#flangst

He was still in his tactical gear, boots scuffed, knuckles split, lip blood red and raw from him biting it too much and helmet hanging from his fingertips. All he wanted was a goddamn shower and to find you curled up on the couch, half-asleep in one of his old shirts, perhaps waiting on him even when he clearly told you he didn‘t know when he would return with something playing low on the TV that you weren’t really watching.

But the apartment was silent. Still. Too still. He frowned.

“Baby?” he called, his voice hoarse. Nothing. Not even the sound of you rustling around in the tiny-ass kitchen that barely had space for both your bodies when he pressed you against the counter. “You here?”

No answer.

He dropped the helmet onto the couch with a dull thud, scanning the living room- small, lived-in, your touch on everything. Blanket thrown over the armrest. Mug on the coffee table. One of your socks under the edge of the couch. The place looked like you'd just stepped out for a second. But his gut told him otherwise.

Jason moved fast when he was worried. But now in your way-too-small apartment he was bumping into the walls. Bootsteps heavy as he checked the bedroom, the bathroom, the closet you both swore you'd clean out last week. Nothing. No bag missing. No note. No message on his phone, not that he’d had service the last two days. "Goddammit..." he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. The apartment barely fit him on a good day — hell, it barely fit both of you, and that was half the charm. But now it just felt... empty. Wrong. Where the fuck were you? He felt his heart start to race and his breaths start to leave him in short, quick, strong breaths that hurt. Before he could start ripping the walls off of your apartment because maybe-just maybe-you were hiding underneath them as a prank a new thought entered his messed up brain. Maybe joker got to you. Maybe Joker got to….you. And he swore to whatever entity above if joker got his hands on you he would tear Gotham from limb to limb until there were ashes left in place of this godforsaken city. His shaking hands fiddled with his phone to try and call Dick. Dick was still on patrol around the area maybe he could go out and search for you as Jason gets every weapon known and unknown to mankind to torture any of Joker‘s goons for information because any other explanation wouldn‘t make sense to him.

He has you. He has you. He has you.

And maybe you were already dead.

His phone fell from his trembling hands as he tried to pick it up again but his heart was beating too fast his hands were shaking too much snd they were too sweaty and everything just fucking hurt and why the fuck weren‘t you here? On his knees now his hands found his hair as he digged into the strands.

„Jay?“

His head snapped over his shoulder towards the door and there you stood. Key in hand and your eyebrows furrowed and not a fucking worry in sight about perhaps being captured by the Joker. If Jason couldn‘t breathe before right now he certainly couldn‘t.

His eyes glossed over and he parted his lips to speak but before he could even think of saying anything you quickly close the door behind you, mindful not to actually slam it shut, and stalk towards him as you land on your knees before him. His face contores into a small grimace as your knees scrape against the rough hard wood floor you had. Your nimble hands cradle his face and he can see your mouth moving but he can’t hear anything. His ears are ringing and everything around him was going in and out of focus. All he could actually focus on was you. Your thumbs brushed over the stubble on his jaw as you tried to get him to look at you- really look at you.

“Jay. Jay, baby? Baby, breathe. It‘s Okay.” Your voice cut through the white noise like a lifeline, soft but urgent and in a whisper, your fingers slipping into his hair replacing his rough ones that pulled at the strands just to ground him.

His lips trembled. You were warm. Solid. Alive. And he was going to throw up.

Jason surged forward, his arms wrapping around you so tight it knocked the air out of your lungs, but you didn’t care and you were quite sure that he didn‘t either. You held him just as tightly, if not more. He buried his face in your shoulder and breathed. In. Out. In again. It was messy, shaky, and uneven, but the scent of you was familiar, grounding and enough to make the world tilt back into focus. Slowly.

"I thought-" His voice cracked. “I thought he had you.”

You felt it then- the wet heat of tears hitting your skin. He had cried in front of you before. Many nights where his nightmares were just too real for him to bear alone. He would softly wake you up and you would hold him as he silently wept into you and you never judged him. Not him or his past. You closed your eyes and pressed your lips to his temple.

“I just went outside for a second,” you whispered. “We were out of coffee. You always want coffee when you get back from a job. I wanted to get you some but i forgot my wallet. Kinda glad i did right now“ a soft chuckle escapes you.

Jason shook his head against you, still holding on like letting go might undo you, might unmake you and all the fragile peace you brought into his chaos. “Didn’t see a message. Nothing. Place was too quiet. I-I thought…”

“I know.” You combed your fingers through his hair again, slow and soothing, like you’d done on the nights the nightmares were too loud. “You’ve been out there too long. Everything feels wrong when you come back.” You place your chin ontop of his head as you keep ranking through the back of his hair.

“It wasn’t just that,” he choked out. “I felt it. That...in my chest. The panic. I couldn’t breathe. You weren’t here. I thought it was like that time. I thought-fuck, I don’t even know what I thought, just that it was happening again. I was there again with him..”

In that warehouse.

With death.

You tightened your grip around him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jay,” you said. “You hear me? You could raze Gotham to the ground looking for me, and I’d still come home to you.” He laughed then, but it was hollow, cracked down the middle, his forehead pressing hard against the crook of your neck. “Don’t say that. You shouldn’t have to come home to this.”

You didn’t say anything for a beat. Just held him. Let him collapse without shame. Because you knew better than anyone that Jason Peter Todd was the strongest man known. But even steel buckles under enough pressure.

Eventually, you pulled back, hands moving to cup his face again. His eyes were bloodshot. His skin, pale. His lip, cracked. He looked wrecked. Destroyed. “C’mon,” you murmured gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He shook his head in a frenzy. “I don’t want to move.”

“We don’t have to go far,” you promised. “Just the bathroom. I’ll draw you a bath. And we can sit. That’s it. Just sit me and you.”

