#eilidh

ross takes a break from lecturing your son about the merits of eating your five-a-day to look at you and wink. there's a warmth in those dark eyes of his - the same one that got you hooked on him in the first place, actually - and you know he's thinking about that fateful first meeting too. “yeah, when i had to save mum, eilidh,” he chuckles. “from matty talking about his vision at a hundred miles an hour. her eyes were proper glazed over and everything, you know.”

“they still go like that when he talks to you now sometimes, mummy,” keir adds, still pushing peas around his plate. his dad and sister laugh, while your jaw falls open at the fact you've been clocked by your four year old.

he's not wrong, though.

eilidh's giggles fade into soft hums. “but how did you end up being boyfriend and girlfriend?”

ross’s eyes meet yours again. he smirks, taking a sip of his own wine. “d'you want to tell the story, love?” he asks, foot sliding up your leg under the table, flirty. “or shall i tell them how i swept you off your feet?”

“oh, is that what it was?” you tease, trapping his leg between your own.

“of course.”

you laugh. “you and i remember it differently, then. but alright,” you stretch, shuffling in your seat before looking at your kids’ anticipated little faces. “here's what happened…”

2013

“should we do something different for valentine's day?”

you turn to look incredulously at matty, exhaling your cigarette smoke. “is further context required there, or are you asking me out? because absolutely not, if so.”

“oh, charming. thank god i see you as a little sister and no more,” matty winces, taking a drag of his own cigarette before he speaks again. “i mean for the show on the 14th. we could do, like, pink lighting instead of white, or something.”

you hum. “i don't hate the idea. but i think sticking with the black and white thing is maybe a good idea for now. cohesion, recognition, establishing identity as you gear up to release the album, all that jazz, yeah?”

“good point.”

“i do like the pink, though. maybe we could do something with it in the future?”

“yeah. i'll keep it in mind. usual staging it is, then,” matty turns to face you, resting a shoulder on the brick wall. “so, given that you've theoretically rejected me…

you roll your eyes.

“... who are you seeing on valentine's day?”

“nobody. we've got a gig, remember?” you ash your cigarette glumly. “i'll be selling t-shirts with your face on them up the back of the venue all night.”

“and i love you - platonically - for that,” your friend grins. “but what about after the show?”

“after?”

“yeah.”

you ponder. “probably just going home to shower off the residual weed smell i'll inevitably take on, to be honest.”

matty laughs; his face drops when he realises you're not kidding. “oh. you're serious.”

“mhmm.”

“but,” he looks baffled. “you're twenty-three. you're cute, objectively. you're sweet. you're fun. there's really nobody you want to spend valentine's day with?”

well… your lips part of their own accord as if to speak; you quickly snap them shut before you make a sound. no. you can't tell anyone. especially matty, of all people.

apparently, though, you don't close your mouth fast enough - your friend notices, and giggles, eyes lighting up. “who is he? go on, tell me. promise i won't tell anyone, honest.”

“not a chance.”

“pleeeeeeeeeease?”

“no, matthew,” you take a final drag of your cigarette before stamping it out. “i'm never telling anyone, because it'll never go anywhere between me and him anyway, and thus i am perfectly fine just letting the crush i have fade without acting on it. i'll develop another one soon, anyway.”

no you won't. you've never fancied someone as much in your life as you fancy…

“there you are. was wondering where you'd gotten to, matty,” ross wanders round the side of the building, relief evident on his face. it seems to light up when he sees you, but that's most likely your brain playing tricks on you. “oh. hiya, love. didn't know you were in today, s'nice to see you.”

love?!

shut up. it's ross. he calls everyone that, dipshit.

you clear your throat. “hi, ross. s'nice to see you too. you look… well.”

you pray neither of the boys noticed the awkward pause while you came up with an alternative for “devastatingly attractive”, or that your voice didn't sound as small and squeaky as it sounded to you.

thankfully, neither of them mention it. ross just smiles, and all you can do is focus on not squealing at how cute his dimples are. “thanks. you look good. hair's nice like that.”

“oh,” you self-consciously touch the ponytail you hastily shoved your hat-messy hair into earlier. “thank you.”

he smiles again. “so, what are you gonna develop another of? were you talking about work?”

you say “yes” at the same time the gobshite next to you says “yeah, but then we moved onto talking about how she has no valentine's day plans but she also won't tell whoever she has a crush on that she wants to shag them because she thinks it’s unrequited.”

for fuck's sake.

sighing, you facepalm. ross blinks. “fair enough.”

“you don't think she should tell him?” matty looks aghast.

“what i think is that you should stop pestering her about it,” ross looks pointedly at matty, then turns to you. “but - and i don't want to overstep the mark here, love…”

“no, no, it's fine.”

“... you’ll never get what you really want unless you ask for it,” he finishes, a pleasant smile on his face. “what have you got to lose by doing so, anyway?”

this. our friendship. potentially my job, if i fuck it up enough.

