#i love her but she doesn't half sound like a creaky door

[damascus-crowned-king]

SHAW PACK FIC LETS GOOOO

proofread by the lovely @caelum-et-ocean

Also once again

I AM A SHITTY WRITER

THIS FIC IS PROBABLY ASS

Also kinda angsty

Enjoy

He needed to relax.

He needed to step away from being an alpha.

He needed his body to stop aching.

But most of all, He needed the love of his life.

After a 15 minute drive which felt like an hour due to exhaustion he finally made it home. His feet dragged out of the car and all the way to the stairs and front door. He was even exhausted getting his keys out of his pocket and unlocking the door.

With a creaky sound emitting from the door, he spoke softly as that was the only thing his tired voice could muster. "Angel, I'm home."

He was greeted with a soft, kind smile from his other half sitting on the couch. "Welcome back, handsome." He smiled back, but then his smile faded as he realized something unpleasant. "Did you sleep on the couch?" A sheepish smile arose from his question. "Would you be mad if I said yes?" He sighs. Not mad or disappointed. Simply worried. "Angel, you're sick. You shouldn't be sleeping on a stiff, uncomfortable couch while you're sick."

He sits down on the couch and holds his Angel close but not tight as that is the only way to calm himself down.

"Baby, sleeping on the couch for one night isn't gonna kill me! I'm not that fragile." 

"I know you're not that fragile… you're strong. But your body needs time and care for it to get better…  And sleeping on a shit couch is not taking care of your body. As hard as that might be to believe." A small chuckle erupted from the both of them. "Fineeee… You may have a point." "'May?'" "Ugghhh! You definitely have a point! Better?" He chuckles softly and pulls his angel into his chest, and gives a kiss on the cheek. "Better." "Oh, wipe that smug smirk off your fac-" a sentence was interrupted by a cough. And then another. And then a series of coughs…

Until blood is coughed out.

"Angel!" A voice filled with emergency and worry as he puts his hands on his Angel's  back as gently as possible. "Gabe, I'm fine, I promise. "No, you're not. Coughing up blood is far from fine!" His wife quickly rebutted, trying her best to calm her husband down. "And so is stressing about it, Gabriel…" she gently held his face in her hands, although the gentleness was partially because of her weakness.

She caressed his cheek in an attempt to soothe him. "I know it might be a hard task, but please don't stress. The most you can do is be here. And that's enough. 'Cause you've been here since we first started dating." She gave him a smile that was bright yet weak in order to ease his mind, and all He could do was silently let his tears fall while his wife held his face. "Gabriel…" She brought him to his chest and softly stroked his head. After a few minutes, Gabe finally spoke. Although it was barely over a whisper. "Thank God I got Frank to babysit so David isn't here to see this… He doesn't need to see his father like this…" she smiled solemnly. "I'll miss our boy… And I'll miss you too… I barely got to see him grow up and reach his full potential." her voice cracked, too full of emotion to speak properly. Gabe croaked out. "Don't say things that… Please don't." She laughed sadly. "You're right. What am I saying? We're gonna grow old. And we're gonna see our son at his wedding all fancied up. And then we're gonna be the amazing grandparents who spoil our grandchildren and child-in-law…" Gabe's wife's positivity made him smile and laugh. "You're right. That's exactly what's gonna happen. " He wiped his tears and kissed her, and she gladly accepted his lips. She whispered softly with her arms around his neck. "Let's go to bed, big guy." He picked her up with ease and carried her to their bed, and he gently laid her down and crawled in next to her. "Can I lay on your chest?" "Of course, Angel. You don't ever have to ask…" The sound of his heartbeat soothed her, and the feeling of her on his chest soothed him.

Until she spoke up. "You wanna know what's one of the worst things about me being sick?" "What, Angel." "You're not nearly as rough with me in bed as you used to. I mean, it's a real letdown!" He let out a surprised laugh. "Christ, Angel! You are a menace!" She giggled maniacally in his chest and held him close. "Well, since you love me because I'm a menace, I'll just take that as a compliment!" And she was right. Gabe did love her because she was a menace. But he also loved her for so much more than just that.

