Lee

Which means, as the Checkmate HR manager, you have lifetime job security.

Despite his inability to read a room and function with any kind of social skills, you find him…endearing. He really does make an effort for everyone, especially when it comes to birthdays. He’d done something special for your birthday, too, just a few weeks after you first started at the company. A little party in the break room with all your favorite snacks, a multitude of colorful gel pens in the brand you like.

When you asked him, bewildered, how he knew any of that stuff about you, when you had just met him. He readily admitted to peeking through the window of your apartment from the fire escape in the middle of the night while he was on patrol.

(Thus ensued your first bizarre HR meeting where you had to explain that stalking his coworkers is not an okay after-hours activity.) 

But when it comes to his own birthday, Adrian’s lips are sealed. Not even Chris knows when it is.

“He’s cagey about it,” Chris says when you ask him in the break room one day. “I think it’s part of his whole secret identity thing, I don’t know. He’s weird about it.”

“He’s weird about everything,” John says.

“Stop insulting your coworker directly to the HR manager,” Emilia says.

“It wasn’t an insult! He’s an endearing kind of weird.”

“He’s also the reason we hired an HR manager,” Ads says. “I’m sure they are fully aware of exactly how weird Adrian is.”

You are, in fact, perfectly well-aware of Adrian’s quirks. He makes your work life more difficult in practically every way.

Since then, you have a standing weekly meeting on Friday afternoons to talk about every faux pas Adrian has made that week. You quickly realized it was easier to tackle his social missteps in bulk than to address them one at a time. Otherwise, you really would just be following him around all day correcting his behavior. Not that it would be any trouble. He’s really fucking nice to look at, even when he says stupid shit.

Though you were expecting those conversations to be awkward at first, you’ve weirdly started looking forward to them. He seems to actually like talking to you. 

“You tell me what I’m doing wrong, so I can fix it,” Adrian says all the time. “And not in a mean way. In a nice way. No one else ever did that for me. They just tell me I’m an idiot, or laugh at me.”

In fact, since you started the weekly meetings with him, and spent more time with him…you’ve fallen a little more in love with all of his quirks every time he talks. You are by no means trying to change him. You like Adrian, just the way he is. You’ve just helped him learn some boundaries, that’s all. Set some ground rules.

And Adrian is nothing if not a rule follower.

“That’s sexual harassment," Adrian says one day, when he overhears Chris telling Emilia that her tits look great in that shirt. “Which is illegal. Vigilante kills people for that, you know!”

All this to say—despite his social deficiencies, Adrian makes up for all of his shortcomings with sheer effort and enthusiasm. Especially when it comes to birthdays. If Adrian is around, you feel special on your birthday, because he makes it special. Even if he crosses a few socio-emotional boundaries along the way and you need to help him course correct.

“I can’t believe none of you know his birthday,” you sigh.

“Don’t you have access to our personnel files?” John asks. He looks at Ads. “We do have personnel files, don’t we? If you don’t have the password, I can hack them—”

“I’m not sure why all of you talk about Adrian like he’s the only person in the office who has no boundaries,” you comment. “Isn’t that an invasion of privacy?”

“I don’t know, you tell me, madam HR manager.”

You look at him, unimpressed.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to do a little snooping. All in the name of celebrating a good friend’s birthday, right?

“We never had this conversation,” you say, and you head back to your office with a determined skip in your step.

Adrian’s best friends doesn’t know his birthday. But you—you can find out. Because John was right. As the sole member of the human resources department at Checkmate, you have access to everyone’s personnel files, including Adrian’s. No one needs to know if you take a little sneak peek—

“June 30,” you murmur triumphantly, staring at your computer screen. Next week. A Tuesday.

It might be an abuse of power, and it might not be a great look for the HR manager to be snooping through employee data, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re determined to make Adrian’s birthday as special for him as he makes everyone else’s.

That Friday, when you ask Adrian to go out and pick up the lunch you’d ordered for the whole team, he trips over himself to say yes to you, like he always does. It makes your tummy flutter a bit, the way he’s wrapped around your finger, but you try not to take it to heart. He’s wrapped around Chris’s finger too. You’re not special.

You wander casually over to Chris’s desk and tap on his shoulder.

“Hey. Can I talk to you in my office real quick?” you whisper. Ads, nearby, makes an ooooohhhh you’re in trouble sound.

“Is this about the dick joke I made at our team meeting this morning?” Chris asks. “Because it was funny. Everyone laughed at it. Including you.”

“It’s not about the dick joke you made. And I did not laugh, I snorted, which is not the same thing—”

“It was an amused snort!”

“Okay, yes, your dick joke was funny, even if it was absolutely not office appropriate,” you sigh. “Now will you come with me? I want your help with something.”

“Sure,” Chris says, smiling proudly, because he got you to drop your professional persona, even for just a moment.

As the door to your office closes behind him, he asks, “What’s going on?”

