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dancingamongstdust · 3 years

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MHA Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 3)

All Might

There was an ache in your shoulder despite the painkillers. It was persistent, a constant reminder that your time in U.A. was beginning to lower your reaction speed. Perhaps you should consider returning to a full-time career in the hero world instead of taking random jobs here and there.

Sighing, you finished up with your costume and opened the door to find none other than Principle Nezu waiting for you.

“Great timing!” he chirped. “I was about to come and tell you that you’ll be sharing your second-year physical training class today.”

“The class that begins in twenty minutes?”

“That very one. When I found out that you had injured yourself, I thought that it would be best for you to take on an assistant of sort.” Nezu hummed softly to himself, as if wondering if he should continue. “And perhaps it will be a good experience for Toshinori to see how one can balance their time.”

You chuckled, catching onto the principle’s plan. “I don’t think a hero of All Might’s stature would have anything to learn from somebody like me.”

“There’s no doubt that he’s the better hero –“

“You could put that more nicely.”

“But you have far more experience teaching,” Nezu finished. “You take it easy to ensure your continued health and even though you whine about your lack of excitement, you never go out and chase it.”

That was true. Every year, you told the principle that you would be quitting and each time, he would laugh and tell you that you never would. You blamed the students. They were way too easy to get attached to.

All Might was waiting at the training grounds, his hands on his hips and a smile on his face. The latter looked almost painted on. He absolutely towered over you, seemingly taller in person.

“We haven’t met properly before,” you said, giving your name. “But may I just say that I have endless respect for your heroic accomplishments.”

He laughed proudly. “Thank you. Nezu says that you got injured during a fight with a villain, is everything alright?”

There was something about his voice that you didn’t quite like. It just sounded so patently fake. Perhaps that was why you hadn’t been surprised when the news about his true form was shared amongst the faculty. It seemed to you that it should have been a given. Nobody spoke like he did in their day to day lives.

“It’s a shoulder injury,” you said. “In a similar line, you can drop the All Might moniker for a short while if you want. This class is incapable of arriving less than ten minutes late.”

“That’s alright! I’m sure this is a far more useful form.”

“Suit yourself,” you said with a nod. You rolled your shoulder and winced. “I’m going to need to have you taking over the majority of the hands-on training if that’s alright with you? If I push myself now, I’m just going to do more damage to the muscles.”

All Might gave an affirmative and then pondered your words. It was unsurprising when he seemingly vanished into a cloud of smoke, dropping the vast majority of his muscles and showing a far-more human façade.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he acknowledged. “Some rest before teaching would be easier on my injuries.”

You smiled. “The last thing you want to do is let these students think they’re strong enough to take you on just yet. Don’t need that going to their heads.”

Endeavor

It was an accident that led to your first encounter with the recently elected number one hero. And it had mostly been as a result of a very long day filled with endless bad luck.

You had been walking through the parking garage after having coffee spilled on you, losing your keys, and nearly breaking your ankle when an escalator stopped working. It was overall an awful day. And it was about to get even worse.

It must have been as a result of some kind of villain but the exact situation escaped you. All that you knew was that somebody got thrown from out of nowhere. They flew into one of the pillars and cracked it. You jumped and immediately rushed over to them. It was only once you were right beside him that you realised the fire was part of him.

“You’re Endeavor…” you breathed. “Are you alright?”

The hero stood, clearly shaken. A deep scowl covered his face. He was much, much taller than you had thought he would ever be. “Get out of here before you get hurt.”

Before either of you could do anything else though, the ground seemed to tremble, much like an earthquake. You looked up wearily. This was the ground floor so it wasn’t like you could fall through anywhere.

And then the ceiling started to crumble.

You barely had time to react, just screwing your eyes shut and hoping for the best. A wave of heat washed over you. Dust filled your lungs and you coughed as all around you, a cacophony of collapsing rubble filled the air.

An unnatural silence took over.

Slowly, you opened your eyes. It was far too dark with a flickering light illuminating a large cavern of rubble held up by a few of the pillars that were still standing. Powder swirled around you, filling your lungs and making you cough heavily. Then you noticed the reason that you hadn’t gotten so much as a scratch.

Endeavor stood over you, shielding you entirely. He showed no visible discomfort but as you stared, you realised that part of his suit had been ripped and blood trickled down his side.

A few seconds passed and he moved away. In the tight space, he was unable to even stand straight. “Damn it,” he cursed. “There’s no way that Hawks can move any of this nonsense. We’re going to be stuck here until rescue teams arrive.”

You sunk down slowly, sitting against something sharp and putting your hand over your mouth. “I’m going to die,” you whispered. “There’s no air here…”

“Don’t be dramatic,” the pro-hero snapped. “We have plenty of time before the air runs out. If it was just me, I could blast through here in no time.”

“Why can’t you?”

He stared at you as though you were stupid. “Either I would risk bringing the rest of this concrete down on your head or you would stand too close and get burnt. Somehow, I don’t think you would prefer either of those options.”

You shook your head and tried to hold back tears. This day had been worse than any other in your life. Should you call your family and friends? Was it worth worrying them just to hear their voices? Endeavor didn’t seem worried so maybe you should just trust that you would get out and everything would be fine. Or maybe you would die and –

Your thoughts were cut off by him suddenly appearing in front of you. “Relax,” he said. “If you panic, you’re just going to make the entire situation worse.”

“We’re trapped under concrete,” you said. “We could die.”

“You’re not going to die. Now stop being pathetic and find a way to occupy yourself that doesn’t cause a panic attack.”

You swallowed and took a deep breath. “Alright. Alright.”

He nodded, moving considerably further away and then his flames flickered off. And that was your first meeting with Endeavor. Surprisingly, you ended up speaking until you were rescued.

Eraserhead

It had all begun years ago.

You remembered distinctly how you had been sitting in the garden and watching the bees happily buzz past. It was a warm day with a slight saltiness to the air. A perfect time to enjoy the summer as though you had no worries in the world.

Conversation filled the air and you perked up, recognising one of the voices. You had only managed to stand up when a blur of blue hair slammed into your side, pulling you into a tight hug with a happy shout of your name. Laughter filled the air as you nearly fell, unable to even hug back.

“Oboro!” you giggled. “I thought you were only getting back next week!”

He finally let you go and shot you a smile that made the sun look dim. “I was but then my parents said my friends could stay over! Come meet them.”

Oboro had been your closest friend for years but since going to U.A., you had seen less and less of him. That wasn’t to say that you hadn’t kept in contact of course but you missed him greatly.

His friends were… not what you expected.

The exceptionally loud blond was Hizashi Yamada and his quirk was volume-based. He greeted you with a booming shout, apparently having been told about you several times before arriving.

But Shota Aizawa interested you far more. He didn’t speak much and you never did find out his quirk when you were younger. When you’d asked why he wanted to be a hero, he just told you that he liked it. The rest of the week, you developed a bit of a crush on him and spent most of your time trying to impress him.

When the week ended, you didn’t see him again for a very long time and the next time you saw him, it was under circumstances you had never even imagined.

You were wearing a veil to hide your face. There was no dramatic rain or dark thunder on the day of the funeral. Rather fittingly, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. You liked to imagine that was Oboro’s final gift. A beautiful day to celebrate him.

Yamada had put his hand on your shoulder, subdued and quiet for the first time. He was a pro-hero now and you often saw his face on magazines.

Soon, he left to speak to others and you remained by the grave with only one other.

“Being a hero is more dangerous than I ever thought,” you said, not sure why you were speaking but feeling the urge to regardless. “You and Yamada have to stay as safe as you can, alright? He would want that.”

Aizawa glared at you from the corner of his eye. “How would you know that?”

“Because you were the most important people in the world to him,” you said. “Of course that’s what he would want.”

Aizawa didn’t speak anymore but after a while, he turned to leave. Before going, he paused and looked as though he wanted to say or do something. You met his gaze. It felt as though he could see straight through your veil, revealing the tears that streaked your face. The atmosphere wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just sad.

Still, standing there and just existing helped you to remember the loss wasn’t just your own. When Aizawa left, you turned back to Oboro’s gravestone feeling less alone in the world.

You were going to miss him like hell but you wouldn’t be remembering him by yourself.

Fatgum

As a solitary and underground hero, it was quite rare that you were contacted for big jobs. Rarer still that you took them instead of passing them on.

But something was different about this time.

This time, you had a personal vendetta drawing you to one of your least-favourite jobs – working with other heroes. It wasn’t that you didn’t get along with them but many weren’t in it for actually helping people. That put a bad taste in your mouth.

The job wasn’t technically being led by you purely because the information had come through a larger agency. They hadn’t wanted to pass it off to you alone so now you were sitting in the briefing room, listening to them going over everything that your investigations had revealed. No credit given, of course.

You stood toward the end and offered a simple warning. The villain that you were after had little concern about causing collateral. If anything, he relished in it. Your warning was primarily targeted at some of the heroes whom you knew dealt more with casual villains.

Many of them got overwhelmed when they came up against drug dealers and sex traffickers instead of pickpockets.

And then everybody dispersed, each having their own orders about how they would contribute to a safe arrest.

Leaving you alone. At least, you thought you were alone until somebody spoke behind you.

“Do you know what always calms me down? Taiyaki.”

You startled, though you didn’t let it become noticeable. Instead you turned to find yourself absolutely dwarfed by the BMI hero, Fatgum. Somebody you had always known about but never gotten a chance to meet.

“Do I really look that stressed?” you enquired.

He chuckled. “Not to be rude, but you definitely do.”

You sighed and looked at the documents in your hands. It was probably best that you didn’t have a mirror on you. “I’m worried about this case,” you said. “This guy has slipped through my hands a few too many times.”

Fatgum nodded. “I know how that feels but don’t worry too much. Everybody here is a capable hero and together, we’ll get him for sure.”

You raised an eyebrow. Perhaps a few were capable but not everybody.

“You’re too cynical,” he reprimanded though there was little malice to his words. “You should try to trust the rest of us. At least for long enough to get a little sleep.”

You reached up and touched the bags that had formed under your eyes. “Thank you for your concern but I’ll be perfectly fine.” You shoved the documents into a small bag and slung it over your shoulder. Once you dropped them off at home, you could head back out and see if anything had popped up.

“It’s still pretty early,” Fatgum mused. “What are your plans?”

“I’m going to go and see if any of my sources have found new information.”

“Uwabami was meant to be doing that tonight accourding to the schedule,” he pointed out. “But you’re probably not going to be taking the night off. Why don’t you join me for my patrol? You can keep an ear to the ground and also not continue exhausting yourself.”

Sighing, you glanced over your shoulder at him. “We hardly know each other. Why are you so worried about me?”

He shrugged. “Too many heroes drive themselves crazy with this kind of stuff. Come on. My work study students are great, you’ll love them both.”

There was a reason that you didn’t take any of those on but admittedly his two students were entertaining.

Gang Orca

It was all for the sake of the cameras.

You had to remember that when you were getting up before the sun rose. Everything had to be absolutely perfect about your appearance. If it wasn’t then your little ruse would be seen through by every reporter with half a braincell.

Then you had to get to the setup site and speak with the marketing team secretly. You stood with the team leader to one side, discussing everything like old friends over a cup of coffee.

“Essentially, what we’re looking for is a very breathless and awe-struck victim,” he explained to you. “When you speak to the media, try and make it like you never even thought of Gang Orca much before but now his rescue has made him into your favourite. We’re trying to build a greater trust with the public especially amongst children.”

You pulled a face. “I don’t much like working with kids but for a small increase, I can become quite the lover of them for a short while.”

The guy smiled. “You’re one of the best, otherwise I wouldn’t have hired you. You can get your increase.”

“Thank you. Now let’s get to work.”

You made your way to the ‘accident’ site. The costume team ripped your shirt and you had some fake blood dotted around your head. Nothing to make your injuries too severe but enough for some pity.

And then you climbed under the wreck and waited.

Approved photographers snapped their pictures as you were rescued from your metal prison by the tall Gang Orca. His strength alone was enough to pull the door free. He held his hand out to you while using his other to lift the car high enough to help you out. You made a show of crawling free and then stumbling a little.

With one hand on your head, you leaned against him and stared up with a grateful expression. Cameras flashed and he checked the wreck once more before leading you away for ‘medical treatment’.

Once out of view of the media circus, you straightened and wiped some of the fake blood away from your mouth. “Thank you for the rescue,” you said.

Gang Orca didn’t seem very happy about it at all. It was good that his hero image didn’t need too many smiles.

“I’m going to guess that this wasn’t really your idea?”

He sighed. “No. I don’t like the need to fake rescues when there are real people who should be getting help from a hero.”

“But those people aren’t getting paid to better the public’s opinion of you,” you said. “Twenty minutes here can be what knocks you off lists like ‘scariest heroes’ and similar stuff. That way, you get even more opportunities to save people.”

You couldn’t tell if he was grimacing or not but he definitely appeared to be. It made sense. While some heroes relished in the easier work, many didn’t like the media part of their jobs.

“If you’re happy with it, I’d like your autograph,” you said. “It’ll help me sell the whole situation a lot easier.”

“Alright.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t have a warm opinion of the media either,” you said. “They’re vultures who benefit from the fall of good heroes. What I, and others, do helps stop the best from being sidelined just because they’re intimidating or unmarketable. You’re in this for the right reason but the news organisations don’t care about that.”

He sighed deeply. “It’s unfortunate that you’re right. Of course, that doesn’t mean I have to be happy with these kinds of arrangements.”

“Few people are.”

Hawks

Being a photographer was competitive work, especially in a world where people could have quirks allowing them to grow cameras from their bodies.

You had to go the extra mile in order to compete with them and carve out a name for yourself. Either you had to be there first or you had to see something that nobody else did. A good intuition never led you astray.

And so, when you found yourself walking down the right street late one afternoon, you just knew that it was time to take out your camera.

The event was nothing catastrophic. Indeed, it seemed that the main danger was people’s stupidity. A fire had started on the bottom floor of an office building and instead of waiting for first responders to do their jobs, people were choosing to make things more difficult by climbing out of windows and stuff like that.

Soon enough, heroes were on the scene and you had your camera ready.

Naturally, Backdraft was the first to arrive and you got some great photos of the rescue hero doing what he did best. The light from the flames perfectly illuminated the hero and made the entire situation feel a great deal more dramatic than it was.

The second hero was a young woman whose name escaped your mind. She assisted the civilians as best she could but, no sooner did she help one down, and the person was practically taken from her arms.

Bright red feathers flew across the scene, darting into the building and pulling every person free by their clothing. They were lowered safely to the ground though many stumbled.

You didn’t lower your camera but you cursed out Hawks under your breath.

Never, in your wildest imagination, did you expect to hear him respond.

“Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say.”

You startled, just about dropping your camera on the ground in shock. He was perched above your head, atop one of the streetlights, a smirk on his face and his visor down. His wings were shorter than usual and the only way you could tell he was even helping with the incident.

“You ruined my photo,” you said. “And she had him, you know?”

“She was moving too slow. The poor guy would have been stuck in the air for several minutes longer and that’s just not good on the heart. Besides, I can make up for your lost photo if you snap a shot in the next three seconds.”

You scoffed. “A photo of you sitting on a streetlight? From this angle?”

“What? Not dramatic enough for you?”

“Not unique enough, more like. You’re the most photographed hero in the whole of Japan. The internet is teeming with images of you from every possible angle, distance, and situation. I’ve seen them all.”

For some reason, that seemed to get to the pro-hero a little and you were surprised when he landed beside you. You were very rarely this close to a pro, your bravado disappearing now that he was actually standing there.

“So you’re saying I’m not worth a photo?”

Part of you felt like saying that he was and quickly taking one but your pride didn’t allow it. “Not when there are lesser-known heroes here. They don’t have crazy stalkers willing to chase them around the city for any picture.”

“And aren’t they luckier for it,” he sighed. “Ah well, your loss. I’ll see you around.”

With a flap of his wings, he was gone and you watched him go, fighting the urge to snap a photo the entire time.

Midnight

Some would call you shallow but interviews were one of your favourite parts of being a hero. Getting to answer questions and engage with the people who admired you was an experience that you just adored. Not only that but they were often the best place to clear up rumours or speculations so long as they were edited well.

With a reliable broadcaster and positive outcomes on all of your latest jobs, you were extremely excited to be offered an interview. You knew there was an ulterior motive of some kind but you hadn’t been sure as to what.

But still, you arrived early, dressed in your hero costume, and had your makeup done up as best as it could be.

And then you watched the interview before you and you quickly realised that the broadcast was doing a segment. One focused on hero costumes.

Your own was quite unique, a step away from the usual appearance of heroes. Personally, you loved it.

The public however was divided on whether it was fashion forward or just a flop.

And clearly that was why individual heroes had been chosen.

Being interviewed at the moment and practically being drilled on the ins-and-outs of her costume was nobody other than Midnight herself. She looked absolutely amazing as ever. A natural on the stage and in the field.

You had to admit however that you didn’t feel comfortable with the questions they were asking her. She answered smoothly but mostly in deflection.

The other heroes around you agreed with your assessment. This felt like an attempt at creating a media circus. Few were interested in participating anymore.

The moment Midnight gave her leave, the producers began gesturing at you. You gave them a look and turned around with the rest of the heroes there.

Midnight was in a bad mood but she put on a smirk when you made eye contact with her.

“We’re leaving,” you told her. “None of us were told that this was going to be working off controversy.” You wanted to apologise that she had been the first to get interrogated but you didn’t know how to do that.

She laughed. “You weren’t expecting there to be a catch?”

“I mean, I was but I thought they were a little better than running a segment that’s so clearly focused on… well…”

“Sex appeal?” Midnight asked.

You awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah. It probably should have tipped us off that we were all around the same status. No real big names aside from your own have worked with this broadcast channel.”

“And nobody will again once I speak to a few contacts,” Midnight said, a hint of bitterness finally seeping into her voice. “Guess that will teach me to give new places a chance. They’re all looking for the big ratings instead of actual interest. Maybe I should just go into being a teacher full time at this rate.”

“Aren’t you already doing that?”

She shushed you. “Not if I don’t say it out loud.”

You laughed and stuck by her as your group exited the building, ignoring the clamoring from the higher-ups who were desperately trying to convince you to stay. The type of people who would take advantage of being able to pressure people into things. Lovely.

“Don’t you hate how rude they are to you?” you asked her. “I get so furious sometimes and my questions are always tame compared to yours.”

She shrugged. “At some point, you get used to it. I don’t think there’s a question out there that would shock me anymore.”

You really hoped you never reached that point.

Mirko

The villain pulled experimentally at his cuffs. He twisted around and began shuffling when he met your eyes.

“Where exactly are you trying to go?”

He grumbled something under his breath and stopped moving. You raised a hand to your head and sighed. At this rate, you were going to wind up with wrinkles. One of your favourite outfits had been destroyed by this little altercation and nobody had even bothered to show up yet. Somebody had called emergency services, right?

“Stop moving, I can hear you,” you snapped.

The villain would have been a greater threat if you hadn’t happened to be shopping in the area. Your quirk was the perfect match for his own and it allowed you to quickly take control of an otherwise dangerous situation.

Now you sat on a bench, him tied to the nearest building support bench, and you waited for somebody to arrive and take him off your hands.

There was a thump somewhere to your right and you lazily looked up from your phone. Only for your heart to kind of stutter.

“Aw, come on! I was told there was going to be some excitement over here!” Mirko complained. “What gives?!”

The rabbit hero was absolutely gorgeous with white hair and legs that went on for literal days. She was the epitome of everything you aspired to be as a hero. What she did was on her own terms and she fought for the thrill of it all.

You had just never expected to actually meet her.

“I’ve dealt with it,” you said once you had gotten over your shock. You gestured towards the villain. “No problems here.”

Mirko bounded over and stuck her face way too close to his. Her nose seemed to twitch in excitement. “You don’t seem so tough,” she scoffed. “I got the call and it said that this was setting itself up to be a good clash! Are you just that good?”

Her eyes fell on you, bright and teasing. A strand of hair fell in front of her face and she huffed it away without breaking eye contact.

“I am,” you said, mostly joking but feeling unable to deny it.

She threw her head back and laughed. “That’s a good answer. I like your confidence.” She eyed what you were wearing. “Your costume could use some work though.”

You chuckled. “It’s actually pretty similar to yours when I’m not interrupted while shopping. I’ve always loved your style.”

She nodded firmly as though that was a given. Then she looked around and raised an eyebrow. “If this moron interrupted your shopping, then what are you doing hanging around with him? You have things to get back to, don’t you?”

You gestured around. “I do but the police haven’t shown up yet.”

“Don’t worry about them,” she scoffed. “I’ll bounce this guy down to the station for you. Don’t waste time just standing around.”

She turned back to the villain just in time for you to both see him run around the corner. He nearly tripped but managed to keep his footing. You glanced at one another and Mirko laughed heartily. “You stay here,” she said. “I can deal with cowards in well under a minute. They always do the same things to ‘throw me off’ or whatever.”

“I’ll come with you,” you said. “It’s technically my fault he got away. And I could always learn a thing or two from the best, right?”

She grinned. “I knew I liked you. Let’s see if you can keep up though.”

Natsuo

On a good summer’s day, there was nothing better than the beach. The waves gently lapping at the shore, soft clouds drifting across the sky, and few children due to the earliness of the day. It was well worth getting up early to watch the sun creep its way over the ocean and begin what was scheduled to be the hottest day of the year.

Not that you would be outside when it hit noon. By that time, ice cream and a nice spot of shade became necessary.

For now though, you waltzed along the beach and enjoyed the sand beneath your feet. As you walked, you kept an eye out for shells though there were scarce. People came every day to collect this time of year.

In a way, that made you sad.

But the lack of shells did mean that you didn’t need to watch where you were walking quite as much. At least, that was your thought process. Shells cut your feet and there were none so why keep an eye on the sand.

The answer is broken bottles.

It was a sake bottle, probably stolen away by some kids to be drunk where their parents wouldn’t see. The searing pain made you think you’d stepped on a jellyfish. Cursing, you jerked your foot away, blood running down into the sand below.

A small wave washed up, taking the bloodied sand away to reveal the culprit.

Struggling to balance, you hopped away from the bottle and sat down, lifting your foot to see the damage. It was a rather deep slice that made you feel quite woozy. Sand was already sitting around the injury and your only option to wash it off was the very salty sea.

“Sorry, do you need some help?”

You glanced behind you to see a guy standing on the boardwalk. His hair was pale and his expression kind. Something about him seemed oddly familiar but you weren’t sure why.

“I stood on a bottle,” you said. “It’s alright.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you need some help getting off the sand?”

You were going to deny the offer but your entire leg felt like it was on fire. The pain was undoubtedly because of your brain flicking through reminders about the danger of stepping on glass. “If you’re alright with it.”

He made his way down to where you were sitting quite quickly and glanced at your foot. “That’s going to need stitches,” he said. He offered his water bottle to you. “You should clean it off and then put some pressure on it before we move it.”

The cut hadn’t seemed that bad to you but you hadn’t really been looking carefully. “Are you sure?” You still took the water though, hissing as you poured it over your cut.

“Very,” he said. “Do you mind your towel getting blood on it?”

“No.”

He used the towel to put pressure on the cut and then helped you stand, hobbling your way off the beach. Once there, he quickly listed off the nearest hospitals.

“Are you a medical student by any chance?” you asked, trying to keep your mind off the pain.

He blushed. “Sorry, is it obvious?”

You laughed. “Just a little but that’s okay. It was good that you happened to be nearby then. Can I get your name?”

He hesitated but then said, “Natsuo. Don’t worry about my family name.”

Curious now, especially given how familiar he looked, you were tempted to push. But you didn’t and instead thanked him again for his help. He turned out to be correct, of course. You did need stitches.

Present Mic

You stretched before going into the office. Everything was sore – an unfortunate result of your late night. It couldn’t have been helped. Train wrecks were rarely planned.

Principle Nezu greeted you warmly when you arrived and then asked you to sit down. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, there was a recent incident on the grounds. Thirteen was badly injured and we’re in need of a new teacher with expertise in natural disaster management.” He smiled at you. “I thought you would be the perfect match.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I was under the impression you were going to try convince me to take a work study student.”

“I’m sure you will one year,” he joked.

“Unlikely but you can always offer.” You sighed and turned your gaze out the window. “I have little care for children. This will be a temporary position, yes?”

“We’ll see how it goes.”

You gave him a look but the principle just sipped at his tea. He already knew that you were going to accept – if only because you had always been a close friend of Thirteen’s. Taking over one class wasn’t going to kill you.

“I don’t have any experience in this,” you reasoned. “Other schools must have teachers who can come and cover classes?”

“None who are as experienced in the field as you are. So I’ve organised with Hizashi Yamada to take you through his methods of teaching and you can convert them over. He’ll be here soon.”

You sunk further into your chair, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “What would you have done if I said no?”

“Been very disappointed, of course.”

Present Mic was a hero you had always admired but you hadn’t ever expected him to be as loud in person as he was in the media. You just about jumped out of your skin when he entered the room dramatically, calling out a greeting.

Nezu gave the introductions and informed you that before doing an actual class, you had a week of acting as an assistant instructor alongside Present Mic.

“Should I invest in earbuds?” you joked.

He laughed but then actually lowered his voice as though you had reminded him. “Don’t worry. If I yell too much in class, Shota tends to come and glare through the doorway until I quieten down.”

You chuckled. “Do you have similar teaching schedules?’

“No but he claims that he can hear me from anywhere in the school. It’s the best way to find him actually. You just yell until he shows up.”

“I’ll take that as lesson number one in how to teach at U.A.”

“Lesson number one is to not take Nemuri’s flirting seriously,” he corrected. “I know it’s very flattering to think that she’s interested but she’s not. If it makes you uncomfortable, you can tell her to stop but she doesn’t always listen. It’s part of her image, you know?”

You raised an eyebrow at Nezu but he just shrugged. That didn’t seem like it was too professional but alright.