@why-me-marti @6-atlas-6 @theratisbackanditsinyourkitchen @justaclownwholikesducks @your-local-mom-whore @annahhopee @capitalisticveins @boeeswrld @zozosrandomthings @wippisboo @frog-0n-a-l0g @lemonnoodles @tanker-redactedaudio

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted david #redacted gabe #at this point yall cant even get mad about how bad my fics are

[finnlessshark]

this is what happens when narla hears "okay time for your walk!" and isn't taken out in exactly 0.1 seconds like she so obviously wants

not long after this she resorted to howling because dad was taking too long to harness up Pugsley

#i love her but she doesn't half sound like a creaky door #staffy #staffy x whippet #rescue dog #dogblr #also please ignore my wretched voice

[agentunwin]

CAN’T BE FRIENDS [S.M.]

A/N: This is a standalone imagine!! So please don’t ask for a part 2 lol

Prompt: Shawn sees his ex for the first time in months under unusual circumstances and the true effects of their breakup are revealed, but both know that there’s nothing that can be done. [Based on Can’t Be Friends - Trey Songz.]

Warnings: Just angst and cursing.

Words: 2,222

-

The shell of Shawn Mendes walked aimlessly around the crowded room that was filled to the brim with sweaty adults, the stench in the air confirming this. He'd been stumbling around for around 10 minutes now, just looking for something to do, or something more to drink, even though the cup he was holding was still nearly full.

"Shawn! Get your ass over here!"

He wasn't sure who's voice it was, but in the state he was in, he couldn't care less. So, he began stumbling back towards where he believed the voice to be coming from. It took him less than a few seconds to spot a few of his friends and a group of strangers around a table, a girl laying half-naked on top of the plastic surface, giggling at something her friend had just said.

"What's going on here?" Shawn slurred, running a hand through his messy curls.

"Body shots," One of his friends responded, holding up a bottle of tequila and a can of whipped cream. "You in?"

Shawn looked down at the girl who was still laying down. She wasn't attractive to him in the least bit, but that night he'd accept any chance he could to get more fucked up.

Shawn took the initiative and began squirting the whipped cream over parts of her body, starting at her panty line. He then moved upwards, squirting a line up her stomach and through the valley of her breasts. And finally, he put some in her mouth to seal the deal. While he was doing this, his friends helped him, setting up 2 shot glasses in the middle of the whipped cream.

Shawn barely noticed the encouraging shouts and whoops around him as he dug in with no hesitation. His tongue worked quickly, licking along the top of her underwear to clear the cream there, grabbing the shot glass that was placed there. Swiftly swallowing it down, he coughed and moved on to her stomach.

He felt eyes on him from all directions, and if he was at all worried about the media rumors that would transpire the following morning, it seemed that they had all flown out the window.

Shawn's body is running on autopilot and when he's finally coming back to reality he's throwing back another shot, the bitterness stinging his throat in the most delicious way. Now, all there was was the kiss.

It was sloppy, disgusting, and vile, however everyone around them continued to cheer him on as he made out with the woman below him, eating the whipped cream. She seemed more than content with what was happening, but he hated every second of it. It wasn't enough- It wasn't her.

Everyone in the room witnessed Shawn's face pale right before he was disconnecting from the girl and running off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and scrambling to the bathtub. His body went completely numb as his eyes shut tightly and he was heaving, throwing up everything he'd consumed in the short time he'd been at the party.

He didn't even notice the tears staining his cheeks until he finally allowed himself to sit up, confirming that there was nothing left to throw up. He felt disgusting and pathetic knowing that he'd just thrown up in his friend's bathtub, but now, there was nothing he could do about it.

Shawn's eyes were shut for a long time- As far as he could tell- before he was awoken by the sound of the creaky bathroom door. Normally the man would hop up and yell at whoever had disrupted his privacy, but at that time, he was far too spent.

Gentle footsteps intrigued him and when they stopped in front of him, he felt a presence in front of him- A familiar, comforting one. The same one that had broken his soul just the same as he did for her.

Y/N.

He didn't have to open his eyes to know this. Instead, a small smile grazed his chapped lips at the same time a water bottle was held to them, another soft hand gently lifting his chin up. Shawn gladly accepted the help and gulped down the water, the liquid helping to soothe his burning throat.

"How'd you know I was sick?" Shawn inquired as he heard the bottle's top being twisted back on, followed by some other rustling and running water. A few seconds later a cold rag was placed on his forehead, relieving his headache and sweating.

