BEST WAY NOT TO GET YOUR HEART BROKEN?
PRETEND YOU DON'T HAVE ONE.
Name: Grayson Heller
Nickname: Gray, Hellion
Gender & Pronouns: Cis man & he/him
Age: 31
Occupation: Criminal defense attorney at Heller & Co
Origins: Blue Harbor, IL (left for 6 years, returned 7 years ago)
Neighborhood: Oak Gardens
Relationship status: single (for everyone's benefit)
SUMMARY: The son of Cameron Heller, predestined to follow in the Harvard man's path, he quickly became a disappointment because no one can be perfect. Grayson tried and tried again and never seemed to measure up as the bar kept moving whenever he got close or reached for it. He lost his mother too young and was stifled in a house with a father that just never seemed to like him, whether he did what was expected of him or not. Even if they appeared calm on the surface, Gray and Cameron were always at each other's throats. Instead of going to Harvard he put up a middle finger to his father and went to Northwestern in Chicago, his mother's alma mater. Still, he went for law school rather than anything he actually wanted to do because there was always an insatiable need to gain his father's approval and acceptance. To be good enough. That pursuit drove him to substances that would only further break him. After an incident that drove him into the arms of sobriety, Gray came home to Blue Harbor and began working at his father's firm. Hating every minute of it yet never walking away.
BIOGRAPHY
trigger warnings — lung disease, drug and alcohol abuse, death
In some ways being born in Blue Harbor the only son of a Harvard man who'd started his own law firm meant that Grayson really only had one path for himself in life. It was one that he would fight against just about every step of the way. He would fight against the expectations and the reputation that had been bearing down on his shoulders to live up to from birth. From the time Grayson started school he was destined for Harvard and his father, Cameron Heller, mapped out his entire schooling from elementary to graduating high school for the means of making Gray the best candidate possible to also become a Harvard alumni.
It wasn't until Grayson had left Blue Harbor that he was able to break away from his father's pressure and instead followed into the university that his mother had gone to. Northwestern University in Chicago. That move had created a huge rift between father and son and the aftermath of their fallout was cause for Grayson to really lose himself in anything that alleviated the pain of being called a failure to the family name. Many ugly things had been said those fights, but what had hurt most of all was his father using his late mother against him. Saying that she would be so disappointed in the person he'd become.
When he'd been around eight years old his mother had been diagnosed with a lung condition, and it had progressed quickly. It diminished her last few years, the quality of life lessening until the point of her not being able to leave the house or hardly move around because she couldn't breathe with any exertion. Grayson couldn't forget that his father still spent most of his time working away, building his law firm and racking up clients, rather than be there and be supportive through his mother's last bits of time. Even worse that after she'd passed away his father used that weakness against him any chance he could get in an argument. It was a manipulation that worked for years until it didn't.
The time spent in Chicago was full of bad decisions. Drugs, drink, and pure debauchery. Often times he'd gotten in trouble. Sometimes he was forced to spend the night in the drunk tank at the local PD, other times there were actual charges against him for property damage and such things that his father had to make go away, and then there was nearly getting kicked out of school. What kind of turned it around for him had been a connection with a friend turned sober buddy. Some lines of their friendship had been blurred but it'd never really been discussed beyond agreeing it was just a physical thing. They'd nearly lost a friend to a DUI incident and it had been a wake up call, sending Grayson grumpily into sobriety.
Part of that journey had been about making amends with the past, and that forced Grayson to try and reconnect with his father. He left Chicago and came back to Blue Harbor. Passed the bar after law school and took up a position in his father's firm. The problem was that Grayson was falling right back into the order of pleasing his old man rather than doing for himself. That only put pressure on his sobriety because it made him incredibly unhappy, and thus the fighting with his father began all over again. Grayson can't let go of the past, tormented by watching his mother die on his own and then never being anything acceptable to his father. He takes on criminal cases and engaged in things he knows his father wouldn't approve of. Quiet but loud rebellions while fielding his father's taunts of falling right back into destruction.
