Gina or G she/her, 18+ Definitely not new here, I've been here for a while reading and understanding other blogs, and now I've found interest in my own writing and characters. I am still learning, so dont come for me, please. I will write basically anything, but as I said, I'm learning, so please understand if I refuse to write anything requested.
"Bell?" Luke kicked the bathroom door lightly in lieu of knocking, since he had his hands busy tying up his tie, "baby, we're gonna be late!"
There was no answer, so he tightened the knot and knocked on the door, hand already on the handle, "Bella?" Luke pushed the door open, they were long past any semblance of privacy, "are you using the bathroom, it's been- Oh," he interrupted himself as he found his wife standing right in front of him instead of sitting on the toilet, hands braced on the marble sink.
"What's wrong?" Luke frowned, feeling concern wash over him. Bella was really pale, lips pressed into a thin line as she stared inside the sink bowl.
"Stomachs'ssss..." She tried to answer him, only to end up drooling and panting, "ss'not good..."
"Oh, baby," Lucas gathered her hair back, "why didn't you say something sooner?" He touched her cheeks with the back of his hand, but it was cool to the touch, although quite clammy, "let it up, Bell, I got you."
A gag answered him, followed by a whimper, and then a splash of beige hit the bowl and Bella hyperventilated over it, trying to catch her breath. Luke scoffed, "you can do better than that," he teased her, patting her back, "bring it up, Bell..."
"Nu-uh-" Bella shoved his hand away from her back, shuddering, "gimme'gimme a minute..."
Luke dropped his hands immediately, lowering himself slightly so he could get a good look at her face. He opened the faucet to wash away the mess and wet his hand, running it over Bella's face and wiping her mouth, "better...?"
"No," Bella grimaced, gagging, but nothing came up, "my stomach's feeling horrible..."
He let out an unhappy noise, rubbing her back and waiting to see if Bella would be sick. Instead she gulped down convulsively a couple of times and blew out a little burp under her breath, sighing, "okay..uhm," she wiped the little tears glued to her lashes, "let me brush my teeth and we can go."
"We're not going," Lucas scoffed, frowning at her, "are you crazy? You're sick-"
"I'm fine," Bell rolled her eyes, removing his hands from her, "relax. I'll be fine, no need to worry."
She grabbed her toothbrush and Luke leaned back against the wall, glaring at her in the mirror, "that's not a smart idea, Bell. What if you get sicker?"
"The'wee-omeback'ome," Bella shrugged, leaning to spit on the sink and washing her mouth, as well as her face for good measure, "I'm fine, Lu. Besides, I wanna go."
"You? Wanna go to my lunch meeting?" He raised a skeptical eyebrow and grabbed her face, as if to feel a fever, "are you a body snatcher?"
Bella snickered, pushing him back as she walked back into their bedroom and she could grab her lipstick, "Yeah, those are super boring, but you said the Mayor is coming right? I like his wife."
"Marilyn? Since when are you two friends?" He sat on the bed, bewildered, watching as Bella finished getting ready.
"I wouldn't say friends," the ginger shrugged, sitting next to him and draping her feet on his lap so he could buckle her sandals, "but she's nice. I think maybe we could be friends, you know?"
"Isn't she a billion years older than you?" Luke mumbled, strapping her shoes and getting up with a sigh. Clearly this was a battle he wouldn't win.
"She's two years older than us, Lucas," Bella rolled her eyes, "she just seems older because of her husband."
"Those two are a super weird couple," Luke whispered judgementally, following her out of the room, "like, beyond the age gap."
"Because the mayor is annoying as fuck?" Bella snickered, smiling and jumping the last two steps of the staircase, sick stomach forgotten.
Vince was sprawled on the couch, laptop open on his lap, in his gym clothes. Luke sighed, turning around with his hands on his hips like a mother, "are you sure you don't want to tag along? Free food and drinks, man."
Vince rolled his eyes, "I'm not your child or your pet, you guys don't need to take me- Geez, Bell, you're pale as a ghost!" He exclaimed, interrupting himself.
Bella cringed and Lucas let out a smug snicker, "tell my darling wife that she really shouldn't come when she just threw up?"
"You threw up?" Vin echoed, looking concerned, "are you sick?'
"I'm fine," Bella glared at Luke, "what are you gonna do home all day?"
"I'm not staying in all day," Vince shrugged, still looking worried, "I'm visiting a couple apartments and then I'll have dinner with Max- As friends!" He exclaimed, as Luke opened his mouth to tease him.
"Friends, alright," Luke huffed, whisking the keys from Bell's loose grip, "well have fun on your not date date."
-------
Lucas had to admit, lunch was way more pleasant than he had expected it to be. Yes, he had spent the first half of it worrying over Bell, but she seemed way more in her element than during the previous times he had brought her to a work function. He still found her newfound friendship with Marilyn weird as hell, though.
His boss left around 2 PM, giving him carte blanche to leave as well, but since Bella and Marilyn had gone on a smoke break â well, Marilyn had and Bell had tagged along â Luke dealt up the charm and assumed they'd hang back for a bit more.
"So...Does the missus know?" Mayor Joshua leaned back on his chair, body language all open and inviting and Luke mentally scoffed. He fixed up a pleasant smile, biting down the full body shudder he got at the word "missus", especially when said in that condescending tone.
"Knows what?"
"About your political aspirations?" The man was smiling at him, "you're a politician, Atwood. I've been watching you all evening, you knew everyone in the restaurant, from the staff to the patrons, everyone came to greet you and you remembered names and tidbits about their lives... You're a natural."
Luke shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliment coming from someone he didn't like. Yes, he knew he liked politics and he most definitely adored people, but coming from Joshua it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"I assume the missus doesn't know or approve?" The older man went on, blue eyes scanning Luke's face in search of a hint or a weakness. He shuttered his expression entirely.
"Why do you say that?"
"If she knows, then she doesn't approve. Your wife stands out... Style wise, of course," he raised his hands in a mock placating gesture and Luke's blood started to race, singing in his ears, "you couldn't run for a position with the whole witchy schtick, but you know this already...So either she doesn't or she knows and doesn't approve."
"There's nothing about me that Bella doesn't know," Luke bristled, biting the inside of his cheek as he tried to keep his tone neutral, "and you misread me, I have no political aspirations," that was a lie, but a strategic one. He could tell what this was, Joshua felt threatened by him. It had been obvious when he mentioned the people Luke greeted during dinner, when half of those hadn't bothered to greet the actual mayor himself.
The man squinted at him, clearly not buying it, "you come from a political background, you're inserted in the scene all the way to your elbows, son, and you don't want to be a part of it?"
Luke wasn't sure what pissed him off more, if it was the scathing remark about Bella, the fact the man had called him son or if it was the glaringly obvious hint at his mother.
"Not at all, sir," He lied, smoothly, pushing back his chair just as Marilyn rushed back inside the restaurant. Immediately he tensed up as he saw the concerned look on her face, delicate features pinched with worry.
"Lucas-"
"Where is she?" He asked, rushing up already, mayor and anger forgotten.
"Outside, she asked me to get you..." The woman frowned, seeming self conscious. He didn't quite run out of the restaurant not to cause a scene, but it was close.
Bella was leaning against the wall outside, facing it, hands on the rough texture and head hanging between her arms.
"Bell?" Luke stepped closer, already pulling her hair back and rolling it around itself to secure it on a knot. She was clammy and pale, "baby?"
"Que- HUrk-" she let out a little burp-retch and shuddered, "queasy..."
"Here," Marilyn stepped around Luke, holding out a water bottle and Luke took it, opening it, but waiting before offering it to Bella. She gulped down, brows meeting and wobbling slightly on her feet, then nodded.
"Gimme..." Bella turned around with a heavy sigh, leaning her full weight against the wall, "I'm really- uuurp," she muffled a burp in her hand, cheeks turning slightly pink, "I'm sorry, Mari..."
"Oh, it's fine, it's my fault anyway," the blonde was blushing and Luke suddenly realized she was their age. He really couldn't tell most of the time, with her sober, stuck up posture, the heavy make up and deeply conservative clothes.
"Not your fault..." Bella took a gulp of the water and leaned forward, so she could drop her forehead to Luke's chest, breathing out slowly.
"What happened?" He asked, rubbing her back and ruling out the flu, since she was still cold to the touch, just like in the morning. Surely the stomach flu would've made her feverish by now...