“Adrian’s birthday is next Tuesday,” you say.

“You dirty dog,” Chris teases. “You did snoop in the personnel files.”

“Oh, shut up!”

“Next Tuesday,” Chris muses, ignoring you. “Not much time to plan anything.”

“It’s not. Which is why I’m asking for you to help,” you say. “You’re his best friend. It would mean a lot if you helped plan his surprise birthday celebration.”

“We can’t do a regular surprise party,” Chris says, thinking aloud. “Especially not at his house, since he still lives with his mom. She would be a downer. I would say do it at my place and we can surprise him, but—if anyone pops out from around a corner, Adrian would probably shoot them before he could every say happy birthday.”

You bite your lip and wince. “True.”

“What about the retro video arcade?” Chris suggests. “He fucking loves that place. He’s got the high score on the Frogger machine.”

Your eyes go wide and bright. “That’s perfect. I’ll call the owner today and see if I can set something up on short notice. It’s a Tuesday night, so it can’t be that busy.” You start to reach for your phone to look up the address and phone number. “Then I just need you to get him there.”

“That won’t be a problem at all,” Chris says. “He is constantly asking me to go there with him.”

“You won’t give away the surprise?”

“Adrian will be too excited that I want to spend time with him to question my motives.”

“True. I’ll—” You cut yourself off when you hear the slam of the front door and realize Adrian is back with lunch. “We’ll reconvene later. I’ll spread the word to the rest of the team.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Chris nods.

The two of you leave your office together, and when he sees you together, Adrian’s brow furrows for a moment, then he smiles and laughs.

“Dude, I warned you not to make that dick joke earlier—it was fucking hilarious, but I told you it was an HR violation—”

Everything comes together exactly the way you want. The owner gives you a discount on the party room despite the short notice because Tuesdays is always a slow night, anyway, and Adrian is a regular who the man likes, despite his odd quirks. You run to the party store for teal, black, and silver balloons. Ads orders a cake. Even Emilia helps out, running to grab drinks, plates, and plastic utensils.

And Adrian is none the wiser.

“Me and Chris are going to the video arcade tonight!” Adrian tells you excitedly, late that afternoon as everyone wraps up their work.

“What if he beats your Frogger high score?” you tease.

Adrian frowns. “He better not. Especially not on my—” He cuts himself off, eyes cutting away from yours quickly, and his face flushes red. 

Your brow furrows. Why doesn’t he want you to know it’s his birthday? Is he upset that no one remembered?

“Maybe just don’t let him play that machine,” you quip, moving the conversation along and ignoring his blunder. He looks at you gratefully.

“Hey, dude, you ready?” Chris calls from across the room. It’s a signal for everyone else to get their asses moving and head over to the arcade before he and Adrian can get there.

“Coming!” Adrian calls. He grins at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” you say.

Adrian heads out to the Vigilante-mobile with Chris. He chews on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully.

He’d almost admitted it to you, just now. That it’s his birthday today. Not a good idea, he thinks. After years and years of disastrous failures when he was younger, hoping and praying that anyone would show up to his birthday party—no. He can’t do it all again. It’s better for no one to know. To not expect anything from anyone.

He glances at Chris in the passenger seat as he pulls out of the parking lot and smiles. Some time with his BFF is more than enough for him.

“They’re coming, they’re coming!” Ads reports from her spot by the window. “Everyone hide!”

“No,” Emilia says. “We are not doing the hide and pop out to surprise him thing. Remember?”

“He would shoot somebody,” John reminds her.

“Just—stand over by the front door. The whole group. In plain sight,” you suggest. “No jumpscares necessary.”

“Okay, okay—”

You wait with the rest of the group with your eyes locked on the entrance to the arcade. Adrian is laughing when Chris opens the door, a sound that quickly dies when his best friend steps aside and he sees you and the rest of the 11th Street Kids standing there holding Happy Birthday balloons.

“What the fuck?” Adrian asks, a little wary.

“Happy birthday!” you say. You elbow Ads.

“Happy birthday!” Ads says reflexively. She nurses her wounded side. “Jesus, you have a strong elbow—”

“What the fuck?” Adrian repeats, and you start to get nervous before his entire demeanor transforms, a giant smile taking over his face. “You—how did you even know—”

“Someone snooped through the personnel files,” John says.

Adrian’s head swivels from Chris right beside him to the rest of his friends standing in formation in front of him.

“I—what—” he cuts himself off. His hands are shaking a little. He looks to the nearby table, at the Super Mario themed cake you’d ordered, at the Vigilante-colored balloons. “You guys did all this for me?” His voice cracks a little. He clears his throat and flushes.

“We can’t take the credit. It was her idea,” Chris says, gesturing toward you. Adrian turns to you with wide eyes.

“You stalked me?” he asks in awe.

“Adrian. I did not stalk you. I just…checked your personnel file for information I didn’t know,” you try.

“You stalked me,” he says, delighted.

