#david loki x reader

Imagine…..

Soft rays of gold and dandelion yellow find their way to your body, brush over your eyes causing you to squint and try to shift away from the light. You’re stopped by something heavy, something warm that intuitively drags you closer to him and even fighting through the heaviness of sleep you know it to be David. 

He’s been working a case, you haven’t seen him in almost four days but he’s here now. Must've quietly slipped in, a ghost to not disturb your sleep and you give a lazy smile as you give in to the morning rays. 

So much for sleeping in. 

Still, you could be lazy in bed. You could lay in the arms of your man as he nuzzled into your neck, giving a grateful sigh as you held him close to you. You could memorize the moles on the side of his face, falling down his neck as he breathed you in, breathed you out. He smelled faintly of cedarwood and pine, fresh and faint, a shower he must've taken straight from work. 

You loved him. 

You allow yourself to lay like that for what feels like hours before your stomach begins to rumble, legs getting angsty along with the list your brain is starting to build of things that need to be done. You shift trying to slowly ease out of bed, trying to escape the warm cage of your husband's arms. Except, like a flower touching the light of sun for the first time, he moves with you intuitively even in his sleep and drags you back to him, burying his head in your hair. His hips involuntarily push against you, the hard erection teasing your underside and you groan. 

Now you only have one thing on your mind. 

You know David won’t let you free now without waking, that any chance of sneaking away to surprise him with coffee in bed is lost. Instead, you take the opportunity to twist in his arms, to place tender kisses on his jaw, down his throat, hands moving down his exposed chest. 

He hums content, hips reacting to your touch but he stays asleep, exhaustion winning over anything else. You take advantage of the position to move down with your fingers, lips dragging against his skin, tasting him. When your mouth latches briefly across a nipple he hisses, shifts to give you more access though he remains in his sleeping stupor. You move lower, lower, until you find your prize, his cock springing free from the rigidness of his sweats. 

You don’t give him a chance to react. 

Instead your mouth latches over his crown, its pink and swollen begging for relief, and you moan appreciatively as you give his hole a kitten lick, tasting his precum. 

He wouldn’t last long. 

His eyes shoot open, mouth ragged as his mind tries to process what’s happening. You don’t allow him the reprieve, instead taking more of him in your mouth and he moans, hips slightly arching as he whispers, 

“Fuck.” 

He tries to blink down at you, his eyes trying to latch onto your form but years of reading reports closeup and an undiagnosed astigmatism causes you to be a mild blur and he’s desperate to find his glasses, to find you. 

You shake your head, humming as you take more of him, your mouth bobbing up and down his length as he swells larger in your mouth. The sigh of relief that spills out of him when he hits the back of your throat causing the walls of your pussy to clench but you try to ignore it. 

You wanted this to be about him. 

“Unh…baby…ungh I’m not going ... .to last. Been too long…” 

His plea is a whisper, begging for mercy as your hand wraps around him, grips him tight, saliva and precum the lubricant for his desire. He hated when you selfishly gave into his desire, always mindful, but you know he’ll make up for it later. 

He always does. 

You also don’t want him to see you;  you want him to focus on how good you’re making him feel. How he makes you feel. Your nose scrunches from the way his pubic hair tickles the top of it as you take more of him, desperately needing air but wanting to be consumed by him. He gives in, glasses forgotten knowing that you won’t let him have his way. 

That it's best to give in to the desires you both had for each other.. 

“Fuck, like that Y/N…just like that. You make me feel so good. You’re the only one who can make me feel this good..” 

His words are whispered prayers, they’re reverent, and you take each one like a gift. 

When your hand cups his balls he stiffens, hands grasping for your hair as he takes charge, fucking your mouth. It's only moments later that you’re greeted with his seed, the taste of him coating your tongue, the back of your throat, the pit of your empty stomach. He shouts out your name like a priest in a temple, its loud and resonates against the walls, causes your cat to shift from her place by the window to leave the room, disturbed again by your fucking. You drink him in until he has nothing left to give and when you pull away with a pop you look up at your man. 

His eyes are closed as he tries to regulate his breathing. His hair is disheveled, the dark thick strands that you love to run your hands through poking out in all directions. He’s older now than when you both first met, thirteen years will do that, and as he inches towards his mid forties you can see it more in his face. In the creases in his eyes, the laugh lines you’ve forced on him with time. 

You crawl up his body, biting your lip as you move to grab his glasses, handing him the thick black frames as he blinks them open, placing them on his face to take you in. 

You’re sure you're equally ruined - puffy lipped, cum and morning breathing mingling with his but he smiles at you in that way that causes your stomach to drop before cupping your cheek. 

“And what did I do to deserve that morning treat?” 

You smile back at him, soft and tender and shake your head. 

“Loving me as much as I love you.” 

Ocean orbs watch you, swallowing the way you look back at him. His eyes have always said so much more than his words ever could. Right now, they're telling you a lot. That he doesn't know what he's done to deserve you. That he's unsure that he does still deserve you, even after all this time. That he loves you back just as fiercely. But always, the lingering one that stains your heart - that he doesn't understand why you love him.

If only he knew.

Loving David was easy, even after all these years. Beyond his handsome good looks, he was just a good person. Mindful, thoughtful, compassionate. Smart, witty, funny. Even on hard days it just made sense, him and you.

You loved him. 

The way he draws you to him, cum and morning breath be damned as your tongues tangle, you know he loves you too. 

_

He’ll make breakfast, well, he’ll make coffee and get the things out for you to make breakfast. Out of the two of you, you were best equipped despite the many years you’ve tried to teach him. 

He’ll know that you went to the farmers market the day before like you always do in the summer, that you grabbed the produce you needed for avocado toast that he’s come to love, the coffee beans he craves when you brew it at home. 

In just his sweat pants he’ll stand in front of the coffee pot, a cup of joe freshly poured. No sugar, no cream for him. He’ll have poured yours too, heavy whipping cream just a drop, and be looking down at a physical copy of Conyers Bugle because he still liked to read what was going on in the small town despite the fact you both now lived closer to Philadelphia. A result of his promotion to PSP. 

His hair will be in disarray, nothing short of chaotic and out of place for him, except in the safety of his home. In the safety of you. He’ll be sipping the coffee with one hand, holding the paper and reading it with his glasses in the other and only looking up when he hears you pad into the kitchen, face freshly washed, teeth freshly brushed.

The sky blue shirt that drapes over your body, frames over your curves naturally causes his mouth to tug into a smile as he heatedly drinks you in. You smile looking back at him, knowing that the precum stain in the front of his sweats was but a warning for the kind of day you were in store for. 

You both have plenty to do - laundry, cleaning, meal prep - but you know the instant David looks at you it's a lost cause. 

He’s already decided you and your shared king sized bed is the priority. 

“I expect you to do the laundry later tonight then.” you break first as he chuckles, placing his coffee down and walking over to you. 

“Deal.” he whispers, before his hips land on yours. 

Yeah, you loved lazy Sunday mornings.  

_________

_

David falls back in his seat as he looks out to the trendy condo that stands across the street from where he’s currently parked. It's a clash of the new and old, modern steel blended with old brick. There’s a large patio outside; it hosts an array of flowers and plants and the yard has enough room where there’s grass to sit in, enough space for maybe a picnic but that's it. 

A quick glance would make it look like any other house, except there's a bird seed catcher hanging from the porch rafters song with wind chimes that sing softly when a subtle breeze picks up. 

A touch of you. 

There’s a little car that’s been abandoned too; it’s a two door jeep with a cacophony of colors on it and it's obvious that whoever owns loves it. 

It’s his daughters. A touch of her. 

He pulls out his phone again, instantly moving to his messages where he finds the last one that you sent a day ago. You wanted to share photos of Isla, he hadn’t argued against it, and he looks down at the six you sent with a small smile that forms on his face. 

He has a daughter and she was absolutely perfect. 

He blinks away the other thoughts that have haunted him since he found out. He didn’t get to see you pregnant, swollen with the love that you both had created. He didn’t get to go with you to learn more about caring for a baby - lamaze class he thinks, and he didn’t get to help you with building a crib, buying a carseat, lamenting over a stroller. He didn’t get to hold your hand and tell you how fucking amazing you were as you delivered his child. Didn’t get to be one of the first people to hold Isla for the first time, cradling her in his arms. 

Two years of experiences lost. 

All because the two of you couldn’t figure out your shit. 

He thinks back to how he had reacted after you had told him about her. It wasn’t his finest moment but fuck, you don’t drop “hey before we fuck each other to kingdom come I had your child last year and she really wants to meet you” casually and not expect a guy to freak out. 

The truth was he had been, was still, hurt.

He thought you could tell him anything. 

He thought wrong. 

_

David doesn’t know what to say. 

He doesn’t know what to think. 

All he can do is stare. 

He stares so long that you move the phone away from his line of sight and breath out, 

“Please….say something.”

That snaps him. The phone is gone. The child is gone. 

His child. 

Your child. 

You both had a child together. 

His eyes flit up to yours. You look scared, but you’re also concerned. He exhales, takes a step away from you. Drinks in your car. A Volvo XC60, a new and nice one that offers safety and luxury all in one. He can see the faint outline of a car seat in the back now that he looks closely through the tinted windows. 

How did he miss this? 

He draws his eyes back to you, exhales. 

“When….was she born?” 

“In August. Last year.” 

“In London?”

“Yes.”

He ingests that information, closes his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally asks. 

It's the real question that lingers. Why did you keep this from him? Why would you think it's okay to keep something like this from him?

You’re quiet, so quiet he thinks you left. You’re standing there numb, shaking your head.

“I don’t know.” you finally whisper. You lick your lips as you look down at your phone screen, trying to grab words from your mind, 

“I wanted too the minute I found out. I knew she was yours. I hadn’t been with anyone for months. So long I forgot that I was off birth control when we…..and I was worried that you wouldn’t….you were so adamant I continue to live life without you I was just really confused.” 

David watches you back for a long time, ingesting that information. You weren’t blaming him and you weren’t blaming yourself but there was blame to be had and he also didn’t know where it laid. 

It would be easy to lay it on you. 

“Does she know about me?” he finally asks and you finally meet his eyes and nod. You’re crying, thick wet tears falling down your face. 

“I’ve told her about you since she was born. She knows you because I show photos of us, of you.” 

“Well that’s fucking something.” 

He runs his hands through his hair, has to move around. Place this frenetic energy somewhere. His brain is now working overtime, aware, activated to the part of him he utilizes when he’s on a case. 

“Your family knows.” A statement not a fact you confirm immediately. 

“Yes.” 

“You told them not to tell me.” 

“....yes.” 

He scoffs. Of course you fucking did. 

“Where is she right now?” 

“With Sam and his partner. He offered to babysit tonight because I told him I was going to finally tell you.” 

David wants to hit something and can feel a torrid of emotions tear through him. Something about that, you asking your family to hide it from him, hurts even more. 

“She’s the roommate?” he finally asks and you nod, 

“I wasn’t going to tell you over the phone David. I wanted to tell you in person, you at least deserve that.” 

“How thoughtful of you,” he doesn’t mean to sound nasty, he doesn’t but he’s barreling through a series of emotions and the one person who knew how to talk him down from them had been deceiving him for two years. He moves back until he’s flush against his car, finally saying what he felt down to his core, “You didn’t have the right Y/N, not the fucking right at all to not tell me about her.” 

“I know David, I know.” you break out into a full sob, shaking your head as you look at him. You don’t look to him for empathy, there’s that knowing glint in your eyes because you know as much as he did that you had monumentally fucked up. 

“I know I am terrible for keeping her from you and you from her. I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared and I don’t know David. I was stupid and afraid. I thought you….I don’t know what I thought. I moved back because the minute I had her, the minute they placed her in my arms. I wanted to make sure you both had a life together. I only didn't during the pregnancy because I didn’t know what to do, I was scared and….it doesn’t matter. 

I know what this means for me. I know that I broke your trust. I know that I may never have what I hope for us. But none of that matters because I rather you have a relationship with her if it can’t be me. You both deserve that.” 

He looks at you, drinks you in. Even ruined, tears staining your face and shame ebbing your eyes he knows what he wishes he could deny. 

He fucking loved you.

He still wants forever with you despite this betrayal. 

Even if you threatened to drive him insane. 

“I need to…I need some time.” he finally says and you nod, close your eyes as another sob escapes out of you. He sighs before moving closer to you, hesitating to touch you. He had to say what was really attacking his gut, what was really breaking him. 

“You’ve never lied to me.” 

You snap your eyes to him and shake your head, 

“I didn’t lie to you though David, I just didn’t tell you.” you counter with a shaky voice and he exhales. 

“I didn’t realize I needed to tell you that if you ever carried my child you should tell me. Not saying anything is just as bad as a lie.” he snaps back and you close your eyes and cry harder. 

He closes his eyes, exhales. He hates making you cry, even when things are your fault. He hates the way you fall into yourself, the way you make yourself smaller. The desperate way he can tell you want to reach out to him because his body naturally in response wants to reach out to you. Doesn’t even have to look at you to feel it. His eyes open up in a series of ticks as he looks over at you.

Devastatingly beautiful, snot and all. This whole night was so fucked. He gives in to intuition and gently moves to grab your hands, gives them a little squeeze.

“Let's try this again.” 

You look at him, fighting through your sobs as you shake your head, 

“David, I understand if you hate me. I’d hate me too.” 

He watches you accept the words, don’t look at him and he tips your chin back to him. 

“I don’t hate you Y/N. I’m fucking pissed. At you. At me. At fucking life. But I still love you. The joke of it all is I still fucking love you, every inch of you. But..I need to….you told me we have a kid together. We have a child. Her name is Isla like we-” 

The tears take him off guard, he isn’t expecting the wave of emotions to hit him as hard as it does and you squeeze his hand back.

“I know.” you whisper as he shakes his head. 

“I need some time.”

“Okay.” 

“I’m going to want to meet her. I want to be in her life. I want to be her father. That’s not negotiable,” you give a sigh of relief as he continues. “But us…..we need to figure out what this is. I need to figure out if I can…Do you understand that you asked every person I love to lie to me. Most of all, you kept this from me. I love you but fuck Y/N how could you have kept this from me?” 

The remaining words make you wince but you don’t deny any of them. Accept them as you whisper, 

“I know. I understand.” 

Your eyes tell him that you do; that you wouldn't try to convince him otherwise. That you had expected this outcome. 

“I fucking wish I could hate you.” he tries to kid but a small part of him does. It would make so much of this easier. You give a weak smile as you say lightly, 

“I’ve wished that since you broke up with me years ago David. Doesn’t stick sadly.” 

