PERCY:)

“D’you think that they have any vegetarian options?” Hobie whispers to you, guiding you towards the dinner room just beyond the lobby.

“They do, I made sure that they have it.” You say with the same whispered tone casually. His eyes widens, lips slightly agape as he pauses in his steps. “What?”

Shaking his head, Hobie feels like his heart is about to burst into pieces. It’s such a small detail, something that he’s so used to and something that you’ve known for years. But the thought of you checking and asking on behalf of him even before booking the inn, means a lot to Hobie, especially when that tiny detail about him is usually overlooked by so many people. Not you though.

He’s done for, how would he survive the rest of the honeymoon now?

“Oh, please don’t tell me that you’ve suddenly decided that you’re not a vegetarian anymore after ten years.” Your brows fold together, almost in pain. “I pre-ordered everything for us.”

“No, I…” Shaking his head, lips tugging to a small smile, he bites his lower lip to prevent himself from giggling with glee. To care that much about him is everything to him. This honeymoon would soon be the death of him. “Thank you, lovie.”

“What for?” Chuckling, your palm pats his chest. “It’s nothing, just basic common decency. Come on, I’m starving.”

Hobie’s stomach does cartwheels as your hand slides down from his arm to his palm, tugging him to the dining room with giddiness.

The moment you two set foot inside the dining room with its silver filigree, opulent oak chairs and tables that are perfectly mirrored despite there being multiple pairs placed around— the noise suddenly stops, the pianist pauses her tune, silence filling the space as everyone’s eyes turns to you and over to your partner.

Hobie tugs at your silk covered hand, wordlessly conversing with you simply with his eyes. “Don’t over analyze or you’ll lose the bet.”

“Is it too late to order room service?” You whisper back as your eyes instinctively drag around the room whilst eyes move away from you and Hobie one by one. The music resumes and your shoulders ease up a tiny bit from how Hobie strokes the back of your hand with his thumb.

The whole space is occupied by both staff and the inn’s guests. On the far corner is a pianoforte, where the young girl, Penelope, is playing a soft tune to mask the awkward silence of the room. The old inn keeper is keeping a watchful eye around everything, standing by beside what you deduce as the kitchen just from the savoury smell wafting through it. The door swings open and close with every employee entering and exiting out of it every time they serve guests. Whilst her husband is by his lonesome in a corner table that faces the wall, reading as usual.

A maid with dusty brown hair leads you and Hobie to your table that faces the window and the rose bushes on the side of the house. She gives you a shining smile, almost genuine. The candle lights flicker as Hobie helps you with your chair as usual, you’re so used to him pulling out your seat for you that it comes second nature to the both of you now, and yet it never fails to make your heartbeat race.

“We’ll have your meals brought to you in a moment, Mr. And Mrs. Brown.” Nodding curtly, the maid walks away, back straight and eyes forward without faltering.

As you continue to look around, you see that there’s an identical looking maid tending to a spilled drink on the floor.

“Twins.” Hobie utters, gentle eyes illuminated by the warm candle light. “No doubt ‘bout it.”

“Now who’s the one reading too much into things, hm?”

“I was jus’ followin’ your eyes, lovie.”

You purposely turn your sights towards his hand atop the table. Flicking your eyes back up to Hobie, you find him faltering for a second. “What was I looking at this time, Hobie?”

The corner of his lips curl up into a soft smile. “My hand, you want to hold it so bad that it makes you mad.”

“What if I was? What are you going to do about it?” Leaning closer, the tips of your fingers brushing atop his, Hobie’s jaw tightens before pulling away. Your smile falls.

“What d’you think of that bloke?” His gaze turns towards someone behind you as he avoids your eyes. “Finely dressed in an italian suit but his shoes are scruffed to hell and back.” Eyes focusing back on you, he finds your eyes glimmering under the light. He clears his throat, an apology stuck on the tip of his tongue, but before he could say anything, you fix your expression without faltering, as if showing your weakness would turn you into stone.

You lift your empty glass to look at the reflection of the said man through it. “I saw him when we entered, I bet he wants to look good for his clients but he’s struggling to make ends meet.” Tone steady, it hides what you truly feel. Your hands tucks under the table, hiding how you’re picking at your nails. “Judging by his accent when he asked for another drink, he’s Italian.”

“He’d be a proper gent if it weren’t for his failings.” Hobie could feel the lump in his throat. “Don’t you think?”

“I really don’t care about a random handsome man.” You purposely added the adjective in, and yet, why do you feel awfully guilty about it?

“Right, good read.” Eyes staring at the drenched garden outside and the raging storm, he inhales deeply to find the next target that will fill the tensed silence between you. “What ‘bout those two?” Gesturing with his chin, Hobie points at the couple sitting on the table closest to the pianoforte.

The wife seems to be pulling at her husband’s sleeve, trying to get him to sit back down as he taps Penelope’s shoulder, saying something to her that you couldn’t hear from where you sit.

“The wife is clearly pregnant,” your eyes drift to her swollen stomach as she sighs in defeat while her husband replaces the pianoforte player with a grin. “from the dried paint on her hands, she’s an artist.” Penelope just looks confused as she looks at her grandmother for help, which she then leaves her post, stalking towards them with purpose.

“Or they could be siblings.” He reads them wrong on purpose to get a laugh from you.

“They both have matching wedding rings.” You’re not so amused as you continue with a flat look. “And the husband isn’t so inebriated but is probably tired of the same song playing over and over again. When we were upstairs, I could already hear the same song being played repeatedly.”

“From the callouses on his fingers, he looks like he’s a professional. Probably a pair of traveling artists lookin’ for work.” Just as Hobie says it, the man plays the start of a Beethoven symphony that you remember quite well during your girlhood lessons.

“Too bad we won’t be able to hear him play, he’s about to get a chastising from the inn keeper.” Sure enough, Bonnie the owner says something to him, to which he reluctantly complies with a frown before sitting back to his doting wife, who rubs his arm for comfort.

Penelope plays her repeated tune again, much to the stranger’s annoyance.

“That was easy, give me something more challenging, Hobart.”

Hobie smiles but before he could say another word, the maid arrives to bring them their bottle of wine and pours them a glass without a word.

“Thank you.” You simultaneously say with Hobie as she leaves your table without a single word uttered to either one of you or to even look at your faces. “Definitely the other twin.” Much to his surprise, you both say it at the same time.

“Guess that wasn’t the challenge you were lookin’ for.” Holding up his glass, Hobie waits for you to click your glass against his. “To your health.”

Sighing and forcing a smile, you click your glass with his. “To your boundless wisdom.”

“You’re irked with me—”

“Not really.” Sipping at your drink, feeling the warmth line your chest, you look around and a pair sitting the farthest away from everyone in an alcove catches your eye. “Those two, what do you think?”

“Lovie, you’re mad at me.”

“Again, I am not.” Smacking your lips together, you subtly gesture towards a pair of men chatting and drinking together by the window farthest from you. “I’m thinking that they are more than friends.”

Hobie glances at the middle aged pair briefly, before turning his gaze towards you again. “Definitely more than best mates.”

“The one with the platinum curls is a fisherman based on his sunkissed skin, while the dirt on the spectacled man’s shoes says he’s a gardener, or someone who works outdoors.”

“Gardener, I saw him tendin’ to the flowers earlier.” Your husband’s foot nudges you under the table as you look at him over the rim of your glass. “What’s got you lookin’ like I tossed your notes out?”

“Again, I have forgiven you for that long ago.” Placing the glass down so harshly that you had to clear your throat to hide it, you smile at him. “Second of all, I may just be famished.”

“No, I know the look on your face when you’re famished, this isn’t it.”

“Nothing.” You shake your head with a humourless chortle. “It’s nothing.”

Elbows on the table, Hobie leans towards you, head tilted to the side as he examines your face carefully like he’s trying to read a suspect. “Is it because I called this place a haunted mansion?”

Sighing, you scoff. “For a detective you are bloody daft.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I cannot read thoughts, especially yours.”

“Mayhaps it would be far easier on you if you could. Saves us the bother.” You utter with a bite in your tone as the door clicks open, taking Hobie’s eyes away from you. And yet, your attention stays on him for a moment longer before you look over your shoulder.

The mourning viscountess walks in, black dress brushing along the floors, looking as if she’s gliding around. The inn keeper greets her with a smile, ushering her towards an empty seat by the window, subsequently, just behind you and in front of the Italian man.

The air around the room shifts. You don’t have to be a detective to sense it.

You could smell the strong incense and oils on her, as if she bathed in perfume and drenched her lace veil in the same concoction.

Hobie watches her with pensive eyes, always curious about people’s history. While you just want to talk to him about normal things. You love talking to him about work and having a good ol’ banter with him, but sometimes, you just want him to ask what book you’re currently reading, or mention what you’ve done with your hair. You’d like a normal conversation with him for once without the mention of other people, dead bodies, or suspects, just chatting with your husband, who is currently occupied with watching the woman over the rim of his cup.

“Where’s that fucking food.” You utter under your breath as you finish the wine with one gulp.

The door swings again, and once again, Hobie’s attention is taken away towards the source. The large intimidating man from before walks in with large heavy strides that seem to bounce around the walls of the dining hall. You and Hobie follow him with your eyes subtly, watching how he wretches the chair away from the table haphazardly, as if something made him furious on his way there. Or maybe he’s just as hungry as you, or perhaps stubbed his toe.

“What ‘bout him?” Hobie nudges his head towards the new arrival. You know he’d ask about the shadow clad woman behind you if she wasn’t so close to you.

“I am not playing this game anymore.” Your hands try to keep busy as you fix the already perfectly lined up utensils on the table.

Hobie leans back in his seat, nodding once as his brows knit together. “Now, there is something terribly wrong with you.”

“My husband would rather talk about other people rather than talk about…” your nose scrunches as you wince. “something else.”

The crease on his brows deepens. “You always loved readin’ people around us.”

“Yes, and because it’s our job.”

“What else should we talk about then?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

“I do not know, the wedding, our future, your shoes, the weather, anything?”

“You’re telling me that you never liked people watchin’ with me?”

“T–That is not what I said.” You don’t mean to stutter as you let out an exhale. “I do love doing that with you, but it’s our honeymoon, and we did have the wager, which you already lost by the way.”

“‘m sorry, lovie, if it’s the wager, then by all means what present do you want?” Hobie is trying so hard to get a read on you, trying to find out what’s going inside your brilliant mind that he feels out of depth when he’s supposed to be the best at what he does. But with you? He feels like he’s trying to read a book that was written in a dead language from centuries ago.

“For my husband— partner to just—”

“Terribly sorry for the long wait.” The food arrives before the argument gets heated. “Here you are.” Even the waitress could feel the tension hanging in between the two of you as she places the plates of food on the table stiffly. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.” She scampers away within a heartbeat.

“Let’s just eat so we can head to bed. I’m exhausted.” Shaking your head, you pick up your fork as you feel Hobie’s eyes on you.

Before you could twirl the pasta around your fork, Hobie reaches for your wrist with urgency, stopping you. “Wait.”

“What?”

“It’s shrimp.” Picking up his spoon, he digs at the pasta, unearthing boiled shrimp inside. “Shit, did you tell ‘em that you’re allergic?”

“I did.” Biting your lip, you place the fork down as Hobie looks offended for your sake. “I’m sure it was an honest mistake.”

“You could’ve died.” He says through clenched teeth, vaulting out of his seat as he exhales out his fury. “I’ll fix this, yeah? You can have mine for now.”

“I am not going to eat your rabbit food, Hobie.” Your heart clenches at his worry as he smiles softly. “But thank you for being vigilant for my sake.”

“One of us has to be.” He gives your elbow a brief squeeze before taking your plate and turning away. “Maybe I can get our dinner comped.”

“I’m sure you could.” You say just as he walks away towards the kitchen.

Hobie looks for the inn keeper but doesn’t find her in her usual spot. He can’t flag down any of the waiting staff when they look utterly busy as they flit about the dining room. So he strides towards the kitchen, a man on a mission.

The door opens before he could touch the door, and he faces the same stable boy from before.

“Mate, can we—”

“‘Cuse me, sir.” He mumbles out before ducking away, brushing past him.

“Fantastic service.” Scoffing, Hobie enters the kitchen as heat hits his cheeks.

It’s a warzone inside as the cooks and waitstaff run around the small kitchen, as if they’re a battalion readying up the cannons.

His eyes rake around the tornado of a mess as he flags down the one who looks like the least busy out of all of them as he plates the meals at the head of the kitchen. The cook’s large shoulders are taut, sandy hair falling over his gruff face as his eyes concentrate on the meal in front of him.

“My apologies for bein’ a bother, mate, but there seems to be a mistake, my wife’s allergic to shellfish and they gave us a plate full of shrimp.”

“Will she die?” The chef answers in a thick Norwegian accent, blue eyes never leaving the plate as he passes it over to another waiter.

“What?”

“Your wife, will she die if she eats shrimp?” He reiterates casually.

“Yes, that’s what an allergy means.”

“Too bad.” He takes the plate in his large, tattooed hand. “This one is very good.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“What would she want, hm?” Gesturing around the kitchen, he doesn’t seem so terrifying to Hobie, just someone stressed about his job. “It’s not like we are busy.” Probably just a tad bit condescending.

“Maybe beef?”

He nods, wipes his hands clean on a towel before flinging it on his shoulder. “She’d like chicken?”

“Yes, better than anythin’ with shellfish.”

“No, she’ll have chicken.”

“Chicken it is, mate—”

“No!” The chef’s large hand lands right on Hobie’s shoulder, as the kitchen quiets down for a second before returning to work. Hobie almost brings out his razor out of instinct. “You fight for your wife’s wants, you don’t just say yes.” He mocks Hobie’s accent teasingly as he shakes him. While Hobie’s just utterly confused at the situation. “You be a fucking man for wife, fight for her. Now, what does she want?”

“Beef.” Hobie says, determined.

“I cannot hear you little man!” His grip tightens as he shakes him fully, voice booming. “What does the love of your life want?!”

“Beef! She wants fuckin’ Beef!”

The chef’s loud guffaw has Hobie questioning the whole establishment. He admires him for his colorful character though, he seems like a good bloke to have a drink with at least.

“Good! I’ll make her something just for her, hm?” Patting his shoulder a bit too strong, the chef grins at him. And with one look at his kitchen, they get to work on your meal. “The name is Finn.” His hand is outstretched towards Hobie.

“Hobie Brown.” Taking his hand, giving him a firm shake, Hobie lingers.

“Peculiar name,” Finn shrugs as Hobie scrunches his nose. “Now go back to your wife, I’ll bring it to her personally.”

“Thank you, Finn.” Hobie leaves with more questions in mind.

The door opens and your bright smile brightens up the whole dining room. Your laughter flutters to him, as he finds himself smiling at the cheerful sound.

His smile falls immediately when he sees what’s got you giggling. Sitting adjacent from you, right in his seat is the same dapper Italian man he talked about earlier. The two of you seem to be engaged heavily in conversation as leans on the table with his elbow perched atop it all suave like as you listen intently to a story he’s retelling.

Hobie finds himself dodging the waitstaff with finesse as he hones in on you and the charming man sitting where he sat.

“So I told him where he could put his silk!”

Your laughter knocks right at Hobie’s heart. “You told the Duke that?! That is either stupid or very brave of you to say!”

“I did—! Oh, hello there.” The man notices the shadow looming over him. “Who might this handsome man be?”

“Oh, Nico,” you straighten up, gazing up at Hobie with the same smile as he feels his stomach flip with uneasiness. “This is my husband, Hobie.”

“Ah, yes the other esteemed detective!” He holds out his hand for him to take as Hobie just stares at it.

He was never one to get jealous, if that’s even the emotion he’s feeling right now when the heaviness in his chest feels so foreign to him. Whatever it is, he wants this man to get out of his seat. Now.

“Pleasure.” After a beat, Hobie takes his hand and gives it a firm shake before letting go.

“Ouch, he has a mighty grip on him, hm?” Nico smiles at you as you nod in agreement. “It is good to meet you too, I’ve heard about your achievements.”

“Really now?” Hobie rests his hands in his pockets, smiling without his eyes. “What’s your favorite case we closed?”

“The, uh…” the man chokes on his own words as he chortles. “The one with the train.”

“We did a lot of cases on trains, mate—”

Your hand upon his elbow has Hobie taking a pause as your thumb caresses along it fondly. “Maybe it’s the wine, it addles the mind, you know?”

“Ah, yes, it could be.” Leaning away, Nico gives Hobie another look, before sighing and clasping his thighs, hopping out of the seat. “It is wonderful meeting you, bella, I hope I get to see more of you.” To add to Hobie’s irk, Nico takes your free hand and gives it a peck. “Be seeing you.”

Hobie watches the interaction with a thinly veiled annoyance as his eyes darken.

“See you.” You reciprocate his smile with your own as you feel Hobie slide his hand to yours.

The moment Nico leaves out of the dining room, Hobie plops himself onto his seat, all the while still grasping onto your hand.

“I thought he’d invite himself to our table.”

“I did actually,” Hobie’s head tilts questioningly. “but he already ate.”

“How unfortunate.” He utters monotonously. “And he already drank, seemingly a whole bottle.” Muttering under his breath, Hobie stabs his fork into his salad.

“Hobie.” Your voice chimes lovingly as you rub your thumb over the back of his hand that rests atop the table. “It was courtesy. And he had a lot of funny stories.”

He hums in reply, shoving food into his mouth like he has somewhere to be. “Like what?”

“We have a mutual friend through Lyla.”

“That’s interesting.” Based on his tone, he doesn’t find it so.

“No, this is interesting.” Whilst you utter with amusement, chin resting atop your palms, you lean on the table. “You always wait for my food to arrive before eating.”

His eyes finally look upon your own as he chews. “What is? And ‘m jus’ famished.”

Shrugging, you act innocent while still holding onto his hand gladly. “What did they say about my food?”

Picking up a napkin, he wipes his mouth before swallowing down his previous emotion in favour of making you happy. Just like how Nico did, so easily, he thinks, that wanker.

“You fancy beef, right?”

—

Hobie could hear your soft humming behind the door, he instinctively smiles, grasping the doorknob and twisting it open. He stops in his tracks the moment the door opens to the black dahlia room he shares with you. There, you sit in front of the vanity, looking ethereal as you brush your long hair that skims just atop the floor. The moonlight spills over the room from the large windows, painting you in dazzling silver and illuminating your form under the white cotton slip you have on. A singular candle lights the vanity, shining on your form, leaving little to the imagination as it traces the outline of your body with light through the slip.

You feel his presence, eyes fluttering open, song frozen on your lips as you look at him in the mirror. “How was your bath?”

Clearing his throat, Hobie closes the door behind him, flexing his hands as he feels his stomach jump. “It was alright, the water was warm enough.”

“Was it just me or did it smell unmistakably like it came directly from the sea?” You continue to brush your hair, gazing at him casually as if your appearance didn’t make his heart leap in place.

“Probably to save some money.” He utters under his breath, spellbound by you.

“I don’t think salt is good for the skin, don’t you think?” When he doesn’t answer, you fully turn to him, cheek resting atop your shoulder, as he turns his gaze immediately away from you towards the bed instead. “Are you alright? Did the hot water get into your brain?”

“It’s nothin’, jus’ tired is all.” Sniffing, he almost chokes on his own spit.

“Oh, alright.” Turning back around, you continue to brush. “Well, I think all that salt won’t do our skin any good.” You struggle to brush out a tangle. “Damn it.” Hissing in between your teeth, you tug and pull at the brush aggressively. You then hear the soft sound of his feet coming towards you.

“Can I?” Hobie’s hand stretches before you, offering a helping hand. “Pullin’ at it won’t help.”

“Please, thank you.” Handing him the brush, he gazes at your hair intently. “My arm was getting tired.” Hobie doesn’t move the brush as his adam’s apple bops up and down. “I know my hair is a rat’s nest, but I’m really trying to brush it a hundred times per day. The complicated hairstyles just make it hard.”

“No, love, your hair is lovely.” The way he softly said it made your heart soar. Hobie then brushes your hair gently, as if he’s brushing through something precious, as if his fingers rake through pure silk. “‘m no stranger to gettin’ knots away.”

“Thank you, my mother always told me that I don’t have a lady’s hair.” You could barely feel the brush combing through your hair when he’s so careful. His touch is feather light, a contrast to the callouses on his hands and knuckles.

“She’s wrong, jus’ like all the other things she called you.”

“You really have it against your mother in law, hm?”

His fingers tap at your chin, index and thumb grasping it lightly. Whilst he bends his knees, face placed right beside yours, so close that his cheek grazes atop your cheek, still feeling the warmth from his bath and smelling the sea right on him. “Anyone who belittles my wife is on my list.” There’s an intense look in his eyes as he stares at you through the looking glass.

“What list?” Snorting, you try not to fluster.

“Jus’ a list of people that I should look out for.” The sound of the brush combing through your hair fills the room once again as he leans away, and your chest fills with warmth, cheeks aflame and hands clammy.

“She has handmaidens that dress her, and writes for her so she doesn’t have to lift her dainty hands.” Your eyes meet with his in the mirror. “I’m sure you don’t have to worry about my mother stabbing your back.”

“Remember our last case in Cambridge with the Spanish contessa?” His eyes flick down to the brush, focusing on detangling.

“Yes, but that doesn’t apply to this.”

“She used a bloody sword to skewer her lover.” Smirking, Hobie brushes from top to bottom, silently counting how many times he does it so you don’t have to.

“Right, well… she was psychotic.” You don’t move an inch as you let him gently comb your precious hair.

“Your mother wanted tulips straight from the Netherlands for your bouquet, and to serve shellfish in the reception when you’re deadly allergic.”

“She likes tulips and you know her, she doesn’t believe in allergies.”

“Lovie.” His fingers squeeze your chin affectionately, gazing deeply into your eyes. “She’s on my list.”

Snorting, you lean your head against his chest as you shake your head whilst he lets out a soft chuckle. “Alright, I’m too tired to argue. Just know that when we get home, you’ll have to see her again.”

“I’d rather talk politics with your father.”

That gets a good laugh from you as you poke his stomach. “Oh, how torturous.”

Hobie pats your head after finishing brushing your hair. “There you go, Rapunzel. D’you need me to braid it for you?” He places the ornate brush down on the vanity as he shakes his aching wrist subtly.

“You know how to braid hair?” You ask in sheer wonderment, beaming at him in the mirror.

“Do I know how to braid hair?” He scoffs jokingly, sarcasm rolling off his tongue. “Of course, I do.” His expert hands start parting your hair neatly. Calloused and warm against your scalp, and with every strand he brushes through, his gentle touch reverberates through your bones.

You thought it would be impossible to not love him even more, but you’re proven wrong as you gaze at him in the mirror with such gentleness that it rivals the quiet tides outside that laps along the coast.

“Maybe you should do my hair more often.”

“I would, but we have jobs.”

“Ha ha.” Faking a laugh, Hobie laughs genuinely with you.

“‘m free to negotiate the terms when it comes to brushin’ it though.” His eyes never leave your hair as he braids it like how he remembers his mother does it every night.

“How about we negotiate our sleeping situation first?” Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes flick to the bed reflected in the mirror.

“I sleep on the armchair and you on the bed, simple as that.” He has to crouch down to braid the lower half of your long hair.

“Hobie, your back would be like a shrimp’s,” craning your neck to him, he takes your shoulder, twisting you back around as you roll your eyes at him. “and people back at home will be asking what I’ve done to my husband.”

“Definitely not consummatin’ the marriage.” Standing back up, Hobie fixes the stray strands left dangling in front of your face as he smirks right at you, facing you fully with a raised brow as if he waits for your reaction.

“How crude!” You flick his forehead, he groans as he nurses his ‘injury.’

“Love, we’re in this situation ‘cause someone saw me under your skirt, we’re past bein’ crude.”

“Fine,” surrendering, you’re too tired from the journey and the festivities to argue like usual. “but you can’t just sleep on the chair the whole week. I won’t let you.”

He can sense that you won’t let it be. “It’s either we switch every night, or we share the bed.”

“It’s big enough.”

“You’d rather share it than sleep on the arm chair?” Tilting his head, Hobie exhales out a staggered breath at the prospect of sharing a bed with you.

“Hobie, the chair smells like cigars.” Fully turning around, you gaze up at him as your knee knocks against his. “It’s like sitting on an ash tray.”

From your determined gaze alone, he falters. “I’ll put pillows in between us.”

“Good call,” your smile brightens the whole room, and he suspects that it’s not because of the lit lanterns. “with your long limbs you’re bound to hit me with one.”

“Hopefully, not that one.” Your gasp tells him that you’re not as innocent as he thought you would be.

“Hobie!” Judging by his smug expression, you know that you were right about what he was insinuating.

—

The soft bed lulls you to sleep, looking up at the sheer canopy, you turn to face him, only to be met with a wall of pillows. “Huh, I expected it to be more awkward.”

Hobie doesn’t answer, and you’re forced to sit up by your elbows and peek over the soft wall he put up.

“Are you already asleep?”

His eyes are closed, hands tucked atop his stomach as he opens one eye. “Tryin’ to.”

“Alright.” Plopping back down, you tuck yourself in as you suck in your teeth. “Has anyone told you that you sleep like Dracula?”

“No.”

“Hmm, I wonder what they’ll serve for breakfast.”

“Love?”

“Yes?”

“‘m bloody knackered.”

“Right, sorry.”

The sound of the waves waft through the silence of the bedroom as the crackling fireplace protects you from the biting cold outside. You sniff, fingers freezing as you notice the windows being open.

Slowly and quietly, you leave the comfort of the bed to shut the windows closed.

Hobie immediately sits up when the mattress moves slightly, watching you struggle to close the large heavy windows as you perch yourself atop the plush seat of the reading nook. Dangerously tethering over the edge.

“Let me handle that.” Flinging the covers off him, he lets out a yawn. “You’ll end up fallin’ out of the bloody window.”

“I can—” heaving, you pull the windows shut with a click. “—do it. See?” Hopping off the ledge, you wipe your hands on your night gown, smugly looking at him as he digs into the covers again.

Settling yourself inside the warm covers, you smile, knowing that he’s just a breath away from you. “Sleep tight, partner.”

The bed moves slightly as he turns away from you. “Night.”

Your smile falters, but you take a deep breath in, twisting away from the wall of pillows as you clutch around the covers whilst reminiscing today’s events.

Hobie knows that if he turns towards you even with the pillows placed in between the two of you, he’d manage to wrap his arms around you in his sleep when he always seeks out the nearest warmth. So he takes the pillow under his head, embracing it instead. The last thing he wants is to accidentally tell you how he feels whilst he’s asleep. When he’d rather open his heart to you while alert and awake.

—

Hobie wakes up with a startle. Thunder shaking the whole place, lightning flashing through the thrashing opened windows as rain pours in from the outside. He strains his eyes from the darkened room with the oil lamp flickering in and out, save for the moonlight spilling inside, the darkness envelopes the whole space. The window panes rattle against each other in the whistling wind, waking him up even further.

“Fuckin’ hell,” groaning, rubbing his tired eyes, Hobie instinctively turns to your side of the bed, finding it empty, the wall of pillows knocked down and with the sheets cold. Your perfume lingers on the fabric, it’s fading but it’s the only evidence that you were just beside him. “Love?”

He calls for you, voice muffled by another flash of lightning then another bone rattling thunder. Shaking his head, he chalks it up to you going to the bathroom in the middle of the night. And yet he finds himself flicking away the covers to check up on you as the cold floorboards hit his feet, he goes over to the large windows to close it before the rain soaks the carpets.

As he looms over the plush seats, knee atop it, Hobie overlooks the sea and the cliffs below. He blinks again, hands braced on the windowsill that’s slippery from the rain as the downpour splashes on him. When his eyes pick up a shadowy figure near the cliffside, he immediately recognizes the silhouette with its white night gown fluttering in the storm. His heart sinks to his stomach like an anchor, panic settling in his bones.

Hobie yells your name from above, throat aching, but the loud downpour combined with the rushing waves and thunder, it’s for naught.

He’s immediately on his feet, turning around, finding that the door was left open before bolting down on the steps.

Each step felt like stepping on broken glass, each breath let out was a strike to his senses. Hobie rushes out into the corridor as his footsteps rattle the whole inn. He arrives at the winding staircases, finding that the viscountess is walking up the steps in her black nightgown whilst holding an oil lamp.

“What on earth is going on?” She gasps, but before she could react, Hobie snatches the lamp from her hands as she lets out a shriek.

“What was that?!” More people pile out of their room, including the rattled inn keeper. But Hobie pays them no heed when you’re a few steps away from the cliffs.

He slips and falls from the mud that stains the floor, his body skids as he lands harshly on his chest. But Hobie quickly stands back up, aching but still alive, still alive to save you.

Bracing himself, he pushes the doors with his shoulder, using all of his strength. Hobie is met with the raging storm, sharp raindrops hit his face as he immediately bolts out of the building and onto the muddy grounds of the garden.

“Fuck!” He slips on the mud with his hip hitting a solid plant box, but he carries on, crawling back up on his feet as the thick mud covers his body.

With the lamp in hand, he runs to you, pushing the metal gates open as he sprints. “Love, stop!”

You’re just one step away from falling to your demise. Your eyes are closed, almost entranced.

The rain drenches your whole form with the sea and the horizon painted right in front of you in its black and grey hues. Your long braid dances in the wind whilst you don’t stop even with him calling your name frantically.

The rain softens the soil underneath him, making him almost slip and fall again, but he persists and stays on his feet as he keeps his panicked eyes on you.

Hobie tosses the lamp away, jumping towards you with his arms open as he quickly envelopes his arms around you, securing you in place. His eyes glances down on instinct, right at the cliffs below, jagged rocks cover the coast as the waves crash harshly, with sea foam coating the shore.

He steps back, rain battering against him as the wind howls and lightning strikes the waters below. Heaving, eyes blown out, he turns you towards him just as you let out a shocked scream.

“Shit, love!” Familiar calloused palms cup your face as you get your bearings. “What are you doin’ outside?!” He yells above the storm.

“Wha—?” A terrified shriek coming from behind startles the two of you.

Hobie looks over his shoulder, finding that a crowd has formed right behind him. They stand in the rain just by the metal gates. And they all share the same expressions— horror.

Penelope points at him, rather, over to you with a terrified look in her eyes.

Following the direction where she’s pointing at, Hobie staggers back, but keeps his hands on your arm.

“Love, let go of the knife.”

“What?” Breathless, you look down at your hand, finding that you’re clutching onto Hobie’s razor. The metal clangs as you let go of it in shock, seeing that your dress isn’t just drenched in rain, but is also coated in crimson, from your sleeve down to the hem. Your eyes meet with Hobie’s pleadingly. “Hobie?”

He takes you in his arms, holding you close, keeping you by his side as he hides you in the crook of his neck, holding onto the back of your head carefully. Curiosity gets the best of him, and as the lightning flashes, he peeks over the edge of the cliff again, this time the seafoam parts, revealing onto him a mangled body right on the shore.

“You’re alright, lovie.” He says more to himself while your hold on him tightens as the guests pile outside, seeing the crime scene that they assume was because of you. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

“What have I done?”

He groans at that, eager to show you just how well he can do to earn your sweet nectar. His tongue traces patterns quickly against your cunt, hands gripping and rubbing your aching legs.

Breakfast seems to be on hold (for you, Hiromi is having his right now.), as you try and fail to muster up the strength to pry your insatiable husband from your no-doubt messy hole. The same one he had filled to the brim the night prior, accompanied by the myriad of lovebites and hickeys splattered all over your skin like a lovesick painting.

Well, you weren’t complaining. But you were still going to make him work for it.

His tongue pushes up against your opening, and you can’t do anything to stop the breathy moan escaping your pretty lips. Hiromi seems very pleased at that, giving your clit a soft kiss before finally, finally taking a breath.

You look down at him, pouting at the pussy-drunk smile on his face as he leans his cheek against your thigh, a thumb gently tracing circles on your clit.

“Tired already?” you tease, head tilting to the side as you try to downplay the heave of your chest against the fabric of your shirt. 

“Hm, me?” he hums, ignoring the way his thick cock twitched against his abdomen, begging for attention. “When it comes to you, no, never.”

You yelp as he licks up your cunt, nose grinding against your clit as you instinctively grind down for more. His eyes light up with a smile before you pull at his hair, shoving him further into your pussy.

His tongue continues to lap at your cunt, desperate and practically pleading against your lips as his hips mindlessly twitch and thrust into the air. Hiromi’s hands stay planted on your hips however, hoping to somehow pull you further on his tongue.

Each move of his tongue inside of you has bolts of pleasure zapping up your spine, warmth coiling up quickly against your belly. Every lewd and echoing sluuurp! And moan reverberating against your cunt pushing you closer and closer to that edge.

“Fuck– ‘romi–” you gasp in between moans, beads of slick running down your thighs before Hiromi could lick it all up.

With a final nudge of his nose against your cunt, that coil inside of you snaps, and you could feel nothing but the blank white of pleasure wash over you. Your legs give out, but Hiromi is luckily there to catch you with his face and stabilize you with his pretty hands.

His brow is furrowed in concentration, as if he was trying to memorize the fluttering of your pussy against his tongue and imbed it into his memory for all time.

When you finally catch a breath from your god-seeing orgasm, you couldn’t help but huff a laugh at the sight below you. Hiromi was breathing hard, the floor and his stomach painted white in his own untouched orgasm.

“Aww,” you coo, giggling at the way he groans when you push against his thick cock with your foot. “That feel good for you, baby?”

“Yes, yes– thankyou.” Hiromi groans, taking the pleasure and pain of overstimulation like the good husband he is. He places quick kisses against your waist and your thighs, licking any stray droplet of your nectar. All the while he continues to twitch against you.

God, and it was only breakfast.

1:02 PM - LUNCH

To think that you’d be able to get away with trying to show off some new clothes to Hiromi, while actively teasing the fact you’d worn nothing underneath, scot-free just because the two of you were in public, then you were a fool.

Now, here you were, brain fuzzy as Hiromi held you against his chest, sweat and cum sticking your thighs together as his cockhead pushes back and forth through the soft muscles.

All because you were too stubborn about his cum leaking out of you later.

“Darling,” his precum smeared against the inside of your thighs, mixing with your sweet slick. “I’ll pull out, I promise. Just please–” he pleaded, deep voice cracking juuust a tinge as you tightened your legs around his leaking dick.

You tut at him, holding the power despite how his frame completely shadowed yours. “We both know you’d never pull out.” You roll your eyes, shuddering as his tip kisses your clit in a mushy mix of arousal and sex. “Unless you wanna use a condom–”

“No,” his answer comes fast, in time with his quickening pace, as if fighting off the idea with each slam of his fat cock into your thighsleeve. “No, not the condom, jus’ want you raw,” He talks about the thin plastic as if it were the greatest punishment of all, a barrier preventing him from feeling the spongy wet walls of your pussy.

“Then you better cum before we get caught.” You moaned, before gasping at his hand on your clit, rubbing circles as your juices coat his fingers in a pretty white sheen. 

“Together,” he bargained, thighs slapping against yours with loud plaps! that it was a miracle that you two weren't found out yet. “Please, cum with me,”

Warmth starts quickly building in your abdomen, with every drag of Hiromi’s cock against your folds and his fingers skillfully massaging your clit, it wasn’t long before Hiromi was kissing your shoulders and moaning your name against soft skin. You weren’t that far off, either.

His groans and breathing was heavy against the shell of your ear, trying so hard to stay quiet despite the perfect way your thighs felt around him, despite how he could just imagine how good it would feel to bury his cock into you just before he came… spilling his seed deep into you and pumping your velvety walls full of him.

But he’ll be good for you, so good. You have to reward him later right?

The thought itself has him twitching, groaning as his hips slam into yours like a man starved of your pretty pussy. As he technically was. 

Your thighs shake around him, feeling your orgasm creep up quickly as you look up at him in the changing room mirror. His gaze was heavy, lips parted that had been groaning and cursing so beautifully for you.

You bit your lip. “Fuck, you’re so perfect like this, Hiromi,” you had gasped with a surprising amount of clarity.

It made Hiromi’s cock twitch violently against you, an angry red staining the tip in its desperation to finally cum. There was a long moan he had to muffle in the crook of your neck, splurts of cum painting the mirror you were leaned up against before the rest leaked down his shaft and onto your thighs.

The sight had you clenching around nothing, your pussy throbbing in hot flashes of white pleasure that radiated throughout your entire lower body.

You scolded Hiromi a little bit after, telling him to control himself, especially in public. He nodded, ashamed. But you made sure not to scold him too hard, unless you wanted him hard. Again.

7:42 PM - DINNER

You're pinned to the wall as soon as you two get back home, Hiromi’s thigh is pressed up against your clothed cunt as he nearly stumbles over himself to take his suit off. A giggle makes it way to your already-swollen lips as Hiromi practically acts like a dog in rut for your touch.

He moans against your mouth at the sound of your laugh, shuddering as your hands trail across his ribcage, his back and trace thin patterns into the back of his neck.

“Love you so much,” he presses a kiss to your jaw, “Love her so much,” his hand makes its way under your clothes to cup your warm heat, still a bit sticky from earlier lunch. “So perfect.” Another hand reaches up to his tie, nearly tugging it off before a hand catches his.

“Wait,” you interrupt, stopping the way your hips grind down into the soft pads of his fingers against your hole. “Keep it on.” Your smile is sickly sweet as he pauses, curiosity, arousal and trust swirling in those pretty hazel eyes.

Any hesitation is wiped however, once you two reach the bedroom.

“F-fuck–” Hiromi hissed, brows furrowing as you tugged him forward with his makeshift leash. Strong hips slam into the soft flesh of your ass, a lovedrunk pace as he desperately worked for your praise. 

“Mmmngh!” Came your pleased moans, muffled against the pillows.

You were lying prone bone as Hiromi fucked into your tight cunt with your guidance, pulling at his tie with every order that he follows like law.

The bedframe was slamming against the wall, a loud banging sound accompanying the cacophony of moans and lewd squelching that came from the mushy walls of your insides, already filled to the brim with cum.

Hiromi’s seed mixed like an obscene drug with your slick, trailing down the walls of your pussy and onto the crumpled sheets.

It was clearly not enough for either of you, not with the way you were demanding for more, or the way Hiromi was eager to give it.

“Just like that ‘romi–” You choked out, eyes fluttering, fighting the urge to roll back and just take it. “S-so fucking good,”

The two of you looked utterly fucked in the best way possible, the usually serious lawyer reduced to a sweaty and desperate mess, wearing nothing but a black tie to keep him in his place. He could barely speak past the call of your name or curses under his breath.

“All for you,” he was rambling, forehead resting against the side of your head. “Just for you–”

Your body sinched like a vice again, shaking as another orgasm fluttered to your core and nearly mushed your head into a satisfied puddle. A long moan ripped out of your throat, drool dripping onto your pillows that were definitely still stained from last night too.

In your orgasm-induced haze, you had pulled Hiromi forward, shallow thrusts into your pussy that had him tearing up in desperation to keep you full. His cock kissed your insides with quick thrusts, your belly just barely bulging above your belly button in an attempt to make room for his massive cock.

“Can I– Let me please–” he begged, cock twitching as your walls eagerly tried to pull out another thick load from the thick shaft.

“Go on,” you murmured, nearly boneless from absolute bliss. “Cum for me, Hiromi,”

His load spilled into your, the white substance coating every inch of your insides before leaking out and making a creamy ring around Hiromi’s cock. The warmth spread across you, making your walls pulse again in time with every splurt of cum being fucked into you.

Hiromi’s thrusts didn’t cease as he continued to fuck into you, gritting his teeth as he made sure he was so deep in you. So deep in your guts that he wouldn't ever need anything else but you, your touch, and your praise.

When every last drop was milked out of him by your cunt, he had finally slumped against you, pressing pussy-drunk kisses against your back.

Hiromi could feel himself shiver at your voice, showering him in praise before either of you had the inkling to move and clean up for tomorrow. 

“Good boy.”

You gather your girls around behind you, the roof of the trailer truck that you and your family are trapped on creaks from underneath as bodies pile on top of another with every slash Hobie does.

