they can come get me if you want me for any reason.” Taking the keys from the ignition, Molly nodded in agreement. Right now, Emmeline was calling the shots. “I know you'd probably prefer Penny was here, so - “ She was just about to thank Emmeline for trusting her, but Emme rolled her eyes as she unhooked the seat belt around her and cut Molly off.

“I don't know how good a virgin would be in this situation.” She sighed and wondered out loud. Emmeline also didn't know how it would feel having to share her story with her best friend. She liked that Penelope considered her to be a babelicious bad-ass. Emmeline really didn't want that to change. She never really knew Molly's opinion on her. “Thanks for doing this with me. It's probably not how you wanted to spend your Sunday.”

“It's Monday.” Clearly, Emme was still on New York time. “And there's nowhere I'd rather be.” Reaching over the cup holders between them, Molly squeezed Emmeline's cold hand over her knee and tried to commit her kindness into the Clifford girl's bones. “Ready?”

“Not yet.” Emmeline squeezed Molly's hand back, keeping it over hers. She didn't know if she wanted to go and be checked. She feared that would make the whole nightmare real and undeniable. It already felt heavy enough for the hungry model.

“We can hang out here as long as you need.” Molly meant it too. She had her textbooks, she had a bran muffin, water bottle, and the radio. They would be fine. Emmeline had the control now and Molly's hand.

* * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * ******

The last few days had been cloaked in bottomless anxiety for Grace. She was furious to find out through her sort-of niece, Molly Irwin, that her daughter was on her way home, assaulted and scared and that she would be staying with Ashton. Grace felt like all she had done for the last day was wait with her worst fears echoing through her mind like a bad trance remix. Despite what it was expressed to her that Emmeline wanted, Grace still showed up to the airport to pick up her daughter at one in the morning. She pushed right past Ashton and held her daughter the way she did after a bad day at elementary school, her hands tight in her hair, holding her head into her shoulders as they both weeped. It felt better holding Emmeline there then it had the first time she wad bundled up in a hospital blanket in Grace's arms. She wasn't sure how on Earth she was ever going to send Emmeline back to New York, not now, not when she knew what this reality was like and how closely it resembled Hell. Grace had stories from her own upbringing that terrified everyone around her, but she could say clearly that this was the most challenging moment she had ever experienced.

In a 5SOS sweatshirt that she never wore, not even when she toured with them as Michael's girlfriend of a few months, Grace walked out through her front door without a stitch of makeup on. She was in survival mode. Sweatshirt, jeans, eyebrow gel, and gold leather flip flops. She didn't even have her extensions in. She tossed her perfect gel manicure through her hair from the front down and then scared Michael half to death by knocking on the window of his car. He had fallen asleep behind his wheel hours ago, choosing to sleep there as it was as close as Emmeline would let him get. After talking to Ashton, he had called his daughter over twenty two times, but she declined all, but one. Emmeline picked up long enough to tell him to go to Hell and to never come near her. Ted Garry wasn't around which made her father the designated punching bag.

Rubbing at the sticky, but hard sleep in his eyes, Michael yawned and rolled his window down. His heart was beating fast as she had shaken him from an uncomfortable sleep.

“What are you doing out here all night? People will talk.” The neighbourhood already knew they were separated since the news had announced it right before Emmeline moved away to the US. “Iden saw when he left for school. He texted me and asked if we were fighting or something...”

“Did you not tell him about Emme?” Through another yawn, Michael asked as he scratched at the stubble around his jaw.

“No. This is the longest he's gone without talking about killing himself, so I'm trying keep it positive. I told him she just had a break and wanted to come home.”

“I doubt he believes you.” Michael looked her up and down, admiring how casual she looked. He remembered feeling so lucky when she would let him see her without the false lashes, push up bra, and tight skirts. He knew that Grace only felt safe around him as herself. It was an honor to see her as she was without any enhancements.

“Me too.” Their son was problematically observative. It was the introverted artist in him. It forced him to see every angle of a situation and through any smoke someone blew around him. “Are you coming in or...?” She waited for him to move around and follow her back into the house they once shared, coffee already brewing in the kitchen just the way he liked.

Michael rolled the window back up as quickly as he could and grabbed his keys from between his knees and stuffed them into the pocket of his jeans. He took one quick sniff under his arm pits and then headed out of his car. He was so excited at the prospect of seeing his daughter. It didn't matter to him how disappointed she was in him. Michael felt as if he had failed her and that she was justified in her anger toward him. He just needed to see with his own two eyes that she was still in one piece, that she was okay. Even if she hated him, and he didn't blame her, Michael wanted to be there for her.

“Molly took her to the doctors.” As soon as Michael turned the corner of the hallway that led to the kitchen, noticing that he was still there in pictures on the wall, and some of his graphic novel merchandise was resting where he left it on side tables. It was eerie how much the place still felt like his, theirs. “I don't know how long they'll be. I gave Molly some money to go for lunch, see if she can get Emme to eat something.” Grace could tell that Mike was looking around for their girl, so she explained as she set down a hot mug of coffee in the stool that he used to always occupy.