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STARTER FOR: @graysonheller
LOCATION: some socialite's house ok / oak gardens
It’s a bit too early for a fucking bonfire-themed party, they thought. Not when summer had barely left and the fall was only beginning to settle in the air, let alone seep through their bones, but rich people and logic tended to be elusive. In any case, they weren’t going to pass up a party—food, drink, and finite friendships. And what was the harm indulging for one night, really? It was neither logical nor polite to reject the courtesy, not when it was so freely given by—
God, what was the woman’s name again? Valentine had caught her eye waiting in line at the coffee shop, and she’d blurted out an invitation about a party in Oak Gardens that same night, that they could continue their conversation there. They remembered the curl of her lashes, the sunlit hair, and her address—but lost her name and face. How shameful. It started with a B…
In any case, they’d yet to be kicked out of the party. The platter brimming with all sorts of cheeses and pretzels at the very end of the table had looked particularly tempting and was a perfect complement to the (fucking!) non-alcoholic cider. And so Valentine decided, in the interim, to scour through people’s faces and to munch on pretzels, the latter decision leaving crumbs on their sweater that were admittedly a bit unsightly.
They did not know much time had passed until a familiar face had finally emerged. Catching his eyes, they began, “Grayson Heller!” they began, last name and all. They hadn’t been particularly close, but, by God, his face was a comfort among a sea of strangers. “If you’re looking for the pretzels, I think some menace had already picked the plate clean. Damn shame.” A shrug, almost playful.
Still no woman. “Grayson, think you can help me out? I’m looking for someone.”
These were so common and so boring but often better than being left to his own devices. Plus, it helped him keep up his reputation and appearance within the community. His father was untouchable yet knew how to pander to the public in a way that people never saw what an awful human he actually could be. A real son of a bitch. With the anniversary of his mother's passing approaching he had to push whatever thoughts of his father out of his head and chest, around this time of year they always twisted into something far uglier than what truly was.
Mingling, chatting, snacking, wandering thoughts to his work... this was so routine he was walking through it all like some sort of robot. What he used to have a little fun with was the bored, middle aged housewives that would flirt a little too desperately with him was of no interest. Nothing ever happened from those encounters other then hopefully securing himself in their memory when a divorce would surely eventually come. Not that he practiced that kind of law but referrals often meant owed favors.
Not long after walking into a new room of the house he was full named and it put a crooked smile on his face as his blue eyes searched for the person responsible. "Valentine Finch," he returned when he'd noticed their eye contact and made his way to them. They were someone he'd have loved to chat with back when the embezzlement case was on-going, but he wouldn't bring that up now. Instead he listened to them go on about pretzels, distracted by the crumbs on their shirt the entire time. "That is a shame. I suppose I'll just have to eat the crumbs off your chest there..." With a chuckle he somewhat gestured to all the crumbs on Val's shirt.
With a shift in stance Grayson was soon saddling up next to Valentine to that he could still people watch while he chatted with them. "I'm pretty good with faces. Names. I've got a massive catalogue in my head so... yeah, test me."
It was most definitely not unusual for Juno to find comfort amongst the dead. It was entertaining even. Going from grave to grave, familiarizing themself with those below. Reading what their loved ones engraved on their stones, and researching all those with nothing in theirs. Like their own little murder mystery to uncover - as if they truly needed another one. Juno traced their fingers over a new grave today. The lettering was old and they could barely make out the date on the stone. 188- something was all they could read.
They brushed off some more dust and debris, but still the number was far too smooth to read. The effect of the weather and aging. “Think maybe I’ll find your information in the library records?” they asked the stone, before turning towards approaching footsteps. "I'll have to ask sweet Jasper about it, but worry not. They should be able to help." they finished saying. Juno hadn’t noticed anyone there before, but they'd been far too invested in their new friend Reeves. “Grayson?” Juno asked, having had memorized the way that he moved from their previous interactions.
With some regularity Grayson visited his mother at the cemetery. He'd felt so alone in the world since she'd passed and his home and relationship with his father had been a war zone ever since. Especially when he was feeling particularly low he'd go spend time with her, find some comfort in the one person who'd ever genuinely loved him. Even if the only relationship he could have with her now was one sided. He wasn't someone that talked to the grave, Gray had never been a believer in ghosts or that spirits were all around. That was mostly a means of protection and a way to move on because if he believed his mother lingered in any way it would've only prolonged the pain of her loss.
