addicted to vulnerability @deluxedolans - Tumblr Blog

Chapter eight: 'time will turn us into statues eventually'

‘I don’t know’ you tell your friend Rani, who you’ve half forgiven for ditching you a few nights back, it’s Wednesday night and you are having a girls night with Chinese food and movies. ‘I left him the way I did to hint out that I assumed it was a one-off night, but I guess a small part of me was hoping he’d call, or stop by’. ‘Did you give him your number’ Rani asks, ‘nothing but my name, so I shouldn’t be expecting a bunch or roses and champagne any time soon’ you laugh dryly. A small part of you hoped he’d turn up somewhere. ‘Time to let go I think’ you tell Rani; she nods in agreement.

It’s Thursday morning, you are half asleep, knowing that your alarm is going to start blaring any minute and wake you up. The clock on your bedside hits 8:00, ‘and there we go’ you mumble to yourself as you struggle to remove yourself from the warm bed you are in. You walk over to your wardrobe and pick out your outfit for the day. ‘So fucking boring’ you say as you slip button up your white shirt, which is tucked into your high waisted black pencil skirt, soon to be completed with a matching crop blazer. You sigh as you clip-clop to the bathroom in your terribly uncomfortable black heels. You chuck your wavy ginger hair into a high bun, looking uncomfortably professional in contrast to your usual attire. You pick up your purse and head out the door.

‘Hello, Mr. Cosgrave’s office, Leila speaking’ this is the line you find yourself saying over and over and over again, from 9 till 5, five days of the week. Same job you’ve been in for only 7 months but it feels like forever. You want to get out and do pursue music, but that’s not going to pay rent. ‘What are you up to this weekend’ asks Sarah, one of your colleagues. ‘Not much’ you reply and turn back around on your swivel chair, knowing that she doesn’t give a fuck what you do in your own time, she just wanted you to ask her what she’s doing cause she loves talking about herself. You smile to yourself, knowing that you didn’t give her the satisfaction. ‘Well I’m going to go on my break now’ she says, ‘okay’ you reply, hinting that you don’t care. ‘Fuck I hate my job, I hate my job, I hate my fucking job’ you mutter to yourself. Being a receptionist for an accountant isn’t exactly ideal, and the office building you work in is bitchy and boring. The phone rings. ‘Hello, Mr. Cosgrave’s office, Leila speaking’ it’s Slutty Mel, from the front building reception, ‘There is some guy here for you, he wants to see you, do you mind coming down?’ ‘This better be the fax machine fixer dude’ you think to yourself, and walk out from around your desk and head for the elevator. The doors open up and you make your way past the wankers in suits with brief cases and the fake plants.

You walk towards the front desk and see him sitting there in the waiting area. Black vans on his feet, dorky long johns and shorts, bouncing his legs and drumming his thighs with his hands. He stands up as soon as he see’s you coming and a huge smile emerges. You’re a bit lost for words. ‘Um, hi’ you finally manage to stutter, ‘what are you doing here?’ He looks nervous and starts rubbing his neck looking like more of a nervous schoolboy than hard rocker, ‘I was passing by, and you mentioned you worked here so I thought I’d stop by and say hello’, he says with a awkward wave. ‘Do you want to do lunch or something? I can just take an early lunch break’ you tell him. ‘Yeah, sure!’ he says a little too enthusiastically. ‘I’ll be right back’ you rush to the elevator, and step inside. Why did he show up? Is he after another night like the last? Or does he like me? So many thoughts are rushing through your head that you forget to get off at the right level. You quickly rush to the ladies room, fix your hair, gloss your lips and undo three buttons, do them up again thinking it’s too suggestive, then settle on two undone. You grab your purse and head back down.

As the elevator doors open you see his awkwardly pulling at the leaves spilling out of the pot plants. ‘They’re fake’ you laugh as you walk up to him; he looks down at your cleavage, then back up to your face. ‘Okay, so maybe I should have stopped after the first button’ you think to yourself, ‘don’t want to seem too keen’. ‘Shall we’ he says bowing down his head to you; you laugh ‘you are such a dork’. He smiles.

Together you walk down to a local café and sit down inside, it’s raining out. ‘This is an interesting surprise’ you tell him. ‘Yeah, well I was at the guitar shop a few blocks down getting some wiring for amps for this weekends show, and I came past your building and recognised the name. Hope you don’t mind’ he replies. ‘No, no, not at all’ you reassure him. You continue talking a bit about his week so far; the usual shit. ‘So how’s work?’ he says leaning forward on his elbows. ‘Fucking shit’ you say bleakly, ‘I hate it. I hate everyone there; it’s such a fucking chore. I know what I’d rather be doing’. ‘What’s stopping you?’ he asks. You laugh, ‘the need to pay rent, feed myself, keep my parents satisfied’ ‘Do what I do, be a lazy fucking freeloader’ he says with a smile. ‘I wish’ you tell him ‘I admire you for that’. He bats his eyelashes jokingly. ‘Quit’ he says. You look at him confused and laugh. ‘Seriously.’ He says, ‘life is too short to be wasting energy doing something you don’t enjoy, we aren’t getting younger you know, time will turn us into statues eventually’. You think about this, he has a point, you look at the time on the clock on the wall ‘shit’ you say, I better get going’.

The two of you walk outside and it’s bucketing down with rain. ‘Here’ he says taking of his worn out leather jacket placing it over your hair. ‘Thanks’ you say looking up at him, ‘I think eventually this jacket’s going to belong to me’ you laugh. The two of you continue walking up the road, and somehow his hand slithers to grab yours, he looks down at you and smiles, his long dark hair slightly damp. ‘Well this is me’ you say, as he reaches in and grabs the blue biro pen tucked into your shirt pocket. He grabs your arm and scribbles down what appears to be a phone number, ‘this is so next time I want to see you I don’t have to stalk your work place’ he laughs. ‘Thanks Dave, um, I’ll call you soon’. He kisses you lightly on the forehead as he grabs his jacket from you, ‘see you round’ he says as he walks away.

winter-of-85-blog

Chapter seven: 'See you’

You turn away to look at the old flip-clock radio on the bedside, ‘shit’ you say, ‘I’m meant to be meeting my parents for Sunday lunch at 12:30, and it’s 11:45’. You jump up out of bed and try to scramble together your clothing that has been flung in random areas of the apartment, you turn around and he is watching you closely, you stick your tongue out at him and walk towards the lounge unpicking your underwear that has ridden up your ass, stupid lace. He gets up and follows, wrapping his long and lanky arms around your waist.

‘Hungry?’ he asks, you shake your head and look at him. ‘Nah, I better get going, the busses are ridiculously unreliable around here’. ‘Fuck buses’ he laughs, ‘I’ll drive you’. ‘Nah, I better get going, the busses are ridiculously unreliable around here’. ‘Fuck buses’ he laughs, ‘I’ll drive you’. ‘No, honestly’ you say, you don’t want to drag this on any longer, let’s be honest, he probably does this regularly, a different chick every night. ‘Walking will do my head good.’ ‘Okay’ he says, looking rather disappointed, ‘if you insist.’ You both walk towards the door, ‘well, thanks’ you say, he laughs. ‘You’re not getting away that easily’ he says with a smile, you give him a confused look. ‘The least I can do is walk you out the front’ he continues as you walk out the door together and head to the front. ‘Fuck I hate these awkward one night stand good-byes’ you think to yourself, you’re not too good at them. ‘So thanks for everything’, ‘No problem Leila, thanks for last night, it was fun’ he says, you smile in reply.