“How is she?” He didn't know how stupid of a question he was, Michael was just desperate for some kind of information.

“Not herself.” Grace never was known for her habit of sugar coating. She was a straight shooter. “She looks like a skeleton.” She warned him first, trusting that eventually Emmeline and Michael would be in the same room together. Emmeline couldn't avoid her father forever and Grace had no intention of letting her. “She's just been trying to sleep and screaming, really.” In some ways it wasn't that different from when she lived at home, but it also felt completely different. “She slept with Iden in his bed last night. Or just laid there, I guess.” Grace only held her cup of coffee, letting the heat warm up her hands and keep her focused. Otherwise, she felt like she was walking through an open field with no direction. She felt completely out of her league. This was her worst nightmare come to life.

Once she brought the mug to her lips, she looked over the rim at Michael, hands at the sides of his face as he let a few tears roam down into his coffee like rain drops. His eyes were burning red, bloodshot almost, and she knew then that in the front seat of his car was the first time he had gathered any sleep since Ashton had called him. Grace set down her coffee and sighed. He wasn't her husband anymore, it wasn't as if it was okay for her to just go over and kiss his sadness away. She stalked over to his side and pulled him into her chest just like she had Emmeline at the airport, hearing him gasp for air against the thick fabric of her top before letting his broken heart roar. She hadn't heard him like that since the first time she talked about divorce, walking out on him in the middle of a tour while six months pregnant with Iden.

“We will get through this. We are Clifford's and we are strong.” Grace reminded them both out loud as she acted like the pillar of strength she didn't feel like at the moment. She knew her words had rung true about all four of them at different points and she needed to keep telling herself that now.

“What do we do? Do we go to the police? Do we go to her agents? I just want to murder this man.” He looked up from her shirt like a child, begging for her to direct him. Michael was lost. If it was up to him, he would be in New York with blood all over his chest and turning himself in for manslaughter.

“It's complicated. Emme doesn't want to do anything.” Grace tossed her head back and released a heavy exhale. “I talked to one of our lawyers last night, it's not great. I was going to meet with him tomorrow if you want to come. I think you should.” While Grace could take charge, Michael was often the voice of reason that kept her from flipping her lid in public. They truly did need one another in moments of stress.

“We're not not doing anything.” That wasn't even on the table for Michael.

“Right now, we need to be there for Emme.” Firm in her words, Grace corrected Michael and then sat down on the stool beside him, crossing her knees and reaching for the cup of coffee that she had left behind to comfort him. “I'm thinking I should move out there.”

“You want to move?” From sorrowful to angry just like that, Michael jumped. There was no way he was letting his entire family up and move to New York, leaving him behind with everything that they built empty and useless.

“I don't want her going back alone and with you and I separating, why should I stay in Sydney? I'm American.” It wasn't the most important issue at the moment, but Grace was feeling desperate for change since her and Michael began their separation. She was considering going back to college or moving. “It's not that easy, of course, I don't feel comfortable leaving Iden behind.”

“We'd be fine. We're doing really well actually.” He had been nervous how his weekends alone would go with his son, but with Iden's dosage finally accurate and his recovery going strong, the two Clifford men were better than ever before.

“I'm flattered, but I don't want to leave my son. I also don't want to interrupt his final year of school, not with how well he's doing.” Everything felt more complicated than Grace ever knew it could be and she wasn't exactly a stranger to complicated.

Silence fell between them like hollow wind, Michael wiping at his sore eyes with his dry wrists while Grace finally took a sip of her coffee, black and piping hot.

“God, how is she even going to look at me?” Michael decided he would concentrate on their next move after they had navigated themselves through this house of horrors. He couldn't contemplate anything more than how to hold Emmeline without shaking now. “She called me and I jumped down her throat. I told her I would hang up on her if she started to yell at me – I am such a fucking asshole.” Just as his former wife always accused him of being, Michael branded himself, tightening his grip around the coffee cup and almost breaking it with the self hate he felt brewing inside him. “Fuck!” Michael pounded one fist against the table, shaking the vase and it's violets on top. His anger bounced off the walls, shaking cutlery in the black drawers nearby.

“This is not your fault.” Grace leaned in closer and tried to direct his face to look at her, his eyes busy trying to burn a whole through his jeans and then his hairy legs. “Hey, it's not.” Grace also felt rattled with guilt, but always managed to rise to the occasion for Michael. “Stay. You should stay and shower.” She suggested, a nicer way of telling Michael that he looked and smelled like garbage. “And then you can be here when she comes back and we can be a family and be there for her.” She remembered Ashton telling her that over and over in the airport when they waited together for Emmeline. He told her it was all she could do when she wanted to take on the entire world with her rage. Unfortunately, Grace knew the drummer was right. Once more, Michael jumped into comfort from his former best friend, resting his head on her shoulder and tightly squeezing her as he cried.

