#van fic

You’d known Van for a while before he managed to coax you into a date ‘down the pub’ with him. You were adamant at first not to fall into the trap that was Van McCann, but what can you say there's just something about him?! ‘Let’s be honest though he is just one big thirst trap’ Is what your friends would say, making you laugh in hysterics.

You were already friends with the lads, one reason why you didn’t want to fall head over for one of them. Although it meant it was very easy to slip into Vans life very quickly. You already knew his mates and your job meant you could travel with him when you wanted, resulting in meeting the parents within four months of dating. That was probably one of the reasons you became ‘official’, when Mary started introducing you as Vans lovely new girlfriend it just kind of stuck. It was natural, and in Vans words “well if me mam approves”.

Sex with Van is like a new moisturiser. You search and search for the perfect one and then suddenly you find it and you could never imagine your life without it. You  went for it on the second date, you didn't really think it would happen but you were horny and Van was legit falling at your feet. How could you turn that down? Wow you were glad you went for it though, you were too buzzed from the drinks you had shared at the bar to feel apprehensive. Van never fails to make you cum, he has this power to make your toes curl and breath hitch with every touch. He loves to experiment with you, you have tried most positions but your all time favourite still cowgirl. (I know how basic eek). There's something really romantic to you about just staring into his piercing blue eyes whilst fucking him to oblivion. You both like it loud, as in he'd give it to you so bad all you could do would be to scream his name. It's all deep guttural moans and harsh breaths out.

He really wasn’t what you had expected. When you look at Van you think cool indie boy, probably sleeps around and doesn’t give a fuck! Well, here's where you were wrong. He LOVES snuggles and long easy mornings are his favourites. He’s all hands and kissing and all the stupid cheesy kind of love you didn’t expect. He has a tendency to leave marks all over your skin, wanting to claim his girl as his own.

This brings you to his protective side, and boy does he not like it when guys show you attention, something the lads find hilarious. You can always tell when someone is checking you out, not because you’ve seen them but suddenly Van tenses. If his arms aren’t already around you, they are now and there is no doubt about it that if they don’t stop looking at you then he will have something to say. If not he'd definitely whisper in your ear things like “Why do guys think they can look at my girl like that” in a disgusted voice making you laugh and coo at him. You'd then lead him home where you most definitely have hardcore jealous sex.

You never find him over protective, even when he gets like that because you know it's just because he's thinking about what it’s like when he's gone. He's thinking of all the men who may have laid eyes on you when he wasn't around to stop them. It’s always the hardest when he's away, for both of you. Van is renowned for being ultimately shit at anything that needs charging and is no good with scheduling. Meaning if you didn't call him you'd probably go the day without contact with him. You know it’s no reflection towards his love for you. You know that he’s usually being pulled in several directions without you being in the picture. You always got the full breakdown of the lads whereabouts through Larry anyway and Steve usually emailed you the boys timetable to keep track. Days without phoning though usually resulted in a late night call from a broken Van. He'd apologise and you'd tell him it's alright and then you'd spend the night catching up and telling each other how much you missed and loved one another. The love was truly there.

When your boy finally comes home, he would basically be uncontactable to anyone other than you, too busy wrapped in the world you both would create. He'd draw you back as if you were his ship that he'd manage to lose in the fog and now he'd found you he had to do all the rounds to check you had no scratches. He left no stone unturned, talking and laughing for hours over conversations you missed and jokes you had to tell.

The little quirks in the he relationship were your favourites. Like his names for you, completely random but the cutest things your heart had ever heard, ‘dimples’ was for obvious reasons but always made you smile when he'd call you it. Others included;’cuddles’ ‘peaches’  ‘love’ of course! You loved all of your inside jokes and little signals, things no-one would even notice. Because you were fairly small compared to him he loved picking you up, wrapping his arms tight around your waist and burying his head in your neck. You love the way you can talk about literally anything with him and he wouldn't be phased. Like how he'd always check if you needed any ‘period stuff’ when he went to the supermarket or how you always talked about the future.

Van LOVEEES PDA, any chance to show you off to the world, he's in! Hand holding, random hisses here and then, hugs from behind when you're out shopping, the lot. He doesn't care what anyone thinks, making him unbelievably confident, something you usually lack in. 

Your sketchbook will forever be filled with sketches of Van. Usually when he's sleeping because he can never sit still, but he's your favourite thing to draw. It also fills your heart so full when you can look at them when he's gone away.

You’d first met Van while he was on his last tour a few months ago. It had made sense at the time, in the weeks leading up to this one, for you to join him rather than spend the weeks alone. You were a bartender at a small place they’d stopped to celebrate after a show once and from the second Van laid eyes on you, he was determined to make you his. And he did, easily. He was so loveable. It was kind of ridiculous how easy it was to love him, flaws and all. Though the cracks were starting to appear. Small ones but cracks, nonetheless. Everything was different. Your routines were now non-existent. You felt isolated and at the same time completely suffocated. It was not a good environment for your mental health. You couldn’t help but harbour some resentment towards Van for letting things get this way between you and him. For being so swept up in himself, the band and the fans. It was overwhelming and you had no escape. The only times you had peace and quiet was if you decided to stay alone on the bus during a show or sound check. Though at the same time you could hardly blame him at all because you knew how he loved it and what it meant to him. None of this was his fault, really. 

“You alright y/n?” Larry asked, sliding into the seat opposite you and placing your mug, freshly filled with tea, on the table between you. 

Van was asleep out the back of the bus. 

“Thank you. Yeah, I’m good. Regretting that hot dog though,” you joked, trying to hide your sour mood. 

“I think we all are,” Larry laughed, adjusting his bandana. 

The stench of the small bus toilet was proof enough. You felt queasy just thinking about it. You gazed back out the window and sighed softly. Only 3 more weeks. 

................

When Van wasn’t preoccupied with press or whatever, he was often busy making plans and doing things for the second album. You just left him to it. You didn’t want him to think you were getting in the way. Though you were desperate for some down time with him away from the bus or a venue. A date. Something. Something that wasn’t just falling asleep together, eating cold baked beans for breakfast with the band or getting drunk after a show. While at the start tour was all a bit dreamlike and still had its charm, now you yearned for normality. You missed your friends too; facetime wasn’t doing it for you anymore. You ached a bit for Van, realising this was how tour must make him feel too when he has to leave people behind. It was more difficult than it seemed and you weren’t even the one performing every night.

“Sold out tonight, babe!” Van exclaimed with a grin as he stepped through the small door from the middle section of the bus and sat on the lounge beside you. 

You put your book down. You could tell he was excited; his eyes were glistening madly and his voice was all high and squeaky. His hair was a mess so you ran a hand through it to straighten things out a little. He really did make your heart weak. 

“That’s great,” you smiled back. 

You wanted desperately to be as happy as he was. You were really, but it was clouded with other emotions that weighed you down too much to let the good stuff come to the surface. You traced his face with your eyes. His smile was so wide he almost had dimples and you could make out those strange little red marks that appeared on his cheeks sometimes. You let out a breath.

“Reckon after this second album we’ll be well on our way to arenas!”

You hoped he’d never lose his boyish optimism.

“Yeah,” you replied, leaning your body against his warm shoulder slowly. “Hot tub for your ma.”

You now rested your head on his shoulder, wanting to be close to him. His worn leather jacket smelt of smoke, but you didn’t mind. You looked up at him with tired eyes.

“You know it.” He grinned, showing his crooked teeth in all their glory and then kissed you on the hairline.

“I’m off for a smoke then got an interview at 3, do you wanna come?”

“To the interview?” you asked, lifting your head. 

“Yeah.”

“No it’s okay. I’ve seen you do them before,” you replied bluntly.

You regretted your tone instantly. You could almost feel Van’s face fall and his body language stiffen. He was confused at your sudden change of mood and the air between you became tense.

“Oh… well just thought we could spend some time together.”

This made you want to scoff. Time together?

“You, me, the band, the interviewer and the camera man isn’t exactly spending quality time alone together is it...” you replied, covering your sarcasm with a jokey tone and raised eyebrow, trying to come off a little more light hearted than you felt. 

You sat up to face Van properly and teased him with a lopsided, toothless smile. 

“No, you’re right love. We’ll go on a proper date. You and me. Dinner out before the show?”

“No beans on toast?”

“No beans on toast.”

“Sounds perfect,” you smiled. 

Your heart filled with a warmth you’d been missing and you leaned in for a quick kiss, closing your eyes. You and Van stayed together with your faces close for a few seconds, foreheads resting together, before he got up without a word and left once again. This felt good. Normal.

You sighed. At least you had that to look forward to. 

..............

