Celestial Songlines

Oceanside California felt foreign to Pope Cody when he stepped out from behind the gated prison walls of Folsom. He hadn’t told anyone he was getting out; there was no one waiting for him as the gate doors closed behind him. No open arms for him to run into or noisy brothers clapping him on the back.

As much as a part of him missed the familiarity of his old room, he didn’t return home right away. He wanted some free time to himself before Smurf got her filthy hands on him again—before she tainted what little chance of starting over Pope clung on to. Before she made him into the dangerous guard dog she so carefully convinced him he was.

He found himself wandering the streets alone instead, shoulders and jaw stiff and tense; like any moment he’d wake up or a guard would appear and drag him back into the grey walls that haunted his nightmares when he was actually able to sleep.

Pope’s memory spun as he took in familiar buildings—places that had been there practically his entire life. The beach air still wafted through the breeze, still smelled the same. Still dusted his skin with the pricklings of ocean salt. If his hair hadn’t been shaved down in a shitty prison cut; his curls would’ve picked it up too. He longed to feel the salty breeze float through his hair again; lull him into a calmness.

His brow furrowed a little at all the new shops and businesses that had popped up since he’d been gone, ones that definitely weren’t there before he went in. Random places like mini grocery stores and self-employed insurance companies. A new book store that he pushed to the back of his mind to visit later.

That’s how he found you; at the new little diner on the corner with bright red letters on the sign. At first glance it looked like a cozy surfer hut or beach shop. Blue and white striped canopy over the door, stickers on the windows. A few tables outside with blue chairs on either side. A couple plants that caught the sun. He stood outside it longer than he probably should’ve, feet weighed down like cement. His fists opened and closed at his sides before he finally forced himself to go inside. The bell on the door rung above him, the smell of fried food wafted around him with the air conditioning. He welcomed the coolness with an exhale from his nose; much more comfortable than the scorching heat outside.

He didn’t realize that you had noticed him as soon as he walked in from your spot near the order window—passing a paper order back to one of the cooks. He was someone new that you hadn’t seen before. Handsome with his hazel-brown eyes and sharp features. His short buzzed hair making his ears stick out all cute. He looked a little awkward, scanning the entirety of the inside; from corner to corner in front of him. Immediately—you already wanted to know more about him; heartbeat picking up as you watched him take in his surroundings.

Pope’s eyes drifted around, clocking all the exits and the people around him. A few of the booths and tables were occupied—along with a couple of the stools at the counter. The inside wasn’t decorated in a decade specific theme like he expected it to be; like most of the diners he’d been to in his life. Rather it was more…homey. More bright and airy inside; pale yellow walls that looked almost white and light blue leather seats. A few framed music posters hanging from the walls, a surfboard or two on the other. Two big monstera plants on either side of the front door. It felt like walking into someone’s home with a mother cooking in the kitchen.

There were pies on plates under glass displays on the counter, a large white board with specials and prices on it. The floor was clean, making Pope’s shoulders relax a little. The patterned tile almost matched the leather seats. He wiped his feet on the mat by the door—jaw ticking as his mind reeled and took everything in. His hands clenched and unclenched again at his sides.

Finally, he chose the booth in the furthest corner; tucked away from the center of the room and all the buzzing of conversation. He clung to the quiet he’d almost definitely lose once he returned to Smurf’s.

The leather made a soft noise under him when he sat down, a menu was already lying on the table in front of him. Shakers filled with sugar, salt and pepper sat up against the window—ketchup and packets of coffee creamer tucked up next to them. Utensils sat neatly against the white table; wrapped up in napkins.

Pope found himself drumming his fingers lightly on the table before reaching carefully for the menu. It wasn’t sticky like some diners he’d been too; much more clean and carefully typed out and laminated to be easily read. Decorated with blue designs in the corners.

He scanned the menu, not really reading it or taking in anything it said; just breathing in the air around him and letting himself exist in a place that wasn’t controlled by guards or a boring grey. Someplace he didn’t have to worry about being tortured or made a spectacle at the entertainment of guards. Somewhere he could just sit and enjoy the quiet; where he could just for the first time in three years—be Andrew.

He didn’t notice you approach him at first, too caught up in his thoughts and pretending to read the menu to realize you were now standing next to his table. He hadn’t seen you when he walked in—just the older lady working behind the counter and a few bus boys cleaning tables.

He only looked up when you finally spoke.

“Hi!”, You said cheerfully, bright smile on your face.

Pope froze. Eyes drifting up to your face, shoulders a little guarded at being spoken to.

His demeanor softened when his eyes landed on you.

Soft lashes and cheeks, soft hair that was pulled back with a few strands framing your face. Bright eyes that pulled him in. He glances at your name-tag, eyes flicking back to your face and deciding that it suits you. He found himself appreciative that you had a real uniform; shorts and a tee shirt with the diner’s name on it rather than some skimpy skirt and hat the themed diners always made the waitresses wear. He found that in poor taste; companies forcing women to show off their bodies in hopes to make a bigger income.

Pope didn’t say anything at first, just watched you look down at him. Your smile didn’t waver as you shifted on your feet, pulling your notepad and pen up closer to your chest.

“Can I get you started with something?”, You asked.

Pope found himself at a loss for words, he hadn’t expected someone so…beautiful and lively to be standing next to him now. He still hadn’t read the menu, wasn’t that hungry. He shifted a little again on the seat, leather crinkling under him.

“What do you recommend?”, He finally asked.

Your eyes lit up at the question, making Pope’s heart hammer harder in his chest.

“Oh! Goodness…well it depends how hungry you are”, You start, a small laugh escaping your lips; “The breakfast platter is really good if you want breakfast! Club sandwiches if you’re in more of a lunch type of mood. The coffee here is really good! I always make it with cinnamon, makes it taste better.”

Pope finds himself scanning your face as you ramble—blood rushing through his veins in a way that makes his cheeks hot. He notices the way your nose scrunches when you smile, how expressive your face is. He wonders if you do that for everyone or just certain people.

He sets his menu down, fingers drumming again.

“Uh, the coffee”, He says; “Just the coffee…black.”

He watches you scribble it down on your little pad before pocketing it and offering him another bright smile.

“Great! I’ll have that right out for you.”

Your ponytail sways behind you as you walk away, sneakers squeaking lightly on the floor. Pope commits it all to memory, much like he does with most people he meets. But this felt different—you were being nice to him.

Pope finds himself gazing out the window next to him while he waits. A few people walk by walking their dogs, a few families. There’s a business owner across the street taking trash out to the dumpster. The parking lot across the street is mostly empty except for a few cars—people opting to walk or bike in the nice weather. His fingers twitch once in anticipation, a longing to get back to the beach tugging at him; back to the private spot he found years ago—away from tourists and practically empty of people.

He’s pulled out of his daydream by a mug sliding softly across the table in front of him. He looks up, finding you smiling down at him again.

“Here you go, one coffee”, You say.

Pope nods once in acknowledgment, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic. The heat seeps into his hands immediately—just hot enough that it’s not quite burning. He expects you to leave, to walk away again and leave silence behind. But he soon realizes; you’re still looking at him.

He shifts a little in his seat, eyes flicking awkwardly around the room before they find your face again.

“Sorry”, You say with a breath; “I just…I’ve never seen you in here before. Are you new in town?”

Pope blinks; “Lived here my whole life. Just uh…been away for a while.”

You nod; “Just missed home enough to come back, huh?”

“Something like that”, Pope says, fingers flexing against warm ceramic.

If he’s being truly honest; he’s not really sure what really being home feels like.

Silence falls between you for a moment before you speak again; “I like it here too.”

Pope almost lets himself smile at that; lips twitching at the corner. But he holds himself back—still staying quiet.

You brush a stray hair out of your face, shifting on your feet as you pull out your notepad—another customer waving you down.

“Well, enjoy your coffee”, You say with another smile; “Let me know if you need anything!”

You turn on your heels at that, making your way to the customer in a booth towards the front of the diner. Pope watches you go, eyes flicking carefully over your frame.

With a sigh, he finally brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip.

The flavor washes over him immediately—still black coffee, but something warmer rests beneath it. Almost what he thinks Christmas smells like; all spice and comfort. A vision of his first few memories of the holiday washing over him—before things were complicated. He feels again like he’s sitting in a house with someone’s mother or grandmother in the kitchen. He decides right then and there; that he’ll never take his coffee any other way again.

