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atlafan · 3 years

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a/n: Hello! My lovely patrons said it was alright to post the first part of my new miniseries here. I hope you enjoy this because it’s a fun story. If you’d like to see what happens next, subscribe to my patreon!

Warnings: angst and fluff, misunderstandings, some smoking of weed (THIS IS A SLOW BURN)

Words: 9.9K

Summary: Harry is 25, and decides to go to graduate school. He's in a film studies program, and becomes a GA for Dr. Casey Robertson, who he assumes is a man. When he goes to Casey's office for their first meeting, he realizes that Dr. Robertson is a woman. The two get along great as the semester progresses, and Harry starts to form a little crush on Casey. There's just one problem...she's engaged.

Harry thought he’d have his life together by now. His whole life he was told if he went to college, he’d be guaranteed a good job and a lasting career. He soon learned, however, that things wouldn’t be that simple. All he wanted to do was watch movies, and review them. He tried making a YouTube channel where he’d review the films he watched, but the videos didn’t get many views, and the few comments he’d get were pretty lewd.

He was sick of working at a grocery store during the day, and a bar at night. He barely had the time to do the things he liked, and he just wasn’t happy. So, he did what any other depressed twenty-five-year-old would do: he applied to graduate school. It made his parents happy since it would give him a break from having to pay off his student loans, and help him find some direction. Harry was able to secure a decent enough GA position that would pay him enough that he wouldn’t need to worry about a job, and he was able to find an apartment with some other graduate students.

So, there he was, enrolled into a Film Studies program, and he’d be a GA for the Writing, Literature, and Publishing undergraduate program. He wouldn’t be teaching or anything, but he would be helping out with a lot of grading and course design. He’d need to have office hours available, and be willing to work with students that have questions.

His roommates were nice enough. Two of them were in biology programs, and another was in art and animation program. Everyone had their own room, and they all had to share a bathroom, but it was okay. They were all adults, and all agreed on chores and how to keep things clean. The four all went out for drinks the first weekend they all moved in to get to know each other better. Harry could really see himself being friends with these people.

He was a little nervous about being a GA. He had to do a good job this semester in order to keep his grant money. It had been a while since he had been in a classroom, so he wasn’t sure how he’d do juggling his own classes and schoolwork along with helping a professor grade for their various courses. Luckily, a good chunk of Harry’s classes would be online, and he only needed to go to one in-person lecture. He got an email from the admin of the Writing and Literature department about meeting with a Dr. Robertson a week before classes start. This was the professor he’d be working with.

He wasn’t given a ton of information on what he needed, so he put his laptop in his backpack, threw on a pair of jeans and a nice button up, and headed out the door. He rolled up his sleeves and the ends of his jeans since it was a little hot out. His glasses were on, and his hair was still a little wet from his shower, but other than that he was feeling pretty confident in his look. He wanted to make a good first impression since he’d be working with this professor all year and not just the fall semester. Harry wondered what type of office he’d be given. He was hoping it would at least have a window, but he’d be grateful for whatever private area he’d be given. He was essentially being given a place to write and he wasn’t going to take it for granted.

As he enters the building, he realizes he has no idea where he’s going. He finds the directory, and sees that Dr. Robertson’s office is up on the second floor. He makes his way up, and takes a deep breath before heading down the hall to their office. As he approaches, he sees a woman with wild, wavy hair up in a high ponytail wearing black, high waist leggings, a slightly cropped tank top and sports bra combo, and was mumbling to herself as she rummaged through her bookshelves.

“Um, excuse me…” Harry speaks up.

“Oh!” The woman jumps. She sets her book down and pushes her glasses back up her nose. “You must be Harry, please, come in.” She waves him in.

“Are you Dr. Robertson?”

“I am.” She nods and extends her hand out for him to shake. “Have a seat.” Harry sits down in one of the chairs across from her desk. “You look a little confused.”

“It just doesn’t look like you were, um, expecting anyone…”

“I know, my office is a total disaster. I’m normally okay with organized chaos, but right now it’s just straight up chaos.” She chuckles. She notices Harry’s eyes drift to her cleavage for a moment. “I didn’t dress up for this since I knew I’d be cleaning things up around here, I apologize.”

“No! Uh, no need. I…I’m sorry, I thought you were a man…”

“Casey is a woman’s name.” She blinks.

“It’s also a man’s.” Harry runs a hand through his hair.

“Is it going to be a problem that I’m a woman?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“No, of course not. I guess I was just picturing some older guy with a dark office and a bottle of whiskey in the corner that he sips on out of crystal.” He chuckles nervously.

“Ah, well, you know what they say about people who assume.” She smirks.

“I’m not making a very good first impression, am I.” It wasn’t a question.

“That depends.” She leans back in her chair.

“On?”

“What your favorite movie is.” She grins. “As long as it’s not The Wolf of Wallstreet you’ll be fine.”

“I mean, it’s not, but I don’t mind that movie. I thought Leo’s performance was good.” Harry shrugs.

“It definitely was, but I don’t think it needed to be three hours long, nor did I need full frontal of Margot Robbie’s vagina, but that’s besides the point. What’s your favorite movie?”

“This is going to sound cliché, but…it’s Citizen Kane.”

“Is that your favorite because it truly is, or is it your favorite because someone told you it should be?”

“No, it’s genuinely my favorite. I’m a big fan of Orson Welles, I think the film was extremely innovative at the time, it still is by today’s standards. And I love how it was blatant commentary on the harms of yellow journalism. It’s cool to think back on how much trouble Welles had with the distribution for it too.” Harry realizes how excited he’s getting, and clears his throat. “Sorry.”

“Never apologize for the things you’re passionate about.”

“What, uh, what’s your favorite movie?”

“The Wedding Singer.” She smiles.

“Isn’t that an Adam Sandler movie?”

“It sure is.” She says proudly. “Look, I can admit that some of his movies aren’t great. However, I’ve written a ton of academic pieces on The Wedding Singer.”

“Really?”

“Mhm, during a time of uncertainty with AIDS there was LGBTQ representation. The actor that played George ended up coming out as transgender, and lived out her days proudly as a woman. Not to mention that Adam Sandler doesn’t use being gay as a punchline, like, ever. There’re always people of color represented in his films as well. And on a personal note, as a Jewish woman, it was always nice seeing that his characters were Jewish. That type of representation was really important to me as a kid.”

“Wow, I guess I never really thought about that.”

“Well, that’s why I have a PhD and you’re going for your master’s.” She smirks. “Teasing.” She pulls some papers out of her desk. “Okay, so this fall I’m teaching Advanced Screenwriting, Analyzing Screen Media, and two sections of freshman Composition. I’ll need you physically there during the composition classes since those will be the ones I’m going to be having you grading the work for. I’m all for helping first year students learn the basics, but I just don’t have the strength to grade their papers this year. Plus, it’ll be good for you to learn how to properly grade an array of work.”

“All that sounds good…you won’t need help with your other classes?”

“Maybe next semester. I teach a scriptwriting class in the spring, along with some other writing courses. You’re going to be taking some pretty high-level stuff this semester, I don’t want you getting overwhelmed.”

“You know what classes I’m taking?”

“Of course I do. I’d be stupid not to look into the person I’m going to be working with. Even though I’m not your graduate advisor, I hope you know I’d be happy to help you with whatever you need. Are you coming right from undergrad, or did you take some time off?”

“It’s been a few years since I’ve been in school. I’m twenty-five.”

“Sometimes it’s good to take some time off, figure out what you want to focus on. What exactly are you hoping to get out of a graduate film program?”

“I want to write high-level film reviews. I was hoping to make a video series, but it’s really tough to build a base on YouTube. I got discouraged.”

“If you ever want me to watch what you have out there already, I’d be more than happy to.”

“Sure, that’d be great. So, uh, where will my office be?”

“Oh, honey, did you think you were getting your own office?” She can’t help but giggle. “We’re not in the science building, GA’s don’t get their own offices over here.”

“How will students meet with me if they have questions?”

“They won’t need to meet with you, you’re not teaching.”

“But I’ll be grading, what if a student wants to question me on a grade?”

“Then they can come to me.” She shrugs.

“Dr. Robertson, where am I supposed to get my own work done?”

“Mi oficina es tu oficina.” She smiles. “You can work in here any time you like. I actually have a key for you.” She opens a drawer and pulls out a key. “Here you go, don’t lose that.”

“What if you’re meeting with a student?”

“As you can see, we have a lovely lounge at the end of the hall, you can go there and set up shop if you need to. You’re a GA, Mr. Styles, pay your dues. Now, here are my syllabi, and you should have gotten an email stating that you’ve been given access to all my courses. There are rubrics for all of the assignments as well, as long as you follow those you should have no problem grading.”

“Alright.” Harry takes the different sheets of paper from her, catching sight of the ring on her finger. “Are you married?” He wasn’t quite sure why he asked, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Hm? Oh, no.” She laughs. “Just engaged.” She extends her hand to look down at her ring. “Been engaged for over a year, we can’t seem to decide on a date. My fiancé is a lawyer, and a highly sought after one at that.”

“Why not just pick a random day to go to a courthouse?”

“Well, we both have big families, and we don’t want to disappoint any of them.” She sighs. “It’s fine, we’ll figure it out at some point. Neither of us are really in a rush. We’ve been together five years, it’ll happen when it happens.” She studies Harry for a moment. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have anyone special?”

“Oh!” Harry’s cheeks redden. “Um, no…nothing serious, anyways.”

“Maybe you’ll meet someone here. You should go to the GA meetings, meet others doing what you’re doing.”

“I’m living with three other GA’s, we’re getting along pretty well so far. But I’ll definitely check out when those meetings are.”

“Good.” She smiles.

“May I ask how old you are? You seem so accomplished, I mean…look at all of the degrees and certificates you have.” Harry motions to the various frames on the walls.

“Some of those are just recognition certificates. I’m twenty-eight. I did a 4+1 program to get my master’s so I could zip right along into a PhD program. I was lucky enough that I was hired on full-time after getting it. The department really values me.”

“That’s awesome.” Harry smiles. “Anything else you’d like me to know about your classes?”

“Not at the moment. Would you be comfortable giving me your cell number? Anything I can do to have less emails, you know?”

“I don’t mind.” Harry smiles again and takes out his phone, handing it to her.

“Thanks, it’ll be much easier to tell you if something changes last minute this way.” She texts herself before handing him back his phone.

“Your fiancé won’t mind you texting me?” Harry asks playfully, warming up to her a bit more.

“No, why would he? We’re not one of those couples who reads each other’s texts. My phone is my property just as his phone is his property. We trust each other.” She rests her elbows on her desk, putting even more of her cleavage on display for him without realizing it. “Besides that, I’m not trying to start an affair with my GA who should be very careful about flirting with me so that he doesn’t end up on some very thin ice.”

“I…I…I wasn’t-“

“You were being cheeky with me.” She crosses her arms over her chest as a smug smile sets on her lips. “I like to tease, Mr. Styles, you can relax your shoulders now.”

“I think it’s going to take me some time to get used to your sense of humor.” Harry says with a relaxed sigh.

“Well, you’re stuck with me for an entire year, so you’ve got plenty of time to figure me out. Now, if you don’t have any other questions, you can go on and enjoy the rest of your day.” She stands back up. “I need to continue organizing my books, and the rest of this mess.” Harry nods and stands up.

“It was nice to meet you. You know you can just call me Harry, right?”

“Sure.” She smiles. “I prefer to be called Dr. Robertson in the classroom, when we’re not in there you can just call me Casey.”

“Okay.” Harry smiles.

“Oh, wait! Are you free the day before classes start? I was hoping to take you to lunch as a sort of good luck thing.”

“I can definitely do lunch the day before classes start.”

As Harry walks back to his apartment, he can’t help but think about how cool Casey is. She’s a bit frazzled, yes, but she seems like someone Harry will be able to easily work with. At least he wouldn’t have to kiss the ass of some stuffy old professor. Casey’s ass is one Harry wouldn’t mind kissing, but she had a fiancé to take care of that for her. He had to admit, Casey was insanely attractive, but he’d politely just admire her from afar and respect that she was very much a taken woman. Besides that, it would be incredibly inappropriate to even try to start something up with the professor he was GA’ing for. No, he’d keep things professional. He wasn’t even looking for someone to be with right now anyways. If he felt the need to hook up with someone, he could either head down to the bars or download Tinder.

“Alright, if we could settle down and get started!” Casey shouts over the buzz of students talking in her first section of composition. “My name is Dr. Robertson, and that is what I’d prefer to be called. My pronouns are she/her. I encourage you all to be vocal about how you’d like to be addressed just the same. This is Mr. Styles, you may call him Harry. He’s going to be grading all of your work this semester, so you can send any and all excuses his way.” Casey grins and sits down on top of the desk at the front of the room. “Now, I’d like us all to go around the room and say your name, where you’re from, and what TV show you binged over the summer. I know for me, I rewatched Boy Meets World for the millionth time, and it was still just as good.”

Harry was impressed. Most of the time students hated ice breakers, but this was a pretty engaging one. Once the class of twenty-five is through, Casey goes over their course page in Canvas and the syllabus.

“Now, this specific course of composition has a topic, so we’re going to be writing about television this semester. If you don’t think you can write about that, then you may want to find another section of composition to take. I will say, we’re going to have a lot of fun in this class. We’re going to watch some interesting shows, and you may find that you’re ‘to watch’ list will have grown exponentially by the end of the semester.”

Casey asks if anyone has any questions, and a few do which causes some lively class discussion for the remainder of the period. She lets them go about fifteen minutes early. Harry walks over to her as she unplugs her laptop from the monitor on the lectern.

“Seems like the majority of them are going to enjoy the content for this class.” Harry tells her, but all she does is hum her response as she looks down at her phone. She sighs heavily before putting her phone in her pocket. “Everything okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Just figuring out what Daniel and I are going to have for dinner, nothing serious.” She waves him off as she slings her bag over her shoulder. “How are your classes going so far?” She asks as they walk out of the room and head towards her office.

“Pretty good, I don’t think anything is going to be too difficult for me. I have to watch a lot of movies, but I was expecting that.” Harry shrugs.

Once they’re in her office, Casey sits down at her desk, and Harry makes himself comfortable on her couch. This is the routine they had started since she took him for lunch a few days ago. They worked in a comfortable silence together, occasionally taking breaks to chat. Casey was happy she got assigned a GA that knew the difference between work and play. Her cell phone ends up ringing about five different times. By the fifth time Harry heard the buzzing, he couldn’t help but speak up.

“If you need to take that I can step out.” Harry says.

“No, it’s fine.” Casey sighs. “It’s just Daniel being Daniel.”

“What do you mean?”

“His time is more valuable than mine.” She rolls her eyes. “He knows I’m working.”

“What if it’s an emergency?”

“It’s not.”

“Casey, he’s called you five times-“

“It’s not an emergency, now mind your business.” She snaps and stands up with her phone in her hand. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Casey didn’t share too much personal stuff with Harry about her fiancé. When they had lunch together, she told Harry his name is Daniel, and she explained the type of law he practiced, but not much more than that. She didn’t get into how they met, or how he proposed. She didn’t even seem to be excited while talking about him like she did when she and Harry first met. Casey returns about ten minutes later, and sits back down in her chair.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped.” Harry says softly.

“You didn’t.” She sighs. “I snapped at you for no good reason, I apologize.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Mhm.” She says without looking at him, and going into her email on her computer.

Harry furrows his brows as he looks at her, but gets back to what he was doing. If she didn’t want to talk about it then he wasn’t going to push her. Harry notices her resting her chin on her fist as she looks at the picture of her and Daniel that she had on her desk. She sighs heavily and shakes her head, returning to her emails.

“I have my lecture in a bit, so I’m gonna head out.” Harry says, putting his backpack on.

“Alright, have a good class.” She gives him a soft smile. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He smiles back. “See you tomorrow.”

Harry’s lecture was long and boring. It was a class all about black and white films, and the beginning of cinema up through the 1950’s. It would be a class full of dense reading materials and learning about theorists that Harry had only briefly learned about previously in undergrad. Normally this would be a class Harry would be really interested in, but the professor had to be at least 70, and he was quite monotone.

When he gets home to his apartment, he grabs a Bud Light out of the fridge, twists the cap off the top, then settles onto the couch. His roommates were all still in class and would be meeting up for pizza in a bit, so Harry had about an hour to himself before he was to go downtown to meet up for dinner. He takes his phone out and scrolls through his various notifications. Halfway through his beer he decides to text Casey.

Harry: any thoughts on Dr. Jensen?