Your cheeks feel hot. “You always make everyone else’s birthdays so special. I just wanted to do that for you, too. You deserve to have the best birthday ever.”

Adrian’s face morphs into an unfamiliar expression. He blinks quickly, like he’s suddenly trying to hold back tears.

“No one has ever done anything like this for me,” he chokes out. “Thank you.”

Chris takes pity on him when Adrian starts actively sniffling, clapping Adrian on the back.

“Why don’t we play some games? I am told you have the record on the Frogger machine. So I obviously have to beat it.”

“No,” Adrian says, immediately snapping out of his impending emotional spiral. “You can’t. The machine, uh…is broken.” 

It’s an obvious lie. The Frogger machine is blinking and beeping less than a yard away. You smile.

“How about some skee-ball, then?” you suggest. “There’s enough lanes for each of us.”

Adrian smiles. “Yeah. Hell yeah.” He rushes in the direction of the machines. 

“Lowest score has to babysit Eagly next time Chris is on an away mission!” Emilia calls, rushing after him. You laugh, glad that even stone-faced Emilia Harcourt is willing to get in on the fun.

“Fuck all of you,” John says. “You all know that I suck at things that require hand-eye coordination—”

“You carry a gun, maybe you should fix that,” Ads says.

“I guess it’s a good thing Eagly likes you the best anyway,” Chris laughs.

John smiles, just a little.

As the night goes on, the group breaks up to try out different machines, but the entire arcade is ringing with laughter, friendly jabs traded back and forth over pinball scores and failed levels of Space Invaders. After a few hours, as it grows later, things quiet down a bit. About twenty minutes ago, you parked yourself in the section with maze-games, working your way through all the different versions, listening with a smile as John and Ads try to beat each other’s Centipede high scores.

You feel someone walk up behind you, but you don’t look up, your brow furrowed with concentration as you stare at the screen, jerking the joystick back and forth as you try and epiclaly fail to beat a level on the Pac-Man machine.

“Can I ask you something?” Adrian asks, his voice directly next to your ear and the console makes a womp-womp noise as you startle and get eaten by a ghost.

“Damn,” you mutter. “I was so close!”

“You were not,” Adrian says. “Respectfully.” 

You laugh and turn to face him. Your face flushes a bit when you realize how close he’s standing to you. He’d been looking right over your shoulder at the screen, but now his attention is fixed on your face. You feel your whole body flush with heat.

“What’s up, Adrian?” you ask. “You had a question?”

“I thought you didn’t like me,” Adrian says.

“What?” you say, bewildered. “Why on earth would you think that, Adrian?”

“I mean—I’m like. So fucking annoying. You constantly have to hold my hand through behaving appropriately at work, and I’m just a dumbass and a bad person and an inconvenience—”

“Stop that,” you chide gently. “You are not an inconvenience, Adrian. I like our weekly meetings. I like spending time with you. You are a good person and I like you, you idiot.”

“You called me an idiot,” Adrian gasps, delighted.

“That’s what you got out of that? Really?”

“You tell me all the time not to call people idiots at work. I’m rubbing off on you,” he grins, a little wicked glint in his eye.

“We are not at work,” you point out. “Those rules don’t apply.”

“None of the office rules apply right now?” Adrian asks. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Well,” you consider. “This is not a work event. It’s a birthday party. With your friends. Who just happen to be your coworkers. So I think we can bend the rules a bit.”

“Even like, the sexual harassment rules?”

“Adrian,” you say, exasperated.

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I just—I mean—” He swallows, looking suddenly nervous, but still excited. “You’re always telling Chris and Emilia not to make out at work because the rest of us did not consent to seeing all that. Right?”

“Yes,” you say. “So if they wanted to make out right now, no one is stopping them. But we are still in public, so—”

“And if I kissed you?” Adrian blurts. “Since, you know, we’re not at work? That wouldn’t be an HR violation?”

Your heart stops. You pause and look at him, waiting for the punchline. But he just looks at you, eyes wide and earnest behind his glasses, with a smile on his face.

“Uh, no,” you say, a little flustered. “That wouldn’t be an HR violation.”

“Great,” Adrian exclaims. “Can I kiss you then?”

“You want to kiss me?” Your voice goes up an octave higher than usual.

“I always want to kiss you. Even though you are so, so shitty at Pac-Man. But I only ever see you at work, and that would be an HR violation.”

“Please stop saying HR violation,” you say, your voice high and thin.

“Okay,” he says, his voice softer as he steps closer to you. “But…I can? Kiss you?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “You can.”

His lips touch yours, eager and searching, and you respond in kind, letting your arms wind around his neck. His arms snake around your back, pull you into him by the hips, and you can already feel how you’re affecting him. It makes you giggle, and when he pulls away from you, he laughs too.

“This was really, really nice,” Adrian says.

“The kiss, or the party?”

“Both,” he says.

“I’m glad you liked it,” you giggle.

“The kiss, or the party?”

