i'm giving you a night call to tell you how i feel

• colt is no professional surfer, sure, but he would go as far to call it a hobby. he's got a surfboard that he takes good care of, and a multitude of youtube tutorials bouncing around in his brain. along with plenty of mistakes to learn from. if anything, colts just glad he got to showcase his surfing skills to you after he got the hang of it. sure, taking falls is literally what he does for a living, but that doesn't mean he wants to wipe out in front of the person he's trying to impress.

"come on, you've almost got it!"

colt's cheering is doing little to help, and plenty to distract you. it's not his fault, really. between the harsh rocking of the waves and his intense gaze— seriously, he had the blues fucking eyes you'd ever seen —it was getting increasingly harder to stay upright.

it had been just windy enough for some mellow action on the board, but unfortunately, that meant colt had insisted on teaching you today of all days. the one comfort you had was that colt had chosen a secluded enough of a beach to spare you from any judgemental onlookers. perks of traveling all over the world to shoot stunts for movie, you supposed.

you try to remember what he told you, really, you do, ("bend your knees, ride the waves and try to relax!") but before you know it, youre tripping over what seems like air, and diving headfirst into colt's exposed chest.

"fuck!"

you both go under for a second, bubbles and sand kicking up a storm underneath the water. it only takes a moment for colt to resurface. there, he's met with the sight of your completely mortified face. whether that was from the embarassment of the fall or landing face first in his pecs, he wasn't sure. part of him sincerely hoped it was the latter

"we may have to come to terms with the fact ive been cursed to have absolutely zero coordination since birth, colt." you waste no time trying to distract from your humiliating mistake, groaning as you splash a nearby bubble in frustration. he can't help but laugh at that, abruptly clearing his throat and looking away as you shoot him a look.

"i don't know about that—"

"we have been out here for an hour and ive barely managed to catch a single wave." you deadpan at him. colt scratches the back of his neck, feeling a bit of skin peel off. shit, he'd forgotten sunscreen. oh well, that's what the bottle of alo vera in his truck was for.

"hey, at least you can stand up on the board now! it took me forever to get that right!"

"some part of me doesnt believe that." your unyielding gaze feels like its boreing a hole in colts forehead. a nearby wave bumps the surfboard into his side, and he grabs onto it before it can float away. you send it a scathing look like it has personally offended your family bloodline, and colt has to choke down another laugh.

"okay, maybe it only took me a few minutes but—"

"see!! i'm hopeless, and you know it. i'm like a, a uh—" youre guestiring around wildly, trying to settle on an appropriate metaphor for the situation "—fucking baby giraffe out here!"

"a cute baby giraffe."

"not helping colt!"

• even if youre not the most talented at surfing (or a complete whizz, who knows, practice makes perfect) colt still loves hanging out and playing around on the beach. volleyball, catch, seeing who can push who into the bigger wave, all that kinds of stuff. not only is it a chance to spend time around you, but he gets to try and impress you all the while. colt's not shy about liking the attention— if anything, he'll only encourage it. as long as it's you, he doesn't mind one bit.

• he's also definitely the kind of sap to write your names together in the sand, just to pout when a wave comes in and washes it away. it's the little things like that that make him so charming in your eyes.

• he adores ending the night in the bed of his truck along the beach, wrapping his arms around you while you both watch the nearby fire crackle and spark with life. a cozy blanket that you had bought for him a little bit ago is often drapped around your shoulders, sheilding you from the cold and providing cover for a few playful kisses. he loves it when he has to duck under the cover to chase after you with a little laugh, bumping his nose against your affectionately.

𝐑𝐲𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞

• ryland grace has a special relationship with the beach. it's not just somewhere to go and walk around— for him, it's a way to ground himself. to feel the waves lap against his feet as he settles in the sand, watching birds fly overhead and listening to attempts of nearby vendors to sell their food. ocassionaly, he'll find himself a returning customer, exchanging some crumpled ones in order to enjoy an ice cream on the sand with you.

• the calm evenings where the two of you simply sit and talk about everything and nothing at the same time are his favorites. between you and the beach, it's like having two of his safe spaces rolled into one. and it gives him an excuse to admire you as the sun bathes your face in rays of light, emphasizing each and every quality that he's come to love about you.