Casey: oh god don’t tell me he’s teaching your lecture course…

Harry: yeah…so is he going to stay boring all semester?

Casey: that dinosaur should have retired years ago, I’m so sorry you have to have a class with him. Is it the early cinema through the 1950’s class?

Harry: that’s the one! The content is interesting enough, but I was on the verge of falling asleep the whole time, idk how I’m gonna survive an entire semester with the guy. Any tips on how to survive his course?

Casey: def make sure you keep up with the homework. He’s one of those jerks that’s been using the same syllabus for the last 20 yrs, so he doesn’t update his exams. I’d also recommend getting a recorder for his lectures, keeping up with notes is basically impossible during class, but if you can go back and listen he actually makes a lot of good points

Harry: you’re a lifesaver, thank you!! 😊

Casey: any time! I actually like a lot of the movies he has on his syllabus, so if you ever want a movie buddy just let me know!

Casey: I’ve got that couch in my office literally so I can comfortably watch movies

A sigh leaves Harry’s mouth when he sees that she rushed to make it known watching movies would only be an on-campus thing. Would it be so weird if she came to his apartment for a movie night?

Harry: that sounds great, I actually have to watch The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari by the end of the week. I’m sure you’ve seen it a million times though…

Casey: I have, but it’s one of my favorites so I won’t mind watching it again

Harry: really??

Casey: yeah! I love German Gothic films, I took a class solely on them in grad school, I can’t get enough. The makeup, the sharp edges, the harsh shadows, it was all just so interesting

He sees the time on his phone and realizes he needs to head downtown to meet up with his roommates. Harry wasn’t one for using his phone while eating with friends, so much to his dismay he has to end the conversation.

Harry: learn something new about you every day! I have to get going, meeting up for pizza with friends. Did you figure out what you and Daniel are having for dinner?

Casey: pasta…have fun with your friends!

Harry: a classic choice, I love pasta

He almost wished he hadn’t sent that last text. She didn’t respond to it. Harry groans at himself, and picks himself up to head outside. He couldn’t wait to stuff his face with some greasy pizza, drink some more beer, and just unwind with his new friends. It was nice being back in school and feeling like your responsibilities could be put on the back burner for a bit. Schoolwork was a less anxiety inducing thing to focus on, as opposed to what the fuck Harry was going to do with his life. Casey would be a great mentor for him. She was essentially doing what he thinks he’d like to be doing. He had an entire year to pick her brain, and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. With any luck he’d be her GA again next year, but he didn’t want to get too far ahead of himself.

Casey and Harry were getting along famously. It was nearly October, and they were already in perfect sync. She was beyond grateful for him and his speedy grading. He was a fast reader, and she was not, so having him grade all of those papers and forum posts for her composition courses freed her up to focus on the work in her other classes. Harry tried his best not to bring up Daniel. Any time he did, Casey seemed to shut down. He’d only ask because he wanted to make sure Daniel wasn’t doing anything abusive to Casey. She never came in with a scratch on her, but Daniel could easily be doing something mental. Daniel never showed up to Casey’s office. If Harry were engaged to Casey, he’d want to visit her all he could, but maybe Casey didn’t like being visited since she always had something to do.

“Hey, Casey, what’s this faculty Halloween party about?” Harry asks her one Thursday afternoon. “I got an e-vite for it.”

“Oh! I forgot they put you on the faculty email list. You should go, it’s a lot of fun. It’s a great way for all of us to get together outside of the monthly faculty meetings. Everyone dresses up, it’s at one of the bars downtown. We get two drink tickets, and the rest you buy yourself.”

“Do other GA’s go?”

“Sometimes.” Casey nods. “It would be a good way for you to meet some of the other GA’s, and other faculty members. You can never have too many of us in your corner.”

“That’s true. What do you think I should dress up as? Like, how all out do people go?”

“Definitely keep it classy, appropriate, but don’t be afraid to have fun. Daniel and I usually do a couple’s costume. We have so much fun going to the store every year and figuring out what we want to do. It works out great cause his law firm has a costume party every year too.” She smiles. “We’re headed to the fabric store this weekend actually to start thinking of ideas.”

“Oh, that’s good. Um, what have you gone as in the past?”

“I’ll show you!” Casey grabs her phone, and wheels herself closer to Harry so he can see. “Last year we went as Bob and Linda from Bob’s Burgers, the year before that we went as vampires, and the year before that we went as Cosmo and Wanda from The Fairly Oddparents.”

“Aw, you guys looks so happy.”

“Yeah.” Casey swallows and locks her phone, wheeling back over to her desk. “Can’t wait to see what we come up with this year.” She mutters as she gets back to her work.

“I’ll have to really think about it. I haven’t dressed up for Halloween in forever.”

“Your friends didn’t have parties?”

“They did, but I was usually working. The bar I worked at had costume contests and stuff, so we were always busy. I’d get too hot from running around to dress up as anything.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Hmm…” She taps her chin as she thinks. “You could go as, like, a baseball player or something.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to see me in a pair of those tight pants.” Harry smirks.

“I see you in tight pants every day, it wouldn’t be anything new.” She says smugly before turning away from him.

“I do not wear tight pants every day.” Harry scoffs. “They may be tight in certain places, but it’s not like I’m walking around in skinny jeans.”

“True.” She side eyes him. “Maybe you could go as a Jonas Brother, all of them wear tight pants, or they used to.”

“I don’t think anyone at that party would get the reference.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Well, don’t say I didn’t help you think of anything.” She shrugs.

Harry chuckles softly as he gets back to grading papers. He loved when Casey would tease him. He had grown a lot more comfortable with her sense of humor, and they would often end up in hysterics from their banter.

“Casey.” A tall man with salt and pepper hair wearing an expensive looking suit stands in the doorway. He was holding a small bouquet of flowers, and his eyes looked tired. “Baby, can I take you to lunch?”

“Daniel, I’m working.” Casey stands up. “Harry, this is my fiancé, Daniel. Daniel, this is my GA, Harry.”

“Hi, I’ve heard a lot about you.” Daniel says to Harry, then turns his attention back to Casey. “Please, you didn’t pack a lunch this morning. Let me take you out.”

Casey sighs, and ushers Daniel out into the hallway.

“You can’t just show up like this.” She says quietly.

“I’m really trying here, Honey.”

“I only have an hour, so we need to go somewhere quick.”

“That’s fine, uh, I got these for you. Know how much you like tulips.”

“These aren’t even season.” She smiles as she takes the flowers from him. “Thank you, Sweetheart, let me just go grab my jacket.” Casey goes back into her office and grabs her things. “Harry, I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Okay, I’ll probably be in class by the time you get back.”

“Alright.” She nods, and zips up her jacket.

“Do you want me to put those in some water for you?” He asks, nodding towards the flowers.

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s alright. They won’t last more than a few days as it is. It’s not worth it.”

Harry had ended up putting together a Clark Kent costume by wearing a light-wash pair of jeans, some converse, a Superman tee shirt with a jacket over it half zipped, and his glasses. He styled his hair to give the front an extra curl. The faculty would definitely be able to see the effort, but it also didn’t look like Harry was trying too hard. He heads downtown to the bar with his roommates, as they were all invited too. They all decided to be super heroes in disguise, so they made sure to take a ton of pictures before going to the party. Harry’s jaw nearly hits the floor when he spots Casey wearing a Morticia Addams costume. Even though Casey wasn’t showing much skin, her off the shoulder dress was leaving little to the imagination.

“Excuse me.” Harry says to his friends before making his way over to Casey. “Hi.”

“Harry!” She beams. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Me too, uh, what do you think of my costume?”

“I love it! Very cute and creative.” She smiles. “No one ever really thinks about dressing as the secret identity.”

“Casey, don’t you look lovely!” Dr. Lind says to her. “Where’s your Gomez?”

“Oh, uh, Daniel’s busy working a case. He couldn’t get away and I told him not to worry about it.” Casey explains.

“Aw, that’s too bad. It’s been ages since we’ve seen him. Have you two picked a date yet?”

“No, not yet. We both have had a lot going on, and we can’t seem to agree on the best time to do it. I’m sure we’ll figure it out soon.”

“You two should just elope, get it done at a courthouse and then have a big party for your families. I mean, the point of being engaged is not to stay engaged.”

“It’s only been a little over a year.” Casey mutters.

“I know, Dear, but you-“

“You know what’s great about being in a monogamous relationship? What happens between Daniel and I is between Daniel and I, none of this really concerns you, Nancy. I appreciate your input, but it’s not needed, excuse me.” Casey has to bite back tears as she walks away.

“My goodness, I didn’t mean to upset her.” Dr. Lind says to Harry.

“I’ll go see if she’s alright.” Harry finds Casey getting a new drink from the bar. He pulls her to the side to have a private word. “Dr. Lind always oversteps, she had no right to speak about what you should be doing.”

“I know that.” Casey says, looking away.

“Did Daniel really have to work late tonight?”

“No.”

“What happened?”

“Harry, I don’t want to talk about it.” She says before sipping on her drink. “I just want to have a good time tonight and not think about it, alright?”

“I can respect that, but I don’t think drinking your problems away is a great idea.”

“Harry, no offense, but I don’t need your opinion on this.” She brushes by him and goes to speak with some of her other friends.

A few hours pass, and it was starting to get a little stuffy in the bar, so Harry heads out for some fresh air. He sees Casey outside with a cigarette between her fingers. As he gets closer, he realizes it’s not a cigarette.

“Casey, are you smoking weed?” Harry asks her.

“It’s medicinal.” She mutters, blowing smoke in the opposite direction as to not hit him in the face with it. “It’s for my anxiety.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to take an edible?”

“Not when I need it to work right away.”

“Did you drive yourself here tonight?”

“I did, but I can just take an uber home.” She shrugs. “I came out for some air.”

“So did I.” Harry rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to pry into your life, but things won’t get better if you keep shit bottled up.”

“I just prefer to keep my private life private.”

“Believe me, I get that, but…god, I wish you’d just talk to me, I’m your friend.”

“Daniel and I had an argument earlier and I told him not to come with me because I didn’t want to pretend like everything was fine. I couldn’t stand in that bar around my friends and colleagues pretending like everything’s fine with him when it’s not. We’re far from fine, and we have been for a while.”

“Did something happen?”

“The morning before the day I first took you out to lunch he told me he was up for a promotion at the firm…partner.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“It would have been if it didn’t involve us having to move to New York. He took the bar exam out there without telling me, and he passed. They want him out there to work on larger cases, as a defense attorney. I wouldn’t have been opposed to moving, but he just assumed that I would. He said I could teach anywhere with no regard with how I’d feel about leaving this institution, our friends, and family behind. And then he told me it wouldn’t even matter because he’d be making enough money for me to never have to work another day in my life and that I could just stay home taking care of our future children.”

“That’s a bit old fashioned.”

“It is, which was shocking to me because he’s never acted that way towards me. He’s always been so modern, so progressive. I think he was given advice from the wrong people. Anyways, he took the job in New York because he basically had to, he would have been stupid not to take it, so we’ve only been seeing each other on weekends. And when we do see each other, we just end up fighting…we don’t even sleep in the same room.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what we’re doing anymore.” Her voice cracks, but she swallows her tears down. She spent too long on her makeup to ruin it from crying. “We’ve grown apart, it’s as simple as that, but neither of us have the courage to end it. I love him so much, but lately…lately I’ve been feeling like love just isn’t enough.” She looks up at Harry who had been nice enough to stand out in the cold with her to listen to all of her woes.

“I’m so sorry.” It’s all he can think to say. “You should be home with him…trying to work it out.”

“I couldn’t get out of the house fast enough today. I told him to just go back to New York. He’s got a whole new life out there. I’ve been to his apartment a few times, and I didn’t feel like I fit in at all. I don’t even know why he still wants me, he could easily find someone new out there.”

“How could he not want you?” Harry steps a little closer to her. “You’re smart, funny, and…you’re a knockout. If I were him and I saw you about to leave the house looking like this, well…I wouldn’t have let you leave the house.”

“Why, so you could tell me to change into something less form fitting?” She scoffs as she crosses her arms over her chest. Her blunt all but forgotten.

“I would have asked you to take the dress off, that’s for certain. As far getting something back on…” Harry takes another step closer to Casey, making her cheeks feel warm.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not Daniel.”

“I didn’t have much to drink tonight. Let me drive you home, and I’ll take the uber back to my apartment. That way you don’t have to worry about coming back for your car tomorrow.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not, I’m making a suggestion.”

“Okay, yeah, if you don’t mind. I only live, like, fifteen minutes from here. We, uh, rent a townhome.”

Casey hands Harry her keys, and they make their way around the building to the parking lot. The drive is quiet. Casey could feel her eyes starting to droop. Harry had the heat cranked since it had gotten chilly. He watches the map on the navigation screen to make sure he makes the right turns to her house. He pulls into her driveway, and orders his uber.

“Thank you for driving.” Casey says.

“Any time.” Harry smiles and gets out of the car. He jogs around to the other side to open her door, and walks her up her front steps. “You gonna be okay?” He rubs his hands up and down her arms to keep her warm.

“Yeah.” She smiles softly up at him. “Harry, I-“ The front door opens with Daniel standing there.

“Casey, thank god, Baby, I’m so sorry.” He wraps his arms around her, kissing her without acknowledging Harry. “No argument is worth you leaving angry like that for.” He kisses her again.

“Daniel.” She pushes him off of her. “Harry’s here, he drove me home.”

“Oh! Sorry about that.” Daniel says. “Thanks for driving her, man.”

“No problem.” Harry’s uber pulls up in front of the house. “That’s my ride, uh, have a nice night.”

Harry’s gaze lingers on Casey for a moment before making his way to the car. Daniel leads Casey inside the house.

“Did you have a good time?” Daniel asks her as they both walk into the kitchen.

“I guess.” She shrugs. “Would have been more fun if my Gomez had been there with me.” She pouts at him.

“You told me you didn’t want me there.”

“I also told you to go back to New York, so clearly your listening skills are selective.”

“I was so mad at you that I actually almost left, but I couldn’t make it out of the driveway.” He comes over to her, caressing her cheek. “Casey, I want to figure all of this out with you. I don’t want to fight anymore, and I’m sick of sleeping alone.”

“I feel the same way. Let me take all of this off and put on some pj’s, and then we can talk.”

“Okay.” He smiles. “Want me to make you some tea?”

“That’d be great, thank you.”

Casey: I’m not able to come in today, I’m not feeling great…do you think you could handle my classes today? You can have comp peer edit their papers, and my other classes can just watch a movie

Harry: sure! Is there anything else you need?

Casey: just some rest, thanks for understanding

Harry had wondered for the rest of the weekend how things went between Casey and Daniel. Maybe he hung around and they were going to spend Monday together. All in all, he hoped Casey was okay. Her Monday classes were sad not to see their beloved Dr. Robertson, but many of the girls in class had no problem with Harry taking over for the day.

As a lark, Harry picked up some pepto bismol and other things that might make someone sick feel better. He pulls up to Casey’s house, and sighs with relief when he doesn’t see Daniel’s car. He rings the doorbell, and waits for Casey to open door.

“H-Harry?” She says as she opens the door. She had on an oversized, quarter-zip fleece and a pair of joggers. Her hair was in a loose, low ponytail with some strands left out in front. Her eyes were red and puffy, as was her nose.

“Hey, I…I brought you some pepto and some other stuff that might make you feel better. I didn’t know if you caught a cold or…are you okay?”

“Oh, Harry!” She wails, and throws her body into his, crying into his chest. Harry wraps his arms around her and moves them both further into the house, closing the door. “I’m not sick.” She sniffles as she looks up at him. “I’m…heartbroken.”

“What happened?”

“Daniel and I broke up.” Her voice cracks, and she shoves her face back into his chest. He holds her close and rubs her back. “We stayed up all night on Saturday talking.” She hiccups, stepping back from him and leading him into her living room. “We watched the sun come up in tears.” They both sit down on her sofa. There was a somewhat tattered blanket that she snatches, hugging it to her chest. “We just couldn’t come to a compromise that worked well enough for the both of us.” She pauses for a moment, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “We didn’t yell or argue, we just talked everything out. He agreed that we grew apart and that we still loved each other very much. He was feeling defeated because he felt like he was the only one trying. I knew I stopped trying because I just didn’t have the strength anymore. He’s coming back next weekend to pack up the rest of his things. After we got some sleep on Sunday we went out to get him some boxes, and he packed as much as he could into his car. Five years over and done with just like that.”

“Casey, I’m so sorry.”