“Both,” you say softly. Your fingers twist the curls at the nape of his neck, and he hums, leaning forward to kiss you again.

“I think I liked the kiss more,” he says against your mouth.

You don’t bother answering with words, just open your mouth for him, let his tongue touch yours, let him press you against the game console. The joystick and buttons press uncomfortably into your back. You can’t bring yourself to care.

“The arcade closes soon,” Adrian says when you break away for air. His chest is heaving too, but he’s smiling, wider than you’ve ever seen. “I was thinking, maybe I could bring you home, and we could HR violate each other.”

“Adrian,” you deadpan.

“I mean we should have sex,” he clarifies.

“I know what you meant, you idiot.” But even as you roll your eyes with exasperation, you smile. “We can do whatever you want, birthday boy.”

“Oh—” The noise escapes him like a punched-out breath. He falters in the doorway, turning his head and lowering his gaze, as speckles of pink creep up the collar of his green doublet. “I— I didn’t mean to disturb you, my lady.”

“You could never disturb me,” you hum with a tender smile. “Please. Come in.”

Ormund obeys. Ormund always obeys. He commands thousands of knights as leader of his house by day, but the simplest request from you always threatens to unravel him completely. He bends entirely to your will, perhaps more desperate for your approval than The Father’s.

The door clicks shut behind him. The room seems smaller for it, warmer, as the heat of the candlelight grows the moment he’s alone with you. He shifts on his weight like a shy child before you, clasping his pale hands behind his back like a squire awaiting instruction. He was a six-foot, broad-shouldered knight, but a single smile from you makes him want to get on his knees and pray.

“There is a vial on that shelf beside you,” you tell him, lifting your chin slightly to motion to it. “The clear one— If you would?”

His body answers before his mind. Ormund turns, as if every bone in his body was made to be under your control, and skims the shelves with a broad hand until his fingers find a slender bottle. “This one?”

“Yes.”

His boots pad firmly along the cobbles as he crosses the distance between you, towering over your copper tub. The candlelight turns his wild curls a deeper auburn shade of Hightower red; the dancing flames carve out half of his chiseled features in blurred shadow.

Water slips from your arm in clear rivulets as you raise a waiting hand, glittering breasts rising once more from the still water. Ormund clears his throat, adam’s apple bobbing as he glances politely elsewhere. “Is this another one of your… miracles?” he wonders aloud, because it felt too ungodly to call them potions.

You uncork the small bottle with a faint pop. You tap your pointer finger against the glass to empty a few drops into the warm bathwater below. “It’s only lavender, I’m afraid,” you confess.

“…Lavender,” he echoes with an owlish blink.

Your eyes gleam with amusement when they flit back up to his. “Do I disappoint you, my lord?”

“No. N-Never,” he stammers with a shake of his head. “I— I quite prefer the smell, actually.”

“I’m aware…” you lilt with a wider smile. “Perhaps, I should lend you a bottle when we march.”

Ormund swallows hard and forgets to speak. His mind reels at the thought of keeping a pomander of your bath water chained to his armor — to inhaling the sweet scent of your musk and bathing oils while in the heart of battle.

“The gods spoke to me in prayer this morning…” you start with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you relax further into the water, with the vial hanging loosely at your fingertips. “The Warrior said, ‘Tonight, you will enjoy your last bath before the war… Make it count.’”

Ormund’s strong brow furrows in a grave sort of look, appearing almost stricken.

Your lip lifts into a smile. “A joke, my lord,” you tell him. “Though not a very good one, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Ormund says with an awkward chuckle, as relief crosses his strong features in slow confusion. “Forgive me, my lady— Humor is not my strength, I’m afraid.”

“That’s because most jokes are lies… And you are devoted to the truth.”

He nods once, then frowns thoughtfully. “Well… If they are lies, my lady… Are they not best avoided?”

You tilt your head to your bare shoulder, regarding him with an unmistakable fondness. “Not always… Sometimes, a soul must first be led astray before it can discover the proper road… A trick that leads them to the truth.”

You motion your head towards the shelves across the room.

“Like those bottles…” you tell him and watch as his head swivels in the direction of them almost instantly. “The green one sends a pillar of emerald flame into the heavens if thrown into a fire… The blue one creates a cloud of black smoke that would make the most seasoned knights piss themselves in fear… And that pink one…”

Ormund turns back to you when you trail off, chest tugging at the smile that graces your lips.

“Yes?” he presses.

“If slipped into a man’s wine… Drives him absolutely mad with lust.”

Ormund freezes, breath hitching somewhere in his chest. It feels, for a moment, like he’s finally got an answer for his own insanity — an explanation of why his mind cannot seem to roam anywhere without bumping into thoughts of you.

“Did… did you… Did you use that on me?” he stammers.

That question hangs between you for several long moments. You tilt your head and peer up at him in a thoughtful sort of look. “…Would I have to?” you press with an arched brow.