While Van was at his interview, you used all the facilities that the bus and the public bathrooms at the venue had to offer in attempt to get ready for your date with Van. It had been so long since you’d pampered yourself in any way or gotten especially dressed up. When Van told you about touring, you knew it wouldn’t be glamorous, but you’d expected to be getting dressed in nice clothes a lot more often than you ever did. It was definitely ‘boy’ territory and you were the odd one out.

As you got ready, you thought how you’d probably not event spent an intimate moment with Van all tour without either everyone knowing and clearing the bus or accidentally walking in on it. You were well and truly over the teasing winks or the awkward smiles from band and crew alike. Yet another reason you yearned for the privacy of your own home. 

You managed to shave your legs in the tiny cubicle shower on the bus, painted your nails and styled your hair. You put on the one dress you’d packed and some slightly nicer shoes than your muddy black boots. Once you were satisfied with how you looked, you sprayed perfume and relished in the feeling of being decently clean and presentable for the first time in a while. 

You were sat reading your book in the lounge out the back of the bus (that had become yours and Van’s bedroom) when he burst through the door. 

“Wow, y/n...” he breathed, sounding slightly taken aback, “you look incredible.”

You couldn’t help but blush a little as you stood up.  

“Ready to go?”

Van looked at the floor and ran a hand through his hair nervously. You swallowed.

“Uh... about that y/n... I was just coming in to tell you that...”

Your heart sank like a stone in water. 

“This label guy is coming to the show and wants to talk beforehand and-”

He took a step towards to you and you put a hand on his chest to stop him coming any closer.

“It’s fine,” you smiled, showing teeth. “I understand. Go.”

Your voice came out higher pitched and breathier than usual. You were pissed off and didn’t want him to know. You ushered him away with shoeing hand gestures and a tight, forced smile.

“I’m sorry y/n.”

“Just go. Don’t keep him waiting.”

And with that, you saw the back of Van’s messy brunette head turn away and exit just as quickly as he entered. You sat back down with a groan. You wanted to let go and cry into your hands. Part of you wished you’d told him how disappointed you were rather than letting him believe you were completely fine. But how could you? This was potentially, a big moment for him and the band. 

You were all dressed up with nowhere to go it seemed. Though instead of melting into a puddle of tears and self-pity, you decided to do something completely out of character. You were going to go out and find your own fun, one way or another. You picked up your heavy heart and left the bus, off into the night.

………….

After a short walk past the venue and line of fans already gathered, you found a pub, or bar. Something. This would do, you thought. You walked inside more confidently than you felt and went straight to the bar. You ordered a martini with an olive and immediately felt like you’d slipped into the skin of a woman far more extravagant and fancier than yourself. You liked this newfound, make believe confidence you suddenly had. 

You sat alone at the bar with your drink, happily day dreaming and letting the alcohol buzz sooth your brain. You occasionally drifted into earshot of other people’s conversations and couldn’t help but eavesdrop. You loved people watching too. The worries you had about Van slipped into the back of your mind and this felt good. 

“Can I buy you another?” a deep voice suddenly asked from behind you. 

You turned around slowly and saw a man with intense eyes staring back at you. He had a dark goatee and you could see the glimmer of what was probably a gold tooth, between his lips as he smiled.

“I’m fine thank you,” you replied.

“A lady as beautiful as yourself shouldn’t be alone,” he responded, his voice slightly gravelly. 

He sat in the seat beside you and you gulped. He made eye contact with the waiter and pointed at your glass. You were promptly brought a new one and you hesitated to touch it. 

“Go on, won’t hurt,” the man pushed. “My treat.”

“T-thank you.” 

You awkwardly smiled and the man held his drink to yours. You wanted to escape before he got the wrong idea.

“Bottoms up,” he said as he took a swig of his pint.

You took a small, cautious sip of the new martini.

“I’m Dave, what’s your name sweetheart?”

You didn’t really want to give him your real name and you didn’t like being called sweetheart by anyone other than Van. You wanted to be the posh lady you pretended you were earlier. She would have taken the drink gladly and walked away by now.

“Y/n,” you stammered.

“So, what are you doing here all by yourself then y/n?”

Dave turned to face you.

“Uh- sorry, I uh have a boyfriend he-”

“As do I love,” he laughed, his slightly wrinkled face creasing into a friendly grin. 

Your lungs instantly let go of the breath you didn’t realise you were holding. Dave was just a kind stranger, not a creep. Phew.

“Oh,” you replied. 

“Sorry, y/n. Didn’t mean to give you a wrong impression or nothing!” Dave apologised.

“Oh no it’s okay. Just gotta be careful, you know.”

He nodded. 

“So where is your boyfriend tonight then Dave?” you giggled and turned to face him.

“Some meeting or something,” he shrugged and took another gulp of beer.

“Mine too,” you replied, looking down. 

It was probably the alcohol, but you began to feel all sulky and sad again. You missed Van; your Van. The Van who left muddy boots and a smoke-stained leather jacket by your door, who would serenade you while making you tea of a morning before you left for work, who made you watch Big Fish one hundred times.

“Oi now love don’t go getting sad. Let’s get you another drink and have a good time.”

Soon enough you were floating on a martini cloud. There was music playing and you were dancing with Dave and a few ladies out on a hen’s night. This was the most fun you’d had in ages. You spun around and let your hair down. Literally and metaphorically. 

“Marriage! That’s a big deal!” you half shouted over the music, while dancing with the bride to be. 

“Yeah! He’s the one!” she replied with a lovesick smile. 

“I think I’ve met the one,” you drunkenly slurred, more to yourself than her. 

You both kept grooving to the music as if you were in a nightclub, not a pub with an open floor and some cheap blue disco lights.

“Yeah? Where is he?”

She was the second person to ask that tonight and it hurt. He should be there with you, drinking and dancing on tables. 

“He’s in a band!” you yelled. “Got a show tonight so he’s at the venue. Bailed on our date though.”

“So that idiot let you go out alone?” she replied, her face shell shocked. “You could get anyone you wanted! Find better!”

“Yeah, it feels like it’s either me or the band,” you admitted loudly. “And I’m not even close second at the moment.”

She obviously had no idea what you meant or was too drunk to hear you as she just smiled, took a sip of her drink and danced away. At that moment, you felt a hand on your arm and you turned around.

“This idiot, has been lookin’ all over for you.”

Van was stood still, his face straight. This told you that you were in trouble. You were unsure how much he’d heard but were too drunk to care. 

“I’m not a child,” you responded simply. 

“I was worried y/n.”

You rolled your eyes. Van handed you his jacket, which you refused to put on, and ushered you outside. You turned to wave a final goodbye to Dave, but he seemed to be preoccupied, presumably by his returned boyfriend. Though he looked a lot happier to see him than Van did you. 

You walked next to Van and the others who had been waiting outside, with your arms crossed and face stern. That’s what you get for having a good time, you supposed. 

“I’d got out the meeting early, wanted to still take you to that dinner I’d promised,” Van said, sounding frustrated. 

 “Why am I in trouble?” you asked angrily. 

He clearly didn’t realise how drunk you were. 

“Babe, you’re not in trouble. I just didn’t know where you went and-”

“Oh, what so because you’re off doing special band, no girlfriends allowed business, I have to wait back on the bus bored stiff like some 1950’s housewife?”

“What?” Van questioned, his voice confused and short.

He stopped walking and faced you. His expression was contorted into that confused but not the cute kind of confused look. He motioned for Larry and Benji to keep walking without you. 

“You know exactly what I mean!”

“I don’t have time for this y/n. I have to soundcheck. I’ll see you in the green room yeah?”

He leaned in to kiss you on the forehead as if that would wash away any problem you had. You you swatted him away. He looked hurt but turned and walked off regardless. You wobbled on your feet and sighed. You were annoyed that he’d turned it into your fault; that you were in the wrong for going out after he cancelled your plans only to come back trying to reinstate them as if you’d just sit there waiting for him. But you felt like all you ever did was wait for him to be finished with whatever band thing he was doing, so how could you blame him when that was what he’d come to know?

“Yeah, gotta get back to the boys,” you muttered to yourself, watching Van’s blurry figure disappear from you once again.

........

Crew members filed in, pushing or dragging heavy black equipment boxes, others conducted soundcheck with the boys breezing in and out. You made your way through the chaos to the green room, feeling pretty invisible. You’d changed out of your dress and traded it for jeans and a hoodie. Your heart felt heavy once again and you weren’t feeling those martinis as strongly anymore. You grabbed one of the bottles of wine meant for the band, knowing they wouldn’t touch it before the show anyway, and drowned your sorrows a little. 

You ignored the world around you as best you could. You hated sitting there with the weird, half-argument between you and Van hanging in the air. You didn’t know if he’d heard what you said. You regretted saying it in the first place.

 “Save some for us y/n!” Bondy joked as he sauntered in and sat beside you, playing with his lighter.

