She smooths her palms over the satin skirt, her head cocked to the side. Her mother joins her in front of the mirror, holding out the earrings they’d decided she should wear. Eleanor puts them in while her mother circles around her back, checking for creases in the fabric or loose threads from the many alterations. 

“How is going to prom with Rhett Abbott helping daddy’s campaign?”

It’s the question that’s been gnawing at her in the weeks since she agreed to the scheme. Somehow being seen on a date with Rhett Abbott would help her father get elected mayor, though she didn’t understand how that could be. The Abbotts don’t exactly have stellar reputations, and their longstanding dispute with the Tillersons has caused more friction in the community than anyone cares to admit.

“I’m not sure, honey.” It’s a lie, of course. Eleanor knows that, and her mother knows it too. She just won’t share it with her even though she’s the pawn in their political game. “I’ll run down and see if he’s here.”

She paces the room, stopping in front of the mirror again. She knows it’s futile, but she tries to take a deep breath. She can’t, and it’s her mother’s doing. When her mother insisted on taking in the waist an extra inch, the tailor had given her a pitying look.

She’s so lost in thought that she startles when her mother pokes her head in to let her know he’s here.

In the foyer, at the bottom of the stairs, stands Rhett Abbott. Lanky, wearing an ill-fitting grey suit and scuffed cowboy boots. His hair needs a trim, but it’s combed back and curls slightly at his nape. He’s clean-shaven and—

“You’re wearing pink,” she blurts out, stepping onto the floor from the last step of the stairs.

He pulls out of his own thoughts, offering her a wry smile. “Yeah,” he mutters and looks down at it. “Yeah, Ma said you were wearing pink. We match.” She nods, suddenly feeling shy.

They don’t really know each other. Rhett has a reputation for skipping class and taking the rules as a suggestion, not something to be followed. Wabang sees Rhett as a good-for-nothing, wannabe bull rider, and his reputation all but confirms that.

On the surface, they have nothing in common, and yet here they are going to prom together to appease their families.

“That for me?” she asks, pointing to the container he’s holding.

He looks down. “Um, yeah,” he mutters and fumbles with getting it open. Finally, the plastic gives, revealing a small pink peony corsage with a bit of greenery and a blush pink ribbon for her wrist.

She looks at it, a little impressed that his mother convinced him to even get a corsage. “It’s beautiful.”

“Can I—“ he clears his throat. “You don’t have to wear it.” He looks on edge, his shoulders tight with tension.

She offers him what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “I want to.” She holds out her wrist, and the look in his eyes changes. He almost looks relieved.

Slipping the corsage over her wrist, she fights a shudder as his fingers graze her skin. She looks up at him, wondering if he feels it too. If he’s as affected by this moment as she is.

It was in the fifth month of his time on land that the cracks in the dam finally burst.

Bang.

Bang!Bang!Bang!BANG!

Harrison couldn’t breathe. Or maybe he was, and that was what was killing him?

A slipstream of bubbles burst before his eyes with each slap on the glass. These hands were wrong. He shouldn’t have hands. Water filled his lungs as he tried to scream for help, swallowing his desperate cries as he struggled to keep afloat. But there was no top to swim towards, only glass, glass and more glass. He kicked against it. Flailing in place while his stomach dropped like he was falling through a bottomless void. 

Finally, someone heard him. The face gathered friends, school children, every one of them gawking at him as he tried to escape. He turned again, and there was Cameron, his trusted rag in hand, perfectly polishing his cage with tight, circular motions as Tova watched on impassively. Relief flooded him for one cruel, taunting moment. And then he saw it. The sealskin in his boyfriend’s hand, dragging across the floor as though it were nothing but trash. Was that his skin? It felt so long ago that he could barely remember what he looked like. Tova’s voice sounded a million miles away, “He’s so special, Cameron. Can we keep him?”

“Course we can. He’s a prime specimen. Should be a few more years in him, yet”.

All at once, the bubbles popped. 

Bang!Bang!Bang!BANG!

Cam slammed his skin against the glass, pounding it again and again. It quaked under his sudden fury. Tova joined in. Then Ethan. Then Avery. The chorus of children screamed like a legion of orcas, drumming against his cage, muddying it with thick, sticky fingerprints until all he could see was Cameron. A sneer contorted his face, uglier than a wolf eel. A crack. Then another, paving its way like vicious lightning. The selkie impotently begged and begged. But the tank broke anyway, and everything went black.

Harrison awoke with a start. Twisting the newly washed bedsheets around his knuckles, he gasped like a goldfish as he fought off his nightmare. It was the third time that week. The panic loosened its hold, allowing ‌the sweet smell of Tova’s potpourri and homemade cooking to reassert its calming influence. They cradled him back to reality and into his nest of cushions and handmade throws, bunched together like a pod of fluffy seals huddled up for warmth. Harrison threw his arm up to shield his wet eyes and reached for Cameron. He always knew how to comfort him afterwards- But he was gone. This wasn’t their bed; he was on Tova Sullivan’s couch.

Yesterday, on a crisp Sunday morning, Cameron left in the camper to meet his father for the first time. Harrison knew something was either very wrong or very right when Cam shook him awake before their alarm. Jabbing his finger at the Caller ID, Cameron’s giddiness ‌bordered on the hysterical as he sat on the edge of the mattress and accepted the call. After months of searching, the Simon Brinks finally wanted to meet him. Today, if he could. All the way out in Seattle. The pair hadn’t spent a day apart in months. When Cameron agreed without a moment's hesitation, Harrison hid his face from view.

Cameron turned, thinking Harrison had fallen back asleep. He nudged him again. “Holy shit, Harri, did you hear that? This is it.”

“It’s..”, Harrison strained to see his watch. “Five in the morning, sweetheart. Sleep on it first.”

“Fuck, man, I don’t think I can. We’re gonna be rich! No more shitty camper. No more scraping gum. We can do whatever the hell we want!” Cameron rolled him over onto his back and brought Harrison’s hands to his mouth in a hard, wet kiss. He looked like an over-shaken champagne bottle ready to pop. 

But as he pulled away, Cameron froze for a second, the fizz in his veins softening to a gentle, ever-present buzz. He looked as though he wanted to ask something. Instead, he returned his lips to Harrison’s palm, raising it to cup his own cheek. He held Harrison there, nuzzling him softly while the only thing tighter than Cameron’s hold on his boyfriend’s wrists was the sound of his voice. Every minute detail of his plan was hashed out to a blank, sleepy stare: how he was going to meet that rich scumbag and claim his mythical eighteen years of child support. How they’d finally be able to leave this town for good. Come hell or high water, Cameron vowed, he would make things right. 

No mention was made of what kind of man Cameron’s father could be or the possibility of rekindling a relationship. Just that by this time tomorrow, they would be set. They would be so fucking rich, Cam promised. But even though he was still learning the subtleties of human speech, the selkie could hear what was unsaid. And then you can be happy again.

Harrison didn’t know if he was expecting an answer or not. Cameron looked so fiercely sincere that it made his heart flutter, but Harrison couldn’t afford to be drawn in. The rising sun reached through the windows, its warm rays caressing Cameron’s features better than Harrison dared allow himself to do. Yet, his thumb betrayed him when Cam enticed it to sweep along the fullness of his cheek with a tender, almost pleading kiss to the joint. Instantly, Cam melted against him. Grounding himself with just his simple touch, as if it were tantamount to an agreement.

But when a quiet, unthinking, “Are you sure this is what you want?” gently pricked Cameron’s ears, he deflated like a popped balloon. Cam knew that look all too well. Harrison was sorry for him. Lamely, he whispered. Imploring. “This is… I’m doing this for us.”

Cameron dropped his wrists, suddenly hyperaware of the skin blanching beneath his fingertips.

Unable to meet his glassy, round eyes, Harrison rose to sit against the wall, looking much more awake than he first appeared. Tova had once compared him to a babbling brook. Full of exuberant energy and clashing, invigorating streams of thought that all coalesced into one surprisingly gentle current, able to sweep up even a reluctant cynic like Cameron. But when he needed to be still, he could switch it off in an instant. Normally, he tried to avoid giving advice, preferring instead to simply listen and reflect back what he saw as their true intentions and selves. Tova had called it a gift. Harrison just laughed and said he never knew what to say. 

Not that he could tell her, but the human world was too complex for him at the best of times, let alone Cameron’s. Learning his foibles, his barely concealed loves, and even the depth of his anger was as fascinating to Harrison as the coral reefs of Hawaii or the thousands of underwater inhabitants of the Bay. But for the homesick selkie, losing contact with his family had felt as though a limb had been brutally severed. Sitting there, hearing Cameron speak so casually of cutting off his own flesh and blood, made that old phantom pain throb. Harrison may not know much about humans or their multitude of challenges, but he knew a little of this one.

“I know you’re doing this for us, Cam. I do. But just think about it for me? Is having a dad such a terrible idea? You’ve not even talked to him, and already you want him gone. Maybe he’s not all bad-”

The suggestion hit with a resounding ‘thud.’ What about this was always so difficult for Harrison to understand? 

“If he’s not, then he would have looked for me,” Cameron bit back. He tried to quell the hurt, twisting into his usual sardonic tone. “He left my deadbeat mom and me with nothing. And what did nothing get me? A rundown camper parked in the middle of nowhere, a mountain of loans and not even a high school diploma to show for it. So, fuck him. He's screwed me over for years; I’m not letting him take another goddamn day from me.”

He sounded like a scared little pup barking into the wind. Harrison so desperately wanted to escalate things for once and scream back at him. Take him by the shoulders and shake that ridiculous, genius brain of his loose. What he wouldn’t give to tell him that there was nothing to make right. That Cameron would always have everything he needed right here… But he couldn’t, because there was something irrevocably wrong. Something greater than either of them could ever fix. Harrison swore he could hear the ocean calling his true name from across the sleepy town.  

In that moment of hesitation, he saw the undiluted fear flash across Cameron’s eyes. The loneliness his continued presence was only adding to. It wasn’t Cameron who needed to make things right. It was him. And this was his opportunity.

He bit his tongue and backed off. “Okay. Yeah, okay. You’re right. It’s a good plan.” His smile didn’t crease the skin as he faked a yawn. “Especially the part I’m adding where we go back to sleep now, and we’re rich later.”

Cameron’s eyes narrowed, but he fell gratefully back into old habits. With a sly grin, he straddled Harrison before he could lie back down and ran his large hands over his crinkled-up bedshirt. “Mm hmm. Ya, know, I never got to the part of the plan where you get to make out with a ridiculously handsome guy before he leaves to find fame and fortune.”

Harrison was silent, but Cam told himself he was just half-asleep. Honed with a familiarity learnt in this very bed, Cameron quickly yet methodically coaxed him back to life, kissing him with all he was worth. Harrison wasn’t sure what was crueller, to return the kiss or to remain completely still under his hands. Letting Cameron decide, he opened his mouth just a touch, enough for his boyfriend to deepen it. He did so with a grateful sigh, leaning in further but keeping his crotch away from his as not to push. However, while his lower half controlled itself, his hands did not. Kraken-like fingers skimmed through the wave of Harrison’s hair, whipping it into a storm of wild and loose threads as he plundered Harrison’s mouth with a pirate’s lust. When the treasured moan threatened to escape, Harrison drove it back down.

The selkie felt, rather than heard, the broken, worried whimper against his lips when he silenced himself. Maybe this way really was crueller, but he was sure as shit never going to feel that again. Before Cam could pull away, Harrison seized him by the ass and pulled him close with an almost supernatural strength. Raising his knees so Cam couldn’t escape, Harrison all but growled into his very core, one arm hugging him tight while the other held the side of his neck, as though his spinning head would fall off as soon as he let go. Cameron gasped for air. But what use did he have for oxygen when Harrison was showering him in unparalleled adoration? By God, Cameron wanted to drown in it forever.

“Shit, Harrison,” Cam whined, panting. “Down, boy. You’re- fuck”

“Tch”, his tongue clicked. “Thought you were smoother than that.”

A hearty laugh filled the space between their lips, drawing them together again. And again.

