restless🪽🌀

SLEEP TOKEN

IV

ᯓ★ don't go home alone f

ᯓ★ clean shave f

ᯓ★ starling gn

ᯓ★ a good man f

ᯓ★ more-than-friend 𖹭 m

ᯓ★ knockin' on heaven's door gn

•ﻌ• save the date? m

III

ᯓ★ too little or too much? ۶ৎ gn

ᯓ★ spit it out gn

ᯓ★ puppy love f

ᯓ★ home gn

ᯓ★ cowboy 𖹭 gn

ᯓ★ change gn

ᯓ★ gassed up f

ᯓ★ the apparition ۶ৎ gn

ᯓ★ banana bread gn

II

ᯓ★ i guess so m

ᯓ★ do you have time? ۶ৎ gn

ᯓ★ i'm here f

ᯓ★ you have a personality?! gn

ᯓ★ leave me behind ۶ৎ gn

ᯓ★ tattoos gn

ᯓ★ cold hands gn

ᯓ★ new (years) traditions gn

ᯓ★ lose your mind ۶ৎ gn

ᯓ★ beat up

Vessel

ᯓ★ Mr. & Mrs. Smith gn

｡𖦹°‧ Let the tide 𖹭 | Carry you | Back to me f

ᯓ★ a different kind of art f

ᯓ★ sweet girl ۶ৎ f

ᯓ★ honey gn

The Vessels

ᯓ★ baking biscuits m

BAD OMENS

Noah

ᯓ★ glory box f

!(older) moon divider is by @saradika-graphics

For some stupid, inexplicable reason, somebody thought it would be a good idea to go out to a dive bar after catching dinner. And when I say catching dinner I mean going to a nice, proper restaurant. One that warrants fancy clothes and more composure than the Bad Omens boys could even dream about.

In their stupid, cocky frenzy, and the completely unnecessary urge to get shitfaced and pretend to be pro pool players, not a single person had vetoed. Now that I'm stood by a high table off towards the corner, entirely exposed in my strappy dress and sulking into my mocktail, I realize that I probably should have done just that. But it's too late for it now, I don't want to be a party pooper by just ditching them. And as my eyes cast across them I have to admit there's something weirdly enticing about watching my friends bend over the pool table in the most dramatic way possible only to completely miss the ball.

Oh god, no. I take that back, Jolly's making a show of it. There's not a single valid reason for him to have the ability to hitch his leg that far up and onto the table. Turning my head away, I grin into the all-too sweet beverage as Folio comments on the arch of his back.

"Five bucks says he fucks it up." Noah drawls from behind me, and I almost spit out my drink when I feel the fabric of his dress shirt land on my exposed shoulders. In a measly effort to remain composed, my free hand pulls it up towards my neck to get comfortable before humming a breathy reply. "I'm willing to bet he takes it as far as getting one of you and Nicholas's in."

He's giggling into the space beside my neck, his breath brushing across the tender skin, and I'm glad that the dim lighting hides the light flush on my cheeks. Setting his beer to the side, he wipes the condensation off on my shoulder before reaching it out for a handshake. "Bet."

I simply rumple my nose at the disrespect of having him do me like that before notching my chin up a bit, clasping his hand in mine and shaking it firmly. "Let's make that ten." the warmth in his eyes is underlined as he grins at me, shy and lopsided. As our hands remain intertwined for a smidge too long, I wonder if he smiles as softly at everybody as he does at me.

Standing off towards the side, all of my attention goes back to Jolly who's still perched precariously on the edge of the table and now goes as far as sticking his tongue out in made-up focus. With the grace of a disoriented squirrel, he manages to not miss the ball, and our little group watches in anticipation as it scatters off. Quickly and with impossible precision, the cue ball crosses the space, moves right past the striped one he was aiming for and hits a solid smack into the pocket.

Ruffilo doubles over laughing, and I follow quickly when I notice the enthusiasm drip off of the Swedes face and get replaced with utter horror. Between Matt and Ruffilo's laughter and the very insistent argument Nick is picking up with Jolly, I wordlessly reach a hand out and tap it against Noah's tummy. With a quiet huff of laughter, the man grabs his wallet, picks out a crisp tenner and presses it into my hand. "That has to have been witchcraft or some shit. There's not a single person in the world that's ever held a cue that could've messed that shot up this badly after all that anticipation."

"Well I wouldn't know." I offer absentmindedly, shuffling the money securely into my own wallet.

"What do you mean?" He turns to me now, drowning out the other's conversation as he rounds my body and places himself between me and the table. "What do you mean you wouldn't know?" the grin on Noah's face is almost manic, all too wide and toothy to be considered sincere. And with the only light fixture being behind his head, it's like I'm staring into complete darkness where his Irises are supposed to be.

He says my name once, low and insistent as he cages me in with a hand on my shoulder.

Giggling lightly, I shove him off with ease, rolling my eyes as the others turn and call out towards him to make his play. "I've never played pool, Noah. It's actually kind of boring. What's so unbelievable about that?"

Silence falls over the men behind him, aside from the quiet click of Bryans camera as he snaps a picture of the scene.

"Blasphemy." Nick's bellow breaks the precarious calm, grabbing his cue as he comes towards us. With both hands raised in the air, I take a step towards the wall to escape their conjoined wrath. Apparently—despite how bad they are at it—the boys take their pool really fucking seriously. Just as the leather tip reaches my cheek and paints a blue smudge over the skin, Noah reaches a hand out to stop it, seeing as I have nowhere to escape to.

"Matt." he turns briskly, still wide eyed and standing straighter than an army general. "I trust you, brother. You and Nick win this thing, I can't let this stand." with the finality of dropping a bomb, he turns back over to my designated table, grabs both of our forgotten drinks and then herds me over towards another, thankfully unclaimed, pool table.

Unsure of what to do with myself, I keep both hands at my sides, fidgeting with the long sleeves of his shirt as he sets up the table for us like a man on a mission. "So, uh…" taking a deep breath, I stand by his side "What kind of mission are you on right now, man?"

Noah looks at me like I'm dumb, casting a teasing glance towards my restless hands before patting my shoulder. "I actually don't believe you right now. You can't tag along to a place like this and not pretend to be good at pool. No way." and then he's shoved a cue into my hand, grabs me firmly by the waist and man-handles me to stand opposite of the set-up balls. "Go on, shoot."

I stay unmoving, cue in hand and no clue what to do with myself, but watching him lean back and observe as the others continue to yell and obsess over their own round takes away the stress, if only lightly. "No pressure, do what feels right and then we'll see about ways to get you some technique." Noah utters gently before tipping his beer at me and taking a long sip. Arching a brow, I watch him crumble and grin into his glass. Technique my ass. Without much more thought, I position the cue like the people on TV do, look down it to determine the angle in which I need to it the cue ball, and push forward.

The ball moves, even if it's not with the amount of vigor I'd been hoping for, and ultimately strikes the laid out triangle. My weak attempt makes me cringe, but Noah comes around to stand beside me without as much of a twitch in the corners of his mouth.

"That wasn't half bad." He states, staring down at the different balls and their changed positions. "Maybe try hitting the ball head on next time." — "Fuck you."

With a laugh and more condescension than is fair, he strolls behind me. And then his hand settles on my hip, his head lingers by the side of mine and I can practically feel the smirk he must be sporting right now. "You wish."

As infuriating as it is, all I can do is snap my mouth open and closed helplessly as he guides me around the table. With practiced ease, he picks up a cue of his own, coats the leather top into the weird blue powder and sets up to pocket his first ball for the night. Huffing in indignation, I collect myself before speaking with as much of a leveled voice as I can manage. "So your version of teaching me is absolutely destroying me to boost your ego?"

Leaning onto the wooden stick, I watch him step over to me slowly. He taps my cue with his teasingly as he bends his upper body down. Brown eyes twinkle lazily as he takes in my face, and I know that no amount of bad lighting could hide the color in my cheeks. A beat passes, one of the others is yelling at Jolly, and then it's all over. "Come on," he hums, straightening back up and studying the different positions of our balls. "As much as I'd enjoy obliterating you in this, I'll hold off until you get the basics for now."

Together, we take in the current situation of the table and Noah nods supportively when I show him the striped ball of my choosing. With uncannily gentle words, barely strong enough to be heard over the crappy speakers and loud chatter around us, he tells me exactly how to position my cue, leans over the table beside me to notch it into place before giving me the go ahead to down the ball. To nobody's surprise, I end up missing, but it's hard to stay disheartened when he puts on a show right after.

Noah lifts his leg comically, not unlike Jolly had done before, settling his cue up without much fuss and absolutely sending the cue ball. It flies with little to no grace, hopping lightly—and even I know that that's not something you'd usually want—before simply scattering a few of our balls without downing any into the pockets.

