TellMeAStory

One of them leaned down, his breath reeking of cheap beer. "Oi, love," he slurred. "You look lonely sitting here by yourself." His companion snickered before plopping onto the stool next to mine without invitation.

I smiled politely and tried to stand but was promptly and forcefully pulled back down to my seat. I scowled and looked between the men, scolding as I tried to not escalate the situation. "Gentleman, please.”

The taller of the two men kept his grip tight on my shoulder. "Nah, stay put," he said gruffly.

His friend smirked and leaned in too close for comfort, resting an elbow on the table, staking claim to my personal space. "We're just being friendly," he added, though there was nothing friendly about it. They were both clearly drunk and obnoxious, and entirely unaware of their surroundings beyond my attention.

I tried to stand again but they yanked me down, rougher this time. My blood boiled at their actions, and I couldn’t maintain my diplomacy. I slammed my hands down on the table and warned them, "I think it's best you leave" I sneered, feeling very cornered.

Irritation flashing across their faces. "Oi, who do you think you are?" they growled, tightening his grip on my arm. They moved their chairs closer, completely oblivious to their surroundings.

A poor choice, since by the bar, James had taken notice to the scene. His entire body going rigid with quiet fury as he watched the two drunkards beside me. He watched the scene the second it caught his eye, analysing my wellbeing.

When the man reached out to grab my chin, forcing me to give him my attention, James was off like a fired gun. One moment he was casually holding a glass of whiskey, relaxed and unhurried. The next, he was storming across the room, straightening his jacket.

The men didn’t even have time to react before James was right there, his presence suddenly towering over them, his face eerily composed despite the storm in his eyes. Without hesitation, he grabbed the first man by the back of his collar and yanked him backward so hard that the stool clattered to the ground. “Gentleman, I believe you are bothering my friend.” He announced his presence; words calm despite the threatening undertone.

I sighed in relief upon seeing James and relaxed slightly, my shoulders dropping as the hands were taken off me. The men, however, weren’t put off in the slightest. They looked between each other, scowling in offense at their drunk minds caught up with the scene.

They clearly did not respect a foreign Irishman interrupting their entitled behaviour. "Piss off," he growled, turning to size up James. He stepped into his personal space and shoved a finger hard into his chest. “This ain't your business."

His friend barked out a laugh and turned back to me, who was already scowling at his advances. “Quite the annoyance, ain’t he?” he laughed and grabbed my arm to pull me closer to him.

I ripped my wrist from his grasp, it hurt to do and I winced as it came free. He only laughed and grabbed my face with both hands, tucking my hair away from my face in a messy, handsy fumble.

James leaned over, palms flat on the table as he warned, "if either of you lay a hand on them again, I'll take it clean off." James' voice was deceptively calm, polite, even, but the sheer venom in his tone sent a chill through the air.

The man with a hand on my face froze for half a second, his drunk brain finally registering that this wasn’t some harmless scuffle.  But arrogance won over common sense and with another obnoxious laugh, he tightened his grip, squeezing instead of letting me go.

Big mistake.

James didn't hesitate.

In one swift, brutal motion, he pressed his palm on the back of the man’s head and slammed his face down onto the table, a hard crunch was heard upon impact.

The drunkard howled in pain, clutching his nose as he sat back up, falling off his chair onto the ground. Without missing a beat, James turned to the other man and headbutted him square across the nose.

The pub erupted in gasps and shouts, mine included as I stood from the table, backing up away from the immediate danger to press my back against the nearest wall.

Watching James fight was like watching dog’s fight. No order, clearly self-taught from bar brawls and back ally fights. The bar was chaos as the patrons cheered and the bartenders shouted for it to end.

He dodged a wild punch from the first man before countering with a sharp elbow to his ribs. The second man swung at him wildly, drunk and out of order. James ducked under it and retaliated by driving his knee straight into the bastard’s stomach. The air left him in a pained wheeze as he doubled over.

"James!" I shouted, warning him of incoming punch from behind.

He whipped his head around at the sound of your warning, just in time to see the second man swinging a heavy fist toward his back. James spun on his heel and delivered a brutal right hook straight to the man's jaw, sending him stumbling backward into another table.