And for the first time in months, he heard her voice- Her melodic, beautiful, voice. "Nice to see you too, stranger."

She hadn't changed from her sarcastic ways one bit.  At this, Shawn let out a pained chuckle and shook his head, his mouth spewing words before he could comprehend them. "God, I love you."

Even though he still couldn't see her, he knows she hesitated. Her hands reached down to grab his and held them to the rag, beckoning for him to support the rag himself. Of course, Shawn's mind merely lingered on the feeling of her skin against his.

"Don't tell me you've been doing this a lot?" Y/N spoke with a sigh. She lifted herself up to the counter and sat atop it, leaning down on her elbows.

Shawn sniffed and shrugged, a hopeless look on his face. "Do you want the truth or are you just like everyone else?"

When she didn't answer for a solid 10 seconds, Shawn got visibly worried, and for the first time since she'd entered the room, he willed himself to split his eyes open. The sight shattered him.

He knew this look all too well- It was the look Y/N would give him when he could tell that she was miserable inside but was trying to appear strong for Shawn. That look haunted him every time he left for tour, it persisted after every make-up they'd had, and it was especially prominent on their final night together 5 months ago.

She wore too-tight black clothing and messy makeup that wasn't her at all, but both of them were trying out new things after their breakup, it seemed. Partying was obviously Shawn's new vice.

"That's not fair, Shawn." She whispered and stared at her lap, voice hoarse now as her nose stung with the promise of tears. "You know I always listened to you."

Shawn bit his lip and gulped, silently hoping she'd look him in the eye again. He was finding it hard to tell her how he truly felt even if he knew that she would never judge him, and that she'd always be there for him, no matter what. Maybe that's why he was struggling so much.

"I've been partying so much, Y/N." Shawn speaks out against the silence, "It helps me forget. And I know you understand, since you're here too."

Y/N remained silent once again and began to twiddle her feet around- A nervous habit of hers. This simple gesture was one that he'd missed dearly. He then realized, after seeing her out of the blue like this, that he wasn't as ready as he'd once told himself he was.

"You looked like you were enjoying yourself." Y/N shrugged, biting her lip insecurely. Shawn raised his eyebrow in confusion and she continued on to elaborate, "The body shots? Kissing that girl?"

Shawn chuckled bitterly and shook his head, hurt that she believed he could enjoy another girl as much as he did her. "If I enjoyed it so much, I wouldn't be in here throwing up my guts, would I?"

Once again, silence coveted them. But that time, it wasn't awkward. It was comfortable, and without words spoken, both of them felt the words the other was dying to say. The words that they'd both considered texting the other on their late and drunken nights, but never actually had the courage to admit. Until now.

"I miss you."

Shawn's words came out scratchy and broken, but comprehensible nonetheless. Y'N's lips pressed together tightly and she visibly hesitated once again before she hopped off the counter top and stalked towards him. She plopped down next to him lazily, and with a hard gulp, her head was gently rested on top of his shoulder.

She didn't reply to his words, but he knew she felt the same. It seemed as if the rest of their night was spent together in the dimly lit bathroom, silence separating them and comforting them all at once. At one point, Y/N's eyes began to grow heavy, and Shawn couldn't help but tear up at the sight of the girl falling asleep on his shoulder.

It was a scene he'd seen so much before- When she'd come home from work after a long day, when they were on an airplane and she needed rest, and even at parties she was anxious but found comfort in his presence. The reminiscence was making him miserable, and suddenly, everything was far too overwhelming.

She snapped back to reality solely because of his sobbing. It was ugly and real, and it broke her heart because she knew exactly what he was feeling. Slowly sitting up, Y/N's eyes flickered up to stare at him, tears streaking his face and lips bitten in attempt to silence his cries- To no avail.

He could feel her eyes on him, burning into him, and he couldn't stop the flow of words that spilled from his lips. "If I knew we would end up like this, I would have never kissed you that night, I would've never dated you because now everything's fucked up and I just want you back- Not even romantically. I lost my best friend and the love of my life because I was a fucking dumbass. I miss your smile and your kindness and your talent and your grace, god, it's all my fault, and now I'm going out of my fucking mind."