"Your turn." He grins proudly after wrestling his leg down, stumbling over to my side to help me figure out which one to pick. The balls are all laid out differently now, inter-spaced with some closer to pockets than others. Finding a good opening for myself, I allow him to help me line up my shot in the hopes of making at least one of the nearly perfectly placed balls land.

"Go for it," Noah hums somewhere behind me, both of our drinks already in hand and ready to be toasted together. Okay, no time to waste. The shot lands, the cue ball darts off and right towards the predestined point. After the impact, it skitters across and beautifully, gracefully and very gently nudges a second ball right towards the pocket.

Stunned, I stand straight, turning towards him as he hands me my beverage with a comical bow. Giggling lightly, we clink our glasses together in cheer. "See," he hums around a sip of his beer, "That wasn't so hard. Who knows, sooner or later you could be the one obliterating me."

Another giggle later, I slip out of the wide sleeves of his shirt again before rounding the table carefully. With more freedom in my movement, and less anxiety about taking up space in my bones, I let the length of my dress trail behind me as I search for an opening to make my next move. Vaguely, I hear the others in the back of the room, but my attention is solely on my play. And the sheer force of a single set of eyes as it follows my form round the table. Noah's still leaning on his cue, staring at me from across the room and I have half a mind to tease him for how focused he is on everything that isn't my face. But then he meets my eyes, visibly recoils, and cowers in on himself again.

I can't help but laugh at his bright red cheeks, teasingly biting my lower lip to mock him for gnawing on his. "Fuck you." he offers meekly as he focuses back onto the table.

"You wish." Ha, my turn fucker.

Taking pity on him, I choose a spot and bend down deeply to line up my next shot. Maybe a bit too deep, but some teasing never hurt anybody, did it? With more confidence than somebody with my skill level should probably have, I down two more of the striped balls, letting his eyes trail after me as I move. When it's Noah's turn, I make sure to end up right behind the ball he's trying to hit, one hip popped as I watch him think. Dark eyes flit up at my face more than they are on the ball, and I can't help but grin when he misses entirely.

In our little corner of the bar, there's no pressure to make any moves, nor is there real pressure to even win. So when my next shot doesn't line up quite like I'd hoped, and I don't see it working out for me, I turn to look at him again. "Could you help me with the placement? I don't actually have a clue what I'm doing". All he does is hum, and it hits me that some drunk fool just started singing and Noah probably can't hear me well. Taking a step over, I watch as he dips his chin lower, resting a hand on my side as he drops his head forward entirely. With his ear closer to me, I repeat my statement, and only when he leans back and leaves my shoulder cold in the absence of his breath do I see his teasing grin.

"You want my help so you can beat me? Dream on, kiddo."

As if he'd made the cocky statement simply for the love of the game, he motions for me to explain my thoughts, following me back to my chosen spot. Standing half at my side, halfway behind me, he reaches out to my right elbow to position my arm. I feel his warmth against me, the fabric of his reclaimed dress shirt brushes over my back, and his voice melts in my ears as he guides the cue in my hands. "Come on then." he rasps out, as if it's only meant for my ears and nobody elses, "Take the shot."

The warmth of his body leaves mine as he straightens back up, and I do take the shot before the urge to follow him up overwhelms me. Surprisingly enough, I make it. The ball lands, sending the other straight into the right pocket. Noah whistles appreciatively, and I high five him as I take his side.

"Looks like there's finally somebody good enough to replace Jolly and make it fun for us, is there?" Turning back, I catch a glimpse of the Swede right as his mouth falls wide open. With a dejected sigh, he raises his free hand to shoot Noah a middle finger, but the laughter of the surrounding crew seems to be enough to keep him from trying to defend himself.

"Is he really that bad?" With his next shot lined up already, all Noah does is huff lightly. Then, just as he lands another ball in the corner, his eyes shoot up from where he focused on the table to meet mine on the other side. The grin that spreads on his lips is teasing, turned more cheeky by the sharp angle of his face.

Noah straightens his back again lazily, and just when I think he's going to roast Jolly to hell and back, a cacophony of screams rings out from beside us. And then they break off, slowly but surely dipping into laughter. It's kind of cinematic, watching Jolly straighten up and stare at the grimy wall ahead of him like it holds the secret to his existence as the group around him collectively seems to be loosing their minds.

The movement of the men is erratic, a fast flurry of strewn up hands and manic laughter. Slowly but surely, with a shit-eating grin spread across his face, the singer saunters over and rests his hip on the pool table right beside me. "I'll take that as a yes." he giggles in response, watching as Folio re-enacts the events of the last minute to the still cackling group.

Jolly seems to get tired of the teasing rather quickly, running a hand down his face as he groans deeply. He mutters something about 'needing a smoke' and regardless of the fact that he doesn't actually do that, then begins to lead the others out of the building.

The questioning glance Ruffilo sends our way is met with a lazy shrug and a wave by Noah, and so the man grins teasingly before following the others out into the cool night. The room doesn't get any quieter without the group, not really. But for some reason, it's like we're drowning in the space between us as the rest of the world fades away into a distant, meaningless strum of a guitar.

And then the teasing picks right back up as Noah moves back around the table, and we start our game back up where we left it.

He grins lightly as my shot just so much as grazes the eight-ball, and I feel his eyes burning into me as I try to figure out where to go from here. There's two balls left, both far too close to either the eight-ball or one of Noah's.

In a brave, or maybe kind of stupid moment, I round the table and lean across it to line up my cue. Noah whistles somewhere off to the side, and just as I hear the clink of his glass returning to the table, I feel the unmistakable warmth of his body return to hover over my back. "Sure you can make that?" the grin he must be sporting bleeds through his words like a fatal shot, turning the warm timbre and teasing edge into a real, physical sensation that oozes from him in hot waves.

The cue in my hand falters just so long, slipping from my fingertips and landing on the table loosely. His warmth leaves my back, only for his hand to land on my hip in mock-support. "Take the shot."

My breath hitches in my throat at the touch, skin warming uncomfortably just where our bodies align. No matter how hard I try to refocus on the ball, the cue sits loosely in my hand as the world swims. A squeeze to my hip, long fingertips digging into the flesh beneath the thin fabric of my dress undoes me entirely. With a groan, I straighten up, and I can't ignore the proximity as my shoulder knocks back into Noah's chest.

Turning briskly, the apology dies on my tongue as my eyes find his. The usually deep brown is lit up like fire by the lighting that surrounds us. His expression is open, showing that he might be just as stunned by the proximity as I am. Mouth hung open just so, skin flushed by more than just the alcohol. Noah huffs a deep breath, flinching as his chest brushes against mine softly but not pulling back at the contact.

My empty hands twitch, some primal impulse to get closer to him. To take his hand, rise to my toes and just bridge the fucking gap. But then I watch his eyes widen another fraction and suddenly he's stepping back. Noah brings a hand to his neck loosely, rubbing across the shape of his tattoo there as his eyes wander across the space.

I don't say a word. Can't, really. But I stumble over to the table to steal a sip from his beer before returning to his side. Take the shot. It can't be that hard. Noah lingers by my side. His weight has shifted to create some semblance of distance between us, and I breathe deeply before finally picking up my cue to sink the ball. I blame it entirely on the poor layout when the shot doesn't land, grinning meekly as Noah raises a single brow in my direction in the most frustrating way imaginable.

"You go ahead and do it better, hm?" I snark, poking his foot with the end of my cue jokingly. And when he turns, I raise the wood to tap against his butt as well. He spins around to face me, mouth wide open and shock written so clearly on his face. And then his mouth dips, widening into a grin as slow huffs of laughter build in his chest.

"What was that?" I curse his stupidly long legs as he crosses the space between us in two long steps. The laughter that bubbles from his chest is so open, almost breathy as it underlines his shock and it's more instinct than anything else when I back around the table with a nervous giggle of my own.

Before I even know it, before I've taken as much as three steps away from him and cursed myself for being so bold, Noah's hands reach for my sides and turn me back towards him. His skin is hot, flushed by both the warmth of the room and the alcohol, and I make it a point to stare at his chest stubbornly. Even after the long night and murky interior of the bar, the smell of his cologne is clearer than ever, overwhelming me as he holds me impossibly close. I can't hear his heartbeat, it's physically impossible in our surroundings, but I feel it thrum through me like a bass drum in it's intensity. Words spill from my mouth before I can stop them, and then Noah dips his head towards me again.

I feel his hum radiate towards me more than I hear it, but the question in it is unmissable. The words were quick witted, too bold for me to hold on to the guts to say them. "I said you should take a shot as bold as that and dream of making it."

For a moment, everything falls quiet as he turns to look into my eyes. My thoughts are racing through my head at lightning-speed as I muster him, and it all feels like the world is exploding. His chest is too close, and yet not close enough. Warm hands hold onto my waist steadily, long fingers basically intertwining on my bare skin. And then one of them traces a way upwards, trailing beneath my hair and towards my back.

