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srose-foxfire · 4 years

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Damirae - Vet AU

A/N: Hi! Welcome to my page this is my first ever Damirae fanfic, so I hope you enjoy!

-- -- --

“Thank you again for what you did for Titus, Dr. Roth.”

“It’s my job Mr. Wayne. Please stay safe. You be a good doggie, okay Titus? You were the best patient I ever had.” Raven knelt down to pat the great black Dane on his head, he barked at her happily before his owner Damian Wayne click his tongue to signal Titus to follow him. Raven looked up to the young man dressed in a fancy black suit as he gave her a small smile. Both dog and owner exited the clinic.

Not turning her back toward the two girls that worked the reception desk Raven crossed her arms over her chest, “can I ask why his paperwork was thicker than what our patients usually sign after discharge?” Earlier when Raven had come out of the examination room to say her farewell to Titus, she found that Damian was signing off the discharge papers, but he had a bigger stack than what was usually the norm. She eyed the two girls, with a stern look letting them both know she wouldn’t like whatever they were going to say.

“Girl, we all just added some blank papers with a signature box in the bottom for him to sign!” Roxy exclaimed unashamed she cost the young man much valuable time.

“What for?”

Roxy only gave Raven a dumbfounded look, like she couldn’t understand why Raven would be surprised at her actions, “what for? What for? Girl, he is Damian Wayne! Like the hottest, most eligible bachelor in Gotham! His dad is Bruce Wayne, one of Gotham’s multi-millionaire and owns Wayne Enterprises. I can die happy having the chance to be in front of a god like Damian!”

The second receptionist, named Mayra only snickered before looking up to Raven, “don’t mind her Rae, she just one of those crazies calling themselves a member of the ‘Damian Fan Club,’ but seriously you never heard of the Wayne family?”

“I’m not much for social media or newspapers articles, besides the last nine years I have been focusing on completing my veterinary degree.”

“Well now’s a good time to get out then,” Mayra stated, really hinting on the idea that she should get out more.

“Sounds fun, but I rather focus on my patients right now.” Raven said as she left them both to go back into the procedure room and look at the animals they were caring for. She had entered the room and looked through various folders they had on the counter, she found the one belonging to Titus. Raven opened the folder and reread his report for what felt like the hundredth time.

Damian had brought his three-year-old dog in an emergency, Titus was shot during a drive by. The poor young man was devastated that his animal friend had gotten hurt and didn’t know what to do. Raven who was on duty when Damian came in holding Titus in his arms, took Titus from him and reassured she would do everything in her power to care for his dog. Luckily the bullet only managed to graze over the dog’s shoulder. There wasn’t too much damage, all she needed to do was clean the wound to prevent any infection and help him get out of his state of shock. As a precaution Raven held Titus for two nights to observe him and make sure there wasn’t any other dangers. Now three days later Titus got to return home with his master. It warmed Raven’s heart that she was able to reunite them again.

-- -- --

It’s been over a month since Raven met the infamous Damian Wayne. Well Raven hadn’t really spoken to him personally since Titus was discharged. One of the main reasons she kept hearing the young man’s name so often was thanks to Roxy who couldn’t stop talking about him. She would speak of the countless rumors the media had written about him. The girl sounded she was under a love potion of sorts, speaking of her fantasies she had on Damian. Immediately, Raven would leave the lobby of the clinic whenever Roxy would start her fantasizing lectures. To make matters worse Roxy had the audacity to build a small little altar with Damian’s picture cut out from a magazine article with pink hearts doodled around him.Of course, this didn’t bode will with Raven, this was a pet clinic and if their patients ever saw Roxy’s little corner of honoring the young Wayne; let just say they would be losing some credibility that the staff took their job seriously.

Raven was in one of the examinations room, cleaning the counters and all the surfaces to have it ready for their next patient, when she heard Roxy literally scream. “Oh my god!” Raven dashed out of the room as quickly as she could wondering what the hay Roxy was screaming for this time. Thankfully when she reached the lobby room, the clinic was empty, today they didn’t have as many patients as other days. “He’s here!” Roxy squealed.

“What’s wrong with her?” Raven asked, she didn’t care that her voice sounded very irritated at the moment. She wanted to make her point across to her coworker that this behavior wasn’t acceptable at the clinic.

“Damian is back. He is just been standing there for over half an hour.”

“What?”

Mayra who had her arms crossed over the reception desk shot Raven a look before motioning with her head towards the door. “Yeah, I thought he was going to come in and have us check his dog or something since he brought his pooch along. But they are just standing there. See for yourself.”

Raven cautiously moved behind the receptionist counter and shot a quick glance through the glass door to find Damian, leaning up against a light pole looking down at his phone, while his dog sat beside him. Damian was wearing a black turtleneck, paired with a dark grey jeans. God he was very handsome. Raven couldn’t help but continue to stare at the young man, as he glances away from his small screen to kneel before his dog and pet him lightly on his head. A smiled crept up her face when she saw Damian give his dog a most genuine smile, before Titus moved in to lick his master’s face. Raven could see how much the young man loved and cared for his dog. This is why she choice this career, she wanted to be someone to help and care for people’s animals’ companions because these beautiful creatures are part of a family. It brought Raven joy to see Titus was doing well, he will live many years to come along his benevolent master.

Raven sighed and looked back at Mayra and Roxy. “Well pay it no mind, we have work to do. For all we know he could be waiting for someone and that just happens to be the meeting spot.”

“You don’t think he is out on a date?!” Roxy practically yelled; thankfully the glass was thick enough to minimize her cry or else Damian could had heard her.

“Why should we care if he’s out on a date or not? Roxy go back to work and leave the poor man alone.” Raven added.

“As member of the ‘Damian Fan Club’ it’s my responsibility to make sure no harm comes to Damian and make sure whoever becomes his wife is right for him!”

Raven couldn’t believe this girl, she raised an eyebrow at her, “Seriously?”

“She’s serious.” Mayra who was keeping quiet during one of Roxy’s little fangirl phase. “It’s actually a thing. The club exists and all, bunch of crazies like Roxy here that want nothing more than to go to bed with Damian.”

“You witch! We take our role as Damian’s fans very seriously!”

Raven couldn’t help but feel flabbergasted at the little brunette, “Roxy, I have heard you speaking of the fantasies you have about him.”

“Well Raven, we are allowed to dream, aren’t we? Besides I know very well I am not meant for such a handsome prince like Damian Wayne.”

“Go back to work, I am gonna go finish up room 3 and 5. Then check on the animals we have staying overnight.” Raven said as she looked back out the door and found heat creep up to her cheeks when she noticed Damian catch her gaze towards him. Quickly she turned around and walked towards the door that led to the examination rooms.

-- -- --

It was now 6pm and everyone had already left for the day. Raven was busying herself making sure she jotted down any new appointments on her agenda. Afterwards the young vet made her rounds around the kennels. There were a few animals staying overnight at the clinic, she pulled out their files and adjusted them on a shelf organizing so the overnight staff knows which patients needed more attention depending on their case. There was a back door the overnight staff used to enter from. Soon enough Garfield Logan, the supervisor of the night shift had arrived; Raven went ahead and handed him the full reports on their overnight patients. After she discussed what they were monitoring in each of their patients, Raven went inside the staff’s locker room and changed from her work clothes to her civilian clothes. Raven finally called it a night and said her goodbye as she went for the front door with her shoulder bag.

Once exiting, Raven found Damian was still leaning up against the pole, she was grateful he hadn’t noticed her due to the fact he had his gaze pinned to his phone. Though Titus recognized her, as he stood up and started wagging his tail. Raven quickly turned around; locking the glass door, afterwards she then reached for the metal folding security gate and pulled it towards her to lock the clinic. Unfortunately for her, this gate was due for some maintenance and sometimes instead of smoothly sliding along, the bottom part of the gate would always get stuck. Today of all days the damn gate decided to mock her and really give her a hard time as Raven kept tugging the gate; mentally begging it to obey her. She cursed under her breath, giving in to her defeat. Raven pulled out her phone and was about to call Gar to come help her with the damn gate.

“Here allow me to help.”

Her finger was about to press the call option, when Damian stepped from behind her. She looked up to him and just realized how his eyes were a beautiful emerald color, they held so much warmth in them. Damian gave her a soft smile, before handling her Titus’ leash. Raven had to blink a few times to remember where she was before grabbing the leash, as the young man before her stepped up and gave a good hard tug onto the gate sliding all the way across the door. Needless to say, Raven was impressed how strong Damian was, she noticed how his black turtleneck was tight and his tight muscles were begging to be free from the cloth containing them. A light blush managed to creep onto her cheeks at the idea of a shirtless Damian. What was she thinking?! Raven shook her head a couple of times to get these wild thoughts far away from her mind, she then looked up to Damian gesturing with her head to allow passage towards the thick key lock. Damian side stepped, taking back Titus’ leash as he allowed her to open the lock and passing it through the slotted area to secure the gate.

When Raven finally locked the gate, she looked up to the man beside her and gave him a small smile, “thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Please call me Damian, Dr. Roth.”

“Then you may call me Raven, what brings you here? Is Titus unwell?” Raven asked as she bend down and patted the dog’s head, he responded back her gesture by licking her hand. His tongue was very ticklish that Raven couldn’t help but giggle, she looked up to find Damian was smiling down at her. She looked away from him when she could feel heat worm it way towards her cheeks, she prayed her face wasn’t flushed that Damian would notice.

“No, he is doing well. Actually…” Raven looked up to find Damian was looking to the sides as he rubbed the back of his neck. It looked cute nevertheless to Raven, she couldn’t help but snicker very silently at the very nervous young man before her. Finally, Damian turned too face her and extended his hand towards her to help her stand up. “I was wondering if we could invite you out to dinner? As a thank you for what you did for Titus. There’s this restaurant down the street that offers outdoor dining… I mean if that’s all right with you and if you aren’t busy tonight?”

“Actually, I had nothing planned for the evening. I would love to join you both.”

