#heartsofminds

fluff-> 🤍 | smut -> 🍋 | angst -> 🌧️ | major tw -> ‼️

Series

☆ ALTITUDE | @tongue-like-a-razor

13 chapters | on hold | 🌧️🤍

Sydney is not a pilot. But she knows all their tricks. That's why, when she meets the smooth-talking Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, she's not falling for any of them. She's not falling for him, either.

☆ ARE WE STILL FRIENDS? | @perpetuallydaydreaming

12 chapters | complete | 🤍🌧️🍋

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw and you have been friends since you can remember, just friends (unfortunately) but when you are called back to Top Gun everything changes...

☆ JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY | @feralforfrank

3 chapters | complete | 🌧️🤍🍋

Rooster and you have never liked each other. One night at the Hard Deck is enough to change the dynamic between you.

☆ IF IT MAKES YOU HAPPY | @bloatedandalone04

4 chapters | complete | 🌧️🤍🍋

The one where you give Bradley your heart and he breaks it.

☆ FAKING IT | @tongue-like-a-razor

8 chapters | complete | 🌧️🤍

Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

☆ AT LEAST I LET THE LIGHT IN | @heartsofminds

1 chapter | on hold (?) | 🌧️‼️

Bradley is on a downward spiral and Natasha doesn't know how much more she can take - unofficial sequel to 'cause no one breaks my heart like you (linked here)

☆ DRUNK IN LOVE / DRUNK IN LOVE | @feralforfrank

2 chapters | complete | 🌧️🤍

Rooster brings a drunk!reader to his house. What happens when you wake up in bed with Rooster, your sworn rival?

☆ THIS LOVE CAME BACK TO ME | @beyondthesefourwalls

13 chapters | complete | 🌧️‼️‼️

You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could ever truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him in for a kiss, he thought maybe it was a perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply wanting it.

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE read the warnings carefully before reading this story!!

☆ REMEMBER YOU EVEN WHEN I DON'T | @beyondthesefourwalls

10 chapters | complete | 🤍🍋🌧️

A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting right beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement

☆ HOTTER THAN TEXAS | @tongue-like-a-razor

4 chapters | ongoing | 🤍

Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Oneshots

☆ BRAD BRAD | @peterparkersnose

wc: 1.9k | 🤍🌧️

teasing, intimidation, situationship coming to a close, ANGST, mentions of death and dealing with death, rooster is in denial of looove, fluff at the end

Rooster gets upset when a harmless joke crosses the line.

☆ "YOU TOLD ME NOT TO WORRY ABOUT THEM" | @katsu28

wc: 1.3k | request | 🌧️🤍

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x aviator!reader, callsign casper (like the ghost hehe), some swearing

Rooster gets upset when pilot hazing goes too far

☆ LOVE IN THE DARK | @bloatedandalone04

wc: 2.8k | 🌧️

swearing, angst, sad boy bradley, lowkey depressed reader, more angst bc im sick and unhappy about it, new theme

The one where the deployments become too much.

☆ WHEN I PICTURE MYSELF HAPPY, I SEE YOU | @feralforfrank

wc: idk loll | prompt | 🌧️🤍

angst with a happy ending, miscommunication trope (?), nondescriptive reader

Rooster and reader fight, but they make up in their own way.

☆ "THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT" | @katsu28

wc: 1.7k | request | 🌧️

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader, some swearing, angst

You miss Bradley so much while he's away, in trying to communicate this to him, lines get crossed and emotions rise.

☆ CRUMBLE | @daddy-bradley

wc: idk | 🌧️🤍

angst, cursing, mentions of parental insecurity, depression, anxiety, has a happy ending

You and Bradley are having your first fight after your baby is born. How will you both come to a solution and learn to cope through this together.

☆ 'CAUSE NO ONE BREAKS MY HEART LIKE YOU | @heartsofminds

wc: 19k | 🌧️‼️

heavy angst, miscommunication, heartbreak, right person wrong universe type shit, slow burn angst, disrespect towards women, drinking, bradley is a dick

Bradley Bradshaw is terrified of commitment and he decides to stop being selfish (even though its hard to see)

☆ MIDNIGHT RAIN | @bloatedandalone04

wc: 3.6k | 🤍🍋🌧️‼️

fluff, smut, angst, oral (f receiving), mentions/descriptions of bad past relationships, mentions of abuse, past abuse, toxic ex, trauma?, bad coping habits, arguments, crying, swearing

The one where Bradley is the best boyfriend you could ever ask for, but even he cant fully erase the bad memories of your last relationship.

☆ THINGS UNSEEN AND HEARD | @bloatedandalone04

wc: 4.1k | 🍋🌧️🤍

smut, angst, fluff, obvious bradley insecurities, self-deprecating thoughts, unprotected sex, swearing, alcohol consumption, maybe more

The one where you overhear Bradley talk about you to Jake and decide to give him the space he apparently wanted.

☆ THE STACHE INCIDENT | @feralforfrank

wc: no clue | drabble | 🤍

tooth rotting fluff, its honestly tragic

the title says all you need to know

☆ WHO DID THIS TO YOU? | @feralforfrank

wc: i dunno | 🌧️🤍

accidental injury (reader got hit in the face), crying, nondescript reader

It’s a drabble, I cant say much…

☆ THE ZIPPER INCIDENT | @tongue-like-a-razor

wc: i honestly, truly, don’t know | request | 🌧️🤍

fluff, angst, swearing, a pinch of smut, you stand up your date, which is shitty of you, but it’s probably worth it

You’re running late and you need help zipping up your dress. After recovering from the initial shock of seeing you all dolled up, Rooster is more than happy to assist.

