and all I loved, I loved alone

You’re used to the northern chill, how you could see your breath with each exhale, and how frost clings to your lashes. It’s a comforting cold that is so familiar to you that the freezing cold is etched into your bones. The cold in the Stormlands is vastly different, the kind of cold that sends your marrows into a dull ache, skin tugging with every deep inhale of petrichor that always hangs in the air. And the sound, the battering thuds of rainfall upon the stones of the great keep amidst the echoing splashes from the wild waves just outside. Whereas the sounds in the north are muffled by the snow, a mere whisper around the ancient soil.

Despite the fireplace of a man sleeping beside you, homesickness rushes through you like the lightning flashing just outside the chamber walls. You could see the flash of light just beyond the rattling windows, and you grip at your lord husband beside you, completely unbothered and used to all the noise.

Your cheek presses along his bare bicep to find the reprieve you’re looking for. You could smell the ink and parchment on his relaxed palms beside your head as his ring finger twitches in his sleep. Lyonel’s expression is soft and peaceful as he lays asleep beside you, absolutely exhausted from his duties as the new lord of Storm’s End, and his duties as your husband. His dangling earring is squished in between his cheek and the goosefeather pillow, and his lips are agape as he lets out an exhale that flutters your lashes.

You’d cuddle closer but you don’t want to stir him awake. As another thunder rolls and shakes the walls, you flinch, inhaling the lavender atop his skin to calm yourself. There were storms in Winterfell, but never to this degree. To think you would be used to it but the feeling of the ache of seeking your home doesn’t give you enough reprieve to fully feel at home in your husband’s land. Even when you really want to. You’re lady Baratheon now, and you must comport yourself and feel the rain upon your skin, but alas, you wish it would be snow instead.

“You look exceptionally pretty when you’re wallowing.” Lyonel’s voice cuts through the sound of the crackling braziers and the thunder clap outside. The lightning illuminates his features, the dark circles under his eyes, and the way his lips tug into a softened smile that is reserved only for you, you’d think that you did not just stir him awake from your clinging.

“Lyonel.” You sigh his name, smiling apologetically as you instinctively pull away, and yet he pulls you back by your nape gently, before rubbing at the crease in between your brows. “Did I wake you?”

“I felt a disturbance within my lady wife that made me so upset that it woke me up from my slumber.” Pulling you impossibly closer, he brings his lips to the crown of your head for a kiss, sniffing the scent of lavender in your hair. “That and the bloody storm is trying to reclaim our keep once again. Why are you awake, hm? Thought I exhausted you.”

You let out a chuckle, a thumb rubbing along the corner of his eye to rid of the crust clinging there. “I was for a moment, but I dreamt of home again.”

“Tell me, my she wolf.” Holding you close, he wraps his arms around you whilst pressing gentle pecks along your face until he could feel your shoulders ease.

“I dreamt of the snow beneath my feet, and the sound of direwolves howling in the distance.”

“Was I there to sweeten the dream even more?”

Chortling, you kiss his jaw with a smile. “You were, and you were completely freezing.”

“Sounds about right.” You could feel his smile on your cheek.

“I also dreamt of a fawn running around in the godswood. I think it’s quite telling.” His smile grows atop your skin. “Don’t you think?”

“I may not be a maester or a practitioner of magic but I think you are right.” Leaning away to look into your eyes lovingly, Lyonel shares a gentle smile with you, no matter how tired he is. “I suddenly had a profound thought.” His palm cups your cheek lovingly, thumb running over your skin affectionately.

“Tell me.” You whisper, a leg hooking over his waist and squeezing him to his delight.

“It’s high time we come visit your home. Perhaps the cold would be better for your disposition, the maester did recommend for you to not stress yourself too much. This old keep is not helping with that.”

“This keep is my home now too.”

“I know, but…” his rough knuckles instinctively brushes along your stomach that still doesn’t show the growing life within it, too early to show the signs. “It might be better for the babe to be born where his mother feels safer. I could manage my duties there through ravens, it would not be a burden to me. And it would make me feel at ease with you feeling comfortable there.”

“I feel safe here, Lyonel. It’s just that…I miss home, that’s all.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re far too kind for your own good?” His eyes narrow teasingly, before nuzzling his beard on the crook of your neck that sends you into a giggle.

“I’m a northerner, my love,” your laughter echoes around the chamber, quieting down the loudness of the thunder outside. Your fingers are in the curls of his hair, softly tugging as he kisses every space on your neck. “the ice just hides underneath all the softened snow.”

Head pulling away, cheeks reddened with a pink hue, Lyonel Baratheon, who once unseated the grey lion within fifteen lances, looks upon you with such love that it’s enough to part the grey clouds outside to make way for sunshine. “To the North then?”

You nod without question. “To the North.”

—

It has been a full month since you both settled in the north. Lyonel is still getting used to the cold that bites at his Stormlander skin, and yet he exudes the aura of a northerner. He’s trying his best and trying to keep up with your kin, and he’s doing quite well, more than you thought he would.

And he was right, being home is helping, and the maester has said that it’s doing wonders to the growing babe in your stomach. You’re starting to show now, and your dear father has commissioned a dozen or so gowns just for the occasion, citing that when your mother was with child, she always complained that her dresses were getting smaller each day. So he had all her old gowns repaired and made to fit your growing form.

You feel utterly coddled, Lyonel barely leaves you alone, and when he does rarely go out without you, he’d be home before the sun could set. And his arms would always be ready to receive you.

It’s one of those days where he has no choice but to leave your side. Your father and brothers had asked him to go hunting with them, so with some displeasure, Lyonel left to go on a three day hunt with them. You suspect that it’s your father’s ploy to give you some time for yourself, which you are grateful for, if not for the hunt taking three whole days without your stag by your side.

By the second day, you’ve become antsy. You don’t stay too long in your chambers because the room smells like Lyonel, even the furs and pillows smell like him. You dare not get the sheets changed though when it’s the only thing keeping you sane. Instead of walking aimlessly around the keep, you go to the godswood to pray, and each day he’s gone, you stay longer and longer. Despite the biting chill that runs down your spine, you stay there, just staring up at the red leaves and watching the frost cling to it like silk.

It’s the day when he’s supposed to come home, and yet the hunting party is still nowhere to be seen. You would worry, but you know that your kin wouldn’t let anything happen to your husband lest they see the ice in your veins.

A soft bark comes from the archway, and you turn to face the source, finding the said husband cradling a rather large and fluffy puppy.

“My love.” Your expression brightens the moment you meet with Lyonel’s eyes. “You’re late.”

“My apologies, my doe.” He mirrors your smile, crossing the distance as the snow crunches underneath his boots. “It’s this little one’s fault.” Moving the cloak over the hound, the puppy sets his dark eyes on you, tail wagging as his fine white coat looks as soft as the snow falling atop your shoulders. “We met him on our way to the hunt, and he never left my side. You and him have the same type in Stormlanders I see.”

Chuckling, you pet his fur, and you now know that he is as soft as you think he was. The puppy huffs at your hand, giving it a little lick, and it seems that he’s as taken with you just like he is to your husband. “He’s beautiful, I assume you’d want to keep him?”

“Only if my wife says so.” Lyonel has the softened look of a man pleading his wife, all big eyes, complete with his lashes fluttering and with a pout unbefitting of a lord paramount. The drifting snowflakes upon his dark hair like dotted stars along the night sky helps his case. You would’ve said yes anyway, you can’t just say no to him whilst he’s holding the most adorable creature. “The babe will have a companion.” He adds, brows raised to help convince you even more.

“Taking care of a direwolf would be hard work, my love. But I’m sure we’ll manage.” You peck the tip of Lyonel’s cold nose, before looking at his befuddled expression. “My father didn’t tell you it’s a direwolf, didn’t he?”

“He said it was a regular hound!”

—

“Thunder, where are you?” You waddle around Winterfell, your long furry cloak draping right behind you as you search every nook and cranny of the ancient keep. “It’s supper time, my sweet!”

“You’re calling the dog for supper before your husband?” Lyonel appears from behind a stone column, hands on his hips, a brow raised and looking like a northman in the bundle of thick furs and velvet he has on. If not for the Baratheon sigil and the golden hues on his doublet, people would’ve mistaken him for a Northman. Until he speaks that is. “You’re cruel, my love. It never crossed your mind that I’d want supper too?”

You stifle a chuckle, a hand caressing your growing belly as he walks closer in his longer strides. “I just thought that you were already at the great hall.”

Humming, Lyonel’s hand rests at the small of your back, massaging the ache there. Whilst the other rubs at your belly lovingly, as if the babe inside needed comforting too. “I came here to fetch you. I would never have supper without my lady wife.”

“Is it not because you needed a shield against my gossiping aunts?” Palms atop his sturdy chest, you gently caress him there, before rising up to intertwine your fingers above his nape, all the while gazing into his eyes lovingly.

“That too.” Leaning in and nuzzling your nose, he goes in for a kiss, savouring your warmth. But before his lips could meet with yours, he feels a wet snout poke his leg, and a tug right at the hem of his trousers. Lyonel lets out a defeated sigh while you laugh, a mirthful chime that is music to his ears. “Gods, Thunder, you always appear when you are not needed.”

Thunder barks softly, big puppy dog eyes gazing up at the two of you whilst his tail wags atop the stone floor, brushing away the freshly dropped snowflakes.

“Oh, he’s always needed.” Bending down, with Lyonel’s hand still on the small of your back, you scratch under Thunder’s snout, right where he favours being petted. “Aren’t you, boy?”

Lyonel feigns a huff, but from his smile alone you could tell that he’s resisting the urge to pat the growing direwolf, who is now almost the same size as the adult hounds roaming around Winterfell.

“Oh, come here, don’t be jealous, my stag.” You coo, standing back up to scratch Lyonel right under his beard. He rolled his eyes for a second, before melting at your touch and how your nails scraped gently at his jaw. “Look at you, I could practically see you wagging your tail, my good boy.”

His half lidded eyes open immediately, as if you offended him. The corners of his lips curl into a mischievous grin, and you know that you will be late to supper even more.

“Lyonel—!”

You’re lifted up, his arm hooked underneath your legs, and the other cradling your back. Your squeal echoes around the snowcapped courtyard, and Thunder gallops around the two of you, wanting to play too.

“You call me a hound? Let me show you how a hound shows his love, hm?”

—

Lyonel cannot deny it any longer but after four months at Winterfell freezing his antlers off, he could not bear to stay any longer. It’s not as dreary when you are near and whenever the Northmen have a feast it’s a good kind of revelry, but he finds that the walls have eyes in the ancient keep. As if the ghosts of last Starks stalk the halls, haunting his every move. He can’t believe it but he wants to go back to Storm’s End with you.

When he enters the shared chambers all weary and dreadful from another awful night of nightmares, and all he wants is to hold you and have a nap with his arms around you— Lyonel did not expect to find his side of the bed occupied.

There, laying down beside you with his head upon your belly is a sleeping direwolf, his white fur making it look like there is fresh snow fallen atop of you. The dog has grown as large as a foal, with long legs and a maw that could separate a man from his arm. But beside you, Thunder looks like any hound that now prefers you over him.

“Thunder.” Sighing, Lyonel yanks his cloak off and throws it haphazardly on the foot of the bed. “Move.”

“He’s asleep.” You mumble, eyes still shut as your fingers rake through his fur. “Don't wake him.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” Arms gesturing around the occupied bed, Lyonel runs a hand through his curls. “He’s a direwolf, he does not belong on the bed.”

Chuckling, you already know what your husband looks like before you could open your eyes. Reaching for him, his hand immediately slides around your own. “Come, there is plenty of space for an afternoon nap.” You scooch back, making the direwolf roll over before situating himself beside you once again. Opening the covers for him, you invite your husband to your side.

There is space for Lyonel beside you, but he’ll surely fall from the bed if he so much move a limb out of place.

“My love…” He points at the measly space when Thunder has a whole Dorne sized space on the bed.

“If you can move him then you can retake your bed, but as you can see…” you pat your belly. “I could not.”

Sighing, his eyes narrow at the sleeping direwolf. Thunder cracks one eye open, as if sizing him up, teasing and testing him before going back to sleep.