"Got nauseous with the- The cigarette smoke," Bella chuckled at her own expense and Marilyn's face scrunched up in distaste.
"I swear I'm trying to quit," she pouted, causing Bell to huff out a laugh and Luke to smile as he realized it was nothing serious.
"That's fine, not your fault my stomach's been a little bitch today..." Bella groaned, taking another gulp of water and then tilting her head back to look at Lucas, batting her eyelashes. Her face had some color back and her eyes were overly shiny, lashes clumped from when she had been heaving... She still looked so damn pretty, he had half a mind to kiss her, queasy or not.
Instead he held her chin, forcing their eyes to meet and Bell scrunched up her nose at him, "don't say it," she whined and Lucas rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to her brow.
"I'm not gonna say it, but I'm thinking it," he teased her, thinking I told you we should stay home, "let's go home?"
"We don't have to, I'm alright now," Bell mumbled, her voice muffled by the proximity to him and Lucas kissed the top of her head.
"We're leaving, baby," it was not discussion, was a statement.
She let out a sigh, but didn't argue and Luke let go of her in order to go back in the restaurant handle the bill, as well as to say their goodbyes to the mayor. When he went back outside, Bella was leaning against their car, talking with Marylin in a low voice.
The blonde woman had her arms crossed in a weird self hug, expression pinched with sympathy and bitterness. She spooked like some sort of rabbit when she caught Luke's eyes and quickly ended their conversation, reaching in to squeeze Bell's hand in an amicable way.
"You have my number," Lucas heard her say, as he approached the vehicle, "text me, come over for tea."
"I will," Bella promised, while Luke bit the inside of his cheek to keep the incredulity he felt from appearing on his face. He forced a smile to the lady and then held the passenger door open for Bell, raising a puzzled eyebrow but that she either didn't see or ignored.
"Sooo..." He dragged the word as they drove back home, "you drink tea since when?"
"It was probably an euphemism for wine, Luke," Bella snorted, leaning her head back and closing her eyes, "I'm really sorry for ruining your meeting..."
"Oh, you didn't ruin it, the mayor was getting on my nerves," Luke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, "what's wrong with your stomach? How are you feeling?"
"Just queasy," Bella was breathing deeply, eyes still shut, "probably PMS-ing."
"PMS-ing?" He frowned, mentally doing the count and when they stopped at a red light, he redid it on his fingers. Numbers had never been his strong point, "Bell, shouldn't you have had your period already? I last bought tampons over a month ago, did you get any when you went grocery shopping?"
As a rule, Bella wrote their list of groceries since she was the one who stayed home and he was the one who went to the store... But Vince was living with them now, maybe he had bought it...? But why would he, if she hadn't had her period yet?
"No," Bell opened her eyes, grimacing and rubbing her stomach, "it's late, you know my periods are whack," she leaned forward slightly, planting her forearms on the dashboard and groaning, "ugh, I feel sick."
The red light turned green, someone gave a slight honk behind them and Lucas was forced to turn his attention away from her.
"Do I have to pull over?" He asked, half paying attention, "you're late and you're nauseous, you don't think-"
"Nope," Bella cut him off, voice strong and none of that whiny tone from a second before, "no, it's just PMS-ing, trust me."
He let out a huff, nodding and staring ahead. She knew her body best, it was probably PMS.
----------------------------
"So did you find anything you liked?" Luke asked, opening a juice bottle and planting it on the counter next to where Vince was hunched as he worked on some bread loaf. Bella was still asleep.
"Eeh," Vin shrugged, wiping his forehead on his bicep since his hands were covered in flour, "I think the problem is that I don't know what I'm looking for."
"What do you mean?" Luke took a bite of his cereal, bouncing on his feet slightly. Later that day they had baseball and Lucas was thankful for it, because he was feeling antsy and anxious and couldn't pinpoint why.
"I mean, am I looking at any cheap apartment next to my job?" Vince asked, rhetorically, "or for a more long term commitment, with a good kitchen and maybe a guest room? My realtor keeps asking me these questions and I don't know what to answer..."
Luke could hear it loud and clear. Vince didn't want to move anywhere else, he wanted to go back home. To Wendy. Well, fuck that.
"That's alright, you can stay here as long as you want, Vin," Luke shrugged, forcing a lightness in his voice he didn't feel, masking the concern, "you don't have to figure things out immediately."
"I know, thank you again," Vin sighed, stopping kneading the dough, "I just... I do need to move on, Luke. I hate living in a temporary arrangement, I'm a routine type of guy."
"I know," Luke stepped closer to pat his back, "I can help you look for apartments if you want? I know you said you didn't want me meddling, but-"
"No, I think I do need help... Oh, hi beautiful," Vince's voice went up a note, a smile appearing on his face as Bella stumbled inside the kitchen, sleep drunk.
"Mor-morning," she yawned, promptly wrapping her arms around Luke and resting her cheek on his chest, as if she could take a nap standing.
"Morning," Luke grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and picking up his cereal bowl, raising it over his wife's head as he continued to eat, unbothered, "you know, I still have the keys to that old apartment of mine, the one near the university..."
"That's absolutely out of my budget, Luke," Vince rolled his eyes, turning back to the dough.
"I'm the owner, you dumbass. If you're interested in it, we can adjust the rent accordingly," in truth, Luke had no need for there to be a rent and he would've just let Vin move in without charging him, but he knew his best friend would never agree to that in a million years.
Vin squinted, cheeks turning pink and Lucas felt a wash of triumph. He knew Vin had always loved that place, besides, he was a sentimental guy and the apartment was filled with good memories. Maybe it was what he needed, instead of some white apartment with no character or personality.
"Maybe..." He was trying hard to fight a smirk and Luke rolled his eyes, grinning. Vin's brows furrowed.
"Bell? Are you okay?"
Luke tilted his body back so he could look at her, who was still latched onto him. Her face was pretty pale, lips nearly the same shade as her skin, "baby?"
"Just... Queasy," Bella breathed in, eyes shut, and her grip around Lucas tightened, as if she was using him for support, "I'm fine."
Luke's heart skipped a beat and he fought, really hard, not to exchange a look with Vince, knowing his best friend would read the weird mix of excitement, hope and concern in his face.
"Do you wanna lie down?"
She shook her head no, rubbing her face and opening her eyes finally, "no, I was lying in bed for the past hour, wasn't helping. I got lonely."
Vin snorted, while Luke snickered, planting his cereal bowl down on the counter so he could wrap his arms around her and squeeze her to him, "you've got no business being this cuuuute-"
"Let go off me!" Bella's voice came muffled by his chest, but considering she wasn't sinking those claws of hers into his back yet, Luke gauged she really didn't want out of the hug.
He just hoped she couldn't hear his heart racing.
Not that Bell couldn't get queasy without him jumping to conclusions, it was just that after yesterday's conversation, he had lied awake in bed doing the math and she had absolutely missed a period since the last time they had bought tampons... It was hard not to get excited.
Oh yeah, he chuckled and loosened his grip, causing her to let out a relieved sigh and muffle a wet, disgusting burp against his pajamas shirt. He planted a hand on her back, "that sounded nasty..."
"My stomach's a mess," Bella sighed, resuming to her original position using him as a standing pillow, "what- what are you baking?" her question was directed at Vince, who was watching them intensely. Lucas had the distinctive sensation that the hardest part of them sharing a house was Vin watching them be cute together, it must suck.
"Pies," Vin gestured to the ingredients scattered across the counter, "apple and chicken, for lunch."
"Ugh," Bella scrunched up her nose, "chicken..." she shuddered.
Vin pouted, "you're not gonna eat? It's not just chicken, I mixed red sauce and corn, you love corn-"
Luke cringed as he saw Bella gulp down, "can we change the subject? How was the date with Max?"
Vince didn't dignify his question with a response besides a middle finger, still watching Bella like a hawk, and so was Luke, because he could feel the light tremble in her body as she fought to keep down the nausea.
"Bell..."
"Ugh, fuck-" She jerked away from him, pressing the back of her hand to her lips and rushing out of the kitchen.
"Shit," Luke hissed, running after her.
He found her curled up on the downstairs bathroom, knees on the ground as she gagged weakly over the toilet water, shaky hands trying to keep the hair off her face.
"Shhh, I got you, I got you," he pulled her hair back, cringing as Bell's whole spine curled with a retch, "oh baby..."
