#deego

Conor Curley x female reader

Veeeeeery loosely inspired by Curley saying that he was a nostalgic person, especially for smells. Other than that, seriously messy yearning.

Staring himself in the mirror, he felt unusually self-aware, wondering if he should have worn another shirt or another set of jewelry. Maybe another pair of sunglasses? White frames instead of black ones? Another set of rings? Something about this look was off, but he couldn't find the source of his restlessness. Perhaps it wasn't even about any shirt or any set of glasses or knick-knacks at all?

Perhaps it was about her?

Deep in his heart he knew it was her, still cursing Carlos for inviting her while truth be told, the reality was that he was dying to see her. And the fact that he felt that way made him feel even shittier.

Deciding to give up on this annoying and borderline idiotic costume dilemma, he wandered out of the dressing room with the intention of heading to the backstage lounge, his eyes glued to the floor until he noticed an awfully familiar, petite figure in his peripheral vision.

His heart stopped along with his whole body, unable to turn his eyes away as he stared at her.

Her sparkly eyes stared back, burning a hole into his soul.

Being face to face with her after two whole years felt surreal and the mix of emotions he was experiencing felt more than confusing. It was a comforting sense of familiarity, yet he still felt as if he was staring back at a stranger, even if the look in her eyes turned softer with every passing second.

He didn't know what else to do other than to send an awkward wave in her direction, deciding to make his way towards her regardless of the discomfort.

"Hey," he breathed and smiled in all his sincerity, the sound of her voice making a shiver run through his spine as soon as she replied to the greeting.

He had prepared himself for this moment ever since Carlos told him that he had invited her to the show, replaying their relationship in his mind from beginning to end without a pause.

It was done. They were done. Both of them had moved on. There was nothing between them and would never be again and he had let her go.

"I heard you were coming," he then hesitantly continued the slightly awkward, yet somehow affectionate conversation while pushing his hands deep down the pockets of his trousers.

"Well, Carlos sort of insisted so.." she softly laughed, not knowing what else to say.

"I can imagine," he nodded, then almost mumbled after a moment of silence, "It is uh.. It is good to see you."

"It is good to see you, too," she replied, only a moment before an approaching figure caught his attention.

"Hey, I was looking for you," Hannah smiled as she placed herself at his side, his arm slowly wrapping itself around her.

"Yeah, sorry. I got caught up over here," he explained, then awkwardly continued as he turned to her, "This is Hannah, my girlfriend."

He couldn't describe the way it felt to roll these words off his tongue in front of her even if he tried, the impeding nightmare of his ex- and current girlfriends staring back at each other finally a reality. She smiled politely and introduced herself before Conor even managed to continue, the guitarist unable to read a single emotion out of her face. Reading her used to be so easy while now he was at a total loss.

"Oh, hi," Hannah happily replied, making him wonder if she was really reading nothing out of this room, "Curley told me that you were coming. I've heard a lot about you."

Curley.

To her he was always Conor.

"Yeah?" she then smiled back, the whole situation suddenly moving in slow motion for him, "Only good I hope."

At least he had had that much sense – to let Hannah know that it was a possibility that his ex might make an appearance, that she and Carlos and Josephine were still close and that they got together quite frequently when visiting Paris. That is where she moved after things ended between them, for some job as he had heard, but he couldn't be sure.

He had always maintained that things were fine between them and that things ended amicably, so it wasn't like he could give any shit to Carlos about this. Besides, he was convinced that it was more Josephine's idea than Carlos' as they used to hang out together at shows all the time.

Pleasantries exchanged, he felt relieved once she announced that she was heading to the bathroom, giving him an opportunity to finally breathe freely. There wasn't much time left to the show and he suddenly felt an immense interest towards their warm-up band, which he decided to watch together with Hannah from the side of the stage instead of having drinks with the rest of the crew in the lounge.

He knew very well what it looked like, but he didn't care – having her there was beginning to be a lot more difficult than he imagined.

Once on stage, she wasn't on his side like she used to, but on Carlos' together with Josephine as he had expected. Finding it a blessing at first, he soon discovered it to be a curse, his eyes travelling to the side opposite of him more and more frequently instead of the crowd.

It was all the same: the way she danced to her favourite tunes, him knowing exactly the ones she loved the most, the way she smiled whenever Josephine whispered something funny into her ear, the way she held her drink with the tip of her fingers, always ending up spilling it.