You guided him up slowly, carefully, mindful of how unsteady he was on his feet, when you realised you wouldn‘t get another answer out of him. His grip never left you — one hand tangled in the fabric of your hoodie, the other on your waist. Like if he let go, the floor might open up and swallow him whole and he would be back there.

In the bathroom, you flicked the lights on and turned the faucet. The water hissed into the tub, and the steam quickly filled the room. Jason stood behind you, leaning against the sink. You turned and reached for the hem of his suit. Only now did you realize that he still had it on.

He flinched.

“Hey.” Your voice was soft, coaxing. “It’s me.” Jason closed his eyes. Breathed in again.

Bruises, fresh and healing, littered his torso like a road map of violence. The jagged scar near his ribs, the one that never fully faded, was red around the edges. You didn’t ask if he’d reopened it. You already knew. He had this tendency when he got anxious that he would just sit and scratch away at all of his scars as if it would make them dissapear. He didn’t speak, not for a long while, until your fingers ghosted too gently over one of the deeper cuts.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmured, eyes distant, fixed on the tile.

“You didn’t,” you said. “You won’t.”

“You say that like it’s a guarantee.”

You met his gaze. “You’re not the only one who fights to hold on, Jason. I may not be out there on rooftops or in back alleys, but I fight every day to be here. With you. You think I’d let some clown-faced asshole take that away from me? Take you away from me? I wasn‘t there the first time and i won‘t let it happen a second time.”

He let out a shaky breath, “I love you.”

The words didn’t tumble from him often. Not because he didn’t feel them, but because he felt them too much. Too deeply. Like they were fragile, and precious, and terrifying all at once.

You stepped closer and pressed your forehead to his.

“I love you too,” you whispered. “Now get in that tub before your muscles lock up like last time.” He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

You helped him in and sat nearby, cross-legged on the bathroom floor. The bathwater lapped gently at the porcelain as Jason let himself sink deeper, the tension in his shoulders finally starting to bleed away.

A long silence stretched between you.

Then,

“You really went for coffee?”

You smiled. “Yeah. And those snacks you like.”

He blinked. “The spicy cheese ones?” You nodded. Jason tilted his head back and let out something between a sigh and a laugh. “I really do love you.” “You better. I’m the one who’s gonna be dealing with the tub drain full of your blood and war grime.”

He huffed. “Romantic.”

“Always.”

Afterward, wrapped in a towel and wearing the old hoodie of his you’d swiped years ago, Jason slumped onto the bed. You curled up beside him, throwing the blanket over both your legs.

Your head rested on his shoulder, and his arm wound around your waist, hand brushing against your side absently, like he still needed to reassure himself you were real. That you were there.

“I hate what this city does to me,” he said quietly.

You looked up. Jason frowned.

“How it makes you feel, Jay. How it makes you scared. That’s not weakness. That’s love. That’s being human.”

He was quiet again for a moment. “I couldn‘t stand living without you here. I think i would have gone mad.“ You shifted in his hold.

His eyes met yours.

“You don‘t have to worry about that.,” you said. “You came home, Jay. To me. And i will always be there for you..”

He leaned down and kissed you then. Soft. Barely there. But it lingered.

“Don’t ever disappear on me again,” he said against your lips. You pulled back just enough to smirk. “Only if you promise not to assume I’ve been Joker-napped every time I step out.”

Jason exhaled slowly, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Can’t promise that.”

“I’ll settle for a text next time you’re off-grid.” “I’ll try,” he said. And for Jason Todd, try meant more than most people’s swear.

You both layed there for a long while, tangled in each other and the quiet aftermath of panic. And while the city outside still breathed with crime and chaos, in this tiny, too-small apartment, with your heartbeat steady against his side, Jason felt maybe for the first time in weeks that he wasn’t losing everything.

That maybe, just maybe, he was allowed to have something.

Your fingers tingled with the alcohol that flooded your veins as you dug them into the purse clutched against your stomach. While searching for your phone, you found your perfume bottle, an outdated and empty blister of the pill you'd stopped taking, and a lipstick you thought you'd lost a month ago, but no sign of your cellular device. Looking around frantically, your brows knitted together tightly, a string of slurred curses leaving your lips senselessly. Had you forgotten it in the club ? Had one of your friends picked it up by accident ? Worse yet, had it been stolen ?

"There you are !" you cheered, picking the phone from the damp asphalt and opening it like it held every secret to the universe. Looking through your contacts, you tugged the hem of your dress down, suddenly aware of the wind creeping up your skirt. You hummed a song you didn't recognize, skimming through an endless list of people you definitely shouldn't call for what might've been a few minutes or mere seconds – the fabric of time was one that frayed at the edges along with your consciousness – before settling on one and pressing the button. Considering the hour of morning, you were surprised to have your correspondent pick up after only two rings, or at least you would've been, had you been any less intoxicated.

Just as the panic started gnawing at your throat, something clattered to the ground between your legs.

"Hello ?" the voice rang from the other end of the line. You hummed through a smile at the sound of it, and she immediately understood what this was. Sighing, the woman continued, "Where are you ?"

Unfortunately for her, you were feeling rather uncooperative tonight, and so you blatantly ignored her question, "You know, I wish we could see the stars at night."

You practically heard her eyes roll as she replied, "Considering how drunk you sound, I doubt you'd be in any capacity for stargazing. Where are you ?"

A hum left your lips, and you traced mindless shapes on the asphalt with the toe of your shoe, "Do you ever think about how we're technically cousins ?"

The woman nearly choked on the other side, "Us ? What are you–"

Laughter erupted from you like bubbles from a shaken up bottle of soap, filling the night with an unabashed melody.

"Not us, idiot ! Ew !" you chirped brightly, "The stars ! Us and the stars !"