Michael didn't have the hidden talent Grace did. She had supersonic hearing and could tell when a child was upset before mere mortals could hear them cry or shout. She had been dealing everybody out by interrupting stories to tell people their kid was hurt only for the child in the other room to start wailing under three seconds later. Michael could sleep through storms and arguments. In order to not murder his band mates, he had trained himself to rest through anything. It was a trait his son had inherited, having been a sound sleeper since birth. With Grace out of town for a friend's birthday weekend, Michael didn't know how long Emmeline had been freaking out for.

The three year old screamed like an attacking banshee from her bedroom door to her parents and woke her father up by shaking both his feet by the toes. Emmeline jumped into his bed and crawled quickly to his side, clutching his arm and wrapping her whole body around it.

Instinctively, he put his free hand on her side and pat at her back in an effort to soothe the freaked out toddler. Her messy caramel colored curls rubbed under his chin, tickling him and forcing his eyes to peel open. He kept one arm under her grip, but carefully managed to take his other hand from her back to check the time on his phone that he had fallen asleep watching videos on, leaving it right under Grace's pillow. It was 2:38 in the morning.

"I had a bad dream." Feeling safe suddenly as she had escaped her monster infested bedroom and made it to Michael without being hobbled, Emme lifted her head from his arm and whispered into the air. Michael had figured as much, but he still nodded to assure her that he heard her before gently guiding her little hand away from his arm out where she kept accidentally gripping at hair and sending shooting pain into a sensitive spot. "Fire monsters." She whispered to him again, eyes wide as blooming daisies and the bottom of the bottom of her unicorn pajama dress hiked up with her knees to her stomach.

It didn't occur to Michael that her nightmare was inspired by one of his video games, the one he enjoyed in the basement while she sat on the floor and played Barbie dolls. Obviously, she had been paying better attention than Michael thought, but he hadn't exactly had his most watchful eyes on her at the time.

Michael rolled onto his back and kept her close. He shook his arm out from between her clutching limbs and instead pulled her into his side, running his hand through her fluffy hair while she used his naked stomach as a personal pillow.

"Sing to me." Emmeline demanded, finding courage now that she was safe with him and her fear had dissipated. "Daddy? Sing to me." He had read through a Fancy Nancy book with her before bed and after Iden had been put down, but Emme wished to be entertained more.

"Oh, if you're losing sleep, if you're losing sleep scared of shadows ..." He had been reluctant, but Michael kept his eyes opened and inhaled a preparatory breath before beginning to sing a song he used to play for her when she was an infant, a song that people tweeted at him endlessly when her name was announced a few days after she was born in June. Emmylou had fast become Emmeline Clifford's theme song, Michael even performing with the guys at the first venue they played after she was born in Sydney. "Don't go losing sleep scared of shadows." Michael reached down and turned her head around so it was lying flat on his chest again. She was waiting for the part where he sang her name, turning around to watch him serenade her, but Michael didn't need to have his eyes open to know what she was up to. He patted by his eyes as an instruction for her to close her eyes, lulling her back to sleep with his tires and raw voice. "My Emmylou..." He sang passionately in a whisper, his favorite lyrics as she wiggled in closer and tried to reach her arm around him, eyes closed and feeling ready to crash again. Michael fell asleep while singing the last line over and over, "You are loved, you are loved, you are loved..." His hand still in her tangles of hair, making a mental note to text Cagney in the morning to see if they could schedule a haircut and play date with Penelope.

Michael opted not to shower. He wanted to be there the second Molly brought Emmeline back to the house. So instead he was driving Grace crazy, just sitting at the kitchen island with his head in his hands and his feet nervously tapping nonstop on the legs of the stool. However, she was happy to not be alone at the moment. Michael offered a silent support that she was somewhat grateful for despite his annoying fidgeting. To avoid the noise , she busied herself in Emmeline's old bedroom, changing the bed and putting new candles on the shelves, the vanilla bourbon scented ones that her daughter liked most. Grace had planned to fill out an application to start courses in January, but she decided to put it off until she knew better where Emmeline was at. She didn't know if her daughter was even interested in returning to New York.

Like dogs sensing their humans return, both Grace and Mike perked up at the sound of tires turning into the driveway. Michael instantly stood up and pulled at his clothes, strangely wanting to look his best for the first time Emmeline and him would see each other since he left her in Manhattan, both of them irritated with the other. Grace started to exit the bedroom, her lipstick on since Emme left with Ashton's daughter to the hospital. Grace had wanted to come, but Emmeline insisted that she would only go with Molly Irwin.

Michael was just a few steps away from the front door, catching a glimpse of his daughter that he didn't recognize. Her cheekbones were hollow tunnels and her sparkling eyes were swollen under pale purple circles. He was just about to fix a brave smile on his face when Emmeline left. She ran up the stairs in a flash, using the little energy her body had, and rushing into Iden"s bedroom. It was the only space that felt safe, it was the only part of the house that seemed unchanged to her even though there was a photo booth picture of a beautiful mixed girl kissing him next to a picture of her and Iden on a family vacation in Hawaii that she had not seen before. She passed right by her mother in the stairs who reached for her hand and shut Iden's door loudly behind her.