Pope stays for a while, longer than he initially intended to. But something about you and the atmosphere around him pulls him in deep. Keeps him tethered to his spot in the booth. He drinks his coffee slowly, savoring the flavor. Each sip ignites something in his chest. He can see the horizon starting to turn pink outside, fewer people roaming the streets.

He doesn’t know what time it is, really he could look at the clock on the wall if it mattered that much; but for once he doesn’t seem to care. The diner around him lulls before it starts filling up with the dinner crowd. But Pope stays in his spot in the booth in the furthest corner. Orders another coffee when he finishes the first one.

He’s been there almost two hours when he finally decides to leave, placing a few more bills than necessary down on the table.

You’re rushing around in front of him, talking to a few customers as you move; not completely looking where you’re going. It doesn’t take long for you to come in contact with a chair that hadn’t been fully pushed in, a small sound leaving your lips as you stumble over the legs. The menus in your hands go flying; scattering across the floor with a small smack sound.

Pope’s feet move before he realizes they are, kneeling down next to you as he starts collecting the fallen menus. You’re quick to kneel down with him, but he beats you to most of them—leaving you with only two in your hands.

He hands them back to you softly without a word once he’s stood fully again, silently checking you over for any injuries; which he thankfully finds none.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!”, You rush out; “God, I’m so clumsy.”

Pope doesn’t say anything, instead bending down to pick up your notepad that you’d somehow dropped in the process; holding it back out to you.

“Oh!”, You say; “Thank you…”

You trail off, only then realizing that you still don’t know his name.

“Andrew”, Pope says, hands clasped at his sides.

You offer another smile to him again; this one somehow warmer than all the others.

“See you around, Andrew”, You say.

Pope’s heart flutters at the sound of his name leaving your lips. He tries to push the heat taking over his face back down; but he knows he’s failing miserably. His breath quick and eyes a little wider than usual.

He watches you walk away, going to head to the front door himself when you pause and look back at him.

“Don’t be a stranger”, You say, face heating to match his own before you turn away again.

Pope freezes by the door—bell chiming above him again—finally letting a small smile take over his lips; you want him to come back.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

It didn’t take long after Pope’s first visit for you to figure out who he was. People talk, the cook and other coworkers had told you that night during closing. About all the stories and rumors surrounding the Cody family. But you didn’t care, you liked Andrew. Were intrigued by him—you could make your own decisions about things; and he was one of them.

As the next few weeks went by, Pope found himself frequenting the diner more and more. Every other week, he’d step through the front door with the sound of the bell chiming above him. Wiping his feet on the mat below him, the same way he had the first time he walked in.

You greeted him with a smile every time.

Every other week became every week, then slowly turned into a few days a week—until he was sitting in his corner booth almost every day.

Sometimes he wouldn’t even come inside, he’d find himself sitting in his truck in the parking lot across the street; keeping an eye on things. He’d pretty much learned your schedule, which car was yours—always parked in the same spot unless you’d walked to work.

Pope didn’t like when you did that. He knew how people could be, had dealt with enough bad people in his life to know what could happen. But he didn’t go as far to do anything about it. He didn’t want to scare you away—even if he had become good at watching and following people discreetly over time.

He found himself automatically driving to the parking lot if he’d had a stressful day. If Smurf had been on him, or a rough job. Just to get a glimpse at you. He’d sit there, tucked away under the tree in the corner—shaded and out of view. He could see perfectly through the big windows of the diner, where you often stood behind the counter.

He’d watch you work, the smile on your face as you talked to customers sitting at the counter. The way you laughed. It settled something inside him. Something he didn’t know was still there.

You knew when it was him coming through the front door after only a few weeks; you no longer had to look up. His heavy footsteps and pause in the doorway gave him away. No matter how many times he’d been inside; he still scanned the place and checked all the exits.

No matter what you were doing, you’d stop and offer him a big soft smile and greet him; “Hey, Andrew.”

Pope loved the way his name sounded coming from you. Nobody ever called him Andrew unless he was in trouble or he was being threatened by his mother. But with you? He didn’t mind it.

A few months in, you’d find yourself standing next to him again as he sat in his booth—just like the first time he’d come in. Your break had started a few minutes before and something in you told you to go for it.

So you stood next to him, your own coffee in your hand and a plate of fries.

“Mind if I join you?”, You’d asked, catching Pope’s attention and pointing to the empty spot across from him.

Pope looked up at you, cheeks flushed red until the rosy hue reached his ears; “No. Go ahead.”

You slid in across from him, smile never wavering as you started in on your fries. Reaching for the ketchup as you looked him up and down; half-drank coffee sitting on the table in front of him.

“So Andrew”, You start, popping a fry into your mouth; “What do you like to do for fun?”

Pope froze, taken aback by your question. Nobody had ever cared enough about him to ask. He couldn’t really remember the last time he had real fun—if he wanted to do that he’d have to sneak away from his family to do it.

He liked to sneak away to small beaches only a few people knew about, where the waves were mostly non-existent and the water was always warm. To the small skate park that was largely unoccupied; especially in the middle of the night when he tended to frequent it. On the nights he couldn’t sleep no matter how hard he tried. When he couldn’t stand to sit in his new empty apartment a second longer.

Smurf had sold his place while he was locked up. Took it away from him like it wasn’t one of the places he was most comfortable. He was still trying to get used to where he was at now. Barely decorated with only a bed and a folding chair by the window.

“Skate”, Pope says, voice a little quiet; “Surf, too.”

Your eyes light up; “Surfing is cool! I’ve always wanted to try but…well as you’ve seen i’m a bit clumsy. I’d probably fall off the board and drown.”

Pope’s lips quirk at the corners.

“Bet you know some pretty good beach spots then, huh?”, You ask.

Pope shifts in his seat; “A few.”

“Maybe you could show me one sometime.”

The twitch of Pope’s lips turn into a real, small smile.

“I could do that, yeah”, He says.

As you start talking about something else, rambling on as you eat your fries—hands waving in the air—Pope barely hears a word you’re saying. His heart’s beating too fast in his ears. The idea of seeing you outside of the diner thrumming under his ribs.

It becomes almost normal after that. Pope coming in and sitting in his usual spot. You sliding in across from him on your breaks, rambling about something new each time. Your hands never stop waving in the air, you always bring food with you—offer him a bite. Sometimes you sneak a dessert or two. You learn he likes the cinnamon rolls and apple pie the best. Pope suddenly finds solace there; sitting across from you with warmth in his chest. He likes listening to you talk—commits things you tell him to memory.

Your favorite song and color, where you lived before moving to Oceanside. How you drench your fries in vinegar and ketchup. The way your nose scrunches when you get excited; the sparkle in your eyes when you talk about something you’re passionate about. He files everything he learns away safely.

Soon enough, going to the diner is the first thing on Pope’s mind every morning. He blows off going to Smurf’s house or a meeting about a job. He just nestles into his booth, a cup of coffee already on its way over the second you saw him walk in. He starts to feel like you know him, and that he knows you. Even if you really don’t.

Pope’s answers are always short, only a word or two or a grunt in response. He still doesn’t talk much. But you like that about him. How shy he is. His hair’s grown out over time; soft auburn curls swirling around his ears. You like him like this even more—he looks a little softer. Still stiff and awkward; still holding himself with tight shoulders and impossibly straight posture. But the sun hits him perfectly in his booth, turning the side of his face golden; bringing out every shade of red in his curls.

Still, you did learn a few things from what little bit you got out of him. He had two brothers, a niece who he often took care of. He’s the oldest, and likes to work on fixing things or build them. But for the most part—he was quiet.

He’d sit in the golden light and listen, hands grasped around the ceramic mug in front of him. Sometimes lying curled into loose fists on the table top. Twitching to reach out for you. To know how soft your hair is, feel your smaller hand in his. Would his heart beat faster? Would yours? Would you let him hold your hand?

Your laugh breaks him from his thoughts, eyes crinkled in a smile from whatever story you were telling him. His jaw ticks a little, not angry—just controlled. Forcing himself not to scare you away like he thinks he would. But you’d never be scared away, not by him.

He listens as you tell him about a few new menu items.

“Oh! We also have chocolate chip pancakes now, I finally got it on the menu”, You tell him.

“My niece likes them like that”, He says, tracing the outside of his coffee mug.

“What? You don’t like chocolate chips?”, You ask, brow quirked.