Y/N's own tears were beginning to form and she crossed her legs, lips quivering as she whispered, "It's not all your fault, Shawn. We both had our issues. But that doesn't mean this has to end forever.. Maybe we can still be friends."

It was stupid of her to suggest, and they both knew it.

Shawn's teeth grit harshly as he laughed bitterly through his tears, staring off into nothing. "There's no way in hell we could ever be friends again after what we've done. We can't take it back, Y/N."

His eyes shot back to hers as soon as he heard a single semblance of a cry, and when he saw her tears, he was there. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight, both of them comforting one another, even though they were the reason for each other's pain. Her fingers wove themselves deep into his shirt as she cried loudly into his chest, Shawn's own tears dripping down his cheeks and into her mess of hair.

"It's not fair," She screamed, the viciousness behind her words muffled by the fabric. "I'm in love with you, so why can't we just be together? Why does nothing ever work out?"

They were questions that Shawn had asked himself every single night. When he first asked out his best friend, everything seemed perfect on paper. However, between the margins, constant fighting and disagreements occurred. Their entire dynamic changed and they had fallen in love too quickly, digging themselves a hole that they couldn't get out of.

Now, both were left void and filled with regret.

Shawn gulped loudly and pulled her away from him, as much as he hated to do so. Her desperate eyes searched his but only found the same sadness, knowing that there was no way to fix this.

"I think it's time for us to let go."

His words struck a cord in both of them, being the closure that both had craved for months now.

"I want you to live your life," Shawn sniffed, attempting a grin, "I want you to find love with someone who can do it all for you. I want you to be happy, even if it's not because of me. Please, don't make this harder than it has to be."

Y/N's throat burned and she wiped her tears, nodding gently. "I want the same for you, Shawn."

Shawn giggled at her- She was never great with words. He quickly shook this thought from his head, though.

"I guess this is goodbye." She bit her lip, a sad smile on her face as she stared at the man who'd done so much for her. She was trying to stay strong again, for his sake, he could tell.

"Not goodbye," Shawn shook his head, lacing his fingers with hers one last time. "That's too permanent. Let's just say.. See you later."

Y/N squeezed his fingers and nodded, "See you later."

They kept their hands together for a few more seconds and he was the one to finally go, releasing her from his grip, but certainly not his conscience.

As she exited the room with him shutting the door behind her, she ultimately walked out of his life forever, leaving him to slide his back down the door and bury his head in his knees, allowing himself to sob into himself.

And unbeknownst to him, Y/N was on the other side, a shattered mess just as much as he was.

Both loved each other too much, and that was exactly where their problem laid.

#Shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes imagines #sm #shawn peter raul mendes #my writing #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes blurbs #masterlist #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes request #shawn fic

[5hfanfiction]

This Doesn't Have a Happy Ending

I met you on a Saturday morning, mid-August. The sun beat down on my shoulders as I washed every car that came through the school parking lot, the splashes from the hose my only refuge from the Florida heat. Soap suds burrowed in the waves of my hair, drops of water decorated my shorts and tank top, beads of sweat trickled down my brow. I finished towel drying off an olive colored jeep, then turned to face the small crowd of people waiting for their cars. Our eyes met, and lingered just a little too long.

“Is this yours?” I called over to you.

“Fuck no,” you spat back. “I’m not a dyke.”

A girl emerged from the back of the crowd, waving her keys.

“That’s mine!” she laughed, her dirty blonde hair effortlessly caressing her dainty shoulders. “And I’m totally a dyke, so you can call me anytime.”

She slipped a scrap of paper into my pocket, leapt into her spotless jeep, and left before I could ask for her name.

Your words hurt. But I got a happy ending.

Three weeks later, we met again. You emerged from a classroom, surrounded by your posse of far too perky friends, and rammed into my shoulder. I assume it was an accident. I don’t really know. As comes with any good high school shoulder ramming, I dropped my books. You didn’t notice. Or didn’t care. I don’t really know.

I bent down to gather my books. Two more hands, with perfectly manicured nails, reached down to pick up loose sheets of paper that had escaped from their homes wedged between textbook chapters.

“You never called,” she said, smiling and handing me my books. “Should I be offended?”