Eventually one of the men grabbed James, ready to tackle him to the ground. Without a second thought, I grabbed a nearby glass and held it high before throwing it down, shattering it over his attacker’s head. The sound of the glass shattering echoed through the pub and for a split second, there was stunned silence… then chaos erupted again.

The man howled in pain, clutching his bleeding scalp as blood trickled down his forehead. His grip on James loosened just enough for him to wrench free and James didn't waste a second. He grabbed another nearby stool and swung it straight at his attacker’s legs like a baseball bat.

James turned around to check on me, panting as he did, stopping to catch his breath for only a second before grabbing my hand and dragging me away from the danger.

“I think our night is up, Love.” He announced, yanking me through the crowd, shoving past patrons who barely had time to react as we bolted for the door. The drunken brawl behind you erupted into even louder shouting, the two men now roaring in rage.

James exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the adrenaline still pulsed through him. His hands, knuckles bruised from throwing punches, trembled slightly in my mine as we ran to safety, a shameless chuckle falling from his lips as we did.

Finally, we burst through the door, shutting it quickly before resting our back against the door as we caught our breath. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to warm my lungs from the burn of the freezing air.

James on the other hand, laughed in private victory, “Well, that could have gone very badly.” He turned to look at me, scanning me down for injury with a sharp concern in his eyes.

"Christ, James," I breathed, shaking my head at his reckless laughter. "Was that really necessary?"

James' jaw tightened slightly, not in anger, but something else. "Yes," he insisted firmly, his voice still rough from the adrenaline. "They were handling you like they had a right to." His eyes flashed with something dark, a protective rage that hadn't fully dissipated yet.

My words were stuck in my throat as I watched him, eyeing the blood on his face, too distracted by his bruising to think of a response.

"I wasn't about to let them keep at it," He added, before swallowing and bringing straightening his jacket. “Besides, a pub brawl is good for the soul.”

A laugh slipped from my lips and dropped my head to look at the floor. I felt a strange feeling in my stomach, shivering at the idea of him protecting me, but I pushed the thought away. "Ever the gentleman," I exhaled, standing up off the door.

James snapped his head to me as I laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Ever the gentleman?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow as if that title didn't quite fit. "...I suppose I *am*," he admitted dryly, rolling one sore knuckle absently with a wince.

"Well, the next time you feel the need to 'protect my honour'" I teased and stepped in front of him, hands reaching around to the back of his collar. "You needn't take on two men to do it. Words will do just fine" I scolded playfully, as I straightened out the creases.

James huffed a quiet laugh. "Words?" he repeated, amused. "Darling, those two weren't the type to listen to words, or read them, I imagine" His smirk returned briefly before fading into something more serious.

He caught my wrist gently as I fussed with his clothing, stopping me just for a second. "But," he said softly, "I'd rather fight twenty men than let someone disrespect you like that."

A silence blanketed the air.

I eyed him, trying to discern what was going on behind his eyes.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I scoffed and stepped back. “Let's go then" I nodded my head towards the bathroom as I expected him to follow. "Let me clean you up as payment for your chivalry" I coaxed, still teasing.

James' smirk deepened, the tension finally melting from his posture. He placed a hand over his heart as if deeply touched, though the sarcasm in his face betrayed him.

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He sat on the edge of the porcelain bathtub with an exaggerated sigh, wincing slightly as he flexed his bruised knuckles again.

The second I turned on the faucet and dampened a cloth, he leaned back in his position and loudly sighed, more dramatically than the last, playing up just how dreadfully wounded he was by this whole ordeal.

"Oh please" I laughed at theatrics under my attention.

James grinned, revealing in the sound and loving that he had my full attention.  He winced dramatically as I dabbed the cloth at a scrape on his cheekbone, sighing like a man mortally wounded. "Ahhh," he breathed out shakily, tilting his head back for added effect.

I dropped my hand and tilted my head, looking at him like one would scold a child. When I returned the cloth, he let out another theatrical gasp, as if even this mild sting was unbearable agony. He was milking this shamelessly.

"James" I scolded, giggling as he pulled his head away. I took take his face gently in my hands to pull him back within my reach.