• of course, if you ever catch on to his staring he'll deny it vehemently, but that doesn't change the fact that he's positively enamored with you. the slope of your nose, the way your hair falls, how you laugh— everything. if there was a subset of science dedicated to observing and fawning over you, ryland would be the lead researcher

"are you even listening to me?" ryland's head is plucked from the clouds at the sound of your voice. he blinks once, then twice, eyes sheepishly meeting your twinkling gaze as ryland chuckles.

"...sorry, i got distracted." the edges of his cheekbones are smattered with a coloring of pink, he can feel it. the last thing he remembered was you going on about the last chapter of a book you read before he'd gotten lost admiring the curve of your lips. "in my defense, you can be very distracting."

"mhmm." your tone isn't displeased. rather, you seem amused. no, no that's not the right word. ryland thought with a shake of his head. more like adoring.

the very thought made his heart race. sometimes, with the way ryland acted, you would think that he was meeting you for the first time.. not taking you back to his special spot in the sand for what must have been the third time this week alone. what can he say, with the warm weather and the promise of school staring again soon, late summer months always left him in a good mood. especially if you happened to be by his side.

"sometimes i wonder how you get anything done around me." you poke a finger at his chest playfully, laughing as he jumps a little bit. "if it's any comfort, you're pretty distracting yourself, ry." you reach out to run the pad of your thumb along the junction between his ear and jaw, smiling softly when he sputters.

"okay, well, now you're just doing this on purpose." he accuses you without any real conviction, his voice a slight octave higher than usual. you would say later that he whined— per usual, ryland would refuse to comment.

"not my fault that you look so good in the sunset like this." you murmer, grabbing his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. he sighs, the heat in his cheeks spreading down his neck at the sight of you. you weren't lying, either. golden hour had just started a few minutes ago, and the cool toned yellows and oranges only highlighted the angle of his jaw even more. it turned the blond hair that you were so find of running your hands through into tresses of gold.

"want to stay for a bit more then get out of here?" you suggest after pulling back. "i know you've got to head to school tommorrow to set up the classroom some, wouldnt want you to miss out on the opportunity to get a headstart at being the cool teacher."

ryland smiles warmly at you, grabbing your hand and tugging softly. "sure."

he scoots over in the sand some, saddling his torso up to yours even more. you waste no time leaning your head in the crook of his neck, the both of you watching as small waves clashed against each other along the shore. it was a familair motion, like two puzzle pieces snapping together at last. a feeling that the two of you were more than acquainted with by now.

• of course, the microbiologist doesnt just like to sit and talk. he also enjoys getting out there and splashing around a bit! he works with middle schoolers after all— ryland's no slack when it comes to playing outside, even at his age. besides, he'd be a fool not to take an opertunity to sneak glances at you in your swim shorts and t-shirt. upon noticing you doing the same, (albeit more obviously, and with a cheeky grin) he likes to blame his red face on the sun.

• and speaking of the sun, ryland likes to make a habit of covering you in sunscreen before laying down the towels. as a scientist, he knows all too well the side effects that UV rays can have on humans, and when it comes to you he's taking no chances. somehow that turns into a game too— seeing who can guess the patterns drawn on each other's back with sunscreen. never a dull moment between the two of you.

𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

• find an empty strip of the beach, and the two of you will be driving along that thing for hours.

• driver postively loves the thrill of speading down the sand with the windows down, salty seabreeze whipping his hair around as you stick a hand out the window and smile. he gets to combine the adernaline of putting the pedal to the metal while having you along for the ride— the perfect afternoon, in his eyes. and it doesnt won't even matter if you get sand in the car. he probably stole it anyways.

• he won't do anything too dangerous if the sand is loose, but on the off chance that it has enough traction, you can get him to do some doughnuts.

• while he's not much for swimming himself, driver will lean against the car with a towel for as long as you want. he's always been more of an observer in the grand scheme of things, and that extends to you. especially you. if that just so happens to mean watching from afar as you dissapear amongst the waves, cracking a slight smile every time you attempt to coax him into the water, then so be it.

• kissing each other on the beach for hours??? yes please. we all know driver is a sucker for taking his time with you, and that extends to the top of a sand dune on the beach, the two of you gazing at the night sky and sharing soft kisses inbetween. its the quiet moments with you that he lives for. its a stark contrast to the action in his line of work. a small paradise in the shape of, well, you.

driver is silent. that doesn't come as a surprise to you— when was he not? it was one of the things that had drawn you to him at first.. with the embroidered jacket and hard set stare of his, you had expected him to be bold. outspoken. maybe even a bit brash (which was the case, just not in the way you'd originally thought). instead, you had been pleasantly surprised by his habit to listen, rather than talk. not many people have that quality nowadays, and its like a breath of fresh air.