“For better or worse it would seem.” he mumbles, pressing his forehead against yours. Inhales your scent one last time before dragging his lips over your skin, memorizing the feel. Then he pulls away and leaves you.  

_

He didn’t talk to you for two weeks. Outside of his colleagues, and even those interactions were brief, he didn’t talk to anyone. He couldn’t. There was so much plaguing him. Sam had called and left voicemails and texts that went unanswered. Hell, even your mom had called checking in on him. 

He couldn't do it. 

He needed to ruminate, reflect, and question. Break it down like a case. Replay every interaction you’ve ever had with him. Question why you would keep something like this from him. 

Figure out what went wrong.

After a few days he’s able to deduct a few things. 

First - you probably thought he wasn’t interested in you in the same way he thought you weren’t interested in him. Despite the weekend in your dads study, neither of you discussed further what being together was like. You were logical and probably deducted that he came to you for comfort. That paired with the consistent way he has been pushing you away; insistenting that you live a life without him, ignoring the letters you sent minus the one he can by the end of the two weeks understand why you were hesitant to tell him. 

Fear was a helluva thing. 

It didn’t excuse it, doesn’t make it better, but he can understand. If the roles were reversed, honestly, he’d probably do the same. Maybe. You did end up telling him even if it took almost two years. And while there was a lot he was sad about missing, there was still so much more he could be a part of.  

He can only hope. 

Week three is him taking care of the little things that he never thought would matter. Like changing his life insurance; he wasn’t in the line of work where he could leave it to chance anymore. He made good money now, being the detective he was, and a large chunk of it went to savings. He figures he has to back pay you for child support even if you decline, which he knows you will, and navigates how he can support the other expenses that come with having a child. 

You weren’t going to live the life of a single parent any further.

Finally, he decides to reach out to the people in his life. He calls Sam first. 

“I’m sorry David, I really am.” Sam’s apology barrels out of him quick and fast and David chuckles as he walks in the grocery store. It's late, he figures it’s close to midnight, but he has no food in his home and now he feels he should at least be mindful of his health. 

He had someone relying on him. Two people, really.

“It's okay.” David says and Sam huffs, 

“No its fucked up. I love my sister but she can be so fucking dumb sometimes.” 

David chuckles as he exhales, 

“Yeah, she can be. But, to be fair, I -” 

“Listen we both know you two were playing the worse version of love tag,” Sam cuts him off before David can even begin, “The yearning, sacrifice bullshit you both did, do too each other is because you both don’t fucking think you deserve the other and that was cute when it was just you two but now with Isla…” 

Sam trails off and David frowns. Why did you think you didn’t deserve him? He asks Sam as much.

“I don’t fucking know dude. I think because when you broke up with her the first time she thought you wanted someone, something different. I don't think she ever fully recovered from it. She’s got an ego, my sister. And believe it or not, she can be pretty insecure.” 

David chuckles despite himself as he stops in the frozen aisle. There were healthy things in the frozen aisle right? 

“I don’t know about her being insecure but an ego; that I know she has. I think it's hot when she’s not hiding shit from me.” 

“Of course you do,” Sam hesitates but then says, “Listen, my mom and I have been urging her to tell you since she told us she was pregnant and especially when we learned it was yours.  She wouldn’t give in until she had the baby. Probably because…” 

He trails off and David stops in the aisle, basket forgotten.

“Becuase what Sam?” 

“I’m not trying to not tell you shit like my sister but also, that is actually shit she should tell you. I’ll just say it wasn’t an easy birth, it was scary there for a while.” 

David closes his eyes, shakes his head. He can’t handle that knowledge, not right now. 

“Noted.” he finally says and Sam clears his throat, tries to change the subject. 

“Anywyas, my sister has become more out of pocket than normal since she’s told you. I doubt she’s sleeping and taking care of herself. My mom has literally prescribed her anxiety pills but I know she’s not taking them. Stubborn woman.” 

“Is she..?” 

“She’s fine David. She’s just…listen I’ll only say it once and you make your choice. I respect it either way. She just loves you a lot man. She loves you more that you gave her Isla. She’s worried that her insecure little fuck up means she’s lost you forever. To be fair, she’s also accepted that if it does, its your right. She lost the right to have you the minute she didn’t tell you about Isla. That’s all. She says it doesn’t matter, can’t matter, because Isla is the priority. For as much as she wants you, she wants you and Isla to have a life together. That’s all.” 

That makes David feel a little better, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself. At least you were aware enough to know that. 

He had sent a text to you a day after chatting with Sam. 

Can we talk? 

You respond back five minutes later with a phone call and he leaves his desk, steps out of the station to take it. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.” your voice is light, sad but it still makes his stomach pitch in butterflies. He hates how much he loves you as much as he loves how much he loves you. He can hear noise in the background and he clears his throat. 

“How are you?” 

“I’m okay. It's Sunday so…taking it easy.” 

Was it? He didn’t know. He hasn’t tracked time since he left you in the garage. 

“That’s good. You deserve that,” he hesitates, “How’s….Isla?” 

It feels weird saying her name outloud, he’s only said it in his head, and it causes him to stutter. 

“She’s good. We’re watching Gracie's Corner and practicing our ABC’s.” 

“Yeah?” 

“She’s smart like you, our little Isla. And chaotic like me. She’s singing and dancing in just her diaper right now.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Uh huh. Can you hear her?” 

He can tell you move the phone closer to Isla because the faint sound of a toddler suddenly becomes very loud in his ear. It's the first time he’s heard her voice. She’s not really talking as much as she’s screaming, laughing, an occasional letter spilling out of her mouth. When she squeals mama in laughter he ingests the way you respond back with just as much amusement in your voice. He closes his eyes, listens to the way the two of you engage. 

He imagines what it's like to see it in person. Yearns to be there. 

When the phone is dragged away, Isla but a faint sound he whispers into the receiver, 

“When can I meet her?” 

“Whenever you want David. She’s yours too.” 

He exhales shakily, blows out. 

“I want to meet her soon. But I also think we need to talk about us.” 

You pause. 

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” 

“Can you meet for coffee this week?” 

“Yes,” you're quick to respond and he gives a relieved sigh. 

“Would Wednesday work?” 

“Yes,” another pause, “Would you……do you want to meet Isla too?” 

He pauses, stays still. Did he? 

Yes.

The idea of a child scared him. The idea of fatherhood scared him more. 

But the moment he saw her, learned about her felt like he’d been wasting time to have her in his life. 

“Yes.” 

“Okay. I’ll arrange to have her picked up early from daycare. Lets plan for lunch and we can meet at my place. She….does better meeting new people in familiar places.” 

“Okay.” he exhales, squeezes his eyes shut. This was real. This was happening. 

Which was why he was outside of your condo building the nerve to go in. He has a bouquet of flowers with him, an old habit. He had wanted you to feel like you lost him. He wanted you to feel just as shitty as you had made him feel. 

But he also knows, inevitably, he’ll come back to you. Because he loves you. Because you were the only person that loves him in ways he could never believe. Despite your faults, you were human. And you weren’t denying your wrong in this. That you had made a choice and it was the wrong one. He can forgive you for that simple knowledge. 

But perhaps, this time you both needed to move into a relationship slowly.  

He also has a stack of children’s books with him. Four. Where the Wild Things Are, The Day the Crayons Quit. When You Give a Mouse a Cookie because it's your favorite. Goodnight Moon because it's his. It's also the worn copy he had from his childhood, his mother had gifted it to him. He’s wrapped them in gift paper, tied them with ribbon with a bow on top. 

He hopes it kinda makes up for the Christmas he’s missed. 

The only one he will, he promises himself. 

He steps out of the car, into the humid afternoon sun. It’s eleven thirty but it's also nearing August, so the wet, thick air tangles with the sun in an uncomfortable way. He had to work this morning, and along with the gifts he brings in a gun case so he could place his weapon in it before Isla gets home. 

He didn’t want Isla to ever have to be near one but he also wasn’t going to chance not having it near him now that he had two women to protect. 

He walks up the steps to your condo, takes in the hanging fern in the large window. He can see into the space, you have the curtains drawn open and it exposes a large living room. It's nice at first glance. He rings the doorbell, grateful to see that it's linked to some kind of security system. He’d have to ask you more about that for the future. 

There’s movement on the other side before he hears you walk towards him. When you open the door he has to catch his breath; forgets how you always take his breath away. You're wearing a sundress, it has small floral designs on it and is a light sheer fabric. The top buttons are loosened, expose your bra and teasing cleavage and your hair is freshly wet, though dry enough to not trickle water down your neck. The dress reminds him of the one you wore on the first date together and that paired with the fresh scent of soap and roses makes him clear his throat as he watches you. 

‘Stay strong David. You both deserve to take it slow’ he reminds himself. 

“Hey.” he says and you watch him carefully, drinking him in from bottom to top. Lust peppers through your irises by the time your eyes reach his, though you shake your head and offer him a quiet smile. 

You were probably fighting the same thoughts. Lust and natural attraction was never a problem between you both. 

“Hi.” 

A breathy response from you that has his pants tightening. Yeah, you two were doomed lovers. How Shakespearean.

“Hi.” he offers a small smile back. 

“Do you want to come in? I just got out of the shower and was starting lunch.” 

He exhales, nods slowly. 

“Yeah, that would be great.” 

_

He probably should’ve prepared himself for being in your home. 

It's overwhelming. 

First, there’s the personality of you. It shows in the furniture you’ve picked out, the photos that frame the walls, the way the house even smells. Hard wood floors and rugs dance together. The couches look fancy but comfortable, lived in. Despite the fact that you're a single mom, your condo looks like you’re a successful woman who can live on her own. Is peppered with the adventures of a life abroad, a life lived. Feminine, quirky touches that are distinctly you.

Except, Isla was also littered around. In the photos on the walls  and the toys that have been organized to a corner in the room. There’s two blankets, it's obvious which is yours and which is Isla’s based on the designs on them. The shoe rack hosts your shoes and a few little ones that can only be Isla’s and his heart aches. 

He can’t wait to meet her. 

“David?” you’ve moved to the kitchen that’s just opposite the open living room. The kitchen is more modern, there aren't bricks but trendy tiles that line the walls. Modern appliances and nice granite that house nice lights. You have a bowl of salad that’s already prepped and you pull out bread, other ingredients for sandwiches. 

“Was thinking of making a tuna melt.” you say and David gives a quiet smile and nods, holding up the bouquet in his hands remembering it for the first time. 

“Thanks. I….. bought you flowers.”

You pause as you stop what you’re doing and take them in, then look back up at him. They are peonies and lilies, and he watches you brush away a forlorn tear as you give him a grateful smile. 

“Thank you David you didn’t have to….uhh let me put them in a vase.” 

He nods as you walk over to grab them from him, your fingers brushing his and you both exhale as you slowly look up at each other. You clear your throat as hesitantly pul your hand away from him, focusing instead on the gifts he cradles under his other arm, along with the gun box. 

“Are those for Isla?” you ask instead and he looks down, gives a shy smile. 

“Yeah I….I hope she will like…. I wanted to give her something too.” 

You smile at him, reach for his hand and give it a little squeeze.

“You’re already gift enough David. But she’s going to love that. She loves presents.” 

Your voice is soft as you look at him. There’s a strand of hair that’s gotten in your eyes, he moves to brush it behind your ear and you exhale shakily, biting your lip. His eyes naturally flicker down to them, imagining how soft they would feel and he exhales as he flickers his eyes back to yours. 

Right. Taking it slow. 

“Should I put them on the counter or….” he breaks first, shifting his eye contact to the island and you clear your throat as you pull away to find a vase in a cabinet. 

“Yeah that’s perfect.” 

After you fill up a vase with flowers, you start moving to make the tuna salad and he takes a seat at the island, placing the gifts and his gun case on the clean surface. 

“So Isla is going to get dropped off around one today. They have early release on Wednesdays and I usually work from home so I can snag her. But a friend at the school offered to drop her off so she’ll be here around then.” 

You say it over your shoulder and he hums in acknowledgement as you shift to the island to start chopping vegetables. 

“Y/N.” You begin with peeling carrots, chopping them quickly in cubes to avoid looking up at him. 

“Hmm.” 

“What were you hoping to achieve when you invited me to the art gallery a month back?” 

You pause, knife hovering over the vegetables. You inhale a few times before looking up at him. 

“I was going to tell you about Isla. Genuinely, I was hoping to over dinner. But then I was selfish, I wanted to be able to have a few more hours with you where you could still love me before I ruined it all. Ruined us.” 

In philosophy, the statement ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul’ was something that he always took to heart. Eyes revealed so much, but especially with you. You had always held the habit of indirectly looking people in the eyes; it made you uncomfortable to be so intimate with most you had told him once. 

With him, you had always looked him back in the eyes, you never strayed. Looking at him directly was the one proof you needed in loving him. The only time you didn’t was when you were hiding something from him.  Or lying. 

You stare at him now, guilt ebbing your irises and he nods slowly. 

“Why did you think to keep her from me? Really?” 

You raise your brows and exhale, 

“I….misunderstood the difference between you wanting me to live my life with you not wanting to have me in your life. I was insecure. I was worried that I’d tell you that I was pregnant and you’d hate me for it. So I didn’t say anything because that seemed easier. Which was a joke. The more pregnant I became the more…” you taper off as you look off behind him before shaking your head, looking back at him, “Anyways, I had Isla and knew I had to tell you. I just was too chicken shit to do it over the phone.”

He watches you for a beat. Lets you stew in the discomfort before saying, 

“You’ve always been bad at dealing with stuff that is tied with emotions. You run from it as much as I do.”  

“I know.” your voice has hit that whiny inflection it does when you know he’s right and hate to admit it and he gives a soft smile. 

“At least you can admit you were being a chicken shit.” 

“Har har. I might be an ignorant asshole but I’m a humble one.” 

“Obviously.”

You give a small smile as you resume cutting vegetables and he exhales, 

“I forgive you, you know,” you cut a little slower because you can sense the but coming. “I forgive you. But I think we need to take things slow if we want to have a relationship.” 

“If you want to have a relationship.” you correct and he shakes his head. 

“If we want a relationship. No more putting the fate of our love in the other person's hands. It's what got us in this mess to begin with.”

You frown as you look at him and he sighs, 

“You can take all the blame you want, and to a degree you do have some of it for not telling me. But I do too. May not be as small as you think it is but you had made it clear multiple times you wanted to try to make us work. Even when we were settled in our new lives. I pushed you away. I made you feel unwanted. That’s on me. I can understand why you were afraid to tell me, even if its fucked up that you made the choice for me.” 