You took a deep breath and tried to pretend that this was just going to be temporary. It wasn’t like Nezu had been trying for years to get you involved at the school.

Temporary.

“Which subject do you teach?” you asked as you followed Present Mic from the office.

“English. No crazy action or anything which means you have to work double time to keep the students interested. You’ll have it far easier.”

Nobody really prepared you for the fact that Class 1A didn’t know how to do things the easy way.

#mha #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #all might x reader #endeavor x reader #aizawa x reader #midnight x reader #mirko x reader #natsuo todoroki x reader #present mic x reader #fatgum x reader #gang orca x reader #hawks x reader

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incomingalbatross · 3 years

Text

GF Fic: (Insert Time-Related Pun Here)

Having a birthday on the last day of summer was great when you were a kid.

When you were in college and vacation ended somewhere in the last third of August? Not so much.

“Grunkle Ford, I...I don’t think Mabel and I can make it to Gravity Falls,” Dipper confessed, the day before his twenty-second birthday.

“Is it the travel time?” Ford asked from the other end of the phone. “If your usual transportation is too slow, we can call in a favor or two for you kids—I know plenty of entities that would be happy to give you a lift as a birthday present—”

“No, I know, I know,” Dipper said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “And I really appreciate that, Grunkle Ford, I just...it’s not the travel, it’s being there. The other years we’ve been in college, our birthday was always on a weekend—last year was a Monday, but we spent that year with you guys instead of in school—”

“Thank goodness that seer tipped us off about her vision of 2020!” Ford agreed. “Taking a gap year to sail the Arctic with us was definitely the right decision for you two.”

“Right? Half a semester of online classes was more than enough. But—I mean, maybe it’s being back in school after being gone for a year, maybe it’s just early-semester problems, but...” Dipper sighed. “It’s just, I’m taking five classes, and I’ve got a TA job this year, and I’m getting back into the DD&MD group again and maybe planning to DM a oneshot as a Halloween event, and...” He sighed again. “It all looked much more manageable on my schedule. It was color-coded and everything!”

Grunkle Ford hummed noncommittally.

“Yeah, I know,” Dipper admitted. “Not the first time I’ve overbooked myself.”

“Not quite, perhaps. But it’s very good that you’re learning to recognize it and take steps to take care of yourself—when I was in college, I burned out routinely.”

“Mabel would sic the ‘Self-Care Fairy’ on me again if I didn’t learn.” The “Self-Care Fairy” was a truly terrifying onslaught of Mabelness, complete with costume and character voice, and would not go away until its subject had reached an acceptable level of well-being and had examined their mistakes. “Which is why...I have to cancel. If I came to Gravity Falls, even with instant travel, I’d only be able to get there around like 5:00 PM and I’d be stressed and anxious the whole time. And then I’d get back here exhausted and with no homework done and with class tomorrow, and...I just don’t think I can afford that.” Dipper paused, a knot twisting in his stomach. “I’m really sorry, I wish we could come...”

“Of course, Dipper, we know you do!” Grunkle Ford hastened to assure him. “Don’t feel sorry for us—of course we’d love to see you, but we just had the summer together. I’m just sorry you’re so short on time.” There was a moment’s silence.

“But how is Mabel doing? Is she facing the same challenges?”

“I mean, sort of.” Dipper smiled ruefully. “She kept trying to figure out some solution so that we could have our usual birthday and everything would work out, but...neither of us could come up with anything that would actually work. And she’s really busy too. She jumped back into school full steam ahead, and she’s got her Etsy store, and all her social groups to keep up with—you know she’s better at managing her energy than I am, but it’s still a lot.”

“I understand that,” Ford said. “You both do what you need to to keep up with your responsibilities, okay? We’re very proud of you both, you know.”

Dipper swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I know, Grunkle Ford.”

“Well, then, I’ll let you go—I imagine you have plenty to do right now! We’ll get in touch with you tomorrow, even if only by text.”

“Thank you, Grunkle Ford! Mabel and I are going to video-call at some point, we think, so there’s that. Say hi to Stan and Soos and Melody and the kids and everyone for me?”

“Of course, my boy. Have a good evening.”

“You too.”

The call disconnected, and Dipper sighed, throwing himself down on his bed. After a minute, he picked up his phone again and texted Mabel.

Just called Ford and canceled plans. He said to take care of ourselves and that he and Stan are proud of us.

Then he pushed himself into the homework for tomorrow until his phone buzzed.

Aww, of course he did. <3 Thanks for calling, brobro. I wish we could go, but you were right--I’ve got WAY too much booked. Why didn’t we check what weekday our birthday was FIRST???

Dipper snorted. Maybe we’re dumb :/

IMPOSSIBLE, Mabel sent back. Clearly an evil College Schedule Gremlin messed with our brains

Is that the same guy who makes it so you can never take the prereqs you need when you need them?

Yep!! And the one who fogs your brain so you THINK you’ve filled all your requirements until it’s too late to patch up the holes in your plan. His phone buzzed a second time after that text. ...Ugh, maybe there ARE gremlins in all the college systems

It would explain Blackboard, Dipper agreed with a frown. Huh, maybe they should look into that...

Anyway, though, u good for Zoom tomorrow?

Dipper huffed, reminded of the fact that they had no time for a paranormal investigation right now. Yeah, he typed, I can do an hour or so anytime after 5:30.

Cool, I will figure out a time and let you know!! Can’t wait to see your 22-year-old face!! :) Even if it sucks that we can’t party :(

Same, same. TTYL :)

Dipper tossed his phone aside again, shutting his eyes for a minute. It wasn’t just the party that had him down—though he would miss the bash that Gravity Falls usually threw on their birthday. It was...everything.

It was having a birthday without Mabel.

Oh, sure, they would talk, but they wouldn’t be in the same place. That was why, really, he’d hung onto their plans until the very last minute. He’d made it work on paper—taking an evening to travel to Gravity Falls, have a party, and be back in time for the next class—and it just felt wrong to admit defeat, to compromise on something this important. Their birthday meant the two of them celebrating together, having a good time, acknowledging that it was important.

This year wasn’t going to feel like a birthday at all, Dipper thought glumly.

But no, that was quitter talk. They were going to do their best anyway, because they were the Mystery Twins! Even if the situation was lame. Even if he was going to spend his time on the call with Mabel tomorrow doing homework and/or bursting with stress.

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. “Why do I always overfill my schedule?” he asked plaintively.

The ceiling didn’t answer.

---

Dipper dropped his backpack with a thud on his dorm room floor, hastily unzipping it and digging out his laptop. He was late—he’d left his thermos in his last classroom, and been halfway across campus before he realized and turned around to go get it. He blamed his sleep deprivation (a week in, and his body still hadn’t readjusted to the rhythm of morning classes).

Now, though, he could finally pull up Zoom. He plugged in his headphones as he waited for it to connect (stupid dorm wifi), and was rewarded with an ear-splitting squeal.

“Happy birthday, Dipper!”

He grinned at her beaming face. “Happy birthday, Mabel!”

“Did you get a birthday cupcake?” she demanded. “Or at least a birthday cookie?”

He grimaced. “I got ice cream at the cafeteria, but I had to eat it there,” he confessed. “Here, I’ve got...a birthday candy bar?”

“Hmph.” Mabel looked crestfallen, but plastered a smile on anyway. “It’ll have to do! We can sing Happy Birthday, anyway. One, two, thr—”

Before they could launch into an inevitably out-of-sync rendition of “Happy Birthday,” Dipper heard a loud knock. Judging by Mabel’s startled turn towards her door, she heard it too—

Wait, what?

The knocking repeated. On both their doors.

“..Huh,” Mabel said thoughtfully. With a wordless glance between them, they both unplugged their headphones and went to their respective doors.

“Happy birthday, slugger!” Stan said, grinning, the instant he saw Dipper. Over the internet, Ford’s voice was greeting Mabel at the same time.

Dipper’s jaw dropped.

“Ha!” Grunkle Stan shoved past him into the room. Waving to the camera, he added, “Happy birthday, sweetie!”

Ford peered past Mabel into the screen. “Happy birthday, Dipper, my boy!”

“But—what—”

“Grunkles!” Mabel cried. “...But wait, why not just video call us? Not that we’re not happy to see your wrinkly faces, but you came such a long way!”

“Yeah, exactly,” Dipper said, waving his arm in confusion. “You guys—you know we can’t really visit, right? Even with you with us? We don’t have time. I dont want you guys to waste a trip—”

“But we didn’t,” Ford said smugly. “We came to bring your birthday presents.”

With a flourish, Stan produced something and handed it to Dipper. It looked like...a piggy bank, but with a clock face set into the side?

Mabel gasped. “It’s so CUTE!”

“But what is it, Grunkle Ford?” Dipper asked.

“Simply put, my boy...it’s time.”

“It’s a Time-Savings Bank,” Stan said proudly. “Got our hands on these babies a few months ago, on a little side trip. See, when you’ve got some extra time—like, at night, or when you’re waiting for a pot to boil, or whatever—you can use these gizmos to store it up instead! Then when you need more time, you use the clock to take it back out. Whammo! You squeeze in a few extra hours between the normal ones.”

“Like Daylight Saving Time without the false advertising,” Ford added. “We know you two are short on time right now, but...if you’d like, there’s enough in here to give you and everyone currently at the Mystery Shack a good few hours of spare time. What do you say, kids? Still up for a party?”

“Are we!” Mabel crowed.

Dipper stared at this miraculous device. “But...that’s a lot of hours,” he said. “Where did you get the time?”

Stan barked out a laugh. “You kiddin’, Dipper? We figured from the start that at least one of you would burn out when you went back to school. We’ve been putting time aside in these things for months.”

“...Really?” Dipper said. Somehow, he found himself blinking rapidly, and swallowing down some obstruction in his throat.

Stan coughed uncomfortably, looking away. “I mean, it’s not like we gave you any time we had a use for. Just some odds and ends here and there...every day... Anyway! You kids wanna get this show on the road?”

“YES!” Mabel shouted.

Dipper beamed. “Definitely,” he said. “Absolutely.”

And a few minutes later, when they all found themselves in the Shack (courtesy of one of those “favors” Ford had mentioned yesterday), and Dipper had piled into the inevitable group hug with his twin and his grunkles—and with hours of birthday celebration in front of them all—he had to add, “Best present ever.”

#did i neglect my college homework to write this? yes. yes i did #anyway #happy birthday dipper and mabel!#belated in my timezone but NOT ON THE WEST COAST so it WORKS #gravity falls #mystery twins #dipper pines #mabel pines #pines family #my fic #i did not proofread this At All so...there may be glaring errors #i'll find out later

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nkatr84 · 3 years

Text

Domestic

Cruella/Jasper

Author Note: I think this is the first fanfic on Tumblr for this movie. Seriously the movie is good! It’s more of a reimagining than a remake. And yes I ship these two. The movie only gave hints they liked each other more than friends, but it wasn’t forced. So I’d thought I’d expand on it. Enjoy!

Two hours before they had to go. Estella had done up her hair in an elaborate updo. Her costume changes packed in the car. She just had to find Artie to make sure her other wig was ready.

It still seemed a bit silly to her, crafting a wig designed to look like her natural hair. But Artie had insisted that setting the wig with tight curls would deter suspicion that she had ever been at the house that night. Or rather, that Cruella had been to the house. For everyone knows it takes hours to set tight curls like that.

But in searching for the stylish shopkeeper, she paused by one of John’s spare bedrooms. The one the elder butler had insisted the boys stay in separate from her. Despite the fact they had shared a flat for thirteen years.

There was Jasper. Desperately trying to tie his bow tie. She found herself biting her lip. She had seen him in suits before. Suits she had designed herself. She was the only reason Horace and Jasper had nice clothes at all.

But none of their past jobs had called for Jasper to wear a tux. A dinner jacket once, but never a full tux. John had done a decent job picking it out, since she and Artie’s tailors were so busy with everything else they had to make. The cut was well fitted to Jasper’s tall lanky frame. For the first time Estella saw him as a young man. Not the annoying insightful boy that had taken her under his wing.

“You just gonna stand there gaping or you going to lend a hand?” He spoke up.

Estella startled, but Cruella took control, tossing her head back and sweeping into the room like a Queen. But Jasper saw the slight red to her pale cheeks.

“Why can’t men learn how to tie their own ties?” She asked, her hands swatting his away.

“Don’t know. Suppose it’s our way of keeping women close enough to do it for us.” He replied, watching her hands twist the fabric around his neck into knots.

“How very domestic.” Estella commented.

“Nothing wrong with that you know? Being domestic.”

“For some.”

“But not Cruella?”

Her green eyes looked up into his brown. Were they always that deep and soulful?

“When did you grow up?” She asked, deflecting.

“Bout the same time you did.” He replied.

Estella swallowed. Why was her heart beating so?

“Remember the summer you were sixteen? You got caught up with that posh crowd of rich kids who used you to make clothes.” He asked.

“I’d rather forget that summer thank you.” She said.

He smirked,

“So would I. Especially the part where we found you kissing that one bloke in the Lair.”

Estella flushed again. Oh yes. The rock star. Last she heard of him he was going through a nasty divorce. She mentioned this to Jasper as she tightened his bow.

“Hmm. Serves him right. Stealing from me.” Jasper said.

Puzzled, she asked,

“What did he steal from you?”

“Your first kiss.” He replied, seeing her blink rapidly. He continued, “I claimed it first you know.”

“Why...why didn’t you?” She coughed straightening his tie.

He shrugged,

“Never found the right moment.”

“I...I need to get dressed.” She pulled away. She felt his eyes sweep down her figure. Despite wearing a black slip and her silk black robe with the sheer sleeves, Estella suddenly felt naked. She had never felt this way around him. What was the matter with her?

“Listen. I only told you this in case things go south tonight. If Cruella wants to just stay friends, I’ll respect that. But just know that when Cruella gets tired enough to let Estella take over, maybe we could be a bit domestic?” He asked, shy hope in his voice.

“Maybe...and maybe Cruella could...be domestic too? If that’s alright with you...Darling?” She suggested. It felt strange to call him that. Calling everyone Darling was Cruella’s signature. One of many. But with Jasper it felt so intimate. Sincere.

Jasper smiled,

“I could live with that.”

“You know...Estella may have let her first kiss be stolen by an idiot...but Cruella hasn’t gotten her first kiss...yet.” She hinted.

Jasper mused,

“True. Yet I think I’ll wait. You need to focus on the job tonight. Besides. I’ve laid claim to your last kiss too.”

“But like you said. Something could go wrong. Stands to reason our first kiss might be our last.” She said. Hoping he hadn’t heard the slight tinge of desperation in her tone. He had.

“Nah. I know your plan will work. You’re brilliant. When you get done taking down the Baroness, then we’ll talk domestics.” He assured her, tucking his hands in his pockets.

Impatient, Cruella snapped,

“Oh for heavens sake!”

She yanked him forward by his lapel and kissed him soundly. When she pulled away, his lips was smeared with her lipstick. Her heart was pounding. His eyes were darkening with fresh desire.

“Bout bloody time!”

They turned their heads to see Horace and Artie standing there. The amusing thing was Horace was dressed in drag. With a black and white wig on his head. Tiny little Wink in his arms completed the look.

“Thirteen years. Took you two long enough.” Horace chuckled.

With a cheeky smile, Artie asked batting his lashes,

“Are we interrupting something?”

“Clearly. However it’ll have to be continued later. Artie. I need to see that wig.” Estella cleared her throat as she breezed past them.

“And I need details...” Artie muttered to her as they walked down the hall. She rolled her eyes.

Horace looked at his friend who was using his handkerchief to wipe off the lipstick.

Horace nodded,

“Bout bloody time.”

“Oh come on Mate...”

“But nothing! You’ve only been crazy about that girl since she followed us down the coal shoot.” Horace laughed.

“Guess I’d have to be.” Jasper shook his head.

“She ain’t like her birth mum Jasper. She’s better.” Horace said making Jasper look up. “She may want fancy things like the Baroness, may even lie, cheat and steal to get them, but she let’s herself love people. Her real Mum taught her that.”

Jasper smiled as Wink the Chihuahua barked. Sometimes Horace could be the insightful one.

“Suppose she did.” He agreed. Suddenly feeling confident about what the night could bring.

#disney #disney +#cruella #cruella de vil #cruella 2021 #cruella movie #fanfic #horace badun #jasper badun

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years

Text

Don’t Go Breaking My Heart | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anonymous: Hi! Could you possibly do a Charlie x reader fic where they are filming season 2 & there is a new character (fashion expert/can see ghost/a little bit of enemies with Luke at first) but off screen they are very close (always hanging out/on ig posts & stories/dance partners/they sing karaoke/adventure) & the whole cast likes to tease them about it but they deny any feelings however they are about to film a very important scene that involves their characters & might change everything between them.

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x reader

Warnings: fluff

Words: 2,789

Season 2. Finally Season 2. Everyone had been hoping, wishing, praying for a season 2 of Julie and The Phantoms, and after months of waiting, Netflix finally picked it up for a second season. After those months, the actors had just to wait a little while longer while the crew wrote up the first drafts of scripts and made it perfectly save for the actors to do their work. Once all of that’s ready and they’re good to go, the cast finally reunite again in Vancouver. They even meet some new cast members. Like you. You had auditioned for the role of Daniela Ramos, Julie’s cousin and Victoria’s daughter, and got it pretty much straight away. Daniela is a fashion student at a High School in Melrose Hill and Julie asks her for some help with costumes for her next gig with her band. To Julie’s surprise, Daniela can actually see the boys, even when they’re not playing, which causes for a lot of trouble in the band and family, especially between Julie and Luke. This is your first big role on the small screen and you’re the most excited you’ve ever been. You met the other cast members at the summer bootcamp before the filming process would start, and though almost everything had to be done with a face mask covering half of everyone’s face, it still was a lot of fun getting to meet everyone and spend the most fun summer ever. Every day, you grew closer and closer to everyone on set, and soon became best friends with Madi, Jadah, Savannah and Tori, doing plenty of sleepovers. Besides the girls, you also grew closer to Charlie, Owen and Jeremy, but mostly Charlie. For some reason, the two of you just clicked instantly. You have the same humor, the same taste of adventure, the same passions and dreams. You, Charlie and Owen even rented a place together to live in for the time being in Vancouver. You got even closer during filming, especially since you and Charlie have a lot of scenes together. “Oh my God, Luke, you’re so annoying!” you yell at him when the two of you are in the garage, taping a scene. It had taken you about ten takes and you still couldn’t help but giggle at the shocked face he pulled every time. “If I’m so annoying, Dani, why do you keep coming back?!” The angry face he pulls resembles that of an angry kitten, which just makes you crack up again. “God dammit, Y/N!” Charlie laughs now too as Kenny yells “Cut!” “Sorry! Sorry, guys! I promise I’m a real actor!” You hold your hands up in defense, then cough to get ready for another take. This time around, you could finally manage to get through it without laughing. “Yes!” Charlie exclaims when Kenny yells “Cut!” again. He holds his hand up for a high five, which you giddily give him. “Do you need any more takes, Kenny?” he asks the man himself. “Nope, you’re good! You can go on your break now!” he pats Charlie’s shoulder. “Nice job, guys!” “Thanks, Kenny,” you say, the smile growing on your face. “I need food, Gillespie,” you tell your best friend, linking your arm with his. “Let’s go get food!” The two of you head down to catering and sit down at a table with a plate full of food. “What are we doing tonight?” he then asks before taking a bite of food. You swallow your bite of food and take a sip from your drink. “Don’t you have a night shoot tonight?” you ask, remembering him saying something about a late call. “No, that’s tomorrow, after our dance rehearsal,” he replies after swallowing the food. “Oh! Okay!” You start thinking of things to do, “We could go to karaoke? Bring the others maybe?” He raises his eyebrows, looking at you questionably. “I’ve always loved karaoke,” you shrug with a giggle. “Yeah, okay!” Charlie nods his head agreeingly. “Karaoke it is!” The two of you smile up at each other, teeth showing, both of you glowing. “What are you love birds discussing?” Owen asks when he joins them, his voice muffled from the mask covering his face. He pulls it down to under his chin as he and Jeremy join the two at the table. “We’re thinking about going to karaoke tonight with the whole team!” you tell them, completely ignoring the ‘love birds’. “Ooh, fun!” Owen exclaims with a smile that nearly reaches his ears. “Yeah, we’ll leave after shooting the last scene tonight,” Charlie suggests, looking at you for confirmation. You nod your head agreeingly. That night, you and the rest of the cast head to the nearest karaoke place you know. You’ve linked arms with Savannah and Tori, giggling through the night, trying to keep your balance on your heeled boots. Meanwhile, without you realizing, Charlie has been keeping his eyes on you the whole way there. He finds it adorable how your giggle floats through the night air and your hips bump against the other girls’. He couldn’t lie, you had easily become the light in his life. “So, what song shall we begin with?” you ask the gang as you settle into the booth. “Pick the first one on the list,” Jeremy replies when no one else does. You nod your head curtly and press play on the first song, which is Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi. You can already tell after that first song; tonight is going to be a fun night. You sing a couple of songs with the girls, there are many group numbers, and you even sing one with your roommates. After singing with Owen and Charlie, the latter points at you. “We’re going to sing together now!” he exclaims excitedly before turning around and picking a song for you to sing. When he’s picked one, he grabs your hand to pull you closer towards him. You blink a couple of times, unable to process what’s happening right now. The opening notes to Don’t Go Breaking My Heart by Elton John and Kiki Dee chime through the booth. You glance over at Savannah and Tori, who offer you an encouraging smile. Then you look at Jadah and Madison, but they’re too busy giggling and whispering, and it makes you wonder if that’s about you and Charlie. Your eyes dart over to the boys – Jeremy, Owen and Sacha – who just offer you suggestive smiles and eyebrow-wiggles. Charlie’s voice captures your attention again, and you turn to him. “I couldn’t if I tried,” you sing back to him. The encouraging smile on Charlie’s face calms you down a little up to the point where it almost seems like the two of you are the only people in the room. You have no clue what is happening or why it’s happening. All you know is that you’ve wanted it to happen sooner. Though you wouldn’t ever admit that to anyone. It’s the way he looks at you and the way he makes you feel like you’re the only person on this planet that matters. It’s been the way he’d looked at you since that first day of meeting him. “I won't go breaking your heart,” you sing the very last line to him ever so softly, not even looking at the screen anymore, but instead, looking into his eyes. “Don't go breaking my heart,” he sings back. The song ends and you both lower your microphones, staring into each other’s eyes. If it wasn’t for the rest of the cast breaking out into cheers and applause, you would’ve kissed him then and there. But it startles you, and you step away from him upon realizing how close you are and how that must look to the others. “So, when’s the wedding?” Madison asks teasingly, which makes the others laugh, and you blush. After that night at karaoke, the two of you had silently agreed to forget anything ever happened. Savannah said you were in denial, but you believed you weren’t. You told her it was just the atmosphere in the air that night, the both of you had consumed a little bit of alcohol and it might’ve just been that. No one stopped teasing you though. On every possible occasion, they’d ask you if you’d kissed him yet, or when your next date it, or started singing Don’t Go Breaking My Heart randomly. You just shook it off every time, finding it amusing how consumed the cast was with this ‘relationship’ you had with Charlie. There was nothing more going on than just a really, really tight friendship. Until the dance scene happened. Your character, Dani, was supposed to go to a school dance with her crush, but she was nervous because she had never slow danced with anyone before. When she tells Luke, he insisted on teaching her, saying he’d gone to plenty of school dances back in ’94 and ’95 before he died. You and Charlie know this choreography by heart, you’ve been doing it for weeks on end at bootcamp and during rehearsals. It had always just been fun and games, the two of you being immaculate dancers and bouncing off of each other so well because of your tight friendship. “I could teach you?” Charlie says as Luke, stepping closer to you. You raise your eyebrows at him. “I’ve gone to numerous dances in my days, Dani…” One corner of his mouth curls up into a teasing smirk. “Unless you want to embarrass yourself in front of… Jake.” He emphasizes the name of your fictional crush, to which you react with wide eyes and a blush spreading on your cheeks. “Come on, Dani!” He reaches out for your hand, which you place hesitantly in his. Dani being able to see ghosts, is also able to make them corporeal. The lights on set dim a little, except for one spot on the pair in the middle of the studio, and then the music starts playing through the speakers. Charlie starts singing the song they’d learned at bootcamp, one the cast wrote together during the quarantine. The atmosphere in the studio has suddenly become really intense. You can feel the butterflies erupting in your stomach as the man in front of you sings to you, mere inches away from each other as he leads you in this beautiful dance Paul Becker and Tori Caro choreographed for you. Just like at the karaoke booth, it feels like the two of you are the only people on set. Just you and him. You and Charlie. You and your best friend. There’s no denying you have feeling for him anymore. You knew you did, you just told yourself it wasn’t a good idea and suppressed those feelings, pushing them down. It worked for a while. Until now. “Cut!” Kenny yells after your scene. You step away from Charlie, glancing down at the floor as you try your hardest to hide your flustered face. “That was perfect, guys! It really looks like the two of you were in love!” he claps his hands in excitement, then tells them to do it again. After four takes of the dance, Kenny tells you to go and take a break. Without saying another word to Charlie, you rush off set and towards your trailer where you sit down on a chair, trying to calm your breathing. Charlie might not like you the way you like him. Admitting to these feelings might just ruin everything the two of you have. With this in mind, you grab your phone and text Savannah, asking her to come over to your trailer. Maybe she could help you. “Are you okay?” she asks when she enters and finds you staring at the ceiling. “No…” you reply and take a deep breath, “I think I’m in love with my best friend?” “Oh, sweetie…” Savannah sighs, and pulls you up to take you in a hug, “I know…” You pull her away again to face her properly. “What do you mean ‘you know’?” “Everybody knows,” she starts, “The two of you have been inseparable since the day you met, and everyone can see the way you look at each other. Plus, your duet the other night was a little intense for it to be a platonic one.” She chuckles, and you can’t help but chuckle too. She then grabs her phone from her back pocket, opening Instagram. “You know fans have caught on too, right?” She shows you the comments on some of Charlie’s pictures on his account. One picture is of the two of you, napping in Julie’s bed on set, cuddled up. He even posted pictures from your hikes on your days off. All of them are bombarded with comments from fans saying, ‘I ship it!’ or ‘Y/S/N’. Sav then opens her dm’s which are flooded with fans asking if you and Charlie are dating yet, and how the two of them are so in love with each other. “Charlie isn’t in love with me?” you deny, not believing one bit about it. “He is, though…” This does not come from Savannah’s mouth. Your eyes widen when you recognize the voice, and peek behind Savannah to find your best friend standing at your open trailer door. “Sav, can you give us a minute?” he asks the younger girl. “More than a minute,” she chirps, offering you a wink before leaving the trailer. Charlie steps in completely and moves until he’s in front of you. He takes your hands in his, and chuckles at your overwhelmed and confused expression. “Are you okay?” he asks, that beautiful smile of his persistent on his face. “Y—yeah? No? I’m not sure?” you sigh, trying to get your thoughts in order. “Charlie, wha—?” “Can I talk? I’ve been going over this conversation in my mind a billion times, and if I don’t say it now, I think I’m going to forget what I’m supposed to say…” You nod your head in response. “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since the very first time I saw you walking in at bootcamp. You looked adorable with your little nervous smile and your polite hellos to everybody. I knew from that moment on that I wanted to get to know you better, and that I wanted to become more than just friends…I didn’t think you’d feel the same way, so I told myself that it was okay if we’d just stay friends. Especially since your character kind of hates mine and you bring Dani to life so convincingly, that I was almost sure you hated me too,” you chuckle at that, “But I can’t hide it anymore, Y/N. I am so embarrassingly in love with you that I could’ve kissed you after that scene we just did and that I could kiss you right now even though I’m—” before he can finish his sentence, you lean up and crash your lips onto his, your hands flying into his hair. He’s a little startled at first, but quickly melts into the kiss and presses you closer to him. “I am so embarrassingly in love with you too, Charlie,” you whisper when you pull away, pressing your forehead against his. “They’re going to be so relieved,” you tell him with a chuckle. He frowns his eyebrows at you. “Who?” he asks. You take his hand in yours and lead him towards the door of your trailer, pushing it open and making it bump against whoever was closest to the door. All of your cast mates scramble, trying to act natural while Owen rubs his forehead since he was the one that got a door in his face. “Ah, them!” Charlie chuckles. “Thanks for the door in my face, guys,” Owen says disgruntled. “That’s on you, buddy,” you tell him with a grin. “Don’t you guys have a scene to shoot or something?” Their eyes widen at the realization and, after yelling at the two how happy they are for them, rush to set in a hurry. “So, where were we?” Charlie turns back to you when everyone’s gone. “Don’t you have a scene with them?” “Shit!” he grumbles and jumps off the small steps in front of the trailer. He starts running towards set but turns around almost immediately to you and kisses your lips quickly, but sweetly, and then runs off. You watch him with an amused smile on your face. There was nothing to be afraid about after all and nothing changed between you two. You were still the best of friends, just friends that kiss and are in love with each other. But both of you happy.

Taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @parkeret @lukeys-giggle @gingerxarmy @lovesanimals

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use-your-imagination98 · 3 years

Text

If I was writing HSMTMTS S3

So, we know the drama kids go to theater camp:

Have the theater camp be run by Ashlyn and EJ’s grandmother: Penny Caswell

This would lead to Caswell Family Drama

which would lead to introducing the grandfather: George Caswell

We already know that George and Penny met at Duke. George was going to be a lawyer and Penny was studying theater. Penny got pregnant her senior year with Cash. She lost her chance at being a Broadway star to stay home and raise Cash (and eventually Dennis)

George bought the camp for Penny to shut up her complaints that he got to be this big shot lawyer and she never got to follow her dreams. George doesn’t understand/like musicals/theater.

George is close with Ashlyn, while Penny is close with EJ. Penny doesn’t mind that EJ is still exploring life, while George is furious that EJ isn’t going to Duke. Penny internally sees a lot of herself in Ashlyn and therefore pushes her extremely hard.

When Ash and EJ introduce Gina and Big Red, it’s Big Red who Penny doesn’t like. She thinks he is below Ashlyn’s standards and spends all summer trying to set Ashlyn up with another boy at the camp who has huge dreams.

Gina, for the first time in her life, is settled and happy. She helps EJ discover what he wants in life and helps EJ and Ashlyn with their family troubles.

Enter Ricky... He brings Lily along with him to summer theater camp. Lily puts on a fake front, but Gina senses that she is being fake.

Soon, an instagram account is created and begins bullying the East High Drama kids: Putting a pig’s nose on a pic of Ashlyn, a DUNCE cap on a pic of Seb, etc. One picture is revealed during each episode starting with 2 and ending with 7/8. All these pictures were taken at camp. So, the instagram has to be run by someone there. Gina, Kourtney, Big Red, and Carlos are the loudest voices telling Ricky that its Lily. But Ricky continues to defend her.

Gina call out Lily at one of the campfire sing-a-longs and Lily acts all dumb and hurt. Ricky and Gina argue (#Rina angst). Big Red breaks them apart and pulls Ricky aside. Red tries to reason with Ricky and explain why everyone thinks its Lily. Ricky blows up at Red and complains that the reason he’s team Lily is because ever since Big Red started dating Ashlyn, he’s changed and doesn’t have time for Ricky. Big Red goes off (#Redky angst)

Howie, seeing how Lily’s lies are pulling the friend group apart, pulls Kourtney aside and admits Lily stole the harness and he knew about it. Kourtney fumes. Breaks up with Howie and we get a girl bonding moment with her and Gina and Ashlyn. Kourtney shifts focus on making costumes for the camp’s summer musicale. Her costume prowess impresses Penny and Penny offers Kourtney a job at Caswell Camp anytime she would like one and writes her a letter of recommendation to Kourtney’s top college.

After Lily posted the Seb picture with a DUNCE cap on him, Seb confides in Carlos that he is dyslexic and learning is hard for him and when people put him down or call him stupid, it really hurts. Carlos decides that he comes from money and decides (with Seb’s permission) to hire Seb an amazing tutor to help him with school.

So, to recap: Ricky is fighting with EVERYONE, EJ is fighting with his grandpa, Ashlyn with her grandma, EVERYONE but Lily is mad at Ricky, Howie and Kourtney are on the outs but Queen Kourtney is thriving elsewhere.

As for Miss Jenn and Mr. Mazzara, Mr. M took the California Job and Miss Jenn is trying to make it work with Mike, but with every passing day she regrets it. She talks to Penny about her troubles. Penny explains her story with George and Miss Jenn realizes she wants Mr. Mazzara, that she is forcing herself to work in Mike’s life, but her and Ben just click.

CUTE COUPLE MOMENTS:

3x05: It’s the 4th of July and this episode contains the Seblos talk about Seb having dyslexia. In this episode, Seb confides in Carlos and Carlos decides he will do any activity that Seb wants to do that day. At night, during the fireworks, Carlos had EJ and Big Red spell out “I LOVE YOU SEB” in fireworks. Seb says ILY2 and they kiss under the fireworks.

3x08: Big Red is fed up with Penny trying to push Ashlyn closer to the camp guy and during a conversation with Ashlyn, he gets super short and testy. Ashlyn puts it together that Red is worried again that he’s not enough for her and tells her grandma to back off. She loves Big Red. It dawns on her what she just admitted and plans to tell Big Red under the star light (since lights are their thing). She drags him to a midnight picnic under the stars and they say their ILYs.

Portwell are cute all season. EJ defends his relationship with Gina to his grandfather pretty early in the season. They are full of fluff all season... until 3x12. EJ decides to go to Penn State (or any out of Utah college) for communications and videography. And Gina (once again) gets the rug pulled out from under her, and confused about what that means for her and EJ.

After her talk with Penny in 3x10, Miss Jenn misses the beginning of the camp musicale in 3x11 and flies to California to confess her feelings for Mr. Mazzara. They finally kiss and Mr. M admits California isn’t for him. He’s more of a Utah guy anyway.

Howie tries all summer to get Kourtney’s forgiveness, but she just won’t budge. During the camp musicale he sings another AMAZING ballad and says an impromptu speech about how in awe he is of her and how he screwed up. Kourtney is touched and agrees to start again but he has to gain her trust back.

George and Penny have a sweet moment in 3x11 or 3x12 after he watches Ashlyn and EJ sing and starts to see what Penny sees in the musical/theater stuff.

Ricky, being on the rocks with all his friends, starts to wonder if they were right about Lily. He steals her phone while she’s taking a swim in the lake and sees that she truly is the one behind the horrible pictures of his friends. He confronts her the morning of the musicale and they break up. Throughout the musicale he makes amends with the gang, especially a really sweet Big Red/Ricky moment. Then, the season ends with Ricky looking for Gina to apologize after the show, and she's sitting in the dark, alone by the lake. He notices she’s crying and she admits she doesn’t know what her and EJ’s future is going to be. He sits besides her and wraps an arm around her. SEASON ENDS.

Musical Moments:

The East High Drama Club does another Instagram video but this time to “What Time is It”

a Miss Jenn/Penny duet (HSM’s Ms Darbus and HSMTMTS’s Ms Darbus)

a Kourtney/Ashlyn/Gina acoustic friendship song after Kourtney is hurt by Howie

George singing to Penny as a surprise after he understands her love of musicals for the first time

of course a bunch of others, but that all depends on what musical they do.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! I liked season 2, but it wasn’t cohesive. Plots were dropped and the core of the characters and friendships were lost or forgotten. I feel like although the characters would be going through individual drama, all their drama is connected and plots aren’t dropped the next episode. Also, I’m neither a Portwell or a Rina, I ship more of Gina and happiness so I tried to give both Portwells and Rinas stuff they would enjoy.

P.S. NiNi is in California writing/recording music. I don’t think Olivia is likely coming back so I had all this in mind without NiNi being on the show.

NEW CAST:

Alyson Reed as Penny Caswell (uhhh hello! Having the OG Ms Darbus apart of HSMTMTS would be perfect!)

Jon Lindstrom as George Caswell (you guys probably don’t know him but he’s a goooood actor, works for ABC who is owned by Disney, and can sing)

#hsmtmts #hsmtmts season 3 #Portwell #rina #redlyn #seblos #kowie #licky #bored out of my mind #thought this up #I just want a more cohesive season #and more than just relationship drama

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outofsstyles · 3 years

Text

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️ PART 1 ☁️

word count: 20.3k

warnings: language

Sweet tea in the summer

Cross your heart, won't tell no other

And though I can't recall your face

I still got love for you

- Seven, Taylor Swift

“Can you bend your arms one last time, please?” Harry quickly angles his arms, holding them at chest height to show Marcus what he’s referring to.

He stands in front of Harry, dressed in his full Gaston outfit for the last fitting before opening night. The atelier has gone hectic again now that everyone’s gotten back from their lunch breaks, a mess of fabrics and papers taking over every surface in the room. There’s a low mesh of voices blending with Moyra’s playlist playing on a speaker that’s probably lost somewhere by now. Someone rushes across the room in a speed walk and almost bumps into Harry, muttering a quick apology before disappearing behind the doors leading to storage.

As the week approached, Harry was warned by pretty much every single one of his coworkers about the chaos that it would be. After all, it’s the last week of rehearsals, and the first time the actors would get in characters with their full costumes. All arrangements have to be done by Saturday morning, is what Lisa said with her stern voice the previous Friday, with no space for wardrobe malfunctions. She meant it as a warning, but Harry took it as motivation, knowing he works better under stressful situations — which is not the healthiest working ethic, he admits, but it gets the job done.

On top of it all, your unprompted visit has surprisingly given him the boost he needed to finish up most of his work with an entire day to spare.

It’s only been two days since you appeared on his front door with a Brit statuette and a promise to make up for the years lost in each other’s lives. Your suggestion to go out for a coffee quickly showed itself to be a bit more complicated than both of you thought it would; as neither of you expected the conflict in your schedules when making those plans. This was a busy week for Harry and an even busier opening weekend. The only time he’ll actually be able to catch a breather is by Monday, which, coincidentally, is the same day you’re catching a flight back to America.

Still, none of you seemed to want to wait another week to meet again. So he proposed to meet after his Friday shift. Which is why he spent the entirety of Thursday inside the costume studio, being the last one to leave just so he could wrap everything a few hours early to meet you back at his flat — by your request.

Even with a day cut short, however, there’s been barely enough time for him to focus on anything other than measurements and fittings. It’s a good thing when it comes to his nerves; the tight schedule giving him no space to let any butterfly drift on his belly. Without the anxiousness on the way and work to keep himself busy, it’s as if the clock has gone with a leap. He sewed back details that had fallen off an extra’s costume while swallowing back the salad he’d brought for lunch, made sure Lumiere’s candleholders were fixed in place, and that no feathers from Plumette would sweep around the stage. Now, after having to make an adjustment to Gaston’s shirt - thanks to an unexpected problem with the stitching - he’s finally able to allow his shoulders to relax a bit.

Marcus mimics the movement shown to him, keeping his arms still as Harry takes a step to examine the character’s signature red shirt with his fingers fiddling with the tip of the measuring tape hanging around his shoulders.

“Does it still feel tight around your chest?” Harry asks, noting how the stitching on the sides is not stretching anymore. “Or under your arms?”

“Nope,” Marcus answers with a pop, relaxing his arms back down when Harry turns to write something down. “Fits like a glove, mate.”

He clicks his pen down on the table. “Then we’re all good.”

“So, I’m free to go?” He jumps down from the platform, loosening the black leather belt that’s fastened around his waist.

“You’re free to go,” Harry confirms after a double-check at the file sitting on the table, making sure there’s no other change that’s needed on his costume. “Just put everything back in the bag and hang it on the rack.”

“Yes, sir.” Marcus shifts with the curtains of the changing room before disappearing inside of it.

“And make sure the label is still stuck to it!” Harry calls over his shoulder, listening to the mumbled response before turning back to the files on his hands.

While he waits for Marcus to return, he gathers everything he needs to leave. A quick look at his phone that was left forgotten on top of a roll of blue-dyed camel tells him it’s around four, meaning he’s just in time. Checking the pages he’s been focusing on, Harry walks to the rack, selecting the two bags carrying the costumes he still needs to make adjustments on, placing them carefully over his work table before making his way to fetch his backpack.

As soon as Marcus is out, he gives a double check to see if the label is still stuck to the bag he just hanged - not entirely trusting the cast’s attention to those details - before collecting his belongings and heading for the door. He bids his goodbyes on his way out, catching the attention of Alice, who’s standing on a platform near the door while Moyra works on the skirt of her yellow dress with a few pins placed between her lips.

“Going already, H?” She asks, her eyes big as she looks down at him.

He stops in his tracks with a hand on the door handle gnawing on his inner cheek as he turns to face her.

As soon as he meets her gaze, he notices the subtle tinge of pink painting over her cheekbones. It’s something that Harry’s gotten used to by now when speaking with Alice.

He could tell she was shy from the moment he got to meet the entire cast, always standing quietly to the side reading her script, keeping her chats restricted to the same two people (which is funny enough of a contrast with her stage persona, considering she has the main role). But with Harry, she’s always been especially timid, and it didn’t take too long for him to learn from Moyra that the girl had taken a fancy on him — if the blushing wasn’t a big indicator.

It’s sweet, he reckons. She’s lovely enough, from the limited amount of conversations they had, and Harry finds it that maybe if she opened up a bit it would be nice to get to know her. Julia’s the one that always pesters him about it, though urging for Harry to make a move from the moment he told her about the girl’s crush on him. She says his romantic side gets especially annoying when he’s lonely, and he knows she’s right, but would never admit it to her face. So he just brushes it off, saying he’ll take the time to talk to Alice.

Except now. Harry knows he’s on the clock if he wants to make it in time to meet you. The last thing he wants is for you to have to stand on the street because he got caught up in her mutters.

So he keeps his grip on the handle, hoping it’s enough of a hint for the conversation to be cut short, as he motions his arm that holds the clothes’ bags at the crook of his elbow. “Yeah, I- Lisa let me work on these at home.”

“So you’re not having a drink with us tonight?” Alice rushes out, eyes darting up at him, and her blush gets a shade stronger. When her lips part again, her voice comes out a bit lower, “It’s the last one before opening night, and you haven’t gone in a while...”

“Harry’s too cool to hang out with us.” Moyra barges in the conversation, glancing teasingly at Harry from over her shoulder as she takes the last pin from between her lips.

“Shut up, Mo.” He rolls her eyes slightly, grip tightening on the door as he prepares to leave.

Before he can do so, Alice speaks up, her eyes falling again to her fingers that poke at her nails. “You know, bringing work home sometimes can cause stress… And stuff.” She peeks up at Harry, shrugging slightly. “I read about it somewhere, anyway.”

“I think I’ll be fine, really, but thanks.” Turning the knob, he cracks open the door. “Just got something today.”

Moyra doesn’t waste a second before blurting, “A date.”

“Don’t.” He warns with a sigh. “I’m seeing an old friend.”

“That’s nice.” Alice nods.

“Yeah.” He takes a step out, being painfully aware of how he’s a second away from being late. “Uhm, I gotta get going then.”

The girl looks up at him fully then, giving a small wave. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, yeah, for sure.” He calls over his shoulder as he’s out the door.

The tube’s just starting to get filled again with people like Harry, who are likely on their journey back home. Shoulders tense and frowns scrunching their faces, they barely pay any mind to him as he finds a spot opposite to the exit doors — preferring to stay closer to them as to get off quicker. He leans against one of the many metal rails that outline the inside of the train car, his vans bouncing nervously as he adjusts the bags at the crook of his elbow, feeling as if today it’s traveling slower than usual.

Picking up his phone to check the time once again, he’s met with a text. It’s not from you, as he’d hoped, but from Julia. A picture of her and Blake, faces squished together as they force a smile a bit too big for the camera, their hairs meshing together in a mix - Julia’s darker curls tangling with Blake’s shorter blonde locks - and Harry can just about make out the outline of a bright orange sofa from Blake’s living room behind them. The message that reads under it is short, yet playfully demanding.

Juls: impromptu movie night!!! bring chocolate!!!

He smiles down at the screen, but it quickly turns into a frown as he realizes that he won’t be able to make it. Biting down his bottom lip, his thumb hovers above the keyboard, not sure how to respond. There’s not a chance he can fully tell the truth to her, not over text. Even if he brushes over it, he knows his friend, and how nosy she can be sometimes — which has never bothered him before until he found himself in this position. He contemplates lying. A white one, there is. Just say he got caught up with work or something along those lies. Something he knows she’d understand. But the simple thought of it makes him feel guilty; as if he’s leaving her out.

So, he opts for the ladder, pushing the responsibility for his future self to deal with the interrogation afterwards when he sees her again. Maybe if he finishes the tv show she’s been nagging him to watch in time, it’ll be enough of a distraction so she won’t ask him many questions. His answer comes a bit slower than usual — not only due to his internal battle but also for finding it a bit tricky to type with one hand. By the time he clicks the send button, Julia has already sent enough interrogation points to cover half of the screen.

Can’t tonighttt got something...

Juls: what’s something

I’ll tell you later, send Blake a hug for me.

Juls: no :(

With a chuckle, he pockets his phone, noticing he’s just a couple of steps away from his own. Once he’s out of the station, just a couple blocks away from his building, the bundle of nerves he’s been avoiding all day sweeps in. They’re not overwhelming, they don’t make his chest tighten or his palms sweat, no. They’re the nerves that give him a spring to his step, that make him take deeper breaths, and that speed his heart just the tiniest bit.

It’s a strange feeling to be going home with the sky still shining a clear blue, instead of the purple-pink that comes just before the sun hugs the horizon. A cloudless day. Thanks to the previous streak of rainfalls that washed away the angry greys. The colors painting his surroundings seem somehow more vibrant, more welcoming. The greens of the trees greet him with a gentle breeze. The maroons of the bricked buildings warm under the sunlight. Even the yellow and the pink of his dirty vans feel a bit brighter as he strolls around the corner of his block.

It’s almost like it matches the way he feels. And Harry knows that from now on, with spring at its peak and summer becoming more present, the weather is bound to become even more pleasant. He hopes it’s some sort of sign. Maybe the universe is getting gentler with him. He’d like to think that.

Part of him still dwells on the feeling the slightest bit, finding a strange sort of uncertainty over how quickly you’ve got at the palm of your hand again. He barely got any sleep after you left his house just thinking about it, actually. There’s no denying that your presence again has brought back the fondest memories of his teenage years. Ones he tried too hard to bury as to ease the ache in his heart that came with them for a long time. But now, having you back, it’s as if they’ve taken almost a hopeful feeling. The reminders of how close you used to be came crashing into him like a wave, enveloping him. That was the first time he ever opened up so fully to someone, after all. And that comfort of having someone that knows him better than he knows himself is something he craves so deeply within himself that, as soon as even the slimmest possibility of having it once again presented itself, he grasped it so quickly that now he’s afraid he’s letting himself dive too deep.

He’s so inside of his head, thoughts rushing inside his mind, that he almost glances over you when he finally approaches his building.

Paying little to no mind to your cream trousers as you kneel on the sidewalk, a paper bag propped under your arm and a disposable cup holder in your hand hugging two paper cups, you focus on a collie that’s enjoying your hand caressing the fur down its neck. A gold pendant from your necklace reflects the weak rays of sunlight, glowing in a contrast with the black of the short-sleeved turtleneck you’re wearing, tucked under your trousers.

It’s only when he lets his eyes focus on the company you have that he immediately recognizes the pup, as well as the older lady holding the leash while smiling down at you interacting with her pet.

Margaret is one of the oldest residents of the building, taking a permanent spot at the very first apartment on the first floor. She was the first neighbor he got to meet, bringing him homemade jelly tarts on his first weekend at his apartment. They chatted for an afternoon and, after admitting he’s not the best cook, she vowed to bring him some of her dishes every time she could. And true to her world, around twice a week she knocks on his door with a warm trail and a sweet smile. Harry likes to visit her as often as he can, knowing she lost her husband a few years before he moved, and has no children to keep her company — that is, apart from her collie, Duchess.

“Harry!” Margaret is the first to acknowledge him with a grin, her voice causing your head to snap up from where you kneel. “You’re early today, my love.”

“Actually, I’m a bit late.” He chuckles, glancing at where you’re standing up while sweeping your trousers. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh! No worries, I just got here.” You brush it off, finding a place next to him before gazing back at Margaret. The older lady attempts to look discreetly between the two of you, brows arched, and Harry knows from the look in her eyes he’ll probably have to face another interrogation later on. Though, in this case, he’s sure she’s oblivious of your public image. “And, thankfully, I bumped into these lovely ladies who kept me company.”

“Stop that! You’re a very lovely lady yourself, darling.” Margaret reaches for Harry’s wrist as she smiles at you, giving it a squeeze, and he quickly nods, agreeing with her. She looks up at him, lips tight in a grin that’s enough for him to realize her assumptions about why you’re here, and, from the way you’re holding back a laugh yourself, he’s sure you’ve noticed, too. He clears his throat, gazing down at his shoes, trying to cover up the warmth that creeps up his neck, and that seems to be enough for Margaret to take a hint, letting his wrist go with another gentle squeeze. “I’ll leave you two be, Duchess and I still have to grab groceries before it gets dark.”

Harry scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “‘Ave a good day, Marg.”

“You too, Lovie.” She gives his hip a soft pinch before turning to you. “It was lovely meeting you.”

“Right back at you!” You answer excitedly, waving back as the older lady starts her stroll. “Have a nice walk! Bye, Duchess.”

For a second, you quietly watch the duo walk further away from where you stand. A faint hum of car engines can be heard, being cut only by the high-pitched voices of two children, seeming not much older than ten, as they appear at the other side of the street. The peek over your shoulder is quick before you turn your back to them, turning fully to Harry with a slight smile tugging at the side of your lips.

He clears his throat again, adjusting the bags he’s still holding. “Hi.”

“Hey.” You answer in a beat, nodding towards him. “Your hair is down.”

“It is, yeah.” His voice comes lower than he intended, the warmth still present on his cheeks, and he quickly motions towards the front door. While fiddling with the side pocket of his backpack in search of his keys, he picks up as you lean into the bricked wall next to the entrance.

“It looks great, really! Wasn’t expecting it to be this long.”

“Yea, I- Thanks.” He shoots you a look once he fetches the keys. “Have been growing it out for a few months now.”

You give him a knowing hum. “Any reason for it?”

The click of your boots against the wooden steps echoes around the narrow walls of the building’s staircase. Harry leads the way up, climbing the steps in a bit of an awkward position as he tries to look back at you.“Uh, not really, no.” He shrugs. “Just having fun with it, I guess.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be!” You exclaim. “It really compliments you, I mean it.”

“Thank you.” He rubs his nose, coming to a stop as both of you reach his front door. “You- Uh, I- You look very nice, as well.”

“Oh!” You look down at your outfit with a chuckle. “I rarely go around this fancy, but I had a meeting today.” You brush it off. “Which is also not an excuse for me to dress up but I didn’t know most people there so I had to make a good impression, or whatever.”

A dimple pokes at his cheek as you ramble, a habit you seem to haven’t lost. He unlocks the door with ease, pushing it in and motioning for you to walk in. “‘S nice, very pretty, I- I mean, your trousers are very pretty.”