"nice swim shorts." you're teasing him again and he knows it. it's impressive, really, how you manage to banter with him like that while practically sopping wet and dripping onto the sand below. even more impressive that you look that good doing it.

drivers lips twitch slightly as you toss a faux judgemental glace at his jeans. alright, half-faux. some part of you was wondering why he chose to wear jeans again.. they were always so hard to clean the sand off of, if the small pile of sand by his apartment door was anything to go by. he always managed to track a little home.

"you really should let me pick out a swimsuit for you. i think that would be fun." you smile as you talk, already imagining the possibilities. would he let you get something patterened? striped? maybe somewhere out there a pair of scorpion embroidered swin shorts sat just waiting to be put on. yeah, he'd like that. it would match his jacket and everything.

driver simply admires you while you ponder aloud, eventually moving on from swimwear to what the rest of the night could hold. he waits as you cycle through a mental list, ("a dinner at that nice place that stays open late, walking on the beach, heading down to the pier, although that may be closed by now.. really whatever you want—") handing you a beach towel in the meanwhile. you don't even pause, voice growing slightly muffled as you run it through your hair. you're positively oblivious to the intensity of his stare.

the moonlight softens your features, showcasing the smattering of goosebumps along your skin. driver had known that it was too late in the year to go nightswimming comfortably, but you'd waved him off earlier, claiming that a little bit of cold never hurt anyone. he resists the urge to drape his jacket over your shoulders— you'd only fret about ruining it. best to get you dry and out of the night instead.

"how about we go for a drive." he finally offers, gently pulling you in by your hips. you were only halfway done drying off, but driver doesnt seem to mind getting a little damp as long as youre the one pressed up against him. if anything, he takes pride in the excited laugh that bubbles from your throat at his move.

"at this point i'm not sure why we come here for anything else." the skin around your nose scrunches up as you grin. "come on then. let me towel off some more and then we can get going."

you attempt to take a step back, but his grip is unyielding. not harsh, nor bruising, just firm. sure of himself, almost.

"i don't mind if the seat gets wet." he whispers, breath light against the shell of your ear as he leans towards you. his fingers are ghosting along the skin of your hips, tracing small circles and.. a heart or two, you think. it's hard to tell if you were making that one up or not.

you squint at him suspiciously.

"...and may i ask where exactly we're going on this drive?"

driver doesnt say much, but with that coy smile of his, he doesn't have to. "just somewhere quiet. beautiful. dark."

you feel a heat rapidly spreading from your neck to the tops of your ears, as well as a few other places. it seems like driver notices as well, the small twitch of his lips turning into a full blown smile. a rare ocassion, and you'd be damned to not take advantage of it.

placing a quick peck to his pink lips, you're suddenly bounding over to the passengers side of the car as if he would change his mind before you got there. driver twirls the car keys in his hand as you do so, already thrumming with anticipation. he wonders if you feel the same way.

"well? we getting out of here or what?" you're the one grinning at him now, eyes brimming with an emotion hes seen on you a hundred times. it never gets old.

• he gets better at it, the two of you make sure of that. you had originally introduced kissing lessons as a joke, but ken had been so damn excited about learning that you couldn't find it in you to say no— even if your face felt like it was on fire the whole time. thankfuly the doll didnt seem to mind.

• its a lot for him to remember at first ("don't rush into it, the other person may be caught off guard," "some teeth is okay, but too much and you'll get hurt," "take care of your dental hygiene," "make sure that they aren't trying to pull away before,") but youre a good enough teacher that he can't bring himself to care.

• really the whole thing is a charade merely disguised as lessons in order to spend disgusting amounts of time together. but when both of you are sitting on your living room couch, one hand on ken's chest and the other cupping his jaw softly while you plant a sweet kiss on his lips, you can't help but think it was the greatest idea you'd ever had.

you pull away from ken for the first time in nearly a minute, tongue coming out to dart at your swollen lips as you looked at him.

the blond was sitting against the far side of the couch, chest heaving and eyes scruntched up at the corners as he looked at you. his shirt (a tasteful hawaiian flannel, with striped shorts and flip flops to match) was wrinkled and unbuttoned. he looked, for a lack of better words, dumbstruck.

"is it always like that?" ken asks after recovering a little, scooting towards you more as he asks the question. his tone is one of excitement and wonder, and you cant stop a grin from breaking out on your face. "can we do it again?"