- - - - - -

That was five years ago when Raven had gone out on her very first date with a guy. The sun was coming up over Gotham’s skyline as she looked out the window thanking the universe for the life she had received. Raven had gotten up just a few minutes before the sun was even up, she was wearing a light blue tank top, with a pair of cotton navy blue very short shorts. Just then she heard a stir come from the bed, Raven turned around to find her husband was moving in his sleep. The covers covering him had slipped down his body, exposing his sculpted chest and abdomen, gosh he was so handsome. He was even more beautiful under the sun’s morning light as it highlighted his perfect face. Even after all this time Raven couldn’t help but blush whenever she saw him naked. Her female coworkers -especially Roxy- at the clinic wouldn’t like to admit it but they were jealous that the fact Raven didn’t even try but manage to bag Gotham’s most eligible and hottestbachelor.

Closing her eyes, Raven turned around again to stare out the window as she continues to hear Damian stir in his sleep. Still keeping her back turned she could hear him groining and moving the sheets to the side as he steps closer to her. Damian walks behind her, placing his strong muscular arms around her waist, then pecks her on her cheek before resting his chin on her shoulder. “Good morning Mrs. Wayne,” he says into her ear as Damian begins to trail the tip of his tongue along her neck down her shoulder, just the way Raven liked it. She couldn’t help but blush at how he addressed her. They been married for over two years and she still felt like their relationship was still new to her, exactly like how she felt five years ago. “How long have you been up?”

“Mm…not too long,” Raven answered him as she turned to face her husband and wrap her arms around his neck. She looked him up and down seeing he was only wearing his black cotton boxers’ briefs. Raven then met his emerald gaze she was so entranced with. He gave her a warm smiled before leaning in and placing his lips softly onto hers.

The kiss was soft much like their first kiss, when Damian had come to her apartment to pick up Titus after she dog-sat for him while he was away on a business trip. He was acting very nervous and after being decline of receiving the payment he was offering Raven for her service. He muttered something under his breath in another language and leaned forward to steal her first kiss. Afterwards Damian confessed to having feelings for her since the moment they met and asked if she would give him a chance. Raven answered him she started developing feelings for him as well, before she could say anything more Damian captured her lips once again. One thing led to another that they made love to each other that night. Since then Raven knew she wanted nothing more than to spend her life with Damian.

Now coming back to the present Raven pulled away from their kiss and lightly trail her fingertips over his bare chest; tracing a scar that was over his heart. Damian mentioned to her that as a child his grandfather would make him train day and night just to teach him self-defense. Some trainings were very brutal that most of his scars came from his own grandfather’s hand. It saddened Raven the least to know Damian has been hurt by members of his own family. All she could do for her husband now was kiss his healed scars and hope any painful memories could be covered by her love for him.

Raven wrapped her arms around his waist, then buried her face onto his hard chest; slowly pushing Damian towards their bed. When he was stopped by the foot of their bed, Raven let go and took a small step back before pushing Damian to fall on the mattress. Her husband sat up giving her a sly smirked she so loved. Raven then moved closer to him swaying her hips very seductively. She placed her hands on her hips before finding the waistband of her shorts, Raven never once let her amethyst gaze leave her partner’s emeralds. Keeping her movements very slowly Raven pulled down her shorts. Stepping out of them she walked over to Damian who reached for her waist and bringing his wife down onto his lap. Raven rested her knees on either side of his hips, she then gave him a devilish smile before she pulled her tank top off, now only wearing her cobalt blue lace undergarments before him. Raven could see Damian’s eyes were filled with hunger and desire, he started trailing hot messy kisses just beneath her collarbone. Lightly leaving bite marks to signify she belonged only to him, which Raven didn’t mind at all. Damian then lightly started kissing the top of her plump bosom, she knew she was playing with fire when she was seducing him a few seconds earlier now as punishment Damian was teasing her. Raven didn’t know how much longer she could last.

“I love you beloved,” Damian whispered as he continues to caress her skin with his lips. His hands were running circles on her bare back, before resting and gripping her hips.

Raven let out a moan, before grabbing either side of her husband’s face having his emeralds looking into her amethysts. “I love you too, Damian.” She said softly as she pulled his face to have their lips meet once more. Raven felt an immense happiness consumed her as she shared these moments with her husband. She thanked whatever universe or destiny had made their paths crossed five years ago.

She couldn’t imagine her life differently.

__________________

A/N:

Hello!! If you reached this far first all… THANK YOU!!! I found many amazing completed fic and ongoing fics here on tumblr and wanted to try my hand with my own ideas to show my love for Raven and Damian. I am currently writing two other fics for a separate fandom but will probably start sharing one-shots of Damirae here on tumblr. I have a couple Damirae fics that are on the longer side, those will be posted on my Wattpad page under my user: s03Rose .Those fics are still in development because they will have a plot line to follow so when I get halfway the storyline I will post little snippets here.

On the side note, I started writing fics for my own enjoyment because I want to be a writer, I have original ideas already started but first things first I must practice my writing to see first if it makes sense and if it’s entertaining to read. Also this was my first ever writing a fic filled with some small ‘smut’, I read fics that were on the mature side and wanted to try my hand at writing these sort of scenes. Again I am no good but practice will aid me. I don’t know when I will upload another Damirae fic since I have work and other ongoing personal projects. Please bear with me but do know I will try to update every second week. Till next time!

--Simona R.

#damirae #damian x raven #raven-x-damian #newfanficwriter #fanfiction #demonbirds #dccomics #vet au #dc fanfic #justice league #justice league apokolips war #dc universe #dc universe 52 #damian wayne #raven roth

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pepperonyspizza · 3 years

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soulmate au where you touch your soulmate for the first time it leaves a handprint that's how you know they are your soulmate

well, this went kinda out of hand and ended up way longer than I wanted it to be lmao also this didn’t give me any specific ship so I went with pepperony :) I hope that’s what you wanted! ~*~ There is this rule that Tony has: Do not touch Pepper. Ever. He’s not sure how it started but something about their ‘professional’ relationship has put that barrier over the years - but that doesn’t stop Tony from testing just how solid said wall is every now and then. The media isn’t calling him a sleazy asshole for nothing and it’s not like he’s being too obnoxious about it.

A nudge of his shoulder against hers, his hand a fleeting pressure on the small of her back, always with a securing layer of clothing between them. That’s it. Nothing more.

Tony tells himself that he doesn’t push it any further because, deep down, there is something that resembles a gentleman, not because he’s scared to drive them to a point from which there is no going back.

But that fear (not that it’s actually that) isn’t enough to keep Tony from wishing that things could be different, especially during a moment like this one when Pepper is tearing into him about yet another board meeting he’s missed and he wants nothing more than to shut her up.

It would be so easy. Tony can imagine it in his head perfectly. He would reach for her, wrap his fingers around her slender wrist and she would stop talking in an instant to stare at him in shock.

More would happen after that, at least according to his fantasy. They’d kiss and stumble out of the messy workshop to continue what they had started upstairs in his bedroom. His real bedroom, the one only he gets to see. Well, and Pepper of course when she interrupts his peaceful sleep with her nagging—

“Tony!”

He blinks out of his daydream, realizing that he’s been staring at a bland wall for the last minute. The woman he’s been ignoring is looking everything but amused and not even the charming grin he shoots her way can calm her down.

“Yes, dear?”

“Have you listened to anything I just said?”

“...something about a board meeting that is scheduled for today?”

“Was,” Pepper corrects, sighing deeply. “It was scheduled for today, Tony. 3 hours ago. I told you about it this morning.”

“Oops.”

“Oops?!” He gets up from his chair but she’s close on his heels even as he moves further into the large space of his workshop. “That’s all you have to say after I spent the past thirty minutes cleaning up your mess?”

It must have been something important for Pepper to be this angry at him. He must have missed at least four other meetings this week alone and she’s barely done so much as lecture him about those.

Tony whirls around with his hands up, “Woah, easy now. It’s not that big of a deal, right?” His grin is all teeth as Pepper’s nostrils flare. “Okay, that was the wrong thing to say. Let me try again. I’m really sorry. I forgot.”

She crosses her arms and huffs but she isn’t yelling anymore.

“Let me make it up to you,” he continues with a smile, “How about dinner? Just the two of us and some fancy food.”

And just like that, he’s back to square one The fire in Pepper’s eyes is back, brighter and more deadly than before. Tony can’t believe that he’s said the wrong thing again.

“Dinner? Are you serious?” She throws her arms up, looking both annoyed and exhausted, which makes Tony feel like he’s getting scolded by a teacher. “Thanks to your little stunt, I’ll most likely be dealing with this all night. I won’t have time to indulge any of your antics.”

“Pep.”

“If you are so desperate for a nice dinner, how about you show up for the one you have scheduled for tomorrow evening?”

“Pepper.”

“Because, and I swear to god, Tony, if you miss anything else this week, I’ll—”

“Potts!”

Tony barks at least, too tired to continue this argument any longer. He absentmindedly reaches for her, settling one of his hands on her forearm before he can think twice about it.

It takes less than a heartbeat for Pepper to react. She goes silent, not because he told her to but because he’s literally holding onto her, which has never happened before.

Her skin is all smooth and soft, such a strong contrast to his own. Tony wants to slap himself for only finding out now when he could have been touching her for all those years.

But then Pepper’s eyes go wide and she jerks back like he’s burnt her. Tony lets go without comment, although the five steps she takes back aren’t necessary. He won’t jump her. They are friends, aren’t they? Friends touch each other casually.

“Come on, Pep. I promise that I’m not infectious.” He does his best to grin as he shows her the palms of his rough hands. “And no oil or grease stains either. See?”

She doesn’t look down. In fact, it doesn’t seem like she’s looking at him at all but rather straight through him. Tony frowns, a little concerned and very much confused. His gaze drops down to where Pepper is clutching her arm and his eyebrows almost shoot into his hairline when he sees what her small hands are trying to cover up.

Tony takes a step towards her, waiting for her to take one back and keep them apart. She doesn’t. Pepper only snaps out of her frozen like state when he’s already close enough to pull her arm out of the way.

There, covering a good part of her forearm is a crimson handprint. Not any handprint but Tony’s. He puts his hand right on top of it to check, to make sure that it hasn’t been there before even though he already knows so.

