#borhap fic

✺🎬✺

Her footsteps were mute as she padded forward on the concrete, searching furiously through her crochet bag. The box in her hands stayed tightly gripped though, Roger noted. He waited a bit until he was certain she had no chance of finding what he thought she was looking for, and that he would be her last resort.

“Need a light?”

He watched with careful eyes as the girl next to him fumbled about to pick out a cigarette from the nearly emptied box, probably just some cheap ones from the gas station near the dorms.

“Yes, thanks.”

The brunet nodded, bringing his forward to her’s and inhaling, a few loose embers falling to the ground in a sparkling orange flurry.

Roger observed the way her chipped nails on ring adorned fingers shakily held the cigarette as she brought it to her lips, taking a very long drag.

It was windy out that night (which was the reason he was telling himself he decided not to bother with his Zippo), her silky black dress doing barely a thing to keep her covered from the chilly temperatures. He noticed the blue tint to her formerly painted lips, only a pale stain of color left behind. He also happened to notice the goosebumps that graced her exposed arms and legs, and her slight shiver that came with it.

The girl nervously adjusted the twisted strap to her purse, sending a glance in Rog’s direction every once in a while, but mostly she kept her gaze fixed on the stars above. She seemed to be mesmerized by the way they twinkled so brightly, even in the polluted sky. The bottles of liquor in her purse clinked together, and she cringed visibly at the sound, a shiver being sent through her bones.

He smiled at her behavior, oddly endeared by it, perhaps even enchanted.

“What’s your name?”

She turned, taking the stick from between her lips. Roger kept his eyes glued to the plump flesh momentarily despite the movement away from the area.

“That’s none of your business, Roger.” She smiled, a playful look set ablaze in her eyes.

He looked down, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“How do you know my name, then?” He questioned curiously, slanting his eyes and quirking a brow.

“Your band.” Her voice seemed softer, almost a fond tone set within it.

“You’ve seen us play?”

“Yeah, you guys are good.”

“You’re a fan then?”

She chuckled, looking to her feet.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

He laughed, nodding yet again.

They stayed together for some time, silently and mutually agreeing that enough had been said. They finished off their smokes, and with that, she turned to go.

“Bye, Roger.”

He bit his lip, feeling the sting shoot through him. He was conflicted on if to make a move, not wanting to diminish his confident and cool reputation he believed he had built for himself. He settled for shouting something along the lines of “will I see you around?” (which upon thinking back over it, maybe it wasn’t that cool), to which she only shrugged and kept walking.

He could hear the bottles loudly clanking together as she sauntered off, lord knows where to. He watched her go until she turned the corner, tossing one final look in his direction before continuing on, leaving him in deep thought.

-

“I’m telling you, mate, she was drop dead gorgeous. And I have no idea who she is, no name or anything!”

Brian rolled his eyes, tossing his notebook across the room onto the yellow sofa Roger was resting on, turning his full attention to his distraught friend.

“Well, did you ask her for her name?”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes in a similar manner to Bri. “Yes, I did. She said it was ‘none of my business’.” He scoffed, twirling a single drumstick between his fingers while tapping his foot repeatedly, annoying Brian to no end (per usual). The curly headed man only barked out a laugh, finding the entire situation quite humorous, if he was being honest.

“But she knew the band! Said that she thought we were good. S’ like she couldn’t make up her damn mind.” He grumbled, slumping forward.

“Wait, she knows the band?”

The drummer looked at him like he had two heads nodding slowly.

“Yeah, what about it?”

Brian stood up and sighed, grabbing his guitar and headed to the edge of the bar’s stage, resting behind the curtain briefly.

“You really are thick, Roger.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” He joined him by the curtain, noticing Tim had come up behind the pair.

“What’s all this about, then?”

“Nothing.” Brian and Roger replied in unison. Tim huffed, making his way onto the stage where the growing crowd was waiting. Cheers could be heard for the frontman as he introduced himself, saying something about how the rest of the band would be out in a second, and that they were just having some “sound issues”.

“Rog, if she’s a fan, she’s probably here tonight, yes?”

His eyes widened, and he suddenly began to feel quite dumb, not that he would admit it.

“Yeah, I suppose so…but she said she wasn’t a fan?” He trailed off, confused.

“She probably was just saying that for some reason. I don’t know, women are odd, they like to play hard to get.” Brian commented, oddly flippant for how conflicting his statement was.

Roger stood in place for a moment, still greatly confused what Brian was trying to get at. He shook his head and furrowed his brows, trying to put together the puzzle of this mess in his mind.

“Roger, for God's sake, don’t think about it, just go.”

Following his advice, Roger did his best to disregard any previous thoughts of confusion, a switch flipping in his mind. He stood taller, saying, “You know what Bri, maybe you’re right.”

“Great, go on then.” He watched as Roger bounded out with a newfound adrenaline and a smile plastered on his face, rolling his eyes for what wouldn’t be the final time that night at his bandmate’s antics.

As soon as he had made it behind his kit, he was scanning the crowded room, trying to locate the girl from last night. He watched the door throughout the performance, trying to see if she might have just come in a bit late. He held the hope she would somehow show up with him in his mind, but all to no avail.

The entire night, he couldn’t shake the thought of her lips from his mind, or the way the skin of her neck was so open and exposed, practically begging for him to attack it with his own lips. And with the way things were going thus far, he was sure that pretty face of her’s would be the death of him, he was certain, in fact.

“Find her?” Bri had questioned almost as soon as they had ended for the night, the lot of them now working on cleaning up.

“Nah. She never showed up.”

“I’m sorry, Rog. Maybe you’ll see her again soon, the campus isn’t that huge, you know.” Roger’s mouth formed a thin line as he raised his eyebrows, not convinced in the slightest that the situation proposed would occur.

“At this point I’m wondering if she’s even a bloody student here.” Roger grumbled, obviously no longer feeling the initial electric adrenaline of the night's performance.

Brian frowned, placing a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder and patting it once or twice before standing to go finish packing up.

It was later now, and the boys were finally leaving the bar, bidding their goodbyes to those around them. Roger walked out the front (in what Tim and Brian joked was a ‘moping manner’), hearing the bell jangle above his head, ringing annoyingly in his ear. The cold air hit him like an arctic breeze (or a ton of bricks, he wasn’t sure which description was more fitting). He shook his head and blinked a few times, as if that would rid his body of the frigid feeling. He sighed dramatically and pulled his corduroy jacket tighter around himself, watching as his breath made a small cloud in front of him.

“Roger?”

He turned, recognizing the voice immediately.

“Having a pity party, are you?” She giggled out, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“It’s only me, so no. Not a party.”

She “ahh”-d in understanding, her mouth forming into a sly grin. Her lips were a pale pink color that night, her eyes a bright blue shade. And similarly to the night previous, she was graced with only a brown fringed dress, her matching boots in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other.

“Then what would it be if I joined you?”

He stood in thought, tilting his head. “I think then, yeah, it would be a party.”

“Do you not get cold, ever?” He added after a beat of silence, observing her ill outfit choice for the frosty climate. She rolled her eyes, muttering out a brief “ha, ha.”

Roger couldn’t help but bite his lip, holding back a laugh.

“I do on occasion get a little bit chilly. But I like the feeling.”

He tilted his head, walking over to where she was leaning against the brick wall of the dive bar. He turned to face her, not that she noticed, putting his weight on the rough surface behind him.

“It makes me feel,” she hesitated, struggling to find the right word, although she felt it was right on the tip of her tongue.

“Alive?”

She finally met his eyes after what seemed like forever, softly nodding. To him, she looked like an angel in that moment, the street light so beautifully illuminating her locks like a halo around her. He reached a cautious hand forward, dragging it against her cheek, down to her bottom lip.

Her mind was screaming at her to leave while she still could, to somehow not fall in the mix of the infamous campus player that was Roger Taylor.

But her heart? Well, as cliche as it sounds, her heart was telling her to disregard any reasonable thoughts and just kiss the bastard, for God’s sake.

And if anyone knew Y/n Y/l/n, they knew that most times, she would listen to the latter mentioned, rather than the former. And so after several moments of unbearable silence, she decided she would. Catching on relatively fast, Roger took her flush against him, Y/n able to feel his breath fanning over her face.

She leaned forward with a small smile, placing her hands on either side of his face. Her eyes wandered to his plump and rosy lips, adrenaline pumping through her veins. But before she could make the final leap, so to say, Brian, of all people, called out her name in a confused nature, squinting, believing that it might have been his eyes deceiving him. The girl from his 9 a.m. lecture could not possibly be about to snog his bandmate.

Impossible.

Her eyes widened, head turning immediately when hearing her name fall from his lips.

“Brian, hey!”

“Wait, you two know each other?”

Ignoring Roger’s (panicked) question, Brian walked over, a look of amazement still prevalent in his features. She moved from Roger’s side over to Brian, giving him a side hug, Bri’s arm resting on her shoulders.

“I see you’ve met Y/n. She’s in my astronomy class.”

She smiled brightly as the neon signs lining the downtown district of bars and restaurants alike, meeting Brians gaze.

“Yup, got to love Dr. Martin’s lectures.” She chuckled, the tall man next to her doing the same.

Picking up on Roger’s absolutely bewildered appearance, still taking in the situation unfolding in front of him, Brian took the liberty of initiating another conversation.

“So, Y/n, did you see the show tonight?”

She frowned, crossing her arms.

“Wanted to, but no, got caught up in the library. I have my final for statistics on Thursday, or else I would have been there.” She locked eyes with Roger, giving him a soft smile. Suddenly changing her demeanor, she reached into her bag she always seemed to have with her, pulling out those cheap cigarettes and her Zippo. She lit one of the sticks, inhaling.

“In fact, I heard your drummer was incredible, so I thought I would try to see him in action tonight.” Her gaze never left Rogers as she conversed, her mouth pressed in a line, the rest of her face completely neutral.

“But you’ve seen us before Y/n, he’s been with the band for quite some time.”

“I mean, I wanted to see him with a fresh pair of eyes, a different perspective, I guess.”

Still mildly confused, Brain shook his head and muttered something like “Right, okay” to which Y/n softly smiled at before dropping the cigarette from her hand. Barefoot, she couldn’t reach down to step on it, have the sparks die out under her toes.

“Could one of you get that, please?”

Roger nodded immediately, his boot finding its way quickly, the toe of it making a circular motion. His eyes stayed on Y/n, as had hers before. And despite the bustling city around them, Hell, even despite Brian’s perplexed stare, it felt oddly intimate, as if they were locked onto each other’s view (not that they were complaining).

But they weren’t, as she proved mere seconds later, abruptly bidding them goodbye and heading the opposite direction.

The pair of boys watched her as she went, heads tilted and jaws dropped to where if their mothers were present, they would be scolded to “close their mouths before they catch flies in there!”.

“That’s her, you know.” Roger commented bluntly, slightly shaking his head and then popping his lip.

Brian took a moment, turning toward his friend, stuttering.

“As in, her, her? Y/n is mystery girl?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, well, good luck with that, Rog.”

“Why would I need that, Brian?” He challenged, putting his hands on his hips, lifting his chin. Brain kept his assumed position, moving his hand to scratch at his neck.

‘Well, I’m sure if you hang out around her enough, you’ll find out.”

Rather than shouting out at him, asking him what the Hell he meant, as he really wanted to, Roger paid Bri no attention, not even giving him a second look before under his breath saying “I’ll see you later”, and in what Brian considered to be a quite shocking turn of events, bolting off in the direction Y/n had gone.

He ignored the shouts from Brian, ignored the judgmental stares and loud whispers of those who recognized him from the band. He no longer cared about keeping his ‘cool reputation’, not when she was so close.