He’s at the front, providing safety for you and the girls as they scream and cry behind you. This wasn’t the life you wanted for them, no parent would want this life for their children. All blood and death, nothing but rot and survival clinging underneath their fingernails. You and Hobie wanted a better life for them, safety and comfort just like how you were given before the world ended. That’s why you traveled far from the comforts of the cabin to where you thought it’ll be at. It’s so close that you could smell it, the scent of a hot meal just beyond the trees and the shambling dead.

From where you stand, you could see the massive walls surrounding the haven, big oaken walls that shield them from all the death and decay. As you shoot at another corpse who got too close to Hobie, you regret ever leaving the comforts of home for a possibility. A possibility that your girls could grow up normally without ever seeing death up close, without knowing how to wield a weapon, and never have blood coat the soles of their feet. And yet, here you are, providing exactly that to them.

It must’ve been a full hour of killing the dead when everything turns into silence. An eerie quiet that has your ears ringing, chest heaving as you see Hobie stand before you, still holding onto the blood drenched machete like it’s his lifeline.

He turns to you, still looking like the man you love, only bloodied and beaten but still having the smile you adore so much, the same smile that reminds you of the time before you had to fight for survival.

“It’s alright,” Hobie beckons his girls over, a pile of corpses lying just by his feet. “Jus’ close your eyes and pretend you’re walkin’ through mud.”

“Daddy—” Billie chokes on a sob, afraid of her own blood soaked father.

But her sister swallows down her fear, running towards him with open arms as Hobie receives her fondly. Mona hugs him tightly as his eyes meet yours. You could barely see his features through all the crimson splashed on him. Nodding through unshed tears, you cradle your heavy stomach and take Billie’s hand wordlessly.

You cross the bloody distance, meeting with him as his forehead connects with yours affectionately. A lot of unsaid words lay between the two of you, but that single movement says it all— relief.

Hobie helps his family dismount the steel truck slowly. He can’t afford an injury, especially now that he’s so close to bringing his family to safety.

Once on solid ground, Billie gathers her courage, walking towards her dad and takes her precious handkerchief to wipe the blood caking his face. She means well, and Hobie crouches down to her height so she could clean him up. From his cheeks to his eyelids, Billie wipes the blood as much as she could.

Hobie opens his eyes to a smiling you, seeing the familiar smile has his chest warming up, a sweltering heat that rises from his feet up to his ribcage. He pays it no mind as he thanks Billie with a chaste kiss to her forehead.

“Are you alright?” You ask, and your voice sounds muffled in his ears for a moment before returning normally.

“Yeah, jus’ winded is all.” He pats each of his girls’ heads fondly. “Let’s go before the sun sets.”

Your worried face says it all, “what if we find someplace to rest? Gather our bearings.”

“We’re nearly there, lovie.” Taking your hand in his, blood coating your palm that you don’t mind one bit, Hobie’s breath staggers in his lungs. “I don’t want the girls spendin’ another night out in the open.” His hand drops weakly to your stomach, leaving a clear hand print on your blouse. “I don’t want you givin’ birth out ‘ere. Not like last time.” His eyes pleads with you.

“Okay.” With reluctance, you take Mona’s hand, and with the other, Hobie’s, while he holds onto Billie. “Just tell me if you’re getting tired and we’ll rest.”

Hobie cracks a smile despite the warmth spreading to the back of his eyes. “You’re the one luggin’ ‘round our kid. I’ll be fine.”

As the road ahead gets smaller, and the destination gets closer, the sun is painted in orange hues and dark pink that drenches the barren road.

“Maybe they have doctors there.” Mona absentmindedly says under her breath, looking up at you and your swollen belly. “With medicine.”

“I hope so, sweetheart.” Your feet ache, and the small of your back throbs from all the walking. But Hobie is the one looking worse for wear.

“You feel really warm, dad.” Billie says, face caked in grime and dirt as she squeezes his hand.

Hobie could feel it running in his veins.

“Bee, take your sister’s hand.” His eyes droop, mouth dry and palms sweaty. He feels like he’s running a fever.

“Why?” Billie looks up at him with curious eyes. “‘m not afraid anymore, dad.”

“I know, Mac… you and Cheese are my brave girls.” He gathers his breath before continuing as the large gates loom overhead. He’s so close, and yet, the blood seeping out from his ankle proves that he won’t make it. “Jus’ be good and take your sister’s hand for me, yeah?”

Billie turns to you with furrowed brows. “Mum—”

“Hobie, is everything okay?” Pausing mid step, your worry grows as he slouches against himself. Tired and sweaty. “We can—”

“No, no more restin’.” He should’ve noticed it earlier, but the adrenaline hid it from him. If he did, he could’ve thought of all the words he wanted to say before his mind became hazy. “We’ll continue, it’s jus’ that— I think I heard somethin’ from behind, I’ll go protect our rear.”

“I didn’t hear anything—” His eyes pleaded with you. “Hobie, what’s going on?”

His heavy eyes flicks between Mona, then over to Billie, then to you and the kid he’ll never get to meet. He didn’t want it to end this way, especially in front of you and the girls.

“Nothin’, lovie,” forcing a smile, he reluctantly lets go of Billie’s hand. “C’mon then, off you go with mum. I’ll be right behind you.”

“But dad.” The twins simultaneously say, garnering a more genuine smile from him. Hobie memorizes his family’s faces, etching them in his brain for his next life, so he could recognize all of you for when life becomes better.

Crouching down with some strain, Hobie still acts tough. “It’s jus’ like always, dad’s right behind you.” Patting Billie’s face, Mona lets you go so she could hug him. It’s as if the girls could sense his doom. He then takes them in his arms after some reluctance, afraid to infect them too. His eyes turn to you with sadness in them, and you still don’t understand. “Love, don’t name him Hobie junior. He’ll hate it.”

“I won’t.” Chuckling, you smile at him as he rises to his feet. “Now come on, Ned and Yuri’s waiting for us.”

“Yeah,” nodding through hazy eyes, Hobie lets his girls go one last time. He wishes that he could kiss you, but he doesn’t want to risk it, not when you’re so close to safety. It’s a tragedy, he was so close and yet so far. “I love you, y’know?”

Something’s wrong.

“Yeah, I know, I love you too— Hobie—” you smell it, the stench of death that has made a mark on you. Your eyes scan him, maybe you shouldn’t have when you see a bite peeking underneath the hem of his trousers.

“Go now, lovie.” He takes your cheek in his hand like a thousand times before, feeling his calloused thumb rub away the tear flowing down your cheek. “Take good care of ‘em for me.” Whispering, he rests his forehead against yours for a second, and you finally feel how searingly warm he is. “Don’t look back, please don’t look back.”

“I can’t—”

Leaning away, he smiles as best as he can. “Yeah, you can. Just this once, don’t look at me.”

You could see his brown eyes fog up, turning milky white. You should’ve stayed at the cabin.

“I don’t want you to go. Maybe we can do something, anything—” Panic settles in your voice as the girls look between you and Hobie with mirrored worried expressions.

“‘m not goin’ anywhere, ‘m right behind you.” Reluctantly pulling away, he walks backwards, keeping his eyes on his family and keeps his distance. “Go, love.”

Gathering your girls, you turn them away and with reluctance in your step, you walk away from him.

“Mummy, what’s happening?” Billie asks, eyes following her dad but you take her cheek gently and turn her away and towards the gates.

“Just keep walking, sweetheart.” Heart wrenched from you, you resist the urge to look back because you promised him.

“Dad’s slowing down, mummy.” Mona asks, tone snagged at the end. “We should wait for him.”

“He’ll be right behind us, baby, he’s just right behind us.” You say it more to yourself as you urge her away from looking back.

As you get closer to the wall, his footsteps grow quieter and quieter, until you don’t hear him anymore. And yet, as promised, you don’t look.

And that someone is currently missing work. Something so unusual that his worry slithers up his throat almost immediately. The whole time you’ve been working for the company, you’ve never missed a day of work, you were never late either.

When he went to your desk to drop off a package for you, you were obviously not there. Your chair is still tucked under the desk, and the unmistakable scent of your perfume doesn’t linger in the air either. He’d ask your desk neighbor, Harry, but Hobie’s not on good terms with him right now and would rather listen to nails on a chalkboard than to hear his voice. So with the excuse of the very important package, he goes to Lyla in the HR department. If anyone knows where you are, it would be her.

Hobie hates Lyla’s department, he likes Lyla enough, she’s a chatterbox and likes to gossip but at least she’s funny and is very much in support of the union. But the HR department just gives him the heebie-jeebies. Maybe it’s the unnerving posters that remind him of propaganda, or the utter quiet inside, either way, he really doesn’t want to be here right now. He’d call you but he doesn’t want to be that bloke since you're not responding to his message. So off he goes to the HR department that smells weirdly of photocopy ink and stale coffee.

Package in hand, Hobie knocks on Lyla’s office door before opening it. Peeking through the crack, he sees something he never thought was possible— Lyla working.

“Hobie, sorry, I’ll be with you in a second.”

“If you’re busy I can come back.” The box rattles in his arm as he points back to the hallway.

“Nope,” she finishes her typing with a flair. “You’re good, come in.”

Hobie’s eyes are narrowed suspiciously at her as he walks further in. “Yeah, I have a package for—”

“She’s sick.” She immediately answers, hands folding in front of her. “I can already tell by the look on your face.”

“What?” Hobie blinks, nose scrunching as Lyla simply raises a brow, not even intending to explain herself. “Did she say anythin’ else?”

“Just that, but she really sounded sick. Like dying kind of sick.” Lyla leans forward for emphasis. “But I wouldn’t worry too much, she said that her roommate is getting her the meds.”

“MJ? Yeah, sure…” his worry grows. “I’ll jus’ keep this in the mail room for now.”

“Oh yeah,” before Hobie could walk away, she calls him again. “by the way, Harry doesn’t know.”

“About what?” Looking over his shoulder, Hobie’s brows instinctively knits together after hearing Harry’s name.

“That she’s sick or he’d already be there.” Lyla, for some reason, sends him a wink, as if they have a secret shared. “I mean he’d be missing work for her but we all know that he doesn’t need any more money.”

His grasp on the doorknob loosens as he raises a questioning pierced brow. “Why are you tellin’ me this, bruv?”

“Because, bruv,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m here to tell you that you can have an early lunch. On the house.” Lounging back on her seat, Lyla flashes him a wicked grin, brows rising up and down. “You know, just in case you want to get a nice warm chicken soup from the nearby deli place for no reason. I heard that it’s a miracle cure.”

“Why are you doin’ this?” Hobie's eyes narrow dangerously.

“Maybe just maybe, I’m a good friend.”

“To me, or to her?”

“Why can’t I be both?” Shrugging, she chuckles. Her phone rings, and her smile drops instantly. “Now, shoo, I’ll cover for you.”

“Question,” Hobie takes the opportunity like a low hanging fruit. “What if I suddenly don’t feel well, I think my throat is itchin’ and my eyes are hot.”

Lyla doesn’t buy it, even if she wants you and Hobie to finally get together, she likes having money, and unfortunately she needs this job to have that. “Don’t push it, Hobie. I’m not a miracle worker. Now go before Harry gets wind of this.” She ushers him away with a gesture. “Two hours, that’s my limit.”

It’s Hobie’s turn to smile, victorious. “Thanks, maybe I’ll get you some chicken soup too.”

“With croutons.” That’s all she says before answering the phone as Hobie closes the office door right behind him.

Hobie immediately makes a beeline for the mail room, ignoring Miles’ and Pav’s stares, quickly taking his jacket and bag before anyone else could notice. He stares at the package with your name on it and decides at the last minute to take it with him. He’s almost at the elevator when he hears a familiar voice calling his name.

“Where are you going?” Gwen raises a brow, looking at him up and down as he fixes his hold on the package.

“Lunch.” He simply says, gulping down and acting nonchalant.

“It’s only ten?” She checks her watch for good measure just as the elevator doors open. “Hey!”

Hobie steps inside without a second thought and punches the close door button frantically like he’s in some horror movie and the killer is right on his tail. “Sorry, Gwendy, no time to explain.”

She huffs and speed walks over to him, leaving the mail cart in place. “Get me something too—!”

The elevator doors close inches away from her face, and Hobie laughs to himself, his chuckles echoing inside the whirring metal chamber. “Right, soup then check on lovie.” He says it like a mantra, a man on a mission.

—

The streets are barren, probably not that weird considering that it’s a weekday and it’s not even near lunch time yet. Plus, the cold is a natural deterrent. It’s perfect for Hobie though because he got to the deli shop in record time to pick up two bowls of chicken soup, one with croutons on the side and an extra BLT sandwich for Gwen.

On his way back to his van, he munches on a protein bar that the shop keeper was kind enough to give him for free after a quick chat about the savoury soup that Hobie was even tempted to take a sip for himself. Just as he gently places the goods on the passenger side, he gets a glimpse of a familiar head of red hair inside a nice looking car that’s stopped by the stop light just in front of him.

“MJ?” He couldn’t even believe his own eyes as your best friend slash roommate is jamming along to loud music, grinning from ear to ear.

Her eyes glance at him before recognizing him. “Hobie, hey!” She waves and Hobie waves back, albeit more reluctantly, especially when she’s supposed to get your medicine. “Hop in! Check it out, my friend got a new ride!” Tapping the door, she flashes him her best smile. “C’mon!”

“Can’t, I have work.” He crosses the distance to check on her. Sighing in relief, he doesn’t smell any liquor on her, and sees her whole band with her. “D’you have her meds?”

“Whose meds— oh!” Her green eyes widen before planting a palm on her forehead. “Yeah, I got her the meds, I dropped it off at home ages ago.” Head lolling out of the window, the music blares right in his ears. “She wasn’t answering the door and I sort of left my keys inside so I dropped it on the doorstep. I’m sure she has it now.”

“You jus’— MJ, she’s sick.” He emphasizes with his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, but I knocked really loudly.”

“It’s bloody freezin’ out ‘ere.” Shaking his head disappointedly, he scoffs at her. “Never mind, I’ll check on her.” Hobie’s already walking away with furrowed brows just before the light turns green.

“Are you sure you don’t want to hop in?” MJ yells back, and she gets her answer with a slam of Hobie’s car door.

—

Hobie stopped by a pharmacy on his way to your flat, just in case the medicine that MJ got you wasn’t enough, or god forbid the wrong kind. Juggling two bags, one with the cold medicine and throat lozenges, and the other with the food, he sees the white paper bag that’s now drenched from frost left right on the doorstep just like MJ said.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Alarm bells start ringing in his head, imagining you having the fever of your life as you lay curled up on your bed.

He looks around for a way to get inside. He sees the obvious, a doormat which he looks under to only find bugs and a wad of gum. Dismayed, his worry grows as seconds ticks by. He then sees the window beside the door, it’s cracked open just a smidge, enough for his arm to wedge inside.

When Hobie was going through the dreaded puberty, he hated how long his arms had gotten, people called him lanky, a beanpole and joked around him being an octopus. As time went by, he grew to love himself and his lanky appendages, this time though, he really loves his long arm for managing to unlock the front door even when he almost spilled soup on your doorstep.

Inhaling deeply, the tip of his nose is freezing and his fingers are turning stiff, he picks up the now trashed medicine and heads inside the warm flat.

“F–Fuck.” Shivering, Hobie wipes his boots on the doormat, shutting the door closed behind him and placing the bags on the table before yanking off his jacket. “Love?” He calls for you tentatively, warming his hands with his breath as he heads towards your bedroom door. “You awake?”

The floorboards creek, and as he grasps the doorknob, the door flinging open before he could do it himself, he’s almost greeted with a canvas right on his face. “Fuckin’ hell!” Jumping back, the canvas drops, thumping against the floor to reveal a weary you.

Your eyes are shot, red and puffy. Whilst you clearly have sweated through your pajamas as the fabric clings to your skin that he has to look away. Lips dry, you suck in a shuddered breath, knees almost buckling under your own weight in either relief or from your fever.

“Hobie?” A crackly cough escapes you.

“Yeah, lovie, it’s me.” He holds up his arms in front of him in case you keel over. “Are you alright?”

“I think I’m starting to hallucinate.” Breathlessly, you stagger back inside the bedroom on wobbly feet. “Out of everyone why do I have to hallucinate Hobie? Fuck, do I miss him that much?” You utter to yourself before plopping face down on the mattress that has your silhouette left of it from how much you’ve sweat.

Hobie tries to ignore your comment, but the way his heart thumps in his chest with his cheeks feeling warm, he’d think that he’s the one having a fever. “Right,” clearing his throat, he quickly toes off his boots haphazardly and leaves it outside your door before walking in. “Can I check your temperature?”

“You can check my ass for all I care.” Even with your muffled words, Hobie pauses mid step. “I’m dying, I’m really dying, where the fuck is MJ?”

“I don’t know, love.” He stands over you, unsure of what to do. But he knows one thing though, he needs to protect your heart from getting hurt by your so-called best friend. “Oi, can you turn around for me?” Even as he stands near you, he could feel the heat radiating from you.

Head rising up weakly, you pout. “Oh no, it’s one of those sexy hallucinations.” And yet you turn to face him with no ounce of finesse. Your half lidded eyes meet his own, cracked lips smacking together. “Don’t tell MJ but I’ve had so many sexy dreams about you that it’s frankly insane.”

“O–Okay— it’s me, not a hallucination or a dream.” Hobie chuckles nervously, looking away, anywhere else other than the way you gaze at him. “And your secret’s safe with me.”

“Goodie, okie dokie.” You give him a thumbs up, or more like a toes up that has you giggling to himself and with Hobie stifling a laugh.

“Where’s your thermometer?” He helps bring your foot down gently with his hand wrapped around your ankle. From the brief touch alone, he could tell that your temperature has skyrocketed.

“With Waldo.”

“Love, I need to know your temperature.”

“It’s over there, you wanker.” Hobie never knew it possible for someone to call him a wanker that has his heart leaping in his chest in a good way. He follows your finger, and sure enough he sees it on your bedside table right alongside a teddy bear that’s dressed up as Waldo, stripes and all. “I’m hungry.” You stare at the swirling ceiling as Hobie picks up the thermometer that still has your last temperature right on the blinking screen. “I ate the last canned soup. But MJ said she’ll get me something warm from the store.”

“Oh shit.” He’s immediately sprinting to the living room.

You don’t even notice his panic. “Y’know, I could go for some cordon bleu with white sauce, maybe chocolate pudding too, oh, and some hash browns, yum.” Talking to yourself as the ceiling swirls in your vision, you hear the faint sound of glass clicking together while you let out a weak breath. “Is it just me or does hash browns sound like Hobie Brown? It rhymes, right?” You’re lifted up gently as you lay limp against his side. “Maybe the real Hobie likes them. I should ask him next time.”

“Open your mouth, love.” The medicine pokes right at your dry lips. “Shit, you should’ve called me, or fuckin’ anyone.”

“Take me out on a date first.” You weakly brush away his hand with a grimace, sniffing and coughing on his side.

“Maybe after you get better, but you have to drink this now.”

Your eyes narrow at the medicine before craning your head to face him with a hopeful gaze. “We’re gonna go on a date after this?”

“Yes,” Hobie cradles you in his arms, smiling down at you fondly, not minding how your pajamas cling to his skin. “Open your mouth, please.”

Chuckling, you take the medicine with him helping you swallow it down with some water. With a sniff, you lick your dry lips. “My Hobie never says please.” Your palm pats his chest affectionately, a small thank you, as your sweaty cheek presses atop his heart.

“That’s not true, I say please all the bloody time.” He can’t seem to find it in him to place you back in bed, as if his hold would cure you instantly.

“I was lying.” You say in a sing-song tone, voice croaking.

Hobie beams down at you, a thumb gently cleaning up the water that dribbles on your chin. His chest aches at the thought of you all alone with a fever that high, waiting for medicine and for help that wouldn’t come. “You should’ve called me.” He softly says more to himself as you make yourself comfortable in his arms.

“I tried…” your eyes flutter close, tucking yourself against him, back folded to hug him. “But my battery died because MJ borrowed my charger and I don’t know where it is…” a cough wracks your chest whilst Hobie pats your back until it subsides. “She’s forgetful like that…” Even in your fever haze, you defend her. “Hobie?”

“Yeah, lovie?” He brushes the stray hairs away that's clinging to your sweaty face.

“I need a bath, I smell like Harry’s tuna sandwich. I fucking hate that tuna sandwich.” You sniff him, he smells of lavender detergent and his signature cologne, smiling to yourself, you grip onto his shirt with weak fingers. “Specifically that tuna sandwich.”

Chuckling, he stifles in his guffaw lest it disturbs your calm. “I got you chicken soup, I can heat it up for you while I change your bedsheets so you can rest. How does that sound, hm? You good with me changing your sheets?”

Your half lidded eyes gaze at him softly. “Sounds lovely.”

“Yeah?” His smile could cure you. “I’ll wrap you up nicely on the couch and put a wet cloth over your head, is that alright? I’m goin’ to carry you now.”

“Yep,” sighing, arms thrown over his shoulders, you shut your eyes tiredly. “Hobie?” You call for him as you’re lifted off the bed gently. “I think I need a new roommate.”

“I’ll help you look for a better one.” Hobie chuckles against your hair before plopping you down on the couch carefully. He cradles your searing cheeks, crouching down as he smiles at you. “Don’t fall asleep.”

“Why?” He could see that you’re fighting sleep as your eyes flutter open and close.

“Because,” His breath gets stuck in his throat. “I’m afraid you won’t wake up.”

“Don’t be silly.” Your forehead thumps atop his shoulder as he takes the couch blanket and drapes it around you securely. “But okay.”

“That’s my girl.” He says with his whole chest as he helps you sit properly, placing the throw pillows around you to secure you in place. “I’ll make this quick.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who’s quick with it.” Giggling, you nudge his leg with your foot as you wink tiredly at him.

“Fever riles you up, good to know.” He takes one good look at you all bundled up before heading to your bedroom to grab a small towel. Pausing mid movement, he chuckles to himself before heading to work in making your fever go down.

Hobie moved like he’s being paid a thousand bucks per minute. He opened your bedroom windows to let out the air while he changed your bedsheet and blanket, which he does in record time. He then puts clean pajamas in the bathroom for you later before taking the thermometer, pocketing it and heading to the kitchen to heat up the soup for you. Within just ten minutes, he’s back on your side with warm soup and a thermometer to check your temperature again. The wet cloth atop your forehead is almost dry just from your warmth alone.

“Can you put this on for me?” Crouching down, he sees your eyes closed, body limp as you lay your head on the armrest. “Love?” He’s panicking, heartbeat racing as he shakes you. “Shit, oi.”

“I’m awake, I’m awake.” Eyes fluttering open, the color has returned to your lips, albeit slowly. Hobie lets out the loudest sigh of relief ever. “What smells good?” Sniffing, you blink blearily at him.

“Chicken soup, you think you’re good to eat?”

“Yep.” Sitting up, you blink at him slowly, as if you’re trying to place his face. “Hi, how are you?”

“‘m good, better than you are right now.” A hand on your knee, he feels that your fever has gone down a little but you’re still warmer than usual.

“Can you sit down beside me?” Voice small, you nudge him with your foot. “The walls are closing in on me, dizzy.”

“Yeah, I can.” Knees creaking, he sits down beside you just like you asked and takes the warm bowl. “D’you want me to feed you?”

“I’m not a baby.” Back resting against the plush couch, cheek pressed against it, you gaze at him with fondness. “Hi.”

“Hi, you already said that.” Chuckling, he places his palm on your forehead to feel your temperature more accurately. “You feel better, but I still need you to use the thermometer to be sure.” Taking a throw pillow he places it on your lap and rests the bowl on it. “I’ll get you some water.”

“I feel icky. Like I’m made out of slime that rolled around… something sticky, I don’t know.” The spoon trembles in your grasp, and Hobie can’t find it within himself to leave you even for a moment. Before he helps you, you persist determinedly, blowing the soup and taking a generous sip. “That’s good, did you make this?”

Hobie’s tensed shoulders eases up visibly. “No, I bought it.”

Humming, you take another sip. “I’ll pay you back.”

“You can pay me back by eating it all.”

“Thank you, Hobie.” You’ve grown more lucid after taking the medicine.

“No problem, it’s you, love.” He nudges your shoulder with his own before standing up to grab you a glass of water. “You’re gettin’ better, and ‘ere I thought I have to bring you to hospital.”

“Good thing you didn’t, because I wouldn’t be able to pay for it.”

Hobie sighs, hands on his hips. “I’ll run you a bath, is that alright?”

Nodding, you gaze up at him with tenderness, chest feeling a different kind of warm. “Yeah, thank you.”

“No problem,” he matches your soft expression. “Eat, I’ll be back.”

—

Hobie waits just outside your bedroom door as you take a bath. He’d wait in the living room on the couch but he fears that your dizziness would cause you to slip and fall, so he guards you at a respectable distance, keeping his ears open. He keeps himself entertained by looking at available flats that could be within your budget. You didn’t ask him to do that, but he has had enough of MJ abandoning you when you have done nothing to deserve that abandonment.

“Hobie?” The door abruptly opens, and with his back against it, Hobie falls backwards, now looking up at you in a fresh pair of strawberry printed pajamas that he picked for you. “Sorry, you okay?” You give him a helping hand, looking at him apologetically.

He could stay down here forever and look at the view from below forever if he could. “Yeah, ‘m good.” Taking your hand, his calloused palm turns so sweaty that you think that he caught the flu from you.

You heave him off his feet, chuckling to yourself as you see a dust bunny clinging right on his lapel. “You’ve got a little something…” reaching for his neck, Hobie freezes in place, skin warm, heart thundering. “There, I need to clean my floor.”

“Thanks, lovie.” Hobie swallows thickly, trying to compose himself. “How d’you feel?”

“Definitely better.” You’re still out of breath and a bit shaky on your feet, he notices with worry in his eyes. To ease his concern, you head to the bed, sitting down and resting against the headboard as you pat the space beside you, inviting him.

Hobie bounces on the balls of his feet for a moment, hyping himself up before crossing the small distance and sitting down by your feet. “You look good— I mean, better, yeah, better.”

Colour has returned to your lips, and your eyes don’t look as swollen and red as before. You’re not sweating as much either or trembling just from standing up. You still feel faint with a cough here and there, and Hobie could tell that you’re fighting it by how you breathe in with effort.

“Thanks, I checked my temperature and it’s back to normal now thanks to you.” Smiling, you poke his side with your knee. “How’d you know I was sick by the way?”

“Lyla, she was worried about you and told me so I went to check on you.” Pausing, his fingers play with the frayed edges of your pajama pants. “‘m glad I did.”

“I guess having perfect attendance before and then suddenly being absent one time would have anyone concerned.”

“Or your mate is jus’ worried.” He nudges back. “Like I was.”

“Thank you, Hobie, really.” Sniffing, you hide the fact that you’re trying not to cry from feeling loved and remembered by having a convenient excuse of having a cold. “I’d probably still be drowning in my fever haze without you. Lesson learned, always keep the medicine cabinet restocked.” Chuckling nervously, you don’t even realize that you’ve got Hobie on your bed, just someone you care about while having a heart to heart and not your coworker turned friend that you have fallen for. “They’re probably looking for you.”

“The mail can wait.”

“In that case.” Tapping the side of the bed, you scooch away to make space for him. “You need to rest too after all that shit you had to endure because of me.”

Hobie snorts and sits beside you, shoulder to shoulder as he moves his head in your direction. “It’s not endurin’ if it's for you. We take care of people we care ‘bout, nothin’ wrong with that. You deserve to be cared for too, love.”

Blinking away the tears, it’s not enough as you rub at your eyes. “Shit, sorry, the cold’s making my eyes water.”

“Don’t rub it, you’ll make it worse.” Chortling, he then takes your wrists gingerly, fingers bracelet around yours as you sniff and exhale. “Speakin’ of mail, I’ve got your package, I think it’s another shipment for quality assurance.”

“Did you use that as your excuse when Miguel saw you sneak out?” Gazing at him through your wet lashes, you tentatively rest your head on his shoulder, not placing your whole weight on him, hovering more like. But Hobie doesn’t lean away, instead, he cups the side of your head in his palm, helping you get comfortable.

“Bold of you to assume that I got caught.” Winking, your laughter that follows has him grinning even more.

Your arm wraps around his, and Hobie smiles against the crown of your head whilst his hand intertwines around yours. “That’s my Hobie.”

The movie tickets in his pockets weigh heavy, maybe he’ll ask you next time when you’re all better. Hobie doesn’t care that it’s way past his extended lunch when he’s got you falling asleep in his arms. Hopefully Lyla will forgive him when he gets back with her soup.

This one was definitely his. No one else would willingly make their home look like it was hijacked by a bunch of drunk teenagers. Even his boat was punk. 

You don’t need to knock. He’s at the door the moment he feels your weight on deck causing the narrowboat to sway. “Found my cocoon?” He greets you with a smile, crinkles eyes tinted pink. 

His earthy stench hits you when he opens the other slim, wooden door. You purse your lips knowingly, returning his greeting with your habitual handshake, “Hey Hobie.” 

“Watch your step.” 

He follows behind as you enter what looks like a long corridor. Living room, kitchenette, bedroom and bathroom all merged together. A cool, salty breeze flows from several open windows making the thin smoke wisp around. You lean on one of the kitchen counters, Hobie slipping by you and waiting for you to slip your sneakers off.

“It's really cozy in here.” You comment in pleasant surprise, looking around for where to place your shoes. He appreciates it although he won't say. 

“Behind you, mate.” He pulls a drawer out of the small staircase you descended to get in, placing your shoes inside. He built the compartment himself figuring everything in a narrowboat needs a purpose. You hum, impressed.

“What’re you lookin’ at? Go get comfortable.” He teases.

You're quick to plop down on the couch, observing the rest of the boathouse. You admire the rich wood interior behind the walls full of colorful posters. Records leaning against a thick, boxy TV seemingly unused. He starts his tour unprompted, narrating from the counter. 

“Got a lil’ bookshelf.” He gestures with his chin at a two-shelf case, a zine collection stuffed underneath magazines and other jumbled books. You nod, appreciating how homey the space is. He makes living on a boat actually look nice. 

“Stove. Toilet. Telly for the mandem.” He watches you grab the remote before gently taking it from you and stuffing it into some other compartment. 

“Not for you though. Anythin' else is more interesting than that shite.” He passes you a sketchbook instead, dedicated to his visitors. Its bright red cover full of doodles made in paint, colorful stickers plastered over the graffiti. He hands you a thick green marker along with it. “Righ’ there you go. see that? No ads”

“What’s wrong with TV?” you challenged, snickering in disbelief.

He rolls his eyes, “‘S fine if ya don’t mind bein’ a cog.” He sits back down next to you, cushion sunk under his weight. Thin paper crinkles against his fingers as he rolls a joint, continuing his previous activity. You pull your feet up onto his couch and your knees towards your chest. Your doodles are heavy-handed, subtly chewing the inside of your cheek while you scribble. You thought you were holding your composure well, but it wasn’t lost on him. 

He flicks his lighter open, click followed by a gentle hiss and crackle. 

“Are you anxious about somethin’ specific?” he asks softly, one brow inched upward. He takes a long hit, exhaling streams through his nostrils.

You reply way too quickly, “No? I mean, I just feel itchy, I guess. It’s always something.”

He blinks at your short babble, “Yer brains jus’ buzzin’ off. I know that feelin’.”

Your nerves did concern him, making him uneasy despite his high. He fought to keep his expression neutral but his eyes narrow nonetheless. 

You speak up again, unsure of yourself. “...But it’s not just that. I feel shit out of luck,” you let out a bitter huff of laughter, “The universe is targeting me Hobie. I just can’t prove it yet.”

He chuckles deeply. You assume it’s just his high but hell, he knows a thing or two about the universe. You were half-right. “Maybe. But are ya sure it’s not somethin’ else goin’ on?”

Your eyes slowly separate from his, “Not that I know of.” You mumble back cryptically. 

Despite your words, a few familiar scenes flash through your head. The same moments you’ve been ruminating over for months now. His eyes are trained on your sketchbook but momentarily flicker to your face, trying to decode its constrained expression. Your wrist flicks with each new doodle. He can’t tell if it’s calming you down or making things worse.

“I’m not sayin’ yer crazy or nothin’. Jus’ that sometimes we're so focused on lookin' for the big answers that we miss the small ones righ’ under our noses." He chuckles, exhaling another cloud of smoke, “No pun intended.” 

You rub your neck and exhale sharply through your nostrils, tone growing even more defensive. “I’ll think about it.” 

“Nah, nah. Not what I meant. The opposite, actually. Like, shut your brain off.” He throws his free hand over the couch, playing with your sleeve. 

He gives you a sidelong glance before puffing out four skillful halos that lightly tap and disperse against your cheek. A short laugh slips from your lips. You turn towards the fog, his mischievous grin revealing his canines. 

You’re more touched than bothered. “What was that for?” 

“Ya look like you need some. True or false?” 

“True?” You reply 

He tilts his head, his thumb tracing light circles into your arm, “It’s a question?”

“I just don't know how-"

“To smoke? Yeah, that parts obvious.” He murmurs, mostly to himself. His cheeks hollow, then puff. Taking another long drag before blowing out more neatly stacked rings. How was he even doing it? You wave your hand, playfully fanning them away, stress leaving you bit by bit as his teasing forces you back into the present.

“‘M not sure how you do this shit sober. But I can still help.” He says, eyes gleaming with that strange, drug-fueled mirth. His fingers drag down your arm as he commits the moment to memory. He grabs hold of the sketchbook, eyes flickering back up to yours with a lazy half-lidded stare. He tosses the red book back onto one of his speakers. “Wanna speed this up?”

Your mind wonders with different possibilities, “Speed what up?”

“Your high. You gotta scoot closer if you wanna feel anythin’. I don’t feel like closin’ all the windows.” He smiles. 

Neither did he want to either. He was going to milk this moment out as long as you let him. Did he always look at you this way or were you tripping...?

“That’s fair.” You scoot in, masking your sudden wave of nervousness behind a toothy smile. Without warning he reaches and hooks his hand under your ankles, hitching you forward until your feet rest on the cushion just beside his hip. You suddenly become aware of your exact spot in space, tucked in close enough to smell his musky cologne. 

“Jus’ face me ‘kay? Inhale.” It’s his only instruction before he leans in. The sentence you were forming dying halfway, replaced by his offer to shotgun. 

Your heart hammers against your ribs, half of the smoke slipping from the both of you before it forms a small tunnel. You pull back slowly, but he lingers.

He playfully nudges you,“Ya fuckin’ lost half of it.”

You blink rapidly, chuckling out in a high pitch. God your ears were on fire. “My bad.” 

“You’re fine.” He replies, his hand wandering to the nape of your neck. “Try opening a bit wider this time.”

Your stomach flips. It’s genuinely taking everything in you to not spontaneously combust. Your own sweaty palms grip your knees in anticipation, heat radiating off you in waves.

His head tilted to the right. Smoke hung at the top of his mouth before he leaned in again. His soft lips graze against yours, tightening the seal and blowing a warm, bitter fog into your lungs. Your head goes light, feeling his tongue press against the tip of yours. He pulls back a few seconds later, abruptly ending the pass-off. Silence hangs in the air, the boat swaying with the natural current of the canal.

“Feelin’ it?” He asks, his breath caught. 

You nod still silently questioning if the rush was drug-induced or not, “Something like that.”

Billie and Ramona’s hush whispers freeze in place, muffled words hanging in the air, as they stop in their tracks whilst they sit around in their shared bedroom. They both look at their younger brother, Kitt, with different expressions. Billie’s eyes are cartoonishly large, shocked at the sudden intrusion. While Mona raises a questioning brow when their little brother has never set foot in their bedroom, the last time was when he was a toddler asking them to play with him.

Mona beckons him over wordlessly, before her twin follows with the same gesture as if they have a secret of their own to be told.

Kitt sucks in his teeth, shutting the bedroom door quietly as he hears your giggles in the kitchen, probably because of a joke from their dad.

“What’d you hear, Kitty?” Billie whispers, patting the bed as she scooches back. Mona twists in her seat on the carpeted floor, chin resting atop the mattress, eyes boring into him like always.

“It’s not what I heard, it’s what I saw.” Sitting down, his sisters are intrigued by his words. Kitt rubs a hand over his tired face, almost a mirror of their dad’s exasperated look. “Dad picked me up from the debate club like always,” they stare at him with anticipation. “and he was all…weird when I got in.”

“How weird exactly?” Mona scrunches her nose at her brother.

“Details, Kitt, we need details!” While Billie snaps her fingers at him, prompting the ten year old to scoff and push her hand away.

“He called me ‘kiddo—’” They both gasp, before simultaneously rolling their mirrored eyes. “What? He doesn’t call me that! You both know that!”

“That’s it?” Billie scoffs, grabbing a chunky plushie, giving it a squeeze, head falling atop its soft head. “We thought we’d get more juicy details.” Her voice is muffled by the toy.

“W–well, that’s not all.” Both of their attention are back on him. “He was hiding something in the backseat jus’ under his jacket. I think it was a bouquet because it smelled like one but he never gave it to mum when we got home.”

“No!” Billie’s face contorts into agony.

“Bee, calm down, it’s probably jus’—” Mona tries to placate the older twin with a hand on her arm. But Billie brings the plushie to her face and screams into it. “A misunderstandin’, I swear you want a career in theatrics when you’re such a drama queen.”

Billie lifts her head up abruptly, scoffing loudly, offended by her twin’s comment. “This is mum and dad that we’re bloody talkin’ ’bout!”

“I don’t get it.” Kitt’s worried look says otherwise. “I mean, I might be wrong, it did kind of smelled like mummy’s perfume.”

“Please, mummy doesn’t use her flowery perfume unless there’s a special occasion.” Billie’s hands move around wildly, and Mona has to restrain her hands before she accidentally hits their little brother just like before and a few times before that. “Plus, we also think that daddy’s actin’ weird.”

“Don’t forget that mummy is actin’ weird too.” Ramona corrects casually, her tone is straight forward, stable like always but judging from the subtle knit of her brows under the light of Billie’s princess lamp, she’s just as concerned as her twin and little brother. Albeit more quiet and keeping the worry all to herself.

“Well,” Billie’s shoulders sag, biting the inside of her cheek. “That’s true.”

“What did mummy do that’s so weird?” Kitt’s worry is shown by the way he curls his legs against his chest and hugs it tightly.

“When she picked us up from practice, we stopped by a dry cleaner’s before she bought us ice cream—”

“You lot got ice cream?!” Kitt’s furrowed brows turn into an offended shock. “Where’s my ice cream?!”

“That’s why we love it when mum’s the one pickin’ us up.” Mona says in a sing-song tone, one that has Kitt blowing a raspberry at her.

“Can we focus on the bloody details?” Shaking her siblings, Billie brings them back on track. “She went to pick up her LBD from the dry cleaners, which, number one, she only wears that dress when dad takes her somewhere fancy. And B, she bloody hates the dry cleaners. She’d rather do it herself!”

“First off, what the bloody hell is a LBD?”

“And why did you start with a number then end off with a letter?” Ramona adds whilst Kitt nods.

“You lot are clueless.” Rubbing her face dramatically, Billie thumps her hands on her plushie with frustration. “An LBD means little black dress, also why are we glossin’ over the fact that she got us ice cream after gettin’ the dress from the cleaners, hm?” She pauses for effect. “To buy our silence!”

“That makes sense.” Thinking, the cogs in Ramona’s head turn as Billie spreads her arms with an ‘exactly!’ expression. “I don’t remember a special day today though. It’s not their anniversary, or any of their birthdays.”

“Unless we forgot.” Kitt’s eyes widen, snapping his finger in a light bulb moment.

“No, Kitt, we didn’t forget the date.” Rolling her eyes, Mona bites her thumb, a nervous tick of hers as she continues to think of a reasonable reason as to why their parents are being so weird and secretive around them. “Maybe they’re goin’ to a funeral?”

“That’s the reason you can come up with, genius?” Huffing, Billie scratches her cheek, accidentally nicking the star pimple patch on her face before wincing and putting it back on lopsidedly. “They would’ve told us and have either auntie Yuri or Uncle Ned to watch over us.”