"woah woah, hold your horses cowboy." you huff out a small laugh, not missing the way his head perks up at the mention of horses. "give me a second to breathe. i don't know exactly how your lungs work, but i need at least a minute to recover after a kiss like.... that."

"was it not good?" came the next query. you heard the blatant insecurity in his tone, and read even more of on his face. you couldn't stop your chest from seizing a bit at the sight, immediately doing your best to reassure him.

"it was amazing ken, really." you spoke with a broad smile. you weren't just saying that, either. compared to the first kiss he had given you, this was worlds ahead. better than some of your past partners, if you said so yourself— not that they provided any real competition. none of them had tasted like fruit or whimpered when you ran a thumb over their jaw. god, you could listen to that sound all day...

"there are different kinds of kisses is all." you continue your explanation, weaving your fingers with kens in the meantime. running your fingers over his pulse point, you feel it jump a little. "some are shorter, some are rougher, and some are more intense. doesn't mean one is better than the other— that decision is up to you and your partner."

"that's you, right?"

"yes buddy, that's me." ken preens at you, doing a little arm pump at the confirmation that he was right.

"so which one do you like more? 'cause i could do all of them— can we do all of them? i mean, if you want to!"

right, back to the task at hand.

you feel a mischevious grin tugging at the corner of your lips, reaching out to grab the proverbial opportunity that had been given to you.

"i don't know ken, i've never thought about that before. you know, we may just have to try them all. what do you think?"

the giggle he lets out is a good enough answer for you.

• theres a certain charm to the way that ken goes about asking you for a kiss after he gets the hang of it (or about as much "hang" that a living doll can get). sort of akin to a child who wants to ask for something, but is too shy to speak up. more often than not, you'll find him hovering around or behind you. never close enough to touch, but definitely close enough to crowd. he barely registers it either, only stepping back if you ask aloud, and always with a bit of a crestfallen expression. its those moments that you have to take the extra time to explain 'no ken, i'm not mad, i need you to move so i can reach the stove'

• you've, essentially, created a monster. a tall, beach blond monster who can only be satiated with a kiss. good luck trying to explain the do's and don't of PDA to him... you're going to need it.

𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦

• with henry, the kiss always comes from a sense of desperation. a crushing need to be close to you, to grab you as tight as he can and not let go— almost like he's afraid you'll dissapear into smoke if he doesn't.

• his favorite place to kiss you, aside from the obvious, would be your hands. he positively preens when you run your hands through his hair or dance them across his face as gentle as can be, so it's no surprise that he takes a special interest in them. henry always leans into them with a careful look, placing a slow kiss to your palm or knuckles before saddling closer by your side to plant more. they're never less passionate than the ones he pressed to your mouth, just.. different.

• henry likes knowing that he's yours, and vice versa. a kiss reassures him, in a way, that you're still there— wherever there happens to be that day. often times it's your appartment or walking down the streets together. occasionally a shop or two if no one seems to be around to complain.

• theres a deeper part of henry, a darker part of him, that yearns for the taste of copper during a kiss. the urge to bite at your lip until blood spills into his mouth, tongue immediately soothing over the mark in reassurance, is constant. even in the sweetest moments those feelings will show their ugly head, prompting a shudder to roll through his body at the very thought.

• occasionally, he imagines you doing the same to him.

henry is burning up. he can hardly breathe as his hands search for purchase on your clothes. he's panting heavily, pupils blown out to the point where you could barely see the ring of blue around them. his head feels like it's full of static— his lips even more.

a stray drop of blood drips onto the floor unceremoniously, barely staining the tip of his shoe. a few more lie beside it, having fallen just moments before. a testimony to the teeth-shaped indent on his bottom lip that tasted like you.

you're in no better shape than henry is, really. you're breathing just as hard as him, and there's a splotch of red smeared messily by the corner of your mouth, ("like lipstick," henry thinks faintly) although he knows it isn't yours. did he want it to be? no, that was for later.

"was that okay?" you have the audacity to ask him that while he struggles not to beg for more. you, staring at him with a curious expression and that worried look in your eye— as if you hadn't just given him everything he wanted.

henry doesnt answer you; not verbally anyways. he doesnt need to when he's already back to kissing you again, practically moaning into your mouth as he tastes the tangy salt and blood between you all at once. you reciprocate the action, your tongue occasionally poking at his wound in what he hoped was an attempt to tease him. it was filthy and quite possibly derranged, but that made him love it even more.