“I just needed today to, like, rest and regroup, but I just spent it crying…mourning the loss of my relationship.”

“That sounds like a pretty healthy way to deal with it.”

“Every time I tried to sleep, I just cried. I haven’t eaten all day, I’ve just been in here…wallowing.” She laughs coldly at herself.

“Let me make you something to eat. Do you have food in the kitchen?”

“Harry, you don’t have to. I know you have homework to do.” She frowns.

“My bag’s in the car. I can make you some dinner, and I can work on my assignments. I can even put on one of the movies I need to watch.”

“You really don’t have to babysit me. I’m a grown woman, I can take care of myself.”

“Casey, I want to help. Why don’t you go take a shower or something? I’m sure I’ll be able to find my way around your kitchen. I can just whip up some pasta.”

“You’re very kind, thank you.” She sniffles. “A shower sounds nice, I’ll go do that.”

By the time Casey gets downstairs, all cozy in a fresh fleece and pair of sweatpants, Harry had finished making some ziti mixed with some peas. He seasoned it with some parmesan cheese, pepper, and adobo.

“Hey.” He smiles when he sees her.

“Smells good in here.” She smiles back, hopping up onto one of the stools at her kitchen island. Harry puts a bowl of food in front of her before sitting down next to her. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me, would you?”

“I can’t help it.” Her bottom lip quivers as she takes a bite of food. “This is just so nice of you.” She sniffles.

“Casey, come on.” Harry chuckles and cradles her cheeks to thumb her tears away. “Can’t have you crying into your dinner.” He pouts cutely at her making her giggle before letting her go.

Harry eats while getting some work done, typing away at his computer. Casey eats her dinner slowly, not wanting to overwhelm her empty stomach. She also got her period earlier in the day, so she knew her tears had to have been in overdrive because of that. She finishes her food with a sigh and sets her fork down.

“All done?” Harry asks softly.

“Mhm, I can clean up.”

“No, let me-“

“Harry, I’m not helpless, please.” She hops off her stool and takes both of their bowls and put them in the dishwasher. “Did you figure out which movie you need to watch for class?”

“I have a choice between Some Like it Hot and The Apartment.”

“God, I can’t stand The Apartment.” Casey groans. “Let’s watch Some Like it Hot, it’s way more entertaining. I actually have it on DVD.”

“Oh, perfect.” Harry follows Casey into her living room, and he sits down as she sets the movie up. “I’ve never seen this one before.”

“Really? You’ll love it, it’s a classic. Marilyn Monroe is in it, and she’s just wonderful.” Casey sits down and hits play on the remote. “Can I get you anything? Water?”

“I’m all set, thank you.” Harry smiles, sitting back into the couch, making himself more comfortable. “You feeling a little better now that you’ve eaten?”

“Yeah, I-“ Casey’s phone starts ringing, and she sees that it’s Daniel. “I’m sorry, I need to take this.” Casey gets up quickly, and makes her way upstairs. “Hi…”

“Hi.”

“You don’t sound great.” Casey says softly.

“Been crying all day.”

“Me too.” She sighs.

“Are we sure we’re doing the right thing? If it hurts this much, shouldn’t we try to find a way to make this work?”

“Daniel, we went round in circles all weekend. You’re staying in New York, and I’m staying here. I don’t want you sacrificing your career for me. We’re not the same people we were five years ago…we’re both different now. I…I don’t want to wait for things to get started anymore.”

“So, you’d rather start over with someone new than just wait a little longer to get married to someone you know and love?”

“I want to marry someone who doesn’t lie to me about a promotion! You didn’t even talk to me before you accepted. It was like I didn’t even matter in your life, Daniel, don’t you understand that?”

“I know it was wrong of me to do that, I just thought you’d be on board…”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“Apparently so.” There’s a beat of silence between them. “I’ll be coming back late on Friday. I should be able to pack everything else up during the weekend.”

“Okay, do you want me to stay with Lola? Like, do you not want me here?”

“I’m not going to kick you out of your own home, Casey. Besides, I’ll need you there so we can properly divide things up.”

“Right, yeah…”

“And we didn’t exactly get to have a, uh, proper goodbye.”

“Daniel.” Casey giggles. “I don’t think doing it one last time would be a good idea.”

“I’m not saying we need to plan it out, but if it happens…”

“We’ll see. I really am sorry we couldn’t compromise on things.”

“Me too. Well, I’ll let you go now. Sleep well.”

“You too.” Casey sighs as she hangs up, and makes her way downstairs. “Hey, Harry, if it’s all the same, I think I’m gonna just go to bed, but you can borrow the DVD if you want.”

“Oh! Okay.” Harry pauses the movie and stands up. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m just hormonal and tired. I’m ready to just crawl into bed and get cozy. I want to have a fresh start tomorrow.”

“Right, makes sense.” Harry gathers his things, and Casey walks him to the door.

“I can’t thank you enough for coming by.”

“All I did was make a little dinner.” Harry shrugs.

“It was more than that and you know it.” She pokes his chest playfully. “You’re a great friend.” She opens her arms up for him, and he gladly accepts her hug. He holds her close to him, maybe for a beat too long, but he likes the way she feels pressed up against him. Harry was also known for not being the first person to end a hug. Casey’s arms start to loosen around him, and he looks down at her. Her eyes widen when she sees Harry start to lean in. “Woah, what are you doing?” She steps back from him.

“N-nothing.” His face flushes.

“Were you just going to try to kiss me?”

“What, no! Of course not.” He swallows.

“Yes you were!” She pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath before looking at him. “Hi, I just broke up with my fiancé, who I’ve been with for over five years, what part of that made you think it was a good time to pull a move on me? Was all of this because you just wanted to try and get a piece?”

“Casey, that’s not what’s happening. I genuinely came to check on you. I…I just misread a signal, that’s all.”

“What signal? I literally just said you were a good friend and hugged you!” She puts her hands on her hips and frowns at him. “I’m really disappointed in you, Harry. You never struck me as the kind of guy to be nice to a girl just to try to-“

“I’m not one of those guys.” He shakes his head. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or disrespect you, I just thought…”

“Harry, you’re my GA.”

“I know.”

“It would be highly inappropriate for us to get involved. I mean, I know I’m only three years older than you, but at the end of the day I have a position of power over you. You’re a bright man, Harry, don’t be stupid and risk messing up your future because you have a crush.”

Harry looks down at his shoes, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I understand what you’re saying.” He looks up at her. “But you haven’t said that you don’t like me back.” He smirks, making her mouth fall open. She was speechless. “Sleep tight, Casey.” Harry turns and opens the door, letting himself out. Casey stands in her doorway.

“You’re on thin ice, Styles!” She calls after him.

“I’ll make sure to step with caution, Dr. Robertson!” He shouts back before getting into his car.

Casey shuts her door, and sighs, leaning against it for a moment before bringing herself up to bed. She goes through her nightly routine, and gets herself settled into her sheets. She knew there was an underlying reason as to why she didn’t want to try harder with Daniel. The more she got to know Harry, the more she’d dread coming home to her now ex-fiancé. She used to love coming home to Daniel and recounting their days, but she realized she just didn’t care about his cases anymore. She wanted to have high level talks about film and media. Daniel would always listen, but he never really understood why Casey was so passionate about her work. To him, it all just seemed like a hobby rather than a career. Harry, on the other hand, had the same passions as her. He understood how stimulating talk about film and media could be. She wasn’t having sexual feelings towards Harry, but she couldn’t wrap her head around the emotional attachment that begun. She figured maybe she couldn’t love Daniel that much if she’d rather spend extra hours in her office with Harry instead of trying to get home to Daniel before heading back to New York. It pained her, but that was the truth. Tonight confirmed that Harry was definitely into Casey. Now all Casey had to do was figure out how she felt about Harry, but she needed to get over Daniel first.

“You’re here early.” Casey says to Harry the next morning.

“I wanted to talk to you about last night. I feel really bad about how I acted. I thought that maybe we were having a moment. I apologize for misreading things. Kept me up all night.”

“Have a seat.” She motions to her couch and he sits down. She turns in her seat to face him. “Don’t worry about last night. I was in a vulnerable state, and I was more affectionate than I should have been. Nothing really happened between us, so it’s all good. It’s going to take me some time to get over Daniel. Five years is a long time to be committed to one person. I’m seeing him again this weekend, and who knows what could happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“We could easily get back together, and then what? The last thing I want to do is hurt you. Besides that, you’re my GA, it would be wrong. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. It’s not like…I mean…it’s nothing, okay? Think I’m just into you cause we have so much in common. And I really look up to you. You’re so accomplished, you know?”

“A smart woman doesn’t intimidate you?”

“Not at all.” He shakes his head. “I think smart women are incredibly”, Harry gets up from his seat and sits on the edge of Casey’s desk, “incredibly sexy.”

“You’re not really sorry for trying to kiss me last night, are you?” She smirks up at him.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you and for overstepping a boundary.” A grins starts to pull on his lips. “But I’m not sorry that it’s lead to you admitting that you like me.”

“I never said I liked you.”

“You never said you didn’t.”

“Harry.” Casey sighs.

“Listen”, Harry gets off her desk and sits back down on the couch, taking out his laptop. “take as much time as you need to get over Daniel. I’ll be right here when you’re ready for me.” He peers up at her from his laptop, smiling from ear to ear.

“You’re insufferable.” She shakes her head, getting back to her own work.

“And yet, here we are.”

“Harry, it’s 8:30 in the morning, we don’t have class until 10. Do me a favor and stay quiet until then, yeah?”

He makes a motion as to zip his lips, making Casey chuckle and roll her eyes. Later that day, when Harry had to leave for his own lecture, Casey snuck off to go see her friend, Lola, who works in the financial aid office.

“You busy?” Casey asks her friend as she sits down.

“I’m always free for you, Honey.” Lola smiles warmly. “What’s up?”

“Um…Daniel and I decided to officially end things over the weekend.” Casey says quietly. Lola had a cubicle to herself, but there were always wandering ears.

“Oh my god! I knew you guys were on the rocks, but holy shit.”

“He didn’t want to give up New York, and I didn’t want to give up here. It sucks, I’m totally heartbroken.” Casey frowns, trying not to cry again.

“Why didn’t you call me? I would have come over or something.”

“Well, I sort of just wanted to be alone…um, but someone came by to take care of me.”

“Oh, who?”

“H-Harry.”

“Your GA?!” Lola whisper-screams, and Casey nods. “Holy fuck, did anything happen?”

“No.” Casey shakes her head. “He just made me dinner…but he tried to kiss me before he left. I called him out on it, but…I don’t know, like, I…fuck.” Casey pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “I don’t really know how to articulate this.”

“You find your GA, who happens to only be three years younger than you, attractive.” Lola says for Casey.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it. But I don’t want to get involved with anyone else right now. I still love Daniel, like, my heart is still with him.”

“But you also think you like Harry.”

“Well, what’s not to like about him? He makes me laugh, I like talking to him, he’s very sweet…and…fuck, I can’t even think like this. This is so unethical of me. If this were a male professor with a female GA, I’d be totally against it.”

“Yes, but that’s not the situation. You’re twenty-eight, he’s twenty-five, it’d be weird if you didn’t fall for each other.”

“I feel like it’s like when you fall for your therapist, you know? Like, what if he just likes me because he looks up to me? I shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought of this, right? It’s got to be against the rules.”

“Are you his professor?”

“Of course not, you know I don’t teach graduate level courses.”

“So, he in no way is going to be graded by you?”

“No.”

“And he could have easily been assigned to any other professor in the department. There was no special request on your part. And again, he’s twenty-five-years-old, it’s not like he’s some naïve twenty-one-year-old kid who just finished undergrad, you know?”

“That’s true.” Casey chews on her bottom lip. “I don’t know, think I need to get over my break up before I do anything.”

“I think that’s a good idea. You were together for over five years, that’s not something you’ll get over in a day, Babe. What do you say you and I grab drinks this weekend?”

“I can’t, Daniel’s coming back to pack up the rest of his things and he wants me there.”

“Alright, how about on Thursday? We can go for happy hour downtown after I get out.”

“Yeah, okay.” Casey nods. “Think I could definitely use some girl time, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Don’t overthink this Harry thing either. It’s not a problem yet, so don’t turn it into one.”

“You’re right, it’s just been a little flirting, it’s not like anything’s actually happened between us. If he really likes me, he’ll be patient.”

“And don’t forget, you’re worth the wait.”

#harry styles #tell me I'm the only one #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles x oc #harry styles series #harry styles au #GA!Harry #GArry

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Text

Will Never be Boring

Ch 3: A Weekend in Blue

Once they made middle school being a grade above everyone wasn’t s bad. They had a little more control over their classes and the electives were all mixed grades so he still had a chance to be with his friends. Understandably they all tried to match up. He wound up with a lot more creative type classes than he originally planned for. Connor wasn’t particularly creative. He preferred numbers and provable things, but getting to spend a little of his time with Markus everyday more than made up for it. Over the years Markus had added painting to his talents, and Connor was always blown away by the sheer amount of feeling in them. He always seemed delighted when he got to see Connor’s child like messy drawings in turn. Personally, he despised them. Middle school brought more work with it so it became more difficult to hang out as an entire group. They began to section off a little and it left Connor feeling strangely. He had always thought the group of them would stay close. It wasn’t like there was fighting or anything, they were just drifting. His dad said these kinds of things happened sometimes, and that they would come back together eventually.

Markus made a few of his own friends, but in all of that he tried not to leave Connor behind. He knew Markus’s birthday was coming up and Connor was trying to figure out what to do for it. He wasn’t very creative so a homemade card or poem was immediately out of the question. That left using his saved up allowance to buys something, or giving up. He did his best to come away with something that wasn’t overly predictable, and failed horribly. He eventually decided on a book of advanced painting techniques and a new paint set to go with it. Better than the sketchbook he’d originally been debating, but not great. In the end it didn’t really seem to matter much because he wasn’t invited to the birthday party. The only people that got to go were the friends from his various art classes, which Connor found strange. Connor tried to be reasonable about it. He wasn’t very comfortable around Markus’s new friends. Maybe he had been trying to respect that. It didn’t lessen the sting, but this made it easier not to be upset. He was sure Markus had a reason. In the years they had been friends he had never been to Markus’s house. The most of he knew of it was that he lived up on the hill where all of the nice houses were with his brother and his grandpa; though Connor had never met either of them.

It was about a week after the party, and after the gifts had made their home at the top of Connor’s closet, that Markus approached him about it. He looked just as uncomfortable as Connor felt. They hadn’t really talked since Connor’s birthday, and he had been trying his best to make peace with the fact that Markus was drifting away from him. Just like everyone else. “Hey Connor?” He asked once they were settled in their art class, “Can. uh, can we talk please?” He looked down and tapped his fingers against the table to try and get rid of some of his nervous energy, “Are you sure you want to talk to me? Why not talk to your other friends?” Markus was quiet for a long moment and Connor realized that he might have been a little harsh. “Because,” He said eventually, “They aren’t the ones I hurt without meaning to. I’d like a chance to explain myself if you’ll let me.” It was is turn to be quiet this time. In part because their teacher was talking and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself; and because he wasn’t sure he was ready to learn that Markus had outgrown him too. “Okay.” He said quietly, “If you want to.”

“Will you listen, or are you still upset?” He asked and waited for Connor’s tentative nod before he continued, “I know I probably should have said this before the party and I’m sorry for that; but I didn’t invite you because I knew you would be uncomfortable. As much as I wanted you there, I couldn’t invite you knowing you would be miserable if I did.” He explained, “My plan had been to have that party last weekend, and one for just the two of us this weekend. Um, if you, well if you still want to anyway.” Connor could have cried, but he wasn’t about to have a breakdown in class, “Of course I still want to.” Then, after he had collected himself a little more, “I’m sorry for being rude.” “It’s fine. I’m just glad you aren’t upset with me anymore.” He smiled. Just like that, things were back to normal. Markus had his other friends, but he also didn’t seem to have plans to leave Connor behind. The weight of wondering where he had gone wrong that had been threatening to bury him was finally off his shoulders. He could breathe again. When he got home the first thing he did was try to wrap the presents he had bought Markus. Just this once, his homework could wait.