With a pompous tone and an even sillier glint in his eye, Cameron serenaded every inch of his overheating skin between breathless, boyish giggles, “You have witchcraft in your lips, babe.”

The only response was an unintelligible ‘hm?’ that mixed deliciously into a groan, proving Cameron’s point.

“It’s Shakespeare, philistine.”

“Mhm- Who?”

Okay, now he really was just fucking with him. “An angel is like you, and you are like an angel?” Cameron quoted. “Don’t tell me no one ever compared you to a summer’s day?”

Harrison shook his head. The edge of Cam’s teeth against Harrison’s jaw made him quiver as he lamented, “their loss”. He trailed his tongue into the depths of his boyfriend’s dimples, kissing them deeper in the hopes of making them a permanent fixture on his handsome, angelic face. Cameron continued, his voice now moulded into something more sombre, restrained. “On the touching of his lips, I may melt, and no more be seen. O, come, be buried a second time within these arms.”

With a soft gasp, Harrison shyly admitted, “I have no idea what any of that meant.”

“Then let me show you.”

Towering like a tsunami, Cameron crashed their mouths together. If not even the Bard could get through to him, then maybe this would. He prayed to whatever god remained that hadn’t yet fucked him over, to wash away every speck of doubt and make Harrison finally see that he could be trusted. When Harrison chased, Cameron rewarded him tenfold, drinking in any drop of affection like a man parched. When there was no more left to give, Harrison gently pushed him away, struggling to catch his breath.

Cameron crooked his eyebrow. “Smooth?”

“One of your better efforts,” Harrison rasped.

Falling back into bed, Cameron wrapped him up, more secure than any sailor’s knot as they continued, even as sleep tried to drag them apart. Slowly, reluctantly, Harrison’s heavy lids lost the fight. There was something sweetly innocent about how Harrison’s lips continued to slur against him, as his body had somehow managed to detach itself from his pleasure-soaked brain and carry on without him. Staring into those deep ocean blues that haunted his dreams and carried him through his days, Cameron had a terrible idea.  

His tongue tested out the words around his mouth, rolling them around until he knew their taste intimately. What if he finally told Harrison that he loved him?

It sounded so easy when Harrison said it, and so meaningless when his Aunt Jeanie insisted his mother had loved him. It shouldn’t be this hard. So what if he knew nothing about Harrison, or why he had been acting so strangely recently? Cameron wasn’t even sure what question he thought it was the answer to, but if there was just a sliver of a chance that things could go back to the way they were, he would seize it in an instant. Before he could take that leap, Harrison re-energised himself, delving his tongue between his now swollen, wine-blushed lips and swallowing them with a final, soul-consuming kiss. When they finally broke away for air, Harrison lingered in case he tried to say those three words again, but Cameron couldn’t remember where he had left them. Or, frankly, where any of his thoughts had gone.

In their place was just a memory, playing on a loop. Harrison at the beach, the wind at his feet, the sun bending to meet him. An earthquake pushing them together. “I love earthquakes”. He grinned. It looked like he was staring straight at him through the memory. “Reminds me of paddle boarding on land”. Cameron couldn’t remember the last time Harrison said anything so goofy or carefree.

The selkie never went back to sleep. He could hear Cam thinking as he, too, pretended to drift off with Harrison locked securely in his arms. But a long day loomed ahead of him. With each thud, Cameron's racing heart slowly relaxed under the comforting weight of his partner’s protective hand, while his sharp breathing eased into a dull, rhythmic metronome. To Harrison, it sounded like a countdown. When he knew for sure that Cameron was asleep, he gave himself over to the ebb and flow of his boyfriend’s chest and anchored himself there for as long as he could.

Whether Harrison wanted it to or not, morning came anyway. As Cameron stirred, Harrison squeezed his eyes shut. Not that he believed he did it, but apparently, he was a terrible snorer, so he mimicked Cameron (who also denied it) and let him go about his morning routine none the wiser. When Cam left to use Ethan’s bathroom, Harrison buried his face into his boyfriend’s pillow, inhaling his minty shampoo and sterile aftershave until he took up residence in every nook and cranny of his body. While Cameron made the coffee for once, a quiet domesticity fitting him better than he ever thought possible, Harrison burrowed under the sheets. Feigning sleep for just a few more precious minutes. He lay there, suspended in time, where everything was okay and how it should have been. Radiohead played. The kettle whistled. He felt a kiss pressed into his shoulder through the duvet. Harrison knew he would always remember the spot.

Refusing to allow him any more borrowed time, the alarm blared. The light from the window pierced his vision, jabbing at him like his younger sister used to do when he spent too long huddled up on the luscious sandy beaches of Hawaii. Because of her, Harrison had first discovered his love of music as they followed party boats across the silver shores or watched the reckless college kids dance by the bonfires. It had been about the only thing that had kept him going on his long years away, his youthful appearance belying his fifty rotations around the sun. He had sworn to Cameron that every time he heard Slowdive or Japanese Breakfast, he was back with his family, if just for a few minutes. He wondered if they would like the name ‘Harrison Knott’. If his sister would hum it with the same tilting lilt of his birth name. Not for the first time, he wished he had been brave enough to tell Cameron his real name, if just to hear how it would sound falling from his lips in song.

As Cameron finished his cereal, Harrison asked if he could make him a mixtape to listen to while he was away. Cam nearly choked on his cornflakes. “Sure thing, grandpa”, he laughed.

A day later, the cassette peeked out of his back pocket, playing lowly on the portable cassette player that Cam got him as a present. Trying to keep busy, Harrison helped Tova plate up the eggs and bacon she had kindly made. The fact that they had been so delicious was just another weight around his neck as he struggled to keep Cameron’s face from his mind. Tova must have noticed; she talked incessantly while Harrison nodded along, little ‘uh-huhs’ meeting every silence, just as Cameron would do.

But no matter how hard he scrubbed the dishes or wiped the table, he couldn’t forget the glimmering hope in his love’s eyes as he left for Seattle. Nor could he ever forgive himself for the quiet look of loneliness from the day before. After all those incredible months together, Harrison had just stood by and watched as Cameron drove off, their shared abode diminishing into a tiny spot on the horizon. 

He had gone. And by the time he returned, Harrison would be too.

For the umpteenth time that day, Harrison wondered if he was truly capable of this. If this really were the kind of man he was. But the answer was always the same: he wasn’t a man at all. He knew if he didn’t leave now, he would never return home, no matter how much he fought against it. There was no selkie without the ocean, it was simply ingrained into his very DNA. But with each passing second, these wonderful creatures, who had opened their doors to him, embedded themselves into his being just as deeply. There was no Harrison Knott without them.  

However, the legends of his people were clear on one thing: no human would let a selkie leave once they knew their secret. Then there would be no Harrison or selkie left to choose between. He placed what meagre possessions he had into his pockets and slipped out of the door without a word.

Unable to say it face to face, Harrison said goodbye to the people of this town in the only way he knew how: with tiny acts of service. He showed his appreciation to his old manager, Ethan, with a deep clean of the shop. Using circular motions and lemon and vinegar to bring it up to even the cleaning lady’s impossible standard. When Tova left the house, he rushed inside. He followed what Cameron had shown him, fixing the rickety steps and changing the loose door hinges, all to keep her father’s cherished home a haven for years to come. He gave his thanks to Avery with a handmade model T. Rex riding a paddleboard. It was dumb, poorly glued together, and completely and utterly him, right down to the jagged, painted-on grin. He had made it from the same driftwood and empty water bottles they had recycled on their long walks on the beach when she first befriended him.

And for Cameron… Well, for him, he just left a note at their favourite hangout spot, overlooking the town. Here, they watched the world pass by as they listened to music and simply existed together, as though there was no before and no worries of what came after. Time stopped as he took in Sowell Bay for the last time.

To Harrison, the sparkling ocean panorama now held just as much significance as the old record store that knew them both by name, and Mr Ewing’s bakery, that always had a slice of gooseberry pie stashed under the counter just for him. Harrison would never forget the smell of the ancient pines that surrounded Tova’s house, or the shop that took Harrison in when he didn’t even own the shirt off his back. The bright blue aquarium shone brighter in the summer sun than any lighthouse, returning Harrison home even when he no longer thought he had one. 

Harrison hoped he had learned enough of human intricacies to know how to convey just how sorry he was. And just how much he loved him. To make sure it didn’t float away with the wind, he weighed the note down with a cassette recording he had stealthily made of Cameron’s nighttime singing.

When he was done, Harrison walked the length and breadth of the town, down to the aquarium. He didn’t say goodbye to Marcellus. He knew it had to be something more final than that. 

However, Marcellus wasn’t quite through with him. Instead, the elderly octopus told Harrison ‌how he had finally figured out the connection between the cleaning lady and the juvenile. That his surname matched the one she knew as her son’s mysterious, secret girlfriend. Harrison was dumbfounded. How could humans be so blind and obstinate and still complain that he was the awkward one? Nonetheless, he was ecstatic for them. All those months of searching for his father, only to find out that what Cameron needed, what Harrison intuitively knew he wanted most of all, had been right next to him the whole time.

But then, who was this Simon Brinks that Cameron had gone to shake down? Harrison’s secrets had already caused so much pain. To add to it again would be unbearable. But if he told Cameron he had found his family, and then, in the next breath, left him forever… How could he break his heart so immediately after he had fixed it? 

Before he could decide, he heard the squeaky wheels of the cleaning trolley stroll down the corridor, the creak of Tova’s fracture boot dragging close behind. Harrison whipped around. This was the perfect opportunity to make everything right. But as she got closer, his nerve failed him. He quietly ran to the nearest door and locked it behind him with a soft click, trapping himself in… the manager’s office. A dead end. Shit.

Unfortunately for him, Tova was nothing if not thorough. Hours passed. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, heavy feet stampeded through the corridor. He knew those squeaky trainers anywhere. It was Cameron. And God, he had never heard him so pissed off.

“I was completely out of my mind! That Simon Brinks guy - he’s not even my real dad. Just my mom’s gay best friend-”

Harrison shrank into himself, back pushed against the wall to reinforce its defence. Every verbal jab at his grandmother made him flinch. Sweet Tova, taking his biting, seething words as proxy while he remained motionless. Harrison forced himself to listen. Faintly, he heard the soft ‘plop’ of Cameron throwing his father’s ring into the water.

“He’s fucking gone, Tova! Don’t you get it? I leave for one day, and he’s out of here-”. Tova tried to protest, but he cut her off with a snap. “Do you think this is how I want to spend the rest of my life? Scrubbing fish tanks and cleaning gum off the floor? Waiting for some guy not to ghost me every time things get serious? I’m done, Tova. I’m out.”

The fighting continued well into the parking lot. What had he done? Harrison didn’t remember when he slid to the floor, but he sat with his knees hugged against his chest until the pounding in his head died down. His ear to the door, he listened for anyone returning. When no sound came, he carefully wedged it open. Expecting the place to be deserted, a frail, drying Marcellus immediately greeted him, sending him recoiling back. 

Long tentacles moved as organised chaos, four arms pushing, four arms pulling himself along the slippery floor and towards the dreaded eel tank. With a limp tendril, he pointed to the encircling fish, their sharp teeth glimmering like knives ready to feast. Marcellus’s whole body pulsed sharply with anger, the thin slits of his strangely human-like eyes narrowing imperceptibly.

“Don’t give me that look, it’s not like that!” Harrison hissed. “You don’t understand. I don’t belong here; I belong out there.”

Of course, Marcellus did understand. Harrison felt like a naughty pup as the octopus left him behind, tired, weighty limbs clawing up the side of the tank without a second withering look. The glass groaned. Barely able to carry his hefty body, sheer stubbornness inched him ever closer to the top of the glass and into the eels’ eager, hungry maws. 

“Oh no, no no no. Marcellus! What do you think you’re doing? Get down from there!” he ordered. Harrison heard his father in him, echoes of ill-advised ventures to beach concerts with his sister and the punitive diet of anchovies that followed. Evidently, he never inherited his authority as the octopus slapped away his attempts to reach up and grab him.