“Is that Roger Taylor?”, “Oi, isn’t that the drummer from the band at the pub?”, “Hey, why’s he buggin’ out?” all flooded his ears, usually followed by what seemed to be snickering, making a desperate attempt to cloud his mind from his self-assigned mission. But it was no use, as he was set on catching up to her. In fact, she was so close he swore he could smell the mixed scent that was uniquely her, smoke and her perfume.

He hollered her name, God, he yelled it till his throat was hoarse, just ‘cause he could. He loved the way it rolled off his tongue, he loved the fact he even had learned it to begin with, and that alone was probably why he adored it so much.

She heard his cries, turning where she stood and tilting her head.

“Roger? What on Earth are you doing?”

He finally met her, bent over on his hands and knees, breath lost in totality. She placed a concerned hand on his sweaty head, combing through his chocolate locks. He would have shivered at the feeling, if he had the energy. Rather, he looked up with the goofiest smile she’d ever seen, resembling a golden retriever, or german shepherd perhaps, in human form.

‘D’you wanna go somewhere with me? Hang out a bit?”

She nodded, holding out a hand.

“Lead the way.”

-

“Mom and Dad want me to be some kind of a scientist, study the stars.”

“Yeah? And what do you think about that.”

She tilted her head, shifting her position.

“I’m not quite sure. I wouldn’t be against it, that I know. The stars are beautiful, but they aren’t where my heart lies, I guess.”

He turned to face her, their noses almost touching. She could feel his breath fanning over her face, and the proximity sent butterflies through her stomach.

“I want to be an actress.” She all but whispered, turning her attention back to the full night sky and the wonders that hung in it.

“An actress, huh?”

She only hummed a confirmation, moving her left hand to pick at the cool grass under her palms.

“I could see that. You, I mean, on the big screens.”

She turned, and Roger swore he had never seen anyone smile so big before in his life.

“Really?”

His own smile grew, and she nodded vigorously, the two of them beginning to laugh. He pulled her closer by her shoulders, unaware of where the conversation would lead.

“I’ll go to New York. You’ll see me on billboards in Times Square.”

“Well, that’s nice to know. I’ll just be a lone dentist somewhere, while you forget all about me, having lavish parties and such. Whatever it is that famous people do.” His voice was obviously joking, melodramatic was written all over him, yet Y/n couldn’t help but still feel a sliver of guilt.

She hit his arm, rolling back over to face him. She still had a smile glued onto her lips, both of their eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“Oh, shut up, will you? Smile will make it big, and we’ll meet again, when you’re on tour. Or perhaps if I’m filming where you’re performing! We’ll have those nights to ourselves, It’ll be a secret rendezvous.”

She turned to her back again, finding his hand on the damp green, her heart beating a million miles a second as she reached for it, slowly entangling her fingers in his.

“The papers will write about us, Rog, when they find out. ‘Famous actress Y/n Y/l/n seen leaving a hotel with renowned drummer Roger Taylor’ is what the headlines will say. God, what a scene we’ll cause.” Her eyes were full of  excitement as she spoke, her heart feeling like it was so filled with glee that it could soar out of her chest.

“Well, I wanna know the specifics.” Roger sat up, pulling her up with him, she giggled, and the brunette wrapped a hand around her waist. She sat beside him, the streetlight by the backroad she had led them on illuminating her like a silhouette. She bit her lip and grinned, tilting her head up to better exam Rogers angelic features.

“Are you gonna have some bloke waiting for you at home, hmm? Waiting for you while you conquer the world, only for you to break his poor heart?”

“Nah.” Her answer was immediate, her eyes honest as she spoke. “Only a cactus. He’ll be my only friend. I hear it’s lonely in Hollywood, Roger.” He raised his eyebrows briefly at this, choosing his next words.

“You’ll have me?”

His head turned to look at her, admiring the way the pale moonlight illuminated her, the artificial light from the streetlamps not doing her neverending beauty and justice, in his opinion. Their eyes seemed sporadic, searching each other's faces for signs of what they were doing, possibly being wrong, but they found nothing, as expected.

The yearning had become all too much for the inspired pair, and it felt like at last, all they could do, the only thing they could do, was kiss.

So they did. Roger took her face in his hands, closing his beautiful eyes, his eyelashes barely brushing against hers. He leaned forward, joining them together, finding that they immediately moved in a perfect synchronization. They were like two sides of the same coin, and that seemed to be particularly evident in that moment. By the contrast of their lips, or perhaps the aspirations of their careers becoming somehow just a little bit clearer.

But it didn’t matter, none of it did. Not in the long run. So they pulled apart, chests heaving and faces painted with childish grins.

It was quiet then, only the crickets and the howling wind could be heard. But she liked it that way, preferred it, actually. So quiet, in fact, that Roger was able to fall fast asleep, Y/n lying comfortably in his arms. She stared at the stars, then back to his sleeping figure, her mind unable to come to a consensus on what on God's green Earth she was to do. 

She settled for placing a kiss on his jaw, closing her eyes. His eyes only fluttered, never waking completely. She muttered something like “See you, rockstar.” against it, before standing up and walking away, only turning back once to see his sleeping form one more time.

That was the last time for 6 years that he would see Y/n Y/l/n. See her in person, at least.

When he woke up the next morning, he was confused to say the least, wondering why Y/n didn’t wake him, mostly wondering where she had even gone. He looked around himself, patting the green grass beneath him, as if she somehow was invisible and he had missed her upon initial glance. He had shouted for her, his throat still hurting from when he did the same thing only 12 hours previous. 

He had felt out of control, like the one he had been chasing had just slipped through his fingers (which it had). He had remembered asking Bri, day after day, if he had seen her in class, even just seen her around in general. Everytime the answer was the same.

“No Roger”, “I’m sorry, Roger”, “Not today, Roger”. It was a horrible, predictable pattern, that he had enough of. He was supposed to recover from it quickly, bounce back from her almost immediately, as there was basically nothing to bounce back from.

But he couldn’t, and due to such reasons, he supposed he finally understood what Brian had said, or warned, that night before he had gone chasing after her. He got it, in his own sad way.

And over the years, she slowly faded to the back of the drummer's mind, behind groupies, and songs, and shows, and such, just for her to resurface again any time he saw her on a billboard, just as she had promised. But he never let it show, outwardly at least.

He had made Brian swear not to tell the others, never to breathe a word of it to Deaky or Fred. He was embarrassed by it, for some reason, and that’s why he guessed he forbade him from speaking of it. But how long can you keep a silly college secret from your nosy bandmates? Apparently 6 years, tops, for Roger Taylor.

“Alright, everyone. Gather ‘round, I’ve got a surprise.” Freddie had said, his grumbling bunch of friends tired from their day’s work. Though, they usually had grown to appreciate and look forward to Fred’s “surprises”, today everyone was just a tad bit too grumpy to try (a certain Roger Taylor in particular, let’s call it foreshadowing).

“Oh, stop your moaning and whining, please, I promise this will be good!” the eccentric frontman had said, something hidden behind his back in his left hand.

Rog ran a hand through his, now, blond hair, exhaling in such a way that made Freddie slant his eyes, before giving in and rolling them at his flippant behavior.

“What’s going on, Fred?” Brian had been the brave soul to ask, stepping forward and then looking away momentarily to place his guitar onto a stand waiting not so far away.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He replied, jumping down from his place on the risers, removing his hand from his back and holding out what seemed to be 4 tickets to something. He walked down the loosely formed line of men, putting one in each of their extended palms. Roger, at the end of their formation of sorts, became concerned when Brian had burst out laughing, looking to his right, being met with Roger’s face of confusion.

Freddie, possibly more confused than Roger, pressing the piece of thick paper into his hand, his gaze falling onto Brian, who now had tears in his eyes.

“Bri, what’s so… funny. Shit.” He had looked down to the slip, the only words he needed to read to know he was absolutely screwed, being “Jaws” and “Premiere”.

Now, anybody who knew anything, knew that Y/n Y/l/n was going to be in the film that was said to become the blockbuster of the summer, playing the role of Ellen Brody (though a few had said she was far too young for the job). She had been an overnight success in the film industry, gaining popularity from the 1973 film, ‘The Sting’, playing Billie.

And Roger had watched ‘The Sting’, and you can imagine his surprise when Y/n had sauntered onto screen, red lipped and fresh faced. (He had to admit, she looked great in a suit.)

After that, the assault on Roger’s fragile heart was never ending.

Billboards began to pop up even more frequently as she was to star in more films, and it seemed no matter where he was touring, he couldn’t escape her. Whether it was posters, her face printed on newspapers, adverts in about every place business was done for one of her films, he felt like he was being followed. He had even seen an article about her in a magazine, and when he had flipped the page he was greeted with Queen’s smiling faces.

He had stopped watching them after ‘American Graffiti’.

So, he figured that this one wouldn’t be any different, and he simply planned on ignoring said film until he caved, doing his best to avoid her on the silver screen and anywhere else, which hadn’t been too difficult until this point (not).

But this? This was a whole new level of being royally fucked.

“Brian, Rog, something you want to share with the rest of the class?” John had asked, cocking his head and propping his legs up on the coffee table in front of him. Brian began to speak, wrapping an arm around Roger’s shoulders, the shorter man looking up at him with angry fire burning in his eyes.

“Well, I’m honestly quite excited. The film industry has always seemed very intriguing, actually, and I’m looking forward to meeting new people. Rog?”

“No.”

“No?” John repeated, “No, what?” He waved a hand around, trying to understand what Roger’s problem was.

“I just- I don’t- I knew-”

“Roger had a fling with Y/n Y/l/n and she broke his heart.” Brain blurted out, Roger turning and immediately smacking him upside his curly head of hair. He regarded an “Ouch!” before him and the rest of the boys burst out laughing, the drummer not included in that demographic, fuming.

“Rog, darling, when was this? How did we not know?” Freddie managed to breathe out, sitting down next to Deaky on the studio sofa. He crossed his hands and ankles, his full attention turned towards Roger who really, really didn’t wanna have to do this, and who really, really was gonna get Brian back for this later. Would he untune all his guitars? Unplug his amp during rehearsals, perhaps put hair remover in his shampoo? But, that would have to wait until after he was forced to spill his 6 year secret.

“It was in 69-”

“69?!” Freddie had cried out. “It’s been 6 bloody years? And you didn’t think to tell us?”

“Well I didn’t really see a reason it would be necessary to tell you all! In fact, I probably wouldn’t have told you ever if this bloke didn’t have such a big mouth!”

“Hey, watch it.” Brian weighed in, crossing his arms and fluttering his eyes.

“Look, Roger I really don’t see the issue here. We go to the premiere, you just keep a low profile and ignore Y/n, problem solved.” John cut in, trying to be helpful.

Keyword: trying.

“And how exactly will I do that?”

“We will behave, I promise.” Freddie added, though Roger seemed to be having a difficult time believing him or his claim for the others. So Roger only scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.”

-

Cameras were flashing brightly, reporters and such were shouting loudly, and Y/n was already exhausted.

Her red lips were painted like DeAngelo had done it himself, and her hair was styled just the way she liked. The heels she was wearing per request of her stylist, though, were horrible. They looked lovely, yes, but they were digging into her poor ankles, and she still had to wear them for who knew how long. She didn’t complain, though, she wouldn’t dream of it.

She would just continue her slow walk down the carpet, a sultry smile on her face. The black fabric of the gown she was wearing fit her beautifully, snug in all the right places.

She sure hoped it was, at least. Especially because she knew that he would be there.

Roger Taylor, the blessed drummer that managed to make a home in the backburner of her mind, his success coming as no surprise to the actress. She had loved every one of their records, and rather than running from his work like Roger had, she opted for going straight to the record shop, purchasing any and every Queen album in her sight. When she had checked out, the very shocked cashier had made some remark, asking something about “you a fan?”

She had thought about it for a moment, thinking back to all those years ago when Roger had asked the same thing. She smiled, shrugging.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

So when she had worked up the courage to invite the entire band to the premiere (on behalf of Spielberg, of course) she was a nervous wreck to find out they had accepted. Really, ask anyone who had any contact with her in the time from then to the premiere, they could testify that her moodiness had risen like a hot air balloon.