"It's ok'itsssok," she slurred, heavy breathing, "gimme a minuteURK-" Bella rocked forward, now managing to bring up a mouthful of liquid. She whimpered, wrapping an arm around her stomach.
She gagged again, then finally went boneless against him, as if her spine was giving up on her. Luke rushed to keep her sitting up, grabbing a wad of toilet paper to wipe her mouth and throwing it inside the soiled water, pressing the flush, "Bell...?"
"I wanna lie down," she groaned, sounding defeated, "I don't feel well."
"I know, I'm sorry," he kissed her temple, rubbing a hand up and down her arm and noticing she was covered in goosebumps, "you think you're done?"
"Uhm- Think so..." Bella's face scrunched up, "help me up?"
"Hold on to me," he instructed her, then carefully pulled Bell up to her feet, only for her knees to wobble. With a sigh, Luke wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her up completely, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.
Vince was anxiously standing in the middle of the living room, holding a steaming cup of something, "hey..." he moved closer, just a bit, "I'm really sorry-"
"Not your fault," Bella groaned, face pressed to Luke's neck, who kept walking and Vince had to follow up the stairs.
"I made you some peppermint tea..." Vince's cheeks flushed and he took a step so he was ahead of them, rushing so he pulled the door of the master suite for Luke and folded the blankets on the bed, "I hope you feel better."
"It's just my stupid period," Bella groaned, as soon as Luke planted her down on the bed, curling up into a little ball and tugging the blankets to hide her head, embarrassed.
Vince let out a sympathetic sigh, "that sucks," he squeezed her calf from over the blankets, exchanging a puzzled look with Lucas, who shook his head, trying to communicate that he didn't know, "uhm- I'm gonna go- uh- gonna go," he cleared his throat, planting the tea on the bedside table, "Luke, holler if you need anything."
As soon as Vin was gone, shutting the door behind him, Bella groaned loudly and pulled down the blanket that was covering her head. Her cheeks were a deep crimson and Luke snorted, he could count in his hands the amount of times he had see her embarrassed.
"Kill me now, Lucas."
"I'm not fit to be a widower," he rolled his eyes, pushing a fluffy, tangled curl away from her eyes, "Bell... Are you sure-"
"Yes," she glared at him, moving away from his touch and curling onto her side, "it'll probably come tomorrow or the day after-"
"You've never been this queasy before and you didn't have a period last month, Bell," he argued, poking her thigh, "c'mon, baby, we've been trying, you don't think this could be it-"
"It's not," her big blue eyes got a little too shiny, voice a smidge harsher, "leave me alone, Lucas."
"Look, I'm not saying I don't believe you, it's just- When did you last get a test done?" He chewed on his bottom lip, ignoring Bella attempting to push him off the bed, "it could be it..."
"It ISN'T," She insisted, kicking his thigh with a little too much force, "leave me alone, Lucas. I'm miserable as is, stop-"
"Okay, okay, okay!" He cried out, frustrated, "I'm dropping it!"
"Thanks!" Her voice was laced with sarcasm and slightly shrill, "go away," she buried her face in the pillow and he let out a groan.
"Bell..."
"Please leave me the fuck alone, Lucas," Bella exclaimed, looking visibly upset, "please!"
"That's not fair," he pouted, "I'm just as anxious as you are, I'm just as hopeful, you're not being fair-"
"I'm sick, I'm crampy, my stupid husband is pushing me about something I know I'm right! Yeah, I'm not being fair!" Bella's face scrunched up, tip of her nose turning pink, "just go away!"
"Okay..." He sighed, resisting the urge to say anything else, even as his brain supplied "you can't do this to me". He got up from the bed, dejectedly, "uhm- I'll be just downstairs, call me if you need-"
"I won't," Bella scoffed, not even bothering to look at him and Luke let out an annoyed huff, stomping out.
Vince was downstairs, having finished one pie and standing in front of the stove as he did the apple filling for the other. He glanced up as Luke walked in, marching to the fridge to grab a Gatorade bottle and shutting it with too much force.
Vin raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything and Luke didn't volunteer any information either, glaring holes on their kitchen floor. Bella was being intransigent and that wasn't fair. He felt hurt and excluded.
"Do you want to-"
"She's being so fucking stubborn," Luke spilled, immediately, as soon as he got the slightest invitation, "c'mon, she's been queasy for days and she didn't have a period last month and I'm the crazy one for suggesting her to get a pregnancy test? When we've been actively trying? That's fucking ridiculous..."
"Uhm... Why doesn't she want to take a test...?" Vin's cheeks were pink and he looked alarmed, brown eyes huge on his face.
"Fuck me if I know," Luke scoffed, "stubborn? She says she knows her body best, which is a fucking lie because I always know she's PMSing before she realizes it, so-"
"Dude, you do not know her body more than she does," Vince snorted, rolling his eyes, "look... You don't wanna fight with her. If she's pregnant, she'll be pregnant a week from now too-"
"But I wanna know now! We both do! We've been trying for months now! I thought-" I thought I was the problem, Luke cut himself short, "look, I'm worried there's something medically wrong and now that she could possibly be pregnant she doesn't even wanna do the fucking test! It takes twenty minutes!"
"Yeah, but-"
"She's being stubborn for no reason," Lucas decided, ignoring Vin's interjection, "this is ridiculous, I'm gonna-"
"Luke, don't, leave her alone-" Vince lurched to try and hold him back, but Lucas was quicker and ducked under his arm, marching out of the kitchen and fishing his car keys, "where are you going- Dude, you're the one being ridiculous-"
"Getting a pregnancy test," Luke decided, despite the fact he was still in his ratty t-shirt, flipflops and loose sweatpants, "I can't just stand around without knowing..."
"Luke, she's gonna bite your head off and she'll be right-" Vince groaned, "c'mon, dude, chill out. I know you're anxious, but if it's a positive it's gonna be positive a week from now too. No reason to pick a fight-"
"I'm not picking a fight, Bella is the one who's being inflexible," he walked out of the house, "she's gonna be over the moon when its positive."
------------
He expected to find Vince in the kitchen when he came back, forty minutes later, and Bella still holed up in their bedroom, still mad at him. She could stay mad for hours, he knew that well.
Instead, he found Bell lying on the couch, head resting on Vin's thigh, as they chatted and Luke glared daggers at his friend, a wave of jealousy washing over him. He wasn't normally a jealous guy, but how dare Vince be giggling with Bell when she wouldn't speak with him. Fucked up.
"Bell," he walked closer and she lifted up her eyes, seeming to no longer be angry. Good sign!
"Hi," she sounded normal, happy even, "I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," Lucas raised his eyebrows at the apology, clutching the pharmacy bag in his hand, "where did you go?"
"Pharmacy," he mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed for his earlier freak out, "uhm- I went to get you a pregnancy test..."
In fact, he had gotten three.
Her face shuttered, Bella sat up on the couch and scoffed, "Lucas-"
"Please?" He talked over her, "please, Bell, it's driving me crazy."
She crossed her arms to her chest, glaring at him, "it's not a positive, Luke-"
"You don't know that," he pointedly ignored Vince, still feeling jealous of how friendly he had been with Bell, and jumped over his legs so he could crouch down in front of the ginger, squeezing her hands in his, "baby, I really think this time-"
"Give me the stupid bag," she took it from his hands, still glaring daggers at his face, and jumped up to her feet, stomping up the stairs. Luke opened a victorious smile, only to catch Vin glaring at him.
"What?"
"You're acting like a dick, dude," Vin wrinkled his nose with disgust, "she's in pain and sick, you're making it worse."
"I'm about to make it better," Luke dismissed him with an eyeroll, "when we get the positive result."
"Uh-huh," Vince sighed, getting up, "I think I'm gonna have lunch out..."
"What? Didn't you make pie and all-"
"Yeah, but I don't wanna hang out with you right now and I don't wanna be in the way when Bella murders you," Vince shrugged, "see you later at the game."
"You're being soooo dramatic," Luke scoffed, walking ahead so he could follow Bella up the stairs. The bathroom door was shut, so he paced nervously in front of it, bouncing on his feet. His heart was racing. She was totally pregnant.
"Bell? You need me to get you water or something?" Did she have to pee in three cups because of the three tests or just one cup and put all three sticks in it? "talk to me, baby."
A sniffle answered him.