“Fuck me.” Head tossed back, Lyonel admits defeat to the direwolf, slithering underneath the covers beside you with a huff.

Your arm immediately curls around his torso, and he feels his frustration ebb out of him. “See, we fit.”

Grumbling, Lyonel cuddles closer, head pressed on your temple as his arm slithers from underneath you. You expect for that to be the end of the little one sided civil war he has going on with Thunder, but instead of your husband falling asleep with you curled around him, Lyonel takes you in his arms and hauls you around and away from Thunder, pulling you atop him and then back to his other side carefully and effortlessly.

You didn’t have enough time to process what happened when he’s the one curling around you protectively this time around. “Lyonel.” Chuckling, you muffle your laughter atop your palm.

“Shh, you’ll wake him.” He says atop your skin, nuzzling your neck and holding you tenderly. “Dream of me, my love.”

Lyonel took the direwolf home to be your sworn protector when he isn’t near, and to be the babe’s guard when he is born, but for now he shall battle with Thunder for your attention. All the while avoiding the large pointy teeth he has.

You’re used to the northern chill, how you could see your breath with each exhale, and how frost clings to your lashes. It’s a comforting cold that is so familiar to you that the freezing cold is etched into your bones. The cold in the Stormlands is vastly different, the kind of cold that sends your marrows into a dull ache, skin tugging with every deep inhale of petrichor that always hangs in the air. And the sound, the battering thuds of rainfall upon the stones of the great keep amidst the echoing splashes from the wild waves just outside. Whereas the sounds in the north are muffled by the snow, a mere whisper around the ancient soil.

Despite the fireplace of a man sleeping beside you, homesickness rushes through you like the lightning flashing just outside the chamber walls. You could see the flash of light just beyond the rattling windows, and you grip at your lord husband beside you, completely unbothered and used to all the noise.

Your cheek presses along his bare bicep to find the reprieve you’re looking for. You could smell the ink and parchment on his relaxed palms beside your head as his ring finger twitches in his sleep. Lyonel’s expression is soft and peaceful as he lays asleep beside you, absolutely exhausted from his duties as the new lord of Storm’s End, and his duties as your husband. His dangling earring is squished in between his cheek and the goosefeather pillow, and his lips are agape as he lets out an exhale that flutters your lashes.

You’d cuddle closer but you don’t want to stir him awake. As another thunder rolls and shakes the walls, you flinch, inhaling the lavender atop his skin to calm yourself. There were storms in Winterfell, but never to this degree. To think you would be used to it but the feeling of the ache of seeking your home doesn’t give you enough reprieve to fully feel at home in your husband’s land. Even when you really want to. You’re lady Baratheon now, and you must comport yourself and feel the rain upon your skin, but alas, you wish it would be snow instead.

“You look exceptionally pretty when you’re wallowing.” Lyonel’s voice cuts through the sound of the crackling braziers and the thunder clap outside. The lightning illuminates his features, the dark circles under his eyes, and the way his lips tug into a softened smile that is reserved only for you, you’d think that you did not just stir him awake from your clinging.

“Lyonel.” You sigh his name, smiling apologetically as you instinctively pull away, and yet he pulls you back by your nape gently, before rubbing at the crease in between your brows. “Did I wake you?”

“I felt a disturbance within my lady wife that made me so upset that it woke me up from my slumber.” Pulling you impossibly closer, he brings his lips to the crown of your head for a kiss, sniffing the scent of lavender in your hair. “That and the bloody storm is trying to reclaim our keep once again. Why are you awake, hm? Thought I exhausted you.”

You let out a chuckle, a thumb rubbing along the corner of his eye to rid of the crust clinging there. “I was for a moment, but I dreamt of home again.”

“Tell me, my she wolf.” Holding you close, he wraps his arms around you whilst pressing gentle pecks along your face until he could feel your shoulders ease.

“I dreamt of the snow beneath my feet, and the sound of direwolves howling in the distance.”

“Was I there to sweeten the dream even more?”

Chortling, you kiss his jaw with a smile. “You were, and you were completely freezing.”

“Sounds about right.” You could feel his smile on your cheek.

“I also dreamt of a fawn running around in the godswood. I think it’s quite telling.” His smile grows atop your skin. “Don’t you think?”

“I may not be a maester or a practitioner of magic but I think you are right.” Leaning away to look into your eyes lovingly, Lyonel shares a gentle smile with you, no matter how tired he is. “I suddenly had a profound thought.” His palm cups your cheek lovingly, thumb running over your skin affectionately.

“Tell me.” You whisper, a leg hooking over his waist and squeezing him to his delight.

“It’s high time we come visit your home. Perhaps the cold would be better for your disposition, the maester did recommend for you to not stress yourself too much. This old keep is not helping with that.”

“This keep is my home now too.”

“I know, but…” his rough knuckles instinctively brushes along your stomach that still doesn’t show the growing life within it, too early to show the signs. “It might be better for the babe to be born where his mother feels safer. I could manage my duties there through ravens, it would not be a burden to me. And it would make me feel at ease with you feeling comfortable there.”

“I feel safe here, Lyonel. It’s just that…I miss home, that’s all.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re far too kind for your own good?” His eyes narrow teasingly, before nuzzling his beard on the crook of your neck that sends you into a giggle.

“I’m a northerner, my love,” your laughter echoes around the chamber, quieting down the loudness of the thunder outside. Your fingers are in the curls of his hair, softly tugging as he kisses every space on your neck. “the ice just hides underneath all the softened snow.”

Head pulling away, cheeks reddened with a pink hue, Lyonel Baratheon, who once unseated the grey lion within fifteen lances, looks upon you with such love that it’s enough to part the grey clouds outside to make way for sunshine. “To the North then?”

You nod without question. “To the North.”

—

It has been a full month since you both settled in the north. Lyonel is still getting used to the cold that bites at his Stormlander skin, and yet he exudes the aura of a northerner. He’s trying his best and trying to keep up with your kin, and he’s doing quite well, more than you thought he would.

And he was right, being home is helping, and the maester has said that it’s doing wonders to the growing babe in your stomach. You’re starting to show now, and your dear father has commissioned a dozen or so gowns just for the occasion, citing that when your mother was with child, she always complained that her dresses were getting smaller each day. So he had all her old gowns repaired and made to fit your growing form.

You feel utterly coddled, Lyonel barely leaves you alone, and when he does rarely go out without you, he’d be home before the sun could set. And his arms would always be ready to receive you.

It’s one of those days where he has no choice but to leave your side. Your father and brothers had asked him to go hunting with them, so with some displeasure, Lyonel left to go on a three day hunt with them. You suspect that it’s your father’s ploy to give you some time for yourself, which you are grateful for, if not for the hunt taking three whole days without your stag by your side.

By the second day, you’ve become antsy. You don’t stay too long in your chambers because the room smells like Lyonel, even the furs and pillows smell like him. You dare not get the sheets changed though when it’s the only thing keeping you sane. Instead of walking aimlessly around the keep, you go to the godswood to pray, and each day he’s gone, you stay longer and longer. Despite the biting chill that runs down your spine, you stay there, just staring up at the red leaves and watching the frost cling to it like silk.

It’s the day when he’s supposed to come home, and yet the hunting party is still nowhere to be seen. You would worry, but you know that your kin wouldn’t let anything happen to your husband lest they see the ice in your veins.

A soft bark comes from the archway, and you turn to face the source, finding the said husband cradling a rather large and fluffy puppy.

“My love.” Your expression brightens the moment you meet with Lyonel’s eyes. “You’re late.”

“My apologies, my doe.” He mirrors your smile, crossing the distance as the snow crunches underneath his boots. “It’s this little one’s fault.” Moving the cloak over the hound, the puppy sets his dark eyes on you, tail wagging as his fine white coat looks as soft as the snow falling atop your shoulders. “We met him on our way to the hunt, and he never left my side. You and him have the same type in Stormlanders I see.”

Chuckling, you pet his fur, and you now know that he is as soft as you think he was. The puppy huffs at your hand, giving it a little lick, and it seems that he’s as taken with you just like he is to your husband. “He’s beautiful, I assume you’d want to keep him?”

“Only if my wife says so.” Lyonel has the softened look of a man pleading his wife, all big eyes, complete with his lashes fluttering and with a pout unbefitting of a lord paramount. The drifting snowflakes upon his dark hair like dotted stars along the night sky helps his case. You would’ve said yes anyway, you can’t just say no to him whilst he’s holding the most adorable creature. “The babe will have a companion.” He adds, brows raised to help convince you even more.

“Taking care of a direwolf would be hard work, my love. But I’m sure we’ll manage.” You peck the tip of Lyonel’s cold nose, before looking at his befuddled expression. “My father didn’t tell you it’s a direwolf, didn’t he?”

“He said it was a regular hound!”

—

“Thunder, where are you?” You waddle around Winterfell, your long furry cloak draping right behind you as you search every nook and cranny of the ancient keep. “It’s supper time, my sweet!”

“You’re calling the dog for supper before your husband?” Lyonel appears from behind a stone column, hands on his hips, a brow raised and looking like a northman in the bundle of thick furs and velvet he has on. If not for the Baratheon sigil and the golden hues on his doublet, people would’ve mistaken him for a Northman. Until he speaks that is. “You’re cruel, my love. It never crossed your mind that I’d want supper too?”

You stifle a chuckle, a hand caressing your growing belly as he walks closer in his longer strides. “I just thought that you were already at the great hall.”

Humming, Lyonel’s hand rests at the small of your back, massaging the ache there. Whilst the other rubs at your belly lovingly, as if the babe inside needed comforting too. “I came here to fetch you. I would never have supper without my lady wife.”

“Is it not because you needed a shield against my gossiping aunts?” Palms atop his sturdy chest, you gently caress him there, before rising up to intertwine your fingers above his nape, all the while gazing into his eyes lovingly.

“That too.” Leaning in and nuzzling your nose, he goes in for a kiss, savouring your warmth. But before his lips could meet with yours, he feels a wet snout poke his leg, and a tug right at the hem of his trousers. Lyonel lets out a defeated sigh while you laugh, a mirthful chime that is music to his ears. “Gods, Thunder, you always appear when you are not needed.”

Thunder barks softly, big puppy dog eyes gazing up at the two of you whilst his tail wags atop the stone floor, brushing away the freshly dropped snowflakes.

“Oh, he’s always needed.” Bending down, with Lyonel’s hand still on the small of your back, you scratch under Thunder’s snout, right where he favours being petted. “Aren’t you, boy?”

Lyonel feigns a huff, but from his smile alone you could tell that he’s resisting the urge to pat the growing direwolf, who is now almost the same size as the adult hounds roaming around Winterfell.

“Oh, come here, don’t be jealous, my stag.” You coo, standing back up to scratch Lyonel right under his beard. He rolled his eyes for a second, before melting at your touch and how your nails scraped gently at his jaw. “Look at you, I could practically see you wagging your tail, my good boy.”

His half lidded eyes open immediately, as if you offended him. The corners of his lips curl into a mischievous grin, and you know that you will be late to supper even more.

“Lyonel—!”

You’re lifted up, his arm hooked underneath your legs, and the other cradling your back. Your squeal echoes around the snowcapped courtyard, and Thunder gallops around the two of you, wanting to play too.

“You call me a hound? Let me show you how a hound shows his love, hm?”

—

Lyonel cannot deny it any longer but after four months at Winterfell freezing his antlers off, he could not bear to stay any longer. It’s not as dreary when you are near and whenever the Northmen have a feast it’s a good kind of revelry, but he finds that the walls have eyes in the ancient keep. As if the ghosts of last Starks stalk the halls, haunting his every move. He can’t believe it but he wants to go back to Storm’s End with you.

When he enters the shared chambers all weary and dreadful from another awful night of nightmares, and all he wants is to hold you and have a nap with his arms around you— Lyonel did not expect to find his side of the bed occupied.

There, laying down beside you with his head upon your belly is a sleeping direwolf, his white fur making it look like there is fresh snow fallen atop of you. The dog has grown as large as a foal, with long legs and a maw that could separate a man from his arm. But beside you, Thunder looks like any hound that now prefers you over him.

“Thunder.” Sighing, Lyonel yanks his cloak off and throws it haphazardly on the foot of the bed. “Move.”