You watch him for a beat and slowly nod. 

“We gotta stop making choices on behalf of each other.” You finally say and he nods. 

“Yeah. We used to be really good at doing things together. Talking through things together. Making decisions that impacted each other together. I don’ know how or when we lost sight of that but we did. We can’t do that anymore. Not when we have Isla.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

“I know I am.” 

“Okay, don’t get ahead of your detective. My ego can’t handle it.” 

He chuckles as you go back to prepping vegetables before you pause and shakily admit, 

“I want to be with you David. I want us to be a family. I still selfishly want that life we yearned for so long ago.” 

He leans over, places his hands over yours. Helping the soft tremor from your fear to calm. 

“I do too, baby. More than you know. But we gotta learn how to trust each other, yeah? Start from the basics.” 

You let out a shaky exhale as you flicker your eyes up to him. 

“For better or worse?”

“For better or worse.” he repeats and you nod. 

Yeah, he could do this. He could, because you were willing to too. 

It felt nice to have someone fight for him, to want him, to love him. He missed it. Even more, he missed doing the same for you.

_________

“When you said that you were hoping to rekindle your romance with your ex I thought you were crazy. But seeing your ex…I get it. Rekindle away and share the highlights por favor.” 

Mia’s voice is teasing as you both walk out from the bathroom. After you had been alerted to David’s presence, you had gestured to him to give you a minute so you could escape to the bathroom. In reality, you wanted to scurry off to freshen up your makeup, do another clean spritz of perfume, fluff out your hair. 

Mia had been on your coattails, watching in amusement as you re-applied lipstick with a smirk on her face the whole time. You could tell she had something to say but you weren’t going to warrant it. You were nervous as it was. 

“Har har.” Your voice is sarcastic but you can’t help the smile that falls on your face as your heels click on the shiny marble floor of the museum, lost to the sound of chatter from the event.

“No I mean it; he’s fucking hot.” 

“David is really attractive, I agree. Obviously.” 

“And sensitive. Your typical Romeos just bring roses. He brought you a pretty summer bouquet.”

You hesitate before answering. 

“...he brought me a bouquet of a few of my favorite flowers.” 

Even from afar you could spot the tulips, the snapdragons and soft pink roses you adored. Memory of an elephant he had. 

“Oh….” Mia grabs your arm, pauses, “wait, wait, wait. Is he the one that…?” 

She trails off and you exhale as you stop, look over at her. Mia was an intern with your company in the nontraditional way; while she was a student she was closer to your age having chosen to go to school later in life. Being freshly thirty year olds you and her naturally connected as you transitioned back; she had been a godsend with supporting you with your move back to Philadelphia and adjusting. 

Naturally, after a few glasses of wine, David had come up. 

“Yes.” 

“Okay girl,” she steps in front of you, pushing the straps to your dress more to the sides of your shoulder. Your hair which was still pinned back escapes their release when she tugs on the clip you had it in, falling down to your shoulders in messy yet teasing curls. She squeezes your breast together, pushing them so your cleavage is highlighted more and you laugh as you push her hands away. 

“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” 

“Now it is. When you changed into this dress an hour ago, we all thought you were trying to impress the rich guests who would be here. I didn't realize that you had personally invited a suitor. This dress is hot, it makes your tits look great and your ass, and you look beautiful in it. So, let him know that.” 

“David knows…he's ... .we were each other's first loves.” 

“Yes, but it's a nice reminder. Also, when men get territorial they are more likely to make moves and by the way you've done your makeup and curled your hair you obviously want to get laid. I’m helping you get there.” 

“Hey!” you laugh but you don’t deny her advice. The truth was Mia was right; you did want to hook up with David. 

More than that, you just wanted to spend time with him. Share with him what had been sitting in the pit of your stomach after you left him on your dad’s office floor two years ago.

“I don’t just want to hook up with him though. I….we both made choices for our careers and it made sense for us at the time but now….he’s always had my heart, you know? I want him to know that.”

“He was willing to drive an hour here with your favorite bouquet and I bet you he’s not moved from the spot we left him in since you left. Trust me girl, he knows. He might be just as scared as you.” 

“Maybe.” 

You exhale as you do another twirl and Mia claps her hands and nods. 

“You look great. Now let him see it.” 

_

When you step out onto the floor, you’re not surprised by how the room is filling up. At this point, the event will run itself considering your primary role was to connect leadership with the media and most of that work had been completed hours earlier. The few reporters remaining were staying for photos and quotes, and you had made it clear to Mia that you wanted to be more offhands when the night kicked off so she would take lead for anything additional. 

You were, after all, on a date. 

David’s moved off to the side, he’s rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and the bouquet he brought hangs limply in his right hand as he ingested the large program hanging off to the side. You drink him in. He still kept the haircut you had grown fond of seeing on him. It didn’t look like he got any new tattoos, though the ones you were able to see still nostalgically made you want to wet yourself in desire. 

You could do this. You could tell him exactly what you have been wanting to tell him for two years. You intake one final breath before walking over to him. When he hears your footsteps, he looks away from the large board he’s reading, an automatic smile falling on his face as you near. 

You have seen many oceans, far more seas, even more lakes. Nothing matched the beautiful color of David’s eyes, deep pools of love and care that danced whenever he looked at you. 

It makes your heart flutter. 

You smile back at him, exhaling as you say, 

“Sorry about that. Haven’t had a chance to run to the bathroom while I was supporting getting things set up.” 

“It's fine,” he walks closer, awkwardly lifts the bouquet. “These are for you.” 

You smile deeper as you take the floral plants, smelling the roses and tulips while whispering, 

“You remembered.” 

“You’re hard to forget. Every inch of who you are is implanted in me, rather either of us like it or not.” 

You shake your head as you step closer to him and exhale, 

“You know how to make a girl swoon.” 

David was always cautious with you, always hesitant to claim that you were his. It took a good six months before he felt confident to initiate grabbing your hand in public when you both dated years ago, so you're surprised when he slips his arms around your waist, drags you closer to him. 

“I know how to make you swoon. Especially when my goal is to make you my girl again.” 

“Oh David, don’t you know by now it doesn’t take much.” 

He watches you carefully, his hand is tighter around you before he leans down and places a kiss on your neck. It's tender, soft, and he whispers against your skin, 

“A little warning; if I do end up making you mine again, I’m never letting you go.” 

You’ve forgotten all words, sentences, what continent you’re on. You’ve been with a few other people since departing from David, much like he has, but he was the only man that knew how to make your breath stutter, to make your underwear pool with desire, to make you feel wholly loved and seen. 

You’ve always been his. 

“Hmmmm, you promise?” you whisper and he chuckles, nips at your neck that pulls out an unexpected squeak.

“I can guarantee it.” 

He places one more kiss on your neck, lingers there for a second more, before pulling away and smiling down at you. 

“Anyways, you should probably get those in some water. They’ll wilt if you don’t and I’m curious about the exhibit.” 

The world becomes clear to you. You hear laughter, voices talking. The clinking of drinks and food trays and you shake your head, narrow your eyes at him. 

“You’re playing dirty.” 

“I’m getting revenge.” he says simply. His hands are still wrapped around you, claiming you, and he dips his head low enough for you to hear, to smell the cologne wafting off him, the faint smell of coffee. 

He smelled like home. 

“For what?” 

He leans in closer, places a soft kiss on your temple, 

“For giving me head on the side of the road unexpectedly six years ago. It ruined me for years.” 

You feel yourself falling again, fuck why were you at this event when you both could be in bed, but the moment is lost as quick as its comes. He places one more kiss on your skin before pulling away, shifting and saying, 

“Hi, you must need Y/N.” 

He’s drawn you to the side with his extra clip, it digs into your hip in a familiar and nostalgic way, and you realize he must’ve come straight from work as his badge and gun are also on display. 

You flicker your eyes over to who he’s addressing, Mia, who is watching you with a knowing glint in her eyes. 

“Hey Mia. Sorry about running off, I was just saying hi to David. David, this is Mia. Mia - David.” 

David extends his hand out, brandishes a soft smile as he says, 

“Hi Mia. Pleasure to meet you.” 

“Pleasure to meet you David. Not like Y/N to bring a date to these things.” 

David smiles as he moves you closer to him, and you can’t help to lean in as he says, 

“Must make me a pretty lucky guy.” 

“You must be. So you’re a….” 

“He’s a lead detective in Conyers. He’s solved a few cases and even helped the state with some.” you step in, needing to get control of yourself, the situation. 

Not trying to melt into a horny, teenage girl even if that was exactly how you felt right now. 

David flickers his eyes to you, curiously and Mia raises her eyebrows. 

“Impressive.” 

“He is.” you flit your eyes up at him and he smiles, shaking his head. 

“Anyways, would you mind placing these in some water in my office. There’s two floors on this exhibit and I want to drag David to the top one before it gets really full.” 

Mia is watching the way you both interact, giggles and nods, 

“Oh yea. By the way Y/N I just wanted you to know you’re officially off duty. William and I can handle it from here.” 

“Are you sure…” You’re not trying to fight it but you also were working and she waves her hand, 

“Positive. Enjoy the night.” 

She disappears into the crowd and David chuckles, looks down at you, 

“So how deep have you been keeping tabs on me?” 

“As much as I’ve needed to. It's my duty.” 

“Hmm,” he looks out into the crowd, before looking down at you, “Want to get a drink before you show me the exhibit.” 

You watch him for a second, trying to gauge him before nodding and smiling, 

“Yeah, that would be great.” 

_

You both grab a drink - a white wine for you and a beer for David - before you’re dragging him towards the second floor exhibit. Your goal is to work your way down; that way you both can decide if you want to stay and linger or head out for drinks and dinner. 

You’re sure you know the answer. 

Still, this side of David is new to you. He’s dominant, flirty, teasing in the best way. In the past, he would shield this part of him; you’d have to pull it out of him from behind the doors of your bedroom, his apartment. Now he’s happy to let you know that everything you’ve been worried about is wrong. 

He still cares for you as much as you care for him. 

The love that he claimed to still have was still there strongly for you. 

It gives you hope.

He keeps his hand threaded through yours as you both walk through the exhibit, laughing and talking about the art pieces. When you run into colleagues at the museum, people you work with throughout the city, David is amiable, always introducing himself as you lead small talk before excusing the both of you. 

He’s different in all the ways he’s the same. 

“You’ve changed.” You say as you both slowly walk to another art piece, drinks discarded. David fingers tighten quickly in yours and he shakes his head, smiles. 

“No I haven’t.” 

“You tolerate small talk.” 

He chuckles, shakes his head. 

“Work has taught me how to tolerate small talk. I still fucking hate it.” 

You laugh as you lean into him, smile. 

“Me too.” 

“Yes, except you naturally excel at putting people at ease and so they naturally want to engage with you. The only difference now is that you’ve garnered their respect too.”

You look over at him as he ingests the piece. You’re on the side of him where two moles are spaced apart, from his jawline to his neck, it reminds you of the constellations he used to chat with you about. You miss being able to kiss them tenderly, wrapped in his arms as his voice lulled you to sleep. 

You were in trouble. 

“Would you still like to have dinner with me?” His voice draws you back to the present and you blink a few times as he looks down at you. There’s a knowing look in his eyes and you smile as you nod, 

“Yeah; I’ve just had a salad and lots of coffee for my meals.” 

“That’s no good. You used to be great at feeding yourself.” 

“Yeah, well….time has become my enemy nowadays.” you look away from him, off into the distance before you flicker your eyes back up.

“But I would like dinner. Especially with you.” 

“I made a reservation and we have about 45 minutes to get there. Figure if we leave now, we should make it between getting there and parking.” 

You watch him carefully, mindfully, before saying, 

“Confident huh?” 

“You typically never say no to a good meal,” he moves his eyes back to the piece, “Especially with me.” 

“Cocky and confident. I like this new David.” you tease and he smiles as he drags your hand up to his mouth, placing a chaste kiss on it. 

“I’m ready to go whenever you are.” 

You both head out soon after that. David follows you to your office so you can grab your purse, the light jacket you brought. You’d worry about your overnight bag tomorrow; you wanted to pack as lightly as you can. 

You're both greeted by Clarence as you step off the elevator to the parking garage; you introduce David who is happy to engage with the man and is grateful when he suggests a place for you both to park after he whispers to the older gentleman about where he’s taking you. He shares the parking garage with you because he wants you to be surprised for the rest of his plans, and even though you roll your eyes you can’t help the pit of excitement that it causes. 

It's like falling in love all over again. 

David, ever the planner, has mapped out the ride and parking perfectly. He follows you, parks near you in the garage, and meets you at your door to walk with you out of the parking unit. The night is cool, but in the way summer nights can only be, and you’re happy that when you slip your hand into his he takes it easily. 

The walk is short; you’re grateful because while you loved the tan Gucci heels you treated yourself too a summer back they weren’t broken in and were actually killing you. Still, when you walk into the nice hotel that David’s led you into and follow him to a back elevator you're surprised when he tells the attendant his name. 

“Where are we going?” 

You need another drink, you feel nervous and David smiles as the man nods, directs you into the tight spice and swipes a card before pushing a button that you can only assume was the roof. 

“Its a surprise.” 

“A surprise?” you ask as the elevator doors close and David shifts to move his arm around your hips, drawing you close. You fall into him, hand falling on his chest and you ignore the muscle underneath, the warmth emanating off of him.

“Yes, a surprise.” 

“This is a fancy surprise.” 

“You deserve fancy. You deserve the world.”

“No I don’t.” you say softly, regretfully. 

If only he knew. 

He looks down at you, watches you carefully. He pushes hair from your eyes, his hand falling on your cheek as he whispers, 

“Yes, you do.” 

From this angle its not just your eyes that he can see. His lips tug as it drags down to your chest, back up to your eyes that you know have shifted to the fuck you eyes that you were more than likely giving him unconsciously and he smirks as he kisses your forehead. 

“Tease.” he mumbles against your skin and you scoff as you slap his chest. 

“I’m just existing right now wondering where you’re taking me.” 

“Your eyes say otherwise.” 

“.....so.” 

He laughs at your response, gives you one more squeeze before placing a kiss on your forehead. 

“Let me feed you first. Then I promise you can have your way with me.” 

“Now who's teasing.” you groan as the elevator dings and he chuckles as he moves his hand back down to yours, intertwining them. 

“Come on. You never did well on an empty stomach.” 

