#tig

this one was requested by @nothinggggg7 and @reminiscentreader

then… with a soft exhale grayson lifted his arm, and surprisingly enough, only moved the slightest bit to turn the alarm off. 

despite his minimal stirring and attempts to not disturb the moment of peace between you, you sat up just as he turned the alarm off. 

lifting your head off of his chest while rubbing your eyes, you mumbled, “god… what time is it?”

“half past 5,” grayson was quick to smooth a hand over your hair, beckoning you back. “but that doesn’t matter. come back to sleep, sweetheart.”

you hummed, and you didn’t go back to sleep. 

you barely even registered his words — you realized you were clearly not a morning person — and you sat up fully in your drowsy state, slowly blinked, then looked down at your watch and saw the way-too-early time. “shit,” you mumbled, “don’t you have to go?” 

“no,” he answered, “ i don’t particularly … care right now,”, his voice was gravelly and still laced with sleep. then, he tried one last time to get your head back on his chest and linger in this moment of serenity for a little while longer. 

you hummed contently in answer, then purposefully put your head on the pillow next to his instead. “that’s a lie.” you smiled sleepily as you lay on your side, “you care about everything ever.”

“not everything,” you two were laying on your sides face to face, and grayson smiled back at you— that type of smile that was just the barest upwards flicker of his lips. “only a select few that matter.” 

“yeah?” you prodded teasingly, a dry chuckle leaving your lips, “like what?”

you adjusted the way you were laying down, putting your hand under your face, and it seemed that his gaze never tore off you. 

“you.” he answered simply, his grey eyes boring into yours with a sort of comforting intensity. 

“and here i was,” you let your lips by break into a grin, “thinking you were going to say your suits.”

graysons lips slid into a teasing, full smile. “oh, i was just getting to them, don’t you worry.” 

you managed an eye roll, but the fake look of annoyance dissipated into a laugh, which was soon shared by him too.

after another second of looking at each other,  a tired, amused scoff left your lips   before turning onto your back and looking at the ceiling. “you should probably wake up. i should probably wake up.” 

grayson moved closer to you, moving up so his chin rested atop your head. “we’re awake,” he murmured. 

“yeah,” a laugh escaped you as you turned to lay on your side, “barely.” 

you adjusted the way you lay, so you and grayson were face to face once again. 

he looked at you with an odd softness in his eyes— or maybe it was the sunlight streaming through the curtains that made him look soft. 

either way, you felt like you couldn’t look away. “hi,” the word escaped your lips, a mere murmur. there was a small smile growing on your lips. 

“hi,” he echoed, tiredness and some sort of amusement laced in his voice.  

you looked at each other for another moment, his gaze every so delicately trailing over your face, like he was trying to memorize the details — you recognized the look, because you felt yourself doing the same when you looked at him. 

regardless, you have never felt butterflies erupt in your stomach faster. 

“okay,” you laughed a little at absurdity of the moment, “thats it, i’m getting up now.” you pushed yourself up with an exhale, and made your way to the bathroom a few feet away. 

you stopped at the door, turned around and looked at grayson who was still in bed. 

he was propped up on his elbows, watching you make your way to the bathroom with that same little look in his eyes. 

“what are you looking at?” you tilted your head, wondering what had him looking at you like that, all silent.

he narrowed his eyes jokingly back at you, before answering. “happy,  that’s all.” 

now your eyes were narrowing, your laugh threatening to spill through your words. “what,” a slight shake of your head, “happy you’re sleeping in?” 

his lips turned downwards in consideration of your answer with a small shrug, “i suppose, yes.” his smile was borderline teasing now, “among other reasons.”

"you’re so corny.”

grayson shrugged, running a hand through his messy morning hair that you adored and then looking at you with a lazy smile. “if that’s what you’d like to call me, so be it. so long as it’s coming from you.”

you realized your face was heating up, “you’re only proving my point,” you laughed, and then you huffed when you realised grayson’s smile only widened. 

you raised your brows with a slight laugh you couldn't hold in. “i need to shower,” you put a hand on the door handle, taking a slow step back, “i’ll just be a few minutes.” 

────୨ৎ────

a few minutes turned out to be an hour. 

when you left the shower, grayson was already downstairs by then, changed into brown trousers and white linen shirt with the few top buttons undone lazily— but nothing looked lazy about it. 

you slid into a chair at the small table that sat in kitchen, two seats, just for you two, as you muttered your good mornings to each other.