Your smile grows as you support yourself on the wall while toeing off your shoes. If you notice the blush on his cheeks, you don’t mention it. “Thank you! Means a lot coming from you, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you’re the fashion student, after all.” He’s not sure why your answer comes in a bit of a letdown, almost as if he was expecting you to say something else. “By the way, I got us some goodies on the way. Didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I just took a wild guess. Here, try it— If you don’t like it you can have mine, it’s a cappuccino, very sweet.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, watching for his reaction as he sips on the hot beverage. “So...?”

“It’s perfect.” He takes another small sip of the cup you handed to him, trying not to make a face at the slightly bitter taste that comes with it (he’s still not the biggest coffee fan, if he’s honest). He makes his way to lay the bags that now have slid down his elbow at the arm of the couch. Noticing you’re still standing awkwardly by the front door looking around, he points at the counter next to him, quickly sweeping his arm over it to brush the stack of papers to the side. “You can set everything in here, please feel at home.”

This is the first time you properly get to have a look around his place, which is weird enough of a concept when you take into consideration it’s not the first time you’ve come here (and the flash memory of that night alone is enough for you to fight back a cringe). You recall the path to your right leading towards the bathroom where you spent an hour sitting inside his bathtub before having to answer a not-very-pleased Sonia calling your phone. The rest of the place, however, is a bit of a blur in your memory, so you take this moment to take in his home.

Surely, the space itself is quite modest, but it doesn’t mean there’s not a lot to take in. From your position across from him, the island separating the two of you, you can still scan most of his living room.

You like that it’s not completely tidy (those sorts of crystal clean homes always freak you out a bit). Upon a first glance, it’s clearly the residence of an undergrad. A couple textbooks pile on top of a center table. A shut laptop sitting next to the cushions on the navy blue couch. Even a few houseplants amongst picture frames spread on shelves and stands. It’s cute, you think, but you barely sweep your eyes over those details.

What calls your attention are the glimpses of the life you’ve missed on. It’s the magazines decorated with sticky notes. It’s the rolls of fabric peeking out from the couch arm. It’s a box of yarn tucked in the far corner, on top of other boxes that are shut closed. Those details seem to have replaced his canvases and paint sets. It makes you wonder if he still keeps them hidden somewhere. If there’s still anything left of the life he had the last time you saw him.

Oddly enough, you smile at the thought. Somehow glad that he found his passion, even if you weren’t there to support him through it. And it brings you back to why you’re here in the first place. Make up for the lost time.

“Thank you for agreeing to do this here.” You speak up as you focus back on taking the sweets you so carefully picked out from inside the bag (you weren’t entirely sure of his dessert preferences now, which caused the slightest rise of panic as you tried to decide on what to pick from the vast array of options). “I know it’s weird to ask you to, like, have me at your house instead of just meeting at a cafe, but the one I usually go to is closed for renovations and I get a bit wary at, uh, public places.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind having you here.” A small grin tugs at his lips, and it’s hard for you to ignore the warmth that comes to you with it.

You clap your hands together, gazing around quickly before focusing back on him. “So! I finally get to properly see your place— sorry about that the other night, by the way, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He chuckles. “It’s really okay, like I said, don’t mind having you here.” He repeats, clearing his throat. “It’s, uh, not that big but-”

“I love it, seems so cozy.” You interrupt before he can go on any further, hating the way he feels the need to apologize to you for something like the size of his home. “And it’s a perfect place to have just for yourself.”

“Actually, I-” His lips stay apart for half a second before he continues, blurting the next words out as if it’s a confession, “I have a flatmate.”

“Oh!” You blink in surprise, taking a second to process the information.

Of course he does. Why did you even think otherwise? Most people share flats these days. Despite that, the possibility of him living with someone didn’t even cross your mind. It’s hard to ignore when it comes to you the riskiness of it. Whoever this flatmate is, you don’t know them, and the possibility of them spilling anything makes you a tad uneasy. It could easily ruin any possibility of a friendship with Harry before you can even get close to him again.

There’s a wave of anxiety that hits you with the prospect of being the cause of his face printed on the cover of money-hungry tabloids, but, before you get deeper in your own nerves than you already have, you sum what’s left of composure within you to ask, “Do they... Have you told them about-- well, me?”

He tears up a piece of banana bread, picking at it as he shakes his head, clearly unaware of your change in moods. “Not, really. She’s at her girlfriend’s for the week, so I haven’t been able to see her.”

You try to hide the way your eyes widen the slightest bit with the information that said flatmate is a she. “Is she a fashion student as well?”

“No, she’s a journalist. She works— well, interns for a music magazine, actually.”

Of course she’s a fucking journalist. When you think it couldn’t get any worse. “Anything that would ring a bell?”

“I don’t think so, they’re quite small.” He shrugs, sipping at his coffee. “Don’t even have an office, they do most of the work online.”

“That’s interesting.” You nod, nails picking at a few crumbs dotted around the counter. Scrunching your lips, you try to consider how to word what you’re about to say. Knowing this conversation would have to be brought up eventually doesn’t make it any less awkward for you to have it. You peek up at him from under your lashes, only to find his oblivious state as he smiles back at you. “Harry… Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Course.”

Inhaling deeply, you attempt not to let your voice come out as calculated as the words that roll out of your lips are. “Could you… Just for a bit, not mention anything about me to her?”

Harry’s expression falls to a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Just--” You pause, resting your cup down before turning to face him fully. “Just for a little while, I-- You have to understand that I would like to be a bit more private… About us?”

“Us?”

“Our friendship… I-” There it is again, the gust of panic. It makes you spit out the words before you can even process them, “I wouldn’t want any headlines.”

This only seems to worsen everything it seems, as Harry sits back on his stool, putting more space between you two. He shakes his head, “Julia would never do that.”

“I’m sure she wouldn't!” You rush, attempting to fix it. “It’s just… She could mention it to someone, and-- I don’t know, these things get out of hand really fast.”

“So you want me to lie to her?”

“Not lie.” You chew at your bottom lip, sure that you’re a word away from getting kicked out. “Just, not to mention it… Just for a little while, it’s not like it can be a secret forever.”

“Right.” He slowly starts to nod, falling quiet for a beat too long. “Sure, yeah, okay.”

You exhale in relief, softening your expression. “Thank you.”

A silence falls between the two of you and, for the first time since your reconnection, it’s not much of a comfortable one. You have to swallow back the guilt that threatens to take over, knowing the awkwardness is mainly your fault for dealing with your request in such an awful way. Of course, you would have to have the privacy talk with Harry eventually, ideally being sooner rather than later. But asking him to lie and insinuating that his friend could use you to sell her magazine is most certainly the worst way you could’ve chosen to go about it. And there’s nothing to stop yourself from feeling completely stupid while picking at the brownie in front of you.

There’s a part of you, one that comes a bit louder now, that ponders if even bother continuing this in the first place; if it wouldn’t be better to spare him the burden that the simple association with you will bring into his life. You know it would be easier, better for him even, if you just collect your stuff now and walk out the door to never contact him again. If you excused this meeting as a lapse of rationality on your part. And just like that, you could let him go on with his regular life, having to come to terms with him painting a picture of you as another arrogant celebrity that just toyed with him for a bit before she got bored. It would hurt, sure, but this part of you tries to reason that it’s the best you could do for him.

Another part, though, a more selfish one that is, can’t bear the thought of standing up from your stool and just simply turn your back to this as if it never happened. No, you can’t bring yourself to do that. Not when meeting Harry again has brought you a sense of comfort you hadn’t even realized you’ve been lacking for months now. Not when he feels like the only person who doesn’t have an image of you shadowed by this big bright monster of fame — one that calls everyone’s attention before they can even take a proper look at you. You know he doesn’t need that, because of all the versions you present of yourself, he’s one of the few people that know which is the real one.

This part of you makes you act thoughtlessly, letting your emotions speak louder than your brain. It makes you want to follow the immediate sense of relief that comes in knowing there’s no need to change anything to fit an imaginary narrative someone has made of you. There’s no need to do that with Harry. You’re so desperate to keep that ease that comes with being in his presence, that any thought of how it’ll eventually come crashing down on you is pushed to the back of your mind.

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you risk a glance up at him. To your relief, there’s not a crease between his brows like you expected. He doesn’t seem upset about your question anymore, his shoulders relaxed while he focuses on tearing a piece of the banana bread and shoving it into his mouth. The realization makes you straighten your posture, a sudden rush of determination flushing through your body. You’ve come here to get to know him again, and you’re not letting a poor start weigh you down. And, as your gaze falls to the costume bags lying across the couch arm behind him, an inquiry that has been floating through your mind comes back to you.

“So…” You clear your throat, leaning your elbow to rest on top of the counter as you rest your chin on your palm. Harry’s eyes shoot up at you, and you grin a bit as you point to the spot behind him. “Are you going to tell me a bit about that?”

His brows frown for a second as he looks back, finding the bags that called your attention from the moment you saw him on the sidewalk. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, last time we spoke you were talking about working in a gallery.” You circle your cup in your hand, bringing it up to your lips but not yet taking a sip. “And now, I have the information that you dropped out just a wee after; how did that happen?”

"It took a while for it to happen, actually.” He crosses his arms on top of the counter, leaning in slightly. “Dunno if you remember but, uhm… This might be a bit awkward.”

Your brows raise towards your hairline, his words only enhancing your curiosity. “It’s okay, whatever you feel comfortable sharing.”

“I don’t mind it, just- well, after we broke up,” He starts, clearing his throat as his gaze searches for yours, eyes flickering between your own in search of a reaction. He was right. This is awkward. You try to remain a calm expression, nodding in encouragement for him to continue — although you want nothing more than to flinch at the words. “I was, uh, well, sad.” He lets out a quick chuckle. “A friend of mine- James, dunno if you remember them- they recommended a knitting group class kinda thing that they were in every Wednesday, told me it was quite therapeutic and calming, and stuff.”

“That’s cute.” You comment, trying to brush off the way your chest tightens at the brief mention of his feelings post-breakup, knowing how hard it was for both of you.

He smiles at you before continuing, “Got the hang of it pretty fast, actually. James was right being therapeutic. After a bit, I started going twice a week.” He reaches to brush his fingers over a napkin. You watch as his fingertips slide gently along its edge. “The lady that taught it, Laura- you’d ‘ve loved her, used to bake us biscuits every week. She had graduated in fashion, actually owned a boutique for a good fifty years.”

“Holy shit,” Your lips part in awe. “Can you imagine doing something for that long?”

“‘S exactly what got me thinking.” He peeks up at you, lips twitching up. “Around that time I was so confused about what to do with an art degree, and I realized it wasn’t really something I saw myself doing for decades on end.”

Understanding, you give him a warm smile, toying with the lid of your cup as to not reach for his hand. Even though you weren’t around anymore at the time the events he’s describing took place, you still remember how confused he was right from the start. Harry’s always had an artist in him, and that’s something that wasn’t hard for anyone to see, but it was clear then how he wasn’t completely satisfied with his path. Back then, before you two parted ways, you recall thinking he was still adjusting with uni, and that eventually, he’d find his passion within the arts. It never occurred to you he might not be in the field he loved, after all.

Looking back at it now, it makes sense.

“Laura helped me a lot during that time. She was the one that even introduced fashion as a possibility for me, we would talk for hours.” It’s hard to miss the fond smile that tugs his lips at the memory. “She even started inviting me for a cuppa outside of class hours, answer all my questions- even the stupid ones, she was really patient. Was almost like a mentor of sorts.”

“She sounds like an awesome human.” Your voice is gentle, admiring how the words come out of him with an admiration that makes you warm all over.

“She was.” His eyes fall to his hands. Your expression softens, suddenly noticing how he’s been using the past tense when talking about her. “She told me once that sometimes making a career out of a hobby is not always the way to go, you know? Takes away the fun of it if you feel obligated to do it. It was then when I decided to switch.”

“Were you scared?”

“Terrified.” You two laugh. “I was choosing a path that I’d never even considered before. It was so new, I was so scared I wasn’t making the right decision. It scared me that maybe fashion wasn’t also my thing, you know? Cause if it wasn’t, then what?”

“I get that.” You risk resting your hand next to his, sticking your pinky out to brush against his. He quickly interlaced them, smiling down at the gesture. “I’m glad it worked out, and you found something you’re passionate about.”

“Me too.” He replies, mimicking your position as he brings the hand that’s not enlaced with yours to rest under his cheek.

You smile, and he smiles, too.

“Why can’t we just stay in tonight?”

The question leaves your lips in almost an annoyed huff. The third one in the last five minutes. Aya doesn’t spare you a glance this time, her eyes focusing solely on sweeping the white eyeliner over her eyelid as she finishes the last few touches of her makeup.

Her apartment is lit up with a golden glow, the lights having been lowered and the flame of a couple of green lavender candles helping set the relaxing energy of the room. It’s the primary reason you love staying at Aya’s; her place is always cozy, no matter which house of hers you’re in (even though you have a softer spot for her New York apartment). And it helps to have company, since your place has been uneasily empty lately.

The original plan was simple: make dinner while catching up with the last Game of Thrones season. You’ve been looking forward to it all week. After days of hopping from long meetings to recording sessions, only to go home to your cold bed, reuniting with Aya was the one thing that kept you from catching the first flight back to London as soon as your errands were dealt with. So, it’s hard not to express your disappointment about having to attend some dinner party a good thirty minutes away from her warm apartment.

The thing is, the suggestion didn’t even come from Aya, but rather a surprise guest you weren’t even expecting to be here at the same time as you, Claire.

And it’s not like you don’t like Claire, you do, well, you try to, which is the best you can do for now. She's been friends with Aya for a couple of months and, with Aya, it’s not that hard to become friends with her, if you’re honest. So you never really bother to keep track of the ones that come and go as quick as the pendulum of a clock. It’s something you’ve grown used to with the years of friendship. But unlike most of them, Claire seems to have stuck like an annoying piece of gum at the bottom of your boots.

In reality, you know it’s unfair to her to be annoyed when she’s really done nothing wrong. The sole reason for you two not mashing that well is more of a conflict in personalities than anything else. Usually, you manage to ignore that in order to keep at least somewhat of a friendly relationship with her during nights out -- more for Aya’s sake than yours. And sometimes you even enjoy her presence! When she’s not surrounded by big groups of people (rare) and doesn’t feel the need to be obnoxiously loud for no reason, at those times when it’s just the three of you, she’s actually quite nice to talk to.

But now, you honestly wish you could glue her lips together and quite literally kick her out the front door. As she rushes around the place, - from the walk-in closet to the bathroom to the bedroom and so on - her voice so loud in attempts to speak over the playlist she put on just over two hours ago. The mesh of noises is so much you’d be sure no one heard your complaint if it wasn’t for Aya’s reply just a minute later.

“We stay in every day.” You watch as she bends over the sink, getting closer to the mirrored wall as she applies her lipstick carefully. With a smack of her lips, her eyes meet yours in the reflection. “I think it’d be good for you to go out.”

“Just two months ago you were complaining about how much I go out, and now you complain that I don’t go out enough?” You arch your brows, fully aware of how whiny you sound.

“Well, not my fault you don’t know how to balance your social life.” She focuses back on herself, opening a product you can’t make out what it is and tapping it against her cheekbones. “It’s either going out every single day to the point of no sleep or becoming a hermit inside your house.”

You pout. “I’m working, you know tha-”

“It’s cause she only goes out with her LA friends now, Meme.” Claire blurts out as she appears from inside the closet, holding one of Aya’s transparent coats. You keep a straight face as you turn to look at her, trying not to cringe with her nickname for Aya. She seems oblivious of your annoyance, though, making her way to lean on the archway leading to where Aya’s finishing getting ready. “Now it’s all about Dora and - what’s his name?”

Aya interrupts before you have the chance to bite back, “It’s not even that, C, think she’s found something more interesting keeping her in London.”

The smirk she shoots you from over her shoulder makes you avert your eyes, a blush creeping up your neck, warming all the way to the tip of your ears. The knowing look on her face could almost make you entirely flustered, as if she knows exactly the reason you’ve been so comfortable staying in London by yourself — especially now that the sole thought of being alone sends a tight grip to your chest. But you know there’s no reason for you to be nervous about it. You haven’t told a single person about your reconnection with Harry yet, somehow feeling an odd sort of protectiveness over it. And you’re not sure why this new flame of happiness still feels so fragile to you, so delicate, that a simple, outspoken word to the wrong person could take it away from you.

And oh, how scared you are of it being taken away as quickly as it came to you.

So you’ve kept it within your grasp for as long as you can. Away from prying eyes and greedy hands. It’s the one thing that you have now that feels just yours, the one part of you that no one else knows about. That’s the sole reason you even asked him to keep it a secret in the first place.

Still, that doesn’t mean that people around haven’t noticed the sudden change in you — as small as you thought it was, it surely didn’t go unnoticed by those that know you so well. Sonia was the first to mention it. When you couldn’t keep yourself from checking your phone every five minutes during a studio session, she had teased you about it. You brushed it off, and she made no more comments about it, thankfully. But you didn’t miss the looks she gave you every time you excused yourself to make a phone call.

With Aya, though, you know it won’t be as easy to get her to disregard your behavior. You hoped she hadn’t caught on when earlier in the afternoon she nudged you about being all smiley while reading a text (Harry had just sent you a picture of Duchess wearing a knitted vest he’d made for her and you had it open when Aya peeked from over your shoulder to see what you were looking at, so you just said it was a message from your sister before quickly locking the screen).

However, after her comment, you’re sure she’s clearly aware that something’s up. And, knowing Aya, you’re aware she won’t drop this subject until you tell her exactly what it is that’s keeping you in London. Before she has the chance to poke further, you’re saved by none other than Claire, who did not pick up on Aya’s grin shot towards you. Barely registering the meaning behind her words at all, actually, as she makes her way to sit at the foot of the bed. “Well, whatever it is, I think I might have something to keep you here with us.”

Thankfully, Aya drops the subject, only widening her eyes slightly at you, almost in a warning at what’s coming. “Here it comes.”

You frown, glancing from your friend that stands opposite you to the girl that’s scooping closer to where your legs rest. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re still having a hard time after Noah.” The words spill from her lips and you almost choke on your own saliva at her bluntness. There was a sort of silent agreement between you and Aya about not mentioning your ex by name. So hearing it being outspoken without expecting it surely comes in a bit of a shock. But Claire still seems oblivious of it, only reaching to grip right under your knee in what’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture, you guess. “But it’s been so long now! Maybe you need a little push with, like, getting over him.”

“A push.” It’s hard to keep the affronting expression that tugs down your lips.

“Someone.” A squeeze to your knee. You want to push it off. “There’s this guy-”

That’s it. You close your eyes with a deep breath. “Claire-”

“Before you say no, listen to me!” She holds out her hands, in a habit of gesturing her words when she explains herself. “There’s this guy, okay? He works with my brother at NYT and I met him a couple of times, and- Just listen! The whole time we were talking, I could only think of you! I was like ‘oh my god, she’s gonna love him’ cause he’s totally your type!”

You scoff, glancing over at Aya who’s clearly trying to keep herself occupied. “Is this why you’re dragging me out tonight?”

Her deer-in-the-headlights eyes meet yours in the reflection. “Hey, I have nothing to do with Mr. Perfect here. As I said, I just think it’d be good for you to go out.”

“Just meet him, okay? You don’t have to go out on a date or anything just-” Claire brings your attention back to herself. “Just talk for a bit, see if you click. I think it’ll be good.” Her voice gets softer, shoulder dropping. “I’m just trying to help.”

There’s not an ounce of you that wants to engage in any sort of small-talk filled conversation, having close to no patience in getting to know someone new at this moment of your life. The prospect of having to sit and pretend whatever this man is going to tell you about himself interests you for god knows how long is enough to make you want to swim all the way back to England in your stilettos. But it’s clear that Claire’s intentions with this are far from malicious in any way, and you can’t help but feel bad for lashing out at her. So you just sigh, letting the words fall from your lips before you think about it enough to regret them, “Okay.”

Her face lights up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll chat with him.”

She squeals. “You’ll love him! I’m telling you-”

“Claire,” You interrupt before she can get ahead of herself. “You sound like you’re envisioning a wedding already. I agreed to chat. That's it.”

“Chat. Okay, it’s a start.” She nods, a smile too big for her face before squealing again, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Right, Meme? Don’t you think it’ll be good for her?”

“Please, I’m just the audience in this conversation.” She calls back, turning to face you after a second to motion to the coat sitting on Claire’s lap. “Is this the coat you chose?”

Claire jumps from her spot in the bed at the mention of it. “Yes! What do you think? Wait- I’ll try it on, see if you can still notice the pink details on my dress.”

The girl bolts towards the walk-in closet where there are larger mirrors she can see herself better on and, just as she turns her back, Aya shoots you a wink before following her.

You relax back into the arrangement of pillows, another sigh leaving your lips as it comes to you what you’ve just agreed on. Sometimes you wish you weren’t so easily persuaded by a pair of puppy eyes, knowing the consequences of it almost always have to do with you doing something you’re not too comfortable with. Your eyes shut close and you have to refrain from rubbing your face as not to ruin the makeup Aya applied so carefully. The night has barely started and you already feel exhausted mentally. Not wanting to dwell on it further, you make a mental note to yourself: learn how to say no.

Turning your face, you pick up the phone that was left forgotten next to you during the chat with Claire. To your surprise, the screen lights up showing a text from Harry received just about five minutes ago. You try not to sit up too suddenly, as not to call attention to yourself, while you swipe your thumb over the screen to open the message.

A smile tugs on your lips before you can even read what it says, simply reacting to the picture attached to it. The first thing you notice is his hair, poking out of his head in a messy mesh resembling somewhat of a mane. You bite back a giggle at the thought. His face is lit up, mouth parted in an open smile as he gives a thumb up to the camera. You take a moment too long looking at his face until you realize what the picture is meant to show. You. Next to him, on the screen of his telly, grinning with the blue sunglasses you wore to the music video shoot.

The text under it is short, but it causes the most beautiful flowers to bloom under your chest.

H: Found this cutie while browsing todayy

H: Looks familiar? ;)

“That’s definitely too much.”

You glanced back at Harry as your eyebrows shot towards your hairline, challenging. His own face mimicked your expression, peeking down at the cup of flour in your hands before meeting your eyes again. With his locks being pulled up with your hair tie, it’s hard to take him seriously after you’d teased him about resembling a sprout when he first walked into the kitchen, ignoring his protests to playfully sweep the tiny bouquet of curls with your finger.

“How many times do I have to tell you, this is the exact amount?” You replied, trying to keep a straight face.

“How do you know? You’re not even measuring it!”

“It’s a muffin, Harry, how difficult can it be?” You rolled your eyes in feign annoyance, turning the cup into the mixing bowl before he could protest it. “I can do it by eye just fine.”

“This is chaotic.” He scrunched his nose, shaking his head in disbelief at the cloud of flour that floated through the air at how abruptly you threw it. “Making a bloody mess, you are.”

“Yeah, yeah, now tell me what’s next.”

He exhaled a chuckle, secretly enjoying your antics, before turning to check the open recipe book that sat on the counter. His finger followed the words written in instructions, and you observed with amusement the crease forming on his face as he attempted to decipher your nan’s handwriting. It took him a second before he clicked his tongue, “We should’ve mixed the wet ingredients first.”

“Does it make a difference?” You bit back a smile, knowing your words would get a reaction out of him.

And, as you predicted, Harry’s face turned into an appalled expression. “Does it make a difference?” He repeated your question, astounded. “Of course it makes a difference!”

You giggled, reaching for the milk carton. “I’m sure the muffins will be fine if I put in the milk after the flour, they won’t even notice.”

“Christ,” He shook his head again, a few curls falling loose against his forehead with the motion. “Baking with you is going to make me go gray by the time I reach my twenties.”

This time you let out a full laugh, mouth falling open in fake offense. “You’re so dramatic!”

Harry smiled, then, both dimples poking deeply into his cheeks as he reached to take the carton from your hands. You two finished mixing the batter, taking a bit too long to get it inside the oven as you enjoyed pestering Harry in the process a bit too much. Every so often someone walked into the kitchen to pick up some drinks or leave dirty dishes by the sink, checking in on the both of you with that smile adults always give you when you’re with Harry (usually followed by some corny joke about young love that made you roll your eyes).

It was the day of one of the barbecue parties your parents always threw at the beginning of summer break. They would invite their closest circle of friends to spend the day in your back garden, usually followed by a ‘luau’ (as your dad called it, even though it was definitely not a luau) once your parents got tipsy enough to bring out the guitars and light up a fire.

When everyone was a tad lethargic from lunch, relaxing back into their chairs as the sun felt hotter as it shone proudly on the cloudless sky, you had the idea of baking your nan’s recipe of blueberry muffins.

Usually, the tradition of baking a dessert to be freshly served in the afternoon was left to your mum and sister -- who was almost passing the age in which she wanted to have a hand in everything to call attention to herself. But you were faster this time, volunteering to do the task, and dragging Harry with you, as you were eager to have some time alone with him without having someone interrupting to ask him yet another football question that left you bored out of your mind.

So, you take advantage of having the kitchen to yourselves, bumping your hips against his as you two swept the counter quietly, cleaning the mess you’d made earlier. Your aunt had just left the kitchen after making one of those comments regarding marriage that are meant solely to embarrass both of you, and a faint blush was still visible on his cheeks. It made you want nothing more than to reach up and press your lips to them, only to feel the spot of his dimple deepening with a smile.

The air was smelling sweeter when you threw the dirty cloth inside the sink, leaning back into the island as you watched Harry crouch to peek inside the oven. You couldn’t help the grin as you noticed the muffins spilling out of their cases as expected.

“Told you it would work out.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” He stood, resting a hand on the counter next to you, leaning into it. “Do absolutely everything wrong but still manage to make it work.”

“Hey!” You giggled, pushing him softly with your hand as you dragged out the word. “I did absolutely everything right just… In my own way.”

“Yeah?” His finger twirled on the hook of your jeans, pulling at it as he moved to stand in front of you, keeping a hand resting on the counter next to your waist. “The world bends its rules for you, it seems.” Pressing a peck at the corner of your mouth, he mumbled, lips close enough that you could feel every word caressing your skin, “Don’t blame it, though.”