☆ SLEEPYHEAD | @roosterbruiser

wc: *shrugs* | blurb | 🤍

tooth-rotting fluff, sleepy bradley

just read it goddamnit 🥹

☆ PERMANENT STATE OF OBLIVION | @topgun-imagines

wc: 3.2k | request | 🌧️🤍

drinking, arguments, angsty feelings

Despite all the times you have tried to make your feelings for the mustached pilot obvious, he still hasn't caught on. You make things clear one night at the hard deck.

☆ SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT (WITH YOUR FISTS FOR ONCE) | @dearsnow

wc: 2.5k | oneshot | 🌧️🤍

unrequited love, miscommunication, mentions of weed, jealousy, arguments, childhood friends, mentions of alcohol

you and bradley had always been attached at the hip until life pulled him away. when you’re finally living in the same place again, your unspoken feelings come to the surface during a san diego bonfire

☆ IN A WORLD FULL OF BOYS | @inmyloveworld

wc: ~1.5k | oneshot | 🌧️

insecurity, allusions to anxiety, self-doubt

dating was hard. tiptoeing the line between casual and official always had you stumbling. and bradley, in spite of how good he made you feel, was no exception.

☆ I MISS YOU | @thewulf

wc: 2.1k+ | request | 🌧️

angst/hurt-comfort

Bradley forgot about your anniversary.

☆ I WANNA FEEL WHAT LOVE IS | @idkwhylou

wc: 5k | bradley bradshaw x f!reader/groundsystemtech!reader | 🌧️🤍

mutual pining, jealousy (brief flirtation), sunshine x quiet introvert, playlist flirting, he’s loud for both of you

you’re the navy’s most reserved systems specialist. bradley “rooster” bradshaw is the loud, golden retriever pilot who can’t stop watching you work. he starts with coffee. then a conversation. then a playlist. but you’re silent, guarded… until the jukebox plays his song, and you finally speak in the loudest way you know how.

☆ DOWNFALL | @lolalovesyelena

wc: short | bradley bradshaw x f!reader | 🌧️

breakups, fem implied reader, not proofread, lack of communication in relationships

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The atmosphere makes him dizzy and lethargic and he can only soak up everything his eyes scan to keep from dying of boredom.

He takes notice of the specific shade of yellow the couch he’s sitting on is and the four ice cubes in his glass. He’s drinking some kind of sangria (it’s supposed to be watermelon, he thinks) and he comes to the conclusion that it doesn’t have enough alcohol. He only knows this because he’s had at least four and he isn’t tipsy in the slightest.

He’s never been a hard drinker, believe it or not, but he knows his alcohol and he knows party ethic. From years of being too underaged to drink he knows how much it sucks to be completely aware and sober at a party you aren’t exactly enjoying.

It really isn’t his cup of tea (or sangria, really).

He hates how observant he is.

He hates how he can count the beats of the 6lack song playing in the background and he hates how he knows how many tiles are in the ceiling (only because he’s counted them at least ten times). He hates how he knows Amber’s a bitch according to the girl behind him, and he hates how out of place he is.

He’s Shawn fucking Mendes, for God’s sake. Yet here he is on a Saturday night, with watermelon sangria in a glass with four ice cubes, on a mustard yellow couch watching the world turn without him.

He can’t really complain all that much, because deep down, he kinda likes it. He kinda likes the feeling of being absent but present in such a bustling area. He likes not being poked and prodded for information and he likes not having to focus on his every word to keep from sounding stupid or offensive or rude.

He likes knowing everyone’s little quirks and quips when they’re drunk and he likes the house plants Mallory put up for decoration and the fairy lights lining almost every goddamn entrance and exit.

He’s really only here for her and Marcus to be totally truthful, and it’s almost like he feels indebted. So much so, that he had to attend her "small" (a severe understatement) gathering (which is not synonymous to a party) even though he’d much rather be locked away in his condo and listening to Continuum on vinyl.

So in short, Shawn likes the minimal but all the most perceptive landscape of his surroundings exclusive to him and his thoughts only.

But he doesn’t really like the new view he has currently of a girl with a jean skirt on and a yellow shirt (that matches the couch, he notes) making out with a boy who’s decked out in designer clothes. Shawn thinks they make him look cheap.

They back up closer to where he’s sitting, so unaware and so caught up in each other’s mouths that they don’t realize that they’re backing up directly into him.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything and the sheer annoyance of what’s happening doesn’t seem to faze him all that much. Before he knows it, jean skirt girl sits on him and his cup of sangria;

spilling it all over him, the couch, and her ass.

She jolts up at the impact.

"What the fuck?” she asks, feeling her behind to judge is something is making it wet.

She looks behind her to see the dampened denim of his jeans. “Oh shit. Sorry, dude,” she apologizes, turning back to the boy in designer clothes and reattaching their lips.

"I uh- M’gonna head out anyway. You guys can have this spot,” he says and before she can respond, he pulls his jean jacket on and extends his long legs through the door. With muffled sounds of chatter and the brisk September air stinging his cheeks, he looks up and realizes how unfamiliar he is with this side of town.

So much for telling himself he was observant.

The next hour is spent with Siri redirecting him to his condo and recalculating every time he misses a turn.

-

Over the course of two months, Shawn and Marcus are almost attached at the hip and Mallory is one of his good friends now.

There’s been at least twelve house parties of Mallory’s he’s been invited to in the past eight weeks. With every invite is a smiley face and a "Hope you can come!!" attached and Shawn can never bring himself to decline; not after she so kindly invites him every time.

So whenever she knows he’s in Toronto (sometimes he’s in New York and other times he’s in California; Mallory’s timing isn’t a strong point of her’s), he sees a text with smiley faces and a friendly invite (that always includes a plus one).

Nine out of ten times he texts back that he’ll try and make it and, "Totally! Thanks for inviting me lol".

He’s not quite sure how he and Mallory became close because if it wasn’t for her frequent house parties, Shawn’s sure he wouldn’t call her more than an acquaintance.