The place he has taken you to is fancy; you’re definitely sure he’s going to drop at least one hundred dollars. You have seats on a rooftop deck, the Philadelphia nightline glimmers as your table is tucked away in a corner spot. You slide into your seat, mindful of how David pushes it in before sitting across from you and you shake your head with a large grin on your face as the waiter pours you water. 

When he walks away David casually looks down at the menu and says, 

“Remember to order whatever you want, baby. Dinners on me tonight.”

Whatever qualms you had about David have fully evaporated by now. Whenever you asked Sam about David, specifically about how David might feel about you, he always was nonchalant. Not in a negative way but Sam said he avoided speaking about you because he could tell it made David sad. 

Your mom was no better, though she did say he asked about you often and she shared what she knew you’d be comfortable sharing. 

You worried that David cared for you nostalgically, mindfully; you also heard from the few friends you still chatted with in Conyers that David dated occasionally. You didn’t want him to deny himself love of course, you dated too, but it made you insecure.

That the love that the two of you had no longer was real.

Except sitting across from him now, the truth was so obvious for the two of you.. Now you could understand why your dad always rolled his eyes and scoffed whenever you brought David up. 

The love that you and David had was rare. 

Even time wasn’t willing to break it apart. 

David notices that you're quiet, that you haven’t responded and he looks up from the menu with knitted brows. 

“You okay?” 

“You know, you were going to get laid tonight regardless. You could’ve just taken me to Burger King and I would’ve been happy.” 

David watches you for a beat, takes you in before shaking his head, 

“I know. But like I said, you deserve to be treated well. I like being able to take you out and show you off. Always have.” 

“A place like this would’ve given you hives eight years ago.” 

He laughs as he grabs his water, sips. 

“Yeah it would’ve. But you like places like this.”

“How do you know?”

“Your Instagram. I might have asked Sam.” 

You smile as you lean into the table, exhale, 

“How deep have you been keeping tabs on me, detective.” 

“I’ll always keep tabs on you; it's my job.” 

He reaches out for your hand as he repeats the words you used on him earlier and gives it a little squeeze. You look down at the tattoos on his fingers and can’t help the small smile that falls on your face as you ingest each syllable, what each meant to him. 

Truly serendipitous, him and you. 

“We’re fucked aren’t we?” 

David laughs, squeezes your hand and you flicker your eyes up to him. 

“Yeah, probably. But we were from the start. We’re just getting back on track.” 

The unsaid words are enough for the both of you. You both get two mixed drinks, order appetizers, a rich meal, dessert. You naturally fall into the cadence of each other, David calls you baby the tipsier he becomes, his eyes boldly racking down your body the more the night moves on. 

You can’t help to compliment him, tell him how proud you’ve been of him, how much you miss him. Eye fuck him whenever you get the chance too.

It's a dangerous combination. 

By the time David’s walked you to your car, most of the garage is empty of cars. You barely make it to your vehicles door, turning around to tease David before his lips find yours. 

You forget words, ideas, the notion of being human. Your hands hungrily dive around David’s neck, drawing him closer, dragging your nails through his hair as his tongue teases your mouth open. You both groan as he shimmies his hip into you, he’s turned on as much as you are, and you moan as he lifts you, your legs naturally wrapping around him. His hands dig into your thighs as you kiss him fiercely, sloppy and needy, and he growls as he drags his mouth lower. 

“I want you Y/N…” his voice is lazy, husky and you moan as he bites your neck, kisses the skin tenderly. His hands are pushing the hem of your dress up and you sigh as he continues to assault your neck with kisses. 

“Will take you here, in your car, wherever but fuck I need you.” 

“David…” 

Laughter suddenly echoes against the garage walls, close, and the sudden sound causes you both to pull away before you hear footsteps. 

“Oh shit.” David whispers and you shift so you can unwrap yourself from him. He supports you, helping to place you down tenderly as a group of young men walk by. They clap and hoot as they spot the two of you huddled together, you hide your face in David’s shirt as he waves the men away, and you both wait for their cars to pull out of the garage before you finally pull away and look up at him. 

His hair is disheveled, irises blow, mouth covered in your bold, red lipstick and puffy and you exhale as you lean back onto your door, biting your lip. 

“You bring out my bad habits detective.” 

David smiles as he watches you, licks his lips.

“I like your bad habits.” 

“I know,” you laugh as you run your hands through your hair and look out the garage into the city. You needed to say it. You couldn’t move forward with anything else if you don’t get it off your chest. “I need to tell you something David.” 

“Did I go over the line? Should I have, was this to much?” his voice drawls as his eyes shift from lust to concern and you shake your head.

“David, all I want to do is ride you into the morning sun and then sleep and eat a little and do it again. That’s not the issue.” 

David gives a small smile, is amused, but the concern is still there. 

“Okay.” 

He watches the way you close your eyes, blow out air. You thought this would be easier. 

“Okay, so, I sent you that letter because of course I wanted to connect with you but I also….I wanted, need, to tell you something.” 

David watches you as you open up your eyes and look out into the night. This should be easier. 

“You know, I lived in London for a while and it was great, it was. But I missed being close to family, I obviously missed you, and….well it was important that when I came to America I came back here. Specifically, to be near you.”

You shift your eyes over to him as he watches you patiently. Mindfully. 

He always knew when to listen, when you needed the space to just be heard. 

Its why this was so hard. 

“I um….went back to London with a little souvenir last we saw each other. And now she’s almost two and um, she….she deserves and you deserve to know each other. She wants to know you.” 

David isn’t shifting, has gone painfully still as you dig into your purse, pull out your phone. You exhale again, your hands shaking. You don’t know how to proceed, your hands are shaking heavily before David asks in a whisper, 

“What are you saying Y/N.”

“Sam, my mom, they came to visit me two summers ago unexpectedly, maybe you remember. They never wanted to fly abroad but they did. They did because…I…fuck….I don’t know how too...”

This shouldn’t be hard but it is. You feel shame for holding on to it for so long, for not telling him the minute you had found out, fear it will push him away. That the real reason you were afraid to see him meant it would officially be the end of the fairy tale and that he would never forgive you. 

Trust was a one way road. When it was broken, it is almost impossible to get back. 

You’re worried that will be the case with him. 

That idea threatens to shatter you in half. 

Because you also couldn’t blame him. 

David steps up to you, he’s quiet as he places his arms gently on your shoulders, 

“What are you saying Y/N?” this time his voice is shaky and you look up at him with worry in your eyes before fumbling with your phone. The main screen reveals a hint of what you’re trying to convey, you find your photos app and find a photo easily from two days ago. 

Round cheeks look back at him, one dimple digging into the right one. A large smile matches yours, with small teeth that peek out. She even has your nose. She’s beautiful; a mini version of you. She’s young, a toddler, David’s seen enough kids to gauge that she’s most likely between the age of one and three. 

Except her hair is dark like his, a chestnut brown that reminds him of midnight when not in the light. There’s a lot of it, in the photo its pulled back into a ponytail that mirrors yours but smaller, and wisps fall out of it sloppily making her seem like a mini twin.  

It's not her hair that gives her away though. 

It's her eyes. Ocean blue orbs that mirror his own, they even sink into her face the way his does. They glimmer with happiness, and while she had his shade they are your shape perfectly. 

The young girl's face is pressed to yours as you both smile into the camera. It's so obvious that you’re her mother. 

It’s so obvious that he’s….

“David, this is Isla Kira Grant-Loki. She’s our daughter.” 

_________

Two Years Later, July 2016

The letter arrives on a hot day the third week of June. 

It mingles with the rest of the mail, and it’s for that reason David doesn’t see it until a few days later. The day he finds it, it's been a long day, the case he’s on isn’t heavy like he typically deals with but it’s tedious, and to add on to that he has a date that he was less than mildly excited about. 

Except he had promised Michael he’d show up so he follows through. 

The woman is….nice. She’s pretty, she works for the local school district and has a nice sense of humor. Except, she has to force conversation if there’s any moment of silence, she makes it very obvious the minute he sits down that she would love for him to fuck her in the bathroom, and she seemed….not dull. Just uninspiring. Nice for someone but not for him. 

By the time he gets home it’s late, but insomnia has won again so he takes a long hot shower before deciding to have a glass of whiskey. Take care of the bills for that month. 

It’s by doing this that he finds the letter. 

He knows it’s your handwriting instantly, delicate cursive spelling out his name. The rest however is different. The return address isn’t the London one he’s gotten familiar with seeing the many times he quickly glances at it before placing it safely in a box in the closet; one made specifically for them. This one is close, Philadelphia, and the stamp on the other side of the envelope confirms it’s from the Philadelphia Museum of Art and Rodin Museum. 

This letter was also just that, a letter, not a card like you typically sent him. It's also sent out of cadence of when you usually sent him things; you never send him cards for the Fourth of July so the timing is out of pattern. 

Curiosity and worry tangle together, and that fueled with the whiskey causes him to open the letter without hesitation. The scent of you hits him first; it triggers a variety of memories that causes the alcohol in his stomach to go sour as his eyes ingest the words. 

Dearest detective, 

How are you? I hope that you’ve been well and have enjoyed the past few cards I’ve sent (he indeed hasn’t and he’s sure you know that despite the hopeful words). If not, and by some chance that you are reading this, there’s just a few things that I want to share with you. 

The first - I recently moved back to America. I’ve been here for about a year now. I postmarked the cards I sent you for the past few holidays and your birthday in advance because, well, I didn’t know how to tell you. After losing dad, being away didn’t feel good as the months carried on. So I moved back here and am renting in Philadelphia. 

I asked Sam and my mom not to tell you because I wanted to be the one to let you know. But once I settled in I realized I didn’t have your number and…well it felt wrong to get it from Sam without your permission. 

He hates being in the middle of us.

And my mom refused to, insisting that I knew where you lived so I could just show up and let you know. Obviously an option I was too cowardly to follow through with.

So here we are. 

Which leads to the second thing - I would love to reconnect with you. I’m currently working for a variety of museums on behalf of the PR company I worked for back in college. You know, the one that sent me abroad in the first place? Well, they offered me a really good role, I’m an executive now (they’re crazy ha ha). It would be so nice to be able to connect with you but also I know that the boundary you have set with me is important. I always want to respect what you feel is best for you. 

However, if you ever need to or even want to chat, feel free to call me at 215-555….

David’s reaching for his phone without thinking, a single thought on his mind. 

Did you really want to reconnect? 

He’s not mindful of the time; day is night and night is day to him at this point in his life. You were trying to still respect the boundary he set. Wasn’t that the biggest joke. He pushed you away because he wanted what was best for you, and didn't want to be the reason why you might live a life of regret down the road. 

Yet here he was living it for you. It only took a year after you both had reconnected post your father’s funeral that he was willing to admit to himself how much he regretted letting you go; even more on how he regretted not being bold enough to reach out. 

The truth was he feared rejection; that you would realize it was best the decision you had both made. He knows he wouldn’t be able to survive that level of pain. 

The phone rings once, twice, and he’s about to hang up when he hears, 

“Hello?” 

He freezes. He’s not sure what to do or say. Five seconds ago this was a brilliant plan. 

Now? Now he felt like an insecure idiot. 

“Hello?” you repeat into the receiver, lower and he can hear the exhaustion in your tone so he clears his throat as he says,

“Hey Y/N.”

A slight pause. He hears something distant in the background, maybe a TV? A stereo? 

“David?” 

“Your one and only.”

He hears you shift, turn down the volume of whatever was on faintly that you were listening to.

“Oh my fucking god. You actually read my note?” 

The disbelief in your voice causes the edges of his mouth to tug up, he hates the way you can easily draw out a smile from him even if you weren’t trying to. He grasps on the way your voice tangos with happiness and relief.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one swimming with regret.

“Yeah…sorry if I’m calling too late. I can try tomorrow morning-” 

“No, no, no. Night time is our time; you’re okay.” 

You cut him off and he can’t help the soft chuckle that escapes from him. 

“Our time huh?”

“We always have our best conversations in the waning light. We’re cryptids of the night, you and I.”

He fully laughs now, sits back in his chair as he exhales. 

“That’s true I suppose.”

“It is,” another pause, “How are you David?” 

He looks down at the drink in his hand. He could lie and say he was fine. And he was. But you would know better. You would know the truth dancing behind the words. Or maybe you won’t and he just needs an excuse to engage with you, connect. 

He takes a leap.

“Honestly? Fucking exhausted. Up until ten minutes ago I was utterly unamused but then I found your note and… Well now I feel a bit better.”

“I’m happy it helped. I understand being exhausted too. I'm currently scouring data, convincing myself that I’m still on London time and not fighting insomnia but meh you know how it goes. Tomato, potato.” 

He can hear the smile in your voice, wishes he could watch it form as he asks, 

“So you’re back in Pennsylvania huh?”

“Yes.” 

“Is there a story there?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean you could’ve moved back anywhere and you choose…here.”

You sigh in that familiar way, the one that is both amused and holding on to disbelief. 

“Oh David; your wit and looks might have matured but not that self deprecating sense of humor of yours. My family is here. Mom is here. Sam moved back here after finishing school out west. But most importantly you’re here so…”

He doesn't mean for his breath to shutter but it does. He wants all the excuses to not have a reason to engage with you but you’ve never been one to tolerate the way he pushes away. You were better at pulling him back. 

You were fine with the tug of war game of self love and hate he mentally played with himself. 

“Well technically I’m in Conyers and not Philadelphia but sure.” 

You laugh, its wholehearted and genuine before you say, 

“Yeah, true. But we’re going to have to repair the frays of our relationship if you get me back there. Baby steps.”

“Fair,” he takes a sip, looks down at his glass. “So catch me up on life.” 

You both end up on the phone for two hours - he listens to the last two years that had slipped from his fingers. Your life felt foreign to him, like an illusion or fever dream he had read about in books but didn’t think people actually did. You have traveled to over twenty countries and met interesting people and now….

Now you are here. 

“Do you miss it?” he asks, whiskey long gone. He’s in his bed, the room is dark minus the illumination of his phone and you lazily reply back, 

“Hmmm, I thought I’d miss it more. And sometimes I do. But no. I love that I was able to travel. Meet people, see places. Know that I could do it alone. And eventually, I want to go out and see the world. But I also want to be grounded with someone when I go back out and explore. It's nice to share the experience.” 

He closes his eyes as you nudge, 

“What about you?” 

“Me?” 

“Yes you detective.” 

He likes the new nickname you’ve bestowed on him; normally he shied away from his title but with you it felt like a badge of honor. 

“Nothing much.” 