You laughed, but not because what he said was funny. It was a spiteful laugh if anything. Bondy was blissfully unaware of what was going on. Or what your drunken, angry brain had convinced you was going on. Deep down you knew this was an unnecessary fight. 

Van came into the green room and silently sat on your other side, placing a warm hand on your thigh and leant over to kiss you. You quickly moved your face again and he just managed to graze your cheek instead. Out the corner of your eye you saw his eyebrows furrow in confusion and his forehead crease a little. It was your own fault he didn’t understand your mood; you’d allowed him to think everything was fine and peachy for days. 

“What’s goin’ on y/n?” he asked quietly. 

“Nothing,” you replied, teeth clenched, and eyes averted from Van’s gaze.

He clicked his tongue to his teeth and let out a breath. You gripped the wine bottle tightly in your fist and took another swig.

“Okay that’s enough of that...”

Van took the bottle from your hands and placed it down on the coffee table. This only outraged you more, but you knew better than to fight him about that too right now. 

“Why’re you being like this? Why’d you go out on your own earlier too? Just to get drunk with a bunch of strangers?” 

Van’s tone was frustrated and strained, you knew he didn’t understand any of this at all. To be honest, you didn’t really either and didn’t know what to say or how to put your feelings into words. Especially right now.

“Like I said before, you expect me to drop everything, sit around and wait for you to finish with the band.”

“You didn’t have to come on tour y/n.”

“No- I mean, like...”

“Save it y/n, I heard you before. You think I don’t care, that it’s only about the band.”

Van’s voice was low and sounded hurt. You knew you were being a little unfair and it made you ache seeing his face contort with frustration towards you.

“How could you think that?” he questioned.

You didn’t answer and he shook his head slightly.

“I didn’t mean what I said, it just came out,” you defended quickly. “I was excited to go out tonight. Do something with just you, something that was more us. I feel insignificant here.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

“How could I Van?” you exclaimed. 

Your eyes burned and you could feel the tears threatening to fall.

“Christ y/n, if you aren’t happy with me, you should tell me.”

Van had stood up now and he sounded angry. Proper mad at you. This alone felt like a tonne of bricks crashing down onto your chest. It was unlike him to jump to the extreme like this and question the whole relationship. You glanced around the room, embarrassed to see all the guys still in there. You quickly grabbed your bag and ran past Van and out the door into the hallway. 

“Y/n!” you heard him shout behind you. 

You kept walking. The tears were streaming down your cheeks now and you didn’t want him to see. You didn’t want him to think you were weak or pathetic or not strong enough to handle his lifestyle. You thought you were, but maybe you weren’t after all if you’d gotten to this point. Lately, all you’d felt was distance from Van, despite being right there with him on tour. 

When Van finally caught up with you, he grabbed your elbow like he did earlier in the pub and spun you around to face him. You wiped your cheeks and looked at the ground.

When he saw that you were crying, his angry expression melted away.

“Y/n...” he said softly. “What did you mean ‘how could you’?”

“How can I tell you I’m not happy or want more time with you when it’s either me or the band...I know how much the band means to you and I’d never make you sacrifice that. What if we had gone out earlier after all and you’d missed that meeting. What if it had been a meeting that changed your career and I made you lose that opportunity? I couldn’t do that to you.”

You were ranting now, and pretty sure you weren’t even making sense. But Van was quiet and listened. You continued, letting it all just drunkenly spill out. 

“I feel like here, I’m either in the background of everything or I feel suffocated and need a break. It’s overwhelming. That’s why I went out. I didn’t want to just be the girl who pathetically sits around waiting for you all the time. I wanted to have fun, be independent,” you admitted with a small shrug. “I almost feel it would have been easier if I’d stayed home while you went off. That way, I wouldn’t feel like I’m just an extra piece of baggage.”

“You’re not an extra bit of baggage y/n,” Van replied quietly. 

Your perspective had probably only just dawned on him. You knew he hadn’t meant for things to go this way on purpose. He was just oblivious. You looked up. Van reached out and wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to choose me or the band.”

“I don’t. But this whole thing, it’s never gonna be easy,” Van admitted with a sigh. 

You nodded in sad agreement.

“I’m sorry y/n. I get swept up in everything an’ I have a bad attention span. I’m no good at multitasking. But it’s no excuse. I should be looking after ya’ more and thinking about how you see things.”

You sniffled and felt stupid.

“I’m sorry too, Van. For all of this.”

Your bodies moved closer and soon Van had his long arms wrapped tightly around you. With your face buried in his chest, you let out more drunken sobs. Relief. He held you close and stroked your back slowly. 

“I’ve never seen you cry before,” he said quietly into your hair.

You let out a small laugh. 

“Yeah...”

Van pulled away from you and placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Tell me when you feel crap next time yeah? Call me out on my shit. I need that sometimes y/n,” Van chuckled.

He said this looking right into your eyes so you knew he was serious.

You nodded and sniffled your runny nose. 

“Go get back to soundcheck, rockstar,” you smiled.

Van winked, took you by the hand and led you back to the green room.

..........

You were back on the bus again traveling to a new city, but this time you knew better than to have a gas station meal. As usual, you were sat up with a book in hand under the lamp as it was getting dark outside. 

Suddenly the bus slowed and pulled over. You looked up from your pages in confusion. Then Van appeared from the back with a small smile, holding blankets and two enormous bags. Your eyebrows raised in question.

“Go get your boots y/n. We’re going on a date.”

Once you’d gotten your boots and a warm coat on, you followed Van out of the bus and up the road. You were confused and excited. What was he doing?

“Where are we going?”

“Shh y/n you’ll see.”

Van’s cheeky and smug grin made your heart fluttered with excitement. 

Soon enough, you were walking through a large field. You were unsure if you were allowed to be in there. Probably not, knowing Van. But you followed willingly anyway. He looked like he was swaying under the weight of all he was carrying but wouldn’t let you help him, insisting on being a gentleman. 

Eventually, Van stopped, He threw down the bags on a patch of grass and spread out some of the blankets before sitting down cross legged. You wondered if he had this particular spot in mind or had just walked confidently until he found somewhere of his liking? He patted the space on the blanket to his left, inviting you to sit beside him. Once you did, he opened one of the bags and pulled out a thermos. 

“Hot chocolate?” 

“I’d love one.”

You were grinning from ear to ear. Even in the dark, Van’s eyes were shining bright and he looked sort of angelic under the glowing moonlight. A hyperactive, scruffy angel. But angelic nonetheless. 

“So, y/n, I thought since you love all that space and stars stuff, we could come out here and look at it an’ that.”

“Astronomy?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “We can do some stargazin’.”

Your heart melted even more if that were possible; this was perfect. Van poured you a cup of hot chocolate from the thermos. Holding it in your hands warmed you up and made you feel cosy. He really did listen to you and know you. As much as you’d felt ignored lately. He’d remembered your interest in astronomy, something you’d really not mentioned all that much as you knew he wasn’t into it. 

As you sat there cuddled under blankets and drinking hot chocolate on a constant loop, you told him all about your favourite constellations, pointing out the direction they’d be in. You even managed to see one in the sky as it was so clear in the deep navy blue. Being away from a main city really made such a difference when you were trying to look at the stars. Less pollution and a lack of bright city lights made everything so much more visible. It was incredible.

You held Van’s hand tightly in yours. 

“Thank you for this Van,” you smiled as you rested your head down on his shoulder.

“You’re most welcome y/n. I should do this stuff for you more.”

He leaned down and kissed you on the head. You told him about stars and how they were so incredibly far away that the light you could see, was a star that was already dead. You weren’t sure he understood everything you said but he listened intently and was in complete awe of you. You liked showing him this little insight to your world, the same way he did with his music. As the time went by and the night grew colder, Van piled more blankets over you. You were amazed at how many he’d managed to find and how they fit in the bags he’d brought. 

“Where’d you get all these spare blankets?” you asked as he tucked another one over your laps.

“Spare?” he questioned with a smirk. “Stole ‘em off the lad’s beds, didn’t I?”

Although that's not saying much at this point in his life. Van has always been at his most self-destructive while attempting to maintain an active social life. He no longer needs that. Van has always enjoyed his solitude, just himself and the words he reads or writes down, the beginnings of another album. He sees the band outside of work occasionally, sometimes their friends will join them, but generally his life is quiet. Simple.

And while Van is good at sex, he's found he doesn't need to seek it out the way he used to. He's no longer searching for intimacy, affection, to feel something as he once was. He's no longer looking for a distraction. Occasionally someone will spend the night, but they're generally friends who also want to fuck.

Van never thought Y/N would be one of them.

He remembers the moment, back when he was a stupid eighteen-year-old, just kicked out of high school, that he knew he'd messed things up with Y/N. That moment when she'd wanted to comfort him, not knowing why he was hurting; when he knew he was so wrong for her, that he would ruin her… When the only thing he could think of was making her feel good by sharing the one thing he was good at.