“Or uncle James.” Kitt says with a grin.

“Mum will never let uncle James babysit us alone ever since he let us watch cabin in the woods.”

“It was a good movie though.” Mona chuckles at the memory of you literally shaking their uncle James and chastising him until he was pouting and in near tears.

“Wait, why is dad actin’ weird ‘round the two of you?” Scooching closer, Kitt whispers when his ears pick up the sound of your humming in the hallway before fading away into your shared room with their dad.

“It happened yesterday actually.” Billie understands when she also hears your humming and their dad’s familiar footsteps following right behind you. She waits for the door to close, even hearing the lock click in place before she continues. “Before we got in the van just before school, he was in a phone call, which he had to put down immediately when he saw us near the car.”

“Then he was actin’ all weird all of a sudden,” Mona continues. “askin’ us if we had breakfast and where you were even when he ate with us and you were literally at the front door gettin’ attacked by mum’s goodbye kisses.”

“Then, get this.” Leaning close as her siblings mirror her movements, they listen closely at Billie’s next words. “There was an unknown number callin’ him before you got in, Kitty, then he quickly canceled it at the speed of light.”

“I’ve seen him dodge a knife from goblin but I’ve never seen him drop a call that fast.” Ramona once again finished her twin’s sentence.

“So, what do we think it is then?” Frowning, hands wringing together, Kitt inhales deeply. “What if they’re—”

“Nope, nuh uh.” Hands shutting her ears, Billie frantically shakes her head. “I refuse to say it!”

“But, they’re not like that, right?” Ramona’s forlorn eyes is what breaks the camel’s back that has the siblings on edge. “I mean, they still love each other.”

“We still see ‘em kiss and hug.” Kitt embraces his legs tighter as Billie drags him to her side to hug him instead and gives him her plushie for comfort.

“That’s true, it won’t be like that one time with uncle Peter and MJ?”

Billie and Kitt’s attention turns to their sister, deeply frowning and disapproving of her comment.

“Definitely not.” Forcing out a chuckle, Billie snorts and waves the lingering question away. “They’re very much in love!”

As if on cue, you knock on their door, peeking through, hair tousled compared to before, whilst you have a giddy smile on your lips. “Dinner’s ready. Dad made pasta and garlic bread.”

Hobie peeks above your head, having the same lopsided smile as his hand cups your waist lovingly. “Last one down gets the butt of the toast.” He then bolts downstairs, which Billie immediately follows behind, leaving her siblings in the dust. She leans up to peck your cheek on the way down the stairs.

“Careful!” Chuckling, you watch Billie jump on her dad’s back on the stair landing.

“Bee!” Mona stomps her foot down before running after her twin, doing the same as she kisses your temple before sliding down the stairs on the bannister, gaining speed.

“Not fair!” Kitt pulls up his one lousy sock, almost tripping over it as you reach for him with a hand and a smile. “‘m goin’ to get the butt of the bread, mum!”

Wrapping him in your arm, you assure him with a pat on his back. “If we go down together then they won’t know who’s last, so we both won’t get the butt of the toast. And your dad doesn’t have the heart to give it to us, baby.”

Smiling, Kitt hugs back as you gently lead him down the stairs. He thinks that his worries are just that, worries, and something his own mind has concocted when there’s no proof to connect it all to. He’s sure that there’s a valid explanation to things and not what he’s dreading when his mum and dad are still absolutely in love with each other.

“What were you gossiping about with your sisters, hm? Any juicy details I can know?” You ask, matching his smile, seeing him hide his ‘caught digging into the cookie jar’ expression that’s reminiscent of his dad’s face whenever you catch him snacking in the kitchen with the kids at midnight.

“Uh, jus’ school stuff.”

“Is it about Tina? I heard that she’s dragging her feet through calculus and giving your sister the cold shoulder again.”

“Sure, mummy, yeah, it’s ‘bout…her.”

“Mona’s got her hands full with tutoring this year, I’m sure.”

Kitt listens in, watching your face light up when Hobie presents the dining table like one of the show presenters in the telly that you seem to love watching with his dad every Friday night. Your smiles and Hobie’s gentle hand sliding upon your palm makes Kitt forget all about his concerns when you still look undoubtedly in love with his dad.

—

“Billie! You’ll be late!” You yell up the stairs while Hobie helps Kitt with placing the finishing touches on his diorama.

“In a minute!” Your oldest yells back, huffing and puffing from the way her feet frantically stomps around her room, for sure still getting dressed at the last minute.

It’s never a dull moment in the morning in the Brown household with all three kids going to school now. You still remember the day when the girls were crying their eyes out during their first day in kindergarten. They weren’t the only ones crying on that day though, you’d think you would cry but Hobie’s stifled sob in the car when the girls were dropped off at school had you comforting him instead.

Kitt wasn’t any better though, he didn’t cry or throw a tantrum, he was calm and quiet, even a bit excited with his Spider-Man lunchbox in hand. But when your youngest went home that day with the deepest frown you’ve ever seen, claiming that he hates school and never wants to go ever again, you thought that you had to home school one kid. Despite all the hurdles, the girls are doing great in school, and thanks to their pep talk to their little brother, who looked like he wanted to burn the whole house down, he went back to school the next day and made a good friend that made school better for him.

All in all, you and Hobie did a great job with them, even when Billie stomps her foot at you, or when Mona gives you the silent treatment, and when Kitt is being smart with you, they’re growing up to be great someday. Just like their dad, who is currently struggling with the hot glue gun that’s burning his fingertips.

Wincing, Hobie flinches but finishes Kitt’s diorama of the London bridge that everyone had to pitch in last night and help to finish it before bed.

“There you go, Kittkat, I don’t have my fingerprints anymore but who needs it anyway, hm?” Messing his son’s hair, Hobie admires the work. “Spider-Man swingin’ on it is a bloody nice touch.”

“You only say that, dad, because it’s you.” Mona comments, struggling to put all her books inside her backpack that’s already full.

“Bein’ proud of yourself is a good trait to have, innit?” He says, fixing up Kitt’s afro when he gave him the signature Kitt death glare.

“Isn’t that jus’ pride?” She adds, smiling and joking around as Hobie tosses a popsicle stick at her which she catches effortlessly thanks to her inherited reflexes.

Chuckling, you take the bundle of books from her and put it inside a separate tote bag instead. “There, now you won’t end up having a hunched back when you’re twenty.”

“Thanks, mummy.” Smiling softly, Mona closes her backpack, and with your help, you put the tote bag around her shoulder.

“You’re welcome, I know you’re going to kill your presentation today.”

“I hope so, or it’ll end up killin’ me first.” Huffing, she tilts her head to look back at the stairs. “Billie, it’s not funny anymore! We’ll be late!”

You almost flinch at the sudden volume coming from your quietest child. Eyes meeting with Hobie’s, he makes a face, smiling as he kneels down to tuck Kitt’s trouser pants inwards lest he trips over them.

“I can’t find my favorite earrings!” Billie shrieks back, frustration rolling off her tone.

“The cherry one?” You and Mona say simultaneously, chuckling at each other briefly before you sigh and decide to help Billie or else she’ll suffer the wrath of her twin. “It’s in your ballerina box, Bee.”

“Cheese,” Hobie calls for his daughter as he stands back up, knees creaking. “Don’t forget that auntie Yuri’s goin’ to pick you all up later, yeah?”

“Why is auntie Yuri goin’ to pick us up exactly?” Like a detective, Ramona questions Hobie with a raised brow.

“I told you,” she could practically see the beads of sweat rolling down his temple. While Kitt watches on through suspicious eyes. “Your mum has her appointment and I have patrol.”

“An appointment to where?” Arms crossed over her chest, Mona goes head to head with her dad. “Hair salon, doctor’s?”

Kitt’s eyes widen at the last word. “Is mummy okay?”

“Mummy’s fine, drum Kitt.” He reassures with a cheek pat. “She has a thing at the library, the readin’ stories for kids, remember?”

“Right, yeah, I remember now.” For now, Mona backs off.

Humming, Hobie gazes at her through narrowed eyes before stomping over to her with his heavy boots and embracing her from behind, blowing raspberries at her cheek like back when she was little.

“Dad!” Giggling and kicking her feet about, Mona’s shrieks echo around the house.

“Why are you bein’ so nosy, huh?”

“I jus’ wanted to know!” She says in between giggles. “Daddy, my hair! Mum’s gonna kill you if you ruin it!”

With a roll of his eyes, Hobie brings Mona back down. Patting her head just to add to her annoyance, he lets out an obnoxious guffaw as he opens the front door.

“Start the car for me, Cheese.” Tossing the car keys at Mona, she catches it effortlessly whilst putting her backpack on. “Help Kitt with his project, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, dad.” Beckoning Kitt over, Mona grabs the diorama carefully and brings it to the car.

“Oi, Kitty.” Hobie yanks his son back by the strap of his backpack as Kitt scrunches his nose at his father. “Eat your lunch today, don’t want you gettin’ sick again.”

“But ‘m not hungry.”

Kneeling down to Kitt’s height, he realizes that his son has gotten taller when he has to crane his neck up to face him. “Jus’ eat a little bit.” Smiling softly, Hobie pokes his belly playfully. “Tell you what, have half of a sandwich and the orange slices and we’ll bring you to the record shop on the weekend, deal?”

Kitt thinks it over, a frown slowly replaced by a small smile. “Okay, deal.” He stretches his hand for a shake which Hobie gladly does before ushering him to the car.

Standing up, knees creaking, Hobie sighs in relief. “Billie Jean Brown!”

“Comin’!” Loud footsteps echo as she sprints down the steps. Billie almost falls from the last step but with Hobie’s quick reflexes, he catches her in time. “Mum found it, it was under my bed.”

“Good, next time keep it safe. Go, you’ll be late, again.” Patting her back, Hobie gently pushes her through the door whilst she giggles and mumbles about her being late ‘a team effort.’

Inhaling deeply, your palm lands on the small of his back, squeezing softly as he turns to you with a smirk. “Hey,” Biting your lip, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it lovingly. “Be careful out there, okay?”

“Always, lovie.” Soft eyes land on you, Hobie resists the urge to kiss you right there and then, but he knows that his children will be more tardy if he does. So he settles with a peck on the cheek, letting his lips linger for a second longer before pulling away. “Any plans later?”

Cheeks warm, hands clammy, you swear that a bead of sweat dribbled down your temple. “Maybe.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

“Hobie.”

“Hm?” His amused smile and raised brows has your heart aflutter.

“Go. We can’t be called to school again for their attendance.” Turning him around, hands on his shoulders, you usher him out to the porch and into the morning sun. But before you could let him go, you lean over and kiss his jaw sweetly. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, I’ll see you later—”

The car horn blares out with Mona at the wheel and looking frustrated at her parents. “Let’s go, please!”

Chuckling, and mirroring each other’s smiles, Hobie gives you one last look, winking over his shoulder before getting inside the car to face the day ahead.

—

Yuri’s car radio shakes the whole vehicle, punk rock music blaring through the speakers. Once she’s in the school zone, she lowers the volume but her loud singing persists as she looks for the carbon copies of Hobie.

“What’s up, banana one and banana two.” The brakes squeak as she stops in front of a waiting Billie and Ramona. “You two look like you need ice cream.”

“More like rum ice cream.” Mona mumbles under her breath, pulling the van door open and sliding inside with a loud relieved sigh.

“What clawed up her ass and did you steal her space pants again, Bee?”

“Not this time, auntie.” Billie huffs, sliding beside her sister as the door shuts with a thud. “Her presentation almost failed.”

“Because my groupmates didn’t do their part so I had to riff off what I read!” Mona slouches, looking miserable as she runs a hand on her face. “I knew I should’ve jus’ worked by myself.”

“Ouch, that’s rough, buddy.” Yuri pats Mona’s knee, giving her a small smile. “Extra scoop?”

“Make that three, please, auntie.” Voice muffled by her hand, Mona melts into the seat as Billie puts her seatbelt for her.

“My poor wallet but I’ll just ask your dad to pay—”

“Is that Kitt?” Billie suddenly lunges to the front of the car, pointing at her little brother, who’s currently walking further away from the car. “Where is he goin’?”

“Maybe he didn’t see us, hold on.” Worried, Yuri starts the car immediately and rolls it slowly beside the sidewalk where Kitt is walking. “Hey, I’ve got candy, hop in, kiddo.”

With his head buried inside a book, Kitt’s eyes widen for a moment before realization hits him. “Auntie Yuri! You scared me!”

Chortling, Yuri gestures for him to get in. “Come on, we’re all going for ice cream—”

“No, we need to follow dad!” Swiftly, Kitt heads inside the car in record time whilst his sisters give him similar looks, eyebrows raised like it was copied and pasted on their faces. “Let’s go!”

“Kitt, don’t be rude.” Billie flicks her brother’s forehead.

“You okay? What’s up with dad?” Mona looks over Billie and over to a wincing Kitt.

“Yeah, what’s wrong, Kitty?” Yuri’s concern is evident on her face.

“Remember last night when I said that dad was actin’ weird?” The twins nod. “I put a GPS tracker in his suit while he was asleep jus’ to see, and look.” Turning the book around, he reveals a flickering screen tucked inside the pages with the city’s map right on it where a red dot is moving quickly.

“You’re the one that’s actin’ weird, Kitty.” Billie nibbles on the end of her braids, eyes glancing at her brother then over to the screen.

“He stopped at our house an hour ago and he’s goin’ out again to where he already finished his patrol!” Groaning, he gestures wildly. “He rarely does that! And I didn’t hear any police chatter in that area.”

“So that’s where my scanner went!” Ramona scoffs, offended.

“Can’t you two jus’ focus!”

The girls lean close to the screen as Yuri blinks her confusion away.

“Well, that’s not weird, he sometimes goes home to eat or to go to the bathroom.” Mona, ever the realistic one, utters steadily.

“Yeah, but I bet he doesn’t go to a fancy hotel right after. Look.” Billie points at the screen, where the dot slows down beside a known hotel.

“That son of a—!” Grinding her teeth, Yuri revs up her engine. “Put on your seatbelts, kids!”

They do as they’re told, bracing themselves as Yuri probably breaks a dozen or so road laws in the process.

The ride to the hotel was filled with tension, apprehension can be felt through the trio as Billie gnaws on the ends of her hair nervously, Mona biting her thumb, and with Kitt wringing his hands together. Yuri was more furious though, rather than nervous, as if she already knew what her best mate is up to in his age with three kids and a loving wife at home.

As the car slows to a stop, the girls gasp at something, eyes wide as they point at the Hotel entrance. “There’s dad!”

“And he’s wearin’ a suit? With a bouquet of flowers?” Scrunching her nose, Billie is flabbergasted by the fact that her father, of all people, is wearing a suit during a random Friday. “Huh, he actually looks good.”

Kitt’s concern grows, slinking into his seat as his stomach turns into knots. His anxiety gnaws at him even further when her sisters gasp in tandem, faces falling as they see him go to the hotel bar through the wide clear windows as he sits beside a woman.

“Wait, isn’t that your mum’s car?” Yuri points at a parked car with the same make and plates as the family car. “Is she here too—? Oh.”

“Oh?!” Mona’s nerves escalate. “D’you know somethin’ ‘bout this, auntie?” Chest heaving, worried that her parents are tangled up with something bad. Or worse, something that she doesn’t even want to say out loud.

“Well, I’ve got a theory—” the car door suddenly slams open and out comes Kitt rushing outside, dodging cars as he sprints towards his dad. “Kitt!”

“Shit! Kitt!” The twins simultaneously yell, clicking their seatbelts off and immediately running towards him. People give them weird looks, and the valet does a double take at the running pair.

“Oh, fuck, gorgeous is gonna kill me.” Panicking, Yuri follows suit, a car honks at her which she gives the finger to as she makes it to the trio before they could catch up with a dapper looking Hobie.

—

You stare at yourself in the mirror, the dress fits you perfectly, cinching just the right amount around your curves. As you smack your lips together, pinky cleaning up the edges, you back away further from the mirror to admire your handiwork. The red lipstick you chose is a pretty contrast to the black dress, and the dainty silver jewelry is the cherry on top. Not bad for someone juggling three kids and a vigilante husband.

Inhaling deeply, incessantly tugging down at your dress, your palms grow sweaty with every second you stare at yourself. You haven’t looked like this in ages when you’ve been so busy with attending recitals, helping with homework and tending to wounds, sometimes all in the same day. Twisting around, you nickpick at every little thing on you, from the small fluff sticking to the dress, to the loose thread hanging on the hem and a stray glitter on your cheek. You’re one misplaced thing away from yanking the dress off you and throwing it in the laundry basket.

After you fix what’s bothering you, you take deep breaths in front of the mirror. Nerves light up your senses as you spray your favorite perfume around you. The smell reminds you of Hobie when he gave it to you during one of the many anniversaries. It never fails to bring a smile to your face, until now that is. Nervous is an understatement, you feel like your legs are turning to jelly, hands trembling as you grab your purse, and fingers feeling numb as you take off your wedding ring and tuck it safely inside the bag.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Whispering to yourself, you take one last deep inhale and exhale before walking outside of the bedroom, onto the quiet house and out to the car.

There’s a lump in your throat whenever your eyes dart towards the empty ring finger on the steering wheel. Focusing on the road, you suck in your teeth as the car gets closer and closer towards the hotel. The building rises high amidst the concrete jungle, and you had to wipe down your hands on a handkerchief lest you coat the wheel with sweat.

You exit the car in front of the valet, smiling sweetly as you pass the keys to him. The building looms over you, big, sparkly and sleek around the edges that reminds you of James’ parents’ house during that one time you and Hobie visited for his birthday.

When you step foot inside, the automatic doors opening for you, the space is finely decorated and enormous. Marble floors and columns that are so clean that you could see your reflection on it. You take a whiff of the place, smelling like lavender with a hint of money lingering in the air. It’s all crystal chandeliers and rolling suitcases from business people around. It all makes you more nervous than before while you bite the inside of your cheek.

Suits walk around with their attention on their phones like zombies following a meat on a stick. Hobie would roll his eyes at them, and you’d chuckle and tease him about wearing an expensive suit as a dare. But you shake your head and wave the thought away from your mind, focusing towards the hotel bar just beside the lobby.

The place oozes with luxury, full leather seats, oak tables and warm chandelier lights that illuminate onto the fully stocked bar. Sitting down, you fix your skirt, clearing your throat as the bartender slides towards you.

“A martini, please.” The man nods and heads to make your drink for you.

Your ears pick up the sound of someone sitting on the stool beside you even though there are plenty of chairs to sit on. But you understand quickly when you get a whiff of a man’s perfume, burgundy and oak with a hint of citrus. Something that brings a smile to your face.

“A pint, please.” He places his order with finesse, warm eyes glancing at you just as you look back. A large bouquet of flowers sits beside his arm on the bar, dainty baby’s breath, red roses and pink tulips all bundled up prettily.

“Isn’t it too early for a pint?”

Chuckling deeply, he turns his attention to you. A tailored suit fits him perfectly, all black and sleek. The first two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, showing off stacked silver necklaces that match his chunky rings. There’s silver hair weaved through his locs, salt and pepper curls that has your heart racing even more. He loosens his cuffs, taking off the cufflinks and pocketing it all.

“Isn’t it too early for a martini?” He replies, a suave tone laden with his comment.

“Touché” You say above the rim of your glass. The alcohol warms your insides, giving you the much needed liquid bravery.

“Thanks, mate.” The man says as the glass slides to his palm, no wedding ring in sight.

“Waiting for someone?” You ask, throat still feeling the lingering warmth as your finger dances along the rim of the glass.

“I was.” Sipping on his pint, he swallows thickly, throat bobbing up and down as he sets down his glass. “Got stood up.”

“Lucky.”

He turns to you with a raised pierced brow. “How is that lucky, hm?”

“What I meant was, lucky me.” Fluttering your lashes, you smile brightly, giving him your most sultry look.

A smile replaces his confused look, giving you a friendly hand, rings shimmering, fingers lithe and long, the stranger looks deeply into your eyes. “Hobie Brown, might as well introduce myself to the lucky one.”

Taking his hand gently, letting his fingers wrap around yours, you shake him, pulse beating rapidly, easing more and more with every second he holds onto you. You tell him your name, and a familiar grin spreads across his face. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Releasing your hand, his pinky lingering for a moment, his eyes never stray too far from yours. As if he’s looking deeply into your very soul, seeing you for who you are. “So, why are you ‘ere, love? Bloke stood you up?”

“Nope, I’m here for business. A convention.” You manage to say, feeling the warmth settling in the pit of your stomach.

“Fancy,” Hobie takes another sip, lashes fluttering as you watch his adam’s apple move whilst he swallows like you’re some lovesick teenage girl. With a thumb, he wipes the foam off the top of his lip, eyes honing in on yours as he licks the pad of his finger clean. He knows what he did, and sure enough, he gives you a smug smirk. “So, what d’you do?”

“Hm? What?” You blink, bringing yourself back down to earth. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Chuckling, Hobie reaches for your hand gripping onto the glass tightly. “Can I?” He asks but takes your hand gently off of the glass anyway. “There, wouldn’t want you shatterin’ it, do we?”

“No we don’t.” Sighing longingly, you shake your head, remembering that you should be the one flirting so effortlessly. “Um, I work in finance…yeah, finance.”

He tamps down an amused smile. “You look like it.”

“Do I?” You ask with a grin, before composing yourself, and clearing your throat. “Yeah, fancy job requires a fancy dress.”

Hobie hides his grin behind the mouth of his glass. “You look beautiful.” He says genuinely, foot nudging yours under the bar. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You bite your lip, throwing a leg above the other casually. “And you look handsome, really…” your eyes glance him up and down before flicking your attention back to his soft eyes and even softer smile. “...hot.”

He almost chokes on his drink, “shit, you’re straightforward. I guess you deserve this more than anyone.” Sliding the bouquet over to you, paper crinkling as the scent of the flowers waft over your nose and triumphs over the scent of liquor.

“Why thank you. I do like tulips.” Your fingers dance along the petals, gliding softly, as Hobie finds himself glued onto the sight of your fingers. “Are you sure? Maybe your date will show up.”

“Who fuckin’ cares anymore.” Muttering under his breath, throat tight and fists curled around the other before he clears his throat and gathers his composure. “Nah, she won’t show up. What about your convention?”

Shaking your head, scooching closer, knee to knee as your hand crawls atop his own before he turns his hand to hold onto you fully. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

“In that case, I’ve got a room upstairs.”

“Now who’s being too straightforward?” Whispering lowly, thumb rubbing along his wrist, his other hand reaches for your hip, warm and calloused as he grips onto you with familiarity that raises your heartbeat.

“Is that a yes or no?”

“Do I still get to keep the flowers if I say no?” The two of you inch closer to each other with every word.

He chuckles, a roaming hand sliding down further from your hip down to your thigh. “Of course, it’s yours now.”

“It’s a yes then—”

“Dad!”

A familiar squeak yells from behind, followed by a chorus of angry voices yelling the same name. Your whole family marches angrily towards you, and you shrink behind Hobie, chugging down your expensive martini before it goes to waste.

Hobie furrows his brows, spidey senses failing him as he turns and meets with the very angry faces of his children plus his best mate and a couple of frantic hotel workers lagging just behind them.

“Why are you cheatin’ on mummy?!” Kitt stomps his foot down, almost in tears but still absolutely furious.

“You wanker!” The twins yell at the same time. If Kitt didn’t gather enough attention before, they definitely have it now as heads turn towards the bar. Some shake their heads in disappointment, the others hide their faces behind the menu.

“Hobie, you little shit— oh hi gorgeous!” Yuri changes tune quickly when she finally sees you behind Hobie, unintentionally obscured by him and the flowers. “We fucked up, didn’t we?”

“Wait, what?” Billie furrows her brows, a face that’s a mirror of her sister’s as she squints her eyes at you, as if she barely recognizes you in your ensemble. “Oh, hi, mum— shit!”

“Billie, watch your language.” You say, albeit unsurely when you and Hobie are in the forefront of everyone’s attention.

“‘m so confused, what, why?” Mona rakes her hand through her hair, for the first time having no answer to her confusion.

“Mummy?” Kitt flashes his big tearful eyes at you, lips wobbling and fists tightly curled around. “What’s goin’ on?” He runs to you, and your arms immediately receive him, patting his back and pecking his temple. “I thought—” his face buries into your side, tears staining your dress, but you don’t mind as you kick Hobie’s leg to wake him up from his stupor.

You’ve seen him battle it out with a giant lizard and a living sandstorm but you’ve never seen him this frozen before. The last time he was this speechless was when you confessed to him.

“I—”

“Sir, please escort your children out of the hotel.” An employee says, wincing and nursing his shin that has a very familiar footprint right on his trouser leg.

“Right, sorry.” Hobie hops off his stool, slamming the bills onto the bar, paying the tab and ushering his family out of there.

People watch on with judging eyes, but you ignore them as Hobie’s hand upon the small of your back guides you and Kitt out. Ramona narrows her eyes between you and Hobie, while Billie hides her embarrassment behind the bouquet of flowers.

Yuri circles back, grabs the half empty pint and downs it all down, sends a wink at a woman staring from the end of the bar and does it all within a minute before following behind you and your family.

Once outside of the hotel and beside the family van, the trio turns to you and Hobie with similar looks of disappointment, confusion and anger. Which can all be seen on their faces, mirrored faces that are almost a carbon copy of Hobie’s handsome face. It’s like you’re being judged by his clones.

“Did you kick that poor bloke?” Hobie starts, only to be cut off by Kitt’s sniff. He then softens, crouching down to meet with his eyes. “Kitt, mum and I are sorry.”

“We didn’t mean to worry all of you.” You cross the small distance, a hand atop each girls’ heads, but neither of them relent, still furious as they refuse to meet with your eyes.

“Awkward…” Yuri says in a sing-song tone, leaning against the van door with a smile. “Oh boy, am I so glad that I don’t have a kid.”

“Yuri, kindly.” Hobie gestures for her to walk away.

“What about the kids?” She replies, sneaking a wink your way. “I mean, what about your plans?”

“Yuri, thank you for picking them up but we’ve got this.” You say with a much kinder tone than Hobie.

“In that case,” clicking her tongue rhythmically, she does finger guns at the five of you, before twisting around and walking back to the hotel with a pep in her step. “Good luck!”

An awkward silence envelopes around your whole family. The sounds of the car horns and the mindless chatter around adds to the tension.

“So?” Billie is the first to break the ice. “What’s all this then?”

“And why all the secrets?” Her sister finishes the sentence, arms crossed over her chest.

You glance at Hobie with trepidation as you bite your lip. Kitt doesn’t look any happier, his face is all scrunched up, pouting and mirroring Mona’s stance. Meanwhile, the twins demand an answer, and knowing them, they won’t leave without getting it.

“Well,” Hobie reaches for your hand, and you take it as he tugs you to his side. “We should get inside the van first.”

“Nah.” The twins say at the same time in the same steady tone.

“Right.” He glances at you unsurely. His hand squeezes you once, twice, thrice for comfort. “We were on a date, that’s all.”

“You could’ve told us.” Kitt finally adds with a face that mimics Hobie’s glower. “Like always.”

“Well, your dad and I wanted to keep this one a secret. Because sometimes, couples need some time alone together, and just be…” you turn to Hobie for an answer.

“Themselves, yeah, themselves.”

“You mean, without us?” Mona asks, biting her thumb as she sighs.

“Yeah, I mean, sort of.” You backtrack immediately. “Your dad and I have been together for a really long time, sometimes we need to find something new to do. And we haven’t been to a fancy place like this so we thought, why not have a date here, right?” You elbow Hobie’s side gently.

“Right! It’s like bein’ tired of the same pub so we go to another pub.” He side eyes you, looking for approval as you nod and give him a subtle thumbs up.

“That’s it?” Billie rolls her eyes and raises a brow. “We thought you two were actin’ weird ‘cause you were cheatin’ on each other.”

Hobie grasps onto his imaginary pearls, shocked that they would even consider that. “Mac, I wouldn’t do that to your mum, you all know that. That’s bloody horrible to think that we would do that.”

“We love each other, we wouldn’t even think about doing that.” You reassure further, as you see their demeanors ease up with every reassuring words. “My loves, we’re sorry that we made you all worry.” Crouching down, senses telling you to open your arms, which you do as Kitt quickly parks himself in your arms and hides his face in the crook of your neck. “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby.” Patting his back, the girls then glances at their dad simultaneously.

“We’re sorry, mac and cheese. We should’ve jus’ told you lot ‘bout our plans.”

Billie’s the first one to hug Hobie as Mona stands her ground.

“Mon-mon?” Hobie gestures for her as he hugs Billie.

“It’s okay to keep secrets sometimes but you both made Kitty worried sick.” She sniffs, frowning deeply. “You made us worry, we thought we’d have to celebrate two separate birthdays and two different holidays.”

Billie pokes her head out of Hobie’s side. “I thought we’d have to parent trap you two.”

You let out a chuckle as Billie then moves to you for a much needed embrace, which you hug back wholeheartedly. Ramona looks at the scene, decides back and forth but one look at her dad’s soft eyes, she crumbles and runs to him for a hug.

“I’m sorry for kickin’ the bell boy.” She says against his blazer, muffled by the suit. “And callin’ you a wanker.”

“That was you?” Hobie tries to hide being too proud in his tone lest they get used to kicking people. Especially after you glare at him briefly. “Maybe don’t do that anymore.”

“C’mon, let’s order something greasy and watch something cheesy.” You announce, pecking each of your children’s heads lovingly.

—

The girls are all tuckered out as the movie continues to play in the background. Pizza boxes are all that’s left of dinner, dirty cups and plates are strewn across the table, along with a couple pints of ice cream because you just can’t say no to your babies that are quickly growing up. One day they’ll realize exactly what happened today, and it’ll shatter what they currently know, but for now, you’ll listen to their soft snores, watch their breathing rise and fall and cuddle up beside them until the day they decide that they’re too cool to hug you.

Ramona is curled up on her armchair, her quilt laid atop her, courtesy of her dad. Meanwhile, Billie is splayed on the longer side of the couch, arms spread, looking like a starfish as her favorite plushie threatens to fall from her side. Her quilt is kicked down near her feet, clearly sleeping unbothered without it. While you and Hobie are settled on the couch comfortably with Kitt on the precipice of falling asleep in between the two of you.

Your hand runs along his head, careful of his curls as you see his lashes flutter close. “You can sleep, Kitty, dad will carry you to bed.”

“I wanna see…” his voice falters, sinking further into your side. “...the toys get back together.”

“You’ve seen this movie a dozen times, Kittkat.” Hobie whispers, tucking the blanket under his chin.

Your son only answers with a hum, before finally falling asleep in your arms.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Hobie’s tensed shoulders eases up, head falling backwards on the couch as you let out a quiet chuckle.

“I know.” Nudging his foot with your own, he answers with his socked foot looping around yours in a sort of hug. “I think we did pretty well, considering.”

Hobie raises his head, an arm thrown behind you and over Kitt as the TV lights flicker on his handsome face. He now wears an old loose band shirt, and his typical black sweatpants all topped with his mismatched socks, a guitar and a bat printed on it. And yet, you still find him just as hot when he was wearing the suit. Hotter even when he looks more relaxed, surrounded by his kids and his lovie.

“Yeah, why would they think I’d cheat on you?” He still looks seriously offended by that.

“Look at it from their perspective, their usual punk dad was wearing a sharp suit while holding onto a bouquet of flowers and walking inside a fancy hotel that you’ve said wasn’t your scene.” You say with a smile, fingers inching closer to his, atop the back of the couch.

“That’s…yeah, I’d think that too. But, shit, lovie, you know I wouldn’t, right?” He’s the one to close the distance, tugging onto your hand as he holds you wholeheartedly. His wedding ring clinks against yours. “I wouldn’t in a million bloody years.”

“I know,” bringing his hand to your lips, you peck him affectionately as the frown on his face turns into a loving smile. “And I wouldn’t do that either.” His heartbeat syncs with you simply from the reassurance. “I gotta hand it to you though, you were good at roleplaying.”

“Yeah?” A giddy look appears on his face. “Oscar worthy?”

“Hmm, maybe more of a golden globe.”

“Ah, fuck off.” Joking, the two of you laugh, the sound that has Billie twitching in her sleep. He pats her, like back when she was still a baby and she immediately relaxes.

“I don’t think it quite worked though. You were right about the venue, it didn’t seem very much like us.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” It’s his turn to kiss the back of your hand. “I thought you were into it.”

“Well, I was way into the suit.” A smug grin appears on his face as he puffs out his chest. “You looked fucking fit but that really wasn’t our scene. It was too stuffy. I’d rather be at our pub sharing a plate of fish and chips or be at home watching crappy movies while we rag on it. It was nice though, for a minute or so until I remembered the price of the drinks.”

Hobie muffles his laugh atop the couch cushions. “Yeah, we could always try it again, in a different place next time, and with the kids knowin’ where we’re going. It was…thrillin’.”

“But not all the details.”

“Not all of it.” Hobie reiterates with a grin, thumb running along the back of your hand. “Maybe I should return the suit. We can afford it ‘cause you bein’ in finance and all that.” That earns a giggle from you that you have to muffle with a hand.

Biting your lip, you look at him with a flirty expression, bedroom eyes immediately have him sitting up straight with a lopsided smile. “Or maybe in a few days, what’s the rush? I still have the receipt anyway.”

“Can’t say no to that.”

“Don’t drag her into this.” Stomping his foot down, heavy boot thumping on the floorboards, Hobie leans close at the very smug Ekko before glancing over to you. “I don’t look like an ostrich, right, lovie?”

You simply flick your eyes at the pair, folding the measuring tape casually as you shrug casually. “I’m a bit busy, boys.” You can’t possibly take anyone’s side lest you start a fight, or one of them would pout to high heavens.

You’ve probably made a thousand hats in your life, but not once has it taken you this long to finish two hats when you thought it’ll only take a couple of days or maybe a week, tops. But it’s been more than a month since you started crafting their handmade hats.

Hobie second guesses which accessories to put on his, and Ekko keeps accidentally burning it whenever you get too close to him and he gets so flustered that he has managed to burn down a dozen hats. His usual platinum embers turn into a fiery pink whenever you gaze at him softly, which is every time you turn to him. You love them both so much, and making the hats gives you a lot of bonding time with them, but at this rate you’ll be making the hats forever. They clearly don’t mind the attention though, because whenever you call them for adjustments, they always drop what they’re doing and sprint over to you with a smile.

“C’mon, tell him that I look bloody fit in this.” Hobie adjusts his cowboy hat that has a red plaid ribbon tied around it and a big feather to finish it off, he tilts it over his eyes, fluttering his long lashes at you. “See, I look mysterious.”

“More like stranger danger.” Murmuring under his breath, Ekko chortles, glancing at you and trying to gauge out your expression whilst you bite your tongue. “Can you tell him that mine is better?” Tipping his cap, he winks at you as he leaves scorch marks in the shape of his fingertips right on the brim. “Oh, shit.” Ekko panics, but before he could blow up about the mistake, you chuckle, making the two gaze at you with matching smiles.

“That actually looks good, it adds a bit of personality.” Leaning close to admire his hat, breath fanning across Ekko’s cheek, his fire burns brighter from the close proximity. When your eyes meet with his, he turns into a blaze, scorching hot.

Thanks to the simple wave of Hobie’s hand, the fire is quickly put out before Ekko could burn the new hat on his head or burn your eyebrows off. The half finished hat on Ekko’s head has scorch marks under the brim, adding an ombre effect to the fabric. From black to red, leaving the goggles around it untouched. Even Hobie’s impressed by the accidental design.

“Sorry.” He frowns, looking apologetically at you.

“Don’t be, it looks really good!” Grinning, you clap your hands together in mirth. “I have an idea.” Gently taking his hat off, you then put a work in progress cap intended to match with Ekko and Hobie’s hat onto his head. “Can you do that again, please?”

Hobie smirks, placing his hands on his hips as he watches on, admiring your genius at work and Ekko’s confused look.

“Why? I think I ruined it.” Ekko says dejectedly, until you show his hat to him, turning it over and showing the final ombre look as he realizes what you meant. He lights up, literally. “We’ll match? You want to match with me?”

Nodding with a tender smile as you gaze at him then over to Hobie with an affectionate gaze, the fire illuminates and warms the house from his sheer happiness. Before he fully burns it, he eases up, an ember flickering in his chest as he puffs it out proudly.

“What do you think?” He asks, taking it off his head and handing it to you. “It’s my best work I think, maybe I should help you out in the studio.”

“It looks great, Ekko!” Grinning from ear to ear, you place your new hat on your head, showing it off to them as they ooh and ahh. You then lean close to Ekko, pecking his cheek sweetly as a thank you. “And that would be amazing, you’re always welcome in my studio.”

“I can help too.” Hobie puffs out his cheek, letting the air go as he kicks an imaginary pebble out of his way. “Y’know, maybe help with the glitters ‘cause you said that it gets everywhere, and I’ll help you gather all the metal stuff at the market when you run out.” Leaning against you, he flashes his russet eyes that turn into a different shade with every flutter of his lashes. “Please, lovie?”

“I asked first, Hobie.” A brief flicker of blue fire licks at Hobie’s feet. Ekko then turns to you, eyes turning soft. “I can help you in shaping the hat, no more steaming it—”

“I’ll find new feathers for you—”

“I’ll cut the fabrics for you—”

Your giggles interrupt them, laughing so hard that you almost keel over if not for Hobie’s hand upon your hip, keeping you steady. “Thank you,” your hand slides down to Hobie’s hand, intertwining your fingers around his just before you reach for Ekko’s hand, waiting for him to slide his palm over your own, which he gladly does within a half second. “You can both help, I like the company.”

Hobie meets with Ekko’s eyes, swirling with emotion as they smile at each other victoriously. You might’ve been played by them, either way, you weren’t lying, you’d love it if they spent more time with you. Sure, the hats would take a little bit longer to finish with their bickering, but it’ll be more fun and rewarding once you finish it, especially when it’s made together with your two loves.

Hobie moves close to peck your cheek with a loud smack, chuckling lowly as he squeezes your hip. Ekko stands up from the fireplace, hands still joined as he does the same, pecking your cheek warmly before leaning away with eyes practically shaped like hearts. Or they might’ve been literal hearts that are shaped from the embers in his irises.

“Right,” Hobie gazes at the two of you with tenderness. He yanks off his hat and then places it on Ekko’s head. “Do mine next, and for the love of our lovie’s hard work, don’t burn it.”

“We have a group chat…” Pavitr simply adds, taking a quick snap of the mansion. “But I didn’t know your place looks like this, Gaya.”

“I’m used to it, I guess.” She shrugs as you shut off your engine.

“Alright, ground rules.” You look behind at the passenger seat before they go outside.

They all groan in tandem.

“Listen to mum.” Hobie defends you, using the rear view mirror, and dabbing the corner of his lips with a handkerchief when it left a stain that awfully looks like the same shade of your chapstick right on the cloth.

With a playful tap on Hobie’s bicep, you continue. “I don’t want to be that guy but we need to be extra careful because the thing that’s haunting the house isn’t a pixie.”

“Yeah no shit, Sherlock.” Gwen utters, checking her nails.

“Gwen,” you call gently as she turns her attention to you. “Did you take your meds today? The ghosts inside might overwhelm you. I don’t want you straining yourself, okay?”

“I did, yeah, don’t worry.” She gives you a wobbly smile. “I don’t want to hear them whispering to me either.”

You nod. “Just listen to what Hobie and I have to say, when we tell you to run, you run, when I tell you to cast a spell you do it.” Your eyes glance along their faces. “And for the love of all things that’s good, don’t live stream the whole thing.”

They all turn towards Hobie.

“That was one time, I misclicked!” The five of you continue to stare at him. “Come off it.” He huffs back down on the seat.

“You almost exposed us, Hobie.” Miles winces at the memory.

“Yeah, we almost got the HOA on our asses again.” Gwen adds with a chuckle.

Patting Hobie’s chest to placate him, you turn back towards the backseat. “I have extra equipment and holy water in my trunk, you guys can—”

“Sweet! Ghost hunting time!” Miles bolts out of the car and immediately heads towards the trunk. “I call dibs on the water gun!”