“I, um, I – “ I stammered, searching for sounds that could actually become words. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Call me and maybe you’ll find out!” she teased before turning and all but prancing down the hallway. I dug through my wallet until I found the mangled scrap of paper with a mostly legible phone number written on it. It rang for half an eternity, before a cheerful voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Um, hi.”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s, uh, it’s Lauren.”

“I don’t think I know any Laurens…” the voice giggled.

“Oh, I must have the wrong – “

“I’m just messing with you!” she interrupted, laughing. “Glad you called.”

“So what’s your name?”

“Kerry.”

“It’s, um, nice to meet you?” I answered hesitantly.

“You too, Lauren,” she replied. “I’ll see you around.”

My shoulder still hurt. But I got a happy ending.

Four months later, Kerry and I went to a party. My friends said she was good for me. She got me out of my shell. She made me smile brighter, laugh louder, live bigger. She made me more of me. You were also at the party, as you tended to be. There wasn’t often a social event anywhere in the state of Florida that you weren’t a part of. An hour into the party, Kerry had to go home. Her mother worked the night shift at the hospital, so Kerry needed to babysit her little brother. I offered to leave with her, but she insisted I stay. Insisted I have some sort of fun.

I reverted to my standard “party” behavior: wander aimlessly through as many rooms as possible, so no one would see me linger in a single corner for too long. Scope out all the bathrooms, and find the one I could safely sit in and scroll through instagram for the longest time without irritating partygoers who actually needed to use the bathroom for its designed purpose. The third floor bathroom was fantastically vacant, and gave me the perfect place to sit. After ten minutes, I took another lap through every room in the house. Forty minutes later, I returned to the third floor bathroom. The door was shut, but I could hear someone emptying the contents of their stomach into the porcelain toilet bowl. I pushed the door open, just a crack, and saw you.

“The fuck are you looking at?” you slurred, battling for coherency and consciousness.

“Do you need any help?” I asked quietly, choosing to ignore your drunken hostility.

“I’m perfect. Peachy. This is what I love doing,” you muttered, eyes bloodshot from a variety of extracurriculars you had participated in that night. I ignored your protests and held your hair back as the last few heaves cleared out your stomach. A plastic red cup sat beside you, mostly full. I picked it up and headed to the sink.

“Hey wait,” you grabbed my arm, turning me around. “Drink that, don’t toss it.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes. “Then I’ll drink it.”

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“Well one of us has to finish it,” you giggled, looking around the otherwise empty room. “And we don’t have a lots of options.”

“I told you, I don’t drink.”

“Why are you such a baby?” you asked, rubbing my head. “Little baby Laura won’t have a drink.”

I’m not proud of it. I didn’t want to do it. But something made me. Call it peer pressure, call it preventative measures to stop you from drinking more, call it teenage delinquency, call it pure stupidity.

“Fine,” I spat, taking the cup and lifting it to my lips. The scent alone singed my nostrils, and gave me a strange certainty that I might as well be drinking battery acid. It didn’t go down easy, and left a burning sensation that dropped me to my knees.

“What the hell was that?” I asked, franticly sticking my mouth under the sink tap.

“Fun in a cup!” you laughed, taking far too much enjoyment from my pain.

“Seriously, Camila, what did I just drink?”

“Vodka.”

“I figured that out, thanks. How much was in there?”

“I dunno, like five shots. Maybe six?”

“SIX?”

The moment the word left her tongue, I felt the room beginning to spin. I didn’t know much, but I knew six shots were far beyond what my alcohol virgin, 110-pound frame could possibly handle.

“I have to go.”

I don’t know if it was the alcohol or sheer pre-drunken terror, but getting my feet to cooperate enough to get me downstairs was a significantly harder task than it had been to get upstairs. I called Kerry, who packed her half-asleep little brother into the backseat of her car and came to pick me up.

“When I said to have fun this isn’t exactly what I meant,” she laughed upon arrival, upon finding me lying facedown on a lumpy couch, upon seeing the shambles of dignity and self-respect I was left with.

“I didn’t not did mean to get drunk,” I muttered, fighting a losing battle with ordered sentences.

“I know you didn’t, babe,” she chuckled, draping my arm around her shoulders and leading me to her car.

“You’re nice,” I whispered, attempting to stroke her beautiful sandy blonde hair. I accidentally poked her eye, but I’m sure she appreciated the gesture. She was just so beautiful, and I don’t know what I did to deserve someone as purely kind as her. Her warmth, her tenderness…even stone cold sober I can’t fathom the words for her.