No matter how hard he tried to focus on playing and tried to shut off his mind, he couldn't stop himself from spiralling.

Once the show was done, he couldn't wait to get himself out of there, the others deciding to have a night in the town while he decided to go back to the hotel. Hannah's flight back home was in a few hours and it presented itself as a wonderful excuse to flee the situation.

Or at least that's what he had thought.

It was their rather awkward hug goodbye that ended up being the final nail in the coffin, her perfume sending all his senses into overdrive. It was still the same, after all those years, every memory flooding itself right back into his mind.

Back in the hotel, his fingertips were still buzzing, carrying the soft sensation of her skin that he managed to savor when he brushed them over her back. His mind was foggy, but somehow his thoughts still managed to race as the ding of the elevator caused him to open his eyes.

"You look tired," Hannah smiled as she grabbed his hand and began guiding them towards their room.

He didn't want to admit it, but he felt disappointed. He felt disappointed that she had replaced the touch of his previous lover.

"I am tired," he smiled back, trying to act as if there was nothing wrong while wondering whether she sensed that there was something off about him.

Once in the room, he threw himself on the bed, his companion quickly climbing to his side as an attempt to savor these final moments together until the car to the airport whisked her away. She nuzzled her face into his neck, replacing another one of the fleeting touches he shared with her during that hug. He wrapped his arm around her and held her close, then kissed her lips out of habit and smiled.

He could feel the way she shivered under his touch while he suddenly felt nothing.

"I wish I didn't have to go," Hannah whispered, nuzzling even closer and making Conor's insides turn in confusion.

"I wish you didn't have to go," he replied, his feelings mixed out of nowhere.

He didn't want to admit it, but he lied.

Usually, they would have sex at a moment like this. That is what they always did before either of them was to depart, but this time they really didn't have time for it and he suddenly felt terrified of the fact that it made him feel relieved. Not because of her, but because of himself.

He didn't want to feel this way. He didn't want to feel disappointed when Hannah touched him instead of her, but he had no control over it. He hadn't seen her for two years and he was so very convinced that he had moved on, but the illusion of it all came crushing down as soon as he saw her. Being in her presence for the mere amount of three hours was all it took for him to question every decision he had made during these past two years.

He felt like shit.

He soon heard Hannah's phone from the distance, indicating that the driver had indeed arrived.

"Well, it's time," she sighed as she slid her phone to her purse, lifting her eyes from the ground to look at him.

He stood from the bed and made his way over to her, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he could, kissing the top of her head while sliding his fingers through her hair and then kissing her lips.

He tried. This time he really tried. He wanted her to be the one he wanted to kiss and he wanted her to be the one he wanted to hold while he almost mindlessly forced himself into these acts of affection.

"I'll miss you," is what he mumbled through the kiss, her eyes lighting up in an instant while she returned the sentence with a smile.

For the sake of his own sanity, he wanted her to be the one he loved, but he couldn't help but to feel another sense of relief the moment the door fell shut behind her. He took a deep breath as he threw himself bak on the bed, suddenly feeling unimaginably uncomfortable in his own skin. He figured that perhaps another shower would help him clear his mind as it usually did, but nothing seemed to help against the power his old lover held over him.

He gave up.

He stood in the shower, the water washing over him and his brain busy reminding him of every moment, every act of intimacy he had shared with her in a shower during the years they spent together. He wished so bad that he could just scream this thing away at the top of his lungs, but there was nothing he could do.

Feeling defeated, he relocated to bed and got under the covers with the hope of his exhaustion soon getting the best of him and granting him with some rest. And after a while, it actually did.

At least for a little while.

He didn't know what it was, but a force he couldn't identify compelled him to open his eyes in the darkness, almost startling him from his sleep. He could swear that he heard her voice, murmuring the soft and affectionate "Conor" in a soft and alluring voice.

His whole body felt warm and tingly, soon pushing the blanket away in order to get some air. He then nuzzled his face into the pillow right next to him out of reflex, disappointing himself as soon as he realised that the scent he had expected to find wasn't there, a strong smell of laundry detergent invading his nostrils instead of the desired perfume.

She always wore perfume to bed. Nothing more, nothing less.