His hand fits perfectly on top of it. His eyes snap back up to Pepper’s face when she fails to respond to… well, anything. Frankly, the woman looks like she’s seen a ghost. Any other time, Tony would have been insulted but given the current circumstances, he kind of understands.

“Are you going to say something?” “Mr. Stark, I—”

Mr. Stark. She’s just found out that he’s her soulmate and she’s trying to go with formal titles? Hell no. That’s not how they are going to play.

Tony cuts her off for the second time that day but instead of snapping, he kisses her. It’s not his proudest moment and he’ll blame his poor impulse control for it later. Pepper lets out a surprised squeak that’s muffled by his mouth pressing against hers but otherwise makes no move to stop him.

It will happen eventually, Tony is absolutely sure of it - but until that happens, he’s going to take full advantage of her hesitation. Kissing Pepper has been his number one fantasy for so long and now that the knowledge of him being her soulmate hangs above them, the fire inside him has only grown hotter.

Her hand comes in contact with his body just like he’s expected but not to push him away but to fist her hand into the fabric of his tank top and pull him closer. Tony realizes with a start that he’s kissing back.

Pepper is kissing him. With quite a lot of enthusiasm, he might add.

Tony doesn’t know how long the kiss lasts or at what point Pepper’s free hand has moved to his neck. He does notice the sudden and unnatural warmth that spreads over his skin where she’s touching him. It’s much warmer than the heat radiating from her hand should be, so much that he breaks the kiss with a startled yelp.

The woman in front of him pulls her hand away quickly as her eyes snap open. If Tony wasn’t so scared about what the hell was going on, he would have been smug about the dazed look on Pepper’s face and the state of her lips. She opens her mouth to say something but then her gaze drops down to his neck. Whatever she sees there is enough to keep her quiet.

“What?! What is it? What is happening?” Pepper only stares. “Potts!”

“I am sorry,” she says, already in the process of reaching out again before she thinks better of it and drops her arm back down to her side. “I am so sorry, Tony. I didn’t think about...”

She trails off and Tony panics. What the hell has she done to him? His skin is no longer burning but the part she’s touched is still warm. It’s a calming heat but with how nervous Pepper looks, even that is not enough to keep him from freaking out.

He dashes across the workshop and towards the full-length mirror in one of the corners, expecting the worst. The handprint he finds on his neck is completely logical and yet baffles him. He’d been so distracted by the mark he’s left on her that he’d forgotten about this part.

Not only is he her soulmate but she’s his soulmate as well.

Tony turns around, the biggest grin plastered across his face as he watches Pepper approach him, “Potts.”

“This is a disaster!” His heart drops. Isn’t she happy about this? It’s everyone’s dream to find their soulmate… or maybe it’s not that she’s finally found hers but rather who it has turned out to be.

“There is no way we can cover that up unless you’re wearing a turtleneck to every single one of your meetings from now on.”

He frowns. “What?” “This will be a P.R nightmare.”

“Are you seriously thinking about the stupid company right now?” Tony asks with annoyance and the slightest bit of hurt in his voice. “We’re soulmates, Pepper. You kissed me!”

“Actually, you kissed me.” “And you kissed back!” He points at the handprint on his neck and yeah, its location will make it impossible to hide. Not that Tony minds that. “Look how you claimed me. Everyone will see this and know that you did it.” The speed at which she turns red has to be some sort of record.

“I didn’t mean to! Besides, no one will know that it’s my hand.”

“Nope, at least not until I tell them. And I will.”

“Tony!”

“I’ll tell everyone, Potts. And you better tell any schmuck that tries to flirt with you that you already found your soulmate.” She’s quiet as she observes him. Tony doubts that she’s aware of the fact that she’s biting her lip but that doesn’t stop his lizard brain from wanting to kiss her again. The mark on his neck tingles, sending a shiver down his spine.

“We have to talk about this. We can’t just… this will get complicated.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Tony promises as he settles his hands on her hips. “I’m a genius. You’re smart. We got this.” He leans forward, his breath ghosting over her face. “We’ll have all the time in the world to talk. Later.”

Before Pepper has the chance to object, he kisses her. This time, it takes not nearly as long before she’s returning the kiss, both her hands buried in his hair. It feels amazing. Like it is destined to be.

In some way, Tony thinks that it is.

#pepperony #tony stark #pepper potts #fanfic #my writing

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mimimimikkyu · 3 years

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fuck it Rowan rambling

What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about? Ro. It’s a shortened version of their name so it came about kinda obviously. Leon and Hop are the only ones that really use it though. Their dad has called them little litten since they were a child. They were an active kid and acted a bit like a cat sometimes.

What is the color of your OC’s eyes/hair/skin? Brown eyes. Short side shaved hair with the top dyed purple and the side shave naturally black. Warm tan skin.

How tall is your OC? 5’5”, they’re not short but a lot of people they know are taller than them. Even if only by a couple inches. They find this really funny.

What is a noticeable physical attribute of your OC? Their hair and their pointy canines.

What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night? Normally they wear a black sleeveless turtleneck and high waisted pants or shorts along with black boots. Their battling/champion wear is about the same as Leon’s with a different cape. As for formal wear they would go with something like this or this

What is one word you would use to describe your OC’s appearances? Mess

Does your OC have any markings, such as a birthmark or a scar? They have a few knicks and scars from general farm work.. Nothing really stands out about those to the regular person though.

How does your OC talk/what does your OC’s voice sound like?I’d have to come back to this one. I haven’t heard anyone who gives me their vibes yet.

What does your OC’s bedroom look like? Their living area? somethin like this but with more color probably

What does your OC keep in a special drawer? Ask Rose :)

What is your OC’s relationship with their mother? Nonexistent/strained since she left. If they’re honest they’d prefer not to think about her all that much. They do have a step mother but they were older by the time their father met her and thus they’re closer as friends. However if they need motherly advice they’re not afraid to ask.

What is your OC’s relationship with their father? Good. He’s very open and supportive of them and would give up a fair bit to help them out even if they won’t say a thing. They look to him for advice and call him often now that they’ve left the farm/home.

How many siblings does your OC have and what is their relationship with them? They have none biologically. They do consider Hop like a little brother however and they get along just fine.

Who is the mother and/or father figure in your OC’s life? Leon’s mother was like another mother while they were growing up. Even when he wasn’t home they were over often. Either as friendly visits or to help watch Hop for a day.

What was your OC’s childhood like? They moved to Galar when they were 7 with family (their Father, his parents, and their mother) and onto a farm in which they lived and worked. From there on it was mostly normal but behind the scenes there was a fair bit of emotional abuse being thrown their way by their mother. It led to a lot of nights spent running over to friends' houses to get away or crying in the barn.

What is your OC’s strongest childhood memory? Why and how has that impacted him/her? There’s a few things. Firstly Leon’s introduction and want to include them in whatever he did. It sparked a lifelong friendship between the two. Even when he became champion they still tried to stay as close as possible. The other is when their mother started their abuse. Constant yelling at them, telling them they weren’t good enough, they weren’t smart, they never cared about anyone, no one cared about them, they weren’t enough of a “girl” for their her tastes. Things like that. None of that has left them since their mother left/ their father caught on and kicked her out. But all those things are still in the back of their head nagging them to this day.

What is your OC’s imagination like? Half the books they owned while growing up were action fantasy and the other half were picture books of places they thought were pretty. So a lot of their imagination is still things like that. Imagining what it would be like to be in those pretty places, imagining dragon and fairy types roaming around in adventures in those places. Going out and doing those adventures themselves. Sometimes a little bit of romance gets involved in there. They fancy themselves the rogue that charms a noble in those cases.

How many times did your OC move as a child? Which area was their favorite? Just the once, it was a big move that stuck with them but that’s all. Since they’ve known Galar and the farm longer than they ever did their first home it’s their favorite.

What does your OC think of children- either in general or about having them? They like them and they’re good at handling them too. As mentioned earlier on they’d babysat Hop and when they’d go back home to visit extended family they’d always be around the kids there too. Having them is a different story. It’s something they’re really conflicted on. They’re not entirely sure they’d be a good parent and they need to know that whoever they’re with they could trust them to actually parent as well.

What kind of parent would your OC be? Same as their dad; open, supportive, and would drop everything to help their child out. Also puts their entire being into storytelling and play time.

Who are your OC’s closest relatives? Their father and while they were alive their grandparents, grandmother especially. Their father and grandfather showed them everything they know about farm work and their father always encouraged them to try new things but know their limits. Their grandmother showed them everything she knew about cooking and passed on some sewing knowledge to them as well.

Who is/are your OC’s closest friend(s)? Both Leon and Sonia have been their best friends since they moved to Potswick. They confide in them both for different reasons but rely on them both equally.

Who are the people your OC surrounds themselves with? Close friends, family, their pokemon team, a lover. They like other people but it’s a bit harder now for them to hang around random people.

Who are the people your OC dislikes/hates? People who lose their temper easily, people who scream to talk, the press.

If your OC has a soulmate, who is it? Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?

Why does your OC and their soulmate work so well together?Most of the people in his life tend to kiss up to him a lot or mince their words around him, not Rowan. Rowan, whether they actually thought their words through or just blurted them out, tends to be a bit more blunt and they are not afraid to be so what-so-ever. Grounds him a bit when he needs it. He grounds them as well. He’s quick to pick up on when they’re feeling down and while he isn’t quite privy to everything that happened to them yet he’ll swoop right in and quell any notion they have that’s negative about themselves. Also he's pretty gotten pretty good at telling when they're about to blurt something out and can stop and get them to think.

What are some things your OC admires about their soulmate? His smile, his deep laugh and the way the lines around his eyes crinkle during both those things. His smell is another bonus, they may have stolen a jacket from him just to wear it on nights when he’s not around because of it.

How did your OC and his/her soulmate meet? During the season, as a somewhat belated birthday gift Leon brought them out to Wydon to watch an exhibition match and hang out for a weekend. During which They happened to meet up with the uhhhh, the man. Didn’t go great according to them but it is a part of their story nonetheless. They didn’t get together or really see much of each other for about two years after that when Rowan finally started the gym challenge themself however.