"How'd it go?" Grace broke the uncomfortable silence between Molly and Michael, both standing still and unsure of what to do in the entrance way. "What happen?" Grace checked behind her again, Emme still nowhere to be seen.

"Well, it isn't the least invasive experience. I think it brought up a lot of upsetting feelings for her." Molly could only gather information from what Emmeline chose to share with her. She left the doctor's office in tears and just kept the radio playing Top 40 loudly between them in the car. "We went to get food, but I just got hers boxed up." Molly liked to try to do what she was told and it had been important to Grace that her daughter eat something. Molly reached out and offered the recycled to-go box to Michael, the pear and walnut salad heavy inside as he set it down on the side table right behind him. "Also," Molly reached into the messenger bag hanging on her side by her hip, not nearly as flat as it had been before she started dating a professional athlete, and pulled out a folded yellow envelope. "This is from the doctor's. If you need it to press charges or...whatever you guys want." She shrugged as she reached out to give it to her Uncle Mike even though Grace intercepted it. Molly didn't know what the Clifford family was choosing to do, but they didn't have much of an idea either.

"Thank you for going with her, Molly. I appreciate it." Grace told her niece as she sliced the seal of the envelope open with her sharp finger nail quickly. "She doesn't really like your uncle and I right now." Grace shared even though she was confident the vegan already knew that. It wasn't as if Emmeline kept that to her fact, writing all about it on Twitter whenever she had the chance.

"Seriously, I want to be there." She told them instead of sharing an anecdote of how pissed Emmeline was when she spotted her dad's car parked out front.Very little came before school for Molly, but her family, even the band members, did. Besides, she didn't have a close group of girlfriends. Molly was close with very few people, so it was nice to have a connection with Emmeline even in a dark situation. "My dad too, obviously." She laughed as she explained, everybody knew how willing Ashton always was to lend a hand. He truly was the Godfather of their dysfunctional brood.

"Do you want to stay? We are just kind of laying low." Michael offered. He knew it wasn't his home anymore so to speak, but he had his mind made up that he was staying until he got to properly see Emmeline and apologize. Besides, he knew Grace wouldn't mind Molly being there. She was always one of the more pleasant children to have around and, right now, she was one of the only people Emmeline was willing to be around.

"I have to work on a paper." Molly frowned in place of an apology. She also had promised to have dinner with her Dad before going back to school. "The doctor wrote the number down of some books and therapists she recommended." Pointing at the envelope in Grace's hands, Molly remembered to tell them as she turned to leave. Michael wrapped one arm around her shoulders before she could take off completely, holding her close like he used to when she was a little girl and wasn't even close to his height. Molly patted his back and then went to embrace her Aunt Grace before leaving.

Once more the two former lovers were left together underneath the heavy silent and somehow sluggish tension that filled the house that once was a noisy, but happy home. Michael and Grace stared at the door as it closed and then at one another with exhausted eyes.

"I can't read this sober." After reading the word "vaginal lacerations" over and over, Grace decided a stiff drink would go well with whatever she could stomach for lunch. Right behind her, nodding, Michael agreed.

He fixed himself a double whiskey without ice before leaving Grace by herself with the file. She had left the kitchen for the sun room anyway, curling up in her favorite spot on the love seat with her own whiskey neat. She didn't seem to want him there, she always pushed him away when she was overwhelmed with emotions. No matter how close they were, Grace remained stubbornly independent.

Michael headed upstairs, just to try and check on Emmeline. He prepared himself for whatever reaction she might have. Michael told himself that she was entitled to feel however she wanted and that he understood she might hate him forever. He really fucked up this time and he hated himself for it. Sighing, he tightened his stomach and took a large sip. Her door was shut, so he knocked but she didn't answer. Michael tried again, but met the same response of silence. So he slouched down and waited outside the door, legs out and drink in hand. Within a few minutes, her fluffy cat, Harriet, that she brought home with her happily laid between his thighs and slept as he kept his free hand occupied behind her ears. Michael hung his head low, eyes closed, and waited for her to let him in. Privately he worried she might lock him out for good. He didn't realize he should have been grateful for when she was leaving him drunk angry rants in his inbox. At least she was still talking to him then.

Before this, he wasn't sure he had ever experienced this kind of anxiety before. Sure, he had gone up against a little bout stage fright before and he certainly had mental health problems that came and went infrequently, but this was different. It wasn't the excited fear that filled his body when she was born and it wasn't the kind of tense frustration that controlled his head when he and Grace were going toe to toe. This was calm, but uneasy somehow and Michael wanted to be careful because Emmeline looked so innocently excited on the other side of the table, her brunch meal untouched because she couldn't stop talking.