“He’s asleep.” You mumble, eyes still shut as your fingers rake through his fur. “Don't wake him.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” Arms gesturing around the occupied bed, Lyonel runs a hand through his curls. “He’s a direwolf, he does not belong on the bed.”

Chuckling, you already know what your husband looks like before you could open your eyes. Reaching for him, his hand immediately slides around your own. “Come, there is plenty of space for an afternoon nap.” You scooch back, making the direwolf roll over before situating himself beside you once again. Opening the covers for him, you invite your husband to your side.

There is space for Lyonel beside you, but he’ll surely fall from the bed if he so much move a limb out of place.

“My love…” He points at the measly space when Thunder has a whole Dorne sized space on the bed.

“If you can move him then you can retake your bed, but as you can see…” you pat your belly. “I could not.”

Sighing, his eyes narrow at the sleeping direwolf. Thunder cracks one eye open, as if sizing him up, teasing and testing him before going back to sleep.

“Fuck me.” Head tossed back, Lyonel admits defeat to the direwolf, slithering underneath the covers beside you with a huff.

Your arm immediately curls around his torso, and he feels his frustration ebb out of him. “See, we fit.”

Grumbling, Lyonel cuddles closer, head pressed on your temple as his arm slithers from underneath you. You expect for that to be the end of the little one sided civil war he has going on with Thunder, but instead of your husband falling asleep with you curled around him, Lyonel takes you in his arms and hauls you around and away from Thunder, pulling you atop him and then back to his other side carefully and effortlessly.

You didn’t have enough time to process what happened when he’s the one curling around you protectively this time around. “Lyonel.” Chuckling, you muffle your laughter atop your palm.

“Shh, you’ll wake him.” He says atop your skin, nuzzling your neck and holding you tenderly. “Dream of me, my love.”

Lyonel took the direwolf home to be your sworn protector when he isn’t near, and to be the babe’s guard when he is born, but for now he shall battle with Thunder for your attention. All the while avoiding the large pointy teeth he has.

He maneuvers over to you, or tries to anyway but Lyla and Jessica get to sit by your side before he could.

You couldn’t even pretend that you didn’t see him as Hobie goes to sit at the back together with the lunch club. Feeling eyes on you, you see the camera right on you as you act casually despite your fingers tapping incessantly at your thigh.

“Did you see that she’s back?” Pavitr exclaims excitedly to the lunch club. “Do you think she brought us exotic snacks?”

“She didn’t go to some far flung country, Pav.” Gayatri says, hands intertwined with his. “But she did say that she got us something. What do you think, Hobie?” Her brown eyes look at him teasingly. “I missed her, did you miss her?”

The rest of the lunch club stifle their laugh, even Miles turns his head away to have a giggle.

“She got you guys keychains and magnets, she told me.” He casually answers to annoy them, they’re not getting a reaction out of him.

You did tell him in a text when you showed off your haul of souvenirs that were haphazardly placed on top of a hotel bed. Hobie won’t tell them that he zoomed in on each one to look for his souvenir.

“Oh, fuck off, the surprise is ruined.” Gwen sighs, shaking his head at Hobie. “She does look great though.” Tilting her head, the others join in, simultaneously tilting their heads at an angle to get a better look at you. “I bet Hobie thinks so too.” She cheekily jabs his bicep, earning an annoyed yet flustered grunt from him.

“Yeah, she’s glowing.” Miles remarks as the other three agree wholeheartedly. “Man, we should’ve volunteered instead.”

“Please, as if we could sit still during a boring ass conference about electric toothbrushes.”

Their banter falls in the back of Hobie’s mind in favour of seeing your smile and hearing your laugh. After months of missing you, wanting to see that same smile again after Peter said something stupid to you like today, Hobie was so close to volunteering to join you on the road. He almost did, but Lyla, in all her kind-heartedness hidden underneath all that perfume and faux fur lined around her stilettos, told him that it’s for the best to leave you alone. To leave you to your soul searching. Hobie didn’t understand it at first, why you would leave and prefer to be all alone for months on end going from boring conferences to another. Until he remembered the night he followed you after what happened during your birthday.

Maybe he buried that moment deep in his heart because the hurt and pain he saw on your face almost broke him. You didn’t deserve it, MJ didn’t deserve you.

MJ tried to get him into her band and join them on their record label, but despite his dreams, despite his wants, he declined. Not after what he witnessed.

He blinks and he’s standing back on the hill with your car parked haphazardly, lights opened as the night chill lingers in his bones.

The camera crew found you first, he would credit them in following you before he could but they have their cameras pointed right at you as you sit still inside the driver’s seat. As if you’re in a catatonic state, as if MJ’s betrayal took a part of your heart that makes it tick.

He exclaims your name, and he could hear the camera lenses whirr right behind him. He ignores them in favour of you, it’s a good thing that they’re not invading the already volatile tension or else he’d be shoving them on their asses, and breaking their equipment, contract be damned. Hobie doesn’t even shut off the van nor close the door when he’s urgently making his way over to you. The headlights illuminate his way to you, shadows dancing on the grassy ground.

“Love.” He makes it to your car, knocking on the window as you stare blankly at the view in front of you.

The stars are out, and the moon shines in a cloudless sky. It’s beautiful out, and the city skyline below blinks at him whilst the sounds muffle from where he stands above. It would’ve been a romantic spot, and it might’ve been a prime make out point for teenagers but he doesn’t feel the love tonight when tears are still streaming down your frozen expression.

Instead of banging at the windows, he stays right there, leaning on the door, all the while keeping an eye on you. He doesn’t speak when he knows that no words could ever make you feel better.

You just lost your best friend, and unfortunately, he knows the feeling.

The lock clicks, and the squeak of the windows has him moving away from the door.

You meet with his eyes, a calming brown, a familiar sight, one that you needed most. You open your mouth to speak, to say anything, but no words come out.

So he speaks for you. “Can I sit with you?” He asks, soft, gentle and understanding.

You nod, and it’s enough for him to move. He goes around the hood of the car and opens the door.

Hobie sits in silence, your car smells like lemon, freshly cleaned, and the bobblehead of a cat on the dashboard bobs up and down in greeting. The car feels like you, warm, comforting, just like the crocheted blanket draped on the backseat, and the easel and paint brush keychain dangling right on the rearview mirror. Just like everything in your life, you carved a place of yourself in it the moment you finally could. The moment you finally feel at ease and just breathe.

The barbed wire bracelet hangs loose around your wrist, the metal catching the moonlight as it dangles aimlessly. You feel like the bracelet, just dangling there, holding on by your teeth.

Hobie thinks that he should've given you a better present for your birthday, something sweeter, something more meaningful, not a five year old bracelet he bought on a whim at a flea market. What MJ did to you was awful, he feels awful, today was supposed to be your day, something to smile and reminisce about in the future. Not like this, ending up in the middle of nowhere with your heart broken into pieces with someone who has no right words to say to you.

It feels easy to sink into the plush of the seat, and Hobie thinks that it should be easy for you to relax in your own space, but instead he sees your shoulders taut, and knuckles shaking around the steering wheel as if you don’t belong here, as if you’re about to be yanked by the collar and tossed right outside and kicked down the hill for intruding.

You were happy, and you were finally coming out of your shell, only for that shell to be bashed and broken down into pieces with a hammer. You can never go back.

The whirr of the engine sings as it hums, and what seemed to be for hours, he stayed there with you in silence.

The cameras keeps a long distance away from the two of you, capturing the scene from behind as they could see the two silhouettes through the glass. Then, your hands leave the steering wheel, and the crew captures the moment you lay your head against his shoulder. No words exchanged, just a simple comforting gesture that means the world to you, that he gladly lets you have.

It’s been like that ever since your birthday, just a quiet yet gentle reassurance that he’s there for you, whether you’re willing to talk it out or just to be in someone’s presence. He’s there, a nod at you in the hallways as you pass by, hands grazing along the other, or a smile tossed at you from across the bullpen. And you’d give him that tight lipped smile that tugs at the corner of your lips, the one that you regret giving him when he deserves more than a half-hearted smile, when you want to smile at him fully like before.

Sometimes he lets you know that he’s there with you through food, making sure that you’ve at least eaten something for that day. Hobie meal preps for two, and has to wake up an hour earlier than usual, but that’s alright for him, you’d usually eat it, sometimes you won’t, either way, it’s all worth it just to see your shoulders relax and your fists unfurl the moment you take the first bite or just to see that someone still remembers you.

He would offer words, but when he was in your shoes all those years ago, all he wanted was for someone to understand, to just be there and not talk about the pain of being left by someone you once loved. So he stayed, lingered and kept an eye on you at the office, until the day you didn’t come to work, only to find out through Miguel that you volunteered to leave for months.

He was actually happy for you, glad that you have taken the reins and pulled yourself up from the hole of your grief to get out of it. Even if that means he would miss you dearly. He can always text and call you anyway.

And he did a few times, more than a few times. You’d always reply though, despite the time difference. You’d always go out of your way to respond to him, whether it’s just a picture of his lunch, a silly picture of the lunch club during band practice, or a random cat he saw on the street, you’d always reply. And in turn, you send him pictures of your dinner, the boring conferences with a little snooze emoji added in, or where you are occasionally. A hotel you’re currently staying at, a restaurant you’re in, or even a gas station where you have a stop over to grab some snacks for the road, whatever it is, Hobie is there to keep track of you, like a wordless agreement that you two have. Someone has to know your location, and you trust Hobie enough to let him know where you are. Sometimes it’s blatant, where you would actually ping your location and send it to him, that’s when he would always check his phone every two minutes to check on you, and only after you message him that you’re at the airport or that you’re finally in your car, that’s when he lets out a sigh of relief.

The band and the lunch club thinks he has become a lovelorn loser pining for you across the ocean, while the documentary crew thinks he’s irritated like he has a wooden splinter up his ass. He’s both, but he’ll never say it out loud, or to anyone for that matter.

Jared pans the camera to Hobie’s resting bitch face and he flinches when Hobie flicks his eyes at him, flipping him the bird that he has to edit out and take another overtime just to do so.

“Holy shit, Hobie.” Gwen snatches his wrist, fingers digging in that has him waking up from his thoughts of you. “Is that—?”

Leather heels clack from outside as he sees a glimpse of shiny raven hair from the conference room windows. The door opens, and Miguel pauses from his speech about workplace safety.

The man sighs tiredly. “You’re late.”

All eyes are on the newcomer as Hobie and the lunch club’s eyes widen in shock. “What the actual fuck.” They simultaneously say to the delight of the producer.

“Yuri?” You’re the first person to acknowledge her by name. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here now.” She shrugs casually, and the lunch club breaks from their shock to laugh loudly that it makes the boom mics peak. “Oh, hey, you guys are here too.”

“What?” Hobie blinks and rubs his eyes, when he opens them she’s still there standing in her three piece suit and pencil skirt. “You can’t work ‘ere!”

“Why not?”

You look over your shoulder over to them to stifle a laugh, only to realize that it’s the first time you’ve seen him fully. Hobie’s gaze turns to you, and he immediately softens. Giving him a small wave, Lyla interrupts.

“Yeah, why not?” She stands up, giving her chair to Yuri, making a show of it as she raises a brow at Hobie. “I hired her as our social media manager.”

Miles scrunches his face. “We’re an electric toothbrush company.”

“We’re not getting any collabs with that mindset, Mr. Morales.” Yuri says teasingly to irk him. “So this is where you go off to, Hobie, I thought you worked at the diner.”

“That was nearly a decade ago, Yuri.” There’s a blooming headache in between his brows.

She simply rolls her eyes, turning to face you as she sits down. “Oh, hey gorgeous, I didn’t know all the pretty ones get to sit up front.” Winking at Lyla, then over to Jess, she sets her manicured nails onto the first row.

“Hi, I’m Peter—”

“No, thank you, Paul.” Yuri waves him away casually. “So, don’t let me keep you, boss man.”

Miguel looks like he’s about to burst a vein, he’s definitely going to have a stern talking to Lyla about her bias on hiring new people.