What is your OC’s level of education? High school. They opted to work the farm instead of pursuing much else afterwards. That’s how they grew up, it’s what they knew and honestly they enjoyed it.

Did your OC participate in extracurricular activities, and if so, what were they? Not officially, however despite not taking up being a trainer they’d always ask Leon about it and he was more than happy to share the knowledge.

What is your OC’s opinion of school? What kind of student were they? Average. They just learned what was needed and did a boat load of reading.

What subjects did your OC excel at? foreign language but they cheated technically because they already spoke the language they took at home with their grandparents. Shh, no one has to know.

What subjects interested your OC? Literature specifically, they liked learning about classics. While they never took anything related to it, they admired theater from afar.

What is your OC’s dream job and/or current profession? Currently they’re Galar’s newest champion. In the past they worked on the family farm and would go back to it should they ever step down. In their dreams if they had to settle down they’d like to be a writer of some sort in a house in the middle of nowhere.

How is your OC working towards his/her dream job and/or achieved his/her current profession? For the farm work it’s not really a matter of working towards it. They’ll always have that place back home. For the writing They’d have to actually write.

What are your OC’s thoughts/opinions of his/her current profession? They’re conflicted and entirely unsure they belong in the position they’re in. Even during the gym challenge they weren’t sure they’d ever get as far as the final tournament. A lot of that inner turmoil has to do with their past but they’re good at putting on a show and hiding it. At home they slink into Rose’s arms and tell him the worries of the day and he does his best to give advice or just affirmation.

What is your OC’s biggest dream? Being on the beach, resting in the water, floating away, not a care in the world. That’s about half of what they did when they went back home to see the extended family so it invokes a good fuzzy warm feeling in them.

How does your OC react to and handle stress? Depends on the stressor honestly. If it’s something a bit beyond control they tend to get real quiet and frustrated.

How does your OC handle anger? Not well, they’re afraid of being angry. They’re afraid of being like their mom. And they’re definitely afraid of any anger towards them.

How does your OC handle grief? It’s a multi-step process. They withdraw for a while, cry a lot. They know it’s important to let other people in to help but at least for a few days they just feel the need to be alone.

What is your OC’s greatest fear? Being completely and utterly alone.

What makes your OC happy? Reading, playing or battling with their pokemon, hanging around their friends in a group or one on one, being around Rose.

What kind of sense of humor does your OC have? A bad one.

What are some things that greatly upset your OC? You want like a list? Like memories of their mother for one. The loss of their grandparents. Memories of the darkest day and how they felt during that.

What are some things that annoy your OC? Being asked too many questions, especially when they’re not really given time to think. They know speaking without thought isn’t exactly their strong point so they’re not too keen on being made to do it.

If your OC has them, what are some regrets they have? Being too afraid to tell their father or even their grandparents about what happened with their mother.

How easily does your OC forgive? It takes a bit. They have to be 100% sure the person they’re forgiving means what they say even if it takes a while to get to that point.

What are some of your OC’s vices? Sweets and homemade bread. Absolutely cannot resist.

If your OC experienced trauma, what was it? Emotional abuse. I would consider the Darkest Day and the part they ended up playing in it traumatic for them as well. The entire ordeal was a part of their nightmares for a while.

What secrets does your OC have? Even though they had unofficially broken things off with Rose when the incident occurred they never quite stopped thinking of him. While he wasn't their first, he was one of the first people they could genuinely say they’d fallen for and they’d always played with the idea of seeing him again before they actually bit the bullet and did. Whiiiich was also a secret along with their initial relationship at first as well for about half a year after they got together again. Although eventually their father and Leon came to learn about it before anyone else in that time.

What are some of your OC’s morals? Oh god I wish I knew.

What are some of your OC’s motivations? Family, helping others, bettering themselves

What is the health of your OC? Good, they’re fairly active and can do quite a bit of heavy lifting.

Does your OC think with their head or heart? Oh Rowan doesn’t think, are you kidding me? Haha oh god. Heart though.

What are your OC’s thoughts on death? They choose not to think about it for the most part. Yeah it’s gonna happen but they’re young they have plenty of time to not care.

What are some of your OC’s strengths? Will still do things despite being apprehensive about them. If they’re good they’re good if they’re bad, it weighs on them a bit but they’re learning to not hold it against themselves.

What are some of your OC’s weaknesses? They still haven’t learned to not hold things against themselves and they’re always afraid of someone close turning on them or leaving without a word to the point where they’ll show visible discomfort in certain situations.

How does your OC take criticism? Depends. If it’s constructive they mull it over for a while and try to incorporate whatever it is in any way they can. If it’s not, they’re a bit miffed and flat out walk away from it.

What does your OC think of themselves? Fluctuate between I’m a bad bitch you can’t kill me and oh sad little baby full of feelings.

If your OC could change one thing about themselves, what would it be? The fact that they just kind of Say shit.

What is the general impression your OC gives other people? People can see them as a bit crass. Sometimes a little lost.

How emotionally/mentally vulnerable is your OC with other people? Depends on the people. Totally with their father and often Rose now as well. Leon and Sonia are also people they can be vulnerable with as well but not to the same extent as the other two.

How does your OC display love? Physically. For someone they’re dating it’s little kisses on the cheek or forehead, hand holding, light touches, and cuddling up to them. For friends and family it’s hugs, leaning on them, and light hearted jokes. They also like to cook for the people they love as well.

What are some habits your OC has picked up? Leg bouncing when they’re impatient Twirling and playing with little strands of hair Overly exaggerated gestures when they’re excited Needing to have something, even if it’s just snacks, prepared for any sort of company. They'll pick up little inflections from people they're close to as well

What is your OC’s favorite drink? Juice… Like fruit juice, honestly. The sweeter the fruit the better.

What is your OC’s favorite food? Very very simple but homemade bread with a cut of some kind of salty cheese.

What is your OC’s favorite sweet? Chocolate, cake especially. Double especially if the icing is chocolate as well.

What is your OC’s favorite season? Winter. The crisp air and the clothes they get to bundle up in make them one happy baby. Also cocoa is a huge, huge bonus.

What is your OC’s favorite kind of weather? Bright, clear sky, sun shining down and a gentle breeze rolling through the fields during the day with a slow rolling storm moving in in the evening when they’re all settled in for the night.

What is your OC’s favorite book? Anything fantasy/adventure.

What is your OC’s favorite movie and/or TV show? I don’t know the deep lore on the full entertainment industry in the pokemon universe but I do know I sure do like to draw them as the Phantom a lot. So they get to be into The Phantom of the Opera as well.

What is your OC’s favorite kind music (and song if there is one)? Theatre music and jazz.

What is your OC’s favorite form of entertainment? It was game consoles with friends when they were younger, and admittedly they still play on those from time to time. But now it’s mostly reading and or cuddling up and watching a movie or an exhibition match that they’re not in.

What is your OC’s favorite color? Purple

What is your OC’s favorite scent? That aftershave Rose be wearin. The smell of a clean pasture. The salt on the air on the shore of a beach. Comfort foods as they're cooking.

What is your OC’s favorite animal? They can’t pick a pokemon that would be playing favorites and they don’t wanna do that. Variks

What is your OC’s favorite sound? Laughter, Variks’ little chitters, Thatch’s grumbles when he rolls in his sleep, wooloo and dubwools bleating, wind moving through an open field, waves as they crash on a surface, familiar laughter, and Rose's voice.

What is your OC’s favorite time of day? Morning. They love the still before the day truly starts and the colors in the sky as the sun rises.

What is your OC’s favorite kind of ice cream? Chocolate with any kind of sweet chunks in it.

What is your OC’s favorite dinosaur? Tyrantrum

Ask your own question. why

#oc talk #it's long so weh #but really there's no point to this except for myself really

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years

Text

697. The moon is high tonight, it frames you well.

Another prompt by the perfect @smolandangry001! It’s a bit longer than the usual short but hey, I had a bit more time today and it was fun writing! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

There was no way this was going to work. Gavin looked over to the android standing in front of the printer and staring at it as if it had offended him and the whole of androidkind by requesting magenta for a black and white print. The thing was rightfully terrifying and while he didn’t mind that, it was difficult to imagine them playing the happy, love-drunk couple their killer would fall for.

It was one of the worse cases. Some idiot was determined that humans and androids shouldn’t be allowed to live together and love each other, deciding the best way to push his opinion was by killing them. There were already couples that feared being out in public together or broke up completely to stay safe. And while Gavin couldn’t care less about less people smooching each other in parks, this was so clearly wrong, even more gruesome than the “normal” serial killer in his eyes. It was out of question that asshole had to be stopped. But the how was something he would rather not think about at all: Connor had come up with the grand idea they would simply pose as a couple to bait the killer. And there really wasn’t a good reason to disagree with the plan except to maybe tell them- No. Never. Don’t even think about it!

‘So… Any plans on how to do this?’, Gavin asked, trying to hide that blush that was starting to creep up his cheeks. Nines sat down, slapping the pages on the desk after hacking the printer. He supposed that had to be at least a violation of some law but didn’t care enough to start a fight. ‘Of course, detective.’, he answered, cocking a brow. ‘I believe the humans call it “fake dating”.’ ‘Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Any idea how to do that?’ ‘Tonight. Seven p.m. Blue Iridescence. Dress accordingly.’ ‘What?’ ‘You heard me.’ ‘No way, I’m not paying that much for a fucking investigation!’ ‘87% of all android-human couples have at least one date in this restaurant as it is one of the openly android-friendly establishment considering we don’t eat. It is likely the killer is present considering all victims had been killed shortly after eating there.’ ‘Damn, if I’m broke at the end of the month because of this, I blame you!’

Gavin had picked up his best clothing – a suit from when Eli had made the first robot to pass the Turing-test. Came to think of it, this had been the last time he had worn it, too. Well, he wasn’t the fancy type after all and from all the people he had dated until now, he probably had the best fashion sense still. Thankfully it still fit, it was even weirdly comfortable. He took extra time to wash and brush his hair, trying to make everything work together. But when he looked into the mirror, he just looked… foreign to himself. In a final thought he unpacked the cologne Eli had gifted him one Christmas years ago. It probably cost more than his car, but well, there wouldn’t be a better occasion to use it, he mused.