"Are you asking what I think you're asking?" The light tilt of his voice is breathy, caught up with nerves as he speaks the words right against my lips, and I can't help but press towards his chest further. It had been there all night, then. In his gentle guidance, the teasing and joking and complete lack of pressure.

I'd like to say something, but all that I can manage is a quick nod before a wide, toothy smile breaks out on his face again. The glint in his dark eyes is teasing again, a literal fire sparking within from the flickering lights behind me. Noah's handsome, somehow even more now in the dim lighting. My face draws closer, angling upwards just the slightest bit to stay aligned with his. Brown eyes dip from mine towards my mouth, and then suddenly there's no more thoughts at all.

It's only the overwhelming urge to take the shot, to slide up on my tiptoes and meet him halfway. To settle whatever strange dance we'd been at all night and to make sure it sticks. And so I do it, and I feel his heart race against mine and his breath get swallowed up and then his lips are on mine. Gentle, at first, as if a kiss as breathy as ours isn't as real or meaningful and we can still go back after it's said and done. And then I feel Noah smile against me, feel his fingertips dig into my skin and drag me closer.

It's real, this kiss of ours.

He's warm and slow and still smiling by the time I reach up to the side of his face to drag him even closer. Turning lightly, I allow Noah to guide me over towards the pool table, leaning against the polished wood as he deepens the kiss further. Mouths falling open just so, his tongue darts out towards mine. The smell of his cologne is sweet, fabricated into something so heady by my brain as it overlaps with the bitter remnants of his beer on both of our lips. My free hand reaches out, steadying myself against his broad chest.

Noah doesn't pull away, not immediately. Warm eyes meet mine again, and my fingertip runs over the anxious crick between his upturned brows soothingly. It's not until I've risen up to press absentminded kisses along his cheek and jaw that he relaxes again. And so we're us, just the way we always are.

"Take the shot then, I don't think you're too shabby."

ik this is so off brand of me but urgh i js had to get this off my chest before i implode w the knowledge that i did this lmao

not sure if i'll ever be struck by the urge to write for noah / bad omens but i am very obviously always down for ideas or reqs or whatever js hit my line lol

also i need to start shortening them with b.o it's so cutie patootie looking

hope this isn't crazy or stupid or anything

The gym was loud, deafeningly so. Sweat filled the stale air, only underlined by the constant grunting from one corner or the other. And somewhere between the clanking of weights and random radio music, II is leaned against the front desk like a predator in wait. His workout clothing makes it a point to leave as little as possible to the imagination, and if I were anybody else, the sight of toned biceps and an everlasting scowl would make me turn right on my heels and leave the gym with my tail tucked between my legs.

I step closer regardless, grinning to myself when his sour expression melts off his face as he spots me. Except I'm more scared by the sight of the wide, toothy grin that cracks open his cheeks instead. With a quiet persistence, I'm pulled into a welcoming hug, and I ignore just how tightly he squeezes me.

"Jeez, are you that excited to beat me up?" he rolls his eyes wantonly, grabbing me by the wrist and walking right past the line of treadmills and towards the back. "If anything." II stops briefly to dodge another gym-goer, settling a hand on the middle of my back just as we keep walking. "The point of today is for you to beat me up."

"Right." I nod along absentmindedly, "Get some frustration out, sure." humming in return, we finally reach a door to what seems to be a practice room, and I allow the man to guide me through and into the secluded space. Thankfully, the air seems to be cooler in here, not quite as charged with the energy of twenty-something sweaty and steroid taking dudes who collectively decided that leg day is a scam.

The sigh II lets out is enough for me to grasp that he, too, seemed a bit annoyed with the full space behind us. In the privacy of the space, I watch his shoulders drop the faintest bit and his breathing even out along with it. And right after, he claps both hands together in front of his chest, grinning like a Cheshire cat once more.

Somehow, I already know that I'm not going to be walking straight once this whole ordeal is done.

It was stupid to begin with, agreeing to this. Kickboxing out of all things is not something that I was ever planning on doing, much less with II as my trainer. Realistically speaking, the fact that we're friends takes quite a lot of pressure off me, but as I'm staring at him as he crosses the space to get hand-wraps, the negatives seem to suddenly outweigh the fact that he won't be surprised by my lack of physical strength.

While he might be able to read when I'm overwhelmed or exhausted or just done altogether, it also means that there will be no way for me to bluff my way out of doing this. He knows me too well for me to be able to lie about a headache or tired bones.

Plus, seeing his muscles in the stupidly tight compression shirt he's put on might be nice in theory, but there's no way I won't get absolutely whacked about the place if he keeps looking like that.

"Okay." my train of thought is broken as he steps back around, two sets of bandages in his hands. My own hands fumble lightly as he tosses me a light blue pair, and I look at him expectantly as he stops just by my shoulder. "First things first, protection." Undoing the Velcro on one of his, I watch dumbly as he lets the roll drop and bounce on the padded floor. His hands do quick work of fishing for the other end, winding it back up towards him loosely and then he hooks a thumb through the fabric before nudging me expectantly.

He's grinning like an idiot as I scramble to stand straighter and follow his movements, making me curse the sudden silence, the warmth and the unnecessary lack of space for showcasing my embarrassment loud and clear for him. "Go on then, just like that." II urges, watching me thumb my way into the wrap and lay the fabric across my palm like he'd done.

His fingers are certain and steady in their movement, grabbing the bandage and wrapping it ever so gently around his wrist before he turns back to me expectantly. I follow, a bit unsure of how tightly I'm supposed to do it but nonetheless eager to start off without making a fool of myself. Slowly but surely, his hands keep working on the wrapping, wrapping around individual fingers and the back of his knuckles with practised ease and at some point, it's so enchanting to watch him work I forget to follow the steps entirely.

Only to look up and realize he's basically done and just staring back at me with an arched brow. Humming lightly, I make a weak attempt at hiding my blush as I stare down at my own wrap and fumble it around. But it's no use, because with the next turn I make, he's already tutting at me. "Wait, no." His hands grab the fabric from mine, and he angles his body straight across from me to figure out the right directions on his own.

"Slowly, you have to be careful to still be able to form a fist when you're done." II offers simply, holding my limp hand in his and undoing my sloppy work to fix it up. He's stupidly warm, and something about the tenderness of it all steals my breath. His forefinger runs across the back of my hand periodically, smoothing down the wrap before he adds a new layer and checking the tightness. His breath fans my cheeks lightly, and he explains the wrapping, counts the turns and gives tips on how to secure it.

The time until he pats on the wide Velcro strap is too short and agonizingly long at the same time, and I hate the knowing look in his blue eyes when he finally looks at me again. "Reckon you can handle the other side yourself, or do you need me to do it for you?" Rolling my eyes in mock annoyance, I drag my hand from where he still holds it to flex my fingers a few times.

"Think I've got it. And even then, it'll be your fault for not teaching me right. Crappy teacher." II laughs at me, huffing like a tired dad before wordlessly stepping back to my side to begin working on his second hand. This time around, when the light blue wrap is brought up to my hand, it all makes a bit more sense to me.

It sits safely, without cutting off any movement, and watching II do his own seems to go a bit smoother. "Okay, now over the knuckles, make sure to really cover them." he adds looking back over at me, and when he continues his explanation of the work slowly, my eyes drag up to his face to watch as he works. The tight knot between his brows seems to never really leave, but the scrunch of his nose as he focuses on his hands takes away the stoic, intimidating edge I'm used to seeing.

Tearing my eyes away and back towards my own wraps, I finish up, trying my hardest to mimic his motions and not tie the things together too tightly. It seems to work, and I look at the almost identical bandages proudly before lifting my hands to show II. With a decisive nod, he takes my hands in his to check the tightness and placement of the individual wraps. His warm hands are still gentle, still careful and sure in their motions, and he drags a nail across what little skin is still visible before dropping my hand without much further thought.

"Right then, up and onto the mat we go." The lack of shoes is a little strange at first, but watching him position himself right across from me draws my focus away from the sticky floor beneath me. "First of all, it's important for us to warm up properly before we get to do some actual punching." II nods at me, moving his legs steadily to hop in place. "No laughing, dumbass. I'm not carrying you out of here when you injure yourself."

"You mean if." —"Not if you're gonna keep making fun of my warmups."

Rolling my eyes jokingly, I do muster up the seriousness to join in on the warm up, getting to his side to let him ramble on about proper footing and the right rhythm and the importance of standing at an angle to protect yourself as we add some movement to warm up our upper bodies. Slowly but surely, I watch the sweat gather on his forehead as we keep up the constant movement, and almost lose my breath entirely as he announces the next step.

II slows to a stop, standing by my side to show me his next step. "You're gonna put both your hands by your chin, keep them tucked close." I ignore the breathy tone of his voice in favour of watching him tighten his stance. "Then," the defined muscles in his shoulder work diligently as he throws a lazy punch, and I watch them flex as he gets back into starting position. "Just start with light jabs on your left side, make sure to angle your hand and turn your body along with the motion for more impact."