You turn away to leave, knowing this will probably be the last time you’ll see this lanky kid with the massive smile, but he pulls your face in and kisses you. You pull away and smile. ‘See you’ he says.

winter-of-85-blog

Chapter five

As you regain your balance his hand somehow reaches yours and his fingers intertwine with yours; you give him a look that says ‘what are you doing?’. He gives you a half smile. ‘What?’ you ask. He laughs, ‘nothing, just you, you’re are an absolute mess tonight’. ‘Shut up!’ you say jokingly. ‘On a serious note’ he continues, ‘what were you doing there? Especially alone, not a good idea…’ he trails off. ‘Well Dad,’ you say, emphasising the ‘Dad’, ‘I got separated from a friend, my only way home, I went looking for her and got lost, ended up her and some dickheads tried to feel me up and yeah. The usual.’ He nods, ‘sounds like you are a magnet for troubled guys’ he laughs. ‘You can say that again!’ you agree, ‘what about you? No special ladies in your life or does playing drums get you laid automatically?’ He grabs your wrists and directs you to a playground in the park you are walking through and sits you down on the swing. ‘I wish’ he says pushing the swing gently rocking you back and forth. He sits down on the swing next to you and continues ‘I was going out with this girl for a fair while, but when I dropped out of school her parents didn’t agree with that move so they made her break it off’ ‘Oh,’ you say, ‘that’d suck’. ‘Not really’ he says, ‘it meant I could tour and do whatever with my music without being tied down, but whatever, why did this conversation suddenly turn into Dr. Phil’ he says with a laugh before flashing his massive smile.

You continue to walk and talk for a while; Dave tells you heaps more about his involvement in various bands. You tell him about your boring office job and aspirations in song writing. The conversation ends when you are both standing outside a tall brick apartment building. The building looks old and dirty, weeds line the nature strip out front and cobwebs evade the windowsill. He reaches into his pocket for what you assume will be keys, but he pulls out a pocketknife. ‘What the fuck.’ you exclaim, he laughs ‘Oh, shit sorry, this must look bad. This is my friends place, he is on tour with his band in Europe at the moment so I’m house sitting for him.’ ‘You mean you’re a lazy free loader with no key’s?’ you say. ‘Yeah’ he answers as he sticks the small knife into the keyhole jiggling it open, ‘that or a gypsy’.

He guides you, still hand in hand up two flights of stairs, he reaches the door and opens it straight away, and obviously he doesn’t understand the concept of lock and keys. You step inside; it smells funny, not bad funny, just like dust and cigarettes. The apartment is small and is one room, a bed in one corner, kitchen in another, a couch and guitar in another and what looks to be a bathroom closed off in the far right corner. He walks toward the kitchen and takes two glasses from a cupboard and a bottle of whisky and fills them up. You walk over to the bench and lean on it with your elbows as he pushes the glass towards you. You take a sip and walk towards the dark green couch, which looks a little worse for wear, and take a seat. ‘Pizza?’ he asks from behind you, you look up and nod, ‘it’s from yesterday, by the way’ he adds. ‘Whatever’ you shrug, ‘always tastes better the next day anyway’ He laughs, ‘this is what I like about you!’

He sits down next to you and hands you a plate with a slice of Hawaiian pizza on it, after you finish eating you spy a few guitars in the corner; he notices this. ‘You play?’ he asks observantly. ‘I wish’ you reply, ‘I’ve never been coordinated enough, piano is enough of a struggle’. ‘Maybe I could teach you’ he says as he grabs two cigarettes from the deck on the table in front of him, he lights one a passes it to you, and lights the other for himself.

You spend the next hour drinking and smoking heavily; you can feel your head getting lighter and lighter. ‘Fuck’ you think to yourself, ‘my head will regret this tomorrow’. You see a massive shelf full of music and get up to sit in front of it. Just as you’d expect, every possible death-metal album you could think of is in the collection, plus more. You ask him about them, you hear gentle strumming and turn around and he is plucking quietly away at an acoustic guitar. You get up to sit down next to him. You shiver, he notices this and gets up to turn the heater on. When he comes back you have your legs up on the sofa, he lifts them up and sits back down under them, stroking your thighs and humming a melody. ‘That’s pretty’ you tell him sitting up so that your face is closer to his, he smiles and inclines his head closer towards yours and he kisses you.

winter-of-85-blog

Chapter four: ‘there is nothing left to lose’

You grab a beer, down it and grab another and rush to the front of the stage. The energy and vibe between the audience and the band makes you forget about everything and enjoy the moment. After 3 songs straight of jumping about, you sloppily walk to the bar, grab another drink and go in search of Rani, but she is no where to be found. ‘Her car!’ you remember, she always has the back left door unlocked, ‘I can wait for her there’ you think. You push past all the boisterous drunks and various stoners to find Ranis car isn’t where it should be. ‘Maybe she didn’t want a ticket so she moved it’ you question in your head, you walk round the block a few times and it feels like it’s never ending. You give up the search; the bitch must’ve left. You hear noise so you walk towards it - it’s another bar. As you approach I you notice it’s a lot grungier, and even in your ripped tights and heavy metal band shirt you still feel too clean to be in there. ‘Whatever’ you mumble ‘there is nothing left to lose’. You approach the door in hope that you’ll be able to catch a ride home. Just as you go to enter, a hand grabs your arm.

‘Where do you think you’re going sweetheart?’ ‘Ugh, more creeps’ you think to yourself. ‘I’m going to get in your car just like you want, and you can pay me in taco’s for sex’ you answer back sarcastically – which you usually wouldn’t in this situation if you weren’t so wasted. ‘Oh, we have a funny one’ the tall guy says to his shorter greasy-looking friend. You tug your arm away and keep walking, the short guy grabs your black leather studded purse from under your arm. ‘Give it back jerk’ you say, trying to sound confidant. ‘If your not going to help me out, I’m going to need money to buy some help if you know what I mean’. You go to grab the handbag back but the taller burly one grabs your waste and holds your slender body against his, he whispers in your ear something illegible, his breath reeks of whisky. You panic as his hand slithers down the front of your leg, so you scream. You’ve caught the attention of the security at the door; the two guys drop your purse and run. You pick it up and walk to the alleyway on the other side of the club to keep out of the winter winds. As you sit in an emotional heap on a wooden crate, you hear footsteps. ‘Fucking great, more losers’. You hear the footsteps getting closer and see a pair of black vans, your eyes move up to see the ripped jeans and a faded red shirt, it’s him. You look up to see him half smiling, looking dead worried.