His heart sunk.
"Bell," Luke tried the knob, but the door was locked, something Bella never did, "baby, c'mon... What's going on? is it-" Negative?
"G'AWAY!"
He jumped back at the volume of her yell, the way her voice wavered and the sobs that followed. Oh no, "Bell...? I'm not gonna go away-"
A harsh sob answered him and he heard something vaguely colliding with the bathroom door. A soap bottle, probably.
Had he been wrong? But it hadn't been twenty minutes, there was no way the results were on the strips yet...
"Bella-"
The bathroom door unlocked and Bella chucked, with no small amount of force, the pregnancy tests straight into his chest, probably aiming at his head.
Her whole face was pink, tear marks down her cheeks, "just got my period, asshole. I don't need those," Bella's voice wavered, "if you could just listen to me about my own fucking body-"
"That's not- Bella, that's not what I meant, it was just-"
"Oh, you're anxious?" She shoved his chest, eyes welling up with fresh tears, "didn't sleep last night? Boo fucking hoo, Lucas! I could've been sparred from this humiliation ritual today, if you weren't such a stubborn asshole. Happy now?!"
"You know I never meant for that-"
"It's killing you to wait for a positive? Yeah, me too, Luke!" Bella shoved his chest once again and he wrapped his hands around her wrist, heart breaking, "you have no fucking idea how hard it is! It's not you second guessing your body at every little possible symptom, it's not you dreading a whole week of the month, every month, it's not you not even being able to be sick in peace without your stupid hus-husband," her voice broke, more tears coming up and Bella easily pulled her hands from his hold, "I don't wanna look at you today anymore," she circled him, collapsing onto the bed and curling up.
"No, no, baby, I'm sorry," Luke crawled on the bed, hugging her, "I'm sorry, I was a dick, I-" his heart squeezed, so much it physically pained him, as he could feel her crying, "I'm sorry..."
"Leave me'lone," her words stuck together, tears sliding down from the corner of her eye, into her ear, "please, leave me alone..."
"Bell, please," he begged, rubbing her back in a soothing manner, "I'm sorry..."
"Just leave me alone!" She snapped, shoving his arms away from her, "if you're really sorry- Go away."
Luke felt his own face burn, eyes prickling, "I'm sorry..."
"Yeah, you're fucking sorry," Bella rolled onto her side, turning her back to him, "stay away from me."
TW: Suicidal ideation and an almost attempt, this is more graphic than my usual stuff, but not extremely so.
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Jonah would be lying if he said he wasn't homesick. Yes, their honeymoon had been heavenly and yes, he had relaxed so much he was pliable like putty, but it was time to go home. He missed JD, their place, his family, his job.
So he wasn't all that surprised by how cranky Leo was in the last two days of honeymoon, assuming the blonde was in a similar situation himself, ready to go home. It did hurt Jon's ego slightly that he wasn't all company Leo needed in the world, but he had to be realistic. 24 days off grid were plenty of time.
Their flight back had a layover in London and Jackie had told Jonah they should stay overnight at her place, so that's why they were riding to Grosvenor Crescent at 1 AM.
"Are you sleepy?" Jonah questioned, noticing the crease in Leo's forehead as he stared ahead in the back of the Uber. It was a 40 minutes ride from Heathrow airport and Jon wondered if maybe he was getting carsick, given how grumpy the blonde seemed.
Not that Leo had talked with him at all from Santorini to London, sulking during the whole 5 hours flight and denying dinner when it was offered, curled up against the window listening to music in his headphones.
"A little," Leo grumbled, rubbing his face, his frown not changing, "how much longer?"
"Twenty more minutes," Jonah whispered back, checking his phone and nervously making sure he had the keys to the condo. He had the feeling Leo would not take lightly to being locked out at 1 AM after a long flight.
His husband nodded, curling up further away and shivering violently.
Jonah's face burned with shame when he felt excited about the shiver running up Leo's spine. He didn't want Leo to be ill, but it felt like a relief to not be the culprit behind his foul mood.
The cab stopped in front of the townhouse, London's grimy weather creating a thin drizzle, even though it was the middle of summer. Leo paid, while Jonah took out their overnight bag â their actual luggage was already shipped off â and went ahead to unlock the door.
The first thing that hit him was the smell of fresh lilies. He smiled, kicking off his shoes and looking around. Clearly Jackie had been told someone to prepare the house for their arrival, because instead of the smell of a place that had been closed for a long time, the townhouse smelt like fabric perfume. There were fresh lilies in the big ceramic vase that sat in the middle of the kitchen island, harmonizing with the dried bouquets around the living room. His mother's strong sense of style was everywhere, the linen pillows thrown on her boucle couch, the bright red abstract painting hanging over it, the modern spiky and golden chandelier...
"Oh look," Leo mumbled, snapping Jonah out of his daze, "it's you."
Leo had already shut the front door and moved further inside the place. He was standing behind the armchairs that faced the fireplace, a buffet cabinet separating them from the dining room and upon it, a couple framed pictures.
Jackie with her arms around Matteo's neck and smiling to the camera, so bright that it looked alien in her extremely angular face. Jackie, 30 years younger, sitting in a dressing room with a vogue magazine open on her lap, clad in a fluffy changing robe and biting the temple tips of her glasses, with rollers in her hair. Matteo, 40 years before, in small little white shorts, several pounds lighter, drenched with sweat and smiling as he clutches his tennis racket... Jonah, 4 years old, sitting in the living room of the manor back in Washington, curly hair spiked up, big hazel eyes staring up at the camera as he reached for Jackie's hand, the ridiculous oversized wedding band she used to sport the only part of her that was visible.
Jonah cleared his throat, trying to clear the knot in it and shook his head, looking away, "it's such a random picture to have..."
"It's adorable," Leo cooed, picking up the frame, "you've always been so handsome, it's almost offensive."
That earned a smile out of Jon and he squeezed Leo's shoulder, walking ahead to the kitchen and opening the fridge. As he fully expected, there were several hermetic glass containers, already prepared for them. How very Jackie.
"Are you hungry?" Jonah started opening the lids, "there's chicken alfredo, uh- A fruit salad... Black rice, ricotta salad- What's this? Radishes and grape tomatoes... Ooh, you'll like this, baby, there's fudgy brownies-"
"Not hungry," Leo groaned, the weird intonation in his voice causing Jonah's head to snap up as he moved away from the fridge, chewing on a radish slice.
Leo wasn't just sulking now, or shivering, his face had deteriorated into milk white and he looked all clammy, causing Jonah to raise his eyebrows. "What's wrong?" he asked, although Jon did not expect an answer â at least not an honest one â already crossing the room so he could cup Leo's cheeks.
He expected his hand to meet heated skin, but instead the blonde was cold to the touch, "Leo?"
"Just... Not hungry," Leo sighed, grabbing his wrists and trying to lower Jonah's hands from his cheeks, "not a big deal."
"You didn't eat back in the airport and you didn't eat on the flight, Leo," Jon glared at him, refusing to move his hands, "you should be hungry. Are you feeling sick?"
"No, just-" his brows met, lips turning down and discomfort clearly written on his face, "just a little queasy. I just want to lie down."
Jonah bit down a flare of annoyance at the nonchalant answer, when he wanted to rattle Leo and interrogate him. For how long had him been feeling sick? What other symptoms? Certainly there were meds in the house â and if not, they could order some â could he stomach them?
"Jon," Leo sighed, now harshly shoving the other man's hands away from him, "I just want to lie down."
"Alright," Jonah nodded, not liking it one bit. Something was wrong, beyond Leo probably picking up a bug in Greece or their flight. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on, "let's go upstairs."
Leo let out a relieved sigh at his small victory, then crossed his arms as if he was hugging himself, shivering once more as they walked up the stairs.
"Are you cold?" Jonah questioned, stripping the lightweight jacket he had on and throwing it around Leo's shoulders, despite the fact the blonde was wearing a much thicker jeans jacket and that the house was fairly warm.
"Freezing," Leo admitted, shuddering again.
If things were right, Jonah was sure that Leo would be snooping around, all wide eyed at the opportunity to know more about Jackie but without fearing embarrassing himself in front of her. He would've noticed the paintings on the wall up the staircase and would've gone in the office room, the door ajar and revealing a bookcase filled with novels and a gallery wall, he would've cared.