Now, though, she was kind of regretting that she had invited them, looking over to the sharp looking bunch, all dressed to the nines. She scanned her eyes over them, catching a wave from Brian, which she gladly returned with an enthusiastic smile. Bri then tapped Roger on the shoulder to alert him of Y/n’s acknowledgment, which resulted in Y/n’s eyes widening to the size of moons.

She turned her head, and worked to finish up her walk of the carpet just a tad bit faster. It all seemed to be for nothing, though, as in the dark of the theater for the premiere itself, she saw the seat next to her be filled, a presence filling her senses.

“Miss me?”

-

Their hands were all over each other, not truly caring if the tabloids caught a glimpse, just needing to make up for lost time.

They had stumbled into the golden hotel both her and Queen were staying in, the swinging doors of the New York establishment blowing a cool gust of wind in their direction.

They merely laughed at the minor interruption, their teeth clashing as they both smiled momentarily. It was soon forgotten, though, both of them having much more pressing matters in their minds.

They only came to a cease in the elevator, some old couple who most definitely did not care about whatever pressing issue the two of them felt they had, standing off to the side. (Y/n could swear she saw the older woman smirk and wink at her, to which she cocked her head and smiled.)

Once back into the safe confines of Y/n’s suite, they resumed like they had never even stopped, hands gravitating towards the others form as if they were opposite magnets, unable to be separated for too long.

“You’ve driven me crazy, you know that, right? “

She giggled and bit her lip, looking up into his eyes, their foreheads pressed together.

“Mmm? I’d hope so.”

He pulled away, shaking his head, blond locks following suit.

“Really, you have no idea. I haven’t been able to shake you from my head. You’re everywhere.”

Her excitement could barely be contained at his confession of sorts, chest heaving, trying to stay calm.

“Yeah, that was the plan.”

Roger shook his head with a dry chuckle, looking to his feet and back to her when she had tilted his head up, her finger resting on his jaw.

“Well, are you into it?” She questioned, grabbing his hand and pulling their clasped fingers in between their chests, her eyes hazy with hope.

“Yeah.” He titled his head, feigning a pondering look. “You could say I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut it!”

“Make me.”

She rolled her eyes at his stupidly provocative suggestion, and he only laughed, the two of them falling onto the plush comfort of the bed in a meshed flurry for the remainder of the night.

And if you couldn’t guess what could have possibly happened next, the black dress ended up in a pooled up pile next to the bed that night, right next to the heels that finally she had the pleasure of discarding.

The next morning, it was unlike the one 6 years ago, as when Roger woke up, he was overjoyed to find a sleeping Y/n, laying on his chest with hair splayed around her. And he had to say, he usually wasn’t much of a cuddler, but for some reason he felt so incredibly endeared, that anything else wouldn’t have sufficed.

He ran small circles on the exposed skin of her bare shoulder, the comforter concealing the rest of her limbs that were tangled up with Roger’s.

When she stirred, Roger sat up, fondly watching as her eyes fluttered open and her tongue ran across her dried lips, still carrying a hint of last night's red pigment. She looked next to her, her eyeline matching up with the covered skin of Roger’s lap.

She sighed, shifting her head to rest on his thighs as her feet dangled off of the bed. One of Roger’s hands came up to softly massage the top of her head, the other against the headboard, behind his neck. She stared at the ceiling, an unreadable expression creeping its way to her features.

“We were jacked up last night.” Roger’s voice cut through the silence they shared, deeper in the late morning than she had heard before.

“Correction, you were jacked up.”

“Whatever.”

They laughed, silence soon taking over once again. Roger sighed, closing his ever tired eyes.

“Are we gonna pay for this?”

She scoffed, inhaling deeply before reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing her carton of cigarettes. He noticed they were the same brand from college, a small smile making its way to his face at the thought.

She first lit hers, then lighting a second one for the man occupying her king sized bed (though she wasn’t even slightly upset by this, quite the opposite). She handed it to him, sticking her own between her lips and sitting up, straddling where her head had been minutes before.

She leaned forward, so close their noses were to the point where they were nearly touching. She took the cigarette from her lips, blowing the smoke to the left of Rog in the direction of the large balcony overlooking Times Square. She turned her attention back to him, though it had never really left, tilting her head.

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” The answer came immediately, no careful consideration or pondering needed.

“Right.” She removed herself from him, standing and taking the sheet with her, letting it cover her like a renaissance dress. She walked over to the balcony, leaning against the frame of the double doors. She took another drag, an adoring smile spreading across her face.

“Then there’s your answer.”

She paused, Roger tilted his head, his brows lifting.

“Of course we will.”

✺🎬✺

“You feeling alright, love?”

Those soft words from your boyfriend mere feet away on a nearby living room chair took you out of your mind for the first time in a while. You and your partner Ben were spending the Sunday of your weekend off simply lazing around the apartment, him spending his time reading a book he recently picked up, and you not quite sure what to do, so you sat on the couch rewatching an old show as you mindlessly scrolled through various apps, needing desperately to be stimulated by different things all at once.

“What do you mean?” You asked, not quite sure what he noticed about you that you hadn’t.

“Your leg’s been bouncing a mile a minute, love” He said, lightly chuckling as he did, unsure if you’d even noticed you were doing. Which you had, kind of, though it wasn’t something you were doing consciously.

“Yeah, tends to happen, have you not noticed it before?” You questioned, as it was something that happened most of the time if you were sitting, and if you were standing it would change to fiddling with the hem of your shirt, or sleeves if they were long enough. He knew you got restless because of your ADHD, it wasn’t anything new in your life, or relationship for that matter as you two have been dating for nearly three years, and friends for years before that.

“Of course I have, it tends to happen more though when you’re having bad days or haven’t taken your meds. Have you?” He asked genuinely, knowing how difficult it can be to cope without them.

“No, the pharmacy was out when I went to refill the other day, should be in soon though.’ You said, leg’s bouncing more as your brain filtered out all the other stimuli you had going on to talk to him.

“Any way you’d like me to help, love?” He said, moving from his seat on the chair to sitting right next to you, one arm around your shoulder, his hand of the other softly caressing your thigh, still bouncing but less so once he started to sooth you. He softly placed a kiss on your cheek, resting his forehead on the side of your head, his breath softly hitting your face.

“No idea, but if you can think of anything, I’m all ears” You said, a bit shaky and shy. He’s always had the same effect on you, surprising given all the time you’ve known each other, but that’s the Ben Hardy charm you suppose.

“Well,” He started, his voice low and soft in your ear, “I do remember one thing that helped…” He trailed off.

“Yeah? And what was that?” You asked, though really, you had a good idea of what he had in mind, based on his voice and how he wouldn’t out right say it.

“I seem to remember the last time this happened, we found a way for you to stim that was enjoyable for the both of us.” He said softly, his head moving down to place soft kisses along your neck and shoulders.

“How about we get more comfy in our room, yeah?” He suggested, taking your hand and motioning his head to the bedroom you two shared down the hall. You nodded in agreement, and he stood before helping you up, only to pick you up bridal style and carry you there, the door already barely ajar so he just had to push his back against it before walking in sideways so you both could fit.

“I’ll never understand how you do that without a problem every time.” You stated as he laid you onto the bed, before putting on some romantic instrumental music, knowing you needed sound for this to truly be effective. He took his shirt off before joining you on the bed, where he helped you take off your pajama pants as you took off the shirt you were wearing, an old tee of his you had grabbed from the dresser the night before. As soon as that shirt was tossed to the floor, Ben began kissing all over your torso, his lips only leaving your body to say sweet nothings that mean everything. Your fingers tangled in his hair, needing something to do and that seeming like the perfect thing for it. His hands traveled all over your body, caressing and squeezing and just overall trying to show you he finds you perfect. As his hands moved along your body, so did his lips, slowly making their way to their end goal, his tongue gently licking between your folds as his hands settled around your thighs. He knew he had to properly warm you up before you took control in order for this to work, so he gently built up your desire for it, softly licking and swirling his tongue around your clit, flicking ever so softly left to right, all of his moves precisely calculated so you feel them, but just barely, not wanting to build up too fast. Your hands began twirling his hair even faster, so he could tell you were ready to start.

“You ready, love?” He asked, needing confirmation, which you quickly gave with a nod and a soft “yeah”, prompting him to turn and lay on his back, your body adjusting so he had the room to get comfortable before his hands rested on your thighs once more, signaling for you to climb on top of him, your wet pussy hovering over him as you leaned forward to hold the headboard for balance before you slowly lowered yourself onto his mouth, his lips and tongue instantly working you just how he knew you liked it. You soon began moving your hips to where it felt good, the movement relieving the nervous energy pent up in you as you slowly let go, the sounds of the music filling your brain as you bucked your hips back and forth, your hands soon tangling in his hair, not to pull or direct him, but simply to play with, the soft strands of hair twirling and tangling between your fingers, the texture helping you focus on the pleasure he was giving you, his mouth following your hips as they moved as you needed them to, his lips sucking and tongue flicking your clit in the patterns he’s learned you love, his tongue strength of doing this for so long for you showing as he just kept going and going, hardly needing breaks and having perfected managing to breath through his nose during this.

You were completely lost in this, pleasure coursing through you as you simply existed through this. He was helping you get overstimulated in the best way, the mix of the music and the way you moved your hips and played with his hair all while he went down on you, it helped tire you out better than imagined. You’d think your mind would wander too easily, but he provided just enough stimulation so that wasn’t a problem. So much so, in fact, you could feel your orgasm slowly building, the frantic movement of your hips and whimpers telling Ben he needed to keep that same rhythm, and he doesn’t disappoint. His hands grip tighter on your thighs, his tongue going harder but the same pace, pushing you over the edge as you unravel above him, your hands moving back from his hair to the headboard, gripping hard as you moaned and slowed your hips, everything having tired you out, your nervous energy now turned to post-orgasm bliss.

Ben slowly moved out from under you, kneeling up to help you lay down, his hands on your waist and thighs as he did so, knowing your thighs had to be sore after all of that, and your shallow, slow breathing an indicator that this worked. As you relaxed, he laid there next to you, arms around you as you came down, eyes closed with your head resting on his chest, an arm draped over his torso. Your hand drifted further down though, where just as suspected, you could feel his hard-on, though he quickly took your hand in his.

“Did you want any help with that, hon?” You asked, looking sweetly up at him with those eyes he never could resist.

“No, love, it’ll pass, I only did that for you and your pleasure.” He said with a chuckle, giving your hand a squeeze as he brushed his thumb along yours. “But if it doesn’t and you get your energy back up, we’ll see” He said sweetly, placing a delicate kiss on your forehead before taking your jaw in his hand, tilting it up ever so slightly before connecting his lips with yours.

“I love you, baby” You said once the kiss was done, it just feeling right to say.

“I love you too, sweetheart” He agreed, placing one last kiss on your forehead once more before settling into a post-sex nap with you.

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @thewinchesterchronicles @queen-irl-af @deacytits @the-holy-black-hole @radiobribri @deaky-deacy-denky @queenbbarnes @brianprobablywill @nyikondlovu @thatswhatiam-lovernotafighter @drowseoftaylor @johndeaconshands

BEN TAGLIST: @littleliv1

2021 it’s ending. Joe’s in London, again with his dear friend Benjamin. They had some regular FaceTimes but that wasn’t enough. They need some "real life" meeting.

One morning, the friends are drinking coffee to try to defeat the coldness of that day. They are in a little table, away from the windows, trying to not be caught for a pap.

-Ben, you should tell me why I brought a 70s outfit. What’s going on? -Joe asks, drinking a bit of his coffee. He leaves the cup on the table carefully.

Ben smiles cheekily.

-Oh it will have a 70s party in a few days and well…

-GREAT!! Will be fun!!- Joe exclaims.