“Welcome, Miss Yuri Watanabe.” He greets monotonously to scattered applause. “As I was saying, we will have a union meeting about what happened in shipping…”

—

The day went on as usual despite the little surprise at the start. Turns out Yuri was a great addition to the team, she had great suggestions that would help increase sales. Plus she’s getting along well with everyone, especially Lyla. The downside is that she might call for some people to help in making those said internet content. You’ll probably be hiding from her just like everyone else after hearing that.

You’ve seen everyone, greeted and chatted with pretty much every single co-worker, and have given them the small souvenir you stocked for them. Lyla gets a pretty pink scarf that was fully weaved, Miguel gets a novelty mug of mount Rushmore, while Jessica gets a pair of baby booties that have palm trees from your trip to LA. The lunch club gets their keychains and magnets that have their names on it from all the places you stopped, each looking gaudy as the next. And Harry gets the classic souvenir t-shirt that he may or may not wear. Even Peter and Jared get something, but one person hasn’t received theirs, and coincidentally, he’s the only person whom you haven’t spoken to yet since you got here.

It was a busy day for you, and you didn’t have enough time to speak to Hobie, even at lunch when you had to skip it in favour of catching up to some work. Miguel noticed and handed you some vending machine biscuits to stave off the hunger, which you appreciate, but now you’re starving.

You stayed back fifteen minutes after you’re supposed to clock out purposefully. Harry has kissed your cheek goodbye with a promise to catch up next time, and the lunch club has invited you over for a movie night with the band on the weekend.

Whilst you hear the fading giggles of Lyla and Yuri from the closing elevators, you grab your bag quickly and take the present in your hand with one mission in mind— get to the mailroom.

To your surprise, you find the room already empty. You’re sure that he hasn’t left yet when your eyes were glued to the elevators. You’re about to pull out your phone to call him, but you hear rustling from behind his desk.

The place was a convoluted mess, it probably only makes sense to him and Gwen. It’s filled with piles of boxes, manila envelopes, and tons of files haphazardly placed in the corner. The shredder is filled to the brim and probably breathing its last life. There is one thing that caught your eye though, in a sea of boxes and blanched papers, is an orchid. It’s purple and pretty, a sight to behold in the mess.

“You like Terrence?” Hobie pokes his head from under the desk, hair sticking out from all angles, and a few pieces of shredded paper clings to him.

You almost shriek, staggering back as your back hits the wall. “Fucking hell, Hobie!”

Hobie has the audacity to laugh. “Shit, sorry, love.” Standing up, dusting himself, he tilts his head teasingly at you. “You got somethin’ for me to send out?” He gestures for the box in your hands.

“Yeah, wait, no, actually this is for you.” You close the distance, offering the present to him bashfully. “Consider this mail delivered.”

His eyes shine under the humming fluorescent lights as he takes the box gingerly in his hand. He weighs it in his hold, chuckling under his breath, and instead of opening it, he turns to gaze at you with the same smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You utter with the same warmth.

He still doesn’t open it, and you’re now bouncing on the heels of your feet.

“You look happy.”

Chortling, your head tilts down to hide your bashful smile and your heated cheeks. “Yeah, fresh air and two hours of screentime a day will do that to you.”

“Nah, you did this yourself. I’m happy that you’re happy.” His thumb scratches at the box nervously. “‘m…” he takes a deep breath, and your sweetened familiar perfume wafts in his nose that immediately eases the tension in his shoulders. “It’s good to see you back, really, ‘m happy you’re back.”

Your eyes flick towards him, still smiling. “I heard that you were irritated the whole time I was gone.”

He groans, head tilting back as he runs a hand on his expression. “Damnit, Jared.”

Giggling, you close the distance again, a hand gingerly brushing along the petals of the orchid. “Why terrence?”

“Gwen named him, I don’t know why she picked that though.”

“What would you have chosen instead?”

“Leopold.”

You let out a laugh that has him smiling even more. “Yeah, as if that’s any better.”

“It’s a mighty name for an orchid, love.” Hobie finally opens the present when he notices your eyes kept flicking over to it and then back to him with unbridled anticipation.

A domed glass greets him, and as he gently takes it out of the box, he sees the Colorado mountains inside the snowglobe, perfectly still as snow drifts inside. It’s not some cheap novelty globe, it’s well made, wood and glass with a metal band around it. His thumb feels an engraving up front, and he turns it to read the words, ‘wish you were here, Hobie!’ engraved right on the metal. His heart almost stopped, and his breath hitched in his throat.

“They almost misspelled it as ‘Hobby,’ I made them redo it. I was very brave about it actually.” Biting the inside of your cheek, you look at him with trembling anticipation. “I know it’s gaudy and probably not to your taste but it reminded me of you. I just thought, ‘wow, Hobie would love to see the mountains.’ And a snowglobe of it is the closest thing I could get you, a picture just doesn’t do it justice.”

“Lovie.” Stepping over boxes and around the table, he comes closer to you, eyes gazing into your own tenderly, russet swimming with something you’re not yet privy to. “It’s beautiful, I love it.” Your name almost slips off his tongue in place of ‘it’.

Your shoulders physically relax as you let out a sigh of relief. “That’s great, maybe you could find a place for it in your houseboat.”

“Speakin’ of,” he rolls the snowglobe in his hands, feeling the coldness of the glass. “D’you want to pick the spot for it? I’ll make us dinner, nothin’ fancy, jus’ some leftovers I have.”

Past you would’ve said no, but this version of you, who is just finding out how to truly live? What’s stopping you?

“As long as you let me buy the drinks.”

“Deal.”

—

Hobie admires the snowglobe on his desk, tucked in between his soldering machine and a wrench, a prettier sight amidst metal and unfinished projects.

He catches a giddy smile on his face from the reflection on a sheet of metal, and instead of fixing his face and flattening the smile, he grins even more. You thought of him when you saw those beautiful mountains, enough that when you saw the snowglobe at a gift shop it reminded you of him. It makes his heart lurch in his chest, to be seen as something as beautiful as those mountains felt more than familial, more than friendship, he could only hope at least.

A warm feeling underneath his ribcage calls your name, and he doesn’t muffle it.

The microwave beeps, and he wakes up from his lovestruck thoughts to grab the two bowls of leftover pesto that has angel hair pasta instead of the usual when angel hair was the only thing left in his cupboard.

Placing each one on a wooden tray that Ned left behind, he also grabs two mismatched glasses on his way out.

When he steps out of the houseboat, the cold seeping into his jeans and the cloudless sky spanning across the bay, he doesn’t see you in the same place where he left you on the patio chair.

“Love?” You might’ve fallen overboard, or hell, left without a word.

“Over here!” Your voice echoes amidst the rushing sound of water below. He follows the source, head looking up to see you sitting on his roof.

The way the moon lines up with the back of your head is heavenly, silver painting your smile, and the stars flickering right around you is a sight to behold that it takes his breath away.

“How’d you get up there?” His chuckles echo, bouncing off the waters as he gazes up at you with reverence.

“I used the chair,” you say it like it’s the most obvious thing. “The roof is stable right?”

“I hope so. Don’t want you fallin’ through it.”

“Insurance will cover idiocracy, I’m sure.” Shrugging with a laugh, you reach out to the tray. “Come up here, the view is amazing.”

He can’t resist your invitation. So he gives you the tray with some maneuvering, glasses and utensils clanking against the other as you place it on your lap.

“Right, move over, itsy bitsy spider.” Hands gripping the edge of the roof, he makes it look effortless to climb up with one pull up. His shirt rides up, stomach peeking in between the hem and the waistband of his jeans. In truth he could already feel his shoulders and lower back ache from the exercise. Groaning, he positions himself beside you, finding that the plastic bags from the shop are placed right behind you. He dusts his hands, and chuckles to himself, feeling your gaze on him. “Fuckin’ hell, love, you got me climbin’ my own roof for some slurpees and hotdogs.”

“And here I thought you climbed up here for the view.”

He considers you as the view, the best kind, probably a favorite of his. “That too.”

“So,” you reach for the slurpees, one raspberry and one electric blue that will surely taste nothing like blueberry as you pour it into each glass. “What’s been happening with you while I was gone?”

‘Wait for you to come back.’ Is what he wanted to say, but he bites his lip, teeth caught in the piercing as he unweaves it as nonchalantly as he could without you noticing. “Jus’ the usual, work, band, cook, band again.”

“That’s good. Keeping yourself occupied.” You mutter, looking at each drink in hand, trying to choose. Red or blue?

“I’ve got an idea.” Hobie takes both drinks, dumps half of the red into the plastic cup where it came from, and does the same with the blue. He then mixes both in the glass, making purple. He does the same to the other, making two new drinks. “There, save you some time.”

Your laughter brings out the moonlight even more as the light catches in your eyes. “Brilliant. This will surely not give us diabetes.” His fingers brushes along your own as he hands you your share. He’s cold, as cold as the drink in your grasp, and you want nothing more but to warm his hands with your own.

“As if these hotdogs won’t give us food poisonin’.” Despite his words, he takes a generous bite of the gas station hotdog that he lathered in ketchup and mustard.

“I’m immune to food poison at this point.” You grab a napkin and gesture to the stubble on his chin. “Sorry, you got a little…” he wipes but doesn’t get the blob of ketchup. Shaking your head with a grin, you move. “Can I?”

Hobie nods, then freezes in place whilst you wipe his chin gently. His eyes watch as you concentrate on the stain, the tip of your tongue poking out from between your lips and eyes narrowed like it’s the bane of your existence. “Got it all?”

“Yep,” your soft expression returns once you do. “Got it.”

The interaction didn’t feel awkward nor forced, it felt natural to the both of you, as if no time apart has passed.

“So, why the orchid?” You ask after a bite of your pasta that warms your insides.

“A client left it for Miguel.” Hobie pauses eating to watch the reaction on your blissful face when you take the first bite of his cooking. “But he said he didn’t want to take care of it, so Gwen and I have been takin’ care of it. It’s the office mascot now.”

“Can’t believe you had me replaced for a flower. A Terrence too.” You test the name on your tongue, garnering a chortle from Hobie. “The name is still weird, but sort of makes sense in a way.”

“You and a flower, there's barely any difference, both lovely.” He declares wholeheartedly.

“You’re a cheeseball, Hobie Brown.” Shaking your head with a smile, you feel your cheeks warm up despite the cold.

“You love it.” Nudging your arm, he watches the smile appear on your face. Lyla was right, the time apart made you feel better. “Any stories to tell me from your trips or am I not worthy to hear ‘em?”

“When were you not worthy?” You nudge him back, meeting with eyes, catching his gaze on your own that takes your breath away. The breeze flutters your lashes, and you get wind of his cologne, the same one you smelled on a random sunny day in California, one that you speed walked to follow, thinking that Hobie was there, only to see a stranger at the end.

Clearing your throat, you face your meal, stabbing your fork into the pasta before deciding to take a sip at the sickeningly sweet drink that lines your mouth. “Anyway, it was okay, the hotels I’ve been to were nice. And…” your tone fades as your thumb wipes away the condensation on the glass. “It was a good distraction.”

“Yeah,” Hobie swipes his tongue over his lips, elbow atop his knee as he looks into the water. “It probably wasn’t easy for you, being alone after what happened.”

“It’s weird though,” you shake your head, ducking down to meet with eyes as he returns your gaze. “I didn’t feel as lonely as I thought I would be. Being alone wasn’t so…lonely. I had you, you were one message or call away, and so were everyone else. And I haven’t felt like myself in a long time. I think the time I spent with myself helped me find— I don’t know how to put this, myself again. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does.” Hobie’s russet eyes shine underneath the silver moonlight. Catching sight of the barbed wire bracelet he has gifted you that is still clasped around your wrist securely. You kept it. His heart swells.

“It was good and all, but I don't think I would've survived another month like that.”

“‘No man is an island,’ they said.”

“Yeah. I’ve got a story actually,” sitting up, you lay the tray behind you as you hold onto your slushie. “I signed up for a guided tour of New Orleans while I was there, y’know the touristy ones that shows you all the spooky places.” Hobie nods, listening along as he angles his body towards you unconsciously. “And I befriended this nice sweet old lady named Janet, and we chatted the whole way, turns out she’s been going to the same tour for a decade or so because her husband used to be a tour guide. I think she knew more than our tour guide.”