You feel like standing up and hitting him, but instead you stand up and start bawling on his slender shoulders. ‘Sh, it’s okay, you’re safe now’ he reassures you whilst rubbing soothing circle into your lower back with his hand. He places his hands on your cheeks and pulls your face in front of his. ‘Have you got someone to pick you up?’ he asks wiping the mascara filled tears from your eyes with his thumbs, you shake your head and mouth the word ‘no’; you can’t even make a sound. ‘Alright’ he grins with that glorious smile, ‘guess we will be going on one of my adventures’. You look at him confused. ‘Come on’, he says, 'it’s a fair walk’. ‘What? You don’t have a car?’ ‘Nope’ he replies cheekily, ‘I didn’t expect to be saving the damsel in distress tonight, did I?’ Still drunk you walk wonkily toward the exit of the alleyway, falling to the left; he catches you. ‘Oh Leila’ he sighs, ‘It’ like learning to walk again’.

everydaydolan

Ethan Dolan

(24 may 2021)

deluxedolans

lowkey thought this was gray for a quick sec bc of the long hair

vintagedolan

Omg Kristina! You’re still here! Sorry, haven’t been on here in like a decade...

hi baby! yes, i’m still here :)))) i honestly have been kind of taking a break too! how are you?? 🤗

persistence-ofmemories-deactiva

Let’s try this again... You look miserable with Ethan

In all the happiness and excitement that comes with a new baby, there’s also days like this one: where Ethan will come back from checking on Ezra in the nursery and find his wife in bed with a deep pout, pained eyes, and that wretched machine in her lap.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You look miserable, sweetheart.”

“My tits are killing me.” She exhaled, glaring down at her lap. “I hate fucking pumping though.”

Ethan was at a loss. He prided himself, in their five years together, in being able to fix nearly every problem she found herself in. But when it came to this stuff, as much as he wanted to own a pair of breasts that he could pump in her place, he just didn’t carry the anatomy. Instead, he just pouted and climbed into the bed with her, crawling over with that special little glint in his eye that had Nova rolling hers and blessing him with a smile.

“Don’t come over here looking like that,” she chuckled. “You did this to me.”

“Oh, I did it?” He smirked, pushing her robe off her shoulders until her chest was exposed. Her tits have seen better days, honestly. Having a baby had changed her body completely, but he still loved it, even more now that he did, in fact, do it himself.

Still, it looked painful, the way her breasts were engorged with milk. Ethan dropped a kiss on each of them, wishing it would do something to relieve the pain. It seemed to do it, because Nova’s shoulders melted down a bit, and she sighed.

“How can I help?” Ethan asked.

She shook her head. “Just...” she looked across the bed at his nightstand. “Grab the remote, put something on while I pump.”

“I gotta be here for that?” He was laughing before she swatted at a hand at him, catching it and kissing that star on her palm. “I’m kidding, sweetheart, please.”

“And fix the pillow behind my back. And get me some water, please. And make sure Ezra’s breathing.”

“Damn, anything else?”

“Ethan Dolan—“

“I’m going!” He laughed again, kissing her before jumping out of the bed. “At your service, Mrs. Dolan.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but couldn’t help breaking out into the same smile he was wearing.

persistence-ofmemories-deactiva

Ok so what happens when they meet up at the place. Like what if someone from the fight was there, and now their giving Grayson a hard time.

It’s a small place. Cozy the way hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaraunts always seem to be. Opal ducked into a booth by the front window, so she could see when Grayson walked in. She ordered a water from the nice waitress named June.

And then she waited. For some reason or another, she was nervous. She stared out the window in search of that Nissan with the gloves on the mirror. Chang’s was the second business on the side of a plaza right by the road that leads out to where most of the traffic is, so a lot of the lighting that poured in over Opal’s face was from the brake lights of the cars close by.

Whether the cold or the nerves, Opal shivered and wrapped her sweater tighter around her shoulders. June offered her some ginger tea, and she accepted. She was just about to lift the cup to her lips when a Nissan with gloves on the mirror pulled up. Grayson stepped out with a bruised face and wet hair. He saw her in the window. It was funny, the way he went from intimidating to sweet with a quick curve of his lips. He threw her a wave, and she smiled and waved back, her eyes following him as he went around to the door.

“Hey.” His shoulders stuttered for a second before he was leaning down for a greeting kiss. Her cheek was soft and she smelled like lavender, which didnt make sense to him after spending an evening among sweaty, beer-ridden boxing fans.

“Hi,” she said Smally, not meeting his eye directly. She glanced down at his feet and smiled, pointing. “Look good.”

He followed her gaze down to his Adidas, turning his ankle for a second and chuckled. “Yeah, they’re great. Fit like a glove.”

“Good.”

“I don’t know if I like that you dropped that much dough of them though,” he said, ducking into the seat across from her. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Stop, I ruined your other ones.”

“Those were 30 dollar dupes from Walmart,” he laughed.

She shrugged. “So just buy me $200 worth of ginger tea.”

He smirked at her, jerking his chin when she went to take a sip. “Careful, it’s strong.”

He was right. Opal swallowed hard and tried to keep her cough as quiet as possible. Her cup clattered when she set it back down on the table, and Grayson chuckled as he served himself some.

“June doesn’t play.”

“Where’s the sugar?”

He laughed, and pushed some over. Opal blushed while he watched her stir some in. She had a hand full of stone rings, and beaded bracelets that rattled against each other when she moved her arm. He pointed at them. “Bringing those back?”

She looked down at them with a fond smile. “I’ve got a few students who are kind of advanced in reading. They like to make me bracelets with the spelling word of the week.”

“What this week’s?”

“Lose.”

“Fuck off.”

She giggled. “No, really, look. She held her arm out for him. His fingers were warm, soff as they pressed into the side of her wrist to get a better look at the bracelets. His eyebrows shot up. Surrounded by cute rainbow beads where tiny letter blocks spelling out L-O-S-E. He shook his head.

“Damn, maybe you were a bad luck charm. walking into that venue with that kind of energy.”

“Right, blame it on me.”

“Oh, it was definitely your fault.”

“My fault that Thunderbolt Dolan got cocky and wanted to show off? Sounds like a narcissist complex to me.”

“Oh?” He laughed. “you talk a lotta game, Eden.”

“I also throw a mean right hook. Since you get so distracted, maybe I can beat you too.’

“Alright, chill,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You caught me on an off day. Next fight, I’ll be ready. For the fight and for you.” He winked. It made her blush, and look back into her tea. Grayson stared at her. He didn’t think she could get prettier since high school, but here she was.

Opal finally looked up at him, and bit her lip. He had a black eye, some swelling on the left side of his face, the bridge of his nose purple. His lip was also split on the right. She noticed a scar between his eyebrows that was clearly from a while ago, and wondered if that had been a hard fight too.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

He nodded. “Not as bad as it looks.”

“Doesn’t look too bad.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, your eyes are still nice.” She smiled. “And you’ve got the jaw.”

“I knew you were a jaw person.”

She laughed. She was pretty when she laughed. Her eyes would get wide, and her lips would stretch open over her teeth, which were white and perfect. Even then, she’d lift her hands to her face to cover it. He figured it was a habit she picked up from having braces in the tenth grade. He remembered when she got them off, and suddenly everyone was talking about how pretty her smile was. He thought it was pretty before, too. With a mouth full of metal.