If staying in Sowell Bay felt like an impossible choice, then leaving Marcellus in danger was no choice at all. Terrified someone would walk in on them at any second, Harrison sprang into action. He pleaded with the eels in a hushed, frantic whisper to let Marcellus take the ring in exchange for a selkie’s ransom of herrings if they backed off. As tempting as a giant Pacific octopus was, he did look rather old and leathery at this point. Their snouts pointed towards the pump room where the scallops were kept. Harrison sighed and agreed, shaking his hand with the air as humans are wont to do. For such a delectable offer, they bobbed their heads in agreement. Whether they did or not, it wouldn’t have mattered. Marcellus was going in anyway. The eels kept up their end of the bargain, and the octopus made his escape and held the ring aloft, triumphant. It read simply: ‘EELS’.

With just a hint of pride, Harrison recognised it as that ‘irony’ Cameron was so fond of.

The octopus threw him the ring. “Shit, Marcellus. Don’t you ever scare me like that again, buddy.”  

“Harrison… What is this?”

He swerved on his heel towards the intruder. Face to face with Tova. 

Not her. Anyone but her.

She looked confused, bordering on petrified. Had she heard him speaking to the eels? He tried to explain himself, but Tova’s concern quickly moved to the paling octopus who eased himself down the tank and onto Harrison’s shoulder like a pirate’s trusty parrot. His arms encircled Harrison’s and squeezed.

“Ms Sullivan! Um, Marcellus and I-I… You see, we were just… Thought he could do with a walk, ya know?” he feebly chanced. He had never got the hang of this lying business. 

However, a single tentacle then brushed against his forehead. Gentle, teasing. They conversed with just their eyes, a glance to the trembling woman, and then the ring… Obviously, Marcellus wanted him to give it to her, but as Harrison saw his contracted breathing slow, he had another idea.

“Harrison Knott”, she scolded. “You had us worried sick! First, you disappear, then you take up octopus-knapping. What has gotten into you?”

Harrison raised his hands in self-defence. “Nothing! It’s like you said. I was octopus-knapping.”

Tova gripped her broom tighter in response.

“No! No! What I meant to say is, this isn’t an octopus-knapping. It’s an… octopus-rescuing?”

Thinking of the kids' book on manners that he had borrowed from the library and hid inside prestigious medical journals, he tried to remember how he was supposed to stand to appear honest. Back straight? Check. Smiling? Impossible. It wasn’t a lie per se, but Cameron had taught him a thing or two about stretching the truth. “I wanted to come and say goodbye to this place. It’s been a second home to me, ya know? And then when I got here, our friend was halfway out the door…” He could feel all eight arms tense as one. Harrison’s voice faltered. “Tova, I’m so sorry. I know how much he means to you, and the last thing I want is to get you into trouble. But I can’t let him die in a cage. This isn’t his home”. 

A flicker of suspicion passed over her eyes. More than a flicker of surprise crossed Marcellus’s. But Tova believed him. How could she not when his voice quivered like that? No further argument was required, as, with a tender, understanding sigh of the octopus's name, she let something inside of her go. Marcellus reached out, tracing the memory of the bruises he’d given her. Yet, a moment later, he curled a tendril around her pinky and shook it, mimicking the schoolchildren he had observed from his enclosure. Framed together, his skin looked just as fragile and mottled as hers. 

“So that’s what you want, is it, Marcellus?”

With a firm nod to herself, Tova Sullivan let the tentacle fall away and pressed a small kiss to Harrison’s cheek, tears stubbornly refusing to fall. She really was Cameron’s grandmother.

“Okay then. Let’s kidnap ourselves an octopus, Harrison.”

Together, they placed Marcellus into the cleaning bucket, filled it with salt water and carried him down to the pier. It was surreal to hear a woman who could not truly converse with Marcellus speak so accurately of him, while Harrison was too afraid to say anything at all. The rain did nothing to dampen her resolve. She walked in a trance until they reached the edge, the grim determination and stoic facade she had worn since Erik died slowly cracking under the weight of years and just one Giant Pacific Octopus, whom she had come to call a friend. Tova clasped Harrison to her side, absorbing his strength into her, even as Harrison stood in silent, stunned awe at hers. 

“This is my home. Marcellus”, she affirmed. Both to them and the sky. “I can’t leave here, this is my home.” Despite her oft-cited ‘spunk’, the icy wind swept in across the Bay, piercing straight through to her weary bones, causing her to tremble like a leaf. It hadn’t occurred to Harrison that Tova understood something of his fear. There was nothing Harrison could say. But there should have been. Feeling completely helpless, he instead guided her descent to the cold, hard floor, his arm wrapped around her tighter than even an octopus. If he had to stay a while longer, at least he could be here for her.

Tova held onto the yellow bucket with an iron grip. “I know I have to let you go home. We both know you didn’t want to end up here, but… I’m so glad Terry saved you.” It all caught up with her. She sobbed. “'Cause you saved me.”

Before the tears fell, Harrison enveloped her completely, hooking his chin over the soft, hay-like bed of her hair. They rocked back and forth, two wayward, hurt souls buoying themselves and each other for as long as she needed. The ring burned in his pocket. 

When she was finally ready, they took the bucket between them and tipped it slowly over the edge, letting the contents spill until it took their dear friend with it. 

The ocean jumped to welcome him back. All at once, the water covered him and lifted him back up to say his final farewell. Harrison pushed the lump in his throat back down with a firm gulp, his eyes glittering as the setting sun caught the rise of the rolling waves. 

Hungry seagulls took their spots along the promenade, quirking their heads to the side in keen interest. Harrison shooed them away with a shout too close to a bark for comfort. When they temporarily retreated, he couldn’t help but laugh mirthlessly, “Always gotta draw an audience, hey buddy?”  

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re okay.” Tova soothed. 

Before their very eyes, Marcellus’s body fanned out against the inky black depths of the tide. After all these years, he once again lived up to the ‘Giant’ part of his title. He mirrored the pictures of the Milky Way that Harrison had beheld at the observatory on his first date in the city. He never knew such a thing existed, yet its earthly counterpart was just as miraculous. His arms floated away from his body like the ephemeral tendrils of a vibrant, distant nebula, carried by the currents that swaddled his limbs in their own intimate caress. The shifting texture of his skin created its own glittering tapestry of constellations that imploded and renewed itself with every free breath he took. 

Somehow, he looked even more resplendent than ever. He shifted through all the colours of the rainbow. An oil slick of metallic ores overlay with iridescent jewels and flowery reds and sunset pinks. Not trying to camouflage himself, but to reacquaint his whole being with the entire spectrum of possibilities that he thought were long since lost to him.

He was incredible. Radiant. Otherworldly. To Harrison, he simply looked like how he remembered every fathom of the ocean. Marcellus was the only one who understood what Harrison was going through, what he had lost. Or so he thought. Looking to see if Tova was alright, he found her staring straight back at him. A knowing, motherly concern he had not felt warm his face in years.

“It’s okay”, she repeated.

He didn’t realise Tova had been speaking to him. Braving another glance, Harrison could barely make out his companion amongst the washed-out hues and smudges where her features used to be. When had he started crying?.  

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. They knelt together, watching yet another piece of their lives depart for good. Coming to the edge, they both held Marcellus’s tentacles in their last farewell. 

“See, selkie?” his friend said. The octopus brought their hands together in an unbreakable bond. “They will understand. They will not keep you prisoner.”

It wasn’t often that Marcellus was an octopus of few words, but Harrison heard them loud and clear. As Marcellus liked to always remind him, he had rather a habit of being right in the end. It didn’t mean that Harrison’s heart believed them, but there was something in what he saw in Tova’s watery smile that felt even more real to him than thousands of years of his people’s wisdom. They sat together in silence as the octopus released its grip. Despite what lay ahead, Harrison thought he had never looked so alive. They said their goodbye as Marcellus drifted down with the tide and finally returned home.

And for as much as Harrison wanted to do the same, he stayed by Tova's side.

Sowell Bay was beautiful at this time of evening. All human life slowed down to a rhythmic hum, punctuated by nature as it once again reasserted its ancient right to the bay. The gulls grew bored with their wait and dispersed across the shore, squawking their annoyance upon the pair for letting such a rare delicacy go to waste. Harrison hated gulls. Pesky, noisy creatures. Always trying to swoop in and steal his hard-earned fish, or disturb his sleep with senseless chatter and a quick peck on his back to see if any juicy, blubbery morsel of him was about to fall off. Goodness, Cameron was right. He really had spent too much time with Marcellus.

For Harrison, gulls were easy to tell apart. They were all distinctly annoying, each in their own unique and invariably loud way, whereas humans looked much the same to the selkie. Still, he remembered the long, rainy days spent under the tarps of ragtag fishing boats, watching a woman sit by herself on this very bench. She looked as Tova did now. Same far-off gaze which made Harrison think she was somehow staring right at him, when really she was looking at nothing at all. Nothing that was still there, anyway. He often wondered what her story was. 

On days when she stayed past her normally allotted time, he would swim up to the pier and bob his head like a whack-a-mole doll, playfully barking like those curious dogs that collectively seemed so taken by his scent. If that failed to win a smile, then he would bounce clumsily up the dilapidated stairs and roll to her feet. It rarely took more than an inviting pat to his tummy or a boop to her foot to bring her back to earth. How strange it was to sit next to her now. To know her name and to possess the very thing that would bring her some semblance of peace. 

For years, Harrison had wanted to reach out and comfort her. Now that he had his chance, he didn’t know what to say, so he said very little. Everything was so much easier without complex vocal cords. Tova hugged his arm, the occasional story of their friend the only break away from his thoughts. She didn’t mention Cameron, but Harrison knew that grip on his arm would not loosen until one of them did so.

Just as he was finally beginning to formulate a grand explanation (one mostly stolen from Ethan’s rom-coms), a familiar voice rose from behind them.

They both turned at the shout of ‘Tova!’ as Cameron barrelled down the docks. Catching sight of Harrison, Cameron paused for just a fraction of a second. A brief flicker of hope soon segued into something bitter as he kept his eyes focused solely on Tova.

Ms Sullivan beamed. “You came back”, she said.

Cam's utterance of ‘Well, there is a right way and a wrong way to do things’ wasn’t subtle, but it certainly made him feel better. While the unknowing family embraced, Harrison ran his hand over his jaw and looked out over the horizon.

“Where’s Marcellus?” Cameron asked Tova. “I tried to find him everywhere...”

“We let him go home…” she explained. Harrison pricked up his ears.

Cameron’s whole body seemed to deflate as the words hung in the open air, waiting for him to catch up. The floorboards creaked as his weight shifted, lurching towards the back of the bench for support, but he caught himself mid-act. It would put him too close to Harrison.

“Oh, wow”, Cameron murmured. His voice lilted upwards, “That’s… That’s good, right?”

There was that telltale melancholia that Marcellus had diagnosed in the selkie. The feeling grew even stronger when Cameron’s eyes flicked towards Harrison when he said that he would miss him. As much as he wanted the sea to swallow him whole, Harrison couldn’t risk letting Marcellus’s last, precious gift go to waste. 

Clearing his throat, he held out the ring between them. He looked every bit the unsure, boyish stranger who had first held up his money at the aquarium, hoping Cameron would know what to do with it.

“Um, Marcellus had this on his arm when I found him. I think it's yours-” It felt forbidden to say Cameron’s name now, but after a pause and a hard nudge from Tova, he took the ring and examined it.

He side-eyed him as if he were part of a massive, practical joke. “H-How did you get this? I threw it in the tank.”

Harrison just smiled shyly as he admitted his lie to Tova, “Marcellus retrieved it. It’s your father’s, right?”

“Yeah, but why-”

Before he could blurt out his fifty obvious questions to his insane remark, Tova jumped in, asking to take a look. Her voice barely registered over the quiet to-and-fro of the water as she held it in her palm, and before either man knew it, she gasped. Trembling fingers held onto Cam’s sleeve for dear life, dragging him down onto the bench with her. 