-Of course!!

-You will not escape from my swing- Joe replies, moving like he’s dancing.

Ben cheeks start to flush and aren't for the warmth of the cafeteria. He smiles shyly.

-C’mon dude!! It’s our moment TO SHINE!! -Joe replies, emphasizing “to shine” and moving his hands like they made together a half circle.

Ben sighs.

-Okay okay- Ben replies.

------------

It’s a cold night in London. Everyone are with their 70s outfit, waiting for their entrance. Joe and Ben are there too. Not only their outfit it’s 70ish, but also their hairstyle it’s 70ish.

Already there, they find a nice place to sit, and they ask the barman for some drinks. The music has already started. Joe can’t resist going to the dance floor. He drinks a big sip of his drink and runs to the dance floor. Ben's shy to dance there, at least for now, so he’s contemplating his friend dancing. Joe it’s having a blast dancing on the dance floor and the surrounding people it’s watching him with attention. Slowly, he starts to be the soul of the party. The people are following him. So, Ben feel that's the moment to join to the fun. Until…

-Well, I see that everyone it’s having fun here! -the presenter says. The crowd yells happily.

-We will do a little dynamic here. Eight couples will compete to be the Dancing Queens/Kings. Be ready, I will call eight couples soon! -The presenter said, leaving the dance floor. The music restarts. Joe starts come back to his barstool, to take some rest. A man stops him.

-Hey, nice moves man! -the mysterious man says.

-Thank you so much.

The man walks away from Joe and disappears between the people.

Joe reached the seat, where’s Ben waiting for him.

-See? -Joe says, finishing his drink. He slammed the glass on the bar. -Another one please -Joe asks the barman. He sits in his barstool.

-You saw that man, no?

-Yes.

-He complimented my dancing skills - Joe says.

-He was on point. You were on fire, man! -Ben exclaims.

-Thank you. You must join!

-Yeah, but not near you. I don’t wanna act awkward -Ben replied, shyly.

The barman leaves the drink to Joe. He takes it.

-Remember that was your idea to come here. -Joe says, pointing to Ben.

-I know! And I’ll go to dance- Ben replies, watching to his friend’s eyes.

-We can go now -Joe says, taking Ben right arm and drinking his drink. He leaves it on the bar. Then, he starts to walk to the dance floor, and Ben don’t resist it, just shrugs and smiles.

Joe starts to be “awkward” again and Ben follows, feeling a bit embarrassed. Again, Joe starts to be one of the most enthusiast dancers in the dance floor. He sees that a man follows him, and he’s also having a blast. The three dances together intensely at the rhythm of “Hot Stuff” by Donna Summer.

After some songs, the mysterious man comes closer to Joe.

-Thanks- he whispers.

-Welcome -Joe says, meanwhile the man disappear between the people. Another song starts and the people it’s acting normal again.

-You saw this, Ben? -Joe asks, talking near to Ben’s left ear.

-That stranger again? Yes. He’s in love.- Ben jokes.

-Really? -Joe says, continuing the joke.

Both men started to leave the dance floor to rest in their barstools. They’re walking at the same pace, together.

-Of course, you have to invite him to dance with you. -Ben says.

-No, you will dance with me in the competition!

-No man, this was enough exposition… -Ben added, shaking a bit his head.

-Ben!

-You know me…

They were near to their barstools, when they saw a man occupying Ben’s one.

Ben touches the man’s shoulder softly.

-Man, please, it’s our place… -Ben says. He notices that the man it’s drinking something similar to Ben- and I think you’re drinking my drink.

The man turns right to watch the men.

-I asked for it, someone else drank it -the man says, drinking. He leaves the glass on the bar.

Joe made his connections. It’s the man that danced with Ben and him some minutes ago.

-You’re the man that danced with us… Joe, nice to meet you -Joe says, extending his hand.

-John De… emmm John. -the man replies, shaking Joe’s hand.

The handshake ends. Joe’s mind recognize who’s the man, despite his wig and glasses.

-Wait a minute… You’re… -Joe says, scratching his head with his right hand and pointing to the man with his left index.

-Yes, I am. Nice to meet you Joe.- John says. He turns right to see Ben- Nice to meet you Ben -John continued, extending his right hand.

Ben shakes his hand, surprised.

-World’s tiny -Joe says, sitting in his barstool.

-Indeed- John adds, turning left to watch Joe’s face and drinking his drink.

The three of them had a nice time chatting and drinking for some hours, until the music lowered its volume suddenly.

-Well, now it’s time to dance!! -the presenter exclaims.-I need eight couples, quickly!

Joe takes John’s hand suddenly and they run to the dance floor.

They come just in time, they’re the seventh couple.

When the couples are ready and the other people left the dance floor, the presenter starts to talk again.

-Well, these couples will dance now and compete to win the prize!! Mister DJ, let’s go! Couples, dance!! -The presenter says, leaving the dance floor. The people yell excited.

The music started. It was Dancing Queen.

The couples start to dance. Joe and John starts to move, and captivates the attention of the people. Joe shows his dancing skills, thanks to all those years in his mum’s dance company, and John remembered his old dance steps. They exude charisma and fun. They’re having a great time, being themselves (a bit thanks to the alcohol). Ben yells excited when the couple makes a great movement.

The song ended. The presenter returns.

-Well, how they were?? -he asks.

The people yells.

The presenter started to name to each couple, when he says “Couple 7”, the entire place is full of excited yells.

-Okay I think that…

The presenter extends the mic to Joe

-Joe- the redhead says.

-and… -the presenter says, extending the mic to John

-John

-... are the Dancing Kings!!

The people it's applauding. Some ladies come with bouquets and crowns. John’s wig moved a bit when the lady put the crown over John’s head. John accommodates it again.

They pose for a pic.

-The price it’s a free supper in one of the most important restaurants! -the presenter says to the people.- And remember, the pics of this night will be in our Instagram account in the next few days.

John’s mind is like “ooops, I’m giving some news to the fandom, bye-bye privacy” but quickly that thought is replacing for “okie, the fandom knows that Joe and I are fine and we met, and that makes me happy”.

After all the fanfare, the presenter gives to Joe the prize and they comeback to their bar stools. The men leaves the crowns and the bouquets on the bar and the barman invited them a round.

-Free food and free drinks… look what you lost, Benny… -Joe says, hugging John with his left arm. John laughs and hugs him with his right arm. Ben laughs too.

-Well but you danced with a legend… -Ben says- that’s something that you will tell to your kids someday…

-Exactly -Joe adds, hugging John tighter.

Joe not only met Ben, but also John. And they had one of the best nights of their lives. Thanks to the party. Thanks to dance.

------------

if you enjoyed this fic, leave a like and/or a reblog! Thanks in advance for the support!

Donna left the end of that weekend grateful to have spent time with her sister. And you felt equally as grateful to have gotten some bonding time before the holidays rolled around.

You and Brian continued your charade until before long it was time to leave for your family’s house. There was a plethora of Christmases where you didn’t want to go back home for the holidays or even want to celebrate the ‘happiest time of the year’ at all. But this Christmas… this one took the fruitcake.

The night before you left you didn’t get a wink of sleep. You often chalked it up to the fact that your cat was not present (having been put in a kennel earlier that day) and the subsequent lack of him in your bed. But you knew deep down that it was because, this time, you would be coming home with a boyfriend. A fake one.

That seemed to scare you more than you thought it should. If they didn’t believe you or if they found out, you would NEVER be able to live it down. And then there was Brian.

He was too kind and sweet and caring and goofy to you. He treated you better than you deserved. Sometimes you didn’t think it was real. Brian was your best friend and you knew that you could always depend on him. If anything ever happened to jeopardize that, you didn’t know what you’d do.

The two of you left in the mid-morning on the 21st, Brian picking you up and getting breakfast along the way. It took a few hours but you got to your parents’ house by mid-afternoon. Even though you jammed to cassettes the whole way there, your nerves still wracked your body.

7 days at your parents’ house in the English country and 7 days at his. Two weeks. You could do two weeks.

Finally the two of you arrived at your family’s big country house, pulling up in front of the large property. Brian put the car in park and turned off the engine. He reached to unbuckle his seatbelt in the now silent car but you grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“Brian, we don’t have to do this,” you looked him right in the eye.

He coughed out a chuckle. “What?”

“We can turn around right now. I can just say I got sick,” you reached to turn the ignition but he shooed your hands away.

“We’ve come this far and you want to turn around?” Brian questioned. You nodded emphatically. “Oh, come on now. I’m ready and you’re ready.”

“No, Brian,” you let out a panicked breath. This was such a bad idea. You should have just been honest with them from the beginning. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“We’re basically at the front door,” he turned in his seat. “We can’t go back now.”

“Watch me,” you reached for the ignition again.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Brian grabbed your hand and held it. “We’re here. It’s going to be alright.”

You looked out the windows nervously for any sign that your parents or siblings had seen you arrive. “How can you be so sure?”

“I’m not.” Brian fiddled with your fingers and kissed the back of your hand, stirring up butterflies again. “But there’s only one way to find out.”

And with that, he unbuckled his seatbelt, opened his car door and went straight to the trunk, making sure that his keys were in his pocket. You jumped out after him. He was smart. Leaving the vehicle before you could object further… 

He opened the latch and was beginning to take out the luggage. “Brian, I mean it. We can still leave. No one’s seen-”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” His green-eyed gaze was fixed on the front door.

“Y/N’S HOME!!”

“Y/N’S HOME!!” Donna exclaimed, throwing the door open. Her voice echoed down the driveway. She was clad in a Christmas jumper that your mum had made for you, your brother, and your sister a few years back. Mum always insisted that you wear it for at least one day when you visited. As per her request, it was folded neatly at the bottom of your luggage.

“It’s too late,” you whispered to yourself. “If we regret this, it’s not my fault.”

“We’ll be okay,” Brian put an arm around you and you leaned lazily into the hug.

“Y/n! My baby!” That was mum. Although your mum was loud at times, you loved her a lot. Your mother hustled from the front door clad in a loudly patterned apron, which itself was covered in flour and sugar. 

“This doesn’t seem too bad,” he mused to you.

You looked at him from the side of your eyes. “Oh, just you wait.”

You took Brian’s hand and moved to meet them in the middle. Your sister practically jumped on you and knocked you over when she gave you a hug; the two of you tumbled as you hit the ground in a burst of laughter. Brian and your mother both rushed to help the two of you up.

“Hey, Brian,” Donna gave him a friendly hug. “So did she drive you crazy on the way here?”

“Absolutely bonkers.” He teased. You scoffed and bumped him with your shoulder.

“Hi, mum.” You moved to embrace your mother and she pulled you into a bone crushing hug. She held you at arms length. 

“I missed you so much.” She gushed. Her fingers moved to hold your face. You couldn’t help your smile. 

“It’s only been like a month and a half.” You laughed at her emotions.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t miss my daughter!” Your mother exclaimed. “Of course your father misses you too! I tried to get him to take work off today to come greet you two but you know him!” Unfortunately, you did. She rubbed your arms soothingly, turning her attention to Brian. “Now... introduce me to this strapping young man!”

You rolled your eyes but, deep down, it was your stomach that was really rolling. “Mum, this is Brian, my boyfriend.” That word still felt weird.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Brian,” she said as he extended his hand for her to shake. Your mother brushed his hand aside and pulled him into a tight sweet hug. Brian took it with a chuckle. “You don’t need to be formal with me. If you’re good enough for Y/n, you’re more than good enough for me.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Y/l/n,” he replied politely. Brian put an arm around your shoulders for emphasis. You wrapped your arms around his waist.

“Please, call me ‘Y/m/n.’” She froze all of a sudden. “Wait a second… is this the Brian from university?!” Your mum turned to you.

“Yes,” you smiled at your mom, “that’s where we met.”