He feels like that eighteen-year-old now.

Van has seen her at a holiday or two. They discussed her work, his band, but were generally there for family gatherings. He did his best to tell her that it was okay without saying it, that he wouldn't hold her leaving, in love with another man, against her. She seemed to get the idea, and they were something approaching friends again. When her travels brought her through London, they would meet up for lunch or dinner, Larry or another of his friends joining them occasionally.

He wanted her in his life however he could have her. That's not to say he's still hoping for a romantic relationship; that ship has sailed. He'd jumped the gun one too many times and then ran instead of sticking around to witness the aftermath.

As melodramatic as it sounds, the last time they kissed it seemed to him that he would always be the other guy in her eyes – the one to flirt with, the one to kiss, the one she ran to when the boyfriend wasn't who she wanted him to be.

So he opens his door wide for her when she appears, looking for a friend. He gets them takeout, puts on a bad movie. He listens as she tells him how lonely she is, how hard it is to keep relationships.

She won't say it, won't ask. She may not even know it, but he does. He knows exactly what she needs.

She needs someone who will be there when she wants it. Someone to scratch an itch.

Someone to give her intimacy, affection, to help her feel something. She doesn't need strings right now, but Y/N is not a woman who has one night stands, who will throw herself into sex with a stranger. She needs a friend she can trust.

And okay, he can do that. He's single, stable, and while he's probably always going to be a little in love with her, he knows he can live with that. For once, Van is absolutely, without any doubt, positive he can give her what she needs.

(He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it in the past few years; that he hadn't hoped. Chemistry like theirs doesn't happen every day)

So he catches her off-guard, kisses her as he's done countless times before. But this time they aren't teenagers. She isn't the Virginal Y/N of before. He isn't tainting something pure when he touches her breast. He isn't touching some forbidden treasure when he touches her and makes her come for the first time in almost ten years.

This time she lets him kiss her everywhere and she tastes better than he could have ever imagined. He goes down on her right there on his couch, her taste seared forever in his mind.

Van shows her everything he's learnt throughout the years. And he almost manages to do it without thinking about love or loss.

Almost. That first moment when he presses inside her, when they're pressed together, skin to skin, their lips touching in the lightest of kisses, he thinks that this could be it. That he could never touch another again and it would be just fine with him.

He allows it for a moment before shoving those thoughts to the back of his mind, concentrates on the act instead: finds the rhythm that makes her squeeze her eyes shut, her nails digging into his skin, figuring out the spots that make her squirm, pressing his fingers into the areas that make her scream.

He feels like he's auditioning. This is what I can give you. This is how I can make you feel. (He wants her to want more. He wants to be the best she's ever had.)

The hope was that she would be so tired out, she would fall asleep before the panic sets in. Wishful thinking.

He lies calmly as she jumps up, frantic.

"Y/N," he says; cool, calm, casual.

She looks back at him, standing on shaky legs, holding her shirt in front of her like a shield.

He doesn't get up, doesn't change positions, remains lying in his bed, lazily watching her. "If you want to go back to your hotel, I won't stop you. But don't think you have to. We just had some amazing sex, I'd like to have more. If you want that too, come back to bed."

He's not entirely sure it will work. Y/N has always fought hard against this thing between them.

She must see something in his expression that relaxes her, because without a word she drops her shirt and climbs back into bed. When she lays back down she turns towards him, hesitant. "…do we… cuddle?"

He chuckles. "I'm not opposed to it. You're naked, I'm naked, what's not to like?"

She giggles, pressing herself close to him and falling asleep.

Later in the night they wake up for lazy, slow sex, and he concentrates less, goes with the flow, and it's still amazing. In the morning he makes her breakfast before propping her up on his counter and sinking inside of her for what may be the last time.

"I'll see you when you're back in town," he says as she leaves, just like always.

She smiles, kisses his cheek. "See you then."

She doesn't tell anyone.

For most people that wouldn't be too much of a surprise, but Y/N has tried not to keep anything from her family since some big fight they all had. Hell, Y/N had a one night stand while on vacation from uni and her mother was the first person she called in a panic after it happened.

But things are always different with Van. He has always been her secret to keep. It seems that hasn't changed.

Not that her mother doesn't know that they visit with each other sometimes. According to their family and friends, Y/N and Van McCann have crossed that line from awkward exes to friends. Her mother has finally let go of any flame of suspicion she had and Y/N doesn't want to ignite it again.

The next time Y/N sees him, she's scared: scared that everything will change, that things will suddenly be awkward. She's scared that he'll want something she can't give (what a change that would be), that he'll only want sex from her… that he won't want it again. (Because she does want to – that she knows. The things he did to her, the way he made her feel… She never thought it could be like that.)

Her job has her in London a few times a year. Trying to avoid him on his turf would be easy but she doesn't want to. With or without sex, beginning their friendship again has been a very bright part of her life.

It turns out she doesn't have to worry.

The next time she's in London she can't see Van until late. When she calls, he asks her to meet him at the recording studio and she arrives at the end of an open house. Having missed her last time she was in town, the band are excited to see her, and she quickly finds herself at a pub, her suitcase stashed under a table.

It's easy with them, always has been. They tell her stories about the pain-in-the-ass PR they have to deal with, making jabs at Van throughout. She tells them stories about the people she meets: some of them nice, but mostly embarrassing stories. Van stretches his arm behind her chair, casual, easy, and she tries to stop herself from over-analyzing his actions.

Once the awkwardness of their friendship had lifted he'd always been comfortable around her.

She wonders if the sex will only add another level of comfort.

They end up out later than she initially planned and she curses herself for not booking her hotel in advance for once.

"Just come back to my place; we can walk, save some money."

Y/N stops. She wonders if maybe she's missed something, if she should have analyzed his actions more. She's petrified of hurting him again.

Van smirks. "Don't overthink it, love."

And it can't possibly be that simple. Not with them, not with anyone.

But he's standing there with that crooked smile on his face, one that promises mischief and pleasure if only she would follow him. When they were seventeen she was too afraid to allow him to make good on his promises. Months ago he delivered; she decides that there's no way she'll miss out on it again.

She rides him hard that night, admiring the way his muscles strain, the face he makes as he comes. Y/N runs her hands along his lean chest, digging her fingers into his skin.

When they were young, before it all went downhill, he never pushed her, only ever gave when she allowed it. She'd touched him once but felt too strange, nervous that someone would walk in. He'd only sighed that day, pulling her hand away from him, kissing her softly.

It would be a lie to say that she never regrets it. Next time, she tells herself; next time she'll enjoy him fully and slowly.

They don't fall asleep as quickly this time, both still wired from their day. They talk about the articles they've been reading, albums they've bought. She shares some of her best friend's recommendations and promises to bring her Tame Impala records the next time they see each other.

She rolls over when it's time to sleep and smiles as he pulls her up against his chest. She's missed sleeping with someone, skin-to-skin, snuggled up against warm, strong arms. Don't get used to it. You don't know what this is. You can't keep it.

She sleeps in the next day and it's closer to the afternoon when she wakes up. Coffee is waiting for her, pancakes waiting in the microwave. Van is sitting at his laptop, a serious expression on his face as he types.

He gives her distracted answers when she asks about the new album, and she enjoys watching him completely captivated by his art as she eats.

"Van, I have to get going," she tells him an hour later. She laughs at his surprised expression when he finally looks up from his laptop for the first time that day.

"Sorry, I get…" He scratches his head and she loves seeing him flustered for the first time since high school. Even then it wasn't a regular occurrence.

She nods. "I understand. I can get the same way."

In fact, it's a breath of fresh air, seeing someone else become so distracted with their work.

She goes to him this time, knowing how much she would hate being separated from her laptop when she's on a roll.

"I'll see you when you're back in town." His customary goodbye - and she likes it, this lack of pressure.

Y/N leans down and gives him a soft kiss on the mouth which he returns. "See you then."

When Y/N returns to work it's with a light heart. She feels good. There is no boyfriend to worry about neglecting, to make her feel like her priorities are wrong. She and Van will occasionally text but generally work is work. If Y/N's attention isn't there it's with her mother.

Maybe, one day, she'll be ready for that kind of commitment again, but right now it's just a nuisance.

And she's content with it. They see each other again, and they go out to eat. He pays like he always has and the food is good. The sex is good. Not paying for a hotel is good. Being with him is always good.

Everything is good.

Until she's asked on a date. And she doesn't actually want to go. She would have said no either way.

But it gets her thinking.

***

Lucy Anderson comes to town and he's finally forced to consider some things he'd chosen to ignore.