You chuckled. “Oh? Do you bend your rules for me too?”

“Of course,” His nose tickled the apple of your cheek, causing you to shrug your shoulder slightly. You felt his warm breath as he exhaled a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Would never let anyone else butcher a batch of muffins in my presence like you just did.”

“Harry!” You cried out, shoving him off playfully. “I’m never baking for you ever again, you can starve during lunch from now on, see if I care.”

He laughed again, leaning down to bite the tip of your nose before you quickly tried to push him away. “Stop, baby, you know I’m just joking.”

“Too late now, you already lost your dessert privilege.”

“Ouch.” Harry pouted, attempting to pull his puppy eyes to get you to budge, but you simply raised your brows at him, chewing your inner cheek to prevent a smile from growing on your face. He started to lean down to press his lips on yours but he could barely move before the doors leading outside slid open again, startling both of you, causing Harry to quickly step back.

Your sister’s face peeked up curiously from her spot at the door frame, a juvenile smile teasing at her lips at the scene she’d just interrupted.

“What do you want, Ly?”

Lyla shot you a condescending look from your harsh tone, “I’m not here for you, dumb face.” She took out her tongue, and you rolled your eyes — sometimes she’s too much of a thirteen-year-old. “Auntie Sue said you were done and Harry promised to help me with a project.”

“A project?” You raised your brows, glancing at the boy next to you who was already adorning a guilty smile on his face.

“I did promise that.”

“It’s a secret project!” Lyla’s voice raised to a higher pitch.

“Okay, then.” You sighed, looking between the two of them before setting your eyes on Harry again. The pout is clear in your voice as you speak up,

“Seems like your presence is being required.” You nod towards Harry’s vibrating phone that sits on top of the table behind the two of you.

“Oops, sorry.” He shoots you a guilty smile before reaching over his shoulder for the device.

You avert your eyes as he glances down at the screen, focusing on the sunrays that peek from between the leaves of your green fence, painting the tips of the grass gold. It’s been just over a month since your first coffee date (you only call it that for lack of a better word) and, with summer just around the corner, the days are beginning to stretch longer. The sun is still bright and proud as the afternoon meets the evening. There’s a warmth that’s not yet too insufferable, but more like welcomed after months of endless drizzle and sharp winds.

It’s perfectly fitting for a nice lazy day like this one.

This is the first time you got to properly have him around for the day. Despite Harry having wrapped his term just about a week ago and your agenda keeping you in London for the next few months, both your schedules only seem to have gotten tighter. You spend most of your time during the week inside the recording studio — the sessions dragging into the evening hours more often than not, as you find yourself too caught up with them. Meanwhile, Harry’s back to working his regular working hours now that Act One has officially started working on the productions for the summer season.

Surprisingly, though, you fell into a routine of sorts quite easily. You still chat every day, not limiting your communication to texting alone (though you still love receiving Harry’s random pictures throughout the day), but also making phone calls most days once both of you have finally settled in bed after long working hours. And it’s not like you’re not able to see each other with these scheduling complications, it’s only that those hangouts are limited to either weekends or early evenings.

On the two-week mark, after you met again, you could finally take him to the proper coffee hangout that you’d promised. The cafe in question is one you’ve been going to for over a year now. A friend recommended it, and you instantly loved it for how hidden it is, and most frequented by an older audience — which means you’re able to sneak in and out with no hassle. You took Harry there on a Sunday morning, and it surprised you to find that the place is actually much closer to his flat than your house. So, after cups of iced coffee and shared muffins, you two walked all the way to his place, enjoying the laziness that allows people to sleep in as the week reaches an end.

That was one of your favorite days with him. It had been a long while since you allowed yourself to simply relax during a walk; forgetting how it feels to be aware of every corner you turn. That’s the easy thing about being with Harry, you’ve found the simple concept of relaxing. He allows you to let your guard down, to enjoy those things you’ve once taken for granted. The ones that bring a sense of normalcy that can easily be overlooked by those who don’t get to experience the other side of it. It’s something you’re sure Harry doesn’t even realize he’s brought back to your life, but you still show your silent gratitude in any way you can.

It’s what made you invite him to your house for lunch in the first place. It didn’t go unnoticed to you how most times you end up back in his flat and, as much as he repeats how he enjoys your presence there, it doesn’t stop you from feeling the slightest bit self-conscious about it.

“Shit.” Harry mutters under his breath, his fingers tapping swiftly on the screen, a frown deepening on his face.

Raising your brows, you wait a second before speaking up, afraid of interrupting whatever it is that has him alarmed, “Everything alright?”

“Julia’s making dinner tonight.” He replies, eyes scanning the device in his hands before sighing. “Completely forgot.”

“Oh. Is it, like-” You pause, glancing down at your phone that’s left forgotten in your lap, pressing the home button to check the time. The screen lights up, letting you know it’s just around six, meaning Harry’s been over for just about seven hours now. “Shit, I’m so sorry, didn’t mean to keep you-”

“Don’t apologize.” He locks his phone, shooting a reassuring smile your way. “My fault, really. Just completely slipped off my mind.”

You nod, watching him gnawn at his bottom lip, brows meeting in a frown as he gets deep in thought. Parting your lips. You don’t let any word out at first, afraid that if you do, he’ll remember it's time for him to go back. There’s a selfish voice in your head that wants to ask him to stay a bit longer, to not part ways yet, to just call off on this dinner. But you know better than to say any of it out loud, opting to suck in your lips instead, as if the words could just slip out without your consent.

Harry sighs, and you can’t help but let your shoulders fall, knowing what’s coming. “I should get going.” He picks up his empty glass, pocketing his phone as he stands with a huff. “Julia’s not very happy that I’m late.” He chuckles. “Again.”

Laughing, you get up from your chair as well, patting the back of your thighs as you feel your skin a bit sore from sitting for so long. Before you can answer him, however, your attention snaps towards the opened door leading to your kitchen, as a small figure comes rushing towards you. You feel the soft fur against your legs before you can properly register the pup circling you. Once you realize what’s going on, as the familiar black spaniel greets you, you freeze in your spot, glancing from the dog that now jumps excitedly on Harry’s legs to the door where he came from.

“You didn’t tell me you had a pup.” Harry smiles, his voice getting a higher pitch as he kneels to pet behind his ears. “Hey buddy, where did you come from?”

“I don’t.” You reply, walking towards the house as you search for the owner who’s likely already found her spot in the kitchen.

“Huh?” You hear from behind you as you stride towards the house.

Surely, as predicted, you spot her hiding halfway inside your fridge, back turned to you. You notice how Bella’s blonde locks are way shorter since last time you saw her — now stopping just above her shoulders. As surprised as you are, you don’t comment on it, simply staring at your intruder of a friend as you try to figure the situation in hand.

This isn't exactly how you’d planned to introduce Harry to your friend group. Well, shit.

Bella doesn’t pay any mind to you at first, but certainly senses your presence as she speaks out from over her shoulder. “Hey, did you not buy any more greek yo- Oh.” She stops as she turns, just in time when Harry walks in with the dog cradled in his arms. Her eyes jump between the two of you as she pushes the fridge’s door to a close. “Hi.”

“Hello.” You shoot her a look.

Harry puts the pet down, “Hi.”

“Uhm,” You stand awkwardly, playing with the rings hugging your fingers. Bella raises her brows in a silent question and you sigh. It’s not like you can do anything now. “Harry, this is my friend, Bella. Bella, this is Harry.” You motion your arms between them as you introduce one another.

Harry clears his throat. And you can only suppose how confused he must be, considering you mentioned nothing about a friend visiting today. But it’s not like you were aware of it, either. Bellas and you are at that point in your friendship in which you don’t find the need to announce your visits anymore, simply making yourselves at home every time both of you are in town.

He glances at you for a second, before nodding at your friend. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She grins politely. There’s a beat of quietness that no one really knows what to say next, and you can feel a silent pressure for you to break it. When you don’t, Bella points vaguely to a spot behind her, “Uh, I can come back tomorrow…”

Your lips part as you try to stop her, but before you can do so, Harry beats you to it.“You don’t have to, really. I was just leaving, actually.” He scratches his nose. “I don’t mean to intrude on anything you two have planned…”

“Oh, no, that’s not it!” Bella rushes.

“We have nothing planned.” You assure him, glancing between your friends. “Bella just comes to visit whenever she’s in London.”

“Yeah, I was the one interrupting.” She backs you up, clicking her tongue. “Should’ve called first.”

"That's okay.” You tell her.

“Well, I hope you two enjoy the rest of your day, then.” Harry nods, eyes meeting yours as he mutters, “I really need to get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You say, “I’ll take you to the door.”

With one last wave to Bella, he follows you as you guide the way towards the front door. You open it for Harry, allowing him to step out first before you let it close behind you — as to avoid the dog from running out. Leaning back against it, you shoot him a small smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was coming.” You point back. “She has the keys so…”

“That’s fine.” He reassures, hands hiding inside the pocket of his jeans. There’s a second of silence, as you two just enjoy each other’s presence for a little before having to bid your goodbyes. You can’t help but let your eyes fall to his shirt once again — although being a simple white tee, the words I spread like strawberries embroidered to it have been haunting you all afternoon. Once your eyes move up again, you don’t find his, as he glances down at his shoes, a cute reddish tone painting the apple of his cheeks. When he speaks up, he peaks up at you from under his lashes, “I had a lovely time, as usual.”

“Me too.” You bite down a smile, tilting your head. “As usual.”

He nods, looking over his shoulder before back at you. Chewing down the side of his lip, he asks, “I’ll see you?”

You try to think of a date to give him, knowing as summer progresses your schedule will only get tighter with the studio sessions. “Uhm, probably sometime at the end of the week, maybe? I’m a bit busy, but I’ll let you know.”

“Alright.” He nods, staring for a second before stepping forward to embrace you into a hug. “Take care, love.” His words come out a bit muffled as he squishes his face on the crook of your neck.

You giggle as the strands of his hair tickle the side of your face. “You too, H.”

Pulling away, he steps backward, pointing at you in a playful warning. “Still owe me a lemon tart.”

“Gotcha.”

Taking a deep breath, you watch for a bit longer as he walks away, waving a last goodbye before disappearing back inside your house. You give yourself a moment to prepare for the wave of questions waiting for you as soon as you step back into the kitchen.

You find Bella twirling on a stool propped next to the island, spoon in her mouth and an open package of greek yogurt sitting on the counter. As soon as you walk in, she stops, pulling the spoon out as her brows shoot towards her hairline. She doesn’t wait a second before questioning, “So…” A smirk grows on her face and she points vaguely with her spoon to a spot behind you. “Harry?”

You groan, taking a seat next to her. “You were not supposed to walk in on that.”

“Well, I’m sorry! How was I supposed to know?”

“I don’t know, maybe try calling?”

“I never call before coming here.” She challenges, and it’s true. Picking a spoonful of yogurt and shoving into her mouth, she watches you for a second. You simply glance back, aware of her expectant stare attempting to pry you to speak up first. You watch her swallow, lips quirking as you refuse to give what she wants. She raises her brows again, this time voicing her question, “Is he…?”

You shake your head at her implication. “No, he’s… A friend.”

“That was a pause.”

“Well, he was my ex before he was my friend.”

“An ex? Is he-” Bella frowns for a bit and you can almost see the wheels inside her head turning. “Holy shit! Is he The Harry?”

Now it’s your turn to form a crease between your brows, confused. You don’t recall ever mentioning Harry to her. “Don’t know what you mean by The Harry, but, yes, he was my first boyfriend.”

“You’ve told me about him before.”

“Have I?” You blink at her. “When?”

She thinks for a second before pointing the spoon in her hand at you.“Yes! It was in one of your Halloween parties- actually, right after it.” She looks over at you, only to find a confused expression still settled on your face. “The one we had a sleepover, and I broke your lamp.”

“That was two years ago, yeah, I remember.” As much as your Halloween parties have a tendency of meshing together in your memory (as they’re mostly the same apart from one or two remarkable occurrences), this one in particular you remember quite well as it was the first time Bella slept over at your house. In the middle of the night, she knocked on your room to ask you if she could sleep with you. Her words were coming mumbled because of the alcohol still affecting her bloodstream. The two of you barely slept a tick that night, as you spent hours whispering stories to each other and, at one point, she got so excited as she was telling you about some sort of vacation she had taken (you don’t remember it that well) that she elbowed your lamp causing it to shatter as it fell. You try to rack your brain to find any recollection of mentioning Harry that day, but all that comes to you is the two of you falling into a fit of giggles when you told her about a past hookup of yours. This only causes your frown to deepen. “The party, I mean. I don’t remember mentioning Harry.”

“You were drunk.” She shoves her spoon inside the yogurt as she speaks. “Was sitting at one of the patio chairs, scrolling down on your Instagram page and you saw a picture of him, think you said it was his sister’s profile? I don’t know. But you were whiny for like an hour because of it.”

“What?” So it was at the party? You have a flash of panic, wondering who else was there to hear you whine over your ex boyfriend. “I have absolutely no recollection of this.”

“It was cute, really.” She tries to comfort you, still focusing on her pot of dairy. “You didn’t say much- you weren’t making a lot of sense, really, but I remember you saying he was the first person you were in love with. Didn’t know he was your first boyfriend.”

You fall back into your seat. “Yeah… That’s him.”

“How long were you together?” Bella glances back at you, brows peaking in curiosity.

“Almost four years.”

“What?” Her eyes bulge. “How come you never told me that?”

“Don’t know, was a bit of a sensitive topic, I guess.” You know it was. The only reason why you refrained from mentioning him to anyone for a long time was because of the tightness in your chest that followed the sound of his name. “But yeah, we started dating right after his fourteenth birthday.” The memory comes to you as a smile. “His birthday’s in February and he asked me on Valentine’s day, was really cute. I don’t think anyone thought it would last that long at the time.”

“That’s super sweet.” She whines, her shoulders falling as she huffs. “Ugh, I hate love.”

You chuckle. “Same.”

“So you broke up when you were, what, eighteen?”

“Yup.”

“Was it because of distance and stuff?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” You think back to the time you two started drifting apart, a thought you haven’t revisited in a long time. “We were already very distant even when we were together.” Shrugging, you try to push back the heaviness in your chest. “Guess we were just meant to go different ways.”

"That's poetic.” She nods. You assume she’s noticed the way your voice has taken a lower tone, as her own grows a pitch, shoving you as she tries to cheer you up. “But now you’re together again!”

Breathing out a laugh, you roll your eyes slightly. “We’re friends.”

“Right.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “But, you know, you went each your own way and somehow crossed paths again. Do you know what that’s called?”

You close your eyes, already familiar with your friend’s antics. “Bella…”

“Fate.”

“Oh my god.” You shake your head at her, hoping she doesn’t notice the blush that creeps up your neck.

“I’m just saying, if I were you, I wouldn’t let this opportunity escape.” She bites down her empty spoon to hide the smirk that grows on her lips. The way her brows wiggle before she says anything allows you to prepare for what's to come. “I mean, with all due respect, he is very fine.”

“I knew it was coming.” You pucker your lips to avert from smiling, trying to seem casual before confessing, “But yes, he looks really good.”

“The long hair? The tattoos? Girl!” Her eyes widen. “If he wasn’t your ex, I would’ve been saying some really inappropriate stuff right now.”

You groan, hiding your face behind your hands. “Please, don’t.”

“I said ‘would’!” She emphasizes the word as she tries to pull your hands away from covering your eyes. “I’m only thinking about it, relax.”

Rolling your eyes again, you nod towards her half-empty pot. “Eat your yogurt.”

The air inside the flat somehow is warmer than the outdoors. The large windows opposite the kitchen are wide open to have some sort of breeze flowing around to relieve the heat coming from the stove. A generic scent of fried dough dances around the small space with it. It’s one that Harry recognizes from past times that Julia’s made the dish, and it makes his mouth water as soon as he steps inside.

Julia’s at her spot in the kitchen taking care of the food, her back turned to him as she bumps her hips along with the beat of a song he doesn’t recognize. Next to her, Harry recognizes Mitch’s back reaching for the small pile of plates inside the cabinet with Blake standing right behind (he assumes because she’d asked for his help with the task, considering she usually has a hard time reaching the last shelves).

Their voices mesh together as they seem too lost in their conversation to notice Harry’s arrival. Right as the door clicks closed, however, Blake takes the plates from Mitch’s hands, turning to catch Harry right as he toes-off his shoes.

“Look who’s decided to show up!” She speaks up, calling the attention of both friends that still stood oblivious of the boy that now sports a guilty smile. Blake raises her brows at him, setting the plates on top of the island counter. “For what do we owe this honor?”

“Finally!” Julia barges before Harry can even start with the apology he went over in his head during the entire tube ride. “I was completely outnumbered in this discussion. Tell them that our plates are nice!”

He stops right by the edge of the kitchen tiles, furrowing his brows at his friends’ request. “What?”

Harry tries to search for an explanation from Mitch, who simply leans back onto the counter with his arms crossed, and an amused smirk painting his lips as he nods towards Julia.

The girl has turned back to the stove, a colander spoon in her hand moving the pastries around inside the pan filled with oil. She huffs before she explains, eyes trained on the stove, “They’re being incredibly rude, calling our plates tacky!”

Without even looking at the plates in question, Harry chuckles. “Oh, is it the floral ones?”

He confirms his assumptions when glancing at the dishes set on top of the island counter. The collection was sent by her parents around the new years after her visit for the holidays — she’d told them about how they cracked most their dishes at the edges and they sent in a full set as a replacement. And, as much as both of them found the action heartwarming ly thoughtful, they both had a good laugh upon opening the box when it first came in.

Because they were, after all, a bit tacky.

Each has its edges painted with a different color, with matching roses circling around it. To make matters worse, the center of them have each a different phrase. Harry couldn’t make sense to them at first, as they’re written in Portuguese, but from what Julia’s translated it doesn’t go far from those catchphrases you can find at the Live, Laugh, Love side of Pinterest.

That’s something Julia very openly makes fun of her parents about; what she says is their lack of taste for just about everything. And Harry was very aware of the fact, not only by the way she teases them to no end about it but also by her choices of presents to send back home (for instance, that god awful umbrella -- may it rest in pieces). With their time together as flatmates, it’s almost become somewhat of an inside joke between the two of them.

But, as much as both of them have taken the piss about it before, they still have a fondness heavily attached to them. So it’s understandable Julia’s annoyance at their friends’ tease, especially when both bark into laughs at Harry’s question.

“You’re not helping!” Julia throws him a look from over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to confirm!” Harry raises his hands in surrender as he watches the girl roll her eyes before focusing back on the pan in front of her. He pulls one stool next to the one Blake’s taken for herself, sitting on it before glancing down at the dish in front of him. He spins it slightly with the tip of his finger, watching the yellow roses move with it. “But Jul’s right, stop attacking our plates.”

“I wasn’t attacking them, if I have any right to a replica.” Mitch moves from his spot to take the stool in front of Harry. “If I recall correctly, I even said they were very charming.”

“Your sarcasm doesn’t impress me, Rowland,” Julia replies from her spot, not looking back. “Just say they're ugly already! Since you guys hate them so much!”

Blake shoots Harry a knowing look, a smile poking at her lips from being too used to her girlfriend’s dramatics. She pushes her stool back, standing before she walks over towards the grumpy girl who’s now focusing on taking out the pastries and laying them on a trail that’s covered with napkins. Embracing her from behind, she presses a kiss between Julia’s shoulder blades before whispering something just for her to hear.

Harry watches them for a second, not helping the part of him that wishes he could have someone like they do. It verges a tragedy, he thinks, to be a hopeless romantic and not be in love.

"Food is ready!" Julia speaks up, her voice this time taking a higher pitch. Harry doesn’t miss the look the couple exchanges before finding their seats across from each other.

Julia sets the trail in the center. The pastries take a half-circle shape and are organized neatly in two rolls, their golden crust looking very appealing, making Harry realize how hungry he actually is.

“So, explain to me,” Mitch begins, nodding towards the dish. “What are those guys?”

“These, my dear, are called pastel- you know, like the color shade,” Julia explains, picking up one of them. “They’re basically, like, a pastry. You can stuff them with anything you want, really. I made the most common ones which are cheese- the ones on this roll- and meat.” She points to the rolls showing where each one line. “We usually have them as, like, a snack, but I was really missing them so I made it for dinner. And we also eat it with sugarcane juice, but y’all don’t have it here,” She shakes her head. “Tasteless.”

“Sugarcane juice?” Mitch raises his brows.

Julia goes into one of her rants that Harry’s heard about a hundred times before by now — the ones that come up every time she talks about her country, which he finds rather cute how passionate she gets when talking about her culture. His head shuts off for a bit, though, already knowing the information by heart, as he focuses on his groaning stomach.

For a moment, they just eat while having more of a casual chat. Julia rambles for a good portion of it about her life back home, and, soon enough, they all share their own experiences that make them miss their hometowns. It makes for a nice bonding experience, four people from different spots in the world that found themselves in London at the same time. All sharing a meal as they recall the parts of them they left behind when they choose to leave. For a moment, Harry forgets all about the apology he’d rehearsed on the way back from your house.

It doesn’t even slip into his mind how he escaped any sort of immediate interrogation about his whereabouts. He’s even naïve enough to think that maybe Julia’s even forgotten about it as well, thanks to the plates’ discussion.

Harry soon finds himself to be wrong, though. And the worst of it all, it catches him completely off guard.

The group has just quietened down from a story Mitch’s told from back in the days he used to work in a pizza place. Blake’s just offered to clean up the dishes, standing from her stool as she collects the plates. Harry hands her his, glancing at her as he mutters a quick ‘thank you’. He doesn’t notice the way Julia stares at him, eyes narrowed and lips puckering, as she leans into the counter. It only calls his attention once she speaks up, her words coming out slow but almost calculated, as if she’s been thinking about voicing them for a while, “So, H, are you gonna tell us what’s up?”

He doesn’t realize what she’s referring to at first, only furrowing his brows in his confusion. “Huh?”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me, Styles, you’re hiding something.” She points at him and that’s when he realizes, breath hitching on his throat. “And I think that something’s actually a someone, so spill.”

He hears Blake chuckling from her spot at the sink. “Guess we’re going straight to the point, then.”

Harry tries to even his breath, holding back the urge to bite down at his bottom lip as not to show he’s nervous. “What makes you think that?”

Julia grins as if she’s been waiting for him to ask that. “Well, should we go over the list? You suddenly have a life outside, barely stay at home, you’re almost always late to hang out— and that’s coming from me, a Brazilian- oh! You’ve also been baking?” She puts out a finger at each topic on the list, emphasizing the last word as if it’s the most absurd concept to grasp. “And I caught you taking a selfie the other night, which would be odd on itself if I wasn’t sure that you sent it to someone right after.”

Harry nods slowly. “Okay. You kept a list.”

“So?”

“I-” He feels himself panicking, not knowing how to explain himself. On one hand, he hates lying, especially to people he loves. He also knows how upset Julia gets when people lie to her, considering honesty is one attribute she values the most in a person. So the prospect of not only going against one of his own principles but also letting down one of his closest friends, almost makes him sick. But he gave you his word that he would not tell anyone until you were ready to do so. And he wants to keep his word and respect your wishes, knowing that if he doesn’t, it could mean losing everything he’s gotten back these past months. It could mean losing you. So for a moment, he stays there, lips parted but not saying anything. There’s gotta be some sort of middle ground. “There’s… Someone, and-”

A loud thud comes as Blake drops one plate inside the sink, turning around with wide eyes and soapy hands. “What?”

“I knew it!” Julia slaps her hand on the counter as she exclaims, her mouth dropping in the shape of an ‘O’. “I knew it! How do you get a girlfriend without mentioning it to me? I thought we were friends?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Harry blurts out.

“How could you keep this from us?” Blake comes to stand behind her girlfriend, her face still wide in shock before she turns to Mitch. “Did you know about this?”

“I did not have any involvement in this, no.”

Julia continues her inquiry, “Who is it?”

“Jul-”

She interrupts Harry before he can properly form a word, “Is it that girl from work? The one that had a crush on you? What’s her name again-”

“Julia, please.”

“Alice!” She snaps her finger, her grin widening as she looks at him as if she just solved an enigma. “It's her, isn’t it? Did you finally make a move? Oh my god.”

“I- It’s-” Harry’s fully panicking now, eyes moving quickly between his friends as they stare at him, waiting for a confirmation. Is this the middle ground he wanted? No, he thinks to himself. This will only make things worse. He should just say he wants to keep it private for now. It would annoy them, sure, but they’d have to understand, right? It’s the rational thing to do. But Harry’s not working with rationality at the moment, and his mouth works before his brain does, “Y-yeah, it’s her.”

Blake gasps. “Harry!”

“I can’t believe you!”

He needs to fix this. “We’re not dating.”

“Yet.” She points before squealing, reaching a hand over her shoulder to hold Blake’s wet ones while placing her other over her heart. “Look at you! They grow so fast…”

“Please, don’t.”

“Babe, let him breathe for a bit.” Blake breaks her hand from her girlfriend’s grasp, reaching for a napkin and using it to dry her hands. She smiles at him, “I would like to see a picture of her, though.”

Before he has the chance to answer, Julia’s already talking, “You should’ve invited her to come today! There’s enough food-”

“No, it’s… Uh, it’s not like that.” Harry tries to come up with something to explain himself as not to dig a deeper hole than he already has put himself in.

Blake frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Just-” He pauses, glancing between his friends. They all show different stages of confusion. “We’re taking things slow.”

Julia rolls her eyes, “Harry, you’re already the slowest person I know.” She states as a matter-of-fact, shaking her head at him. “With your pace, we’re getting this relationship announcement in five years.”