A soft sound that almost sounds like a laugh leaves his mouth. Eyes unblinking, lips twitching at the corners; “No I do.”

You laugh across from him, soft and filled with enjoyment at getting him to smile again.

“I’m just messing with you”, You say.

Pope’s small smile doesn’t waver across from you, fingers tapping against the table as you start listing other items that are new. He settles into himself again, too caught up in you to really hear what you’re saying.

Overtime, as Pope continued to frequent the diner—something shifted between you.

Andrew slowly became Andy.

The sound of the bell chiming above the door hits your ears the same time the sound of his heavy boots do. You smile to yourself before looking up. Your breath catches in your throat when you see him.

His hair is damp from a fresh shower, black jeans still tight over his thighs. A dark grey t-shirt clings to his wide frame in place of his usual button ups. He’s bigger than you thought. Sure, you always knew he was strong under those neat shirts—but seeing him in a t-shirt brings it out in a whole new way.

Your face softens at the sight of him, watching his eyes search the exits before they land on you. He walks up to the counter this time, hands hesitantly resting against the top of it—the metal edge cool against his skin.

“Hey, Andy”, You breathe.

He looks you up and down, fingers twitching the same time his lips do. Drawing towards one side of his face in the way that you love so much. His version of a small smile, you’ve learned.

“Want your usual?”, You ask him.

Underneath the small quirk of his lips; his eyes look a little nervous—hesitant maybe.

Still he nods slowly.

“Yeah”, He says softly, and then; “Can I get it to go today?”

You furrow your brow as you pivot from his usual ceramic mug to the paper to go cups. The idea of him not staying sitting heavy on your chest.

“‘Course”, You say, turning towards the coffee machine.

You watch him as he waits; eyes flicking around more than usual. Checking his watch and phone a few times. His fingers drumming quicker against the counter top. He’s anxious, you think—obviously in a hurry.

You pop the lid on top of his to-go cup, sliding it across the counter towards him.

“One coffee to go”, You smile.

He offers the same sideways quirk back, digging into his back pocket for his wallet.

“That’s ok”, You tell him; “It’s on me today.”

Pope freezes, eyes flicking over your face to check if you’re sure—like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

“You sure?”, He asks.

“Yeah”, your bottom lip slides between your teeth; “All good.”

His shoulders relax a fraction as he reaches for the cup in front of him, his lips parting to say something—but the sound of his phone buzzing cuts him off.

You don’t miss the way his brow furrows as he checks the caller ID, tension setting heavy between them. He looks back up at you, phone still in hand as he turns to leave.

“Thanks”, He says, voice still soft; “For the coffee.”

You nod in acknowledgment, lip still between your teeth as you watch him head towards the door, hand already grasping around the metal bar to push it open.

“See you soon, Andy”, You say.

His lips quirk again, a soft nod coming in return as he pushes the door open fully. A bit of hesitance in his movements; like he doesn’t want to leave but knows he has to. Then he’s gone, stepping all the way out of the diner and onto the sidewalk in front of it. The Oceanside heat engulfing him, salty wind messing his curls around.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

A week had gone by after that with no sign of him. No heavy boots against the welcome mat. No rustle of the leather seat in his corner booth. No sideways quirk of his lips. No sight of his auburn curls or warm cologne. No Andrew.

You didn’t realize how much you had looked forward to seeing him every day until he stopped coming. A hole had developed in your chest, aching to be filled by his presence. Your shifts seemed to drag on longer without him, you weren’t as cheerful—and others noticed.

A few of your regulars asked if you were ok, your boss pulled you aside to check in on you. Your coworkers asked about him. You reassured them you were fine, but inside you realized you weren’t being completely honest with yourself; you missed Andrew.

You didn’t know why this person who randomly showed up in your place of work one day meant so much to you. He was nice to you, kind with his soft hazel eyes that stared into your soul. The red curls on his head made your heart flutter—and when he smiled at you? It had you weak in the knees.

This soft spoken, shy and slightly awkward man had found himself a place in your heart in only a few months. Nestled somewhere close under your ribs. You wanted to take away whatever pain was hiding behind those tense shoulders—you wanted to be someone that would never hurt him; someone he could count on.

It hit you all at once. Never in a million years did you think you’d feel this way when you watched him walk through the front door all those months ago. You cared about Andrew, you wanted him around, felt lost when he wasn’t. The realization washed over you without warning—you had feelings for Andrew.

The sound of the bell above the door chiming pulled you out of your thoughts. The familiar sound of heavy steps filled your ears—but something about them was off. There were two other mismatched sets of heavy steps along with them. Two louder voices filled the room, both deep as they stepped further inside the door.

A man with short blonde hair caught your eye first; short beard and slightly furrowed brows as he gestured with his hands in his jacket pockets. The other man next to him had dark long hair pulled back into a bun, slightly longer facial hair that matched. They were both tall, definitely strong; but in a more lean way.

“Craig, it’s never gonna happen man. She wasn’t even looking at you”, The blonde man says.

“You don’t know that! I got Nicky—“, The other man—Craig—starts.

“You got lucky, man. She still left you for J.”

Craig rolls his eyes; “Shut up, Deran.”

Beside them, the heavy footsteps you knew all too well stepped fully inside. Your eyes flicked away from the other two men, heart hammering against your ribs as they finally landed on the one person you’d been looking for all week—Andrew.

There he was, shoulders a little tense as he stepped under the diner lighting. A new bronze tint to his skin—maybe he’d been able to frequent the beach more often lately—you hoped he had. A pair of dark wash jeans sat snug on his hips, his signature button up was back; nestled under a jacket similar to the blonde man—Deran’s. Andrew’s hair was somehow a little longer than the last time you’d seen him, tousled from the salty breeze with a few curls sticking out at his nape and around his ears.

You’d grabbed your notepad and pen before they fully even sat down. Andrew’s eyes landing on you as he did his routine of scanning all the exits; the serious look on his face softening when you lock eyes. The furrowed crease between his brows easing along with it.

He slid into the booth next to Craig; Deran sitting across from them. Not his usual booth in the corner, something tells you he wouldn’t share that with just anyone. He still sat impossibly straight, completely tuning out whatever the other two men were talking about; his eyes staying on you as you approached the table.

Relief washed over you the second you stood in front of him, a wide smile etching across your face that you wouldn’t care to try and suppress even if you could.

“Andy, hey”, You breathed, like you’d been holding your breath since the last time you’d said it.

Both men furrowed their brows.

“‘Andy?—‘”, Craig teased, tilting his head to look at Pope with a smirk on his lips.

He was cut off by Pope’s foot hitting his shin under the table; hard.

“OW!—“, He shot Pope a glare; “What the fuck man?”

“Craig”, Deran said; “Shut up.”

But you didn’t even register the interaction, you were completely entranced in Andrew.

“Hi”, Pope says, voice soft.

You swear he sounds just as relieved as you do.

Silence settles at the table, Pope’s eyes raking over you before settling on your face—you doing the same to him. The time he’d been away had settled heavy in his shoulders, dragging along with him as he worked through multiple jobs that he would’ve rather skipped out on. Being pulled back in by Smurf and the evil grip she grabbed at him with; using him for her dirty work.

But seeing you now, the weight on Pope’s shoulders released a bit. His back grew less tense, posture a little more natural than being rigidly and painfully straight. Still impossibly straight the way he always was—but not as forced.

Deran cleared his throat beside you.

“Uh…can we get some coffee?”, He asked.

You blinked a few times, realization washing over you as you jumped a little on your feet; turning more towards the blonde man.

“Oh! Yes of course! Sorry!”, You rushed out, holding your pad and pencil up in front of you; “What can I get you?”

As you scribbled down orders, you could feel Pope’s eyes still on you. Boring into the side of your head in a way that most people would find uncomfortable. But you weren’t most people to him. It made a heat climb up your neck, shifting on your feet to try and pay as much attention as you can to the orders being spoken to you. But all you can focus on is Andrew.

Andrew who hasn’t moved his eyes from you since the moment he walked through that door a few minutes ago. Andrew who hadn’t realized how important you were to him until he was forced to be away from you. Andrew who found himself entirely lovesick without truly knowing that’s what he was feeling deep in his chest—fluttering behind his ribcage. Andrew who’s cheeks were dusted with a heat similar to yours, the tips of his ears burning pink as he fought back a twitch of his lips.

“Alright! I’ll have that right out for you”, You chirp, turning towards Pope; “Andy, your usual?”