While Van lived a generally solitary life, he still had friends who showed up occasionally. He'd actually met Lucy at a concert – a flight attendant with a wandering heart much like his own. She would come through occasionally, sometimes calling him, sometimes not. When she did she always stayed the night.

He knows Y/N – knows her better than anyone, knows her better than he did when he said it the first time if that's possible. He knows that there is a possibility she may be turning down others for his sake.

A part of him has no desire to sleep with anyone else either. He's happy, satisfied, and sees no reason for it. But this is meant to be about making life easier for Y/N, and he doesn't want to hold her back.

He turns Lucy down and wonders if he'll hear from her again. He won't be heartbroken if he doesn't, but he would be disappointed. Sex or no, she's an avid traveler; conversation with her is always stimulating.

The next time Y/N comes around it's for three days, longer than usual. She arrives at his apartment on his day off, bags in tow. "I didn't want to assume, but…"

He grins. "It's safe to assume."

She's still hesitant as she puts her stuff down. Fidgeting with the sleeves of her coat, she won't meet his eyes. He wonders who asked her out. He knows she didn't go and he fights between smug satisfaction and guilt.

"Van…" she begins, and he remains quiet, allowing her to say her piece. "I don't want a boyfriend right now."

He waits, sure there must be more, but she remains quiet, biting her lip. He contemplates biting it for her and putting off the conversation a little longer.

Instead he sighs, lets her off the hook. "I think that's smart. You're pretty busy; boyfriend would probably get in the way right now."

She's frustrated with his response but he can't give her the answers on this one. Whether she knows it or not, this is her show.

"So we're… what? Friends with benefits? I've done that before, Van; it didn't work out."

That's slightly surprising to hear. He'd wager whoever it was became a boyfriend not too long after. His money's on the Curly Haired Dick from Oxford and he goes with it. "So, in recent years, with the job you have right now, with someone in one specific state, who you can see when you want, you've tried before?"

She's back to fidgeting with the sleeves of her coat again, the ends fraying beneath her fingers. "…Well, no. It was at Oxford."

Curly Haired Dick it is. "Where you were living on the same campus, probably saw each other all the time, maybe even were dating each other's friends."

She blushes and he knows he got it in one.

"Y/N, I'm not saying this is perfect. I am saying the distance helps when it comes to a lot of the potential issues. You want to go on a date? Go on a date. You want to sleep with someone else? Do what you have to do." It hurts to say, but it still needs to be said.

It's clear that it distresses her too. Y/N's always had a jealous streak. "But… I don't always warn you when I come. What if you're… busy?"

He rolls his eyes. "You largely overestimate my social life. I got a lot of that out of my system a long time ago."

She's breaking and he smiles to himself as she walks away from her bag and finally takes her jacket off. "So… what? I'll be sleeping around while you wait patiently for me to visit?"

He snorts at the notion that she would sleep around. She could; she's beautiful, she has a job that would support such a lifestyle. But Y/N is a woman who likes having a boyfriend, a boyfriend that would simply be an annoyance for her at the moment. He's offering her the illusion. Happily. Willingly.

"Don't worry about what I'm doing. You do what you want. But I can promise you that whenever you come to town, as long as you want to, you can have my bed. Preferably with me in it."

They stand quietly, watching each other. In an instant a decision is made and she takes a step forward, kissing him hard on the mouth.

*

Y/N spends her three days with him and is the happiest she's been in years.

Between her own meetings she spends time at Van’s studio making phone calls, organizing albums, buying albums, and editing. Y/N and Van don't act any differently around his friends; Y/N wants to keep this thing between them. It's better that way. Uncomplicated.

She becomes comfortable though. After high school, before the sex began, she'd always been slightly hesitant around him, fearful of the chemistry between them. This physical connection, this raw sexual attraction that always seemed to vibrate throughout her body when she's with him, begging for the two of them to act. Then, after the sex began, before they discussed it, she was worried about giving him the wrong idea.

It's impossible not to touch him now.

She pauses a movie and climbs onto his lap. When they hit play again they're naked and under a throw he keeps on the couch.

She strokes his shoulder as she walks by him, grabs his hand. She comes home from work and kisses him sweetly on the lips before walking away to order takeout. Y/N plays with the boundaries of intimacy and romance, sure there must be rules. In three days, she finds none.

Returning to work is easy. It consumes every aspect of her life for months on end leaving no room for anything else. She misses Thanksgiving and Christmas at home and there still seems to be no end in sight to her work. It feels like forever before she finds herself in London again.

"Take me out," she tells him. "Pick somewhere nice, make a reservation. I want to dress up and go out."

She's daring in her exhaustion and need to be wined and dined.

"Things were a lot easier when the only thing you wanted was Philly cheese steak," he says, fixing the collar of his dress shirt, fitting his blazer to his chest. And, oh, he looks good. So, so good. She almost regrets her initial plans. Almost.

Smoothing down her dress, a little black number that hugs her curves in just the right places, she enjoys the freedom of dressing up for something other than work. She slides on her shoes before sauntering up to him and grabbing on to his blazer. "But it is nice sometimes – to dress up, go out, show off…"

He rolls his eyes.

"There's also something to be said about—" Y/N presses even closer, her lips next to his ear. "—anticipation…"

He narrows his eyes, smiles.

They go out for Mediterranean. It's a nice restaurant, her dress isn't out of place but she spies a few people in casualwear as well. It's perfect.

It's fun in a way she's never enjoyed with Van: drinks, appetizer, dinner, dessert, playful banter over the table, inappropriate touching with hands and feet underneath.

By the time the check comes she's imagining dragging him to a bathroom.

By the time they get to the car she can barely keep her hands off of him. She mouths at his ginger stubble, bites at his ear before forcing herself back in her seat while he starts the car. His hand strokes her thigh and he presses down on the gas when he discovers her lack of panties.

They barely make it into the apartment, throwing their jackets to the ground, high off the urgency and lust between them. He lifts her up and she wraps her legs tightly around his hips, the wall cool against her skin. She grabs at his shoulders, his arms, hastily pulling at the buttons on his shirt, kissing and licking at the skin she can reach. His hands move away from her for a moment and she doesn't register what he's doing until suddenly he's so close and he's pushing deep, deep, deep. As he moves inside her, Y/N wraps her arms tightly around his shoulders, her hand gripping his hair.

It's intense. It's always intense with Van. Exciting and maybe a little frightening but always bringing her back for more. When her feet are back on the ground and they separate, he holds her face in his hands and kisses her deeply. Later, they lie in bed and listen to their albums, occasionally quoting a fragment or discussing the artist.

It's probably the best date she's ever had.

(The next time she sees him he takes her to a punk concert and it's like the old days, except for all the ways that it's not. She dances against him, hot, sweaty, high off the music and his body against hers. They don't make it to the apartment. He takes her in his car, right there in the parking lot.)

***

He hears from her more often now: emails, texts and the occasional phone call. They talk about everything – books and music, her work, Catfish, family, his lyrics. He knows more about her life now than he ever has and it's nice. Very nice.

While still subtle around friends and family (no sex during holidays) when they're alone he may as well be her boyfriend. He's not surprised. It was the point. Y/N needs more than just sex; it's why she hadn't found someone else, why this has worked for so long.

They're practically in a relationship.

He hasn't touched another since they began.

He gave her a key not too long ago, along with a logical reason so she wouldn't overthink the gesture. "This way you can drop off your stuff if I'm at work, since you never seem to let me pick you up."

Which is true. Y/N still drops by fairly last-minute and never lets him pick her up. He's managed to drop her off a few times but only if he found a reason for the airport or train to be on his way.

She hasn't needed to use the key yet – mostly from lack of presence.

It's been seven months since the last time he saw her, the longest he can remember since they started. And he's okay. He's fine. This was always going to be part of the arrangement. The entire point is that he can handle it.

He can. He can handle it.

He'd just underestimated how hard it would be, to actually have her in his life, in his bed, to be with her, inside of her, and know that one day he'll likely have to let her go, let her go, let her go.

Nowadays, Van is a casual drinker, usually when he's with the guys. He's careful. He's always been a careful drinker except for when emotions were high and Van just wanted to drown everything out. There were no more drugs in his life besides the occasional joint passed around after parties with the band and whoever else has stuck around.

Cigarettes are usually his drug of choice. Sometimes when he's writing he'll go through two packs, forgetting to eat, drink, or sleep until he's done.

That night, he's weak. That night, he's lost in his head and he can't escape it. He doesn't want to leave the apartment and he can't seem to find the words to write. It's happened before, it'll happen again, because sometimes he's overwhelmed and there's just too much.

He grabs the bottle of whiskey left in his cabinet and he drinks and he smokes and tries to numb the feeling like he's that goddamn nineteen-year-old again begging the girl to run away with him.

"Van?"