“You mean, you’re not going to tell me how you’re still the only detective in Pennsylvania history who has solved every case he’s been assigned. And keeps denying going to other departments ‘because you’re just not ready’.” 

He frowns, even if there's amusement in his voice as he asks, 

“You’re keeping tabs on me?” 

“Haven’t you been keeping tabs on me?” 

A beat. 

“....I mean, if I was it was because I wanted to make sure you were living your life.” 

You laugh, lightheartedly and exhale into the phone, 

“Admit it; you miss me.”

“I do miss you.” 

He says it soft and low, swallows. 

“I was wondering-”

There’s sudden movement on your end, the phone gets muffled, and when you get back on you’re whispering, 

“Okay, sorry about this but my roommate just woke up and she’s pissed because I woke her up sooo I should probably get off the phone.” 

“You have a roommate?” he doesn’t mean to sound incredulous but he does and you laugh louder than he’s guessing you want because you respond with a whisper. 

“Yeah. You’d love her. Anyways, she’s had a long day, she’s tired and has asked very politely for me to essentially fuck off. 

But….can I save your number? I’d like to do this again. Chat. Connect.” 

He laughs, looks over at his alarm and can understand the frustration. If someone woke him up at two a.m. he’d be pissed too. 

“Yeah. Save my number. Call me or text me whenever you want. But only if I can do the same.” 

“I’d expect nothing less, detective. Have a good night David. Looking forward to hearing from you more.” 

Your voice is teasing and light; it's hopeful in that familiar way that reminds him of when you were both younger and in love. 

“Good night Y/N. Rest. You deserve it.” 

The soft exhale of your voice before you hang up is all he needs to know. 

He was going to win your heart over again. 

_

He knows he has to take the lead on this; not you, not this time.

Your relationship previously had been built on you letting him know how much he meant to you, how much you wanted him. Even after the breakup you mailed him a birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years card for six years consistently. 

You had already shown how much you were willing to hang on.  So he knows that final push when you both said your goodbyes in the confines of your dads office, despite the steady communication you still sent, was why you didn’t just steal your brother's phone and get his number outright. 

Because you did respect his boundaries and always respected his wishes. 

Which is why he knows that this time, he has to court you in the way you courted him all those years ago. 

He starts first with texts. Good morning, good afternoon, good night. He always asks one good thing that's gone well with your day in the evening and one good thing you were hoping to have happen for you in the morning.

He doesn’t push away when you ask more about him - why he was still in the apartment he was in, had he switched up his wardrobe (a bit, but probably not really. What he wore was practical). 

“Are you seeing anyone?” he asks on a Thursday. You’re walking him through a simple chicken and veggie stir fry and while he feels like he’s swimming in instructions you’re patient as he sautees veggies. 

“It's taken you this long to ask?” you tease and he frowns. 

It's been two weeks now, it's mid July and he feels shy, silly. Should he have asked sooner? 

“I didn’t want to be…I didn’t want you to feel like I-” he doesn’t know the words; doesn’t know how to articulate that he didn't want you to feel like you were settling on him or assume he still had a claim over you. 

“David, David, David,” you tsk, moving around in your kitchen before saying, “No, I am not seeing anyone. I am just talking to you.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really? Why is that hard for you to believe?” your voice is light and teasing, the way it gets when you get insecure and he exhales as he admits, 

“Sam showed me a picture of the two of you recently and…..Y/N you have to know you're gorgeous. You’re beautiful and smart and funny and successful and….” 

He lets the rest go as you exhale, 

“Well thank you for the compliments detective but I always told you; I choose you. So, there, no man.” 

You say it simply and he nods, clears his throat as you ask, 

“Well.” 

“Well what?” 

“Are you seeing someone? You too are handsome, smart, funny, and successful.” 

He frowns, scraps at the pan. Not really. Beyond….

“I mean…Michael has been trying to hook me up with his wife's friends for years. There was this one girl, Tiffany, I took on a few dates a few weeks back. But I wasn’t really interested in her and quite frankly, forgot all about her when we started talking.” 

“David! You ghosted her?” 

“Ghosted?” another frown. 

“Have you responded to any of her texts?” 

“No…” 

“David.” you’re laughing and he shrugs, frowns deeper. 

“Not since I called you two weeks ago. I told her I enjoyed my time with her but I didn’t think we were a good match. That I found someone else and-” 

“Oh David, even worse. The sting of rejection.” 

“I wanted her to know why I wasn’t, and wouldn’t continue to, respond to her texts!” 

You laugh as you navigate through your kitchen, he can hear you tinkering and moving around, 

“Okay, so you didn’t ghost her. You just broke up with her and reminded her that she didn’t make the line up. Tough.”

“Maybe. But my heart wasn’t in it. Never is it if it isn’t with you to be honest.” 

He says the words without thinking; he's forgotten this level of honest intimacy has been lost on the both of you. There’s silence now. The veggies are crackling over the stove, and if it wasn’t for your breath stuttering he would think you were gone. 

“Y/N?” He says your name, low. You don’t say anything for a beat before responding, 

“Yeah, I’m here.” 

He pauses, hesitates before saying, 

“I mean it. I know when we last spoke I said…but I just ... .I want what I thought was best for you because you know, I love you. I choose you. However and whatever that looks like. I know that seems impossible for most people but I just know you are…..we fit you and I. I don’t need to date more women to prove that.” 

“David….” your voice breaks and he clears his throat before saying, 

“You don’t have to say anything Y/N. I just want you to know. When you’re ready; when it's right for you, you have me forever. For better or worse, right?”

You sigh into the phone as you respond, 

“Yeah. For better or worse.” 

_ 

His love confession opens the gate to your heart. 

Not drastically big. 

A crack. 

But a crack was all either of you ever needed. 

Which is why on a Monday evening when he’s sitting in a driveway for coffee, he doesn’t think twice when he sees your name flash on his phone and picks up.

“Hey beautiful.” 

He loves the way you sigh into the phone, wishes he could see the smile on your face. 

“Oh hey handsome.” 

“Are you okay? I know we didn't chat last night; I was planning on calling you tonight.” 

“Everyting is fine; I've been busy with work,” a pause. “What are you doing this Saturday?” 

“Saturday?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Either working or not working which means I’m working off the clock.” 

You giggle, it goes straight to his gut as you breath out, 

“Want to be my date for a fun art opening at one of the museums.” 

“Date?” 

“Plus one if you don’t want to make it official.” 

He moves up in line, smiles, 

“No I do. I just wanted to ask you out before you did.” 

“You made it kinda obvious a week ago. Just helping you along the way.” 

“You think I need help?” 

“I think you overthink and would wait another month before asking me out on a date.” 

He rolls his eyes because maybe you were right. Possibly. 

It was incredibly impressive and infuriating how much you knew him. 

“Maybe. But I’d make it worth your while.” 

You laugh as he clears his throat, sits up more in his seat, 

“But to answer your question; I would love to. Can I treat you to dinner?” 

“Are you okay with it being a late one? I have to be there earlier to support with press coordination before being able to enjoy the venue. Kinda working, kinda not.” 

“I eat at all hours of the day. Don’t mind at all. And I’ll be able to see you in action.” 

You giggle, its light and feminine and fuck he knows he’s ruined as he asks, 

“Would your roommate mind if I stayed the night?” 

“Hmm, probably not but I should ask her. She may or may not be in; she’s popular. Either way, let's plan for you staying over,” you pause for a beat. “The show will end late and after dinner I’d rather you get some shuteye versus staying up for one hour driving back to Conyers.” 

David exhales as he says, 

“It wouldn’t kill me but I want to see you. Let’s plan for me to stay the night but if it doesn’t work out, know that I don’t mind driving back.” 

“Okay…I’ll send you the deets later? I have to go off and check on some things for the exhibit but I’m really excited I’ll be able to see you soon.”

“Looking forward to it.” 

“I’ll see you soon handsome.” 

“See you soon, beautiful.” 

_ 

Saturday doesn’t seem like it could come any sooner. He focuses on work and intentionally asks for the weekend off, which takes O’Malley and half of his team off guard.  He goes shopping for a brand new shirt, Sam jumps on the opportunity to take him out as he’s asked for years to upgrade David’s wardrobe and he comes home with more things he didn’t need than he does. 

On Saturday, David wakes up far earlier than he needs to. He’s anxious, has a lot of energy running through his veins and the two cups of coffee he drinks doesn’t help. He’s not sure what to do; technically he had the day off, and it's when he’s debating getting breakfast or not that he gets a call from his boss to come in and support a colleague with a case. 

Normally, he knows he should be annoyed. That he should create some boundary with O’Malley taking advantage of his lack of social life to support more work at the station. Except his anxiety is high; he needs something to occupy his mind, so he gives in, reluctantly. 

It means he has to get ready now and leave from the station which is fine. He throws on the navy blue button up Sam had convinced him to buy a few days back, a nice pair of slacks and shoes, something that will make you proud to stand next to him. He sleeks back his hair, he had gotten a cut earlier to trim his long strands and crop the sides in the way that’s become familiar to him. He shaves enough of his beard that the shadow he knows you favor remains, throws on the cologne he knows you like. 

He hopes it's enough. 

He gets shit from his male colleagues the few hours he's there; David rarely looks this nice and since it's a Saturday everyone can deduct its for a woman and not court. He doesn’t mind, mainly because he’s so distracted and in between research and phone calls he gets subtle tips from colleagues he wasn’t expecting. 

“If you call now, Lauren’s Flower Shop will build you a custom bouquet and probably won’t charge extra for the last minute ask.” 

“If you’re doing dinner, try to find a place that can capture the skyline at night. It’s really nice.” 

“Just be yourself David, you’re a great guy.” 

He’s in his head by the time he’s on the road. He does end up putting in an order for the bouquet of flowers he knows is your favorite - tulips, roses, lavender, ranunculus, and snapdragons and then makes the hour drive to the museum in Philadelphia. 

You’ve given him special access to employee parking, a godsend when dealing with downtown Philly, and he’s grateful that the security officer he checks in with has been expecting him. 

“I’ll take you up to Y/N; she figured you’d be here a bit early.” 

The older black man is nice, has a gentle smile and good sense of humor as David follows him to a back elevator. 

“You know Y/N?” David’s never really understood small talk but the combination of being anxious to see you and navigating a new space has him on edge. Maybe he should have had another cup of coffee. 

“Yeah, she’s been in and out the past year. One of the few people who takes the time to stop and get to know us underdogs. Brings me oatmeal chocolate chip cookies now and then which is kind of her,” he pushes a button on the elevator as they ride up, “None of her suitors ever bring her a pretty bouquet of flowers in person though. That’s a good move.” 

David feels his stomach drop, can’t help the bite of jealousy hit him. 

“Suitors?” 

The older security guard chuckles, shakes his head as he says,

“To be clear, they pursue her. She’s less than amused. And they're lazy; they send her very stock card flowers that she usually gifts to staff around here. 

You look like you took the effort to bring her something she’ll like. And, you’re the first guy she asked to look out for. Like I said, men are into her but she’s typically not into them. Busy lady.” 

David nods his head slowly as the elevator dings at the top and the security guard smiles at him, 

“I’m Clarence. I wouldn’t worry too much young man. I think you’ve impressed her more than you think.” 

David gives a wry smile back at the man, nodding, 

“Thanks Clarence.” 

“No worries son. Now you’re going to follow this hallway and it’ll open up to the main space. You should be able to spot Y/N easily.” 

David gives a nod, turning toward the long hall and exhaling. 

This felt more overwhelming than it should. He knew you. He knew the things that made you smile, the things that annoyed you. 

In the same way you knew him. 

He just had to move past the many years you both had been apart. 

He could do that. 

When he walks out to the main area, he’s overwhelmed by the many things going on. There are vendors walking about, people who obviously work at the gallery. 

And then there’s you. 

You’re wearing a white dress, it clings to your curves and is paired with tan high heels. Your make up is done meticulously, in the way he’s seen in the formal photos you post online, and your hair is pulled back into a messy bun, tendrils caressing your neck. 

You look professional, sexy, cool and relaxed as you navigate people and walk around chatting on your phone. He’s so distracted he doesn’t notice when someone asks, 

“Can I help you?” 

He drags his eyes away from you, takes in the woman whose drinking him in with mild curiosity and says, 

“Yeah, I’m here to see Y/N.” 

“Are you here to be apart of a report or….” she drinks in his badge, gun and he gives a neutral smile and shakes his head, 

“I’m here as her date.”

“Ohhhhhhh.” her eyes flicker with something as she looks away, talks into a radio. You stop, pulling the radio that's been clipped to your hip away as you simultaneously text on your phone. You pause as you listen to what the woman says, drag your eyes across the room before they land on him. 

The smile that falls on your face feels like the sun and he can’t help but smile back. 

He could do this. 

_________

_ 

“Hey David, it’s Y/N. We just did the will reading and my dad left you something. We’ll keep it at the house and you can come by anytime to pick it up. Sam will be around for another two weeks before he’s headed back to school and I’ll be with my mom another month so someone should be around when you can come by and snag it. If not, you know where the spare key is. 

Stay safe, detective.” 

The voicemail had been left a month ago. David had listened to it three days after it had been sitting in his voicemail, surprised when the voice shifted from Sam to you, but  because he was in the middle of a case he had to take  note of it. 

The case had gone on longer than he expected, they always do, and he had wrapped it up a few days ago. Post case he usually took a day to sleep, to readjust, to shake the heaviness and darkness of the world off him the best he could. Now, he was getting back to his day to day. 

First he had texted Sam to see how he was doing; he was fine. Enjoying college. Missed him. 

He’d have to have dinner with him when he was back in town. 

He was hoping to have a chat with Sam, who reminded him about the package left at the house before quickly saying he was out with friends so they’d have to chat later. He was trying to avoid it. Even now, sitting in his car outside your home he was aware of how much he’s been avoiding being here. A winter storm warning had dropped earlier, the snow falling is heavy, heaviest it's been since November, and he watches the home. It's quiet, there are no cars in the driveway and he listens to your voicemail again, for the fourth time since he’s originally listened. 

Your voice, bright and broken, sure and sad. 

Fuck he misses you.

Half of him hoped to see you again before you left to go back to England. 

The other half of him was afraid that if he did see you, what that would compel him to do. 

Its why he originally ignored what you had said in the voicemail.

That was the reality of it. 

Ignored it because at the core was that love that never went away for you. 

It didn't matter how many blind dates he went on. The few women he occasionally took to bed. They were never you. 

Couldn’t get you out of his mind since you both sat next to each other on a swing that fostered memories of the past. 

So he intentionally, subconsciously missed you so he could safely walk into your home again without the fear of seeing your face. 