Before the house parties and watermelon sangria (that’s shitty, but he never refuses when offered) and the fairy lights and mustard yellow couch, Mallory was a friend of a friend; a girl at his high school who sat at the same lunch table as him, but he can honestly say they never got that well acquainted back then.

He can only remember brief conversations about his soccer games and her scholastic bowl matches with choir concerts and small talk with witty humor mixed in somewhere. She’s grown up quite a bit since high school, but he can still picture her with braces and wild, curly red hair.

She was a talented artist who he’s pretty sure makes art for album covers and she’s dating Marcus, who was one of his closest friends in high school.

So he shows up at her doorstep with some overpriced wine coolers in hand and a dazzling smile. He likes to joke that it’s his own personal hypnosis technique because it works so well in getting him whatever he wants.

The little gold knob clicks and turns; the mahogany door swinging open and a dreary face meeting his dazzling smile.

It was jean skirt girl. He found out from Mallory that her name was Izzy, and that the two were best friends.

He puckers his lips and rubs at his mouth with his thumb. It’s something he does when he’s nervous and this girl’s icy stare makes his blood run cold.

"Can I help you," she says, voice a little more bitter than what he’s used to.

Shawn furrows his brows.

"Uhh, yeah, actually. Is Mallory, is she home? This is the right house, right?"

Izzy scoffs.

"You can see the party inside and the big ass 'M' on the doormat. Sorta thought you had a brain up there, Chip Skylark."

Shawn stifles a chuckle at her low blow. It’s one of the best ones he’s heard and it’s is kinda funny, he admits.

"C’mon. I brought wine," he bargains, flashing her a smile and reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. His hand glides up and down her forearm, stopping at her hand and holding it; giving it a slight squeeze.

He doesn’t know why he’s being so touchy, but this girl makes him pull out all the moves he’s learned from 2000s chick flicks and TV shows.

She eyes him up and down, sizing him up to make her final decision.

"Guess you can come in since I sat on your sangria that one time. Don’t think of it as a favor," Izzy says menacingly, opening the door wider and moving so he can get through.

He navigates his way to Mallory’s kitchen, setting the wine down on the counter and grabbing a beer; absolutely no shitty watermelon sangria for him tonight.

Somewhere along the lines of four shots and three Coronas, he ends up with some girl’s tongue down his throat.

He got her name ("It’s Macy spelled M-a-c-i-e," she had said) so he’s obviously more respectful than what he thought. She seems like a decent girl and he likes to think he’s a gentleman so he knows he shouldn’t be doing this. He knows he shouldn’t he locking lips with the rather attractive blonde in his lap and he knows it’s wrong; totally not the proper hook-up etiquette if you asked him.

Shawn believes that if you’re hooking up with someone, they should be the only thing on your mind and he’s certain that this girl isn’t.

It’s because he’s thinking about her. He’s thinking about the way she called him Chip Skylark and the burgundy skirt she has on. He’s thinking about what her lips would taste like and he also thinks that if she’s anything opposite of Macie, she doesn’t like tequila.

"I’m gonna go get a drink. Don’t go anywhere, babe," Macie says, playing with his shirt collar before getting lost in the crowd.

Mallory eyes Shawn from across the room.

“Condom?” she mouths, eyes filled with mischief.  He waves her off. “Won’t happen,” he says, knowing Mallory can’t hear him but can see his lips move.

Mallory lets out a laugh before turning around to join in on the conversation surrounding her and Shawn overhears someone yell, "Nuh uh. No fucking way, dude!"

It almost makes him wish he was as unfamiliar with his environment as he first was.

He seriously has to pee and he curses himself for drinking so much tonight. It was more of a boredom thing he did while in social settings. He was very much a tactile person, always fidgeting and touching everything, so in an attempt to be less of an awkward nuisance (he thinks everyone thinks he is, anyway), he finds the most drinkable thing and just has at it.

It’s stupid that he drinks so much water because of that insecurity and it’s even more idiotic that when people ask why he downs them, he says it’s for his voice.

How pathetic could he get?

So while his bladder screams at him to find a bathroom, Shawn thinks about the words coming out of Macie’s mouth.

To stay put or to go pee? He decides that his bladder wins his inner debate whenever he jolts up and tries to find a toilet of some sort.

He brushes past what seems like millions of make out sessions and even some drunk karaoke before he finds Mallory’s bathroom.

He can’t be bothered to knock and prays to God that it’s unlocked as he turns the knob towards himself.

"Oh my God! Go! Just get the fuck out!" Izzy yells.

Her runny mascara and red nose obviously display that tonight isn’t one of her nights and Shawn’s not up for a battle; not when he’s a little more than tipsy and he’s gonna start leaking urine any moment now.

"Jesus, fuck. I’m - I’m sorry," he stammers, swinging the door shut almost as fast as he opened it.

He hears the tap run and stop. He knows she’s trying to calm herself down or destress or whatever the fuck and he seriously contemplates if pissing in Mallory’s kitchen sink is a good idea.

It’s not like she would care, and he would totally clean up after himself.

He knocks softly on the door.

"Hey, I know you’re upset or whatever but could you - could you like, hurry up? My bladder’s screamin' out here."

It’s the most asshole-ish thing he thinks anyone could ever say to someone who’s having a rough night, but it’s the truth.

Izzy swings the door open and her eyes shoot darts at Shawn.

“Yeah. Yeah totally, asshole. Just because you’re fucking pretty and famous, doesn’t mean that you get to chat me up at the door and act like you own the fucking place. I got broken up with tonight because of you, so cut the nice guy act. We all know you’re a dick,” she snaps, tone sending a million and one messages to him that scream “fuck you”.

She starts to stomp away, clearly angry at him for reasons he doesn’t really understand. Sure, her boyfriend dumped her and sure, he was probably being a little too friendly at the door, but he doesn’t see how any of this is his fault at all.