You chuckle, eyes glossing over as you continue. “Well, anyway, I went to the bathroom and when I came back out, the bus was gone. So I was like, ‘not again.’” Tone catching at the end, his hand instinctively reaches out to you, before his own trepidation stops him. “I didn’t know anyone, didn’t know where I was and my battery was dead. I sat there on the curb, wondering what to do, then five minutes later, the bus came back around again with a screaming Janet. She noticed I was gone, and she came back for me when she has only known me for an hour. An hour,” your cadence pitches higher, anger this time rather than sadness. “when I’ve known MJ for more than a decade.”

“Love…” Hobie calls your name softly as your head falls into your hands, fists rubbing in your eyes. Your body shakes, and he holds you, his own reluctance makes him pause but he does it anyway, and lets you cry, keeps the trembling to a minimum, absorbing it into himself.

“I–I think I’ve always been alone,” your words are muffled by your hands. “I just didn’t notice it whenever she was with me.” Lifting your head, you rest your cheek atop his waiting shoulder, and he lets you, he cradles you beside him on the creaky roof of his houseboat. “I don’t think she saw me like how I saw her. I love her, I really do, but she wouldn’t have noticed that I was left by the bus. But Janet did, you did, you always did. Hobie, I don’t want to be left by the bus anymore.”

A beat passes, and his palm gently brushes along the length of your arm, gently, softly, like a rock skipping on water.

“When I was a kid,” Hobie takes a deep breath, blinking away the blurriness in his eyes as he lays his chin on the crown of your head. “I got left by the bus too durin’ a trip, and Ned noticed that I was gone jus’ like your old lady did.” You let out a wet chuckle. “How ‘bout we both make sure that we don’t get left by the bus, hm? We’ll be each other’s…what do you call ‘em ‘ere?”

“Buddy, a buddy.”

“Yeah, that, a buddy, we’ll be each other’s buddy. Keepin’ an eye on each other, hm?”

“That sounds nice.” The breath you let out feels like the weight on your shoulders were finally lifted off of you. He feels nice under your cheek, warm, steady, whilst you feel his breath fan the top of your head, a familiar presence that you have been longing for. “I’d like that.”

“Me too, love.” Craning his neck down, he ducks to look at you.

The slow smile appearing on your face reassures him that you’ll be alright. “You know what the trip made me realize?” He hums. “It made me realize that I shouldn’t let everything pass by me, like I’m a bystander in my own life. That I should go and— and live. The world is fucking huge, Hobie, and I was missing it.”

“Then go and see it, lovie.” He holds your chin in between his thumb and index, grinning lovingly at you, a grin that you could feel in your chest.

You chortle, cheeks warm, heart feeling light. “I will, maybe once I’m financially stable, and when I find an apartment.”

Hobie’s brows furrow in worry. “You have no place to stay? Love,” he’s leaning away, holding you by your shoulders. “Since when?” He fears the worst.

Your jaw clenches, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “...Since my birthday.”

“Shit, love…” His face contorts into deep concern, not chastising or judging you, just incredibly worried. “So there wasn’t an aunt?”

“I know. And no, there isn’t.” You mumble apologetically. “I’ve been working on it and I haven’t found a good place where the locks actually work and where the place doesn’t smell like black mold.”

“Love.”

“I know, I’m…picky.”

“No, I— I’ve got a free room.” Scratching the back of his flaming neck, he feels utterly ridiculous for even saying that. Great, he just made things complicated and awkward between the two of you.

“Hobie, I can’t— that’s, that’s too much of an ask.”

“Funny when ‘m the one who feels like ‘m askin’ for too much from you. You’re in a vulnerable state and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable—”

“You’re not!” You touch his cheek, and he immediately clamps up. “I mean, I know what you’re saying, and you’re not taking advantage of me, it’s probably me taking advantage of your kindness.”

“You’re not.” He’s trying incredibly hard not to fumble his words. “I was the one who asked, love.”

“Can we start again?” You wince, fists curling in front of your face to hide your gritted expression that he’s endeared at.

“D’you want to be my roommate?” He starts again, more steady, more sure this time around.

“Only until I find my own place,” a hand patting his bicep, you smile lopsidedly. “and I will pay you, no buts, no saying no to my payment.”

“Lovie, d’you want to come live with me until you find your own place, and with reasonable rent?” Hobie restructures his words with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Yes.”

Raising his cup, he clinks it with you, the slushie melting, the night growing colder. “Welcome home, then.”

Grinning giddily, you can’t help it when your legs kick about as it dangles from the roof. “To being roommates.” The two of you take a drink together, letting the same teeth rotting sweetness coat your tongue. “I’ve got more interesting stories actually. Less sad this time.”

“You can tell me more about it, roommate.”

For the past year, every other week or so you’d be at the shop, almost in near tears whenever something breaks down in your car. He has told you numerous times that it’s ancient and should be sold for scrap at that point, but you kept it for sentimentalities sake. You love that car, an old cherry red miata that has a story from every scratch and every dent on it. But recently though, you come through the garage with a smile, and a box of donuts for him and his uncle. No tears, no worried wringing of your hands, just all smiles and gentle eyes that he could feel gaze at him whenever he pops the hood of your car to check the pristine engine.

Sometimes he swears that you only come to the garage just to see him. But that’s just wishful thinking on his part when he’s still the same Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson from high school who still hangs out in his friend’s basement to play D&D with them till the sun rises. When you’re all sunshine and flowy summer dresses with that same beaming smile he finds so endearing. If he went to high school with you back then you’d be one of the popular girls that would ignore him in favour of your jock boyfriend. You don’t deserve a man whose hands are always coated in oil grease, and a wardrobe consisting of old faded tees and mechanic overalls covered in paint and oil. Or at least, that’s what Eddie thinks as he speeds down on the highway during a searing summer heat that has his mouth dry and sweat rolling down his nape.

Despite the opened window and his hair tied in a ponytail, it doesn’t grant him much reprieve from the heat, nor for the longing. He feels like a lovelorn schoolboy waiting for his crush to pass by the hallways and acknowledge him with a quick wave.

Eddie’s already late for the house call that he reluctantly took for some quick cash, it’s out of his way but the old lady on the phone was sweet and promised a generous tip once he finishes fixing the brakes in her van. His lashes flutter as he could see the heat coming off in waves whilst he drives by a cherry red miata broken down on the side of the road.

Wait.

He breaks so harshly that he’s sure that he got whiplash.

The van goes to an abrupt stop with the squeak of the tires, and he could see a figure waving him down from his side mirror. A very familiar figure in that familiar yellow sundress with daffodils on it.

“Holy shit.” Eddie swallows thickly, blinking and rubbing at his eyes in case you were a mirage. He lowers the music to see you better.

Once you make it to his side of the van, you’re heaving and sweating underneath a sun hat.

“Fuck, you know how to make a girl run after you, huh?” Your cheeks feel like fire, sweat clinging onto your brows as you smile at him despite the sweltering heat. “Just my luck to see a mechanic pass by. Hi, Eddie.”

“Hi?” He doesn’t mean it to be a question, so he clears his throat, hoping that you didn’t notice his small fumble. “Hey, you good, sweetheart?”

“My baby broke down,” wincing, you suck in your teeth as you look at him apologetically. “Right when I’m already so close to Hawkins.”

Eddie blinks like a fish out of water. He just now acknowledges how much he missed you, an awful feeling when he really really wants to charm you when you’re the one who has effortlessly charmed him.

“Yeah, can I check your car?”

“Please, I’ve been praying to hear those words today.” Your relief is palpable as you step aside for Eddie to get out of the van. “Sorry to bother you, Eds.”

“You’re never a bother.” He lets out without much thinking. He’d take it back but the softened look on your face says that you liked that line, so he mentally pats himself on the back. “What happened?” The sun bears down upon him and he instantly melts like fallen ice cream on pavement.

Eddie follows you closely, but not too close when the heat makes every movement uncomfortable. He keeps a lookout for any cars on the road, an arm ready to push you away if one gets too close for comfort.

“I was on my way home from my cousin’s place and well, I think my baby couldn’t handle the added weight.” Stopping behind the car, he immediately sees the amount of luggages and bags in the backseat while the roof is down. “I thought it could after the upgrade you gave her last time.”

“Well, it looks like she at least got you there without a problem.” Eddie wipes at the sweat collecting at his nape.

“Yeah,” you chuckle, and it sounds like music to his ears. But not like metal music, more akin to a soft jazz, or a classical that his uncle occasionally listens to unwind at the end of the day, one that he confesses he has grown fond of. “Got me into all sorts of places.”

Eddie has to blink lest he’s mesmerized by the pretty expression you have on. “That’s good,” is all he could muster as he goes to pop open the smoking hood, and just like he suspected, the engine is overheating. Coughing, he fans away the smoke from his face to get a better look. “What sort of places?”

“The mountains,” you sigh wistfully, leaning against the car door as your head tilts to take a look at how his biceps flex peeking from his old t-shirt that he snipped the sleeves off with kitchen scissors. “They were huge, and…” you get lost in his biceps.

“What?” Eddie pokes his head out from under the hood, face reddened from the steam and absolutely sweating through his shirt. “Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t hear you.”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, acting innocent. “I said that my vacation was fun.”

Vacation, Eddie feels so dumb now. You weren’t avoiding him or that you moved away, you were just out on vacation enjoying yourself. But that doesn’t mean that his longing was entirely unfounded. He did truly miss you.

“That’s great that you had fun.” He sends you a wobbly smile, too bashful to give you a full grin. “Listen, it’s just overheated, it’ll cool down on its own. I have some water in my van that should make quick work of it.”

Your sigh in relief. “Thank fuck, I thought I busted the engine again. Thank you, I should just wait here until it cools down.”

Eddie pauses midstep back to the van. “In this heat?”

You chuckle with a shrug. “As if I have a choice.”

“Sweetheart, you’ll cook and probably die of heatstroke.” He facepalms himself mentally after saying such a morbid thing.

To his surprise, you laugh, a good laugh that rumbles your chest and sends him into a tizzy. “Yeah, probably, I’ll haunt you if I do.”

“What if…” biting his lip and clawing at the back of his neck that will surely be sun burned, Eddie tries something that has his heart racing. “What if you come with me? I–I have a house call fifteen minutes away from here but it’ll be a quick job and then I’ll get you back here. By then your baby would’ve cooled off. Just make sure we close the roof or else your stuff won’t be here when we get back.”

“You sure?” Your heart beats a thousand miles per second. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs nonchalantly even though it’s the least nonchalant feeling he has ever felt. “It’ll be like a date— I mean.” Fuck, he shouldn’t have let his mouth run before his own thoughts could. “Shit, that’s not what I meant, I just—”

“So it’s not a date?” Taking a deep breath, you pick at your nail as you look at him bashfully. “I’d be disappointed if it’s not.”

“Wait, what?” He’s fifty percent sure that you’re just a mirage. “I–I don’t, I don’t even have flowers for you.”

You step closer, batting your lashes as you chuckle softly, utterly endeared. “I’ll live.”

“Yeah, but, it’s just a housecall to an old lady’s house. Her car probably smells like… old people.”

“I’m fine with that.” Shrugging, you feel the gnawing doubt, maybe you read him wrong? That all the longing glances and fluttered lashes aimed at you were nothing more than just Eddie being Eddie? What his uncle told you one afternoon after you brought in coffee for them was also him misreading his nephew? This man is still a mystery to you, thank goodness you love uncovering mysteries. But if the mystery wants to remain unsolved then you just have to accept it. “It’s— I’m sorry, you’re right, it’s not a date. You’re just trying to be nice so I don’t burn here.”

Shit, Eddie feels like his heart is about to burst out of him. “Yeah, I mean…fuck, not really.”

“Not really?” Brows furrowed, you bite the inside of your cheek. “Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable I thought you liked me and I—”

“Uncomfortable?” Sweat trickles down his temple, a hand reaching out to you out of instinct before moving away. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

His whole shaky and sweaty demeanor says otherwise.