“Oh my heavens! I remember you talking about Brian!” Your mother excitedly recalled. Uh-oh… 

You laughed nervously and feigned forgetfulness. “What? I don’t think I remember-”

“I do!” She insisted. “You were her best friend.”

“I’d like to think I still am,” Brian replied. “I’m honestly surprised she didn’t run for the hills the moment I opened my mouth.”

Your mother chuckled, “Nonsense! I can see why she said you were so charming. And I remember one time she called me and said that she thought she fancied-”

“OKAY MUM!” Donna cut her off. Brian gave you and her a confused look. Thank God for Donna… “Don’t we have something in the oven?”

“Oh, good heavens! You’re right! Donna will show you to your room.” She turned and ran back inside. “JAMES!” She screeched. “HELP YOUR SISTERS AND BRIAN WITH THE LUGGAGE!”

There was grumbling from inside the house and you steeled yourself for the arrival of your brother. You turned to face Brian quickly as the two of you went back to the car to grab your bags. “I apologize in advance for anything that he says.”

“I can handle it.” He assured you. “I’ve already heard snippets of his typical vocabulary. I’ll be okay.”

As if on cue your brother materialized in the doorway looking classy as ever in an old pair of denim trousers and a stained t-shirt. He tiredly hobbled over, giving Brian a strange look as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You must be Brian,” James grumbled out. He looked him up and down suspiciously. “I see my sisters weren’t lying about you.”

“I am very much real. Were you expecting a bloke that looked like me? Perhaps less poodle-ish,” Brian called out, trying to lighten the mood up a little bit as he pulled another suitcase from the trunk.

Your brother hummed, unsatisfied, and finally looked at you. “You brought him.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t lying,” you said, cocking your head up proudly.

James hummed again, eyeing your, unbeknownst to him, fake boyfriend. Brian leaned against the car, having unloaded the last of the luggage, nodding a greeting at your brother.

“We’re definitely dating,” you urged. You stood next to Brian and he kissed the side of your head, while you stared down James.

James hummed a third time, oddly quiet. He glanced between you and Brian as if trying to see through the ruse. You were getting nervous.

“Yeah,” your brother stared right through you, “we’ll see about that.”

You, Brian, and Donna fidgeted nervously, not quite sure how to respond to what he said.

You cleared your throat and attempted to diffuse the tension. “Is this any way to greet your sister?”

He gave you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes and a half-assed hug. Ah, yes, the depth of your brother’s affection… 

Brian and James went to work grabbing the luggage wordlessly. You grabbed one of your bags and walked arm-in-arm with Donna. The two of you shared a look as you went inside and up the stairs.

“Here you go, lovebirds.” James half-tossed the luggage into his old room. 

So this was where your mum had placed the two of you… It was the quietest and most isolated room in the house. Sitting above the garage, in the corner of the second floor, it was hard to disturb anyone with noise especially since the other two rooms on the floor were a decent distance away.

You wouldn’t have minded the space so much if the bed wasn’t a full-size and Bri wasn’t such a tall man.

“Are…” you started, “we sharing?” You hadn’t prepared for this. You couldn't even look at Brian. 

You hadn’t counted on this being a part of the deal. And, of course, neither had Brian. God… you should have asked! At the very least to prepare yourself… To prepare Brian. You felt a pit forming in your belly. 

“Yep,” he responded. “Mum figured the two of you would want to stay in the same area during your stay.”

“She and dad were okay with that?”

James leaned against the doorway. Donna stood behind him sheepishly. She had left that part out conveniently during the phone calls. “Mum was insistent. Dad put up more of a fight. They agreed though eventually.”

You looked at him with your mouth ajar, much like a fish. “Oh.”

“Is that going to be an issue?” James looked you and your fake boyfriend in the eye, a challenge.

Brian jumped to action. “Not at all. Thank you, James.”

He gave a tight-lipped smile and walked away with his arms crossed. You waited to hear his footsteps go down the creaky stairs before tearing into Donna.

She lowered her voice with her arms outstretched in front of her. “Before you yell at me, I didn’t know how to tell you. There are ears everywhere.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You couldn't have mentioned that? Like at all?”

“I’m sorry!” She whisper-yelled. “What would you have wanted me to do? Say that the two of you shouldn’t share a room? It’ll be easier to communicate with the both of you in the same space. Could you imagine being separate for a week while you try to pull this off?”

You supposed she was right. “No, no. You’re right.” You took a deep breath and changed your tone of voice so the rest of the house could hear you. “Thank you, Donna. I think we’re going to nap.”

She matched your tone. “Of course! I’ll let the two of you get settled in!” You mouthed a ‘thank you’ at her before she closed the door behind her and skipped away.

And then there were two.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Br- What are you doing?”

Brian was setting up his luggage next to the loveseat in the room and had found the spare blankets from the closet. He was making a bed on the couch. If he thought he was taking the couch, you’d be damned.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re making my bed, how kind of you! But really I’m the host so I must insist that you leave your accommodations to me, Mr. May.” You grabbed the spare pillow out of his hand and kicked his bag toward the bed. You began lugging your bag close to the couch. Brian stuck his foot out and stopped the bag.

“‘Your’ bed? I’m taking the couch.” He gently grabbed your bag and chucked it onto the bed. Your jaw dropped.

“No, Brian. I’m taking the couch. You’re too tall for it.” It was true. You could fit the couch much more comfortably than he could.

“Ah, but you see, as your boyfriend,” you rolled your eyes goodnaturedly, “I must be chivalrous and relinquish the bed to my beloved.”

“You’re being an ungrateful guest,” you countered.

He winced. “Low blow.”

“I’m not above it.” Brian snatched the pillow back and began rubbing his hair on it. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Staking my claim,” he answered, matter-of-factly. His hair was a static-y mess. As if to prove his point he tossed his body haphazardly onto the couch and sprawled out, limbs and all. “This is mine.”

“You act like you laying on top of something is going to deter me in any way.” You laughed at his logic. “Being on the couch does not mean it is suddenly uninhabitable.”

“It does.” He pointedly stretched his limbs out more. “Watch me.”

“This argument is going nowhere.”

“I agree. Which is why you should just let me take the couch.”

“What if we-”

A knock on the door sounded. Brian shot up and the two of you tossed the blankets and pillow haphazardly on the bed. You answered the door with Brian hovered closely behind you.

James. He had a smirk on his face. How much of the conversation had he heard?

“Yes?” you asked through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know if I mentioned it or not but I thought I’d be thorough and tell you that this room gets rather cold in the winters. The garage isn’t insulated and neither are the walls that this room shares with it.”

“Oh, really?”

“I mean, you’re already sharing a bed so that’ll help but you might want to grab some extra blankets on top of that. Perhaps a second bed’s worth.” He peeked in to see the mound of blankets on the bed. “But it looks like the two of you have already figured that out.”

You chuckled dryly. “Yep. Thanks for the pointer.”

James hummed a laugh. “Anytime.” And like the asshole he was he sauntered away humming a Bob Dylan song. You pushed the door closed and rested your forehead on it.

“We could switch nights?” You offered. Brian knew you better than that; of all the sensations that you hated (fatigue, hunger, headache, etc.) being cold was what you loathed the most.

“Or we could just share the bed like they suspect us to…” He suggested. You looked at him. He didn’t seem to be pulling your leg.

“You wouldn’t be uncomfortable with that?” Your fingers picked at the ends of your hair.

Brian had his hands on his hips. “Not at all. Unless you would be.”

You looked him in the eye and then to the floor, your arms crossed. “I’m fine with it.”

“I guess we’ll share it then,” he affirmed.

“Yep.” You popped the ‘p.’

The two of you looked at the surrounding room and its four walls. The couch. The bed. The windows. Anywhere but each other. This was real. All the time you had pretended to be dating before you got to your parents house suddenly felt like dress rehearsals. This. This was real. And things were different.

This was showtime.

“Well, then,” Brian filled the silence. “Now that it’s settled why don’t we set up the room? We did tell them we were taking a nap. We can get settled a little bit.” 

You nodded.

“I’ll do the bed if you do the closet?”

You nodded wordlessly again and took a deep breath before kicking off your shoes and opening the closet. You heard Brian take off his coat and toss it onto the couch. You set yours on top of his and reminded yourself to put in the coat closet downstairs by the front door.

As promised you began hanging some of your items and with Brian’s permission began helping him with his. The bathroom that was conjoined to the room soon had your various shampoo, tooth brushes, and regular hair brushes strewn across the counter top and among the shelves in the shower.

Amongst the thoughts of how absolutely spoiled rotten James had been up here while you and your sister had to share a smaller room was another more alarming notion. As you put yours and Brian’s shoes down on the floor of the closet and split the drawers between the two of you your mind drifted to the small part of it that realized how naturally it looked, how naturally it felt to have the items in the same space. To have Brian’s giant shoes next to yours. To have his various hair brushes that resembled Medieval torture devices right next to your own weapons of choice. To dance and bustle about a small space in a rhythm so natural that an onlooker would swear it was rehearsed.

“You’ve been awfully pensive,” Brian snapped you out of your stupor as you pulled a dress of yours onto a hangar and set it on your side of the closet trying to move in such a way that maybe you’d forget your hands were shaking and maybe Brian wouldn’t notice your hands shaking. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“I…” you took a breath. You didn’t really know what to say. Instead you just turned and let yourself fall onto the couch back first and stared up at the blank ceiling. “This is really happening.”

“Hey.” Brian appeared into view as we walked to you and looked down. “Are you alright?”

You finally made eye contact with Brian and shook your head. Trying to will your tears back into your ducts with the help of good old-fashioned gravity you stared back up at the ceiling again.

Brian rushed to crouch at your side. “Woah, woah, woah. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

You turned to face him and sat up so that he could sit next to you on the couch. “No, it wasn’t you. I’m just overwhelmed. I still can’t believe I’m in this mess. That my family sees so much of my value in my relationships and not me. That it went this far. That I actually care so much about what they think even though I shouldn’t. That I dragged you into this.”

Brian hummed in understanding and pulled you into a hug. “Well, first of all, you didn’t drag me into this. I body slammed myself into this. You didn’t even really need to ask me to help you; if anything I dragged you into this. Remember our little moment on the driveway?”

Yes… How infuriatingly encouraging he had been. How embarrassingly frantic you had behaved. He was right. Brian was unfailingly loyal to you. If he hadn’t backed down then, when you had offered him a way out.

“You know you’re earning your ‘poodle’ title more and more,” you commented.

Brian cocked his head. “How so?”

“Lanky, tall, high-maintenance-”

“Feeling the love. Thank you.”

“But still an excellent companion and unbelievably sweet.”

Brian gave you a soft smile and rubbed his arm up and down your back. “If I was a humbler person I might tell you to stop.”

“Oh I’m stopping,” you said, sniffling back your tears and exhaling the panic. “If your head gets any more full of hot air, your hair is going to start defying the laws of physics without any assistance.”

“Yeah, you’re feeling better,” Brian quipped, feigning offense.

“I’m sorry… which one of us brought more brushes and styling products?”

“I want to make a good first impression! I may be a fake boyfriend but I still want your family to like me.” He defended.

“You’ll be great! Aside from James, you’d have to do something really out of character to get them to not like you.”

“Not this ‘be yourself’ stuff again,” Brian complained and threw his head back to rest on the back of the couch.

“It’s true. They’ll love you!” You encouraged him.

Brian’s face took on that infamous cheeky expression. Uh-oh… “Is it because I’m… so charming?”

Your face flushed in remembrance of what your mother had almost let slip. You leaned forward and covered your face with your hand. “Why did I know you were going to bring that up?”

“Because you know me better than anyone else.” He replied, matter-of-factly. 

“I think your mum might contend with me on that, Bri,” you offered.

“And I knew you were going to say that.” Brian shrugged in consideration. “Fine. You and my mum know me better than anyone else.”