She reminded Harrison so dearly of how his mother had gazed lovingly at his newborn baby sister. Hushed reverence and rapturous joy, swelling into a single, disbelieving laugh that warmed the air around them like a fire that would never go out. Cameron’s eyes, so much like his father’s, held her captive. Spellbound. Growing more and more certain with each passing second that she had been completely and wondrously mistaken. Her home was sitting right in front of her.

The realisation crept up on her grandson gradually. A slow mirror of everything Tova felt breaking through his tired, worn-down defence, softening his furrowed brow and deepening her laugh lines until they met in the middle. Easing the strain in her shoulders, and making his straighten. Even down to their feet they matched, hers thrumming against the ground in excitement, and his slowing as though they were growing roots. So that’s the pattern you saw, Marcellus. 

Cameron didn’t feel Harrison get up or see him walk away. But as Cameron’s eyes met Tova’s, Harrison saw it. The moment the final piece clicked into place.

Despite how momentous it was, it filled only a fraction of a second. A subtle shift in Cameron's face. Gone and stolen into the night as quickly as it appeared, but caught forever in Harrison's memories. It shone brighter than the full moon.

 If Harrison felt like an intruder before, now he felt every one of his years at sea as Cameron and Tova sat on the bench and she explained how ‘EELS’ had been her son’s initials. His Father’s. Their tears had not been his to witness, not with his attempt to leave them all behind without so much as an explanation. Hell, even an imprisoned octopus had managed to make something of their final moments together. Instead, Harrison rested against the lamppost and looked to the sky, unsure if it was polite to go or to stay. He wasn’t used to feeling socially anxious or embarrassed, even though so many people had insisted he should. In his defence, he doubted even the wisest of humans would know what to do in his situation. Normally, he would just ask Cameron. But then the low susurrus of chatter and tears died down, and Cameron’s unsteady voice reached out. 

“Hey, can… can we talk?

Harrison nodded. He owed him that much. They walked back to the aquarium, Cameron with his arm around his new grandmother, and Harrison with his hands deep within his pockets, head hung so low it looked like he was being sent to the firing squad. At least Tova and Cameron could look after each other now. It was silly of him to think he would leave a hole in their lives, not when he never belonged here. Still, as they weaved past the fish who grew excited to see him and towards the break room, Marcellus’s words replayed in his mind.

“Look!” Tova interrupted. “He wrote something.”

Pointing towards the now-empty Octopus tank, Cameron cursed his amazement under his breath, but Harrison’s blood ran cold. What had Marcellus done?

“You think it’s a message?” asked Cam.

Written in the sand was one simple word: Harrison’s true name. The one of his pod descended from Scandinavia. He must have written it before going to get the ring from the eels. No! No! No! No!

For a second, Harrison was back in his nightmare. Pounding against the glass. Drowning.

Only Marcellus knew it this side of the Pacific. Harrison should have seen this coming, of course, that interfering know-it-all had tried to make that decision for him. Harrison didn’t dare turn to Tova, hoping that she had left Europe at too young an age to have ever learnt much of her country and its legends. But they both knew you never forgot your home. The cogs turned in her mind, faster than Harrison assumed possible. Maybe she really had caught him talking to the eels. Maybe she suspected it all along.

Half in wonderment, half in familial pride, Tova smiled at him, clasping her hand to her breast. After years of numbing herself to the emotion, now her voice ran ragged with it. “So that’s why you’re so special, or part of it, anyway. Oh, sweetheart, is that why you ran away?”

“Please, Ms. Sullivan…” Harrison begged, refusing to look at the man he still loved. “Don’t…”

Cameron tightened his arm around her shoulder in panic. “Don’t what? Tova, what are you talking about?”

“It’s nothing”, Harrison snapped.

Worry turned indignant, teeth grinding out each word as though they wanted to spit out much worse. “Yeah, you said that for the last five months. So spill.”

“No!” Harrison suddenly shouted, startling himself. He tried to calm down, hating himself for the way they winced, but he couldn’t stop it. He felt trapped. “No- Just... no. There’s no point; it’s just a misunderstanding. That’s all. You got your ring, that’s all that matters. Not…” He gesticulated lamely towards the tank, speaking with his hands when once again his grasp on human language slipped. 

It didn’t work. Cam’s face twisted sourly. “Not what? You? Us?” 

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Tova tightened her grip on Cam’s jacket. “Do I? Because it sure fucking feels like it.”

“Boys! Stop,” Tova shouted. She had heard enough.

She stared them both down until whatever response they had died in their throats. It was only then that Cameron realised how fast his heart was beating. Anger and hurt cracked along his veins like a live wire, trying to spark another fight, another jab, anything that would dull his pain. Normally, he would make a joke of it. Force the other person to become just as uncomfortable as he was to get one over on t‌hem. But the blood rushing in his head was too loud to think of one. He wanted to shout again, to let it all out so that he could know for sure if Harrison was hurting like he was. If he mattered enough to someone that leaving him was actually difficult for once.

But… He couldn’t, not when Harrison, normally so much larger than life, started to shrink into himself. Unsure what to do, Cameron did what his grandmother's hard gaze commanded and breathed in deeply until he could think again. Fuck, what a shitshow.

For Harrison, he really had tried to be better. To provide and be there for him. All for it to lead to this.

“Just tell me”, Cameron said, doing his utmost to keep his voice level. “Did I do something wrong?”

Harrison blinked, like he was unsure whether to trust this sudden truce. “No. No, you did nothing wrong. It was always amazing. You were always amazing,” he weakly smiled. “Hell, I wish you had done something wrong. Would have made this easier.”

Cameron tried to mirror his grin, but there was something still gnawing away at him. He knew perfectly well why he hadn’t pressed when Harrison looked so distracted yesterday morning. Or any of the mornings before that. He had been too afraid of Harrison’s answer. Even now that they were over, he was allowing himself to be drawn into Harrison’s easy smile and drop it again. However, he hadn’t driven all the way back to Sowell Bay to remain the old Cameron Cassmore. 

He hugged Tova’s imperceptibly closer, not even realising he was doing it. 

“Harrison”, he gently uttered his name again. “Come on, man. You’re scaring me. You don’t talk to me. You’ve been pretending like everything’s fine for ages now, but I know something’s up. And then you leave with just a note telling me...” He bit his tongue and sadly sighed. Fuck, why did this have to be so hard?

A harsh, ruddy blush bloomed across Harrison’s cheeks as he mistook Cameron’s hesitance for embarrassment about what he had poured his heart and soul into. It was the same face Cameron often made in their first few weeks together. When Harrison forgot that such a thing as an ‘inside voice’ existed, when he complimented random strangers on their excellent walking skills or the multitude of times that he nearly got hit by a car when he once again forgot to look both ways. But Cameron wasn’t ashamed of what he had written, and definitely not of Harrison himself. Never of him. 

Tova stroked Cameron’s arm. He continued on, his voice gaining strength even as it cracked, as finally, finally, he let it out. “I looked everywhere for you. God, man. I thought maybe something awful had happened. You have no idea what that did to me. And then, not even a few hours later, I find you at the pier with my father’s ring, saying an octopus gave it to you, and you still won’t tell me what’s going on. You realise how insane this all is, right?”

Despite his best attempt, Harrison didn’t budge. “I know. I know. Please, Cameron. I don’t want to fight with you.” 

“But you're okay with running away and leaving me.” It wasn’t a question, not in the cold, objective way it came out.

There was that tiny, yipping pup again, looking as abandoned and hurt as Harrison had imagined him when Cameron first told him of how his mom dumped him with her sister, never to be seen again. 

What could Harrison ever say to that? “I’m sorry…” he whispered.

It landed as well as he expected, but Cameron didn’t look as angry as he feared. Just… resigned. “So you wrote. Was hoping I deserved something more than that.” 

“You do. It’s just something I have to do on my own.”

They fell silent in an awkward standoff, the only movement a twist of Harrison’s foot as his body warred with his heart on whether to stay or run away once again. It was as Cameron was about to argue back that he suddenly noticed there was something off. Everything was too still, even the fish that normally whipped themselves into a frenzy every time their favourite customer appeared. Cam just assumed they were just pissed that none of them had come to feed them.

And yet, despite the uncanny air, by his side, his grandmother somehow relaxed. She escaped Cameron’s hold, slicker than any eel or octopus. Some of the fish seemed to eye her cautiously as she smoothed Harrison’s shirt out and brushed his wayward hair from his brow, taking in every inch of him as though for the very first time. He leaned into her touch, even as her nails bordered on painful as she held him by the biceps. “I won’t tell anyone, Harrison, not if you don’t want me to, but please. Let us help you.” 

They won't keep you prisoner.

Harrison’s body worked without conscious thought, bringing her head into his chest and embracing her. She felt so small in his arms, but so much bigger in his heart. For years, he had wanted to console her on the pier, and now here she was, doing it for him. “I’m sorry”, he weakly said again. Tiny, wet drops fell upon her crown as he kept repeating himself, his chin quaking as he tried to control it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Now, now, dear. We’ll have none of that. You’ll make the floor slippery”, she sweetly chided, tapping his sternum like she used to pat his head as a seal. Did she remember him after all? Harrison tried to do as she asked, but his breath kept wringing his muscles out in a sob. What was he doing? Wrenching himself away from them felt like cleaving himself in two. But it wasn’t fair to give them only half of himself any longer. 

Before he could regain control of himself, Cameron appeared and placed a steady hand on his shoulder, smiling softly. Harrison saw the unshed tears lace his lashes. “Hey, shake like that anymore, and people are gonna think there’s an earthquake. Or you’re paddle boarding on land.”

Harrison barked out a sudden laugh. It took him a moment to recognise it as his own. “T-Thought you hated that joke.”

He winked. “You make it work.”

They just stared at each other, no longer awkward, but soaking in the moment while they could, committing it to memory. A thousand proclamations and confessions dancing on their tongues, however, Cameron didn’t want their final moments together to be a desperate plea for him to stay, like so many of his relationships before. Hearing Harrison's sweet laugh again gave him a new priority. “You’ve given me so much…” Cam choked on what felt like a sob, but looking down at Tova gave him the confidence he needed. “Not to mention this-" he said as he put his arm around her shoulder easily, as though his body had already memorised her shape. “My old lady’s right, let us help you. Whatever you need… I just want to see you happy again.”

What was it that Ethan called it? A Catch-22. ‘Damned if you do, completely fucked if you don’t’, he had laughed over his fourth glass of expensive scotch when he regaled Harrison with the sordid details of his ex. Harrison couldn’t trust them if they didn't know the truth, but centuries of tradition told him he shouldn't trust them if they did. He couldn’t find his skin without leaving, yet he couldn't leave them now. And he loved too selfishly to face the possibility of life on land alone, but too wholeheartedly to continue to hurt the one who had unwittingly captured it.

It seemed like there was no choice he could make. That there had never been one from the start. But he remembered how Tova had helped him free Marcellus. How genuinely happy for him Cameron had sounded, and how certain he was now. So he made one anyway.

He sniffed back the tears, and with a kiss to Tova’s hair, he decided to put his faith in his old friend, hoping he really did know it all.

Harrison wondered if any of his kind had been as stupid and as foolhardy as he was about to be. If not, at least his sister could gloat that she was right about him all along. He prayed to the two humans before him that he would see her again. 

“C-Come with me. Let me show you something.”

The body under the blankets shifts slightly and you hear a couple sniffles as you walk closer to the bed.

“Hey,” you sit beside him at the edge of the bed, brushing the hair from his sad eyes. They were red from crying and the bags under his eyes were very prominent. You sigh; he didn’t get much sleep last night.

Bob makes a confused noise seeing you, “What - what are you -” 

He’s not used to you just popping by the tower. In fact, you basically never come to the tower besides that day you first met the team. Not that Bob doesn’t want you around, but usually when you guys are together, you go to yours. Your house is nice, quiet, and normal. Plus, less likely of a chance of you having to run into Valentina compared to the tower.

“You didn’t show up for lunch and when you weren’t answering my texts, I got worried.” You cup the side of his face, thumb resting on his check, “Called Lena and she told me what happened with John and Val yesterday. She said you’d been in here for a while.”