It was very weird for Jonah to see Leo not give a flying fuck, as if he had been in this place before, just following his guiding around like a zombie.
There were 3 bedrooms in the townhouse. One that had been turned into the office they passed by, one that was the guest room and the main suite. Originally Jonah went for the guest room's door, only to see a little bag hanging on the handle of the main suite. His heart squeezed at the forethought, a weird sadness at the missed moments they never got to share.
Jonah picked it up, pushing the suite's door open. The bag contained fluffy slippers, for the both of them, as well as a bunch of toiletry goodies, probably in case they hadn't thought of bringing an overnight bag, betraying the fact that Jackie did not know Jonah as well as she should have. It was thoughtful nonetheless.
"I'm gonna take a shower," Leo said and Jonah glanced up. Leo had already stripped off his pants and shirt and was half inside the bathroom, so Jonah hurried closer, only for the door to slam shut on his face.
"Honeymoon is officially over, uh?" Jonah scoffed to the closed door, tapping his knuckles against it, "Leo, I'm gonna go back downstairs grab our bag!"
He took his time, checking his phone and sending his mother a voice message thanking her for all the thought she had put in preparing the place for them. It was the middle of the night, so of course, she didn't answer.
Wendy, however, did.
"I'm so happy you're coming back, I missed you so much," her voice was awake and vaguely Jonah could hear Vince moving around in the background. Humming, a jazzy song playing, "the hospital is nothing without you, we've all been missing you. I can't wait to hear all about the trip."
"We miss you!" Vince stitched in, then Wendy started giggling as the music got slightly louder â she probably had walked into wherever Vin was â and the voice message cut off.
Jonah smiled, then checked if there were any messages from Luke or Bell in the last twenty four hours, but it was radio silent. Angelina, in the other hand, had been sending him daily updates on JD, every day at least five new videos of their cat exploring his sister's dorm room and climbing all over her.
Upstairs, there was a crash.
Jonah was bolting up the stairs in no time, heart hammering as he exclaimed "LEO!?" and burst into the bathroom.
His heart plummeted to his stomach, because of everything Jon expected to see â Leo having slipped and dropped something, most probably â his husband curled up inside the glass box and sobbing under the stream was not what he expected. Not only he was fucking wailing, but there were things scattered on the ground. The soap bar, the fallen shampoo and conditioner, a bloody razor-
"Leo," Jonah went deaf with the ringing in his ears at the sight of the razor, skipping ahead and shoving the glass door open, entering the shower area even if he immediately got soaked, socks squishing, "Leo, baby, baby- What's wrong? Are you hurt? Did you hurt yourself?" without waiting for any sort of answer, he was already manhandling Leo around, shoving his arms away from his chest and inspecting them-
There were angry, red nail tracks on the inside of his wrists, on his neck too, made worse by the hot water. Like Leo had tried to claw himself out of his body. Jonah's stomach flipped and he felt nauseous, "Leo, what the fuck did you do to yourself-" the bloody razor caught his eye and Jonah's heart picked up even more, galloping away as he searched the source of the blood.
Leo's face was scrunched up as he continued to cry, but he wasn't fighting the inspection, only shaking like he was freezing and continuing to sob.
Jonah found the wound on the inside of Leo's thigh. Vertical, long, but superficial. No hair was gone. He hadn't been shaving, that much was crystal clear.
"Love, what were you doing?" Jonah whispered, mortified, then was forced to move slightly out of the way as Leo's sobs turned into gags and the blonde promptly folded to the side, vomiting a mouthful of bile.
He continued to convulse and shake, so bent forward that he was nearly managing to drown himself in the one inch of water collecting on the tiles. Jonah squeezed his nape, unable to think clearly.
Just fifteen minutes before Leo had been fine. Talking with him. Sure, a little queasy and cranky, but certainly not fucking suicidal-
"Leo, angel," Jonah curled up, so he could press his lips to Leo's temple, feverishly whispering, "baby, please- Please, talk with me..."
"I don't-" Leo tried to answer, then gagged again. More vomit fell from his mouth, swirling towards the drain and Jonah was so panicked he couldn't even feel a hint of nausea at the gruesome sigh. He pulled Leo even closer, so his head was resting on Jonah's soaked trousers, rubbing wide circles on his naked back.
"Leo, please, I-" Jonah hadn't realized, but he was crying too. His voice was a strangled croak, "please, I need to know what's wrong-"
The blonde burrowed his head further against Jon's thigh, as if he was in pain. A migraine? He looked an awful lot like Luke when he had a cluster episode, but that didn't explain the fucking bloody razor blade-
"Jon," Leo grabbed his shirt, fingers hooking on the space between the buttons, ripping one clean out, "Jon..."
"I'm here, I'm here," Jonah scooted them out of the heavy stream, so he could stop blinking away the water from his eyes, "I got you-"
"Nuuuh-" Leo slurred, squeezing his eyes shut and pulling on Jonah's shirt with even more force, "meds."
Hospital, Jonah corrected mentally. Whatever this was, it was not a migraine and not a stomach flu and not anything he was capable of handling.
"I'll get you meds, baby, whatever you're feeling it'll-"
"No..." Leo interrupted, sounding angry. He shook with another sob, tugged on Jonah's shirt a little harder, knuckles turning white, "I don't- I don't-"
Now that he was out from under the water, the cut had started to bleed again. It was superficial, but quite long and Jonah was feeling all sorts of woozy as he saw the red run from under his boxers, curling in the wet floor-
"I don't have my meds."
It took Jonah a second to connect the dots, to force his eyes away from the bloody mess and back on Leo's pale face. Meds?
"Withdrawal," Jonah said, doctor side of him kicking in before his emotional side could figure it out. He felt completely disconnected from his body as he concluded that, "you haven't been taking your meds?"
His tone was more accusatory than it should've been. Leo's face scrunched up, all hurt, turning pink as he started to cry back again. He squirmed, fingers twitching, going for his arms once more, curling there-
"No," Jonah pulled his hand back, forcing Leo to stop hurting himself, "stop that." He took a measuring breath, trying to push the horrified husband side of him out of the way. There would be a minute to freak out later, right now he needed to get Leo under surveillance and new meds on him.
Leo choked out a sob, "Jon..." he didn't sound sad, he sounded scared, "Jon, make i'ssstop..."
Jonah's heart nearly stopped in his chest, as he squeezed Leo closer, pulling him up and pressing his lips to his temple, "I got you, I got you- You're gonna be fine. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, I swear," Jon gulped down the knot in his throat, shivering as he tried to avoid thinking that the worst thing that could happen to Leo right now was Leo, "I got you, angel."
The absolute first thing I see having just come from London myself.
This broke my heart. The mixture of emotions was really shown here, how you manage to make everything go so well together? I need to find out. Leo knowing what was going on and still being absolutely terrified devastated me. My heart dropped when that scene came even though I knew. I just know Jonâs heart was in his stomach as soon as he heard that crashâŚ
Crisis after crisis, I see.
Again, this gave me the chills as I was also at Heathrow airport and was in London⌠Soup has done it again.
If you see typos, pretend you don't. Enjoy my first fic in months!
---------------
The sweet smell of fresh raspberry danishes filled the apartment, the buttery scent curling in the air like a warm hug. Luna stood by the counter, carefully drizzling a zigzag of vanilla glaze over a cooling tray of pastries, humming to herself.
The moment Daniel opened the front door, he froze. His stomach twisted, not from excitement but from dread.
"Oh no," he muttered, one hand shooting up to clutch his middle. "She baked."
The scent hit him like a brick wall. Buttery pastry, sweet jam, and a whisper of lemon zest in the glaze. And beneath it all, the slight presence of regret: carnitas tacos.
"Babe?" Luna called, cheerful. "Guess what I made for -"
"I can't talk about food right now," Daniel groaned as he stumbled toward the coach. He dropped down with a heavy fwump, arms wrapped protectively around his torso. "It's happening again."
Luna peeked out, confused. "What's happening- oh no. Again?"
"I told you not to let me eat spicy food at work," he moaned, eyes closed. "It's like lava is fighting acid in my chest, and the acid is winning."
She walked over, wiping her hands on a towel, eyes narrowing in that familiar "I told you so" way. "Daniel. You said - and I quote - 'I can handle taco tuesday. I'm a grown man."
"I was wrong!" He whimpered. "They added that aioli I like, I was practically seduced."