Opal Eden was one of those effortlessly likeable girls in high school. Her dad owned a good portion of the businesses in town, and her uncle was the pastor the church everybody’s parents went to on Sundays, Grayson’s included. The Edens were well known. Rich, but not in a stuck up way. Most of the local fundraisers and holiday reach beyonds that catered to the under resourced communities were funded by the Edens.

Opal was the third oldest of four sisters, though her younger sister Sapphire was only 11 months younger than her, and they were always in the same class. Sapphire was the bitch, and Opal was the angel. Class President, valedictorian, president of three honor societies that Grayson couldn’t even try to remember. The point is, she was one of those people Grayson knew about but never really knew, seldom that one time at the mall where he sat across from her at the food court table while she was waiting for some friends and he was waiting on Ethan to call him back to let him know where he was.

No words were exchanged except his is someone sitting here and her you are, but it was one of the clearest memories from that time in his life that Grayson had. He’d heard through the grapevine-- the grapevine being Malia and her friends-- that Eden’s dad had warned her to try to stay away from the Dolans, since they seemed to be troublemakers. Grayson figured it was for the better. Graduation came and went, and he didn’t see her except for the occasional awkward smile-glance they’d give each other at the grocery store, like everyone you only semi-recognized from high school.

Grayson cleared his throat now. “Did you order yet?”

Opal shook her head. “Just the tea. I was going to ask you what you like from here.”

“Best steamed dumplings in town. You like dumplings?”

“I’ve never tried them, actually.”

Grayson whistled, and waved June over to place the order. “Get ready.”

She loved them. They shared four whole baskets of them, losing count of who was eating more.

“Alright, so break it down for me. Even if you lose-- you get paid?” She asked after the second basket. Her eyes were big, nearly black as they stared at him attentively. She did that well, listened, giving you full attention. Grayson liked it.

He washed his last dumpling down with some water, and nodded. “Yeah, so basically Ethan negotiates the purse for me--” ‘

“That’s the salary.”

“Pretty much. Prize money’s all pooled together, and split up according to the agreed percentage.”

“So how much did you get?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She snickered. “I just think it’s interesting! I just thought the whole I don’t wanna get paid to lose was a joke from Nacho Libre.”

“Nice impression.” “Thank you. it’s my favorite.”

Grayson stared at her. “Nacho Libre is your favorite movie?”

“It’s a cinematic masterpiece.”

“Cinem-- do you watch movies?”

“Let me guess,” she smirked as she looked him up and down. Grayson raised an eyebrow. “Rocky?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Cute.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

He didn’t. He just popped another dumpling in his mouth, not giving her the satisfaction of being right. But judging by the smile on her face, she knew she was.

She snickered. “So is it a pride thing for you, then? You still get paid, not the worst thing that can happen when you lose.”

“Not the point. I’m trying to get my numbers up, get my name out there, get to Las Vegas. Fucking up fights to rookies like Benny Gutierrez doesn’t help me.”

“I heard he’s pretty good.”

“From who?”

“His fans at the venue.”

He snorted. “Right.”

“Well, he beat you.”

“He won’t next time.”

“I’ll make sure to tell my students to make me win bracelets for that one.”

“Ah, I see what this is. You came here for more spelling words. What’s next week’s lesson?”

“Let’s see,” she played with her chopsticks, her eyes darting around. “basket...boxer...” she lingered on Grayson’s arm resting on the edge of the table. Big and tan and smooth. Absently, she traced the end of her chopstick along his skin. It tickled him, that soothing tickle that you always want a little more of.

“Thunder,” she murmured. She lifted her eyes up to his with a shy smile.

Grayson’s lips bunch up to the side. He extends his arm out fully, to show off the entire tattoo. It was a full sleeve, spanning from the inside of his elbow all the way down to his wrist. A portrait of Zeus, with bright, powerful lightening strikes coming from his eyes, zapping right through the surrounding storm clouds. It was gorgeous, and for someone who went by Thunderbolt, absolutely fitting. It fascinated Opal. who’s always been interested in tattoos but never really knew if she was up for the pain. She glanced at him. “May I?”

He nodded, happily welcoming her fingers as they traced over his ink. The storm clouds, the zeus, up into the snakes on his shoulders. He’d just finished the entire arm up with the walls of Jericho to fill up the blank pocket on the other side of his arm just a few months ago. He was working on his left arm now, which was blank except for the wings on that forearm that had been his first big tattoo when he was 19. Him and Ethan went from the funeral to the tattoo shop to get matching wings.

“Did it hurt?” Opal asked.

“Not as much as getting punched in the face for a living,” he said.

She smiled. “How does one become a masochist?”

He shrugged. “You get used to life fucking you in the ass.”

“Holy shit.” She laughed again, covering her face again, making him grin again. He liked making her laugh. “You don’t hold back at all.”

“Not in my nature.” He shook his head.

They stayed at Chang’s long after traffic died down. Until June let them know the kitchen was shutting down and brought them one last pot of ginger tea. Grayson busted out his cash money envelope to pay, while Opal snickered and teased him about his loss. But then she thanked him, and he offered to walk her to her car, even though it was just a few feet from the entrance. She accepted, and leaned against the door for a bit more while they kept talking. It was easy to talk to Grayson. She’d grown up around people who were extra careful about what they said and how they said it. It was refreshing to talk to someone who really didn’t care, or didn’t change the way he spoke for her sake.

There was a small bout of silence when their conversation ran out. Opal checked the time, and didn’t realize how late it really was. She bit her lip and looked down at their feet, pressing the toe of her flat against the sole of Grayson’s sneakers. He chuckled, and nudged her foot back. “You should get home. Too late for you to be on the streets.”

“You sound like my dad,” she chuckled. “’Pretty girl out alone in Oak Cliff after eleven, only looking for trouble’”

“He’s not wrong,” Grayson said. “Could run into a douchebag with hot hands, take advantage of you.”

“I only see a douchebag with hot hands who bought me enough dumplings to put me in a food coma.”

“Well, you just got lucky tonight.”

They laughed. Opal sighed. “When’s your next fight?”

“Not sure yet. I can let you know though. Bring me those bracelets next time. Positive energy.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “And I’ll wait until after to flirt with you, so you can stay pretty for our post-fight date. I’ll pick the place that time.”

He blinked at her. His mind took an extra second computing what she’d just offered him. When he finally realized, he grinned. “Deal.”

He held her door open as she got in the car, and then leaned against her window after she rolled it down. She smiled up at him. “When’s your next shift at the grove?”

“Probably working tomorrow. Stop by. I’ll get you a real drink. No salt, no spike.”

“I’ll try not to puke on you.”

“Thank you.”

He winked at her, clapped his hand on her window, and stepped back so she could reverse. Then he waved and watched her drive away. It was the most victorious he’s felt on a losing night.

persistence-ofmemories-deactiva

Would you say Grayson is scary when he’s in his fights, like has a lot of rage and anger

Oh for sure. I mean, that’s why he started fighting in the first place, to have a controlled space where he could get all of that out. His ego and his rage, let lose within the ropes of the ring. He’s a savage. He’s powerful and doesn’t hold back, and his best and worst quality is that he knows he’s good, and he knows how much strength he’s got in his fists, but sometimes he definitely lets it get into his head. And that’s where his downfall is.