His face flushes pink to the tips of his ears. His light eyes widen as the answer spills immediately from his lips. “No! N-No. Of— Of course not,” he stammers, lowering himself to his knee beside your bath like a scolded squire, like a pilgrim before an altar. It was instinct almost, to kneel at your feet. “Forgive me, my lady— I exist only to serve you.”

The words leave his mouth as if pulled out by a hand down his throat. It frightens him, how easily his faith has entangled with you — how often his eyes sought yours before the Seven-Pointed Star. He could no longer tell if he worshipped you because of the gods, or if he worshipped the gods because of you.

“There is nothing to forgive, my lord, I assure you,” you coo to him, as gentle as The Mother herself, though something mischievous dances in your eyes even still. “But… if you truly wish to serve me… Then serve me.”

Ormund’s breath catches, heart thundering hard behind his ribcage.

Your brows lift in an expectant look. “Take off your clothes.”

The man rises slowly to full height again, towering once more before you. You watch with an unwavering stare as he reaches for the buckles of his doublet, unlatching the golden buttons there with a pair of trembling hands. The emerald jacket falls to the cobbles with a quiet thud. His pale tunic follows, which he unties and then tugs off at the collar.

The canvas of his milky white torso is exposed to you, toned from years of knighthood, and sprinkled with sparse brown hair along the stomach and sternum.

He has to remind himself to breathe as his hands fumble with the button of his trousers, toeing off his boots simultaneously. The fabric falls to his ankles. He steps out of them with two firm steps, a lot more confident than his pounding heart. The cobbles are cool beneath his feet, and damp from the steam of your bath.

Ormund fights the instinctive urge to cover himself as your eyes part finally from his to trail down the length of his lean body. You find his cock hanging heavy between his scruffy thighs, favoring the left one as it curves slightly in that direction. Your head tilts once more to your shoulder in observation. Your eyes dart suddenly back to his face.

“Get in the bath,” you command.

So Ormund gets in the bath.

The water trickles as you shift within its depth to make room for the man. He steps in, one leg at a time, and braces the edge of the copper as he descends into the steam. His thighs spread between both of yours, knees bent to accommodate his taller form.

You set the vial on the edge before inching towards him. Ormund’s hairy chest hitches with an unsure breath when you straddle his waist, delicate hands braced along his broad shoulders. He’s imagined having you like this for so long, on him and all over him, that he can scarcely tell reality from his own boyish dreams.

The velvety skin of your inner thigh brushes his half-hard cock, and he feels half-heretic for it. He hates himself for imagining your cunt as it brushes the tip of length — hates how easily he can picture the petal-like folds parting around him and the way it would feel to pierce them with his manhood. He feels like he should fall to his knees and repent for it.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he says on bated breath, adam’s apple bobbing when he tips his chin to meet your gaze. “It’s— It’s been a while. Forgive me.”

“It’s only flesh, my lord,” you shrug with a tender smile, stiff nipples brushing his bare chest. “It needs what it needs.”

Your fingers twist into the auburn tendrils curling at his temple and smile softly when Ormund leans instinctively into the warmth of your touch.

“There is no act done in service of the gods that could ever be called a sin,” you remind him.

He exhales a held breath. His hands rise from the water to reach for your body at your words, at your permission. They tremble with a strange hesitance he thought he lost in boyhood — yours was certainly not the first he’d ever touched, but perhaps the only one he truly revered. His palms are calloused from decades of training as they smooth up your soft stomach and over your ribs, before cupping the underside of your plush breasts.

“I thank the gods every day for bringing you to me,” he says on bated breath— a confession you can read all over his face every time he looks at you.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you remind him, tipping up his chin with your pointer finger when his lidded eyes lock on your breasts. “Not after I’ve won you this war.”

“And have you wait around all night in my room for me to finish work when you should be wrapped up in your own bed and fast asleep?” He raised his eyebrows, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “Nah, that doesn’t sound fair for you. Next time, sweetheart.”

But I don’t want to go home.

You frowned but didn’t argue against him, you had already left your toothbrush at his place last week after you managed to convince him to let you stay another night, and now you kept it beside his, reassuring him that it’s the one you’ll always use when you sleepover. 

“Okay, promise?” You asked, slowly dragging your feet on the carpet out of his room.

“Yeah, yeah, I promise.” Eddie pulled his door shut and followed you out of his trailer, Wayne was passed out on the couch so the two of you kept it down until you climbed in his van.

Eddie noticed that the closer and closer you got to your home, the quieter you became and your smile faded,pressing the side of your head into the window, watching other cars drive past before Eddie eventually turned right and drove down your street, stopping his van outside your home. 

“Is everything… are you okay?” He asked, his doe eyes watching you carefully. 

Being this clingy will scare him off, we haven’t been together that long. 

Don’t tell him, not yet.

You cleared your throat and blinked, “Yeah, I’m just tired,” you lied, “probably a good call you dropped me off.”