It's the middle of the night when he wakes up to the sound of her voice. He blinks, rubs his eyes.

"Y/N?"

She takes off her jacket, strips down to her underwear and throws on one of his shirts before climbing in bed with him.

And Van must be dreaming, because what are the odds? For her to just appear, right when he's at his lowest. He doesn't know if this is a blessing or the universe's way of saying "fuck you!" because he can't turn her away. Not now. Not when he needs her this much.

She moves closer, worry etched in her expression before she calls his name again, softer this time.

What are the odds? That the woman he'd searched for so many times when he was young (you aren't eighteen any more), going through inadequate replacement after replacement, would be here now?

He takes her entirely by surprise when he grabs her shoulders and shoves her down, climbing on top of her. She goes to kiss his lips and he gives her his cheek instead, mindful of his breath. (Cigarettes and booze, how can you put this on her?)

He touches her under his shirt, bunching it up above her breasts, drinking her in, drunk off her body, before thrusting hard and fast and deep. Her hands are stroking his shoulders, his hair, and he can't help but whisper, "Y/N, Y/N," because for all the times he's done this, lost himself in the body of another when he needed to forget, this is the first time it's her.

They finish together, something which shocks him because he hadn't been thinking too much of pleasure, hers or his, just necessary release. Van doesn't climb off her right away, instead he holds her close, his face hidden in her neck as he feels himself softening inside of her.

"Are you okay?" she asks, stroking his back under his shirt.

He nods. "I'm sorry… Sometimes I—"

"No, no, I came out of the blue. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing."

He rolls off her, running his hand through his hair. He needs a glass of water, needs to take off his sweaty shirt. He needs sleep.

Van turns his head and Y/N is staring at him with concerned eyes.

He smiles. "I'm glad you came."

That night, after they both strip and find water, he holds her tightly, tighter than he's probably ever let himself before, and hopes she doesn't notice. (He knows she does.)

In the morning she wakes him early, mouth hot and wet around him. He returns the favor, hoping it serves as an adequate apology for falling apart inside her the night before.

They're on their way to the shower when she tells him that she has to leave soon – "this trip wasn't exactly planned" – and he can't believe what a fucking mess he was, wasting the time they had.

He tries to make the apology in the shower extra special. From the sounds she makes he thinks he accomplishes it.

Y/N lets him drive her to the train that day and he's surprised to find that she's heading back to Washington so soon and not some other random state or country. He's parked in front and when he looks towards her she's nervous. He waits.

"So… you know how I have that contact here? Of course you do, it's why I'm usually here. Well, he… moved. To New York, actually, which is funny, because he was always saying how he was going to but he never did but now… well. he… did. So, well, the thing is… I probably won't be around as often any more, Van."

That explained her absence the last few months. He inhales deeply, wishing for a cigarette. "Well, I'll see you when I can."

She nods. And it's awkward. It feels like a break up. As if they hadn't had enough of those. What was he thinking? She hesitates for a moment.

"Are you going to be okay?"

And there it is.

He smiles. "I'm a songwriter, love. A night of booze, sex, and general over-dramatics comes with the territory."

***

Y/N starts to think about fate when the plane sending her back to NY from Paris takes her to London in preparation for the blizzard that's practically upon them. Because what are the odds that her job sent her by plane instead of having her drive or take the train? What are the odds that the plane would take its chances because it's such a short flight? What are the odds that they would land in London? (Where she so desperately wants to be.)

She whips out her phone along with her fellow passengers and calls Van.

"I'm sorry, this is so last minute, but the plane made an emergency landing in London, and I know there's a blizzard outside, and I promise I can find a hotel—"

"Y/N, shut up. I'll be there soon."

Of course he would. The Van she knows now has never disappointed her.

She doesn't have to wait outside for too long, but while she's waiting she considers the last time she was here, not too long ago: when Van had fallen apart, truly and completely, in front of her for the first time in their shared history; when she had taken a completely spontaneous trip to see him, reminiscent of Llandudno, years ago. Timing, fate, that she should appear when he needed her most.

The trip to his apartment takes a little longer than normal but Van is confident. "I've had to drive in worse conditions with a much crappier car."

By the time they arrive the storm is really picking up. Van goes to get dinner ready before any kind of power outage may occur and Y/N checks his bathroom cabinets, thankful to find the sanitary napkins she left there last time her period surprised her.

Next Y/N goes looking for candles in case the lights go out, pulling out some blankets as well, a plan forming in her mind. "Maybe after you're done we can turn off all the lights, light up some candles, open the blinds and watch the snow."

He smirks at her, stirring the sauce in front of him. She's excited; Van is a great cook. His tomato sauce is the best she's ever had next to her mum’s.

"Did your dad teach you how to cook?" she asks, walking to the counter to make some coffee. It's something she's wondered since the first time he cooked for her.

He pauses for a moment. Van never gives anything of himself lightly anymore. "Yeah, a lot of it came from working at the B&B. There were also a few nights when I actually stayed in and Larry would also show me a thing or two."

Y/N tries to imagine it and fails. Back then it seemed like Van didn't show an interest in much of anything. She can't imagine him standing and letting Larry teach him how to cook.

"There sounds like there's more to that story…" she prompts.

He laughs, scooping out some of the sauce and tasting it, letting her do the same. She never has much of an opinion, her knowledge of the kitchen still limited, but he always seems to know what it needs.

"There was this lady next door to us, Mrs. Rossi. When I was about seven or eight she would watch me sometimes when Mary was doing whatever Mary would do. She was probably the closest I had to the stereotypical Italian grandma."

"We moved away when I was nine. I'm not entirely sure whatever happened to her… But the cooking came in handy." He starts moving around, straining the penne, grabbing plates. She pours herself a cup of coffee. "The snow seems to be really picking up out there, it's getting dark… I'm all for your plan if we can be naked."

She blushes, still uncomfortable discussing this no matter how comfortable he's made it clear he is. "How about we keep the underwear tonight?"

He nods, understanding. He tried to convince her once that sex during her period wasn't a problem for him but she assured him that she was grossed out enough for the both of them.

They light the candles and set up the apartment before stripping down to their underwear and cuddling under his blankets with their dishes.

"So, why did you say the cooking came in handy? Do you mean at the bed and breakfast?"

He groans. "What's with all the questions tonight?"

"We're going to be snowed in! Who knows how long for… We've known each other for so long at this point and there's still so much we don't know about each other."

He watches her, narrowing his eyes and taking a bite. "Alright. Mary wasn't exactly chef of the year. But using the money we had for groceries and cooking turned out to be cheaper than going out every night."

They eat slowly, her food cold by the time she's finished while they talk. They trade stories about their mothers' attempts at cooking; most of Mary's most famous cooking adventures are from recent years. Van tells one or two from before, casually dropping little anecdotes.

Y/N has plenty of questions after that, and Van answers each one of her questions with a kind of lazy, uninterested tone.

They're facing the window, watching the storm pass by. She's leaning against his chest while he sits against the couch. She sips at her coffee, faintly wishing they'd been able to stop for wine. Granted, Van doesn't seem to need alcohol to loosen his lips at the moment (and after the last time, his breath stinking of whiskey, she's not sure if she wants that right now.)

Her chest feels heavy.

"Alright, the obvious question… how old were you when you lost your virginity?" she asks, and for a brief, horrifying moment she thinks of the casual way he talks of his emotional abuse and wonders if maybe this is a question she shouldn't have asked.

When he laughs in response she relaxes. "Now we're talking. I was fourteen."

"Oh. Older than I thought actually."

"Huh. Wasn't my first sexual experience, but the actual intercourse… fourteen. You?"

"Nineteen," she responds, dreading the questions that are coming. Van already knew that she and the boyfriend before him had given it a second try, but she'd never actually gone into the gritty details. She still hates talking about it.

He nods, "Right. Since we're all so curious tonight, I assumed it was either Jacob or that Curly Haired guy. But I know Jacob was married around the time of Larry’s wedding…"

"Ugh. He was. He was married when we had sex. It was so bad. I didn't even know it was happening until he was pulling out the condom and then it just kind of happened… I was scared, it hurt, I was so horrible to everyone after that…"

He strokes her belly, soothing her cramps, and she's surprised at how comfortable this conversation, this situation is. She tells him the rest of the story: running off to America, how angry she was with her mother for guilt-tripping her, the guilt she tried not to allow herself to feel at the image of Jacob’s wife trying to make her husband happy – then what came later, when the guilt consumed her and she tried again with Jacob because it felt like she had to after all the strife she had caused.

"Wow. Maybe you should have run away with me."

She's shocked for a moment because they'd actually discussed this before, years ago when he told her what a mistake that would have been. How broke he was, what a bad place they both had been in, what a disaster it would have been. And he's saying that would have been better? Wait a minute.