His need to be liked gets the best of him and he grabs her arm to pull her back, to talk about what happened and why she’s so angry. Shawn’s sure he’s never left a sour taste in anyone’s mouth before, and he sure as hell isn’t gonna start with her.

"Let me go," she spits, fury deep in her eyes.

His fingers reluctantly open, allowing her to spin away and evaporate into a group of people in the kitchen.

If he didn’t have to pee so badly, he would have chased after her. Instead, he settles for longingly staring at the pathway she took before he’s interrupted by the bathroom door being slammed shut in his face again.

Shawn leans his head up against the wood while banging his fist on it.

"C’mon, bro! I have to fucking piss!" he yells, hoping the person inside will have some type of sympathy for him and his bladder.

"Had all the fucking time in the world tryna chat up the Ice Queen!" someone yells back.

Shawn groans and slides down the wall in front of the bathroom, half hoping that he won’t pee his pants and half thinking it wouldn’t be a horrible idea. At least he’d get to go home.

His thoughts are interrupted as Mallory attempts to carry a more than hammered Marcus to her bedroom.

"Shawn, a little help?" she asks, giving him puppy dog eyes he can’t refuse.

He bites his lip. "Whatever. Make it quick because m'about to piss all over your hardwood floors."

Mallory laughs, adjusting Marcus so Shawn can lift him up on his shoulder.

"You wouldn’t dare. Hardwood’s fucking expensive, man."

Shawn grimaces, his discomfort maximizing. "Mal, please! Hurry so I can go!" he nearly shouts.

"Fuck, sorry. Sorry."

Marcus stands up straight before his face turns white. Shawn knows that look and he knows it well. It’s the look he had when he drank in Mexico for the first time when he had just turned eighteen.

Zubin’s rental car (which he had to pay extra for to shampoo the carpet afterwards) will never forgive him.

"No!" he yells out as Marcus doubles over, vomit exiting his mouth at lightning speed.

The pink mess reeks of watermelon sangria and beer and it really stands out on top of his expensive black boots.

"Oh my God! Oh my God, Shawn I’m really sorry. Fuck," Mallory apologizes, trying to stifle a laugh.

He sighs, smiling through gritted teeth.

"It’s fine."

So they drag Marcus to Mallory’s room successfully and she uses some lemon scented Clorox wipes to clean his puke stained shoes.

He gives her a hug and pretends to not be angry about his boots or his bladder and rushes to the unoccupied bathroom as fast as he can.

It’s when he’s washing his hands at 2:23 AM in Mallory’s bathroom that he determines her party throwing is getting a little out of hand, and that Izzy is a total bitch.

-

Growing up, Izzy never would’ve thought that she’d become so calloused.

She was the girl with pigtails and cloudy eyes stained with tears. She was the girl who cried when other kids got in trouble. She was the girl who cried at the thought of an abandoned dog. She was the girl who cried at any and fucking everything.

Her mother used to make jokes and say that her tear ducts would dry up if she kept using them, and while it was just a joke, it holds so much truth now in her adult life.

Her father used to give her speeches every night before he tucked her into bed.

"It’s okay to cry, but you can’t cry all the time,” he would say and at the time, she thought her dad was being a "meany", but he was right.

Izzy just wasn’t ready to give up crying.

She remembers the day she stopped crying or feeling or showing anything other than a default pallet of emotions.

She was in fifth grade and the teacher yelled at her for accidentally bumping into the TA and spilling the entire class sized bottle of glue on the floor.

Her throat got tight. Her eyes got big and her ears got red, but she was determined. Her determination was something that always earned her the 'Teacher’s Pet' title.

She refused to let her tears fall and for once, she didn’t cry. She sniffled, said an apology, and sat back down in her desk; mentally high-fiving herself for not bursting into a melodramatic waterworks show.

But she didn’t think that she would never cry again.

She didn’t cry when her dog got hit by a car. She didn’t cry watching the Titanic. She didn’t feel anything at all when her older brother passed away. She knew she was fucked when she couldn’t find it in herself to let a single tear fall due to her desire to be strong. 

So Izzy doesn’t really know why she’s crying in Mallory’s bathroom over a boy she’s been hooking up with since Junior year.

Gavin was the exact appellation of useless and she doesn’t know why she’s settled for it for so long. The sex was god awful at times and the blur of where their friendship or acquaintanceship or whatever the hell they were, made her head hurt.

She’s tried to break it off hundreds of times before, but it’d never been successful. It’s became a pattern that always started with her getting wine drunk on Mallory’s living room floor, tears streaming down her face with the phrase, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Izzy used to not know what stung her throat more: the shitty red wine or her words.

She’s glad that Mallory is such a good friend because she never called her stupid or dumb or shallow. She never told her what to do because she lets her make her own mistakes. Instead of giving her motherly advice, Mallory always patted her back and swore to never tell a soul she saw her cry.

And when Mallory forced her into bed, she used to stare up at the ceiling and re evaluate her life and her relationships and the situation at hand. With the red headed girl dead asleep beside her, she typed out the “Hey”’s  and the “It’s just not working out”’s and her finger tips became flattened by the excessive drafting of what she really wanted to say. She’s always been good at bottling herself up, so she never sent them and they reside in her notes in her phone that never see the light of day.

Even though she thinks that she doesn’t really care that Gavin is breaking up with her or breaking off their hookup or ending their friendship (it’s hard for her to find the exact words for it), it still stings.

It still stings to get your heart stepped on. It stings to know that he had seen her body bare and clothed and drunk and sober. It stings that he had gotten to connect their bodies through intimacy she was taught to save for her husband. It stings to know that he knew what she sounded like when she moaned or sneezed or laughed.

It stings because he makes her feel small, and it’s a reminder of how people used to make her feel when she spent every recess crying alone by the monkey bars.

So she doesn’t know why her first instinct is to be bitter and nasty. She doesn’t know why she wants to punch out the lanky brunette she encountered at the front door. She doesn’t know why her chest is on fire and why her hands have balled themselves up into fists. She’s never been in control of her emotions when she became angry and the cranberry vodka she had earlier intensifies them even more.