Pope froze. Stilled by your sudden direction at him, like he’d been caught staring. But truthfully—he didn’t really care.

He nodded back, a soft look on his face as you smiled at him—turning on your feet and walking back behind the front counter to put their order’s in. He ignored his brother’s gazes and the looks they were sending his way. The exchange of their eyes, the way their brows quirked with every mention of his name from your lips. All he could focus on was you.

Behind the counter, you passed back their order slip; finding your coworkers’ eyes on you.

“What?”, You asked, hands on your hips.

The older woman next to you shook her head knowingly; “You know what.”

You felt the heat on your face; “He’s just a friend.”

The woman gave you a look; “Could’ve fooled me.”

You bit your bottom lip, eyes flicking towards the table you’d just come from. Finding Pope’s eyes already on you.

Beside him, Craig pushed at his shoulder.

“Earth to Pope??”, Craig smirked, rather enjoying the glare he earned from his brother.

Pope grunted in annoyance, forcing himself to look away from you.

“Seriously Pope”, Deran tried, a little nicer than his brother’s approach; “What’s gotten into you, man?”

Pope’s jaw ticked, chin jutting out a little bit. Maybe he’d actually answer Deran truthfully—if they were alone. But not with Craig sitting next to him with the attitude of a teenage girl listening in for the good gossip.

“Nothin’”, Pope mutters, hoping it’ll get them to drop the topic.

Craig opens his mouth to say something, cut off by you approaching the table. You set the drinks down with ease, passing a few extra creamers out across the table before standing up straight again—notepad out in front of you.

“Can I get you guys something to eat?”, You ask, feeling Pope’s eyes on you.

“Yeah, can I get a cheeseburger with fries?”, Craig says, passing the menu back towards the end of the table.

You nod, writing down his order and turning towards Deran.

“Anything for you?”

Deran ponders for a moment, before passing his menu back as well; “I’ll have the same.”

He offers you a small smile as you put his menu under your arm—only turning back to Pope after a second.

“Anything for you, Andy?”, You ask, voice softer.

You watch him think it over, brows scrunched and lips slightly pursed before he finally speaks.

“Apple pie?”, He says softly, almost as if he’s asking if you still have it.

You nod, writing his order down; “‘Course, saved you the last slice.”

Taking Pope’s menu, you turn on your heels to put the orders back to the kitchen; before being called over by another customer.

Pope watches you talk to them, laughing and smiling like you’ve known them forever. A confident pep of excitement in your step. You were like that with all customers, always friendly, always talkative. But you never sat down with them—not like you did with him.

“Jesus Pope, you’re gonna burn a hole through her”, Craig scoffs, following his gaze.

Pope grunts something in response, not turning back to look at his brother; jaw ticking once.

“She seems nice”, Deran says, trying to ease the tension.

Pope’s eyes flick towards him, jaw relaxing just a bit; “She is.”

Deran drops the topic after that, sending a warning glare Craig’s way and discreetly filling them in about a possible job. Pope forces himself to listen, letting his eyes wander around the diner every so often. They always somehow end up landing back on you.

The older lady behind the counter brings their food out while you’re still bustling around to your other tables. Pope finds himself a little disappointed. The customers smiles around you never waver. Your laughter drifts to his ears every few minutes. He likes seeing you like that. Likes hearing it. Happy, content.

Deran and Craig talk next to him between bites of hamburger and mouthfuls of fries. Craig downs half his diet coke in one sip, a low rumbling burp leaving him that has Deran rolling his eyes.

Pope ignores it all, quietly eating his apple pie and pretending like he’s listening. The warm cinnamon of his coffee settling into his bones. His body sinks a little further into the cushions, and he finds himself thinking if he closes his eyes; maybe he could picture himself just sitting here with you. No noisy brothers, no other customers calling your name. Just the two of you.

Eventually you return with the bill, placing it gently on the end of the table.

Pope’s digging in his pocket before either of his brothers can move. Even if Deran really would be the only other one to offer to pay. Craig shifts beside him, sitting up straighter.

“So how do you know Pope?”, He asks.

Blunt. Straight to the point. Pope clenches his jaw next to him, freezing over his wallet as he looks up at you.

But you just smile, ignoring the nickname; eyes sparkling a little.

“Oh! He comes in a lot. Probably my best customer”, You chirp.

“Best customer, huh Popey?”, Craig rumbles, nudging his brother’s shoulder; “He didn’t tell us that.”

Pope stays quiet as he sets a fifty down on the table before shoving his wallet back into his pocket—taking the last swig of his coffee.

He blinks at Deran once—who seems to understand what he means without saying it—rising to his feet along with him.

“Keep the change…and thank you for the pie”, Pope says, gentle with a little bit of urgency in it.

You don’t falter as the two men follow behind him towards the door, expression the same as Pope pauses to look back at you.

He offers you that same crooked smile, weakening your knees as you wave at him; “See you soon, Andy.”

You watch as the door swings shut behind them, Craig smacking a large hand across Pope’s shoulders and shaking him a little. Deran standing as far away as he can without stepping off the sidewalk in case one of them decides to swing. Pope doesn’t look at either of them, watching his feet as he digs for his keys.

The excitement of seeing him doesn’t waver. You just hope this time soon means sooner than last time.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Later that night you find yourself standing alone in the empty diner, scrubbing at the counter. The last customers had long gone home, the cook and other waitresses had cleared out. All you had to do was finish cleaning and lock up.

The sound of the front door bell ringing echoes through the quiet space. Even though you swore you locked it.

“We’re closed”, You call, not looking over your shoulder.

“I know”, A familiar voice says back.

His footsteps hit you right after his words, making you turn abruptly on your feet. You freeze when you see him standing there, just inside the front door. Fists opening and closing at his sides, eyes still scanning all the exits.

“Andy”, You breathe; “W-What’re you doing here?”

“Needed to see you”, He says, voice low.

He takes a few steps forward; “I can go if you want me to—“

“No!”, You blurt; “It’s-it’s ok.”

The streetlight from outside casts through the windows, panning over his face. Only then do you realize he’s hurt.

A nasty gash along his cheekbone, bruising under his eye and along the opposite side of his jaw. He looks tired; exhausted. Barely standing on his feet.

“Andrew”, You breathe, breaths ragged as you step up in front of him.

Your hands hover over his arms, then his face, not wanting to hurt him further but afraid he’ll slip away; “You’re hurt.”

Pope adjusts his weight, feet shifting below him before he’s reaching out for a chair next to him to steady himself. Your hands jut out quickly, bracing on either side of him to keep him steady. He grunts once, gripping at his side—but he doesn’t push you away.

“Oh my god, Andy!”, The words leave your lips quickly; “Come on, let me help you.”

You guide him to the counter, forcing him to sit down on one of the stools before hurrying towards the back. He looks around the empty diner, peaceful and quiet. The smell of your perfume lingering around him. If he wasn’t hurt it would be exactly like the way he imagined it earlier.

You return a few moments later, opening a first-aid kit on the counter. Something sterile in your hands as they hover over the cut on his cheek.

“This might sting a bit”, You warn him.

He hisses a little when the cold alcohol touches him, eyes pinching shut for a moment.

“Hey, keep looking at me”, You tell him, trying to get him to focus on something else.

Pope doesn’t hesitate, hazel eyes opening and wandering over your face. Wide and slightly blown with adrenaline and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“There you go”, You say softly, dabbing the alcohol gently against his cheek.

You pull back, searching for a bandage in the kit.

“What happened?” You ask, rummaging around a little quicker than you’d like.

“Just work”, He mumbles, eyes not leaving you.

You don’t have to ask to know what that means. You just keep searching until you find a butterfly bandage, peeling it open and gently placing it over the wound; touch gentle against his skin.

“Your friends seem nice”, You offer, trying to start up a conversation to keep him distracted.

“My brothers”, Pope says; “They’re ok.”

You chuckle softly, eyes flicking over his face; “Ah, makes more sense…They seem to care about you.”

Pope doesn’t answer, shifting a little in his seat.

Grabbing a new cloth, you move to dabbing gently underneath his nose; cleaning the dried blood there. Pope doesn’t wince this time, just watches you.

“I don’t think it’s broken”, You say, putting the cloth down; “Probably gonna be sore for a while.”

“S’okay”, Pope mumbles.

You furrow your eyebrows, hand coming up to rest against his jaw, thumb hovering over the dark purple bruise forming there.