• freak to the max about that kind of stuff, what can i say. "always the quite ones," as you once put it. he had just taken another drag of his cigarette at that, blowing the smoke to the side as he grinned that small grin of his. the one he knew you loved.

• any sort of relationship with henry letham of all people is going to be weird and sort-of-macabre, and by extent the kissing, but the two of you make it work. he'll ramble on about the work of the late-great tristian rêveur while you lie there next to him patiently, a little bit of his blood still clinging to the corner of your lips. it's not perfect, but it's undoubtedly and irrevocably the two of you, and that's all that matters.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

• okay. we've all seen the movie. there's no sense in pretending that this man would kiss you with anything less than the passion of a thousand supernovas. that's just a fact.

• whether you believe it comes from a place of self-confidence and heat, or a much more desperate part of him, driver will always give you his undivided attention. thats just who he is. methodical— obsessive, even. every word and small touch to your back as he pulls you closer is carefully planned out beforehand.

• it's a sign of trust to him, really.

• he's no stranger to soft pecks on the cheek or lips, don't get me wrong, driver just prefers the ever-encompasing feeling of your mouth on his, tongues dancing around each other as you both take your time mapping out each individual detail. everything about you is intoxicating to the point where driver wants to drown in it.. sometimes he thinks he just might. wouldn't be the worst way to go.

• he definitely uses chapstick. nothing too flavorful, (unless you like that, then he'd reconsider) just enough to keep them from cracking or drying out. he finds that it makes for a much more enjoyable kiss either way, and you agree.

• it's also my strong belief that driver has definitely forgotten to take his toothpick out once or twice before going in for a kiss, resulting in a little poke. you always wave it off, but the first time it had happened he'd looked positively mortified (or about as mortified as he could get). thankfully, driver's been pretty mindful about it since then, always making sure to toss the thing or settle it behind his ear before pecking you.

• in spite of the rest of his fast paced lifestyle, driver is not really a big fan of PDA. it's simply too much attention on somebody with too many criminal ties, and he'd rather die than risk your saftey. but on the off chance that he's feeling risky, it's usually after a nice cruise through the streets with you.

driver's steady hands are cradling the sides of your face as the two of you stand beside his car— a new one he just picked up from sharon. you had asked to tag along that day, always jumping at the opertunity to be in the front seat with him. his favorite habit of yours was how your hand always seemed to find his on the road, fingers interlocking as you let him whisk you away on whatever road he had in mind.

the flickering white light from above casts an irregular shadow across driver's face while he recalls all of this. it draws out the intensity of his eyes as his gaze darts from your eyes to your nose and to your lips. even here, standing in a dingy underground parking garage, he can't help but think that you looked stunning.

your own arms were wrapped around drivers middle, squeezing lightly as you admired him back. the two of you often had moments like this. moments where driver seemed incapable of doing anything but soaking you in, almost overwhelmed with the realization that you loved him just as much as he loved you. living on one's own for so long takes its toll on the importance behind human touch, and driver had been deprived of it (of you) for far too long.

nothing was said as you craned your head slightly upwards, lips carefully capturing his own in a soft kiss. nothing had to be; it was a familiar motion between the two of you by now.

driver accepts the display of affection with a barely audible hum, showing his appreciation as his mouth begins to move in tandem with your own. he can taste the faint remnants of the toothpaste you used this morning before he picked you up, and it brings him comfort. everything about you to him is comforting. safe. the one part of his life that he's been allowed to really, truly enjoy. and enjoy himself, he would.

eventually you had to break away, much to driver's disappointment. if he had it his way, he'd be glued at your side at all times, there to angle your lips towards his at any point. but then again, if he had it his way, nothing would end up getting done. your appartment had seen enough evidence of that— you'd lost count of the amount of times you'd shown up late to something because driver couldn't keep his lips (or hands) off of you.

you reach to press one last kiss to his lips, an unspoken promise for more. "come on, let's get inside before someone complains."

"let them." came his only response before dipping back down for another. he ends up chasing your lips instead, mouth twitching into a barely-there smile as you pull away with a teasing laugh. you're already making your way towards the elevator, grinning at him as if to say 'catch up'. you barely make it there before he's got you by your wrist, interlocking your fingers and pulling you into his chest gently.

"sucker." you mummble against his jacket, but driver hears the unmistakeable smile in your tone.

• he tries sooooo hard to impress you. not because he needs to, but because he loves the look on your face after when you're hitting him on the shoulder with a poorly contained smile and asking what the fuck is wrong with him.