He wouldn’t be able to deny himself the beauty of you a second time. 

He exhales, turns off his car. The wipers stop and he’s left with the stillness of the evening. 

Okay. 

He steps out of his vehicle and walks the familiar path towards the front door of your family's home. He tinkers with the light fixture, able to easily find the spare key and use it to open your front door. He places the key back where it belongs and walks in. 

He’s greeted with memories. 

There’s no longer people to distract him, savory smelling casseroles and sobs and laughter to distract his mind. 

There’s just an eerie silence, dust motes dancing in the air. 

Nothing looks like it's changed. Everything is perfectly in its place. 

Everything is an echo chamber of memories. 

Memories of your dad, Joseph. Memories of Sam. Memories of your mom, Lorriane. 

Memories of you. 

He inhales, closes his eyes and tightens them. 

Gives himself a moment to bathe in a world where the two of you are together. Where he came home to you at night, and you both wrapped each other in your love. 

Then he exhales, lets it go. 

Another time. 

Another life.

He moves to the kitchen, where he knows he’ll find what he’s looking for. He’s right, it's in the pile where the rest of the mail lingers. He grabs the large manila envelope, is surprised by its weight, before turning on his heel. 

Except, he realizes, he’s not alone. 

The faint sound of vinyl crackles in the silence, so low it would easily be missed. 

It’s coming from Joseph’s study. 

Joseph's study is in the back of the home, an addition that was added before the Grants bought the home. He has to take a long hallway void of light towards the door that leads up to it. There’s one light that beams like a beacon in the night, golden and dim, and it guides him up the old stairs that he’s spent the past few years visiting, away from everyone else. 

The closer he gets the more the voice belting from the record player becomes familiar to him. Billie Holiday. Haunting and soulful, it's a voice he hasn’t heard in a long time as it grows louder the closer he gets.  

He’s quiet as he opens the cracked door just a smidge more. The bright light from the waning winter storm penetrates the darkness he’s walked from, and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust. 

Then he finds you. 

You’re sitting in your dads large leather chair and your back is to him. You’re hunched over the desk, one hand running through your hair. The other on the desk, shuffling through something. There’s a glass of whiskey to your side, untouched. 

The tribute for your grief. 

David has memorized every creak in this house, knows how to walk silently like a panther or make himself known. For once, he wants to be seen. He moves forward, to the right board that groans under an inch of weight and your breath stutters as you turn around quickly. 

Your eyes are watery, red rimmed and heavy and a succession of tears escape your tear ducts as you breathe out in confusion, 

“David?”

He nods as you brush your face, the large sweater your wearing absorbing the salty tears you’re trying to hide as you say, 

“What are you…”

He holds up the envelope he’s kept with him and your eyes dart to it. 

“Oh…yeah we should’ve dropped that off at the station. Sam said you were on a case so you probably wouldn’t be by in a while…”

“I don’t mind dropping by. Seeing you.” 

You look at him again, nod. He hesitates, taking a step forward. Shakes his head, exhales. 

“Are you okay?” 

You watch him for a beat, carefully. He sees the uncertainty in your eyes, the fear. 

“No.” 

Your voice is a whisper and he moves another step, pauses. 

“…did you miss your flight? I can take you to the airport or…” he frowns as you exhale, another tear escaping your eyes. 

“Planes are all grounded. I’m delayed for the next few days because of the storm.”

“Oh.”

“I sent my mom off to her sisters when I originally thought I’d be gone because I didn’t want her to be alone. But when they grounded all flights I decided to come back here and thought I’d confront the letter he left me but it just….it made me sad. I miss him. So fucking much.” 

“I know Y/N. I do too.” 

“I should’ve been the one who got cancer. Not my dad. He could see the good in anyone. He was too good for this world.” 

David shakes his head as he watches a fresh new set of tears escape you, his feet carrying him forward as he exhales, 

“I don’t like that your dad got cancer but in no world would you deserve it either.”

He looks down as he stops in front of you, watches you. In the waning light your eyes reflect off the setting sun rays, even in sadness they danced with a life that was distinctly you. Your eyebrows are furrowed, you lick your lips and he can’t help but to mirror the action. Your face is slightly more mature now, lived experiences tainting the naivety of your youth, but you’re still soft. Still familiar. 

Still the most beautiful fucking woman he’s ever seen. 

“You don’t get to say things like that to me anymore.” You whisper and he shakes his head, cups your cheek gently. You fall into his touch naturally, like a blossom shifting to the morning light. 

“Just because I can’t call you mine anymore doesn’t mean I’m still not yours. And losing you, by default, means I’m lost too.” 

He watches the walls crumble behind your eyes at the words, fast and slow at once, the dam you’ve been holding back crashing along with it. 

Your tears are heavy, fast and quick and he easily draws you up to him, holds you as you cry into his chest. Everything about who you both were floods his senses at once; the way that rose and vanilla tangle together along with something new, something bright and citrusy. Your arms naturally wrap around his neck, latch so they can draw him closer and in this embrace he feels at home. 

He thought he had mourned enough between the loss of Joseph, the loss of you. 

Apparently, more tears were needed for his penance as his tears fall onto your head. 

When you finally pull away from him, your face is swollen and your eyes are red and all he wants to do is kiss you. Instead he offers, 

“Do you wanna dance?” 

Your eyes furrow as you shake your head, 

“You hate dancing.” 

“Dancing always makes you feel better. And I don’t hate dancing with you.” 

You watch him for a second before you give a small nod, 

“Yeah, I would.” 

David's hands are already around your waist, so it's easy to transition into a slow sway as the next track on the album picks up and you exhale into the movement. 

I'll be seeing you

In all the old familiar places

That this heart of mine embraces

All day through

In that small cafe

The park across the way

The children's carousel

The chestnut trees

The wishing well

“Do you ever get the cards I send you?” 

You’re not sure why you need to ask the question, why it matters or is relevant at this point. Perhaps, so you could deny all the feelings that naturally want to emerge being in his arms. 

Perhaps if you hear it from him it’ll make the heartbreak finally sit in your soul and take. 

“I do.” 

David’s voice is a whisper, distant, and you don’t deny the tears that escape anew. 

“Do you ever open them?” 

A long pause. 

“No. I keep them in a box in my closet.”

“Why?”

The silence that sits between the two of you is deafening. 

I'll be seeing you

In every lovely summer's day

In everything that's light and gay

I'll always think of you that way

I'll find you in the morning sun

And when the night is new

I'll be looking at the moon

But I'll be seeing you

“Because I want you to live your life fully. I want you to not look back and look forward. I don’t want you to settle. If I open one, I’ll want to take that all back from you.” 

You shake your head, look up at him, 

“Why do you think choosing you is settling?” 

David watches you carefully. At this angle you see a different man. He wears a shadow now, you’re not sure if that's a result of working long hours and putting in minimal effort to look professional or something he prefers. He’s grown out his hair but he’s slicked it back, kept the sides cropped short and it flatters his face profile, highlights his eyes. 

He’s gotten a neck tattoo, it's familiar to you, symbology you’ve seen at the many museums you’ve worked at, mirrors the plaque hanging in your fathers office. 

He was always so handsome to you but this look you found him to be the most handsome. Like every inch of who he was came together, rebel and bad boy repented to serve others. 

Yet he was different and the same and for some reason he still believed he wasn’t good enough for you. 

“You’re meant for a world beyond Conyers, a world I’m meant to stay in.” 

You watch him again and shake your head, 

“My world was you; it didn’t matter where the fuck I was. I loved, love, you.” 

It feels silly to admit something that should’ve died long ago, but it's true. You can feel it in every inch of your body, in the way he squeezes you to him. 

The two of you were meant for the other. 

He just found pleasure in fighting it. 

“You always put others in front of yourself. I know you love me. If you don’t think I-” he stops, looking down at you. 

“I love you enough to want what's best for you. You always told me that I hold myself back but you hold yourself back too. 

You always wanted to live in Europe and you’re living in Europe. You’re able to work with museums, which is your favorite thing in the world. You’re one of the top agents at a top PR company in the U.K. and you’re so good at it.” 

So he kept track of you. This act of indifference was a wall. So many walls he was good at building. 

The same walls you lived to crumble. 

“You don’t get to choose what's best for me.” 

“Just like you shouldn’t have chosen what was best for me?” he counters and you narrow your eyes, place your head on his. 

You hated when he was right. 

He exhales, brings you closer to him. The cold from outside still lingers on his jacket, and mingled with his warm body it's comforting. 

“I’m not trying to fight Y/N. I  just want you to live the life you’ve always wanted and not feel like anything is going to hold you back. Even me.” 

You’re both silent, and you close your eyes as you decide to voice the fear that’s lived in your heart since you left him four years ago. 

“If you stopped loving me, you could always just tell me. It’ll make letting you go the way you want me too far more easier.” 

I'll be seeing you

In every lovely summer's day

In everything that's light and gay

I'll always think of you that way

I'll find you in the morning sun

And when the night is new

I'll be looking at the moon

But I'll be seeing you

The record player stops, the sound of vinyl piecing the silence as David pulls away to tip your chin up to him. He could lie. He could tell you exactly that. He could let you go to live your life. Except, looking down at you now, he knows he’ll hate himself if he did. He can’t hurt you in that way even if he felt like it was best for you both. 

He moves his thumb to caress your cheek as he takes you in. If you only knew how much he hated fighting this too, maybe you would understand. Instead, he shakes his head slowly before he leans down, his mouth hovering over yours as he whispers, 

“If there is one thing that will never stop being true, it is that I love you. For better or worse I’l love you on either end.” 

He doesn’t break eye contact as he looks at you, the words you both used to whisper to each other when love was easy echoing in your ear. Right now he could claim you as his; he knows it's what you want. 

Except he wants you to choose, wants you to confirm to him what he won’t confess to himself. 

No one ever chose him. So why would you continue to?  

You know his hurt heart, the part of him that has been broken down can’t allow him to understand what is so natural for you. While he was right in everything he is saying, that the life that you want to live interferes with the life that you want to live with him, he’s also forgotten the most important piece of the equation. 

That you would always choose him. 

If he couldn’t get that for the rest of your lives, maybe he could understand it for tonight. 

You lean up and brush your lips against his, hesitant. Afraid, Desperate. Needy. 

You look at him back, you both watch each other for two seconds before your mouths crash into each other. 

You're greedy as you draw him to you, impatient as your hands thread into his hair. His hands dig into your hips, your ass, anything he can hold as he draws you closer, his erection pushing into you. 

You groan into his mouth, push his jacket off and he steps out of it easily before moving to lift you and place you on your father's desk. The items on it are an after thought, they fall haphazardly around the both of you as your hands move to his pants, unbuttoning and zipping them down with ease. You move to his briefs around the same time he’s trying to drag your leggings down, and you both laugh awkwardly as you both realize you need to take it slow. 

Your breathing is heavy and shallow, matching David who watches you, leans down to kiss you again. This time it's deep, it's slow and intentional. Setting the pace, trying to slow you both down. 

When he pulls away, he drags your underwear down too, pauses enough to allow you to drag his boxers down. 

You move your arms back around his shoulders, his neck, dragging him close to you as his lips find yours again, tongues clashing urgently. He grabs the back of your thighs, drags you to him as he positions himself at your entrance. 

He kisses you gently as he enters you. You can feel his cock stretching you, the girth of his cock always feeling like too much for you in the best way. Your walls flutter around him, he moans into your kiss as he bottoms out in you, and you cage his face in your hands as you pull away and look at him. 

“I’ll always choose you David. Till the bitter end, I will always be yours.”

He groans as he moves his hips out of you, snaps them back into you. His hips grind into you rhythmically, he knows your body as much as he knows his, and it's easy to keep a slow and steady pace as you return to kissing him. 

This time you're eager, memorizing the way he feels as he rocks into you. You love him, love the way he makes claim on you, the way he burns himself into you. You move your hips to meet his, strategically shifting your hips into him and he groans as he watches you ride his cock, liking the way it feels to have you claim him as your own. 

He moves his mouth down your jaw, to your neck, nipping and gnawing as you move faster, needier. 

“You’re mine Y/N, all fucking mine.” he growls low as he moves a hand down to your clit, easily finding your sensitive nub and rubbing it rhythmically. He knows you like it slow when he plays with your clit, gentle and teasing, that the combination of that and his penis hitting your g-spot, easily accessed by raising your leg, will give you what you need. 

Release.

You sob, you can feel the pressure building and building within you, and he moves up to your ear and whispers, 

“Let go for me baby.” 

It's enough, you’ve always loved the way David sounds, masculine and gentle, and it's the extra push you need to have you falling over the edge, into him. You sob as your head falls into his neck, your hands gripping his shirt tightly as your body shakes underneath him. 

David only lasts another thirty seconds before he’s unraveling, his hips stuttering into you, a ribbon of his cum decorating your walls as he falls over you, drawing you to him. 

You both lay there in the embrace of the other, wrapped in the other before you whisper, 

“Wanna stay for dinner?” 

He gives a low chuckle, moves to kiss your temple as he replies, 

“Considering you just offered dessert I’d love to.” 

_

There isn’t much food in the house. 

You and your mom have been living off coffee, toast, occasionally takeout but primarily grief. 

Through enough rummaging in the freezer you find a bag of potstickers, potato skins, and Tostinos pizza bites. 

You apologize for the random assortment but David doesn’t care, not really. He had been living off chinese food, the waffle house special, and black coffee for weeks so this was a treat in comparison. 

That and he likes the way you look in his shirt, the sky blue button up being the only thing you wore as you navigated around the kitchen. 

You manage to get food in the oven before he has you over the kitchen counter, loving the way you scream out his name as he brings you to orgasm again. 

He missed this. 

You both make it back up to your dads study, it feels safe and familiar, and between the meal and the whiskey you pour you both catch up on the past few years. 

“You’ve gotten more tattoos. And a fancy ring.” You tease from your place on the floor as you grab his left hand, your fingers twirling the ring on his pinkie as you flicker your eyes up at him. 

“Uh hmmm.” 

“Freemason ring,” you pause as you lean up and look at him. “My dad had one like it.” 

“Good observation detective,” he laces his fingers in yours, pulling them to his lips and placing a kiss on the skin. “Your dad joined the club. Recruited me. Too easy a catch for a bunch of reformed orphan Catholic boys” 

“Are you still in it?” you ask and he shakes his head, exhales. 

“We left around the same time. Turns out organized clubs centered around religion are just as shitty as organized institutions centered around religion.” 