James' dramatic retreat was short-lived, the smirk on his lips betraying how much he enjoyed this. I sighed and brushed my thumb over his cheekbone, to which, he softened. The theatrics faded into something quieter…more genuine. His eyes locked onto mine for a second too long before blinking down at his lap instead.

"You're so dramatic," I accuse, shaking my head as I moved the cloth to clean his eyebrow.

James chuckled, a real, quiet one this time. "Dramatic? Me?" he repeated, feigning offense but not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice anymore.

He stayed perfectly still now; the earlier bravado was gone. Now it was just us, in a quiet room while I fussed over him with a tenderness that made something warm settle in his chest. A small smile played on his lips, unusually soft for someone who’d been throwing punches minutes ago.

I gently lifted his chin with the tips of my finger to see his cut better and gently cleaned around it. "Hold still" I mumbled, stepping closer between his knees to see better. "And yes. You are nothing if not a man of theatrics and performance," I spoke so softly, it was practically a whisper.

James held completely still in this moment, his breath hitching just slightly. He didn’t crack a joke or deflect. Just… stayed quiet, watching me work with parted lips.

The air around us felt different now, charged with a kind of electricity. His gaze dropped to my lips for half a second before flickering back up to meet my eyes… then quickly away again like he hadn't meant to do that at all.

I almost lost my footing at the sight and stood a little straighter, clearing my throat. “So,” I began. “Where did you learn this…fight now, question later philosophy?” I asked.

James exhaled through his nose, pulling him out of whatever quiet moment had been brewing. “Growing up, I suppose,” he admitted with a shrug. “Learned early that sometimes… talking doesn’t work." His accent thickened slightly on the words. "...And I've never regretted throwing a punch when someone deserved it," he added, words sure and content.

"It may not be worth the trouble, James" I suggested, moving the rag to clean the small cut on his lip. "Men will always be pigs, you needn't get yourself hurt over it."

James’ jaw tensed slightly the words stinging more than the cut itself.  "Not worth it?" he repeated, quieter now. His eyes darkened with something stubborn, almost offended by the idea of.

He caught my wrist, gently and took it away before speaking firmly: "If some man lays a hand on you? It's always worth getting hurt over."

There was no theatrics this time. Just raw conviction burning in his gaze.

I stumble over my words, unsure of how to respond to his sincerity. I paused and gathered my thoughts before tapping him on the nose, breaking him out of his intense gaze. "You were quite passionate about that weren't you?" I teased, "dearly devoted to protecting my honour. If I didn't know any better… I'd question your feelings towards me, James"

James jolted, fixing his posture as he looked at me in surprise. “What ar- “he began, so quietly I barely heard him speak. He stood stall and stepped closer, towering over me as that smirk of his returned. With a devious look in his eyes, he tilted his head, as if challenging me to speak first.

When I didn’t, he cupped my face gently and pressed his lips to mine. Not dramatics or theatrics, just soft. I gasped into his lips and dropped the rag in my hand before resting my hand over his wrist as his hands held my face gently.

James hummed quietly against at the sound, before his hands slid to tangle gently in your hair. The kiss deepened, slow and sweet, all earlier roughness gone. He kissed like he’d been wanting to for weeks, maybe months, patient but hungry now that he finally had permission.

I felt his thumb twitch as he cradled the back of my head, keeping us close… making sure this moment didn’t end too soon. But alas, we needed to breathe, and he let us softly part.

I whimpered as his lips parted from mine and shook my head as I pulled him in again. James didn’t resist- couldn’t resist.

A low sound rumbled in his throat as our lips connected again. James walked forwards without breaking the kiss, until my hips hit the edge of the sink, forcing him to stop or risk knocking something over.

James broke the kiss just enough to press his forehead against mine. His chest rose and fell rapidly; he’d been holding that in for too long.

"How do you think I feel about you now?" He asked, looking down to me, his question hanging in the air, his voice uncharacteristically soft, almost vulnerable. His eyes searched for an answer, his usual arrogance stripped away. I felt his hand tighten on my waist, like he was bracing himself.