To Izzy’s horror, the door swings open and the same brunette boy with a cutting jaw and developing smile lines who caused Gavin to get the wrong idea comes face to face with her. He’s the same brunette boy that the world knows as Shawn Mendes, but she knows him as the cause for her piteous tears.

If she’s being honest, face to face is an exaggeration because he’s so fucking tall, her head has to cock back to be able to look into his dopey eyes.

“Oh my God! Go! Just get the fuck out!” she hollers, rubbing at her eyes in an attempt to shield the evidence of her breakdown.

His hands shake as he looks for the door handle. His eyebrows furrow in worry and his eyes are wide. His lips quiver, searching for words to say but he comes up empty.

“Jesus, fuck. I’m - m’sorry!” he stutters, closing the door shut so hard and fast that it closes with a slam.

She grips the faux marble countertop and looks at herself in the mirror. Her eyes are bloodshot and red. Her eyebags are prominent and stained gray from her runny mascara. Her lips are swollen and her tears salt the cracks in them, making her mouth burn slightly. She takes deep breaths and attempts to calm herself down. She splashes cold water on her face and applies her mango chapstick.

No man was ever going to make a fool of her; especially after the night she had. All she can think about was getting crazy wasted and fucking her way through her emotions with a one night stand.

She almost talks herself out of her rage when a pounding (it was really a soft knock, but she has a right to be dramatic and bitchy) on the bathroom door rings her ears. Her head starts pounding and her grip along the edge of the porcelain sink gets tighter.

Her cheeks redden and her ears make her feel like she’s on fire.

“Hey, I know you’re upset or whatever but could you - could ya like, hurry up? My bladder’s screamin’ out here,” the boy speaks in a gentle tone.

Izzy takes his tone as a weak attempt to sound like a little less of an asshole , but she’s over it. She refuses to accept bullshit and half assed attempts at people treating her like she matters when she knows they couldn’t give a shit.

She swings the door open and she’s glad his face wasn’t close to it because it for sure would have hit him. He’s gorgeous, she thinks, but having a pretty face didn’t matter to her attitude.

“Yeah. Yeah totally, asshole. Just because you’re fucking pretty and famous, doesn’t mean that you get to chat me up at the door and act like you own the fucking place. I got broken up with tonight because of you, so cut the nice guy act. We all know you’re a dick,” she spits.

She knows pulling the famous card isn’t fair, but she doesn’t care.

Him being the reason she got broken up with wasn’t fair.

She turns on her heels to walk into the kitchen, ready to drink herself into oblivion and maybe score a hit of a blunt or some sex along the way.

Izzy feels a tugging on her wrist and she looks down to see slender fingers encasing her forearm. Shawn’s face is unadorned and he opens his mouth to speak but she doesn’t want him to. She swears that if she hears his voice again or sees his face again or hears his name again; she will fucking explode.

She sends him a look of disgust, very much feeling the repugnance in the pit of her stomach.

“Let me go,” she hisses and she’s not sure why she’s being so bitchy. Shawn drops her wrist like she’s a million degrees and he’s just been burned.

Before he can say or do anything else to disturb her well being, she takes off into Mallory’s kitchen. She slides past couples making out and crushed red solo cups on the ground to get to the backdoor; taking her outside near the fire pit Mallory shared with the other residents of her apartment complex.

She sees her friend Max rolling a blunt and he waves her over to come smoke it with him.

They often had wordless exchanges like this. Max just got her and she’s so thankful he isn’t forcing her to talk. He can see her red nose and swollen eyes but he doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t try to fix her. He doesn’t try to make her feel better.

He hands her the lit blunt and lets her get high out of her mind to forget all her problems for the night.

When Izzy and Max finish the blunt, the sound of the bass in “Without Me” playing from the living room is intensified, and she’s at ease. She’s almost forgotten about the incident and her episode of bitching until she sees the same head of mocha colored curls she despises dart from upstairs to the front door. Her composure crumbles and waterworks to start again.

She doesn’t make noise as the tears roll down her face.

Max looks over and exhales smoke from the last hit he took.

“You’re an eclipse and he’s the Sun,” he speaks, laying down on his back in the grass.

She raises her eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands.

“Take it however you want.”

With that, Max steps on the almost nonexistent blunt to put it out and lays back down. The sound of crickets and muffled top 100 hits encompasses them both.

-

“What’s the deal with your fucking friend? She hate me or something?” Shawn asks Mallory on a Tuesday afternoon.

He has millennial pink splattered across his cheek and his white tank top has splotches of the pink paint all over it.

Mallory had texted (again) and when Shawn saw her name pop up on his phone screen, his heart dropped just a little. He knew that if it was a party invite he would have to turn it down because it was Tuesday for God’s sake.

Who the hell parties on a Tuesday night?

To Shawn’s avail, though, it was just a favor based text message; one that promised homemade lemon cookies in exchange for “interior renovations”.

Both Shawn and Mallory and Marcus know that painting an apartment is real estate suicide if you’re renting, but Mallory has always been a colorful person, and she felt like her apartment needed to be colorful or she was going to go insane.

She went crazy with the painting all week; blowing her entire paycheck on cans of yellow and pink and teal to paint her boring apartment walls. It’s a death sentence to her security deposit, but she doesn’t care. All she can think about is what color throw pillows would compliment the new baby pink walls of her living room.

Marcus sighs as Shawn earns no response from Mallory, the redhead’s nose deep into a ‘Style at Home’ magazine.

He plucks the magazine from his girlfriend’s hands.

“I don’t know if you know this, but it’s rude to keep reading when someone’s talking to you,” he lectures, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mallory puffs her cheeks out and pushes a curl behind her ear. She’s never liked confrontation, and she always tried her best to stay out of it.