“Well,” you set your hand on his knee. A once platonic gesture, it felt different this time. You continued, hurrying your way through what you were going to say so that it wouldn’t be as awkward when you stopped touching, “since we know each other so well, I’d say we stock up on rest while we can.”

“You talk like we’re going to be running a marathon for the next week.”

“Trust me, Bri,” you responded, standing up and laying down comfortably on the bed. “You’re gonna need it.”

Brian looked at you in disbelief. “Oh please. I’ve dealt with concerts for years. How bad can it be?!”

“mama?” 

you turn at the sound of charlie’s voice, small and shy, filled with concern. he stands in the doorway of your room, clutching his raggedy teddybear. the poor animal is threadbare and stiff around the edges. it is worn with seven and a half years of love, and try as you might to wean him off it, he won’t let go. so you don’t push the matter anymore. after all, a boy who has endured as much as he has deserves to love a stuffed animal for as long as he wishes.

“yeah, baby?” you hope your face isn’t as red and splotchy as it feels. but god you’re tired, tired of waiting by the phone like a fool when you know he won’t call, tired of wondering, tired of crying into your sleeve.

“is daddy gonna meet us at grandma’s?” his question is innocent enough, but it stirs the fire in your belly. your fists clench around the shirt in your hand, and you shake your head.

“no, he’s not.” you switch the subject, afraid that if you continue further, you will lose control. “have you packed your things?”

charlie nods. “come see!”

with a sigh, you drop the clothing in hand and follow. your legs are weary, as is your heart. it’s been a long week. if you’re being honest, it’s been a long few weeks. ever since you kissed gwilym goodbye at the airport, the days have grown longer and your loneliness has only increased. it’s rather sad, how much you depend on him, but he’s your husband, and you love him. 

even this week, some part of you loves him still.

charlie’s room could be photographed and used in the dictionary as a reference photo for ‘pigsty’. in an effort to pack his suitcase, he’s unearthed everything in his possession and scattered it across the floor. you’d smile, but you’re too tired. instead, you pick a pair of trousers off the lampshade and step over a mountain of toys. 

“i don’t know who you think is gonna be cleaning all this up,” you say, dropping the trousers in the suitcase, which is empty of clothes and full of toys and books. “also, i think you’ll need at least one pair of clean clothes at grandma’s. something besides these books.” you lift the first book you see, and a fresh bout of tears prick the corner of yours eyes. 

brian’s first gift to charlie: a book on stars. the pages are dogeared and stained with food. memories—memories of brian and gwilym and charlie in the back garden, stargazing like a trio of schoolboys—fill each page. you set the book down, sure that if you open it and reread the heartfelt note from brian on the inside cover, you will burst.

“here, we’ll take this.” haphazardly, charlie lifts a pile of clothes from the floor and dumps them unceremoniously in the suitcase. for extra measure, he adds his favorite pajamas—a dinosaur onesie, given by joe. “we need to leave most of the room for toys.”

for the time first in days, your face softens. you reach out to cup your son’s freckled cheek. he truly is the light of your life. if you had to go back and do it over again, you would still say yes. even if it eventually led to losing gwil, you would always pick charlie.

“i’m sure grandma has toys waiting for you.”

“but not these toys.”

“no, not these ones.” you glance around the room and search for the muster to tell him to clean before going to bed, but the muster isn’t there. you don’t even have the heart to properly fold the clothes in his suitcase. “brush your teeth and get in bed. we have an early morning.”

charlie pouts and slumps against the bed frame. “but i can’t brush my teeth without daddy,” he whines.

“you’ve had to brush your teeth with him for weeks now, charlie.” your voice is tight, on the edge of rage, so you clear your throat and nod toward the bathroom. “hop to it.”

he drags his feet, but soon you hear the water running and the buzz of his electric toothbrush.

for a moment, you stand in the center of his room. you can still remember the day you moved in two years prior—newly married, newly a mother, everything so exciting and raw with potential. 

charlie had stood in awe of the empty space, his teddybear tight against his neck. you’d watched him from the doorway, heart in your throat, and leaned against gwilym’s chest when he held your shoulder.

“i don’t think he’s ever had a room this big,” you’d whispered. “or one to himself.”

“how do you want to decorate it, charlie?”

at gwil’s question, charlie spun on his heel. his eyes narrowed, still wary of his new father. his gaze had slid to you, and you’d nodded in encouragement.

finally, speaking only to his shoes, he’d said, “i want planets.”

gwilym had laughed, shaking his head. “he’s gonna fit in just fine.”

you can still feel gwil’s hand on his shoulder and his breath on the curve of your neck. you can still feel the way his love for charlie in that moment made you marvel. no other man would be so willing to marry his girlfriend of seven months and adopted her former student three months later. but he’d been willing, and he’d been excited to start a new chapter.

father, mother, and son.

but perhaps now your worst fears have come true. perhaps gwil’s woken from the dream, realized his mistake in marrying you so fast, in agreeing to father a child not his own. perhaps that’s why he hasn’t called or reached out in four days.

you can only assume that’s why. assuming anything else might kill you.

when charlie reenters the room, toothbrush in hand, you palm at your wet cheeks and smooth a hand across your twisting stomach. you force a smile and take the toothbrush.

“i’ll put this in my bag,” you say. “where it’s safe from all the dinos.”

“mama,” charlie chides as he crawls into bed. “dinos need to brush their teeth too.”

“oh, of course! i just mean you don’t want to share dino germs. it’s bad for you.”

charlie rolls his eyes and tugs his comforter to his chin. “how do you know? have you read my books?”

“only a hundred times.” sitting by his side, you tuck the covers around his small frame. you release a slow sigh and study his face. “grandma is going to be so excited to see you,” you say.

“is she nice?”

“always.”

“why haven’t i met her before? i’ve met daddy’s parents, and grandpa brian and grandma anita. why not your mummy and daddy?”

you shrug. “life’s been crazy, and they live very far away. but they’re bursting to finally meet you.”

“but daddy’s not coming?”

you snap before you can stop it. “i wish you’d stop asking that! daddy is not going to be there!”

when you open your eyes, charlie’s are filled with tears and his lower lip quivers. it’s rare that you lose your temper. months of counseling before and after adopting him taught you to control your anger—however justified it may be. his home before yours had not been kind, and any hint of unhappiness sets him on edge.

cursing under your breath, you lean forward, pressing your hands to his shoulders. “i’m sorry, baby.” the pools of tears in your own eyes match his, and you wonder if it is possible for tears to run dry completely. “i’m sorry. i’m not mad at you, sweetheart.”

a fat tear rolls down his cheek, and you brush it away, swallowing past the lump in your throat.

“daddy’s at work,” you say. “he can’t come. but i bet—i bet he’s missing you right now and wishing he could be there.” the words taste like a lie, bitter and sinful. still, you say them, hoping they will ease charlie’s fears.

“well, maybe he’ll surprise us.”

clenching your jaw, you nod. “maybe he will.” rising, you kiss his forehead and ruffle his sandy hair. “goodnight. fall asleep fast because before you know it we’ll be leaving.”

with a yawn, he curls onto his side. “i’ve never been on a plane before,” he whispers.

“there’s a first time for everything.” you kiss his temple again and tiptoe out of the room, but not before tripping on a mislaid firetruck.

in the solace of your bedroom, you drop to the carpet beside your bed. your head falls against the firm mattress. your fingers itch to reach for your phone but you stop yourself. it’s a bad habit, always has been. you check your phone too often because the worrier in you is convinced if you aren’t attached at the hip, something dreadful will happen and you’ll miss it. this past week, it’s gotten worse. every few seconds you flip your phone over and wait for the screen to light up. the photo of gwilym and charlie—charlie on gwil’s shoulders, ice-cream smeared all over his cheeks—is always devoid of any new messages. well, any new messages from gwilym, and that’s all you’re looking for.

you knew keeping in close contact would be difficult; you weren’t that naive. you’d expected periods of silence on either end. charlie was a handful and, with school ending for the summer, your full-time job became keeping him out of trouble. gwil was thousands of miles away in a different timezone, not to mention working odd hours. you could handle a day, maybe two, with simple texts—a short good morning or hasty i love u written as you run out the door—but it had been four full days since you’d last heard even a murmur. and that wasn’t counting the week before when day by day his responses grew shorter and his calls more infrequent. 

god, you hate him.

aside from your mother, your reason for leaving the country remains secret. you’d tell your cousin, katie, but she’d get too worked up. hell, she’d probably board the next flight and rough gwil up herself. you’d tell joe, ask if you could crash in his apartment with charlie on your layover in new york, but you’d rather not subject him to your marital issues. you’d ask anita for advice, but you can’t stomach the idea of crushing the good image she has of gwilym. 

so, you stay quiet. suffer in silence. it’s easier for everyone else that way.

just as you’re about to stand, shower off the layer of disgust forming on your skin, your phone pings. the way you dive toward the bedside table is pathetic. your fingers scrabble, shaking, as you lift the phone. flipping it over, the screen lights up, that stubborn sliver of hope in your heart coming to life as you wait.

a text from the airline. confirmation of boarding numbers.

your eyes flutter shut. you should feel disappointed, but you aren’t. it’s what you’ve come to expect. you’d given up two days earlier, finally decided that if gwilym wasn’t going to answer any of your voicemails or texts, then you’d simply stop nagging him. clearly, he wasn’t interested in being a husband or a father at the moment.

dropping the phone to your bed, you head for the shower. the water is too hot, scalding your skin, but it feels good. it feels like something. you press your hand to the steamed glass and allow the water to run down your face, fill your eyelashes, stream off your nose. you breathe hard against the pain in your chest.

an image—your wedding day—flickers to mind: katie’s backyard, covered in string lights; your gown, hastily bought from the local dressers; the night sky, alive with stars. aside from your cousin and gwilym’s family, the ceremony had been next to empty. you needed to get married fast in order to speed the adoption papers along, and you didn’t mind the small gathering. charlie had sat on katie’s lap the entire time, rolling the ring cushion between his hands. he’d been so small then—five years old and already so scarred by the world. but gwilym had held out his hand, beckoning charlie over during the vows; he’d crouched, looked deep into charlie’s eyes, and promised to love and care for him as his own—the memory made you choke on a sob, the sound echoing around the shower walls.

god, you hate him.

you slip into bed, hair wet and unbrushed, with a groan. travel to prince edward island and your parent’s retirement home will be long and exhausting. an eight hour flight from heathrow to jfk, a six hour layover in new york, and then another flight to charlottetown. your head already aches, and you haven’t even reached the airport.

despite everything in you screaming don’t do it, you check your phone one last time. it’s blank, but you pull up gwil’s name in your messages anyway. as quickly as you can, averting your eyes from the long line of unanswered texts, you type your message: 

headed to pei. taking charlie. don’t have a return date yet.

message sent, stomach churning, you fall into a restless sleep.

you’re antsy. after eight hours on a plane, your legs are tight and you long for fresh air. charlie’s in much the same state. though he’d enjoyed the novelty of a plane ride for the first hour, for the remaining seven it was a chore just to get him to sit still. now, he’s bouncing on his heels, teddybear in hand, humming a nonsensical tune far too loud in the line to the toilet.

“charlie.” you squeeze his hand tight. “shush.”

the line inches forward, and charlie blows a raspberry with his tongue. “i’m tired, and i’m hungry.”

you sigh. “i’ve just got to go to the loo and then we’ll find something to eat.”

“are we going to go into the city?”

“no, i don’t think we have the time.” it’s a lie—you have six hours to kill—but you can’t think of anything you’d do that wouldn’t make you pine for gwilym. it’s easier to stay in the cool airport, plug charlie in with a movie, and read your book.

“doesn’t uncle joe live here?”

“yes, he does.”

leading charlie into the bathroom, you corral him to the nearest open stall. he pushes his forehead against the stall door, his back turned to you as you relieve yourself. 

“we should go see him.” his voice is muffled against the door, and you try not to think of all the new germs crawling over his face. 