“I don't know, Emmy...” He didn't quite clench his teeth, but Michael let his uncertainty slide out of his pulled lips, looking down at the business card she had slid him, right next to his plate of hash browns, sausage, marinated mushrooms, toast, and over easy eggs. The small black rectangle made his somehow appear unappetizing. It also made him forget about how hungry he had been on the walk over to the White Lily Diner in Toronto's Riverside neighborhood. She had been adamant that she have some alone time with her Dad, warning Iden that he can't ask to come with them. She was only just fourteen as of last month, but Emmeline knew what she wanted. “You modelling doesn't make me feel very comfortable.” Ever since they took part of a father's day photo shoot of rock stars and their children, Emmeline had grabbed the attention of different modelling agencies. Michael was ignoring it, but his daughter clearly wasn't. She had taken it upon herself to set up a meeting with an agent while they were in Toronto. “I dated some models and I know some, it doesn't sound as glamourous as it looks.”

“I know.” Emmeline almost rolled her eyes, stabbing her fork into the first fluffy waffle on her plate. “You dated mom.” Unlike her friends, Emmeline always spoke like an American when she said 'mom', 'dad', or 'soda'.

“Your mom always considered herself more of an actress.” It had nothing to do with their conversation, but Michael pointed it out anyway. They were both wrong though. Grace would have considered herself a failure when it came to the careers she dabbled in. She was always just an okay waitress even. “I would say you can try when you're eighteen if you still want to do it.” He knew he would have thrown an absolute fit if his parent's had hit him with that compromise when he was a teenager dying to break into the music business. Somehow, Michael convinced himself that the situations were different.

“It's easier to start young.” The Cinderella story of being discovered and instantly becoming a muse to a designer was just folklore. Emmeline knew she had to pay her dues in local mall runway shows and had to be photographed by amateurs first. It was work. “Kimberly Tell wants to shoot some editorial head shots while I'm here. Mom said she would talk to you about it, but I want to talk to you about it.” Emmeline had a thing about being in charge of her own life and her own destiny.

“How does Kimberly What's Her Name even know you're here?” Michael lifted his water to his mouth and asked, sounding as perplexed as he looked.

“I have a very popular video channel.” Michael always seemed to forget that. The parts of Emme's personality that her family often needed a break from, the internet encouraged. “I said I was going to be in Toronto.” Michael thought he saw fans outside the airport when they landed that looked too young to know any words to a 5 Seconds of Summer song. They were clearly there for some other person. He realized now that it was his daughter.

“I'm okay with head shots, sure.” It sounded like a fun opportunity and Michael wasn't out to try and steal Luke's title of 'Daddy No Fun'. “But I'm hesitant about the agency thing.”

“Why?” She whined through chewing her waffle.

“I know this industry, Emme. I've been in it since I was just a bit older than you. There are so many monsters in it. Really gross scuzzy people who don't have good intentions. It's the real horror movie - “

“Dad, I'm smart.” Was she Molly Irwin memorize a book in a hot minute smart? No. Emmeline did consider herself to be savvy with people though even if the truth was that she trusted anyone and had a knack for getting herself into trouble.

“I'm not worried about you being smart. I'm worried about other people and how they are.” He could navigate his daughter. He could reign her in or even put her inside a fenced area. He couldn't control advertising executives, slimy producers, or the opportunists that latched onto rising stars like leeches did feet.

As he continued to eat his brunch, he could see Emmeline pouting through each bite. She was the Queen of sad eating and had been since she was small. Grace would tell her that they weren't going to go to the toy store or they weren't going to Dad's music video set and she would pick at her food with dreamy eyes staring out the window, a tight pout that suggested she was nursing internal wounds. Many people fell prey to it, but Grace was immune.

“Let's see how your thing with this photographer here goes, okay?” He compromised with an unclear sigh. He hoped he was making the right decision. It certainly felt good when Emmeline jumped up in the booth and reached over the cups and plates to hug her Dad around the neck, thanking him twice right in his ear as she tried to squeeze him. “But your mom has to go with you.” Grace could handle a photographer. He had seen her chew out more people than he could count. It started with all the class and kindness his wife could muster only to end with her destroying what self-esteem they had. She was vicious and it was always worse when it came to her family. In another life, Michael was certain that Grace was the leader of a pride of lions.

Crammed with volatile and choking emotion, a scream shook Iden's room and brought Michael up from his butt and straight to his feet while Harriet ran off from the bother of boiling over emotions on the other side of the door. Michael had heard more than his fair share of screaming from a lifetime of playing arenas and he also was not a stranger to his daughter's dramatic cries, but this was different. This was driven by pain and powered by fear.

"Emme? Emme?" Michael leaned into the door, hand ready around the silver knob, as he tried to speak through the dark stained oak. "Emme?" She screamed again so Michael didn't look for permission, he just pushed open the door and ran to her, kneeling at the side of the bed she was sitting on the side of and clutched the sides of her legs while looking up at her with anxiety tearing through his gaze. Her skin was clammy as he felt her legs, her sweat shorts revealing her pale skin, and Michael could tell she woke up with panicked sweat all over her. She looked grey, hollow, and slick in the face as her somewhat rested eyes tried to hold in tears that were hell bent on release.