Kissing goodbye his cat he walked down to his car and funnily enough thought about calling an automated vehicle. But he brushed it off and sat behind the wheel. He was still him and he loved that old thing with all his knacks. He might wear a suit, but that didn’t change him. True to that, Nines snarled at him pulling up in the Blue Iridescence’s parking lot. The expression vanished when he exited the car and patted down the light jacket. Gavin swore that LED changed to yellow for a millisecond there and grinned. ‘What? Didn’t thought I had expensive stuff?’ ‘It’s good to see you heeded my call and dressed for the occasion.’ Had that just been the android equivalent of telling him he looked nice? Gavin felt his cheeks heating up again and walked up to the entrance instead of answering. ‘Shall we go in, then?’

Nines looked good, too. He had exchanged the Cyberlife-jacket for a long black coat, fitting perfectly with black dress pants, polished shoes and a spot of colour added by a thirium-blue scarf. Although there was the stupid turtleneck underneath, Gavin couldn’t say anything bad about the droid’s appearance. Quite the opposite was true. They entered, Nines dropping the scarf and coat to stack it neatly away in an offered cupboard and waiting to take Gavin’s jacket too. Caught off-guard Gavin scrambled to take it off and hand it over, as they were saved by a waiter to show them to their table. Finally, Gavin got his head out of his ass enough to return the compliment: ‘You look fine, too, toa- Nines.’

Damn, come on, Gavin, this is an investigation, dumbass. Play your role! But before they could get on with any of the fake-couple talk, they were both given cards, quite useless for Nines, but he accepted it politely, pretending to look into it, while Gavin suppressed a ‘Holy shit’ as he looked at the prizes. Nines shifted one hand on the menu and showed him his palm discretely. Take anything. The DPD covers the expenses, it’s an investigation after all. Now, that was something Gavin liked to hear, and he grinned like the asshole he was underneath the layers of fancy he wore today. They ordered their horribly overprized meals. Nines could even be persuaded into trying something thirium-based they desperately tried to push on the market now to get the most of their new fellow citizens.

Then they waited and Gavin still wrestled with the horrifying thought they would have to actually have a conversation now that didn’t involve work. It was becoming even more terrifying as Nines looked at him in a way he sure as hell shouldn’t. He had leaned forwards, head gently resting on an elbow and the other hand toying with the tablecloth. But these eyes. Fuck, the idiot hadn’t watched some romance flicks in preparation, had he? And shit, Gavin couldn’t even do anything against it without blowing their cover. ‘I’m so happy you agreed to this’, the android told him in the worst, most sappy and love-sick voice imaginable. ‘I’ve been waiting months to finally go out with you.’ Fuck, this was a blush he couldn’t hide, why body, why? ‘Yeah, me too.’ That earned him a sharp kick under the table and wincing Gavin added: ‘But work got in the way the last few times, I’m sorry… my love.’ Oh god, that was awful, Gavin hoped to get his food soon and be able to keep it down once eaten.

Nines was smiling and it was borderline creepy knowing the reserved android at work. ‘How are the cats?’ Oh thank phck the android threw him a bone. ‘Good, actually.’ Wait, when had he told the tin-can he had… ‘They are dipshhhh’ He coughed. His normal self probably wasn’t appropriate here… ‘tipsy as always. Have I told you of the time she tried to jump on the couch but didn’t make it and fell, looking confused as ph- looking really confused?’ Oh thank god, he could talk about his cats for hours and could at least focus on something else than the damn tin-can giving him the most obvious heart-eyes in history until he was interrupted by the waiter bringing them their food. Well Gavin his food and Nines a weird blue mush that looked like a science experiment crossbreeding mashed potatoes and jello gone horribly wrong. But, because this was a fancy restaurant, it was decorated with all sorts of stuff that wasn’t edible for both humans and androids. It was the first time that evening that the real Nines resurfaced as he looked at the “food” as if this had been a personal offense. But nonetheless he took a bite and it seemed to surprise him.

He looked back up to him, and there was this horrible smile again. The android exploited the fact that he was occupied with chewing and eating and continued talking. ‘That’s what I love about you. You are so passionate!’ It took all his will and luck to not choke on the bit and he believed to be just as red as his phcking tomato-sauce. But oh damn, this was the prelude to one of these cutesy back-and-forths, wasn’t it? He struggled for words and hid it under chewing and swallowing. Then he set up a smile by himself and leaned in, too. ‘Aw come on, babe, there’s nothing I’m more passionate about than you.’ Oh god, this was torture. Let Nines take over, damn, just play along. He wouldn’t even say stuff like this would he really have a mad crush on the android, which he had not! Definitely not. Just normal colleagues, yes. Now continue eating.

He wanted to reach for a tissue, but Nines had other plans. Quicker than he could see, the android had covered his hand with his own and Gavin froze, locking eyes with him and putting his most hateful stare in it he could conjure. Except wow, this was actually not that bad. No sweat, just the texture and consistency of normal skin. Until the damn tin-can took it a step further and retracted it. Immediately it changed to a cold contact, but not unpleasant and damn, Gavin could get accustomed to that- No! No, this was just for a case, Gavin remember.

Gavin managed to concentrate on the food, playing along to Nines who took over the evening, praising him and talking about normal-people’s banter, peppering it with affectionate gestures wherever possible. And Gavin managed to never flinch away. By the time they got to dessert, he had adapted and a few parts of him had stopped screaming at him. It was a nice evening, all things considered. Good food - good free food - a nice ambience and hell, although none of his fantasies with Nines involved eating at a restaurant, this sure was pleasant.

The android had even gotten a laugh out of him. Damn, Gavin really had lost his internal battle. Hopefully Nines didn’t notice he wasn’t just playing his role here. As they were finally finished, Nines paid by interfacing with the android waiter and helped Gavin up, his hand loosely remaining on his hip on their way out. He even helped him into his jacket before putting on his own clothes and tied his scarf around Gavin’s neck. The hell? But Gavin wasn’t really able to protest. Not only because this was still an investigation, the food added with a few glasses of light alcohol had made him sluggish and warm, feeling content all over.

Nines stayed close and led him away from the parking lot. ‘Hey, Nines, my car’s there, shouldn’t we take…’ ‘Let’s go for a walk, Gav. I heard it is good for a human’s digestion. Also, I have my own reasons’, he added with a smirk. ‘And they would be?’ ‘The moon is high tonight, it frames you well.’ He openly smiled at him and pulled him closer. ‘I’m simply admiring the view. It isn’t often we have the time to be together outside of work.’ Gavin blushed again but oh, this closeness was reeeally nice and damn, the android had just called him beautiful again. Without noticing it, Gavin snuggled deeper into the touch, brushing the thought away that he dearly needed an excuse ready when this whole charade ended. He giggled at himself as he pulled his phone out. ‘Don’t you dare’, came the hissed warning from beside him, but Gavin ignored it. ‘Selfie time!’

He only shot one, but that was enough. As he wanted to send it to Tina for future blackmail, he realised it wasn’t just the two of them visible: There was a third party behind them, someone they knew well enough for recognition. ‘Shit, duck!’ He pushed Nines in the back, although that hadn’t any effect. But the android reacted simultaneously. Both spun around, Nines lurched at their pursuer afterwards and Gavin had his pistol out from where it had been hidden in his jacket. ‘Phck, the waiter?’, he cried out as Nines was on top of the android and pinned him to the ground. ‘Phck, Nines, the food! Was it poisoned?’ ‘No, Gavin.’ ‘Your mushy shit? Had it a virus?’ ‘No.’ ‘How can you be sure?’ Nines groaned as an answer, repositioning the struggling bot and pulled out a small pistol and a knife out. ‘I think this is enough evidence, as the victims were killed by stab wounds and blood loss, not poison. Also, this knife had been thoroughly cleaned before.’ ‘Shit, okay, you have him? I’m gonna call this in!’

Half an hour later, the waiter was driven off, not with a last ‘You are sick, androids and humans don’t belong together!’ Gavin courtly answered with two middle fingers risen high in the air. Then he turned, only to see the android that followed his example, even if not as enthusiastically. Gavin gaped at him until he dropped his arms and asked: ‘What?’ ‘Nothing’, Gavin murmured bewildered. ‘He is an asshole. If anyone deserves it it’s him. Your behaviour was appropriate.’ ‘Yeah, but you acting like me? Ah, forget it never mind.’ He shook his head. Maybe he had rubbed off on the android more than he had initially thought. ‘Anyways, where did you got these mad theatre skills from?’ ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘Oh you do, come on. In there. The fake-dating stuff?’ ‘Oh. Although exaggerated greatly the message was intended.’ ‘Excuse me?’ ‘I meant what I said, Gavin.’ ‘You- You are kidding me, right?’ ‘No.’ The android’s posture got more rigid and the casual feeling the evening had ended in started to fade. ‘Should I? You seemed to enjoy it after some time adapting.’ ‘Holy shit.’

‘So…’ It sounded terribly self-conscious now. ‘Should we continue our little walk?’ Gavin looked at the leaving officers that ignored them for what it was worth. Hell, he had accepted it over the course of the evening. Maybe he should step out of his own way this time… Just try it out. What could go wrong, really? He smiled barely visible. ‘Yeah, why not. I mean, if the moonlight frames me right… who am I to deprive you of the view?’

This time it was on Nines to blush.

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #Nines: I heard of that fanfic trope let's try it #gets weird blue mush #also gets romantic evening walk #WORTH IT

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leatherjacket-lovesong · 7 years

Text

leather jacket love song | part one

You see her first. You think she’s a boy. Someone’s little brother. Tiny little thing, all duck fuzz hair and hand-me-down clothes two sizes too big. It’s not until it’s your turn to get the drinks in and she elbows in beside you then cranes up on tip-toes over the bar, that you realise your mistake.

“How’s the weather up there, big man?” She cracks a laugh around a pink bubble of gum, then treats you to a wink.

The laugh you offer in return isn’t anywhere near as sincere as you’d like it to be, because now you’re brain’s clocking overtime trying to figure out an escape route. One that preferably doesn’t involve the tired old cliche ‘I already have a girlfriend’.