As soon as he steps into the locker rooms, he’s snarling, spitting his mouthguard out as using his teeth to try to get his gloves off. When he can’t, because any bump against his nose sends his vision spotting and a sharp pain through his head, that’s when he’s huffing and holding his hands out to Ethan to free him from his binds for him.

“I fucked up,” Grayson exhales. He flexes his knuckles once they’re free from the tape. He’s got some pain under his ring finger, and he hopes it’s not a boxer’s sprain. It’s not bad, yet. Right now, he’s just preoccupied with his nose and whether or not it’s broken again.

It’s not, according to Dr. Garcia. But he’s got a pretty sick bleed, which is just driving him more insane. When he’s in the mood to rage, the last thing he wants to do is hold a bloody rag to his face and wait for his brother to lay in on him. But here he is, holding a bloody rag to his face, with short breaks to squeeze some water into his mouth, while Ethan sits patiently in front of him, finalizing the purse amount he’d negotiated before the fight. It was only 35% of total earnings, because he’d been confident in his brother. But it was barely enough to cover the venue.

“Remind me not to bring girls back here before fights,” Ethan said.

Grayson scoffed. “I tried my--”

“Shut up. What’d we say about that line?”

“It’s bullshit.”

“Exactly. The fuck happened out there?”

Grayson clenched his jaw. “He was fuckin’ fast.”

“You’re fast. the fuck they call you thunderbolt for? Supposed to be unpredictable, but I could figure out what your next move was from a mile away.”

“You always know what the next play is, no matter who’s fighting.”

“Cuz it’s my business to know. It’s always my business to know, in various facets of your life,” Ethan stared at his twin. Grayson was just glaring at the floor. He was so sweaty, and so heated, you could almost see the anger rising off on him like steam. When he realized his nose wasn’t bleeding anymore, he chuckled the towel down sharply, cracking his knuckles one by one to loosen them up.

“Fuck this,” he mumbled.

Ethan sighed. He crossed his leg over his thigh and held his ankle to his knee. “You fucked up.”

“I told her not to come.”

“What’s the deal there, huh? We haven’t seen Opal Eden since high school.”

“Sure we have. She’s been around the entire time.”

“Alright, we haven’t thought about Opal Eden since high school.”

One look at Grayson’s face, and Ethan knew he was just talking about himself. Ethan raised an eyebrow at the way Grayson just looked down with a half-hearted shrug. He smacked his lips. “I dunno, dude. It’s nothing.”

“You threw a fight for her.’

“I didn’t throw the fucking fight, asshole.” Grayson growled. “Benny just had a good day.”

“Benny should kiss Opal to thank her for that fuckin win. Took most of the purse.”

“Fuckin Benny--”

“You gonna tell me what the deal is with Opal or do I have to ask Malia to gather her information from the grapevine?”

“Nothing bro, fuck. She was just at The Grove the other day, and I served her. Helped her out when some guy spiked her drink, whatever.”

Ethan’s lips lifted in a smirk. “I see what this is.”

Grayson rolled his eyes. He stood up to head to the showers. “You don’t know shit.”

“It’s that hero complex. Saved her from an asshole at the bar, now you’re all in love with her again.”

“Okay, one: again isn’t valid.”

“You were a simp in high school, bro.”

“You know what you sound like when you’re 24 and keep bringing up high school? Like a football player who peaked.” Grayson shot his brother a look. Ethan flipped him off.

“You’re the one inviting old high school crushes to games.”

“I didn’t invite her, she got here herself. I literally told her if she’d come to a game, she’d distract me enough to lose.”

“Because you think with the wrong head.”

“You wanna run that by me again, baby daddy? Where’s your son, huh? Past his bedtime?”

Ethan rolled his eyes, but checked his watch anyway. It, in fact, was late. And he was supposed to be home to help Malia with a late night feeding earlier. He sighed, and unlocked his phone quickly to airdrop his newest contact to Grayson. “I want you to learn how to do something for me, and it’s compartmentalize. You can flirt and fuck and date and do whatever you want, but when you’re in the ring, I need Thunderbolt. I’m selling Thunderbolt. They wanna see you bloody the other guy up, not the other way around.”

“Get me another fight after my shift at The Grove on Friday, and I’ll Zeus my way through it.”

“You fucking better,” Ethan dapped him up while he got ready to go. “because you suck at making drinks.”

Grayson waved him off with a middle finger while Ethan laughed and left him alone to prep to head back home. Grayson liked waiting until the venue was virtually empty before leaving. He hated traffic because it pissed him off, and he always figured a nice hot shower-- or ice bath-- was always better than sitting in his Nissan losing his voice at idiotic drivers.

He looked down at his phone, remembering that Ethan sent him something. When he saw Opal’s name, with a contact picture that was definitely from one of those LinkedIn picture events they host at colleges, he fumbled with his phone so much he dropped it twice, catching it clumsily both times. Taking advantage of the fumes of adrenaline from the fight, he didn’t let himself overthink dialing her. When she answered, it sounded like she was still int he car. In fact, he could hear the inescapable sounds of horns honking from the horrific traffic that piled up after a Fight Night.

“Hello?”

Grayson could hear that frustration laced in her tone. He recognized it all too well, and he smiled to himself. He paced the length of the locker room absently as he held the phone to his ear. “Did I scare you off?”

“Oh, Grayson! Hey!” The lilt in her voice went up when she realized who she was talking to. He wondered if she did that to everyone she knew, or if it was specific to people she’d consider friends.

Not that he considered her a friend, considering they’d only really engaged in any sort of conversation on two other occasions.

“Ethan made you seem like a sore loser,” she said. “Figured it’d be best if I go and just let you reach out if you wanted to. I feel like I was a bad luck charm.’

Grayson chuckled. “I am a sore loser. And no, I just get distracted when I have pretty girls watching me.”

There was a beat of silence. Grayson wasn’t sure if it was because she was impressed with the line, or if it somehow made it seem like he was always trying to show off for pretty girls. Either way, she granted him a laugh. “To be fair, you did warn me.”

“I did.”

“did you try the shoes on?”

“Not yet. I’m about to head into the showers. I can send you a picture after I do, if you want.”

“I just want to make sure they fit. I don’t have the receipt, so I might have to go with you if you want to exchange them.”

Grayson raised an eyebrow. Maybe he’d lie and say they didn’t fit just for a chance to have her tag along something as simple as a store exchange.

A horn blasted on the other end of the line, and she sighed. “I’m literally parked on this street right outside the venue. I swear. No one’s moving.”

“Yeah it’s a bitch to get out of there. I usually wait.” He stopped. Then smiled. “You’re probably better off just hiding out somewhere until traffic dies down. You like Chinese food?”

Another beat of silence. Smaller. Finally, “yeah. Love Chinese food.”

“awesome. There’s this place right by here. It’s called Chang’s--”

“Oh, I see it. There’s a parking garage right up ahead.”

“Perfect. Duck into there. I’ll shower and meet you there. Dinner on me. Well, on the fight,” he chuckled.

“Wait, boxers get paid to lose?” she sounded genuinely impressed. He laughed.

“It’s less dignifying than it sounds. Give me 15 minutes, order some tea or soup, whatever you want, and I’ll give you the rundown on why I hate losing.”