She muttered something you didn't quite catch before continuing, "How about we talk about this once you've told me where you are ?" she offered, and you'd swear you could see the way her eyes closed, the way her bitten nails had pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Hm," you sang, "does that mean I get to see you ?"

A moment passed, and you started to fear having hung up on accident as she replied, "Well, as soon as you tell me where you are, yes."

"Can I help you miss ?" a deep voice asked, decidedly not the low velvet you'd been sitting here waiting for.

The wait felt excruciating. You could feel your head spinning from the drinks, and the wet concrete of the sidewalk was starting to seep through your dress, damping your underwear. It was sticky, and uncomfortable, and you wished she'd just get there already. The night air had been a blessing when you'd stumbled out of the club, but you'd grown to curse its bite as you rubbed your arms helplessly.

The lamp-post you'd been sitting under had become a harbor for moths, and when one of them settled on your kneecap, you kept as still as your inebriated state would allow to keep it here. You wondered how such a small creature perceived you, all big eyes and smudged mascara as you stared at it in wonder. If it had a mind to think it, it would've deemed you insane in a second. Dangerous, at the very least. Monstrous at most. And yet, it stayed there, occasionally sweeping a paw over its head. You had just named it Juniper as it took flight, scared by the sudden shadow looming behind you.

You turned your head to find the man, standing right behind you, leaning over with his hands on his knees, looking down at you in a way that made you feel eight again. Your frown deepened.

"Nop'," you said curtly, "thanks, bye."

The man whose face you couldn't quite see chuckled, and you bit back the sudden desire to elbow him in the shins.

"Oh come on. You're clearly drunk, I can help you get home," he insisted, "my car's just down the street, I'll drive you."

"I'm waiting for someone." you turned back to face your knees, sighing at the conclusion that Juniper hadn't come back.

"Come on sweetheart, no boyfriend would leave such a pretty girl out in the cold for so long," he reached for your shoulder, but heels clicked to your left, and you didn't bother telling him off. Your guard dog would do it for you.

"Back off." her voice rang sharply, despite its low volume.

The man's hand froze, and he turned to find her dark eyes, seemingly unimpressed, "I'm helping her."

"She doesn't want your help."

He scoffed, "What do you know ?"

Arching a brow, her eyes flickered between your hunched figure and his face, "Well, she just told you so. I'd say that's a pretty good indicator."

You chuckled to yourself at her retort, and the man seemed to take offense, "Oh, so what, I'm supposed to leave the girl alone like that ?"

"Well, she told you she was waiting for someone, didn't she ?" she pressed a finger to the top of your head, and you lifted your chin to meet Emily's piercing gaze, "Didn't you darling ?"

You nodded, and the man scoffed again, – you supposed he had some respiratory problem, or maybe he was just a very scoffy asshole – and he argued again, "And I'm supposed to believe you're the boyfriend ?"

"I never said boyfriend," you hummed, "you did. You said boyfriend."

He kept on spouting nonsense, but the second Emily held her hand out, your mind automatically tuned him out. Curling your fingers around hers, you tried to pull yourself up, stumbling back until she pressed a steadying hand to your waist.

"You okay ?" she murmured, "You look like a newborn fawn."

"Stop laughing," you complained.

"No one's laughing sweetheart." she assured you sweetly, before guiding you with a palm to your lower back.

"Hey– Where the hell are you going ?" when neither Emily nor you deigned turn, he added, "fucking bitch."

Gallantly, she opened the car door and helped you settle into the passenger seat before walking back to the sidewalk, badge in hand.

"I'd suggest you refrain from calling an federal agent that– or any woman, for that matter."

The sight of her badge seemed to dissolve the rest of his audacity, retreating like a dog with its tail between its hind legs.

Eyes closed, you leaned back against the headrest as Emily rounded the car to the driver seat. You heard the door close as she settled in front of the wheel, and felt her fingers tilt your chin to face her before you opened your eyes again.

"How much did you drink ?" she asked softly, her gentle fingers holding your jaw as she examined the state of your pupils.

You simply shrugged, unsure of the exact quantity, before changing the subject, "He scared Juniper away."

Her brow arched, "Juniper ?"

You nodded against her light grip, "He scared her. Juniper the Moth. She was resting on my knee and he scared her away."

Her gaze turned tender, and she cocked her head in understanding, "Oh, I'm sorry darling. He wasn't very nice." you shook your head in agreement and leaned into her touch, letting your lashes flutter against your cheeks.

Her thumb grazed your heated skin, "Come on. Let's get you out of here."

She drew her hand back and you let out a quiet whine at the loss, before quickly becoming enthralled by the way the light of lamp posts drew lines in the darkness as she drove. The melody you'd been humming mindlessly found your lips again, filling the space around you.

"Is that Leia's theme ?"

"Hm?" you turned to her, gaze tracing the slope of her nose, her dark eyes and long lashes, her chapped lips… You would've spent hours watching her, were it not a little unnerving.

"What you're humming," she clarified, stealing a glance your way, "isn't it Leia's theme ? From star wars ?"

Brows knitting in contemplation, you went over the melody in your head, before snorting, "God, you're such a nerd–"

"It is, right ?" she grinned at the sound of your bright laughter, "Wait– How am I the nerd when you're the one drunkenly humming it ?"

"You recognized it ! I didn't !" you exclaimed, "That's your fault you know ? Making me watch those movies an ungodly amount of times–"

"You said you liked them !"

"I do ! That doesn't mean I want to watch them once a month !" your smile never faltering, you watched as her expression transformed into a sort of cute frown.

"You never said anything," she mumbled, and your hand shot up to caress her cheek before you could think better of it, not that your inebriated brain would've allowed it anyway.

"Because it made you happy, I never minded," your grin softened, knuckles brushing against her cheekbone. She stilled slightly, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, daring another glance at you, a very dangerous mistake. You were looking at her like that again. Like you did before, before her job got too much, before the Star Wars re-watch & cuddle sessions turned into brewing coffee at three AM in her empty apartment, in a useless attempt to keep yourself awake until she came home.