"whattt, you can't tell me that wasn't a good shot! come on, i did, like, three rolls in that car and barely have a scratch! that's *got* to get some sort of recognition." colt wraps an arm around your shoulder, peering down at you with a much-too-excitable expression for your taste. it made pretending to be annoyed with him pretty hard— his ultimate goal at the end of the day, you knew that by now.

"yeah, that's ignoring the bruise on your side the size of texas, you adrenaline junkie." you snarked back, barely managing to push down a smile at his antics. it didn’t matter, colt knew you well enough to sense your amusement no matter how well it was masked.

"you, my friend, need to get new insults." he huffs playfully. "do you know how many times i've heard that? it's practically recycled material at this point—! i didnt take you for a plagiarist.." he leans in closer to your face with a proud smile before pulling back moments later. you notice a flush spreading to his ears, and silently avert your eyes with a small grin of your own.

"you know you've got about three minutes to meet ryder in his trailer for a stunt revision, right?"

"...shit—" is all he colt says before taking off, leaving a small cloud of proverbial dust in his wake.

• being a crew member constantly surrounded by moving parts and very loud, very demanding split-second decisions made it hard to get any real socializing done, but somehow colt had found a way to worm himself into your routine. it was like he'd just showed up on set in front of you one day, all messy hair and a teasing glint in his eyes, leaning down to smirk "watch this" into his walkie talkie.

• you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it.

• thats why when he glances at you for a little too long, or smiles at you when he thinks you won't notice, you dont mention it. not the way he always seems to be hovering around you the second he's got a moment away from the scene, nor how his voice cracks when he says your name more than anyone else's (okay, thats a lie, you do mention that last part, but if only to tease him for the momentary high note).

• theres a part of both of you that is afraid to take the next step. to push your playful arguing into something more serious: more unexplored. not to mention the amount of explaining you'd have to do to your parents around dating a stuntman— rather than some secure, tight lipped businessman like they'd always imagined. and god, the paperwork surrounding workplace relationships alone was enough to have you retreating back into that old rhythm of push and pull with colt... never too much to break the seal, but never enough to satisfy the ache in your chest. you were sure he felt the same way, but it was better to stick with what you had. the both of you knew that.

• er, at least, you did. colt's search history said differently. "movie themed pickup lines," "love song playlist," "best food in town," "cheapest food in town," the list went on.. modern problems require modern solutions, okay?

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇

• get ready to have a grown man pinning after you like a middle schooler, because holland march is a force of nature with a penchant for stupidity, and then some.

• how on earth you captured his attention is beyond me. there are simply too many places you could have caught the detectives eye— promptly saddling himself up by your side with a five o'clock shadow and a grin that screams trouble. that's almost assuredly what happens.

• the minute you ignore him to greet holly instead, holland knew it was over for him. someone who didn't roll over at his shit and liked kids??? label him as successfully whipped, for he just found his favorite new thing to daydream about. and a little more, if you know what i mean.

• god he wants to look cool in front of you so bad. boasting about cases that he's solved (and ones that he hadn't..) is his favorite way to pass the time around you— at least until holly calls him out for it, grumbling that "no self respecting adult wants to hear about the time you lost a suspect in downtown traffic."

• he neglects to mentioned failed cases from that point forward.

• when holland is sober, he's far more easily riled up by you than anything else. he has penchant for calling you his "secret weakness," even if its anything but a secret with the way he's practically tripping over himself to catch up to you at any point.

• on the rare occasion that he had enough money to spend on something other than food, bills, or booze, holland takes a trip down to the local radioshack in order to make a mixtape. whether or not he realizes it, a lot of the songs he puts on there are ones that bring the thought of your smile to his mind. holly notices a change in the type of music playing the next few times she's in the car, but she doesn't say a thing.

• drunk holland is a different story, but when is he ever not?

• healy can barely stand to be around him when he's drunk after you enter the picture. if he had to sit through one more drunken, hiccup-y monolog about how goddamn beautiful you are, he swore that he would give up drinking (a boldfaced lie, sure, but that's how fed up he had gotten with holland's blubbering).

• you definitely get more than a few payphone calls from holland, the detective doing his best to sound coherent as he giggles into the receiver how sweet you are, and that you should come over to... whatever street he happened to be standing on that night.