"Breathe." He coached her from the ground, inhaling loudly and conducting them both with one hand as soon as he took it from her leg. "Breathe, Emmy." Michael tried to keep her focused as she looked ready to scream again, hyperventilating and shaking from a nightmare. It was a reoccurring one that she had first on the plane over much to the flight attendant's dismay. Emmeline was in the dark in the dream and she couldn't see anything, but she was on fire and hands were grabbing at her from every direction, her hair, her chest, her hips, and her cheeks. She couldn't escape though she kept searching for a door or a light source.

Slowly, she listened to her Dad and began to take control of her own breathing. Michael put his hand on her shaking fingers that were clutching Iden's bed sheets. He noticed the tattered bruises over her knuckles, her hands that she loved so much, and Michael lost his train of thought at the sight of dried blood and infected bruises. His eyes seeked refuge away from her fingers, but only found the purple shading inside her thighs, healing from when they throbbed navy. Michael felt like he was going to be sick all over his son's bedroom floor.

Once more, he heard Emmeline take in a deep breath as if she was trying to inhale underwater and Michael found himself watching her, looking away from the new battle scars life had painted on her. She seemed to notice him this time and her face twisted with anger, not greeting him kindly before she softened completely like cream cheese left on the counter and fell in front of him on the floor and started to cry. She wasn't reaching out for him, but she also wasn't pushing him away so Michael took that as he could stay and he slouched down in front of her with exhausted eyes and rubbed her back as she weeped.

"Emmy, I'm so sorry." Through his tight throat, he managed to say over her tears. "I understand if you hate me, if you never want to see me...I hate me too." Michael was convinced he would never forgive himself.

Emmeline looked up and wiped her eyes with the crew neck of Iden's shirt that she had helped herself to, but before she could manage to say anything, Grace fled in. She had come upstairs to check on Mike and then Emme, but freaked out when she saw them both on the ground. She joined them on their knees quickly and wrapped her daughter up in her arms, Michael following suit in the other side, the three of them together again for a few minutes.

"It's okay, baby. You're home." Grace whispered into Emmeline's static mess of hair before and after kissing it. She was a natural parent somehow, despite going back and forth in whether or not she wanted kids, and Michael always loved seeing her with their two. Grace had a knack for loving them that he knew other people struggled with. Her patience with him had been shot long ago, but it ran without boundaries for Emmeline and Iden. Emmeline melted into her mothers sweatshirt covered chest, but her hand snaked through the mess of limbs and squeezed Michael's hand. It was a small gesture, but it almost made Michael fall apart harder on Iden's bedroom floor. Keeping it together barely, he held her fingers tightly and ran his thumb over the bruised bumps of her knuckles, wishing he could absorb all the pain she was feeling and lock it inside his own body.

When Emmeline felt up to it, she agreed to drink tea, but told her mother she wasn't up to eating. Both Michael and Grace suspected it was bullshit, but they couldn't be positive enough to push. Everything felt as delicate as porcelain at the moment and neither of them wanted to be the hands that broke Emme. With a plate of apple slices like Grace would give her as a kid, Emmeline sat with her cup of tea and her fluffy old cat on basement sectional. She was waiting under a blanket for her brother to come home. He didn't have a game today and all Emme felt up to doing was snuggling with him on the couch watching a movie. She would even watch one from his favourite genres, fantasy or horror. She just wanted to spend time with a person she trusted while the rest of her life sat at the side in shambles. Emmeline knew she wouldn't be in China tomorrow and she knew her agency knew that, but the rest of her life was covered in a bold black question mark drawn in permanent marker.

Next to his daughter on the couch, Michael tried to privately research pressing charges on sexual assault cases. He was feeling gutted by the statistics and facts he was scrolling through. It was almost a relief when he heard Iden arrive home, calling out from the back door to see if his mom was home. Michael pat Emmeline on the leg before heading up to greet his son. It was strange, but it felt normal for Michael to be in his old house, spending time with his own kids. It was the kind of routine he knew Grace would have loved for them to have had when they were together.

“Whoa, why are you here?” As soon as Iden spotted his Dad's hair, greasy and in need of a shower and styling, Iden backed up and asked with a crooked grin.

“Why are you here?” Michael replied back, not happy being greeted without a 'hello' or pleasant smile.

“This is my house.”

“This is my house.” It wasn't as if it wasn't true. The house was in Michael's name.

Iden didn't need any time to put the pieces of the very strange puzzle together. His sister had come home out of nowhere, his Dad was hanging out in the house he had moved out of, and Iden looked on in horror as his mom entered the room without makeup on and in her casual clothes, her cell phone in hand as she had just finished a long and heated conversation with some twit that worked at the agency in New York Emmeline was signed to. Iden wasn't sure now if he had ever seen his mother without her painted red lips on or hair perfectly blown out.