A single interaction with one of Markus’s art friends was all the proof Connor needed. While Echo was very kind, she was also very touchy and Connor was immediately uncomfortable. She stopped when he asked her to, but he still chose to excuse himself from the interaction. He was glad now, that Markus had thought to keep him away from this. As he headed to the library he heard one last thing. “I don’t think your seventh-grader friend likes me much.” Echo told Markus, “Did I do something wrong?” “No.” Markus said kindly, “It just takes him a while to warm up to people.” He supposed that was true enough. He was just wary. Kids his age were loud for whatever reason and it got to be too much a lot of the time. It was just easier to keep his distance and wait for someone to come to him. He still felt a little guilty though, Echo had only been trying to be nice. Maybe on a day when he had more spoons he could try again, and just try and stay out of arm’s reach or something. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings and he wanted to fix it.

Friday he came to school with an extra bag. Inside were the things he needed for the weekend and the presents he had gotten for Markus. He was equal parts excited and nervous. He hadn’t gotten to meet Markus’s family and he was worried they might not like him. The plan was to ride Markus’s bus at the end of the day and then again on Monday morning. Of course, if he got uncomfortable he could always call his dad to come get him, or walk home if it came to that. Perks of living in the same neighborhood he supposed. It wasn’t that he expected things to go wrong, it just eased his anxiety to know that he had a way out if he needed one. Markus seemed to understand which was nice. Since it was their first big weekend like this, Markus had helped him come up with a color system. Blue meant things were fine; yellow meant that he needed a moment to himself to try and get it together; and red meant it was time to go home. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use red, but just like his exit plan, it was a nice thing it have in case he needed it.

The day passed faster than he would have liked and he wasn’t ready for the sheer number of the kids on the bus. His bus was usually pretty crowded, but never like this. It made a little more sense why their neighborhood had three different buses now. “Color?” Markus asked s they settled in one of the seats toward the back. “Blue.” He replied. He hadn’t been expecting this many kids, but he was okay for now, “I’m alright.” Markus took his hand and squeezed it, “You can always listen to your music if you need to, that’s what I do sometimes.” “I might.” He replied, but for now he wanted to try and stick it out for as long as he could. He managed about half of the ride before he had to put on his noise cancelling headphones or risk having a panic attack. It wasn’t that anything in particular had happened, the constant chatter had just grated on his nerves more than he planned. His bus wasn’t exactly quiet, that was categorically impossible for middle schoolers, but he was used to his bus and not this one. Markus only squeezed his hand again and then let him be until it was time to get off. He was thankful to be free of all that noise.

“How do you deal with that every single day?” He asked after he had taken his headphones off. Markus gave a nonchalant shrug, “I’ve lived with Leo my whole life. They aren’t any louder than him on any given day.” “I suppose that helps.” He said distantly, he wasn’t ready to deal with more noise so soon after the bus. “You don’t have to worry about him though.” He replied, “He’s got plans tonight at least. It’s just going to be the two of us and my Grampa tonight, so the house should be pretty quiet today.” That was reassuring at least, “Okay. Is your Grandpa nice?” Markus actually laughed at that as they turned up a long walkway, “Yes, he is. You don’t have to worry about anything Connor, I promise.” “Got it.” He said, but he still took Markus’s hand. They were quiet the rest of the walk to the door. Connor was trying his best to relax. Markus said there was nothing to worry about, and Connor wanted to believe him, but his anxiety wasn’t as easily swayed. “Color?” Markus asked when they got to the door. “Blue.” He replied after a long moment, “I think.”

That seemed to be a good enough answer because Markus turned his key in the lock and pushed the door open. Along side being the biggest house Connor had ever seen, it was also the fanciest. Despite all of that, as he stood in the entry way with Markus’s hand in his, he didn’t feel at all out of place. “Grampa,” Markus called into the house, “We’re home.” “Okay kiddo,” Came the reply from further in the house, “I’m in the gallery.” Connor took off his shoes out of habit before they went any further into the house. Markus didn’t, but waited for him before he lead him up the stairs. They set their stuff up in Markus’s room before they headed for the gallery. The more he saw of the house, the more in awe of it he was. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting Markus’s grandpa to be like, but it didn’t include him being covered in tattoos or wheelchair bound. He did his best not to stare, and instead tried to look at the paintings that were scattered around the room. Some were properly placed on the walls, but most were leaned against the walls, furniture and even other paintings. Every single one of them took his breath away. He knew now at least where Markus’s sheer talent came from.

“You must be Connor.” He said with a smile as he wheeled himself closer, “I’ve heard great things about you. I’m Carl.” “It’s nice to meet you sir.” He replied and shook the hand that was being held out to him. Carl laughed, “Sir makes me feel old, just call me Carl, or Grampa if that’s easier on you.” “Okay si - Carl.” His trip up earned him an amused smile, “Did you paint all of these?” “Most of them.” He replied, “Some of them are Markus’s.” “Grampa,” Markus cut in, “He doesn’t know.” “I don’ t know what?” Connor asked as he looked between the two of them. “Grampa is the famous painter Carl Manfred.” He clarified. “Was.” Carl corrected with a sternness to his voice that left Connor a little rattled, “I haven’t done much public work since my accident. I’d like to keep it that way, so this knowledge stays in this room. Okay?” Connor made a zipper motion over his lips and both of them smiled, “Okay.”

They stayed in the gallery for a little while longer and Connor wandered around to get a better look at the paintings. After that the night was pretty normal. They had dinner, worked on homework, and talked about their classes with Carl. It was almost like being at home. This wasn’t nearly as nerve wracking as he thought it was going to be. After they had gone to Markus’s room for the night Connor got the presents out. He didn’t miss the smile that came to Markus’s face. “Before you worry,” He started when he noticed Markus was starting to look uncomfortable, “I bought these before your birthday.” He relaxed noticeably, “Okay, that’s what I was worried about.” “Anyway, happy late birthday Markus.” He picked up the two wrapped presents and held them out to him. Markus took them and Connor watched the joy spread across his face when he opened the reference book and thumbed through it. His smile only grew when he got yo he small paint set. He set the paints on his desk then put the book in a very specific place on his shelf. When he finished he settled beside Connor still beaming. “Can I hug you?” He asked.

“Yeah.” Connor had barely gotten the word out before he found himself caught in an embrace that was tight enough that it bordered on painful. “Thank you so much.” Markus said into his shoulder, “These are the only art related present I’ve gotten that weren’t from Grampa.” “What can I say” He replied as Markus pulled away, “I know you.” “You panicked didn’t you?” He asked. “Maybe.” He agreed. The weekend after that was spent with Connor sitting very still. Despite the fact that he was coerced into modeling for the two of them by Markus, he found himself hoping that Monday never came. Or at the very least, they could have a weekend like this again soon.

#Will Never be Boring #WNbB #Growing Old with You au #GOwY #RK1K #Conkus #dbh Markus #dbh Connor #dbh fic #dbh

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drabbles-mc · 4 years

Text

My Plus-One (Part 1)

EZ Reyes x Reader

Request by the lovely @ly--canthrope: The reader has a large ball/award ceremony/something fancy to attend. Her and Ez have been in each other's lives for years and they make a promise that each year, if there is an event to go to, they would go together. Its been a few years since this tradition has played out, and it is brought up in conversation (maybe talking about their plans for that week, what they are doing and busy with etc) and Ez goes, “I am busy, I am going with you to your event” and he is a pure gentlemen (You can decide thing like; are they bordering that blurred line where they are really affectionate with one another and time frame like, he could be at uni still and travels to go see her just for this event because its special to her)

Warnings: none. just some good old pining 🥺🥺

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I loved writing this so much wtf. I switched up the timing of it a little bit but I think it worked out well! I got a little carried away with it (hence the 3.4k lmao) but I just love EZ and I’m a sucker for friendships with feelings. Please enjoy! (requests are always open)

EZ Tag: @noz4a2 (if you wanna be added just shoot me a message!)

(Part 2)

You wandered around your small studio apartment, phone held loosely in your hand while you video-chatted with EZ. Both of you had long since given up on making sure that you held the camera at flattering angles. Besides, you were trying to make dinner and not even EZ could stop you from getting food.

“So glad I get to have this conversation with half of your face,” he laughed, shaking his head.

You held the phone up so you could get a better look at him—he was sitting at the table in his trailer, phone propped up as he typed away on his laptop. “This better?” you laughed as you tried to set it up on your counter so he could see more of your face.

“Much,” he smiled, “I miss you.”

You glanced over at him as you turned the stove on, “Miss you too, EZ.”

“So,” you could hear the clicking of his keyboard in the background, “what’re your plans for the week?”

“Meh, not a whole lot going on. I do, though, have a gala for work this Saturday.”

“Oh?” he raised his eyebrows, “Sounds fancy.”

You chuckled, nodding as you waited for your water to boil, “Yea, kinda. I was thinking,” you looked at him through the lens of your phone, “If you aren’t busy, and if you really miss me, you could maybe come and be my date. It’s all paid for and everything already. All you’d have to do is show up and be my arm-candy,” you batted your eyelashes.

“Ah, like the good old days.”

“C’mon, it’s been a while since one of us had to drag the other to an event that was way above our paygrade.”

“What’re you talking about? You just drove out to visit me last year for an event.”

You rolled your eyes, “Your patch-in party is not the same as a fundraising gala, Ezekiel. Although,” you laughed, “it was undoubtedly more fun than this is going to be.”

“Giving me the hard sell, Y/N,” he laughed and shook his head.

“If you’re too busy with club shit, I get it. I know I didn’t really give you much of a heads-up.”

“Well…” he dragged out the word, milking every letter for all it was worth, “I am gonna be busy.”

“Fuck,” you sighed, “I get it, I do. Sorry I always protcrastin—”

“Let me finish,” he smiled, “I’m gonna be busy with you, so I’ll let the guys know that my weekend is booked.”

You laughed, clapping your hands excitedly, “Yay! Oh, I can’t wait to see you. I feel like it’s been forever.”

“Because it has,” he waited for you to look back to your phone, “When was the last time you came back home to SanPa?”

You sighed, shaking your head, “God, like, six months maybe? Maybe a little more? Work has just been nuts, you know?”

“You think they’re gonna relocate you back closer to home any time soon?”

You shrugged, “Not sure. I hope so, though. I miss bugging you all the time in person not just by blowing up your phone.”

“Well, you’ll get to bug me in person all weekend. Text me your address and anything else I should know. I can probably come out Friday night if that works for you?”

You nodded, “Yea, that’s fine by me. You can crash here if you want but I gotta warn you, my place is wicked small.”

“I’m currently living in a trailer, Y/N,” he chuckled, “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” your heart felt so much lighter knowing that he was going to be able to go with you—you hated going to these kinds of things by yourself, “I’ll text you all the details and stuff later this week.”

“Sounds good. Go back to making your gourmet ramen over there,” he chuckled, “I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too, EZ,” you waved goodbye before hanging up the call. You let out a sigh of relief as you tucked your phone back into your pocket.

The week seemed to fly by. Any time that you felt yourself getting stressed, or overwhelmed, or homesick, you remembered that you were going to be able to spend the whole weekend with your best friend. It made the rest of your problems seem so insignificant. Every night you’d come home and you’d see your dress hanging against the door of your closet, begging to be worn. You’d smile and run your fingers along the fabric whenever you’d walk by it. Back when you were in high school and college, the two of you went to everything together. Each prom, award ceremony, induction ceremony, friends’ weddings, you name it, it was the two of you showing up together no matter what. You had your own unspoken language, knowing when the other was ready to tap out and call it a night. Sometimes to keep things interesting you’d try to sneak out unseen, other times one of you would come up with any excuse you could so that you could leave early without anyone giving you a hard time about it. It’d been a few years since either of you had an excuse to get dressed up together.

You were finishing cleaning up your apartment when you felt your phone going off in your pocket. You glanced down and smiled at the sigh of EZ’s name on the screen, “Hey, what’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yea. I think,” he chuckled, “I think I’m outside the right building? Everything looks the same here.”

You laughed as you walked over and peeked out your window. Sure enough, you saw him sitting, leaning against his bike, “I see you. I’ll be right down,” you hung up and made sure to close your closet door before heading downstairs to greet him.

You came barreling out the front door of your apartment building, tackling him in a hug. He laughed, sweeping you up off of your feet and swinging you around as he held you tight to him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, forcing him to hold you for a few moments. It had been way too long since you last saw him in person.

“I’ve missed you,” you mumbled against his neck.

“I’ve missed you too.”

You finally let go, dropping your feet back to the ground. You helped EZ get his two bags and had him follow you up the stairs to your apartment. You kept apologizing in advance for the fact that all you had was a studio, so there wasn’t going to be a lot of room, and there was no grand tour to give him. He smiled and shook his head, constantly telling you that he didn’t care.

You opened the door, dropping one of his bags next to the couch, “This is,” you chuckled, “my beautiful kingdom.”

EZ smiled as he looked around your apartment. It was a studio, so there wasn’t a whole lot of space, but it was all modern and renovated. He was impressed by how much you had managed to utilize the space. He also liked being able to see how you chose to decorate a space that was completely your own. The last time he got to visit you, you had been sharing an apartment with a roommate and the two of you had completely opposite tastes in décor. He liked the vibe you had created—a lot of bright, happy colors. He recognized some of the art on the walls as things you had commissioned your friends to make for you because you liked having things that were one-of-a-kind.

“This is a pretty great spot, Y/N.”

You smiled, “Thanks. It’s home for now,” you sighed, “I have no guest room to offer you, but the couch does pull out so you won’t be too crammed for the next couple nights.”

He chuckled, nodding, “I appreciate it.”

“You eat before you left?”

He nodded, “Yea I’m all set. Didn’t want to be taking any of your ramen from you.”

You gave him a playful slap to the arm, “So considerate.”

The two of you spent the night sitting on the couch together catching up, a show on the television just for background noise. It crept late into the night before the exhaustion started to show on EZ’s face. He had had a long day but he was enjoying the fact that he was actually face-to-face with you for the first time in months.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” you smiled as you stood up off the couch, “If you’re up for it in the morning there’s a really good coffee spot a few blocks from here.”

He smiled, nodding, “Sounds good.”

“Bathroom is right through there if you wanna change. I’ll see you in the morning,” you leaned in and gave him a hug that you dragged out to last a little longer than you usually would, “Goodnight.”

The morning and afternoon flew right by, and before you knew it the two of you were getting ready for the gala. You chastised EZ for leaving his dress clothes in his bags for so long. All these years and he still hadn’t figured out that they needed to hang to cut down on wrinkles. You ironed out his slacks and shirt, impressed by the fact that he had also brought a suit jacket. It was an all-black ensemble that you knew would make your coworkers drool over him, and you were going to soak up every second of that.

You left the bathroom open for him to get changed as you retreated to the semi-privacy of the space that passed for your bedroom. You shimmied into your dress, pulling the straps up onto your shoulders. You zipped it up as much as you could without risking ripping any of the stitching, thankful that you had EZ to help you with it the rest of the way. You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled, still loving the dress as much as you had the day you tried it on in the store.

You had settled on a deep burgundy dress. It was a little low-cut, but not so much that you felt overly exposed. It was floor length, and had a slit up to just below your hip that you could only see once you started walking. You had picked up some simple jewelry—a few gold bangles and a long necklace that draped down your chest. Deciding to pull the whole look together with your favorite pair of black heels. A little height boost when you were walking with EZ never hurt.

“Hey, EZ? Can you come finish zipping me up?”

You heard the sounds of his dress shoes on the hardwood. He poked his head around the half-wall that separated your bed from the rest of your apartment. His eyes grew wide as he took in the sight of you. He cleared his throat, trying to get his thoughts in order as he remembered the actual reason you had called him over.

You pulled your hair off to the side and turned so your back was to him, thankful that it gave the added benefit of hiding the giant grin on your face. He tried to be as gentle as possible, the rough pads of his fingers grazing lightly against your back as he pulled the zipper up the last of the way.

“You look amazing, Y/N,” he smiled at you.

“Yea, we clean up alright, don’t we?” you patted his chest, practically salivating over the sight of him in dress clothes for the first time in years. You reached and undid the top button of his shirt, allowing a little bit of his collarbone to be exposed.

“Feeling a little risqué tonight?” he chuckled.

“Who knows when we’re going to get to do this again?” you smiled, “Might as well make the most of it.”

“I was gonna offer to take you on the bike,” he laughed as he looked you up and down for the hundredth time in two minutes, “But I don’t think that dress would make it.”

You nodded, “You’re right. We’ll take my car,” you walked over and grabbed the small clutch that you had picked up just for this occasion, pulling your keys out of it, “You ready?”

“I think so,” he patted his pockets down to make sure that he still had his phone and wallet, “You gonna give me the dirt on all your coworkers on the ride over?”

“Of course,” you smiled as you ushered him out the door, locking it behind the two of you.