Being here, however, with the slender brunette he often encountered among the gravestones Grayson was questioning his beliefs. He'd come across them at too many varying gravesites to accept that they were visiting loved ones gone, and even more so they'd be talking to the graves. Maybe apparitions were real? Grayson had grown up in Blue Harbor and he'd never seen this person outside of the cemetery and this was a small town. Their voice had carried across the quiet night and he found his way wandering toward them. "Yeah... it's me," he said slowly as he read the gravestone of where they were at tonight. Definitely not someone they could've known, unless... "Find a new friend, or is this an old one?"
Oliver nods his head slowly at the other's words. "It's probably because you don't know anything about me." It also wasn't fair for him to be standing here, judging the other. He knew his flaw was one thing and it was being a hyprocrite when it came to certain things. He just wanted to find something bad about this guy to stop Damian from dating him. Why? Well, that was an issue currently pinned in a box somewhere within him. He exhales, dropping his arms from his chest and clearing his throat. "Look," he brushes his tongue along his lower lip. "We have one thing in common and it's how much we both care about Damian. He would... want us to get along." He steps closer. "So... As long as you don't hurt him or make him spiral back into his addiction. I won't kick your fucking ass. And as long as I don't hurt him and keep trying to be a..." He breathes out. "Good friend for him then you won't kick my ass. And I'll tell you now I'm not as fucking good as him and I know that." He lifts his gaze up to Grayson. "But I do my best to be that rock he needs me to be. I promise I don't do this," he gestures to the full shot on the bar. "When I know I'm going to be anywhere near him. Just like I trust that you won't do anything to put him at risk either." He clears his throat, putting his hand out. "So, let's just... get along for him?"
"Anything?" With a raised brow he easily challenged Oliver. Maybe he'd lost sight of just how long he and Damian had been friends and how he'd heard plenty. It also amused Grayson how rich the comment was given that Oliver judged him rather harshly without really knowing him at all personally. He was forever pinned as someone that Damian used to party and do drugs with, not as the guy that had gotten clean and sober with their mutual friend. Though, Gray did understand that he put on a certain façade and that was to protect himself. Most people didn't like it but then it also meant they had no clue about the real person under it all. This all felt like such bullshit and an opportunity for Oliver to try and be the bigger man while talking down to someone else. It didn't work for Grayson or the steps Oliver took to close the space between them. Did he think he was intimidating in any way? He listened but Gray remained skeptical. "Interesting you're saying all this shit while drinking in a bar," he pointed out and then looked at the hand offered. Was this how fake Oliver was? Maybe the attorney was seeing too much between the lines and that was what he didn't like. He took his hand and held it, "if you're his friend then be his fucking friend and stop acting like an asshole like this. I don't believe there's anything genuine or sincere in that little speech you just made but for the sake of keeping the peace I'll let it be. Maybe we'll actually be friendly and possibly friends one day if you can grow the fuck up and manage not to hate me for your own issues. I could've even helped you through your bullshit..." Gray released his hand then and shook his head with disapproval on his face. There was something else going on and he wasn't about to be played.
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x. status -> closed for @graysonheller
x. location -> grayson's place
The first thing Damian does when Gray opens the door for him is pull him into an embrace. He holds him close, tightly, arms around his neck, breathing him in like some pathetic little kid. He knows it’s stupid, and maybe a little bit too intense, but he can’t help himself — after seeing Phoebe’s state, for the most part, he’s happy he and Grayson have managed to find some common ground. That they’ve managed to talk things out. That they’re working on things, even if it gets a little prickly to do so at times. “Hi,” he mutters, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I missed you.” He pulls back slightly, so that he’s still in Gray’s embrace some. “I forgot to bring a weekend bag,” he admits, grinning. “I was too excited to get here. So I’m gonna need to borrow some clothes.”