"Angel," she hummed, knuckles brushing your cheek, "we're there"

You were looking at her like that again, and she wished she hadn't felt such relief at the sight, because if she hadn't, there would've been nothing that the reminder of your drunkenness could crush to pieces. Her eyes fled back to the road, and her jaw tensed, which seemed enough of a sign for your hand to fall back into your lap. The rest of the ride was spent in silence, save for your occasional slightly off-key humming.

Emily pulled the car to a stop in your building's parking lot, and when she turned to you, she realized why the ride had been so silent. Your head was lolled against the window, lips parted, eyes closed in blissful slumber. A sigh escaped her, but she couldn't help the warmth that settled behind her ribs as she gently leaned over to undo your seat belt. Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, she called your name softly, which only made you curl up in your seat some more.

A sleepy groan escaped you, and you mumbled something she couldn't make out, hands tucked under your jaw. She caressed your hair, gently guiding your head away from the window.

"Come on, you'll be in your bed in no time. You just need to fight sleep for a few more minutes."

"Carry me…" she heard you mutter as your head fell to her shoulder.

The demand made her chuckle, and she replied softly, "As much as I'd love to, I think you overestimate my abilities baby."

You murmured something about her being a strong FBI agent, and she bit back her laughter.

"I can't carry you for that long sweetheart. Especially not up the stairs," you groaned in protest, "I know, I know, but you're gonna have to get up."

"But my feet hurt…" you whined, and she glanced down at your heels. Who went to the club in stilettos ? You, apparently. She would've offered to switch shoes, but she was in heels as well, and you didn't even wear the same size.

"We'll take your shoes off in the lobby then. I'll help you, you'll lean on me, and when we're at your place I'll clean you up, alright ?"

You mumbled in reluctant agreement, pulling away from Emily and pulling at the door handle.

"Wait–" she got out of the car, rounding it to get to your side. There, she opened the door and held out a hand, a gesture you rewarded with a playful and slightly unbalanced bow.

One of her arms wrapped around your waist, steadying your stumbling form as you leaned against her as instructed. Your head lolled against her shoulder, and you tried to keep up with her strides as you walked toward the building. As the door closed behind them, you tilted more of your weight against her side, standing on one foot you reached behind you to slip off one of your heels. Of course, that was a lot to ask of your drunken balance, and when the foot you'd been standing on twisted at the ankle, Emily was quick to tighten her hold on your waist.

"Ow," you complained, and she led you to sit on the stairs, kneeling in front of you to slip the other shoe off of your foot, "my knight in shining armor," you grinned as she examined your ankle.

With an amused breath, she pulled you to your feet, shoes hooked to her fingers, and you headed up the stairs at the rate of an elderly couple. At your door, you turned to her like you expected her to do something, only to be met with her gaze already on you.

"What ?" she asked.

"You what !"

"What do you mean I what ? You have the keys idiot !"

You scoffed, bringing a hand to your chest in disbelief, "Excuse me, I'm the idiot ?–"

"Oh for god's sake–" she rolled her eyes and lifted your purse from your hip, diving a hand in and pulling out your keys.

"Idiot" she whispered with a smile as you huffed. Opening the door, she led you inside and you stumbled over to the couch, dropping onto it like a dead weight. Emily put your shoes into your shoes rack and walked over to the bathroom, making you crane your neck as your eyes followed her curiously.

"Em ?" you called out, and she peered out of the bathroom with your disinfectant and a small pouch of band aid.

"For your feet," she offered, joining your side and sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

"Oh" you managed quietly as she gently settled your calf over her lap. Silence settled like a blanket over the both of you as she tended to the angry red burn on your Achilles' heel. Her touch was tender, dabbing a cotton over the small wound, before covering it with a colorful band-aid. She did the same with your other heel, and once she was done, she simply looked up at you, your leg still swung over her lap as her thumb traced circles against your ankle.

For a few moments, you just looked at each other, and your sobering mind prayed you weren't as visibly flustered as the heat of your face indicated. Emily showed no sign of amusement, watching you with this quiet awe only she could muster. Once upon a time, you'd compared her eyes to black holes, pulling you in in a way you were helpless to. Once upon a time suddenly felt much closer than it should've been.

"Would you call me like you did again ?" you heard yourself say, voice hushed.

She tilted her head slightly, "What do you mean ?"

"Earlier, you called me by the nicknames you did before," you explained, vulnerability flowing out of you in waves, "can you use those again ?"

A soft sigh escaped her, and the look she gave you made it clear that she hadn't noticed her own usage of the terms of endearments, and that using them on purpose felt cruel to both of you.

"Please," you insisted in a breathe, "just this time. Just tonight."

When she stood from the table, your foot falling back to the carpet, your hands tightened on the edge of the couch cushions, "Please Emily. I just– I want to feel normal again, just for a moment, I just want–" you bit your lip when your voice cracked, the sound making her turn toward you. Her arms were crossed over her chest, but her poker-face had never been that good when it came to you.

"I just want to feel like I'm yours again. Just tonight." you finished, barely loud enough to qualify as a whisper.

For a moment, it seemed like she'd been punched in the stomach. When she recovered, all she could manage was a small, "You're drunk."

"I know" you countered, lifting yourself off the couch, trying to will your center of gravity to stop shifting, "I know, and I'm– I'm not asking you for anything I can't– for anything that you couldn't give. I just want to pretend. I just want to feel that safety again. I mean, hell– You clearly didn't even notice you were doing it earlier–"

"It's not a good idea–"

"God, Emily, I'm not asking you to fuck me, I'm asking you to just– just address me like you did before we became–" you gestured at the space between your bodies, "–whatever this is !"

She pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes shutting like you'd imagined she'd done when you'd called her earlier, and a distant, less inebriated part of your brain feared you'd gone too far.

"Fine." she huffed, "It's not like you'll remember any of this tomorrow."

You sighed in relief, before swaying over to the kitchen.

"I hope you're going to get some water," she frowned slightly as you passed, "and not a peach beer from the fridge."

You raised your hands in surrender, "Honestly, I don't think it would matter much considering."

You felt the air she brought with her as she walked over to you, "Well, water would help. Beer wouldn't," she hesitated half a second before adding, "sweetheart."

A snort escaped you, "Smooth," earning you a pinch at the waist.

"Shut up. It's weird when it's on purpose." extending an arm to the overhead cupboard, she pulled out two glasses, one sporting a pattern of daisies, and the other blueberries. Once both glasses were filled with water, she handed the daisy one to you, leaning against the counter. You joined her side, nursing the glass between your palms.

"So," she hummed, "what were you doing out ?"

You took a sip of water, "A friend got a promotion. We were celebrating."

"You're not usually one for clubs," she noted.

"I wanted to try. It was fun. Well, less so when they either went home or left with some guy they'd met there."

"Is that why you were on the sidewalk ?"

You nodded, looking down at your sparkly dress. The straps were digging uncomfortably into your shoulders, the hem of the skirt constantly hiking up your mid-thigh.

"What's this dress ?"

"Hm ?"

Emily brushed a thumb over the fabric covering your back, "I've never seen it. And it's not exactly the type of thing you usually wear."

You huffed, "Am I not allowed to try new stuff ?"

"Not saying that. And you look beautiful," she said calmly, "I was just wondering."

Heat crept up your neck, "Oh. Thanks," you whispered, "a friend convinced me to buy it."

"And how do you feel about it ?"

You looked down again, hesitating a moment. It was a nice dress, a little shorter than what you were used to.

"It's a little uncomfortable. It keeps–" you pulled the hem down again to illustrate, "but I mean– it's nice. I don't hate it."

The woman hummed, bringing her glass to her lips, before speaking again, "Well, I meant it. You look beautiful. You always do."

Air seemed scarce all of a sudden, and so you inhaled deeply, cheeks burning. She always had that ability to compliment you like it was nothing. Like she was stating irrefutable facts and expecting you to just accept them as such. It drove you crazy before, and evidently, it still did.

"We should get you cleaned up before you go to bed," she pointed out, setting the glass on the counter.

"Cleaned up ?"

Her only response was to gently turn your chin as her eyes roamed over the makeup you'd forgotten about.

"You really need to invest in waterproof mascara, darling."

The term left her mouth so naturally that you wondered if she'd noticed it had, and the sound of it made butterflies swirl around in your stomach.

She strutted off to the bathroom, putting the band-aids and disinfectant back in their place, and you followed, still buzzed from the alcohol.

"So pretty," you whispered as she tenderly wiped the mascara off of your cheeks.

Closing the toilet seat, she gestured to it, "Sit" she simply said, the command soft as velvet from her tongue. You sat.

She turned around to gather what you needed to clean off your makeup, while you watched your toes from your seat. When she faced you again, slotting herself between your knees, you looked up at her, your eyes betraying every bit of the adoration you felt.

Her lips curved, ears flushing so imperceptibly that, hadn't you known her so intimately, you might not have noticed.

"Thank you baby," she passed the damp washcloth over your lips, before lifting it, "close your eyes," you complied, and felt the cloth wipe over your eyelids.

"Done," she brushed strands of hair from your forehead, "let's get you to bed."

The bedroom was dark, lit only by the dim light coming from the doorway, but Emily navigated the space like she'd never left it. She gathered pajamas from your wardrobe, and you pulled the covers aside, settling on the edge of the mattress.

"I'll step out," she said, handing you your clothes.

"No– I uh, I need your help," twisting on the mattress, you showed your back to her. The issue was suddenly clear as her eyes found the zipper. Carefully, she pulled it down until the straps of your dress pooled down your shoulders.

"There," she didn't move. You didn't ask her to. Instead, you peeled the dress off, baring your back for her to unclasp your bra, before pulling the oversized shirt onto your shoulders.

Once you were done, Emily picked up the dress and bra, draping them over the backrest of a chair before heading toward the door, "Rest, it might help with the headache you'll inevitably get from this."

"Em–" you whined softly, making her pause on her way to the front door, "Stay ?"

You watched as her head dropped forward in defeat, as if she'd been dreading the word.

"Sweetheart–"

"Please ?"

She scoffed, "You can't just say please and expect me to fold–"

"Emily," you insisted, "please"

A heavy sigh left her, and like she didn't even believe what she'd just said, she turned back to your room and joined you on the bed.

"Nothing happens." she stated.

"I missed you," your soft voice slurring was enough of a clue toward your imminent slumber. She pressed a kiss to your hairline and held you closer.

"That's not what I'm asking," you whispered before snuggling close to her. Once the initial shock had passed, her arms wrapped around you. The hold was light at first, only tightening once a shaky breath left her.

You closed your eyes and melted against her, the warmth a cocoon around your frame. The quiet settled like snow over them, her nose pressed into your hair, hand splayed over your back. For a moment, everything was okay again. She was yours and you were hers. She was here, not on a plane to god knows where, and you were in her arms. For a moment that's all there was.

"Me too," she whispered, "Goodnight darling."

From your breathing, you'd fallen asleep before she'd even finished talking. Still, she held you, breathing you in with absolutely no intention of letting go.

It was finally the night of the release of your boyfriend's fourth studio album. Harry Styles' ‘Kiss All The Time. Disco Occasionally.’ Or Kissco, as the fans had so lovingly dubbed it. Release night was the concert. One night only. That's where you were now. In the VIP tent of the Manchester show. Kissco, the way it’s never been done before nor will be done after.