Blue eyes bore into me from the side as I bring my own wrapped hands up, standing steadily and throwing my fist forward. He huffs lightly, and just when I want to clam back up and run away from this place, he takes my closed fist in his hand and guides it forward slowly. Muttering something about angles and injuries, he straightens me out with the touch of an angel, as if he's teaching me how to dance instead of beating people up.

I'm not sure when and how it happened, but music also fills the room we're occupying right now, and I shift my focus to the meaningless lyrics as II takes my side again to get some motion into the punches. It feels a bit silly at first, but the more I watch him, the more I follow his movements and get used to the rhythm he counts out for us with every breathy exhale, the easier it gets to follow.

Finally, after punching with both hands and figuring out how to not tumble over with every light kick he coaxes me to try, II rounds my body wholly before stopping right at my front. The distance is short, just enough to know what he wants from me next.

"I need a break first, I'm so sweaty it hurts, II." all he does is laugh, pat my head with the thick boxing glove he's grabbed and shoo me off towards my bag. I drink my water greedily, all too aware of the stare he sends me as he slows to a stop at my side. "Isn't this enough for a day?" I whine as I cast a glare at the clock on the wall.

"We've been at it for half an hour." he just laughs, swatting at me with a towel. "I'm sure you'll have much more fun punching me compared to doing a stupid little warm up." With no other choice than to follow, knowing that there truly is no way for me to change his mind and let me off easy, I sigh once before stepping towards the middle of the room again.

"Give me your worst." II chuckles again, grabbing the gloves to finally settle them over my hands. "If I give you my worst I'll break your arm, sweetheart." he grins with a conceding tone, patting my hands before fixing his own gloves. "Let's reverse the roles though, you give me your worst."

And then he begins his quick steps, circling my body and waiting for a first move. "That's silly, I'm not beating you up." —"How about you just try landing a hit, hm?"

Fuck his cocky little attitude. With a last huff, I plant my feet firmly on the ground, raise my hands and angle my body just right to throw a light punch towards his chin. Two catches my hand easily, blocking the punch with a wide smile. His eyes are dead set on mine, never straying to look at my hands, or shoulders, or the quick steps in my restless legs.

No, of course he can't spare me the dignity to make focusing easy. Eyes as blue as an endless glacier pierce mine, and every breath he takes visibly rattles through his strong frame. Any time I muster the courage to just throw a punch, he seems to block, or dodge, or laugh at me entirely. "You need to fight like you mean it, damn." he's giggling as he slows to a stop. "You do that to a stranger in the street, they're gonna think you're crazy, you Muppet!"

"There." he pats his chest once, standing proudly and way too close for comfort. "Just go for it, you're not going to hurt me." Another tap to the tense muscle makes me hold my breath. Not only can I feel the warmth of his skin, there's something about the proximity of his chest to mine, of the openness of the gesture and the unmistakable smell of him that bleeds through the stale, sweaty air that makes the fight drain out of me. When II says my name, it's somewhere between stern and patient, like he's talking to a puppy that won't sit after the third attempt of being gentle.

"Just go for it, I promise it'll be fine." reluctantly, I let him raise both my hands to my chin. My eyes search his, and he grins widely when I push my right hand forwards and knock it into his chest weakly. He doesn't laugh, not really. Nor does he stumble or recoil. All he does is take the hit to his sturdy chest, look between my hand and his body, and motion for me to do it again.

After the second, equally as shy attempt, he takes off his boxing gloves and fixes the bandages across his knuckles to guide me. "Go on, one more." II urges, pulling my shoulders straight and patting right above his heart. "No need to hold back."

"I don't wanna hurt you." Is all I can croak out in return, caught somewhere between his striking gaze and the certainty in which he offers his own skin up for me to hurt. "I'll move if it feels like too much, I can look out for myself. Just go." the coaxing words are gentle, too earnest for a place such as this one and it feels like I'm going to lose it if he won't pull us both together and make our meeting about boxing again.

But all II does is stare, and my hand loses some of the tremor as I bring it up again. Both feet safely on the ground, my right one a little to the back to steady myself. Hands close to my chin, elbows wide so I don't kick myself, and then all I have to do is straighten my leg, push out my hand and make it count. After another deep breath, my gaze locks on his face and I pull through with it.

The man in front of me grins, his eyes widen lightly when the jab lands, as if he wasn't expecting such an honest attempt. With a giggle, he pushes me forward, fixing the stance of his own as he urges me to continue. With his eyes still on mine, we circle each other slowly as we keep up.

Some of the jabs that I throw land on his chest, some he blocks and some he dodges, but his eyes never leave me, and his grin only widens with every new huffed breath. His expression is open, content to let me beat at him steadily, and every time he praises a punch or makes a comment about my stance, confidence replaces the timid flush I'd entered this room with.

At some point, we stop for another water break, and with a solid hour behind us, II throws me protective padding for my feet and shins. "Time for the real deal, let's see how well you can kick." he teases as the pads land before me. By now, I'm so worked up and full of adrenaline that I don't hesitate to put them on before I step back over to the mats.

We went over the steps during our warm up, slight and easy, not too high. But it still feels different as I'm standing before II, gearing up to aim one at his side. "You trust me?" he offers, cracking his knuckles as he prepares. All I do is nod as we pick up our earlier dance, and I watch his face as he studies my form.

Some of the kicks aimed at his hip land, some don't. But there's never any pressure to perform. He laughs at me when I stumble, steadies my footing when I turn too slowly, and sends careless jabs back at me from time to time. It's easy, more fun than I thought at the start, and with the comfort grows the cockiness. Playful jabs become more frequent, we wind each other up and take our time to have some fun.

It's only natural for me to say it, really. With all the adrenaline in my system, it was bound to slip out. And still, as the words leave my mouth I know immediately that I have fucked up. "Beat me?" II echoes, a stumble in his step. And then, before I can think on it, his leg hooks around mine drags my body close to his and pushes my back right to the mat. Before I have time to appreciate the closeness of his chest above mine, his heartbeat in my ears and the slight twinge of sweat that follows each move, the wind is knocked out of me as I fall.

The yelp that leaves me is embarrassing, to put it mildly, and I lay limply on the ground as he hovers above my body. Sweat is dripping down the side of his neck and into his collar, and the dark edge in his eyes makes me want to cower in my spot. A smile breaks his tough facade, and with another huff, he lets his legs weaken and rolls to the ground right at my side.

"Dream on about that, sweetheart." II teases, breathless. When I turn my head to meet his eyes, our shoulders align perfectly, and the space closes more than expected. His grin is wide, and as he widens the space between my nose and his, I allow my gaze to trail over him.

Huffing lightly, the combination of words that falls from my mouth is as surprising to me as it probably is to him, and I can do nothing to stop it. "Thought you were gonna let me beat you up, darling." II turns quickly, caging me in as he tangles his limbs with mine, and regardless of the helplessness of my position beneath him, my breathing remains deep. Up until his fingers run across my sides, tickling up and down the sensitive flesh.

With any and all energy left in my bones, I fight back between yelps and giggles, rolling the two of us across the floor and using every chance I get to return the nagging to him. But in the end, all my struggles end up in vain as I'm once again trapped beneath him on my tummy, a heavy hand by the base of my throat and his breaths rushing through my ears. He's still tense, uncomfortably warm and kind of smelly if I'm honest, but II is here and he's close and his hands are gentle where they hold me in place and his voice is raw in a way I've never even heard from him.

"You'll win me one day."

yea so i'm still alive lol wth

cut some people off, spent some more time w others, felt good, crashed out entirely & then got a job idfk what to tell u guys no part of me feels real right now

what a year last month has been or whatever

but have this smth silly for now while i figure out if i got it in me to return fully i hope this isn't quite as insane as it feels to me lmao. this whole thing went a little crazy but i'd rather write badly than not at all rn

as always, you are loved and appreciated

If there is a heaven on earth, it ought to be here, wrapped up in my lover's arms. And even if God was never real and all there is to life is what we see, then it's still the safest place I will ever know.

Even now, in the early morning hours, when the sun is still timid and the air is overrun by the chill of the night, I want nothing more than to spend the whole day here. But as always, life does creep in. My limbs gain a restless edge, and his breath at the back of my neck is too ticklish for my liking. So with as gentle and calm movements as I can muster, my body twists and turns so that our faces are inches apart.

His all-too blond hair is strewn about on the pillow surrounding his head, spit dribbling from his mouth as long puffs of air leave his lax lips. I can't help but giggle at the sight of him, all too encompassed in the sluggish nature of his rest.

"Handsome" a slight tap to his nose, as easy as it is persistent. "I need to pee." all I'm met with is silence. another deep breath of air and the steady tightening of his arms around me. Something between a groan and a laugh leaves me as I struggle for my next breath of air. "You oaf," I can't help but giggle into his hair. "I'm serious!" Three is still quiet, still drooling in his sleep and very persistent on keeping me. No matter how much I prod and tap and run my hands over his bare back, I never receive a response.