She giggled. “Alright.” Before ehe hung up, he heard her call his name again. “Gray? Is your nose okay, though? Like are you good with coming to a restaurant with....” she wasn’t sure. But before he exited the ring he looked plenty swollen.

Grayson chuckled. “What, you only like me for my looks? Embarrassed to have dinner wtih a guy lookin like a stubbed toe?”

“Shut up,” she laughed. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, or if I need to order some soup to go and take you to a doctor.”

“Sweet. But no, no broken bones this time. Couldn’t stay pretty for you tonight. Had to give you a chance.”

She laughed again. A loud, contagious laugh that had him kicking his shorts off and starting the shower to get out of there as quick as possible. “Alright, slugger. I’ll see you in ten. Bring that pot of loser’s gold.”

“Oh fuck you.”

deluxedolans

BRING THAT POT OF LOSERS GOLD THE DUMB SMILE ON MY FACE RN IS RIDICULOUS. I LOVE THEIR BANTER

#gbd

persistence-ofmemories-deactiva

How does the fight go? Does Grayson stay pretty?

The fight starts out well enough. Grayson was as ready to go as he usually is. He was fighting against a less experienced, but more calculated swarmer. Benny Gutierrez was probably as cocky as Grayson was, with less fights under his belt, which made Grayson puff up even more. The kid was in his weight class, but not as well distributed to his arms like graysons were. He thought it’d be an easy fight.

Which might have been his downfall.

Ethan regretted taking Opal back to see Grayson pre-fight as soon as Grayson took that first hit. It wasn’t rare for Grayson to take a hit to give one back twice as hard, but it was clear he was distracted. Or at least trying to put on a show for the girl at the barricade with the rainbow sweater.

Opal flinched hard on that second uppercut Benny delivered to Grayson, sending him stumbling back only slightly before he shook it off. It wasn’t hard for her to figure out why Grayson had said she didn’t necessarily seem like she belonged at a fight like this. Around her, people howled and asked for more blood. She didn’t like it. Her hands clapped over her mouth whenever a punch was delivered, and she stepped closer to Ethan, like a child watching a horror movie. Ethan chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. “No worries. O. He’s robust.”

Grayson had said he’d be distracted; and he was. His eyes would flash over every few minutes, looking for her. When he’s find her, he’d flash her a bright grin, and it was those few seconds of distraction Benny needed to lay into him. Grayson seemed to be of his game, becuase he was too preoccupied with Opal, and it was driving Ethan insane.

Benny hit harder than he thought. And he didn’t give Grayson a break. Combo after combo, hit after hit, barely giving him a chance to deliver back, tiring him out until third round, and Grayson’s nose suffered the consequence. A punch hard enough to send him down, black spots in his vision. Opal had gasped and turned around completely, hand over her heart. Ethan’s face was red as he yelled for his brother to ge the fuck up. But the ref called it, and gave Benny the fight.

Leaving Grayson to rage in the locker room. He didn’t take losses too gracefully. Ethan just huffed as he stood by, and Opal wasn’t sure if she should leave or not. His face was swollen and bloody, and Opal felt partially responsible.

When she tried to follow ethan to the back, he stopped her.

“Honestly I think it’s best if you just see him another time.” He said.

Opal stared up at him. “Are you sure? I just—“

“Does he have your number?”

“Uh— no”

“Give it to me. I’ll give it to him.” Ethan cleared his throat. “He just gets a little intense with losses.”

“Right... uhm.. okay, sure.”

She gave him her number, and then when he went to turn away to head to Grayson, she caught his arm. “Did he lose because of me?”

He stared at her and shook his head. “He lost Cuz of him, O. DONT worry. I’ll have him call you, ok?”

“Alright.”

She hoped Ethan was a man of his word when she headed back to her car.

persistence-ofmemories-deactiva

Pao I’ve gotta know... does Opal show up at one of Gray’s fights?

If you’re looking for an entertaining fight, Grayson Dolan’s your guy.

They call him Thunderbolt Dolan, because his punches are as loud as his shouts. His coming up as a troubled kid who liked to fight in school made him the perfect template for a brawler. Not too much to his technique, just quick hands and hard punches. He’s not afraid to take a punch to give a punch, which gives a pretty valid explanation for deviated septum surgeries that never seem to take.

His twin brother, Ethan, is a calculated fighter. Sticking to the outside, letting his mind callback different combinations, working on an offense. They call him Scorpion, because when he strikes he strikes hard. Powerful fighter, but not as overwhelmingly entertaining as the Thunderbolt.

That’s why Ethan usually focuses on promoting, rather than booking his own fights. It was more fun for him, honestly, working with matchmakers, finding good venues, booking underground entertainment, and more than anything, trying to show the world how goddamn good his brother was.

The Dolans had that going for them. A sort of dream team: these handsome twins from Jersey; the hot-headed slugger and the charming promotor. Tonight’s fight was one that Ethan was particularly proud of. A bigger venue than usual, some good music, and a solid turnout. The crowds at Fight Night were usually pretty predictable. Boxing fans who knew their shit, and were stopping by to enjoy a fight that was bound to get bloody, because the Thunderbolt was fighting.

Ethan was by the box office, thirty minutes to the fight, when he saw her. She wasn’t very hard to miss. In the sea of boxing fans, she was the only one that looked lost and out of place. It could have also been the oversized rainbow cardigan she was wearing, or the fact that Ethan recognized the sweet face of Opal Eden from high school. Either way, he found himself curious as to how in the hell she managed to get here, and it got the best of him. He waded through the crowd until he got to her. She flinched when he set a careful hand on her shoulder and threw her own punch.

“Woah, slugger.” He caught her fist with an impressed chuckle. “We should get you in the ring with that hook. You fight?”

Opal blushed. “Took my fair share of self-defense classes.”

“Pretty good.” He smiled at her. “You remember me? Chemistry honors. Junior year.”

“Ethan Dolan.” She nodded, a smile spreading. “You tipped over Mr. Bonsignore’s liquid nitrogen.”

He laughed. “Of all the things to remember me by.”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t a big football fan.”

“That’s fair.” He watched her eyes glance around, and his easy smile was slowly turning into a smirk. She was carrying a big paper bag, with some sort of box inside of it. He tried to get a peek inside. “You delivering something, or here to watch the fight?” Both seemed like out-of-character options for her.

“Oh, I was actually looking for Grayson... is he around?”

Ethan turned his head to look at the Fight Night poster displayed off to their left. Grayson’s image stared back at them with hard, dark eyes and a tight jaw, shoulders turned and yellow gloves held under his chin. Opal’s cheeks were hot.

“I just mean-- is there a way I can get in to see him?”

“You VIP?” He knew she wasn’t. Not just because of the blank stare she gave him, but because he was the one in charge of the VIP list. Right now, the VIP list consisted of Ethan himself; Salvador, their trainer; and Malia, Ethan’s girlfriend and baby mama.

Grayson’s crush on Opal Eden was pretty old news by history’s standards. Though, he hadn’t heard any mention of her since graduation. Always psyching himself out when it came to talking to her directly, Grayson figured the best way to get a picture with her at graduation was to have Ethan positioned and waiting until Grayson walked right by her taking pictures with her friends to get a shot in. Coincidentally, her father had just gifted her a car when Grayson walked by, so Ethan ended up getting a perfect shot of Grayson stepping into the frame and getting the shit poked out of his eye when Opal pointed to the car parked on the curb and screamed that’s mine?