Shit. Bob deflates when he hears that. He forgot about your plans. His hands come up to his face and he groans into them, frustrated.

Yesterday had been a bad day for him. He woke up feeling low, getting up and brushing his teeth felt like a chore. He was practically counting down the hours until he could escape with you for a couple days. But Val wanted to see him. Said she wanted an update on his powers' progress, to see if he was still ‘letting’ the void consume him in the aftermath. 

Val made him try sparing with John yesterday. And Bob really didn’t mean to push John that hard. But Val’s critiquing glare and muttered words of disappointment got to his head and he pushed the super soldier into the wall, eyes glowing golden as he felt the rush of power surge through his veins. John crumbled with an ‘oof!’, obviously caught off guard.

Then the guilt crept in. He mumbled an apology as he lifted John up off the floor, his eyes glued to the floor as he made a beeline for his room, ignoring Valentina’s shrill call of his name. He’d been wallowing in his room ever since.

Bob just wanted to prove himself. To show he could control it. He felt like such a burden to the team, unable to help on missions because while Sentry was a welcomed asset, Void wasn't. And he couldn't be one without the other. The fact that you continued to date him after learning about his “problems” was astounding to him. And he repaid you by leaving you hanging and forgetting all about your date.

“Fuck- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to forget! I swear, I didn’t, I-”

“It’s alright! It’s alright! That doesn’t matter now, baby, okay?” Bob looked like he still wanted to argue, but you just smiled, still petting the top of his head, “Want company?”

You wanted to leave it open for him. You learned early on in your relationship with Bob that when he got like this, he either wanted to be left alone in bed or for you to slip in cuddle. You were the only person he’d actually want around him when he got bad like this. If he shook his head, ‘no’ it was fine, you’d give him the space he needed and go out into the common room.

He stays silent, but nods, pulling the covers of his bed open so you slide in next to him.

When you get settled in bed, Bob scoots closer to you and his head finds its place on your chest, his cheek pressed against the fabric of your shirt.

You can feel the dampness on his face from the tears he spilled earlier. You pull him close, kissing the top of his head.

“I’m sorry I’m so much to deal with. You shouldn’t have to deal with someone like this.”

“Stop. I love you, Bob. I’m here for you no matter what, I don’t want anyone else.” Bob doesn’t say anything as he sniffles. His hold on you tightens “You don’t need to be afraid, I’m not going anywhere”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I don’t know how you tolerate me, Sentry, and Void. I’m a fucking ticking time bomb because of them.”

“Hey – I love you, okay? I love every part of you. And yes, that means I love all of you, Sentry, void, and most importantly, you Bob. They’re part of you, so why would I love them any less?”

“I just, I worry one day I’ll be too much. You’ll realize how much better you deserve, get tired of me and -” he chokes up and looks away. He couldn’t say those last two words. ‘Leave me’. That’s what Bob was always afraid of. Being too much, driving you away with his issues. That you’d soon realize you deserved better, someone smart, more attractive and didn’t have all these issues.

You tip his chin up, meeting his watery blue eyes, “Believe me, I will never be tired of you Robby.”

He lets out a shaky sigh, burying his nose in the crook of your neck, “I love you, Robby. Always. Even when we’re old and gray, when my memories are gone and I’m asking you where you put the remote and you have to remind me that it’s in my hand or when you start losing your hair and start looking like Professor X.”

You hear a snort, and pull back to face him, "I think I know what that smile means." You proudly smile at the fact when Bob shyly ducks his head down before he kisses you, full on the lips, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Just being here. Sticking with me.”

“You never have to thank me for that honey.”

Bob nods as you kiss the tip of his nose, “Wanna stay in bed, or join the rest of the crew for a movie night? Ava said they were watching Airplane.” Bob doesn’t bother answering, instead he just pulls you impossibly closer, brags the remote from his bedside table and flips on your guy’s favorite movie, “A movie night for two then.”

God, this is why Bob loves you so much. You make things lighter, easier. An escape from this superhero life he didn’t want. You make him feel like he can actually live a normal life, a life he didn’t think he’d ever get, one he didn’t deserve. You’re what he cherishes most in this world and he didn’t know how he got so lucky for you to love him back.

Halfway through the second movie, it felt like a mission to keep your eyes open. You were just so comfortable, it was hard not to. The pillow you were laying on smelled so much like Bob's cologne, and his blanket was so plush and soft, it felt like you were wrapped in a warm hug (and the fact Bob was basically your personal space heater helped a lot too).

You were just about to doze off when Bob's voice cut through the air.

 “Wait….”

“What?” You sleepily mumble.

“… Do you really think I’ll lose my hair?”

You snort, eyes closed as you pat what you think is his cheek, “Never in a million years babe.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Love ya!

Please do not copy or repost. Love and thank you all!

“You don’t look fine.”

It’s true. You don’t look fine. Far from it. You just came back from a mission that went sideways earlier in the night. You and John went on your own, prepared for what was supposed to be a stealth mission. The building was supposed to be abandoned besides a couple of patrols that came by every couple of hours or so. No security, no armed guard. Key words: Supposed to be. Val’s intel seemed to have left out the three dozen guards survelling the very facility she wanted you to break into. Bitch.

So now, you’re hurt. John, thanks to his serum, was almost completely healed by the time the jet landed at the Watchtower with nothing more than a couple cuts and bruises. You were a different story.

Your black eye was glaringly obvious, but thankfully the cut on your lip had finally clotted so you didn't really have to worry about that. The bruise forming on your cheek wasn't pretty and the large cut on your forehead was kind of deep.

Not wanting to deal with all the fuss and fanatics of going to the med bay and getting checked out, you stayed holed up in your room for the remainder of the day. Knowing them, they’d make you hold off on training and missions until you’re fully healed. But you’re the newest on the team, you don’t want to be a burden already. Once you figured the coast was clear, you made your way down to take care of the rest of your wounds.

You were in the middle of cleaning the cut on your forehead, hissing from the pain of the antiseptic when Bob snuck up on you. He had actually wanted to talk to you about what happened the moment you walked out of the jet clutching your side and facing the ground to hide your face from view, but you brushed him off the second he tried to ask if you were okay.

You go to move, wanting nothing more than to just go to your room and act like nothing’s wrong and that your wrist isn’t screaming at you in pain, but a gentle hand stops you, carefully resting on your shoulder.

Your eyes flicker to Bob, down his hand and back to him again, "I'm fine Bob.”

You try to step around him, but Bob steps in front of you, “I can help patch you up.”

Snorting, you brush him off again, “It’s okay, Bob. It’s just a couple scrapes. I'm not going to die from blood loss.”

He shakes his head at you, not amused at all when his eyes flicker over your bruised wrist, “Y-your wrist -”

“It’s just a sprain; it’s no big deal.”

“It can be if you don’t let it heal right.”

“Please, I’ll be fine-”

“Come on, just let me help, stop being so stubborn.”

You scoff, “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. Since I've known you, ‘I’m fine’ has basically been your catchphrase.”

You cringe at your words the moment they leave your mouth. You watch as Bobs’ face drops and he takes a step back. You shake your head at yourself and step forward, “Sorry, sorry, I can’t believe I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“No, no, it’s fine, just-” He lets out a frustrated sigh, rolling his shoulder as he bites down on his lower lip, “I know I’m not one to talk or ask for help. I know I’m a hypocrite for saying this to you, but you’re bruised up and you’re hurt and I can tell you’re trying not to wince while you breath so just, just let me do what I can. I want to help you, so please let me."

You open your mouth to say something about having survived worse than a sprained wrist, but then Bob squeezes your shoulder again and looks at you with his big puppy dog eyes, pleading for you to let him help. So, you begrudgingly nod and sit down, “Fine, but just the wrist. I can handle the cuts, but it was a bitch to try and wrap it on my own.”

Taking the win, Bob nods, a small smile on his face as motions for you to sit. Quickly, he grabs the bandage and medical tape before sitting across from you, his knee bumping against yours as he gently takes your injured hand in his. Your brain seems to glitch, heat blooming over your cheeks and down your neck as Bob leans closer and starts wrapping your wrist in the bandage.

Neither of you say anything at first. You chalk it up to Bob being too concentrated in his aide to be distracted, Bob chalks it up to you not wanting to talk to him. You both don’t seem to realize the real reason is actually neither.

Wanting to break the ice, you ask, “Where’d you learn how to do this? Your file didn't say anything about a… medical background.”

Bob chuckles and shrugs, “Can’t go out there on missions with you guys without the uh -” His nose scrunches as the memory of what happened he used his powers momentarily crosses his mind, but he blinks it away, “The other guy coming out so I decided if I can’t help out there, at least I can with like, the medicine and… stuff.”

You nod, watching him. In all the time you’ve been with the team, you’ve never been this close to Bob before. You were friendly to each other, but he found his confidant in Yelena, and you found yours in Ava. Not that you didn’t want to be more than that, but you just didn’t know how to talk to him. Every interaction seemed to end on an awkward note or by one of you making an excuse to cut the interaction short.

Blue eyes flicker up to you, and you look away. He finishes taping off the bandage a minute later, “There. All done.”

You flex your fingers, trying to get used to the feeling of your hand being bound. Bob watches, biting his lip as he waits for your reaction, “Thanks, Bob, I uh, I owe you one, I guess.”

Bob waves you off, trying to act nonchalant about it “No biggie.” But that doesn’t stop the feeling of heat rushing towards his face as a light blush of pink coats his cheeks. Shyly, he bows his head causing some strands of his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

Your uninjured hand twitches at your side. You want to reach forward and brush it back, but you’re not close like that. That's such an… intimate act. You don’t want to be weird. So, you just smile and wave.

“Good night, Bob.”

Bob wants to ask if he can walk you to your room. If you want to stay up and watch a movie. If you want him to take a look at your ribs too, but he knows you’ll refuse. Instead, he settles for a simple wave, his eyes following you out of the room and into the empty hallway, “Night.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Love ya!

Please do not copy or repost. Love and thank you all!

“In a van? I’m aware, it's all this town could talk about when you first got here.” Gossip ran rampant in Sowell Bay. Folks loved to act as if a newcomer was a rarity and Cameron Cassmore had given them plenty to talk about. He’s single handedly kept this town entertained for nearly a month now. You had heard things, about someone owing him a lot of money, how he seemed to argue with nearly everyone he met.

At open mic night, his demeanor was different. Less guarded. Probably helped that Tova was there, proving to everyone that this guy wasn't some dangerous drug dealer or whatever the rumor mill came up with this week.

Yeah, he was still awkward and needed a woman old enough to be his grandmother to strike up a conversation. After a beer or two, he had relaxed enough that Tova made an excuse about needing to leave (not before sending you a very obvious wink).

At the very least, Cameron would be a good time. If he could stop tripping over his own words.

“Oh, yeah.” He was clearly uncomfortable with the gossip surrounding him. Granted, it's not like he tried to fly under the radar, "It's not bad or anything. I mean, the heater doesn’t work but I have a ton of blankets. If you're cool with that, that is.”

He doesn't want to take you back there, it's clear as day. So you offer him an alternative.

“We could go back to my place if you want.”

He nods, “Yeah. We could do that.”

Cameron is silent in your car though his body can't seem to stay still. He alternates. First, fidgeting in the passenger seat, shifting his hips like he's trying to get comfortable. Knees bending despite there being plenty of room to accommodate his long legs. Then he’ll run a hand through his hair, once, twice before moving on to fingers. Tracing over his many tattoos, finding something on his nails to pick at.

“Been awhile?” Your tone is light, well meaning. And yet, one would think you had just accused him of murder.

“No. Actually. Uh, before I came here I had a girlfriend. Not that she's still my girlfriend, we broke up before I left. But we did…it pretty regularly. So no, it hasn't been a while. I mean, it's been a while since I hooked up with someone but that's just more of a situational thing. Totally doesn't impact my ability at all, if that's what you're wondering.”

Alright, that was kinda a lie. The last two months of his relationship with Katie, things had cooled off in the bedroom. She was always tired or something. And it had been almost two months since he arrived in Sowell Bay so…four months and some change. But the last thing Cameron needed was for you to think he couldn't deliver. You were cute, you actually approached him at the bar. When was the last time something so serendipitous happened to him? He couldn't remember. So he had to play it cool and he'd like to think he was doing an alright job at it.