Finally, after yet another unsuccessful peck to his cheek, I do groan, settle both hands on his arms and push myself away. Bleary blue eyes crack open, set on fire by the light ring of gold that surrounds his pupils. His hum is met with a peck, because there is no way in this world that I could be mad at this sweet, sweet, silly man. "Good morning, I need to pee. Thank you and I love you." He releases me, all grumbly and sluggish, and I almost miss the words that fall off his lips.

"Hm, Banana bread."

What? Sitting by his side, my feet hover just above the cold floor as I stare back at him. Three's face is mushed back into his pillow, arms spread wide now that he has nothing to hold onto. Banana bread? I can't help but giggle as I watch him smile in his sleep, reaching over to rub the spit from his cheek before finally getting up to go to the bathroom. Seeing as the sun is out and peaking through our ochre curtains, I don't bother to rejoin him. Instead, my feet find his all-too big slippers as I make an escape towards the kitchen.

Running through the motions of coffee-making is as easy as breathing, and my hands fly from my mug to the machine and over to grab more coffee-beans. Finally, as the rumbling of the coffee-maker picks up, I rest my back against the counter and stare. Because right across from me is a couple of sad, miserable, brown bananas. Right, so that's that then. Grinning to myself, I set out a few eggs and some butter before grabbing my coffee and making my way over to the couch. Can't hurt to get rid of the bananas, and I'd rather do it myself than risk my klutz of a partner setting the whole kitchen on fire. God knows he can't look after a pot of pasta.

Slowly but surely, between sips of coffee and the turn of a page, the morning warms up, compelling previously tired limbs into action. Just as I'm about to give up and just wake my lover to keep me company, my eyes gaze across the room and land on the kitchen island. Banana bread. My chuckle is loud this time, accompanied with a shake of my head as I get up and trudge over towards him. It's a good thing I'm thinking of it again, given that my ingredients are currently melting away on the counter.

The steps needed to make the bread are basically ingrained in my being at this point, and I hum to myself as I grab all of the other things I'll need. A look at the clock is enough to make me shuffle over towards the record player to put on my favourite vinyl as I work. Satisfied with my choice and uncaring of whether it will wake Three, I set out to finally begin whisking everything together. At this point in time, I think my boyfriend might just be buying bananas in bulk simply to make bread out of them, given by the amount of times I've been in just this predicament, leaned against the counter and covered in a dusting of flour before I've even started.

Humming to myself, there's a striking thought as I look at everything. And then I'm whipping through the space, pulling out my sugar, some cinnamon and butter, and a soft cinnamon swirl comes together before I even know it. Satisfied with my work after testing it a few too many times, I set it towards the side to start prepping the actual batter. It's a quiet affair. With a cracked open window and my favourite music playing in the back, the peaceful day keeps me calm and content. Within minutes of swirling my batter with the cinnamon mixture and putting it in the oven, the sweet, heavenly smell of sugar and banana fills the space around me.

Switching my coffee out for some home-made iced tea, I lean up against the counter in wait, simply looking out fo the window as I wait for my boyfriend to finally get up. Speak of the devil, I grin to myself as he steps out from the bedroom and trudges over to me. His hair is still cutely askew, sweatpants sitting low on his narrow hips and pale stomach on full display. Before I've managed to push myself off the counter and make his coffee, before he's even actually said good morning, his big hands reach around the back of my thighs and he grunts jokingly as he lifts me onto the counter behind me.

"Good morning, sugar." is murmured into my shoulder as his head drops, and laughter comes easy as I tangle my fingers into his hair. For a moment, he just stays there, clearly still fighting of the last remnants of sleep in his system, and I absentmindedly run my hands across his flushed skin. Finally echoing the statement, my body stays in place as he crosses the kitchen to finally start his coffee. Only for him to stop dead in his tracks and stare at the oven with wide eyes. "You made banana bread?"

I can't help but stifle my giggles behind my hand as I nod wildly, wholeheartedly enjoying his excitement. Three hops over to the coffee machine, starting it quickly before sliding over the big tiles right back towards me. "Oh god, sugar." grabbing at me again, I laugh as he lifts me up and twirls us across the space, "You are the literal best, I've been craving fucking banana bread for so fucking long!" my feet hit the floor heavily as his hands come around and up towards my face, holding me steady as he presses kiss after kiss onto my grinning cheeks. "You're like a literal god. Fucking supernatural entity." mindless chatter, nerdy and outlandish compliments are interspersed between his pecks, and I dissolve under his ministrations.

"Oh!" I squeak as the oven begins beeping, and just as frenzied as his Love found me it twirls away again. Socked feet slide across the floor clumsily, barely managing to slow to a stop before the oven as he rips open the door. The smell is overwhelming, sweet and cinnamony and mouth-watering in it's fullness. Three's groan is almost pornographic, and he basically falls to his knees as his eyes find the bread. "Easy, easy!" I barely have time to react, following him towards the oven and grabbing something to protect his hands from the heat as he reaches towards the pan. "I get that it smells great and all and you're so excited but please don't burn yourself, honey."

Thankfully enough, he grabs the towel before setting the treat out to cool. Blue eyes are shining brightly as he musters it, and for a moment I think he might get all-too hyper again and just bite into the boiling hot loaf. I bully him towards the side as I make an effort to remove the hot pan so it can cool quicker. "Sit down and drink your coffee, I'll see about cutting you a slice." — "Yes boss."

I'm almost surprised that Three isn't complaining about my choice of music, but one look back towards the counter brings a smile to my face. His feet rock steadily, he's even humming at the sounds as he waits. Moments later, I've managed to successfully put an almost steaming slice of banana bread onto his favourite hand-painted plate without burning my fingertips and slide it over towards him. "C'mere." He's clingy as always, urging me to settle onto his lap as he nurses his coffee.

A single bite of the warm bread—obviously blown to cool by yours truly—is enough to warrant a bone-deep moan to fall from his lips. I can't help but laugh, studying his face as he chews. Blue eyes flutter closed, a more than satisfied smile taking over his features. My boyfriend leans back deeper into his seat, letting the burning sun cast his face in a golden glow. Warmed by the sun, his pale skin looks almost golden, his light and almost scruffy beard shifting between almost white in the sun and darker blonde as shadows move with his jaw. Like clockwork, one hand comes up to rub at his chin as he nods deeply. Smacking his lips once, he finally opens his mouth again. "Mh-hm, now that's what I'm talking about."

Satisfied, I peck his cheek before getting up to clean the rest of my dishes. "Very glad you like it, honey." — "Like it?" The gasp he lets out is scandalized, flamboyant and followed up with a giggle right after. "I love it, sugar. You're a literal saint. I have no idea how you knew how much I was craving it, but it's literally perfect. Love that it can like… squirt cinnamon, big kudos for that." Okay, no. Turning briskly, I watch as he cowers into his seat, both hands raising up in a defensive stance. "In the sense that-" Laughter comes easy at his wide-eyed expression, and I shake my head at him to stop his flustered ramblings.

"Easy tiger. I know exactly what sense you're talking about." eyes turn mischievous, and he wiggles both brows at me as I lean over to peck his sugary lips. The sweetness lingers, and I wash it down with another cup of hot coffee as he devours basically half of the bread.

By the time he's packing up whatever's left and putting his plate in the dishwasher, he's still shaking his head in disbelief. "Can't believe you like… read my mind. I've been craving fucking banana bread since like yesterday." he turns around, motioning wildly as my laughter reaches him from the sofa. "Nah, I mean it, sugar. It was all I could think about, I basically woke up with the taste on my mouth. Been wanting it so fucking bad and like boom, there it fucking is!"

His lips still taste faintly of cinnamon, drenched in sweetness as he finds me in the living room. Three drops down next to me, pulling me into him to deepen the kiss further. Buttery warmth fills my chest as his tongue darts out to meet mine, it's slow and content, filling my senses with sirupy comfort. We spend some more time with each other, using the comfort of a Saturday belonging only to us to catch up on random topics, play some video games and of course, eat the entire fucking loaf of banana bread.

"Can't believe you made the best fucking banana bread in the world, when all I did was think about it obsessively for like... days. Never even said a word and you knew. Fucking gorgeous."

april is over & i have a will to live again yay!! the horrors persist but so do i or whatever

so confusing to be hit with wave after wave of just... wrongness and then suddenly i wake up & the sun is out & breathing is a little easier again

may the fourth be with you, nerds

"Give it here." I hum, easily reaching a hand out towards Four to carry his tote for him. I know for a fact that my boyfriend would have pulled back and insisted on carrying it by himself just weeks ago, but now he gives it to me without much of a complaint. The hand it frees up follows quickly, fingers lacing with mine as we stroll in comfortable silence. Simba trots along quietly, just by his other side as if he wants to build a protective bubble around his human. It's quite funny to see the hard shell of hyper independence Four had built around himself be dismantled and replaced as if it had never been there in the first place.