He was curious, considering he hadn’t heard of any recent run ins between his twin and Opal Eden, why she’d managed to make her way to this fight, requesting a one-on-one with one of the title fighters. She wasn't the first girl to ask for some exclusive pass to see Grayson at these events, but she was the first girl Ethan had ever been intrigued enough about to let her through.

After having a bit of fun watching her stammer and struggle her way through a response, Ethan flashed Opal a smile and offered her his arm. “Don't worry, you are now. Come on.”

Grayson was wrapped up when Opal followed Ethan into the locker room. He was sitting up on a cold metal table, nodding his head to the music blasting in his headphones. Bad Bunny was his choice of pre-fight music. When he was feeling really good, he’d play Rosalia, just for the voice. The doctor was checking his nose out before the fight. Opal chewed her lip and stayed close to Ethan. She felt as out of place as she looked.

“Sinus infection,” the doctor confirmed.

Grayson sniffed, and shook his head. “Nothing new.”

“Try to keep it intact.”

“No promises.”

Dr. Garcia was a big fan of boxing, and a bigger fan of Grayson. He was lucky that Dr. Garcia was always around and front row at most fights, in case things got too bloody. He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s had to readjust Graysno’s nose after a fight. Dr. Garcia rolled his eyes, but wished him a good fight anyways. Grayson nodded his head at him as he exited, and his eyes switched over to meet Ethan by the hallway.

He straightened up when he saw Opal, looking small beside his brother. His headphones fell onto his shoulders, the music still playing low in the speakers. “Opal?”

“Hey.” She tossed him a small wave, and chewed her lip. She wasn’t sure if it was because the last time she’d seen him, he’d been in his bartending clothes. But with his tanned skin, taut over lean muscle and powerful arms were sure a sight to behold. His shorts were yellow to match his gloves, high up on his waist. Her eyes lingered on the intricate snake tattoo by his shoulder, and then dropped down to the lightening strike on his forearm.

“What are you doing here?” he didn’t mean for it to come out accusatory. He just wasn’t sure what to make of it: Opal Eden, at Fight Night, in that ridiculously cute rainbow sweater.

He hopped off the table, and she met him in the middle, holding the bag out semi-awkwardly. She smiled up at him, and the way the lights poured down made her eyes look caramel. “I figured I owed you some of these.”

He pulled an Adidas box out of the bag. Black ultra boosts. Size 11.5. He looked at her. “Opal, you really didn’t have to...”

“I wanted to,” she shrugged. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you trying to like, wash the shoes after I puked on them.”

Behind her, Ethan’s eyebrows shot up at his brother. He hadn’t heard that story.

Grayson tossed him a quick look, and chuckled at Opal. “Well, thanks...” He set them aside to try them on later, and wasn’t sure what else to do. He caught her looking at his hands, and flexed his fingers. “It’s so I don’t shred them up.”

She glanced up at him. “You usually get hurt?”

“The goal is to make the other guy uglier than me.”

“You’re not ugly,” she said with a quiet laugh that had him smiling to himself. Her eyes were still on his hands.

“Not yet, anyway. Let’s see where my nose ends up after tonight.” He cleared his throat. “Are you gonna stay for the fight? Or did you just come to deliver some shoes?”

Opal smiled. Her face still felt hot. She pressed her hands into her cheeks and wondered if she looked as feverish as she felt, or if it was just Grayson. “I’d love to see the fight,” she said. “Especially since you told me you didn’t think I belonged at one.”

“Rebel,” he chuckled. “I like that.” he nodded his head at Ethan, and Ethan knew that meant to keep her close and by the barricade of the ring. “Hopefully, that sweater catches the other guys eye and wins me the match.”

At the mention her sweater, she pulls it tighter around her. “You got a problem with my sweater? I threw a punch at your brother today, I’ll KO you right now.”

Grayson threw his head back with a laugh, his hand over his middle. “It’s a cute sweater. I should get one for my next press conference.”

Ethan reminded them that the match was in ten minutes, and Grayson nodded. He put one side of his headphones back on as he prepped for more pre-fight rituals. Ethan took Opal’s arm to lead her out to their seats, and Grayson stopped them. “Hey E, make sure she’s got some salt water close by,” he winked at her. “she likes that.”

Opal laughed now, flipping him off as she let Ethan lead her out. “Don’t break your nose, Dolan.”

“I’ll try to stay pretty for you, sweetheart.”

deluxedolans

ILL TRY TO STAY PRETTY FOR U SWEETHEART WAS DISRESPECTFUL TO MY CULTURE

#gbd

persistence-ofmemories-deactiva

Bartender AU!

*so a year or two ago I wrote this up for my narratives techniques class— it was originally a boxer gray sort of fic idea haha but considering boxer concepts are virtually untouchable after the LEGEND of southpaw I never posted it lmao but I think it fits here. The idea here was a contemporary myth, and I used hades and Persephone as the inspo*

***

No one really knows why Grayson Dolan had always been as angry as he was. Some blame it on the financial struggle his family has faced since he was younger, others blame it on his father’s death. But realistically, his father didn’t pass until Grayson was nineteen, and Grayson was already wading deep in a sea of trouble by that point. What’s evident is that since he was a child, Grayson Dolan has been this fiery, angry thing that preferred swinging his fists over using his words.

He welcomed his fifteenth year in the back of a cop car after getting into a fight at a skate rink. Tommy Michaelson had been teasing Grayson’s brother for being much smaller than the rest of the kids, and Grayson had had enough, effectively breaking the kid’s leg and fulfilling his role of protective big brother.

Tommy Michaelson’s father owned the skate rink.

Grayson’s father, a writer, was good with words and presented the juvenile court with a convincing argument about the innate goodness of his son. They couldn’t afford a lawyer, but it worked. The judge presented Grayson with an ultimatum: serve his time in a juvenile detention center, or engage in community service and an anger management program. It wasn’t a hard choice.

They found The Pit one day when his father took Grayson and his brother jogging around the neighborhood. The doors were open, and the sounds of a fight were evident as boxers inside sparred with high energy and violent grunts. Grayson was fascinated: the kid in the ring must have been a year older than him at most. He forced his father and brother into the gym, begged his father to speak to the owner, and within a week was enrolled in their boxing program for troubled youth. His form of anger management had now become the thing that got him in trouble in the first place: fighting. Only now, in a controlled space, getting to channel his aggression without legal implications.

Grayson’s afternoons at the gym consisted of throwing down his bag after jogging over from school, half-assed wraps on his hands, and a light bounce as he made his way to the speed bags to start his training. He was quiet unless he was training, then he was hollering at his opponents, flashing that white smile, provoking until he had a chance to spar.

He was king of The Pit by the time he was eighteen.

At twenty-two, Grayson had long since fulfilled his punishments for the fight with Tommy Michaelson, yet made The Pit his life. Now he was “up and coming”, though it didn’t feel like it.

He was still piss poor. Which meant bartending at The Grove most nights to flash a smile and earn his tips.