“oh gray, you know, my shower was the best ever,” you sighed as you shut your eyes for a moment, holding your face in your hands. 

you heard grayson hum in response for you to go on, flipping a pancake as he did so. 

you opened your eyes and looked at his back, in some sort of admiration-trance as he cooked your pancakes, then you finally began rambling. 

“well, the water was boiling, and there was so much steam; it felt like i was about to fall asleep in the best way.” you kept talking with your face laying in your hands, then when you finished, you sat up straight and brought your cup of water to your lips.

“perhaps, you might have truly fallen asleep,” he started, then turning to you as he placed a plate of pancakes on the table, “seeing as you took took so long.” 

“oh. very funny.” you jokingly glared at him, not taking your eyes off of him as you finished your drink and put the cup down. you laughed despite yourself, “stop acting like your showers aren’t either 2 minutes or 2 hours long.” 

grayson pulled his chair out and sat in the seat across you, laughing quietly. he said, “2 hours is quite the stretch. maybe 1 and a half seems more fitting.”

“i was being very graceful with 2 hours, actually.” you retorted, raising your brows. 

“and i am very lucky to be receiving of that grace from you.” 

grayson leaned back in his chair, reaching lazily for his coffee as he gave you a once-over. it wasn't flirtatious or teasing, just peaceful.. it reminded you of that look he’d given you before you got in the shower.

you glanced at him as you brought your coffee mug to your lips. the corners of your eyes crinkled, “okay, what are you looking at now?”

“i’m thinking about how i like my mornings better when you’re in them.” he said earnestly, without really answering your question as he looked away to stir his coffee. 

you were just about to respond with something heartfelt, then he took his gaze up to you.

he made an act of looking at his watch, “even if they start late.”

you glared at him an unamusedly. though,  the flush you felt from his first comment was still creeping up on your face. 

you huffed in what you hoped looked like annoyance, then bit back a smile. “just shut up eat your pancakes already.”

grayson smiled at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling also. “right. of course,” he cut a piece of his pancake, then brought his fork to his mouth as he looked at you, amusement in his features.

you rolled your eyes jokingly. he shut up. he ate his pancakes. 

“even if they start late,” you mimicked in a high pitched voice under your breath, aggressively cutting your pancakes into pieces. “he says at 7 in the morning,” you added snappily, murmuring absentmindedly to yourself as you cut your pancakes into even smaller pieces. 

the plate you were staring at did not reply. 

you huffed, then brought your fork to your mouth and finally looked up at grayson.

he was looking at you silently, holding back what seemed to be a huge laugh. 

his eyes slightly crinkled around the corners and his lips pressed together in an attempt to hold his smile back. and the second you made eye contact— your fork still in the air, you both burst into laughter. 

you set your fork down, trying to compose yourself before you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.

“surely,” grayson managed, his words coming through a chuckle. “i don’t sound like that,” he furrowed his brows, pointing a finger at you

“oh,” you laughed at him, finally picking the  fork you’d abandoned up again, and pointing at him with it, “but you really do.”

quiet laughter and chatter filled the living room as you finished your breakfast together, back and forth playful banter and stories randomly popping into your mind as the morning went on. 

by the time you were both putting the dishes away, your face nearly hurt from laughing so much. 

you weren’t a morning person, but you realized you definitely liked mornings better with grayson in them.

a/n: sorry ive been soooo m.i.a with the fics recently!! buuuut summer is soon so hopefully that'll change because i miss writing fics

“You guys really didn’t have to come-”

“Nonsense. Of course we had to come!” 

“Besides, we are already here.”

Nash could hear voices from the hallway. And a lot of footsteps. While his brothers had claimed they would swing by to ‘help them settle into their house’ Nash knew better. With that lot around, it was guaranteed things would become a lot slower. Nash put the carton he was holding and sauntered back to the main living room. 

The living room was one of the first rooms Libby had insisted on setting up. It smelled faintly of fresh wood and leather, with a hint of polished stone from the fireplace. Wide, honey-colored floorboards gleamed under the sunlight streaming through tall windows, their simple linen curtains swaying softly in the breeze. Against one wall there was a fireplace, with photo frames scattered across the mantle: some candid shots of them on their wedding, some pictures of his brothers and her sister. 