“Wait, I want the radio thing!”

“Miles, no fair!”

“Are they always like this?” Gayatri asks before following right behind them.

“Yep.” You pop the letter ‘p’, peripheral catching the documentary crew arriving together in tandem with Harry’s car. “Hobie.”

The vampire immediately turns to you with a small smile. “Yeah, lovie?”

“Do me a favour and keep an eye out for them? Something tells me that this isn’t a regular haunting.” Your eyes glance worriedly at the huge mansion.

“How ‘bout you then?”

“You know I can handle myself.” Reaching for his cheek, he leans against your touch, pecking your palm and gazing at you affectionately. “Besides, I’m good with poltergeists, if this doesn’t end up being something worse than that, we’ll be okay.”

Leaning over the console, he kisses you gently, once, twice, thrice for good measure. “Can I have some of that holy water too?”

“That’s like acid to you.” Giggling, you wipe the sheen off his lips with your thumb.

His brows furrowed. “Nah, it doesn’t do that to me.”

“Really?” You’re even more confused than him.

“Yeah, I don’t remember the last time I was burned by it. Probably durin’ Victoria’s time.”

“Huh, that’s weird—” you almost jump at someone knocking on your car window.

“Stop making out and let’s go hunt a ghost!” Gwen impatiently stomps her foot.

“Alright, alright we’re coming.” Sighing with a subtle smile, you unclasp your seat belt and head out with Hobie. He beats you to opening the car door first when he zoomed on over to your side within a second. Taking his helping hand, cheeks warm, your smile falters when you see Harry giving you a look. Hand sliding away from him, Hobie follows your line of sight and glowers right at him. “Come on, Hobie.” You whisper to him gently and he complies without hesitance.

The cameras capture the whole thing on film: Harry’s questioning expression, surely with a remark on the tip of his tongue, and with you hiding the fact that you want nothing else but to hold onto Hobie freely but you’re forced to lay low. Meanwhile the vampire wants the other hunter to burst into flames simply from his gaze.

Hobie shows his displeasure by staying by your side the whole way up to the house, his palm hovering just above the small of your back. The metal gates squeak as Gayatri opens it. She then begins to unlock the large ornate front door with a ring of keys with so many rattling keys attached to it in all shapes and sizes that it rivals Hobie’s infinite carabiner.

“Shoes off inside please.” Gayatri instructs as the group follows suit, entering the abode and leaving the shoes at the door.

The documentary crew lets everyone else go inside first when they can’t possibly fit themselves in through the door with their large equipment while your group stumbles as they take off their shoes one by one.

The second you step foot, your whole body tells you to run, a slithering sensation that has goosebumps rising on your arms. You’re used to that feeling when you’ve been hunting ever since you could properly hold a wooden stake, so you ignore it, chalking it up to nerves.

Once inside, feeling tucked inside your mind, you whistle lowly at the decor. From floor to ceiling, it’s a genuine Victorian style home. The curved staircase adds whimsy and charm with its carved wooden bannister that stretches from the three floors down to the foyer. A gothic style chandelier laden with dark crystals catches your eye as it shimmers under the moonlight provided by the sun roof above. It’s the least modern house you’ve ever seen, everything you see around you doesn’t look like it came from the same year or even the same century as the present. There’s also a few dead giveaways on who lives here, there’s dried herbs dangling from the ceiling that seems to be held up by nothing; that gives off the smell of a cottage in a forest. And the gaudiest taxidermied critters are littered all over the place like there’s no lack of supply for dead furry creatures to use as decor.

You’re still in the foyer, and you wonder what treasure lies within the house when you go further in. As much as you love Hobie’s treasures that he gathered through the years, you’re just as impressed with the house with its curated pieces that you’re sure that museums are currently looking for.

The cameras try to record properly from behind, but they can’t get inside just yet while the others are still unlacing their shoes.

“Shit, is that an Egyptian bangle?” Gwen’s eyes widen at the display case sitting casually on a glass cabinet like they’re a regular old collection of a Sylvanian family.

Miles drops your pack by your feet to gawk at the golden bangle with its shiny sapphires. Chuckling and rolling your eyes, you grab your pack and sling it over your shoulder.

Hobie’s attention is immediately on the intricate bangle, red eyes narrowing at the sight of the turquoise beading and large carved scarab in the middle. “Yeah, made before King Tut’s time, I bet.”

“Since when are you an ancient Egyptian expert?”

“I lived through it, Gwendy.” He simply says. And Gwen gives a ‘fair enough’ expression.

Something feathery waddles and catches your attention. “Fucking hell, is that a dodo bird?” You point at the bird walking casually to the kitchen.

“Oh shit, let me see!” The trio sprints away, their socks almost making them slip and fall on the polished floors as they clamber against each other.

“Sorry ‘bout ‘em.” Hobie apologizes on their behalf.

“It’s alright. I get it though, I was like that when I first got here— please don’t touch the Mayan calendar.” Gayatri slaps away Harry’s hand that’s about to poke at a finely carved stone.

“I just wanted to see if it’s the real thing.” Harry mumbles and nurses his ‘injury.’

Hobie smiles blatantly at Harry and nods approvingly at Gayatri instead. Meanwhile, the crew are just starting to filter inside, trying to quickly toe off their shoes to capture the place.

“I suppose we don’t have time for a house tour. So where should we start—?”

As if on cue, an invisible force pushes at the group, as if an intense wind is trying to blow everyone out of the house.

Eyes stinging, you quickly grasp at the corner of the cabinet. Hobie leaps to your rescue, wrapping his arms around your waist, securing you in place. While Gayatri utters a spell to keep her in place as she shields her face with her arm from the wind. With the camera crew that are nearest to the door, they’re the first ones out, equipment flying and tumbling beside them, shattering most of their stuff. Jared catches the edge of the door, hanging for dear life before getting flung outside together with his crew members. Harry almost flies out right after, but Hobie catches him at the last minute, holding him by his scruff like a misbehaving puppy.

“Hold on!” With a flick of her hand, sparks flying out, Gayatri halts the wind. “I think we’re good. This is what I’ve been talking about.” Heaving, she looks over her shoulder to find the three of you looking disheveled and missing the whole documentary crew. “Did you close the door?” She asks worriedly.

Harry yanks himself out of Hobie’s grasp and heads on over to the front door frantically, only to find that it doesn’t budge open. “Shit.”

Meanwhile the documentary crew outside are banging at the door, pleading to be let in and speaking of getting reprimanded by their big corporate boss if they don’t get any juicy footage.

“Let me try.” Gayatri whips out her keys again, trying to open the door.

“Wait, where are the kids?” Your heart sinks down to your stomach as your feet takes you towards the kitchen where they went. Panic envelopes you when you don’t find them inside. “Hobie, we need to—” as you turn around, you find yourself all alone when you thought he was following you. The whole house is as silent as the dead. “Fuck me.” Hands shaking, you hold onto the straps of your pack to ground yourself.

“Okay, first thing’s first, find someone.” Muttering to yourself, you decide to head further into the mansion. Leaving the kitchen, back to the foyer and to the hallways under the staircase. “I’ll take anyone, hell, even Harry.” Taking some chalk inside your pack, you start to mark the hallway with an X to keep up with the moving rooms. “I don’t think we have a regular ghost here.” Shuddering, you see your own breath escape you as you feel the sudden burst of freezing cold touch your shoulder.

Heart beating rapidly in your ears, your hand brushes along the salts inside your pocket before quickly turning around and flinging it behind you.

“Ow! Fuck!” Harry gasps, holding onto his stinging eyes. “What’d you do that for?!”

“Shit, sorry! I thought you were a ghost!” Taking his arm, you lead him back to the kitchen, only to find a completely different room. This time, the whole space is filled with ancient Egyptian artifacts, complete with a sarcophagus standing upright in the middle of the area. It’s like you walked into a museum. When the torches flicker on, your mouth turns dry. “I guess we’ll wash that off with some holy water.”

“Do it! It’s not like I’m going to burst into flames!” He exclaims as you guide him towards an elegant green settee in the corner.

“Are you sure about that?” You say to yourself as you wash his eyes. The water drips down, and you grimace at the wet carpet that it leaves. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m talking to the owner of the house for ruining their carpet.” Chuckling, Harry doesn’t seem so amused as he stares at you with his reddened eyes. “How do you feel now?”

“Like a million bucks. You know I’m starting to think that these aren’t pixies.” Scratching his eyes, Harry groans and sinks further into the seat. “Just leave me here, call me when you’re done with the ghost.”

Scoffing, you take your pack and go. But before you do, you feel a magnetic pull towards the sarcophagus. Turning back around as if you’re on auto pilot, you suddenly find yourself in a dark cramped space.

“What the fuck?!” Waking up panting, fists banging against the lid, you scream as loud as you could. Feeling for your pack, you try to find your flashlight. “Fuck, fuck, where is it?!”

“Y/n?!” Harry’s voice sounds like he’s a million miles away from you. “How the fuck did you get in there?!”

“What?” You pause in your movements. “Where the fuck am I, Harry?!”

“Inside the fucking sarcophagus!”

“Oh shit balls.” Heartbeat quickening, you finally find your flashlight as you immediately turn it on as light floods inside, you’re face to face with the lid and its carved hieroglyphics. Just when you thought taking that Egyptian hieroglyphs class back in college was stupid of you, it finally came in handy.

Taking deep breaths, you try to calm yourself, and imagine being in Hobie’s coffin instead of a dusty sarcophagus. You’re used to the coffin since you practically moved in his room, but instead of giving you a sense of comfort inside the cramped walls, this one just gives you the heebie-jeebies.

“Genius, say something! Don’t tell me you suffocated in there!” Harry’s fists bangs at the sarcophagus.

“I’m fine!” You look behind you to find nothing but the solid wall of the tomb, and you thank your lucky stars for that. Seeing a wrapped mummy under you would’ve stopped your heart, you can handle flaming monsters and loveable vampires, but mummies give you the ick. “Can you find something to pry it open?”

“I think so!” There’s stomping on the other end. “There’s a scepter in here.”

“No! Don’t use that! That belongs in a museum, you’ll break it!”

“Well, I can’t just leave you in there!”

Huffing, you bite the flashlight to rifle into your bag for something sharp and long, only to find a fountain pen and a small dagger. Inhaling, you feel the air grow thinner inside. “I have a dagger but I don’t think it’ll work but I’ll try!”

“Try, please!”

You manage to snort at his desperation as if he’s the one locked inside. Placing the blade in between the cracks, you try to pry it open. With all your strength, it doesn’t budge.

“Did it work?”

“Do you see me now?”

“No?”

“Then it obviously didn’t work!”

“Is it too late to say that I’m not over you—?”

“Really, Harry?!” Grimacing, you try again with the dagger. “We were together for barely a week, man!”

“It was the best week of my life!”

“Idiot.” Muttering, and giving it your all as you push, the blade suddenly snaps in half, grazing your palm in the process. “Fuck, ow!” Exclaiming, Harry hears it and proceeds to panic further. “It’s fine, just a cut!”

“Oh, god, you’re going to die in there!”

“Shut it, Harry!” Winching, you wrap your hand around your shirt in a makeshift bandage. You’d reach for your pack on the floor but you’re bleeding too much as it manages to stain the lid of the sarcophagus.

“Hold on, I’ll find help!”

“Wait, you’ll get lost!” Judging from the door slamming close, you’re alone. “Idiot. Why the fuck did I date him?”

Steadying your breathing, you try to relax your anxious body but it’s harder when your hand aches. Eyes honing in on the hieroglyphics in front of you, the words capture your attention. Might as well read it, you then quickly realize that it’s a story, something like a folk lore that you’ve never heard of before.

It paints a picture for you, a servant and a noble man’s daughter. Two star crossed lovers doomed at the start, both forced to do the family’s bidding. As you translate the symbols, you feel sand underneath your feet, as if you’re flung right into the story. You watch as the two shadows hide their love from scornful eyes, meeting in the dark and acting as if nothing happened when the sun arose and the world puts them back in their place.

Your bloodied hand brushes along a symbol that you can’t quite decipher, a whole line that was either struck away by a sharp weapon, or ruined by the elements and time itself. Continuing the story, your blood staining the carved symbols, it reads that the servant died but came back to life, a gift from the gods, or a curse, you can’t exactly tell when your knowledge needs polishing. Either way, you know that he became a vampire just from that line alone.

“A night creature.” Your lips move on their own, reading it in ancient Egyptian like it’s suddenly your mother tongue.

Reading further, the story turns into an outdated textbook about vampires, something you already know about, from the sun killing them, to things that were already proven untrue. But as you go on, it gets harder and harder to translate with the carvings turning unreadable from all the weathering. But something catches your attention, a small section of the story that was carved as an afterthought, that if true, the knowledge will change everything you knew about vampires.

Hope blooms in your chest, a thumb running over the carved line as you chuckle. “I need to tell Hobie—” your flashlight shuts off suddenly, and the wall behind you crumbles to dust as you stumble backwards into another space.

Wincing, back aching, you look at the stone clad room with torches lined up on the hieroglyphic covered walls. This one feels different than the artifact room you first stumbled upon. The previous place had everything behind glass, and the stone walls were clearly fake, made with foam and painted to look weathered, looking like a museum. But this one seems legitimate, as if you fell right inside an actual tomb.

You roll on your front, eyes staying on the single pedestal right in the middle of the dim space. It’s lit above by a single hole on the ceiling, angled up and looking like the inside of a pyramid. Standing up, footsteps echoing, you can’t look away from the jeweled necklace placed right on the stone pedestal. It’s expertly made, simple with its single golden chain, and clearly from the same era with an ankh pendant dangling on it.

The single ruby sitting right in the middle of the ankh captures you, the same shade as Hobie’s eyes, scarlet and clear as it drags your hand towards it without another thought. It only took a single touch for you to ease into unconsciousness.

—

“Love?!” Hobie panics when he follows behind you to the kitchen only to find it empty. “Fuck!” A palm atop his chest, he tries to even out his breathing. “Where are you?!” Screaming, he’s met with silence. “Gwen, Miles, Pav?!”

He’s flinging cabinets away, trying to find a semblance of your presence or the trio’s before storming back into the foyer. Stopping in his tracks, eyes widening in sheer horror, he sees your limp body on the bottom of the staircase.

“No.” His own body refuses to move, limbs turning to stone at the sight of your head bleeding profusely on the carpeted floor. “Lovie?” Eyes watering, he heaves, blood rushing to his ears.

Wiping his eyes to see you clearly, your body is gone from the floor as if you weren’t there to begin with. Panting, hands on his knees, he never felt so relieved.

Hobie thumps his head with the heel of his palm, blinking away the unshed bloodied tears. “It’s messin’ with you.” He whispers to himself for comfort. “It ain’t real. It ain’t real.”

A hand circles around his elbow, a touch he knows all too well. Relaxing, Hobie’s worry fades away as he smiles, turning around to face you.

“Are sure that I’m not real?” You say in an empty tone, blood caked on your face, skull cracked.

“Fuck!” Hobie stumbles backwards and into a cabinet of artifacts that almost breaks from the collision.

Standing in the middle of the foyer, he’s haunted by the ghostly sight of you. Then, one by one, all the versions of you walk out, each marred by the fatal injuries that ended your life. Each wearing different clothes from eras that he lived through, ones that you never survived in to see the next.

“Or am I showing you the end?” The voices overlap with each other, an echo of the past, a chorus of his failures.

“Stop!” Waving his hand in front of him, the hauntings fade away like dust in the breeze.

“What are you doing?” Pav appears from behind, making Hobie jump away in surprise.

The young witch holds onto a good mannered dodo bird that’s sleeping in his arms, and he doesn’t look like he’s bothered by all the hauntings when he seems to be relaxed.

“Pav, you good?” Hobie’s red eyes glance around, seeing that he’s definitely not in the foyer anymore but in an expansive library that spans high above like an observatory. “How did I—?” Hand on his chest, he tries to calm his breathing.

“The ghost makes the house move around. I lost Miles a few rooms ago, and I thought I saw Gayatri but it wasn’t her. I don’t know where Gwen is.” Pav casually says, giving the vampire a helping hand as he takes it with a thankful nod. “Good news though, I found a book here that could help us.”

Hobie takes his hand away when he feels that something isn’t right with Pavitr. “You sure you’re okay, Pav?” His crimson eyes search his face, but nothing seems to be amiss.

“Follow me.” Gesturing with his head, Pavitr walks towards a large leather bound book sitting on a pedestal. “This one.”

Glancing around, Hobie takes the book into his arms. “Which page did you say it was—?” When he turns around, he finds himself alone, and a quiet giggle lingers in the air together with the smell of sulfur. “Damn it, shit’s playin’ with me.” Muttering and unbothered, Hobie leaves the room whilst skimming through the book’s contents.

His footsteps thud softly on the floor, eyes honed in on the pages as he navigates the winding corridors.

“What the fuck is this?” Groaning, he finds that the book is all about the mundane history of how stairs came to be. “Arsehole.” There’s that giggling echoing around again. Tossing the book haphazardly with a thud, he decides to walk around in hopes of finding someone, hopefully you.

Fists opening and closing, gulping down his worries, he enters each room with fading hope. One by one, he checks each room. He encounters a blue space filled with blooming violets, its scent encompassing the whole place. A half painted portrait sits right in the middle of the opulent room, together with a painter's pallet laying by it.

Squinting his eyes, vision zooming in on the portrait, the woman in the painting blinks back at him.

“Nope.” Hobie slams the door shut, already walking away. “Where the fuck are you, love?”

His anxiety grows even more when goosebumps rise on his arms, which was a thing of the past for him, one that he hasn't felt in a long time, a grounding feeling that he has only felt when he first laid eyes on you. He’s not afraid for his own life when he has lived a thousand lifetimes, but he’s afraid for yours, Miles’, Gwen’s, and Pavitr’s. He promised to protect you this time, and in turn promised to protect everything you hold near and dear. He wants to keep that promise intact.

Stepping further into the house, hallways getting longer and more doors appearing, the whole place suddenly drops in temperature. He could see his breath as he hears someone crying, a muffled sob that has his senses on high alert. Honing his hearing, he finds the source at the end of the hallway.

With every step, the hallway extends even further than the mind could comprehend. Stretching infinitely into oblivion.

“Wanker.” Grinding his fangs, he curses the ghost like it just took his lunch money instead of it messing with his mind. Cracking his neck, Hobie starts to sprint to the end, only for the hallway to stretch even more when his hand brushes along the doorknob briefly. Heaving and pausing for breath, he rests his hands on his knees for a moment.

Something catches his eye on his right, something that has his heart plunging in his stomach— his reflection.

Hobie crosses the small distance towards the floor length mirror that shows his true self. The outfit he picked this morning, the trio’s gifts adorning him, and the mark you left right on his clavicle. It’s him, a sight that he hasn’t seen since he turned— since he died. A hand reaches for the mirror, a bloodied tear escaping him when he finds it real.

The cold mirror was a shock to his senses, but your face appearing by the side of his head shocks him even more, almost restarting his heart.

When he turns around, he finds no one beside him, only your perfume lingering in the air, but not the one you usually reach for, no, it’s the same scent that your ancestor used to wear— lavender and eucalyptus, a sweetened scent that brings his senses back in time, when he was merely a nobody and you were someone who finally saw him for who he is and not what he was forced to do.

“Love?” His voice echoes around the hallway, breath stuck in his throat as his skin rises with goosebumps.

“Here.”

A breathy whisper from behind compels him to turn around and face the mirror once again, only to find it reflecting nothing. He doesn’t know if it was cruel to give him the vision of himself after a thousand years, or a brief kindness.

As Hobie wipes the bloody tear streak drying on his cheek, he decides to go further. Focusing his gaze onto the end of the loop, commanding it to stop. This time, the hallway obeys him and stops moving, enough for him to grasp the cold doorknob and enter the next room.

Stepping through, he senses the cold again. His eyes glance around, fake torches line the ancient Egyptian themed room, as if he stepped foot inside a museum with its glass cabinets laden with artifacts, and the sarcophagus standing upright right in the middle of it.

Hobie eyes the golden sarcophagus as familiarity floods his senses. A panther’s face is in place of a man’s head, expertly carved into the wood, complete with all the regalia that’s worthy of a pharaoh’s burial. His sharp nail taps at the weathered lid, leaving a sharp indent on it.

His ears pick up a quiet weeping, tilting his head, he sees Gwen huddled behind it, cowering with her hands covering her ears.

“Gwen.” Breathing a sigh of relief, he immediately walks over to her, hoping that she’s the real deal this time.

She lifts her head, eyes red and puffy as she clutches onto her ears. “Hobie?”

“Oi, it’s alright, jus’ me.” Kneeling down, Gwen abruptly lunges at him, embracing him for comfort. His eyes widen for a moment, not used to the girl’s affection before gently tapping at her back. “Shh, you’re alright now, Gwendy.”

“It’s so loud here, Hobie.” Her grip on his shirt tightens, and that’s how he knows that she’s real. “She’s so fucking loud.”

“Who?”

“The ghost.” Sniffing, frown deepening, she leans away. “S–She keeps saying things, fucked up things.”

There’s something creaking behind him, and he chalks it to the old house making sounds.

“What kind of things?”

“About you, and Y/N.” Tears blur in her eyes as Hobie carefully moves her hair away from her wet cheeks.

“Gwen—”

“She said that you ruin everything you touch, that she’ll die if you don’t—”

“It’s awful to tell lies, sweetling.” Your voice echoes from behind, but it’s not the same tone you usually give him during the early nights where your limbs are tangled around him. No, it’s something antediluvian, ancient, whispering right into his head.

Gwen yelps, and Hobie’s immediately up on his feet, backing away from you, something he has never done before. He grasps Gwen in his arms, clutching the back of her head as he sees the sarcophagus lid open and in full display while you peek around it.

Your eyes smile at him, irises large, covered in black liner that drips onto your cheek. Nails tapping against the wood, golden bangles clinking against the other, you giggle, preferring to hide the other half of your face.

“You’re not her. Let her go.” Hobie’s stern voice bounces off the walls, causing the lights to flicker from the sheer volume.

“Make her stop!” Gwen clutches her ears, sharp claws digging into her skin.

“Shh,” you put a finger to your painted lips, bloodied red, as scarlet as the blood that flows through your veins. “It’s alright, come here, I’ll take care of you like always, hm?”

“Hobie, don’t let me go!” Gwen hides herself further against him, crying into his chest.

“I won’t, I won’t.” Hobie keeps her close, eyes never straying too far from you, or what is currently possessing your body. “Show your real self then, c’mon, don’t be shy.”

“Oh, I’m my true self.” Your giggles sends shivers down his spine, not the usual kind as you step out into the light. Arms on your sides, showing yourself off and grinning from ear to ear, Hobie feels like he was flung back in time.

There you stand, clad in white linen that drapes around your form, a kalasiris that’s almost sheer as the light touches it, daintily painted with royal blue flowers. You may not have the exact same face as the woman he once knew a thousand lifetimes ago, but the smile you don on is the exact same one he loved, once prayed for to see as the dawn breaks.

You wear golden jewelries straight from the displays around the room, beads that are a mirror of the ones he used to trace with his fingers delicately. The things adorning your body aren’t the real deal, some are replicas, fakes, but the necklace atop your broad beaded collar can’t be replicated.

“Oh this old thing?” You notice the way his eyes hone in on the ankh dangling around your neck. “Do you like it?”

Hobie has never felt this much fear and anger in his heart until now. “How—”

“You’re not the only one that has keepsakes.” Biting your lip, your fingers play with the pendant. “Ironic, no? Seeing that the person who gave me this was the opposite of life itself.” You say with a lilt, dropping your smile as you gaze back at him. “Oh, Hobart, you look just the same. Pity that I look different every time you meet me with every generation that comes and goes.” Smacking your lips together, you take an eerie step forward. “Maybe someday you’ll fuck one that looks exactly like me.”

Hobie’s eyes widen when you lunge at him suddenly, teeth bared, hissing and screaming like a banshee.

“Fuck!” Jumping up to the ceiling, he keeps his hold onto Gwen, who keeps her eyes shut as he perches in the corner. “You good there, Gwendy?” She shakes her head, clawing at her ears, bleeding onto his collar.

You look up at him with a chuckle. “Aw, come down here, you’re no fun.”

“Yeah, no, lovie.”

“Please?” You give him your puppy dog eyes.

Hobie shakes his head, “that’s not goin’ to work on me.”

“But it always does the trick.” Frowning, you then leap up, trying to claw at him before he dodges and lands on the ground with a thud. You now look down at him, grinning, digging your claws in as you crawl upside down on the ceiling. “And here I thought you loved me.”

“I do.” His words make you stunned in place, as if he knocked you out. While Gwen clings to him, he spots the water gun filled with holy water right beside the settee. “I fuckin’ do, my love. Stop this, let her go and we’ll talk like always. Remember our tree?”

Eyes softening, lips wobbling, a tear escapes and plunges down on his cheek. “Hobie?” Your tone changes, one that he’s more recently familiar with.

“Yeah, lovie, it’s me.” Hobie telepathically tells Gwen his plan before gently placing her down on her feet. She looks apprehensive, but nods along with determination. “C’mon then, let’s talk, yeah?”

Gently crawling down, lips downturned, whilst Gwen slowly inches her way towards the water gun. Her foot accidentally knocks against the plastic, causing you to abruptly stop mid crawl.

Your head cranes up to stare at him, dead set to sink your claws right into his neck.

“Shit.” Hobie takes the brunt of the collision, it may not be you in there anymore but it’s still your body getting bruised and beaten. “Gwen!” Shielding his head, your nails scratch and stab him as you straddle his front. Your screeches will haunt his dreams. “Hurry up!”

“I’m trying! It’s the pump action kind! Fuck!” He could hear the squeaking of the toy.

“Do you know why she ran off when she heard that vampire’s question, hm?” Your hands grasp at his wrist, trying to unfurl his arms as you lean as close as you could, eyes manic, grinning like a maniac. “She doesn’t want you, she doesn’t even care for you. She’s repulsed by the idea of having your children.”

Hobie tries to ignore the venom laced in your words, still on the defense.

You notice the plastic squeaking and you turn your attention right at the werewolf. But Hobie traps you in his hold, long legs enveloping around your waist, hands gripping onto your wrist tightly that it leaves marks on your skin. He’d apologize to you later, but his priority is getting you back. With his strength, he keeps you in place even when you snarl and try to bite at his face hungrily.

“Gwen!”

“Take this, you bitch!” Water is sprayed all over you and Hobie, drenching your face, smudging the dark liner even further.

Heaving, you freeze but you’re unharmed, a grin spreading across your face. “Ouch, that tickles.” Licking the water, you cackle, as you manage to escape Hobie’s hold, pouncing at Gwen with intent to kill.

“No!” Hobie reaches for you as Gwen braces for impact. He takes hold of the necklace, yanking you backwards as the chain breaks and you slide down on the floor from the sheer momentum. He fears that he accidentally hurt you when you don’t move on the floor. “No, no, lovie.”

“Hobie, don’t!” Gwen captures his arm, the pendant swinging from his closed fist. “She could be faking.”

“It’s Y/N—”

“I know, it’s the necklace that has its hold on her, you need to destroy it.”

Sure enough, when you move slowly, floating back up on your feet with ease, your laugh floods the whole room as the lights flicker. “He can’t, not when it means so much to him. Weren’t you out looking for it for years?”

Hobie gazes at the necklace, thumb rubbing along the ruby in the center. If it means having you back, so be it. When he turns back to you, your smile falls, screaming as you pounce towards him.

Throwing the necklace down, Hobie quickly smashes it against the heel of his foot, shattering the necklace into a thousand pieces as a puff of red smoke fades out. Catching you in his arms with ease, you fall limp into his arms, as Hobie sighs in relief.

Hobie carries you, a hand moving your hair to check on your sleeping face. He could hear your heart beating steadily against him, breath fanning his lips as he hopes that you don’t remember a thing when you wake up.

Gwen relaxes, dropping down on the settee as she holds her head in her hands. “Is she okay?” She asks, voice muffled by her hands.

“Yeah, she’s fine.” Hobie joins Gwen’s side, cradling you against him on the sofa, keeping you safe. “You did good, Gwendy, she’d be proud of you.”

“I have no idea how she does this every day.” Kneading her forehead, Hobie pats her head affectionately. “Who was that, Hobie?” Lifting her head, eyes still teary, she takes one worried look at your sleeping face. “She was saying a lot of things about you. Crazy shit.”

“Someone from the past.” Hobie leans back on the chair, easing himself further as he steadies his breathing. His arms bleed, but as he holds onto your bloodied hand, he’s more worried of his blood and flesh sticking into your nails while he attempts to clean them. “Jus’ forget what she told you, it’s probably a spirit tryin’ to impersonate her.”

“How would a spirit even do that?”

“Things hold memory, Gwen.” He utters softly, a hand cupping your cheek and fixing your hair.

“What if…” her brows knit together. “What if that was really her, whoever she was.”

Hobie shakes his head, sighing as his eyes glance at the broken necklace on the floor. “That wasn’t her.” He turns to Gwen. “She wouldn’t say those things.”

“Your memory could be wrong, Hobie. It’s been a thousand years.”

“When it comes to her, I don’t forget anythin’.”

Gwen looks like she’s about to say something else, lips pursing together, fists opening and closing before she lets out a breath. “Did you actually kill—”

“Gwen!” Miles kicks down the door as it slams against the wall. The dodo bird saunters in, waddling like it owns the place. His eyes finally meets hers and he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’re alive—! What happened here?” He looks at the messed up room as Pavitr pushes him away.

His face falls when he sees you limp in Hobie’s arms. “She’s dead!”

“She’s alive, Pav.” Gwen says flatly, standing up and looking away from you and Hobie.

“She’s alive!” Pavitr rejoices and runs toward you, checking your pulse. “What’d you do now, old man?!”

“This time, it’s not my fault.” Hobie manages a tired smile.

“It kinda is.” Gwen mutters, arms folded over her chest.

Miles looks at her with knitted brows. “Seriously, don’t keep us hanging.”

“She got possessed by a spirit. We took care of it.” She says monotonously, eyes glancing at the mess.

“I should’ve seen that coming.”

“Where’s Gayatri and the pixie guy—?”

“No!” Harry appears from the broken door, looking like the scream painting. “I knew it! You hurt her!” He points an accusing finger at Hobie.

“She’s alive, mate.” The vampire moves you away from Harry’s touch as he makes an offended expression. Hobie simply clicks his tongue and turns to Pav, who’s wiping your wet face carefully with a handkerchief. “Where’s your bird? I need to ask her questions.”

“Why? And I don’t know, I lost her inside the Klimt room.” The dodo bird seems to agree as it chirps and pecks at the cracked ruby on the floor.

“Ooh, the Klimt room, how romantic!” Miles teases, nudging Gwen and trying to get her into the joke. She just looks away and walks out of the room without another word. Hobie stares at her retreating back with a frown. “What’s wrong with her?”

“This is why you’ve been single for a long time, Miles.” Pav chortles out as he picks up the ruby from the dodo’s beak.

“Hey! You’re single too!”

“Can you give me that, Pav.” Hobie instructs as Pavitr hands him the ruined ruby.

“Can I have that?” Harry points at it, but Hobie quickly pockets it, glancing at you briefly. “Come on, it’s broken anyway.”

“It’s cursed, d’you really want it?”

Harry smacks his lips together. “No, not anymore.”

“Man, she’s really napping, huh?” Miles leans against the wall casually as he watches the lone dodo bird waddle around the room while Pavitr plays tag with it. His eyes wonder at your bloodied nails and then at Hobie's scratched arms, putting two and two together. “I mean, I’d be sleeping too if I got possessed—”

“Unicycle!” You suddenly jolt awake, making everyone jump in place, clutching their pearls. Panting, you cautiously look around you, eyes landing at a relieved Hobie, who gazes at you with tenderness. “I had the weirdest dream, babe. Shit’s crazy.”

Chuckling, eyes glistening over, Hobie cups the back of your head and brings you close for an embrace. “I bet it was, lovie.” He softly says against your neck, pressing a gentle kiss right on your pulse.

Harry has an intense look on his face, confusion and disgust warping his expression. Miles and Pavitr are the ones to notice as they share a knowing look before grabbing the other hunter by the arm and leading him away with an excuse.

“I think we saw a nest of pixies down the hall!” Pavitr tells a convincing lie.

“Pixies, you say?!” While Harry hurries along right behind the ushering pair.

You hug back, arms enveloping around him affectionately. “I’ll tell you all about it later— what the fuck happened to my hands?” Leaning away, glancing at your bangles, bloodied nails and newly acquired outfit, you meet with Hobie’s eyes questioningly. “Why am I dressed like a discount Cleopatra?”

Grinning and laughing, Hobie reaches for your cheek and decides to peck at every inch of your face, clearly endeared and relieved that you don’t remember a thing.

His soft kisses has you falling into a fit of giggles. Lips brushing along the curve of your jaw, to your eyelids that smile at him, then the corner of your lips and down to your bare neck. Kissing and loving you in a way that he could freely show when he couldn’t a thousand years ago.

“What’s gotten into you?” Smiling, you hold onto his cheeks, lips frozen mid pout. “What happened to the ghost?”

“Gwen and I exorcised it.” He says through pouted lips as you squeeze his cheeks together.

“You did? Without me?” It’s your turn to pout. “I missed all the fun. Miles would be pissed. Where is Gwen anyway? Is she okay?”

“He’ll live. And she’s fine, went out for some air, I think.” Taking your palm, he brings your finger to his lips, kissing it gently while keeping his sight on you. “It was an easy one, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

You nod, distracted by the way he kisses your hand like it’s your lips. “Seriously, did you hypnotize me into role playing? Because you know that you don’t have to do your little mind games with me when you could just ask.”

“I'd never hypnotize you for somethin’ like that, lovie.” Moving close, fang poking at the corner of his lip, he nips at your bottom lip as your breath hitches in your throat. “Besides, I know you’d say yes to dressin’ up.”

Nudging his nose with your own, you feel his laughter reverberating in his chest. “You know me well.” Leaning away with one last kiss on the tip of his nose, your eyes sparkle with life. “How’d I end up here anyway? Last time I remembered I got sucked into some weird room with a necklace and I blacked out.”

“How’d you manage that, hm?” He couldn't keep his hands or eyes off you, yearning for you to stay in his presence and languish within your space.

“I got stuck in a sarcophagus—” gasping, you suddenly remember the important thing you learned. “Wait, I need you to come with me!” Standing up, you take both of his hands and guide him out of the stuffy room.

“Am I goin’ to get my present?” Hobie follows willingly, interlocking his fingers around yours as he watches your back whilst you glance his way every so often. Your linen dress trails behind you, and for a moment, Hobie sees the past where you run just in front of him in a field of reeds.

“Something better! I hope.” You mutter the last word.

Hobie blinks, and he comes back to the present. Happier to be in the present rather than be stuck in the past.

Entering the closest room to the outside of the house, you enter a plain sitting room that matches the rest of the decor. No hauntings, no cold spots, and no winding infinite hallways to stop you. You guess that Hobie and Gwen really finished the job.

Stopping by a closed window, you peek through the curtains, finding that dawn is almost breaking in the horizon. The sky is in your favorite state, a bitter blue encapsulating the whole world. A cold and fresh breeze whispering in the trees, just as the first sounds of the morning comes to life.

Opening the blinds, you turn to him just as the blue light hits your form, the linen fabric brings little resistance to light as it lines your body without hiding you within the halo of royal blue.

“Love,” he says breathlessly, swallowing down his need and resists the urge to grab you and take you home. “If this is it then ‘m bloody well satisfied.”

Rolling your eyes with a chortle, your shining eyes balance out the cold, a warmth that’s enough to thaw his frozen heart.

“No, I’m not it, Hobie.” You say softly, beckoning him over, stretching your hand over to him as he slides his palm over to you. “We wait for the sun.”

His crimson eyes swirl with trepidation. “You know that It’ll kill me, right?”

“I read something in that sarcophagus, a story about one of the first vampires to be born.” Hobie’s eye twitches, letting you continue. “It was a typical love story, where a boy meets a girl in a forbidden love that ends in death. But that’s not why we’re here.”

His eyes glance worriedly at the rising sun behind you. “Better hurry up with your story, love, or you’ll be snoggin’ a pile of ashes soon.”

“Shit, that sun rises fast.” Turning to look at him, you smile brightly. “Do you trust me?”

“That depends, d’you trust that dusty old sarcophagus?”

“It said that vampires older than seven centuries could survive the sun. So yes, I’m willing to try if you would.” Bringing his hand to your lips, you kiss his knuckles desperately. “Hobie, if this works, you can feel alive again.”

“Jus’ bein’ around you makes me feel alive.” He answers back, despite your soft kisses, the thought of him dying in front of you scares him. And yet he nods and lets you bring him towards the window.

He trusts you.

Your heart swells at his words, but you know him, Hobie harbours sadness within, behind those sweet smiles and tender eyes— he longs to feel the sun on his skin, to feel alive and walk amongst other people in the light and not be hidden beneath the darkness anymore. A kind soul like him deserves to be seen in the light.

“We’ll start off with your hand, okay? Just in case.” The apprehension lingers in your voice, wobbly and terrified. With the wind blowing, the sunlight slowly creeping into the window, you open the glass a smidge and bring the intertwined hands outside and towards the light— waiting for the sun to come.

Hobie’s eyes are on you the whole time, if he crumbles to dust right there and then, he’d want his last vision to be of you, basking in the creeping light. He could see that you’re worried, and the sight of the camera crew running outside with their large equipment adds to his anxiety. Great, they’ll either see something revolutionary or capture a vampire dying for the first time.

The crew stations themselves near enough to film the whole scene— the sunlight slowly coming towards the window, with you subtly shaking and with him keeping steady, being your rock as he lets it happen.

Hobie felt the warmth before he saw it. The sun perfectly lines around his wrist and your own, yellow light bathing the lovers’ hands. Like an oil painting drenched in light.

His flesh doesn’t tear apart nor melt into your hand. And he doesn’t feel faint or dying, he feels warm. Life envelops him with every second that passes as the sun shines right up to his elbow. Bloodied tears blur his vision. He’s alive again.

You gasp, eyes stinging with tears as you meet with his scarlet eyes. “I’m so glad I learned how to read hieroglyphics—”

His lips collide with your own in a fervent kiss. Hands on your face as he tastes you, blood pulsing, heated as the sun shines fully on the two of you.

Your arms loop around the back of his head, pulling him closer, chest to chest as if you could feel his frozen heartbeat against your own. You let out a breathless sigh, and he takes you in fully, pulling you impossibly closer, deepening the kiss, slow and deliberate, as if you and him are joined as one. He feels his flesh rise with goosebumps, hands gripping onto you like you’re his life line.

Needing to breathe, you’re the first one to pull away reluctantly. Eyes blown out, panting and heaving above his parted lips, you rest your forehead atop his own, breathing him in. Fresh linen and citrus, crimson eyes that gazes at you and only you.

You finally see him in heavenly light, the sun cast upon him, red eyes turning a shade lighter as the rays hit his chiseled face.

Hobie wipes away a fallen tear from your eye, chuckling happily as he lets the warmth of the sun kiss his skin. Nothing could compare to your warmth, but this is a close second.

“I didn’t turn to dust.” He whispers, wiping the sheen off your lips with his thumb.

“I’m glad you didn’t.” You shake your head, smiling and pecking his warm cheek.

“What use is a ball of fire to a waking god?” He hears the words in your voice, but your lips remain smiling at him, gazing at him fondly. Just like what happened today, he tucks it inside his head and ignores the whispering voice haunting him.

“Love.” His tone is sweeter than anything you’ve tasted. “We can go to the beach.”

He could already see dancing with you under the sun and the sand beneath your feet.

Chuckling, a stifled sob escapes from your chest. “Yeah, we can. Just say the word.”

Arms enveloping around your waist, he lifts you off your feet and twirls you in place as you laugh. “Let’s go now, we can go right now.”

“Hobie, the kids—”

“Go, go, out!” The door abruptly opens, and Gayatri ushers the trio out frantically.