You’re a terrible liar.

She surprises you, however, nudges you in the bicep when all of your drinks arrive, then hooks a firm hand round your neck and pulls you down until your ear meets her mouth.

“My mate fancies the arse off your mate!”

Thank fuck.

“Which one?”

“The one with the hair!”

Hair? You’re not sure why your mouth feels a bit dry as you croak out, “Who? Elvis?”

“Fuck knows! I don’t know his name, do I!” She turns to point through the crowd at your table, “That one, in the corner, there! In the leopard print. Marc Bolan reincarnated.”

“Oh, Noel…”

Something washes over you that feels a bit like relief.

“'Ere, Specks!” She lets you go. Gestures over a creature that’s all lavender hair and lime green cat eye glasses, and gigantic boobs she could probably give you a concussion with.

You cringe. Perhaps mildly fear for Noel’s life.

Then Tiny-Girl slots her arm in yours before beaming a grin. “Come on, sweetcheeks, you going to introduce us then?”

—-

You know before he does.

Not that it’s any surprise, really. Elvis is thick as fuck on a good day. Never mind five pints in on a Friday night. He’s never exactly been the sharpest knife in the drawer.

But you know. Somehow. Instinctively.

Whether it’s the hand creeping onto Elvis’s thigh, or the bubblegum laugh, you’re not sure. But Mattie likes him. Really likes him. And you can’t quite figure out why the knowledge makes your heart feel a bit sore.

“She’s not bad, is she.” Elvis says later on, when he’s outside, leaning against the pub wall with a cigarette, and you’re kicking an abandoned football around the empty space Noel should be.

“She’s alright.” You’re no good at this. You never have been. You’ve no idea what makes a girl fuckable.

“Think I’ve got a chance?”

“Probably.”

Definitely.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if she’s interested or if I’m just pissed.”

He tips his chin up. Fills the air with lazy smoke rings over head.

The popped collar of his leather jacket scuffs the stone and you beat back the urge to reach out and refold it. Busy yourself with kicking the ball against the wall instead.

“What’s the difference?”

Elvis huffs a laugh, “Not a lot.”

You manage a smile. Shoulder up against him. Ignore the hollow feeling in your chest. “Ask her for her phone number.” It’s the best advice you can give.

He considers a while. You cherish the moments. Nobody else gets to witness Elvis trying to be 'brave’.

“Yeah,” he eventually says, “Yeah, I think I will. Cheers, mate.”

—

You’re the one who makes it happen.

You stumble back to the student digs with Elvis half slung over one shoulder and singing at the top of his lungs. Noel’s well gone, has been for hours. You think he’s with Specks — kinda hope so too — but to be quite honest you really don’t have a clue. He could be anywhere. Could be tied up naked to a drainpipe for all you know.

“You can have Noel’s bed.” Elvis slurs at you, when he finally manages the get his key in the lock without dropping it for the thirteenth time. “Can’t see him coming back.”

“I’ll pass.” You tell him, when a passing glance into Noel’s leopard printed abode makes you feel like you need a bleach bath. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

In the kitchen, Elvis pours you both another drink, “Suit yourself.”

“What’s the deal with Mattie, then? You get her number?” You wait until you’re both sat down in the jumble of second hand furniture, battered guitars and pieced together oddities of drum-kit, that passes for a 'living room’ before you ask.

Elvis glances at his phone on the coffee table, and kind of gives you smirk and a half-coy shrug. It makes him look oddly innocent, you think. Like back when you were just kids and you found out about his first crush. (Josie Greenwood, all dark hair and even darker eyes and skin as rich as winter molasses. You remember her well. You remember every one of Elvis’s crushes.) And it’s a somewhat bitter memory. A sour reminder of just how much the two of you have grown up.

“Yeah… I dunno, though. I don’t think I’ll ever ring her… She was really drunk.”

“Mate, she practically got you in a headlock and kissed you before we left. I think she deserves at least a text.”

“I dunno… she’ll probably regret that when she sobers up.”

You spend another ten minutes trying to convince him he’s worth something before giving up. Later he falls asleep on the couch ('your’ couch) as the sun begins to wake up. You brave a trip into Noel’s room to strip the furry blankets from his bed, so Elvis doesn’t get cold. Then you flip through Elvis’s phone and fire off a quick text to 'Mattie’ before climbing into your mate’s bed.

'Hey, was really nice meeting you tonight. Fancy doing something together soon? Let me know! x’

—

You’re the one who has to pick him up.

Morning after Elvis’s first date with Mattie and you’re idled outside some middle-class town house with a freshly mown lawn and kitschy little yard ornaments. His text hadn’t given you much to go on. Just a standard 'If I give you a fiver, will you come take us home?’ and an address you’ve never seen before.

You don’t know if he’s bailing on her. You hope not. You’ve spun so many 'emergency, sick mother/father/sister/dog/hamster’ tales for him that you’re running out of people to kill off. (Not to mention you’re kinda worried karma might come bite you in the arse.)

It’s a relief, then, when the front door of the house opens and Elvis doesn’t come hurtling out like a bank robber looking for his getaway car.

Instead, you’re the sole audience member to a show of smooching and giggling and cutesy-cutesy cuddling and it just makes you want to smash your face into the steering wheel so the image of Elvis scooping her right up into his arms doesn’t get stuck in your head.

It’s only the aggressive beep of your car horn that gets him to finally disengage.

“Good night?” You ask, when he eventually manages to pry himself away from her and climbs into your car.

He reaches over, tucks a five pound note into the collar of your turtleneck, then gives the top of your head a patronising pat, “First class.”

He smells floral instead of leathery and it makes the hair on the back of your arms stand up.

“You could have just caught the bus, you know. It is a real thing, public transport. It does exist. It’s not just some fantasy thing people make up.”

He messes with your radio. Winds down his window. Gets out his cigarettes. Puts his feet on the dash, then lights up. “I know.”

You breath out through your nose, “Oh I know you do, but course it’s much easier and cheaper, for you to just text chauffer Dom, right?”

A cigarette jammed into your mouth, Elvis’s head against your shoulder, his raw tired laugh, “Mate, I love ya, shut up.”

—

You should be happy.

Elvis is happy. For the first time in what feels like years his smiles now reach his eyes, and there’s sincerity in his laugh. For the first time in what feels like years he walks with his head up. For the first time in what feels like years he’s writing music again.

And for the first time in his life he writes a love song.

“Come over,” he tells you, down the phone at seven o'clock one Wednesday evening.

You try to dissuade him. You’ve been home from work so briefly that you’re still walking around in a cloud of motor oil and exhaust fumes, and your mum’s following you about the house spraying air freshener. But he insists he has something to show you and he sounds oddly excited in just the right way to pique your interest, so you go.

He’s sitting on the floor of his living room when you arrive. Surrounded by crumpled balls of paper and nursing the acoustic guitar that’s seen more than it’s own fair share of artistic tantrums and has the scars to prove it.

“Sit down.” he tells you, gesturing the floor before you even have a chance to speak.

You do as he says. (You always have) Take a relatively clear spot on the carpet, then lean back against the wall. You notice he’s wearing his glasses and you realise it’s years since he’s entertained those too.

“I wrote something.” He pauses for your response.

“Oh yeah?”

“It’s about Mattie.”

When he plays, he doesn’t look at you. When he plays he closes his eyes and you’re glad, because then it’s just Elvis and the guitar and some clumsily sung words, and it’s unrehearsed and raw and inelegant and beautiful.

C… “Babe…” A… G... “You’re too good for me…”

C... “Darling….” A… G... “You’re where I always want to be…”

C… “And honey…” A… G… “I hope you never have to see…”

E… “The dark things inside of me…”

And when he finishes it takes you a moment to become aware of the fact that you closed your eyes too.

Because you should be happy. For him. For her. You really should.

But you’re not.

You’re not because you wish Elvis’s first love song had been written about you.

—

You’re the first person he tells.

And to make the whole scenario even more prominent, he comes to you.

That’s how you know it’s something serious. That’s how you know there’s something incredibly wrong. When a taxi pulls up outside your house and something bizarrely Elvis-shaped climbs out.

He’s all red-rimmed eyes and red-rimmed nose, but at first he doesn’t want to talk. Just throws himself down across the width of your bed and fills up your room with smoke.

You play a few records. Sit down next to him with your bass guitar and jam out a few tunes. You know he’ll tell you when he’s ready. You know he just needs time to pull together enough courage to face whatever’s taken a bite-sized chunk out of his heart.

“Mate,” he manages at a length. Waits until you turn your head to look at him before he goes on, “It’s Mattie.”

The first awful thought that jumps into your head is definitely the one you shouldn’t vocalise, but your mouth gets ahead of your brain and you instantly splutter out, “She’s not pregnant, is she?!”

To which Elvis gives you a glare so deadly it makes your insides wither.

“Fuck. No.”

“Oh, well… thank god for that.”

“Yeah, thank god for that,” His sarcasm is so thick you could chew on it, “No, you knobhead, she’s got fucking cancer.”

Saying it out-loud seems to either shock or hurt him, and Elvis winces, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

You’re so stunned you don’t know what to say. You’re so stunned you rattle out the very first stupid thing in your mind conjures up yet again, “But… it’s treatable, right?”

If looks could kill you’d be dead twice over by now.

You take the curling of his top lip and narrowing of his eyes as a 'no’.

“Fucks sake, she’s dying, Dom…” And his voice is small, and cracks like glass, and the snarling mask falls away and he’s just Elvis. Your Elvis. Hopeless and naive and a little bit scared.

“Said she wanted to tell me before I got too invested. So I could have the chance to back off. But fucking hell, mate, it’s a bit too late for that…”

—

You don’t see him much.

His texts become intermittent, his phone calls white noise. Nine times out of ten, when you ring his number, he doesn’t pick up. Even Noel — who he shares a flat with — admits that Elvis hardly ever comes home.

It’s hard to remember that with university and a new relationship with a dying girl, he’s probably busy. It’s hard not to worry when the last time you saw him there were still the last remnants of tears in his eyes. It’s hard to eradicate that gnawing feeling that you never should have introduced the two of them in the first place.