• on the rare occasion that you show up its always to get him back home safely. not that he remembers much other than the smell and interior of your car

"y'er sho good to me. i ever told y'that?" holland mumbled into the upholstery lf your backseat, face smooshed against the fabric unabashedly. you were sure there'd be a drool puddle by the time you got to his place.

"yes. almost every time we do this actually." the sight that follows your sentence carries a feeling of pity with it. mostly for holly for having to deal with them when you got him home, but also for holland. things had been starting to make more and more sense ever since healy let it slip about his wife (rest her soul).

the car makes a slow right turn into a cul-de-sac as holland shuffles around in the backseat, fighting with a seat belt for a moment before leaning up into the front seat.

"you smell like a bar." he giggles as your nose scrunches up at the scent, and despite yourself you feel your heart seize a fraction. "sit back and buckle up before you fly through the windsheild, march."

"y'sound sho nice when you say my name." he either ignores you or just doesn't register your words; either possibility could be true when he's in this state.

"sit back." you twist briefly to shove holland into your backseat, cheeks flushing with heat when you accidentally make content with his exposed chest instead of his shoulder. since when did he take his tie and jacket off?

"button your shirt up before we get inside." you demand, killing the engine and slipping out of the car to walk over to the door holland was currently using for support. your expression remained unchanged as you opened it, watching his frame spill out onto the sidewalk below.

"hi." came a toothy grin as he looked up at you from his spot on the floor. you had one hell of a time trying not to smile down at him.

"just— get indoors before the neighbors see you ass."

"whatever y'say partnerrr."

• god he was a mess. unfortunately, you happened to like that

𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌

• ohhhh baby you're in for a treat... a very sweet, very awkward treat in the shape of one lars lindstrom.

• you probably met him through work or karin and gus. new to town, more likely than not, and new face for the rural wisconsin residents to welcome and usher around. it's almost like being surrounded by excitable toddlers in elderly church-going bodies— every one of them more excited than the last to show off their home (and, apparently, a few matchmaking skills of their own).

• besides visiting the chappel every sunday (sometime wednesdays!) lars doesn't really make much of an effort to show up around town. bianca helped with that some, but it's still a slow process. it's not impossible to get ahold of him, per se, just very... rare. even rarer to capture his attention longer than an initial meeting— at least according to his family, the likes of which had practically begged the two of you to meet just a month into your move.

• lars can't remember what he liked about you at first.

• no really, he couldn't even if you asked. he was too busy trying to turn in the opposite direction of the diner at the time. unfortunately, karin's bruising grip on his parka had long since decided his fate.

"they're nice lars! everyone has been telling them about you since they've got here," came karins encouraging whisper as she comandered lars into the warm embrace of a diner "they're excited!"

her crackling voice, while normally familiar and comforting, was instead sending lars' brain into overdrive. he'd been promised a nice calm trip to the thrift store, not an ambush.

he blinked in rapid sucession, doing his best to look he wasn't literally being dragged into a nightmare scenario. the intense fidgeting of his mittens and self-soothing sway to his stature broke that illusion almost immediately.

a desperate look was tossed gus's way, but his brother returned it with a sigh and a shrug as if to say "what can you do?"

"a lot, actually." lars' mind whispered back traitorously.

"lars.. just give them a shot." karin's tone sounds heavy with something he can't place, so he turns around to get a better look. he's unsettled to find that she's using her pleading face. she knows how lars feels about that.

"please, buddy?" gus finally steps in, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. he looks at something over lars' shoulder. "just this one time, okay?"

lars swallows thickly.

against his better judgement, he nods, and that's that.

• maybe it was your unabashed smile or the way that you included him in nearly every conversation, waiting patiently for lars to put in his (brief) two cents before speeding along, that has lars sitting in the booth longer than just a few minutes. whatever the case, he found himself unable to look away from you, even if his line of sight was fixed on the slope of your nose rather than your own cheerful gaze. baby steps.

• gus and karin did most of the talking on lars behalf that day, but by the time the two of them had driven lars home from the diner and said their goodbyes, he couldn't help but feel like your attention had been on him the whole time.

• he could be imagining things...

• ...but he could be right. and that thought was more exciting than anything else.

• hope you're ready to have a shadow. any chance he gets to cross paths with you from that point on, and lars is nervously asking you to visit, always for a new reason or another.

• it starts out with helping him collect firewood while he hacks away— innocent enough, even if the thoughts running through your head as you watch him are anything but —to coming over anytime karin and gus had leftovers, taking walks down by the lake for "vitamin d", and, eventually, borrowing extra sweaters that lars just so happened to have "lying around." the both of you know that's not really the case, but you wear them anyway, and come back smelling like him the next day. a fact lars can't seem to handle without a few dozen blinks to reset his brain.