“i told you, baby, we don’t have the time.”

after washing your hands and exiting the bathroom, you find an empty table and sit down. charlie sits next to you, his legs swinging back and forth. he watches the people passing by, and you wonder if he’s picked the trait up from gwilym. 

he looks so much like gwil it’s startling. maybe it’s because you’ve watched them side by side the last two years, but charlie truly does look like gwilym’s natural born son. it’s in his face: the soft eyes, strong nose, full lips. it’s in his mannerisms: his easy smile, soft voice, eagerness to listen. not for the first time, you wonder if you’ll have any more children and if they will take after their father. you used to hope so; now you’re not so sure.

shaking your head, you clear your throat and reach for your phone. you’d left london to get away from the house so full of memories and sweet times together. you’d left london to have a moment of peace, cry in the arms of your mother, and figure out what to do next. you didn’t leave home just to have it all follow you.

sliding open the phone, you search for joe’s name in your contacts list. you dial the number, glancing at your son as the phone rings in your ear. some part of you hopes he won’t answer, so you don’t have to answer any questions. another part of you wants—needs—a familiar face.

he picks up on the third ring. “[y/n]! to what do i owe this great honor?”

you find yourself smiling at the genuine happiness in his voice. “well, it’s short notice, but charlie and i are currently sitting in jfk. we’ve got a six hour layover...” you let the implication hang in the air, knowing full well he’ll pounce.

you can already hear his keys jangling on the other end. “i’ll be there asap.”

an hour later, you’re sat in a restaurant overlooking times square. you hadn’t planned on going into the city, but joe insisted. he wanted to show his nephew the sights—as many as he could in a few hours time—but charlie insisted he be fed first. now, sitting across from your son and joe, plates laden with overpriced food, you notice a lightness in your chest you haven’t felt for some time. it’s nice to see someone you care about, and joe is unusually tactful in his conversation. he’s tiptoed around the topic of gwilym and ‘the great’ and for that, you’re thankful.

“so, charlie’s told me all about school, which, apparently, rocks,” joe says between bites of a burger. “what’s up with you, [y/n]? how’s married life treatin’ you?”

you know it’s partly a jest—he’s asked the same question nearly every time you’ve spoken since you married gwilym—but there’s also a level of true interest in his query. but you shift in your chair, wincing as you turn to look at the busy street below. and perhaps he notices because he hurries to say instead:

“seen brian lately?”

this you can answer without crying or shouting or slumping low in your seat. nodding, you look to charlie. “we went over for dinner a few nights ago, didn’t we? tell joe what grandpa bri said.”

charlie keeps his focus on his mac & cheese as he speaks. “he said if i tried really hard i could have hair like his, but i told him i don’t want to look like a poodle.”

joe laughs, his head tossed back, his hands clapping together in sheer joy. you laugh, too, despite remembering the utter embarrassment you’d felt at brian and anita’s dining room table. 

charlie grins, his eyes darting back and forth between each adult’s reaction. he’s pleased with himself, the pride on his face all too real. “mama made me say sorry.”

“i hope she did,” joe says with a chuckle. “that’s brutal, charlie.”

charlie’s forehead puckers in a frown. “daddy says always tell the truth.”

“yeah, but you gotta...” joe waves his hand, shaking his head. “never mind.”

a moment of quiet falls over the table. you’ve barely touched your salad, finding that, although your stomach growls with hunger, you don’t have the energy to eat. joe’s looking at you with open curiosity, and it makes you squirm. he knows something’s up, but now is not the time to unburden yourself. not with charlie sitting so close, not with your heart as tender as it is. one wrong move and you knew you’d fall into joe’s arms, a sobbing mess in the middle of the restaurant. 

what dignity you have left, you’d like to preserve.

“what do you think about going to the park?”

joe’s eyes narrow across the table. “central park?”

“you said you want to show charlie the sights.”

joe glances at your unfinished food then your face. still, he says nothing. instead, he pays for the meal, even though you try and slide your card over his when the waiter comes by. you leave your salad and grab charlie’s hand as you exit the restaurant. you’re possessive that way—always needing to hold on to some part of your son; you’re the same with gwilym. neither seem to mind, so whenever you’re able, you hold charlie’s hand while crossing the street or you run your nails gently over the back of gwil’s neck as he likes it. you suppose, with charlie, it’s a mother thing. one day he won’t lean into your shoulder when you wrap an arm around him, so you take every chance to hold him that you can. you suppose, with gwil, it’s a wife thing. though you aren’t a huge fan of pda, you like letting others know he’s yours.

you hope he still is.

the day is warm, sticky with humidity. as you walk the few blocks to central park, joe points out his favorite landmarks. charlie seems interested enough, though he’s much more concerned with pointing out every pigeon than he is responding to joe’s explanations of the buildings around him. a fine pool of sweat gathers under your arms, and you soon shed your cardigan. the frigid air conditioning of the airport will be a welcome feeling once you’ve returned to jfk.

joe leads you to a playground, tucked away behind overgrown hedges. charlie drops your hand and rushes for the jungle gym, his faithful teddybear flinging in the wind behind him. with a soft smile, you collapse on the nearest bench and reach for your water bottle. after a sip, you offer it to joe, who shakes his head.

you know what’s coming. he’s going to ask about gwilym, and you’re going to have to come up with a suitable answer. you don’t have a suitable answer, not one that would keep your issues private but at least clue him in somewhat. finally, when the silence is overbearing, you give a short sigh.

“well, out with it, mazzello.”

he feigns shock. “out with what? i’m enjoying the sound of the birds.”

“you’ve been studying me all through lunch. tell me what you’re thinking before i scream.” you know you sound petulant, but it’s hot and eight hours on a plane with a wiggly child was hard. more than anything, you want to be home—not in london. the last two weeks have been hell, walking through the halls, visibly watching gwilym slip away, and having no clue what to do. no, you want your mother, and her home—whether it be prince edward island or the ridiculous summer home in lyon—is your home.

joe glances sidelong at you, his face drawn tight. when he speaks, his tone is serious, one you don’t hear from him often. “is there something going on? between you and gwil?”

despite knowing it was coming, the question still makes you want to wretch. you look away, curling your hands around the water bottle. it cracks between your fingers. 

you decide to lie. it’s easier that way.

“no... no, not really.”

joe tries, but fails to catch your eye. “it’s just that... you seem really depressed. i thought maybe with him being gone...”

he’s given you an excuse—maybe on purpose, maybe on accident—but you jump for it, cursing yourself for not thinking of it on your own. “i mean, yeah, it’s been hard. it’s been—fuck—nearly two months now.”

“that’s a long time.”

you nod and return your attention to charlie, who is swinging on the monkey bars with ease. “yeah, it is, but he should be due for a few days off soon. he might be able to come back for a long weekend.” you grit your teeth against the words. they taste sour, and you take another sip of water to wash away the bad taste.

“[y/n]—”

twisting on the bench, you give joe a look that shuts his mouth with a snap. “we’re fine, joe,” you say, though, now more than even, it is clear you are not fine. you hold his gaze, daring him to push further.

he doesn’t. he just stands, hands in his pockets, and shuffles over to charlie with a nod. 

wrinkling your nose against the sudden sting of tears, you lean back against the bench. a branch from the bush behind you digs into the skin of your shoulders, and any breeze which drifts your way smells vaguely of piss. that’s new york, you suppose: people as prickly as branches and the persistent smell of bodily functions. altogether, not terribly different from london.

your phone pings, but for once, you hold still, your tongue clamped between your teeth. your heart tells you it’s gwilym, finally woken from whatever slumber he’s been under, apologetic and eager to make amends. your mind tells you otherwise; it’s likely the airlines or your mother or katie. never gwilym; not anymore.

the message on your screen is from instagram, and you ignore the traitorous twinge of disappointment in your chest. frowning, you open the app, certain you’d turned notifications off long ago. what loads first in your timeline is a series of five photos. days off in pompeii, gwil’s caption reads. you don’t bother to swipe through the photos. you exit the app, delete it for good measure, and slide the phone back into your purse.

rising from the bench, you find joe and charlie hunkered beneath a slide. they’re imagining dinosaurs and jeeps and dangerous missions in the forest. with a smile, you drop to your hands and knees and join them, intent on enjoying what time you have left.

joe drops you off at the airport with plenty of time to spare. in the cell phone parking lot, you gather around the hood of his car for a final goodbye. joe slips charlie a fresh five dollar bill for the snack machine when he thinks you aren’t looking, and it’s the most uncle move you’ve ever seen. it warms your frigid heart, so much so, you nod to the back of the car. 

“make sure you haven’t forgotten anything, love. we don’t know when we’ll be back if you’ve left something.”

charlie ambles his way behind the car, inspecting his new money, and when he’s out of earshot, you turn to joe.

“i’m going to talk,” you say. “and you’re going to listen and say nothing when i’ve finished. is that understood?”

his eyes are wide as he nods.

“i haven’t heard from gwil in nearly five days now. last week, his texts got shorter and more infrequent and he stopped calling. this week, he hasn’t responded to any of my messages, voicemails, or otherwise. so two days ago, i gave up and i stopped reaching out. it’s been radio silent since, and i don’t know why. so, that’s what’s going on, and why i’m so goddamn depressed. but if i find out that you’ve called him and tried to make him see sense, i will never forgive you, joseph. do you understand me?”

his only response is a shocked blink, but it satisfies. 

“it’s my marriage,” you continue. “i have absolutely no idea what i’m doing, but it’s my marriage, and i’ll figure it out whatever way i can.”

there’s a pause then joe crushes you against his chest before you can stop him. his hug is painful. your left arm is caught between his chest and yours, your right shoved across his shoulders awkwardly. his arms tighten the strap of your purse against your neck, and you’re sure there will be a harsh red line when you pull back. but you don’t care. you let joe hug you. there’s pity in the embrace, but more than that, there’s love, and you feel it. love for you, for gwil, for charlie.

charlie’s voice breaks the moment, for which you’re glad. a second longer and you’d have started crying. “i didn’t leave anything but i found a dollar.” 

wiping the underside of your eyes, you push away from joe and turn to your son with a smile. “wow—six dollars in one day! what are you going to do with all that cash?”

charlie shrugs and shoves the bill in his pocket. “i dunno. maybe buy my own plane.”

“so fiscally responsible. i’m proud.” joe ruffles charlie’s hair, grinning. “will you let me take a ride for free?”

charlie looks joe up and down then nods. “i guess. you did buy me lunch, so it seems like a fair trade.”

“we’d better go.” you reach for charlie’s shoulder. “thank you, joe,” you say, hand curling around the handle of your suitcase. 

his smile fades around the edges, and you see a sigh lift his shoulders. “take care of yourself, [y/n].”

“i always do.”

he rolls his eyes. “you know what i mean.”

you look away, but nod. “tell your family we said hi.”

joe sticks his hand out to charlie, who shakes it with some trepidation. “look after your mom, charlie.”