“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” she teased. “I love that about you.”

“I love you too,” I muttered. She didn’t answer, just kissed the top of my head.

The sun was too bright, the birds too loud, the world too much when I woke the next morning. “Morning” may be generous; I think it was more like early afternoon. Perhaps mid-afternoon if I’m being completely honest. My moaning resistance to the world drew enough attention to call in Kerry.

“Good morning beautiful.”

“Ugh.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘good morning, nice to see you too’,” she laughed. “How are you feeling?”

“I really don’t understand how anyone could find this to be a long-term desirable feeling,” I groaned. “Why do people get so drunk so often?”

“I think they tend to have more fun than you did last night,” she answered, handing me a glass of water and a pair of Advils. “Which makes the next day a bit more worthwhile.”

“So about last night…” I began. “When I said I loved you, I – “

“You can take it back, Lo. You were drunk and very emotional.”

“I don’t want to,” I smiled, butterflies filling my stomach. “I meant it. I still mean it.”

“Then I do, too.”

My head still hurt. But I got a happy ending.

I don’t know what changed. I went to college in New York, Kerry went to college in North Carolina, you went to college in Louisiana. Kerry and I were in love, prepared to bear through four years of long-distance communication struggles before a shared lifetime of bliss. I came back, Kerry came back, you came back. Kerry and I were together, barely surviving impossible long-distance struggles, each day less and less convinced that lifetime bliss was attainable.

Four days after graduation, Kerry and I broke up. She never said she met someone else, but my incessant investigation of every social media account she had suggested otherwise. The fact that she had a new girlfriend – a junior at UCLA, no less – six days after we broke up all but confirmed that New Girl had been in the picture before I, Old Girl, had left.

Eight days after graduation, I decided taking a page out of every romantic movie known to mankind was the best way to get over Kerry. I went to a sleazy dive bar, accepted the inevitability of being hit on by creepy old guys looking for young girls to cheat on their wives with, and ordered the fruitiest, strongest drink I could stomach. The creaky wooden door swung open and closed every few minutes, a revolving door of ashamed exes, heartbroken young adults, and the occasional tattered old man who never managed to revolve his way out of his heartbroken youth. I paid no attention to the assortment, until a familiar scent, sound and sight tickled all of my senses.

It was you.

You sat two seats away from me, your eyes only on the brightly colored bottles in front of you. You wore a black leather jacket, one that looked like you hadn’t worn anything else in weeks.

“Hi Camila,” the bartender said gruffly. “The usual?”

You didn’t say a word, just nodded slowly. I couldn’t reason how I was supposed to react. Nobody goes to sleazy dive bars hoping to see old classmates. Nobody at sleazy dive bars wants to be spoken to much at all, unless by the occasional woman accepting payment for services. But for the first time in all the years we’d wordlessly passed each other in the halls, you looked human. Your façade of resolute perfection had crumbled, leaving only the most vulnerable shell of a girl. We sat silently; the door continued to creak open and closed as sad story after sad story entered and exited. I stole glances your way every moment I was sure you wouldn’t look back, as you downed glass after glass of a clear liquid. It may have been vodka, may have been gin, may have been moonshine, may have been light rum. You pounded glass after glass of the liquid, by all observations immune to its effects and oblivious to the rest of the world. I don’t know what possessed me to interact with you; decades without interaction had treated us both just fine. But I did.

“Hey.”

You didn’t respond.

“Hello?”

Still nothing.

“Camila, hey.”

You turned to face me, stared without speaking for a moment, then blinked and broke the silence.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I guess.”

“Your parents threw you out of the house when they caught you kissing a girl?” you answered nonchalantly, downing the last of your drink. The glasses continued to pile up in front of you.

“Maybe not the exact same as you then.”

“Shame,” you said quietly. “It’s a lot of fun.”

“My girlfriend decided she was more interested in a long-distance relationship with a girl in California than a less long-distance one with me.”

“You’re drinking alone in here because you got dumped?” you muttered. “And I thought I was pathetic…”

“Sorry for trying to have a conversation,” I sighed. You were always difficult. It never made sense to me, the walls you insisted on putting up. You were beautiful. A quiet, subdued beautiful. You never had to try. Your dark hair perfectly framed your innocent complexion; your dark brown eyes were the flawless complement to your delicate jawline.