It was a whirlwind of emotions for everyone involved. Naturally, the most for Harry. You knew how much love he had put in this record. It seeped through every song. It being received well meant a lot to him.

You were so unbelievably proud of him.

Now, as you stood in the tent, you were joyed beyond anything.

But something lingered in the back of your mind no matter how hard you pushed it down.

It had happened a few days ago. The day wasn't anything special. No omens lurked in undertones and overtones to tell you what would happen that day. You and Harry had been talking. About work. About the album. About your days. It was light. It was safe. Unassuming. The conversation had randomly shifted to your future. It wasn't like you hadn't thought about it. You had. It just scared you every time you did.

You had been together for a bit over two years. Settling had always scared you. It wasn't that you were disloyal or non-committal but it just scared you that settling gave your partner the power to leave you whenever they wanted. Leave a life you built together. What if one day they realised they didn't like you anymore? Or you weren't as exciting anymore? Or you'd gotten repetitive and boring? Falling out of love is something your partner can't help. No one does anything wrong. So what do you do when that happens?

It was a fear you had harboured since you were younger. Getting in the way of a lot of relationships. With Harry, you started questioning your own philosophy. He made you want to settle down and that scared you. But the fear of commitment was so deeply and indelibly ingrained in your being that when the conversation came up, you got defensive and he got hurt.

You still didn't know what to say to him. You didn't want to say anything till you were sure of what you wanted to say. There was simply too much on the line. Maybe that fact gave you the answer, didn't it?

And when Harry came on stage, you pushed those thoughts further down. It was a fever dream from then. One song after the next. You'd heard a few at the piano when he first thought of them, unpolished in his Voice Notes app, the first time in the studio and the released studio version while a few he had kept a surprise.

When Harry settled at the piano, the lights dimming, the crowd seemed to feel how intimate it had gotten before he'd even played a chord.

Tell me your fears I've turned back the clocks, it's that time of year

At first you listened, already loving it. Then you really listened.

The lyrics corroborated your situation at the time. Made it feel like he was laying his feelings bare for you to see.

but I'm scared if we're both right Does that mean we're not aligned?

By the time he finished that line, your welled-up tears had already started their descent. He seemed to be letting you know he knew your fears were valid. Both of you had something valid to say. But if it was contradictory, were you really right for each other?

Just for tonight, let's go hangover chasing And I'll talk your ear off about why it's safe,

His next words came as a sharper knife to heart, more blood gushing under the guise of tears. (wattpad line stawp)

as I Fumble my words and fall flat on my face through the truth Just say the word and we'll take up the test where we Flirt with the bad ones and skip all the rest, but we See out the night with your head on my chest, me and you

There's only me and you

As far as you had pushed down the thoughts, they sprang back twice as hard. The tears streamed faster. Maybe... Maybe that's all you both have to do right now- see out the night- what if you put too much pressure too soon on something beautiful that you ruined it? You didn't have to know what to do 10 years from today.

Now I see your tears on account of my wants and now it appears That I'm feeling guilty and worried, dear That you think that I might not want you here

Your breath stumbled.

Does all of this seem to be bringing us closer or am I back-seating your life? Judging while you drive

Just for tonight, let's go hangover chasing And I'll talk your ear off about why it's safe, as I Fumble my words and fall flat on my face through the truth Just say the word and we'll take up the test where we Flirt with the bad ones and skip all the rest, but we See out the night with your head on my chest, me and you There's only me and you

As the orchestra started, your sobs racked deeper without you meaning to. Maybe he was all you needed. What if you let your fear come in the way of being with him? He was worth it, wasn't he? Everything was, with him- someone you love saying something bad about you, paparazzi bombarding you everywhere when you were together, arguing with each other, hearing people have hurtful opinions on something that's not theirs- it was all okay as long as at the end of the day you were with him.

It was all okay if at the end of the day it was you and him crying about a movie and him making you laugh, joking the way you never would with anyone else, being the truest versions of yourselves and trusting each other with your fears and your worries and your truth.

The fear of losing him forever was bigger than any other fear. Standing there now, everyone around you swaying and crying, holding up their phones with flashlights, some of them crying, the darkness providing a place to feel without being judged, the orchestra flowing through the air and Harry. The reason everyone felt this all. Your boyfriend. The man you loved.

It's only me and you.

And you were almost sure his eyes flicked to your side. When the lights dimmed further, you took a shaky breath. The catharsis had left you breathless and all you could think was that with him, forever felt.. easy.

Then you were escorted backstage to his dressing room where you waited.

When the door finally swung open, you threw your arms around him. Before you even realised the tears started once again.

At first, he didn't say anything. Then wiped your tears, cupping your face, "what's wrong, my love?" he asked in the softest voice.

"I'm so proud of you," you whispered.

"Thank you, sweetheart, it was amazing," he smiled softly, still looking at you like he was waiting for your answer.

"I just- I'm sorry," you choked out

"What are you sorry for, darling?"

"I love you. I really do. And I'm sorry for our argument. I just- I realised that I just need you, right? It doesn't matter if we're in New York or in London, and it doesn't matter if no one approves of us, or if we start getting old and wrinkly or if the world starts hating us tomorrow or if we live somewhere with bad electricity or if we argue in the grocery store and I just what I'm trying to say is- none of it matters. None of it matters as long as at the end of the day we come home to each other. If at the end of the day we still write stupid songs on your guitar, if we still laugh at old, over-cracked jokes, if we fall asleep talking and wake and were still there. If maybe in the future, there's more than two of us. I want it all with you, Harry. And I'm so sorry I took so long to realise it. And we don't have to get engaged or married or anything at all right now I just had to tell you."

He just kissed you. And when he pulled back he looked more certain than he ever had. His eyes glassy but the widest grin on his face.