“You sure look like it though.” You answer with a low voice, hands wringing around the other up your front. “Do I make you uncomfortable? I didn’t mean to, I just thought that you’re a great guy and I wanted to be friends with you, no strings attached— and then after what your uncle told me—”

“What did my uncle tell you?” Eddie’s sirens go off inside his head. He’s in full panic mode. What the fuck did his uncle tell you?

“Just that, you like me?” You utter with an apologetic wince. “He’s probably wrong but, it made me like you even more, y’know? That you feel the same way.”

“More?” Repeating your words, Eddie stands there under the heat like a cooked salmon. Red ears and all. “You like me?” Eddie points at himself, befuddled.

“Yeah,” your lips curl into a soft smile and a sigh akin to a chuckle. “For some time now. I don’t bring donuts to anyone, and I just don’t drop by every time my car makes a sound because of it, y’know. I…just wanted to see you is all.”

“I thought you were just being nice, sweetheart.” Eddie steps forward first, and you meet him halfway with your pinky intertwining with his own. He’d hold your hand fully if not for this blasted heat. “But you were being nice to me.”

“Yeah, because I like you.” His ears are the same color as your car. “Is your offer still up?” Squeezing his pinky, you gaze into his eyes affectionately that you swear you heard his breath hitch. “I don’t mind waiting, I’ve waited this long.”

“Yeah, but next time though, I’ll bring you flowers.” Eddie tenderly squeezes your pinky. Damn the heat, he slides his hand into yours properly, and intertwines his fingers with your own. Then he takes it to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss right above your pulse point.

Your grin could rival the sunshine at how bright it is. “Deal.”

Rules:

Please please read my request rules for additional information before requesting over here!

Drabble requests only please

Character x reader only

Everyone is allowed to bring a +1! (Please limit your requests to two per person)

Requests must be sent through my ask box. For two requests please send them individually for a more organized request.

Always have a prompt together with your request. No prompt no request.

Check my navigation if you're not sure if I've already written your prompt!

Missed last year's summer flick screening? Here it is!

🎙️ Read my rules? Time to get married!

💍 Where's my husband? - could be their dating phase, or literally how they get engaged! Do you get to choose your ring? Or is it a surprise from him? Does he go down on one knee or do you go down on one knee for him instead? Or maybe a double engagement perhaps? 🤔

💍 Something new - a whole new AU for your chosen blorbo that I have never done yet! Or maybe a little something different to an existing AU! For example, pirate AU but MJ still lives, cowboy AU but R leaves with Hobie.

💍 Something borrowed - An AU from another piece of media/franchise that I haven't done yet. For example, hunger games AU, pride and prejudice AU.

💍 Something blue - Angst! Soul crushing Angst!

💍 Something old - Any prompt for any of my already existing AUs! Or a prompt pertaining to an older version of your blorbo, ie. Older! Hobie, older! Robert, Older! Eddie.

💍 Honeymoon - A prompt with them set in a different place just doing couple things.

💍 Then comes a baby in a baby carriage - parent/ Dad AU!

Confused? Here's a sample request - “can I get a something old with Hobie and Ekko? Just them being lovey dovey together with R when they're in their 50s in their own home”

OR “Then comes a baby in a baby carriage with single dad! Jason please! Where they tell Ollie that they're now together!”

(Please follow the event's format so that I know what you're requesting for during the event!)

If your request requires it, please specify your reader! Ie. Fem! Reader, gn! Reader, blackcat! Reader, pirate! Reader. Etc.

Don't have a request but want to chat with your wedding planner? Whether it's writing tips, talking about your OCs or just to chat about, feel free to send a 🥂!!

A/N: Has it been three years already?! Where has the time gone 🥺 as always thank you to every single one of you for reading and engaging with my works!! Even when I update a series once in a blue moon lmao It makes my whole day whenever an ask or a reblog passes by my notes and I'm eternally grateful to all of you for making last year tolerable. Writing and talking to all of you has literally saved my life more times than I could count, so if you've been here since the beginning or just passing through, thank you from the bottom of my heart. A big thank you to my moots, you know who you all are, for letting me yap until 4 am and you had to tell me to go to sleep or else 😆 this year I've written so much and gotten into new fandoms! Some of which I discovered because of you guys! To more fics and unhinged thoughts with you!! Cheers! 🥂

With so much love,

Katy ❤️

Special thanks to @cursed-carmine for the lace banners and for @hyperfix-wip for the help with the prompts! 💙 Go check them out!

Rules:

Please please read my request rules for additional information before requesting over here!

Drabble requests only please

Character x reader only

Everyone is allowed to bring a +1! (Please limit your requests to two per person)

Requests must be sent through my ask box. For two requests please send them individually for a more organized request.

Always have a prompt together with your request. No prompt no request.

Check my navigation if you're not sure if I've already written your prompt!

Missed last year's summer flick screening? Here it is!

🎙️ Read my rules? Time to get married!

💍 Where's my husband? - could be their dating phase, or literally how they get engaged! Do you get to choose your ring? Or is it a surprise from him? Does he go down on one knee or do you go down on one knee for him instead? Or maybe a double engagement perhaps? 🤔

💍 Something new - a whole new AU for your chosen blorbo that I have never done yet! Or maybe a little something different to an existing AU! For example, pirate AU but MJ still lives, cowboy AU but R leaves with Hobie.

💍 Something borrowed - An AU from another piece of media/franchise that I haven't done yet. For example, hunger games AU, pride and prejudice AU.

💍 Something blue - Angst! Soul crushing Angst!

💍 Something old - Any prompt for any of my already existing AUs! Or a prompt pertaining to an older version of your blorbo, ie. Older! Hobie, older! Robert, Older! Eddie.

💍 Honeymoon - A prompt with them set in a different place just doing couple things.

💍 Then comes a baby in a baby carriage - parent/ Dad AU!

Confused? Here's a sample request - “can I get a something old with Hobie and Ekko? Just them being lovey dovey together with R when they're in their 50s in their own home”

OR “Then comes a baby in a baby carriage with single dad! Jason please! Where they tell Ollie that they're now together!”

(Please follow the event's format so that I know what you're requesting for during the event!)

If your request requires it, please specify your reader! Ie. Fem! Reader, gn! Reader, blackcat! Reader, pirate! Reader. Etc.

Don't have a request but want to chat with your wedding planner? Whether it's writing tips, talking about your OCs or just to chat about, feel free to send a 🥂!!

A/N: Has it been three years already?! Where has the time gone 🥺 as always thank you to every single one of you for reading and engaging with my works!! Even when I update a series once in a blue moon lmao It makes my whole day whenever an ask or a reblog passes by my notes and I'm eternally grateful to all of you for making last year tolerable. Writing and talking to all of you has literally saved my life more times than I could count, so if you've been here since the beginning or just passing through, thank you from the bottom of my heart. A big thank you to my moots, you know who you all are, for letting me yap until 4 am and you had to tell me to go to sleep or else 😆 this year I've written so much and gotten into new fandoms! Some of which I discovered because of you guys! To more fics and unhinged thoughts with you!! Cheers! 🥂

With so much love,

Katy ❤️

Special thanks to @cursed-carmine for the lace banners and for @hyperfix-wip for the help with the prompts! 💙 Go check them out!

He maneuvers over to you, or tries to anyway but Lyla and Jessica get to sit by your side before he could.

You couldn’t even pretend that you didn’t see him as Hobie goes to sit at the back together with the lunch club. Feeling eyes on you, you see the camera right on you as you act casually despite your fingers tapping incessantly at your thigh.

“Did you see that she’s back?” Pavitr exclaims excitedly to the lunch club. “Do you think she brought us exotic snacks?”

“She didn’t go to some far flung country, Pav.” Gayatri says, hands intertwined with his. “But she did say that she got us something. What do you think, Hobie?” Her brown eyes look at him teasingly. “I missed her, did you miss her?”

The rest of the lunch club stifle their laugh, even Miles turns his head away to have a giggle.

“She got you guys keychains and magnets, she told me.” He casually answers to annoy them, they’re not getting a reaction out of him.

You did tell him in a text when you showed off your haul of souvenirs that were haphazardly placed on top of a hotel bed. Hobie won’t tell them that he zoomed in on each one to look for his souvenir.

“Oh, fuck off, the surprise is ruined.” Gwen sighs, shaking his head at Hobie. “She does look great though.” Tilting her head, the others join in, simultaneously tilting their heads at an angle to get a better look at you. “I bet Hobie thinks so too.” She cheekily jabs his bicep, earning an annoyed yet flustered grunt from him.

“Yeah, she’s glowing.” Miles remarks as the other three agree wholeheartedly. “Man, we should’ve volunteered instead.”

“Please, as if we could sit still during a boring ass conference about electric toothbrushes.”

Their banter falls in the back of Hobie’s mind in favour of seeing your smile and hearing your laugh. After months of missing you, wanting to see that same smile again after Peter said something stupid to you like today, Hobie was so close to volunteering to join you on the road. He almost did, but Lyla, in all her kind-heartedness hidden underneath all that perfume and faux fur lined around her stilettos, told him that it’s for the best to leave you alone. To leave you to your soul searching. Hobie didn’t understand it at first, why you would leave and prefer to be all alone for months on end going from boring conferences to another. Until he remembered the night he followed you after what happened during your birthday.

Maybe he buried that moment deep in his heart because the hurt and pain he saw on your face almost broke him. You didn’t deserve it, MJ didn’t deserve you.

MJ tried to get him into her band and join them on their record label, but despite his dreams, despite his wants, he declined. Not after what he witnessed.

He blinks and he’s standing back on the hill with your car parked haphazardly, lights opened as the night chill lingers in his bones.

The camera crew found you first, he would credit them in following you before he could but they have their cameras pointed right at you as you sit still inside the driver’s seat. As if you’re in a catatonic state, as if MJ’s betrayal took a part of your heart that makes it tick.

He exclaims your name, and he could hear the camera lenses whirr right behind him. He ignores them in favour of you, it’s a good thing that they’re not invading the already volatile tension or else he’d be shoving them on their asses, and breaking their equipment, contract be damned. Hobie doesn’t even shut off the van nor close the door when he’s urgently making his way over to you. The headlights illuminate his way to you, shadows dancing on the grassy ground.

“Love.” He makes it to your car, knocking on the window as you stare blankly at the view in front of you.

The stars are out, and the moon shines in a cloudless sky. It’s beautiful out, and the city skyline below blinks at him whilst the sounds muffle from where he stands above. It would’ve been a romantic spot, and it might’ve been a prime make out point for teenagers but he doesn’t feel the love tonight when tears are still streaming down your frozen expression.

Instead of banging at the windows, he stays right there, leaning on the door, all the while keeping an eye on you. He doesn’t speak when he knows that no words could ever make you feel better.

You just lost your best friend, and unfortunately, he knows the feeling.

The lock clicks, and the squeak of the windows has him moving away from the door.

You meet with his eyes, a calming brown, a familiar sight, one that you needed most. You open your mouth to speak, to say anything, but no words come out.

So he speaks for you. “Can I sit with you?” He asks, soft, gentle and understanding.

You nod, and it’s enough for him to move. He goes around the hood of the car and opens the door.

Hobie sits in silence, your car smells like lemon, freshly cleaned, and the bobblehead of a cat on the dashboard bobs up and down in greeting. The car feels like you, warm, comforting, just like the crocheted blanket draped on the backseat, and the easel and paint brush keychain dangling right on the rearview mirror. Just like everything in your life, you carved a place of yourself in it the moment you finally could. The moment you finally feel at ease and just breathe.

The barbed wire bracelet hangs loose around your wrist, the metal catching the moonlight as it dangles aimlessly. You feel like the bracelet, just dangling there, holding on by your teeth.

Hobie thinks that he should've given you a better present for your birthday, something sweeter, something more meaningful, not a five year old bracelet he bought on a whim at a flea market. What MJ did to you was awful, he feels awful, today was supposed to be your day, something to smile and reminisce about in the future. Not like this, ending up in the middle of nowhere with your heart broken into pieces with someone who has no right words to say to you.

It feels easy to sink into the plush of the seat, and Hobie thinks that it should be easy for you to relax in your own space, but instead he sees your shoulders taut, and knuckles shaking around the steering wheel as if you don’t belong here, as if you’re about to be yanked by the collar and tossed right outside and kicked down the hill for intruding.