He huffs, the insistence annoying him a bit. Maybe it’s because he knows the more they keep this subject, the deeper the hole he can get himself in. So he simply avoids feeding more into it, choosing to ask her instead, “Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me in a relationship?” His eyes meet Blake’s in a silent plea for an intervention.

“Because I want to have cute double dates!” Julia whines.

Mitch deadpans, “What’s this, then?”

“Okay! We have desert!” Blake seems to find her cue to barge in, clapping her hands together before continuing, “And it’s made of chocolate!”

Harry smiles at her, shooting her a look of gratitude. “Chocolate sounds perfect.”

“Sounds marvelous,” Mitch adds.

Julia, however, is not dumb. She narrows her eyes slightly. “You guys are changing the subject.”

Her girlfriend barely bats an eye at her statement, though, only squeezing her shoulder gently, “Babe, why don’t you tell Mitch about brigadeiro? I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”

The girl sighs, shooting Harry another knowing look before giving up on the subject for the time being. He only gives her a small smile, watching as she begins to tell Mitch all about desert.

Well, he really dug himself a hole with this one.

Harry loves Sundays.

This is funny enough of a statement, considering how he used to despise it when he was younger. Back when he knew it meant that he’d have to be up early the next day to walk the cracked sidewalk leading to his school, fighting to keep his eyelids halfway open. The entire day would feel like a countdown (just eight more hours until the weekend’s over!). The only thing that made the day the slightest bit enjoyable was that he used to visit his nan every Sunday right after breakfast. He still remembers how he and his cousins would sit in front of the telly with their toys scattered around them, the entire house adorned with the scent of vanilla.

He’s not sure exactly when the switch of opinion for the day happened, but he knows that you’re one of the main reasons for it. Sunday’s were your days. They were the only days in which you were sure to be free from babysitting duties with your sister, hence why there was a silent agreement that settled between both of you to spend it together. So you reserved Sundays for the two of you. And Harry’s sure some of his fondest memories with you happened on a Sunday.

So it was hard not to love the day when it brought you to him every time.

Although years have passed, his attachment to the day hasn’t faded. Especially now, when you seem to fit back into his Sundays just as perfectly as you used to.

The cafe smells just like his nan’s house used to when he first walks in - the only major difference being the scent of coffee that meshes with the vanilla in the air. It’s the third time he comes with you here and, just like the previous ones, there’s a surprisingly low movement for it being mid-morning. Most of the customers that frequent it, as you’d informed him the first time you took him there, are elders. There’s a couple right at the door enjoying the cloudless day at the chess table that’s carefully prompted just outside the cafe that bids good morning as the younger pair passes by, not paying much attention to them. Meanwhile, inside, the other four or five customers that sit scattered around the armchairs barely bat an eye towards them as they walk in, focusing only on their newspapers or crossword magazines that sit in front of them as they quietly sip on their drinks.

Despite you not sharing loads with him regarding your public image, from what he could gather, it’s clear how much you value your privacy. So it’s easy to understand why you enjoy coming here, as your presence comes and goes as just another one.

And he quite enjoys it too, especially noticing how carefree you get in a space you’re comfortable with. Usually, on other few occasions, the two of you go out to public spaces that you’re not as used to, it’s clear how alert you are, even if you’re enjoying yourself. You limit yourself to plain clothes to not call any attention, always with what’s become your signature big sunglasses shielding part of your face -- you even wore them when you went to the cinema to which, although Harry understood the reason for, he didn’t refrain from teasing you about it.

But today, you abandoned the hoodies and large shirts in various shades of grey. Harry knows the riskiest part of your day in being recognized would be the short walk from his building to the cafe. Still, that thankfully didn’t stop you from going back to your usual wardrobe. Instead, you’re wearing a white dress with red stripes lining along your curves, the skirt flowing all the way down your calves, showing the white sneakers covering your feet. The sunglasses are still present, of course, but you quickly push them up as soon as you walk inside.

Harry watches for a second as your eyes scan the menu written on the wall behind the counter, chuckling to himself as he knows you’re still going for the same order as usual. Before you can step closer to voice your order, however, he says, “Go find a table, I’ll get your order.” You glance up at Harry, brows shooting up, challenging. “Medium iced coffee and a chocolate muffin.” He grins proudly as he recites your order. “Anything else?”

“No, that's it.” You bite back a smile. “You’re not paying for me, though.”

Of course, you’re insisting, he thinks, already shaking his head. “You paid last time and the time before that and, if I recall correctly, you didn’t let me have a say in it when I tried to intervene in either of them.” Harry pokes your side, nodding towards the table area. “So, go get a table. I’ll be right there.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you stay silent for a beat, clearly debating whether to keep insisting. “Fair enough.” You sigh, walking backward as you point at him. “But I’m paying next time.”

Chuckling, he keeps his eyes on you for a tick longer to catch where you’ve sat, his face warming the slightest bit once you throw him a wink as you settle back in the chair. Once he places the orders for the both of you, he notices some drawings stuck to the wall behind the counter as he waits for them to be done with. They all have a clear childlike trace to them, some more than others, and Harry assumes the more abstract one must’ve been done by a younger child. He smiles to himself, finding it an adorable addition to the place, even if it could easily go unnoticed by an inattentive eye.

“They’re from my granddaughter.” The barista smiles at Harry as he places two cups on top of the counter, nodding back towards the artwork that caught his attention. “Just turned eight. Loves drawing.”

“They look lovely.”

“This one, actually,” The barista points to one that seems to be more recent, as it’s stuck on top of the others. It shows what looks like two girls holding hands; a smaller one holding a heart on her free hand, and a taller one with a star on top of her head. The man nods to a spot over Harry’s shoulder, “It’s her and your friend, she’s a big fan.”

“Really?” Harry’s lips part in surprise. “That’s very sweet.”

“It’s how I found out she was known.” The man lets out a low laugh, opening the display to reach for a muffin. “Millie was proper mad that I didn’t know who she was when she came to visit, but your friend was a sweet thing, signed her shirt and everything.”

Harry smiles at the story. “Sounds like her.”

“Sure does, seems like a lovely lady.” The man’s attention gets called as the front door opens with a ding. He shoots Harry one last smile, “Duty calls. Enjoy your coffee.”

Harry reaches for the cups with one hand, picking up your pastry with the other. “You too, have a good one.” He feels the words slip before he can register them and, as he realizes his mistake, he quickly turns to head for the table, eyes wide and a blush tainting his cheeks.

You lock your phone, setting it down as soon as Harry approaches the table. He sees a grin twitching on your lips as you glance up at him and he avoids your gaze, knowing it’ll only worsen the warmth on his face.

“What’s got you all flustered?” You ask, your voice verging a laugh.

“Stop.” He scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “Just told that man to enjoy his coffee.”

“Oh, no.” You burst into a fit of giggles and he peeks up at you, holding back a laugh himself as he shakes his head — he loves making you laugh. “C’mon, H, everyone does that. I’m sure he didn’t even notice.”

“Still embarrassing.”

“Just a bit.” Biting down at your bottom lip, you squint your eyes, pushing the muffin towards him. “Here, have a bite, you’ll forget all your problems.”

He breathes out another laugh, reaching to pick a piece of the sweet before shoving it into his mouth. Soon enough, his embarrassment gets lost in conversation, the rosy tone on his cheeks no longer making themselves present from shame but from laughing too hard from something you say. You two get lost in your little bubble for a good while, taking your time sipping on your drinks. Every so often, Harry steals a bite from your muffin — at first, he does it just to have a piece, but once he gets a reaction out of you, eyes narrowing at him adorably as you scrunch your nose in feign anger, he does it just to watch you.

There’s no better way of learning about you than watching, he’s found. One of the biggest changes that he noticed upon getting close to you again, is how you seem to have closed up in a way. And it’s difficult to catch on. He figures that someone who didn’t know you years ago probably doesn’t even realize how much of yourself you keep bottled up. You’re a rambler, that much is easy to pick up. But Harry’s realized that as much as that part of you remains intact, your chatters become much more superficial. You talk about specific events and memories but always narrate it as if you were a mere expectant. You rarely go into detail about your personal life all that much.

Apart from the day you were drunk on his bathtub, he’s barely got a glimpse of feelings regarding him.

So, he resorts to picking up those bits and pieces you let escape without realizing. He enjoys noticing you (and he’s aware that’s a bit creepy of him, but he can’t help it). How you mention you light a candle before going to sleep cause it helps calm you down. How you refer to your friends with the fondest smile picking up on your lips (but also how you let slip out you only have a person or two that are close to you because getting to know new people makes you anxious). How you always smile at dogs whenever you are — sometimes you even wave at them. How you have the habit of circling your drink in your hand when you’re comfortable, much like you’re doing right now.

The last one always warms his chest. He’s realized you only do it when you let your guard down, allowing yourself to get lost in your world without having to be alert all the time. For all you know, the world outside this small table could’ve stopped spinning and neither of you would notice.

Maybe it’s why you don’t pay any mind to the two teenage girls that enter the cafe. Not until both of them stand right next to the table.

It’s the call of your name that snaps you out of your head. The girls barely blink as they stare down at you, their mouths agape in shock as they hold each other’s hands. “Is it you?”

Harry thinks there’s a flash of panic in your eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. You smile as you stand, and he doesn’t fail to notice the way you turn your body slightly to shield him. “Last time I checked, that would be me, yes!” You chuckle. “What are your names?”

“I’m Lauren.” The taller one speaks up, her hand clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles are almost white. She looks down at the other one who simply stands there, wide eyes not leaving your figure for even a second. Once the other says nothing else, Lauren answers the question for her. “And she’s Georgia. She’s a bit nervous cause she’s a big fan.”

“That’s very sweet, thank you so much.” You tilt your head a bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” Georgia says, her voice trembling and the hold on her friend’s hand. “Uhm, do- could we- if it’s not too much of a bother, could we get a picture with you?”

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s the best time right now, I’m sorry, loves.” Your voice is soft as you talk to them, but it quickly takes a more joyous tone as you suggest, “But I’d love to sign something for you if you’d like?”

“Yeah, if you can! If not, it’s okay, really.” Georgia nods, the words all but stumble out of her mouth. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“It’s no problem at all! It’s a pleasure to get to meet both of you.”

Harry tries to watch discreetly as not to call any attention to himself, recalling what you once said about not wanting headlines of the two of you. So he only peeks up when you turn to fetch a pen from inside your bag, meeting your eyes for a second before you turn your attention back to the young fans. You chat with them for a little as you sign their phone cases, and he can’t help the tug in his heart at seeing you being so attentive to them.

“There we go.” You say as you hand Lauren her phone.

“Thank you so much!” Georgia exclaims, and even from his spot, Harry can make out a glossiness in her eyes. You pull her into a hug. “You’re really, like, one of my favorite people.”

“I’m honored.” You giggle as you back away, giving her friend a hug as well. Softening your voice once again, you keep a gentle hold to the girl’s shoulder, “Just one more thing, I’m sorry to have to ask you that but, would you mind not posting about this location?”

“Of course!” They say in unison, and Georgia is quick to add, “I wasn’t planning to!”

“Thank you for understanding.” You nod with a smile. “It was really lovely meeting the two of you! Hope we get to see each other again. Enjoy your day.”

The girls bid their goodbyes to you, and you give them one last wave before retaking your seat. Harry observes how you keep an eye on them for a beat longer before meeting his gaze, an apologetic expression adorning your face.

“That was sweet.”

You sigh, “That was unexpected.”

“Thought that kinda thing happened a lot.”

“It does, just-” You pause, frowning your lips slightly. “Never happened in here.”

You tap your fingers against the wood of the table in a nervous tick, bringing your other hand to your mouth as you bite down on the nail of your thumb. It’s clear how alarmed you’ve gotten now that the girls are gone, eyes scanning every bit of the room. Looking anywhere but to Harry’s own worried ones. He doesn’t need to be able to read minds to know that yours is probably rushing right now from a simple glance at your face.

He reaches for your hand on top of the table to call your attention. Once you snap your gaze back on his, you let your shoulders relax a bit. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah! It’s just…” You try to brush his worry off, glancing back at the entrance before sighing again. “Do you think we could take this back to your place? Is Julia there?”

He shakes his head to your last question, “Of course, it’s not that far, anyway.”

“Thank you.” Your expression softens as you move to gather your belongings hanging from the back of your seat. “I’m sorry, I always do this.” Your shoulders fall, the edge of your lips frowning down.

“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you?” He bumps his arm against yours as both of you stand to get you to relax. “You don’t have to apologize, I understand.”

“I appreciate it.” You nod, but the crease between your brows doesn’t ease. “I just want to avoid a possible mob in case they end up posting about the location.”

Harry tries to ignore the way his heart drops at your words. He wonders how many times you’ve been caught in a situation like this that ended up badly. “I get it.”

The way back to his building is much different than when you were coming to the cafe a few hours ago. It’s noticeable that you’re tense as soon as you step outside, the sunglasses earning a permanent spot on your face for the time being. Even with your eyes covered, however, Harry still notices how you take in your surroundings almost cautiously. He tries to bump his hips against yours every time you do it, trying to distract you from your worries. It helps, as you shoot him a smile every time, bumping your hips back.

Screams from a nearby park call both your attention as you get closer to his building. As the day approaches the late hours of the morning, people have decided to enjoy the rare dose of sunlight that gave a break to the frequent rainfalls that cloud the city. On the other side of the road, children run around in a playground as their parents watch them from near benches. A few runners make their laps on the sidewalk lining the edge of the block as well as dog-walkers that take more of a stride sort of walk.

“Such a nice day.” You say, glancing down at the floor ahead to allow your hair to cover a bit more of your face. “It’s a shame we have to go back inside.”

It breaks his heart to hear the way your voice takes a lower tone. He tries to meet your eyes, “Can tell you’re beating yourself up about things out of your control.” Harry pitches your arm, his next words coming out in a playful warning, stretching the word as to get you to smile. “Stop it.”

“I can’t help it.” You let out a humorless laugh, coming to a stop at a corner to wait for a red light so you can cross. He looks down at you, but you keep your gaze trained ahead. “It is kind of my fault, you know?”

Harry frowns. “Except it’s not.”

“Thank you for trying to make me feel better about it.” You give him a small smile, shaking your head. “But in a way, it is. I know it is. And I don’t mean to complain about it or anything! Cause I’m aware of how privileged I am to get to live my dream and all that… It just-” You shrug. “It’s not always a field of flowers, I guess.”

“You’re allowed to not love every second of it, doesn’t make you ungrateful.” He argues, his hand meeting your shoulder as he gently turns you to face him. “Especially when it comes to all this privacy stuff, you deserve to have your space.”

“I know that but...Well, I signed up for it, you know? I knew my life would never be just mine once I started getting big.” You adjust the glasses on your face. Harry’s close enough that, if he focuses, he can see your eyes under the dark lenses. “And in a way, I’m used to it now, I’ve learned how to live with it.” You sigh, frowning at your lips. “What makes me uneasy when stuff like this happens- what makes me want to keep a low profile when we’re out, it’s not to protect me. It’s to protect you.”

Him? “Me?”

“Yeah…” Your voice is small, almost shy as the confession leaves your lips. Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes down as you quick some loose pieces of concrete from the sidewalk. “It’s the same with my parents or to Lyla or anyone that doesn’t have a life like mine.” You explain in a rush, trying to cover the timidity that warms your cheeks. But when you continue, it’s still clear in your tone, as the words come from your lips in almost a shame, “You don’t deserve to be exposed to all of it just because you’re part of my life. It’s not fair to you.”

It takes Harry a second to let it sink in. To understand the whole reason behind your uneasiness when going out. Why you’re so adamant about keeping your ties to him a secret. Why you try to separate him from your public side.

All this time. You’re doing it to protect him.

There’s no denial of how the confession brings a tightness to his chest. He knows it’s not what you mean to do. But he can’t help it when you sound as if you could be a burden in his life — when, in reality, it couldn’t be the furthest away from the truth. So his shoulders lump as he watches you keep your gaze away from his again, lips frowning down as he uses every ounce of self-control within himself to not pull you to him.

Instead, he ducks his head, trying to find your eyes under the lenses of your glasses. When he speaks up, his words are soft, to embrace you in a way he can’t physically, “Is this why you get so stressed about going out in public? Why you asked me to not tell anyone?” You look up at him at the question and he adds, “To protect me?”

“Of course.” You reply as if it was obvious all along. “W- Did you think it was… Something else?”

“I-I don’t know.” From his peripheral vision, he can see cars coming to a halt as the streetlight turns red, but neither of you makes a move to keep walking. The world around doesn’t matter right now. “I think I just assumed you didn’t want the media assuming…” He motions vaguely with his hand. “Anything.”

“Well, yes, to protect you from that.”

“You-” He shakes his head incredulously. There’s no denial of the bouquet of butterflies that bloom on his stomach at the prospect of you wanting to protect him. At how you say it as if it’s obvious that you’d do it in the first place. Almost treating it as if it’s your duty to do so. But he also can’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt from it, knowing how this is the main reason that gets you anxious when you’re together. His hand reaches for your shoulder again, caressing it in silent gratitude as his expression softens, “You don’t have to do that, to stress yourself because of me. Do you know that?”

“But I do.” You’re quick to argue. “You don’t know what it’s like, H. People are brutal. I won’t have them pestering you. I won’t have that.” There’s a clear quiver in your voice at the last few words, and Harry has to fight back the lump on his own throat at the sound of it.

“Love-”

You push up your sunglasses so you can fully glance up at him, “I’m serious.” Your eyes are set, stern, as you lock them on his. But they’re also getting glossy at the edges. “I won’t let them get to you too.” You whisper.

“It’s not your duty, love.” Harry insists, hating how you’re clearly beating yourself up for it. “I can take care of myself in case anything happens.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The smile that tugs on your lips is weak, and you shake your head. “If you knew what it would be like...” You trail off.

“Is this why you don’t have any friends with- uh, a regular life?” Harry cringes at himself but doesn’t know how else to word this without making you feel abnormal.

You nod. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“I understand where you’re coming from.” He says, eyes trained on yours as he wants you to take in every word that he speaks. “I do, but you maybe you shouldn’t allow those people to dictate your happiness.”

You give him a sad smile that twists his heartstrings. “That’s not what it is.”

“It’s what it seems like.” He argues, desperate to get you to understand where he’s coming from.

The more he takes in the way your eyes water and your lips twist, shoulders falling almost in defeat — as if you’ve accepted the responsibility that you’ve weighed upon yourself — the more he has to hold back his own emotions. It’s clear the toll that this position takes on you; you’ve told him about it before. You’ve told him how you barely have anyone that you consider close — those in the industry being too worried about building their own careers on top of each other’s backs for you to be comfortable sharing any meaningful exchange (apart from very few exceptions). And now he knows why you don’t find these ties with people that have a life outside the spotlight.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” He questions out loud.

“All the time.” You let out a humorless laugh. “People don’t realize how lonely it can be to have a career like this.” It comes as a vent and you take a deep breath, your hand quickly coming up to wipe the sides of your eyes though there’s yet a tear to fall. “Like, yes, you have this big team with you, and everyone fawns over you everywhere you go, but-” You pause, exhaling. “After the shows, and the lights, and all that...In the end, when you go to bed, it’s just you and your pillow.”

Harry doesn’t stop himself now, taking the step to close the gap between the two of you, arms circling around you as he pulls you to him. “I hate that you have to feel like this.” He mutters into your hair, feeling you melt into him. Angling his head a bit so his voice doesn’t get muffled, he whispers, “From now on, you have me, yeah? If you ever need anything- anything, I’m just a call away.”

You hug him tighter at the assurance, your own words coming in a breath that could have easily been missed if they weren’t spoken so close to his skin. “Thank you.”

“You should probably get that.”

Jack, your producer, nods towards your phone as it begins to vibrate on top of the wooden table again. You sigh from your spot on the couch, cursing silently whoever’s been blowing up your phone for the past ten minutes. Mondays in the studio are already hard enough to concentrate as it is - especially as you and Jack have been trying to get the guitar riff just right for the past hour - so to add your buzzing device to the mix feels like a cherry on top to your stress cake.

You shoot him an apologetic look as you reach for it. You wanted to wait until you were done to pay attention to whatever’s been going off so as to not lose your focus, but it seems like whoever’s been trying to reach out has been very adamant about your attention.

So you step outside, letting your eyes fall closed for a second as the outdoor breeze relaxes your senses a little. Jack’s balcony right outside his home studio is quite small and doesn’t stand very tall from the second floor, but you love how you can still have a view of a park close enough that the sunset in the back paints the full leaves of the trees gold. After a moment of peace, you sigh as you’re reminded of your duties once the phone in your hand vibrates once again.

Your brows all but meet as you take in the notifications on your screen. There are two missed calls from Sonia, and a couple of messages, not only from her but from your publicist as well. Opening up the chat, your tired eyes just give a quick scan over the words before falling on a link attached to them. Just before you click on it, you can feel your heart sink as you realize it’s a The Sun article.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You mutter to yourself as you wait for the page to load. When it does, you can feel every ounce you get cold as your dread shows itself to be true. What calls your attention first are the pictures, ones taken yesterday as you recognize your white and red striped dress. And you recognize the look of adoration in a click, perfectly timed when you took off your sunglasses. And worst of all, you recognize Harry, holding you close at the corner just before his building.

When you finally remind yourself to read the headline, you’re not sure how you don’t drop your phone all the way down at the words that stare back at you.

NEW ROMANCE? This year’s favorite breakthrough artist is spotted on a coffee date in London with a mysterious brunette!

AAAH It’s finally here!! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one but I got very busy very suddenly at the end of the year but I promise next one will be here sooon!! As usual, if you enjoyed it please reblog and leave some feedback, I’m very excited to hear what’s everyone’s thoughts!!

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

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Death Cannot Take You

Summary: You died. You should have died, yet here you are having the audacity to still be walking.

A/n: This is semi abandoned old guard au. I made it for 3 reasons. 1) I love Old Guard. 2) I love writing resurrection scenes cus it makes my brain calm. 3) This is a poly that I am desperate for.

Warning: Violence, kidnapping, terrible explanations, and blatant disregard for patient care.

The world shook violently as it staggered into view— blotchy patches of fluorescent lights and rough textures. Drowning the heavy scrape of metal is a chorus of thumping and ringing in your ears. Your hands fly to the seat in front of you, cold metal pressed against hot skin as the train rattles on. It makes your stomach lurch, dredging out its contents.

Crumpled in your seat, you heave a ragged breath. You retch, the contents of your stomach burning in your esophagus. You screw your eyes shut unable to take another long gulp of air; it stung to breathe in the piss heavy air. You need to breathe. You need the oxygen. You need your mind in working order. Sucking in a greedy lungful, you cough it out, body rejecting it.

There was a heat.

A pulse.

A pistol.

A laugh.

You can remember the wetness of saliva and blood and tears on your face as the warmth bled out of your fingertips.

It was cold.

It was so cold.

Your heartbeat picks up. It’s getting harder to breathe. Your windpipe is closing. The world is getting smaller. The bones in your hands are rattling.

A cry pries itself out of your chest, tearing its way out of your mouth. They’re not stopping. They’re still laughing.

No.

Please god, no.

With another violent rattle, your consciousness slips.

You’re cold again. Shadows grasp at the corners of your vision. The world is blotchy— a patch of tangling threads.

The alley smells of piss and garbage. The smell is thick enough to make you choke. Your heart had stopped a while ago. No, your mind did. No, it was your heart you’re sure. No, no. It was his heart that stopped.

It’s cold. Someone is crying out for you. It’s your father. You’re scared. Your blue eyes are fading in color. You’ve faced death before— No, not you. He has. He’s faced death always with a smile but now with his heart at a complete stand still he’s sure this is it. He’s sure this is how he dies. It isn’t on the trapeze or because of some cookie plan made by a costumed nut case. Your— his heart stops.

He died.

So did he. There’s another man. He’s lying on the battlefield. The sky is so pretty. You can hear canonfire. There’s another man beside him. He’s dying too. Your fair hair is matted red. Your— his flesh is reknitting itself. It’s— The whole in his— your stomach is closing the whole in it. You’re gasping for breath. The alley doesn’t stink of piss and garbage; it smells like cotton fields and summer heat.

He died.

You died.

There’s a buzzing in the air— the thrum of electricity as it writhes in the wires. Bouncing your leg, you wait for the receptionist to call your name. Anxiety sings in your veins like a chorus of scraping metal.

You don’t remember what happened last night— not clearly.

It’s all a melting pot of images and voices and touches.

You cup your hand over your mouth, the stomach acid burning its way up your esophagus. Your tongue is tacky with dried saliva and the lingering taste of copper. They’re laughing. They’re all still laughing. The ringing in your ears won’t stop.

You fold. Legs curl up into your chest as you dip your head under. Eyes sliding shut, you let the darkness pool in your mind. The vague sounds in the emergency room coalescing into a discordant symphony. You let yourself dream again.

You lift your head up slowly, colors bleeding into view. The words don’t make sense.

“Kid, are you ok?”

You regard the large man with the open—mouthed confusion of a fish. He’s handsome in a rough sort of way— grisled with a full beard, cropped hair, and gunmetal blue eyes— eye. He’s got an eye patch. You swallow. Your lungs inflate as they inhale the sterile scent of the room. The smell of hand sanitizer is too thick. He’s tall. You crane your neck to look up at him. It hurts. He must easily be 6’3”, maybe even taller. His chest is broad and through the shirt, he’s wearing you can see the expanse of taut well—defined muscles. His lips are curved up at one side in a lopsided smirk. Your head is pounding. You shut your eyes, vigorously nodding your head. You know what he’s staring at. You know what his eyes— eye— are trained on.

You… You haven't changed. The crisp white shirt you’d worn to your job is dark and wrinkly with dried blood. You hate it. You hate how uncharacteristically messy you look; it makes you feel off—model, like something that is a cluttered version of you.