“Does it hurt?”, You ask softly.

Pope leans into your touch, eyes flicking over your face before they flutter shut. Lashes brushing gently against the top of his cheeks.

“…A little”, Pope breathes, eyes slowly opening again.

You frown, moving closer until your face is close to his.

“Can I?”, You whisper.

Pope’s breath catches in his throat, but still; he nods softly.

So you press a soft kiss to his jaw, careful not to put too much pressure on the bruise. When he doesn’t back away, you move to his cheek; pressing a soft kiss just below the bandage. You can hear him breathing now, watching intently as you move again; pressing another soft kiss to the bridge of his nose.

Pope sits straight, impossibly rigid with restraint. Forcing his hands to stay at his sides, to not reach out for your waist and pull you closer.

When you pull back, it’s only a few inches. Enough to look in his eyes. The sound of his rapid heartbeat fills your ears. Consistent and thrumming. Matching the way his chest rises and falls. Your breath fans across his face, intermingling with his own.

His eyes are fully blown now; almost no glimpse of the whiskey hue left. Clearly wanting the same thing you do. But he holds himself back. His lips part a little, a soft breath escaping him.

“Y-You don’t want this”, He says softly; “I’m not good for you…my family—me, I’ve done bad things.”

You cup both sides of his face, thumbs smoothing across the smile lines by his eyes. You don’t move away.

“You think I don’t know who you are?”, You ask, making him furrow his brows; “People talk in Oceanside. I was told about the Cody’s a long time ago.”

He frowns a little, trying to wrap his mind around it; “So this whole time you’ve?—“

“Been getting to know you?”, You stop him before he can spiral, stepping a fraction closer; “It doesn’t scare me. I care about you, Andy. Not your last name.”

Something flashes behind his eyes, making them go soft. Still dark and full of want, but something else lingers there with it.

He finally lets go of his restraint, reaching out to settle his hands on your hips; pulling you closer. His nose bumps yours, breath hot on your skin as he desperately searches your face for any sign he should stop. But all he finds is you mirroring him.

He leans in with an intense ferocity, encapsulating your lips with his; pressing every feeling that had been growing in his chest the past few months into it. You startle for a moment, letting your brain catch up before kissing back with the same intensity. Pushing yourself closer and closer to him like nothing would ever be enough.

He opens his knees, letting you slot in between them; caging you in with his thighs—hands traveling up towards your ribs. Your hands find home in his curls; finally feeling the softness of them under your touch. You tug gently on the curls at his nape; a soft sound leaving his throat. You open your lips, breathing it in and letting his tongue in to dance with yours.

It’s breathless, your lungs burn. But all you can feel are his hands and lips against your skin. Burning from anticipation in finally breaking through whatever invisible walls had been set between you. Never to be seen again.

When you finally pull back to catch your breath, you find him staring back at you. Eyelashes fluttering open; lips pink and swollen and kiss-bitten.

He looks beautiful. Perfect. Like Andrew.

Freckles illuminated by the remaining diner lights, shadow sculpting his features. He brushes his nose against yours again, resting your foreheads together as he catches his breath.

“Been wanting to do that”, He breathes; “For so long.”

You smile; “Yeah?”

He nods in return, letting a crooked upturn take over his lips.

“I’m glad you finally did”, You say, fingers flexing in the curls on the back of his head.

You bite your bottom lip, looking up at him with wide eyes matching his own—blown out and wandering.

“So how about you show me that beach spot now?”, You say, nuzzling against him.

Pope laughs softly, hands settling around your waist and against your back.

“I can do that”, He says quietly, tongue poking out to lick his lips once.

Then they’re on yours again soft and heated, something so uniquely him underneath it all. Tongue swiping against yours, pulling you into his lap; your hands careful of his injured side.

You’re not sure how much time passes, how long you stay there in Pope’s embrace. Lips against each other’s like you’ve done it forever.

Pope leans into it, finally relaxing completely and letting himself be completely free. Completely himself with you. In the low light of the empty diner, he finds himself content where he’s at. Feeling like home. No jobs, no Smurf, no noisy brothers. Just you and him, like he’d been longing for since day one.

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It all started with a text.

dr. jaackkiee im so sooo. horny :((( nneed help!

The message pinged Jack Abbot’s phone the moment he discarded his isolation gown in the bin of a trauma room. Before he even saw the message, he saw your name and that was enough to make him check his surroundings and find an empty space to open it.

Texts like this from you were to be expected. You were his needy girl, and he understood that leaving for his night shift would inevitably lead to problems. Problems only he could fix, except he couldn’t physically be there to help you. 

He leaned his back against the wall of a semi empty corner, squinting down at his phone as he read your text. He groaned quietly, unsure if it was because your text came at a bad time or if he needed to palm himself through his scrubs right now. If anyone saw Dr. Abbot, they would’ve thought he was receiving bad news from the disgruntled expression on his face.

He steadied the phone in his hands as he prepared to type something back, but was unsure of what to reply with. He debated on telling you to wait for him, which he knew meant leaving you horny for hours until his shift ended at 7 am, or telling you that he was busy and that you had his permission to touch yourself. Either way, him not being there wasn’t going to be enough for you. 

Jack stared at his phone in deep thought for 30 seconds before a nurse walked over to tell him he was needed in Central 15.

“Be there in a minute” he said lowly, still distracted by the text displayed on his screen.

Before he started walking to the room he was needed in, he decided to type something he knew was incredibly risky.

Call me in 5. Camera on.

The door clicked into the lock behind Jack as he quickly rushed into the gender neutral washroom.

You had barely given him 5 minutes before your caller ID was on his screen, buzzing quietly in his pocket as he was attempting to make some shitty excuse on why he was stepping out.

His phone was already in his hand, thumb pressing ‘accept’ when he sat down on the lid of the toilet. Your pouty face immediately appeared on his screen, and he could tell without even seeing your body that you were already fully naked. He held his camera a little below his face, slightly peering down at you while he perched his elbow on his knee.

“I only have 5 minutes to help you, so you better make this quick, kid” Jack huffs, already feeling himself harden just from the face you were making when you’re desperate for something.

“I need your help” you whine.

“Tell me where you need help. I can’t do anything if you don’t use your words” he says sternly, the mental timer in his head already ticking.

“It’s aching…” you hiccup.

“Show me where the ache is, baby.”

You pan the camera down to where your legs were spread, your core coated in slick and fluttering around nothing.

Jack groans from the sight, gripping his phone so hard that he presses the off-button, his camera suddenly going grey for a brief moment. He curses quietly under his breath as he redoes his passcode.

“Tell me what to do, Dr. Jackie!” you move your camera back up to your face, still pouting.

“Where’s that toy I bought you? Put it up to camera.”

You reach out of frame to grab the dildo in the bedside table, and showed it to him through the camera. Jack had bought it for you because you claimed it was a replica of his cock, peachy at the shaft and a dusty pink at the tip. Although, it did not match him size-wise as Jack was longer.

“Now, put it in your mouth,” he says encouragingly, watching a little bit of the silicone push past your lips. “thaaat’s it. All the way in. Good girl.”

His words make you whimper around the length, trying to take as much as you can without triggering your gag reflex. You keep your eyes on his, pretending as if you were sucking on him and not some dildo.

Jack could hear the commotion of the ER outside the door, and found it difficult to keep his undivided attention on you, his eyes moving from the door back to you, then back to the door. It made you feel slightly guilty for making him do this while at his high stress job. You knew how hard of a worker Jack was, and how dedicated he was to being a good physician. He wasn’t looking at you when you pulled the dildo out of your mouth to speak.

“Jackk!” you whined at him to pull his attention back onto you. “You’re not…paying attention.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t mean to get distracted, it’s just not ideal for me to be doing this right now” he apologizes, and you purse your lips from the grumbling of his voice. He was trying so hard to speak softly, afraid that anyone could be leaning an ear against the door. 

“I’ll just wait for you to come home…” you reply dolefully, looking down, hoping to summon sympathy from him.

Jack hated the way your saddened tone made him rethink his decision. How inappropriate for a doctor of his status to be rock hard at work. Yet, here he was; on FaceTime with his needy little girlfriend who couldn’t get off without him.

“You’re not hanging up. Put that dildo back in your mouth” he said in a serious tone as if he were talking to an uncooperative patient.

You nodded, then slid the dildo back down your throat with a whimper.