“What is happening?” Iden asked, enlarging his eyes after holding them closed for a second.

“What do you mean?” Grace asked, walking by him to rest her phone on the counter. If she didn't put it down, she would probably launch it across the room as she was still angry from her phone call. Her voice didn't hide how perturbed she felt either.

“Dad is here, Emmeline is here...” Iden turned around, keeping his eyes on his mom. She always knew what was going on. She ruled the entire family with an iron fist and always had been their eyes and ears. “Harriet is here...” He added just to be accurate.

“They're your family.” She told him as if she didn't understand what he was saying, pressing her hands flat into the cement kitchen island as Iden left his backpack on it along with his school tie that he had taken off on the way home. “Your dad just came to see Emmy,” Grace wasn't about to ruin her son's day by telling him what was going on with his older sister, his idol. She also didn't feel like it was her story to tell. She had to do right by Emmeline. “And she is downstairs. She wants to watch a movie with you.”She said she'd even watch Labyrinth with you.” It was one of Iden's favorites even though Emmeline had been making fun of it since she was old enough to babysit.

“She came all the way to Sydney from New York to watch David Bowie sing with puppets with me?” He eyed his mother up and then turned to stare down his dad who was following Grace's lead and playing dumb. Michael couldn't help, but back up when Iden tightened his eyelids and narrowly stared into the middle of his face. It seemed Iden had learned from the best when it came to showing distrust and searching a person's soul. “You guys are being weird, but whatever. Just can you pretend to not be weirdos when Mariona comes over?” He swiped at his backpack, heading downstairs to the cinema area to see his sister.

“Oh, your girlfriend can't come over!” Grace said with a jolt, raising her hands off the kitchen island she loved so much.

“Why not?” Iden knew his mom wasn't crazy about Mariona, but he also didn't take it personally because he didn't imagine his mom would ever like anyone he brought home. Grace didn't think anyone was good enough for her kids.

“Because your sister is here.” Michael knew what Grace was getting at and chimed in to help her. It was annoying to Iden though. He didn't like them parenting together. He had just become used to separate rules in the separate homes.

“Yeah, let's just hang out like a family.” Grace looked around Iden and nodded, silently thanking her ex.

“We're not a fam - “ Iden began, but was cut off when his sister walked up the stairs and joined them, wrapped up in a blanket with her empty plate in hand. Grace nearly cheered seeing that the entire apple was gone.

“She can come over.” Emmeline had heard the whole conversation, her parents trying to protect Iden from her new truth. “I want to meet her.” Emmeline shuffled past Iden and put her plate by his tie on the table, assuming her mom would clean it up like she always had since they were little. “I hear she has great skin and talks a lot.” It was all second hand information from Daphne, but it was enough for Emme to feel satiated. She knew her brother had high standards for girls. He could take anyone home, but he had never bothered to become close to someone before. Emmeline was very interested to get to know the wannabe photographer that had captured his weird and dark heart.

“Are you sure?” Michael tilted his head to his shoulder, scratching at his hairy chin and watching as Emmeline moved back to her little brother, opening up the blanket to hug him with it.

“Yes. I'm sure.” For a split second, she seemed like his daughter again. She seemed firm in what she said and a little annoyed that someone would double check. She was missing her glow and usual flare, but Michael could see that Emmeline was just down, not dead and it gave him hope that everything would work out. She would be okay. He didn't know what would become of them, but he wanted her to be alright. “Come. I want to watch your weird puppet movie. Does your girlfriend like it too?” Emmeline asked as she led her brother downstairs, the two of them closing the door behind them like nothing was wrong.

* * * * * ** * * * ** * * * * *

Finished his third beer in a row, Michael felt wired by himself back at his condo. He was getting ready to go out and meet up with friends. He needed a distraction and being on his own, away from Emmeline, and away from murdering some stranger in New York, was not cutting it. His hands needed something to hold and his mind needed a story to drive it elsewhere, away from the sorrowful and twisted location it was currently living in. He cracked at his knuckles and grabbed his coat off the back of his couch to head out the door. Michael swung it open and nearly toppled over Grace, standing on the other side in her usual form: Dior red lips, cheekbones that could cut glass, curled lashes, and a skin tight black dress (this one with bell sleeves).

“Is everything okay?” Even with everything going on with their daughter, Michael was still surprised by her presence. She could do everything on her own and she loved letting him know that.

“I was just about to knock. Someone out front let me in.” A very leggy blond that was about ten years younger than her and she had been terrified that she might have just come from Michael's condo, but Grace chose to leave that to herself. “Is this a bad time? I didn't think to call.”

“It's fine.” His friends were just at a pub. They could wait. Michael stepped aside to let her in, feeling a little nervous about her seeing how he lived especially on the weekends where Iden wasn't with him. His son was more on top of cleaning that Michael was. It had been Iden who purchased the vacuum for the place after realizing his Dad didn't own one.