“Hooking up with someone you barely know is really different than having sex with your girlfriend. For all you know, I could be a serial killer,” you were joking but the way his eyes widened again, it was clear he was in over his head and your comment did not help.

“I'm not. Besides, too many people have seen us together. You also have a job that requires you to be punctual. So if you go missing, it'll be noticeable immediately.” Oh God, you were scaring the poor kid, “Sorry, I listen to a lot of true crime podcasts.”

He laughs and for the first time since he sang on stage, the facade breaks. His shoulders relax, a crooked smile forms on his face. The corners of his blue eyes slightly crease. Its really fucking cute.

It lasts until you pull into your driveway.

“You live here?” Cameron asks, incredulous at the sight of your townhouse.

“I mean, I rent it, if that’s what you’re wondering.” It makes Cameron feel slightly better, feel less like a loser who lives in a van. But once his feet hit the gravel, his body tenses up. He’s going into your house. You live in a house and you’re his age. A nice house, all by yourself. And what does he have?

He just needs a little more time. That’s all he ever needed. A little more time, and he’ll meet Simon Briggs, get eighteen years worth of child support, buy an actual car, pay back Aunt Jean, and then rent out a nice place. Maybe he’ll even have enough for a down payment for a house or maybe a condo. Yeah, a condo with a patio. Nothing like the shitty one bedroom apartment he lived in with his mom until she-

“Cameron?” Your voice breaks him out of his racing thoughts. Somehow, he got to your porch, feet just steps away from the door like he’s a fucking vampire waiting to be given permission to enter. You’re in the doorway, not quite inside your home but not outside either.

Anxiety is practically pouring out of him. It was endearing though. So you take a step forward, grasping his large hand into yours.

“It’s been a while for me too,” You confess.

“What? No, I just told you-” You don’t let him finish the blatant lie. No amount of eye rolls would do the trick, so you let your lips shut up his. There’s the distinct remnants of whiskey on his lips. They’re surprisingly soft. He doesn’t exactly scream ‘guy who applies chapstick regularly’. He’s rusty at first, body stiff. His nose smashes into yours, as though he doesn’t know where else it could go. Cameron’s fingers twitch, as though he wants to move them but just doesn't know where.

The last month before the breakup, all they had done was exchange quick, tight lipped kisses. Looking back, it was clear Katie was looking for any excuse to break up with him. It was even clearer that Cameron hadn't passionately kissed someone in a fucking while.

Just when he remembers what to do with his damn hands, you pull away. That was a total shit kiss, like did he even do anything besides stand there? Cameron should just go home before you ask him to-

“Let's go inside,” you give his hand a gentle squeeze before leading him into your living room.

“You have a fireplace in your house?” he stares in amazement and if he hadn't dropped the fact his mom was a drug addict who abandoned him, you would be confused by his reaction.

“It's really common in the houses up here. Gets cold in the winter and there's plenty of trees.” He continues to stare at it, like it’s hypnotized him. Reminding him of all the possibilities he could have had in his past. In the present.

“Why don’t we go to the couch?” That’s when it hits him. Why he’s here.

He doesn’t want it to be a one night stand. Yes, that would be much easier. But talking to you is nice. You don’t treat him like an idiot. You don’t listen to the gossip that swarms this town. You’re cute, but also sincere. There’s a calmness to you that he yearns for. Always had, if he really thought about it.

So he lets you lead him over to the couch and sits down first. It gives him more time to gather his thoughts, more time to plan how he’s going to convince you that he should be more than a one night stand. He doesn’t have the money to take you out to a nice restaurant-do those even exist in Sowell Bay or is it all family style restaurants where everyone knows everyone? And he could, if he dipped into his paycheck. Or maybe he could take you out on a picnic. Tova probably had a picnic basket he could borrow, she seemed like that type. He could get sandwiches from Ethan at a discount and it wouldn’t give you food poisoning as long as you ate it the day of.

“You think really loudly,” you giggle, running a hand through his soft hair. It’s mused from his earlier fussing with it and the ends are beginning to curl, “It’s really cute.”

“It is?” His eyes are wide and bluer than the ocean. It's the fact he's genuinely surprised by the comment that gets you.

Aw.

“Also if you’ve changed your mind, it’s okay, like really. We could just watch a-”

“No! I mean,” he clears his throat, clearly a nervous habit, “I’m fine. I’m not nervous. It’s not like I’m a fucking teenager and it’s my first time.”

You straddle his waist, much to Cameron’s surprise, “It’s just your first time in a while with a stranger, right?”

“I mean, there was one time me and my ex were on a break-”

Nope. You weren’t listening to this. You tugged on his hair, forcing him to look up at you. Before another excuse could fall from his lips, you pressed yours against his. This time, Cameron remembered what to do with his fucking hands. They reached for your shoulders, helping you push off your jacket. It landed on the floor, somewhere. He could pick it up for you later, if he remembered.

His hands skimmed across your back, landing at your hips. He really wanted to grab your breasts, he had been trying not to stare at them all night. But that would be too much too soon.

At least he's a better kisser this time. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and a low sigh escapes your mouth. Cameron wants to hear it again. Like now. He's never felt this need so badly, to know you're enjoying it as much as he is. He wouldn't call himself a selfish lover, it was just never a driving force behind his actions.

He gives your hips a tentative squeeze and you shift in his lap, aligning your core with his crotch. You don't notice it at first, but then his mouth is exploring your neck and it feels really good. But this time when you shift, you can feel his erection pressing against your clothed core and fuck he’s already this hard from kissing?

Cameron is painfully aware how pathetic it looks to be this hard from a make out session. But you keep letting out these soft moans every time his teeth find your pulse point below your jawline and it's the hottest sound he's ever heard. He wants to hear it again, more than he wants to thrust his hips upwards to get some relief.

You grab his hair again, giving the ends a tug so he's forced to look up. He's pretty like this. Hair curly, pink lips slightly swollen. Adam's apple bobbing hard in his throat. Curious, you rolled your hips against his and his head tips back. His teeth are biting down on his bottom lip hard.

You could make a comment about it. But then he'd probably try to make an excuse, try to explain it away. And you don't want that. So instead, your mouth attaches itself to his neck and you continue to grind against his erection, having never been more grateful to be wearing a dress. Even though there's still two layers of fabric separating your bodies, you can feel how hard he is. His cock twitches against your covered core and it makes you want to swallow him whole.

You continue to rock your hips, delighting in the strained, breathy groans that fall from his mouth. Cameron can't help but jerk his hips upwards when your teeth sink into his neck. Fuck, you're marking him. He hasn't been this excited about a hickey since ninth grade. He can hide it with his hoodie, or maybe you want others to see?

Maybe you wouldn't mind if he gave you one? The thought thrills him. He's certain by tomorrow morning the whole town will be talking about how the two of you were seen going home together. But you didn't seem to care about that or the fact he lived in a van. So maybe you wouldn't mind if he marked you?

“Should we um…go to your bedroom?” His voice is strained, broad chest practically heaving. His hands are gripping your ass and unfortunately it's not because he wants to cop a feel. The reality is Cameron needs you to stop grinding against his cock because otherwise he will one hundred percent come in his pants.

You nod, leading him up the stairs. Cameron has to bite his tongue so he doesn't comment on the fact your place has three levels. Of course it does. You have your shit together, for a while now. And it's obvious he doesn't. He was also close to coming in his pants like a damn teenager.

He wants to see you again. But that won't happen if he's gawking over the fact you have an office and coming in his pants. You didn't seem to pay any mind to the gossip surrounding him but you've still heard it. He needs you to see that he's not some loser who lives in a van down by the river. He has potential, always had, the circumstances have just never been right and they're so close to being that.

He just needs a little more time.

Right now, he can't do much over the fact that locating Simon Briggs is harder than finding a needle in a haystack. But he can give you an unforgettable night. He can prove that he's worth keeping around, even if it's just for a tousle in the sheets.

So instead of ogling at your breasts, which look amazing in your lacy bra, he's studying your face as his fingers curve inside of you. He's listening for your breath to hitch, for you to let out one of those sweet moans so he knows what he's doing is actually bringing you pleasure.

Cameron has never thought so hard about this. Usually he considers fingering just part of the ‘warm up’, nothing too special. But what if he's bad and that makes you reconsider? If he can't use his fingers right, how could you expect him to pleasurably use…other parts of him?

His thumb draws a circle on your clit and he notices how your back arches off the mattress. Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into his broad shoulders.

“Yeah? You… you like that?” He winces. It sounded sexy in his head. But it comes out unsure and clunky. Usually he's the quiet type. But he's heard that erotic audio has become a big thing lately, so women must like guys who talk during it.

“I think you should get a condom.” Your voice is even and that worries Cameron. Shouldn't you sound a little more out of breath? Oh God, does he suck at this? Was Katie just faking it this whole time?

“You, you sure? I can keep going if you want.”

“I'm ready and it seems like you are too.” You're referring to the fact he's painfully hard in his boxers. At least he remembered to do laundry yesterday, the last thing he needed was for you to see him in a ratty pair of boxers that had more than an acceptable number of holes in it.

“Do you need one?” You run a hand through his curls to get his attention.

“No, I'm good. Absolutely have one. Cause why wouldn't I?” He nearly trips over his shoes to get to his pants and he hopes that maybe, just maybe, he has a condom that hasn't expired in his wallet.

Fuck, he doesn't. Because why would he? Katie was on the pill and despite everyone assuming he's a fuck up, she was the only one he was with for the past year.

“If you need one, second draw from the right.” Cameron looked to find you sitting up, legs to your chest.

“I usually have one. It's just been a while since I needed one. My ex was on the pill and I'm totally clean. I don't just walk around, putting my dick in everyone,” Jesus Christ, why did he say that? “What I'm trying to say is I don't want to get someone pregnant. I’d make a terrible parent.”

“I don't know you well enough to agree or disagree,” you chuckle, “But it's okay. You're fine, I promise.”

Cameron can't help but feel a pang of disappointment run through his body when he finds an opened box of condoms. Obviously you two aren't dating, you were free to fuck whoever you'd like. But that meant….you were free to fuck whoever you'd like.

He could be impressive, leave you wanting more. He'd like to think he’s decent at the whole sex thing.

Just needed to get this stupid condom on.

“I got you,” your voice is soothing. Cameron watches as your fingers roll the condom down his hardened length.

He has to make this good. Hell, unforgettable. You have a real, adult job (what it was exactly, he couldn't say at this current moment), and live in an actual house. Cameron knew he had a lot to offer, probably. But in this moment, he needed to wow you, make you want him back. Then he could prove he can be more than just a one night stand.

“You okay? Breathing kinda heavy.”

He doesn't respond back. If he does, he’ll just make up some excuse and that's the last thing he needs. Cameron surges forward, mouth crashing against yours. You're taken aback by the sheer force of his kiss.

One of his hands cups the nape of your neck, the other lays against the small of your back. He uses his hands to gently press you down against the mattress. You look like an angel among the pillows. A really sexy angel.

Focus.

His nose nuzzles into your neck, inhaling your sweet perfume. You smelled really, really good but he knew admitting that would make him look like a fucking weirdo. He wouldn't mind this, his body on top of yours, face buried in your neck.

Maybe afterwards.

For now, he grabs the base of his cock and guides it to your soaked core. The gasp you let you when his cock drags against your folds is music to Cameron’s ears. He still has it. One bad breakup didn't ruin his game.

You can feel every inch of him like this. The fat head of his cock rubs against your clit and you can't help the moan that falls from your lips.

“Sound really pretty when you do that,” Cameron says against your neck, “Gonna make you do it a lot tonight.”

“Y-yeah?” You try to chuckle but it's really hard when he’s rutting his cock against you. So instead you rake your nails across his inked biceps.

Usually Cameron doesn't talk. He’ll grunt occasionally, particularly when he's close to coming. But you don't need to know that.

“Yeah. Gonna make you feel good.” Every gasp and moan that fell from your lips motivated him.