• he knows it's a crush. you know it's a crush. karin and gus know it's a crush. hell, lars wouldn't be surprised if his local office creep and cubicle buddy kurt knew he had a giant, head over heels crush on you. the photo of you smiling at him behind the camera sitting on his work desk was proof enough. he really was just that obvious; especially when his ears happen to turn fire engine red at the mention of your name. every. single. time.

• one day he'll ask you out, theres no doubt about it in lars mind. mostly because he knows if he doesn't do it, the rest of the town will for him

• but for now, lars is content enough to take you to his tree house and help you up the ladder every step of the way— even if you don't need it. he's content to send you home with a sweater smelling like detergent and firewood, especially when you lean forward to whisper your thanks like its a cheeky secret between the two of you, breath ghosting across the shell of his ear like a phantom touch.

• yeah, lars lindstrom is content alright. as long as he has you to look forward to.

𝐑𝐘𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

• depending on the situation, he's either the most obvious man on the planet about it, or avoiding everything to do with his feelings. possibly a fine mixture of both.

• part of ryland grace is alight with excitement at the tell-tale signs of a crush (rapid heart rate whenever you're around, an increased flush to his cheeks, and severe loss of speech capabilities, just to name a few), but another, much louder part of him, wants to ignore it completely.

• he was afraid, simple as that. it's stupid, sure, but what if you didn't like him? thought his interests were dorky? what if he said something embarrassing?? or worse, cringe (as ryland's class so often described him). there were simply too many variables for his scientific brain to handle.

• unfortunately, avoidance wasnt an option when he happened to run into you at his diner nearly every week (well, not his diner, but it may as well have been with how often he showed up every morning, wallet already set out and stomach grumbling).

ryland always took the booth in the corner of the room. he liked to made sure that he could peer out the window at san francisco's rolling fog while he waited for his coffee— same as every morning. it was soothing. familiar.

so why was he currently sitting on a rickety bar stool at the counter, anxiously bobbing his knee up and down?

simple: you.

"nice shirt."

the force of ryland's knee hitting the underside of the counter caused a nearby salt shaker to spill over with a clatter, turning a few heads his way.

"uh— what?" his voice came out higher than usual, a breathy laugh tapered onto the end that sounded far too nervous for rylands taste.

"your shirt—" you had turned from your spot two seats down, fork poised in front of you with a bite of egg teetering on it. he'd noticed you by now, of course he had, but the sudden conversation had caught him severely off guard. he hoped you couldn't see how sweaty his palms were.

"i said it was nice. very science-y." the last bit of your sentence was punctuated with a playful wiggle of your fingers

ryland looked down at his chest, past the knit cardigan drapped over his shoulders. the cheery words 'i wear this shirt periodically!' stared back at him.

"thanks." his laugh is full of nerves, glasses sliding down his nose unhelpfully as he desperately tried to pretend your attention isn't pinning him to the spot. "my students say they're cheesy, but, uh, i might be the only one keeping the science pun buisness in tact so..." he trailed off, unsure how much more he should say.

"not the only one." you cracked a smile, tilting your head slightly. you'd set your fork down at this point, and ryland felt a jolt of electricity run through his spine at the knowledge that all your attention was on him. "i'm pretty sure my cousin has a whole collection at home of geology themed shirt-puns. not the same as—" you squinted closer at his shirt before pulling back, thankfully unaware of the flush spreading across ryland's neck. "—chemistry, but still!"

"well, good to know someone out there appreciates a good joke just as much as me." ryland gives you a boyish smile of his own, gaze meeting yours for a second too long before flitting away nervously.

you hum at him happily and turn back to eggs, spotting the approaching waitress by his side before he did.

"coffee?" she asks helpfully, and ryland does his best to sound thankful at the delivery instead of grumpy that she'd inturrupted a very rare moment for him. if only she'd come a few seconds later, maybe he would have built up the courrage to ask you more about yourself.

by the time the coffee had stopped pouring and his server had left to attend to someone else, you were gone. he hadn't even heard you get up and leave.

"darn it."

• the next time ryland sees you, you're wearing a science shirt with one more coffee than usual in hand. you seem to be just as nervous as him, if not more. it has a small smile tugging at the corner of the middle-school teachers lips as he approaches you, sitting down for what he hoped was another conversation.