But then again, the place or design had never mattered to him. It was the blue-haired woman standing by the kitchen counter who made this place a home for him. 

“Don’t sweat it, Libs. We will cherish the free labor,” Nash spoke, as he stood beside his wife. 

“Is that what we are to you? That was hurtful,” Xander gasped, “And to think I bought scones for you guys as a peace offering.”

“You’ve already set up the living room,” Avery observed as she took in the living room. 

“Do you like it?” Libby asked excitedly, “I am thinking of doing the kitchen in a bit cooler tones.” 

“Oh, we like it,” Jameson said, already flopping onto the couch, “It’s giving ‘See? I can design a more homely-home than my manipulative grandfather.’” 

Nash rolled his eyes at Jameson. Although, he loved the idea of a ‘homely-home’ for his kids to grow up at. 

“It’s also giving elite interior design choices,” Lyra quipped as she and Max moved one of the boxes out of the way, followed by Grayson who was carrying another box to the side.

Libby beamed at the comment. 

“It’s also giving ‘if Susannah’s Beach House from The Summer I turned Pretty met Texas-ism’,” Max interjected. 

Before the design critique could escalate into a full symposium, Nash intervened, clapping his hands once for order, “Okay. Listen up. Unless one of you actually plans on lifting something heavier than a pastry box, start grabbing cartons.”

Xander shot his oldest brother an offended look, “I would hold a grudge against you for calling scones a pastry box.”

Soon enough, all six of them got to work. 

Well, ‘work’ was a generous term. 

Jameson exactly carried one box before getting distracted by the acoustics of the hallway, “Guys, echo check!”

Avery had reorganized the books on the shelf alphabetically, which looked perfectly fine un-alphabetically too. Xander somehow was amidst playing with the bubble wrap which contained a glass ornament that Max had taken out to put on the console. 

Lyra and Libby had disappeared into the back gallery. 

Other than Nash, Grayson was the only one who was actually making any progress. 

Nash had been taking one of the boxes to the other room after unpacking the kitchen utensils that his gaze fell on the label of the box he was holding. It wasn’t in Libby’s neat script.

It was his writing. 

‘Vid Recordings’ 

Nash stopped in his tracks as the words rang a bell. 

Video recordings. This box contained years worth of memories. 

For a second, the noise around him faded to nothing, as he stared at the box. A floodgate of memories threatening to open. 

Suddenly, Nash felt a sudden shove. He instinctively clutched the box closer as he regained his balance. 

“Why have you stopped in the middle of the battlefield?” Nash hadn’t heard Jameson materialize near let alone saw him colliding into him. 

Jameson didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned forward to look at the box. 

“Shut up,” he murmured, “Is it what I think it is?”

“Seems so,” Nash said, opening the box to reveal a bunch of polaroid pictures, photo albums, tapes, and an old camcorder. 

“What’s that?”

“Did yall find something?”

Before he knew it, everybody was crowded around them. 

Avery reached out to pick one of the polaroid pictures. The picture showed a seven-year-old boy with long brown hair, a cheeky grin, and bright green eyes too big for his face. She held the picture up in the air in front of her, comparing it to her boyfriend, side by side. 

“No way. It’s you,” she said, on the verge of cooing. 

“It was right after he had run into Xander’s Lego tower,” Nash recalled. 

“This is so cute,” Max declared, “It’s only fair that we go through them. All.”

This is how they ended up abandoning unboxing and watching the old tapes. 

It took the brothers ten minutes to figure out how to display the tapes on the TV. Grayson read an online user manual for the camcorder that was at least a decade old. How did he get it? For the very same model? It was a mystery. And Xander happened to have an AV-to-HDMI converter box. 

In seconds, the blank screen lit to life. 

The static, the whirring sound made Nash feel like he was taken back in time.

TAPE ONE:

The camera was too close to a face. All forehead, bright green eyes and chaotic brown hair. 

Static.

A faint mechanical whirr as the tape caught. The image snapped into focus. Grainy. Slightly overexposed. The date stamp blinked in the corner.

“OKAY SO TODAY GRAYSON IS BEING A SORE LOSER,” A high-pitched voice burst through the speakers.