“There is no “deal”, Shawn. Izzy’s my best friend in the whole wide world and well, that’s just her - I don’t know. Personality? I know that’s no excuse for the way she bitched at you the other night but still,” she gets up from her position on the floor to snatch her magazine back from Marcus, “You’ve gotta try to see the best in her. I know how great of a person she can be.”

Shawn rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, she spilled sangria on my pants and used the “famous” card to call me a dick. Sounds pretty fucking great to me, Mal.”

Marcus clicks his tongue, hand coming up to run atop his waves he’s been trying to develop after cutting his afro last November.

“Mallory’s right, man. I know how Izzy can be, but you gotta get her to warm up. She’s like an onion. They have layers.”

Shawn sighs, dipping his brush into more of the pink paint.

“First off, you just quoted Shrek, and you’re not fucking funny,” he turns his back to swipe a stripe of color against the wall,” And I mean, I think I’m a pretty likeable person. I don’t make mean jokes. I bring housewarming gifts and I’m helping paint your stupid walls this hideous salmon.”

Shawn cracks his knuckles and licks his lips. “I don’t like bragging on myself, but what isn’t there to like?”

Mallory shakes her head, grabbing the paintbrush from Shawn and painting the section of the wall he promised to do.

“Well, for starters, you don’t know how to paint and you don’t know the fucking difference between salmon and millennial pink,” she swipes the paint in a straight line, “I think that makes a world of difference, buddy.”

He gives her a weak chuckle and pretends to gag when Marcus comes up behind her, giving her a big, wet kiss on the lips.

“You know, if you’re gonna practice making babies, I can leave. I don’t have to stay to witness this,” Shawn speaks.

They both turn to him and laugh.

“Then leave, Uncle Shawn,” Marcus jokes and Shawn grimaces.

“Yeah, I’m gonna head out.  If I don’t get those lemon cookies, I’m burning this whole fucking apartment complex down.”

Shawn grabs his keys off the coffee table and walks himself to the corridor of the front door. He hears Mallory giggle and can see Marcus sucking bruises into her neck, the pink ridden paintbrush falling forgotten to the floor.

“You two are fucking gross!” he exclaims, trying to pull his Nikes on as fast as he can.

Her front door opens with a creak and he can faintly hear Mallory joke, “You’re just mad because you haven’t won a grammy!”

He grins to himself, closing Mallory’s front door and unlocking his Jeep; pulling out of the parking lot to drive back to his condo.

-

“Izzy, I don’t think you should be so mean,” Mallory rushes out.

They both sit with their legs criss-crossed, a pint of mint ice cream filling the gap between them.

Izzy sucks the dairy treat off her spoon. “What’s this about?” she asks, knowing that Mallory never brings something up just to talk about it.

There’s always a motive or a favor or a suggestion and although she knows Mallory’s heart is always in the right place, her desire to redesign and fix everything drives Izzy nuts.

“Nothing! It’s nothing. Well- I mean, Shawn came by to help paint and it just came up. I swear, he didn’t say anything bad.”

Izzy shoots her friend a look. Mallory always cracks under pressure and Izzy’s knowing brown eyes make her flustered.

“I mean, he asked what your deal was. And he said that you sound pretty fucking great,” she chimes, trying to market Shawn like he’s an overpriced vase at an auction.

The recorded audience laughter of That 70s Show plays in the background to fill the void of sound. Izzy shakes her head before dropping her spoon into the tub of ice cream. She gives Mallory a sadistic grin.

“Oh yeah? Was that before or after he failed to mention that he was being a dick and he got me broken up with?”

It’s Mallory’s turn to shake her head. “C’mon, Iz. That’s not fair and you know it. You’ve talked to the guy, like, twice and if anyone’s a dick, it’s Gavin.”

Izzy sighs, muting the TV. “Yeah, but the sex was great. I miss the sex. And the weed. I miss that the most.”

Mallory scoffs. “You told me the sex was mediocre and in my opinion, Max rolls better blunts than what Gavin could ever imagine.”

The caramel colored girl shrugs her shoulders to her pale friend’s statement and they continue to gorge on mint ice cream until their metal spoons hit the bottom of the paper tub.

Izzy doesn’t say much to Mallory for the rest of the night and Mallory feels bad. She should have never brought it up, should have never tried to rub her nose in someone else’s business. She’s always struggled with the fact that she can’t fix everyone’s problems.

Mallory is a creator and she always had been. She harvested talent in oil pastels and watercolors. Creation was the root of her identity; especially since she spent close to $12,000 on a fucking piece of paper that classified her as one.

So Mallory doesn’t know why she tries to create things out of nothing. She doesn’t know how relationships don’t appear out of thin air and how Izzy can be so pessimistic all the time. She honestly doesn’t get it, but then she remembers that Izzy’s attitude isn’t for her to get and that not everything beautiful can come from scratch paper and shitty pens.

The two girls spend the rest of the night avoiding conversation and binging That 70s Show.

Izzy goes to sleep with Fez on her mind while Mallory goes to sleep feeling disappointed that she can’t fix everything.

-

Brian must think he’s crazy.

Shawn’s mind constantly runs in circles and he’s absolutely, positively sure that Brian is fed up with him. His red headed friend sits on his more than uncomfortable suede couch with a beer in one hand and his head thrown back on the cushion.

He exhales heavily through his nose, a sign that he wanted Shawn to shut the hell up and talk about something that wasn’t Izzy for one, goddamn second.

“For someone who tells every interviewer that you don’t give a shit what other people think about you, you’re a pretty good liar,” Brian comments, putting his beer down on the coffee table and running his hands over his face.

Shawn shakes his head. “There’s fucking coasters right next to you, dumbass. They’re there for a reason.”

Brian rolls his eyes. “Dude, calm down. Who gives a shit about a water stain? You have enough money to buy eight of these fuckers.” 