You parked the car at the venue and EZ all but leapt out of the car to come and open your door for you. You chuckled as he held his hand out to help you step out onto the pavement. He hadn’t even wanted you to be the one to drive there, but you insisted since he knew nothing about the area.

He gently wrapped his arm around your waist as the two of you walked into the venue. You knew that your coworkers weren’t expecting you to show up with a plus-one. You had been quite clear about the fact that you weren’t dating anyone, and that no one at your job interested you enough to break your, “I don’t date coworkers” rule. There were quite a few lax jaws as the two of you strolled into the event room. Anyone else might have been nervous, but EZ saw how much you loved it and he was eating up every second of it.

You brought him around and introduced him to everyone, reveling in the fact that his arm never left your waist. After a handful of introductions, you dragged him across the room to introduce you to your boss.

“Cynthia,” you smiled wide, “This is my friend Ezekiel. Ezekiel, this is my boss Cynthia.”

“Please, call me Cindy,” she held out her hand, eyes slowly raking over the man you had put in front of her, not that you could blame her, “It’s nice to meet you, Ezekiel. I have to admit, Y/N here is a bit of an enigma around the office,” she turned her attention to you, “You look amazing, by the way.”

You smiled, “Thank you, so do you. A little more than business casual, huh?”

She laughed, nodding, “That’s for sure,” she paused, “Also, don’t forget, it’s open bar. So help yourselves.”

You tapped your fingers together mischievously, “Ah, don’t mind if I do.”

“I’ll make sure to catch up with you two later,” she smiled at EZ, “It was nice to meet you, Ezekiel.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he nodded politely before she walked away, swept up in a sea of other conversations.

“Remind me to keep a close eye on you around her,” you laughed, “Don’t want her snatching you up.”

The night wore on, and you were impressed with how easily EZ blended into the crowd with everyone from work. He made his way through a lot of small talk, a lot of, “So how do you know Y/N?” and other questions of the sort. The whole night he couldn’t help but to keep looking over at you, making sure that he had physical contact with you in one way or another. You couldn’t pretend that you minded it.

By your fourth glass of wine EZ had managed to get your keys from you, promising that he would drive the both of you back to your apartment safely and responsibly. His largest obstacle of the evening was hiding your bidding number sign from you so you didn’t spend money that you didn’t have.

“You’re the one who told me,” he said quietly in your ear, trying to suppress a laugh, “that your financial contribution was the, and I quote, buttload of money you paid for our tickets here.”

You huffed, trying and failing to give him a displeased expression, “But I wanna feel like a fancy rich person, EZ.”

He smiled at you, resting his hand on your thigh, “You’re certainly dressed like one, Y/N, so for tonight that’ll have to be enough. And besides, I’m your personal chauffer, so it doesn’t get more fancy rich person than that.”

You smirked over at him, placing your hand on top of his and interlocking your fingers, “I’m really glad that you’re here.”

He squeezed your fingers lightly, “Yea, me too.”

The evening was beginning to wind down, and EZ could see it on your face that if he didn’t get you out soon, you were going to start causing trouble. It was fine when the two of you were out among people you didn’t know, but he didn’t think that he’d be a very good friend if he let you start drunkenly stirring the pot with your coworkers. He convinced you to start saying your goodbyes, his hand placed on the small of your back as the two of you maneuvered through the small crowds of people in the event space.

You were walking through the parking garage, your hand entwined with his as you swung your arms back and forth, “What a night!”

EZ chuckled, spinning you carefully so you didn’t fall over, but still got to enjoy the flow of your dress when you spun and moved, “I’m honored I got the invite.”

“You sure you’re good to drive?”

He laughed, nodding, “I’m sure. Not like you could take over for me anyway.”

He helped you into the passenger seat before going around and getting in, sliding the seat back so he could actually fit. He chuckled as he saw you out of the corner of his eye, peeling your shoes off before you even left the parking garage. The whole drive home you went on and on about how much your coworkers loved him, you could just tell. He smiled and nodded, letting one hand stray and come to rest on your thigh.

He parked outside your apartment building and you looked over at him with your biggest puppy-dog eyes, “Ezekiel, I don’t wanna put my shoes back on. Will you carry me upstairs?”

He laughed and nodded, “Yes, but only because tonight you’re a fancy rich lady.”

“You’re so good to me. I love you,” you smiled over at him.

He felt his heart beating harder inside his chest, “I love you too.”

He carried you bridal style up the stairs with such ease. You loved every moment of it. He held onto you as you unlocked the door, still wrapped up in his arms. You giggled into his neck as he kicked the door shut behind you and turned the deadbolt. He carried you to your bed, setting you down gently. You smiled up at him from your mattress, reaching out and taking his hand in your own.

“I’ve missed you so much, EZ.”

He traced his thumb over your knuckles, “Yea, I’ve missed you too.”

Before he could walk out to collapse on the couch you asked him, “Can you help me with my dress?”

He swallowed hard, nodding, “Yea, of course, whatever you need.”

You pulled your hair off to the side again so he could pull the zipper down. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that there was a slight trembling to his hands as he fumbled with the zipper, pulling it down slowly. He took a deep breath as he gently pushed the straps down off your shoulders. You hummed in approval as you leaned back against him, melting into him as he wrapped his arms around your waist. There were a few beats of silence before you felt him lightly press his lips against the bare skin of your shoulder, gently kissing the soft skin there.

Your breath caught in your throat and it took you a second to get the words out, “You could, um,” you were thankful that you weren’t facing him so he couldn’t see the nervousness on your face, “you could stay in my bed tonight…if you wanted. It’s probably…you know…more comfortable than the couch.”

His lips were still pressed against your shoulder and you could feel his laughter vibrate against your skin, “Yea? You sure?”

You turned around so you were facing him. He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. He was holding you close enough that you were certain that he could feel your heart palpitating, “Yea. I’m not ready to give up your company yet.”

He kissed your forehead, “Let’s get to bed then.”

#mayans mc #mayans fx #mayansmc #mayans mc imagine #ezekiel reyes #ezekiel reyes imagine #ez reyes #ez reyes x you #ez reyes x reader #ez reyes imagine #ez reyes fanfic #ezekiel reyes x reader #ezekiel reyes fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #drabblesmc #request #ez request

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passivenovember · 3 years

Text

Walking Home (v)., the Tourniquet

For you @thursday-knight. Lysm

They’re going to let Billy out of that horrible, gray padded room on Tuesday, which Steve snorts at over the phone.

“What, you think that’s fuckin’ funny or something?”

“No, It’s just.” It’s kind of funny. Steve wraps the phone chord around his hand. Nice and tight, like a tourniquet. “Tuesday’s weird.”

“Tuesday’s...weird?”

“Yeah.”

Steve can hear something, like. The clack of a pen. It’s a common nervous tick, a way to cope, but. Steve’s never seen any one hold a bic the way Billy does.

Barrel in his palm. Clicking the register with his pointer finger, like. He’s pressing Reagan’s Big Red Button. The one to blow up the world.

“What’s so weird about a Tuesday release, man?”

“Ruining the start of a week by spending it in the hospital and then having to use the rest of it adjusting to life outside?” Steve shrugs, remembering that Billy can’t see him. “They could at least give you a Friday. Then you’d have the weekend, right?”

Billy’s grin is somehow manifested in the honey drip of his voice. “Been locked up for six months, Harrington, what’s two more days?”

And that could be true.

Steve doesn’t feel like so much time has passed. The rise and fall of the moon, the turn of the seasons, the way Billy has to wear fuzzy socks with those little grips on them to stay warm in beige corridors, have been lost on Steve.

Tainted. Wrapped in paper the exact shade of survival. Surgeries and afternoons carpooling the kids to Hawkins general, paying Barry Mildred to do Billy’s algebra homework for him, and.

Convincing everyone.

Himself, too.

That Billy would be alright. Steve had to do everything he could to get Billy ready for the world, or.

The world ready for him.

“Has it really been that long?” Steve wonders.

And Billy laughs. “Maybe not for you, King Steve. Some of us had to spend the whole of it in one room.” It doesn’t sound as painful as it usually does.

Steve just nods again. To himself.

He remembers the leaves changing around the time Billy learned to walk again. Halloween. Bringing left-over contraband to spoil Billy’s strict diet of organic bullshit while his body healed itself. Amber leaves complimenting blue eyes as they made unsteady laps around the courtyard together.

Steve holding his arm out time and time again, and. Billy taking it.

Christmas. Snowball fights with the kids, crystals on long blonde eyelashes while that stubborn mouth fought to return every smile Max threw his way. Those very same lashes, wet with tears, when Billy opened a vintage copy of Cider House Rules, on Christmas Eve.

All, you really shouldn’t be spending the holiday in a psych ward, Harrington.

But they held hands for the first time that night. Steve said, where else would I want to be?

And Billy, just. Took what he could get--nothing more.

Steve remembers a lot of things. Happiness. Rocky, at first, unearned, a slide into friendship which turned into peachy cheeks that rivaled the setting sun.

Summer, Fall, Winter, and.

February.

Steve must have missed it. All of it, while he was busy being grateful that Billy was alive.

He checks the calendar.

“You’ll be out in time for Valentines,” He says. Because that’s important, somehow. “Got any big plans?”

“Oh, for sure.” Billy clicks his pen. One-two-three. “Got a girl waiting for me on the outside, thought we could catch a movie.”

Steve knows.

He knows it isn’t true, that Billy’s just yanking his ridiculously short chain, but. Steve’s heart beats in time with the click of a pen. Advancing and overtaking the tempo to orchestrate a symphony of worry.

Of fear.

It used to taste like copper. Black slime and dirty snow, but now it tastes like mashed potatoes served on a hospital lunch tray. Contraband sweets. Change and forced endings and--

Steve chokes on something. A laugh that falls wrong halfway through, like a sob colored to fit summer days. “What are you doing after?”

The clacking stops. “Just fucking with you, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Was a joke, I’m not.” Billy clears his throat. “Everyone who matters came to see me while I was here.”

Steve just nods. Frantically, because he hears words that aren’t there. Meaning that couldn’t possibly color his life in broad strokes. He thinks about what Billy’s saying, what he really means.

Everyone who matters.

“Where are you staying? Like, when you get out,.” Steve mutters. The chord is wrapped around his hand again. He leans against the wall, wincing as the pins from his bulletin board pinch his shoulder blades. “You got a place to crash?”

Billy doesn’t say anything.

Steve clears his throat. “You aren’t going back, right? You’re not going. Home?”

“To Neil’s?”

And Steve gets the distinction. Feels it settle like an axe between his first three ribs. “Yeah.”

Billy sighs. “No, fuck that. Figured I’d ask around. See if there are any beds open at RCA.” Recovery Centers of America, that’s.

“That’s in Indianapolis.”

“Yeah,” Billy says flatly. Steve thinks, distantly, that he sounds almost. Annoyed. “Owens says there’s a car. It’ll take me wherever I want, long as I stay in State.”

“You want to go away?”

“Sure,” Billy says bluntly. “Wouldn’t hurt to leave this place behind, you know. Maybe go somewhere new--”

“Stay with me.”

Steve’s heart is beating in his eyeballs.

The world falls silent. Only for a moment, for as long as it takes for Billy to drop something on the ground and then swear under his breath. His voice shakes, like strands in the wind. “What?”

“At my apartment,” Steve clarifies. He untangles the phone chord which has somehow worked its way to his elbow. “It’s small and shitty, and the couch only has three legs, but.”

Steve closes his eyes and hopes against hope, praying to every god who has ever existed since the beginning of time and everyone who will come after, that Billy can hear every meaning, every hidden word.

“You could.” Steve says softly. “If you wanted to.”

The clacking starts up again, slow and measured. Steve can hear Billy’s breath. The ragged intake of air that sounds painful, like a boy clinging to life in smoke filled memories. Holding on to his hand, saying, I don’t want to die, Steve, please.

It plants Steve’s feet in an ambulance. It tips the string of a tourniquet, bloody and wet with slime in his hands. It makes him remember.

Pull it tighter, kid, come on.

And.

He’s losing a lot of blood.

And.

Steve, we’re losing him.

And.

Kid, step away from the body.

Billy clears his throat. “You mean it?” He asks, and.

Steve lets go of a breath. “Of course I do.”

“You’ll get tired of me.” Billy’s voice, it sounds like shattering windows. Steve doesn’t say anything. Can’t respond, because. Nothing in life is more impossible.

The world falls silent.

Only for a moment, as long as it takes for Steve to close his eyes. “I can’t watch you get in that car and walk away, Billy.”

It’s nothing. Only a part of how he feels. Only a drop of what he wants, but. It sets things in motion again.

Billy clears his throat. “Alright,” He says. “Give me the address.”

Steve wants it to be something other than what it is.

He buys new sheets. Fern green satin, five-hundred thread count and worth a third of what he has in savings.

They aren’t what he’d usually go for, color or texture, but. The lady at the department store says muted colors are good for preventing overstimulation after trauma and satin is gentle on the skin. Warm, too, which is always a good thing.

Billy says it feels like winter, now. All, I’m a goddamn human snow globe.

Buying sheets on Valentines, it.

Makes Steve hope that this is something else.

That Billy will insist on putting his new sheets on Steve’s bed instead of the couch in the living room. That they’ll sleep together here, just how they always did in Billy’s hospital bed.

Chest to chest.

Billy’s head tucked under Steve’s chin, but.

Mostly Steve being eaten alive by the guilt.

For feeling like this is the start of their lives. That everything before now--living with his parents, fighting monsters, feeling useless in every sense of the word...

All of it was a dream.

Preparation for the day he would open the front door and find Billy there, waiting.

Steve takes the sheets back to his apartment. He makes up the living room, rearranging the furniture so Billy can have his own space. The couch as a bed and the coffee table as a book shelf.

Billy has a lot of books.

More than anyone Steve’s ever met, more than Robin and Nancy Wheeler combined and Steve doesn’t own any books himself, or. A place to put them. His apartment is the size of a shoebox.

He’ll get rid of the stuff he doesn’t use anymore.

He’ll make room.

In his apartment, in his miniscule life, so that Billy has something of his own.

And maybe after they’re settled in and the bills are paid for the month, Steve will pick up extra shifts at the video store until he can afford buy one.

A nice, big oak bookshelf for Billy to house his favorites.

He locks himself in the bathroom an hour after moving in.

Which, you know. Throws the evening for a loop.

He seems happy when Steve opens the front door, dropping his box of books by the shoe rack and toeing his boots off with a grin.

His body is loose, and. Open, Like he’s comfortable. Billy pokes around the apartment, making fun of the weird shit hanging up on the walls while Steve cooks dinner.

“You gotta get some real art in here, man.” Billy says. It sounds like he’s by the record player, digging through the stack of vinyl's Steve keeps in a shoe box by the T.V. “And some real music, holy shit. How have you been living like this?”

“I’ve been living just fine, fuck you very much.”

“You have three copies of Waterloo,” Billy snorts. As if that proves something.

He’s crouched by the mosaic of finger paintings left by Holly Wheeler, studying a particularly abstract piece when Steve hands him a glass of sparkling cider.

“Everyone’s gotta have their backup copies of Waterloo, you know, extra in case you gotta dole them out to strangers.” Steve clinks their glasses together. “Cheers.”

Billy swishes the drink around with a lift of his eyebrow. “You trying to get in my pants, Harrington?”

“It’s not alcohol.”

“Why is it bubbly?” Billy accuses, lifting the glass to sniff at it suspiciously. His nose wrinkles, like a bunny rabbit.

Steve laughs. “It’s sparkling cider. Cherry flavored.”

“Cherry?” Billy snorts, his cheeks glowing pink like little love hearts. “That’s definitely a sex flavor.”

“It’s a celebration flavor, you dick.” Steve chuckles again. He files through the records he does have, selecting one he thinks Billy can tolerate. “What do you think of Rumours?”

Billy’s wandered to the kitchen. “Hate the activity, dig the album.” He calls.

The sound of cabinets opening and slamming shut echo through the space while Steve figures out the settings for this vinyl, fiddling with the tiny knobs until Songbird filters through at a pace that seems right.

“Ice is in the freezer,” Steve announces, and.

Billy rounds the corner with a bag of chips, happy little smirk on his face. Steve frowns.

“I’m fixing dinner--”

“I haven’t had Doritos in almost a year, Harrington.” Billy says roughly. He rips open the bag, collapsing next to Steve on the floor by the music stand. Billy takes one and licks the cheese dust off the chip, holding the bag out, like. “Want one?”

Steve face hurts from smiling so much. “Nah, I’m good.”