Gwen has a deep frown, arms crossed over her chest. Even when you wave at her, she doesn’t look back. Keeping her gaze away from you for some reason. Miles clutches onto the dodo bird, refusing to let go as Pavitr looks like he wants to stay for a little while longer.

You share a questioning look with Hobie, still elated by the discovery.

“What’s happening?” You ask, grabbing Pav’s elbow before he jumps out of the window. “Is the house on fire or what? And where’s Harry?” The answer to your last question pops up when you hear Harry’s car start and you then see him peel away into the street. “What a dickhead.” You mumble, which Hobie’s the only one to hear, pinching your side with a chortle.

Pav’s about to answer, but Gayatri beats him to it.

“My mentor’s coming! Look, thank you for everything, I’ll compensate you and show my thanks properly but you all have to go right now.” Her arms gesture towards the opened window. “Please?”

“I’m sure your mentor will understand—”

“She will! She’s really kind and thoughtful, but her witch friends aren’t and they’re all coming for breakfast.” Gayatri flicks her hand to the door and shuts it close with a bang and a click of the lock. “That’ll give us some time but please, I’m so so sorry, I promise I’ll make it up to all of you.”

“Come to our house for dinner?” You offer kindly and she grins, nodding. “Pleasure doing business with you, Gayatri, stop by whenever you’re free.” You hop out with a lighter heart. You even smile at the crew, and Jared the cameraman smiles right back at you despite his recent injury. For the first time, you’ll ask them for the footage and have it as a keepsake.

Hobie agrees, giving her a smile before leaping out into the lawn. “We’ll make somethin’ from Snoop Dogg’s cook book.” He says as he grabs the dodo bird from Miles’ arms and releases it back inside the house, before he could protest about it, Hobie then yanks him out of the window. He stretches his hand out for Gwen, but she stares at his hand for a second and leaps away without his help. “Right,” he keeps his composure as you look at them both curiously. “I still need to talk to you, Gayatri, ‘bout all the shit inside.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you everything, I promise.” She nods and tugs at Pav’s hand bashfully before he could jump out. “Thank you so much, Pav, really, you saved my ass back there.”

Pavitr has a wobbly smile, “n–no problem, Gaya.”

Leaning towards her fellow apprentice, Gayatri pecks his cheek chastely. Before he could even react, she utters a spell that has him floating outside gently onto the lawn.

“Bye Gaya…” Pavitr giggles, waving shyly at her.

Hobie could sense the new heartbeats coming, so he takes you all in his arms, bracing to run towards the car.

“Wait,” somebody finally notices as Miles stares at Hobie with furrowed brows. “You’re in the sunlight and you’re not turning to stone?”

“New power, big man.” Hobie simply winks while the trio’s eyes widen at the information.

“Oh shit—” Gwen gasps before Hobie zooms to the car at the speed of light with everyone in tow.

—

“I’ll write a ‘no’ for now.” Quill utters, thick rimmed glasses falling down their nose as they write at the form.

“Sorry for bailing on you, Quill.” You say, hand never leaving Hobie’s side the whole time, while the crew gladly stands behind you two to gather the conclusion of the council visit.

“It’s good you came back because I was about to send out Bob for you.” They monotonously say, glancing at you and Hobie briefly. “Hunter or not, no one can kill him.” Sliding the papers on the table over to your side, they eye the wooden stake at your waist. “Sign here.”

“What is Bob anyway?” Your pen scribbles out your signature before handing the forms to Hobie.

“Does Bob still like baklavas?” Hobie adds, signing his name right beside yours officially.

Your heart thuds in your chest, but Hobie’s hand grounds you in place. “Maybe we can bring you guys some—”

“He grew out of it.” They scoff, gathering the papers and slams a stamp right on it.

“Okay then.” You awkwardly say in between your teeth.

“Is that it? Can we go now?” Hobie just wants to go home and continue the celebration with everyone. Especially you, alone, in the coffin with him.

“Not yet, we need a blood sacrifice. A hand will do.”

“Wait, what?”

Hobie grasps your hand tighter, ready to pounce if need be.

Sighing, they point at the sharp end of the fountain pen. “Just a prick of the needle.”

“Oh,” chuckling nervously, you’re about to give your hand out but Hobie goes first just in case. Quill pricks at the back of his hand quickly, gathering a drop of his blood and placing it on the parchment. Hobie gives you a reassuring look, encouraging you to continue. “I guess it’s my turn now.” With new found bravery, you show your hand and they do the same to you, completely painless. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Tugging at your hand, Hobie brings it to his lips, giving the back of your hand a kitten lick to heal you. It’s safe to say that your mind wasn’t quiet as he whispers sweet nothings inside your head that you welcome gladly.

Clearing their throat, bursting the little bubble around you that even the crew are glad for Quill’s interruption, they file the form into a cabinet elegantly. “You should receive the certificate within three to five years.”

“That’s a long wait.” Snorting, you’re up on your feet while Hobie’s so eager to come home that he lifted you off the chair by your hand.

“We’ve got all the time in the world, lovie.” He says inside your head, taking you in his embrace before disappearing into a puff of smoke and leaving the council and the crew behind.

They stand awkwardly with their bright lights and boom mics before the relations officer.

“You hiring? Do you have dental?” Quill asks genuinely.

“‘Fiddling?’ What are you, from the nineteenth century?”

Gwen opens her mouth to quip back, only to be interrupted by a loud shush.

“Shhh!” Pavitr has had enough of their banter since this morning. With a large cake in hand, the top of it is lit with what seems to be hundreds of candles that creates such a bright light that it illuminates the whole hallway like a beacon of sweetness. It’s more of a candelabra than a cake. “You two are going to ruin the surprise.” He whisper yells, fixing his hold on the heavy red velvet cake.

“It’s Hobie’s one thousand one hundredth birthday, Pav, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of chances to surprise him if this doesn’t work.” The clairvoyant says, huffing as he desperately tries to steady the camcorder. “Trust me, I know.”

Pavitr rolls his eyes, “I am so looking forward to sharing a school with you, Miles.” Sarcasm rolls off his tongue as Gwen snickers.

“Thanks, man, I’m looking forward to being your classmate too.” Miles answers with a genuine happy tone, Pav’s words going over his head.

“Can we go now? The candles are melting the cake.” Whispering, Gwen quietly opens a finely carved oak door.

A blood red coffin sits in the middle of a chaotic room. Furniture, clothes and knicknacks from different eras litter around the place. An eighth century tapestry hangs on a wall that depicts a battle with a warrior that eerily looks like Hobie sitting atop a mighty steed. A guitar from the seventies, waistcoats from the sixteen hundreds, a few pirate memorabilias, a silver laurel sitting atop a CRT TV, and a pair of fluffy rabbit slippers placed beside the coffin. The whole place just screams Hobie, with all its punk-ness, and his immortality literally plastered all over the place, it’s very him. Besides the blue bathrobe hanging on a Rodin sculpture, everything seems to be in a coherent mess.

Gwen looks into the camera and places her index on her lips, smiling at it as they carefully weave around a first edition lord of the rings book on the floor, and a small cowboy costume that could only fit a rat or a bat so they could make it to the coffin amidst the mess.

She counts down, mouthing the words as Miles readies the shot, and Pavitr grins above the heavy almost-on-fire-cake.

“...3.” Counting down, her hands grasp the casket’s lid, flinging it open abruptly. “Surprise!”

“Oh fuck!” Hobie screeches, lips tainted with crimson, hands immediately dropping your ankles to cover his bare chest with a pillow as you yelp and hide your bed head by dropping further into the coffin.

“You’re draining her!” Pavitr screeches in fear, trying to take out his wand but with the large cake in both hands, afraid to drop it, he’s just stuck there in horror.

Panic ensues, the cake falls down on the floor with a splat as Miles runs away with his palms over his eyes and bolts right into a frozen and disturbed Pavitr. Heads knocking against each other with a loud clunk before they both fall on the hard floor. They’re both woozy, groaning and wincing on the carpeted ground. The camera soon follows, cracked lens from the impact as it continues to record the chaotic scene.

“Why didn’t I see this coming?!” Miles cowers beside Pav like he got hit by a military grade flashbang.

“My eyes!” Gwen exclaims and jumps through a stained glass window, shattering it as shards of glass fling around the room. She lands on the lawn with a thump, howling into the night before running towards the woods. Probably never to be seen again.

Hobie’s room is in shambles, the candles from the cake set fire on a fallen sheet music, whilst the two boys lay on the ground in pain.

“‘m sorry!” The vampire yells, hopping out of the coffin, feet getting caught on the blanket and tripping on the floor face first into the glass like the elegant vampire that he is. The camera fully records the sickening impact as the boxer clad vampire bleeds from the scattered glass.

You poke your head out, neck with two distinct puncture wounds, forehead sweaty, and eyes glancing around the mess. “Happy birthday, Hobie?”

“Thank you, love.” Voice muffled by the carpet and in too much pain to lift his head up, Hobie simply waves his hand and extinguishes the growing fire. But a second later, the sprinklers turn on, drenching the whole room and everyone in it.

Your loud guffaw makes the situation better as he soon joins in on the bout of laughter. The two teenagers groaning in pain on the floor doesn’t seem to find it amusing though.

—

The camera crew are wobbling towards the dining room, frantic and hurried as the man behind it huffs and almost slips on what seems to be spilled icing on the floor just to get his shot. When the crew makes it there, the tension is thick enough to slice through.

The trio sits on the opposite side of the dining table, all in different levels of seething rage and sheer embarrassment. When the documentary crew first arrived with no one to greet them, they thought that the house got raided by a bunch of frat boys, or god forbid, goblins from all the mess. Now that the crew are standing on opposite sides, one group with the embarrassed witch, a furious werewolf, and a clairvoyant that’s in near tears. While the other stands beside you and a vampire that you’re currently tending to with his cut up face.

From the looks of things, you all went to hell and back. And not what the crew thinks happened while they piece everything together from all the narrowed eyes alone. The party decorations around adds more context to things and at the same time confuses them even more. You don’t even notice them at first when you’re too occupied with trying to placate the three.

What’s left of the cake is on the table, looking like a bunch of meat that went into a grinder instead of a red velvet cake. A singular candle survived the fall, that’s comedically placed on top of the goopy pile of cake. There are presents beside it, all wrapped in different ways that indicate which gift is from who.

The ceiling above the dining table still leaks from the sprinklers, droplets slowly and annoyingly dripping down all over the floorboards and onto everyone’s heads.

“We’re sorry.” You reiterate once again.

Their eyes simultaneously look over to Hobie’s face that has a dozen or so of Pav’s colourful bandaids.

“‘m sorry.” The vampire says, wine red eyes cast down on the fine oak table that he suddenly finds interesting when he has had it for a hundred years.

“And?” Gwen’s eyes narrow dangerously, turning wolfish for a moment.

“We should’ve locked the door.” Mumbling, you scratch at your neck that’s still sore. Ankles still throbbing from the small pin pricks courtesy of the vampire beside you.

Miles’ head suddenly drops down on the table, groaning loudly and hugging himself as the cameras focus on him banging his head against it. “I told you all that they were up to something!”

“Oh, I was up on somethin’ alright—” Hobie earns an elbow right on his rib, not even fazed by it. “Sorry, love, I saw the opportunity and took it.”

“Well stop taking the opportunity then.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that you two were doing the deed?” Gwen says with a wince and a shudder at the end.

“Should we have announced it?” You scoff, arms crossed over your chest. “Come on, guys, let’s just celebrate Hobie’s birthday, okay?”

“‘m sorry, we bare bears, you three had good intentions and you shouldn’t have seen us…like that.” Hobie glances at you with soft eyes, the cameras zooming in on the way his hand holds your hand under the table. “Will you ever forgive me, Pav?” His attention turns to an irked Pavitr, who’s glaring right at him like an angry hamster. “Mate, calm down, alright, she’s fine—”

“I’m not ready to talk to you yet, old man.” He practically hisses at Hobie as the vampire leans away and you pat his arm for comfort.

“It’s like walking in on my parents all over again.” Hiding his face from the cameras, Miles sinks down further into his seat. While Gwen and Pav give him a look of pity.

“All I’m saying is that you could’ve told us that you two finally got together.” Gwen starts, then points over to you. “And that you stopped tip-toeing around him and denying your feelings.”

“I wasn’t doing that!”

“You were.” Pav says, still glowering at Hobie, an ice pack slowly melting atop his drenched head.

“See?” The teenage werewolf says.

“Well, you should’ve knocked.” You retaliate, and Hobie grasps at your bicep with a look. “Okay, we’re very sorry, but can we forget about it? Please? It’s just as embarrassing for us.”

“Imagine how embarrassing it is for us.” Gwen is the voice for the other two, who are too shell shocked to say anything else.

Hobie narrows his eyes, not the kind that’s dangerous or terrifying, the kind that’s more akin to a suspicious father that’s trying to read through his kid’s lie. “You want compensation, hm?”

Gwen raises a pierced brow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Now that you’ve said it…”

Meanwhile, Miles and Pavitr give her a look of surprise before shifting into understanding just from Gwen’s smirk alone.

“Only if the three of you agree to what it is.” You beat her to it before she could say something that’s impossible to obtain. Knowing her, it probably is, or close to it.

“What? Come on, man.” The blond sinks down on her seat, while Miles snorts with a small smile as Pav’s shoulders ease up, idling and picking at the cake, clearly eager to eat it before it turned into mush.

“Gotcha.” Whispering, you side glance at Hobie, who looks like he’s either trying to take a big shit or is sensing something. “Hey, you good—?”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a trail of black smoke flashes right through the front door. Slamming the old oak against the wall, shaking the whole house while the cameras try to keep up with its quick movements.

“What the fuck is that?!” The kids panic, Miles instinctively grabs hold of the nearest person next to him, Gwen, as she snarls at the flying black cloud whilst it slams around the walls and the ceiling that the camera crew keeps trying to dodge.

It ruins the colourful streamers hanging on the wall before it manages to hit Jared the cameraman right at his noggin. Shattering the camera and probably the man’s ego as he goes through the kitchen windows and out into the lawn and the cool evening. You’d think him dead if not for him groaning outside while a few of his colleagues run to help him up.

“It’s an omen of death! Run!” Pavitr ducks underneath the table, head down and bracing for impact.

Your training kicks in and you grab a wooden stake hanging from the coat rack. With your leg atop the table, eyes honed in on the intruder, following its path and waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Hobie simply stands up amidst the chaos, back straight, his red velvet robe cascading around him like a crimson waterfall. Snapping his fingers, the blackened smoke flicks away magically, turning into a form that lands on top of the table with a sickening thud. The cake is smashed even further, squished underneath the body as Hobie’s presents are saved last minute with the vampire’s super speed.

He’s cradling the precious gifts in his arm, looking down at the black clad stranger that’s wheezing on the table through his menacing eyes. He looks like the most dangerous Santa Claus known to man with his red robe and gifts tucked under his arm.

You share a look with R rated Santa Claus and you don’t let your guard down just from the way he lets out an exhale.

“Gwen, grab Pav out from under the table and back away for a bit.” Your playful demeanor turns into killer instinct when the trio are in danger.

“But we can help.” She says, crouching down to grab Pav’s outstretched hand while Miles keeps his eyes on the intruder, who remains face down on the table.

“We know, Gwendy, jus’ stay a few ways away, yeah? You can jump in when you think we need help.” Hobie backs you up with a gentle tone.

With those words, the trio nods and takes a step backwards into the living room. All the while keeping their eyes on the dinner table as Gwen readies her sharp claws, with Pavitr clutching his wand and protecting Miles that’s in between them.

Hobie sends you a look, and you immediately know what to do.

The sharp end of your wooden stake taps at the person’s nape, before you use it to move their head upwards with the weapon right under their chin.

Their long hair obscures their face, and Hobie uses his will alone to part it away so you don’t have to get nearer than you already are. The camera zooms in on the woman’s face, glasses cracked and red eyes open half lidded.

“Lyla, you prick.” Hobie grabs your wrist and in turn takes the stake away as her head falls harshly on the oak table. “Have you ever heard of callin’?” It’s his turn to aim the stake right at her.

“Since when do you ever answer your damn phone?” The mysterious vampire groans, rolling on her back as you can see that Hobie’s cake is smudged all over her front. Her long black lacy dress is the epitome of vampiric fashion, she even has the bat motif right with the dangling accessories. Nursing her head, she gathers her breath.

“Who’s this?” Your narrowed eyes flick towards your vampire companion, taking your stake back and sheathing it inside your belt.

The crew recovers quickly, with Jared fine albeit woozy by their side. The show must go on, you guess from the way they adjusted their equipment and continue to film with flabbergasted expressions.

“Calm down, love, she’s part of the council.” Hobie sighs, beckoning the trio back inside the dining room, telling them it’s safe to come back.

You guess that’s why Lyla doesn’t seem so surprised by the documentary crew’s presence when you remembered that they were the one who approved of them in the first place.

“The vampire council?” Miles asks for you, and Hobie nods, sitting back down with the presents on his lap. “Sick.”

“What’s she doing here?” Pav’s eyes suddenly widened at a realization, lenses zooming in on his expression. “Oh no, is it because of Felicia? Did something happen to her?”

Hobie scoffs in his seat, “I wish.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head, little one.” Lyla starts, slowly sitting down on the table with some strain. “I’m here because of those two.” She points at you and Hobie with her sharp nails.

The three simultaneously turn towards you.

“Ah shit, what’d you do now?” Gwen crosses her arms over her chest, while Hobie groans, kneading his forehead like he already knows what the visit is all about.

“What did they not do?” Miles adds.

“We didn’t do anything.” You say, actually thinking of slightly illegal things you’ve done recently as you sit back down beside Hobie to seek his hand. When your palm collides with his elbow, you squeeze him once, telepathically asking him, “what the fuck did you do now?”

“I didn’t do anythin’. Have some faith in me, darling.” Hobie gives you his puppy dog eyes, but with his scarlet eyes, he looks more like a wolf pleading for his next meal.

“Actually, it’s what the two of you did.” Lyla says, now floating away from the table down to solid ground. She wipes at the clinging icing, tasting it as she gives it a nod of approval. “Who made this cake?”

“I did!” Pavitr says with his whole chest. “I got the recipe from Snoop Dogg’s cook book!”

“We helped too.” Gwen and Miles mumbles.

“Snoop Dogg has a cook book?” Lyla makes a face, “oh the wonders of humanity, you never fail to disappoint.” Taking another lick at the icing, she makes a satisfied face.

“I hope it doesn’t have any special ingredients in it, Pav.” You joke, snorting as Pavitr smiles.

“Just tender loving care!” The other two groans at his response.

“We might need it now, love.” Hobie whispers to you, and your head snaps to face him.

The cameras are on stand by the whole time, lenses flicking to whoever’s talking like the cameras at a match in Wimbledon.

“What was I here for again?” Lyla scratches the side of her cheek. “Oh, yeah, you two have been summoned by the council because you need to declare your relationship or risk getting obliterated by Bob.”

“Who the fuck is Bob?” It’s your turn to be flabbergasted.

“That’s the only thing you got from that?” Gwen huffs, but remains by your side. “Why do they need to declare their relationship? Are you like the HR of the vampire world?”

“No!” Lyla grimaces, offended. “I’m a blood sucker not a soul sucker!”

“Can Bob jus’ turn a blind eye, jus’ this once?” Hobie tries to sweet talk his way out but fails when Lyla tries to pretend that she’s thinking only to take out a wad of paperwork from her coat pocket. “Great.”

“You know Bob, he’s the worst of us.” Lyla sighs, fixing her cracked glasses. “Be there today or the next visit won’t be so cordial.” Her eyes roam around the damp ceiling, the mess on the table and at the recently broken window where the poor camera man went through. “Oh this place is in shambles.” The council member fixes her hair, and Hobie skims through the paperwork while you wrap your head around the concept of Bob.

Lyla then smiles at your little rag tag group. “You guys look like the incredibles, no?”

“Fine.” Hobie slams the paperwork on the table, “but does it have to be now?”

“Yeah, sorry, big man, rules are rules. I’d schedule you two at a better time but you missed our calls.”

“Shit. I knew the ringing was from the telephone in the basement.” You groan in response, head lolling back on the chair.

“Where’d you think it was from?” Miles asks.

You side eye the clairvoyant. “The cursed phone in the attic, duh. We never answer that for obvious reasons.”

“Sure, that’s the most logical thing I’ve heard in this house.”

“Glad you don’t live here, huh?” Gwen nudges him as Miles nods and makes a face.

Sighing, Hobie stands up and stretches his limbs. “Can we leave you three here alone without burnin’ the whole place down?”

“We’re fifteen, Hobie, not five.” Miles rolls his eyes, glancing at Gwen and Pav, sharing a look that has you and Hobie a bit concerned.

“What about your birthday?” You ask, a hand reaching for Hobie’s cold palm.

“We can celebrate when we get back, yeah?” The vampire squeezes you once, bringing your hand up to his lips for a quick peck that has Lyla scrunching her face at.

“Aren’t you too old for PDA?” The other vampire snidely remarks.

“Shouldn’t you be at home with your dozen cats?” Your vampire answers with a raised brow, earning a roll of her eyes from Lyla as you weave your arm around his with pride.

“Whatever, you guys are boring. I’ll see you later at the council.” With a puff of smoke, she floats through the fireplace and out of the house.

“Why didn’t she do that before?” Miles mumbles to himself as you give him a reassuring pat on the back.

“Are we still on for school supply shopping tomorrow?” Pav turns to you with pensive eyes.

“Yeah, of course.” You say, just as Hobie leaves your side for a second to change. “You and Gwen need them before I enroll you both.”

“Wait, I get new stuff too?” The blonde’s eyes sparkles, smiling lopsidedly.

“Yeah, you left all your stuff at your pack, remember? And your old backpack is shredded to bits.”

“What about me?” Miles pipes up from the side as the camera crew fold their tripods for traveling, surely to follow you and Hobie no doubt.

“You’ve got two loving parents and one handsome uncle, Miles.” His puppy dog eyes have you backtracking. “I’ll buy you a pencil case or something.”

Miles makes a disgusted face. “Why’d you have to describe my uncle like that, man?”

Hobie abruptly zooms in, now in new clothes. A loose shirt that you can recognize from the early 70’s, bell bottoms from the 80’s, and a ton of silver accessories from different timelines. You know most of the jewelry on his body should be at a museum. Especially an emerald necklace that looks like it was nicked right from the British museum. There are a few newer things on him that you don’t quite recognize though, a pair of clay earrings that’s shaped like tiny bats soaring, a beaded bracelet that’s in his signature red and black colour, and an embroidered handkerchief with his name stitched lopsidedly on the fabric. You smile at the thought that it came from the trio, who all lovingly made it for him. They got you beat when you haven’t given yours yet, the sweet moment that they interrupted the two of you earlier doesn’t count.

“I don’t blame you, lovie, Aaron is bloody fit.” Smirking, Hobie lifts his chin so you could help him fix his frilly collar as Miles gags.

“Can you two just go, please?” Gwen says what’s on everyone’s mind.

“Aww got you sayin’ please and shit, huh, Gwendy.”

“Get out!” They simultaneously exclaim.

With Hobie throwing an arm over you, surely just to add to their annoyance, the trio practically shoves the two of you out. “No house parties!”

The crew follows behind, lugging their heavy equipment as you and Hobie giggle while Gwen drags you both out of the door. With Miles and Pavitr pushing at your backs.

“As if people want to go to a haunted house!” Gwen exclaims before shutting the door closed.

“Teenagers,” Hobie clicks his tongue, an arm slung over your shoulder as you lead him to your car. He takes one look at the backseat, and you don’t have to be a mind reader to know what’s going on inside his head. “Oi, d’you think we can—”

“Not in the car, Hobie.” You beat him to it, a smile so subtle that it can barely be seen in the moonlight. “I had to pay so much for interior cleaning last time.”

“You didn’t even know what I was goin’ to say!” Going around the car towards the passenger seat, it comes second nature for the vampire now when he was used to flying around before. He prefers car rides when you’re the one driving him around, even when you drive like a chaotic racecar driver.

“You didn’t have to say it!” You chortle, getting inside and starting the car.

“But you thought of it! You’re naughty, lovie.”

“Get in before I do Bob’s job for him!”

Hobie swears that he heard you call him a passenger princess inside your head.

—

You expected for the vampire council to be held at some gothic mansion with gargoyles standing on guard, decorated with stained glass windows that depicts violence throughout time, and hundreds of cobwebs that could bring spirit Halloween to its knees. Not a regular old brutalist office building that’s all concrete walls and barely any windows.

The camera’s lenses roam up and down the boxy building, and over to your look of disgust.

“I thought vampires had style, babe.” You say, side eyeing Hobie as he takes your hand in his.

Hobie smiles at the term of endearment that’s bestowed upon him when you used to call him bloodsucker, or asshole of the night, sometimes nosferatu, and his personal favorite, Hobart, that one never fails to either make him laugh or throw himself at you.

“Most of the gothic mansions were turned into a protected heritage site. Rent is cheaper ‘ere too.”

“Right. Because vampires lack funds for some reason. Could’ve invested in Apple back in the 90’s or something.”

Hobie chortles, tugging you towards the building, but when you don’t budge, he looks back at you with trepidation. He glances at the camera as they get a perfect shot of his shaky expression.

“You alright?” He whispers, leaning closer, chest to chest, as he takes both of your hands in his. “We can go back home if you want.”

“And risk getting murdered by whatever Bob is? No.” Shaking your head, breath hitching in your throat, you take another look at the looming building before you.

“I can hear the panic in your heart, lovie. What’s wrong?”

“If you weren’t a vampire that would’ve been creepy.” Your eyes meet his crimson ones, and a smile is immediately etched on his lips, fangs poking in between like a happy cat. “What…” you take a deep inhale. “What if declaring our relationship would have my family knowing about us? They’d fucking kill me, Hobie, and that’s not an exaggeration.”

“I won’t let ‘em touch you, I promise, hm?” Kissing your knuckles, Hobie weaves his fingers around yours affectionately. “Besides, even if the council has been shit lately, and our HOA is probably better than ‘em now, they know how to keep things a secret. It won’t come out.”

Your eyes swirl with worry. Not for your well being, but for him and the kids at home. They’ll kill them before coming after you just to add to your hurt, you know it, you’ve seen it before.

“You know that if things were different I’d scream at everyone that we’re together, right? But you know how they are, hunting is in our blood. They wouldn’t just disown me, or kill me straight up, they’ll make it hurt.”

Hobie’s eyes turn a darker crimson, like splattered drying blood on a wall as he embraces you. “I won’t let that happen. I’d burn everythin’ down before they could get to you or the kids.” He pecks the crown of your head, suddenly keeping his eyes peeled around him.

“If that happens,” you peek in between his hug, chin resting gently atop his clavicle. “you won’t kill them, right? They’re still family. Just stop them is all.”

It takes a beat for Hobie to nod, but you don’t blame him. “Alright, c’mon, we can’t have ‘em waitin’ on us for any longer.”

Hand in hand, you enter the rotating doors and through a corporate world. It’s what you expected, drab grey walls, girthy pillars standing side by side in the middle of the room and a circular cubicle for the receptionist, who’s clearly absent. Sometimes you’ve forgotten about normal people’s working hours when you’re so used to being awake at night and sleeping through the daylight. Working the nightshift at the grocery store doesn’t help with your body clock either.

The room feels empty, as if you fell into the backrooms, or that’s what Miles calls it when he has been so obsessed with the concept that he dragged everyone on the couch to show a video essay about the creepy place. You fail to understand what he was saying, but Hobie seemed to be intrigued by it when he kept asking Miles questions. When you spare Hobie a glance, you feel that he was thinking of the same thing.

“This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.” His voice bounces off the solid concrete walls.

“‘Heebie-jeebies?’ the 70’s called, they want their word back.” That earns a quick pinch to your side that has you yelping as your voice echoes.

The cameras pan around, recording the empty expansive place. There are a handful of elevators along the sides, each perfectly lined up, down to a centimeter. At least the ventilation is working fine and the place doesn’t have stale air, or god forbid, a chemical smell from the cleaning supplies they used.

“Right, let’s get this over with.” Hobie tugs at your hand gently, a cold palm against your warm hand. He heads towards the wall where the various businesses are written and where they are in the building. “There, vampire council, thirteenth floor.”

“Did they actually just put vampire council on there and not a fake business name?” Tilting your head, you search for the thirteenth floor, finding that Hobie wasn’t joking. “That’s a bit idiotic for a whole group that’s trying to hide their existence.” You say with a scoff as Hobie presses up on the elevator.

The crew waits behind you, lenses honing in on the intertwined hands and over to Hobie’s softened crimson eyes that’s gazing right at the side of your face as you look at the floor indicator above the elevator.

“‘m guessin’ that it works since there’s no angry mob outside.”

The doors ding open, revealing slick metal walls that reflect you and nothing else but you and the crew as you grasp onto nothing. The cameras capture the moment your face contorts into sadness for a brief second.

“The last time I was ‘ere was when I entered the country. It was a hut back then.” Hobie tugs at your hand again, and you blink away the sadness as you step inside. He brings you to his side, an arm around your waist, making space for the production crew as he presses on the number thirteen. “A little known fact, in some countries the numbers four and thirteen are skipped on in buildings like this.”

Your eyes are fixated on the reflection of you being held by air. The creases on your blouse are there, where his hand is supposed to be. And the indents from his arm could be seen on the fabric. But the vampire holding onto you remains invisible.

“Lovie?” His palm taps at your stomach, elevators whirring as it goes further up.

“Yeah,” you recover quickly, but the footage of your sad eyes staring at the single reflection remains. “I’ve heard of that. I think I’ve been in one where they didn’t have a fourth floor but they had a fifth floor.”

“The power of superstitions, hm?”

“Sometimes they’re right, though. It helps comfort people in a way when they know how to prevent awful things from happening to them.” Smiling, your chin rests atop his shoulder, a hand tucked inside his back pocket. You’re starting to think that he’s hypnotizing you to relax, but you know better than that, Hobie just has that effect on you. “Remember when I accidentally spilled a whole rice cooker filled with uncooked rice and you had to count all of it before I could even sweep it?”

“Pav and Gwen were proper starvin’.” Hobie chuckles as the doors open, revealing a very normal looking lobby with metal chairs lined around the walls.

“And you didn’t even let me help.” Snorting at the memory, Hobie leads you and the crew towards the doors. It looks normal enough, except for the speaker mounted on the wall beside it.

“I couldn’t or I’d have to start again.” Pressing the intercom button, the speaker cackles to life. “Hobie Brown.”

The doors spring open, revealing a different looking lobby. Different is an understatement, it’s as if you stepped right into count Dracula Tepes’ foyer with its tapestry covered walls, and oak floorboards that eerily resembles spilled blood, or it must’ve just been stained with a cherry red colour. The corporate metal waiting chairs are replaced with a long velvet couch with intricate wooden carvings along the frame. There’s still a receptionist table in the middle, but instead of a plastic table with an office chair, it’s a large acacia table that’s been etched with dragons and unicorns. And a chair that looks more like a throne that seems to be from a different time. Even the lighting inside is darker, the chandelier clinks against each crystal, giving you an eerie feel. Or it could just be a draft causing it to move, either way, this is the exact place you thought the vampire council would look like.

With the crew in awe of the sudden aesthetic shift, the carved double doors awaken. You instinctively lean close to Hobie, not out of fear, but to keep yourself grounded against him lest you start throwing wooden stakes around like it’s a party. You never underestimate your honed instincts when it has kept you alive this long. But it does have its cons when you’re faced with the supernatural that you’re not supposed to hunt. It took a lot of unlearning when it came to Hobie, your family would think of you weak minded for it, but for you, it was your way of showing trust. That you trust him not to hurt you, and that he trusts you to not hurt him back. Something that your family needs to learn apparently.

As the filming crew captures the whole scene, the dark room in front of you is suddenly lit by a dozen or so candles that’s lined around the large circular room that’s all carved stone. You wonder how in the world they even got this place built when their neighbors are call centers and an electric toothbrush company.

There are pillars all around, each carved with different insignias. You can’t help but marvel at the domed room, eyes darting along the identical metal doors lined beside the torches. Good thing that Hobie’s holding onto you or else your curiosity would have you opening each door just to see what houses within it. It’s especially good because you swear that you heard growling on the other side of one of the doors. You share the same look as the whole crew, while they keep their cameras rolling to not miss a single second. It’s not everyday that humans step foot inside an exclusive vampire realm.

“Good, you’re here.” Lyla suddenly appears from behind a pillar, donning a different outfit. A full leather pantsuit, complete with shoulder pads and heels that are so high and pointed that it could classify as a deadly weapon. “It’s the door to your right.”

Hobie points at a door to his left, surely to irk the other vampire.

“The other right, that one has an ancient being, probably a friend of yours, Hobie.” she sternly says, stomping her heel down against the stone floors. “I swear, you’ve only been lucky that’s why you survived this long.”

“Low blow, Lyla.” Hobie glances at her before guiding you to the metal door. Acting on instinct, he keeps you to his side, unconsciously protecting you as he opens the door.

Inside, it’s the same looking room but only smaller with stone walls, flaming torches and a single velvet couch. The door behind you closes by itself, and you could hear your own heart beating from the silence that follows.

“What now?” You ask, glancing at Hobie.

“I guess we’ll wait?”

“You’ve never done this before?”

Hobie side eyes you with his brows knitted together. “I know that’s bait.”

“What? No it’s not, I’m just asking if you’ve done this before because I have no idea how the procedure goes. Like what if they demand a blood sacrifice?” Raising your brows, you chuckle and cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t believe that you think I’m baiting you. Me asking how many times you’ve done this is bait, but that’s not what I’m asking.”

“What, register my other human relationship?” His hand grasps at his imaginary pearls that has you rolling your eyes. The producer seems to love what they’re capturing for the show though. “Love, you’ve been the only one.”

You narrow your eyes. “Sure, I’m the only one. Your portrait room filled with former lovers beg to differ.” Smirking, you click your tongue. “Now that’s me baiting you.”

“You’re the only one that has survived this long.” Hobie steps closer, a hand reaching for yours, and soft red eyes that resembles a sunset after rain that has you feeling guilty.

“Oh.”

“The council doesn’t ask vampires to do this unless it’s been sometime since the relationship started.”

You’re the one to close the distance, a hand grasping his outstretched palm, taking it gingerly around your own. You’ve completely forgotten about the cameras, it feels that it’s just you and Hobie within the waiting room. The thought of you becoming the longest surviving companion to Hobie has your heart cinching. The price of immortality, you never wish it upon your worst enemy.

“I’m sorry.” Pecking his knuckles, you bring the intertwined hands atop your beating heart. “I really just meant to ask what happens after this. The other one was just me being an asshole.”

“Fallin’ for an arsehole,” he acts like he’s thinking, sucking in his fangs before gazing at you. “What does that make me, hm?”

“A bigger asshole? A moderate asshole?” Your palms are splayed atop his frilly collar. “Oh I got it, you’re one of those ‘I can fix her,’ type.”

Hobie shakes his head with a chuckle. “Nah, love, there’s nothin’ to fix when you’re already perfect.”

There’s heat behind your cheeks, palms growing clammy as you stammer. “O–Oh fuck off will you.” Playfully pushing him off, the speakers buzz to life.

“Hobart Brown and company?” A throaty voice asks.

“That’s us.” Inhaling, he stretches his hand to you, and you immediately take it. “C’mon, let’s get it over and done with so we can celebrate properly, yeah?”

“Don’t tell the kids but I really want that smashed cake.” Hobie chuckles, a thumb brushing along the back of your hand as the crew stands right behind you dutifully.

In another life, you’re his queen, and the crew behind you are his sworn men. But you don’t have to know that in this lifetime when he loves you just the way you are right now. Because in a younger lifetime, before his heart stopped, before he went cold, he was a nobody, and you were somebody, and that ended in his death. And everything after that has led to your death, he promises that this time would be different. That maybe, just maybe, declaring the relationship to the council would help in keeping you alive. It’s not luck that kept him alive all this time, it’s hope.

You sense that his mind is swirling with a hundred thoughts, so you squeeze him gently, a sign that you’re by his side, and would remain there unless he asks you otherwise.

The camera tilts behind you, taking a peek of what’s inside the room. This one looks more normal than the rest of the council’s rooms. It looks more like an office’s mail room rather than a dungeon that you just passed through. The walls are stacked to the brim with metal filing cabinets, each labeled accordingly. It’s lit up by buzzing fluorescent lights, blindingly bright against the egg shell white walls and tiled floors. It’s a direct contrast to what you’ve seen, perhaps this department has a whole different interior designer at the helm.

Just like the lobby, there sits a lone desk with a singular metal fan clanking right beside it. It looks normal, from the picture frames and paper work on the table, all except for a person, who’s clearly a vampire with their red eyes, long nails and pale complexion. They’re wearing a plain button up and a simple blue necktie, but if you squint closely, there’s a drop of blood right on their collar. They’re completely bald, pointed ears with dangling piercings, and hands clasped politely together on the desk, waiting for your arrival.

“Sit.” They say in the same throaty tone gesturing at the two normal armchairs in front of the table.

“Are you Bob?” You ask, and Hobie has to stifle a giggle.

“Do I look like a Bob?” They answer monotonously.

“No, you look more like a Clovis or a Charlie.”

“Or a Robin.” Hobie adds.

“Oh yeah, that’s true.” You nod, “wait who’s Bob anyway? Is he an entity or something—?”

“Sit. Down.” Their voice echoes inside your head sternly and you immediately comply with Hobie in tow.

They eye the cameras right behind you, not questioning it one bit as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You’re late.”

“So we’ve heard.” Hobie shrugs nonchalantly as he sits beside you while the crew stays right behind the two of you, keeping mum lest they anger the terrifyingly quiet vampire.

“My name is Quill, and I’m your vampiric relations officer. If you’re wondering why this is necessary, it’s not just for our fellow vampire’s protection but also for you. In case of death, or worse divorce.”

“That’s worse—?”

Tapping their pen against a form, their eyes look atop their thick rimmed glasses. “Now, Mr. Brown, is the mortal under the influence, hypnosis or coercion?”

“Fuck no.” Hobie answers with a disgusted look as you stifle your own smile.

“Romantic or familiar?”

“Romantic.” You’re the one to answer that one quickly as Hobie couldn’t help but smile at the immediate answer.

“Are you in any way consanguineous?” Blinking slowly, as if they’re bored out of their mind, the relations officer mindlessly writes on the forms like it’s second nature to them.

“Consanguineous?” Brows furrowed, you ask as you fail to comprehend the meaning or even spell the word inside your head.

“Related within the last twenty generations. It’s more common than you think.” Quill casually says as you make a face towards Hobie.

“Shit, are we?” Grasping his arm, you bite your lip with an unsure expression. You can practically see the cogs inside his head spinning. “Oh god, Hobie, please say no.”

His crimson eyes dart in the corner, then he smiles playfully right at you. “Of course not, lovie. Not even in the same forest.”

You can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes you. “Thank fuck for that.”

“I’ll write a ‘no’ then.” They scribble on the form, glancing at the two of you from time to time. They don’t ask another question for some time, and you wonder what they’re jotting down when they haven’t asked you anything else for a hot minute. “Continuing relationship or just a lifetime?”

“Is there a difference?” Suddenly, getting questioned by airport security feels just as bad as this.

“Continuing, hopefully.” Hobie answers for you, a hand reaching for yours as he smiles softly.

“Continuing.” They reiterate and write down as your heart swells. “Do you want to sire a child with this mortal eventually?”

“A— A child?!”

It was going so well, you thought, and then they hit you with that heavy handed question that the cameras are immediately zooming in on your shocked expression. You look like someone spat on your morning cereal, while Hobie bites his lip and stares at you expectantly like you hold all the answers. Truthfully, you never thought of that…occurance with Hobie ever, especially when your hunter education has taught you that it’s not exactly impossible but in the event of a dhampir being born, it’s not a pretty sight. You have once said that it’s a flip of a coin whether or not the half vampire will turn normal or something from a nightmare reborn.

“Is that necessary?” Wincing, you oddly find the paper mache rabbit sitting on the desk more interesting than Hobie’s face or the camera’s lens.