The camera wobbled and the scene changed to show two other boys. One on the ground, covered in mud, with dirt streaking his white-blond hair. He wore an indignant expression. 

“I AM NOT!” a five-year-old Grayson shouted, voice small but furious. “YOU PUSHED ME!”

“DID NOT!” four-year-old Jameson yelled back from behind the camera, breathless and gleeful.

The footage shook as toddler Jameson attempted what was probably a dramatic spin. Instead, the camera dipped toward the ground, capturing mostly shoes and lawn.

“Okay, cut it out. It was just a race,” Nash’s voice could be heard whilst Jameson swung the camera. 

“HE CHEATED.” 

“I WON,” Jameson corrected loudly, too close to the camera. 

“You tripped me!”

“You fall by yourself!”

The camera zoomed in abruptly- too close- to Grayson’s furious face.

“STOP FILMING ME!” little Grayson demanded.

On screen, older-kid Nash finally stepped into frame to separate them. Ten-year-old him looked lanky and serious. He helped Grayson get off of the ground with one hand with the other reaching for the camcorder.

“Jamie, give it back.”

“NO!” The wail was loud. 

The screen jolted violently as the camera was yanked. There was a loud squeal, a flash of sky, then grass, then someone’s elbow.

And then the tape cut abruptly to static.

As the screen got blank, there was silence in the room. 

“Confession: I did push Gray,” Jameson announced as he got up from Avery’s side, reaching to put the next tape in. 

“Everybody knows Jamie. It was no point in arguing with you,” Grayson informed.  

Jameson rolled his eyes, “Still a sore loser I see.” 

Before Grayson could retort, tape two rolled. 

TAPE TWO: 

The screen now showed a boy aged ten and a half, sitting crossed legged on the floor, holding his curly-haired, two-year-old brother in his lap. The video was wholesome, just Xander babbling nonsense in the camera that suddenly a loud crash echoed.

Ten-year-old Nash frowned, twisting around just as two voices wailed, 

“NASH!” 

Soon, footsteps followed, and two boys aged three and four emerged. One already crying, and the other on the verge of tears. 

“HE PUSHED ME DOWN THE STAIRS.”

“I DIDN’T. AND YOU HIT ME WITH THE CANDELABRA IN RESPONSE.”

Three-year-old Jameson yelped, “I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT IS!”

Nash pointed toward the candle stick in Jameson’s hand, “The candle stick you are holding is called a candelabra” 

“His name is Lumiere not candle-whatever Gray said,” Jameson corrected, mid sob. 

Nash wanted to tell him that the Lumiere he was talking about from Beauty and the Beast was a candelabra. 

“Both of you, apologize to each other.” 

“BUT I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”

“SAME!”

Before a ten-year-old Nash could do anything to calm them down, the sound of heels clicking resounded. Nash looked up behind the camcorder. 

“What’s going on here?” A woman’s voice said. It was calm yet strict. 

Jameson and Grayson both launched into their versions of the story, cutting and interrupting each other. 

“Okay, okay. I got it,” The woman interjected, reaching down for Xander who happily reached for her too. 

Nash moved toward the camcorder and picked it up, swinging it to show a glimpse of a young Zara Hawthorne holding Xander at her hip, one arm securing him in place and the other hand holding Grayson’s. 

Jameson looked expectantly at her. Zara lets out her pinky finger for Jameson to cling to, and leads them out of the room.

The screen goes blank. 

The living room was filled with silence. 

“Unpopular opinion? Zara would’ve made an excellent mother,” Max opined. 

“It’s a very popular opinion,” Jameson said, “Aunt Z was there, wasn’t she?”

The last question was rhetorical and directed to his brothers. 

TAPE THREE: 

This tape was a recording of an after-school match.

When the tape whirred, a football-field (by football i mean soccer) appeared, filled with a bunch of ten and nine year olds. The video was being filmed from the bleachers. 

“Let’s make a bet! If I win, you let me film!” 

The camera moved to show an-eight-year-old Xander wearing a ‘Number 7’ shirt and a ‘Number 3’ jersey. Jameson and Grayson’s number, respectively. 

“Next time,” a sixteen-year-old Nash promised. 

“You said that last time! And last time before that last time!” Xander complained, before looking past Nash and the camcorder, “Hello? Future-lawyer-in-making! A little help!” 