You were happy, and you were finally coming out of your shell, only for that shell to be bashed and broken down into pieces with a hammer. You can never go back.

The whirr of the engine sings as it hums, and what seemed to be for hours, he stayed there with you in silence.

The cameras keeps a long distance away from the two of you, capturing the scene from behind as they could see the two silhouettes through the glass. Then, your hands leave the steering wheel, and the crew captures the moment you lay your head against his shoulder. No words exchanged, just a simple comforting gesture that means the world to you, that he gladly lets you have.

It’s been like that ever since your birthday, just a quiet yet gentle reassurance that he’s there for you, whether you’re willing to talk it out or just to be in someone’s presence. He’s there, a nod at you in the hallways as you pass by, hands grazing along the other, or a smile tossed at you from across the bullpen. And you’d give him that tight lipped smile that tugs at the corner of your lips, the one that you regret giving him when he deserves more than a half-hearted smile, when you want to smile at him fully like before.

Sometimes he lets you know that he’s there with you through food, making sure that you’ve at least eaten something for that day. Hobie meal preps for two, and has to wake up an hour earlier than usual, but that’s alright for him, you’d usually eat it, sometimes you won’t, either way, it’s all worth it just to see your shoulders relax and your fists unfurl the moment you take the first bite or just to see that someone still remembers you.

He would offer words, but when he was in your shoes all those years ago, all he wanted was for someone to understand, to just be there and not talk about the pain of being left by someone you once loved. So he stayed, lingered and kept an eye on you at the office, until the day you didn’t come to work, only to find out through Miguel that you volunteered to leave for months.

He was actually happy for you, glad that you have taken the reins and pulled yourself up from the hole of your grief to get out of it. Even if that means he would miss you dearly. He can always text and call you anyway.

And he did a few times, more than a few times. You’d always reply though, despite the time difference. You’d always go out of your way to respond to him, whether it’s just a picture of his lunch, a silly picture of the lunch club during band practice, or a random cat he saw on the street, you’d always reply. And in turn, you send him pictures of your dinner, the boring conferences with a little snooze emoji added in, or where you are occasionally. A hotel you’re currently staying at, a restaurant you’re in, or even a gas station where you have a stop over to grab some snacks for the road, whatever it is, Hobie is there to keep track of you, like a wordless agreement that you two have. Someone has to know your location, and you trust Hobie enough to let him know where you are. Sometimes it’s blatant, where you would actually ping your location and send it to him, that’s when he would always check his phone every two minutes to check on you, and only after you message him that you’re at the airport or that you’re finally in your car, that’s when he lets out a sigh of relief.

The band and the lunch club thinks he has become a lovelorn loser pining for you across the ocean, while the documentary crew thinks he’s irritated like he has a wooden splinter up his ass. He’s both, but he’ll never say it out loud, or to anyone for that matter.

Jared pans the camera to Hobie’s resting bitch face and he flinches when Hobie flicks his eyes at him, flipping him the bird that he has to edit out and take another overtime just to do so.

“Holy shit, Hobie.” Gwen snatches his wrist, fingers digging in that has him waking up from his thoughts of you. “Is that—?”

Leather heels clack from outside as he sees a glimpse of shiny raven hair from the conference room windows. The door opens, and Miguel pauses from his speech about workplace safety.

The man sighs tiredly. “You’re late.”

All eyes are on the newcomer as Hobie and the lunch club’s eyes widen in shock. “What the actual fuck.” They simultaneously say to the delight of the producer.

“Yuri?” You’re the first person to acknowledge her by name. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here now.” She shrugs casually, and the lunch club breaks from their shock to laugh loudly that it makes the boom mics peak. “Oh, hey, you guys are here too.”

“What?” Hobie blinks and rubs his eyes, when he opens them she’s still there standing in her three piece suit and pencil skirt. “You can’t work ‘ere!”

“Why not?”

You look over your shoulder over to them to stifle a laugh, only to realize that it’s the first time you’ve seen him fully. Hobie’s gaze turns to you, and he immediately softens. Giving him a small wave, Lyla interrupts.

“Yeah, why not?” She stands up, giving her chair to Yuri, making a show of it as she raises a brow at Hobie. “I hired her as our social media manager.”

Miles scrunches his face. “We’re an electric toothbrush company.”

“We’re not getting any collabs with that mindset, Mr. Morales.” Yuri says teasingly to irk him. “So this is where you go off to, Hobie, I thought you worked at the diner.”

“That was nearly a decade ago, Yuri.” There’s a blooming headache in between his brows.

She simply rolls her eyes, turning to face you as she sits down. “Oh, hey gorgeous, I didn’t know all the pretty ones get to sit up front.” Winking at Lyla, then over to Jess, she sets her manicured nails onto the first row.

“Hi, I’m Peter—”

“No, thank you, Paul.” Yuri waves him away casually. “So, don’t let me keep you, boss man.”

Miguel looks like he’s about to burst a vein, he’s definitely going to have a stern talking to Lyla about her bias on hiring new people.

“Welcome, Miss Yuri Watanabe.” He greets monotonously to scattered applause. “As I was saying, we will have a union meeting about what happened in shipping…”

—

The day went on as usual despite the little surprise at the start. Turns out Yuri was a great addition to the team, she had great suggestions that would help increase sales. Plus she’s getting along well with everyone, especially Lyla. The downside is that she might call for some people to help in making those said internet content. You’ll probably be hiding from her just like everyone else after hearing that.

You’ve seen everyone, greeted and chatted with pretty much every single co-worker, and have given them the small souvenir you stocked for them. Lyla gets a pretty pink scarf that was fully weaved, Miguel gets a novelty mug of mount Rushmore, while Jessica gets a pair of baby booties that have palm trees from your trip to LA. The lunch club gets their keychains and magnets that have their names on it from all the places you stopped, each looking gaudy as the next. And Harry gets the classic souvenir t-shirt that he may or may not wear. Even Peter and Jared get something, but one person hasn’t received theirs, and coincidentally, he’s the only person whom you haven’t spoken to yet since you got here.

It was a busy day for you, and you didn’t have enough time to speak to Hobie, even at lunch when you had to skip it in favour of catching up to some work. Miguel noticed and handed you some vending machine biscuits to stave off the hunger, which you appreciate, but now you’re starving.

You stayed back fifteen minutes after you’re supposed to clock out purposefully. Harry has kissed your cheek goodbye with a promise to catch up next time, and the lunch club has invited you over for a movie night with the band on the weekend.

Whilst you hear the fading giggles of Lyla and Yuri from the closing elevators, you grab your bag quickly and take the present in your hand with one mission in mind— get to the mailroom.

To your surprise, you find the room already empty. You’re sure that he hasn’t left yet when your eyes were glued to the elevators. You’re about to pull out your phone to call him, but you hear rustling from behind his desk.

The place was a convoluted mess, it probably only makes sense to him and Gwen. It’s filled with piles of boxes, manila envelopes, and tons of files haphazardly placed in the corner. The shredder is filled to the brim and probably breathing its last life. There is one thing that caught your eye though, in a sea of boxes and blanched papers, is an orchid. It’s purple and pretty, a sight to behold in the mess.

“You like Terrence?” Hobie pokes his head from under the desk, hair sticking out from all angles, and a few pieces of shredded paper clings to him.

You almost shriek, staggering back as your back hits the wall. “Fucking hell, Hobie!”

Hobie has the audacity to laugh. “Shit, sorry, love.” Standing up, dusting himself, he tilts his head teasingly at you. “You got somethin’ for me to send out?” He gestures for the box in your hands.

“Yeah, wait, no, actually this is for you.” You close the distance, offering the present to him bashfully. “Consider this mail delivered.”

His eyes shine under the humming fluorescent lights as he takes the box gingerly in his hand. He weighs it in his hold, chuckling under his breath, and instead of opening it, he turns to gaze at you with the same smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You utter with the same warmth.

He still doesn’t open it, and you’re now bouncing on the heels of your feet.

“You look happy.”

Chortling, your head tilts down to hide your bashful smile and your heated cheeks. “Yeah, fresh air and two hours of screentime a day will do that to you.”

“Nah, you did this yourself. I’m happy that you’re happy.” His thumb scratches at the box nervously. “‘m…” he takes a deep breath, and your sweetened familiar perfume wafts in his nose that immediately eases the tension in his shoulders. “It’s good to see you back, really, ‘m happy you’re back.”

Your eyes flick towards him, still smiling. “I heard that you were irritated the whole time I was gone.”

He groans, head tilting back as he runs a hand on his expression. “Damnit, Jared.”

Giggling, you close the distance again, a hand gingerly brushing along the petals of the orchid. “Why terrence?”

“Gwen named him, I don’t know why she picked that though.”

“What would you have chosen instead?”

“Leopold.”

You let out a laugh that has him smiling even more. “Yeah, as if that’s any better.”

“It’s a mighty name for an orchid, love.” Hobie finally opens the present when he notices your eyes kept flicking over to it and then back to him with unbridled anticipation.

A domed glass greets him, and as he gently takes it out of the box, he sees the Colorado mountains inside the snowglobe, perfectly still as snow drifts inside. It’s not some cheap novelty globe, it’s well made, wood and glass with a metal band around it. His thumb feels an engraving up front, and he turns it to read the words, ‘wish you were here, Hobie!’ engraved right on the metal. His heart almost stopped, and his breath hitched in his throat.

“They almost misspelled it as ‘Hobby,’ I made them redo it. I was very brave about it actually.” Biting the inside of your cheek, you look at him with trembling anticipation. “I know it’s gaudy and probably not to your taste but it reminded me of you. I just thought, ‘wow, Hobie would love to see the mountains.’ And a snowglobe of it is the closest thing I could get you, a picture just doesn’t do it justice.”

“Lovie.” Stepping over boxes and around the table, he comes closer to you, eyes gazing into your own tenderly, russet swimming with something you’re not yet privy to. “It’s beautiful, I love it.” Your name almost slips off his tongue in place of ‘it’.

Your shoulders physically relax as you let out a sigh of relief. “That’s great, maybe you could find a place for it in your houseboat.”

“Speakin’ of,” he rolls the snowglobe in his hands, feeling the coldness of the glass. “D’you want to pick the spot for it? I’ll make us dinner, nothin’ fancy, jus’ some leftovers I have.”

Past you would’ve said no, but this version of you, who is just finding out how to truly live? What’s stopping you?

“As long as you let me buy the drinks.”

“Deal.”

—

Hobie admires the snowglobe on his desk, tucked in between his soldering machine and a wrench, a prettier sight amidst metal and unfinished projects.

He catches a giddy smile on his face from the reflection on a sheet of metal, and instead of fixing his face and flattening the smile, he grins even more. You thought of him when you saw those beautiful mountains, enough that when you saw the snowglobe at a gift shop it reminded you of him. It makes his heart lurch in his chest, to be seen as something as beautiful as those mountains felt more than familial, more than friendship, he could only hope at least.

A warm feeling underneath his ribcage calls your name, and he doesn’t muffle it.

The microwave beeps, and he wakes up from his lovestruck thoughts to grab the two bowls of leftover pesto that has angel hair pasta instead of the usual when angel hair was the only thing left in his cupboard.

Placing each one on a wooden tray that Ned left behind, he also grabs two mismatched glasses on his way out.

When he steps out of the houseboat, the cold seeping into his jeans and the cloudless sky spanning across the bay, he doesn’t see you in the same place where he left you on the patio chair.

“Love?” You might’ve fallen overboard, or hell, left without a word.

“Over here!” Your voice echoes amidst the rushing sound of water below. He follows the source, head looking up to see you sitting on his roof.

The way the moon lines up with the back of your head is heavenly, silver painting your smile, and the stars flickering right around you is a sight to behold that it takes his breath away.

“How’d you get up there?” His chuckles echo, bouncing off the waters as he gazes up at you with reverence.

“I used the chair,” you say it like it’s the most obvious thing. “The roof is stable right?”

“I hope so. Don’t want you fallin’ through it.”

“Insurance will cover idiocracy, I’m sure.” Shrugging with a laugh, you reach out to the tray. “Come up here, the view is amazing.”

He can’t resist your invitation. So he gives you the tray with some maneuvering, glasses and utensils clanking against the other as you place it on your lap.