You laugh and nod, 

“My dad was so excited to join. He thought it would get him closer to God. The last few years he reminisced on religion even though he refused to go to church. No fucking surprise it didn’t but he said he joined with someone who reminded him to keep his faith. That despite the bullshit he remembered the good perks of being a faithful servant to a higher being. Wonder who that could’ve been now that I have all the pieces..”

When your dad had told you this you would’ve never guessed it was David. However, the way he smiles at you as you tease him, it makes complete sense. You and David would spend hours sometimes speaking about the history of religion. You lean up to him, move to place a tender kiss on the left side of his neck. 

“It explains the tattoo. Somehow this tattoo just makes you so much more handsome.” 

He shivers, there’s something intimate about the way your lips whisper against his skin as he replies, 

“The Freemason compass inspired this but really, when I learned that they had inherited it from the symbology of the eight legged star I liked what it represents.” 

“Compassion. Strength. A ward against evil.”

He snaps his eyes over to you as you pull away and look at him. 

“I learn a lot working for history museums around the world. This serves you. You are all those things and more.” 

He can’t help the soft smile that falls on his face as he looks down at your hands, still intertwined together. 

“I like that it looks to be menacing but really, it's quite the opposite. Of course you’d know that though; you’ve always seen me, not the person I want the world to see. Just me.”

“Can’t hide yourself, unfortunately detective. Not from me.” 

“Hmm,” he sighs, his eyebrows raising as he looks over at you. “It’s also a good reminder to perps that I’m not afraid to fuck them up if they found my hospitality to be too kind. I’m not as soft as most of the guys I work with.” 

You laugh as you move to lean back, keeping your hand in his. His eyes trace over your body;  the content look on your face as you look up at the ceiling, the way your breast shift as you breath in his shirt, the way your center glistens from the last time he’s made you cum in the past hour, the softness of your thighs, your calves. 

The tattoo on your right ankle. 

It emulates the design on the golden pendant around your neck, the familiarity causing his stomach to drop. 

“Still love bees?” he whispers, his other hand moving down to trace over the bee on your skin, the way it kisses the flower whose stem wraps around your ankle and you smile. 

“Will never stop loving them. They do so much for us.”

Your eyes have closed at his touch, you hum contently as he whispers, 

“You kept your necklace.” 

A statement, not a question.

“Yeah.”

“The bee design is the same as-” 

“Yeah, I wanted it to be. I’m the bee, you’re the flower remember?” You cut him off. Your eyes are still closed as he furrows his eyebrows together. 

“A tattoo is forever. You know that right?” 

“You know, for someone who got my zodiac sign tattooed to their finger, to their ring finger mind you, it's a bit hypocritical to lecture me on the permanence of tattoos.” 

Your voice is teasing, light but he feels his chest exhale all the same. When he had gotten the tattoo, it had been subconscious to put your sign on that finger. You had his heart, and while it was a myth that the vena amoris connected directly to the heart (all veins do from your hands) he always found the symbology to be romantic. 

He had learned this when you had told him during a Valentines’ Day date at the Philadelphia Museum of Nature and Science that had an exhibit that debunked this myth. Of course your sign belonged there. After he had gotten them, you hadn’t asked questions. Just kissed each one lovingly. 

Of course you knew. 

Your voice cuts him from his thoughts. 

“I lost the pendant for three days in Marrakech. I thought it was gone forever. I cried, devastated I had lost it. Then on my last day there, my interpreter found it. It slipped off by one of the exhibits. After I got back to London, I got the tattoo. I wanted to make sure I didn’t lose a piece of you that was so important to me.” 

He takes in your words, the way your hands were gently playing with his. You hated needles. You didn’t mind tattoos on people but had been horrified to get one of your own. 

Yet you got this one, in a place that he knew had to hurt, because it was a symbol of your love for him. 

He forgot how silent, gentle and overwhelming your love was. 

He closes his eyes, squeezes your hands before he opens them to a series of ticks. Your eyes have finally opened to watch him gently, shaking your head. 

“Told you for better or worse I’ll love you.” 

“I know you have I just-” 

“You just don’t believe you deserve to be. I know. I'll still love you regardless.” 

You give his hand a squeeze, before drawing it to your lips and placing a soft kiss on his skin.

He doesn’t know how he should feel anymore. 

Selfishly, he wants you to stay. Due to the storm, your flight has been delayed until Monday but the time opens the door to what he’s tried to keep closed for so long. He offers to take you to the airport, which you agree to. In the interim, you both stay at your parents home. He grabs groceries to last you both the few days in the heavy winter conditions, and between fucking and cuddling you both catch up on each others lives. 

You’re both dating casually though you both admit it's nothing serious. David is sure the man who keeps floating in and out of your life that he learns about probably hated the ghost of him. He would if the roles were reversed. You have a flat in Notting Hill, and you’ve traveled to over ten countries since living abroad. He doesn’t say he knows all this, between following you online quietly and hearing it from Sam. 

He likes the pride in your eyes when you share it with him in his arms.

He tells you about the cases he’s solved; how the one last winter had been the hardest and you press a knowing hand around the scar in his hair. You knew. He admits he still stays in contact with the Dovers, with the Birches, feeling obligated to the two young girls who were taken. He admits he’s never failed a case, though his temper has stopped him from being able to apply to PSP.

He admits to you that he is disappointed in himself for allowing that dream to crumble. 

He shamefully admits to Bob Taylor death; the guilt he carries every day around it. You hold him through it, the tears, the shame, not judging. Assuring him. Holding him. Taking on the piece of the burden he’s been haunted by, keeping it to himself. 

You never mind holding the heaviest parts of him.

You’re both different in the lives you built but also the familiarity is the same. You tell him that you love how long he's grown his hair, the style he has it in and he naturally asks if you want him to keep it that way. You do, but only if he wants and he wants too to please you. You’re debating getting another tattoo down your spine, and he admits he likes the idea of it which you keep to heart. 

You both don’t talk about each other's future. 

When Monday morning comes, he’s surprised when he doesn’t feel your body heat pressed against his. You both had made the study floor comfortable, familiar, piles of pillows and covers that have kept you snug from the winter cold. The sun is beaming, it highlights the designs of the snowflakes frosted on the window as he looks up at it. 

He exhales as he shifts, moving to where you had been sleeping. Your scent still lingers in the air as he takes note of the piece of paper that has replaced your head. 

He already knows what the words might say, but he can’t stop himself from reading them anyways. 

David, 

We’ve never been good at goodbyes. Hearing about your world, I’m so proud of you. I want you to continue to be the best fucking detective there is. I know you will be. PSP is attainable; I know it is. I know you will have everything you want for yourself because you are a phenomenal human being. 

I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. But, lying in your arms I realized something. You’re right. I do still want to continue my life in London. I like the freedom of travel living in Europe. I like my flat. I like my friends. The world I’ve built.

Still, I’d give all of that up for you in a heartbeat. I would. I’ve tasted it and know what that life can be. But I know you’d…you wouldn’t allow me to love you the way I want if I gave that up. I understand now what you have been trying to say all this time.

So I will continue to live my life in the way that you want me too. I will continue to send you postcards, and birthday cards, and whatever reminds me of you so you know one thing to be true. 

I will always love you. 

I will always be yours.

And maybe one day in the near future, that plan we had for our life can finally come true. 

In the interim, drink some water between all that coffee you’re guzzling. Try to cook yourself one meal that's veggie heavy at least once a week. Read a book. Sleep more than five hours. Find a reason to smile.

Remember me whenever you see a bee buzzing around in life. 

Remember us. 

Remember that I love you. 

For better or worse, I’m yours. 

Love, 

Y/N

_________

Four Years Later, December 2014

He dies on a Tuesday. 

You’ve just gone out for coffee for you, your mom Lorraine, and Sam. 

You’re standing in line checking your work email, trying to distract your mind. 

The text comes in from Sam. 

He’s gone.

You feel your chest constrict, your vision go blurry. 

Someone’s asking if you’re okay but what a stupid question to ask. 

How could you be? 

Your light is gone. 

The arrangements have been made months in advance. Ever since he had found out. You don’t get diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer and think you’re going to walk away. Not this time. 

That’s what he had told you. 

He knew your mom wouldn’t be able to handle the details. Or Sam. They were fragile. Loving, full, soft. Protected. 

You were built like him. Different histories but the same cloud of darkness that he’d been haunted by got passed down to you. Naturally, he prepared you to care for it. As a child, he had nursed it. When you got older he taught you how to manage it. How to navigate and work with it instead of bottling down the pain like he had. 

And now he is gone. 

The next few days are a blur. 

The casket is red oak and paid off, compliments of your grandparents. 

The plot is in the cemetery of one of his favorite historians in Pennsylvania

You assign Sam and your mom to reach out to folks about the memorial service

You assign Sam to connect with the men that your dad would want to carry his casket to his final resting place

You meet with the priest who is going to run the service. Technically, you were all catholic and your dad wanted it this way, despite never going to church since he was a child

You support your mom through her breakdowns, hold her at night to help her sleep. Console Sam in the day, deal with his meltdowns

You don’t feel. You don’t sleep. You just are. 

By the time it's the day of the service, you’re hollow inside. You haven’t cried since the text. You’ve tried, but the tears won’t come out. Your heart is hardened, crystalized by pain and all you can focus on is how you’re going to get through the next couple of hours. 

The black dress you put on is Italian; the material is soft against your skin, creamy, and it compliments every inch of your curves. You bought it four days before your mom called you crying, saying things had gotten worse. That it was getting to that time. That was three weeks ago. 

Feels like a lifetime. 

You help your mom with her dress, through the tears. You support Sam with tying his tie. Neither of them can look you in the eye. You don’t want to look at theirs either. To your mom whose world was crumbling. Despite the fact she was a successful doctor, she didn’t know how to function alone. 

Sam has your dads eyes, his strong jaw, and looking at him felt like looking at a younger version of the man you missed. 

You can’t manage the sting. 

The car ride to the church is silent, the three of you sitting in the back of the limousine looking out of the window. Your dad would hate this. He would want there to be laughter. He’d want there to be joy. 

And whiskey. 

You look over at the car bar, grateful to see that it's fitted with some. Along with glasses. You grab three, and the whiskey, pouring a generous amount in each and handing it to your mom and Sam. 

“He’d want us to be toasty.” you say, a soft smile on your face and your mom sobs but nods. Sam smiles through his tears and the three of you clink your glasses together before throwing it back. 

It helps. 

The church your dad was set on having the service at is old and large, smells musky and like old books, and when you walk into it you’re greeted with frigid air that follows the priest like a ghost. 

Your mom manages enough to speak to him, is quiet and demure, you didn’t know this woman. 

“I’m going to meet with the other pall bearers. Going to check on dad….” Sam’s voice is rough, you can hear him fighting through the pain like a knife trying to cut wood, and you give a curt nod. 

“I’ll be with mom.” 

“Okay.” 

You thought you had gotten the three of you there early enough. Just enough to breathe and adjust before dealing with people. To avoid the barrage of people who instantly greet you when you walk into the main room of the church.

Grief has no time. 

You had gotten there late. 

Your mom's family was large; she was a Pennsylvania girl and her family had been here for decades. They were big and loud and honestly had the opposite of understanding of why it was important to give space. 

Aunts, uncles, cousins you can’t recall, guide you to the front row where you sit, your arm over your moms shoulder who seems too small in the large bench. She’s trying to smile, trying to be okay, but you know she's going to crack. 

Your dad was her rock. 

This goes on until the priest finally nods to the organist to start playing to cue the start of service. So, it was to begin. 

Your dad, unlike your mother, did not have a home. He was orphaned young; all he told you was that his parents had died in a car crash and that had been the end of it. They were both single children. You never knew anyone on his side. He had friends he called home, but still they were very few and far in between.

Your father was a quiet man. 

The contrast is obvious as you look back at the pews, waiting to watch your brother and the men your father trusted the most walk him in. 

Night and day, sun and moon. That’s what he and your mom were like. 

Perhaps that's why….

You push it down. 

Not today. 

That would break you. 

You focus instead on Sam, who’s fighting tears as he slowly walks down the aisle with your dads coffin holstered over his left shoulder. There’s your two uncles behind him, your mom’s brothers. Dad’s high school best friend, his college best friend and then there’s…..

Ocean eyes, dark chestnut hair, a frame slightly larger, stronger than before. 

“David?”

You barely whisper the words, your voice cracks, and you feel your mom shift and look at you. 

“Oh sweetie, didn’t Sam tell you? David and your dad still talked after you broke up. Sam too. I mean…he was over occasionally for dinner….” 

You blink at her, blink back at the man whose eyes were staying trained in front of him, unyielding. Broken. You knew the heaviness behind those eyes. Could see the hours he hadn’t slept. 

The knowledge that David stayed in contact with your dad, that he was one of the men walking your father to his last resting place, makes you wanna break. 

You can’t allow it. 

“It's fine.” You whisper, moving your eyes down to the ground. 

Push it down. 

Down,

Down,

down. 

_

“You hear back from David?” It's your dad’s voice. You’ve come home randomly in the spring, three years after you and David have broken up. You’re at the lake house, your dads favorite place, and it's just the two of you. Fishing randomly on a Thursday morning with not a care in the world. 

You can’t remember the last time it’s been like this. 

“No.” you try to busy yourself with the tackle, trying to pretend that you haven’t already expertly hooked the worm and your dad nods, hums out into the lake. 

Yes, you had sent David a few postcards. A birthday card every year. Halloween, Christmas, too. 

Each time, you got nothing in return. 

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about; I haven’t talked to David since we broke up.” 

You don’t know why you add this but you do, it feels important and your dad chuckles. 

“It's your business.” 

“David made it clear after a few phone calls that he wants me to focus on my life abroad.” 

“I think David wants to make sure you live a full life. He knows you’ve always wanted to live abroad, knows you're happy in the work you’re in. He didn’t want to get in the way.” 

“He wouldn’t have gotten in the way if he at least tried. He didn’t want too.” 

You’ve dated plenty since the break up. This shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Yet, the tears were streaming down your cheeks like the break up was fresh and new. You thought you were enough for David. You thought your love was enough. Instead, he had pushed away. Didn’t want to try. 

Didn’t he understand you had waited for someone like him your whole life? You’d happily wait a little longer?

“You know, David and I are kinda the same.” 

Your dad’s voice cuts you off and you look over at him as he keeps his eyes steady on the water. 

“Dad, let's be honest. You loved David the moment you met him because you two are cut from the same cloth.”