Nash swung the camera to his left showing a girl of his age. Her dark hair was pulled in a ponytail and she had bangs.

“Wait, hold up,” Avery choked, grabbing the remote to pause the video. 

Max’s eyes widened, “Is that who I think it is?!” 

“The Alisa Ortega. With bangs. Oh my God,” Avery said, hastily pulled out her phone to capture the picture of the paused frame. 

Nash, without thinking about it, glanced at Libby. His wife was looking amused, watching her sister fumble with her phone. 

“See? I called it! On her being a lawyer,” Xander announced, feeling very proud. 

Grayson shook his head, “It was pretty much common knowledge.” 

The rest of the video was just loads of yelling from the surrounding crowd at the bleachers and zero commentary. 

By the time Jameson started to reach for another tape, Nash intervened, 

“Last one, Jamie. We’ve already wasted an hour or something.”

Jameson groaned, “Ugh, fine, let me choose another one then.” 

TAPE FOUR: 

The scene was of a car. A twenty-year-old Nash behind the wheel. The camera was set on the dashboard. A fourteen-year-old Gray was in the passenger seat, looking out of the window. 

The camera showed the backseat too. Jameson was trying to untangle a pair of tangled wired headphones and Xander was sprawled on his side and the empty middle seat, dramatically nudging Jameson’s arm with his socked foot. 

Jameson swatted his foot away once. And then twice. 

“Tell Xander to stop touching me!” Jameson complained loudly, scooting further toward the door. 

“Don’t lean on the car door,” Nash warned.

“I wouldn’t have to if Xander was on his side!” 

“Xander don’t touch Jamie,” Nash sighed. 

“I’m not touching him,” Xander reasoned, hovering his toe over Jameson’s arm. 

Jameson shoved his foot again, “I wanna swap places. Gray, swap places with me!”

“No.”

“Oh come on!” 

The argument escalated quickly and Nash had to reach back with one arm to restrain Jameson. 

“One nice video. That’s all I asked of you guys!” Nash said, pushing Jameson back into his seat, “And put your seatbelt on, Jamie.” 

Jameson huffed, before leaning toward the gap between the driver and passenger seat, talking to the camera, “Let this serve as a reminder that Grayson is so incorporative." 

Grayson gave him a scandalized look, “I am incorporative? You have been kicking the back of my seat for the past half an hour!” 

“Liar!”

“Yes, you have!”

“Guys, I’m hungry. And Nash, you just drove past a gas station and I told you I wanted to go to the restroom,” Xander cut in.

“Why didn’t you go before we left?” Nash looked out the window, seeing the gas station far behind. 

“I didn’t need to go then,” Xander answered, as to say ‘duh’ 

“And also, are we there yet? When will we be there?” Jameson added, annoyance lacing his voice

“Do you see Palo Duro Canyon anywhere?” Nash asked. 

Jameson frowned, “No.”

“Exactly. So no, we aren’t there. Neither are we close to it.” 

The tape ended. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Back to present:

"Wow, that was a trip down the memory lane," Max said, "You guys were tiny rugrats." She addressed this Jameson and Grayson.

Grayson tsked while Jameson laughed.

Even though they hadn't been raised by a parent or been molded to perfection by their grandfather, they had always had each other. Always.

"You should play their embarrassing videos on their weddings," Libby suggested to Nash.

Grayson groaned, "No thank you." And at the same time Jameson shrugged, "Sure thing. I was a very cute child and very epic."

"I don't know if I should feel sorry for your future child or for Avery," Lyra sympathized.

Jameson waved his hand dismissively, "You can't recognize awesome-ness."

Avery who had tears in her eyes because of laughing so hard at the last video, said, "This is a pandora box of memories. We should plan a day for watching all of these."

"Not all of them are in good quality though," Nash informed them, getting up and picking the box up, "Although, there are a lot of pictures."

Nash suppressed a chuckle, "Even the pics where Jamie and Xan dressed as Tweedledum and Tweedledee from one of the books of Alice in Wonderland."

"Really?" She leapt forward to take the photographs from Nash before her boyfriend could stop her.

"No, heiress no," Jameson groaned, red tinting the cheeks.

They all spent the rest of the evening reminiscing the good and marvelous parts of their pasts.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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