“It is. It’s actually the most important question on the form. You’ll be surprised how many vampire slash mortal relationships end up with a little rascal.” They answer quickly, impatiently tapping the pen against the clipboard. “It’s a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.”

“Wait, we can’t have a dhampir together—”

“I’ll put it as a no then—”

Hobie’s expression falters for a second before you continue. “It’s too dangerous, what if the kid turns into a monster?”

“Every parent’s worry honestly.” The officer says with the same flat tone. “Human or not, there’s always a chance you’ll raise a monster.”

“Don’t go all philosophical on me.” Your heart suddenly beats faster, sweat dribbling off your temple as you release Hobie’s arm.

“Love, let’s jus’ say ‘no’ if you’re bothered by it.”

“Bothered? I’m not bothered! I’m fucking peachy! Maybe you’re the one who’s bothered! Because I’m not. It’s a simple question, do I want kids with you or not?!” You prattle, even standing up from your seat as your cheeks heat up while the cameras follow the erratic movements of your hands. Chuckling nervously, you watch as Hobie stands up and holds out his hand in an attempt to calm you down. “Oh god, little babies running around with all those weapons in the house—”

“It’s alright.” Hobie hides his amused grin with a well timed cough. “Sit back down, darling, please.” Grasping your shoulder, you abruptly flinch back with a jester-like chuckle that has Hobie backing away with a shocked expression.

Quill rolls their eyes and continues to write on the form like you’re not getting flashes of your made up future with tiny dhampirs. You can barely take care of three teenagers back home, what would happen if there’s a sudden mix of you and Hobie floating and biting at everything? He might be a thousand year old vampire, but he’s not experienced in that sort of thing. And you can’t even properly cook a meal, or drive like a normal human being. The question is just too much for you and you blame your hunter instincts for kicking in after the seemingly profane question.

You clap your hands together, a wobbly smile on your lips as Hobie still manages to gaze at you with endearment. “How about we do this some other time, hm? Let’s reschedule!”

“There’s no rescheduling.” Quill utters sternly, crimson eyes turning sharper as you walk away. “Bob will have your head—” And yet you’re already outside of the room and back into the main lobby.

“Sic him, I don’t care!”

They point at Hobie with their sharp nail. “Tell your mortal to come back!”

“No one can tell her what to do, not even me.” Shrugging and smirking, Hobie walks backwards to follow you. “Sorry, we’re late for a dinner appointment.”

Meanwhile the cameras capture you stomping off outside of the council. The producer is loving the distress in your eyes and the questioning look on Hobie’s face.

“No—” they suddenly relax, waving you and Hobie out. “Whatever, your funeral.”

The office door slams shut behind Hobie, and he speed walks over to you. With a puff of smoke, he arrives by your side inside the elevator before it closes.

Arms crossed over your chest, you bite the inside of your cheek as Hobie glances at you from floor to floor. The jingle of the elevator music adds to the awkwardness, he flicks his eyes at the cameras briefly, hands tucking inside his jean pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet. You’ve never been this quiet this long. Hobie can’t spare another minute in the thick tension, so he gestures for the camera man to stand aside from the buttons and proceeds to push every single floor before you could let out a protest.

“Hobie—! What are you doing?”

Turning towards you with an unreadable expression, Hobie steps closer to you until you’re trapped in the corner of the cold elevator as he cages you in with his arms beside your head. You face him head on, meeting with his deep scarlet eyes as he inhales your scent like it’s the sweetest smell. Suddenly, the cameras fade away, and it’s just you and Hobie inside the cramped elevator. It’s then you realize that he froze them with just his will alone, if only he could freeze the cameras from recording too, but one step at a time, he supposed.

“Are you alright? Because if you want… we can stop.” His crimson eyes soften to a hush pink hue. “Do you want us to stop?” He asks what you never thought he’d ever ask.

“What?” Heaving, you feel the chill of his skin ebbing from him.

“I know this wasn’t the plan, and this whole registration shit blindsided you, ‘m sorry ‘bout that, lovie.” His eyes flick down to your lips before gazing into your soul once again, inhaling deeply as his hands relax. “You runnin’ away makes me think that you don’t want us together anymore.”

“Hobie,” you’re immediately trying to placate him. “I was just not ready for that question, that’s all. Don’t go asking if you want us to stop. Please, don’t do that.” Voice faltering with a worried look, you think that you fucked up another relationship again. And you really want this to work this time. “I just got cold feet, that’s all. Talk of having kids…that’s heavy.”

Hobie visibly relaxes. “Good, that’s good. We can talk ‘bout it some other time, the havin’ tiny babies part. So we know what to say to ‘em next time.”

“Do we have to?” Sucking in your teeth, you guess you have to be an adult and talk about the future with your vampire lover.

“I don’t know,” he nervously bites his lip. “We could, or not. Sorry. But we do need an answer for the form.” You see that he’s as apprehensive as you. “Or we could jus’ stop our alone time altogether—”

“What the fuck? No.” You immediately answer, rolling your eyes as you take his smiley face in your hands. “Don’t you even speak like that again. Let’s talk about it when we get home. Like think really fucking hard about it.”

“Alright, that’s probably too cruel. We jus’ have to be more careful then.” There’s amusement and endearment swirling in his wine red eyes. “Let’s go back up and answer ‘no.’”

“Okay, we’ll be a little careful from now on.” Your heartbeat eases up, patting his cheeks and squishing them while he lets you release all your energy into coddling him.

The elevator doors part, and you glance at the floor indicator that says you’re back in the main building lobby. You catch a sight of the crew unfreezing and they all look away from you and Hobie like they just caught their parents lip locking. Releasing Hobie, you feel embarrassment creeping up.

“Jus’ a little—?”

“Y/N?” Someone calls your name, brows knitted together, you peek over Hobie to see who it is.

“Harry Osbourne?” With a raised brow, you feel Hobie turn his head while your hands remain on his face.

“Oh god!” Harry exclaims with fear, eyes widening at Hobie’s fangs and how he holds you close. His hands immediately hold up in front of him in an attempt to shield himself. “It’s a vampire! A vampire’s eating you!”

“Mate,” Hobie reluctantly leans away, sharing a quick look at the cameras with delighted eyes as his hand stops the doors from closing, which the poor guy thinks that he’s about to lunge as Harry staggers backwards on to his behind. “‘m clearly not, or else we’ll be committin’ public indecency.”

Chuckling, you pat Hobie’s chest and exit out the elevator as you give Harry a helping hand. “I’m fine, Harry. Hobie’s a…” you’re careful with your next words. “A partner is all.”

And here Hobie thought that you were about to call him a friend. He would’ve carried you out of there and back home to prove that he’s not simply a friend.

“A partner?” A very sweaty Harry takes your hand with trepidation as you help him up on his feet. “Like an informant?"

“‘m not a snitch—”

“Yes! Like that!” Subtly nudging with your elbow, you grin at Harry and share a look with Hobie. “What are you doing here anyway, Harry? I thought you stopped hunting and became a teacher instead?”

Hobie sucks in his fangs and crosses his arms over his chest like a kid whose mother just came across an old friend at the supermarket.

“Shit economy, it made me come back. Hunting’s my side hustle now.” Your old friend glances nervously at the cameras. “Are you making a show?”

“Sort of, don’t mind them, we tend to just ignore the lights and cameras.” Even with your explanation, Harry still glances at the cameras nervously. You clasp Harry’s shoulder in an attempt to make him relax, and you introduce them to each other. “Harry meet Hobie. Hobie, meet Harry.”

Hobie nods at Harry, a hand reaching towards him for a proper greeting. You know that Hobie sees that Harry’s terrified of him, and you also know that he’s adding to the man’s uneasiness on purpose. “Osborne.”

Harry eyes the outstretched hand, clearly terrified of shaking his hand, or even being in the vampire’s vicinity. “I don’t d–do the shaking hands thing.”

Taking his hand back, casually shoving it inside his pocket, Hobie bares his fangs, grinning like he just spotted his next meal. Earning a small gasp from the man. “I’d say nice to meet you but you’re a vampire hunter.” The boom mic captures a subtle snarl from him, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek lest you grab him by the hand and tug him away to a Janitor’s closet.

Closing the small distance, and with some restraint, you pat Hobie’s bicep. “Don’t worry, he only hunts pixies.”

“Sometimes goblins.” Harry corrects.

You make an impressed expression. “Sometimes goblins.”

“How’d you even meet in the first place, genius? I thought your main hunt was vampires.” Harry scratches the back of his neck, glasses falling on the tip of his nose as Hobie clenches his jaw at the fond nickname.

“Well,” you hide your clammy hands inside your pockets, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “We met at the night market, yeah, the night market.”

Hobie stifles a chuckle by biting his lower lip. “Yeah, ‘m a leather artisan.” Throwing his arm over your shoulder, you can feel that he’s up to his tricks once again, lying through his fangs with ease. You gaze at the camera with a flat exasperated look. “Genius ‘ere bought a few of my…things, hm?”

“Oh what kind of leather—”

“So Harry!” Clapping your hands, you change the subject lest the producer has to change the ratings on the show from parental guidance to rated R. “Why are you here exactly? I remember that you live across town.” Hobie side eyes you after hearing your last comment.

“I’m selling pixie dust.” Shrugging, he shows you his satchel that’s full of velvet bound pouches that shimmers. “The vampire council is surprisingly my main client.”

You look at Hobie questioningly.

“It’s good for polishing our fangs.” He says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “And seasoning.”

“Of course it is.” You sigh and Harry smiles awkwardly.

“How about you, how’s life been?” Harry pats your arm all friendly. “The last time I saw you was at graduation.”

“Yeah, the whole chemist thing didn’t exactly pan out—”

“Hobie, Y/N!” A familiar voice yells for you as it echoes around the vast empty space. The cameras pivot towards the sprinting group of teenagers.

“Three musketeers?” Hobie’s the first to react, his playful demeanor changes into worry within a second when he sees the trio running towards you frantically. They have a new person sprinting beside them, and Hobie is immediately on the defensive, stepping in front of you. “Shit, did you actually manage to burn down the bloody house?”

“What, no!” Miles huffs, hands on his knees as he gestures towards a newcomer. “This is Gayatri—”

“She’s also a witch’s apprentice!” Pavitr blurts out, panting as he fans himself. “And she needs help!”

“We tried calling you but you didn’t answer.” Gwen adds.

“What are we, a bloody daycare now?” Hobie mumbles to himself as you move around him to check on them.

“You don’t look like you’re hurt, Gayatri, are you okay?” You ask as Pav leans against you for balance and you wrap your arm around him. You glance at them all, trying to find something wrong, thankfully you don’t find anything other than the fact that they look like they ran a marathon, except for Gwen, who looks fine, perhaps all that running around during the full moon helped. “Shit, did you all run here?”

“We couldn’t find a cab.” The blonde shrugs nonchalantly, as if she just did a light jog.

“I’m haunted.” Gayatri just says, eyeing the men and the crew with trepidation. “My mentor’s away for a conference and I sort of got into her spellbook.”

“She released an ancient being.” Miles says with wonderment. Hobie snorts, earning a glare from him.

“What does the being look like? Are they sparkly?” Harry steps in.

“A bit?” The apprentice inhales deeply, wiping sweat off her brow. “Why?”

“Do they toss things around and that they’re so small that you can’t see them?”

“Yeah, and technically I couldn’t see them—”

Harry snaps his fingers in a light bulb moment. “Sounds like you have a pixie infestation.”

“A pixie—?”

“C’mon, I’ll help, I can’t let those pixies get away with it.” Harry fixes his hold on his bag, ready to go.

“Um,” Gayatri looks at him with uncertainty. “I don’t think it’s pixies, they wrote a threat on the wall with blood.”

“Yeah, pixies tend to do that when they’re hungry. Let me guess, you have no sweets in the kitchen.”

“Not exactly—”

“Let’s go, since you’re friends with my friend I’ll do it at a discounted price.” Harry seems to be the only one that’s convinced. “I’ll do it for the love of the game, but I’ve got bills to pay.”

The teenagers look at you and Hobie for answers when the stranger keeps yapping at them about pixie facts. The crew are already packing up their equipment, more than eager to see some action when the last time they saw one was when Gwen hulked out in the cemetery.

Meanwhile, Hobie refrains from saying anything about his supposed birthday celebration that keeps getting halted by the forces be.

“I already have my things in my car, so why not? We’ll tag along.” You utter and they sigh in relief, knowing of your abilities, or at least one that’s better than pixie guy. Tossing the car keys at Pav, you let them go ahead. “Start the car for me, kiddo.”

They walk away together with the documentary crew, and your eyes soften at the sight of Pavitr being shy with Gayatri. While Miles and Gwen joke around, surely about the crazy pixie man speed walking in front of them.

Before Hobie could follow them, you loop your arm around his own, pulling him towards you. Chest to chest, he smirks at you, eyes tender and with the same pink hue.

“So, you and Harry, hm?”

“We made out once, but that was it.” Your answer has Hobie guffawing, echoing around the vast building. You match his energy, grinning from ear to ear. “It wasn’t meant to be and he tasted like a pretentious frat boy.” Taking him by the collar, you look behind him to make sure that you’re all alone with your favorite vampire. “I’m sorry that your birthday keeps getting interrupted.”

“Nah, we’re good. We can celebrate later.” His eyes soften even further, breathing slowly as he casts his sight on your lips, glancing over to your neck that still bears two pin prick scars. “How ‘bout me, what do I taste like?”

Your smile widens even further, eyes twinkling. Your thumb runs along the stitching of his collar and over to his scarred bite mark on his neck. “You taste like someone my mother warned me about, dangerous.” Leaning close, your breath mixes in with his. “Delicious.”

His fangs unintentionally come out, poking the bottom of his lip as he takes you in, hands on your hips, thumbs pushing away at the hem of your blouse and brushing along your exposed skin. He can’t find the right words as his red eyes practically glow under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“I’m curious though,” you’re enjoying the sight in front of you. “what do I taste like?”

“Like heaven.” Breath shuddering, Hobie feels his blood pulsate, boiling over as he hovers his lips atop your neck, nose brushing upwards until he’s hovering above your lips. “Sweet, like ambrosia, fuckin’ delightful, lovie.” He growls out that has your chest filling with need for him.

Giggling, you close the distance with a gentle tug at his collar.

The loud honk of your car bursts the little bubble you built around the two of you. Snorting, the moment lost, you thump your forehead against his clavicle as your grip on his collar loosens. You can feel Hobie pant under you, throat bobbing up and down as he swallows thickly. You meet with his eyes, irises blooming like saucers. There’s hunger behind them.

“Let’s not keep them waiting any longer—” you’re about to leave his side, but he twirls you back in place and into his arms with a blur. Your lips collide with his, and you taste the remnants of your ichor, knowing how heaven tastes like from his tongue.

The second you close the door behind the uninvited camera crew, you start to walk towards the modest kitchen; which they immediately follow you with their boom mic that’s the size of a meatball sub, and the ever annoying blinking red light from the cameras follows suit. You don’t love your job in the slightest, but you do need to keep it especially now.

“For someone making a documentary about a regular office job you guys love filming our private life.” You say in between gritted teeth.

Your shoulders sag, shaking your head as you wash your hands and continue mixing the sauce needed for the pasta. You could feel the producer’s question on the tip of her tongue as her fingers pause on the tablet screen mid-type.

“It’s MJ’s birthday.” You say with a glance at the camera, lips tugging into a more genuine smile. “I’ve decorated obviously, and I’m making her favourites before the guests arrive.” The producer opens her lips but you cut her off, unbothered and used to the cameras by now. “I thought you were MJ, hence the ‘surprise.’ Leave me alone, I’m way behind schedule. Do what you guys do, just don’t go into our rooms.”

The camera’s lens hovers around the kitchen, getting some establishing shots until a red and pink sheet cake gets the crew’s attention. It’s finely decorated with dainty edible flowers. The lenses immediately hone in on it, the squiggly writing that’s written in pink icing reads: “Happy Birthday to Mary Jane and Y/N!” In a second, the camera turns to you in shock, as you look like you were caught with your hand inside the cookie jar.

“Surprise?” Chuckling bashfully, you cover the cake and carefully place it inside the fridge. “We have the same birthday, sort of.” You start to explain as you pick at your nail unconsciously. “Her birthday is ahead of mine, a mere twenty four hour difference. So ever since we both found out about it, and became best friends because of it, we’ve been celebrating it together.” With every word you utter, your smile grows at the fond memory. “I know that making a cake for myself could be considered weird but I’m used to it! I actually like baking, I find it therapeutic.”

“I mean, who’s going to do it if not me, hm?” Shrugging, you go back to mixing. “Go and do your jobs, I can’t keep entertaining you all.”

With your permission, the crew walks around the modest flat. The lenses roam around from top to bottom. String lights shaped like butterflies decorate the curtain rods, adding some warm light inside. There are the classic streamers, red and pink, the same colours as the shared birthday cake. Shiny balloons are hovering just below the ceiling, numerous party poppers are on the table. And a pretty table setting laid atop red checkered fabric with a hodgepodge of plates and utensils, complete with an antique looking tea set, adds some character to the whole place. A bouquet of pink tulips sit in the middle of the table as the centerpiece, and various scented candles are placed on each corner of the flat. The place is immaculate, not a single speck of dust on the surfaces, and with the scent of freshly baked goods, the place feels like a cozy little cottage in the woods.

“You like it?” Your measured tone sounds from the side, and the camera pans over to you as you smile bashfully. “She’s been obsessed with the cottage core aesthetic ever since she saw those pretty picnic pictures online. I tried to capture that.” Eyes sparkling, you look around your handiwork. “I think I did pretty well, considering I was working on a strict budget lest I don’t make car payments.”

“You’ve got a car now?” Jared the camera man pipes up from behind the lens.

“Oh yeah, I forgot that you guys were on holiday for a while. Not gonna lie, two months away from filming was too long considering that it’s your job.” You blink at the camera as you meet with their knowing expressions. “Well, I still hate it that you’re all filming our lives outside of work— I didn’t miss you is what I’m saying.”

Jared smirks, hiding his grin behind the large camera. Rolling your eyes, you return to the kitchen to check on the oven, crouching in front of it as you take a peek. “So, was it tax related or lack of labor as to why you guys haven’t been—”

“You seem happier?” Jared asks, to the irk of the producer, who was supposed to be the one asking the questions. She lets it go when it’s a good segue to what she has in mind.

“Am I?” Your beaming smile adds warmth to the whole room, and it’s not from the sweet smelling cookies inside the oven. “I think I am, yeah.” Nodding, you stand back up to ice some red velvet cupcakes that are in the same shade as MJ’s hair. “I’m finally a regular at work. So no more being a temp or being so afraid of making a mistake. We celebrated it here actually with the whole group. I wish you guys could’ve filmed that, Lyla was standing on the table dancing with MJ.”

Chuckling, you continue. “Then I got my own car, second hand but it does the work and I don’t have to hitch a ride with Harry anymore.”

“What happened after the concert?” The dreaded question appears, and you let out an exhale, pausing from icing the cupcakes before composing yourself.

“Do we really have to talk about it? I mean, you guys were there, you filmed everything—” realization flickers on your face. “you just asked me that so you could hard cut back to two months ago, right—?”

2 months ago.

The camera peeks around a dumpster, its lenses whirls as it hones in on a sweaty Hobie puffing out cigarette smoke with fury as if he’s trying to burn down a medieval town. If it weren’t for the cool night air, the cameras would’ve picked up steam coming out of his ears.

Hobie paces around the empty parking lot, boots scuffing along the concrete. His fists are curled tightly, shaking as he drags his feet towards a pile of cardboard boxes. He’s not wearing a mic, but even without it, his angry murmuring gets picked up by the camera.

For a moment, he stops in front of some innocent boxes, jaw set, eyes boring into it like he’s about to set it on fire.

“Wanker!” He kicks the poor boxes as cardboard flies around. He then lets out a yell, muffled only by the denim jacket you gifted as he bites into it. “You stupid stupid arsehole! Tit for tat, huh—!” The toe of his foot hits something hard that was hidden underneath the pile of cardboard, letting out a metallic sound. Wincing, Hobie hops on one foot before yelling out again. “Motherfucker!”

His boot stomps, as if he’s trying to kill a skittering cockroach. Heaving, he finishes his tirade with a flourish, kicking a lone box into the darkness.

The cameraman leans closer, accidentally stepping on a can of empty soft drink, making the aggravated punk turn his head towards the noise.

His face falls, eyes wide with embarrassment as he tries to act casual by straightening his clothes. “Oh.”

The scene cuts to him sitting by his lonesome back in the fluorescent lit office. Glum is an overstatement, he looks like he lost his wallet, got his car stolen, and got kicked out of his flat. He might as well feel like it too based on his button up that’s all wrinkled, tie askew whilst his dress pants are a size smaller.

“I accidentally took my mate’s trousers.” Hobie says, heavy dark circles under his eyes as he kneads the space in between.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” The producer’s question got his eyes flicking over to the camera with a glare.

“Yeah, slept like a bloody baby, mate.”

“Who are you really mad at? At Harry or—”

“Harry, ‘m not mad at her. She jus’...” His eyes glaze over for a moment before blinking it away. “...got stuck in the middle of us.” Shaking his head, Hobie leans back on the chair. “I only agreed to this shit because you said you’d cut whatever you saw last night, yeah?”

“We understand. Why are you mad at Harry? They’re together, it’s not like she cheated on you—”

“She didn’t.” He enunciates his words. “And we’re not…together, not even close.”

“Then why are you acting like she did, when Harry didn’t do anything wrong?”

Hobie blinks, sucking in his teeth before sighing. “Ask him yourself.”

“Do you want to be with her?” Jared the cameraman oversteps his job description.

Hobie’s jaw tightens, hands flexing on his lap, ignoring the blinking light of the camera. “No more questions.” He yanks the mic off of his body, sound muffling as he stands up and tosses the equipment on the seat as he ignores their calls, saying that taking off the mic is grounds for getting a reprimand. A muffled, “don’t give a fuck.” Sounds out just as the door slams close.

The camera pans over to Harry's side of the office, his smiling eyes peek over the mouth of his coffee cup as he follows Hobie with his gaze.

The scene shifts back to the concert, the night before Hobie’s one on one and tantrum. The heavy bass has your chest thrumming, skin turning clammy, and eyes wide open as Harry pulls away from the kiss.

Heaving, lips still tasting him, your stomach lurches, a dull ache slithering around your belly. “Why did you do that?” You ask in a small and confused tone as cameras zoom in on your befuddled face.

Harry chuckles, shrugging. “I thought it was the right moment.” His hand finds your own, his palm is soft, with no rough callouses that your brain instinctively looks for. Weaving his fingers through yours tenderly, he squeezes you once. “I…really like you, Y/N, I really do.”

“I—” your stomach gurgles uncontrollably as you feel woozy from the claustrophobic place with all the sweaty bodies bumping into you.

“Of course you do!” MJ pipes up from your side, making you flinch as her arm is thrown over your shoulder, grinning widely, and answering for you. “And my girl likes you too, right?” She shakes you in place, and you don’t have an answer to her question.

Your stomach grumbles loudly, but not from hunger, aching from the bottom up as you feel saliva coat your mouth. You suddenly feel sweatier than normal, beads of sweat trailing on your back, sending goosebumps to appear on your arms.

“I—” The documentary crew has a front row seat to the inner conflict happening through your eyes. Your stomach gurgles again, eyes turning hazy, breath stuck in your throat. “I don’t feel so good,” Harry’s brows suddenly knit together in worry, from a happy one to concern within a half second. “the shawarma we had earlier— I think—!” Before you know it, you’re chucking out everything that was in your stomach down to the floors and onto MJ’s and Harry’s shoes.

“What the fuck, Y/N!” The redhead screeches, flinching away. Her face is as red as her hair, yelping and turning away from the scene in front of her.

The crowd around you parts in disgust, and just your luck, the music comes to an end on stage like it was on cue.

“Shit!” Harry backs off, shaking your sick off his shoes.

You groan, vision turning wobbly, clutching your stomach as you feel lightheaded. There’s a sudden rush of footsteps heading your way. Then a familiar pair of arms wrap around you, clutching you against a comfortable warmth and citrus scent laced with adrenaline and sweat.

“You okay, love?” You’re met with concerned eyes, and a palm patting your clammy face.

“Hobie?” You ask shakily before your eyes roll back and darkness embraces you.

The crowd gasps, making the crew feel like they’re filming a telenovela from the 90’s.

The only person happy about the situation is the producer, she immediately emails the company, asking for a season renewal before everything airs.

“Medic!” Hobie’s adrenaline helps him carry you off your feet and towards the medical tent outside and into cool fresh air.

—

Harry arrives back at the hospital, flowers in hand, and trying to avoid the inevitable.

The documentary crew finds him though, despite him hiding behind the bouquet of red roses.

“Come on, guys, not here too.” He speed walks away, only to be followed by the cameras. “Back off!” Pretending to lunge at them, Hobie appears just off frame, whistling loudly at the group, making them freeze in place.

“Took you long enough.” He addresses Harry, whilst the man fixes his hold on the flowers. “She hates roses, mate.” Stubbing the cigarette out, the punk casually leans against the stark white wall of the ambulance bay, eyes pointed right at the crew. “She said that you lot can stay as long as you’re outside the room, and no bloody mics.”

Harry scoffs, walking to the double doors, shoulder checking Hobie on his way in. “As if you’re her boyfriend.”

The cameras hone in on the pair, stepping back as if they’re filming a ticking time bomb.

Hobie simply smirks, but his eyes convey nothing but annoyance with a hint of anger. “As if you’re hers.”

“Fuck off, Hobie.”

Harry heads toward the elevators, thundering footsteps echoing around the hospital whilst Hobie follows close with the crew in tow. For once, he likes that they’re there with him, a third party that prevents him from punting his former best mate.

They both get on the elevator as the cameras have them front and center. This time though, you’re not standing in the middle of them. Just high tech cameras that could record evidence against either of them for viewing pleasure, or for the court.

“How is she?” Harry’s the first one to cut the silence as the elevator whirls to life. It’s old based on the way it lurches harshly before moving.

“You would know if you visited.” Hobie has his hands casually inside the denim jacket you made, perhaps to keep his fists beside him and not slamming against the brunette’s face.

“Calm down, it’s not like she’s dying.”

“Whatever you fuckin’ fed her yesterday made her feel like it, dumbarse.” Snickering, his eyes shine with mischief. “I’d get sick too if you kissed me.”

Harry’s eyes roam around the punk’s attire, scoffing with a roll of his eyes when he notices that he’s still wearing the same clothes as last night’s concert. “I can smell you from here, Hobie.”

“I smell like hopes and dreams, bruv.”

“Ah, that’s why you smell like shit—”

Hobie clicks his tongue, jaw set as he reels himself in. “You still haven’t changed, still an arsehole through and through.”

“What are you even doing here, Hobie?”

“Watching over her like a friend should.”

“Yeah, sure, a ‘friend.’” Harry dramatically makes quotation marks with his fingers. “Just like last time, huh?” His eyes knowingly glance at Hobie, sending him a death glare worthy of the camera lens cracking. “What, weren’t you satisfied last time?”

“Is this what it is then?” Hobie steps forward, seething, eyes narrowed right at him. “Revenge for last time. I’ve said my piece years ago, mate, it wasn’t what you think it was.”

Scoffing, Harry shakes his head with a snicker. “Sure, mate, that’s what it was. You were looking inside her mouth for your gum with your lips or what?”

“Fuck you, Harry. You ruined our chances with the agent jus’ for that. And you know I wouldn’t do that to you, she was the one who—”

“Yeah, place the blame on the woman I loved, and not on yourself. A classic Hobie Brown move—!”

The elevator doors ding open, the familiar scent of the hospital wafts around the two, as the opened doors reveal Yuri and Ned waiting by it with wide eyes. The cameras pan over to them, immediately stepping off the elevators in case things turn sour. They really don’t want their cameras broken when fists and roses start flying around.

“Are we playing seven minutes in heaven like when we were kids, gentlemen?” The ravenette asks, a neat brow raised right at them while her hand stops the doors from closing.

“More like seven minutes in hell.” Ned glances at the crew with pity. “They didn’t throw hands yet, right?”

Jared shakes the camera like it’s saying no. Meanwhile Hobie and Harry avoid each other’s eyes.

“I like you, weirdo.” Yuri chortles, making the cameraman blush, she makes space for the two live wires to get off the elevator.

Harry leaves first, nudging Hobie’s shoulder harshly with a thud, and a glare thrown right at the band. He stomps over to the nurse’s station, asking for your room number.

“What a ray of sunshine.”

“Good on you for keeping your cool, Hobs.” Ned says, clutching his shoulder gently. “You are cool, right? Or do we have to restrain the two of you again?”

“I call dibs on tying you both down. I know where to get heavy duty rope.” Yuri adds, a hand clasped on Hobie’s elbow in a subtle move for keeping him away from the brunette. “And if you two end up killing each other, do I have your permission to go for Y/N? You know, a shoulder to cry on.”

Yuri’s joke flies over his head. Hobie exhales a bated breath as he watches Harry knock on your door, peeking inside with a smile as Hobie hears your voice from the inside. The cameras perfectly capture the look on his face. Dismay, longing and sadness seen through the recording.

“Hey,” Ned nudges him awake. “We’re going home, you should come with us for some fresh clothes and breakfast.”

The punk sighs with a frown. “Do I smell that bad?”

“Nah,” Yuri reassures with a genuine smile. “You seriously don’t smell bad, you just look like a raccoon who decided to cross a busy road.” That earns a soft chuckle from the punk, instinctively wiping at his melting eyeliner that stains his fingers. “Besides, she’ll be fine, it’s just food poisoning. The doctor said she can come home this afternoon and you’ll be refreshed by then to pick her up.”

“I think she already has a ride, Yuri.” Hobie says with a deep frown, tone small as his eyes cast on your door.

“Knowing Harry, they’ll last less than a month give or take.” Ned presses the elevator call button again, arms crossed as he flicks his eyes over to the camera before looking at his best mate’s back with worry.

“That’s not it, you know that’s not it.” Shaking his head, Hobie’s concern grows as he swallows thickly. “I don’t want her to get caught in our fightin’. I don’t want her gettin’ hurt because of us.”

Yuri nods in understanding, her dark eyes glance over at Ned as the doors ding open. “Give her some credit, she’s tougher than she looks.”

“Harry will break her heart, I know it.” Hobie utters through his teeth as he reluctantly steps back into the elevator together with Ned and Yuri.

“Well, if he does, she has friends to take care of her. That includes us if she’s still not hung up about the pub.” Ned says as he pushes the button to close the doors, leaving the documentary crew behind. “Or there’s a chance that he actually likes her. We know Harry, he falls hard just like you do.”

Hobie’s chest aches at Ned’s words that strike him where it hurts most.

“You gonna stop him then?” Yuri asks, addressing Hobie without missing a beat, arms crossed over as she glares at the hospital room, where you reside.

The crew could see that the band has grown fond of you like you’re their own during the time they’ve spent with you while you’re in hospital.

Before the doors close, the lenses zoom in on Hobie’s trembling hand, not getting his answer as the metal doors shut, cutting his response.

—

“Harry?” You ask hoarsely, eyes darting towards the small window on the hospital room door, spotting the unmistakable camera peeking inside. You’re too weak to protest, skin still clammy, throat throbbing, and stomach rumbling with ache.

“You sound disappointed.” He chuckles nervously, clutching the bouquet close to him.

“No, I— I just thought you were MJ.” Your lips smile reluctantly. “She hasn’t stopped by.”

“Maybe she’s just busy.”

“Yeah, probably.” You can feel the camera on you, you just hope that their mics can’t pick up any sound through the door so you just try to keep a neutral face from now on.

“How do you feel?” His voice is carried in the sterile air.

“Better, my fever’s down and I haven’t been to the bathroom in a couple of hours. The doctors said it was food poisoning.” Your eyes dart towards the bottles of gatorade on the nightstand. “Hobie and his band helped.”

Harry frowns before gesturing towards the empty seat next to your bed, you nod and he smiles softly before sitting down. Placing the flowers on his lap as he seems to not know what to do with his hands. “I’m sorry about—”

“I’m sorry.” You simultaneously speak at the same time as him. “Sorry, you go first.” Clearing your throat, your fingers absentmindedly scratch at the tape around the dextrose needle.

“No, you go first.” His eyes look around you, from the hospital gown and the medicine hooked up to your hand, there’s guilt in his swirling eyes.

“Okay,” it takes a bit more courage to look into his green eyes. “I’m sorry that I ruined our date by getting sick all over your shoes and embarrassing you.”

Harry smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I have more shoes. And don’t worry, it didn’t ruin the date, it wasn’t that embarrassing.”

“It’s fucking embarrassing. I mean, you kissed me and I immediately puked in front of everyone.” You let out a humourless laugh. “If it was me I’d tuck tail and leave town.”

“Do you want me to leave town?” Teasing, the crepe paper under his palm crinkles. “I don’t know if that’ll help much.”

Your fist bunches up the blanket over your legs. “I’m trying to say that it wasn’t you. It—It was the food we had.”

“Good to know that it wasn’t my breath.”

“Harry—”

“I’m joking, princess.” Beaming at you, he scooches his seat closer despite the sound grinding at his teeth. “We shouldn’t have had those suspicious looking shawarma on the way to the concert.”

“Shit, are you okay? I forgot to ask since you ate it too.” Your hand reaches for him but you retract it away last minute to his dismay.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I had the veggie one, remember?”

Head falling on the pillow that still smells like Hobie’s cologne when he fluffed it up for you, you close your eyes in embarrassment. “It was the meat.”

“It was probably human.”

“Harry.” You say in between chortles. “Not funny.”

“A little funny.” He looks at the bouquet before handing it gently over to you. “I heard you don’t like roses, but it was too late for me to exchange them. I promise the next time will be whatever your favourites are.”

You smile, inhaling the sweet scent as he gazes at you tenderly that has your heart beating loudly. You’re just glad that there’s no heart monitor connected to you. “I like these enough.”

“Yeah, but it’s an apology bouquet, next time, it’ll be a bouquet that means differently and I want that to be your favourite.”

“There’s still a next time? Why?”

Shrugging, elbows on the bed, his eyes soften as the early morning sunlight filters inside. “Just cause I want to impress you. And say sorry for not visiting earlier.”

“I know that, I mean the latter I know of because you probably had to shower after smelling like my dinner.” It takes a lot of bravery for you to let out the next words when your pillow smells like citrus and soap. When it smells like Hobie. “But why the former? Why bother trying to impress me when I’m just me?”

“That’s exactly why.” Harry’s tone lowers an octave, hand placed beside you, not holding onto you nor getting closer, just laying there with apprehension. “You’re you, I like you, and after what happened, it’s alright if you don’t want to continue this. I don’t expect you to like me just because you feel like you have to.”

“I feel like you barely know me.”

“I’d like to get to know you better, if you’d let me.” His green eyes hone in on yours. “If you have someone else in mind, I wouldn’t ask again. It was…worth a try. At least I got to hang out with you. You were really fun to be with, I wish you know that.”

His words go straight at your heart.

Hobie comes to mind. But you saw how MJ looked at him, and how easily they talk to each other like they’ve known each other longer than you have. They’re compatible together, cut from the same cloth while you’re not even in the same fabric shop as them. He feels out of reach, and just like with MJ, you’ll just be someone who stands behind them, not beside them. You’re fine with that when you’ve gotten used to the sidelines. Used to being the sidekick that holds her guitar case when she runs off at a party, used to follow her around like a lost puppy when she’s the longest— the only friend, who stuck by you this whole time. In time, it’ll be like that with Hobie, it’s inevitable when you’ve seen it with MJ. It’s a hard pill to swallow, the fading friendship when you two used to spend time together with every hour of every day. When she stopped wearing her friendship necklace, you kept wearing yours, hoping that one day you’ll see your best friend wearing it again. That one day, the half hearts will be full again.

Hobie might not be like her, that you won’t be in his shadow, but there’s a possibility that you will. You don’t know him enough, just like how you don’t know Harry enough to pass that judgement. You can’t let your heart choose for you, even when your soul heeds the same. You don’t want to live through that again, especially to someone you might end up loving deeply, more than a co-worker, or a friend would. It’ll shatter your heart, just like the first time you saw her without the necklace she has worn for ten years. It’s just a crush, and like all crushes, you’ll get over it.

Harry might not be your first choice, or your only choice, but he’s right there, offering his heart to you on a platter. You won’t be in his shadow, a gamble on your part to think that way, but he’s not out of reach unlike Hobie, who seems to be a league above your own. Best of all, MJ doesn’t have her eye on Harry, that you won’t end up losing to her, or losing her friendship completely if you try to pursue Hobie. So you take Harry’s hand, squeezing it once before loosening your grip.

You just want to be happy, even if it means settling.

“We… I feel like we went too quickly, Harry. But I’d like to try again.” You swallow down the doubts you have for your choice. “Just promise me that if this doesn’t work, you won’t ice me out. You’re a great friend, I don’t want to lose that because we tried.”

“Okay.” His whole demeanor relaxes, a weight lifted off his shoulders. “I promise. How about this…” A hand reaches for you, waiting for you to shake it. “We start over. My name’s Harry Osborne, I’m a sales rep, I like race cars and gelato.”

With a smile, eyes shining, you take his hand, shaking it politely. “It’s nice to meet you, Harry,” you tell him your name, stifling a giggle when he nods all serious like. “I’m a quality assurance agent, I like baking, painting, and my favourite flowers are tulips, pink ones.”

“Tulips, pink ones, got it.”

“We’re okay?”

“Better than okay.” Smiling, his touch lingers for a second longer before he lets go. “I’ll get rid of the cameras.” Standing up, he’s stopped by your hand wrapped around his wrist.

“No, stay for a bit, I already forgot about them.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Harry sits back down. “What’s your favourite book?”

Your chuckles echo around the hospital bed as the two of you continue to chat, the world outside forgotten as the scent of roses waft around your senses.

—

The scene shifts back to the apartment that smells like cake and over to you as you wash the icing off your hands.

“They’ll be here any minute.” Your frantic mumbling gets picked up by the boom mic. “Can you guys at least make yourself useful by helping me set up the food table?”

Jared shakes the camera like it’s him saying no.

“Great, fantastic.” With panicked footsteps, you carefully haul the food onto a long table. The cameras follow your movements as you carry an empty punch bowl.

“How are you and Harry?” The producer asks, making you grate your teeth.

You accidentally drop the bowl with a thud, immediately regretting it when you realize that you might’ve cracked it. “So you can keep asking me questions but you can’t help? Some guests you are.”

The group looks at each other, as if waiting for someone to ask you again. Jared’s sad eyes catch you off guard as your palm roams around the glass for any cracks.

“Fine, I get it, it’s your job.” Sighing, you gently rest the bowl again, right next to a platter of paella. “Harry and I are—”

There’s a knock at the door, and your eyes immediately widen in a panic, looking down at yourself as you wince.

“Shit, I’m not even ready yet.” Your gaze darts over to your large bubble coat hanging on the coat rack. You bolt over to it, snatching and quickly putting it on over your stained apron and jumper. “Hold on, MJ!”

“Suprise—!” Hand grasping the doorknob, you open the door, grinning wildly. Instead of your smile falling, it softens. “Hey, you’re early.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Hobie’s unmistakable voice sounds out from behind the door from where the cameras capture the scene. “I got the ice jus’ like you asked.”

“Thank you, you’re a life saver.” Chuckling, you open the door wider, revealing the crew waiting in the living room. “I thought punks are always fashionably late.”

“It’s actually punk to be early—” Hobie grimaces at the sight of the crew. “Here too, really?”

“I just ignore them.” Shutting the door behind Hobie, your quick movements faze him a little as you help with carrying the package of ice. “Coats over there, Hobie, I’ll put this in the freezer.”

Smiling, his eyes roam around the cozy flat. “Is your thermostat fucked, love? I can fix it for you.”

“What, why?” You ask from the kitchen, head peeking around the doorway as the rumble of ice gets shoved inside the small freezer.

“Or are you just cold?” He asks, shrugging off his leather coat, revealing your gifted denim jacket underneath it. The cameras look him up and down like it’s fashion week. He’s wearing a more toned down version of his concert outfit, less leather and fishnets, and more of a simple plaid long sleeve that’s not buttoned all the way that shows off his mismatched silver chains around his neck, and a pair of skinny black jeans over leather platforms.