Eddie hesitated for a moment, “you sure?” he watched as you slowly unclipped your seatbelt and picked up your bag by your feet.

You nodded, “Mhm,” you opened the van door and got out, “you’ll call me tomorrow when you're awake, right?”

Eddie smiled, “You know I will.”

You gave a small back and waved before shutting the van door and walking towards the front door of your home, already dreading walking in and being without Eddie for another week. 

Eddie always waited until you were inside before he drove off but something didn’t feel right tonight but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. He sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes focusing on the road as he went back, his eyes quickly glancing through his rear mirror to take another look at your house. 

Eddie returned to the trailer to brush his teeth and get dressed, his eyes glued to your toothbrush. 

“You workin tonight, Edward?” Wayne asked, walking over toward his nephew with a cigarette between his teeth. 

Eddie spat his toothpaste and saliva mix into the sink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “Yeah, won’t be home ‘til late, you know how it is,” he replied, rinsing his toothbrush before placing it next to yours.

Wayne nodded and took a drag, “Your girlfriend, she’s a good one, Edward.” he turned around, shuffling over to the couch.

“Wayne?” Eddie called out, following him, “Can I ask you something?”

Wayne blew the smoke from his mouth and fell onto the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table, “She’s not pregnant is she?”

Eddie smirked for a moment, laughing lightly but quickly shook his head with a sigh, “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just…” He walked over and sat next to his uncle, knowing he’d be late for work. “She never, uh, wants to go home. She always stalls me and begs to stay another night.”

"What's so bad about that, kid? Sounds like she really likes you,” Wayne muttered, continuing to smoke, the ashtray resting on his stomach. 

“There’s nothing bad about it at all, I guess I’m not used to it, you know, having a clingy girlfriend.” Eddie held his hand out to Wayne, his signal to borrow a cigarette. 

“Clingy isn’t a bad thing,” Wayne passed him the cigarette, “beats having a girlfriend who ditches you after promising a record label or whatever that mess was.” 

Eddie lit the cigarette and placed it in his mouth, taking a drag and letting out a thick cloud of smoke, “I’d rather have clingy any day over that but.. Something just feels off, you know? I’m kinda worried about her.”

Wayne rubbed his back into the cushions and fabric of the couch, getting himself comfortable for another nap. “Have you talked to her about it?” 

Eddie shook his head. 

“Well I’d suggest you get talkin’ to her,” Wayne crushed his short cigarette in the ashtray and shut his eyes, “think it over during your shift.”

The moment you walked through the door, the heavy weight on your shoulders and the grey cloud above you returned, you kicked your shoes off and focused on making a swift escape upstairs.

“When did you leave the house?” Your dad called out, his eyes fixed to the TV, “Did you get any beer from the store?”

Typical. 

“I didn’t go to the store, dad. I was at my boyfriends, remember?”

You wish you could remember a time when your dad remembered you, even acknowledged you with his two eyes and a warm hug, but the truth was you couldn’t. Your dad was emotionally unavailable, and part of you at times was sure that he didn’t even know who you were. 

When your parents divorced, you weren’t given the option to choose who you lived with, and living with your mom wasn’t an option you were given after she was deemed too emotionally unstable to be left responsible for a child. 

It started off with being late for school, not because you ran late for the bus or because your alarm clock didn’t go off, but because your dad would be so hungover, sprawled across the couch or bed, too out of it to wake up and get you ready. 

Then when you did make it to school and managed to get yourself home, you weren’t being fed. He’d whack a meal in the microwave to eat himself, but you were left to take care of you.

It had always been this way, you forced yourself to just get used to it.

He still didn’t look at you, “Boyfriend? Since when did you have a boyfriend?” his eyes were still on the football.

You huffed quietly, careful so that he couldn’t hear you. 

“Eddie. The guy I’ve been dating for over a month now, I’ve told you about him, I’m at his place every week.” 

Eddie felt like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, he remembered the little things about you and went out of his way to indulge in your preferences, like which side of the bed you felt safer and comfier sleeping on, or exactly how you liked your coffee, all within such a short time.

Your dads eyebrows knitted slightly and he hummed, sipping the last of his beer, “I didn’t even notice you were gone.”

No, you never do.

You went on to walk up the stairs when he called out to you again, “Hey, do me a favour, later on can you go through that big fabric pouch and pull out whatever change you can and get me some beers? Need them for the game.”

You glanced down at your wrist watch “Can’t dad, it’s getting late.” 

Get your own fucking beer.

“Fucking useless.” He grumbled, tossing his empty can across the room, still in the same dirty, stained shirt from before you left to see Eddie. 

You wanted to sleep but you couldn’t. Your thoughts about Eddie consumed you and your paranoia over being too much or too clingy began to eat away at you. 

He didn’t want me to stay an extra night, was I coming off too strong?! 

It’s not like I stalk him or anything, I just wish I could tell him, maybe he’d understand… his dad isn’t around either.