"Hey!" She turns around to smack him when she sees that he's clearly trying to hold in laughter.

For a little while they forget about questions, wrestling and tickling, rolling around the floor. This quickly becomes a make-out session that could rival the ones when they were teenagers

When they pull away from each other to finally breathe he's lying with his back on the floor and she rests her cheek against his chest. She huffs, smiling, "How are you so good at that?"

"Good at what?" he responds sleepily.

It's getting late. The blizzard is still raging and she considers suggesting they move to his bedroom. But it's nice here in their little cocoon, and Van is always so warm…

"The kissing. You've always been such a good kisser. And the sex…"

"Always been good at that too. Practice makes perfect," he replies nonchalantly, and if she wasn't so tired she'd probably hit him again.

"We met when you were seventeen, how much practice could you possibly have—"

"Nope." He's lazily stroking her back as he continues to talk softly. "Definitely not having that conversation."

And it's strange, the way the mind works. She knows the conversation that he thinks will follow. It's one about sexual history and how many partners he's had, but Y/N doesn't really care about that all that much. No, instead her mind goes somewhere else.

"Van?"

And he grunts in response, his eyes closed, but she knows he's listening.

"In the bedroom… at Larry’s party…"

She feels him tense before he's opening his eyes and looking at her. He licks his lips and for a strange moment she wants to kiss him and forget that she'd even brought it up. Somehow, when she thinks about the party years later, that night seems so much more profound than it had at the time.

She cuts him off before he can start. "I know we already spoke about it. Bad timing, you were emotional, and—"

"I wanted to make you feel good. It seemed like all I was doing was hurting you, disappointing you. I didn't want to, but I didn't know how to stop. I mean it when I say sex is always something I've been good at. Until I started to write songs, it seemed like the only thing I was good at. It was the only thing I could think of. The only thing I could offer you."

He looks ready to apologize again but she's tired of apologies from their broken relationship of ten years ago. This time she does kiss him and he returns it as passionately as always.

"I thought it was going to be you. Prom night, or at some point before I left for America. I'd even spoken to my mum about it." She doesn't know what makes her blurt it out, but it seems important to say.

He doesn't seem all that surprised. Just sleepily shrugs. "Figures. Probably better we didn't though. I was leaving no matter what… wouldn't have been fair to you."

She nods and rests her head on his chest, smiling. "You probably would have ruined me for other men."

She's met with silence. Y/N tries not to think too much about what she just said, or may have admitted.

They fall asleep not too long after. The electricity never actually goes out even though the snow continues well into the next day. They sleep, eat, listen to music, and she's delighted to find that Van volunteers more information about his past over this visit than he ever has before. How had they gone all these years without knowing so many things about each other?

The next day, Van offers to drive her to Cheshire so she doesn't have to worry about public transportation after the storm. The roads are generally clear and it's just a two hour drive (just two hours, that's hardly anything) so she agrees.

On the ride there, he tells her about his new album. "Just a few edits and it should be done."

She laments the fact that she won't have time to help with the edits but he promises to email her a copy she can read if she really wanted it before its recording.

It's simple, easy. Just like it's been for years.

When she gets home, she considers the whole trip, the trip that wasn't even supposed to happen. And for the first time, she really thinks about Van and the arrangement they have.

"I wanted to make you feel good," he'd said. Sex was "the only thing I could offer you."

Did he still feel that way? For the past three years he'd given, unselfishly. Whenever she wanted she could drop into his life and he would be whoever she wanted him to be: the friend, the boyfriend, the lover.

Y/N looks around her empty studio apartment. She misses him already.

She takes a deep breath but the heaviness in her chest doesn't go away.

**

They remain in touch. After the third time a conversation becomes phone sex, it's clear that Van isn't the only one having trouble letting go. (They both end up in Cheshire during Christmas and he sneaks into her room at night, breaking their holiday rule.)

It isn't only him that's seeing it either. After almost four years of this arrangement, the people in Van's life are finally catching on.

Bernie drops by one weekend. He tries to be casual but Bernie isn't ever the kind to open up, so when he starts telling Van about his ex-girlfriend before Mary, it's clear that Bernie has an inkling of what's going on.

And Van gets it. He understands how it must look. He even appreciates the concern. But as similar as they may be, Van is not his father. Hell, if Van had been Bernie, he probably would have left with the ex-girlfriend. Either way, Van isn't waiting. If he had any real desire to be with anyone else, he would be. And when Y/N finally moves on (because she will, she always does), he'll continue to live his life.

When she calls him and invites him out in London with her for the first time he doesn't overthink or hope.

"There's a party I need to go to, a work thing really, and I was thinking maybe you'd like to come? You don't have to, I know parties aren't really your thing, but I need a date and I haven't seen you in a while so I thought it might be nice."

She's breaking their long-established holding pattern. He can hear the nervousness in her voice. He's nervous too.

So he gets the girl in the apartment downstairs to trim his hair, grabs some of his work, packs his one suit, tells the guys that he'll be back in a few days, and ignores the looks the bandmates give him.

Van has never actually been to Y/N's apartment — never been to visit her anywhere other than the childhood home in Cheshire or his apartment in London. He's meant to be separate from this life; that's the point.

He barely has enough time to walk through the door before she's jumping him, lips on his, hands grabbing at the fly of his pants, pulling it down while dragging him to bed. It's quick and it's good because it's always good and, shit, it doesn't make it any easier when she's fucking addicting.

"Hi," she says, rolling over.

"You always give the best greetings," he replies, adjusting his pants and sitting up. He looks around the apartment for the first time. It's a studio, a nice one — nicer than any he's ever lived in. It's also fairly barren. "You just move in?"

She blushes. "Actually, this is my fourth apartment since I moved here. I started off bigger but it seemed silly since I barely lived in them, so they just kept getting smaller. Made more sense to keep most of my stuff at Mum's a few miles away."

He nods. Whenever he thought about Y/N's apartment he'd come up blank. Their roles are reversed now; Van is the stable one living in one place, Y/N the nomad traveling the world. A furnished apartment just doesn't suit her lifestyle.

It's already fairly late so they get takeout and find a movie on TV, eating, watching and laughing on Y/N's bed. She touches him often, pets his hair, scratches at his stubble, kisses any area she touches. He imagines this happening more often, happening every night.

It's strange, sleeping in a different bed, different from his apartment or the one he sleeps in at Cheshire. "Been a while since I've slept in a bed that wasn't mine," he says when they lay down to sleep.

There's an awkward silence. "So you bring all the other ladies home with you? I hope you wash your sheets before you let me in them."

It's somehow a conversation they've avoided since this whole arrangement started. He knows from the few holidays they've gone to at the same time that Y/N has dated off and on — "nothing serious," she'd always say, avoiding his eyes every time.

"Nah, I save the good sheets for you."

"Ugh, you only have like one pair."

He kisses her head. "I know."

Y/N wakes him early, takes him for a quick coffee and pastry, and tries to make him play tourist. When he finds a bench for the third time to read, she finally gives up. She takes him to a museum instead where they get lost for hours until they need to rush home.

They need to navigate around each other as they get ready but they're experts at it at this point. Usually, he can guess at what she's thinking, but the smiles she shoots him as they get ready leave him unsure. He ignores any uneasiness and enjoys the attention instead, grabbing gel for the first time in a while; he'd generally given up on his hair after high school.

"I love how well you clean up," she says, taking his tie out of his hand to do it for him.

"Can't have them thinking I'm your kept man." He rubs his jaw, smirking. "Although that would be fun."

"Don't get any ideas, mister. This is a good chance for you to network."

He probably should have taken that comment more seriously. From the moment they arrive at the venue she's introducing him — "This is my friend, Van McCann, he's a songwriter and lead singer for Catfish and the Bottlemen. He and his bandmates are working on their next album."

These moments are usually followed by questions — has he written anything they would have heard, tell them more about Catfish. Van turns on the charm that's necessary when you're a business owner but in the end Y/N sells it best. She apparently even carries Catfish albums in her purse — some people already recognize the name of the band as well as his albums, some people he even recognizes. He makes a note to talk to the band about paying Y/N for promotions.

Y/N touches him frequently, wraps her hand around his arm. It's not his scene but he enjoys the looks he gets, enjoys feeling like she's showing him off, someone she could be proud to be seen with.

It takes about two hours for the atmosphere to become suffocating. Y/N is standing on the other side of the room, chatting with a group of high-profiles and reporters. He stands from their table, meeting her eyes and gesturing towards the back door with an unlit cigarette in his hand. She smiles back in understanding, her knowing eyes, bright as ever, sparkling back at him.