You curl up again. This time the ringing in your ears blocks out everything else. Your head dips back into the dark. It’s cold and stuffy and your ears were ringing when they—

Your eyes fly open and there’s a figure in front of you. You squint. The figure is smaller, less broad; a nursing assistant with kind eyes stands over you with a clipboard. You breathe. You turn your head to the man from before. He’s standing next to a man— younger, shorter. He looks dwarfed next to the other man but he’s average height and it would be funny if you had the energy. You’re far enough away that you can’t be sure of his features but it’s not hard to tell that he’s pretty. He’s got rich brown skin, black hair, and a gymnast’s poise. He’s familiar. Both of them are. They’re talking to the police. You freeze.

Are they here for you? Who are they?

“I need you to follow me back into the ER,” she says gently, grip firmly grasping your shoulder. You run your hand through your matted hair. Your hand comes back slick and sticky with sweat and dried blood. The oxygen in your lungs stutters. You feel another squeeze on your shoulder. You’re back. You’re not whole but you’re back.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, legs wobbling beneath you as you stand.

You follow her. It’s faint but you can feel someone follow you as you disappear into the hall with her.

The walk to the hall was peaceful. It was steadying. It’s the talk with the doctor that’s putting you on edge. He’s tapping his pen on the clipboard. Your mind writhes with every tap. Sighing, you rub your eyes and try to push the sensations away. “I— I’m so sorry. I’m just. It’s my mind. I just can’t—” you breathe “—I can talk. I’m sorry.” You wave vaguely.

“Alright tell me what happened.”

You swallow. Your trachea still feels splintered. “I—” breathe “—I was cornered. In an alley. Behind a butcher shop. I was trying to take a short cut—” he taps a pen against the board "— I was attacked." You finish, fingers tracing up the length of your throat. Attacked was too quick a word. Attacked was the kind of word you used for the quick in and out of a knife— the split second bite of a bullet. You weren’t attacked. You were— what happened to you felt like an eternity.

Shuffling, he looks you over. There's a prickle in the back of your neck. There's someone watching you. Your eyes flick. There's the young man. His eyes are a warm tropical blue. He waves at you. He looks uneasy. The man from before is trying not to pay attention. Your legs swing, almost clipping the doctor's clipboard. The doctor frowns at you but you shrug.

"You don't seem to have been injured."

You blink. "That's not possible," you say, hands shaking,"they had me for hours." No that wasn't true. At most they had you for an hour or maybe two but that didn’t matter not at the bite of the bullet, not at the slice of flesh, not at the impact of the bat.

"I need you to breathe," the doctor instructs, placing a hand on your back; it tenses. You go rigid. He pulls back muttering about x—rays and brain scans.

Catching his lab coat in a death grip, you beg: "Please don't leave me."

"Ma'am, you're perfectly safe here."

They will find you.

He thinks you're hysterical. You know that from the way he looks at you, like a caged animal. "We have security personnel if need be," he assures, none—too—gently prying his coat from your grip. "We'll close the curtain if that makes you feel safe and there are hospital gowns in the closet if you'd like to change."

You nod quietly.

You slowly peel off your shirt. The cool air stings. You suck in a breath. You think of the dream you had. That man's heart stopping. The press of lips. The bite of metal against skin. You look down at your skin— no bruises, no cuts, nothing.

You're scared.

You know these memories aren't fully yours.

You hear the door slide open. Your knee jerk reaction is to be embarrassed. You're in your underwear. Pulling on a gown, you're ready to snarl at the intruder. Your heart stops. It's the man from before.

"Did they take a blood sample from you yet?" He asks, closing the curtain behind him.

His gaze is unyielding as he makes slow predatory strides towards you. You flatten yourself against the wall. "No— I— what?"

"Good."

"What—" There's a sharp pain in the side of your head. There's blood trickling down the side of your head. Your vision is fading.

Falling forward, you grasp your blood tacky hands at his shirt. You feel weightless. You're on his shoulder.

"Who are you?"

"You'll find out."

The desert sand billows as a gust of wind blows through the dunes. You’re searching for someone. Your friend. His friend not yours. He’s somewhere. He’s being held prisoner. You’ve kept him waiting long enough.

You turn your head and the scene shifts.

There’s a sky full of lights above you, glittering. You can’t tell if they’re man made or not. You reach out to them. Your hands aren’t yours. You squint. Your hands are dark and calloused— covered in sawdust. There’s a terrible shape in your stomach. You’re scared but that’s not new. There’s always a little fear when you go on the trapeze.

You shift under the cover, limbs wrapped around a pillow. The smell of freshly roasted coffee is heavy in the air. You burrow your face more into the pillow. Mark can wake you up—

"And you thought kidnapping her was the solution?!"

You wince at the tone. Shuffling your limbs quitely out of the covers, you press yourself to the wall, peaking over the corner just a fraction— just enough to see two men arguing. The taller man with white hair facing the hall opening into the sleeping area.

“It was.”

“Slade, you can’t just go kidnapping people!” the younger man shouts, his face red while his arms waved all over the place. Slade, you assumed, stood impassively, but his arms were now crossed over his chest in a defensive manner.

“I just did.”

The younger man runs his hand over his face and through his hair, ruffling it in frustration. “She’s going to be terrified when she wakes up.”

You are. Your eyes flick to the window. You could escape. You're in a motel room you realize. If they’re distracted enough, you could make it out.

“Well, Kid, it looks like you’re right.”

“Of course, I am—”

You look up. The two men are looking in your direction. Should you go back to the bed and pretend to be asleep? Is there any point? Just make a run for it.

You sprint only to hit what feels like a brick wall. You stagger back but what feels like a metal band wraps around your waist. The next thing you know is that you feel weightless.

“Slade, put her down! You’re going to give her a heart attack.”

“Relax, kid, it’s not like it’s gonna kill her.” Your body is dropped unceremoniously on the bed. You bounce a couple of times before your body settles against the soft sheets. Scrambling back against the headboard, you look between the two men trying to decide what to do. You place a pillow in front of you as a shield. The pounding of your heart is loud in your ears that you don’t think you’ll be able to hear anything that comes out of your mouth.

“I’m broke,” you finally manage. You turn to the younger man. “My roommate is broke too.” He gives you a confused furrow in his brow. “We can’t afford ransom. You won’t get anything, so please just… just let me go. I won’t tell the police. I promise.” Folding your legs behind the pillow, you press yourself into the headboard further. The young man sighs and slumps. “We don’t want money.” You stiffen, keenly aware that save for the flimsy protection of the hospital gown, you’re only in your underwear. He seems to realize what you’d concluded.

Slade snorts. “Way to go, kid.”

“Yeah, thanks for the help, asshole.”

“I have done nothing wrong.”

“Ah, yes. Aside from kidnaping her you mean,” he snarls. You swallow loudly, trying to keep the bile down. The younger man turns to you, the impressive glare he was sporting slides way too easily into concern. His body rolls into a different shape; it’s the kind of posture you’ve used when comforting your younger sibling. He lowers himself on the bed slowly. He reaches out a hand. Carefully, he says “We won’t hurt you.”

And you want to believe him. You desperately want to believe him.

“Real convincing, Grayson.” Slade sneers as he watches your recoil from Grayson’s outstretched hand. Grayson levels another glare at Slade who simply huffs and shrugs.

“I haven’t done anything to you. Please let me go.” You croak.

Grayson looks at you helplessly. “(Y/n)... We can’t...”

“You died last night.” Slade says. Nothing in his tone suggests a question. It’s just a statement. No room for doubt.

You blink, nose scrunching. “I— I was mugged.” You cover your face with your hands. You’re pretty positive that you’d remember being murdered and you say as much. You got cornered by three to four gang members and they mugged you. That was it.

Your stomach rebels at the thought.

Grayson gives you that pitying look again. He pries your hands from your face, blue eyes bearing down at you with so much concern. His touch is so gentle that you almost cry. “Sweetheart, think about it.”

You shake your head trying to pull your hand away from him. He doesn’t let you. Your head is throbbing. You’re scared and confused and you’re starting to feel anger prickle under your skin. “I think I would know if I died, asshole,” you snarl and the shift in tone catches them both off guard.

Slade sighs. There’s a flash of metal and a gunshot. The pain radiates from the middle of your stomach; it’s sharp. Some small, shrill sound escapes you. You’re gasping as you look at him again. He’s looking at a watch. It looks expensive. It’s funny how even during death your mind finds a way to procrastinate.

“It’s taking a little while. Of all the inconveniences, why is it so slow the first few times?”Slade mutters in a voice that would sound right at home in a self checkout line. His shoe is tapping against the rug. You wonder if that’s expensive too.

“Why would you shoot her?” Grayson demands, shooting up from his spot on the bed. The loss of weight jostles the bed. You wince.

You look down. Something strange is happening. Your flesh like cloth is reknitting, leaving the seamless expanse of your stomach.

You look back up, eyes blown wide and frantic. You pat your stomach, hand coming away with a thin film of blood but the strange tingling you get when you’re expecting to feel something but you don’t. The bullet hole wasn’t there. It just wasn’t.

A sprawl of frantic horror lives down the line of your sternum. It was the kind of amorphous energy you get when something doesn’t make sense, when something just shouldn’t have happened— a sort of odd dislocation in the universe.

Grayson holds his hands up in a placating manner as he sits back down on the bed. He’s careful not to jostle you but you barely notice. You think his hands look familiar. Your— his calloused hands reach out to you. “You need to trust us.”

“You. Just. Shot. Me.”

“Correction, he shot you.”

Slade rolls his eye. “Ah yes, kid, very helpful.”

“It’s an important distinction.”

“Fine!” You point to Slade. “You shot me.” You point to Grayson. “You. Let. Him.”

“Sweetheart, I appreciate that you think I have any control over that brute,” Grayson says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, “but I have about as much control over that brute as I do over a storm. ”

Unamused, you throw a pillow at Grayson hard enough that he almost topples over the edge. You grab another pillow and Grayson raises the pillow you threw at him in defense. You can see the smile in his eyes; it makes the acid behind your teeth boil. All embarrassment and horror bleed out to give way to anger as you throw the pillow at him with the same ferocity as before. Slade snatches the pillow midair saving Grayson from having to deflect it. Grayson gives him a smile that looks like an insincere apology. Slade, like you, seems unconvinced and pushes your discarded pillow into Grayson’s fine—boned face. It does nothing to wipe the grin off his face but you feel a little better knowing you’re not the only one who has to endure him.

You fight the urge to laugh but not too hard. The chords of your muscles come loose and for the first time in what feels like an age, you feel tired. “I’m dead. I died. Then you shot me… And then you shot me. WHAT THE HELL?” You say, the accusation directionless. You were supposed to die on a smoking heap of trash, gutted and pathetic. Hands falling limply to your sides, you let your mind go through that a dozen times because, well, how does one process their own death and undeath? You shouldn't still be here.

"What’s happening to me?"

"She's acting far more reasonable than you did." Slade teases.

Grayson scowls at him, slapping him with the pillow. Slade just kind of grunts clearly less hurt than annoyed. Considering the solid wall of muscle the man is sporting, you wouldn’t be surprised if it would take nothing short of a brick to hurt him. "YOU SHOT ME IN THE HEAD THEN SHOT ME THROUGH THE STOMACH."

“I only shot you in the stomach because the bullet through your head didn’t get through your thick skull.”

You’re one missed heartbeat away from laughing. Your brows shoot up, limp limbs coming back to life as you curl in on yourself again. What have you gotten yourself into?

"Oh my god, I mean— Shit!" Slade snorts as Grayson flails. Grayson puts his hand in his face, groaning. “Sorry about that… Slade is terrible at explanations.”

Slade makes a noise in the back of his throat. It sounds like a laugh and twitch of his lip would suggest so but you're still second guessing yourself. "You're one to talk Mr. We Won't Hurt You." The air fills with Slade's amusement as Grayson’s cheeks flush. It's funny how easily pretty shifts to adorable.

You sigh raking your hand through your hair. It's been an exceptionally long day. "What’s happening to me?" You whine mostly to yourself. "I'm not a meta. I think I would know if I was something like that… Right?" You look up at Grayson who just gives you a complicated expression. "You know what's going on don't you?" You say, crawling closer to Grayson. He shifts a bit, keeping his eyes straight. Grayson blinks and runs his hand through his hair, collecting his scattered thoughts. He leans back, putting a bit of space between you as he speaks. "We got off on the wrong foot," he says extending a hand to you, "the name's Dick—”

“Are you sure?” and Slade laughs at your question. Grayson— Dick (is that really his name?) looks tired like he’s heard this question a million times. “Yes, I’m sure about my name.” You feel a little bad but not enough to actually say anything that even comes close to an apology. “Anyway,” Dick (?) continues,”the grumpy old man over there is Slade. We’re sort of in the same boat as you.”

The last line makes you pause. You think back to your dreams, the quick flashes of sensations. Oh. That was— Oh. Your stomach feels like lead. You watched them— Oh.

“I’m sorry.” you say, at a loss of what else to say. Death was an intimate thing. You guessed that only the dead or the previously dead would know that. You fold your hands on your lap as you sit back on your legs, a primm gesture that made you feel solid and a bit more like yourself than you had in hours.

Dick’s warm blue eyes are wide. He goes still for a moment taking in what you’d just said. His head shakes and he smiles at you, an expression that is weightless. It made you think of the trapeze. “It’s ok,” he assures you, warm hand on yours, “it’s not your fault… Anyway!” You use the very sarcastic brows you’ve been given to convey your concern about the neck snapping shift in tone. Dick looks at you sheepish, hand rubbing the back of his neck before deciding to soldier on. “We don’t know why but some individuals are brought back to life and are made immortal. We’ve— I’ve got a few working theories but—”

“Immortal.” You repeat, trying to make the concept make sense.

“We, now including you, don’t die, kid.” Slade deadpans.

“Thanks. I’ve read a dictionary.” You say, eyes flicking to your very much intact stomach. Dick laughs, the sound high and breezy. He tries to stifle it but even the hand cupped over his mouth couldn’t contain the sound. Slade’s long leg stretches to give Dick a not so light kick. This does nothing but increase the volume of his laughter. You look back up at them. “So, what does my latest existential crisis have to do with either of you?”

“Well for one,” Slade says, standing up, “we can’t have you running around with a millenia old secret without even attempting to teach you how to disappear first.” This is what gets your stomach to rebel. Bile is climbing up your throat. Dick, quick as a whip, holds a trash can out for you. You put your hand in front of you. You hold out your hand to stop him, not even sure if you had anything in your stomach aside from acid.

You had just started getting your life back together and then this. Shaking your head, you try to break the thought down into more manageable pieces before swallowing it. “Ok. ok. That makes sense. I guess.”

Dick pulls back still looking concerned. “You are taking this alarmingly well.”

You stare at him. Your stomach rolls again. "Do I have a choice?" You ask from behind your hand.

Slade huffs, "she's right, kid."

"Is he just gonna keep calling us kid or..."

"Considering he's got 700 years on the both of us?" Dick laughs like he didn't just hit you with a ton of bricks.

"Ah, so he's a museum piece. Got it." You deadpan and you're rewarded with another roll of laughter from Dick. Slade grunts but doesn't protest much more than that. You turn your focus to Dick. "So how old are you?"

"A lady never tells," Dick says, crows feet wrinkling at the corners of his eyes. You blow air between your lips. "Lemme guess, you're like 2000 years old."

Dick makes a noise; it sounds offended. You don't much care, finally feeling a smile creeping on to your face. It doesn't hurt when you do not like everything else right now. That fact would be almost uncomfortable if you weren't so weary.

Folding your knees against your chest, you squish your face against your arms. "No seriously, old man. How old are you?"

"You're persistent." Dick hums.

"I want to know if I can cite you for my thesis on ancient greek culture."

Dick shakes his head. "You're better off citing him."

"Sadly, he's right Grayson is just a mere 27 years old."

You blink. He's— He's around your age. You breathe. "Ok so I'm not alone. Great."

"You're not," Slade says, "he was much harder to deal with."

"Do I have to keep mentioning that you shot me twice?" Dick asks crossing his arm sover his chest.

"Are you ever going to stop bringing it up?"

"When it stops working."

"It ever started."

From their banter, they're familiar with each other. The tiredness from before ebbs back in. You feel alone. Out of habit, you bury your head against your knees. There is something comforting about the stillness.

A warm hand settles on your shoulder. You jolt up, knocking the back of your skull against the headboard. It makes a loud thunk against the wall. Dick winces, pulling his hand away from you. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine." You lied still seeing stars.

They look unconvinced. You don't quite care. "You look like you need a good meal."

"Or a hot shower," Slade suggests.

You think it over, hand on your stomach brain still looking for the bullet wound. Eyes flicking between both, you lick your lips before saying: "I'll take you up on that shower." Your eyes drift back down to your arms, concentrating on the small details, the imperfections you've gathered through the years. The thought that you won't be able to add more doesn't really register like it should.

Dick nods getting up to grab something. "I might need a couple of minutes in there," you say absently.

"Take all the time you need." Dick says handing you a towel and a fresh shirt. You accept them with a small nod, carefully peeling yourself away from the bed. Your eyes go into a tunnel vision, only focused on the door to the shower.

You stop, a hand gripping your wrist. The pressure is solid and reassuring. You turn back to see Dick, biting his cheek."It'll get better I promise."

You give Dick a crooked smile. "I'll probably feel a lot better when I'm not covered in blood."

"That always helps," Slade says flatly.

"You'd know."

"You really wanna scare her more right now?"

"It's just way too easy with you around."

"Please save the other world shattering revelations after my shower," You whine pulling the towel to your chest.

"Can't promise that." Slade says with a rumble that just radiates bastard.

You blow out a breath, raising a middle finger over your shoulder. It was a rude gesture you'd never normally even consider but it felt appropriate at this moment.

"Hope you don't mind pizza." Dick says already dialing the number.

You stop leaning against the door, face squished against the frame. "What kind?"

"Hnnnnn... I figure you would like ham and mushrooms."

With amusement, you note how Slade blanches quietly behind Dick. You quietly question both of their maturities. "how'd you figure oh wise ancient one?"

"Please don't ask him that."

"Why not? I'm curious to see how his mind works."

"You're going to regret that."

You cock your brow as Dick draws himself up. He reminds you of a pitcher winding up. "Because I'm a fun—guy, get it?"

Slade groans, hand on his face and for once he looks like an old man not like a terrifying wall of intimidation.

"You're right. I do regret it," you say, stifling a laugh,"anyway, if you'll excuse me, the shower is calling my name. You two love birds have fun."

Slade sits beside Dick, an arm wrapping around his waist. "You heard the lady. She told us to have fun," Slade rumbles into Dick's ear only loud enough for you to hear. You flush. Realization hitting you like a truck. The color of Dick's face mimicking yours as he shoves Slade's face away. That warm shower will now be a cold one, you think as you awkwardly shuffle into the bathroom.

Instead of a shower, you elected for a nice soak. You're too weary and rung out and you hadn't seen a decent bath tub in a few years so you took the chance. It's not like an infection from the tub could kill you, right?

You step out of the bathroom feeling refreshed if not a bit cold from your shirt. Dick's shirt was big but it stopped shy of your thighs. You couldn't really complain. You were just happy to get out of the blood soaked clothes.

You pad your way into the room and eyes are instantly on you. Slade quite blatantly stares at the curve of your ass as it peaks out from under your shirt. You think of scolding him but decide to leave that up to Dick who… is also staring at you… in the same area. He has the decency to look embarrassed when you catch him. Clearing his throat, Dick answers the knock on the door which just adds another set of eyes on you.

A poor pimple faced kid stands frozen at the door, slack jawed. His eyes dart around the room, frantically looking for a camera or something. You sigh. You too could see how this could be a lazy set up to a porn. You’re slightly flattered at the idea that you could be astronomically hot enough to be in a porn with either of these two but you’re more worried about the kid having to deal with a boner while he delivers pizzas. Dick, incredibly oblivious to the problem, seems to take his time looking for his wallet.

Slade, not oblivious to the problem, makes his way to the poor kid, looking as imposing as possible as he hands the kid a fifty. Whatever arousal the kid felt at the moment floods out of him along with any color in his face.

You snort plopping on to the bed and crossing your leg over the other and you watch as the men’s eyes widen as they trace the expanse of skin. This is the closest you will ever be to a bond girl.

Slade slams the door in the kids face, not even bothering with the change. Dick rolls his eyes with a crooked smile playing on his lips. “She hasn’t been with us for a day and you’re already acting possessive,” Dick laughs, patting Slade’s chest as he walks past.

Dick plops on the bed next to you. You press your cheek into his shoulder as he opens the box. The smell of greasy cheese and canned vegetables floods your nostrils in a concert of sweet, unhealthy goodness. Your stomach rumbles and your hand darts down to get a piece. Your hand jerks back as your skin tingles from the heat.

“Sorry, love, you can still feel pain.” Dick says, puckering his face as he blows the rising steam away. As if to be contrary, Slade grabs the largest slice and immediately takes a bite. You turn to Dick, raising a brow to ask. “Him? He’s just a weirdo.” Dick answers, grabbing his own slice. You roll your eyes grabbing your own slice.

Dick’s trying hard not to stare at your legs but ends up staring at your lips instead. “Do you have any spare pants?” You ask around a mouthful of pizza.

“I’ll get it,” Slade says before Dick can even stumble out a response, “clearly wonder boy hadn’t thought this through.”

You hum around another mouthful in agreement and Dick just looks at you betrayed. You uncross and recross your legs to prove your point.

Shifting away from Dick and swallowing the last bit of your pizza, you take the pants Slade offers you and you’re not at all surprised that it doesn’t fit right. “Any chance I can go back to my apartment? Even just for clothes?”

“Sadly no.”

“Should I ask?”

“Do you really feel like talking to cops right now, kid?”

“Yanno, you’re gonna have to distinguish between us at some point,” Dick huffs, opening a can of soda,”and she’s right we do need to get her new clothes.” He hands you a can. Not feeling parched, you just roll it in your palm feeling the need to indulge in the feeling on cool metal. You catch yourself before you tuck your legs against your chest again.

“I don’t see why you’re so hell bent on this, kid 1. You clearly like seeing her in your clothes.” Slade says, flatly the way you’d read out the summary of a particularly boring movie summary, probably based on a Nicholas Sparks novel.

“You think adding a number is enough effort to distinguish us?” Dick sneers, trying to distract from the flush of his cheeks.

“Would you prefer I call you ‘Sport’?”

“Dick, for both of our sake’s please accept being called Sport.”

“No!”

“How about ‘Chum’?”

Dick’s nose wrinkles at the name. You’re not sure if it’s the name itself, the way it rolls off of Slade’s tongue, or something to do with your dream. You don’t know Dick well enough to discern.

“Please don’t.” Dick tries politely and there’s a tinge of sadness in his tone. Slade seems to back off, easing into his chair.

You open your mouth wanting to pry but instead of asking the question on the tip of your tongue, you settle for asking for another slice. The air is full of questions but you’re not really sure which one to pluck out. Then again, you’ve got time. And really? Right now, that’s all you have.

Before you can dwell too much on that thought, Slade turns the TV on to drown out whatever Dick was saying. You’d tuned him out a little bit ago. It wasn’t really a matter of choice; it was more a matter of your brain going on power saving mode.

You blink sleepily, the voice of the anchor falling into a low hum in your mind. You’re pretty sure your name blips in between the static of words. There’s a dull recognition in the words ‘kidnapping’ and ‘suspects’ but it all seems so distant at the moment. No reaction registers upon realizing that they were probably talking about your kidnapping and really could anyone blame you when some cosmic fuckery just occurred and now your life has been turned on its head? ____________________________________________________________ Thanks for reading!

#dick grayson x reader #slade wilson x reader #Slade Wilson #dick grayson #slade wilson imagine #dick grayson imagine #crack au #poly

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stardusttkachuk · 3 years

Text

Santa’s Workshop

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: fluff, swearing,

Summary: JJ picks up a holiday job, working as one of Santa’s elves. He doesn’t expect to meet another elf there, but isn’t disappointed in who he’ll be working with all season.

A/N: This is day 1 of starduststarkey’s 12 days of Christmas. Find other fics in my masterlist

Wanna be tagged? click here!

“You look fucking ridiculous,” John B says as JJ stands in front of the broken full length mirror that JB picked up from a junkyard.

“At least I have a job, asshat.” He fixes his hat on his head, grimacing at the way the tights hug his body. He’s uncomfortable in every place imaginable and is already dreading the 5 hour shift.

“Maybe if you’re a good elf, Santa will bring you a girlfriend this year!” Pope teases.

“You better shut the fuck up before this elf beats you to a pulp,” JJ threatens, fists raised.

Pope laughs. “I don’t think elves are supposed to be getting in fist fights.”

JJ huffs and rolls his eyes. Pope is right. He can’t show up to this job covered in bruises, that would scare the kids even more than he probably already will.

“Will you please drive me?” He asks John B.

“Maybe you should ask Santa for a car,” John B says, grabbing the keys to the Twinkie.

“Why do you think I even took this job in the first place? Please. I don’t want to be seen in public like this.”

You set your bag in the provided cubby, checking your phone one last time before your scheduled session. When you had signed up to be one of Santa’s elves at the local mall, you were ecstatic. You and your best friend had been doing this for the last two years. But this year, your best friend ditched you for the hot chocolate stand. Really she ditched you for the cute girl who worked at the hot chocolate stand, and now you were stuck working with some kid named JJ Maybank. You crossed your fingers in hopes that he wasn’t some loser like the guy they hired last season.

“Santa arrives in 10 minutes! You better be out there in 5!” Natasha, the showrunner of Santa’s Workshop yells through the improvised locker and changing room. “Where’s your other elf?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. He hasn’t shown up yet.”

“Well when he gets here tell him he’s a dead man if he isn’t here 15 minutes prior to his shift.” She storms out, clipboard in hand.

The first day is always one of the craziest. Things don’t settle down until a few weeks in. And by the time they do settle down, it’s already the week before Christmas and they get crazy again.