You tried to tell Eddie about your dad and how he treated you since he got custody but you never found the right moment, something would always come up or get in the way. Either Eddie would unintentionally start getting excited over a new album release, unable to control his outbursts of high expectations for certain tracks and tours, or Wayne would peek his head through Eddie’s door, getting to know you a little better or trying to embarrass his nephew.

The phone on your bedside table woke you up, you didn’t remember falling asleep but it didn’t matter. Eddie said he’d call you, and you’d never risk missing an opportunity to hear his voice, no matter how sleepy either of you were. 

“Hello?” you answered, holding back a yawn. 

“Hey babe, it’s me,” Eddie smiled on the other end, sounding just as tired as you were. 

You pressed the phone a little closer to your ear, gripping it protectively, “How was work? I’ve missed you.”

Eddie dampened his lips with his tongue, he stayed quiet for a moment before finally sighing down the phone, “Ah, you know how it is. Same drunken assholes starting fights, finishing later than usual with no overtime pay…” he paused for a moment, “I was wondering, are you available later? I was thinking we could go for a drive, maybe pick up some greasy food and just chill for a bit.” 

Eddie didn’t sound cheerful but you didn’t think anything of it, you assumed he was just tired from his shift.

Your ears pricked up and the relief of being able to escape these four walls and the roof ran through your system, waking you up. 

“Oh Eds, I’d love to!” you smiled down the phone, “What time were you thinking?”

“Well, I kinda haven't figured that out yet,” He paused again and you didn’t like it, he didn’t pause like this on the phone “was thinking like half an hour after I’ve woken up? Gives me enough time to have a shower and a quick smoke.” 

I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?

I’ve been too clingy.

Cancel on him, make it seem like you aren’t desperate to get out of the house. 

Don’t cancel! Are you kidding? You’ll rot away in your room all day! 

Just play it cool. Take it easy.

“Sure,” you replied, trying to tone down your excitement, allowing your intrusive thoughts to drown you, “will you call ahead of time or?”

“What’s better for you, sweetheart?” 

Sweetheart. See? He can’t be mad at me.

You weighed up the options for a moment and realised either would be fine, your dad wouldn’t care or notice anyway. 

“Hmmm, call me beforehand? Just so I know when you’re about to leave.” 

“Alright, you sound almost as tired as I do, get some sleep and I’ll call you when I’m coming, got it?” Eddie yawned down the phone, rubbing his eyes.

You nodded, sinking back into your bed, “Got it.”

By the time Eddie woke up and began to get himself dressed, a thought drifted into his head that he couldn’t shake, a reality he hadn’t considered before; what if you weren’t safe or happy at home?

It made perfect sense, you always changed the moment it was time to leave, stalling him with your shoe laces or peppering him with kisses when you weren’t looking for something that was secretly in the bottom of your bag. You always went quiet and seemed queasy when he’d pull up outside your house when dropping you off. 

You weren’t being clingy. 

Things weren’t good at home. 

You felt safe with him.

Eddie hurried outside, catching his uncle sitting in the afternoon sun, putting his carton of cigarettes in his pocket before he left for his shift at the plant. 

“Wayne, do you have a sec?” He asked, “I did some thinking, like you said.” 

Wayne raised an eyebrow, “What is it?”

Eddie took a deep breath and sighed, shrugging, “I don’t think she’s happy or safe at home, going back there… it makes her shrink into herself, I recognise that now.”

Wayne thought for a moment, wiping the building sweat from his brow, “I know you’ve not been together long and all but if this is the case and you really love her, she can always stay with us. She might hate it once she gets used to it, but I don’t have a problem with it.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to add more on to your plate-”

“I took you in, didn’t I?” Wayne approached Eddie, placing his hand on his shoulder. 

Eddie rarely thought about his dad, doing so usually came in phases on Fathers Day, at Christmas and on Birthdays, but Wayne managed to take the edge off in the beginning, and as time went on, the pain seemed to dissipate for Eddie. Sure, his dad was a deadbeat, but he had an uncle that loved and care about him; Wayne made up for his dads shortfalls. 

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded, his heart hurting from the thought of his dad and missing his mom. 

“If her moving in would be good for her and will keep you happy, then it’s no issue for me.” Wayne tapped Eddie on the shoulder and walked away, not wanting to be late for his shift.

Eddie didn’t need to think about you moving in for a moment longer. It wasn’t a risk. 

“Fuck,” Eddie sighed, rubbing his face with his hand, “I gotta buy a better bed.”

You managed to get some extra sleep once you were reassured that Eddie wasn’t mad and woke up an hour before he called, giving you enough time to get yourself freshened up. After Eddie called, you slowly slipped downstairs, the smell of mouldy food and grease making you gag as you reached the bottom step. 

Your dad was in the same spot as he was yesterday, the TV on but replaced by MTV now that the football game was long gone. More beer cans were dented and scattered across the floor, your dad was nodding and humming away, not hearing you coming down the stairs. 