It had been a car crash waiting to happen.

Considering how perceptive you seem to believe you are, you know you should have seen that one coming from the start.

You start to miss the 3am texts for a chauffer.

You start to miss the dusky heady scent of leather and alcohol in your car.

The coarse bark of his laugh. The snap of his jaw. The busy hands that were never anywhere they were welcomed and always where they weren’t.

Without Elvis’s interference, your life becomes easy and predictable and safe.

Without Elvis’s interference, your life becomes a bore.

And you start to resent him. And you start to resent her.

And when the feelings get so strong they keep you awake at night, you pull down the boxing gloves you hung up years ago, then spend your evenings down the gym, punching out your frustrations until every muscle in your body is sore.

Three months of radio silence before he texts.

“Mate, come pick me up?”

To your surprise your answer comes easily, as though it had been waiting for this moment all along,

“No.”

—

You’re not a bad person.

You remind yourself of this all morning at work, repeat it in your head every time that sharp little mouth of guilt chews a little deeper into your soul. Fifteen years you’ve been Elvis’s doormat. It’s about time he went and wiped his feet all over someone else.

You can’t explain why then, when your boss announces you have a visitor, your heart drops.

It’s him. You think. You know.

But it’s not.

A eyesore of fur coat and sunglasses struts into the garage. The scent of hairspray and a thousand different women’s perfumes sticks in your throat.

You groan, “Pleeeease don’t tell me you want driving somewhere as well, Noel.”

“Me? Oh no,” he leans against the hood of your client’s car, pauses for dramatic effect, then goes on, “I just stopped by to let you know I’m on my way to the police station to pick up your best mate.”

“What? Elvis?” For a moment it doesn’t register. You drop a spanner in your overalls.

Noel doesn’t even give it to you gently. Just fucks you right over. You can already tell from the jutted out hip and jutted out chin, he thinks it’s all your fault.

“Yeah, Elvis. Had an argument with his lass yesterday, went out for a few drinks to drown his sorrows and ended up getting done for being drunk and disorderly. Punched a copper. Spent the night locked up.”

“Fucking hell.” A hand instinctively finds your worktable for support, “And where were you?”

Noel snorts. “Me? What about you?!”

“I’m not his Dad, Noel.”

He tilts his head, peers at you over the rim of his Raybans like he knows, “Could’ve fooled me…”

You frown, “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

But Noel only lifts both hands in surrender, “Listen, buddy, I don’t know what happened between the two of you when you were teenagers, during all of your little sleepovers and whatever else you got up to—”

“We didn’t get up to—” You start, decide it’s not even worth it, and give up.

“—but the truth of the matter is, you’re the only wanker in the world that prick actually listens to. And I could really do with your help in sorting him out right now.”

He lets his words sit with you for a moment, simmering, before adding, softly — like he’s actually pretending to give a shit for once, “Dom, he needs you…”

It’s not convincing. It wouldn’t even be a very good reason even it was true. But your fingers find your keys anyway and before you realise what you’re doing you’re tossing them at Noel. “Go start my car.”

—

You remember Elvis’s first run-in with the police.

Nine-years-old, Christmas time, snowflakes coming down the size of golf balls. He stands on your doorstep, bundled up in what appears to be every single piece of clothing he owns. Stuffed school backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes half-downcast half-glaring.

Even with his cheeks tinged pink from the cold, you can tell he’s been crying.

“I came to say goodbye.”

And when you don’t answer fast enough, because you’re still trying to work out what he means, he adds, gloomily, “I’m running away.”

You know why, you don’t need to ask. His mum and dad are going through a messy divorce while still living under the same roof, and Elvis doesn’t have any brothers or sisters to turn to.

Still, you think it’s a pretty stupid idea to tell people that you’re running away. Not unless you want them to stop you. And you’re quite sure Elvis doesn’t want to be stopped. Not from the sixty layers of clothes he’s gone through the trouble of squeezing into anyway. You don’t think he has any intention of taking them off any time soon.

And it’s then you realise, slowly, stupidly, that he hasn’t come by your house to say goodbye at all. He’s come because he wants you to run away too.

“My mum’s probably worried about me.” You say, later on, when the two of you sit hunched together in a closed shop doorway in the dark, blowing on your fingers to chase away the cold. “Your mum’s probably worried about you as well. And your dad.”

Elvis stuffs crisps into his mouth then leans into you. “Fuck 'em.” He growls, “Fuck 'em all.”

You end up spending the night under the branches of the big Christmas tree in the city centre, where it’s a little bit sheltered and a little bit warm and the fairy-lights paint twinkling freckles across Elvis’s nose.

In the early hours of the morning you’re accidentally stumbled upon by a policeman doing his rounds.

Elvis punches a copper then too.

—

You’re the glue that holds everything together. You’ve always known that.

And it’s tiring being Dominic Wood. It’s tiring trying to keep Elvis’s life from falling apart.

You pick him up at the station and take him home. Issue apologies on his behalf. To the policeman he assaulted. To Mattie. To Noel.

“I’m sorry. I should have been there. I didn’t know.”

You gather in the kitchen with Noel and Mattie, as Elvis rides out the worst hangover in history with his head halfway down the loo.

Mattie hauls herself up to sit on the counter top next to you. It’s the only way she can get anywhere near eye-level. “It’s not your fault that Ellie’s a knob.”

Noel raises a sceptical eyebrow. Gives you a 'look’.

You know exactly what he’s thinking because you have the same thought.

It is your fault. You’re his enabler. You always have been. Elvis wouldn’t have grown up like this if it hadn’t been for you.

From the bathroom comes the sound of heaving. Then coughing. Then groaning and what one might misinterprate to be a sob. All three of you cringe. All three of you find a shit ton of interest in looking at the floor.

Noel’s the first to glance back up, “At least he’s paying for it. Maybe it’ll do him some good.”

You doubt it. You’ve witnessed Elvis’s horror-show hangovers before. Cleaned up after all of them too. Elvis never learns.

“I’ll stay the night,” you offer, “keep an eye on him so Mattie can go home and you can get some sleep. It’s the least I can do. Make sure he’s alright.”

Mattie’s tiny hand on your shoulder. Her lips on your cheek. “You’re a good mate, Dom.” You can tell she actually means it too. “I wish I had a friend like you.”

And you don’t know why it is, but in that moment you realise something’s changed.

You don’t resent her any more.

You throw an arm around her shoulders. Give her a side-long hug.

“No need to wish. You already do…”

—

You forget Mattie’s dying, sometimes.

She stands in the front row whenever you play shit songs, to shit crowds, in even shittier bars. She hauls your shitty amps and manages your social media like you’re all already super stars. And whenever you’re too tired, or too drunk, to chauffer everyone home at the end of the night, she has absolutely no qualms at all about driving your shitty car.

Mattie’s a woman in charge of her own destiny, and you admire that.

She also doesn’t mind telling you straight out that your band is actually total and utter crap.

“You need another guitarist.” She says, pacing the floor of the Student Union’s backroom an hour before your show.

Elvis looks offended, you can practically hear the shatter of his proud rockstar ego, “But I’m the guitarist.”

“Well obviously, and you’re great, you really are, but you can’t sing and carry an entire song on your own, Ellie. It just doesn’t work.” And when she perhaps realises she’s been just a tiny bit too harsh, Mattie offers him a simpering smile and plucks just the right string on Elvis’s heart, “Even The Libertines had two guitarists, you know that.”

This seems to placate Elvis.

But you raise an eyebrow as you plug your bass into your amp, and grumble a low, “We’re not The Libertines, though…”

“Tell that to Pete Doherty over there.” quips Noel.

You both watch Elvis, decked out in ratty leather jacket and stained jeans that should have been through the wash weeks ago, down a can of lager then toss the empty on the floor.

You don’t want another guitarist. You’ve got enough on your plate looking after this one.

“We really don’t need a Carl Barat an’ all.”

“So, say we were to get another guitarist,” Elvis goes on, “where on earth are we supposed to find one that’d wanna join this shit show?”

Neither you, Elvis or Noel expect Specks to chime in. But when she perks up from the back of the room, and offers a casual, “My twin brother plays the guitar.”

All three of you chorus a resounding, “FUCK NO.”

To which Mattie only shrugs a shoulder and cocks her head and grins a decisive, “Well that’s settled then. Call him. Get him to come down. I think they’ll get along.”

—

You didn’t expect this.

Julian’s all denim jacket and turned up Levi’s and cigarette propped behind the ear like he’s channelling James Dean. Sandy hair. Quirked eyebrow. Summer tan skin.

He looks nothing like Specks. He looks nothing like Specks at all.

He beams a smile when he shakes your hand, introduces himself as 'Jude’. And you’ve got absolutely no idea why you struggle to keep eye contact. No idea why the glimpse of paint under his fingernails makes your voice wedge in your throat.

“I’m an artist.” He offers, later, when the six of you are sat around a table after the show.

Elvis either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t care, “What’re your musical influences? We need to know.”

Noel nods his agreement. You fiddle with the straw in your coke.

“The Rolling Stones…” Julian turns his gaze to Noel. “A touch of The Smiths…” A pointed look at Elvis. “And a sprinkling of The Who.” His eyes settle on you.

It’s your polo shirt, you think. The polo-shirt and parka combo. You’re a dead give-away. That’s how he knows.

Elvis is wearing his Morrissey-glasses.

Noel always looks like he just dragged himself out of an orgy at Woodstock.

“If I’m being completely honest, though,” he’s still looking at you, still eyeing you as though he can see into your soul, “Johnny Cash is my hero.”

An hour later the bar closes. The girls piss off with Elvis and Noel (you could almost swear Mattie did it on purpose…). And you’re the one tasked with driving a slightly tipsy Julian back home.

“Don’t you own a Vespa?” He asks as he follows you out to your car.

You try to explain that it’d be a bit too inconvenient trying to get both a drunk Elvis and a drunk Noel onto the back of a scooter. You’re a mechanic. You’re practical.

“You should get one.” He says, putting his cigarette out before he opens the passenger side door, “You’d look good.”