“yeah, okay.”

you leave, bags dragging behind you, slamming against your ankles, with a wave. it hurts to watch joe stand there, hands in his pockets, ratty baseball hat on his head, looking so forlorn. you know that, if you asked it, he’d find gwilym and make him set things right. but this is your fight. no one else’s. 

an hour and a half later, you’re strapped in your assigned seat, charlie’s head on your lap. his cheek is hot against your thigh, his chest rising and falling to the gentle rhythm of sleep. as the plane takes off, you glance out the window and watch as the world fades from view. you can’t help but think that somewhere below is a family much like yours. 

you imagine them sitting down to dinner, laughing, catching up on the day, looks of love shared across the table. you imagine the mother and father, finding a moment of stolen passion against the pantry door as the son settles down for an evening movie. you imagine her laugh as he mumbles filthy things against the skin of her neck, things that set her heart ablaze. you imagine the way his hand strokes over her leg throughout the movie, his eyes meeting hers every now and then over their son’s head. and you imagine him laying her down on the bed, caressing, loving, worshipping her until they are spent.

some time ago, your life had looked similar. it doesn’t anymore, and you aren’t sure why or what you’ve done wrong.

the flight attendant pulls you from your thoughts. “can i get you anything, ma’am?” she asks.

a flood of answers rise to your chest. a phone call, an answer to prayers, my husband. instead, you shake your head. “no, but thank you.”

your parent’s home is picture perfect, like something out of a magazine: the long, winding drive framed by lush trees, the pale stonework crawling with ivy, the faded green shutters, and chipped picket fence. you’ve come once since it was bought. your parents, ever the world travelers, surprised you when they announced their move to their maritime provinces, and due to your teaching job, new relationship with gwilym, and concern for your student charlie, you’d only had the chance to visit for a short weekend. 

as your father pulls up the drive, you nudge your mother with your shoulder. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were trying to be anne shirley, mother.”

your mother tosses her head back with a laugh. her sunglasses are overly large, but you can still see the laugh lines around her eyes. “of course i am, dear. much to your father’s chagrin.”

from the driver’s seat, your father merely huffs. he makes a face at charlie who, buckled tight in the passenger seat for the last few miles of the journey, giggles behind his hand.

your mother slides her hand across the bench. her fingers tap the bone of your wrist, and you look away from the window. she’s pushed her sunglasses over her hair, and her painted lips are drawn light.

“we’re so glad you’re here, sweetheart.” her tone is soft, apologetic.

the corner of your mouth twitches into something close to a smile. “me too.”

“okay, last stop. everybody out.” your father parks the car and pops the trunk.

you follow your parents to the front door as charlie races around your legs, babbling questions and comments as if he’s never spoken a word in his life. your father, who bears the brunt of charlie’s attention, takes it all in stride. tim, your brother—god help him—blessed your parents with eight grandchildren before you managed to give them one of your own. anything charlie has to throw at your parents, they will surely be able to handle.

after a light supper, charlie convinces his new grandfather to take him to to the river at the base of the property. he’s eager to find worms and, if your father can get free labor in return for fish bate, he’ll take it. they walk off, the sun dipping closer to the horizon as the day draws to a close. your mother stands in the doorway and nods her head toward the garden.

“come help me.” her request is more of a command, but you listen, grabbing a watering can from the back stoop as you trail after her.

the air on the island is fresh, slightly salty but sweet. you breathe deep, reveling beneath the open sky, unobscured by wires or skyscrapers or aircraft. your mother’s garden sprawls across the backyard. a ladder rests against the apple tree in the corner, heavy with fruit. raised flowerbeds with soft brown dirt sprout with tomatoes and snap-pea vines and peppers. a strawberry patch, struggling but alive, stands on its own. there’s a foam pad on the ground, and your mother kneels on it, reaching for her gardening tools.

“there should be some grape tomatoes ready,” she says, pointing to the plant. “gather what you can in this.” she passes you a paper container, and you set to work.

the birds twittering and the unhurried breeze work to soothe the ache in your soul. you could get used to this, a simple life here. the thought startles you, and you drop the tomato in your hand. it lands on your foot with a splat, covering your toes in sticky juice.

coming here, leaving london, you never thought for a moment it would be permanent. you just needed a change of scenery, a place to clear your thoughts. you have no intention of leaving gwilym. god, though he’d ripped your heart out, until he said the words, you’ll stay by his side forever.

“sweetheart? [y/n]?”

you look up. “huh?”

your mother frowns. “you’re just standing there.”

“am i? oh, sorry.” you turn back to the tomato plant and rip whatever red bubble crosses your eyeline. the tomatoes drop to your container with a muted thud, echoing the fragile beat of your heart.

“do you want to talk about it?”

you meet her gaze, and the worry, the concern, the love there nearly drives you to your knees. for days on end, you’ve been shoving it down—the fear. it’s not helpful, not to you or charlie or anyone else. for days on end, you’ve been choking back your anxiety, telling yourself it’s all just a misunderstanding. now, in your mother’s garden, with the weight of the world bearing down on your shoulders, you break.

the tomato container falls to the ground as your hands clamp against your mouth. you cannot stop the sobs which shake your frame, but you can at least muffle them against your fingers. the world becomes hazy, a blurry mess as your tears flow free and steady. vaguely, you’re aware of your mother’s arms around you, holding you tight; her hands rub soothing circles over your back. she smells of vanilla and shampoo.

you don’t know how long you cry, but when you finally step back, the sky is a dark red. you wonder if charlie’s come back from the creek, if he’s seen you in such a state. you pray to god he hasn’t. gently, your mother leads you to a wooden bench tucked against the fence. you sit together, your head cradled between her chin and shoulder. she smoothes your hair with one hand and holds your other.

“i’m so afraid, mum,” you breathe. your throat is clogged with emotion, your nose, too. 

“of what?”

sniffing, you wipe your nose. “that he’s gone and met someone else. that he’s forgotten us.”

you feel her shrug against you. “well, i’ve only met the lad once, but he doesn’t seem like the type.”

“he’s not,” you say, stronger, clearer. “he’s not. but it’s been five fucking days. five days! and he’s been half-there for longer.”

“i don’t know what to tell you, love.” she twists to look at your face. “your father and i... we’ve had a good run of it, but that doesn’t mean we’ve not had our own issues. sometimes—sometimes people hurt those they love most.”

“did dad ever disappear on you?”

“no, i can’t say he did.” she sighs. “but he did shag my best mate cheri.” 

“aunt cheri?”

nodding, your mother looks into the distance. “i nearly chopped his balls off.”

“why didn’t you?”

“because we love each other. we worked it out.”

with a scoff, you look away. “you’re in the minority.”

“you can be in that minority, too.” she grabs your hand. “your relationship... everything you’ve had with him has been so much so fast—”

“i know.” your head drops as a fresh flurry of tears rise. “that’s what i’m afraid of.” 

“you didn’t let me finish.” your eyes lift to see her watching you, a faint glow of motherly pride on her cheeks. “everything you’ve had with gwilym has been so much so fast, but every time i see your photos or your videos, he looks like he’s about to fall over because he loves you so much. i don’t pretend to know what’s going on in his head; i’d reckon he doesn’t know either. but you have something worth fighting for, [y/n]. i’d hate to see you give that up.”

“i don’t want to,” you whisper.

“then don’t.”

you kiss charlie’s forehead and slip out of the guest room, shutting the door behind you. the house is quiet, asleep before ten thanks to the excitement of the day and the weariness of travel. you find your bedroom, cozy, tucked away in the third floor attic. your mother claims she had it redone just for your visits. the window seat framed by bookshelves and the wrought-iron bed frame remind you of your childhood room, yet there is an elegance here your room lacked as a child. 

after readying yourself for bed, you glance about the room. the rug beneath your feet is soft to the touch, and the upholstered chair in the corner has a fresh set of bath towels. there’s an exposed brick wall with three photos nailed to it. you step closer to inspect. 

three photos. 

a family photo from age nine, your parents side-by-side, your brother’s arm slung around your shoulder. much of your childhood consisted of moving from country to country, always following your father’s job. you’d been happy, though, and looking at the photo now, you feel a surge of gratitude. 

a photo of your first classroom, the students sat at your feet. charlie stands directly to your left, his face leaning into your hip. you hadn’t known then, what he would mean to you know. you run your finger across his face, still pudgy with baby fat. 

the third and final photo, a picture from your honeymoon. the austrian mountains tower over you in the background, the sky effortlessly blue and picturesque. gwilym is well-dressed and handsome, smiling down at you, his arm curved around your waist. you’re looking up at him, laughing, holding the straw hat against your head as a gust of wind attempts to whisk it away.

your chest expands with love, for your family, your son, even your husband.

you aren’t sure how things will turn out. for all you know, gwilym very well could have met someone else; he could be making plans to leave you as you slide under the covers. yet something tells you—maybe it’s hope, maybe it’s foolishness—that’s not the case. 

You could feel him growing hard against you and you moved your bum against him, pulling a small groan from him. His thumb brushed over your breast which was covered by the thin material of the t-shirt you stole from one of his drawers the night before. 

“Mornin’, baby,” he left a small peck on your shoulder. 

You turned around in his arms so that your noses were touching, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist. You pressed your lips softly to his, “Good morning.” 

He slipped his hand under your t-shirt and brushed his fingertips along your lower back, right above the band of your panties. You lifted a hand up and caressed his cheek, his stubble scratching softly at the pads of your fingers. He kissed you again, longer, and sighed when your thigh rubbed against his bulge. The hand that was under your t-shirt slipped underneath your panties and he gave your bum a small squeeze. 

“So, this is the kind of morning we’re having.” It was more of a statement than a question and he smirked in response. 

He kissed you deeply as you moved your thigh against him. He moved his other hand up your back and tanged with the hair at the back of your neck as he pushed you into him gently, slipping his tongue past your lips. Both of your hands were against the smooth skin of his chest and you sighed, feeling warmth spread between your thighs. He slipped his hand from your bum to the front of you, sliding it down until his forefinger brushed against the hood of your clit. His fingers moved on your mound lazily and you moaned, letting your forehead fall against his. 

After a few moments, he used one hand to pull down your panties and you wriggled out of them, losing them underneath the covers. You tugged his down and he kicked them off before you climbed on top of him and straddled his hips, your folds wet against his length. 

He groaned softly as you rocked your hips lightly, rubbing yourself against him. You leaned forward, resting your weight on both hands on either side of his head as he lined himself up with your center and then guided you down with his hands on your hips under the t-shirt you hadn’t bothered to take off. You rocked your hips back and forth slowly, still rather tired, and closed your eyes as you tried to adjust to him. 

One of his hands stayed on your hips as the other reached up under your shirt and pulled at your nipple. He then used both hands to roam your body; they were cold against your warm skin and you shivered slightly as they brushed over your ribcage and your already erect nipples. 

“Fuck, baby,” he sighed when you started to lazily circle your hips. He reached around to your back and pulled you down into him, so that your bare chest was pressed against his, your t-shirt bunched up under your chin. One of your hands rested on the side of his neck while the other was on his side and you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as the friction built between your clit and his skin. 

“Ben,” you breathed out, feeling your orgasm build. 

“C’mon, love,” he encouraged you, slightly bucking his hips every time you rocked yours forward. He kissed the side of your head as your hand delicately tightened around the side of his neck and your fingernails dug into where your other hand rested on his side. 

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” you groaned as your vision went white and Ben gripped your body tightly, holding you to him as your body shook softly, your moans muffled by his shoulder. 

You continued moving your hips as you came down and Ben’s moans built, his chest rising and falling rather quickly. You could tell he was close since seeing you and feeling you come undone around him always seemed to push him over the edge, so you sped up your hips and he buried his face in your hair.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he mumbled as he came undone inside of you. You didn’t stop moving until his hands moved to your hips, letting you know that he had fully come down. You tried to move but he held you down and wrapped his arms around you. 

“No, don’t move.” He murmured. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

You laughed lightly, “Don’t you think we should clean up first?” You felt him shake his head ‘no’. “C’mon, babe. I’ll do it for you?” 

He sighed and let his arms drop from around you reluctantly. You crawled off of him slowly before heading into the bathroom and cleaning yourself up. You took the towel and walked back to where Ben was laying, eyes closed, hands still down at his sides where they had landed after releasing you. You smiled at how sweet he looked and started to clean him up. He mumbled a soft “thank you” when you were done. 

You threw the towel on the floor and climbed back in bed. You went to go and lay at his side but he stopped you. “No,” he tugged at your arm, his eyes still closed. “Like before.”

You climbed back on top of him, your legs on either side of his waist, your hips pressed against his and laid your head in the crook of his neck. One of his hands rested on your thigh and the other held you to him. He moved to place a soft kiss on your head, “‘Night, love.”