“If you k-keep doing that, I'm gonna come,” you grit between your teeth.

“Want to come with me inside you?” You nod and Cameron has to fight the urge to raise a fist. He's doing this, things are actually going well.

He stills his hips and guides his cock down to your entrance. He sinks the tip in and holy shit, it feels like you're pulling him in, you're so tight.

“F-fuck. Bigger than I expected.” He should be walking on cloud nine with that compliment. Yeah, he always knew he was above average in that department. It's still nice to hear, puts some pep in your step. But Cameron can't because he's too busy trying not to come immediately. You're just so warm and feel incredible and yeah, it has been a long time.

So he stills his hips again, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him. His eyes trail over your body, landing on your bare chest. Fuck, your tits. They somehow looked even better without the lacy bra. He couldn't stop himself, bringing one of your breasts to his mouth.

The action causes his hips to move forward, his cock to sink another inch deeper. Your fingernails have become well acquainted with his back, leaving half crescent marks scattered across his shoulders.

You feel incredible. Actually, incredible was an understatement. It's taking everything in him not to fill you to the brim, to not come immediately.

He slowly pulls out, just a little. Then he thrusts back in and shit. Shit shit shit. This is fucking amazing. You were so tight and warm. His hands find the backs of your thighs and he pushes your legs closer to your chest. He doesn't think he can do that whole “your legs over his shoulders” thing because who the hell is that flexible besides gymnasts? So this seems like a good compromise. Plus it makes him look like he can take charge.

So he does and fuck, this is a terrible idea. The new angle allows him to go even deeper, something he didn't know was possible. With every kiss you press against his lips, Cameron finds his brain becoming more and more cloudy. The only thing he can focus on is this need to fuck you, to make you moan, make you come. He needs it desperately.

“F-feel s’good,” his words are slurred, which is odd considering he only had two beers, “Gonna make you feel better.”

But also you feel so fucking incredible. He can't deny that either. You're warm and tight, so fucking tight. Your walls grip his cock and has he ever had sex this good? He needs to focus, you have to come first, but you feel fucking fantastic and oh God, you just clenched around him and fuck. No, no, this was not happening, this could not be happening.

“F-fuck, wait!” He tries to warn you, tries to pull out. But your legs are wrapped around his waist and it's too late. His hips are jerking forward uncontrollably and he can feel himself coming coming into the condom.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Fuck!

He's pulling out before you can process what just happened. It's not until you see him taking off a now very full condom that it hits you.

Oh.

Honestly? It was hot. You never had that kind of effect on a guy before.

“Sorry, I um,” his face is bright red, “I-I’ll leave.”

“Why?” He paused, boxers barely on, “B-because I just came after two minutes of sex like a fucking teenager?”

You shrug, “I thought it was hot.”

His blue eyes widened, “You did?”

Nodding, you prop yourself up against your pillows, “Yeah. You were really into it, which was honestly refreshing. Most guys try to act like they're above it. I liked that you’re enthusiastic. I like that I made you feel that good."

He's staring at you like you just told him a mind blowing secret. A million thoughts are running through his head.

“Really?” Is all Cameron can get out. He's standing in the middle of your bedroom, clad only in a pair of worn boxers. His chest is rising up and down rapidly, like he just ran a marathon" "You don't think it's like, beyond pathetic?"

“Really,” you assure him, “I’d hate to see you leave so soon. We could still hang out or-”

“You want me to stay?” he sounds incredulous. Is such a concept that foreign to him? You knew there was more behind the sarcastic comments and eye rolls. Just weren't expecting it to be such….lonelieness.

“I would love for you to stay, Cameron.”

He nods his head, like that four letter word didn't just knock him off his feet. Silently, he moves back to your bed, his lips pressing against yours. This kiss is different. More urgent. Fervent almost. As though he thinks you slip through his fingers if he doesn't.

“You didn't come,” he whispers against your neck, lips trailing down your body.

“It's fine-” Cameron's shaking his head before you can even finish your sentence. His mouth skims over your chest, his breath against your nipples creating goosebumps across your body.

“No. Need-wanna make you feel good,” is all he says before settling himself between your thighs.

Before you could respond, he dived into your heat, eagerly. His tongue circled your clit in deliberate strokes, his eyes glued to your face, watching for every little reaction.

Somehow you tasted sweet and tangy and all too addicting. Cameron saw how your back arched when his tongue found your entrance. He shifted, moving your thighs so they hugged the sides of his face. His cock was throbbing (how, he didn't know) but Cameron didn't care. Every brain cell was focusing on you, making you feel good.

It's how he noticed that while his tongue was making you moan, it wasn't the same as when he sank his cock into you. Not as breathy, not as needy. Fingers. He had long fingers. It's how he was able to learn the guitar and actually be quite good at it.

His mouth moved back up to your clit, allowing his index and middle finger to circle your entrance.

“C-Cameron, please.” Good. Yes. He sank his fingers into your wet entrance. Fuck you were tight. Had he actually obtained any will power, he could have felt that tightness with his cock for longer. But he couldn't harp on that.

He crooked his fingers upwards, trying to find that spot. Normally this wasn't a mission, his fingers and Dick were long enough that they usually ended up finding it without any extra effort.

Cameron couldn't just hope now. He already left a less than desirable impression with how he came after maybe five minutes of sex. He had to prove he was good at this, that he wasn't some jackass who lived in a van and didn't care if his partner came or not. He was good at something damn it and you were going to see that.

All while having this internal battle, you were fighting the urge to claw at his shoulders. No guy had ever eaten you out with this much vigor. His broad tongue drags a flat, wet stripe across your clit and oh fuck.

Your back arches off the mattress, fingers tangling themselves in his hair. He's a quick learner, you'll give him that. He repeats the motion and God, he’s looking at you with such intensity, studying every little reaction.

“F-fuck, don't stop,” and he's a much better listener than he appears because he doesn't. He keeps going, keeps moving his fingers in a come hither motion that feels so good it's making your hips roll upwards. Cameron doesn't seem to mind that you're practically humping his face. In fact, he seems to enjoy it given how his own hips are jerking against your mattress.

“Don't stop. M’gonna cum,” you can barely get out more than several words, much less a full sentence. You expect him to pull away, like most guys do.

Instead, his mouth continues. Your body feels light. There's a warmth that's spreading, seeping into your veins. A band is tightening in the pit of your stomach, tightening with every stroke of his tongue.

His fingers brush against that one spot and you feel the band snap. You start to have a vague idea of what's going on, though it's hazy. Like the fact you can now feel his tongue lapping up your essence, nose bumping against your clit. The mattress is moving, ever so slightly, against the headboard with the way his hips are basically jumping your mattress. There's a wet spot quickly spreading from the crotch of his boxers, but Cameron hopes you have a washer dryer (why wouldn't you, you have a fucking fireplace) he can use. Right now, all he can focus on is the taste of you on his tongue, how addictive it is.

He's chasing after it, desperate. You have to pull his mouth off of your cunt for it to register to Cameron what you were saying.

“S-slow down. It's o-okay,” your breathing is uneven, tits nearly spilling out of your bra and all he can think is,

“Can I..go again? Like keep going? If you want…me to.”

He falls into step beside you without thinking, and your steps line up like they have since winter. It’s quiet, but not uncomfortable. You’re tired. He can tell. He always can.

He keeps fidgeting, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, glancing at you then away. Like there’s a whole conversation happening in his head he hasn’t decided how to start. After a few seconds of that, he just spits it out:

“Hey, um—d’you think you could maybe find two days this weekend?” He swallows. “I wanna take you to the lake. For my birthday.”

It comes out too fast, and he knows it. His face goes a little pink. But he’s smiling, waiting, hopeful in a way that makes your stomach twist.

You want to say yes right away. You really do. But then reality hits, quick and sharp.

Your face tightens. You look at the sidewalk. “I’d have to check. I think I'm supposed to work all weekend.”

You don’t mean it to sound disappointed, but it does anyway.

Rhett’s smile softens. Not fades—just… settles. His brows pull together a little. “Hey,” he says quietly, bumping your arm with his. “You okay?”

You shrug, keeping your eyes forward. “I’m picking up extra shifts. For… bills… and stuff.”

You keep it simple. You always keep it simple.

Rhett slows half a step, just enough to show he heard the part you didn’t say out loud. There’s something like guilt on his face, but not at you—at the situation, maybe. At not knowing how to help.

“Just two days,” he says, still gentle. “You work hard. You should… I don’t know. Get a break.”

You breathe out, long and tired, but the corner of your mouth tips up. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll go.”

That’s all it takes. Rhett’s whole expression lifts again—quiet, but unmistakably happy. He tries not to look too obvious about it, but he’s terrible at hiding how he feels around you.

You both keep walking. The sky keeps dimming. And it feels like the kind of moment you don’t realize is important until later.

But the question comes out sideways from Rhett.

“You think your parents’ll… uh—wonder where you are? This weekend, I mean.”

He says it carefully, like he’s checking the ground for traps, trying to ask without really asking. He kicks a rock forward with the toe of his boot, pretending he’s casual, but his eyes flick over to you like he’s bracing for impact.

You don’t sigh. You don’t tense. You just answer.

“Dad’s gone. Again.”

It lands flat. Just a fact. No emotion attached.

“And my mom’s working, like, I dunno, three doubles in a row. But if they text, I’ll just say I’m working. They wouldn’t know any different anyway.”

The summer breeze catches your shirt; the street hums with that in-between daylight, warm gold falling across both of you. Your voice doesn’t waver, but Rhett’s step falters for half a second.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t try to fix it, or pretend it’s normal.

But you feel him shift closer.

Not dramatically. Not even a full step. Just enough that his shoulder grazes yours once—soft, a brush lighter than breath—before he pretends it didn’t happen and keeps walking beside you, like he’s been quietly recalibrated to stay within reach.

He doesn’t press you with questions.

He just walks with you, a little closer than before, like he suddenly understands just a little more than he meant to.

—

The lake is warm in that early-summer way, all haze and stillness, sunlight flickering across the surface like it’s got nowhere better to be. You sit on the bank with your shoes kicked off beside you, toes making slow lines in the water. It’s peaceful in a way your life rarely is.

Rhett drops down beside you, close enough that the heat from his arm radiates across the space between you. Not touching — he hasn’t built up the courage for that yet — but close enough that it feels intentional. Like he wants to bridge something but doesn’t know where to start.

The conversation meanders the way it always does with him. Easy. Familiar.

Future electives you each chose at school. Farm chores he’s already behind on. Your extra shifts and how you’re “fine, really,” even though you keep working more. Perry’s latest disaster: the girl who snuck out his window and nearly broke her ankle. Rhett snorts, shaking his head, muttering about how he’s definitely thinking about telling their mom.

And then, without meaning to, you say it:

“Think I’ve seen my mom maybe… twice this month. In passing.”

It slips out the way small truths do — on an exhale, barely noticeable. But Rhett notices. He always does.

The conversation tapers off. The water keeps moving but he doesn’t. He just stares at the ripples like they’re spelling something out he’s trying to read, jaw shifting once, quietly.

And then he leans in.

Not dramatically. Not like a move. Just… instinct.

His lips brush your temple — soft, too soft, a touch meant to comfort without asking anything from you. A touch that knows more than he’s saying.

You freeze. Barely. A tiny hitch he feels anyway.

Rhett pulls back a fraction, eyes flicking to yours, the realization already blooming across his face — that he crossed into something tender, something he didn’t mean to reveal this soon.

Something he can’t take back.

Rhett clears his throat like he’s shaking off the moment, nudging a pebble with the toe of his boot. He tries for casual, but the softness from that kiss is still hanging in the air between you.

“So, uh… your birthday,” he says, glancing over at you. “What d’you wanna do? It’s only a few weeks off.”

You barely lift a shoulder. “Probably work.”

His face falls before he can stop it — a tiny collapse around his eyes, his mouth flattening like someone let the air out of him.

“You’re not—” He cuts himself off, tries again. “You’re not seriously gonna work on your birthday.”

“Why not?” You don’t sound defensive. Just resigned.