No smirk this time. No dramatic flair or deflection, just James, bare and honest: waiting to see if this, meant something real to me too. James’ expression shifted instantly, horror flashing across his face at the mere thought.

I looked him in the eye, making sense of the moments passed before a smile crawled onto my face. “You can’t punch every man who disrespects me.”

Then, like he couldn't help it, he kissed me once more. Quickly this time… a peck to punctuate his point. “Oh, I absolutely can," he countered instantly, the playful edge returning to his voice.

"I don't like seeing you hurt," I reasoned, trying to ignore how attractive he looked in this moment, trying to maintain a sense of authority.

"I know," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. Then another to my jaw. "But I’d rather be hurt than let someone scare you or… worse."

My eyes fluttered shut at his kissing and I instinctively tilted my jaw further into his reach before trying to argue again "James- really- it's- just trouble" I breathed, stammering on every word as I lost focus.

"Trouble," he echoed between soft kisses, voice laced with amusement as he travelled down my jaw. "Worth it."

“I-“I swallowed hard before raising my shoulder up, resting a hand on his chest to stall him. I knew if his lips remained on my neck, I would have no control over myself. "iiii’m serious!" I stepped back, pointing a finger at him like I was scolding a puppy but nothing in my voice suggested that I was serious and neither did the smile threatening to crawl onto my face.

James kept his hands around my waist but let he distance him, pouting as I did. For half a second, he just stared… then the corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re serious, are you?” A slow smirk curled his mouth and without breaking eye contact, he took my hand in his and kissed my knuckles.

"James" I warned, switching my weight as I tried and failed to sound serious. He laughed through pursed lips as he kissed down my wrist. Without moving, he looked up and made eye contact, humming like he was listening and my knees could have given out right there.

My eyes fluttered shut as his lips reached my shoulder, "you can't just get into fights for me" I tried to lecture, the words interrupted by my own breath.

James ignored the lecture entirely. His hands slid around to my back, pulling us flush as his lips travelled higher… up to the base of my neck. He looked up and scrunched his nose speaking in a borderline patronising tone, "we'll talk about this later."

His tone was so dismissive, so smug, as he delivered that line like a king waving off a peasant’s complaints.

“Fine,” I breathed, “Later.” I allowed as he walked me backwards. The unspoken message was clear.

Despite your best efforts, they had no interest in building bridges, and after a tireless trial, polite introductions and enthusiastic communication, you gave up on them. They’re acceptance was simply not worth the torment it put you through to have them see you for who you were. There was no changing their minds, their prejudice would take priority.

So, you put your nose to the books and focused on the opportunities that Oxford had to offer. Spending everyday reading, studying and asking any questions that came to mind, even if they drew snickers from your classmates. It became more important to learn and to grow than to fit in and be accepted and it truly was a freeing and enlightening change in your life.

In this lesson, you sat straight in your chair, following along with the notes written on the chalkboard. You studied with an enthusiasm that would have made Einstein proud and by the end of the lesson, your sleeves were rolled and your hands were spotted with ink stains.

Beside you, you heard a muffled laugh from the group sitting by you. When your eyes met theirs, they promptly looked away but made no effort to disguise their mocking. Looking yourself over, you tried to identify what they were making fun of; a habit you’d developed recently. Perhaps your clothes, maybe your posture-

‘Forget it,’ you thought to yourself. ‘It really doesn’t matter what they think.’

Clearing your throat, you packed up your books into a neat pile and stood up from your chair but not before a book was slid off the top of the pile as one of the students pushed it to the ground as they walked past. The book hit the ground with a loud thump, and a scowl broke onto your face as you looked up to scold them.

“Nice tie. Home stitched, yes?” He asked in passing. To anyone who didn’t know better, he would have sounded genuine, but the smirk and laughter from his friends christened the comment with malice.

You looked down at your clothing, at the tartan printed tied you’d sewn yourself after tearing some old clothes apart. It was a project you were proud of, one that made you happy to do and feel excited to wear. It certainly didn’t match the fashions of your classmates, standing out more than they ever could. Regardless, you loved it and there was little they could do to make you unhappy with how you walked around the world.