“I brought you some leftovers.” She reached into her large Chloe tote and pulled out a locked glass container that looked like it contained creamy pasta with spinach and sausage in it. “Emme didn't eat any, don't get excited.” She told him as she stepped out of her basic black heels and coming down to her real height.

“No, I'm excited to have your cooking.” Grace didn't shine in the kitchen, but she had a few great recipes in her arsenal. Michael had always liked her pasta especially because it reminded him of home, the sauce being very comforting in his belly. It was a meal he missed when he was on the road. “Thanks for thinking of me.” He tried to sound casual, but he was being sincere. It meant a lot. He moved into his small kitchen nook and instantly put it in the fridge. It would be great as a four in the morning snack when he was rip roaring drunk. “So, this is my place. Welcome.” Scratching at the back of his head, his keys jingling in his pocket as he moved, Michael grumbled.

“I'm not here to judge.” She assured him. Grace had already noticed the picture of him and their two kids, the video game console, the giant television, and array of guitars on the wall and in the corners. She knew it was all he really needed to be content. “I need to talk to you about Emme. I'm a little more ready to.” Well, as ready as she was going to be.

Michael led her into his living area, nervous as he had been when Emmeline came home from the hospital earlier. He sat down on the couch and moved a pair of his dirty socks so she could have a spot beside him. Grace ran her hands behind her bum and sat down, her dress as smooth as her waxed legs did.

“I'm not comfortable with putting her on a plane in a couple days and sending her back.” Grace didn't think she could ever allow it. She would spend every day worrying. “Emmeline and I talked a little bit and she is open to therapy,” It was hard for her to argue with it when it had been such a driving factor behind her brother's success with his battle against depression. “which I said was mandatory if she wanted to return to Manhattan,” Michael nodded along, signaling that he was on the same page. “Obviously, you can say 'no', but I think you should go back with her.”

“Me?” He was public enemy number one to Emmeline. Well, he had been until Ted Garry swooped in and took the crown for himself. Emmy wasn't a big fan of her mother these days, but she could keep cordial with Grace. It was Michael who got the drunk messages and screaming phone calls.

“I talked to some agent there that she's worked with and the woman was a real twat,” It didn't matter how long Grace had been living in a gated community in Sydney. She still had Southside LA running through her veins. She still had to call a spade a spade. “I tried to explain to her that Emmeline was very sick and was dealing with trauma and she went on about how Emme knows that there is a million other girls who would take her place in a heartbeat. I told her that we were forbidding her from working with Ted Garry, but this woman told me how he just booked her for a bunch of jobs and that Emmeline would be penalized if she didn't take them – like this fucking bitch - “ Grace could see that the more she boiled, the more amused Michael was, so she stopped herself in order to cool off. “I think you could go and be her manager.”

“Her manager? Grace, I have - “

She wasn't hearing it. Grace held up her palm and cut him off, “You've navigated this industry before, I never could.” It was one of her many regrets. “I'm not saying give up your career, I know you and the guys have a commitments and other bands you're working with, but just for a little bit so she can be better protected and set up over there.”

“I think you'd be better.” Through a sigh, he tried to argue. “She likes you more, you scare people better than I do, and you've been managed Emmeline since she was born.”

“Trying to.” They both were. “I think it would be easier for Iden if I stayed and I think you need the comfort of being there with her.” Grace had him there and they both knew it. “Emmeline might not admit it, but she needs you right now, Michael.” Choking on air as her eyes became glossy, Grace turned her face away from him. She didn't want to beg, she didn't want to seem weak. “I can go that's no problem and Iden can stay with you, but I think having you as her manager, checking out the people she works with, making sure she eats, I think that could only do good.” Over the years, Grace had been lenient with their daughter. She let her drink as long as it with people that she had met. She let Emmeline express herself with clothes that weren't always the most appropriate. Hell, she encouraged her trying to become a working model. It was Michael who tried to put up boundaries for Emmeline. He was the one always telling her to look before she crossed the street.

“I'll think about it.” Michael gave in, already knowing his ex was right. “Give me a couple days.” He didn't know when Emme was leaving yet, he just knew she wasn't going to be headed to China anymore.

“I'll call you tomorrow.” Grace patted under her eyes, ridding them of tears, and stood up quickly. Michael followed suit, looking down at his feet and already trying to figure out what to do. “Michael?” From the door, Grace called for him while stepping back into her shoes. He lifted up his head at the first sound of her voice and peeled open his eyes like a deer in oncoming headlights. “Thank you for today. It was nice to have you there in the house.” She nodded, not sure if it was appropriate to say so or not. Saying the wrong thing had never stopped Grace before though. “And I know Emmeline loved it.”

“It was nice for me too.” Even if he was there for the worst reason imaginable.

“Have a good night.” She smiled and turned to the door, adjusting her bag over her elbow before staring to let herself out. “Don't fuck any bimbos.” She whispered under her breath, unaware that Michael heard her clear jealousy.

#5sos au #michael clifford au #michael clifford imagine

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