—

You don’t know how they manage to survive. Elvis and Noel.

Not when their kitchen cupboards are just stockpiles of Pot Noodle and Carlsberg. You’re almost certain they should both be riddled with scurvy.

So you do their shopping. Bring back bags full of anything other than lager and ready meals and cheap fizzy pop.

“We’re poor students,” Elvis explains, as you pull a bottle of milk so sour it’s solidified out of the fridge, “what do you expect?”

“Fucking hell, Elvis, you could make your own cheese with this.”

Noel eyes the fruit on the counter as though the oranges might be the ones to eat him. “Yeaaaah, we’re not posh like you. We don’t have enough money for vitamins.”

“Oh, piss off, Noel.”

You’re the last person on earth to carry the 'posh’ label.

You were brought up in a single-parent household, where your mum worked three jobs to provide for five kids. You started two paper-rounds when you were eleven and mowed the neighbour’s lawns in summer to help your mum with the rent. Sometimes, in winter, when ice made intricate patterns on the inside of the windows, you had to wear your coat to bed.

“What’s you guys take on this Jude bloke, then?” Elvis leans against the counter with his arms folded. Watches you put all of their food away.

“He’s alright.” Noel shrugs, makes a face like Julian’s some kind of furniture he could take or leave. Then adds, as though an afterthought, “Gay, though.”

Elvis frowns. Your mouth dries up.

“What?” You manage to croak, “Did he tell you?”

“Oh, no,” he cracks open one of the lagers you’d put aside ready for a trip into rubbish bin, “can just tell.”

You share a look with Elvis, who arcs a dubious eyebrow at you and then presses, curiously, “You can? How?”

But Noel only shrugs, apathetic to it all again, either unable or unwilling to answer.

He grabs his sunglasses and his coat and heads for the door.

But not before stopping directly in front of you. Giving you a long, discerning look, and adding, in exactly the right tone to make the hair stand up on the back of your neck, “Just do.”

—

You didn’t realise when your mum said she’d invited everyone, she meant everyone.

Including Specks and Jude. Who rock up to your house at precisely noon and who’s presence makes Noel just about as unimpressed with the Sunday Dinner guest-list as you.

Noel doesn’t like to spend time socialising with Specks on the best of days. Sitting around the kitchen table, listening to her talk, you hope he doesn’t fuck her in your bedroom in order to get her to shut up.

You realise Julian’s a vegan when he turns his nose up at your mum’s roast. And you thank fuck the bastard’s got at least one flaw.

Elvis is straight into it like a starved dog though, ripping a leg off the chicken with greasy hands, while Mattie pulls a face and your mum laughs.

She always liked Elvis, your mum. Sometimes, when you were younger, you worried she loved Elvis more than she loved you.

After dinner, Julian finds interest in the old championship boxing belt hanging on your mum’s living room wall.

“I didn’t know you used to box.”

You half-shrug one shoulder and hope to brush it off, but as expected right on queue your mum starts up, “Oh, he did. He was bloody good at it too. Won that when he was fifteen. He used to whine about it, but I forced him to go. It kept him out of trouble and without his dad around and living in a house full of women, I didn’t know what else to do.”

You sink low into the sofa. Try to make yourself small.

Your mum sighs. And it’s the sigh of a woman who’s weary and tired, but undoubtedly proud. “He was always getting himself into bother, our Dom. Running away… Getting into fights… He even a punched a policeman once, you know!”

Immediately you share a glance with Elvis. To your amazement he actually looks apologetic for once.

Nobody knows it was him. Even ten years on.

In the urgency of the moment and knowing what Elvis’s parents were like, it had been easier to just say the one who threw the punch had been you.

Growing up, you happily took the blame for every one of Elvis’s misdeeds.

Growing up, you just thought that was something that best mates should do.

—

You don’t know what love is.

You think it might be going to boxing classes, even though you never wanted to box.

You think it might be letting your sisters cut your hair and put little bows in it, and dress you up for 'fashion shows’.

You think it might be opting to stay at home and get a full time job, while all your mates go to university and start living it up.

You think it might be being in a band when you never wanted to be in a band, because playing the bass in front of people gives you anxiety attacks.

You don’t know what love is.

But when Elvis gets into a fight at 3am with some pissed up knobhead of a bloke on the way home from the pub, and your first instinct is to throw yourself in front of him and knock the other guy out with a single right hook, you start to re-evaluate that thought.

You don’t know what love is.

But scrubbing your hands clean in Elvis’s sink even though there’s no blood, you realise just how dangerous your fists are.

And checking the newspaper obsessively every day to make sure there’s no mention of some dude getting left for dead in the road, you realise just how dangerous it is to let your unattainable best mate take up such a dominant space in your heart.

You don’t know what love is.

But watching Mattie feed Elvis grapes as though he’s an emperor, you think, “it’s definitely not that.”

—

You get lonely. You’re only human.

While Elvis spends time with Mattie and Noel’s off chasing every potential bit of skirt, you and Julian start hanging out.

Sometimes you go over to his studio and play music while he paints. Sometimes he comes over to your house, sits on the edge of your bed and helps you write songs. Sometimes, when your head’s are so busy that neither of you can sleep, he calls you up at three in the morning just for a chat.

He’s got a voice that’s all refined whisky and vintage furniture and The Velvet Underground.

Not like Elvis. Elvis who’s all paint stripper vodka and charity shops and someone getting their face smashed into a wall.

And you realise you really don’t mind listening to Julian talk.

“Have you ever been in love?” you’re laying in bed when he asks, ear pressed against your phone, staring into the half dark.

“I… I don’t know.”

Your eyes immediately track across the room to the picture pinned above your desk of you and Elvis in your early teens, all big crooked grins with matching crooked teeth and you don’t know why it makes your stomach turn.

“Have you ever been in a relationship?”

A beat. A pause. Dread in your throat.

For fuck’s sake, Dominic, you’re almost twenty-one.

Silence that drags on until you finally give in, until you feel there’s nowhere left to turn, because you’re a shit liar and Julian has you exposed.

There’s the phantom presence of Elvis’s hands round your neck, squeezing, as you force out a pathetic, “No.”

And Julian breaths something that sounds a bit like disbelief down the phone.

“But… you’ve slept with people, right? I mean surely. Obviously. You’ve fucked girls and all.”

Pressure on your windpipe. The residual scent of leather jackets and cheap cologne.

“…I haven’t. No…”

—

You can’t pinpoint exactly when it started.

You’ve tried. Spent hours racking your brains, trying to figure it all out. Trying to isolate the moment it all went wrong. The moment something inside you 'broke’.

Only you’ve never been able to find it, because it’s not a minute, or an hour, or a day. It didn’t happen all at once.

It came slowly. Filtered into your life in little pieces. Like a puzzle that would take years to work out.

It’s in milky breath in the classroom on a warm summer’s afternoon.

It’s in several dozen borrowed pencils returned to you, all chewed.

It’s in P.E lessons and scabby knees and growth spurts that made his football kit too short.

It’s in grazed elbows and climbing trees and every nervous birthday present you bought.

It’s in the first cough from cigarettes nicked off his dad.

It’s in the first black eye when Nathan Jefferson calls him a fag.

It’s in cracked knuckles and cracked laughs and a voice that took too long to break.

It’s in a flash of teeth and flash of skin and every single “I love ya, mate.”

It’s in Liam and Noel. Morrissey and Marr.

It’s in Lennon and McCartney. Doherty and Barat.

It’s in every broken guitar string and every practiced autograph.

It’s in every schoolboy crush and every broken heart.

Only you never saw the pieces at the time. It’s just how having a best mate feels, you thought.

You only noticed them when he crept up on you so close he could finally hang his noose around your throat.

—

You know it’s coming before he does.

It’s the night of some cheap little gig at a rundown working men’s club out of town, that Elvis has been banging on about all month, and Mattie’s so pale she looks grey. She struggles to untangle the microphone wires, trips over her own feet, and gets out of breath carrying Noel’s cymbals in from the car.

You collar her in the back room while Elvis is doing his sound check out of earshot.

“Are you alright?” You know something’s up.

At first she looks quizzical. Makes her face scrunch. “Of course.” Chirps a laugh that’s too hollow and tries to push past.

It’s only your hand on the wall in front of her, your arm blocking her into the corner, that makes her stop.

She closes her eyes. Drops her head. Takes a breath so deep it’s as though all of the air has been sucked from the room.

You wait.

(You’re good at that.)

And when she doesn’t give in, you wait some more.

(You’re good at that, too.)

Until she finally expels tension from boycotting bones, melts back into the wall, and looks up.

There’s something glassy in her gaze when her eyes meet yours. And you know what she’s going to say before it’s even come out of her mouth. But hope to heaven’s above that you’re wrong. Because you can’t do it.

You can’t.

Not when she’s dying. Not when it’s going to break his fucking heart. Not when she should be at home or in the hospice, not lugging around heavy equipment and breathing secondhand smoke in the back room of a scummy bar.

The two of you stand in silence for what feels like an eternity before it eventually comes out.

“Please don’t tell, Ellie… Not tonight. He’s been looking forward to this show all month…”

“Mattie…” You cup the sides of her face in your hands, “I need to take you home. I need to take you both home. You’re not well.”

But Mattie only shakes her head, eyes pleading as she begs a tragic, “Please, Dom…”

—

You don’t remember the gig.

You don’t remember the crowd.

You don’t remember the scorching press of Elvis’s back against yours as he leans against you during your solo.

You don’t remember Julian’s accidentally unplugged guitar.

Or Noel magically acquiring a pink feather boa.

You don’t even remember Elvis playing up for the girls in the front row and smashing his lips into your cheekbone at some point during the encore.

(Which is surprising, really, considering.)

What you do remember is ringing ahead to the hospital afterwards.

Elvis carrying Mattie out of the back door wrapped in Noel’s fur coat.

Telling the girls hanging round in the alleyway to fuck right off, when they screech and grab Elvis’s elbow.

Running every red light and then some.

Elvis pacing frantically up and down the hall.

The forbidding tick of the clock on the wall.

“She better not fucking die on me, Dom.”

#ljlsdom ljlspartone

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