Instead, you rolled your eyes and moved around the desk to pick up your book, but your professor beat you to it. He held up a hand, gesturing for you to wait as he picked the book up. "May I offer you some advice?" He bent over, placing the book gently on the others.

Nodding politely, you rested your hands on the stack of books in front of you. “Of course, Professor.” He was a deeply insightful man, one who hadn’t offered you personal wisdom until now.

He cleared his throat and eyed the door the students had exited. "Perhaps you would be better suited to the establishment…” he began, carefully choosing his words. “If you found comfort in getting along with others?"

You laughed through your nose and looked down, taking a moment to think before replying. "You, of course, mean conformity?" you ask, staring him down. It killed you to disagree with someone you looked up to, but perhaps this was an opportunity to repay him in kind for all the knowledge he’d brought you. "I believe it was Ralph Waldo Emerson who said, 'To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else, is the greatest accomplishment.'"

The professor looked down, disappointment evident on his face as you dismissed his advice. He sighed and stood up straighter, folding his hands behind his back. "Well, I sincerely hope you find contentment in such a publicly challenging accomplishment."

Ouch.

Holding his eye contact, you nodded politely. You knew he was genuinely trying to aid you; but you simply had no interest in making yourself more palatable for the masses. "Thank you for your advice, Professor,” you replied, hoping your sincerity brought a sense of validation to his efforts. “But I don't know how to be anyone else but me. And I've found that my life has been marginally better since I stopped avoiding that fact."

There was an almost combative pause as your professor searched to have the last word, a poor habit of the century’s man. The pause was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat by the door. You looked over to see James, standing tall with his arms behind his back.

James was a breath of fresh air in an often-suffocating circumstance, you couldn’t help but smile whenever you saw him. True to this, you politely bid your professor farewell and collected your books to walk in step with your friend.

James gave a cheeky salute to the professor before walking beside you, tapping you on the back with an open palm as he led you down the halls. He leant in to speak you’re your ear. “Let me guess, he kept you back to prepare you for an early graduation and outstanding recognition.”

A smile broke onto your face as you coughed out a laugh, “Certainly,” you continued his joke. “In fact, I’m late to submit my application to join him on the educational board.”

“Just don’t forget my humble self when you’re running Oxford, aye?” he smirked, hands in his pockets as he strutted beside you.

“Oh James, how could I forget you when I appoint you my doting, attentive assistant?” You tease, watching him press his tongue against the inside of his cheek, literally biting back the urge to-

Before you could think further, a hard shoulder smacks into yours in passing. You would have dropped your books if not for the iron clad grip, you'd learned to hold them with.

The two of you stopped abruptly and James quickly scowled, calling out, "Pardon gentleman?" James shouted, drawing attention to their bull-headed behaviour.

The group of students paused, looking between each other with entitlement, their noses stuck up in the air wondering what they could have possibly done wrong. The one who knocked into you stared James down before raising his eyebrows and looking you with a mocking look of pity. "Pardon,” the bull nodded, his voice void of all sincerity. “Despite yourself, you're quite easy to ignore.” His friends all scoffed, snickering with no ounce of subtlety.

You willed yourself to not look at the ground, standing tall in moments of scrutiny. "Regardless of your tragic lack of awareness, an apology wouldn't go amiss," James spoke with a confidence you couldn't fathom, ever the diplomat before fisticuffs.

The boys looked at James like he'd grown a second head, and you held your books tighter, hoping the earth would just swallow you.  "James, it's fine," you spoke up, paying the boys no mind "they're...."

“We’re what?” He stepped forward, raising his eyebrows as he looked down with a warning glare behind his shark eyes.

James promptly stepped in between the two of you, holding up a hand to the man sizing you up. There was a heavy pause as the tension grew thicker. “Now now,” his voice was low and threatening, saying no more words than he needed to.

With an obnoxious scoff, the student backed off, saying nothing but gesturing for his friends to follow. He stopped and looked back when he was a safe distance from James. “Even you could do better, James. Some people are just born to be left behind.”

You looked to the ground, the words hitting you like a battering ram. You pursed your lips, trying to forget the words before they swirled around in your brain, but it was too late.