Luna sighed, crouching beside him. "You don't look great."
Daniel let out a sudden, loud, wet-sounding belch that he halfed-smothered in his sleeve.
"Ugh, sorry. They keep sneaking up on me."
"What does it feel like?"
He rubbed his chest, brow furrowed. "It feels like a pressure in my chest. Then it gets worse when it pushes up into my throat."
Another hiccup escaped him, sharp and sudden. He jerked forward and clutched his middle again.
"Great, now I have hiccups. This is the worst combo since someone put pineapple on pizza."
"You like pineapple on pizza," Luna reminded him.
"I did. Before my body declared war on flavour."
She gave him a couple of chewable TUMS and rubbed circles on his back while he sat up, hiccuping and burping miserably between sips of water.
But then he caught a whiff of the danishes again.
"Oh god." He gagged, hand instantly clamping over his mouth. "Why do they smell so good when I feel this bad?"
Luna froze. "Want me to put them away?"
He shook his head, eyes glassy. "Just... don't let me look at them. I think my stomach is trying to escape my body."
He let out another slow, painful-sounding burp. It started deep, like a rumble in his gut, then crawled its way up his throat in a sickening gurgle. His face contorted like he'd just tasted something foul.
Luna studied him. "Does it feel like it's in your chest?"
"It's moved lower," he mumbled. "Fuck, it's like sludge, my stomach's bloated, and my throat burns... and I might be feeling better?"
He leaned back cautiously, testing the feeling.
A minute passed.
Two.
Then, his body tensed.
The nausea punched him out of nowhere, cold and sudden, like someone had flipped a switch. He opened his eyes and sat up, taking a deep breath and resting his elbows on his knees.
Luna looked at him, confused. "What baby? What is it?" She sounded concerned now.
"It came back, I feel nauseous." He looked up at her, and she noticed the slight desperate look on his face followed by his pale complexion.
"Bathroom." Luna said quickly, grabbing his arm.
Daniel didn't answer. He was already on his feet, stumbling across the room with one hand on his mouth and the other around his stomach. The moment he hit the bathroom, he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet.
Time slowed.
He sat hunched there, knees aching against the cold tile, forehead resting against the seat. Waves of nausea rolled through him, thick and cruel. He hiccuped again, wet and almost gagging.
Each burp had a different texture. Some were sharp and acidic, burning the back of his throat. Others were slow and bubbling, full of air and that horrible sour taste.
His body trembled. Sweat started to collect at his temples.
Luna felt useless standing outside, hovering in the doorway. "Want me to come in?"
Daniel groaned weakly. "You don't... wanna see this."
She sighed. "You are being ridiculous," she said as she walked in anyway, crouching beside him.
She wet a cloth under water and pressed it against his neck. "Hey," she said gently. "You're okay. Let it happen."
He hated how well she knew him. He hiccuped again - then heaved. His body lurched, a violent wave shooting up from his stomach.
He coughed, gagged, and then vomited. The first wave was small, mostly fluid, but his body didn't care. It wrenched him forward like it was trying to turn him inside out.
He gasped between breaths, arms shaking.
Luna rubbed his back steadily. "Breathe, you're not breathing." She thumped on his back, worrying slightly.
Another burp came up, soaked in bile, and he retched again. This time harder. More came up, and he groaned through it, forehead now slick with sweat.
"God," he rasped between heaves. "This is the most dramatic I've ever been."
"You say that every time"
He coughed, spit, and leaned against the seat. "I mean it this time."
For the next several minutes, he stayed there, curled forward with the toilet as his reluctant companion. His hiccuped slowed, then stopped. The burps thinned out and the worst had finally passed.
He sat back on his heels, chest rising and falling with heavy, exhausted breaths. Luna handed him the wet cloth, which he pressed gratefully to his face.
"You okay?" She asked softly.
He nodded at that. "I feel like a deflated balloon," he said hoarsely. "But less festive."
Later, wrapped in a blanket, freshly brushed and tucked back into bed, Daniel lay curled on his side while Luna sat next to him, cradling a cup of chamomile tea.
"I'm never eating tacos again," he mumbled, voice scratchy.
She grinned and offered him a spoonful of tea. "You said that last week."
"This time, I really mean it."
"You say that every week, babe."
"Then, next week, stop me."
She leaned down, kissed his temple, and whispered, "Only if you let me film this next time so you remember the trauma."
He groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. "Please don't use my weakest moment for educational purposes."
"Too late," she said sweetly. "Already logged it in the 'Daniel vs. Spicy Food' journal."
His muffled voice came from beneath the blanket. "At least save me a danish?"
A/N: This is for @writing-whump, who asked for a fic where Avery gets to see Adam not being a total egomaniac jerk. I love writing these two; they always surprise me.
As the only openly gay member of the Boston FBI, Avery Morrison was used to being a token. Law enforcement was so often out of favor with the more liberal parts of the city that Avery was regularly trotted out to show off the softer side of being a cop.Â
Not that he even was a cop, but no one seemed to care that an FBI agent was very different from a police officer when public relations were on the line. The fact that Avery investigated major drug rings and arms dealers and domestic terrorists and child pornographers just made him more interesting. Even groups that regularly argued for better gun laws and against police misconduct couldnât hate someone who stopped child porn, right? Â
Well, that was the theory, anyway. Today Avery was at the uber-fancy Newbury Hotel, representing the Bureau at a citywide Pride event and resource fair for the LGBTQ+ community. His first choice would have been to join the table of volunteers from My Brotherâs Keeper, an organization he volunteered with every week helping at-risk youth. But instead his Midwestern charm and progressive attitude was needed to sit with a couple of real Boston patrol cops, where they were supposed to be a resource about fighting hate crimes.Â
So far theyâd just been taking a lot of flack about the recent shooting of an unarmed 16-year-old kid during a traffic stop on the other side of the city. No matter how disgusted Avery personally was about the incident, a lot of the people walking by their table just saw someone easy to blame. More than one passerby had cursed at them under their breath as they walked past and then a vaguely familiar looking man âaccidentallyâ spilled his water bottle all over the table and part of Averyâs shirt. A guy he recognized from other Pride events, but had never met. Short and wiry, with closely cropped black hair and skin the color of coffee. Lance, maybe? Avery just remembered him as always flitting around, seemingly involved in everything and everyone. But now he looked pissed, so Avery was immediately on his guard.
âAre you going to arrest me?â the man taunted while Avery tried to mop up the mess with his sleeve before it got all their promotional materials wet. âOr how about . . . a taser? Yeah? Since Iâm WWB here. Could be about to try something.â He crossed his arms across his rainbow tank top and stared unblinkingly.Â
WWB meant âWalking While Black, and that, as well as DWB - Driving While Black - were definitely a problem in parts of Boston. Even in 2025, in one of the most liberal cities in the country, it still wasnât unheard of for a police officer to stop someone as suspicious based purely on the color of their skin. The behavior was much less common in the FBI, but of course, the guy looking at him didnât seem to care about the distinction. He shoved at the table with his hip knocking over displays about Mathew Shepard and the Trevor Project. Â
âHey, come on now,â Avery protested weakly, while next to him, one of the police officers actually got to his feet before Avery could stop him. Fuck. Heâd never worked with these two officers before - and doubted they were actually members of the lgbtq+ community. Probably just a couple of rookies whoâd had no choice about coming. Engaging with angry community members was to be handled delicately, and watching the young cop lean forward and point his finger at the other man was anything but delicate.Â
Avery tugged on the rookieâs arm but purposely did not get up from his own seat. âCâmon . . . Terr - Toe . . . Câmon man. Let it go; itâs fine.â Avery was at these types of events all the time and he knew the anger was justified, even if a little misdirected. If it had been up to him, heâd have sat there and endured a few minutes of berating - letting the guy get his anger out. Agree or apologize, and donât take it personally for a second - that was what to do here.