After a long, rough week in Chicago working a trial that his client wasn't giving him any real assistance on it felt good to be in his own driveway. Walking up to the door he was already feeling the soon to be comfort of being out of a suit for a while, catching up on sleep in his own bed, and getting in some quality time with Damian. Affection wrapped him up quickly, the moment he crossed the threshold, and with a tired smile his arm that wasn't grasping his bag wrapped around Damian. His foot pushed the door closed and his things were dropped to the floor so that he could fully embrace the man waiting on him. "Hey," he mutter back, exhaustion in his voice, fully capable of falling asleep just as they were, "I missed you too." It felt so awkward to say, to be this way with it all so new to him but Grayson worked through those feelings. When he pulled back a bit he nodded, "what's mine is yours. Help yourself." And he meant it. Damian could make himself at home whether he was there or not. Grayson also hoped he never lost that excitement. "I need to get out of this suit, come on," he took his hand and began leading him to his bedroom. "Tell me about your week. How's school?"
SAUL: Careful, you'll curse yourself with a continuance if you talk like that. I've got two divorces and a custody hearing.
SAUL: Shit, why haven't I tried batting my eyelashes at him? I thought playing golf with him two times a year would soften him up.
SAUL: Absolutely fucking not. No one pays in my presence, you know this.
GRAY: Sounds like you have a worse day ahead. I'm actually just grateful for the bit of break from this criminal case I'm trying in Chicago.
GRAY: Don't start stealing my moves, Weissberg. Maybe my shade of blue is better and I have longer, darker lashes. The face card helps a lot. More than golf.
GRAY: Doesn't mean I won't still try. One of these days you'll let someone treat YOU.
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PHOEBE: okay then, he fell 😉
PHOEBE: get a book or something published ig
PHOEBE: i kinda feel like there is no end goal rn. that end goals are a bit pointless
GRAY: exactly
GRAY: i know that feeling well. a questioning of where does any of that get you in the end?
GRAY: being a published author would be pretty cool bragging rights though
Oliver walks over to the bar and plops his arms down on the surface. "I'll get a Jack and Coke." He mutters to the bartender, the last thing he wants to do tonight is think about anything happening around him. First Scarlett, then his first fight with Damian. Last thing he wants to think about is either of them. He brushes his tongue along his lower lip as he hears a voice next to him. No. Fucking. Way. He exhales, standing up straight as he turns to face the man himself, the one that apparently wants on fucking water and is so perfect. "Grayson," he mutters. "Fancy seein' you here."
"Hey, you mind making me a coffee," Grayson asked the bartender, "I'll pay extra." Despite no longer drinking he still liked the ambiance and the people at a bar. Well, with the exception of the guy that made an appearance next to him. It was strange his dislike for Oliver. Gray wasn't entirely sure where it came from. Maybe because he knew Oliver didn't like him, or there was something in the other man he didn't trust. He didn't believe he was as solid as a friend to Damian as he made himself out to be. "I've got a lot of work to do and I need to stay up," he further explained to the bartender that was making idle conversation with him. Then he turned to Oliver, who he would've happily ignored. "Oliver," there was a hint of shortness that closely matched the other's. "I'm sure it is for you." His suit jacket was off and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up. "I don't know why I'd assumed you had better taste in whiskey than that."
DAMIAN: [He stops pacing, relieved to hear Gray's not serious. Still, he scoffs for good measure.]
DAMIAN: What about that was sarcasm, Gray? Explain it to me like I'm five. It may have been a joke, and not a very good one, by the way, I feel like I just ran a fucking marathon, and not one of the fun ones either, the ones your third cousin twice removed makes you join under the guise of raising money for some bullshit organization but really their name gets entered into a raffle for a new bike for every person they sign up—
DAMIAN: [He's lost his train of thought. None of that matters, really, but the pounding in his chest still feels very real. He's still reeling a little bit at the thought of Grayson doing something so dangerous.]
DAMIAN: —anyway, jokes don't translate well through text, and you know that. Don't — scare me like that, okay?
DAMIAN: [At Gray's words, Damian tenses up for a second. He sounds less angry and more hurt, but Damian can't exactly lie to him now, can he?]
DAMIAN: I — why haven't you brought this up before? I thought — are you sure it was me?
DAMIAN: ...I don't remember much from those days, Gray. I'm sorry. I — if you're being honest, then — that really sucks. I thought I had all our firsts mapped out.