The lens pans over to his torso knowingly, lingering over the denim jacket, before Hobie glares at the camera as if his gaze would crack the glass whilst he shrugs the jacket off and hangs it on the coat rack.

“Oh,” you look down at yourself, too comfortable in the bubble coat. “No, I was trying to hide the fact that I’m not dressed yet.”

“Couldn’t fool me, I thought the party’s theme was winter.” His eyes capture the twinkling lights as he beams at the checkered table cloth.

“It’s cottage core actually.” Crossing the distance, the camera crew stands by the side to let the scene unfold like they’re filming a nature documentary. “You like what I’ve done to the place?”

“It’s brilliant.” Hobie turns his head to look at you, finding that you’re leaning against the table casually as you smile bashfully at him. “You’re brilliant.”

“I try.” You say in a shy tone, cheeks aflame.

“You forgot one thing though.”

“Shit,” your face falls. “what?”

“Music.” Sauntering over to the record player, he finds that your laughter is better than any music MJ has on display. “MJ listens to country?” He asks whilst perusing the collection.

“She had a phase. You should see her cowboy boots.”

He snorts, finding a soft jazz record that he recognises with a smile. “Don’t think I want to, lovie. Can I?”

“Yeah, good choice.” The wink he sent your way makes your heart leap. You watch as his hands gently put the record on like it’ll break in half. How his fingers glide along it, almost caressing, soft and tender. Calloused fingers dragging along the glass as he opens the player, lips pursing together, piercings glimmering, throat bobbing— “I need to get ready.” You clear your throat, unfurling your fists and relaxing your stance. Crush, yeah right. “Will you be okay here?”

“Yeah, make yourself prettier.” The smile on his face almost has you bumping against the edge of the table. “I’ve got the knobhead crew to keep me company.”

“That’ll make a good band name if you change the c in crew to a k.” You joke as you walk backwards into your room.

“Brilliant as always. I’ll tell the lads to change ours to that.”

“Don’t!” Giggling, you shut the door behind you before you could get lost in his eyes.

Hobie feels Jared the camera man’s eyes on him. “What? Fuck off, bruv.”

“What was that, Hobie?” Your muffled voice sounds out through the closed door.

“Nothin’. Did you cook all of these yourself?” Walking around, his stomach grumbles at the sight of the full table with all the fixings. From deviled eggs to tiny meat pies, you’ve got it all.

“Uh, no, I’m not that brilliant. I ordered most of it, but I did bake all the desserts.”

Hobie eyes a piece of sugar cookie decorated with flowers on it, smiling as it reminds him of the holiday cookies you made for the work holiday party.

“You can have some if you’re hungry.”

“You read my mind.” He carefully grabs a pink tulip cookie, biting into the treat with a smile.

“It’s easy, you’re always hungry.”

“‘m a growin’ boy, love.” Continuing to walk around, he sees some dirty dishes left on the sink. He finishes the cookie in one bite, wiping the crumbs, and folding his sleeves, he starts to wash it up whilst Jared gives him an approving nod.

“If you grow up some more you’ll be seven feet tall.”

“Yeah, I can finally reach the tea you hide at work.”

“It’s because Peter keeps drinking it all!”

“It’s not jus’ Peter.” Grinning, he rinses the plates, and wipes down the side of the sink.

“Hey! You owe me a box, Hobs.”

His chest warms up from the nickname. “I’ll get you a whole box, don’t worry.”

There’s another knock on the door just as when Hobie dries his hand on a towel that he flings on his shoulder.

“Shit, I’m not done yet.” You hiss through the door, floorboards creaking like you’re jumping on the old wood.

“I’ll get it, it’s probably the band. They had to stop by a shop to get the beer.” Hobie walks the short distance over to the front door, peeking over the window beside it to check who it is.

“Thank you!”

The lenses capture the perfect moment when his smile falls.

When you don’t hear the door creak open, you call for him. “Who is it? Is it MJ’s friends?”

“No,” he chokes out, fist gripping the doorknob as he opens it with a creak. “Osborne.”

“Brown.” With a raised brow and a sneer, Harry pushes him to the side to enter the flat. The bouquet crinkles in his hand, juggling to take off his coat and hold onto the flowers. “It’s me, princess!”

“Hi, Harry! I’ll be out in a few, just getting ready.”

Harry meets with Hobie’s glare. “You need help with a zipper in there?” The smirk he has on is just begging to be punched. And as the camera captures the whole scene, they think that it’ll come true.

“Nope, I got it.”

“That’s good, I didn’t want you to get stuck in your dress again like last time.” To add salt to Hobie’s wound, Harry says it with his whole chest. Your giggles twist the knife, as Hobie tries to act casual, leaning against the door.

“Are those flowers for me, mate?” The punk snidely remarks.

“Nope, I remember that tulips aren’t your thing. You’re more of a venus flytrap kind of guy.”

“Those things could kill rats, don’t they? Better not come near one, mate.”

“I didn’t even know you were invited.” Harry scoffs out.

“MJ’s my friend too.”

“Too, that’s funny.” The brunette steps forward, and the camera crew fears what would happen next. The soft jazz is ignored as the tension thickens in the air.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“What I mean is that you’ve got a habit of taking what’s not yours, Hobs.” Poison drips from Harry’s tongue.

“She is not a fuckin’ thing to have, Harry—”

Before the heated argument could end up with fists and food flying, the bedroom door creaks open, and you step outside with a bashful smile and sparkling eyes. You look happy, and both men could feel it too as the tension fades away just from you stepping foot inside the room.

“Is this okay?” Biting your lip, you shyly raise your arms to the side in an attempt to show off a dress you bought from Yuri’s recommendation. The fabric hugs you in all the right places, soft blue complimenting your very being, and the checkered pattern fits the theme of the party. “Is it too much? Yuri said I look like a hot little bo peep. Her words, not mine.”

Jared’s face is all red, not from how you look, but from how he’s desperately trying to stifle his laughter as both men pause in place, argument forgotten, and eyes glued onto you. They’re glad that they brought two cameras, one to capture the bead of sweat trickling down Harry’s temple, and another to film the way Hobie’s throat bops up and down.

To the cameras, they look like two bumbling idiots trying to find their words. In your eyes, they look like they’re just staring at you.

Chuckling nervously, brows furrowed, you bounce on the heels of your shoes. “Maybe I should change—”

“No.” Both men say at the same time in the very same volume. A feat in itself when they were trying to combust the other with just their gazes a few moments ago.

“I mean— you look beautiful, love.” Hobie clears his throat, unfurling his fists. Seeing you in nothing but thick coats and office wear through the early months that he has known you has done his brain in when it never thought that it’s possible to see you in anything else. He gazes at you with nothing but respect, but he can’t help his honesty. “Really beautiful.”

“Really?” Your eyes sparkle even more, arms crossed over your chest from the shyness. You’re trying to get out of your shell even more now, and by god you’re going to do it whether you like it or not. And it’s definitely not because Yuri would be all pouty if you didn’t wear the dress she helped pick for you. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Fucking gorgeous, princess.” Harry always finds a way to one up Hobie as his arms open, walking closer to you. “Absolutely gorgeous!” Hugging you, and to Hobie’s surprise, you hug back with a chuckle.

“Thank you, Harry.” Eyes crinkling at the corners, Harry pecks your cheek fondly.

Hobie says all the synonyms for beautiful inside his head as he turns towards the camera with a flat look. Hand occupied in favour of numbing the hurt away with some cookies.

“I got you flowers.” Harry says with a smile as Hobie tries to deafen his words by chewing loudly.

“You did? Why?” Hobie could hear your grin from your tone.

“I just want to. Can’t I just get you flowers?”

“It’s technically not my birthday yet.”

“Don’t worry about it, I got MJ a present too. She won’t feel left out.” Hobie gets an unfortunate peek at Harry’s palm rubbing up and down your back.

“That’s kind of you.” And he gets a very unfortunate view of the cameras filming the whole scene with him in the background like some schmuck. “You smell nice. New cologne?”

“Yeah, it’s lemon lime. I know how much you like the smell.”

The scene shifts to Hobie smoking a cigarette outside your flat all alone as he talks to the camera.

“Lemon lime,” scoffing, he blows out smoke. “how pretentious, it’s just bloody citrus. What a dickhead—”

It comes back to inside the flat where you’re smiling at something Harry whispered to you. Before your attention gets taken by a lone Hobie unwrapping a cupcake and devouring the whole thing in one big bite.

“Hobie, you’ll ruin your appetite.” Giggling, you unwrap yourself from Harry’s arms to his obvious dismay as you smile brightly at Hobie. “We have plenty of food.” Your palm unconsciously wraps around his elbow, Hobie almost chokes but hides it well.

He pauses mid chew, your sweet smelling perfume wafting over his senses like ambrosia on his tongue. And it’s not because of the red velvet cupcake.

“Yeah, Hobs, pace yourself.” Harry’s comment is more of an annoying tease compared to your genuine one.

“Try the deviled eggs after this,” you whisper to him with a smile as you also grab a cupcake to join him. “I used premium seasoning.”

“Careful, pirates would kill for that, lovie.” Joking, it earns a genuine giggle from you as icing coats your top lip. He resists the urge to wipe it for you.

“Hold on, you’ve got somethin’—”

“Can I have a cupcake too?” Harry interrupts just as when Hobie forgot that he was even there in the first place.

“Of course.” You grin at them both with fondness. “The icing is cream cheese—”

There’s another knock at the door. The camera’s attention flings towards the source as the three of you look at the door. You gasp quietly, placing the cupcake down gently as you lock eyes with the two.

“Remember, you have to scream ‘surprise,’ okay?”

“Princess, hold on!” Harry takes you by the hand and carefully wipes the icing off of your top lip carefully with a paper napkin. “There you go.”

“Thank you.” Excitement flows through you as you practically skip towards the door.

Hobie glares at the side of Harry’s smug face.

Gripping the doorknob, you whip it open excitedly and instead of your red headed best friend, you’re met with the rest of Hobie’s band.

“Hi! You guys made it.” You open the door wider for the trio to saunter inside.

“We’ve got the booze, gorgeous!” Yuri’s smile widens when she spots your handpicked dress. “Looking as radiant as ever! I knew you’d be!” Clasping your shoulders, she pecks your cheek chastely. “I don’t think I’m the only one who sees that though.” Sending you a wink, you’re left at the door with a lopsided grin.

“Where do you want these, Y/N?” Ned asks as James helps him carry a whole case of beer inside.

“The kitchen please.”

“Yuri’s right, you look bangin’” James whistles lowly, earning a smack over the head from Ned.

“Why don’t you compliment someone normally?” He chastises as they lug the case towards the kitchen.

“Where’s the lunch club? I thought they were coming—?”

“Present!” Pav appears from the side, hand in hand with Gayatri. “We’re not late right?”

“Nope, you two are early actually.” Making way for them to get inside, the small flat is starting to feel like a party with everyone starting to arrive.

“Apparently not as early as Hobie.” Gayatri snickers, whispering the words as she half hugs you in greeting. “I’ve known him for years and I’ve never seen him be first at a party.”

“Really?” You glance towards Hobie as he leads the band over to the food table, their eyes widening at the variety.

“Really.” She emphasizes with a smirk. “Anyway, Gwen and Miles are gonna be fashionably late. They have a late class today.”

“That’s alright, I hope this isn’t too much of a bother.” You utter shyly as you shut the door.

“You’re never a bother, Y/N.” Pav adds as he shares a sweet look with Gaya. “Besides, Gaya never turns down free food—”

“Alright, let’s go.” Tugging him away by the hand, Pavitr laughs towards the others. “Thanks for the invite, Y/N!”

Smiling, you inhale deeply, putting on a braver face as you start to host the party. You guess everyone else has to wait for MJ and her friends to arrive.

Before you could join the others, you feel an unmistakable hand around your wrist. “Harry? Everything good?”

The camera’s attention turns towards the two of you, mics picking up the hushed tones. While the other camera hones in on Hobie’s face as he turns away in favour of shoving a whole cupcake inside James’ mouth, hiding behind his laughter.

“Yeah, just a quick question.” Leaning close, his hand drops down from your wrist to your hand, clasping it gently. “Is everyone from work invited?”

“Not really, I tried to invite Lyla but she said she had an influencer thing, and Miguel said he’d be too busy. Jessica couldn’t come either because she’s on maternity leave, and Peter couldn’t find a babysitter.”

His brows knit together in confusion. “Why are they invited? Do they know MJ?”

“Yeah actually, they know her through the band. And I wanted a few of my friends here too.”

His hold on you loosens as he leans back. “Ah, I was just wondering, I thought I’d see Miguel here.”

“I invited him to be polite.” Shrugging, you share a smile with Harry. “Can you imagine him actually coming?”

“I physically can’t.” Chuckling, you hear another knock at the door.

“That’s probably Miles and Gwen, hold on.” Leaving his side, you head to the door to open it. Lo and behold, you see the man himself. “Miguel?”

He looks like a fish out of water as he holds a wrapped gift tucked under his arm. “Am I too early?”

The camera zooms in on the look on your face. “No, you’re just in time. Come in.”

As the boss steps inside, his mere presence alone has the whole room quieting down. Harry almost chokes on his drink, as the office group stares at him with their mouths agape. The band looks him up and down, almost sizing the bigger man up. Miguel doesn’t back down or hides within himself from the stares though.

“I see that the cameras are following you too.” He says, narrowed eyes darting from face to face.

You look at them with an awkward smile. “You can put the present over there at the coffee table.”

Miguel’s tall and large figure makes him look like a giant inside the modest flat. “Did you decorate the place yourself?” He asks, probably just trying to make conversation as the rest of the party gazes at him in the corner of their eyes.

“I did.” Smiling genuinely and not out of politeness, you bounce on the heels of your feet. “The theme is cottagecore.”

“Ah, I’ve heard of that before from my daughter.”

Gesturing towards the couch, you invite him to sit down. “I didn’t know you have a daughter. Do you want something to drink?”

“Yeah, she’s with her mother. Just a beer please.”

“Okay, be right back, Mr. O’Hara.”

“It’s just Miguel when we’re not at the office, Y/N.” He corrects with a gentler tone.

“Right, Miguel.” Chuckling, you head towards the kitchen as you feel eyes on you.

Gaya raises a teasing brow, while Pavitr stifles a chuckle at your predicament. While the cameras are stationed in each corner of the flat, recording every interaction without missing a single moment. Biting your lip, you crouch down to retrieve a bottle of beer.

You felt him before you heard him speak.

“You’ve got quite the balls to invite big man ‘ere, love.” Hobie chuckles as he casually leans against the doorframe with a beer in hand. His sleeves are still rolled up to his elbows, the spider tattoo right on it is in full display as he taps the bottle, clinking his ring against the glass rhythmically.

Shaking your head with a chortle, you stand up with the bottle, eyes narrowed at Hobie. “I didn’t even know he’d actually show up.” You whisper back to him as you look for the bottle opener.

“C’mere.” Gesturing with two fingers, Hobie subtly smiles at you as you walk closer. He takes the bottle and opens it expertly with one of his chunky rings. The cap pops open, and you find yourself staring right at his lean fingers. “There, you don’t need a bottle opener when you have me.”

When he meets with your eyes, you both falter. “I should have you beside me at all times then.” You accidentally blurt out your thoughts, cheeks searingly hot.

“For opening bottles you mean?” Hobie gingerly knocks the bottle against your arm. He hopes that you can’t hear his thudding heart.

You blink, “yeah, for the bottles of course.”

His pierced brows rise as he hands you the bottle. “Don’t let Miguel have too much.”

“Shit, yeah, he gets chatty after his, what, fourth drink?”

“Yeah,” Hobie’s eyes glance down at your smiling lips briefly. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

Your heart beats quickly. “Sure.”

“Are you happy?” The toe of his boot nudges your heel gently. Whilst his breath hitches in his throat from anticipation. It’s a loaded question, but he needs to know, because if you are, that you’re happy with Harry, he’d leave you alone and simply be a friend, even when his heart tells him otherwise.

Your eyes roam around his handsome face, his piercings shine under the crappy lighting of the small kitchen, and his irises are fully blown out, the size of saucers as he gazes right at you. Still unbeknownst to the heavy question that’s laden with layers that you’re not privy to. You just think that he’s simply asking if you’re satisfied with where you are. Not what his mind thinks.

“Yeah, better than I was before actually.” Smile widening, you clink the bottle against the metal button of his flannel. “Are you happy?”

Inhaling deeply, he smiles back, albeit it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“You guess?” Raising a brow, there’s more knocking at the front door, but you ignore it in favour of Hobie. “Are you okay?”

“Christ, you read me pretty well, hm, lovie?”

“Lonely hearts connect with other lonely hearts, I suppose.”

“I’ll be alright, I promise. It’s nothin’ I can’t handle.” His longing feels like it could kill him, but if you’re happy, even in the arms of another, he’s happy.

“You know where to find me, Hobie.” Your hand instinctively reaches for his arm, grasping tenderly. “If you want to talk, or simply have someone, I’m here.”

He feels fucking ill. Irritated, frustrated, defeated, heart broken. But he doesn’t face it, burying it down, just so you never feel it through his clammy skin. Yuri’s right, and he hates to admit it but he falls just as hard as his former band mate. Or you just have that effect on him. Either way, you slip by his fingers, and he lets you anyway. He drowns his longing as he takes a swig of his drink.

“Hopefully with a case of these.”

Snorting, you let go of his arm to his disappointment. “Careful, we don’t want you calling out crows outside.”

“‘m not a lightweight, love. Go before Miguel gets antsy.” His eyes flick towards the living room as more people have found their way inside and joined the party. “Yuri’s chattin’ him up so you better get there before he hires her.”

“Miles and Gwen are here too.” Your eyes shine brighter in the fluorescent lights. And Hobie can’t help but smile at the sight. “Please join the party, Hobie. Don’t mope around the kitchen all by yourself, okay?”

“For you, sure, love.”

“Good, because I have no idea how to be charming.”

“You think ‘m charmin’?”

Rolling your eyes, you head out into the fray with a chuckle. “I know that you already know that.”

He feels eyes on the back of his head, turning towards the source, where a cameraless Jared stands in the corner with a half eaten red velvet cupcake in hand.

“I didn’t see or hear anything.” The man says with his mouth full.

Hobie manages a small smile, handing him a napkin wordlessly before walking out of the kitchen.

Hobie follows behind, parting ways as he heads towards another band that he knows through the birthday girl. His eyes hover around you as you glide around the room, being a good host.

The party is in full swing, music bumping and reverberating through the walls thanks to James, who has made himself the DJ with the bluetooth speakers he brought. People compliment the food and the overall vibes, as you feel your heart fill with warmth for a job well done. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, even Miguel, who has managed to make a few friends with the rest. The food starts to dwindle, the drinks lessening, and yet the birthday girl still hasn’t arrived, up to the point where you had to call her several times but you’re only met with her voicemail.

As people start to get antsy and bored when they’re full of food and wobbly from the drinks, you panic and even start to call every person that could possibly know where MJ is. Hobie and the band help you by calling up pubs and places where she could be in. And with paranoia kicking in, you started to call hospitals and precincts to cover all your bases. Harry tries to ease your worry, but you don’t feel any better until you see her alright.

The clock starts to tick to midnight, your birthday coming up sooner and yet your best friend, the one you always share a birthday celebration with even before you hit puberty is still a no show. The documentary crew grows bored with every hour that goes by. Biting your nails, people start to leave, giving you apologies and quick hugs for leaving before MJ could even arrive. They cite that it’s a Monday the next day, that they’ve got school or work, and you completely understand, you’d leave too. But you don’t understand MJ right now, especially when she specifically asked for a surprise party.

The lunch club bids their farewell, with them needing to be in class first thing in the morning. The camera crew gives you enough space, probably just as tired as you are from the look in their eyes. It’s colder outside as you tuck your bubble jacket around yourself. Gwen gives you a quick hug, while Gayatri holds your hand, trying to ease your worries.

“We’ll keep a look out for her too.”

“Thank you, please drive safely.” You look at them through apologetic eyes. “And I’m sorry for the crappy party. I don’t know what happened to MJ.”

“You kidding me?” Miles scoffs as he keeps the car door open for the girls. “It was great! Even if the celebrant wasn’t there, you did great, Y/N.”

“He’s right, I’m sure she has a valid reason why she couldn’t be here.” Gwen adds, clasping your shoulder one last time before getting inside the car.

“Even though she lives here.” Gayatri says with raised brows and a shared knowing look with the others. “Nevermind that, the party was great.”

“Thank you guys for coming. I’ll bring leftovers tomorrow.” You wave goodbye as the car’s engine rambles.

“If there’s any left, the guys ate it all.” Gwen comments as their laughter filters through the night, driving away.

Someone calls from behind, and you almost startle from the deep tone. “Good party.” Miguel stands with his hands inside his pockets, with a subtle smile illuminated by the moonlight. “I needed to loosen up a bit.”

You remember him swaying to the music like a fern in the breeze and you smile at the recent memory. “I’m glad you came, the others seem to like you, Mr. O’Hara— Miguel.”

He scratches the side of his neck. “You think so?”

“Yeah, they thought you were cool.” Your tone is genuine with no ounce of teasing or malice. It’s the truth when you never saw Miguel alone throughout the party, he was always being chatted up by someone.

“Happy birthday by the way.” Nodding, your boss awkwardly gives you a small wrapped gift, small enough to fit inside the palm of your hand.

“You’re the first one. Thank you.” You grasp the precious gift right above your heart.

“You did save my life, so I feel slightly obligated.” He dryly jokes, making you laugh. Miguel then heads towards his car, passing by yours. “Nice car.”

Your grin widens. “Thanks, I got it for a bargain, barely any miles on it.”

Chuckling, the man gets into his car with a small smile. You never thought that Miguel could even chuckle. Waving goodbye, pocketing the present for later, you head back into the flat once his headlights fade further away.

Hugging yourself amidst the cold, you find it in yourself to smile softly at the documentary crew. Once through the door, you step foot inside an active warzone with Hobie and the band standing by the food table, and with Harry standing by the doorway with his phone tightly clasped in his palm.

“Everything good in here?” You ask, tone steady as your eyes look between them. Glancing to the camera crew, they all look at you with unreadable faces. You can’t even turn to Jared for answers as he just shrugs with a tight lipped smile.

“Everything’s just peachy, gorgeous.” Yuri says with a chuckle against the rim of her glass. “Just peachy.”

You’re in doubt, especially when it comes to Harry and Hobie’s mysterious past. You know those two are beyond becoming friends, and you’re still left wondering why that is. Even when you asked around Hobie’s friend group they all redirected you back to him. One time you tried to ask Harry during a trip to the museum, thinking that your segue with ancient histories to asking about his past with Hobie would work. But you only got a cold response of ‘it doesn’t matter now.’ But as you stand there in the middle, it doesn’t seem that Harry’s over whatever it is.

If only you could ask the camera crew for some footage, maybe the answers lie in their ever watchful camera lenses. But that seems unethical when both men are your friends. Well, one is your friend-ish, you haven’t really solidified what you and Harry have when you two are still taking it slow, real slow. But Hobie though, you really consider him a really good friend, and you start to feel alienated by their whole demeanor against each other.

Why can’t the two people you care about just get along?

Hobie’s eyes turn towards you, embers flickering out the moment he locks eyes with you. His grasp around his drink loosens, shrugging as he gives you a tight smile.

With Harry turning his attention to you, a hand reaching for your hand, the others watch the interaction in the corner of their eyes.

“We’re good, princess.” Smiling, Harry sighs. “My dad just called, said he needed me at home.”

“Shit, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just some business to help him with. Boring but nothing bad.” He squeezes you fondly, thumb brushing along the back of your hand. The lenses hone in on the intertwined hands, and the other zooms in on Hobie’s flat expression as he stares directly at the camera. “Sorry, I’d like to stay but you know him, always on my ass about these kinds of things.”

“I actually don’t know him, Harry.” You let out an unsure chortle, feeling eyes and cameras right on you. “But I do know that he needs you. It’s okay, go.”

“Not yet anyway.” Leaning close, he whispers to you softly. “I’ll schedule it with him so you can finally meet him.”

“I–I don’t know about that, Harry—”

Moving close, until his lips meet with the corner of your lips, not exactly kissing but close enough to be one. You could see yourself freezing in the camera’s reflection.

You stand there, hand in hand, unmoving as he closes his eyes. As if on cue, the punch bowl suddenly shatters on the table like magic, red iced tea spilling out like a scarlet waterfall as the others yelp in surprise. Glass flies everywhere on the floor, landing by James’ feet as Harry jumps away from you with wide eyes. You guess that there was a crack on it after all.

If the documentary crew was sleepy before, the great shattering of your punch bowl woke them up from their corners.

There’s a loud guffaw, and Yuri looks like she’s about to keel over from the comedic timing.

“That’s a clear sign if I know one.” Ned utters, pointing at the spill, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent a giggle as he kicks a shard of glass away from James’ foot.

“Shit.” Hobie chokes on a laugh, biting his fist as he meets with your shocked eyes. There’s amusement behind his sparkling eyes as the sweet smell of the iced tea permeates through the flat. You almost snorted just from that.

At least the camera crew are getting good footage, not exactly the drama they were looking for but a funny one nonetheless.

“Shit. That was an antique from the thrift store.” Mumbling, you feel a chuckle rumbling up your throat.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Harry kisses your cheek before letting you go and checking his phone. “I need to go. I’ll see you at work, okay?”

“Yeah,” you had to pull your attention away from Hobie over to Harry with some effort. “As if I have a choice.”

Harry manages a small chuckle. “Funny, tell MJ happy birthday.” With one last pat to your cheek, he leaves the flat just as the bout of laughter echoes around the whole flat.

“Fuckin’ hell, it just blew up!” Hobie is in full on laughter now as he looks at the dangerous puddle on the floor.

“Alright, who cast the spell?” James slurs, a bit wobbly on his feet as Ned grabs him before he could step on a glass shard.

“I’ll get him out of harm’s way.” With Ned leading an inebriated James to the couch, you saunter beside Hobie and a very smiley Yuri.

“And I’ll get the cleaning supplies.” Giggling and biting your lip, you head to the kitchen to grab a mop and some rags to clean it before the juice seeps through the floor.

“Oh, gorgeous, Ned’s right, y’know.” The ravenette says in a sing-song tone before taking a swig of her drink.

“About what?” You’re stopped mid stride into the kitchen.

“The clear sign.”

“Don’t mind her, love, she’s drunk too.” Hobie takes your elbow and guides you further into the kitchen.

“Am not!” She yells back, staggering into the couch as she falls beside a giggly James. While poor Ned is left to babysit them both.

“How much did those two even have? We only had one case of beer.” Grabbing the mop, the punk helps you carry the bucket and supplies outside of the kitchen and back into the living room.

“James snuck in a flask of the hard stuff.” Hobie starts to mop the floor despite the protest blooming right on your expression. “‘m fine, love.”

“I hope he didn’t pour it all in the punch bowl.” Exhaling, you crouch beside the puddle and begin to pick at the shards carefully using a hand towel. “Be careful, with the glass, Hobie.”

“I am, I should be the one tellin’ you that.” Hobie finds himself glancing at you every ten seconds or so to check on you as he lets the mop soak up the spilled drink. “And don’t worry, it’s all over the floor now.” Joking, he sends you a wink as you shake your head with a chortle.

James’ giggling and Yuri’s incoherent mumbling fills the background as Ned keeps having to yank them down on the couch lest they step on glass.

“Well, I’m not the one who has to squeeze the very dangerous mop— ow!” Hissing and clutching your hand, you stare at the deep cut right on the pad of your index finger as you bleed on to your new dress, staining it with red. “Shit, I’m okay.”

“Fuck, lovie.” Hobie’s immediately on you, mop abandoned as the others look at you with worried eyes. The documentary crew are clearly having a ball when Hobie cradles your hand gently in his, brows knitted as his only concern is for you and not at them recording everything. “Where’s the first aid kit?”

“In my bathroom.” You’re gently hoisted up on your feet, already leading you towards the bathroom with his hands glued on yours, trying to stop the bleeding even when your blood coats his palms.

“Ned, keep those two on a tight leash!”

The documentary crew follows despite Ned’s protest that falls on the producer’s deaf ears.

Hobie doesn’t have time to admire your room’s decor as he kicks the bedroom door close behind him just before the crew could step inside. It slams right on the producer’s face, and Hobie hopes that it managed to crack a camera’s lens. You thank him with a small smile, wound starting to throb with ache.

He helps you sit down on your bed, moving to the small adjacent bathroom and towards the medicine cabinet to retrieve the first aid bag with calculated movements as if he’s an experienced combat medic out in the field. Taking his rings off haphazardly onto the counter, he washes his hands thoroughly and quickly before walking towards you.

“Right,” the sound of the zipper echoes in the silence as you tamp down a pained whimper. Your pretty blue dress is now marred with blotches of blood dotted along the skirt. Hobie sits down beside you, the bed dipping down briefly. He opens his palm, heaving and eyes blown out as he sees the pain in your strained expression. “Can I see, lovie?”

With a gulp, winching, you slowly reveal the deep cut under the towel. “I—I should’ve been more careful. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizin’, hm? It’s not your fault.” Hobie presses down on the cut with a clean gauze trying to stop the flow of the blood. “If this doesn’t stop within a minute I might have to bring you to hospital. My medical expertise has limits y’know.”

“You did tell me to be careful.” You can tell that he’s trying to lighten the mood. “That’s why I’m saying sorry.” Mumbling, you try not to look at his hand grasping yours tenderly as you feel the dull pressure right on the cut. “Thank you though, you shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Well I want to. Accidents happen, those shards were small.” He meets with your eyes, giving you a gentle smile. “Yuri always said that it’s not a real party without someone bleedin’ at the end.”

“She really said that?”

“Fuck no,” you chuckle to hide a wince. “I did.” Hobie help distract you from the pain.

“Yeah, it does sound like you.” A comfortable silence fills the room.

His eyes roam around the room, “I didn’t know you liked the Ramones too.” Hobie whispers to you like it’s a secret, and he doesn’t know why being inside your room makes him feel like it’s forbidden as he gestures towards the CD idling on your nightstand.

“Someone got me intrigued by it. Turns out they’re really cool.” Hobie smiles just from that.

The place doesn’t look like much, drab renter’s grey walls that you can’t possibly paint over lest you lose the down payment, but from the looks of things, you really tried to make it into your own space. From the way you decorated the steel bedframe with some colourful scarves tied around it, to the heart shaped string lights weaved through the metal frame. You have knick knacks littered all over, a lava lamp plugged in the corner, a large seashell on the table, a dvd player tucked in between a small painting of a serene hill, and a familiar handkerchief.

The cardigan he gifted to you is draped over an old office chair, and his heart flips from the sight. The simple wardrobe is pristine compared to a makeshift work table that is just a plastic folding table that has numerous fading stickers littered all around it. It all tells a story of how you try to carve a space for yourself, even when the odds are against you, you manage to put an easel down in the middle of the room and fill it with colour.

Looking around your room feels like he’s staring right into your soul. He guesses that’s why it feels like it’s a secret, a forbidden one as he stays inside and sits on your mismatched quilt.

“I know, I need to decorate it more.” Sighing, Hobie could tell that the day’s events are catching up to you.

“Probably, but you tried your best.”

The corner of your lips curl upward. “You know I’ve always dreamed of having my own place just so I could freely decorate it.”

Hobie mirrors your soft smile. “How will you decorate it?”

“First, I’ll paint the walls with something bright and just go ham on everything else.” You’re too preoccupied with looking into his eyes that you haven’t noticed that he’s already cleaning your wound, all the while listening intently to every word you utter. “I’ll fill the fucking place with my crappy paintings and claw machine plushies.”

“They’re not crap, love.”

“Well, they’re cheap so—”

Hobie chuckles as he closes the cut with a bandaid. “‘m not talkin’ ‘bout the stuffed toys. They’re great, fuckin’ amazin’.”

Your heart skips a beat, lips wobbling as you let out a sigh from the words that you’ve been waiting for. “And you’re not just saying that because you’re my friend?” Tone gentle, his hands still haven’t left yours as he grasps your open palm gently.

The word ‘friend’ strikes right at his heart, but he doesn’t mind it as long as you permit him to be by your side. It’s better to just be friends rather than be strangers.

“Nah, love, if I didn’t know you and I saw that,” he points at the unfinished painting of a sunlit flower field with his chin. “I’d still think it’s beautiful.”

You look down to hide your warm smile and equally warm cheeks. “MJ said that it looks like something you see in a motel.”

“That’s a shit take, no offense to MJ but she’s bloody wrong.” Hobie ducks to meet with your eyes, smiling warmly at you as his warmth seeps through the intertwined hands. “Maybe a five star hotel would fit better. Or a museum.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome.” He whispered back, eyes softening with every silent second that passes. “You can lean on me if you want.”

Nodding, you wordlessly close the distance, leaning your head atop his shoulder as you let out a sigh.

Hobie doesn’t say anything, and he lets his heartbeat sync with yours. He keeps his hands to himself, but he indulges with his cheek pressed atop the crown of your head. The fleeting crush he thought he had for you was simply wrong, he’s in love with you. And there’s no doubt about it now as he feels it in his very being.

“You’ve been so good to me, Hobie.” Your eyes flutter close, breath fanning across his throat as goosebumps rise on his skin. “I don’t think I deserve it.” Or you.

“You deserve all the good, love. You really do.”

You resist the urge to hug him, instead you sit there, head right on the crook of his neck as fatigue envelopes you. “Can we stay like this for a bit?”

“Of course.” Closing his eyes, Hobie sits there as still as he could.

A dry cough escapes you, cutting the comfortable silence unintentionally. An apology is on the tip of your tongue, but Hobie in all his compassion, rubs your nape gently.

“D’you want some water? I don’t think I saw you drink the whole party.”

You unfortunately have to lean away from him. “Please, could you?”

“Already on it. I’ll keep the wankers away from your room.”

Hobie stands up and you resist the urge to grab his wrist and pull him back down on the bed. Instead, you let him walk out of the room as your thumb brushes along the bandage wrapped around your finger.

The cameras are immediately at his face the second he exits out of the room. That’s only when he realizes that the both of you still have the mic on your person. Hobie curses under his breath, pushing the camera back, making sure that his fingerprint is all over the lenses. Jared’s the only one from the team that’s amused by it.

The band are still drinking merrily, and the spill is all cleaned up mysteriously. He meets eyes with Ned, and the bassist points at three of them before giving him a thumbs up. Hobie mentally notes down to give the trio some water as thanks. With the fridge in sight, he grabs four water bottles, “a waste,” he thinks, but he figures that you only had them at the ready just for the party.

He nudges the fridge door closed, but it opens right back. Sighing, he places the bottles down on the counter and checks if the hinges snagged at something. Sure enough, a tupperware blocks the way. Before he could fix it, something caught his eye. A pink icing smudged right on the side of a cake cover. Taking a peek wouldn’t hurt, so he lifts the cover gently to see your handiwork, but what he sees has his heart plunging down his stomach.

“Shit.”

The camera perfectly captures his expression. The producer is already thinking of ways to make it into a trending meme.

Your name is written smaller compared to its counterpart just below MJ’s. It’s a glaring sign that no one has greeted you yet, or even knew of it to begin with. A lot of questions flit through his mind, but for now, he races back to you.

“Oi, why are you running?” James asks, words melting together as Hobie once again slams the bedroom door right at the documentary crew.

You startle, peeking from the bathroom with a toothbrush in hand, eyes wide as you stare at a heaving Hobie. “Are you okay?”

“I forgot the water.” He could only manage to say.

“That’s okay.” Giggling, your smile falters when you feel something is amiss. “Hey, what happened?” Toothbrush forgotten, you walk towards him as Hobie sees that you’ve dried his rings and placed them on top of a towel neatly right above your bed. “Hobie?”

He thinks he’s a bad friend.

“It’s your birthday.”

“Yeah,” sighing in relief, you clutch at your chest. “It’s already midnight so technically it is now.” You laugh softly. “I thought something was wrong.”

“Love,” he doesn’t want to sound condescending, or worse, be mad at you or even scold you when he knows that the reason why could have layers to it, that you have a dozen reasons why you didn’t tell anyone. So instead of making you feel worse, he unclasps his metal bracelet that’s shaped like barbed wires straight from his wrist and takes your hand gently to place it on your palm. “Happy birthday.”

You gaze at the gift with starry eyes, reminiscent of the sky reflecting on calm waters. “H—Hobie.”

“I would’ve gotten you somethin’ you’d like more.”

“I blindsided you, didn’t I? I just assumed that you all knew.” Wincing, you look at him apologetically. “I just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, and I thought that since MJ’s birthday comes first, it’s technically just her party.”

“Love.”

“And if I told everyone that it’s just my birthday maybe they wouldn’t come so I just mentioned MJ’s—”

Hobie calls your name, hand cupping your cheek. “I know, you don’t have to explain.”

“I’m sorry. Not telling anyone and assuming that everyone knew about it is such an asshole move.” You scold yourself, fists curling around each other, leaving crescent shapes on your palms.

“We would’ve all celebrated with you if it was jus’ your party.” With gentle calloused hands, Hobie takes your fists and carefully unfurls them before massaging the indents with his thumb. The act alone has your heart skipping a beat.

“I’m sorry, pitying myself isn’t a good look—”

“Love.” Shaking his head, eyes tender and touch soft, he looks deeply into your eyes. “I see you, y’know. We all see you.”

Your breath shudders at his reassuring words. “Thank you. For the gift, for everything.”

He then takes the bracelet and clasps it around your wrist with such affection that the heavy words lay on the tip of your tongue.

“C’mon and let’s have your cake, yeah?” Hobie tugs at the bracelet, smiling back at you with shining eyes.

“Wait,” but your heart longs for something sweeter. It belongs to someone else, and no one else but Hobie. “I have to tell you something.”

Fuck settling. Fuck being afraid. And fuck standing at the sidelines.

He pauses mid stride, a hand grasping around the doorknob as he looks over his shoulder towards you. He searches your eyes, turning in your direction when he sees trepidation within them. “You alright, love? It’s your birthday, you need to make a wish.”

You already know your wish, and he’s standing right in front of you.

“Hobie, I—”

“Oi, MJ’s here!” James yells from the living room as rambunctious laughter echoes from outside. It seems like she brought a whole army with her.

“I think we should go see her.” Hobie’s hand falls from your wrist with disappointment. “I’ll tell you later, okay?”

“You better, you’re killin’ me ‘ere, love.” Twisting the doorknob, he chuckles just as the door squeaks open, revealing that MJ brought her band over and probably a whole pub with her.

As the bedroom door shuts behind you, any hope you had left for your best friend fades away.

Strangers hoot and holler inside the small flat, barely fitting everyone as more people filter through. Their messy shoes walk all over the floorboards that you just polished to high heavens this morning, the pretty decorations you painstakingly put around are falling over from the amount of bodies piling around. Not even the documentary crew were spared, they huddle together in the corner, camera lights fighting to light the scene with everyone packing inside. Ned’s eyes meet with yours amidst the crowd, you haven’t known him that long but you’ve never seen him so frustrated, not even when he’s wrangling his band like a single mother.

“What the fuck?” Hobie beats you to the right words, an arm over your front in an attempt to shield you from getting bumped.

Anger bubbles up in your chest, heat stinging your cheeks and not like in the same way Hobie brings it out of you. Your brows knit together, hands shaking as you reel your fury in.

“MJ!” Your yell echoes above, but the crowd renders you invisible.

“Watch the camera!” Someone from the crew pushes someone away, earning a few shoves from their corner of the room.

A glass shatters from somewhere, and you haven’t felt this angry since you found out that MJ made out with your crush back in high school. You’ve forgiven her for that, for this though, the verdict’s still out. Your fuming eyes roam around the crowd for the familiar red hair.

Hobie senses the cracking dam inside you. “Oi!” He grabs the nearest person by the arm in front of him, making them face him. “Where the fuck is Mary Jane?”

The stranger glances at his hand and shrugs him off. “Who the fuck is Mary Jane? And do you have some?”