Billy leans back against the wall, rolling his eyes. “What, don’t eat carbs after four p.m. or something?”

And Steve filters through a million answers, all of which make it sound like he’s trying to get laid, so. He settles in next to Billy, letting his eyes fall closed with the sway of the music.

“No, just. Don’t wanna ruin my dinner.”

Billy snorts, bag crinkling loudly as he dives in for another handful. “I could eat twelve bags of this shit and still go ape on whatever rich boy thing you whipped up.” Billy asses him, head cocked to the side. “Bet the cheese makes you fart.” He concludes.

Steve blinks at him. “You’re disgusting--”

“Processed cheese makes everyone shit their pants, man, that’s like.” Billy wipes his hands on Steve’s leg. “Common knowledge.”

Steve makes a noise like a runover chicken, wiping frantically at the trousers he bought at the Goodwill, just for tonight.

He wets his fingers with spit, wincing and scrubbing at the bright line of orange nacho cheese that stains his corduroy flares.

The shape of Billy’s fingers is unmistakable. “I’m starting to regret asking you to move in.”

“Thought I was just crashing here until--”

“Now that you’re here I’m no letting you leave,” Steve smiles at him, the weight of it softening when Billy’s cheeks glow pink again. He knocks their shoulders together. “You’re stuck with me.”

Billy falls silent after that.

Shoveling in handful after handful of Doritos and crunching so loudly that Steve can’t get wrapped up in the bass line on the Chain.

“Dude, you gotta chew so loud?” Steve asks, shoving Billy’s hand away when he reaches to smear nacho dust down the length of Steve’s neck. “My god, you’re a menace.”

“You love it,” Billy giggles, and.

They stare at each other for a moment. Sort of watching the brush of eyelashes against cheekbones while the music plays.

A backdrop to the start of something Steve doesn’t have a name for.

Night falls and Billy doesn’t come out of the bathroom.

The food has been stored, the dishes put away, but the light which escapes like neon strips of gold to kiss the mouth of the hall carpet never flicks off. Never giving way to rest.

Steve thinks about waiting for him.

He thinks about going to bed, jiggling the handle to make sure Billy’s okay, breaking the door down when two hours turns to three but that seems intrusive.

If Billy wanted company he would ask. And if he wanted to come out he would, right?

Steve feels like an idiot.

Pacing back and forth between the living room and the hallway, trying not to make it obvious that he’s right in the thick of gut-wrenching worry. Violent, intrusive images of brain splattered tile fill his mind.

Billy could be hurt, or. Asleep in the bathtub. Maybe he slipped out the bathroom window while Steve was turning down the couch for him, making the space comfortable.

Maybe he was never here to begin with. Maybe Steve dreamt him up.

Steve paces back and forth, back and forth, wrestling with the urge to call Dr. Owens and ask what he should do, until the clock above the stove reads 11:34 pm and he has no choice but to call it a night.

His knuckles sound like a machine gun when he taps on the door.

From behind the oak barrier, Billy makes a noise like he was startled out of sleep. Steve can hear him moving around, when he asks, “You okay? Been in there for a few hours.”

Billy opens the door.

His eyes are red and puffy, cheeks a little flushed, like.

“Have you been crying?” Steve doesn’t want him to cry. Tears and hallow feelings, they have no place in the stretch of nightfall that Steve has built for them.

He feels himself reaching for Billy on impulse, trying to pull their bodies together, but Billy steps back.

Away.

To make room for Steve in the bathroom or to make a run for it, Steve isn’t sure. He knots his fingers together for safe keeping.

“Of course not, don’t be fucking.” Billy’s voice cracks right down the middle, like. A loaf of bread that has been in the oven for far too long. His eyes are glassy when he looks up, and.

Distant.

Steve feels like an asshole. He leans against the door jam. “I can call Dr. Owens, if you want.”

Billy stares at him. “Why would I want that?”

“You just seem--”

“I seem like what, Steve?” Billy spits. “You gonna psychoanalyze me too, huh?”

Steve grits his teeth against the urge to. Fight back. “It’s just when I started getting the couch ready, you seemed.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, choosing his next words carefully. “Nervous? Afraid, maybe, just a little. Which is alright. It can be scary sleeping alone in a new place, and--”

“I’m not five years old, Harrington, I can handle a sleepover at my friends house.” Billy snarls. He pushes against Steve’s chest until there are rivers between them. Mountains and oceans.

It’s the first time since Starcourt that Billy seems.

Like himself.

The old self, the one that used his fists to keep wandering eyes from getting too close. Figuring him out. If Steve were a younger man he’d fall for it, hook and line, but.

He knows better.

Six months and a lifetime with Billy Hargrove have taught him a thing or two. He nods, stepping back down the hallway.

Billy’s eyes track him. Wide and nervous and so, so blue.

“‘M going to sleep, dude.” Steve waves a thumb over his shoulder, taking a deep, needed breath. He calls over his shoulder to give Billy some space. “Come to bed when you’re ready. I’ll leave the light on.”

Billy’s footsteps don’t pass his bedroom door until Steve is settled under the covers.

He’s starting to think Billy won’t show.

The t.v. is on in the living room, tinny sounds of Yogi Bear filtering through the wall and Steve wonders if he made a mistake in assuming, that.

Look.

Just because they slept together, like, actually slept together while Billy was in the hospital doesn’t mean anything.

Maybe Billy is just scraping the bottom of his energy reserves. Maybe he’s getting to the end of the rope when it comes to his friendship with Steve, and didn’t want to move in but had to.

For lack of better options, and like.

Income and shit--

“Scoot over.” Billy says.

Steve jumps, poking his head out from under the covers to glare wildly at him. “When did you--”

“Move over.” Billy insists, eyes burning like flame in the darkness.

Steve does, all, “Jesus Christ, you’re just a little ray of sunshine, aren’t ya?” But there are butterflies in his tummy. Gently flapping wings that turn into stinging wasps when Billy manhandles his way into the bed, yanking one of the extra pillows out from under Steve’s legs to punch into shape on his side of the bed.

Steve squawks. “I was using that.”

“It was under your knee caps, dork.” Billy mutters, bullying his way into Steve’s space like he did so many times on warm summer nights at Hawkins General, stiff as a board on his government issued mattress.

Steve’s bed isn’t anything like that, it’s like. A marshmallow. Swallowing the two of them whole when Billy presses his face into the length of Steve’s neck, legs coming up to pin him in place.

“I got weak ankles.” Steve pouts.

Billy doesn’t say anything as he goes limp and heavy on top of his human pillow. Steve instantly feels like he’s over heating; the guy’s a fucking furnace, but.

Billy’s eyelashes are tickling his collar bones.

His breath fans out over Steve’s skin, like cool breezes on summer nights, and. When he starts crying Steve is there.

Like always, Steve sings him to sleep.

#harringrove #valentines day #billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #please enjoy my trash

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archive-of-the-guild · 3 years

Text

Character Bio and rules are below the line

You can call me Shadow. i’m a 28yo male that hasn’t rped in years. Last time i did was i think 3 maybe 4 years ago so i am plenty rusty. I know this doesn’t say a lot about me but if there’s anything you’d like to know, just ask.

About Karisa

Name: Karisa

Race: Tiefling: A Humanoid people descended from humans who made pacts or crossbred with demons.

Age: 18

Height: 6'3"

Hair color: black

Occupation: Golemancer, Adventurer, occasional Blacksmith

Appearance: As a tiefling, Karisa has several traits that distinguishes her from Humans. She has Lavender colored skin, ice blue eyes, two horns, pointed ears, and a 4 foot long tail.

Personality: When it comes to enemies, Karisa can be downright ruthless. if she hates them bad enough, she will leave an enemy broken but alive to let them try again. She swears a LOT around everyone no matter who they are with the exception of children and has a habit of making enemies through her mannerisms. She’s bad enough with her words that there have been jokes made about weaponizing her lexicon and isn’t afraid to cuss out friends! BUT if you can take her words with a grain of salt and actually befriend her, then no matter what she says to you, she will protect you with her life. In her words, “You may be a cunt, but you’re MY cunt. And no one FUCKS with my cunt!”

Background:

Karisa was born on a small farm and raised by her parents until she reached the age of 8 when they passed away. Since then she would delve into golemancy as a way to cope, keeping her hands busy and moving foreword as best as she can. This is around the time she found the large crystal that would become Grom’s core. At the age of 10, she made her way to the city with her golem Grom, who was wood at the time, to try and become an adventurer. There she met the Dwarf Bormi who gave her a place to stay and taught her in the ways of the blacksmith.

Modern Verse (Hazbin Verse rewrite):

Karisa is Tiefling who was born into an organization known as The Adventurer’s Guild. The purpose of this organization is to deal with supernatural threats to society as a whole by hunting down creatures, artifacts, books, and other things that could pose a danger. If it can’t be recruited, it is to be either destroyed or relocated. People of course know about them but there is a general distrust of the organization due to their habit of employing non-humans and the Guild’s use of magic.

When it comes to the forces of Heaven and Hell, the Guild was able to get their hands on a blueprint for portal technology. The portal they have doesn’t always work and sometimes accesses realms other than Heaven or Hell. This can have a tendency to get adventurers stuck in realms outside of earth.

Skills-

Golemancy: Throughout her life, Karisa has made a variety of golems. These golems can me made from just about any solid material if given enough time. Golems made from metal, stone, wood, and even flesh are within her area of expertise. Her favorite golem is an 8 foot tall minotaur automaton she named Grom.

Cooking: Karisa LOVES to cook. She’s always experimenting with different dishes and creating a few of her own.

Basic Martial Arts: Since she turned 13, Karisa has trained with a quarterstaff and dagger so that if her golems failed, she could still take care of herself.

Magic: In addition to Golemancy, she has a small arsenal of spells at her disposal.

Fire Spells: All Tieflings are capable of fire magic. Fireball, Burning Hands, and Firewall to name a few. Using fire helps her a lot if she has to weld parts together on a golem.

Lightning Spells: Karisa can perform rudimentary lightning spells but this mostly equates to coating her hand in electricity to use. The strength of this can range from the power of a normal stun gun to enough power to jumpstart a city’s electrical grid.

3D Movement: This is a form of wind magic that allows her to “kick” the air. by doing this, Karisa can give off the impression that she is flying. This does not mean she stays in the air, only that she can move in it. she usually only uses this to get over walls or cliffs or maybe to get into a tree.

Empathy Link: This is something she originally learned in order to better deal with golems in order to find out what their orders are. it can be used on other creatures and objects to get a kind of idea of either how they are feeling or how they are used. She MUST make contact with the palm of her hand for this to work.

Golem Creation: As a golemancer, Karisa carries a number of golem cores on her at all times. These cores can often be infused into whatever matter she chooses to create a quick golem in the field. These golems aren’t as effective as one she has time to prepare but they get the job done. Golem cores are also extremely volatile! Damaging a core will cause any magic in it to go haywire and explode in relation to the core’s size. This makes golems and their cores effective bombs if she needs to!

Golem Override: This is a skill that allows Karisa to manually control her golems and see through their eyes. HOWEVER this is only a last resort because it leaves her immobile and defenseless.

Please send Karisa questions and asks either from yourself or your characters! i will fill this out as i go!

Rules

1: i am all for fight scenes and such but please do not god-mod. meaning do not assume what happens to my character. (EX: “My character fires a gun and hits your character in the shoulder.” or “Your character tried to dodge but my character cuts off their arm before they can.”) In my responses, i’ve taken to rolling a dice to determine whether or not my character gets hit and how badly she gets hit. I do not mind my character dying in a particular thread so long as it is discussed at length beforehand and is necessary for the development of the plot. communication is key for stuff like this.

2: Don’t send hate. I don’t mind criticizing because it helps me reflect on how i’m doing. Hate is just a dick move though.

3: I reserve the right to choose whether or not i rp or answer an ask. There will be times that i don’t have the inspiration or motivation to continue it or there is not enough for me to go on. An example of this would be if i responded to an rp and the response i get back is “Character ducks.” or something as equally short.

4: I don’t mind reminders but i DO mind spamming. I will mostly be rping either on the weekends or some afternoons when i can get up the motivation. DO NOT spam me reminders every day or every other day. I have a 5 month old son and a job that has me working monday to thursday with the occasional friday up to 12 hours a day. Those come first.

5: You will see a lot of stuff on here that i will do my best to tag from gore to n//s//f//w// threads. If there is anything in particular you would like me to tag when it shows up, please let me know! Anything truly spicy will placed uner a read more and tagged as “Read at your own Risk!::NSFPC” (nsfpc stands for not safe for public consumption.

6: While i accept starters, memes, questions and comments through asks, starters and starter memes WILL be turned into a post to start a thread. I will not rp through constant asks because this can lead to more dash clutter than the post will. That being said, i will trim the post before it gets too long and will try to have any appropriate tags on it.

7: THERE WILL BE LOTS AND LOTS OF SWEARING! Enough that i will not be tagging it because it is everywhere! I will not tone down her swearing except around child muses because this is part of her character and i ask that you please understand.

8: When it comes to shipping, Karisa will make things fairly clear on whether or not she wants to be with your character. I love shipping but i also know that not everyone will ship their characters with Karisa and that's perfectly fine! Karisa WILL flirt and get touchy with people she's interested in but if the mun or character they are controlling doesn't want that, TELL HER! Not me. HER. Have your character reject her advances, tell her "no" or even smack the shit out of her if she gets too handsy! I will not be upset and i will completely understand! A lot of people plan ships out and tell others there has to be chemistry, but as I'm thinking about it, im going to be removing that little section from my rules. Why? Because failed ships have the potential to create drama, angst, and even enemies if done properly! If she comes onto a character and it makes you uncomfortable or you're just not interested, EXPRESS IT THROUGH YOUR CHARACTER! The same will apply to her! The only time i will have any sort of problem is if she says no, gets into a fight, and you try to godmod it to your liking or try to guilt ME about it. My character makes up her own mind about how to do things just like yours.

I may add more rules as time goes on but it’s pretty straightforward. Don’t be afraid to come and talk to me! I’m pretty open about things and i would love to see you around! Come and join me on discord for more Mun stuff! Just make sure you edit your name to match your tumblr url so i know who you are please! https://discord.gg/6ftZuSP8XH

#Rules #About Karisa #About Me #decided to do this because the app doesn't show all of the pages

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hopetofantasy · 4 years

Text

Culture, parallels & meta - S3 E2

Zaterdag 10:21

That’s character: In this scene, they’re again establishing some of Robbe’s insecurities. We already know from previous seasons that he often feels like the third wheel, keeps to himself, lets people walk all over him or apologizes a lot, so that they don’t hate him or abandon him (like his dad did). But this scene takes it even further: he doesn’t want to be a burden. Not with stuff like his friend’s party mess, so he cleans up as early and fast as he can. Not with taking food that doesn’t belong to him, so he chooses to not eat anything instead.

Perfect parallel: Zoë mentioning “Especially the pasta” in this season, because Milan stole her pasta at the beginning of hers.

Surprise bitch, guess who? Milan’s one-nightstand appears to be ‘Georgy Chtchevaev’, a close friend of Jonathan Michiels (Viktor) and other cast members. Small, small world.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe’s expression at the end reveals how he longs for something like Milan has, but then realizes he might never have/want that. (Internalized homophobia is a bitch, y’all!)

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The guy pulls out strawberry yoghurt from ‘Colruyt’ out of an almost empty fridge along with a spoon, from the cutlery drawer. Robbe’s gaze keeps lingering a tad too long on the half naked boy in their kitchen.

Zaterdag 14:43

C is for culture:

“Hey, I’m working here” - Teens are allowed to get a student job, as long as they’re at least 15 years old and completed the first two years of high school. The rules around how often they may work, has changed a lot during the last decade. However, nowadays, they’re allowed to work at a lower social security tariff as long as they don’t go over 475 working hours per year. Otherwise, they’ll have to pay the normal amount or even taxes if they surpass a certain income limit.

“No, I was just shopping” - C&A (Clemens & August Brenninkmeijer) is a Dutch chain store of origin with approx. 1,500 stores in Europe. They mostly attract older generations, as their style is seen as a bit old-fashioned and classic. That’s why their popularity significantly dropped in recent years, causing closures in some cities. - A smart move of putting product placement in a youth tv series.

Perfect parallel:

Robbe pulling a t-shirt off the rack to get Noor’s attention in this episode, him using the same tactic with a sweater in the last episode.

Noor sitting on a reluctant Robbe’s lap to kiss him here, Robbe happily straddling Sander to kiss and talk later on.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe again faking that he likes Noor’s sexual advances.