— grayson groaned as he slowly rubbed his tired face —
GRAY: That won't be difficult since you're acting that age right now. It was an excellent joke... people would've laughed. Ran a marathon because I said I was going skydiving? I still might do that because it sounds fun and with an actual parachute. Wanna go? Hold on... there's such a thing as a fun marathon? Who even are you? Sounds like you're speaking from trauma with a capital T, baby. I think you're worrying about too many people tonight.
— it's not lost on gray that he didn't explain and that they veered off course, it felt natural and much like how they always were —
GRAY: Did that genuinely scare you? I didn't even think of it like that... I guess I was a little too busy being offended and devastated. Seriously though... we should go skydiving.
— it was more of a hit to his ego and his pride that damian didn't remember their long ago past, and gray does realize that they were each heavily into drug use at the time. it still bothers him that he remembers and damian doesn't but he's more understanding about it now that he's had time to cool off and think after the initial let down —
GRAY: When would I bring it up? I'd always just assumed you knew and remembered like I did. It's not really casual conversation either. Pretty random actually... "hey, remember those times we fucked years ago?"
— then he groans and it's it's laced with genuine frustration —
GRAY: Yes, it was you Damian.
— there's a pause and a long silence that follows. the sounds of him sitting up in bed then shifting out of it as he goes to grab a water from the mini fridge —
GRAY: If I'm being serious?
— more silence and the sounds of him drinking —
GRAY: You know what fucking sucks... its that you don't remember and then question me and don't seem to have any trust in what I'm telling you. Let me ask you something, Damian... have I ever lied to you? Do you think I'm trying to manipulate you?
— he doesn't really wait much for a reply as he screws the cap back on the bottle of water and something niggles at him under the surface. a flight response, something that tells him to just let this go and walk away. he's so exhausted of being seen as this bad guy when his only offense is being cameron heller's son —
GRAY: Look, I need to get some sleep. I have trial tomorrow. I'll talk to you...
— later? tomorrow? some other time? —
GRAY: Take care of your friend.
"So is this your favorite kind of roleplay? Or do you have another scenario that tickle your fancy?" she egged on, sipping from her margarita yet again before raising her index finger to stop him from commenting. "Wait, wait, let me guess since I'm supposed to be your bestie already," she cleared her throat. "I'm gonna say.....well you look like a power dynamic kind of guy....would it be something along the lines of you playing teacher and whomever is the student? In the loosest terms possible—not trying to make it creepy." her smile widened, giggling a little at her long winded guess. It was probably going to take him off guard, but with the idea of not having to sit through the entire night with just her margarita and her own thoughts she figured she could have some fun. "I hate being in my own head, it's not always the nicest place to be for me." she shrugged, fingernails tapping against the table. Scarlett found herself laughing out loud now, immediately moving a hand to cover her own mouth to try and stop. "I-i'm so-sorry," she continued, tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she settled down. "Wow...I'm so sorry, I don't mean to laugh...I just got the biggest sense of relief with that comment. Like, I'm not the only one who feels that way about their dad." shaking her head, she continued to wipe a the corner of her eyes. "Oh God, I must seem so fucked for that. I'm sorry again," she added in quickly, taking another long sip of her drink. It had felt like almost everyone else she had run into had the most amazing dads and to not have that feeling of safety in telling how her dad basically abandoned her and her mother at the worst possible time was...well, tiring. Her brain had focused now on the small callouses she could feel once they shook hands before snapping back into the moment when he mentioned his name and the game related. "Well shit, do you think they have the game on hand? I say we really get this night rolling! I call the rope though."
A smirk immediately formed at her question and what it implied. He'd not expected the conversation to take that turn, at least not that quickly. This woman was witty and had an edginess to her that had actually doubled down on the bestie vibes they were trying to portray, for the sake of sharing a table in a busy establishment. "Pretty sure this doesn't even register on the list of favorites, bestie." And then Grayson listened as she assessed him. It only further amused him and he sipped on his soda while she claimed it wasn't supposed to be creepy. "Power play is good... you have me pegged a little bit, I'm just not sure on the whole student, teacher dynamic. Maybe I never had a hot enough professor." She'd seemingly read his confidence well and being an attorney it almost felt she'd picked up on that as well. "You want another guess?"