Any more experienced officer, and certainly an FBI agent, would have understood and de-escalated immediately. But Terry/Tony/Tommy shook off Averyâs grasp. Â
âLet me handle this,â he muttered, walking around the side of the table to stand over the smaller man, who didnât even flinch. But the interaction didnât go unnoticed, and soon their table was surrounded by a number of tall and toned men of various races - this was a Pride event, after all. A half second later, the second police officer stood up too. Avery heard someone say the name of the boy whoâd been shot and Blueâs gonna pay. A few more bodies joined.Â
Avery swore again and finally stood up himself. âYouâre absolutely right,â he said to the man - Lance? - whoâd bumped the table. It was a tricky strategy to try, especially without a partner to back him up here. Rory would have known what to do right away.Â
But the rookie cops turned to glare at him, clearly shocked he was not firmly on their side. Well tough shit; this wasnât their playground. But then another voice washed over the entire group.Â
âOf course heâs right; Lyle is one of our best community organizers. Smart of you to realize that, Morrison.âÂ
If anyone had told him a week ago that one day soon heâd be happy to see Adam Calder, Avery would have called them delusional. But even he couldnât deny that the moment Adam inserted himself into the center of the crowd, the tension eased considerably. Much of the muttering stopped, a few people wandered away, and those who remained looked more curious than angry. Two men touched Adam familiarly on the arm as they walked by and another fist-bumped him before stepping back into the group of onlookers. It was crystal clear that Adam Calder controlled the room, and heâd only said two sentences.Â
Still, Avery knew how easy it was to be taken in by Adamâs charm, and how fleeting his attention could be. But then Adam shot him a look that said follow my lead, and Avery found himself returning a tiny nod of agreement.
âLyleâs passion is creating safe spaces and better opportunities for LGBTQ+ youths of color,â Adam explained, throwing his arm around the man in a friendly manner. âHalf of the initiatives in Boston wouldnât get funded without Lyleâs tireless work and fierce talent for organizing. Seriously. The first order of business for any queer organization in Boston is to make sure that Lyle Cranston is dialed into the mission and onboard with the planning committee. Isnât that right, darling?âÂ
It was immediately obvious to Avery how thickly Adam was laying on the praise, even though he wasnât sure why yet. Was the community organizer really that important in the LGBTQ+ community? Or was he somehow insecure, and needed an ego boost?Â
Apparently neither; instead of deflecting or showing any humility, Lyle smiled proudly and straightened up under Adamâs effusiveness.
âAbso-fucking-lutely correct,â he agreed. His own arm snaked around Adamâs waist and squeezed. âYou know the offer still stands, any time you have an opening to work at Dynamic Strategies, Iâm ready to quit my current job and come help you.âÂ
Adam flicked his eyes at Avery for a half second, lips tight in a way Avery had no trouble interpreting. The pained expression - gone even faster - only reiterated what Adam was doing here. Avery immediately leaned forward to help.
âI thought you looked familiar.â He opened his friendliest smile, the one that lulled suspects into spilling all their secrets. Some karma god must have been smiling on him because a second later he was even able to remember the last time heâd seen Lyle. âYou were at the BAGLY conference last month, werenât you?â
Mentioning the Boston Alliance of LGBTQ+ Youth was the right thing to say; Lyleâs suspicious attitude relaxed even more. âI was,â he agreed imperiously, as if it was a stupid question. As if anyone who knew anything wouldnât have had to ask. âBut I donât remember seeing you there.â He shrugged, clearly eager to imply that Avery hadnât made much of an impact. âDo you remember the icebreaker? That was all me. Everyone thought it was highly effective.â His expression grew even more self-important. âIf Calder hereâs willing to vouch for you then I guess youâre okay.â He peered carefully at Averyâs face and then ran his eyes up and down the manâs body before looking back at Adam. âSo heâs an ally?â
Adam paused, and Avery was impressed. Even at a Pride event, the man wasnât going to out him. He answered himself. Â
âNope,â he proclaimed, popping the P. âBostonâs only openly gay FBI agent, at your service.â Â
âReally.â Lance - Lyle suddenly looked a lot more interested. âSo how do you and Adam know each other? Or do I even need to ask?â He bumped his hip against Adamâs. âYou dog. I didnât know you were into linebackers. Youâll need to tell me your Grindr secret. I always seem to strike out.âÂ
The pained expression was back on Adamâs face and Avery found himself feeling oddly sorry for the guy. Plus, he probably owed him for untangling the mess here. Lyle looked like he was ready to settle in for a long discussion about dating advice and Avery wasnât sure whoâd hate that more, him or Adam. He snorted.
âMy sisterâs dating his partner, but thank you for the compliment.â He shook his head as if it was the funniest thing heâd heard all day. A second later, Adam chuckled too. Â
âWeâd . . . ahem . . . kill each other first, right?â Adam deftly used the excuse of clearing his throat to slide out of Lyleâs clutches. âActually, do you mind if I steal you for a moment? Agent Morrison?â His tone was casual, but the private look he shot Avery was surprisingly needy.Â
For a moment, Avery considered refusing. What kind of fucking nerve did Adam Calder have, propositioning him right in the middle of a professional event? Had he really learned nothing at all from every other interaction the two of them had had? What did he think, Avery would just take his hand and let the guy lead him to a private bathroom somewhere in this fancy hotel? Or . . . he wouldnât put it past the guy to have gotten a room here, since of course heâd be picking someone up. Unbelievable.Â
But before he could shoot the man down, preferably loudly and publicly, that same pained expression flashed across Adamâs face again. There was something familiar about it this time, although Avery couldnât place where heâd seen Adam look like that before. Was it regret? Apology? Knowing Adam, either was unlikely. Still, there was something that made Avery pause. Even though he knew heâd absolutely regret it later, he gave a quick, easy nod. âOf course.âÂ
He didnât miss the relieved smile or Adamâs soft exhale when he heard Averyâs agreement. âWonât take long,â he promised lightly, and then turned back to Lyle once more. âIâll put you on my calendar for coffee next week; donât stand me up, sweetheart.â Â
âWouldn't dream of it,â answered Lyle eagerly. It looked like he was waiting for Adam to invite him to wherever he was taking Avery off to, and when the invitation wasnât offered, he deflated a bit. Â
Adam took Avery by the elbow and turned him in the direction of the exits and Averyâs heart sunk. He really had been an idiot then. But before he could pull away or tell Adam Calder to go fuck himself - because he certainly wouldnât be fucking Avery - the man leaned in.
âCan you help me . . . find a bathroom?â he muttered, words interrupted with a breathy burp. âIâm not feeling well.â Â
It was the last thing Avery had expected to hear. âYouâre sick?â he asked, letting Adam continue to direct him across the room. It was crowded - there were at least fifty organizations represented, each with its own table decorated with banners and posters on stands and rainbow-themed giveaways. Walking through it all was dizzying even before you added in the crowd.
Adam shrugged. âSick to my stomach at least. Started about an hour ago.â The man gulped softly and then stopped to shake hands with someone who reached out to him from the PFLAG table. When he took Averyâs elbow again there was a little bit more urgency in his step. âIâd really like to get out of here.â
âLetâs go then.â Now that Avery was paying attention he could see how pale Adam had gotten, and the beads of sweat that dotted his forehead. âAre you going to throw up?â He wasnât sure why Adam had chosen him as a caretaker but he wasnât about to abandon the guy - especially not when it was glaringly apparent that getting out of the ballroom was going to be a challenge.
Lyle may have been a poser, but it was obvious Adam was not. Not in this environment, at least. Every half-dozen steps someone else came up to him, either to shake hands, or compliment him on some initiative heâd spearheaded, or talk strategy about the next one. And every time, Adam straightened up, swallowed hard, and became totally engaged. If Avery recognized that his eyes looked glassy, to everyone else they probably seemed energized. And the pauses in his sentences sounded thoughtful, not like he was trying to fight back a gag.Â
After the fourth such interaction, Avery began strategizing. Adam had been burping regularly while they walked, but now they were starting to sound wet and dangerous. And his hand was straying to his middle more and more often. At first it had just been to rest his palm there for a second, as if trying to confirm that yes, his stomach actually was upset. But then Avery saw him press his fingers into his side, and he shot Avery that same pained expression from earlier.