Lost in translation: Robbe’s mom texting him “Ziet ge mij niet graag?”, which could literally be interpreted as “Don’t you want to see me?”, but in this context it actually means “Don’t you love me anymore?”.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: In case you didn’t catch it, Robbe is making a double joke with the t-shirt - saying that Noor is sexy as well as repeating the song on the store radio. Jana’s look at a disheveled Noor reveals that she knew Robbe wasn’t just ‘trying something on’.

Bonus: This season uses a lot of mirrors to reflect Robbe’s emotions and inner turmoil. Even his relationships with Noor and Sander are mirrored within the season itself: he never liked what Noor did for him (waiting outside the school, making out in public, going next level) and he was amazed at Sander doing the same. Mirrors are the perfect way of showing how Robbe has two faces: his ‘straight’ public persona and his struggling inner ‘gay’ self.

Zondag 19:59

That’s character: Zoë’s mom behavior is at full force here. When she spots her friends, roommates or boyfriend in difficult situations, she jumps to the opportunity to make them feel better. She instantly defends them, provides a shoulder to cry on, gives advice, feeds them when needed, tries to figure out what they’re feeling, ... Sometimes giving some tough loving too. Zoë just has that caring nature of her own. This probably stems from the fact that she missed out on parental figures and wants to feel needed as a compensation.

Perfect parallel:

Symbolism! Robbe walking away from his mom’s room in a cold-looking hallway, because he’s not comfortable (yet) with the situation. And him walking towards Sander’s room in a warmly lit hallway, since he’s at peace with what’s happening with his love.

Zoë asking Milan if he’s “Playing hard to get?” in this situation, Milan asking Robbe if his clothes say “Hard to get or playing hard to get?” later.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe analyses what Milan is doing with his partner, not really sure how to feel about it.

Nod to the OG: Zoë stating “The only thing you can do now is just be there for her and yes, that you have to wait”, sounds oddly familiar to the minute-for-minute speech by Sonja.

Funny coincidence: Milan making out heavily with his boy in front of Robbe and his salad, might look like a nod to the ‘Right in front of my salad’ meme.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Robbe’s other (thicker) coat is hanging on a hook in the hallway. Senne’s “If I had have known that, I would have tried harder” indicates that he probably had to retake a year in high school, because otherwise he’d been a student in uni earlier on.

Maandag 16:27

C is for culture: “Kwak en Boemel kwamen binnen” (= “Kwak and Boemel entered”) - Robbe is referring to two side characters in the Belgian comic books ‘Jommeke’, who are homeless, lowlife criminals. The main protagonist in the series is the 11-year-old boy ‘Jommeke’. He is clever, honest, brave, loves adventure and is recognizable by his distinct blonde bowl cut. It’s one of the best-selling strips in Flanders, besides ‘Suske and Wiske’.

Perfect parallel: Jens’ first time suggesting toothpaste to jerk off happens here in S3, but he repeats it again during wtFOCKDOWN.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: The boys questioning why Robbe didn’t go all-the-way with Noor yet.

Lost in translation: Noor saying “Is dat een eik? Want ik zie veel eikels hier!” has completely lost its meaning when translated. ‘Eikels’ means ‘acorns’, which come from the ‘eik’ (= ‘oak tree’). But ‘eikels’ also means ‘assholes’. That’s why she’s pointing out the oak tree, to diss the boys that they’re actually ‘eikels’.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Again, the very subtle hint at the beginning that Sander was at the skatepark - checking Robbe out. Robbe pulls the middle finger at the boys hollering. His skateboard has a ‘World Industries’ sticker on it.

Dinsdag 14:56

Perfect parallel:

Robbe arguing “A whole weekend on a trip with people you don’t know?” against Noor coming along in this episode, his flirty affirmative answer to Sander’s “Like a weekend trip with strangers, right?” in the next.

Amber and her match making skills again! First, she tried to set herself up with Senne in S1, then Jana and Zoë with Max in S2, now Luca with Aaron in S3.

Lost in translation: “Ik denk niet dat ze daar goesting voor heeft” - ‘Goesting’ is a typical Flemish word for anything that has to do with desire, preference or willingness to do something in any context (work, food, activities, sex, ...). That’s why Aaron answers him with “I had a different impression on Friday”, taking the “I don’t think she has ‘goesting’” in a very sexual way.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: The real reason why he doesn’t want Noor to join the trip, is him not wanting to fake his attraction to her. Except Robbe isn’t willing to admit that to himself yet.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Luca has braces!

Woensdag 12:21

Perfect parallel: Noor’s “And then you haven’t even seen the men yet” as a rebuttal to Moyo’s comments about art school girls in this episode, Robbe meeting the beautiful art boy Sander in the next.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe just doesn’t see the appeal in watching women dance, since he’s not attracted to them. But the guys don’t get why he says ‘no’ to the recital.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Noor is greeting Britt with a hug in the background. Moyo kisses the dance recital flyer right before going outside.

Donderdag 07:21

C is for culture: Robbe is making a sandwich with choco spread and speculaas cookies. ‘Speculaas’ (’Biscoff' in English) is a spiced shortcrust biscuit with origins in the Netherlands and Belgium. It’s typically baked for the ‘Sinterklaas’ and Christmas celebrations. Though, it can be eaten as a treat to accompany coffee, thee or ice-cream as well.

Perfect parallel:

Zoë saying “I think you’re not used to eating healthy” earlier this episode and Robbe making sweet sandwich at the breakfast table, confirming her statement here.

Milan taking revenge for Zoë on a sleeping Senne in this episode, him helping Robbe prank Moyo for being homophobic in a later one.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Milan’s breakfast is a banana. Senne pulling Zoë into their bed, without her spilling the coffee in her hand.

Vrijdag 18:02

Perfect parallel: Luca dissing Moyo’s sexist statements with “Do you actually have a girlfriend? ... I understand why” earlier, her saying “Moyo, then you better take a good look at it, because it will be the last time you’ll see that room” here.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Zoë and Jana hugging each other outside. Luca giving Moyo a clear wink after dissing him. Robbe didn’t expect Noor to sleep with him in the bunkbed, as his face falls when she says she will.

Vrijdag 22:04

C is for culture: "It isn’t because he isn’t here...” - The reason that Senne couldn’t join their trip to the seaside, is that he doesn’t have a fall break. Universities usually start their school year a week later than university colleges, so they’re the only ones who don’t have a vacation at the end of October.

Perfect parallel: Robbe looking at drunk Noor with a sad expression of “Why can’t I just love this girl?” in this episode, him looking at a sleepy Sander with a face filled with love in the last episode.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe trying to pry Noor’s hands away from his body.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Senne responds with “#metoo” as a joke, referencing the movement and him missing Zoë. Her face freezes for a few seconds to indicate that she is indeed jealous. Robbe’s little wink at Luca.

#wtfock #wtfam #skam #skam belgium #cpm rewatch

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romancandlemagazine · 3 years

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An Interview with Alexander Wolfe, the man behind Pedestrian Magazine

Pedestrian is a magazine about the humble art of walking. In this interview, I talked with the man with the plan, Alexander Wolfe, about his love for this much maligned form of transport, his recent expedition from New York to Philadelphia, and the art of conversation.

First off, you recently walked from New York City to Philadelphia over nine days. What made you want to do that?

The initial desire to walk to Philadelphia came out living in New York City during the pandemic. I was bound to my apartment for a few months with little to do but walk around my neighborhood. I've always had a habit of walking around the city, but the pandemic only made these walks longer and longer, which eventually led to a 23 mile journey from my apartment in Brooklyn, to the Bronx, and back.

Around that time I was reading The Roads to Sata by Alan Booth and started contemplating longer, multi-day walks. I needed a change of scenery and found the idea of traveling by foot and living out of a bag very appealing. I felt like I'd developed a process here in the city (go on a walk, take photos, write a newsletter about the walk, repeat) and needed to give myself a challenge. I wanted to lean further into this practice that I've been developing for the last three years.

I'd never considered my walks to be hikes, so it made sense that I'd keep it in an urban setting. Walking to Philadelphia seemed like a no-brainer. What most people don't initially realize is that most of my time was spent walking through New Jersey. I liked the idea of walking in a place that is commonly misrepresented as the "armpit of America" and typically deemed unwalkable. New Jersey is actually a very underrated state. It might be the densest state population-wise, but it's called the Garden State for a reason. Oh yeah, I'd never been to Philadelphia and just really wanted to visit.

How did the walk go? Quite often trips or excursions can be a fair bit different to how you first imagine them… how did the reality of the walk differ from how you thought it was going to be?

I was presented with a new challenge every day. Don't get me wrong, the walk turned out better than I could have ever imagined, but you can never anticipate everything in advance. This was the first time I'd ever walked with a 25 pound bag on my back, let alone the first time I'd walked 9 days in a row. Originally I set out to average 17.75 miles per day, but thanks to my own curiosity, ended up waking 20 miles a day on average. I mapped the entire route a month or two before leaving, but would always deviate from the path in favor of exploring some neighborhood, road, or park that looked appealing. The first day alone ballooned into 27 miles because I got cocky and thought I didn't need to use my map while walking in Manhattan. I learned my lesson and kept my eyes on the map for the rest of the trip.

Another thing I didn't expect was the sensitivity one develops after walking 6-8 hours for days in a row. The smell of exhaust and gasoline becomes more potent. You realize how violently we've shaped the land to build huge highways and abysmal business parks. So much of our infrastructure is built in favor of the car, which makes being a pedestrian incredibly difficult at times. If the built environment didn't present a challenge, it was always the weather, the gnarly blisters on my feet, or my gear malfunctioning. I quickly learned to accept these challenges. It was just another component of the walk.

A lot of times people go for ‘a walk’, they’re seeking out beauty spots or nice scenery—maybe in nature reserves or the countryside, but your walk was cutting through some fairly overlooked places… industrial estates and small towns. Do people miss out by not seeing the whole picture of somewhere? Is just driving through these places to get to the destination sort of cheating?

I wouldn't consider driving to be cheating – it's just another way we alienate ourselves from the world around us. When we drive, we experience the world at a speed that makes it nearly impossible to pay attention to the fine details. Our relationship to place is abstracted, especially thanks to the rise of GPS. We no longer have to have a physical relationship to these towns. We don't even have to remember how to get to them. Driving around in a car reduces these places to nothing more than a label on a map or a convenient place to stop for gas.

It's important to have relationships with the places surrounding you. The walk has given me an intimate experience with the space between New York City and Philadelphia. I know what it looks like, I know how it feels to be there. I can tell you where residents stop hanging New York Yankees flags in favor of Philadelphia Phillies flags. If I'm watching the Soprano's and Tony references Metuchen, NJ then I know exactly what he's talking about. I think to understand a place, such as New York City, it's just as important to understand the places around it. There are generations of people who once called the Big Apple home, but decided to plant their roots in Jersey for one reason or another.

I suppose you could have read about some of these places on Wikipedia, but being there is a completely different thing. Is experiencing stuff first hand important?

It's very important if you actually want to understand a place. It's too easy to create our own narratives without ever visiting a place. I still tried to do my share of research before heading out. I have friends from North Jersey or the Philadelphia Metro and tried to take their opinions with a grain of salt. I spent some time reading about certain towns along the way on Wikipedia or scanned Reddit to get a vibe. I even previewed chunks of the walk on Google Street View to mentally prepare and know if it was actually safe to walk near some of these roads. I could have spent months preparing, but it never would actually replace walking in these small towns and cities. It's so much different when you're on the ground.

I suppose the main reason we’re talking is that you make a magazine based around the idea of walking. How long have you been making Pedestrian? What started it off?

I released the first issue of Pedestrian back in March of 2018. I was living in Ridgewood, Queens at the time and made friends with a guy named Curtis Merkel (I actually met him while out on a walk). He ran a moving business for a few decades and retired. At 84 years old he opened up a tiny little bookshop to keep himself busy. I'd visit him every weekend to check out his books and eventually we'd just get to talking. He'd lived in Ridgewood his entire life and loved to talk about the neighborhood's history. Moving to NYC also introduced me to a thriving community of zine makers. I wanted to share these conversations I'd had with Curtis in print form, so I decided to start a magazine. I invited a few friends to contribute and the rest was history.

Since then, the identity of Pedestrian has become quite fluid. While it started as a magazine, I would now describe Pedestrian as my own practice. It's a platform that allows me to collaborate with others, produce magazines, write newsletters, go on these long multi-day walks, and produce t-shirts. I have found this configuration gives me the most creative freedom.

A lot of your magazine is about meeting people and striking up conversations. Is this a lost art these days?

I don't know if it's a lost art per se, but there's less incentive to reach out and talk with strangers these days. Thanks to the rise of social media it's just getting easier and easier to stay within our own "bubbles." Starting Pedestrian, in a way, was an excuse for me to speak with those I typically wouldn't reach. It's amazing how having a publication kind of takes the fear out of speaking with strangers. You can do anything when you have intention.

Although walking is something most people do, is it overlooked as an activity? It seems it’s mostly seen as an inconvenience, rather than a hobby in itself.

It depends where you live. In New York City, for example, walking is a part of the culture. The city is built in such a way that makes walking a viable means of transportation. And if you can't walk to your destination, you're likely walking to a subway or a bus. Where I'm from in Iowa, walking is very inconvenient. Everything is spaced out, which makes walking anywhere very difficult. It’s not that people don’t want to walk, it’s just the way we’ve built certain communities has made it very hard to enjoy. It makes people think walking is very inconvenient.

I’m here in Iowa until August and it’s been interesting to walk a place that is so reliant on cars. The other day I did a 13.5 walk around the city. There’s nothing here stopping you from walking (unless the heat gets you. Technically we’re in the middle of a drought. It’s been incredibly hot as of late), and there’s plenty of sidewalk. I think it’s mostly just a mindset people have to develop. It doesn’t matter how many miles you walk, it’s just about getting out there. Your mental health will thank you and you might even learn something new about your surroundings along the way.

Walking is maybe the antithesis to the internet, but Pedestrian also has a decent presence on the World Wide Web, and you regularly send newsletters and... er... partake in the digital world. How do you balance the real world with the matrix?

It’s a relationship I’m constantly reevaluating. I’m not a master of balancing the two yet, but I’m slowly building habits that will protect my time. I often daydream of abandoning social media altogether and picking up a flip phone. I obviously haven’t done that yet, so in the meantime, I’m investing a lot of time in my newsletter. Sending out a newsletter is a much more thoughtful, intimate, and slow experience...kind of like the way I approach my walks out in the world. I understand that the web is a tool and I’m not sure the Philly walk would have gotten the same amount of attention had I not had an Instagram account. It’s cliche, but everything in moderation, right? I try not to take it so seriously.

What next for Pedestrian?

The Philly walk was such a great success and I’d like to keep that momentum going. Later in September I have another big, big walk planned, but I have yet to announce the route. Look for an announcement sometime next month. This one will be a bit longer and involve 3 different cities. I can’t wait.

Once winter hits I’m going to buckle down and produce a proper book for the Philly walk that will include all my writing and photos I took along the journey. I’m already excited to share the finished product with the world. Stay tuned.

Final question, what are your walking shoes of choice? And what's your soundtrack? Are earphones advised for long walks, or do you prefer the ambient sounds of the streets?

I’m a big fan of Hoka Clifton’s. I wore them throughout the entire Philly walk and have two pairs in my closet. At this point, Hoka should probably pay me for how much business I send their way. I’m always recommending them.

I prefer not to wear headphones and just listen to the ambient sounds of the street. More often than not, I find wearing headphones to be a bit distracting and it takes me out of the present moment. Although, I’ll admit I have been trying to introduce music into my walking once again, but few tracks make the cut. Lately Andrew Wasylyk’s Last Sunbeams of Childhood has been on repeat. There’s something about that track...

Find out more about Pedestrian here. Pedestrian is available in the UK courtesy of Central Library.

#Interviews

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joshslater · 4 years

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Werehick

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I don’t know when it actually started. I had been aware of time slipping for me occasionally. I might have thought it was Sunday and it turned out to be Monday, but I had shrugged them off as a result of stress. The alternative would have been some mental disorder, and you really don’t want to go there in your self diagnosing. It wasn’t until after the “break in” it started to become a regular occurrence. A serious one as well. Best I knew I woke up Saturday morning to a trashed apartment. Well, not totally trashed, but a few items broken, lots of things moved around, empty beer cans on the floor, some money missing.