He pushes his hand through his hair, that stubborn little crease forming in his brow. “Because,” he says, tone soft but firm, “you gotta let me do somethin’. Just for you.”

And there it is — the tension winding up your spine. You tense so subtly most people wouldn’t notice. Rhett does.

You look down at your knees, at the place where the sunlight breaks over your skin. “I’m not worth all that.”

Quiet. Barely audible.

“I don’t get why you try so hard,” you mumble. “I’m not worth it.”

Rhett freezes. Completely.

Then something in him just… cracks open.

“Don’t say that.” It comes out rougher than he means—almost a plea.

You glance up, and his eyes are burning — not with anger at you, but with something helpless and furious at the world that made you believe that.

“You don’t even see what you are,” he says, voice unsteady. “You don’t— I mean— hell, you—”

He stops, the words shaking loose, too close to something he isn’t ready to name. His hand curls into the grass like he needs something to hold onto.

Rhett opens his mouth like he’s about to argue again, but something shifts behind his eyes — a crack in the dam he’s been wrestling with since winter.

“You matter to me,” he blurts. Too fast. Too honest.

You blink, startled, but he’s already stumbling forward, the words tumbling out of him like he can’t stop them now.

“You matter to me more than— more than—” His breath hitches. “You don’t get it. I’d— I’d do anything for you, okay? I—”

He chokes on the next word.

The word his heart throws forward without his permission. The one he’s not old enough or brave enough to say yet.

Everything stops.

You freeze, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between your ribs.

Rhett goes absolutely sheet-white, like he’s just realized he stepped off a cliff he didn’t see until he was already falling.

“Shit—” he sputters, hands flying up. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean— I mean I did, but not—oh god—”

He tries to stand, forgets his phone is in his lap, drops it. It hits the dirt with a pathetic thud, and he fumbles it twice before giving up entirely.

“Rhett—” you start.

But he’s already backing up like a trapped animal, shaking his head, mortified beyond reason.

And then he just— runs.

Sprints toward the water with zero plan, zero hesitation, zero thought. His boots hit the edge and he launches himself forward, fully clothed, arms flailing in a way that would be embarrassing if it weren’t so… him.

He slams into the lake with a massive, chaotic splash that sends ripples racing toward you.

You stare, stunned.

Then you laugh. You can’t help it. It bubbles out of you, soft and disbelieving and aching.

Because it’s funny. And heartbreaking. And so painfully, beautifully Rhett.

He finally breaks the surface with a gasp, hair plastered to his forehead, blinking lake water out of his eyes. For a second he just floats there, stunned by his own impulsiveness, staring up at the darkening sky like he genuinely cannot believe what he’s done.

You recover first.

“Rhett!” Your voice cracks — half-scolding, half-worried, half… something else. “Get back here! Please!”

Rhett swipes his hair back with one hand like he’s in a dramatic movie scene he did not plan on starring in, then starts paddling toward shore, boots and jeans weighing him down. By the time he hauls himself onto the bank, he looks like he’s been through a minor catastrophe.

He drops heavily onto the grass beside you, dripping in a growing puddle. His pride is somewhere at the bottom of the lake.

He tries for casual. Fails spectacularly.

“…So that happened,” he mutters, more to himself than you.

He peels his shirt off, wrings it out with both hands, water streaming down his forearms. His shoulders are flushed pink from embarrassment and the cold lake water. He lays the shirt beside him like he’s done this a thousand times, like he wasn’t just trying to drown his own feelings ten seconds ago.

You watch him fidget, breath shaking, waiting for you to say something.

Instead, you simply shift… and lay your head on his bare shoulder.

Rhett goes completely still.

Like—you’re not sure he even breathes. His muscles jump under your cheek, his heart kicking hard against his ribs.

“You, uh…” he whispers, voice cracking. “You’re… really close.”

You don’t lift your head. Don’t even twitch.

“You jumped in the lake after yelling crazy things at me,” you murmur. “You don’t get to be weird about shoulders.”

He makes a tiny sound — a helpless, bitten-off laugh. His cheeks flush. His posture softens in a slow, exhaling collapse.

He kicks off his boots, wrings out his socks with both hands, draping them beside his shirt in a sad little lineup of lake-drenched belongings.

When he reaches over to set them down, your fingers brush.

Rhett’s breath stutters. He hesitates — then, with all the shaky courage of a sixteen-year-old boy who almost said the one word he’s so unsure of —

he takes your hand.

His palm is warm despite the water. His thumb trembles against your skin. He doesn’t look at you when he whispers, barely audible:

“I didn’t think it was that crazy.”

Rhett keeps your hand in his for a while, thumb tracing nervous little arcs against your knuckles. He’s calmer now — still rattled, still pink-cheeked, but settled in that way he only gets when you’re close enough to touch.

Eventually, he swallows, glancing sideways at you like he’s afraid of the answer.

“You, uh… you want me to take you home?”

The question is careful. Soft. Too soft — like he’s bracing for you to pull away.

You shake your head before he can start spiraling again.

“I wanna see the sunset.”

Your voice is light, almost shy, but certain. You feel him breathe out, long and slow, like he didn’t realize he’d been holding the air in his chest until just now.

Rhett nods once — not dramatic, not eager — just this small, understanding tilt of his chin that says he gets it. Not the whole picture. Not your whole life. But this moment? Yeah. He understands this.

He squeezes your hand once before letting go.

Then he stands, gathering his soaked shirt and socks, shaking them out one more time before tossing them over his shoulder. He grabs his boots, dripping and heavy, and heads for the truck with a quiet purpose.

You follow.

He opens the passenger door for you — something he decides he wants to do when he’s trying to take care of you without making a big deal out of it — and nods toward the seat.

“C’mon,” he says softly.

You climb in. He loads his wet clothes into the backseat, shuts your door gently, and jogs around to the driver’s side. You kick your feet up on his dash, heat forming your cheeks at how he’s treating you.

He doesn’t say anything else.

He just starts the truck and pulls away from the lake — like taking you to the sunset is the simplest, most obvious thing in the world.

The truck hums along the quiet back roads, your feet still propped on the dash, a breeze slipping through the open window and drying the damp edges of Rhett’s hair. He doesn’t talk much, just glances at you occasionally — those quick flicks of his eyes like he’s checking to make sure you’re still here.

He turns down a gravel road you recognize only vaguely.

The abandoned farm.

The one owned by an old man who passed a few years back. The house still stands, half-sagging, porch eaten by time. No lights. No tire tracks except the ones Rhett has just now made.

He slows near the house, then keeps going — past the shed, past the leaning barn.

And then—

You see it.

The open field behind everything, grass swaying in the warm breeze, the whole horizon stretched out in a perfect, blazing sweep of color.

Your feet fall off the dash as you lean forward, breath catching. “Rhett…”

He smiles — a small, relieved curl of his mouth — and backs the truck into the perfect spot, tailgate facing the sunset.

When the engine cuts off, it’s just you and the world going gold.

You hop down and drop the tailgate. It thunks open, echoing across the empty field. You climb halfway onto it when—

“Wait!” Rhett yelps.

You flinch, heart lurching. “What? What did I break?”

“Nothing,” he rushes out, already hurrying around to you.

He grabs an old plaid blanket from behind the seat — soft, faded, clearly beloved through at least a decade of Abbott family use — and spreads it neatly across the truck bed like it’s a ritual. Then he tosses a second blanket inside, this one heavier, for warmth.

He turns back to you, offering his hand.

“C’mon.”

You let him help you up — not because you need the help, but because he wants to give it. His hands are warm against yours despite the lake water still drying on his skin.

He climbs in after, knees and hands bumping the metal. He crawls to the back, to where the bed meets the cab window, and nods for you to come over.

You settle beside him.

There’s a small gap. Barely anything. But you both feel it. Like gravity trying to close the space, but not quite brave enough.

Rhett sits with his hands in his lap, fingers twisting nervously, eyes on the sunset. The orange light hits his profile soft and warm, shadowing the curve of his jaw and the faint flush still on his cheeks.

A long, easy quiet settles in.

Just breathing. Just being here. Just the feeling of being sixteen and cracked open in ways neither of you can name yet.

Then, softly — almost helplessly — he says:

“What can I do to help you?”

It’s not a line. Not pity. It’s just Rhett, chest open, scared, trying.

You stare at the horizon for a moment, throat tight, before answering.

“You already do more than you need to.”

The words hit him like a gentle blow — the kind that knocks the air out without hurting.

He swallows. Shoulders dip. Something in him melts and aches all at once.

The sun sinks lower, and neither of you moves.

You sit with that last truth hanging between you — soft, heavy, real — until your body moves before your mind even catches up.

You shift closer.

Just an inch at first, then another, then the whole careful lean of your body until your shoulder brushes his bare arm. Rhett goes rigid for half a heartbeat, like he’s bracing for something impossible.

Then you wrap your arms around him.

Not dramatic. Not planned. Just… needing him. Wanting the closeness.

Rhett’s breath catches so sharply you feel it rather than hear it. His ribs freeze under your cheek.

You start to pull back, suddenly self-conscious — but he lets out this tiny, breathy laugh, nervous and flustered and happy all at once.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down at his own chest. “Just forgot I’m, uh… still shirtless.”

You blink up at him, unimpressed.

“Okay?” Like that’s the least important part of anything happening right now.

Then you tuck yourself right back against him.

No hesitation this time.

Rhett melts. You feel it — the slow, startled release of his muscles, the way his arm curves around you instantly, instinctively, like he’s been wanting to do it all day. Maybe all year.

Your arms around his middle. His around your shoulders. Bodies fitting like you and he have done this a thousand times, even though it’s new and terrifying.

The sun dips the last inch under the horizon, the sky blooming in pink and gold around you both. The air cools as the light softens, but Rhett is warm, steady, smelling faintly like lake water and summer air.

Every time you shift — even just a breath, even just a small adjustment of your hand — his heartbeat stumbles. A flutter. A trip.

You pretend not to notice.

He pretends he’s not terrified.

The world gets quiet enough to hear the field settling around you — crickets, wind, your own slow breathing syncing up without meaning to.

Something begins here. Soft. Scared. Certain.

Your breathing starts to change.

Rhett notices before he understands it — the way your exhales soften, lengthen, your body settling heavier against his bare chest. He thinks you’re just getting comfortable, shifting a little closer, maybe warming up against the evening air.

Then your hand goes slack where it rests against his ribs.

Your breaths even out.

And he realizes.

You fell asleep on him.

Rhett goes completely still.

Like one wrong move might break whatever miracle is happening.

He doesn’t dare adjust his arm around your back. Doesn’t dare breathe too loud. Doesn’t dare think too hard about how it feels to have you pressed against him like this — trusting him like this.

There’s a second blanket lying near his leg, half-folded. He reaches for it with the awkward, slow-motion care of someone diffusing a bomb, stretching only his arm so his chest doesn’t shift under your cheek.

He gets hold of the blanket. Shakes it open quietly. Then drapes it over you both, tucking it around your shoulders with careful fingers, like you might shiver awake if he doesn’t get it right.

Your breath warms his skin.

Your weight settles a little deeper against him.

The sky fades completely now — pink to lavender to blue-black — and Rhett watches it disappear as he fully rests his chin on your head.

He swallows once. Then again.

And in the softest whisper he’s ever spoken — the kind meant only for you, even if you’ll never hear it — he murmurs:

“I know we’re just kids… but I wish you’d let me help you. I’d do anything to make things easier for you.”

His voice trembles by the end. Not with fear. With hope. With something bigger than he knows how to name yet.

He rests his cheek gently against the top of your head, breathing you in — sleep-warm, sun-tired, safe.

And slowly… finally… he drifts off too.

His arm stays wrapped around you, snug.

Your head stays on his chest. Your arms draped around his middle.

The truck bed is still warm from the day, cradling you both as the night settles over the field.

Above you, the sky fills with stars.

Two kids in the back of an old truck, choosing to hold each other — not by accident, not by confusion, but because it feels safe… and right.

And for the first time in a long time, you sleep without bracing for anything else.

wow i colored outside the lines a lot 💀