The eagerness, maybe even apprehension, has worn off within the last few months. Months, phew. In it's place, something deeper has taken shape, something that wraps my hand around his like it was always meant to be there. Something that makes me want to carry his groceries or bags and watch him brush his teeth and journey across the whole city just to see him on our lunch-break.

Absentmindedly, my fingertips rub across the reddened, tender spots his bag had left behind in his palm. Gently, as timid as the spring sun, I lift his hand to press a kiss onto the warmed skin. Our steps are unhurried, regardless of how filled with people the streets are today. In the face of fresh leaves and longer days, the whole city has woken up and apparently decided that everybody has to be outside right now. It's quite miserable to be caught behind one slow walker after the other, but being by Fours side does make it worthy.

Enjoyable even, but don't tell him that.

Despite my best intention, a long and hefty yawn leaves me while we wait for a street light to turn green, and Four grins from my side like an idiot. "Told you it was a bad idea to stay up all night playing video games." I'm dragged across the street with intent, then led towards the closest café. "You were literally the only reason I stayed up that long, Baby. If your dumbass hadn't been out mining all evening I wouldn't have had to build a whole mansion and would have been asleep by like, ten."

Four hums out a mocking 'Grandpa' but before I have the chance to pout, he lets me pull open the door and kisses my cheek in passing. To say I'm regretting the long hours we spent playing Minecraft at his place would be a lie, even if I might need a bit more time to renovate our mansion at some point. While I would never find the motivation to stay up for it if I had been alone, being curled up on the couch with my lover is nice regardless of what we're doing.

I'm dragged from my thoughts as the door of the café falls closed behind us. The place is one of those trendy, clean-girl-aesthetic spaces that are so completely and utterly beige the world momentarily feels as if I'm looking at it through a filter. Ignoring the loud chatter and finance bros in their ugly coats, I reach for Fours hand again to beeline towards the counter. Even if we had the time to stay, which we don't, this whole coffee thing needs to happen quickly before my eyes forget the colour of his.

Being so focused on fleeing this place, I almost miss the low grunt of my boyfriends name being uttered from a few paces away. Before I have the chance to gather my bearings, Fours hand tenses the slightest bit in mine as the stranger comes over. He's all sharp lines and control, dark hair slicked back and dressed to the nines in what might be the ugliest fucking suit I have ever seen.The wide smile on his regal features is enough to make my brows knot together. Plus, even though Four clearly knows the man, Simba's making no move to greet him like he would any other person he considers to be a friend. That's a red flag if I've ever seen one.

From the outside, the hello's they're exchanging might seem pleasant, if not a bit detached, but there's something about the way Four seems to struggle with getting his words out easy that stops me from leaving his side to order our drinks. The stranger nods into my vague direction, tight-lipped and barely there, and yet he doesn't even look over to acknowledge me. To my surprise, Four squeezes my hand once before handing me Simba's leash, willing me to step away slowly to give them some privacy as I order. Not once—even as I almost bump into a living barbie doll—do my eyes stray from their interaction. Because what the fuck?

It feels like my Toots was exchanged, abducted by aliens and cloned and somehow the person they sent down is grey. Like they ran out of the colour that made him him. I don't dare dwell on it any longer, not when I could be getting our drinks, scaring the baristas out of their minds so that they rush our order, and return to his side. We should go outside before all colour drains out of his rosy cheeks.

Finally, as we reach the short queue, the dog's tongue darts back out to pant, and he lays down between my slightly spread legs as we wait. I backed off, sure, and I'm glad about it given that Simba had been so tightly-wrung just now, but my eyes never leave the two men. He's conceited, this stranger. Fucking condescending and arrogant too, judging by the way he looks at my Four down the length of his nose. Between the sharp jaw and the smile that hardly manages to differ from a sneer, this cold shell of a person is so uncanny, I'd call him a skin-walker to his face if I weren't trying to be a good man.

What I am willing to admit without hopping off my pretty little high horse is that evident by the messy hairline, his trip to turkey simply didn't pay off. Serves the fucker right.

He reaches out, what the fuck, the palm of his hand may land gently on Four's elbow, but one look at his strangely pale face, what the fuck, at the way his eyelids flutter as if he's trying not to flinch and the unmistakable tightness of his shoulders gives away just how uncomfortable he must be. What. The. Actual. Fuck. And yet, my boyfriend's eyes are stoic where they meet mine across the room, just barely certain enough to make me move with the line instead of walking back over and just fucking pummelling that fucker.

Ordering our usual drinks happens naturally, even though my tongue feels laden, causing the words to tumble from my mouth way too quickly and clumsily for my liking. Quietly, I note that my usual café keeps dog-treats for four-legged friends, and reach into my pocket to pull one out for Simba absentmindedly. If one of us is getting a treat, all of us should. Leaning onto the counter, my eyes never stray from the weird interaction happening across the room, and I dart over without as much as a thank you when our drinks are finally done.

My boyfriend's fingers are strangely cold against mine as I hand over his cup, and not another second goes by before he's pulled into my side and my arm is thrown around his shoulder. Beady, bug-like eyes stare up at me, and I revel in the fact that it's this stranger's turn to be looked down on. The same old snarling smile—openly unpleasant and as condescending as it is cold—breaks apart on my face, and I gesture mildly to my occupied hands as I address the situation.

"Mister." followed with a mocking nod and a once-over of his pretentious attire, "Would shake your hand but I don't really want to. Plus, my boyfriend and I have places to be," I finally discern the burning in my chest as possessiveness, raw and biting, and guide Four from the space with as gentle of a nudge as I can muster. The stranger opens his mouth, but my head tilts the slightest bit, just enough to shut him up.

Get the fuck out of my face, loser.

And with that, the bell rings above us, the door falls shut and the sun brings colour back into my vision. The outside world comes crashing in so quickly it almost gives me whiplash, but I welcome the sweet relief that floods my senses. My arm doesn't leave Four's shoulder, no matter how uncomfortable it might be to walk like this, and I find our way through the crowded street as he walks in silence. The coffee warms my hand, and I once again want to reach into my pocket to give Simba a treat for sticking with me when my hold on his leash is as weak as it gets. It's like the leather hanging off my pinky is just for decoration, and the dog comes along purely because he wants to. Now that I'm thinking about it, I can't really blame the bugger because same.

No matter how easily the calm has returned to Simba, it doesn't require a genius brain to feel the tension still rolling off of Four in waves right now, so I change our direction at the last minute and drag my boyfriend into the closest—albeit tiny—park. Beneath old and young trees alike sit a few chess tables. Regardless of the fact I have no interest nor clue how to play the game, I guide us over there to sit for a moment. Four lets me, still entirely caught up in his mind. Quietly, a hand reaches over to pull his bottom lip from where he worried it with his canines so it stops fucking worrying me in return. It makes his eyes snap up to stare at me, still wide and more glassy than I'd like.

He clears his throat once, as if something in his chest needs to give in order for him to get the words out, and the second his tongue darts out to drag across his reddened and chapped lips, my head shakes once. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to, Four." Almost imperceptibly, his eye twitches again, and my voice softens in return, "I don't need to know who that was, baby, not if you're not comfortable telling me. Okay? It doesn't matter right now. Just-" he's curled up in the rickety chair, shoulders slumped forward as his fingers grip the paper cup tightly. Simba's snout is rested on his leg, and I sigh quietly as he reaches out to pet him.

"Breathe for a few seconds, I don't like it when your eyes get like that." — "Like what?" he snorts, eyes finally gaining a weak, teasing glint. Rolling mine in return, I lean back and nudge his foot with mine, "Like all, uh, watery and shit. It's like somebody knocked the sun out of your sky."

He just stares for a moment, gaze still caught somewhere between weariness and exhaustion. And no matter how much time passes, he doesn't calm down. Doesn't stop wringing his hands, or twisting the paper cup when my gaze takes a decisive edge to get him to stop.

"Just breathe, I meant it. Let yourself settle."

Thankfully, he listens to me for once. With his dog sheltered between his legs, Four pauses, just sits in his own silence. At some point, I reach out towards him to hold his hand as he breathes. Blue eyes dart across the board between us, and I can't help but snort as his brows furrow. My free hand comes up to rub across my chin in an attempt to soothe my smile into compliance as his stoic eyes snap up to me.

"Sorry," I hum, nudging his coffee cup towards him, "We must look stupid to everybody else, thinking this hard about the first move in a chess game." thankfully, the irk between his brows eases, and he snorts into his drink. Four's voice is meek, as if he's confessing some huge, embarrassing secret to me. "I don't even know how to play fucking chess." — "Neither do I, Baby. Who gives a shit?"