(how do I end this)

author's note: Something i thought of when i read this and cried lmao. I don't usually write for real people cause i imagine it makes them incredibly uncomfortable and you have a lot of space to mischaracterise them but I wanted to try something new. so harry styles please dont hate me im so sorry.

“Just try,” Dustin had asked you for the millionth time, revelling in your discomfort and struggling to say it without sounding pained. 

“I…love…you.”

Dustin laughed, and so did you. At least a little. “See? Why the hell can’t you say it?”

You shrugged, clearing the table. “I just…don’t say it all that often.”

“It’s her love language,” Max cut in. “She doesn’t say it, she shows it.”

“See?” You pointed out. “Thank you, Max.”

But, stuck in the upside down, surrounded by locked doors and melting goo that had finally hardened, you’d told him. 

“Henderson- Dustin,” Steve’s voice broke. “He’s…he’s gonna think something’s happened to us. He can’t-”

“Steve?” You reached for him, pulling him to face you. “Steve? Look at me. Deep breaths. Dustin will be okay. We’ll be okay. They’ll find us.”

Steve shook his head, slowly slipping into a panic attack. This hadn’t been the first you’d calmed him down from over the last couple of years. The first one had been at the start of your friendship just as he started working at the video store with Robin. 

“N-no, he’s gonna think-” Steve’s hands were shaking as he pinched the bridge of his nose to try and stop the tears. His breathing sounded wheezy. “He’s gonna think-”

“That we’re lying somewhere, okay?” You held his hands in yours before reaching up and pulling him down to your level until his forehead was against your own. “Close your eyes and try to follow my breathing. You need to calm down, Steve. Just breathe with me?”

“O-okay. Okay.” 

Steve tried, and for a moment he calmed, but you could still feel the tension in his shoulders and the fear in his heart. “Dustin,” you said. “Will come and find us. The others that got caught in it, it stopped half way up their bodies. Which isn’t really the image I want to give you right now but my point is that Dustin is a smart kid and he’ll know we’re probably just stuck somewhere.”

“I should have seen what he was going through. I should have-”

You shook your head, standing on your toes to reach further up. “No, Steve. What’s in the past is in the past. And, he probably wouldn’t have listened anyway. He’s grieving, and so is everyone else. But, when he finds us, no doubt he’ll hug you as tight as he can and you two will be right back to normal, okay?”

You tried to smile through the pain. “I just know it.”

Steve took a couple of deep breaths. “You’re shaking, too.”

You nodded. “I’ll be okay.”

Steve didn’t say anything. Simply, he held onto your waist a little tighter. If you could be his anchor to reality, he could be yours. You were both alive and you’d find your way out of it all together. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

In the quiet, you moved your head back a little to look at him. His gaze met yours. 

“I love you.”

Steve felt a breath of fresh air hit his lungs and he didn’t know whether to try and catch it in his throat or breathe it right back to you. His eyes scanned your face a couple of times in shock, hoping he hadn’t just imagined what you’d said. 

“I love you,” you told him again, reassuring his silent fear. 

Then he smiled. 

Lifting a hand to your cheek, he held your face in his hand as if it was the most precious thing in his whole world. “You love me?”

You nodded. “Figured I might as well say something now before-”

Steve smiled. “I love you, too.” 

Quickly, he pulled you in for a long kiss which, more than likely, would have continued if it hadn’t been for the crashing sounds coming against the wooden door. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Jonathan apologised before both you and Steve headed for the exit together. 

Steve hopped out first, quickly turning around to help you out of the jagged hole Jonathan had managed to break into the door. 

“Watch your head.”

“I’ve got it.”

The minute Steve let you go and turned around to face the others, Dustin knocked the wind out of him by practically rugby tackling him into a hug. 

“Buddy?”

“I thought you were gone for…” 

“I know,” Steve nodded. “We did, too. But we’re safe.”

As Steve laid a hand on the back of Dustin’s head, holding him in a comforting hug, you smiled. 

Steve could already hear your I told you so. 

Thankfully, facing your doom in the Upside Down wasn’t the only time you would tell Steve that you loved him. 

And for a girl that found it difficult to say those three little words outloud, they came pretty easy when Steve was the one on the receiving end of them. 

There was the Upside Down, then back at the radio station where there was a small make-out session that followed whilst being surrounded by the record wall. There was when you were zipping up his jacket before Dustin pulled him away to find him a weapon, after he was pulled back onto the tower, when you all made it back home after the military had finally let you go. 

You’d been let go at different times, but the minute you walked up the path to Robin’s house, Steve was already running out of the front door and engulfing you in a tight hug. 

At any opportunity, you told Steve you loved him. And he did the same with you. 

Sam walked in, somehow taking up less space than he had the right to. You noticed that about him, how he always made himself smaller. If someone were to ask Dean, he'd tell them Sam did it more for you. He lowered himself down to you, always coming to your eye level whenever you kept your head down, hung low for whatever reason he'd tried to fix.

You noticed your height more around him too. When you were sitting next to each other and he stood up and he just kept going. You'd look up at him, smiling when he glanced back at you.

Dean was almost sick.

You two had been dancing around this for far too long, hell, Sam even carried you to bed the other night. You were just so comfy, and he couldn't wake you and all that corny shit.

You'd been hunting with the boys for a while when you started to develop your little crush on the not so little Sammy. Dean clocked it after a few weeks, the way you'd take your time patching Sam up, not that you didn't care about Dean, just that you cared about Sam differently. You hurt when he did. It was dumb and cheesy, but every time you saw a cut on his face or that look in his eyes the morning after a nightmare, you felt that pain shoot through you just the same.

Sam, on the other hand, was just a big idiot.

He was practically hanging all over you, always wanting to be in your space. When you were at a dive bar a couple weeks ago, some dick stumbled up to you, too many whiskeys deep and one sleazy proposition later, Sam was behind you. He used his stature in moments like those, standing broad and tall, hands resting on your shoulders.