Shawn chuckles, long legs striding over to sit down next to his company.

“I’m one rich mother fucker. Am I right?”

Brian gives him a weak smile and takes a swig of the alcoholic beverage.

“You’ll be one dead mother fucker if I hear the name Izzy one more time. Seriously, bro. Marcus and I both said you shouldn’t sweat it if she doesn’t fucking like you,” he changes positions to look at Shawn who has his eyebrows raised, “She didn’t matter to you before, so why does she matter so much now?”

Shawn shakes his head and tries to find something to fire back at Brian with. He tries to find something to bring up, some reason to justify his sudden obsession. He comes up empty and tries to find some bullshit answer that will get him off the hook.

“She doesn’t have a reason to not like me. Doesn’t seem fair to judge someone based off of a bad night,” Shawn reasons, but Brian knows better than to believe him right away.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Marcus thinks you have the hots for Iz and if I wasn’t your best fucking friend who’s tryna set you up with Macie, I’d say the same thing.”

Shawn grunts and licks his lips. “Macie’s annoying and I do not have a thing for Izzy. She’s a bitch, and I just wanna find out why.”

Brian downs the rest of his beer and shakes his head at his brunette friend. 

“First of all, don’t call her a bitch. Maybe you aren’t as likeable as you think you are. Izzy’s friends with everyone we’re friends with, so maybe it’s not her,” he clears his throat, “It’s you.”

Shawn furrows his eyebrows, sheer annoyance clouding his face. “It’s me? That’s so stupid, Bry. That’s ridiculous.”

Brian pats his shoulder, grabbing his keys from his pocket and standing up to let himself out.

“M’gonna head out. Maybe you’ll stop giving a fuck about Izzy and what she thinks if you’re here by yourself.”

The door to Shawn’s condo slams shut and he’s left on the couch with the shock of Brian’s words still in his mind.

Maybe he shouldn’t give a fuck anymore. Maybe Brian is right. Maybe Izzy isn’t so bad afterall.

But the pesky thoughts and his damn emotional intuition says otherwise, so he spends the rest of the night picking apart his actions and his personality to find out what’s so damn unlikeable about him.

-

The next time Shawn steps foot in Mallory’s apartment, he takes in the millennial pink walls and house plants galore. He admires the mustard yellow couch and makes his way to the kitchen; leaving the wine coolers on the counter and greeting Mallory and Marcus with hugs.

Brian eyes him from the other side of the kitchen and uncaps a beer for him. Shawn swears they’re best friends for a reason because they have this weird telepathic power that makes them on the same page for what seems like every single waking second of the day. The beverage is passed to Shawn who almost drops it and he curses himself for being so goddamn clumsy.

Mallory shoots him a death glare. “Drop that shit and have it splatter on my couch and I swear to fucking God, I’ll have your ass.”

Brian brushes her off. “Don’t be scared. She’s just mad because Marcus won’t clap her cheeks.”

Mallory smacks Brian in the chest. “That’s not fucking why. He’s not the one denying me sex. I’m denying him sex until he takes that God awful septum piercing out,” she takes a sip of her watermelon sangria, “It’s fucking hideous.”

Shawn smirks. “Kinda like your pukey pink walls then, huh?”

She rolls her eyes, exhaling loudly through her nose. “Unbelievable. You’re lucky you bring me wine and you’re lucky you’re a redhead because I wanna strangle you both.”

Shawn and Brian laugh in each other’s faces as Mallory yells greetings towards the front door as more guests show up.

The guest list this time doesn’t exceed twelve people and Shawn went to high school with all of them. He’s truly amazed at how much hasn’t changed and how no one treats him differently.

No one screams in his face when they find out he’s near. No one faints or cries or shoves a camera in his hand when he walks by. No one asks about music or tour or anything related to his career, and if it wasn’t for “Lost in Japan” being on Mallory’s party playlist, he’s sure he himself would have forgotten he was even famous at all.

Mallory excuses herself, the ginger haired girl making a mad dash for the front door. Shawn and Brian see Marcus follow her from the corner of their eyes. They pretend like they don’t know that their friends are going to run off and start making out somewhere and that one of them (Shawn prays it’s Brian and not him) will walk in on them mid random sex position while trying to find the bathroom.

It was a given that Mallory and Marcus could never get enough of each other, and the two young men roll their eyes at their disappearance.

“If you’re gonna suck face, you can just tell us,” Brian speaks loudly to them, making sure everyone present can hear what he’s saying. “We’ve all had sex before and I think some of us would like to go to a party without being scared shitless of walking in on you two.”

The other guests inhabiting Mallory’s kitchen and living room give off small chuckles, but return to their side conversations and artsy glasses filled with booze.

Mallory runs back to the couch, sitting on top of Shawn and Brian until they spread apart to make space for her.

“It’s not a goddamn party because I made pasta. How many parties have you been to where a meal is served, asswipe?” she chastises, squished between the tall brunette and short red head.

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t tryna get some in with Marcus before anyone notices. The shit you were talking about his nose piercing doesn’t stop biology,” Shawn speaks up, pushing Mallory’s elbow away from his ribs.

“Oh fuck off. Will you?” she pulls out her phone to reply to a text, “Making out isn’t sex and last time I checked, you didn’t fucking take biology, you drop out.”

Shawn theatrically gasps, putting a hand to his chest. “Excuse me but I am a proud high school graduate. And I don’t have student loans.”

Mallory rolls her eyes, fighting off Brian attempting to squeeze her into the junction of the couch more. “Whatever. M’still smarter than you.”

The doorbell rings and Mallory groans, pulling herself up from the couch. Brian smushes her in between him and Shawn even more, making it near impossible to get out from their sturdy shoulders.

Shawn watches in childish glee as Mallory struggles to free herself from the tight space created by his and Brian’s strong bodies. He wonders how him and Mallory weren’t super close as kids because it feels as if he’s had her in his for as long as he could remember.