And one night, Opal Eden walked in.

He knew Opal, distantly. Everyone knew the Edens. Her father had designed and built the city’s botanical gardens that boasted energy preservation, rare species of vegetation and high tourism revenue. Opal herself had planted a few new palm trees in the garden with her class of kindergarteners. Even recently graduated, she showed promise as a teacher, and everyone loved her.

How couldn’t they? With her glowing smile, her sparkling eyes, her tinkling laugh. She was as beautiful and perfect as Grayson himself was twisted and grimy. Yet, not even his eyes could tear away from her when she entered the club with her sisters one Friday night, her big eyes darting around cautiously, hands rubbing at her bare shoulders.

Grayson’s eyes never lingered on one girl long enough to convince her he was interested. Even though he got many up against his bar to get a good look at those wide shoulders, that taut jawline, and white smile. He was only half-charming, and for only the half-second that it would take to get them to slide an extra ten across the bar before he was moving on to meet the demands of other busy customers. The night Opal Eden decided to go to the bar, though, she mesmerized him. He shook margaritas with distracted eyes, got a few drinks wrong, paused to find her in the crowd when he’d lose her, wondered when she’d be coming over for her own drink.

She stumbled over a few hours into his shift, murmuring a soft “excuse me” barely heard over the music as she pushed her way to the countertop. Grayson had seen her dancing with a few of her friends throughout the night, willing away the tightness in his chest by focusing on his tasks, shaking the thoughts asking if the guy she was with was with her. In reality, Opal had no idea who that man had been, pressured into dancing with him by her sisters in order to “get loose” and trying to enjoy her night by accepting his offers of a drink too sour for her taste. Soon, that same drink had her feeling too drunk too soon.

Opal’s a notorious lightweight, but even this level of weightlessness was too much for half a drink.

Opal couldn’t be more thankful for her mother’s obsession with Facebook urban legends that had her reminding Opal before heading out, “if your drink is ever spiked by something, go to the bar and ask the bartender for a cup of water with as much salt as possible. It’ll make you throw anything up.”

Opal and her sisters had rolled their eyes, laughed at their mother’s endless paranoia, and hopped in the Uber. Now, Opal’s staggering up to the bar, already starting to see double as her arm seemed delayed when she waved over the bartender.

Grayson has never approached a customer that quickly, preparing his smile for her that drops as soon as he sees how foggy her gaze is.

“What can I get—“

“Water,” she says sharply. “Just, empty a whole thing of salt in it.”

Grayson blinks at her. He’s made some weird drinks, but that one really was new. “I’m not exactly sure—“

Her fist comes down on the countertop, making the few people chatting around her flinch and glance over. Grayson cocks an eyebrow. She’s got her other hand fluttering to her forehead, wiping it quickly.

“Look, I think someone…” She exhales. “Just get me that water and salt. Please. Now.”

He complies with her request, watching as she raises the glass of salt water to her lips with shaky hands. He reaches out to steady her when she sways, setting the glass down and hissing at the taste. Her eyes are screwed shut for a moment, the room spinning relentlessly.

“Are you okay?”

It only takes a few seconds for Opal to double over and empty her stomach right behind his bar, all over his shoes, all over her dress, everywhere. The patrons around her groan and move away from her. The other bartender groans and yells for a mop. Grayson is frozen to his spot, standing in puke in front of Opal Eden, who the puke happens to belong to. It’s definitely not the first meeting he would have wanted.

She stands slowly, with a relieved sigh and flushed cheeks. Her eyes meet his for a moment, wide and bright. Her hand flies to her mouth. Embarrassed as she is, she’s relieved to have gotten whatever it was that guy put in her drink out of her system.

“I’m… so sorry.”

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”

“No, no, I think I’m okay.”

It’s much quieter out in the parking lot behind The Grove, the air a lot fresher, even if Grayson’s Nissan smells like a pine air freshener desperately trying to cover the smell of his gym bag. Maybe placing a bit too much trust in a bartender after being drugged, but confident in the man who had essentially saved her with a cup of water, Opal had followed Grayson out to his car where he had an extra pair of shoes and some clothes for her. He watched her warily as she cleaned herself off as best she could, stood protectively in front of the car while she changed in the backseat, and let her gather her bearings against his passenger door before going back in to find her sisters.

“Do you know what he looks like?” He asks after a few minutes of awkward silence. His voice is low, words clipped. Opal glances at him.

Of course, she knew who Grayson Dolan was. Although most of her memories of him were warnings to stay far away from him as the troubled kid in high school. It was now, nearly seven years later, that she’s having her first conversation with him.

After puking all over his shoes.

But she knew about his temper, knew what would happen if she pointed out any of the men inside the club as her attacker. Her father would kill her if she was involved in some sort of bar fight, even more if Grayson Dolan was involved.

She shakes her head. “Can’t remember him too clearly. And he probably ran off.”

“I swear to God—“

“I’m good.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t believe her, but he’s got few rights to keep pressing. Grayson settles for yanking a hand through his hair and sighing heavily. Opal wraps her arms around herself, eyes darting around to try to find something to talk about. She doesn’t want to go back inside to face her sisters. Her eyes linger on the side of Grayson’s face for a moment. He’s staring straight ahead, lost in trying to keep his temper in check. The yellow of the emergency lights on the side of the building shine in his eyes, and Opal realizes they’re hazel; green in the light.

When they shift over to look at her, she looks down, face burning. She doesn’t catch the side of Grayson’s mouth lift. Grayson, who really should be going back inside to finish his shift but is milking every second of his break with Opal Eden.

Opal glances back at his car to make sure she didn’t forget anything in there. From the rear view mirror in the front seat, there’s a mini pair of yellow boxing gloves. It makes her smile.

“You still boxin’?” She asks.

Grayson’s head turns to follow her gaze. He gives her a humble shrug. “Sometimes.”

“You any good?”

“I’m a bartender.”

“So just haven’t found the right fight yet?”

“I guess.”

Opal bites her lip. “Maybe I can go to your next fight. Make up for fuckin’ up your shoes.”

He gives her a laugh. A deep, mocking belly-laugh. His eyes are trained down as he shakes his head. It makes her eyebrows lift.

“Don’t think you wanna walk into one of those fights, Opal.”

“Why not?”

“You’d stand out too much. Distract too many people.” He gives her a charming little smirk. “Distract me too much and I’d lose.”

Before Opal can react, the back door of the club is swinging open and her sisters are spilling out in a mess of screeching, gasping, and crying.

“Opal!” They chorus. “There you are!”

“Wait—“ Opal is immediately overwhelmed as her sisters flutter around her, clucking with their concern, hands on her face, in her hair, assessing any possible damage she could have after being out of their sight for more than fifteen minutes. Grayson doesn’t even have a chance to say anything as they all drag her back inside, arranging for another Uber to take them home. He’s left leaning against his car, giving her a helpless little smile as she glances back at him again and again to try to say goodbye.

It’s quiet again when the Edens disappear behind the heavy door of the club, leaving Grayson to the buzzing of the emergency lights, the song of the cicadas. He chuckles to himself.

He’d make sure to see her again.

deluxedolans

come back onto tumblr for a min and my heart is ripped out of my goddamn chest

#gbd