Then they had another relatable moment and this all began to feel... serendipitous? "You're not alone in that," Gray had told her when he'd set his cup down. "Especially these days, more people struggle with their mental health... I keep myself busy. Heavy case load... works like a charm. What helps you, though?" It was interest more than curiosity because his head could often be a wild and dangerous place, so if he could pick up tips from someone else? Might as well. Her laugh made him grin even if he wasn't sure exactly what part had made her laugh so hard. But when she'd found it relatable on a poor relationship with a father he rolled his eyes and grabbed a slice of his pizza. "Too many fathers out there ruining their kids lives. How could you be fucked for that?" He laughed. "You heard my comment and I'm pretty sure I mean it, too." Did he love his old man? Grayson wasn't even entirely sure. He didn't wish death on him but he wouldn't necessarily mourn the loss either.
Hating wasting time thinking about his father more than he was already troubled to he was glad for the introductions and change of topic. Something light and fun. She'd gotten his reference easily and he laughed with a shake of his head. "That's not how the game works, Miss Scarlett... we take our games seriously around here," he joked. "I don't think they have nay games here but we could always go pick up a board. I didn't peg you for a rope gal," his finger tapped on his chin, "candlestick, dagger, even revolver feel more your speed..."
Damian knows better than to fight Grayson on what he thinks about himself. Truth be told, it’s an issue he’s noticed since they met, all those years back — and, even with the program in play, Gray continues to think the worst of himself. Which, Damian thinks, is understandable — they’ve got a lot of trauma in common, after all, though they seem to manifest in entirely different ways. He can’t force Grayson to change the way he thinks about himself overnight. All Damian can think to do, really, is continue to try and be a positive force for change — show him that not every single part of him is damaged. Show him that, maybe, the parts of him that are still whole are the parts of him Damian admires, that he clings to.
He says something about never having implied Damian’s not good enough for him, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell Grayson that that fact doesn’t really matter. The truth is what Damian’s brain makes it, after all, and if he’s convinced himself enough times that he’s not enough for Grayson, then that’s what it’ll believe. Still, he offers him a small smile of gratitude — it’s kind of him to try and say otherwise. Maybe eventually, Damian’ll find a way to believe him, too.
I need you to stop giving me outs. Damian almost huffs, because it’s in his nature to give people outs. It’s easier that way — if you expect people to leave you, then it won’t hurt as much when they do, eventually, leave you. But Grayson doesn’t seem to imply that’s what’s happening here — instead, he tells Damian he’d rather be all in, and something in Damian’s heart swells in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time. “Okay,” he replies eventually, the small smile on his face widening when Grayson mentions taking him on a date. His stomach swoops down to his feet at the thought — he doesn’t think he’d be functional on a date with Grayson. Mostly because looking at him already feels like staring directly into the sun — he can’t imagine he’d be any good at conversation in a purposely romantic setting. Still, though.
“Well,” he licks his lips nervously. “My last serious relationship was with a woman, so,” he grins. “I think we’re both going into this a little blind.” He reaches for Grayson’s hand again, this time interlacing their fingers. It feels — stupidly chaste, considering everything they’ve gotten up to before, but also ridiculously intimate. He leans a little closer and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Grayson’s mouth, ignoring the pounding of his heart in his chest. “No sex until after the first date, got it,” he quips, pulling back just enough so that their noses are brushing. “Can we still cuddle tonight, though? Or will I be relegated to my own home this evening?”
"At least you've had one," he quipped, a lopsided grin taking shape. At the touch Grayson looks at their fingers intertwines and their hands together. Whatever he had been feeling for Damian wasn't exactly new, the move they were making was and now each action felt a little different. Stronger, more intimate, and with some meaning. Things felt as though they were shifting at a rapid pace and it was tough to convince his flight response that this was normal. This was how relationships were meant to unfold. Make a connection with someone, get to know them, develop feelings, and then build upon that. At least that was the standard in books and movies.