A dark haired girl in a dark green crop top and ripped jeans makes her way into the living room; curls surrounding her face wildly and a bottle of white wine held by its neck in her hand. The sliver of brown skin her shirt and jeans don’t cover fill Shawn with utter fear.

It’s Izzy.

He can feel Brian gulp beside him and glance towards him to gauge his reaction. Shawn rubs his hands over his face, freeing Mallory in the process. She jumps up to greet her friend and attempts to block Shawn’s view of her by standing in front of him entirely.

Brian takes the opportunity to make a joke. “Damn, Mal. You got an ass, girl.”

Mallory kicks her leg back, her black Chuck Taylor’s leaving a skid mark on Brian’s white Adidas.

“Shut the fuck up,” she hisses, attempting to prevent the wildfire that she’s sure will happen if Shawn and Izzy get a good look at each other.

Brian sighs, slightly pissed at the fellow ginger’s actions.

“You’re acting weird,” Izzy accuses, shaking her head at Mallory and giving a small wave to Brian.

Shawn holds his breath. He figures if he doesn’t speak, he can’t fuck up and nothing bad can happen.

He sits as still as can be, condensing his large frame to fit behind Mallory’s shadow. His chest gets tight and hands get clammy. He’s angry and nervous and irritated all at the same time.

“What’re you talking about? I’m fine,” Mallory defends, moving forward to usher Izzy into the kitchen.

Izzy snorts. “Nah, babe. You’re hiding your popstar friend who’s too fucking good to mingle with the rest of society.” 

Brian’s mouth falls open. Shawn grinds his teeth and tries his hardest to hold his tongue. Mallory’s gaze drops to the floor. Some of the guests in the kitchen lean their heads back to get a glimpse at the conundrum waiting to happen.

Shawn laughs coldly, shaking his head in disbelief and cracking a malicious smile. “What the fuck is your problem? Being a bitch isn’t a character trait.”

Brian grips his friend’s knee, pinching the skin to let him know that this is escalating far too quickly. Mallory puts her hands on Izzy’s shoulders, hindering the brown girl from making a charge at Shawn from her position.

Her eyes widen and Izzy shoots a shit eating grin back, her brown eyes crinkling and her cheeks heating up.

“Is this really coming from the same guy who sings to prepubescent girls ten months out of the year and pretends to love his hometown and his friends whenever it makes him look more personable?” she points her finger in his face, “Putting on a persona for the world isn’t exactly a skill, Shawn. But sure, keep pretending like you give a fuck about any of us.”

Mallory rocks back and forth on her heels. Marcus ushers the rest of the guests outside to the fire pit. Brian pulls on the brunette’s t-shirt sleeve as if he’ll float away with all the hot air Izzy and Shawn are creating.

Shawn stands up, the fabric of his shirt stretching from where Brian has him gripped. “You don’t get to say anything about my loyalty or my friends or about me. You don’t even fucking know me, so who the fuck are you to try and pretend like I’m some horrid ass person?”

Izzy rolls her eyes and steps closer to Shawn. She can see his chest rise up and down in anger. She knows she’s gonna go too far. She knows she’s gonna say shit she doesn’t mean. She knows she’s gonna make Mallory and Brian damage control experts once again, but she doesn’t care.

Izzy’s angry and provoked and she’s always had a temper.

“I know enough to know that you’re fucked. You only come around a couple of times a year. You didn’t speak to Marcus for months but he’s one of your closest friends,” she steps closer and puts her finger on his chest, “Mallory wasn’t fucking good enough to be on your radar as a friend but now she’s number one on your list. Don’t play fake nice with the people who’ve been there for you from day one.”

Shawn steps closer, her face directly in line with his torso. “Don’t try to turn you getting called out into a fucking testimony about how I feel about everyone else. This is about you and me. I don’t give a fuck about what you think. I don’t give a damn about you, actually. I just wanna know what your problem is.” 

Shawn walks towards the door and thrusts his jean jacket on. “But since you like to pretend like you know what I think, just know I think you’re a fucking bitch who throws hissy fits when she can’t face the music,” he turns the door knob to exit, “So fuck your attitude and fuck you.”

The mahogany door slams shut and the apartment falls into a void of silence. The three young adults can hear Shawn slam his car door and speed down the street; desperate to represent the phrase, “Out of sight, out of mind.”

Izzy huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

Brian can see Mallory’s shoulders become heavy with tension, and he knows that she’s about to blow up.

“I can’t believe you just fucking did that,” the redhead speaks, back turned to the two other people in the room.

“What’re you talking about? He’s the one who caused a shit show,” Izzy tries to reason.

Mallory turns around, red curls appearing like fire due to how fast she moves. “No. No, he isn’t. I- I can’t deal with you right now, Iz.”

Izzy’s mouth widens. “I was sticking up for you. You don’t deserve to have people walk all over you like-”

“Don’t you get it? We’re not fucking six anymore.  I don’t need you to stick up for me. I don’t need you to try and police good people out of my life! You’re not fucking God, Isobel. You don’t get to kill people off because of how you feel.”

Izzy swallows. Mallory only calls her Isobel when she’s pissed beyond belief. Being called Isobel by her best friend in the entire fucking world and knowing deep in her heart that Mallory is angry with her brings back the lump she felt in her throat everyday so many years ago.

“M’sorry,” she whispers, letting herself out and walking to her car to drive herself home.

Izzy can see Marcus out of the corner of her eye as she drives away. She has to pull over five minutes down the road to let out the sobs that were choking her since Mallory gave her that icy look.

She wipes her tears and rushes upstairs to her apartment before collapsing on her couch. The comfort of the TV show she wasn’t watching gives her some sense of security. Her phone rings repeatedly for the rest of the night, but Izzy can’t bring herself to answer.

She watches Mallory and Brian’s contact photos flash on her screen though black mascara tears.