I was shocked I managed to sleep through whatever had transpired in my apartment, and a little scared to what could have happened, what could have been done to me. Perhaps something had been done to me? Perhaps that was why I slept through it all. I couldn’t figure out any reason for it. Sneak into someones apartment, at great risk, tranquilize the sleeping resident, and then throw a party. Did they use sleep gas, like they do when they rob truckers sleeping at truck stops?

It was when I decided to call the cops I got the chills. The phone said it was Monday morning. The whole weekend gone! I decided the police had to wait, as I hurried to work. I got there enough on time to not be suspicious, but obviously I spent the entire day thinking of little else. As a creative writer at an ad agency my hours are flexible, and as long as I deliver in time and at quality no one cares, but it would still be weird to not show up at all. But I barely managed to do anything useful while there. I felt tired, mentally drain, and sore in my muscles, as if the adrenaline of the morning had a lingering effect. Above all, questions and thoughts kept popping up. Do I need to change locks? Are there now drugs stashed in my apartment? Did they do something else to me? Is that why I feel funny? Do I need to schedule a doctors appointment? What would I say that wouldn’t lock me up?

Cleaning up in the apartment took less time than I had feared, and once done I realized there was even less for the police to do. What was the crime? Where was the evidence? As the days passed, it was almost like it hadn’t happened. Oh, how wrong I was.

A couple of weeks later it happened again, only this time I woke up wearing someone else’s clothes. It smelled like sweat and auto repair shop even before I opened my eyes, and I practically jumped out of bed when I looked at myself. A worn under armour hoodie, filthy, threadbare jeans, and workers boots, splattered with caked mud. There was a light brown outline on the sheets where my body had rubbed dust into the fabric.

I could feel my heard pounding, as I ran through the rooms of my apartment to see if anyone was still there. Only later did I realize I didn’t have a plan for what to do if I had found someone. As before the place was a mess, but I sensed more things were missing.

I rushed into the bathroom and started to rip off the clothes. I smelled like someone else, I looked like someone else, and I hated it. I felt violated, somehow. This wasn’t just drawing a dick with a sharpie on someone drunk. I threw the hoodie on the floor. I tried to pull off the boots, heel against toe, but it didn’t work. I almost felt trapped that I couldn’t just throw off all the shit that was on me. I sat down on the toilet and frantically tried to untie the knots on the boots. It for sure took longer than if I had been calm. It didn’t help that I saw dirt under my finger nails. Once the first boot was off I reeled back from the smell of stale foot juice. Someone else’s warm boot smell, and on my foot, a thick, grey sock. I yanked it off, fast as I could, and did the same on the other foot.

Though the end was near, I just felt more and more trapped. The jeans had a belt with a belt buckle large as my hand. I undid it, and undid the buttons. The worst for last. Under the jeans I wore a jockstrap. Not any of the sexualized neon-pink ones from a pride parade. No, some disgusting, once white jockstrap with a few blue and red lines on the waist band. I got out of the jeans, and then as quickly as possible pulled off the jockstrap and thew it in the heap with the other shit.

My heart was still racing, the room smelled of feet and sweat and diesel, and my sight was transfixed on the pile of clothes on the floor. It took probably a minute to calm down. I looked in the mirror. There was a clear dirt line where the hoodie ended and my neck started. Determined I walk out of the bathroom to the kitchen to get a plastic bag. I needed to put all of the clothes away before I started to shower. I shuddered to imagine what damp air would to do them and the smell they would give off.

It started out brownish and took a while until the water running into the shower drain was clear. Only then did I start with soap. One full body pass with hard soap and one with some liquid soap. Then two thorough shampooings and finally one pass conditioner, something I rarely use. But I felt like I needed it this time.

I wasn’t at all surprised to find that it was again Monday, not Saturday, when I checked my smartphone. I made a deal with my project manager on Slack to work from home. I needed to vacuum and wet wipe the entire apartment to get the dirt out, figure out what was missing, and try to figure out what the hell was going on.

Assessing the damage I could immediately see that my hunch of things missing was true. A few art pieces were gone, and most of my formal clothes as well. It was just bizarre. The state of my apartment didn’t make sense either. It didn’t look like someone had thrown a party, but rather as if they had squatted there. Rifled through my stuff like a burglar, but also lounged around, dragging dirt all over my carpets and furniture. I was trying to think back to the last time it happened, what was different from then. This was like a serial killer story on CSI. They keep getting bolder and bolder after each kill, at least in the show. Did this guy, whoever he was, think his method was perfected enough that he could come and go as he wished. Even mock me by dressing me up. Who knows when he’ll...

I dropped everything and checked my phone calendar. This was the last weekend of the month, and last time it had happened was also the last weekend of the month. I flipped back through the month in the calendar, desperately trying to remember anything about the previous times I had lost track of time. For all the ones I could remember anything about, they had all been the last weekend of the month. So that was his pattern. How had I not seen that before? All I needed was some go pro or something. Motion activated, long battery time. I was doing some of my best work in a long time that afternoon. “Perhaps you should work from home more often” my project lead told me on slack.

It was such a roller coaster of a day, I reflected, as I took my second shower. Despite having thrown away the clothes, that smell of sweat lingered. Probably my imagination, but I had also spent several hours scrubbing floors, so my body was sore all over. I felt like I’ve had quite a workout, which probably was true. As I let the water wash over me I was thinking of all the different places to put cameras in the apartment. I wanted as few as possible, for cost reasons of course, but have as wide and good coverage as possible, yet be hard to find.

Something had not gone according to plan. I had purchased the cameras well in advance, tried them out, and checked the footage. All great. I had put limits on my credit cards. Made backups of my computer. Hid away some of the more valuable items. Everything was set when I went to bed. I was nervous, sure, but fully expected to wake up with the face of my tormentor recorded. At least I had expected to wake up at home.

This looked like a scrap yard, and my bed had been a bunch of cut up cardboard boxes. It took some minutes to get my bearings. My entire body felt stiff. I must have slept here, in the cold, on the hard surface all night, and I didn’t have much clothes on either. A tattered T-shirt, just as distressed jeans, and a pair of OK jogging shoes. I smelled like I hadn’t showered all week. Looking to my left I could see a camera on a rack of junk, looking back at me. It might even be one of the ones I bought and hid. So much for that attempt.

As I got up to get it, I something more than just soreness, and looked again at myself. Since when was I this ripped? My arms were way larger than when I went to sleep. My work is sitting with a lap top, writing almost the same thing over and over. I don’t have veins that pops. There is nothing that bulges when I bend my arms. Apparently I do now. Even without a mirror I could tell the rest of the body had changed just as much as well. What the hell is going on?

I stood up and walked a step to the camera. Everything felt wrong. My center of gravity was somehow off. My pose was different. My gait was different. It’s like my newly gotten muscles forced me to move differently, or they would rub against my body, stopping them. The small camera was recording, but I had no means to view it here, wherever I was. I stopped it, grabbed it and started to look for an exit.

After a few minutes of random turns in the heaps of trash I found a clearing and an open gate. An older man in a neat, but worn, blue coverall sat in a plastic chair, reading some papers and drinking coffee from a cup of out of place fancy china.

- Kyle! Here this early? I didn’t even know you were here.

Kyle? Who is this man mistaking me for? No time to figure that out. I have no idea where I am, what time it is, or how to get home, and I need to get there before anyone gets suspicious.

- The early bird. What time is it anyway? - It’s 5... 48.

I thanked him and exited. Once outside of the gates I started to recognize where I were. This was the industrial park south-west of the city. Lots of small and medium companies have lots there. The other kind of “lots”. God, and I’m a copywriter. It would be almost an hour walk to get home from here. I started to pat my pockets to see if I had any money or anything on me, and almost jumped and yelped.

I have a monster cock. It’s huge! You don’t just suddenly grow a large penis in your twenties. Certainly not while sleeping through a weekend. I just realized that perhaps I was wrong there too. It could be a year later for all I knew. I might not even have an apartment to come back to. I found my keys in my right front pocket and some wrinkled cash in my left.

I managed to find a bus stop at the outskirts of the park, with a bus passing every 30 minutes according to the posted schedule. I reckoned that even if I had just missed a bus, it would still be faster to wait for the next. Thankfully it was deserted. People would be travelling to their work at this hour, and most would come by car anyway. So I got to stand there and be self conscious all by myself. What a crude and obscene sight I must be, perhaps less so out here with literal blue collar workers, but at least pushing it. I couldn’t wait to incinerate these tattered clothes, and scrub myself an hour in the shower to get rid of this stench of man and machine parts. I just realized I would be on public transport in this state. Perhaps walking would be preferable after all.

At that moment the bus just rounded the bend in the distance. It would be weird to not take it now. The bus came to a stop just in front of me, and two hispanic looking men stepped off at the rear and I stepped on. I picked up my wad of cash and asked the driver how much for a single to town center.

- Travel card or travel app only.

I didn’t move, trying to come up with something to convince him to take me anyway. Pay him personally perhaps.

- Just take a seat.

The bus took a depressing sight seeing tour of our declining manufacturing industries before heading back into town. I can see from the time, date and temperature a gas station sign that it is just Monday two days later from when I went to sleep. Whatever had happened, happened during those 72 or so hours. My normally noisy mind was quiet. I couldn’t come up with any explanation for what was going on. Some 24 minutes later, according to the bus clock, I was reasonably close to home to walk.

Predictably my home was in a mess when I opened the door. On the floor were pieces of smashed surveillance cameras mixed with dried dirt, ripped papers, shredded clothes and other parts of my life smashed to bits. At least my laptop was unharmed, sitting on the living room table. I would have to deal with the rest of the apartment later, but my immediate concern was the camera I brought with me. I connected a USB cable between it and the laptop, and the vendor app started automatically.

The software showed the final frame of the video, with me pressing the off button at the junkyard. Fuck, I looked terrible, and almost unrecognizably different. I clicked at the start of the progress bar and the image switched to an interior view of my apartment, from what I thought had been a clever place in the bookcase to hide the camera. Into view walked me, in only underwear. Was I sleepwalking? What was this? The me in the video looked like how I remembered myself from this Friday, but he walked “looser”, for lack of a better term. He, I, looked furious.

- What the fuck is this shit? Yo spying on me now, fucking lib? Making your own fucking government spy program?

He was holding another camera in his hand, and threw it at the wall, showering the room with cheap, Chinese plastic shards.

- Just typical of you people, ain’t it? Can’t stay out of honest folks lives. I’ll fucking show you then. All this bullshit has to go. “Ooooo! Look at mee! I type on a compuuuter for living!”

He spat a large glob of spit somewhere on the floor off camera.

- I’ll butt into your life then. See how you like that? I’ll show you what a real fucking american looks like.

And he reached out to the camera and pressed the off button. It instantly cut to almost complete darkness. He could just barely make out the outline of a man moving, illuminated by the far distant sodium light. The camera then did cuts after cuts, as the motion detection turned on and off recording. As I fast forwarded It became apparent this was the camera setup recording me as I was sleeping on a stack of cardboard.

I didn’t even watch to the end, but just threw the laptop on the table and looked around in disbelief. “Schizophrenic” was all I could think. That was the only explanation that made sense. Somehow I was switching between me and this douchebag on a set schedule. Or was that imagined also? What about the body? Did I imagine that? Or did I imagine my old body and this was the real one? No, schizophrenic isn’t the word. What’s the real medical one... Multiple Personality Disorder! That’s the one! Fuck! I’ve been off my game all morning. Did my mind change too, and not just the body?

I picked through the devastation of my home. Almost all of my clothes were gone, replaced with distressed and dirty clothes that looked like it belonged to a teenager, mechanic and/or farmer. Most of it off brand, but some fox racing and carhartt stuff looked almost new. Where was all this shit coming from? This time I didn’t just dump everything in a trash bag, but tried to sort through the mess. If this really was a Dr. Jekyll and Kyle situation, perhaps it was best to keep as much of this shit as possible, or he would just drag in more. All of my broken stuff had to go though.

As I got rid of the last torn book pages and shredded tie, I realized that I didn’t actually miss all my stuff. I was more upset with how I lost it. I was just about to head out for lunch when I saw myself in the mirror. I’d spent all morning in that shitty T-shirt, jeans and shoes without thinking about changing. Suddenly I felt dirty again. Damn him!

This time the surprise was that there wasn’t any surprise. I stepped out of the shoes and found I had no socks on me, which felt icky to me. As I started to pull down my jeans I found I didn’t have any underwear either. I stopped at the knees and was transfixed with what I saw. My dick and balls where probably twice my old size. The legs looked stronger than before. I undressed the last part of the jeans just with my legs, and could clearly hear them rip further. Then I grabbed the T-shirt and pulled it off in one motion, and got a good whiff of really strong body odor. The upper body was something else. I had abs. I had pecs. Not huge ones, but well defined. My body had never looked this good before, and probably never would if it had been only up to me. I spent a really long time cleaning myself in the shower. How the fuck was this possible?

Andy was the first one to say something, perhaps even the first one to recognize me.

- Wow! What the hell happened here?! - Morning Andy. Just some workout that paid off. - Bulk payment? Well, you look great. I like the hipster look.

I had washed a pair of carhartt pants and a plaid shirt, brushed some boots clean, and managed to dress close to what one of our art directors looked like, but with muscles. As much as I hated all the crap in my apartment, it did fit my body, and it would take both time and money to replace it all, so I gathered I would use what I could. There was no hiding this body anyway.

It was a weird day in many ways. In one way it was like I was a new employee, with looks and outright stares from women, and a few guys, I didn’t know very well. Some people I had barely talked to before, mostly quite fit men, chatted with me to assess if I would fit in their social circle. And those I worked with the most couldn’t stop giving remarks about my body, some flattering, some jokes, many subtly envious, and several hurtful in the line of meathead and jockywriter.

I was obviously self conscious all the time. Even when I didn’t have eyes glued on me, or remarks woven into every dialogue, I could feel my body in a way I had never done before. I couldn’t sit the same as before. My legs were different. My junk was way different. My arms rubbed against my body in a new way. I felt restless as soon as I begun a task. And above all it felt like all my talent had left the building. I was not being very productive.

It pretty much dragged on like that. Perhaps less with the staring and the remarks, but certainly with my confidence and performance at an all time low. It was self reinforcing. The worse I performed the more certain I was that this was my new peak. As good as it gets. I didn’t bother to buy any new clothes. It felt pointless. At least I was always showing up with clean clothes. I kind of had to, because after a day they stunk.

After two weeks Jared, my boss, took me aside for a lunch meeting in his office. I knew things were going piss poor, and that I hadn’t been upfront with him about it. I made the decision to tell him everything I knew. The lost times, the “break ins”, the abduction to the junk yard, the sudden body changes, and my theory of multiple personality disorder, despite it not explaining everything.

He didn’t say a word while I spoke, and carefully consumed his Vietnamese BBQ baguette, making the appearance of almost not listening at all. Once my story was up to date with the last few days. He was just silently nodding and remained quiet for too many seconds.

- Can I meet him? - Who? - Kyle.

I was surprised. Somehow I hadn’t even thought of that as a possibility. I could never meet him, of course, but someone else could.

- When’s the next full moon? - The what? - The next time Kyle emerge? - Last weekend of the month. Week and a half from now. - We are way behind on cataloging. Boring and non-creative work, I know, but... you know... - Yeah, I know. - Well, you shouldn’t have any problems lifting the boxes at least.

It felt weird having my boss doing an all nighter binging Netflix content in my living room, while I was going to bed in the bedroom, but he was adamant he wanted to do this. So I fell asleep and strangely nothing appeared to be different when I woke up.

I quickly got dressed, blue jeans and fox racing shirt, and found Jared sleeping in my living room. It was 6:41 Monday morning according to my phone. Had he been here the whole weekend? I had a look around in the apartment. Some things had moved around, but it looked neat and clean enough.

- Hey... Hey Jared.. - Mmmmm - Hey, what happened?

Jared made a big yawn and sat up in the couch.

- Mmm. We certainly had too much to drink. - We? - You don’t feel it? I guess Kyle was right. - Right about what? - Well, it’s certainly more than just a mental thing, but we already knew that. I think I may have brokered a truce. - A truce? - Just trust me on this one. Don’t go to a doctor or anything. Keep his stuff in the apartment somewhere. - And me? What do I get.

Jared had a wry smile. Why was he so stingy with details?

- You get to be the message lead for our Chrysler commercial. - WHAT?! That’s huge. Wait... Why are you giving it to me? If someone asked a few days ago I would have said for sure I would be fired very soon. - I think you’ll do great. I’ll think you’ll manage to craft exactly the right message for heartland consumers. I have it from a good source that you’ll be just the right blend of creative writer and redneck for the job.

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