“Dad?” you called out. 

He didn’t hear you. 

“Dad?” You repeated, a little louder. 

Still nothing. 

You turned and walked towards the door when your dad finally leaned forward and tilted his head, catching you. “Hey,” he raised his voice, “Where are you off to?” 

“Out,” You replied, slipping on your shoes. 

“Where?” He picked up the beer next to him, swirling it for a moment before tossing it across the room in disappointment. “You know what, don’t tell me, I don’t care. Do me a favour,” he began to cough, “get me some beers, will you? The walk is too far for your poor dad.” 

Eddie’s van pulled up outside, KISS blaring from his tape deck. 

Your hand hovered over the door handle and you quickly turned around, looking at your dad in the eyes, “It’s not even a five minute walk, Dad. The fresh air will do you some good.”

Your dad began to scowl and he scrunched his mouth up into a tight ball, grumbling under his breath. Frantically, you grabbed the handle and pulled it, opening the door and slipping out without experiencing his rage. Each step closer to Eddie felt like coming to the end of a long marathon in the exhausting heat, with a table full of ice cold bottled water waiting for you.

Eddie turned the music down slightly, Paul Stanley’s voice and the instruments now faint background noise. He waited for you to climb in. 

“Afternoon, Sweetheart.” He smiled, his eyes still a little heavy, “Food?”

You didn’t bother to clip on your belt, your heart rate already steadying at being in his presence, “Food sounds wonderful.”

Yesterday you were the one who went quiet in the van, fading into the window as Eddie dropped you off, but today Eddie wasn’t his usual self. You noticed he wasn’t raving about the new music video, probably the same one your dad was humming along to and how crap it was shot, or complaining about his shift. Instead, he just kept quiet, his eyes occasionally chancing a quick glance at you.

When he pulled into the parking lot rather than going straight to the Drive Thru, you knew something wasn’t right. 

He’s brought me here to break up with me, hasn’t he?

Eddie didn’t cut the engine, he knew that no music in the background would only make things more awkward.

Eddie cleared his throat, “Babe, can we talk?”

Oh no. 

Here it is. 

He’s going to end things here, isn’t he?

“Wh,” your voice died in your throat, “What is it?” 

He sighed, shifting in his seat to face you, “Since we got together, I’ve uh, noticed more and more how you never want to go home.”

You prepared yourself for the inevitable.

He’ll tell you you’re too clingy, that you’re too much and too fast, and that he can’t be with someone so… intense.

Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat, looking away for a moment before forcing himself to meet your eyes again. “Is everything okay… at home?” He finally breathed, “You’re not being… are you?”

The air left your lungs for a moment, your eyes widened from expecting the blow but you weren’t expecting this. Your lips parted and wobbled, tears filled your eyes. 

How do I tell him?

What do I even say?

“Oh baby, come here.” Eddie murmured, pulling you into him over the gear shift, his hands wrapping around you. 

You buried your face into his neck, your tears running down his skin with your hands resting on his chest. He held you, stroking your hair until you managed to wipe your eyes and pull away. 

Taking a deep breath, you looked at Eddie, engulfed with the concern in his eyes. 

“It’s my dad, he… since he got custody he’s always been so emotionally, well, just completely unavailable. He doesn’t notice when I come or go, when I was a kid he neglected me. Forgot to get me up for school, never fed me, it was… it’s as if I’m invisible to him unless I’m about to walk in and out that door,” you shook your head, “and you know all he seems to care about? His drink.”

Eddie took your hand in his and squeezed it, “You feel like you’re just wasting away in that house, don’t you?” 

You nodded, “You make me happy, Eds. You actually acknowledge me and don’t make me feel like I’m a burden. You get me out of that place, that dark pit. I love you for more than that, I mean, I’m not with you so I can get out if that's what you’re thinking.”

Eddie let out a light laugh, stroking the top of your hand with his thumb, “I know, babe, you don’t have to reassure me.” 

A temporary silence filled the van, the KISS tape that was in looping back to the start. 

“I know we’ve not been together long and people will think I’m either crazy or you’re pregnant, but..” Eddie dampened his lips again, his eyebrows pulling together, focusing on your hand and tracing circles into it, “you could move in with me and Wayne.”

The offer came out as a nervous mumble but you knew he was serious.

Your eyebrows shot up and your hand twitched in his, “Oh my god, you’re serious.” You murmured, “Are you sure?!” 

“I spoke to my uncle about it and uh, he likes you, thinks you’re a sweet girl and he took me in, you know,after  my old man failed to be a dad..” Eddie presses a kiss to your hand before running his soft lips against your skin, “So what d’you say, wanna get out of that hell hole and stay with us in our cramped trailer?”

You’ll get to be with Eddie, always.

You’ll never have to go home. 

You can be invisible to your dad without it hurting anymore, living a happier life, in a happier place.