After he'd turned his head into the affection pressed to the corner of his mouth, Grayson made sure their lips connected. Then, in need to move and do something with the pent up energy and calm the tornado of thoughts in his head, he pushed himself up from the couch. His finger glided along the jaw of the man he found himself getting in deeper with, blue eyes fixed on Damian's. For a moment he simply took that in. Had this really been so many years in the making? It was actually a bit stunning to think back to all they'd been through to get to this point. "Oh, no ya don't," Grayson said to the possibility of Damian headed off to his own home for the night. "Get up... and put some damn clothes on, will ya?" At the tease he winked and then moved across the room, breaking contact, to grab his phone.
A few seconds later he was on the phone with La Galleria asking for not his usual table where he sometimes dined clients but for a more romantic location in the dining room. He'd made eye contact with Damian when he'd told the hostess on the phone, who knew him easily by name, that he would be on a date. They'd be there in thirty minutes or so and to have the best bottle of wine on the table, ready for a pour. Once off the phone he smirked at Damian and began straightening up his own clothes. "You didn't think I was gonna go past tonight, did you? I'm sure the cuddling will come at some point." Even if that thought made his skin tingle more than the thought of him now being in a commitment with someone.
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Whilst it was tempting to threaten Grace with legal jargon, Madi knew that if word got out that she had spoken to a lawyer about her former business partner harassing her, then it wouldn’t be good for her once it hit the Trending section of X, formerly known as Twitter. The past year had taught Madi that there was such thing as bad press, and she was fucking tired of seeing photos of her in drama channel thumbnails on YouTube. “No one would believe that I’m getting harassed though, she probably already has sneaky little tricks up her sleeves to look better off anyway.” Just like the first time. “And she’ll see you talking to her as, like, permission to ruin my life even more.”
She perused the menu, frowning at the amount of carbs on offer, peeking up at Grayson at his next suggestion. “God, what are we? In high school?” Madisyn placed the menu back down again. “I’m not the weird stalker here, I don’t know where she lives, but she's probably got a telescope set up pointing right at my bedroom.” Perhaps she was being a tad dramatic, but Grace was very unpredictable, and Madsiyn was simply considering every possibility. “Could I get like, Beyoncé level security for the farm? The llamas don’t deserve this harassment.”
"Why not?" Grayson's brows pushed together. The tides changed all the time as more to the plot was unveiled. Most followers on social media flip flopped back and forth because most stories reaching those platforms were incredibly convoluted. The full truth really was only known between the actual parties involved. "True, she could take it as a declaration of war... or something to that effect," he waved it off, "but sometimes people can surprise you with rational thinking. You could also get ahead of it..." Take to the press, social media and shed some light where things had gone wrong in the past. The Rocky Effect, people loved a comeback story. An underdog.
With a sigh, Gray rolled his eyes a little and reached for his water, claiming before he sipped, "that was very clearly a joke." Maybe she was too tense to lighten the conversation or to toss in a little humor, but he always found it helped to break up tension. "When you spoke to her... what did she actually say? And yeah, you could, if you can pay Beyoncé level security prices. Has anyone even bothered the llamas? Pretty sure they'd just spit and toss their heads at it all."
DAMIAN: [Standing outside of Phoebe's apartment, pacing back and forth in front of the door. The line rings once, twice, three times, before he finally hears the tell-tale sign that the call's been picked up. He makes sure his voice isn't so loud as to disturb the residences around him.]
DAMIAN: What the fuck are you on about? Skydiving? Packing your own backpack? What, are you Macgyvering your own parachute? Are you insane?!
DAMIAN: Why did it take you so long to text me back? What's going on?
@graysonheller
— after sending his reply to damian, grayson dozed off again and stirred at the incoming text message alert but didn't reach for his phone in his sleepy state. when his phone began to ring with the tone he'd selected and assigned specifically to damian he reached for it without even thinking about it and finally was able to crack his eyes open enough to find the slide to answer. his voice is rasped from sleep —
GRAY: Sarcasm truly is a lost art on you, isn't it? We're gonna have to work on that.
— he's chuckling a little, he hadn't expected such a response —
GRAY: I didn't know what to respond. What the fuck do you mean was a few months ago the first time we had sex? Once I realized you were serious I might've thrown my phone.
GRAY: No one's never not remembered me before. Are you fucking kidding me?