Your dad chuckles,

“Maybe. Taught enough shitheads from Huntington though, none as smart as David. He had a hurt in him I knew though. One that's hard to dim. He knew more about the world at fifteen than most men my age did.” 

He sniffs, falls back in his lawn chair. The creaking of it is familiar, reminds you of hot summers and safety so you bite back your tongue as your dad continues, 

“You may not believe this because I’m your old man, but David fell for you the minute he saw you. He was a new student at the high school, a sophomore. It happened during lunch time. Here you were, this loud and outgoing freshman who had every eye on you. I remember being worried because of it, all the attention you were attracting. You were walking fast and talking and wham - you walked right into that poor boy. 

Both your lunches went everywhere. Drew a lot of attention. Most girls your age would’ve been pissed but you knew you fucked up. You were always kinder than anyone deserves. You apologized and walked with him to get a new lunch. The look on his face the whole time, I remember thinking ‘is this was love looks like?’” 

You furrow your brow as your dad cocks his head, exhales, 

“When you told me you were going on a date with him I was a little worried. You….never cared to make room for boys. But when David came over for dinner I realized the error in my thoughts. You never made room for boys because you had been waiting for him. 

Your mom and I, we knew you’d be okay because David would make sure you would be. Sam, we knew he’d figure it out, life and love. You my sweet angel, you were so afraid to let anyone in. You kept people close so really you could keep them far away. But that wasn’t true, never had been, with David." 

He looks over at you, gives you a small smile, 

“David loves you so much that he knew he had to let you go. Don’t confuse his decision to be of false love. David, more than anyone, knows what it's like to live in loss and regret. And he couldn’t imagine having you stay with him and regretting it so much that the seed of it spirals into its tainted and no good. He didn’t want that for your love. So he let you go. Until you’re ready, he let you go. For the both of you.”

You’re fathers blurry in your vision, thick tears falling down your cheek making him a blur as  you ask, 

“How do you know this daddy?” 

Your dad watches you carefully, mindfully.

“A father just wants what's best for his daughter, until the end.” 

Then he told you that he had cancer. 

_

“Y/N, we gotta go.” 

You blink your eyes a few times, look up from the spot you were staring at. The large stain on the rug against the cold stone in the church.

Except the stone isn’t stone anymore. Large, wet flakes flow steadily from the sky, kissing the frozen earth. The warm, blood stained roses on top of the cherry oak coffin are as frozen as your arms. 

This wasn’t the church. 

You were at your fathers grave. 

Your father’s grave. 

You don’t remember making it to his grave. 

Sam’s touch on your arm is cold, seeps through your jacket as you look over at him. 

“How did I….?” 

Sam watches you carefully, then wraps his arms around you. 

“You kinda…left us there for a bit. So I helped you make it out here to his grave site.” 

You close your eyes, hold your brother. 

“I was supposed to say a poem.” you finally whisper and Sam exhales, nods, 

“...David said it for you.” 

You freeze, you don’t mean to but it's that ghost, the one you’ve been trying to keep at bay and you pull away and look at him.

“Y/N…” 

“I don’t care that you still talk to him. Why didn’t anyone tell me?” 

You don’t mean to sound accusatory and Sam blows out air, pulls away. 

“David asked us not to.” 

You watch him for a beat, try to fight the sadness from taking over. 

“Why?” you finally ask, voice cracked and broken. 

Sam watches you with concern in his eyes. His eyes were grey like your dads, his hair the same dark hue as your fathers as well. He was in college now, a grown man. You were so proud of him, wanted the best for him but fuck did this hurt. This hurt so much. 

Finally, 

“He said he wanted you to focus on you. To be able to be present and to be happy. You’d look back if you knew and he wanted…wants you to always be present.”

You ingest the words, the knowledge, fight the hollow part of you that wants to crack. 

No.

Not today. 

You promised your dad no tears. 

So you force a smile on your face, nod.

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” Sam asks worried and skeptical and you nod, looping your arm in his. 

“Okay. Let’s get the rest of this over with.” 

_ 

David doesn’t want to be here. 

The house is loud. 

It's hot despite the frigid temperatures from outside entering anytime anyone opens or closes the front door. 

There’s platters among platters of casserole dishes that sit in the kitchen. Things that alone were probably appetizing, but mixed with others made his stomach do loops. 

He remembers a few of the few people here from your graduation party, but that was years ago, a faint memory. 

He cuts through the living room, past the den. He’s looking for Sam, Lorraine. Wants to see them off, say goodbye and then head home. He had started mourning your dad two years ago, when he first found out. David had been the first to learn. 

There was nothing left to say. 

He pauses when an aunt - Mabel maybe? - falls and starts crying. A group of women rushes to her aid and he exhales silently, looking out the front window. Death does silly things to humans. Some people fall into themselves. Others fall outward. 

Death is always hard for the living. Because the dead are just…dead. 

He’s thinking about that as he captures movement outside. It's dark, there's faint light touching the front yard. But there’s a shape, it takes form against the shadows of light teasing from the house and it moves steadily, slowly. As his eyes adjust he realizes whatever, whoever it is rocks on the front yard swing. They move so deftly with it, it's only through his trained eye that he realizes that someone is actually sitting on it, that it's not a manifestation of his mind. 

But it does, you do. 

He knows it's you, from the soft slope in your shoulders, the way a lone hand hangs on to the cold chain. You’re only wearing the cardigan he saw you wear in the church, the cold piercing the rest of you unprotected.

He knows he should fight it, this feeling tugging him to go outside, towards you. 

He tries. 

He makes it five seconds. 

The next thing he knows he’s grabbed his jacket, along with yours, and is beelining towards the doors, the cold air hitting him as his footsteps slowly carry him out to you. 

He makes it to you so quickly he’s surprised, pausing, hesitating. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t. 

He debates it, thinks about it long enough that your voice stops him. 

“You’re still shit at sneaking up on people.” 

Your voice is haunting and melodic, but its familiar, naturally causes the way his heart has been beating to slow down. 

He moves around the swing, pausing slightly when he’s finally in your line of of view as he offers you a small smile, 

“You’re still bad at remembering to put a coat on despite the temperature outside.” 

You look over at him, your eyes glassy eyed as you eye your jacket. 

“You didn’t have too…” your voice drifts as he shakes his head, moves to throw the jacket over your shoulders. The warmth is a harsh contrast to the gentle cold air that's been hitting against your cardigan, and you lean into it as you adjust to move your arms through the sleeves. 

You have a glass of whiskey in your hand, it hasn’t been touched since you poured it an hour ago, and it's David who says, 

“You hate whiskey.” 

“My dad loved it though. Just…feels right too.” 

David nods slowly, eyes flickering out across the field before returning to you. 

“Can I sit with you?” 

You watch him carefully before giving a soft nod. 

“Sure.” 

He moves, shifting to sit on the bench and it groans in a familiar way under his weight. His body heat warms yours instantly and the familiarity of it all, the memory it triggers, causes you to flicker your eyes away from him. 

Bergamot, cedar and citrus dance in your nostrils; the lingering smell of coffee. 

You didn’t realize you’ve missed him so much until now. 

He doesn’t say anything, knows there is nothing to say. 

You break first. 

“I didn’t know you and my dad still talked.” 

Your voice is soft, a whisper, there’s hurt dancing around each word as he shifts his eyes to you. You won’t look at him and he exhales, flickering his eyes back out to the field. 

“Yeah. Your dad was…he always gave good advice. Was nice to talk to.”

“Hmmm.” 

“Meant I could check up on-” he stops himself. You don’t need to know. It was better if you hated him. Better if you thought he didn’t care. You could still focus on you. 

“I’m glad. My dad always loved you David.” 

You look over to him, offer a small smile. 

“Sam too. My mom if I'm being honest.” 

“Yeah. I know.”

You move your eyes out to the field. There was so much you wanted to say. So much you wanted to know.

You can’t bear to ask because you feared the answer. That combination feels deadly so you stay instead, 

“Anyways, thanks for getting him to his final resting place. Thanks for being here today.” 

“Of course. Anything…” 

For you. 

He can’t voice the words and you can’t bear to hear them. 

So instead you both sit in silence. 

He’s not sure for how long, but it's long enough for others to walk by and take you both in. They leave you both alone, respect the way the whiskey sits in your hand, frozen, the quiet way he leans into you occasionally, ensuring that you’re getting some warmth, don’t get frostbite. 

You haven’t cried. 

You probably won’t for a few days, but when you do it's going to threaten to destroy you. He wants to hold you through it. He wants you to know it's okay. That your dad knows, knew, how much you loved him. That he knows you’ll take care of everyone, but is worried that you won’t take care of yourself. 

He doesn’t know much about your new life, but apparently that is still the same. The habit of taking care of others over self. 

He misses you. 

Instead, you both stay on the swing in what feels like hours, until his phone goes off and he sighs, pulling it out of his jacket and looking at it. He frowns, exhales, then puts it back into his pocket.

“I have to go.” 

His voice snaps you out of the peaceful revere your brain has put you in, you blink and look over at him as he frowns into the night. His eyes are darting, blinks - one, two, three times - before shifting them over to you. 

“Finish that up. Get some rest.” 

You look at him for a beat, then shake your head. 

“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” 

He watches you back, fighting the smile that wants to emerge. 

Always stubborn.

“...I just think sleep might be helpful for you. You’re right, I can’t tell you what to do. I just want you to be…okay.” 

He moves his eyes back out into the night and you watch him for a beat, before exhaling. He might be right that you were tired. To be honest, throwing back the drink paired with a sleeping pill felt like bliss right now. 

He was right, like usual. 

It just meant that you’d have to do it alone, rest, and it was nice to have him sitting next to you. 

It was nice to not be alone. 

To be in the presence of someone familiar and safe. 

Who made you feel loved. 

“I’ll be okay.”

“I know. Still, rest will be good.” 

“Maybe you’re right. Anyways, you stay safe, Detective Loki.” 

He likes the way you call him by his formal title. It feels even better to hear it now that it was actually official and not something you would manifest when you held him at night. His eyes shift back towards yours and you smile. 

“You make a handsome detective David. You rest up too. Have a good night.” 

You can’t handle the way his blue eyes look at you, doing that thing they do when your words soften him, jaw ticking in debate on how to thank you for the way you penetrate the  inconsolable grief within him with simple, genuine words. 

You can’t handle it because typically when you do that, he always responds by kissing you back, deep and soft. One of your favorite kisses he gave you.

You know he won’t this time.

So you stand up and throw back the whiskey, giving a single nod before sauntering back into the house. You can’t feel your toes, or your legs, or your fingers for that matter and it takes thirty minutes for them to waken with life. 

By that time you’re in bed, wrapped in your covers where you build a cocoon around yourself. 

That’s Day 1. 

On day two you sleep all day. Your mom checks in on you, Sam. They try to get you to eat but you’re so damn tired. 

So you sleep. 

You sleep until day four. Your mom’s now both grief stricken and worried. Sam is too. You hadn’t moved out of bed. You just needed a moment to be sad. You’ve been going for months, you just wanted to rest. 

It's what you tell them. 

The worried gleam in the back of their eyes tells you what you need to know. 

On day five, you get out of bed and shower. You eat breakfast, even if it's just toast and a banana, a large cup of coffee. You usher your mom and Sam to the law office in downtown Conyers, where you throw on music and hum to the beat. 

By the time you’re walking into the old building Sam mumbles,

“What the fuck are you smoking and can you share some.” 

“Samuel.” your mom hisses and you give a light laugh, shrug. 

“It was just sleep, Sammie. Just was tired.” 

“Must’ve been a good sleep.” he mumbles as the three of you walk into the elevator. 

The office they put you in is narrow, has a long shiny table that sparkles as a lawyer who's rotund and hairy in the face but not on his head walks in with a bundle of papers. 

“Hi Mr. Rutherford.” You move to shake his hand, help him with the folder that he puts down. 

“Ms. Grant. Mrs. Grant and young Sammie. I am sorry about-” 

“We just want to get through the will. I have another month of bereavement before I have to head back to London so…..” 

You cut him off; your mom is doing a bit better but she's cried twice since leaving the house and Sam looks exhausted from managing the variety of emotions between the three of you.

You had to get things in order. 

None of you are surprised by what is read in the will. All properties would go to your mother, as agreed. Your dad bestowed upon you his record player and vinyl collection (much to Sam’s chagrin) a true treasure, and Sam was to have his signed vintage baseball card collection. Small trusts were in place, you knew about that chatting with your mother, the remaining percentage covering funeral costs, the plot. A letter to each of you, plus an extra one along with something heavy inside. 

“To David Loki. David Loki ... .that's not that smart, young detective in our town now is it?”

Mr. Rutherford’s voice is confused as you grab the letter from his hand, shake your head. 

Heavy indeed. 

“The one and only.” you say through a tight smile and Mr. Rutherford hums to himself. 

“Didn’t know they were acquainted.” 

“David’s Y/N ex so-” 

“Sam, stop,” you move your eyes over to Mr. Rutherford. “Anything else for us?” 

Mr. Rutherford looks at you for a beat, long enough to clear his throat before finally saying, 

“No. This was it. You’re moms signed all she needs to.” 

“Great.” 

You usher your brother and your mom out of the office, pushing the elevator button hard as Sam asks, 

“Why don’t you want anyone to know you dated David.” 

You can hear the hurt in Sam’s voice, the disdain. Sam loved David like an older brother. You could understand how he could misconstrue your response for shame versus privacy. 

“I don’t care Sam.” 

“I mean, you do. Anytime we bring it up with anyone you always shut it down. Are you ashamed of David?” 

“Samuel…” your mom whispers and you shake your head. 

“No Sammie; I’m not ashamed. I love..” you pause, clear your throat. “Loved David. I just hate that in Conyers, you say anything and it's everyone else's business. I like to keep things to myself.” 

Sam watches you, nods as the elevator comes. The three of you walk into the tight box as your mom sighs out, 

“Sam, you need to let David know your dad left something for him.” 

“Why me? Y/N is in charge of everything obviously.” 

You roll your eyes as your mom tsks, 

“She’s done enough. She also doesn’t have David’s number so do it.” 

“Okay ma, relax.” Sam exhales as the three of you get off the elevator, start walking out towards the exit. The lobby is busy, loudly occupied as Sam dials David’s number. By the time you are all outside its gone to voicemail and Sam says, 

“Hey D. Hope you’re good. We just had a…we met with a lawyer and I had to call you about….” 

Sam’s fumbling, awkward, and you exhale, throw your head back and roll your eyes. 

You all babied him too much. 

You snag the phone, shaking your head. 

“Hey David, it's Y/N….” 

_________