Already down the rabbit hole and questioning his sanity, he let out a deep breath of frustration as he shifted back to his spot, grabbing his phone from the bedside table in the process. After an unsuccessful debate with himself, he opened Instagram and typed in her name, finding the desired account without issues.

He took a moment to scroll over the layout of the photos quickly, then decided to inspect more in detail.

She had always had a good eye in terms of aesthetic, her account still looking as curated as it had been when they were still together and consisting of similar types of photos as it did then – selfies, outings with friends and whatever else she found inspiring and eye-catching, but in an artsy way. He had always loved scrolling through it.

He clicked on the most recent photo she had of herself, taking in her beauty as he inspected the features he knew so well, but still felt the need to study.

She looked breathtaking. Not that she hadn't been absolutely gorgeous already at the venue, but now he had all the time in the world to be absolutely mesmerized by her.

He then stared at the "Follow" button for some seconds, hesitating whether he should hit it.

Everything had been cool at the concert, it would be a friendly gesture. There was no way she would see it as anything else while the truth was that he wasn't quite sure whether it was he or her that needed convincing over the innocence of his intentions.

What were they really?

He didn't know, but he so desperately wanted to know about her. About the life she lived, about her friends, about the daily habits he used to know so well, about her favourite places in the city, about..

About whether she was with someone or not.. God, how he wanted to know whether there was someone lucky, who got to smell her perfume on his sheets the way he used to.

She had no pictures with any guy or photos that would indicate to the existence of a romantic relationship in her life, but he noticed how there was someone, who used to leave sweet comments on her older selfies and pictures, already causing an underlying pit of jealousy in his stomach.

Fully aware of his shameless behaviour, he managed to stalk his way into concluding that the latest comments and likes from that person were roughly around six months ago, so that must have been when it ended as there was nothing underneath her more recent pictures. Curiosity and jealousy guiding his way into this embarrassing act of snooping, he decided to click on that said person's account, a guy named Dominic, clearly French.

He quickly scrolled through his feed and understood that he must be a tattoo artist with some very fancy shop.

Scrolling a bit further, he finally noticed the images he was dreading to see – he still had pictures together with her on his account. Nothing super special or intimate, just some photos of them together on vacation, having breakfast in the morning and dinner in the evening. The dates under photos matched the timeline he had built for himself, the most recent ones being from roughly half a year ago.

It gave him a feeling of relief, feeding to the illusion of her still being somewhat attainable for him.

He was about to leave his account when something suddenly caught his eye at the last minute, making him click on it in an instant. It was a set of photos taken in what he assumed to be the guy's tattoo shop, a set of photos of her tattooing him. The tasteless cliche of it almost made him groan as he felt jealousy bubbling in him again.

My favourite apprentice

That was the caption of the set of photos, making his eyes roll to the back of his head. He then slid through the dump of photos, the final one revealing the tattoo she had given him.

It was a rather small and minimalistic one, depicting a pair of peonies. Her favourite flowers.

This time he really felt a sting in his heart. It made him think of all the times he sent her peonies while he was away on tour, of all the times the mentioned flowers used to decorate the home they used to share. He felt ridiculous for feeling this way, knowing very well that he had no right to be jealous or hurt, but seeing those flowers poked on his skin almost made him feel as if he wasn't special anymore.

In his twisted mind, he had always felt that the knowledge of peonies being her favourite flowers was strictly his to have and nobody in the world except him had the right to gift them to her. It was almost as if those said flowers symbolised their love and commitment and seeing her share that part of her with someone else made his heart shatter.

He decided to stop stalking this guy's account as he began feeling more and more stupid, and headed back to hers, once again staring at the inviting "Follow" button.

Before he could change his mind, he hit it, his heart racing in anxiety and fear.

He didn't know what he was trying to achieve, but he suddenly felt as addicted to her as he did all these years ago, knowing very well that doing this would only end up tormenting him, but he didn't care. He had decided already some 30 minutes ago that he was going to believe in this lie he was telling himself about this being a friendly gesture.

About to set his phone away, he suddenly felt it buzz in his palm. The screen lit up, revealing that he had received a message from Carlos. Not thinking much, he opened the conversation, the message containing a video of Grian doing shots with the object of his obsession in the bar. Three dots popped up in a second, revealing the text Carlos had typed to accompany the video.

You're missing out, man.

He wanted to throw his phone against the wall. Never before had she felt so out of reach for him, so off limits and he suddenly hated that.