Hobie scoffs and ignores the guy with a roll of his eyes. “Love, I think we should—”

“Here ye, here ye!” MJ’s unmistakable voice bounces off the walls as she appears from the kitchen and stands right on the dining table, trampling the dainty decorations. The crowd goes wild from her appearance. From the way she’s swaying, she’s drunk. “A little birdy told me that it’s someone’s birthday!”

They all cheer, all except for you, Hobie, the band and the documentary crew. At least their shots are more entertaining now, a proper reality show moment for the viewers. If you weren’t getting any complaints from the upstairs neighbors, you’re definitely getting them now.

She pauses for emphasis, holding the crowd’s anticipation. “And it’s my birthday!” she laughs, and your anger turns to hurt. “Listen, listen, I invited you all here for a reason, which you all probably heard because no one in my band could keep their mouths shut!”

“What is she talkin’ ‘bout?” Hobie turns to you, only to see the heart shattering look on your face. His attention is on you and you only. “Love, grab your coat. We can go somewhere else.”

You shake your head, laying your foot down. “No, I’m staying. This is my home too.” Craning your head, you gaze at him through tearful eyes. “I’m staying.”

Hobie nods and takes your hand in his. “If you’re stayin’, ‘m stayin’.”

“Hobie—”

“We fucking got signed by Stark records for an album!” MJ screams, and the whole crowd grows even wilder as they stomp and jump all over like they’re in a club. Her band joins her up on the table, spraying beer right at her and the crowd.

Hobie steps in front of you, getting the brunt of the splash.

“That’s fucking it.” You grunt in between your teeth. Side stepping around Hobie and pushing through the crowd towards the dinner table. “MJ! Get these people out of here!”

She finally notices you, a giddy smile growing wider as she drops down to crouch in front of you. “My best friend in the whole wide world!” Grabbing your cheek, her clammy hands squeeze you as she coos. “You look adorable! Did you hear the news?”

“Everyone on the whole fucking building heard!”

She gasps. “Do you think that they’ll ask for my autograph?”

“You’re drunk and we need to talk!” You try to keep her wits about as you shove her hands away from your face. “Get these people out of here, please!”

“Come on!” Her pout makes you seethe even more when it used to do the opposite. “Don’t be such a party pooper!”

“MJ, mate, they’re trashing the place!” Hobie appears from behind, a palm atop the small of your back that’s more for his balance rather than to keep you reeled in.

The cameras capture the whole moment, albeit shaky, but the producer is salivating just from the potential ratings. Even if it means that it’ll cost you a decade long friendship.

“Hobie! You here for my after party?”

“Stop playin’—”

Hobie’s interrupted when MJ gets yanked to her feet by a band member, presenting her in front of the crowd.

“You’ve got red on you by the way, Y/N!” She gives you those parting words as you’re cast to the side like wet cardboard.

“Tell them about the other thing!” Her drummer yells above the raging audience.

“Oh shit, yeah!” MJ grabs the trampled bouquet that Harry got for you, raising it above her head like a microphone. “They got us a condo downtown! I’m selling the place, baby! We’re moving up!” Despite her happiness, it’s drawing the opposite from you.

“What?” Your heart shatters, “Mary Jane— You— your grandmother left you this apartment!” She jumps from the table from all the cheering as she crowd surfs around the flat. “I live here too!”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Hobie gazes at you with empathy. “Let’s—”

The dam within you breaks as you see nothing but red, plowing through the faceless bodies as you grab your coat and car keys. Hobie and his band try to stop you to no avail. Not even the cameras could stop you in your tracks. And before you know it, you’re getting inside your car and driving to nowhere.

He’s left standing in the aftermath of the fight, buildings crumbled before him, sand dunes covering streets and cars. It’s as if the whole city turned into a desert within the short hours of the struggle.

“You look like shit.” Gwen appears behind the portal with a hand on her hip as she saunters over to him.

Hands on his knees, panting, he notices his trainers on her feet before looking up at her with a glare. “Are those my chucks?”

“Y/N let me borrow it since hers doesn’t fit me.” She shrugs, looking at his sand clad suit teasingly. “You better shake that off before you come home, she was having one of her cleaning maniac phases before I left.”

Sighing, just the thought of seeing you at home has him wanting to run away into your waiting arms. “Thank fuck…” he mumbles to himself before taking a step towards Gwen and then shaking his head and body as sand flies and flicks towards the blonde.

“Hey!” She pushes him away as Hobie chuckles. “I just washed this, man!” Wiping her suit, she groans when the sand sticks to the spandex of her gloves instead. “Oh, come on!”

“Now you have to clean up too before goin’ back home.” Flinging some sand away from his watch, even scrubbing at the screen to clear some stubborn bits away, he dials in his home dimension. He groans when he remembers something you asked him to do before giving him your usual kiss at the door. “Ah, shit.”

“What? Did it break in the fight?”

“No, I forgot that lovie wanted me to grab some walnut bread for dinner.”

“The one from Miles’ place?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Hobie blows a tired raspberry as he inputs 1612’s coordinates. “She fancies that stuff better than ours.”

“I could get it for her.”

Almost immediately, Hobie’s eyes flick back at Gwen with a teasing glint. “Alright.”

“Shut up and give me the cash.” He could tell that she’s blushing under her mask as she pats her open palm.

“I didn’t even say anythin’.” Handing her a couple of bills, she rolls her eyes and walks back to the portal. “While you’re there, invite him over.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Walking backwards, Gwen flips him the bird before the portal closes behind her.

Snorting, Hobie turns his attention back to his watch as the lights flicker for a moment before he smacks it and the screen returns to normal. He makes a mental note to clean it when he gets home, for now though, he needs to melt into your arms or else he’ll collapse with his own longing.

He needs a cold pint after all that, and maybe some ibuprofen for his aching muscles. So without wasting any more time as the clean up crew finally arrives at the scene, he opens the portal to home and steps into a kaleidoscope of orange and red lights. Hobie’s fatigued body floats around the colourful tunnel in precise directions until he speeds up abruptly, the kind of speed that could be felt through the neck, a quick snap of momentum that has his limbs flying about.

“What the fuck?!” Getting a glimpse of his watch, he sees it flicker in and out, colours inverting, gears buzzing and the screen turning to black. That can’t be good.

Suddenly freezing in mid air, the tunnel shifts backwards as if someone pressed rewind on a remote control. His body floats aimlessly in zero gravity for a moment, until the tunnel turns again. He’s then flung about, back and forth and then around and around like he’s being blended into a smoothie. The G force was enough to make his neck hurt, jaw tightening as he flexes his muscles when he sees the light at the end of the tunnel. He braces for impact.

He thanks all his spidey experience for handling the rough landing. Rolling onto the familiar wooden floor, a tactical roll over the couch that has his muscles throbbing even more, he finally falls on solid ground, limbs limping and relaxing when he’s face to face with the houseboat’s ceiling, complete with the chipping eggshell paint, and some plastic glow in the dark stars. Wait, he doesn’t remember putting those up.

“Love?” Calling for you on instinct, he keeps his gaze up on the ceiling as he feels the tiredness creep up on him. “I think ‘m goin’ to sleep ‘ere.”

“You’ll catch your death there, big man.” His own voice answers back at him, tone strikingly similar to a light southern drawl.

Hobie’s head immediately lifts up as he stares at the source of the voice. His eyes widens at the leather cowboy standing by his feet with a glass of whiskey in hand. As if having a cowboy inside his living room wasn’t enough, the said visitor sports his own face, complete with his signature nonchalant expression. Despite the obviously different style, he has a very noticeable scar across his neck.

“What the fuck?” You’re the first thing that pops in his mind, are you okay? Where the fuck are you? “Where—?!”

“I didn't know we ‘ave a new member, old man.” The sound of footfalls has both Hobies turning to look, where a sharply dressed version of him sits on his armchair with his leg casually thrown over his thigh. This Hobie smirks at shocked Hobie’s raised brow, knowing damn well that he’d never wear something as claustrophobic as a navy blue suit. He has more questions when he sees blood splattered across his dress shirt, and a holstered gun peeking underneath his coat. “I think we got a live one ‘ere.” Smirking, he swishes his martini casually.

“What’s happenin’? Why the fuck are you all in my house?! And where’s—?”

“I thought I was smarter than this.” Another Hobie says, casually leaning against the wall as he wears an almost exact same spider suit as him. Except that he wears a different leather vest that looks like it’s been worn down but well loved that includes a very obvious cherry patch right atop his heart. “You’re in a different dimension, bruv. Fell through the crevice like Alice, innit?”

Realization flickers in his eyes, groaning, head falling back onto the floor, he grimaces and checks his watch. Sure enough, the screen is buzzing with different streaks of light. The sand definitely did more damage to it than he thought. That’s what he gets for trusting Miguel’s tech instead of using his own.

“Fuck.” Biting the inside of his cheek, the smell of salt and sea breeze suddenly wafts over his nose. When he opens his eyes, he faces a large tricorn hat that hides the face of its wearer. For a moment he thinks that this one doesn’t bear his face, but when the pirate looking man crouches down and smirks, he knows that it’s a variant of him too. “What the fuck are you supposed to be?”

“This one got some fuckin’ lip.” This Hobie’s tone is commanding, like a captain running a tight ship but with all his Hobie-like flare with his silver chains dangling around and leather boots that look well tended to. “Like all of us, I suppose.” Tilting his head, the pirate narrows his eyes at Hobie’s full head of hair. “Am I the only fuckin’ one?”

“What?” Scrunching his nose, his eyes roam around the identical faces. “A pirate me? What’s next, a fucking cryptid version of me?”

“I guess the closest one is a minotaur version of us.” The most similar Hobie to himself says against the mouth of his pint.

“Oi,” the suited Hobie flashes his mismatched eyes. “Don’t forget ‘bout fairy and Vamp over there.” He gestures using his chin towards the kitchen, where two more Hobies stand side by side conversing amongst themselves.

The ethereal looking Hobie clad in green and with sad eyes knits his brows. “For the last time, Smith, ‘m not a fairy.”

“Tomato, tomato.”

“I’ve got no bloody wings.”

The chill velvet clad Hobie clasps the fae’s shoulder. Wine red eyes glowing under the kitchen lights as he swishes a suspicious red liquid inside his glass. “D’you want me to drain him? Jus’ say the word.”

“Alright, you broken souls.” An older Hobie steps up from the bedroom as the other variants stop their banter. He has smile lines around his lips, and crow’s feet around his brown eyes. His long braids have white hair weaved around each braid beautifully, salt and pepper hair that adds to his charm. Hobie could only hope that he’ll age that well. He guesses that he will be. “Welcome to the club, what’s your gimmick, hm?” The man smiles at him, dimples in full display, one that Hobie doesn’t have.

“My gimmick?”

“Aye, what’s so different ‘bout you that separates all of us from the other?” The pirate sits down on the couch with a groan. “Sometimes it’s more obvious.” He gestures around his 1700’s seafaring attire.

“Sometimes it’s not.” The cherry Spider-Man says as he leans away from his post to grab a spring roll from the dinner table. Suddenly Hobie’s feeling a lot hungrier than before. “I had a will they won’t they with my childhood best mate. My Y/N and I are together now, don’t worry.” He says while chewing.

There’s a sudden sobbing wail coming from the kitchen.

“Look what you’ve done, mate.” The vampire hisses, fangs sharp as he tries to soothe his fae counterpart by patting his back. “You’re bloody callous, I swear kids these days.”

“Can’t imagine bein’ away from my lovie.” Someone in the corner adds, the darkness hides him as Hobie could only see a purple outline around his eyes and form.

“Isn’t your lovie the black cat?” The older Hobie says with a teasing tone before the Hobie in the corner backs away into the dark once again. Shaking his head, the older one seems to be the one in charge, or tries to be as he keeps everyone from biting each other’s heads off. They do say that the ones who are similar to each other are the ones that end up not getting along. “Cowboy Hobie over there is obviously a cowboy—”

“An outlaw.” He corrects, shooting him a finger gun in his direction.

“Sure,” old man Hobie sighs tiredly. “the one in the corner is the prowler version of us from earth-616.”

Hobie looks over his shoulder to stare at the mysterious Prowler hunched in the corner as he hears munching coming from the dark. “How come I’ve never seen you lot at the society?”

“Not all of us got bit by a spider.” Reaching towards him, the silver fox gives him a helping hand. “I avoid the society, and Wallace over there,” he gestures towards the punk Spider-Man with a cherry patch on his vest. “Usually avoids spider variants of himself.”

“So what’s this then, a support group for us?”

“Sort of, we talk, give each other shit and sometimes a helpin’ hand.” The cowboy utters as he fidges with the bandana around his neck. “Shit, we are a support group.”

Once on his feet, Hobie dusts himself off, making sand fall from the crevices of his leather jacket and from his pockets down onto the carpet. The older Hobie raises a brow, russet eyes striking him like a chastising father.

“I’ll clean it up.” Hobie’s immediately looking around for a vacuum.

“Don’t even try to clean, I’ll vacuum it up later before my lovie gets home. Sit, eat, while they fix your watch.”

Shaking his head, locs dangling and charms clinking, he leads Hobie towards the dinner table where various plates of food are laid out, together with a familiar platter of chocolate chip cookies that just screams your recipe.

“My—” checking his wrist, he finds the interdimensional watch gone and in place of it is a blue bracelet that he has seen on visitors at the society. “Shit!”

“Calm down, it’s in good hands.” The prowler version of himself is now sitting on the living room floor together with the cherry Hobie, who are now tinkering with his watch. “What, you don’t trust yourself?”

“I trust myself but I don’t trust you, mate.” Knitting his brows, Hobie finds himself pushed down on the chair as a cold pint is shoved in his grasp.

“We all want you to go home. Trust me, I don’t want you stayin’ ‘ere any longer like these wankers.” The older Hobie says while looking over his shoulder at the cracked open bedroom door.

The dapper Hobie appears by his side at the dinner table, kneading at his shoulders with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Whispering against the shell of his ear like the devil at work. “Say, you have someone, right?”

“Yeah—”

“Oi, fairy, looks like you’re the odd one out again.”

“I will strangle you with my vines!” Vines slither out of his arms angrily, trying to lunge at the teasing Hobie. He’d be successful if not for the vampire holding him down with one hand whilst casually drinking.

“Calm down, Tinkerbell!” The suited Hobie fans the flames.

“That’ll work well in your favour.”

“Pissin’ off a mythical bein’, sounds ‘bout right for us.”

“I once fed a man to a gator.”

“We know, mate. And I bit a man’s throat open, we all have our traumas.”

“You’ll wake up my boy!” The older one steps in between them.

Their conversations fall in Hobie’s deaf ears the second he takes a sip of his beer. The cold drink is a cooling balm against his aching body as he sighs in content. The place might look the same as his home, but their beer definitely tastes better than the one from his world. As he munches on some cookies that are definitely your making, he looks around the houseboat, finding all the walls have empty spaces for picture frames that were clearly taken down based on the lighter shade of wallpaper that is in the shape of a frame.

Everything from the steady oak table and mismatched chairs is surely from his houseboat, but there are tiny details around that says differently. The kitchen cabinets are painted in lime green instead of soft blues that he’s used to. When he peeks inside the cracked open door of the bedroom, it has the same four poster bed, same wallpaper that he remembers you picking, and the same wardrobe. But he definitely doesn’t remember putting a baby crib in there with a homemade mobile circling atop it.

The older Hobie notices his gaze, chuckling and clasping his shoulder with the same comfort as one’s father would. “My youngest, you woke him up when you went through the portal, so be quiet, yeah?”

“You’ve got a kid?” He asks in wonderment. “I thought you were supposed to jus’ be...old?”

“No, well, kind of, I have kids with my girl. Three of the little buggers.” Fixing a plate, he gives him a generous amount of food that has Hobie immediately digging in. “Can’t tell ‘em their names though, or I might change the direction of where you’re headin’”

“What?” He asks mid chew as the father figure hands him a napkin, the others listen in, clearly trying to know the new bloke that managed to stumble upon them. The argument finally calmed enough in favour of listening.

“Y’know, like time travelin’” The other Spider-Man says as he carefully screws open the face of his watch, not elaborating any further even when Hobie’s expression wordlessly asks for it.

“Don’t you mean our kids?” The fae adds, glittering golden eyes flash with mirth.

“Don’t make it weird. I’ve got my limits, mate.” Groaning, dad Hobie shuts the bedroom door fully with an experienced aim with his webshooter.

“I’m hundreds of years old.” The being retorts back.

“You don’t act like it.”

“Wait, wait, do we all have the same bird?” Hobie interrupts the argument before it strikes a flame.

“Aye, we do.” The pirate version of him whips out a piece of parchment from his trousers, unfolding it to reveal an old timey portrait of you.

Hobie’s heart leaps in his chest, from your eyes down to the shape of your face, it’s clearly you.

“I know, that’s my scuttlebutt. ‘m guessin’ that she looks exactly like yours?”

“Aye, I mean, yeah.” Chuckling, he hands the picture back gingerly, as if the paper will crumble in his grasp.

“This one is mine,” vampire Hobie unlocks his phone and shows off his wallpaper of you in a coffin, pretending to be a corpse with a large grin on your pretty face. When Hobie raises a brow, the being clicks his tongue. “What? A thousand year old vampire can still learn technology.”

“It’s not that.”

There’s metal tapping against glass coming from the armchair. “This one’s mine.” The suited Hobie shows off his wedding band. “Is that enough proof?”

“You’re not actually married to her, bruv.” Prowler Hobie mumbles under his breath, fixated on the watch. Even then, he still manages to give him lip. “It’s a fake marriage, remember?”

“I don’t need a reminder, Barney.”

“Alright, enough, we’ve already gone over our time.” Dad Hobie checks his own watch, a plastic one with pink glitters on the watch face. “You two need to finish up before my girls get home. I have to put up the pictures and clean up.”

“No, no, slow down.” Fae Hobie says with a smile.

“Don’t make me throw you back inside your abode.”

“So we all end up with her?” Hobie utters softly amidst the group, a tender smile curling around the corner of his lips, eyes gentle, mirroring the others’ eyes from the mere mention of you. The thought of you being his soulmate crossed his mind a few times, but this supports that theory. You’re the one for him.

“Yeah,” the cowboy tips his hat at him. “Trust me when I say this, no matter the timeline, what universe we’re in, it’s always been her.” The whole room quiets down from his sweetened words, a hush falling around the room. Not a dangerous or awkward pause, but something sweeter and softer as Hobie could see it in their eyes that they’re reminiscing about you. “And it’s bloody amazin’, innit?”

When he doesn’t respond, Vampire Hobie steps forward, smiling softly as his fangs poke out from in between his lips. “Don’t tell me you find it borin’, Hobie.”

“No,” shaking his head, his eyes fall towards the plate of cookies. “I find it comfortin’.”

A grin spreads around the whole room, infectious as they all begin to chuckle. He guesses that they all agree.

“Couldn’t have said it better than myself.” Dad Hobie clasps his shoulder, smiling tenderly as he almost chokes on his words. “So, what’s your story, hm?” Sitting down beside Hobie, the rest follow behind, huddling around him, keen on listening.

“I think it’s less interestin’ than what you lot got goin’ on.”

“Try us.” With waiting gazes, Hobie gladly tells everyone his side of the universe as they all listen intently.

When the food and drinks are all gone, and the story is all finished, his newly fixed watch is done and dusted around his wrist. They stand in front of him, Spy Hobie leans against his fae counterpart, while Vampire Hobie snaps a photo of the newcomer.

“Jus’ like I said, you’re free to come back ‘ere, mate.” The silver fox utters, arms folded in front of him as he gives him a subtle smile. “Only if we have a meetin’ scheduled though. Don’t want you hoppin’ in my dimension while we’re havin’ our family dinner.”

“I won’t barge in next time.” Chortling, Hobie inputs his home dimension, checking it twice before pressing the button. He can’t risk falling into a different world again when he really just wants to come home to you.

“Get home safe, big man.” Fist bumping him, dad Hobie sends him off with an armful of tupperwares filled with food.

As Hobie nods, he can’t wait to tell you about the crazy day he had, especially with the bit of him finding out that you’re his love, and your soulmate in every universe where the two of you exist. As he steps into the glowing portal, the orange hues flicker off the second he gets in. But as the door closes, another opens.

The front door clicks open where you step through the doorway with a raised brow.

“Alright, which one of you is my husband?” You say with a smile, a hand on your hip as you meet with older Hobie’s eyes with a teasing glint.

“I wish I was your husband.” Fae Hobie mumbles under his breath, before getting yanked back by the older one of the group.

“Hi, love.” Older Hobie chuckles nervously while the others find the situation amusing. “The meetin’ kind of got away from us—”

Suddenly, the bathroom door creakily opens, and out comes Hobie with box dyed blonde and chopped hair, together with bright blue eyes.

“What’d I miss?” He says with an american accent.

You back away with a yelp, clutching your imaginary pearls with a shocked expression as if you were whiplashed by his presence. Your surprised hop was enough to have the whole room laughing.

—

“So you’re telling me that you already had dinner?” You ask as you stare at your Hobie like he grew three heads. He smells like your flowery soap, all clean and free of sand. He has a bandage over his cut, courtesy of you.

“Love, I jus’ told you that I met different versions of my self.” Sauntering close, he holds out his arms, embracing you as he cages you in between the kitchen counters and himself. “Including a vampire and a bloody pirate, and you’re more surprised at the fact that I already ate?”

Chin resting atop his clavicle, you flutter your lashes as you pout. “But I made carbonara, it’s your favourite.” Your thumb rubs along his windswept brow. “And we already know that there are different versions of us in other dimensions.”

“Yeah, but there’s a swashbucklin’ version of me out there somewhere.” Squeezing you, Hobie nuzzles the crook of your neck, nose brushing along your jaw line. “And you like vampires and ethereal blokes. They also said that there’s a venom me, can’t imagine meetin’ him.”

“I like you more than dusty old beings.” Cupping his cheek, you gently lift his head up to meet with his pout. “I’m sure that you’re the best out of all of them.” You whisper atop his lips, making him chase the kiss as you lean away with a giggle. Hobie resists the urge to carry you to bed “I’m a bit biased, but I know so.”

“I’ll still eat the carbonara, I made room for it.” He practically whines above your lips.

“You did?” Nosing his cheek, he sighs in content, he’s more tired than he thought he was. “It’s cool by the way, I’m glad you met some new friends at the Hobie tea party.”

“I learned somethin’ new today too, but I’ll tell you later after dinner.” Based on his tender gaze, you have a feeling on what it is, and you resist the urge to usher him to bed just to hear him say the words. Smiling and snorting, Hobie pecks your lips, tasting the pasta sauce on your lips when you most probably taste tested it beforehand. “Maybe you could have some sort of group with your variants.”

“Bold of you to assume that I don’t have one already.” A grin spreads across your lips as Hobie’s eyes widen. “Tell your spy version to man up and just confess to his missus.”

“What the fuck did he do?”

“He already knows.” Sending him a wink, you lean close to kiss his cheek. “I have my own gossip circle too. Please help me with the table, Gwen got the walnut bread I liked.” Hobie’s immediately grabbing the utensils with a lopsided smile.

“Please, as if the queen will agree to that.” The navy captain scoffs as pieces of chicken that he bit into flies onto the elegantly made table that he dirties with his touch alone. “We already have him and the people want his head, little bird. You agreeing to the marriage that you already have no say to won’t change shit.”

“You’re a fucking puppet.” A tear escapes from your eye that you quickly wipe away. With a hand upon your mother’s necklace, you apologize to the parents you never got to know, to the one who took care of you as her own, the crew that welcomed you with open arms, and to Hobie, who’s in line for the gallows. This is for him, for his freedom and to get his life back. Even if it means that you won’t be by his side to witness his accomplishments.

So with a lead laden heart, you take the steak knife and aim it at your throat as pin pricks of scarlet drip down from your neck down to your white dress. Eugene gasps, trying to reach for your hand but he’s stopped by his uncle.

“Do it then, girl, make my fucking day.” Mathias utters through gritted teeth as he sees the same anger on your face that he once was an audience to your parents’ fury. “That won’t make a difference. Your pirate would still die under the axe, and he’d join you soon after.”

“It wouldn’t change much if I didn’t sign shit so that my uncle and aunt could have the estate. Turns out that they were too busy with the wedding to have me sign anything.” When his eyes widen briefly and his fists curl around the chicken bone tightly, you know you have him. “Last time I checked I own this place, I’m the duchess of Hazelside the moment Miguel presented me to the whole court.” You press the knife closer to your skin, ignoring the dull ache it brings. “It was only from the goodness of my heart that I didn’t kick them out, so tell me, Bradshaw, what would happen to them once I die? Will the king help them even when he finds out what they’ve done? What you’ve done to his betrothed?”

“He doesn’t know shit—”

“I’ve got proof, dickhead.” Even if you die right then and there in the house that your mother spent her childhood in, you’d die happy knowing that you didn’t lose the fire within you in the end. “In the event of my death, a friend of mine will have a letter, a confession written in my own hand, sent off to the palace.” It’s a lie, a dead and rotten lie that clings to your venomous tongue, but for Hobie, you believe those words to be the truth and nothing but the truth. “If I deduced correctly, the queen orchestrated their deaths. When the country finds out her crimes, your crimes, they’d sing your name to be put to the gallows instead. And the king will fucking oblige because he loved my mother, if he didn’t her portrait wouldn’t still be in the palace right beside his fucking apartment doors!”

“Enough!” Mathias slams his broken hand down to the table, blood seeps through the bandages and down to the once pristine table cloth. “You stupid stupid girl! You have no idea what you’ve done!”

“Oh, I do, I know exactly what I’ve done and what I’ll do.” Gripping the knife, you nudge it against your angry flesh, letting the crimson flow freely even more from the shallow cut. It’s nothing compared to what will happen to Hobie’s neck if you don’t do this. ‘No more sacrifices,’ you uttered to him a promise and that promise now lies broken at your feet. “Send word to the palace to stop the execution and free him. Now!” You threaten with the knife aimed right at your juggular.

“Fuck!” Mathias angrily slams his hands against the oak table, sending utensils flying off into the ballroom as Eugene shuts his eyes and cowers into his seat. Heaving, the raging bull looks onto his right hand man, Dubois, lips pursed, hesitating before you gaze back at him with the same fury. “Do it. Ride to the palace and tell them to stop.”

“Don’t forget to free him, or else I’ll find another way to die.”

Eyes closing with a wince, surely from his unhealed wounds acting up, or perhaps from your incessant tone, he nods at his man and out he goes, not sparing you another look from his one eye.

Silence grows heavy around the room, Eugene looks like he’s tethering dangerously close to sobbing, and Mathias quietly fumes in his seat. Food forgotten, ego crushed by a simple dinner knife at your throat.

It’s your turn to smirk, until you realize that you have to fulfill your promise, the one promise you want to break. As your smile falters, Mathias turns his darkened expression towards you.

“Clean yourself up, you’ve got a wedding to attend to.”

“Not until I hear news about his miraculous escape—”

The door suddenly opens with a bang, and out comes a disheveled Miguel and Lyla with her pistols aimed inside. Your godfather looks on at the aftermath of the chaos in front of him, plates smashed on the floor together with the flower vases, and food scattered all around the prettily made venue. And with you having a knife pointed right at yourself. He sees blood seep from your wound, almost immediately anger replaces his worried expression.

The click of his gun echoes throughout the ballroom as he points it at Mathias. “Y/N, let’s go.”

“No,” you say with a steady voice as Mathias glares at him. “Can I ask you for a favour instead, Miguel?” From your eyes, your godfather, the only man left in the world that knew your parents, sees desperation and hurt swirl within them.

Reading the room, he glances at Lyla before walking towards you with trepidation.

—

The shackles around Hobie’s wrists and ankles rub achingly against his angry flesh. He sings an old sea shanty to pass the time and to keep himself awake when any minute now they’ll take him away towards the gallows. His mind keeps going back to you, to the last thing he heard fall from your lips— you screaming for him. That the last touch he felt from your calloused hands was you refusing to let him go as you were dragged away from him. It shouldn’t have been this way, to remember you in agony when he should remember you with a smile on your lips, softened words whispered in his ears, and your gentle touch running along his scars. Not this, with him in line for death, and with you left for dead.

He can’t help but think of all the atrocities you’d face within those gilded walls. When it should’ve been a home for you, somewhere you’d be comfortable at, somewhere you’d sleep without a care in the world when it was nothing but torture for you ever since you got there. Maybe he should’ve fought harder, maybe he should’ve stayed on the island with you. A lot of what ifs cross his mind, but not once did he regret saving you when you were drowning. And he doesn’t regret meeting you on that fateful day.

As his singing bounces off the damp walls, rats skittering around the muddy floors, the doors to his cell opens with a loud clang. He stops singing, eyes boring into the uniformed men standing at the doorway.

“Feedin’ time or is the executioner ‘ere already? How efficient of him, hm?” He gets yanked up from the ground harshly as two faceless men drag him out of the cell. “C’mon, careful with me, yeah? ‘m famous around here—”

His quips freezes on his tongue as he now faces Mathias’ right hand man as he stares blankly at him with his one good eye. “Bring him to the interrogation room.” Dubois says before turning away, hands tucked behind his back as Hobie eyes the blunderbuss at his hip. “If I were you, I wouldn’t even try.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, mate.” Hobie lies through his teeth whilst he gets dragged towards another damp room with a singular table and two chairs sitting in the middle. He’s pushed inside as his shoulder takes the brunt of his fall. The chains rattle as he acts like he’s struggling to get up. He was beaten up days ago when they tried to get a confession out of him, but he didn’t sing a single name or location so instead they turned his eye blue, and his hair shaven until he was shivering in the freezing cell. Even then, he keeps his strength up, feigning weakness in front of the man.

“Get up.”

“‘m tryin’ mate.” Forehead against the cold ground, knees covered in dirt and grime, he waits for the admiral’s man to help him up, get close to him so he could snatch the gun out of his waist.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Brown, and it’s not going to work.”

Hobie blows a raspberry, sitting up without a problem. “You got me,” he surrenders mockingly as the chains rattle with his movements. “What d’you plan to do with me ‘ere? Your nobles want to see me dead so you can’t jus’ kill me ‘ere with no one to see it.”

“I’m not here to kill you, not yet anyway.” Metal clinking, he throws Hobie a ring of keys. “Your duchess bargained for your freedom, Spider. Don’t waste it.”

Fear strikes right at Hobie’s chest. “She what? What’d she do?” His demeanour changes, palms growing clammy from the news. “Fuckin’ hell, tell me!”

The man just looks at him through a blank eye. “She’s going to marry the Viscount in exchange for your life.”

Hobie feels the familiar despair again, clawing right at his back, biting at his throat. “I don’t want it,” he kicks the keys away from him. “tell her to—”

“Too late, it’s already done. If you don’t leave, she’ll put a knife to her neck and you’ll still lose. It’s your choice, little spider.”

Heart in his throat, he already mourns for you. If you were there with him, you’d call him an idiot for wasting your sacrifice. He wants to just lay there and get dragged towards the axe without a fight, but he needs to live, for you, and for his crew. The sea will have him one day, and he refuses to die on the soil that has shackled him and his friends.

As he crawls towards the keys, he unlocks the bindings as the metal falls down with a hard thunk. With the keys in hand, grey eyes brewing up a storm, he promises that he’ll free you of your shackles soon. Hobie stands up, flames licking at his face, anger bubbling up to the surface as he wedges the dull keys in between his fingers.

“The hallways are empty, and the back door is unlocked. I left a bag of coins at an alcove, I’m sure it’ll prove to be useful in finding a ship going to the Mermaid’s head—!” The navy man was talking one minute and the next he’s drowning in his own blood as Hobie stabs his throat with the keys he handed to him. His one eye widens in fear, and Hobie looks within it without blinking as he waits for the light inside to fade away.

The gurgling stops as warm ichor coats his hands. As the pirate stalks the halls of the prison, he unlocks every cell he could with the bloodied keys, taking every single scallywag with him as he walks out with a whole new crew behind him. Your screams and your fading touch fuels him to find and rescue you from the clutches of Mathias.

—

A string quartet plays in the garden, the soft grass underneath your feet reminds you of the time you ran away from home the very first time with the blades of grass grazing your legs. The sun shines high above as it drenches the gazebo in golden light. Everyone stares at you in different ranges of emotions, some watch on with pity, a handful stare at you with jealousy. But not a single one of the wedding guests have a genuine smile on their faces as the white powder melts off their faces, coating their lace collars while the noble women fan frantically at their faces as the music swells once you step foot into the flower petals all laid out just for you.

Eugene stands at the end, hands wrung together in front of him, sweating bullets as Mathias couldn’t help but stand beside his nephew to have a front row seat to your downfall. Your cousins stand on your side of the family, their tight lipped smiles says enough, that they now know the truth thanks to Lyla’s whispered words. Your aunt, Victoria and uncle Frederick look over their shoulders as you walk towards the altar shaped gallows. Victoria keeps her stern eyes on you as if you have anywhere to run when their men stand on every corner of the garden. Meanwhile, Frederick’s eyes turn downwards at his feet when you meet with his swirling eyes head on without faltering.

Despite the beautiful day, and what should’ve been a merry occasion, you can’t help the tears stinging in your eyes behind the lace veil. The blood on your neck was scrubbed clean, wound wrapped in bandages and a roll of fine silk was put on top of it as a choker to hide your injury from the guests’ eyes. Your hold on the flowers tightens as you get closer and closer to your demise. You never really thought of getting married, more so settling down when you were too busy trying to survive. It crossed your mind once, and it so happens when Hobie held you that night inside the barn as he whispered saccharine words in your ear. You wish it was him waiting at the end, but now trapped by your own undoing, that can only happen in the afterlife.

Collette gives you a worried look, brows furrowed as she shakily takes the flower bouquet from your hands, the shape of it leaving indents against your palms from how tight you gripped it. You won’t cry in front of all these strangers, and you won’t show weakness despite your mind telling you to run as your knees feel like it’s about to buckle from under you.

The pastor’s words sound incoherent from your raging thoughts. Eugene, to your surprise, takes your hand in his soft hands gently and steadily, acting as your anchor. You had to resist the urge to flinch and snatch your hands back. Your mind keeps wandering towards Hobie, despite how rough and calloused his hands were, scars dotted along his flesh, he always held you in a way that made you feel safe, a steady touch that guides you away from unsteady tides.

When Miguel rode back to you to confirm that Hobie escaped, you finally let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Lyla stayed behind in the capitol at your behest to make sure that he and the crew made it out of the country alive. While Miguel keeps you company with the starving wolves as he stands to the side with his hands tucked at his back, and his pistol at the ready on his hip.

The pastor keeps talking about the marriage and how happy the union would bring to you when in fact it only brings you agony and despair with just the mere mention of becoming the Viscount’s wife and in turn, Mathias’ niece in law. The past version of you would rather shoot herself in the leg than live through this, but this is Hobie’s only salvation, even though you know that his freedom is limited. The second that Mathias gets back to sea, he’ll hunt him down again, and you could only hope that Hobie had enough time to prepare to greet the bastard with cannon balls and gunpowder.

Your vision blurs behind the veil, tears threatening to flow as you see a uniformed man walk towards Mathias. Blinking away the tears and focusing your vision, you could only hear the tail end of the man’s sentence as he leaned close to Mathias’ face.

“....Sir, we can’t find him.”

A smile spreads across your face, a chuckle rumbling through your chest as you giggle amidst the pastor’s speech. Mathias’ fearful shock makes you laugh harder as the pastor stops and looks at you like you just spat on his shiny shoes.

With a bout of laughter, guffaws echoing around the now silent garden, you flick away the veil to wipe a tear away from your eye.

“Oh, he killed your precious man, didn’t he?” To add salt to Mathias’ wound, your grin behind the veil sends his skin rising.

“Fuck this!” Furious, Mathias grabs your arm and away from Eugene as the crowd gasps in shock.

“Where are you taking her?!” Miguel is immediately in your defense, a hand wrapped around your wrist as he digs his heels in. “Bradshaw!”

“To take this wedding to the sea where he can’t follow!” Mathias screams frantically, the powdered wig on his head is lopsided as he glares at his nephew right behind you. “Boy, come on!”

“Yes, sir!” The poor viscount almost stumbles on his own two feet.

“You can’t just take her away!” Miguel doesn’t let his hold on you falter as the wedding guests get free entertainment. The two men pull at your arms, both tugging relentlessly as your arms start aching.

“Watch me, O’Hara! I own her.”

“You’re that afraid, captain?” His title drips like poison from your lips, a mocking tone that angers him even more as his nails stab harshly against your wrist. The man turns to you, red in the face, eyes almost bulging from within its sockets. “You should be.”

Just as you let the words out, an explosion rings out into the garden, sending flowery debris into the air as the shockwave has everyone falling onto the ground. Grey smoke covers the whole venue, a chemical scent that has your nose itching from the smell. You already know that it’s them. A smile etches on your face despite the smoke choking your throat.

You could hear Miguel yell your name through the thick smoke whilst you crawl towards his voice. You hear guns going off from all sides, muzzle flashes providing enough light to highlight their familiar silhouettes. Screaming Hobie’s name with hope in your heart, an axe unexpectedly lands near your face, mere inches away from taking your nose. Yelping, you heave in place as screams of pure agony wafts around the garden.

“Cousin!” You hear John call for you in the smoke, seeing his and Collette’s silhouette behind the grey cloud.

“John! Run! Go!” Throat aching, you let out a sigh of relief when you see them get away safely. Perhaps running towards the lake, or hopefully anywhere other than the estate.

Gathering courage, you grab the axe on your way up, standing amidst the carnage as shots go off everywhere. “Miguel!”

Suddenly, the fighting ceases, silence permeates through the air and your hold on the axe hardens. Inhaling the smoke, you stand in place, eyes warily darting around.

A figure appears in front of you as your heart thuds loudly in your chest. You raise the axe up, ready to strike. The stranger moves fast, weaving around in the smoke as if they could see through the thick fog of explosives. They hold a sword, and a blunderbuss in the other. You raise your axe in both hands, waiting for the right moment.

But instead of a blade stabbing your stomach, you see Hobie’s face appear behind the grey curtains, and with quick thinking, you drop the axe and open your arms to him before he collides into your form. Embracing you like it was his last, Hobie hides his cries in the crook of your neck, a rough palm behind your head, and the other right on the small of your back as he savours your very being.

“You’re alive— thank fuck you’re alive.” His words reverberate through you as you squeeze him affectionately.

“You’re here, you’re actually here!” Tears finally flow down your cheeks as the dust settles, smoke parting away from a passing breeze, revealing the carnage.

Your hand instinctively grasps onto his head, instead of his beautiful hair, you feel bare skin. Hobie leans away, eyes shiny under the sun as he takes your face in his hands.

“I know, ugly, innit?”

“No, still handsome, captain.” You immediately shake your head, chuckling with tears sticking to your lashes as you move to kiss his cheek lovingly that leaves him sighing in content.

Grinning, Hobie leans close to press a quick yet heavy kiss on your lips, but the veil in front of you blocks him, so he flings it away with both hands like a groom would to his bride, and gazes at you tenderly before kissing you fully.

There’s hoots and whistling around you, and you immediately know that it’s the crew without even opening your eyes.

In your peripheral, you see Miguel cradling his arm, but he’s alive and being tended to by a fussing Lyla. There are new people around, ones that you don’t recognize that sport the same haircut as Hobie as they stand guard around the huddling aristocrats together with your aunt, uncle and would-be husband.

Moving away, he cups the side of your head to shield you from the bloodied garden. “He’s dead,” Hobie whispers to you with tears in his eyes and relief in his voice. “You’re safe now,” his thumb wipes away a stray tear. “I’ve got you, love.”

“You’ve got me.” You whisper back with a smile as you lay your forehead against his.

“What do you say we take the reception to the palace, hm? It’s high time that the royals get to see a real party.” Hobie’s grin says that he has gathered more men and women to join his cause, enough to topple the monarchy within the day. You couldn’t be more proud of your captain.

“I do.” Hobie chuckles softly as his eyes glance down at your lips. “Can I take my axe with me?”

“Consider it a weddin’ gift, love.”