“Right, move over, itsy bitsy spider.” Hands gripping the edge of the roof, he makes it look effortless to climb up with one pull up. His shirt rides up, stomach peeking in between the hem and the waistband of his jeans. In truth he could already feel his shoulders and lower back ache from the exercise. Groaning, he positions himself beside you, finding that the plastic bags from the shop are placed right behind you. He dusts his hands, and chuckles to himself, feeling your gaze on him. “Fuckin’ hell, love, you got me climbin’ my own roof for some slurpees and hotdogs.”

“And here I thought you climbed up here for the view.”

He considers you as the view, the best kind, probably a favorite of his. “That too.”

“So,” you reach for the slurpees, one raspberry and one electric blue that will surely taste nothing like blueberry as you pour it into each glass. “What’s been happening with you while I was gone?”

‘Wait for you to come back.’ Is what he wanted to say, but he bites his lip, teeth caught in the piercing as he unweaves it as nonchalantly as he could without you noticing. “Jus’ the usual, work, band, cook, band again.”

“That’s good. Keeping yourself occupied.” You mutter, looking at each drink in hand, trying to choose. Red or blue?

“I’ve got an idea.” Hobie takes both drinks, dumps half of the red into the plastic cup where it came from, and does the same with the blue. He then mixes both in the glass, making purple. He does the same to the other, making two new drinks. “There, save you some time.”

Your laughter brings out the moonlight even more as the light catches in your eyes. “Brilliant. This will surely not give us diabetes.” His fingers brushes along your own as he hands you your share. He’s cold, as cold as the drink in your grasp, and you want nothing more but to warm his hands with your own.

“As if these hotdogs won’t give us food poisonin’.” Despite his words, he takes a generous bite of the gas station hotdog that he lathered in ketchup and mustard.

“I’m immune to food poison at this point.” You grab a napkin and gesture to the stubble on his chin. “Sorry, you got a little…” he wipes but doesn’t get the blob of ketchup. Shaking your head with a grin, you move. “Can I?”

Hobie nods, then freezes in place whilst you wipe his chin gently. His eyes watch as you concentrate on the stain, the tip of your tongue poking out from between your lips and eyes narrowed like it’s the bane of your existence. “Got it all?”

“Yep,” your soft expression returns once you do. “Got it.”

The interaction didn’t feel awkward nor forced, it felt natural to the both of you, as if no time apart has passed.

“So, why the orchid?” You ask after a bite of your pasta that warms your insides.

“A client left it for Miguel.” Hobie pauses eating to watch the reaction on your blissful face when you take the first bite of his cooking. “But he said he didn’t want to take care of it, so Gwen and I have been takin’ care of it. It’s the office mascot now.”

“Can’t believe you had me replaced for a flower. A Terrence too.” You test the name on your tongue, garnering a chortle from Hobie. “The name is still weird, but sort of makes sense in a way.”

“You and a flower, there's barely any difference, both lovely.” He declares wholeheartedly.

“You’re a cheeseball, Hobie Brown.” Shaking your head with a smile, you feel your cheeks warm up despite the cold.

“You love it.” Nudging your arm, he watches the smile appear on your face. Lyla was right, the time apart made you feel better. “Any stories to tell me from your trips or am I not worthy to hear ‘em?”

“When were you not worthy?” You nudge him back, meeting with eyes, catching his gaze on your own that takes your breath away. The breeze flutters your lashes, and you get wind of his cologne, the same one you smelled on a random sunny day in California, one that you speed walked to follow, thinking that Hobie was there, only to see a stranger at the end.

Clearing your throat, you face your meal, stabbing your fork into the pasta before deciding to take a sip at the sickeningly sweet drink that lines your mouth. “Anyway, it was okay, the hotels I’ve been to were nice. And…” your tone fades as your thumb wipes away the condensation on the glass. “It was a good distraction.”

“Yeah,” Hobie swipes his tongue over his lips, elbow atop his knee as he looks into the water. “It probably wasn’t easy for you, being alone after what happened.”

“It’s weird though,” you shake your head, ducking down to meet with eyes as he returns your gaze. “I didn’t feel as lonely as I thought I would be. Being alone wasn’t so…lonely. I had you, you were one message or call away, and so were everyone else. And I haven’t felt like myself in a long time. I think the time I spent with myself helped me find— I don’t know how to put this, myself again. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does.” Hobie’s russet eyes shine underneath the silver moonlight. Catching sight of the barbed wire bracelet he has gifted you that is still clasped around your wrist securely. You kept it. His heart swells.

“It was good and all, but I don't think I would've survived another month like that.”

“‘No man is an island,’ they said.”

“Yeah. I’ve got a story actually,” sitting up, you lay the tray behind you as you hold onto your slushie. “I signed up for a guided tour of New Orleans while I was there, y’know the touristy ones that shows you all the spooky places.” Hobie nods, listening along as he angles his body towards you unconsciously. “And I befriended this nice sweet old lady named Janet, and we chatted the whole way, turns out she’s been going to the same tour for a decade or so because her husband used to be a tour guide. I think she knew more than our tour guide.”

You chuckle, eyes glossing over as you continue. “Well, anyway, I went to the bathroom and when I came back out, the bus was gone. So I was like, ‘not again.’” Tone catching at the end, his hand instinctively reaches out to you, before his own trepidation stops him. “I didn’t know anyone, didn’t know where I was and my battery was dead. I sat there on the curb, wondering what to do, then five minutes later, the bus came back around again with a screaming Janet. She noticed I was gone, and she came back for me when she has only known me for an hour. An hour,” your cadence pitches higher, anger this time rather than sadness. “when I’ve known MJ for more than a decade.”

“Love…” Hobie calls your name softly as your head falls into your hands, fists rubbing in your eyes. Your body shakes, and he holds you, his own reluctance makes him pause but he does it anyway, and lets you cry, keeps the trembling to a minimum, absorbing it into himself.

“I–I think I’ve always been alone,” your words are muffled by your hands. “I just didn’t notice it whenever she was with me.” Lifting your head, you rest your cheek atop his waiting shoulder, and he lets you, he cradles you beside him on the creaky roof of his houseboat. “I don’t think she saw me like how I saw her. I love her, I really do, but she wouldn’t have noticed that I was left by the bus. But Janet did, you did, you always did. Hobie, I don’t want to be left by the bus anymore.”

A beat passes, and his palm gently brushes along the length of your arm, gently, softly, like a rock skipping on water.

“When I was a kid,” Hobie takes a deep breath, blinking away the blurriness in his eyes as he lays his chin on the crown of your head. “I got left by the bus too durin’ a trip, and Ned noticed that I was gone jus’ like your old lady did.” You let out a wet chuckle. “How ‘bout we both make sure that we don’t get left by the bus, hm? We’ll be each other’s…what do you call ‘em ‘ere?”

“Buddy, a buddy.”

“Yeah, that, a buddy, we’ll be each other’s buddy. Keepin’ an eye on each other, hm?”

“That sounds nice.” The breath you let out feels like the weight on your shoulders were finally lifted off of you. He feels nice under your cheek, warm, steady, whilst you feel his breath fan the top of your head, a familiar presence that you have been longing for. “I’d like that.”

“Me too, love.” Craning his neck down, he ducks to look at you.

The slow smile appearing on your face reassures him that you’ll be alright. “You know what the trip made me realize?” He hums. “It made me realize that I shouldn’t let everything pass by me, like I’m a bystander in my own life. That I should go and— and live. The world is fucking huge, Hobie, and I was missing it.”

“Then go and see it, lovie.” He holds your chin in between his thumb and index, grinning lovingly at you, a grin that you could feel in your chest.

You chortle, cheeks warm, heart feeling light. “I will, maybe once I’m financially stable, and when I find an apartment.”

Hobie’s brows furrow in worry. “You have no place to stay? Love,” he’s leaning away, holding you by your shoulders. “Since when?” He fears the worst.

Your jaw clenches, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “...Since my birthday.”

“Shit, love…” His face contorts into deep concern, not chastising or judging you, just incredibly worried. “So there wasn’t an aunt?”

“I know. And no, there isn’t.” You mumble apologetically. “I’ve been working on it and I haven’t found a good place where the locks actually work and where the place doesn’t smell like black mold.”

“Love.”

“I know, I’m…picky.”

“No, I— I’ve got a free room.” Scratching the back of his flaming neck, he feels utterly ridiculous for even saying that. Great, he just made things complicated and awkward between the two of you.

“Hobie, I can’t— that’s, that’s too much of an ask.”

“Funny when ‘m the one who feels like ‘m askin’ for too much from you. You’re in a vulnerable state and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable—”

“You’re not!” You touch his cheek, and he immediately clamps up. “I mean, I know what you’re saying, and you’re not taking advantage of me, it’s probably me taking advantage of your kindness.”

“You’re not.” He’s trying incredibly hard not to fumble his words. “I was the one who asked, love.”

“Can we start again?” You wince, fists curling in front of your face to hide your gritted expression that he’s endeared at.

“D’you want to be my roommate?” He starts again, more steady, more sure this time around.

“Only until I find my own place,” a hand patting his bicep, you smile lopsidedly. “and I will pay you, no buts, no saying no to my payment.”

“Lovie, d’you want to come live with me until you find your own place, and with reasonable rent?” Hobie restructures his words with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Yes.”

Raising his cup, he clinks it with you, the slushie melting, the night growing colder. “Welcome home, then.”

Grinning giddily, you can’t help it when your legs kick about as it dangles from the roof. “To being roommates.” The two of you take a drink together, letting the same teeth rotting sweetness coat your tongue. “I’ve got more interesting stories actually. Less sad this time.”

“You can tell me more about it, roommate.”

Rules:

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Check my navigation if you're not sure if I've already written your prompt!

Missed last year's summer flick screening? Here it is!

🎙️ Read my rules? Time to get married!

💍 Where's my husband? - could be their dating phase, or literally how they get engaged! Do you get to choose your ring? Or is it a surprise from him? Does he go down on one knee or do you go down on one knee for him instead? Or maybe a double engagement perhaps? 🤔

💍 Something new - a whole new AU for your chosen blorbo that I have never done yet! Or maybe a little something different to an existing AU! For example, pirate AU but MJ still lives, cowboy AU but R leaves with Hobie.

💍 Something borrowed - An AU from another piece of media/franchise that I haven't done yet. For example, hunger games AU, pride and prejudice AU.

💍 Something blue - Angst! Soul crushing Angst!

💍 Something old - Any prompt for any of my already existing AUs! Or a prompt pertaining to an older version of your blorbo, ie. Older! Hobie, older! Robert, Older! Eddie.

💍 Honeymoon - A prompt with them set in a different place just doing couple things.

💍 Then comes a baby in a baby carriage - parent/ Dad AU!

Confused? Here's a sample request - “can I get a something old with Hobie and Ekko? Just them being lovey dovey together with R when they're in their 50s in their own home”

OR “Then comes a baby in a baby carriage with single dad! Jason please! Where they tell Ollie that they're now together!”

(Please follow the event's format so that I know what you're requesting for during the event!)

If your request requires it, please specify your reader! Ie. Fem! Reader, gn! Reader, blackcat! Reader, pirate! Reader. Etc.

Don't have a request but want to chat with your wedding planner? Whether it's writing tips, talking about your OCs or just to chat about, feel free to send a 🥂!!

A/N: Has it been three years already?! Where has the time gone 🥺 as always thank you to every single one of you for reading and engaging with my works!! Even when I update a series once in a blue moon lmao It makes my whole day whenever an ask or a reblog passes by my notes and I'm eternally grateful to all of you for making last year tolerable. Writing and talking to all of you has literally saved my life more times than I could count, so if you've been here since the beginning or just passing through, thank you from the bottom of my heart. A big thank you to my moots, you know who you all are, for letting me yap until 4 am and you had to tell me to go to sleep or else 😆 this year I've written so much and gotten into new fandoms! Some of which I discovered because of you guys! To more fics and unhinged thoughts with you!! Cheers! 🥂

With so much love,

Katy ❤️

Special thanks to @cursed-carmine for the lace banners and for @hyperfix-wip for the help with the prompts! 💙 Go check them out!