“You just love this, don’t you?”

“Why would I love this?”

“You’ve been out for years, got the perfect girlfriend, everyone loves you and couldn’t give less of a fuck that you’re gay,” you spat. “And now I’m a piece of shit with nowhere to live.”

“You’re not a piece of shit.”

“I am worthless. I hate myself, I hate who I love. I don’t know what sort of sick, twisted homophobic joke it is that I ended up like this.” You met the bartender’s eye again, and he brought over two more glasses. “I’m fine with anyone else being gay, I just didn’t want it to be me. And I’m sure you love seeing me like this.”

“I don’t,” I said quietly. “I really don’t.”

 We sat wordlessly again, your words echoing in our silence.

“Stay with me.”

“What?”

“Stay with me,” I repeated. “Just for a couple nights, until you figure out something else.”

“Why?”

“Because you have nowhere to live.”

“I barely even know you.”

“I know, but - ” I paused. I knew what I wanted to say. But I’ve been intrigued by you since the first day you emphatically told me you weren’t a dyke…But I’ve been so desperately lonely, and the fates must have put us both here tonight…But, though I don’t know why and I’ll never know how, I think you could be the one that changes everything about me…But you make me want to be more than I am.

“But you have nowhere to live, and I have a spare bedroom.”

An eternal pause followed before you answered.

“Fine. Just for one night.”

You stood and took your keys out of your purse.

“I’ll call a cab,” I volunteered as we headed to the creaky door. “I’ve been drinking.”

“It’s fine, I’ll drive,” you replied. “I haven’t.”

“Then what was in all the glasses the bartender kept bringing?”

“Water, with a splash of lime,” you answered, not breaking stride. “I don’t drink.” 

My heart still hurt, forever desperate for Kerry’s gentle touch. But I got a happy ending.

You lived with me for ten months, three weeks and one day. I don’t know what we were. Sometimes we were roommates, peaceful cohabitants. You’d live your life, I’d live mine. Sometimes we were best friends, staying up until midnight became daybreak gossiping and reminiscing over the circles we ran in through high school. We’d laugh till we cried, cry till we laughed. Sometimes we were sisters, giving the other a silent shoulder to cry on, being a confidant to rant to, a kindred soul who just understood. And sometimes we were more. I didn’t understand “more.” The way you touched me, the way you loved me. It never made sense. It had no pattern, no consistency. There were mornings you’d look at me like I was the very reason the sun rose. And yet by that evening, we wouldn’t speak.

You could have the tenderness of winter’s first snowfall, or the deceptive clutches of an avalanche beyond all control. You could have the compassion of a young child, or the vengeance of a Greek God scorned. You could have strength beyond measure, or weakness beyond repair. I didn’t understand the world you existed in, where the person you were within our four walls could be so different from the person beyond it.

On month ten, week three, day two, you left. I went to the library, and returned to an empty house. I thought we’d been ransacked; everything you owned was gone. Half of the plates, cups, silverware and bowls that we’d bought together when you decided my kitchen belongings were too “garage sale chic” for your taste were gone. You took two of the four bananas we had bought the day before while grocery shopping. You took your half of our lives, and left me with shattered pieces that would never quite make the same half I had before you came along.

You left a note behind when you left. I still have it, its edges frayed from the notebook you ripped the sheet from. I don’t need to look at it. I know what it reads. But I don’t understand what it says.

Thanks for everything. See you around. - C

I don’t understand you. I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know what was real, or what I was merely desperate enough to believe. I don’t know what sort of explanation to ask for, or if I even deserve to ask for any explanation at all. I have tried, oh lord I have tried, to piece together where you’ve gone, what you’re doing, who you’ve become. I don’t know how to begin to fathom how to understand. I don’t know what I don’t know. So here I am, writing it all down, piece by piece, just trying. Trying to understand.

Your words don’t hurt, my shoulder doesn’t hurt, my head doesn’t hurt, my heart doesn’t hurt.

But she’s gone, and now you’re gone, and there’s no happy ending.  

#UPDATE #one shot #AU #slash #camren #angst drama #romance fluff #submission #This Doesnt Have a Happy Ending