My fingertips never stop their movement, drawing hearts and circles and little stars across his skin. His head lands softly in my palm when he loses the strength to hold it all up on his own. I'm not sure how long we sit there, Four all caught up in his mind while I can't do much but stare, but it doesn't actually matter to me. Not until there's a droplet on the tip of my nose, and then one on the pinky that rests on the back of his limp hand. Ah, fuck.

Quick as lightning, Simba's stood up and crouched by Four's chair. The man just groans, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "You ready for cardio?" huh? His grin is lopsided, still somewhat wobbly, and the laughter that falls off his lips when I utter the worst joke I can think of is gruff in it's entirety. "Puppy hates the rain."

The clipped sentence is followed by the scrape of his chosen seat against the floor, and Simba darts between the both of us as the rain picks up. Nodding once, both of our cups are disposed off, then we're off towards home. Two brisk steps into our escape, a clammy hand finds mine and squeezes. I don't answer verbally, not when we're getting wetter and wetter and Simba's pulling on his leash as if the world will end with wet fur.

I'm almost scared he'll go running straight into traffic with how quick he's rushing. But then a red light comes, and through some miracle, this little Angel stops dead in his tracks and watches the cars pick up speed as they pass. I can't help but giggle, I really really can't. Clutching a hand over my mouth at the sight of increasingly wet—and therefore less voluminous—fur and unsteady feet.

Four only sighs, clearly used to these antics. "I thought he loves water? What happened to all the time spent jumping through puddles?" I grin as the light turns green and we make our way across the street. "Water's only his thing when it's below him. I wish I knew why just as much as you do." Judging by the heavy clouds above our heads, it's only fair to assume our way back home will be a true fight. My suspicions are confirmed when a loud thunderclap shakes the sky.

"Ah," my boyfriend groans, grabbing my hand tightly as he picks up his steps. "If there's anything worse than rain, it's gonna be storms." just as the words pass his lips, it's like the sky opens up to ruin his poor puppies life. Big, striking raindrops fall all around us, and before we've even begun jogging properly, before we've rounded the corner or thought about finding a tube station, our clothes are completely, entirely drenched.

Between hurried steps, his Tote falling off my shoulder, the impatient scrape of Simba's paws across the wet asphalt and the strong, insistent hand dragging me along, laughter comes stupidly easy. All the way we have to cross, it bubbles from our chests. Finally, we reach his doorstep, and even if there's hair in my eyes, and water squelching in my shoes, I have no choice but to double over. My chortles are loud, breathless and racking through my whole body.

Thankfully, a steady and somehow still warm hand finds my middle, wrapping around my securely as Four fishes through his pocket for his keys. His dog is so impatient by now, he's begun nipping at our wet pants as he rounds us. His leash is forgotten, and I beg and pray that there won't be more thunder to scare the boy.

"I know, I know." Four answers his yips, reaching out to unlock and push open the door. The dog darts through and up the stairs immediately, urging us to follow on the first landing. But pale blue eyes look at me through soaked curls, smiling wide and honest, and he presses a hard kiss to my chilled lips. It's urgent, and deep, and I shiver when his free hand finds the back of my neck. My hand flies out towards the doorframe, leading us into the dry corridor as I grin into the kiss. His lips are still chapped, regardless of the raindrops that map across the skin, and I can't stop my tongue from darting out to run across and steal the taste. A stray droplet drips from his hair, runs across the bridge of my nose and right from my lips to his, just cold enough for the both of our grins to crack into giddy giggles.

Finally, when the shiver in my limbs has me pulling back and straightening back up, his eyes twinkle in the dim lighting, blue as a wild ocean. "There you are." I hum, reaching for the sides of his face to press a kiss onto his cold nose. "My prettiest boy." Just as Simba takes another impatient step down towards us, I hush him and we ascend the winded staircase.

Two sets of footsteps, a smidge too heavy for the late afternoon and lead by perfectly tiny paws, mark their way up the old steps. Cold water still drips steadily behind us, and we stop dead in our tracks just outside of Fours opened door. "We should, uh…" he trails off, looking down at his dripping jacket.

"How do you usually handle this?"—"I strip." the oh that falls off my lips is quiet, a little coarse as it lands between us, and I almost choke on my own spit when I go to clear my throat. Four grins widely, tilting his head in that teasing way that lets me know my cheeks are about as red as I fear. "Smooth, handsome. Real smooth."

He frees his feet from his boots without batting an eye, leaving them standing on a mat beside his door. His socks with the sardine pattern as well, and I can't help but stare as he shrugs out of his jacket. Only when his calloused fingertips fumble with the edge of his sweater does my soul return to my body, folding in half so quickly I'm dizzy as I undo my laces. The soaked clothing lands in a forgotten corner as he throws it, and I follow in his footsteps in dropping my jacket. Like it's the simplest, most natural thing in the world, he pulls his shirt up, up, up over his plush hips and perfect chest and wrangles the fabric over his freckled shoulders.

Focus. No need to worry.

There's nothing to worry about. No room for insecurities as he stares me down in waiting. Okay, okay. Time to be scared, he's grabbing my hoodie. The back of his fingers rest heavy and warm and present on the sides of my tummy. He's waiting. Not pulling, not asking or pressuring. Just there. Bright blue eyes search mine, switching between one and the other like a broken record. And then he takes a step towards me, our toes almost touching.

Four is half naked in this random fucking hallway and I'm frozen solid by the weight of my own insecurities. Quickly, shaking fingers reach for his to leave the hoodie behind, only for him to grip tighter. wha— "I can deal with a few droplets on my living room floor, Sweets." with a jerky shake of my head, I tug the fabric from between his fingertips and just drag it off. It's halfway to my chest when he lays his palm flat over my heart.

The hood throws a shadow across my head, and I blink through the cold droplets that fall from it. "I'm good. I trust you, Four." his hand warms my skin through the thick material. For a moment, it's like he's holding my heart in his palm, and I swallow deeply before shrugging my shoulders out of their uncomfortable position. The sound of my hoodie against the floor is deafening, and my breath comes in embarrassingly quick bursts as he stares me down.

He nods once, all stern and assertive, and his hand burns on my bare skin as he pulls me over to kiss the exact spot his hand had just warmed. It rings like a shot to the heart. Tumbling out of our clammy jeans is as hard as it was to be expected, and laughter finally frees me from the unease of my own making as Four almost tumbles into his entryway. The door falls shut behind us heavily, and between the warmth of his flat and the proximity of his naked back to my chest, it all doesn't feel so hard anymore.

"I'll go dump our clothes into the wash, you make sure Simba's dry before he develops a grudge." he smiles at me, squeezing my hand as he gives me the towel before disappearing somewhere in his flat. "Okay," my voice finds me timidly as I crouch down towards the dog. "Let's get you dry, sweetheart. Sorry about all that rain. Really does suck to be so cold and clammy. And look at your little legs!" With every new drag of the towel over his fur, accompanied by gentle strokes of hi soft-bristled brush while I'm at it, the volume returns to him. By the end of it, he stopped looking like a stick-figure and more like himself again.

Only when he's satisfied and done grunting in my ear whenever I rub over his ears does he get up and waltz over towards the bedroom. Glad to have him warmed up, my shiver is easy to ignore while I go look for my boyfriend. He's still only in boxers when I find him brewing tea in the kitchen, a towel slung over his left shoulder. It's almost embarrassing, really, for me to be this unnerved because the singular, meaningless barrier that is clothing is missing between us. He's still my Four, still hums as he prepares our drinks and still looks at me the same when he finally turns around.

With our roles reversed, he reaches out to grab my hand where I'm lingering at the kitchen island and pulls me towards him. I swallow around the lump in my throat, hands hovering above his gentle hips for a moment too long. "You can go grab some sweats and a shirt if you want, sweets." Four offers, even if he makes no move to release my hand. All words die on my tongue when the space is finally closed. I feel him before I actually touch his skin. Smell the rain in his curls and his favourite blend of herbs in his mug. His skin is running so hot, the sound of his humming so comforting, my fingertips have no choice but to dig into him. And then it's like I never knew restraint. He doesn't jerk away as his back makes contact with my cooled chest. Doesn't make a single sounds as my face burrows in the back of his neck, doesn't even complain when water drips from my own hair onto his skin steadily. His warmth stays, solid and trusting beneath my barest touch. Dragging my hands all over his tummy, I wrap my whole being around him, and yet he remains warm and comfortable and here as I forget where I end and he begins.

"Or don't." the words are quiet, uttered just for the sake of it as they fall on deaf ears. It takes every fibre of my being to inhale again, and it only makes me want to curl into him tighter. Four coaxes my hands to loosen on his waist, turning around to face me as the tea steeps. The constellations of freckles on his tummy span wider than I ever knew, and it startles me to see the way they crawl all the way up towards his chest. He says my name once, reaches out right after and dumps the towel onto my head. With the grace of a baby giraffe, I drop forward and onto him. The cold tiles beneath our feet, one white, then black and white again, distract me enough as his hands come up to rub my hair dry. Four's all over me, running fingers up the back of my head and dragging the damp strands away from my forehead.