“yeah, i suppose,” you murmur hesitantly. “i'll consider it.”

and you do - in fact, you're still considering it when you next see ross, during setup for the gig on the big day itself. he appears when you're pushing the box light into position on the tiny stage, quickly laying down his bass to run and help you, despite your protests that you've got everything under control.

seeing his arms flex as he works, though, and the way the stark white light somehow manages to warm up those dark eyes? you most definitely do not. still, you refuse to say anything to him then. or before the show, when he automatically passes you a beer so you can be included in the pre-gig cheers. or afterwards, when he risks being pounced upon by drunken fans just so he can help you pack up the merch stall, cracking jokes despite his tiredness.

it's only when you're loading the boxes of t-shirts into adam's car that you actually start to think that mentioning the crush to ross might not be a bad thing. you close the boot with a weary sigh, turning to face ross and high-five him - like you always do - with gratitude. and then he does something… strange.

he hugs you.

it's not a long hug, and definitely one of the “thanks, mate” variety, but still. it's not a common thing to happen between the two of you, ross’s arms wrapping around your shoulders and your waist and pulling you into his chest. it's warm. cosy. safe. and as soon as he lets go, you miss him.

before you get a chance to dwell on that, though, he speaks. “you coming to the pub with us now?”

“us?” your brow furrows. “who's us?”

“everyone except adam and waughy,” ross grins. “you're not the only one with no valentine's plans, love,” his face contorts into panic. “wait, fuck, i just assumed, because you said last week-”

“ross, relax, babe,” you smile, beating yourself up internally for the way the pet name just slipped out; you blame the joy that fizzed up in your stomach when he essentially admitted he's single. “i'm coming to the pub.”

he smiles again, relief evident in his eyes. “alright. good. i think we'll have a good night.”

you do, actually, despite matty monologuing the whole walk there about “you should just phone that guy you like and tell him. for the love of god, at least one of us needs to pull tonight. s'depressing if we don't”. it's actually george who manages that first, disappearing after the first round with a redhead and returning, lipstick-stained and gleefully dazed, half an hour later. matty's next, chatting up girls at the bar and collecting phone numbers by the handful, pointing out vaguely handsome men to you with “yes? no? maybe?” to no avail.

ross doesn't pull at all.

not for lack of trying from the female clientele in the pub, though - every time he leaves the table, you watch heads turn in his direction, and some bodies following. envy tinges your vision green whenever a girl approaches him, but you needn't worry; no matter how pretty or persistent or personable the girls are, ross politely chats as he waits for the drinks, bids them goodbye, and comes back to you. well, to the table. where he sits next to you.

it makes you feel good. so good, in fact, that you decide to tell him how you feel, right then and there. you take another sip of your wine - dutch courage and all - and rest your elbow on the table and your head on your hand, facing ross. “i'm glad i came out tonight.”

“so am i,” he mirrors your pose, smiling. god, you love his dimples. “it's been a good night.”

“yeah. not a bad valentine's day at all.”

ross giggles. “as good as it gets for singles,” he takes a sip of his pint, then looks at you a bit more seriously. “you spoken to that guy yet? the one you like?”

you bite down a giggle, shaking your head. “d'you think i should? ask him out?”

“if you really like him, yeah.”

“but,” you look down at the table, absentmindedly running your index finger round the rim of your glass. “what if he doesn't like me?”

“why wouldn't he?” ross's voice is soft - so are his eyes, you look up to discover. “you're great.”

“really?”

he nods. “really great.”

your heart glows. your face does the same. “thank you, ross.”

he shrugs. “i'm just telling the truth, love. now,” he grins, tapping your phone. “ask him.”

bless him. 

you exhale, smiling. “alright,” you turn round to compose yourself, then look back at ross with a smile. “would you like to go for dinner with me?”

for a second, you falter as ross's brow furrows. “what, now? like a kebab- oh,” his jaw drops, and he blinks a few times. “really? it's me that you have a crush on?”

“yeah,” you bite the inside of your cheek, nervous. “is that… really bad?”

“hmm? no, no, not at all! just surprising, s'all,” ross takes your free hand in his own. he looks dazed, but he's genuinely smiling. “i had no idea you liked me like that.”

“and here i was thinking i was doing a shit job at hiding it.”

ross laughs, softly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb; warmth erupts under your skin wherever he touches. he looks at you, so tenderly you want to look away. “yes.”

your turn to be confused. “yes i was doing a shit job at hiding my crush on you? or…?”

“no, love,” ross chuckles, squeezing your hand. “yes, i'd love to go for dinner with you. tomorrow too soon?”

you feel weightless, joyous, positively giddy. but you have to stay cool, so you simply beam at him. “tomorrow's perfect.”

present day

“...so, we went for dinner - pasta, before you ask, keir - and that was it. dad said he wanted to be my boyfriend before we'd even gotten to the tiramisu,” you smile at the memory. “and then we were like that for a while, and then we got married, and then we had you two. and now, here we are.”

“that's it?” keir frowns at you, then looks up at his dad. “but you said you swept mum off her feet.”

ross snorts, ruffling his son's hair. “yeah, not literally, keeks. i just meant that she was very impressed by me.”

“i don't get it.”

“well, ask matty to explain metaphors to you when you next see him, then.”

you wince (ross laughs at that), turning to your daughter, preoccupied with petting ash the cat, who climbed onto her lap halfway through your talk. “thoughts, eils?”

“hmm,” she makes a face. “it's not a very exciting story, mum.”

“cute, though, no?”

“kind of, i guess.”

“wow, you two are hard to impress,” you sigh, turning to ross and smiling despite your kids’ boredom. “worked out well for us, though, didn't it?”

“absolutely, love. couldn't have worked out any better,” ross leans over the table to kiss you; you return it with relish.

“ewwwwwwww! gross!”