“Get it nice and wet for me…yeahh” he palms himself beneath his scrubs as he watches you spit onto the toy and take it back into your mouth, a few strings of saliva running down your chin. God, the sight of you drove this old man insane.

“Okay, now take it out,” he says while undoing the drawstring of his own pants.

“Can I p—” you start to speak but he shushes you.

“Shhh let me finish, kid. Show me that pussy.”

You turn the phone upside down, facing the camera at your messy cunt which was more soaked than before.

“Jesus, you’re fucking wet” he says quietly, more to himself than you.

Your fingers move between your legs towards your clit, gently rubbing circles over the small nub before giving yourself a few wet smacks, something Jack did when he was with you.

“Where’s that dildo, baby? We’re running out of time” he says with a tone that told you he was losing patience.

You huffed, grabbing the dildo and pushing the length through your glossy slit.

“Push it inside you, sweetheart. Fuck—just like that” he moans breathlessly, watching the toy slowly disappear inside your entrance. He squeezed his cock hard in his hand, pretending he was the one stretching you out.

As soon as the toy fully made its way inside, you began to pump it in and out of you in the way you needed it. Jack followed your pace. Whimpers and gasps left your lips as the silicone tip bumped into your sweet spot over and over again, making your eyes roll back before fluttering shut. The volume on Jack’s phone wasn’t even that high, yet the wet sounds of your cunt sounded like it was bouncing off the walls of the washroom.

“How’s that feeling, baby? Feeling good?” he looks down at you with heavy lidded eyes and knitted brows, trying desperately to conceal the groans he wants to let out.

You just nodded your head, too lost for words from the amount of pleasure you were experiencing. You didn’t think it would feel half as good if Jack weren’t on this call with you right now.

“‘Wanna s-see you, d-daddy!” you mumble half incoherently, begging to see more than just his handsome face.

He huffs a low chuckle before flipping his camera, revealing his painfully hard cock in his large freckled hand. The sight of him alone had you squeezing around the dildo, pumping the toy even faster until your arm began to ache. A small ring of cream began to form around the base of the dildo.

“S-So close d-daddy—mmph f-fuck!” you whimpered, head falling back onto the pillows behind your head. 

It wasn’t going to be long before someone would come banging on the door of the washroom, and it made Jack fuck his hand faster. He was worried about being needed for something urgent, meanwhile he’s jerking off in the washroom like some freak. Clearly, he wasn’t worried enough because 5 minutes had already gone by, and he was still on this call with you. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum?” he huffs out.

“M-Mhm! Please?”

“I don’t know, you have to tell daddy how bad you wanna cum for him.”

“So—nghh—b-bad. Need it s-so so bad! Pleeasee!” 

He could tell you were almost in tears at this point, so overcome with the need to cum that you would’ve came anyway had he said no to you.

“Go ahead, baby. C-Come for Dr. Jackie” he groaned, feeling himself reaching his own release.

A long whine filled the room as you came, back arching off the bed and legs stuttering shut around the hand that continued to thrust the toy. Jack still had his camera facing his cock when he came. Quiet groans and heavy breaths could be heard behind the camera as his cum dribbled out over his fist, coating his thick fingers. He had his eyes squeezed shut, just enjoying this small moment of release before he was forced to rejoin the bloodbath which was the PTMC ER.

“Atta fuckin’ girl. Look at you, came so h-hard for me” Jack was absolutely spent, and he’d only been at work for 2 hours. Sometimes it was so hard for him to keep up with you.

He tucks his softening cock back into his boxers off camera, wipes his hand with some toilet paper, and flips it back to his face where small salt n’ pepper tendrils were damp against the edges of his forehead. He holds the phone up to his face while you got comfortable under the blanket, the side of your face squished into his pillow.

“Thank you, Dr. Jackie. I feel so much better now!” you coo at him, nuzzling deeper in the pillow.

“Of course, sweetheart. You know that you’re my most special patient.” he smiles, and you nod. “Daddy has to hang up now. Please go to sleep this time, don’t wait up for me. Understand?”

You say ‘yes’ sleepily, batting your lashes at him. 

“Good girl. Goodnight” he says, watching you blow a kiss at him. he catches it, then clicks ‘end call’.

He quickly shoves his phone in his pocket, and throws the used toilet paper before flushing it down. He re-ties his drawstrings frantically and walks towards the sink, observing himself while washing his hands as thoroughly as possible. With an incredible amount of luck, he exits the washroom right as Dr. Robby was passing, and he pauses to stare at Jack who was now thinking Robby was standing outside the door the whole time.

“Do I want to know what you were doing in there?” Dr. Robby questions in a lighthearted tone, folding his arms over his chest.

“Uh…dinner wasn’t sitting too well” he lies on the spot, hoping that he sounded convincing enough.

“Oh Jesus, not a good time to be working the night shift” Dr. Robby chuckles, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Can I get you something for your tummy troubles?”

“Nah, man. I’ll be fine. Let’s just um…get back to work” Jack says awkwardly, gripping the stethoscope around his neck before scurrying away.

This was going to be a long night shift.

Most of the time he was too much. Too aggressive, too stoic, too unpredictable.

Logically, no sane person would want to get mixed up with the Cody’s—especially the one who pretended like he didn’t care when really he felt so much and didn’t know how to handle it healthily.

Then you walked into Pope’s life with a pretty smile and a pair of ballet slippers.

Pope hadn’t expected it at all. As soon as he’d laid eyes on you, he had every reason to think you’d run the other direction and tell him to get lost. People weren’t allowed to get close to him. That was something he had discovered at a young age when his mother drove away every good woman that had ever attempted to.

But so far, you were just as constant as the North Star that appeared in the sky every night without fail.

No matter how much he loved that you showed up for him and treated him like a man deserving of love, there was always a part of him that felt he didn’t deserve it. Everyone knew he had problems. Issues that no one should carry the burden of trying to handle.

He was quick to find out that you weren’t the type to try and fix him. You wanted him so badly that you made your love for him bigger than any of his mistakes and baggage.

Every Friday night after practice you went to the Cody residence. Most times all the lights would be on, music blaring from the backyard, people doing stupid stuff whilst hopped up on drugs. Craig and Deran were experts at finding people to make money off of, the ones with good drugs that made deals quick and clean. Almost every dealer in Oceanside had been acquainted with either brother at some point.

However, as you pulled into the driveway, everything was suspiciously quiet. There were no lights on, no music, no people. A rarity for a family who thrived on throwing parties for no real reason.

With caution, you headed in through the back door. Inside was all black, only the stove light providing just enough warmth to illuminate the way.

Your brows were furrowed as you quietly tip toed around the dining table on sore feet and into the small hallway. The last thing you needed was for Smurf or one of your boyfriend’s nosy brothers intercepting your weekly routine.

“Pope?” You whispered as the padding of your fingertips carefully pushed the cracked door open.

Since the beginning of your relationship, you knew Pope rarely slept. Most nights when you stayed over, you’d wake up to find him cleaning or fixing something. It never really bothered you but that didn’t mean it stopped you from worrying.

Moonlight shined through the blinds, bathing the room in dusty silver slats. It stretched long over the floorboards, touching the man seated on the right side of the bed.

You stopped in the doorway, staring at his back. His pale skin was littered with a sea of freckles, spreading onto his shoulders and down his strong arms.

Pope didn’t move. His back remained straight, almost like something was pressed right up against it, hands resting on his muscular thighs. A body of corded muscle and firm rigidity.

Knowing he would stay like that until the sun came up, you set down your duffel bag and approached him with the utmost care.

You sank down onto the mattress behind him, positioning yourself by his left shoulder.

“Hi, honey,” you said softly, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder.

Instantly, he tensed. But you didn’t take it back or push further. Just left it there so he could feel you grounding him back into the present.

Gradually, the tense muscle beneath your hand began to relax. The hint of a smile graced your lips as he found himself again in your loving touch. You slid your hand over the freckles littering his spine, lips finding his shoulder and resting them against his skin in a featherlight press.

No one in his family ever took care of him in such a kind manner. Everything Smurf did was for herself and it always felt like his brothers pitied him for being so emotionally stunted. All he ever wanted was for someone to stay. To hold him when things got too much. To pull him out of his head every time he retreated into it.

He just had to let himself have it without self sabotaging.

After a moment, he finally turned his head towards you.