She's turned back to the group while he's still standing there like an idiot. Ten years since he met her and she's still the most stunning creature he's ever laid eyes on. He watches as she grips the attention of the little group. He watches everyone who passes her by, looks at her, and is distracted by her beauty and intelligence. He remembers telling Bernie years before he had no idea why Y/N had chosen him. He's come a long way since then — made a real life for himself, no longer the hooligan turned dropout with no future — but sometimes, at moments like these, he still thinks why me?

Outside is a balcony, overlooking a garden that's too dark to really see. Leaning against a railing, he lights up a cigarette, inhaling deeply and slowly relaxing, reaching for his phone.

People wander outside. Some of them beg him for a light, one or two beg a smoke. He behaves himself, showing pity and giving up his cigarettes to these people in this other part of Y/N's world. Some of them ask what he's reading or listening to, or if he's Y/N’s date. It's a strange title but he willingly accepts it. He makes conversation, telling them about the new album he's working on and is due to be released in a few weeks.

Van doesn't know how long he's been standing out there, smoking, conversing, when Y/N comes looking for him. "Time to go!" she says.

"I'm good if you need to stay," he replies, unsure of what the usual routine is, if the party is actually over or if she's leaving early for his sake.

She grins back and for the first time he gets the distinct feeling that he just passed a test.

"Nope. I got plenty of material; anything else is for the gossip rags. Also, I'm starving."

He laughs, not surprised. The food was good but hours ago, and definitely not enough to fill up Y/N.

She's shoveling food in her face when she asks about the new music he’s listening to, and they discuss it while they eat. Y/N used to say that he helped her thought process, and while he wouldn't admit it for a long time, she does the same for him. He'd already planned on dedicating this album to her; with her to bounce ideas off, the writing process was the smoothest it's ever been.

"Did you at least enjoy yourself a little bit?" she asks, biting her lip.

He shrugs. "It wasn't as bad as I was expecting. Although I think we're going to need to start paying you for promoting us. You're better than the websites."

She grins wide before taking a bite of her burger. He thinks again about tests. He thinks about being actively in Y/N's world, about going to events with her, being Y/N’s date.

He likes the sound of it. Sitting outside at a fast food restaurant’s picnic table, dressed in formal wear, Van thinks about where they started — not the beginning (the beginning was over and done with) but the beginning of this thing between them.

For the first time, he considers the idea that maybe this is more than just the start of something that would eventually end.

***

She doesn't see Van again until his album release party a few weeks later. It's a big event meant to make up for the ones they didn't have for the others. She makes a point to take a few days off, desperately wanting to help, to be a part of this — to be a bigger part of his life.

And, oh, she misses him — more and more with each separation that comes. She misses his hands and his smile, his voice.

When she first enters the studio late morning they're setting things up, Van lifting his head and smiling at her. She feels something deep in her chest, heavy, and she pulls him into a different room, kisses him deeply, loving the feel of his mouth and his tongue and, oh, how she missed him.

Benji tries to tell her they don't need help, but Van and Larry are quick to put her to work, arranging things and answering the phone. They could afford to have people come in and do this for them but Van is stubborn and something of his self-sufficiency has rubbed off on the other two.

Mary and Bernie arrive not too long before the party is meant to begin, Bernie glowing with pride as he always seems to these days. He helps with the food, and Mary informs them that one of their old friends offered to cater their next party.

Y/N's gotten used to working crowds and she does her best: sharing information about Catfish, how well they're doing, who to contact if they want to be featured somewhere. She tells people about Van, his success, his talent, going on and on about this wonderful man who brings so much to her life. It doesn't occur to her how transparent she's being until her mother pulls her aside, asking if there's something Y/N should tell her.

Y/N doesn't tell her yet, but she will soon. This is the longest she's ever kept a secret from her mum and although she knows her mother will be hurt she doesn't regret it. This thing she and Van have been doing has been uncomplicated, smooth, comfortable — all of that would have changed if she'd had to argue with her mum the entire time.

The party continues on and Y/N finds that unlike the first events she'd attended she isn't surrounded by strangers. She tries not to laugh at the surprise on her mum's face as Y/N introduces her to people, friends of Bondy and Bob, a few she and Van ran into at concerts and other record stores.

"I didn't know you came here so often," her mum says, when it's just her, Y/N, and Larry after a group has left them.

"Oh, Y/N isn't here as much as we'd like but after — what, five years? — we've all fallen madly in love with her." Larry laughs, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. Her mum continues to be visibly surprised as Larry tells tales of Y/N's visits. "Y/N here has a way of getting Van to leave his apartment."

A group surrounds them and Y/N is thrilled to see more people she recognizes. She's thankful to see Van surrounded by people who care about him and who want him to succeed.

At some point Benji comes over saying, "Hey, Y/N, I think he's hitting his limit." And Y/N nods, leaving as Bernie joins the group.

Van is talking to a very enthusiastic older couple, hand tightening on his beer. He smiles gratefully at Y/N when she joins them, wrapping his arm around her shoulder tighter than Larry had, introducing her proudly. And that's where she stays for most of the night, stroking his back and rambling when she needs to.

"I hate when all the attention is on me. I can't disappear for a smoke," he murmurs to her at some point and she wonders how she ever thought he was sociable.

No, she knows how — he fakes it well. He fakes it better than he used to. Or, rather, his temper doesn't flare like it used to. She knows he loves this place, that he knows being sociable comes with the job and he considers it worth it. It makes her think of the party she brought him to, how well he did, even after he left for air.

"I'm here," she says, and if they'd been anywhere else she would have kissed him.

"Just as good as a cigarette," he replies, stroking her arm.

She receives three job offers and one person claiming to have a contact somewhere big, at a large London PR firm. "The studio keeps all your articles and PR on hand and I've read them all. Please consider calling," she hears, and she narrows her eyes at Van as he looks on innocently.

To her surprise, she's already considering it.

It's late when the party finishes; late enough that her mother doesn't have time to question her before she, and Mary and Bernie return to their hotel (although she does raise an eyebrow when Y/N tells her she won't be staying at the hotel with them.) Y/N dreads the conversation that will ensue when they all meet up the next day.

She's sitting in bed with her phone while Van potters around the apartment, getting ready to join her. There's something very domestic about their situation, but it's nothing new. The toiletries were waiting for her when she arrived, as well as some jewelry and makeup she's left behind. Her sleep shirt is also here; it seemed ridiculous to take it since she always ended up back here.

Really, she's all over this apartment of his. How could she have missed that all these years?

Y/N has been around the world. She's met all different kinds of men, felt different kinds of attraction and infatuation. She's been on many first dates, but rarely a second. She's shared kisses but never gone back for more. And none of them ever saw her apartment.

Instead, she always finds herself back in London, with Van McCann.

He's wearing his boxers when he climbs in with her, taking the book she hands him.

The feeling in her chest grows heavier as she watches him read, pen in his hand. It took some time but she finally finds the source of the heaviness in her chest. Words. They're words weighing her down.

She doesn't know how long they've been pressing on her. Maybe they've been there since high school, waiting for it to be time. For years she hasn't allowed herself to speak them, afraid of what would happen. She loves her freedom and has feared losing it, but Van has shown her that she can have him and still be free. When she's with Van, she has a different kind of freedom.

"Van?" She looks at him, reaching over and pushing his book down to the bed. He lets it go easily, giving her all his attention instead. "I love you."

There's freedom in saying the words. There's no fear, no regret, because she knows with absolute certainty that he loves her just as much in return.

They reach for each other and he strips her of her nightshirt, drags his mouth down her body.

They make love and she doesn't fear the intensity, she embraces it. She's not the only one who's been keeping their words chained up deep in their chest. He sets them free with whispers against her skin. "I love you. I've always loved you. Only you."

After, as she waits for sleep, her head resting against his chest, she thinks about tomorrow and the talk they'll have.

Tomorrow, maybe they'll decide nothing has to change — that they've been with each other for years now, that they've been in a relationship in every way but name. They know they can navigate it, they know their relationship can survive the distance.

Maybe she'll decide that she's done with her New York job and that she wants to try something new, that she loves the life she's made with him in London. He'll offer to find a new apartment, a bigger one, and she'll smile and shake her head, because she loves the one they have.

Maybe he'll offer to come with her to Paris. Van is confident he can write or record anywhere and he'll always have Catfish. They'll find a new apartment and he'll write, creating his own niche in the nation's capital with her.

Maybe they'll both change cities, go somewhere far. He'll transfer studios while she goes to write reviews for the New York Times like she always dreamed. He'll show her his favorite places from the time he wrote the second album, and they'll discover new ones together, making the city their own.

Maybe they'll both take a long vacation and go on a road trip, better than the first one he took when he was young and angry and alone. They'll drive from country to country, state to state, city to city, stay in hotels, see the sights and maybe this time she'll be the one writing her first song.

Tomorrow, she'll tell the family. Tomorrow, they'll no longer be each other's secret. Tomorrow will be the start of something new.