“Feckin’ Beland,” James cursed, turning back to see you already on the move. “Hey, wait- “

“I’ve got class, James,” you called out. “I’ll see you later.”

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Eventually, after a devastating long day, later came.

You stood in front of your mirror, staring yourself down as you recounted the events of the day. All the unprompted criticism and conflict, it had been exhausting and despite your best efforts, it was all getting underneath your skin. Like a mantra, you repeated in your brain ‘Ignore it all. They’re not your thoughts, they are theirs. Just forget about it.’ But nothing scrubbed the words from your mind.

With a frustrated sigh, you ripped off the tie from around your neck, clutching it tightly in a balled fist. Maybe it was time to blend it a little more, if for no other reason than to ease the exhaustion.

Before you could continue your internal debate, you heard a gentle tapping at your door. Flinching at the noise, you rubbed your cheeks, suddenly aware of their dampness and turned your back, ignoring the sound.

The door opened anyway and Jame’s gentle voice chimed from the door. “Hello? I was just checking in to see if you’d eaten y- “He cut himself off as he caught sigh of you and shut the door to lean against it. “What’s wrong?” He tilted his head and his eyebrows softened as he spoke, voice coated in soft concern.

Before you could reply, inevitably in denial, he crossed the room and placed two fingers on your arm, turning you to face him directly.

“You’re upset,” he observed, no hint of question in his voice. “You should’ve come to me.”

You shook your head and gently grabbed his hand before letting it fall, “I’m not- “

James frowned and reached up to grab your cheek, turning you to face him without letting go of your face, “your eyelashes are wet,” he deducted, leaving no room for debate. "Care to try again, without lying to me this time?"

A frustrated sigh left your lips as you brushed off his hand, tie still wrapped tightly in your fist. “James, stop,” you insisted, turning to sit on your bed, wanting nothing more than to escape his watchful eye.

A hush fell over the room before he slowly approached and took a seat beside you and tapped his shoulder into yours. “I know it bothered you…what they said- “

“Just forget it,” you insisted, just wanting the conversation to end, “It doesn’t matter.”

There was another pause before James spoke again, scooting closer to you slightly. You felt his warmth, radiating to you like a magnet. “You know it would be alright if it did?” He suggested. “I wouldn’t judge you for it.”

The air in your lungs felt like lead and you took a deep breath, only to expel the weight in your chest. “I shouldn’t care,” you claimed. “I don’t care,” you repeated in attempts to convince yourself more than anyone else.”

“Good,” he chimed, facing you more intentionally, even if you only stared at the tie in your hands. “They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.”

Tilting your head, you sighed and muttered in turn, “I don’t know about that,” you admitted. “They’re right… things would be easier if I just…changed.” You struggled to find the right words; they felt foreign on your tongue. You didn’t believe a word you were saying, the words just strung together in a way that made sense.

"I quite like you the way you are," he said sweetly and, if you weren’t refusing to look at him, you would have seen the soft smile that commanded his face.

Instead, you scoffed, wiping your cheek as you laughed and looked away. “Don’t make fun of me, James. I’m not in the mood.”

His face burned and he stood up quickly, taking a step away from you bed to turn and scold you from the centre of the room. "Is it so hard to believe that I might be being genuine?" He shouted, frowning sadly. He threw his arms up in anger, emotions escalating quickly.

You blinked, surprised by his outburst and stood up yourself but he kept shouting before you could reply.

“Forget it- “he waved his hand out dismissively “It doesn’t matter, you’ve already made up your mind,” he spat.

“James, it’s been an exhausting day- I don’t need you prolonging their mocking by indulging the idea that- “

“That what? I might not be the shallow bastard you’ve thought up in your mind?” he argued, gesturing around as he monologued.

“I didn’t say that!” You defended, crossing your arms at his childish outburst.

“You’ve just accepted this messed up idea that their opinions are the only ones with merit? Just like that?” he spat

You laughed bitterly, staring him down as his ears burned red. “Not just like that,” you corrected. “Every day I’m reminded that I don’t belong here, that I’m not like them, that they will always think of me as their lessor.”

“And when did you start caring about what they have to say?” he jerked his head into a nod as he faced you directly, taming his wild pacing and arm flailing.