Your smile quickly vanished when you saw his beat up face. There was a butterfly strip on his cheekbone, holding a deep cut together. A purplish blue bruise was forming beneath his eye, another cut just above his eyebrow.

With gentle hands, you carefully cupped his face, keeping your thumbs away from any points of pain.

Pope’s puppy dog brown eyes stayed locked on yours as you examined the damage done. He kept still despite wanting to pull away before you could see him too close.

Every time he found himself face to face with you like this, he was terrified you’d see who he really was beneath his devotion. That you’d find yourself staring into the eyes of a killer instead of the man who was so hopelessly obsessed with you.

With a sigh, you moved a hand up to his curls. “Rough match?”

It took him a minute to realize what you were asking until it finally clicked—the boxing match.

When you first found out about it, he was scared you’d be appalled by his violent nature. That was changed when he saw you cheering him on from the sidelines, looking so out place in his world of rage and grit.

Pope nodded slowly while simultaneously leaning into you, lowering his head to fit against your chest. Your hand moved to thread in the curls at the back of his head, the other wrapping around his back.

“Just wanna hold you,” he mumbled, inhaling your scent so deeply he could feel it in his lungs. “Tell me about your day.”

“Okay.” You pressed a kiss to the crown of his head before shifting back to lay against the pillows.

He followed automatically, removing your flats so you’d be more comfortable. Then, before they could even hit the floor, he was settling himself on top of you like a weighted blanket.

As his head found that space between your breasts again, your fingers went back to fiddling with his soft curls.

You started off by telling him how chaotic your morning was with your coffee maker breaking and your artist director blowing up your phone because you were taking too long in the Starbucks line.

He gave your side a little squeeze. “‘M sorry you had to go through that, baby.”

“It’s alright,” you murmured, knowing how much he hated when anything caused you distress. “Ms. Faure was surprisingly calm when I got to the studio.”

That’s when he lifted his head to look at you. Not with surprise but with bored disbelief. “Calm? I didn’t think that woman was ever calm.”

You gave a sheepish look. “I might’ve lied and told her that I had to take my boyfriend to the hospital.”

His brows raised slightly. “And she believed you?”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, not knowing how he’d react to the way you sold the white lie. “Well… I might’ve shown her a picture of you from your last fight.”

Pope stared blankly at you, his jaw set and his eyes hardening. You knew he wasn’t happy with your decision but it didn’t affect him much.

You gently dragged your fingernails beneath his ear, making him shiver involuntarily. “If it makes you feel any better, she said you were cute.”

He huffed, forehead falling to your collarbone to hide his reddening cheeks. “Hmph… cute,” he grumbled.

You smiled lightly and kissed his temple. “Very.”

Once his head settled back in its spot, you continued. “Rehearsals went well. Octavia had a little hiccup and I felt really bad because she’s been trying her hardest. Jenny got mad when I went to help. Said I was “being too nice” but hey, Octavia could’ve been seriously hurt!”

Pope hummed as he listened to the drama in the ballet, feeling your chest rumble with every word. “You’re always nice.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Those girls are like family to me, Andy. If they get hurt, I get hurt. I just wish Ms. Faure would understand that.”

His warm eyes glanced up at you, watching as your lips moved. He was captivated by the way your lips formed each vowel and syllable. Anytime you spoke about anyone, you sounded so sincere. You cared so deeply about others and were able to express it with compassion and empathy.

He wanted to be like that. Which was a major part of why he clung to you as much as he did.

“Anyway,” you said, giving him a kind smile and stroking a hand through his hair. “I’m leaving next week for Paris. We’re performing at the Palais Garnier. Can you even believe that?”

Excitement made your eyes light up. It made something tighten in his chest, a mix of happiness for your dreams coming true but also disappointment that you’d be leaving him.

He came to every single one of the productions you were in—even if you were just a backup dancer. There was nothing he enjoyed more than watching his girl on stage, twirling so beautifully and gracefully under the twinkling lights.

Now he was stuck in California while you went to perform across the world.

“That’s amazing,” Pope said in his usual monotone way and immediately regretted it.

He was terrible at showing excitement for other people.

“I know!” You grinned widely, looking at him dreamily. “It’s a gala event. I’m doing a piece from the Swan Lake.”

That caught his attention.

He moved off of you just enough so he could view you properly, propped up on one elbow with his body still attached to yours. “You’ve been dreaming of that since you were a kid, right?”

You nodded eagerly. The fact he remembered that hit you square in the chest. “Yeah, I have. I cannot believe it’s finally happening. It’s all I can think about. I mean, it’s terrifying but so so so exciting.”

“I can only imagine.”

Your head lolled against the pillow, finding his eyes. He grabbed your hand, soothingly rubbing his thumb over your knuckles but you quickly flipped the roles.

His knuckles were rough, calloused—a testament to how he spent his time putting his gloved fists into people’s faces.

“You’ll be okay without me for a few days?” You asked quietly.

Pope was clingy, everyone knew that. He needed you safe at all times and the only way he could do that was by keeping you by his side 24/7. So, yes, it did scare him terribly that you would be thousands of miles away from him with a giant ocean separating you from him.

But he didn’t tell you that. He didn’t want to be a burden and he definitely did not want to be the one to hold you back.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, shaking his head while his eyes darted to your entwined hands. “Yeah. I’ll be alright.”

“Baby.”

“What?”

“I know when you’re lying.”

Pope froze. Gosh, you had such a way of seeing through him that you could detect every little change in him.

“Hey,” you said softly, bringing his face back to yours. “I want you to be honest with me. I’m not going to be mad.”

His eyes closed, a muscle ticking in his jaw as a rough breath escaped his nose. Once he found the strength to look you in the eye, he opened them again.

“What do I do?” He asked so quietly you might’ve missed it if not for the silent room. “What happens if something happens to you and I don’t know? What if you get hurt and I can’t be there, huh?”

Your eyes softened around the edges, his words striking you somewhere deep.

“Honey,” you whispered, stroking your thumb carefully over his unscathed cheekbone. “If anything happens to me, you’ll be the first one I call.”

He shook his head again. Instantly, you knew that he was starting to think of the worst case scenario.

“What if you can’t call? What do I do then?”

“Pope…” you thought for a minute, trying to come up with something reassuring but truthfully, you didn’t know what would happen.

Another long moment of silence stretched before you finally found the words.

You sat up a little, holding his face in your hands. “I’ll call you every morning and night. That—”

“And during the day.”

“Yes. And during the day. That way you can know that I’m okay. And if I miss it, that’s when you can worry, alright? Does that sound good?”

Pope thought for a stretch of time. Even if he was still anxious about you leaving him, if only for a few days, he’d take what he could get.

“Okay,” he agreed. “But you promise to call?”

“Of course, my love.”

He was an absolute mess.

The day after you left for Paris, his brothers hauled him along on some job. It was simple enough, easier than some of the other stunts they’d pulled previously, but he was nowhere near as focused as he should’ve been.

His brain kept conjuring images of your plane crashing into the ocean, the wheels coming off when you landed on the tarmac, some disgusting man picking you off the street.

No matter how hard he tried to distract himself by throwing himself into a job, it just wasn’t working.

But the thing was, you called exactly when you said you would. Because of the time difference, it would be the middle of the night for you and you’d still call for at least five minutes. He’d do the same when it was daytime for you.

Every call eased his conscious for a second, cherishing every time your smile appeared on the other end.

You were having the time of your life.

He listened intently as you told him about sight seeing with the team and all the new foods you were trying. Most times you were smiling brightly, yapping like you had a motor on your mouth.

Other times, you cried. You were so scared of messing up on stage, afraid you’d ruin it for everyone else. It hurt his heart so badly and he was so upset there was nothing he could do about it.

But he’d seen you dance. To him, you were the best ballerina to ever exist.

You were graceful, leaping and gliding around even while your body felt like it would fall apart. Your dedication was what made him admire you that much more.

That just added to his list of worries.

When the jobs weren’t working to keep his mind occupied, he threw himself into the ring.

Here he was now, in a cage with a man half his size. It could’ve been a joke—Craig, who was cheering him on from the other side, certainly found it comical.

When the match began, Pope held his arms up, hands secure within the confines of his boxing gloves.

“Come on, man! You got this!” Craig’s voice shouted over the yelling and the clinking of people shaking the chainlink cage.

Pope threw a left hook at the man’s face, following it with a swift right punch to his ribs.