He looked down at the guy, properly looking him down, and all it took was one word.

"Door"

The guy didn't really feel like getting pummeled, so he was gone.

You turned back, craning your head up at Sam now that he was directly above you.

"You didn't have to-"

"I did" His voice was steady, sound, he did have to "I'm sorry if you're upset, but that guy, he just-"

"It's okay" You smiled simply "'m never upset with you"

And that was all it took, all it took for your relationship to change, a silent, comfortable claim. No you're mine. But the protection of being cared for like that, you're the one I look after.

The two of you became insufferable after that. Inseparable even. Whenever Dean suggested he and Sam go out while you stayed back, unless it was a dangerous situation Sam didn't want you getting into, it was an immediate no. No questions, no discussions, he just wasn't leaving you. You were the same of course.

It got to an intolerable degree, and Dean had to step in, for no other reason than to protect his own sanity. Sure.

You and Sam fell asleep on the motel couch, a common sight as of late. He was on his back, legs bunched up to fit on the couch while yours laid comfortably over him. You had shifted from just beside him to fully on top, your body rising and falling with his chest, heartbeats synced. Dean was not a stupid man, despite what some think. He very carefully pried Sam's hands from your back, yours from his waist, lifting you into his arms like he was stealing a priceless diamond, you may as well have been.

Dean carried you out to the car, stilling when you curled into his chest, thinking he was Sam. He prayed you wouldn't wake up until you were far enough away. Maybe there was a God. Eh, maybe.

You woke up in the passenger seat, looking over to Dean and panicking immediately.

"What the fuck?! Where are we? Where's Sam?!"

"Relax Sweetheart, he's probably still snoozing back at the motel"

"Dean what the fuck is going on?"

"You two, you gotta stop it. You're sickening at this point, just confess"

"Confess what?!"

Dean rolled his eyes, pulling over to the side of the highway.

"Your feelings, dumbass"

"Dean, what the hell is wrong with you? Why the fuck did you kidnap me?!"

"I didn't kidnap you, kinda. Okay legally I kidnapped you but it's just because you're a fucking idiot"

"Oh wow, what a gentleman"

"Relax, Sam's an idiot too"

"You didn't kidnap him"

"He's freakishly tall, you're, y'know"

"I'm what?"

"….portable?"

You thought it over for a moment before cutting him some slack "I'll take that"

He let out a sigh "Good, 'cause you can be real scary when you're angry"

"Awww, is the big bad hunter afraid of lil ol' me?"

"When someone takes away your headphones on a long drive? Fuck yeah I am"

"Good. Now take me back to Sam"

"See! This is the dumb shit! You're clearly in love with him, just fuckin' say it"

You crossed your arms, leaning back in your seat. There was no point in denying it, but your voice was still low when you replied.

"What if he doesn't want me?"

"Oh you gotta be kidding me"

"What? It's a perfectly reasonable thought!"

"Yeah, 'bout as reasonable as a pie wondering if I'd wanna eat it. He wants you, okay? Who wouldn't"

"What?"

"Sammy, he's fuckin' desperate for you, he's so pathetic-"

"I get it!" You stopped his beratement, mumbling your next response "He's not pathetic"

"You haven't seen the way he looks at you"

"Really? He looks at me?"

"My God" Dean rolled his eyes, pulling back onto the road, turning around "Yes, okay? Yes. He looks at you, he talks about you, he pines after you, and I know you do the same right back to him"

"Maybe"

Dean glared at you, pointedly.

"Fine, just- keep your eye on the road, jackass"

"Sir yes sir!" He joked, it had been a while since he'd done that with you, even if it was dumb.

You chuckled, and he was glad to see it, you, loosening up a little. You'd been a bit more uptight whenever you were away from Sam, not ridiculously so, but you laughed a lot less.

"So" You started, just speaking for the sake of it "What pushed you over the edge? I know I've…felt like this for a while now, 'm sure you picked up on it pretty quick"

"The travelling circus" He let a little smile slip, sweetly genuine "Never seen him as happy as he was playing the boyfriend role with you, winnin' the teddy bear, holdin' your hand all around the place"

You huffed out a laugh "Yeah, if we hadn't gotten mauled by a killer clown at the end of it, that would've been a pretty perfect night"

"You weren't mauled, you're too dramatic"

"I have scars Dean, it was pretty bad"

"Eh, I've seen ya get through worse"

"Thanks, I guess. You were pretty good with that copper knife thing, too bad the jerk was invisible"

"We got there in the end, speaking of, we're just about home. Well, back to the motel"

"We didn't go far"

"Nah, I know how much you and Sammy hate bein' away from each other"

"Thank you Dean, really" You leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek before hopping out of the car, taking a breath.

"Go get 'em tiger"

"Tiger?"

"Better than dumbass, idiot or jackass, isn't it?"

"Guess so" You smiled, going back to the room.

Dean stayed out there, knowing you and Sam might take a while. He turned the radio up, a familiar guitar riff starting up. He smirked, though not happy, letting the song play for a moment.

Twisted thoughts that spin 'round my head

He turned it up as it got closer to the chorus and he pulled out of the motel parking lot. The lyrics washed over him as he drove off, maybe to the nearest bar, maybe the nearest girl in his phone, maybe just a bit of a drive.

Now my bitter hands cradle broken glass

Of what was everything

All the pictures have all been washed in black

Tattooed everything

He started to sing along softly under his breath, voice breaking if he tried to raise it even slightly.

All the love gone bad turned my world to black

Tattooed all I see, all that I am

All I'll be

He kept driving, further than just a spin 'round the block while you and Sam sorted your shit out. He drove until he wasn't quite sure where he'd gone, until the same song circled back on the tape once again. This time it wasn't just a hard listen, it was taunting him.

Why can't it be mine?

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