#fallingforafantasy

"Jacob Hendriks will be coming back after the game to meet everyone"

Brandon barely hears anything that's said after 'Jacob Hendriks'. Fuck. His stomach immediately plummets, his mind scrambling for any excuse to try and get out of the situation. He won't be able to. Management is already pissed at him for comments he'd made to the press last week supporting Troy Barrett - He's under strict instructions to be on his best behaviour and coach the team, nothing more. Maybe it'll be fine. Jacob probably barely remembers him. That thought stings, Brandon's eyes fixing on himself in the mirror as he straightens his tie.

Has he ever really gotten over Jacob? It's so stupid, it's been what? Twenty years? And he's still getting nervous. Their last conversation is still so vivid in his mind. The sadness, the hurt - The feeling of vulnerability. Fuck. Hands grasp the edge of the sink as Brandon takes a few deep breaths.

"Come on -" He psyches himself up, nodding in the mirror before heading back into the locker room to line up with the rest of the team.

His eyes and smile are still the same. To the point that it causes Brandon to feel winded. How is it possible that he can remember so intimately every dimple and expression on this man's face? Jaw tenses, expression attempting neutrality as he approaches. Hand extends, because that's what a good coach would do. "Long time no see, Hendriks." Because of course it had already been mentioned - 'Didn't you two play together at one point?'

Cal looks up from his book, leaning over to check the time on his phone. "A couple of hours. You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you, so I raided your bookshelf instead." He grins, holding up the book before placing it to the side and looking over at Quinton.

HE WILL NOT BLOW THIS. this date is months in the making. one evening encounter at some fundraising gala, countless flirty texts passed between them, too many nights of instagram stalking and trying not to overthink this. except, how could he not? this is rose landry. she's hollywood's it girl. last week, she was on a red carpet and now he's taking her on a date. and it can't just be a date. it has to be a DATE. a legendary date. the kind of date that they'll be able to tell their kids about some day. not that he's getting his hopes up. but he can't just do a simple dinner. she's probably had a billion simple dinners. and the last thing he wants is for this to be one of a billion simple dinners.

Javier had been intending to mind his own business. He was there for a drink, nothing else.

Then he'd seen the crowd that'd descended on Rose Landry and felt he should probably step in to help.

"Sorry, excuse me guys - Break it up." He pushes his way through the group of fans, giving a quick flash of his DEA badge. They won't know the difference. He's working under the assumption that most people will just see a badge and not question it. "I'm Ms Landry's private security." He gives her a look, silently telling her to go along with it. "And as much as she would love to stay and chat to you fine folk, she has a meeting to get to."

It was a circumstance in which Mr. Darcy had never imagined himself. Not because he was encroaching upon his fortieth year with no wife and no heir, nor because guardianship of such a young ward was beyond the realm of possibilities for a man of such a charitable disposition, but because of the circumstance of which the ward had come. An appeal from a young woman with whom held an acquaintance with a person he had not spoken to for nearly a decade. A person who, having shown little reformation of character even now as a married man, Mr. Darcy had hoped never to see, nor speak to or of, ever again. Yet fate had once more brought the name of Wickham to his doorstep in the wrappings of a small child barely old enough to speak.

Fortunate as it was for the lad, Fitzwilliam did not believe that a child was responsible for the sins of his father. With the intervention of God and His good graces, he may never have to bear the consequences of inherited disposition or fall under the influence of his father, should he remain under Mr. Darcy's care. This is not to say that the choice came easily to the gentleman. What he knew of raising a child came from the dutiful rearing of his little sister, but his guardianship of Georgiana had come with the benefit of a governess to aid him. The woman which helped bring up Miss Darcy, lately married and under a new name, had gone with his sister upon the day she wed and left his nest empty.

There was no possibility that he could raise a child he knew not without a governess, and in spite of his apprehensions, he had at last advertised amongst trusted and close acquaintances. One reputation had recommended itself amongst the many; a young Miss Lucy Beaumont with a few years of experience, but with a stated character which appealed to Mr. Darcy far greater than even the most experienced governesses who were known for leading with heavy handedness rather than kindness and understanding. Mr. Darcy would not bring a child into his home if he could not ensure that, at the very least, they would be treated with decency and patience—and he would not find disappointment in Miss Beaumont.

Business had called Mr. Darcy into London for a fortnight, and in those weeks, he had found his mind strangely occupied by his ward, little Nicholas. An eagerness to know how much progress had been made with his transition into a permanent residence within Pemberley had begun to grow within Fitzwilliam's chest as he made the journey back to his beloved estate. And as for Miss Beaumont, she too had seized his consideration on occasion, for Nicholas was not the only person deep in transition. Mr. Darcy knew so little of the governess, and had he not been called away, he may have indulged his curiosity a bit more. He was an employer known to ensure loyalty with his humble regard for those who served Pemberley. This, the maids had assured Miss Beaumont. She would find no better placement, even if at times their master seemed as solemn as the grave.

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[text; Elio] Nope, sorry to break it to you [text; Elio][Selfie of Kip in bed, a book resting on his chest] I'm wide awake. [text; Elio] What's up? You okay?

he leans back on his chair , gaze on his wedding picture. it's been ten years since he lost his husband ( but that doesn't stop the grief or the guilt ) & he appreciates what kip and scott are trying to do ; OF COURSE HE DOES , but it's not easy. he looks at kip finally , exhaling. "he used to say that." it's quiet , he fiddles with the ring that's hanging from a chain around his neck. "i know he'd want me to date - and move on." his gaze finds the floor for a moment. "and elio is ....great...he's funny and intelligent and being around him makes me feel so..." he swallows harshly. ( despite all this , he still finds himself backing off - it's not so easy to just , start over ). "i have all this baggage and he deserves better than that."