Sweat was already dripping off his hair, burning his eyes as it trickled down his forehead. It only made him fight harder, thinking about how you always danced through the pain like it was just a second thought.

The smaller man laid a few good punches on Pope but he was quick to retaliate.

They circled each other a few times, exchanging blows that were meant to stun the other.

He pictured it was you shouting at him from the sidelines rather than his brother. You attended each fight, waiting with water and a rag for him. You kissed him and told him he did great even if he lost.

Today, he didn’t have that.

Distracted by that thought, the man saw an opening and went for it.

Pope was thrown off balance as the force of the hit knocked his head to the side followed by another, jerking his head the other way. He couldn’t stop it in time.

Once the referee called it, the man stepped back.

Pope was hunched against the metal wall, spitting blood from his mouth while trying to catch his breath. His face was on fire but nobody came to clean it up.

Soon enough, Craig came rushing over, crowding him. “Dude, are you alright?”

A few more pants escaped his mouth before Pope looked up through his lashes, unfazed by the sweat at this point.

“Shit.” Craig’s eyes widened at the sight of his oldest brother’s face. Several new cuts littered his skin, others having been reopened. “What happened in there, man?”

Pope stood to his full height, staggering slightly before pressing his glove into Craig’s chest. They shared a look, one that said explanations could wait.

Back at the house, Pope got in the shower almost immediately. He stood beneath the spray, one hand braced on the wall with his head bent. His gaze followed the blood as it spiraled down the drain.

“Honey?”

Pope glanced over his shoulder, seeing you standing there, your bare body obscured by the fogged up glass of the shower chamber.

You didn’t even ask to join. Just opened the door and stepped inside the humid space. Pope moved on instinct, giving you room but you quickly closed it.

Your arms settled over his shoulders, careful of the bruises on his collarbone. “You did amazing in there, Andy. I’m proud of you.”

He barely registered your words, so focused on the slickness of your body pressed against his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said with a smile.

Pope’s forehead fell to your shoulder, all the fight draining out of him.

Instead of your warm body, all he felt was the cold tile.

After he got out and dried off, he pulled on some clean jeans and a simple black shirt only because it still faintly smelled of you. His movements were sharp with aggression that he didn’t know what to do with, even when he applied a butterfly strip to one of the deeper cuts.

He was beating himself up for what happened. It took a lot for him to get distracted but when it came to his girl, he was a goner.

On his way to the kitchen, he glimpsed his two brothers and their nephew in the living room.

Pope did his best to ignore them by steering away from the living space and into the kitchen. It didn’t do anything though since they followed him anyway.

“Dude, what’s going on?” Craig spoke up first, hands tucked into the pockets of his skinny jeans.

Deran nodded along with him. “He told us what happened and he’s right. You’ve been out of it, man. On the job and now this.”

“It’s nothing,” Pope murmured, busying himself with pouring a glass of water.

“Nothing?” Craig parroted.

J took a step closer. “You almost cost us a job. It isn’t nothing.”

“The job went fine. We got the money and we got out, no hassle,” Pope stated firmly, keeping his back towards them as he braced his hands on the counter.

Deran scoffed.

Craig ran a hand through his oily hair. “That doesn’t explain what happened in the fight.”

Pope’s jaw went tight, his teeth grinding so hard he thought they might break. His grip turned knuckle-white on the countertop as he fought to keep his cool.

He turned to face them, ignoring the ache in his jaw. “I got distracted. Is that what you want to hear?”

Deran’s brows lifted towards his hairline. “You? Distracted?”

“Yeah. So what?” Pope fired back.

A thick silence fell over the boys, the tension crackling like a live wire between them. They seemed to be playing a quiet game of who would dare to speak first and risk making Pope’s patience snap.

“It’s because of her, isn’t it?”

All eyes snapped to J as he made his assumption.

Everyone knew exactly who he was talking about but when Pope first brought you home, they all agreed it was best to not make you the topic of interest in front of their older brother.

Just because Pope was only J’s uncle didn’t mean he was stupid.

You were around more often than not, carrying a lightness that the Cody family definitely needed.

They all saw how Pope looked at you like you were the only person holding him together. Like you were the sun and he was nothing but wax that melted every time he was in your orbit.

He was never as subtle as he liked to believe he was.

His eyes hardened and he walked up to J with no hesitation. Craig and Deran braced themselves for anything that their brother might try against their nephew.

J didn’t flinch. Just held eye contact with his uncle, his features neutral.

Pope squinted at him, his nose flaring slightly. “Don’t talk about her. Ever.”

When he left the room, taking the heaviness with him, the three of them all thought the same thing—you needed to come back and you needed to hurry it up.

For four days Pope skipped just about every meal and ran on an estimated three hours of sleep. He’d gotten so used to sleeping next to you that it suddenly felt like he was plunged into a darkness with no sense of direction. He missed your warmth, the way your warm body felt pressed against his when he held you in his big arms.

He was beginning to feel insane with how badly he wanted you home.

You filled his dreams every night when he did manage to sleep. Some were sweet, others left him feeling shy and embarrassed for the fantasies his brain came up with in his subconscious.

There were only a few times in his life when he’d felt this way. But this time, he prayed the outcome would be different.

As soon as the fourth day was up, he jumped in his truck and took off down the highway toward the airport.

Pope got there hours too early. Your plane was supposed to land at about midnight and it was only 8:30pm. He didn’t care. He told you he’d be there and Pope Cody was a man of his word.

The hours passed by surprisingly fast. When his phone lit up with a message from you, he was out of the truck without even having to read the entire thing.

His keen eyes were trained on the doors, waiting to see his beautiful girl return to him after a horrible four days apart.

And finally, there you were.

The second you stepped out of the airport doors, you dropped all your things and took off running towards him with reckless abandon. “Andrew!”

Pope caught you as you launched at him, his arms catching around your waist with ease. Yours flew around his neck, your legs wrapping around him like a koala.

Instantly, he buried his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo that he’d been so deprived of.

“You came!” You said happily, pulling back enough to hold his face just the way he’d been missing.

“Of course I did,” Pope said earnestly, staring at you like he couldn’t believe you had made it back to him. With one arm keeping you up, he brought his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I missed you. So much.”

Your smile was so bright, your eyes filled with such joy and love that Pope felt like he could cry.

No one had ever looked at him like he was their entire world.

But you did.

Without any more stalling, his hand tangled in your hair and crushed his lips to yours. His tongue slid into your mouth with no pretense, kissing you like a man who’d been dying of thirst for too long.

Your hands tightened around his neck, keeping him as close as possible even though you knew he’d never let you go now that he had you back.

Neither of you cared about the way the world continued to move around you.

All that mattered was you in his arms with his mouth on yours.

The sound of applause was what made you break away.

You glanced over your shoulder, eyes heavy lidded and cheeks flushed and lips kiss swollen. It didn’t stop the smile that arose when you saw your ballet team clapping and whistling.

Pope’s cheeks went bright red and he stood like a deer frozen in headlights.

Your legs dropped from his waist, giving his cheek a quick peck before hugging him tightly to remind him that they didn’t matter right now.

He glanced down at the top of your head before back up. His gaze snagged on one of the older women—Ms. Faure.

In all the times he’d picked you up from the studio and saw her, she was always tense and scrutinizing. But right now, her thin lips were pulled in a barely there smile as she slowly clapped her ring clad hands.

Pope gave a firm nod of respect and gratitude for keeping his girl safe for those four long days.

When the team began to disperse, you looked at him and gave him a small peck on the lips. He told you to go wait in the truck while he grabbed your bags.

On the way home, Pope kept his hand secured in yours the whole ride. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you even as you told him to watch the road. No words were needed. Not yet. You two simply basked in each other’s presence after days of being away from the other.

Once Pope pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, he brought your hand to his mouth and gave it a gentle kiss.

“Don’t leave me again,” he murmured lowly, his eyes holding that quiet intensity.

You leaned closer to him, stealing another slow and deep kiss from him. Pope let out a breathy, needy noise against your soft lips, sliding his free hand to hold the back of your neck.

“No,” you whispered against his mouth. “Next time, you’re coming with me.”

His heady gaze lit up at the invitation. Nothing sounded better than traveling the world with you, watching you spin on a stage with such elegance and grace.

He nodded almost eagerly before giving your hand a squeeze. “Tell me all about your trip.”

“Okay,” you mouthed, giving him one last kiss.

As Pope followed you inside the house, he knew one thing for certain—nobody could ever want you like he did.