“Since they started to make sense!” You shouted, quickly shutting your mouth, covering it with your hand as you hugged yourself.

“Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?” he interrogated, trying to keep his voice firm, not letting it soften despite his instinct to lower his voice as he saw you struggling. He wanted nothing more than to abandon his anger and pull you close, but he stood firm.

You sighed and dropped your face to your palm, groaning in defeat. “I’d accepted they’d never like me. I was okay with that; it wasn’t a hard price to pay.” I explained. “It just hurts to think how much you’re suffering just by knowing me.”

James stepped back as he listened to your outburst, taking in every word like it was deeply personal to him. Talking to him was always so different than talking to anyone else.

“It just hurts…” you continue, “…to know that I’m kidding myself every day thinking one day you might-” You bit your lip, shutting your mouth manually since it wouldn’t stop moving.

James stilled, thinking back to the interaction earlier today. He remembered what they said, about James being able to do better and pity filled his eyes. “You don’t mean…”

You shut your eyes, shaking your head as you tried not to sob. You felt sick to the stomach. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying,” you retracted, sniffling as you forced yourself to catch your breath.

James only shook his head and tried to catch your eyeline, “No, I think you do.” He moved closer, but you ducked your head again, avoiding him. He couldn’t take it anymore, he approached quickly, crossing the room in few strides. His hand moved to your jaw, lifting your face to look at him, “stop trying to hide yourself.”

Your lips parted to respond but your breath caught in your throat, there was no room to think before his lips connected to yours. Your head jerked up, giving him better access as his lips moved in sync with yours. His hand remained firmly by your neck, guiding you into him before sliding down to your waist, pulling you in closer.

When you finally parted, he kept you close, resting his forehead on yours as you both caught your breath. Your eyes fluttered up to him as you felt your cheeks warm up. In a moment of clarity, you gasped and pushed him away, crossing the room as your thoughts cleared up. “What are you- for how long- I didn’t- James!”

His cheeks went a little red as he smiled wide, biting back a laugh as he watched you ramble. “Are you alright, love?” he chuckled taking a step towards you, head tilting with his eyes full of endearing charm.

Your eyes narrowed as you glared at him and pointed warningly, “don’t try to be charming now- “you tried to gather your thoughts, but it was increasingly difficult watching the smile on his lips, the knowingly soft and demanding lips. “Stop looking at me like that!” You scolded, throwing your balled up tie at him.

He caught it with a laugh and smoothed it out in his hands, wrapping each end around his hand as he stepped closer, ignoring the behaviour of a cornered animal. “Did you not like it?” he teased.

“No- “You answered quickly before scrunching your nose and correcting, “Yes- “

“Which is it, Love?” he asked, now in front of you. As you scrambled for the words that failed to form in your mind, he lifted the stretched tie over your head and around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

Eyes locked to his, you took a deep breath and let your shoulders relax. “You’re tormenting me,” you accused as he stared at your lips, leaning in closer.

“That I am,” he confessed and kiss you again, deep and confident. You relaxed into him, hands moving to his chest to hold onto his collar. He parted for a moment and kissed you quickly. “But you can handle it,” he encouraged, voice gravelly and deep.

“Oh, you’re sure?” You laughed, tightening your grip on his collar.

“I am,” he pecked your lips again, then the side of your lips, then your cheek. “Because you’re strong and you’re smart, far stronger and smarter than me.”

“Well, I knew that” you teased, tilting your head back as he continued kissing wherever he pleased. “I just didn’t know you felt like this.”

He paused and rose to his height, kissing your nose as he did. “Then let me tell you properly,” he whispered, stepping back, brining you with him until his knees hit the bed. “Until you have…absolutely,” another kiss, “no doubt on the matter.”

You felt your knees shake and you reached behind yourself, snatching the tie from his hands, needing no help in keeping close to him.

Before you could throw it down, he tutted, shaking his head as he draped it over your neck. “Oh no no no. I’d quite like to leave this on,” he flirted, eyes locked onto yours as he made you smile. “Anything to make you feel more you.”

Your legs moved to rest either side of his, “oh you’re a fan, are you?” you teased, watching his eyes flood with pure infatuation.