“Hi. I’m JJ Maybank. I think this is where I’m supposed to be?” You hear someone say, likely talking to the nutcracker that’s posted outside the green room.

“In there. Find Y/N. You’ll know it’s her because she’ll be dressed just like you.”

You roll your eyes. At least he showed up. Ten minutes late but he did make it.

He passes through the curtains, blonde hair a mess under his elf hat. You’ll have to remind him to brush it before he arrives. You have an extra brush in your bag, but you know you won’t have time to make it look perfect.

He spies you easily, strutting towards you. “I’m JJ. Are you Y/N?”

“That’s me. You’re late, by the way.”

JJ looks at his watch, eyes wide and mouth agape. “I’m five minutes early! That’s the earliest I’ve been for any job!”

“Natasha’s rules state all workshop employees must be present 15 minutes prior to their shift.”

JJ rolls his eyes. “It’s only ten minutes.”

“And if it happens again, you’re a dead man. So you better be here 15 minutes early next time.”

“Okay but why 15? Aren’t we just sitting around those 15 minutes until our shift starts?”

“It’s for costume malfunctions. Like your hair. It needs to be brushed. If you had been here 10 minutes earlier, maybe we would’ve had time to brush it and make it look better.”

“My hair looks fine,” JJ grumbles, though he does attempt to smooth down the ends with his hands.

You lead him over to the cubby next to yours, gesturing to it. “Put your stuff in here. And that includes your phone.”

JJ places both his phone and wallet into the cubby. He then takes his jacket off and puts it on top of the two valuable items.

“No one is going to steal your stuff, if you’re worried about that. This place is heavily monitored,” you say. “And no one but Santa’s crew is allowed back here anyway.”

JJ is about to speak when an elderly woman with white hair tucked under her hat enters the room. “Looks like Mrs. Claus has arrived,” he jokes.

“That’s Natasha.” You grab JJ’s hand, pulling him out to Santa’s corner before Natasha has a chance to yell at him for his tardiness.

“So what exactly do we do?” JJ whispers, eyeing the line of children and their parents that seems to wrap around the entire display.

“We help the kids from their parents to Santa’s lap and then back out to their parents again. And don’t forget the candy cane before they leave.”

JJ grimaces. “You mean we have to interact with the kids?”

“Yes. Now smile and act like an elf,” you say.

“How do- ohf!” JJ grunts as you elbow him and immediately reach forward for the hand of a little girl.

“Hi! I’m elf Y/N! And this is my friend elf JJ! What’s your name?” You ask in a high pitched voice.

“I’m Sophie,” she beams. She grasps onto JJ’s hand and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the face he makes. It’s clear he isn’t a fan of kids and you can’t wait to watch him interact with them for the next 30 days.

JJ pulls his booties on over the tights, chuckling to himself as the bells jingle. They jingle every time he walks. He’s grown so used to the sound now though. He’s grown used to looking absolutely ridiculous in his costume. He’s even grown used to the kids, which he thought was impossible.

But the way Y/N smiles when he coos at a baby or holds onto a preschoolers hand has helped him get over his dislike of the kids. He’d do just about anything to see her smile.

“Ready?” John B asks from the doorway, keys looped around his finger.

“Actually a friend is picking me up,” JJ says, grabbing his phone and wallet.

“What friend? You don’t have any friends besides us.”

“Well that’s very rude of you to think. I have plenty of friends. And her name is Y/N. We work together.”

“Work together or sleep together? Or both. Do you guys like, get it on in the costumes?”

“Ew, no,” JJ scoffs.

“Okay, you know elves is somebody's kink,” John B adds, shuddering as he does.

“I didn’t want to know that. I don’t want to think about that.”

“Okay but Y/N… you like her.”

“No. We’re just friends. We’re coworkers. We work the same shift and she offered to give me a ride, okay? Now can you make yourself disappear before she gets here? I don’t want her seeing your face.”

John B pouts. “Why not? I have a very likable face.”

“Just… please?” JJ asks, but it’s too late.

The beat up Ford truck pulls up in front of the house. JJ knows it’s hers. On days when they work late and it’s dark outside by the time they leave, he walks her to her car. They once spent two extra hours after work sitting in her car and talking. She even gave him a ride home once, but he made her drop him off down the street. It was too risky for her to pull up to his actual house, especially if his dad was home.

JJ knows John B is in the doorway when he exits the house. He watches as Y/N waves, a courteous smile on her face. JJ walks to the passenger side, hearing the familiar squeak of the old door.

“Who’s that?”

“John B. He’s my best friend.”

“He’s dating Sarah Cameron right?” she asks.

“Yeah. You know Sarah?”

“Everyone on this island knows Sarah,” Y/N laughs. JJ knows she’s not wrong. Everyone did know the Cameron's, especially after the huge scandal that went down last summer. People don’t typically forget about a murder and stealing of millions of dollars worth in gold.

“Right,” JJ laughs nervously.

You tear your elf hat off as soon as you reach your truck. Today was a hard shift. Multiple crying kids, lines that wrapped all around the mall, parents who didn’t understand the concept of patience and waiting, and then there was the kid that peed on Santa Claus and made everyone wait even longer while Santa went to change. It was a nightmare.

If it wasn’t for JJ, today would’ve been the day you quit.

But he insisted on stopping for dinner before you dropped him off, so here you were, sitting at a booth across from him, the both of you still clad in your elf costumes.

You probably looked ridiculous but you didn’t care. JJ was your sole focus tonight. He let you vent to him about the craziness of the day and when you weren’t talking he was telling you about the funniest wishes he had overheard while on candy cane duty.

“All their missing socks?” You laugh, hand covering your mouth.

JJ nods, laughing harder. “He-He couldn’t understand why the dryer monster needed his socks more than him. He even asked if-if monsters were on the naughty list!” JJ bursts out laughing, as do you. If there was one thing that could cheer you up, it was this.

“Kids got a point,” you giggle. “Why does the dryer monster only take one sock and not both? Do you think he only has one leg?”

JJ nods, his smile wide. “Yeah, instead of one eye he’s got one leg.”

Your laughs die down slowly, but you can’t wipe the smile off your face. The smile that was forced all throughout the day was now a real one.

“I’ve missed that smile,” JJ says, reaching his hand across the table.

You blush but take his hand without hesitation, lacing your fingers through his.

JJ nervously clears his throat. “Do you think when this is all over, I can take you on an actual date?”

You’re not sure your smile could get any wider. “I’d like that.”

You both stare at each other for a while longer, before JJ can’t wait anymore. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, leaning over the table.

“I’d like that too,” you respond, meeting him halfway.

Tags: @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @serpentbaby @etoilesnoor @k-k0129 @maybanksbaby @talksoprettyjjx @canibeoneofthepogues @multifixx @theonetheonlyalexbrown @glux64 @shy-1234 @sleepyhollands @cognacdelights @ilovejjmaybank @blueeyedbesson @cheshirecat107 @myrandom-fandomlife @makebank @ifilwtmfc @obxmxybxnk @kookkyra @rafej-cambanks @blindedbypeaky @ahiae @repostcentral @midnightzonzz @blxndeprincess @dracosbbygorl @itsagurl @Poguesinablanket @amandaburris @tovvaa @sunnsettee

#jj maybank #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #outer banks fluff #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #obx fic #obx imagine #obx fluff #obx

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nite-shay · 3 years

Text

My Neighbor: Hawks - (Takami Keigo / Hawks x Reader

Funny Idea: Your neighbor is hawks.

Winged hero: Hawks. One of the fastest and youngest heroes pro heroes. Number 2 in hero ranks and number 1 in most eligible bachelors in all of Japan.

And drum roll, please! *Drummy sounds* Tada! He is your neighbor! Shocking, I know, right? The title totally doesn't give it away! Nope, not at all!

Anyways, you might be wondering, 'Nite! How did that happen?'

Well.. ya see... that funny story…

Also, sorry for any typo :)

Enjoy!

Notes: reader is 20+. No warning. Mild rating.

****

"Please be fixed. Please be fixed. "You quietly prayed as you hesitantly reached for the handle that leads to the lobby of your apartment building.

The leasing office sent out a mass email earlier, letting all the tenants know that the central air was 'currently out of order' and they are 'working quickly to resolve the issue.' At least they were 'extremely sorry for any inconvenience this may cause and appreciate the patience of all tenants.'

They also explained how per the lease agreements, no discounts would be provided for maintenance issues and that the full rent would still be due.

I really need to move…

It just had to go out right smack dab in the middle of summer. And on one of the hottest days on record, no less!

You took a deep breath and pushed open the door into what could only be described as a magma cavern. Nope, you weren't on a tropical island; this was just the lobby. Damn, if it was this hot here, you can't imagine what your apartment must feel like.

You trudged your way through the muggy lobby grabbing your mail on your way over to the stairwell. By the time you made up to the very top floor, you were out of breath and drenched in sweat. Honestly, it looked like you just took a dip in a pool. Your clothes clung to every part of your sticky, overheating body. Hell, you were just happy you didn't have a heat stroke by the time you reached your front door.

You prayed your apartment would be cooler.

It wasn't!

It was giving the stairwell a run for its money.

Oh, hell no... NOPE! Not dealing with this.

You marched through the doorway, making sure to lock the door behind you, not like it would make much of a difference. You didn't see or hear anyone on the trip up or in the hallways. No doubt the other residences did the smart thing and retreated for someplace much cooler. You tossed the stack of mail on your end table without checking it. You'd deal with it later. More than likely, the postal carrier had mixed them up again with the tenant next door.... again...

Later problem for later me! Cool now!

You barely made it to your living room before you started peeling your sweat-soaked clothes off. Thankfully you lived alone, so you didn't have to worry about shocking anyone as you made your way to your bedroom. Tossed your clothes in the hamper before slipping into the thinnest shorts and tank top you could find. You would have said to hell with clothes in general at this point, but if you were going to cool this place off, you need to get some airflow in this place asap. That means windows and doors need to be open.

And for the next hour, that's what you did. Every window you had was open as far as they would go, along with the sliding glass door that led to your balcony. The breeze that flowed through your home was still hot and muggy, but it was then nothing. You also gather any and every fan you had, even the pitiful little desk fan that sounded like it was on its last leg. If it ocellated or moved air in any way, shape, or form, that bitch was on high!

It took a little bit, but it felt like you could breathe as the temperature started to drop. Of course, by then, you were on the verge of dehydration and also contemplated, more than once, curling up in your fridge until that accursed flaming ball of gas in the sky went down.

But you had food in there, and you can't waste food. Damn it.

Speaking of food...

You enjoyed a large bowl of ice cream and about three glasses of water. You reveled in the coolness of the sweet treat in your stomach, which gave you motivation for your next venture.

A nice cool shower.

You let the cool water flow over your whole body for what seemed like forever. Letting it wash away the stress, heat, and sweat of the day right down the drain. By the time you were done, your fingers were pruney, and the sun had descended entirely.

Damn, you were tired.

You lazily dried yourself and considered just going to bed as you were. You were on the 15th floor of your apartment building, so it wasn't like you had to worry about anyone peeking in your window. But you still didn't feel comfortable sleeping naked with your windows opened, and you really didn't want to close them.

After a short debate, you settled on a thin tank, and underwear was a good compromise.

Your body felt sluggish as you made your track to your bedroom. It was still relatively early, but between your job and the heat, you were completely and utterly wiped.

Bed... Sleep...

You showed your bed no mercy as you tore the covers off the nicely made bed and tossed them across the room. Then with no grace whatsoever, you let yourself collapse into the cool embrace of your mattress. Between the comfort of your bed and the white-nose of the fans, it didn't take long for drifted off to sleep.

***Later that night

The summer night air was hot and humid as the Wing hero: Hawks, flew high above the city. Even at the higher altitude, the air was so thick, it felt like he was swimming in a dense swamp rather than soaring through the sky. His whole body felt sore and heavy, so much so that he was actually an effort to keep himself afloat.

Damn, that villain really did a number on me. One more hit, and my goose would have been cooked.

The shift today had been long and hard, thanks to a tough group of villains that left him banged up and exhausted. He ended up having to get patched up at a hospital. The doc that ended up putting him back together tried to get him to stay, but he managed to talk him into agreeing on releasing him. Though, he would have flown the coupe either way. He couldn't stand hospitals or clinics. Not that there was anything wrong with those places. They just reminded him too much of the commission. Orderly. Sterile. Functional.

Which is nice for a hospital, not for life. He has almost 20 years of experience with it to make him an expert on that subject.

Shit got old quick….

Though honestly, it wasn't like his place was much better. It was a simple bed, one bath apartment. Top floor, of course, with a balcony that looked over the inconspicuous neighborhood it was built in. Now being the number two hero, you'd think he makes enough to live somewhere a bit more… well, expensive. But while he did live the high life, it was nice to have a place he could go and just be Keigo, not Hawks.

And speaking of, he could see his balcony coming into view.

He swooped down over the rallying, stumbling a bit in the landing. It was pitch black, and his eyes felt as heavy as his body. Thankfully, though, he didn't fallout then there. Camping wasn't his thing, and while the balcony was rather spacious, his bed sounded much more comfortable.

Ahh, home sweet home.

That's weird. Did I forget to lock the door again?

He shrugged, not giving it much thought. He'd been in a hurry this morning, getting called in for an emergency issue downtown. And it wasn't like the first time he'd forgotten to lock the door behind him. Plus, he lived on the top floor; it's not like he had to worry about people just walking in off the streets.

Lot easier targets than his humble abode.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Damn, it was hot. He must have forgotten to turn the AC on this morning. The apartment was hot and muggy, but he honestly couldn't have cared less. An oven sounded like a good place to take a nap at this point. His body started moving on its own towards the bedroom, stripping out of his hero costume along the way.

Bed. Sleep. Bed. Sleep. Bed. Sleep.

His mind chanted over and over, clothes would be tomorrow's problem. He didn't even bother turning on any lights as he maneuvered through the living room and down the hallway. He'd lived there for over a year, so he knew the layout like the back of his hand.

By the time he made it to his bed, he was down to only his boxers. He was about to pull those down, too, but the moment his legs came in contact with the mattress, it was like whatever energy was left was drained out of him.

He sighed and let his body fall forward across the bed that would give him the sweet relief he so desperately needed.

Thump!

Huh? Why did his mattress feel all lumpy?

A loud shriek jolted him back to life long enough to realize that he was not alone. That the lumps in his bed weren't his covers, but a body.

There was a person in bed.

He shifted his weight, forcing himself up as the body under him started to trash and yell.

"Huh? What are you doing in my-" He managed to murmur out before a sharp pain to the side of his head finally did him in, and his mind gave in to the darkness of unconsciousness.

********

Your dreams were a God sent.

You were in a winter wonderland. Cool snowflakes danced all around. A cool breeze would blow every now again. It was like you could hear the clinking sound of ice hitting the window. Oh, what was that? The sound of heavy snow falling from the tree limbs? How wonderful!

So wonderful. So peaceful. So cool.

But everything changed when you were jolted awake by something pinning you to your bed. Whatever it was, was large, heavy, and sweaty.

You shrieked as you realized it was a person! There was a person on top of you! You trashed about trying to push the weight off of you, but you couldn't seem to get them off you. You screamed louder and struggled harder until their weight shifted.

"Huh?" The voice above you was drowsy sounding definitely that of an adult male. Your panic doubled as he shifted again, giving you a little more wiggle room. You still couldn't get free, but you took the opportunity to reach for something, anything to defend yourself with. Like hell, you were going down without a fight! Finally, you managed to wrap your fingers around something large on your bedside table. "What are you doing in my-?" You didn't let your attacker finish as you bashed the lamp into the side of his head.

He let out a loud 'off' as he rolled off the bed, giving you enough time to scrabble to the opposite side of the bedroom, hitting the lights.

Were those....wings?

Peaking over the side of the bed was, in fact, crimson feathers.

Who or what the fuck is that?

*******

Hawk's head pounded as he slowly stirred.

Shit, did he get drunk last night?

Slowly he opened his eyes, wincing from the light flooding the room along the memories of the night before. That's weird; he didn't remember turning on any lights.

Was it morning already?

He went to stretch his sore, aching body but quickly realized he couldn't.

He glanced down at himself and saw that yeap he was in his boxers and tied- wait.... were those power cord and... belts?

He blinked. What the hell? His upper body was bound in what looked to be a mix of various power cords and belts. Did someone break into his place and attack him?

Who in their right mind would break into his house? He was a hero! One of the top in the country!

He sighed as he tested the 'ropes.' Well, if this was a robbery, it was poorly planned, to put it mildly. The assailant left his wings completely free, and the binding was so poorly tied that he could slip right, with little effort.

A squeak of a floorboard caused his head to jerk up and glare at his attacker. A person carefully stepped into his view. And well, of all the things he'd been prepared for... you weren't it. And certainly not you, in nothing but your underwear, a tank top, and wielding a lamp like it was a baseball bat.

Well... this is... unexpected.

He could only stare at you in confusion that years of training couldn't even stop. Huh? You didn't look like a villain, much less a burglar. Honestly, you didn't look like a fighter at all.

If you weren't a villain, then...

He mentally groaned.

Great. You were a fan... and a crazy one at that.

Over his career, he's had a few run-ins with crazy or obsessed fans of his. He couldn't count the number of times he's had to change his phone number or move his safe house. Even with the commission on his side, his info still got out!

Maybe they should start hiring them instead...

Well... at least you were easy on the eyes. He thought as he gave you a once over. Your hair was a mess, and was that a bit of drool on your chin?

Yeap, just another crazy yet fairly active fan.

"Hey there." He greeted you with a warm smile, causing you to jump. He needed to play this out some. Escaping wouldn't be a problem, and he already had a few feathers at the ready in case you tried something. But he was hoping it wouldn't come to that. As irritated as he was at you, he didn't want to hurt you. You weren't a villain, just... confused. "It's not every day, I wake up to beauty like you. How about you untie me so I can introduce myself properly."

He gave you a charming smile as he watched your face go from nervous to confused and then to anger.

"L-Like, hell, I'm telling you my name after what you did!" You took a step forward and raise your weapon up slightly higher, ready to strike. "And don't flirt with me, you creep!"

Hmm, that usually works.

"My bad. I didn't mean to offend you. If you untie me, I'm sure I can figure out a few ways to make up for it." He winked, keeping his smile friendly and inviting. He needed to figure a way out of this that didn’t involve him hurting you or land him on every news station in the country.

*****

"You're seriously fucked up in the head, you know that! I am not untying you!" You yelled as a blush slowly crept over your cheeks. You were shocked at the stones this guy had! He broke into your home and attacked you while you were asleep. And now he was flirting with you?! Like this, a date or something!

Something in his eyes flashes for a split second, and you saw one of his wings twitch.

Why did he keep looking at you like that?

"D-Don't try anything! The police are on their way!" At least you hoped they were. You hadn't been able to call them, cause stupid you forgot to put your phone to charge when you got home. It was completely dead. You could only hope one of your neighbors who stayed had neared the commotion and called for help.

"Police?" His golden bird-like eyes went wide for a moment. Did he really think you wouldn't call for help?

"Yes, the police! You broke into my home and attacked me in my sleep! What did you just expect me to call for a parade?!"

"Wait…" You could see the gears turning in his head as he glanced around your room. His eyes suddenly went wide.

"So… you're not one of my fans?"

"Fan? WHY THE HELL WOULD I BE A FAN OF A PSYCHO LIKE YOU!?!"

"Wait! This is just a misunderstanding!"

"How the hell is breaking into someone's home, attacking them in their bed in the middle of the night a 'misunderstanding'?"

"Look, all I remember is flying home. Walking through my…" The man trailed off. "Wait, what address is this?"

"Like I'd give my address to a villain?" You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

"I'm already here like it's really going to make a difference?" He growled before giving you a glare. You watched as his wings poofed up a bit. "Also, watch the insults. I'm a hero, not a villain."

"Likely story." You deadpanned. "You could at least come up with something more believable than that..."

"W-wait... You don't recognize me?" You gave him a once over. "Take a really good look at me." His wings stretched out a bit. "Anything thing ring a bell?" You just stared at him blankly. Granted, he was good looking, and if he wasn't a criminal, he could easily be on the cover of a magazine. "Seriously?"

"Pretty convenient of you to pick the home of someone who doesn't follow heroes, huh?"

"More like, inconvenient. If you did, you'd recognize me in a heartbeat." He sighed. "Look, just check my pants pocket. You'll find my credentials."

"How do I know this isn't just a trick? Or maybe they're fake."

"It's not a trick! Look, if you're that worried, just get your phone and google me. I'm the wing hero: Hawks." Huh? Why would he suggest that? He wouldn't know about your phone... so why would he tell you to get it? You could call for help. That should be the last thing he wants. You pondered for a moment.

****

"Fine, I'll check. But this better not be a trick," You paused. "cause if it is, I got another lamp with your name on it!" He watched as you gradually made your way towards his discarded clothes. While you searched for his wallet, he glanced over to the shattered remains of what he assumed was your first weapon.

Well, that explains the small blood trail on the side of his head and his headache.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you found it. You made your way back to him as he watches you juggle, keeping your on him, holding the lamp, and reading his ID.

"Hero license, Hero: Hawks, Name: Takami Keigo." You mumbled as your eyes darted between the ID's picture and himself. He could still see the doubt in your eyes. Damn, if this didn't work, he was going to have to free himself. Hopefully, he'd be quick enough to do that and subdue you without hurting you much. "Wait… Takami… Keigo.." Your eyes went wide, and he had to admit, his name sounded a little too good coming from you. "Wait! That's the name on the mail that keeps getting put in my box!" A look of realization and shock washes over you. "You're my neighbor!"

"Ah, so you're the one that's been slipping my mail under my door!" He couldn't help but smile and sigh internally. Finally, somethings going right! " Nice to finally meet you! Sorry I haven't had a chance to introduce myself before now. Work keeps me pretty busy."

"You're a hero… and you're my neighbor…." Your eyes were wide as you stared at him.

"Looks that way."

"THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU BREAK INTO MY HOME!"

"It was an accident! I swear! I was exhausted and just flew to the wrong balcony. Honest. The glass door was open, and I didn't even realize I was in the wrong place." He tried to reason with you.

"Didn't you think it was a little strange that the furniture wasn't yours, or how about the fact that I was IN the bed?"

"Like I said, I was exhausted." He just shrugged before mumbling. "And well, let's just say you wouldn't be the first time a fan found where I lived and tried to surprise me in bed."

".... so you thought I was some psycho who broke into your home just to try and sleep with you…" You glared at him, clearly annoyed. "You realize I'm still holding a weapon right now, and remember..." You gestured with the lamp. "I gotta pretty mean swing..."

"Easy there, Chickadee. I'm joking. And I wouldn't call you psycho just... A little touched in the head." That earned him a glare that made him chuckle. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

"You like pissing people off, don't you?"

"I've been known to ruffle some feathers from time to time."

"Look," You sighed as you tried to process everything that just happened. "This is just... too much..." You sat the lamp down finally. "Damn, I'm sorry."

"No worries. This one on me." He made a move to stand.

"Oh, here, let me..."

"All good, I got it." He stood up, letting the restraints fall off of him like they weren't even there, let alone tied.

"H-how did y-you?"

"Oh, yeah. Word of advice, ya might wanna work on knots." He chuckled as he stretched.

"Y-You could have gotten free at any time… why didn't you?"

"Like I said, I'm a hero." He walked forward while you moved to the side, eyes still wide-eyed." If I'd freed myself before you realized who I was, you would have freaked out. Honestly, the last thing I want is for you to get hurt or you to go screaming down the hallway in your underwear." He informed you as your face turned beet red, and you then tried to pull your shirt down. He laughed at the poor attempt to hide. "Well then, gotta say this would make a hell of a story, but I'd really appreciate it if we kept this between us." He could help but tease you more. You looked so damn cute when you're flustered. "Not to brag or anything, but I'm a pretty well-known hero and have a reputation to uphold." He sent out a few of his feathers to help gather his gear while he talked to you. You were so entranced watching his feathers work that he had to repeat himself again.

"I-I-I… Yes!" Your eye finally snapped back into focus on him. "Of course! Just between us!"

"Great! Glad that's settled." He took a step towards you and held out his hand. You finally got the message and handed his wallet back to him. "My superiors and PR would have my tail feathers if this got out." He ginned. "Well, would you look at the time!" He grinned while making his way to the sliding glass door and out to the balcony, his floating clothes trailing behind him. "Best be on my way. I have an early shift in the morning. Sweet dream angle." And with that, he stepped out to the balcony and fluttered over to his.

Damn, what a night!

*****

Extra:

The next morning.

You woke up late, groggy and sweaty. The AC was still out, and your apartment was slowly heating up.

With a heavy sigh, you forced yourself out of bed, put on shorts, and headed to the kitchen.

Last night was a hell of a night.

Your neighbor is a hero...

What are the odds of that?

You reached up into your cabinet and pulled down your favorite cereal.

Whatever, he can't be that good if he made that big of a mistake, right?

You quickly made your breakfast and headed for your balcony. There was a slight breeze blowing that morning, making it almost bearable outside.

Almost...

Huh? What's that?

There was a large brown bag sitting on your patio table.

That wasn't there before...

You sat your bowl down and picked it up. Whatever it was, it was a decent size and heavy. You opened the bag, and the first thing you found was a note.

'Sorry again about last night. Here's a little gift for you to make up for it.

Bet you could do some real damage with this one. Batter up, chickadee!

Your neighbor,

-Hawks'

You reached further into the bag and pulled out... a lamp?

It was made out of wood and metal, making the damn thing large and pretty heavy. It was well made and couldn't have been cheap! You pulled it further out of the back, and when you saw the shape of the body, you couldn't help it: you busted out laughing. The damn thing was in the shape of a roaster!

Your neighbor... is a hero... and a strange one at that...

********

Thanks for the read! If you want see the other stuff I’ve done, click the link bellow!

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