Never rough, never impatient.

Finally, he reaches around to nudge my chin up and towards him. With nothing said but everything done, I can't really help but smile at him again. "There you are." the words ring in my ears, and suddenly the whole world feels too loud for me again. But his eyes are warm and blue and just the way they always are when he's happy "My prettiest boy." It's a statement. Firm and sure and undeniable as we stare at each other.

And then he turns away and takes our tea towards the bedroom and I'm reeling from the certainty he welcomed me with. Not a moment later, I turn in my spot, drag a hand through my freshly-fixed hair and dart after him. We lay in the same bed, his chest on mine, listening to the same music we always do. His hands find the same pattern, and the drag of his fingertips across my skin is enough to remind me that just the way I looked after him, I was never unsafe with him either. It takes basically no time for me to warm up, cradled safely beneath him and his favourite navy blue sheets. And then Simba crawls up towards my other side.

He nudges Four's restless hand once, causing him to reach across me and pet him instead. Now that my heartbeat isn't the only thing I can hear anymore, I notice that the storm outside has only picked up. Wind whips against the rickety windows, and the sky lights up in random intervals as lighting strikes off in the distance somewhere.

"Drink some tea before it cools off completely." we're still pressed close together, and with the mug in one hand and the other slung across his shoulders, I finally have the time to look at his tattoos. Intricate line art meets bold blackwork and I watch the motives change and move and distort as he reaches for my hand. "There's so much to talk about right now." Four simply hums into his mug. "But I don't feel like saying anything at all."

We twist and turn as time passes, rearranging our hold on each other between gasped laughter whenever a limb falls asleep. It's dark out already, and the rain still pelts against the window without remorse. My boyfriend's face is inches from mine, breaths mingling where we meet in the middle. A hand on my hip, the other holding mine in what little space we kept between our hearts. I don't pay any mind to his wandering eyes, not when I'm busy counting freckles on his shoulder and neck.

"That was my ex boyfriend earlier." His voice is barely a whisper, finally voicing what both of us already knew. "Thought so."—"He's a real asshole. The one that my Ma is scared will always linger in the back of my mind."

"He won't."

Blue eyes finally meet mine as I muster him, and the tight-lipped smile on his face shows less doubt than I'd feared. I squeeze his hand anyways. "I won't let him." his short breath lingers just between us, and then he sighs deeply and talks.

"I don't think he ever liked me. Not really. He's the kind of man that likes the idea of having a partner but isn't actually comfortable sharing his life with another person. Whatever I was asking for, I was always being clingy." He swallows deeply. My hand wraps around the back of his head, pulling him right under my chin. "I was always too clingy. Wanted to hold his hand on the way to work. Wanted to kiss him goodbye and hear about his day and it was always too much. Always. And then I became ugly. Uninteresting, somebody just good enough to drag into his bed when it got a smidge too cold."

"Hey, Four, baby. We don't have to talk about him if you're not ready." — "I know that," fuck, he's sniffling already. "But I want to."

Before I know it, hot tears slide down into the dip between my clavicles, curving with the skin before getting lost on my chest. And yet his voice is as steady as can be. "He was so, fucking mean about it. Gave me a piece of what I wanted when he thought I would go, and then reared his head and broke me down further when I couldn't. Belittled my job, was weird with Simba and complained the entire time every time we visited my family." His chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, matched perfectly by my own hiccuped breaths.

"Sometimes I think I'm lucky he never laid a hand on me. But I think the only reason he never took it that far was because I was pathetic enough to crumble beneath his words. He never had to get his hands dirty to ruin me."

His words hang above us, and it takes me a moment to understand that he genuinely means them. When I do, a hand reaches his jaw, holding him gently as I move away enough to meet his eyes head on. "He didn't ruin you, Four. I don't believe that, his hatred has nothing on your love. There's not a single thing he could have done that could ruin you. Because I look at you now and you're the best man I've ever known." he's trembling, still practically naked by my side and it makes me drag him closer again. "You're not ugly, or clingy, or too much or not good enough. You're none of the things he did or didn't do to you."

"He manipulated you, used you and treated you in a way no person should be treated even when he never had the right to. And you and I both know, deep down in our chests, that it was all in vain. You're still loveable, still creative and kind and pretty and trustworthy. Open about your likes and dislikes, great at your job, good to your family, gentle when it matters most. You know what that means?"

If it were any other situation right now, I might have laughed at the meek shake of his head, but right now the only thing that's running through my mind is getting him to understand. "It means that you're a good Person. It means that you and your huge heart have won."

"Out there, just earlier. I thought I had to throw up with the fear that you'd take one look at my body and see me the way I see myself. And you didn't. You laid yourself bare for me like it was the easiest thing in the world when I know for a fact it's the hardest. You let me show you that trust in my own time, on my own terms. Showed me that just because we're skin to skin doesn't mean the both of us are anybody but us. In all the time I've known you, really known you, you've not given me a single reason to doubt you. Not once have I felt the need to hide, to hold back and break myself down into some bastardized stomach-able version of myself. You're yourself with such certainty you've never given me the chance to be anybody but my truest self as well."

His quiet tears have turned into sobs, and I card my hands through his hair as he hides in my chest. Stop the millions of thoughts that beg to leave my mind in favour of whispering sweet nothings in his ear. My own tears don't matter, I let them run across my cheeks and dry in the hollow of my throat without care.

"And I know just how much strength it must take to live your life like that, but I admire you so much for it. The way you carry yourself while uplifting others, giving your love freely and offering you own heart up in the midst of it. I think you're the strongest person I know."

"I've been nothing but weak since I've met you." the words hit like a punch to the chest. Like he reached his hand beneath my skin and squeezed as tightly as he could.

"You let me in. Four, I-" my mouth snaps open and then closed again, wholly overwhelmed with the love I want to hurl at him, "I meant it when I said you're strong. With every fibre of my being. But that doesn't matter, because I want you to know that you don't even have to be. At least not all the time, you know? Fuck it, fucking fuck it all and be weak. Stay in bed for too long, cry without having a proper reason and don't quit that stupid habit you consider to be bad. Be weak and silly and afraid and let me be there with you. Let me be there for you. Lay in my arms and get it all out of your system and let me like you even more when all is said and done."

There's more words on my tongue still, restless and angry and begging to just finally be let out in all their raw, overwhelming truth. It feels like I could talk for hours. Could list off every single time he showed up for me, could name every plate he removed from his armour and could thank him with every new word. But I don't because no matter how teary his eyes are as he picks himself up, the hand he clasped over my mouth is quite insistent on ending my ramblings.

"Gotcha." — "Too much?" he just nods, grinning as the mumbled words pass his fingertips. "He's not man enough to ruin me, understood that much. But let's save the rest for some time where I can actually believe them. For a day when weakness doesn't feel like resting beneath Damocles' sword." I could fight back, could say all the things I want to say and hammer them into the folds of his brain right now, but I don't. Because if anybody understands that trust, and change and love need time to grow, it's me.

Instead I let my tongue dart out to lick at his hand, watching him fall back onto his haunches as laughter spills from his lips. He runs his spit-covered hand across my torso without a second thought, turning so that both his palm and the back of his hand are cleaned before he drops down and lets his laughter fade into childish giggles.

"Why the fuck are you such an emotion roller coaster, dude?" he's grinning, laid on his side as he stares over at me. "What do you mean?"—"One moment you're all sappy the world isn't ending you're good and okay and I've got you and the next it's all over and you've decided that you should annoy me to death instead."

All I can do is hum, turning onto my side to mirror his position. And then my gaze flits across him, settles on what must be goosebumps that are covering his tattooed arms, so I reach out to drag him closer. Hooking one leg between his, I turn both of our bodies to lay him halfway across mine. Like a literal space heater, the warmth of his skin finds mine, his wandering fingers lighting me on fire.

"I like talking about sadness. Like being deep and complicated and impossible to handle, but I don't believe in ruminating about these things. It's good to get things off your chest, just for the sake of understanding yourself and the situation, but once that's done it's time to let things go again."

"That makes sense. The only thing that should be on your chest is my head, Baby." Stupid, stupid perfect boy. His giggled breath falls over my chest, tickling the tender skin with every new huff. Despite my better judgement to make fun of his idiotic joke, I laugh along with him. Even Simba seems to want to escape our melancholy, and he stands up for a moment to lick at our heads.

Four was right, the chaos erupted so quickly it's giving me whiplash, but there's something so natural, so us about it that I don't have it in me to care. The storm might be all the way around us, loud and persistent and ever changing, but we're here and we're okay and that's all that matters right now.

i'm still alive yaya!! ik this is a smidge messy but it's been sitting in my drafts for too long atp there's no getting better

mental health is lowkey worse than ever, but I got my sleep token tatt i've been wanting for a year & there's still good music to be discovered & also i get to see my mom on my birthday so maybe it's not all horrible