Avery grimaced back. âCramps?â he asked under his breath when they had a moment with no one accosting them. Adam gave a tight nod.Â
âHappens . . . sometimes,â he grunted out, shutting his eyes for a long second while he waited for the pain to ease. âWhen Iâmnauseous ân tryinâ . . .â His voice trailed off and he shut his eyes again.Â
âWhen youâre trying not to let anyone know,â Avery finished for him. âGot it.â Even though heâd given Adam a hard time in the past about keeping up his facade when sick, right now Avery didnât blame him at all. The problem was they were still a dozen yards from the exit, and already people were standing up from the tables theyâd be passing, ready to pull Adam into yet another conversation as he walked by. Â
Adam realized it too, âOh, fuck,â he groaned. âThatâs . . . uuURP . . . Grant Marx. Heâs someone I really want to . . . ugh.â He tried to straighten up but stumbled against Avery, gulping. âNeedtopukesoon,â he mumbled thickly. And then more desperately. âNot here.â
Avery acted instinctively. Before theyâd taken another step, he wrapped his arm possessively around Adamâs waist and pulled the guy against him. His other hand snaked up to cup his cheek. âWork with me here,â he muttered, turning his body so Adamâs face was against his shoulder. âTry not to vomit yet.â
Adam understood immediately. He melted against Avery and hiccupped queasily into his chest, taking a couple of deep breaths. Pressed together like this, Avery could feel how badly Adam was trembling and he tightened his grip around his waist, trying not to squeeze his stomach. After a few more tense seconds Adam breathed out and then lifted his face again to the room. A confident grin, almost a smirk, was firmly plastered across his features and Avery wondered just how much effort that was taking.Â
At least their act seemed to have convinced all the bystanders not to interrupt Adam, now that he was so clearly working to arrange a hook up with the FBI agent. Avery got more than one knowing glance as they walked by, their speed at trying to leave the room immediately understood. And people were clearing a path for them now.Â
Outside the ballroom, Adam didnât even pause at the public bathroom in the hotelâs wide corridor. Avery didnât bother wasting precious seconds trying to convince him otherwise, but tugged him down the hallway towards the elevators.Â
As soon as they turned the corner Adam halted and leaned over to spit on the carpet. âS-s-sorry,â he mumbled, hands still on his knees. More saliva dripped down. Avery bit his lip. Heâd seen Adam sick before - more than once, actually - but never so publicly. The guy must really be feeling terrible. Voices approached suddenly from behind them and Adam jerked, then lurched upright, jaw tight. Without a word, he spun until his face was buried in Averyâs chest again.
âCan you make it to the parking garage?â Avery spoke softly into Adamâs hair. It was two floors down and Averyâs car was parked there. Adam could throw up behind it and then Avery could drive him home - and probably not speak to him for another month until the next time they were forced together at Rory and Noaâs. There was no way Adam was going to want to be reminded of any of this.Â
In response, Adam swayed on his feet and gagged. âNo,â he choked out. Something wet dripped inside the collar of Averyâs shirt. Â
Abandoning the idea of getting to the elevator, Avery implemented plan B. âStairwell,â he muttered tersely, already moving them in that direction. âTen steps. Keep your head on me.â Some people went stiff when trying not to vomit, but Adam was pliant as a ragdoll. He let Avery tug him along while he stumbled with him, gulping over and over and then burping up something that sounded like more than just air as soon as they burst through the door. Â
Avery breathed out a sigh of relief. âOkay, you can puke now.â One good thing about the Newbury being such a fancy hotel was that it was very unlikely any of the guests would bother taking the stairs. He made a mental note to call and let the front desk know that someone had apparently gotten sick on the way down to the parking garage once he and Adam were safely away.
Adam immediately leaned over and spit up a mouthful of watery puke onto the floor. âMâ so nauseous,â he groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. âCan you . . .?â he gestured weakly down to the next landing below, where - miracle of miracles - there was a garbage can. But even if his brain was behaving rationally, his body wasnât. Only two steps down Adam groaned and folded in half, wrapping his arms around his middle. He swayed dangerously and tilted forward, retching. Â
Just in time, Avery grabbed him around the waist and pulled him back against his front before Adam pitched headfirst down the stairs. âShit, careful,â he muttered, shoving Adam down onto a step and settling himself on the one right above. âNo concussions on my watch, please. Pukingâs plenty.â With Adam practically sitting in his lap he could tell the guy didnât have a fever, at least. Really clammy though - heâd sweated through the back of his pale pink button down shirt and his hair was plastered to the back of his neck in damp waves.Â
Adam didnât acknowledge the comment, but spread his legs and bent forward until his head hovered over the lower steps. Avery instinctively tightened his grip, locking his arms around Adamâs waist like a seatbelt. They stayed frozen like that for a second while Adam panted hard, until one exhale bubbled up into his throat and he threw up all down the stairs. It was liquidly and thin, and dripped down to pool on the landing, where it was soon joined by the contents of Adamâs second heave. Â
âOh god,â he groaned in between retches. âStomachâs killing me.â The next wave was more solid, landing on the steps with a sickening plop. Â
Holding Adam the way he was, Avery could feel every contraction of the guyâs stomach, and adding that to the sensory overload from the sight, sound, and smell made him a little queasy himself. When Adam vomited again, he forced up a burp of his own, sighing with the relief it brought.
He wasnât sure Adam could say the same. When the vomiting seemed to taper off he let out a series of queasy burps and then slumped back against Averyâs chest, breathing hard.Â
Avery held out a small towel heâd swiped from the PFLAG table when heâd realized how sick Adam was. When he didnât immediately take it, Avery sighed and wiped the puke off the guyâs chin himself. Just sealing the deal that he was never going to talk to Adam Calder again. Not after holding him like a koala and cleaning his face, that was for damn sure. The guy would probably want to get on the next plane back to San Francisco at this rate. Not that Avery would have handled the situation at all differently. It just sucked that the last time heâd ever get to wrap his thighs around the manâs hips and feel his perfect abs under his fingers it was while he was puking his guts up. Just his fucking luck.
At least it seemed like things were calming down in Adamâs stomach. He burped again, softer this time, and then dropped his head back to rest on Averyâs shoulder. âSorry âbout my puke breath,â he mumbled.Â
Avery resisted the urge to brush Adamâs hair away from his forehead. âItâs fine,â he responded quickly. âAre you feeling better?â Â
âA little, yeah.â Adam suddenly seemed to realize where he was, or more specifically, whose arms were wrapped around him. He sat forward, shuffling weakly on the step and clearly trying to break contact.
âYeah, no,â Avery said. âNot until Iâm sure youâre not going to faceplant in the remains of your lunch.â No matter how awkward the situation was, he couldnât just abandon the guy -even if Adam wished he would.  Â
Adam groaned. âDonât mention . . . lunch,â he hiccupped. âIâm still tasting it when I burp.â He took the towel and wiped his mouth again. âSamâs Sub Shop. Good thing I was in a hurry and didnât even finish half my sandwich, I guess.â He grimaced. âNever eating there again.âÂ
âIâll keep it off my list too,â Avery promised, mostly for something to say. Adam hadnât made any effort to move and Avery wondered if he was feeling too weak to stand. Or maybe he just didnât want to ask for any more help. Back to putting up the facade and all that.Â
But the stairwell was gross and Avery wanted to get away from the mess and to his car. âCan you walk? I think thereâs maybe a little bit of the steps you didnât puke on.â He gestured inelegantly down at the vomit splattered space.Â
Adam looked where Avery was pointing and for the first time seemed to realize what a mess heâd made. He groaned again, but this time it sounded more sheepish than sick.Â
âWow, I really . . . wow.â He twisted to look at Avery, seemingly at a loss for words. âYeah,â he said finally. âLetâs uhh, I mean, I can walk.â
He didnât sound so sure, but let Avery haul him to his feet, where he swayed so violently that Avery had no choice but to grab his waist again. Adam immediately leaned into him and Averyâs face heated up. Get a fucking grip, Morrison - the guyâs clearly still sick.Â
Slowly, they sidestepped and tiptoed delicately down the stairs until they finally reached a clean landing and the door to the parking garage. Adam was panting hard by then, and rested against the wall while Avery contemplated leaving him there and going to get his car himself. âI canât believe you were nauseous for an hour before you said something.â He dug through his bag for his water bottle and handed it over. âI had no idea.â
Adam gave a weak smirk. âMaybe youâre losing your investigatory edge, Agent Morrison. I burped at least twice while we were talking to Lyle.â He swished water in his mouth and spit it onto the floor before swallowing a careful sip.
âOr maybe I just wasnât paying that much attention to you,â Avery shot back easily. He was happy to see a hint of color returning to Adamâs face now that heâd vomited so much. The guy still looked shaky though. No way was he letting him go home alone.
Adam huffed with amusement. âI guess I deserve that.âÂ
âYou do,â Avery agreed. âAlthough you did save me from Lyle, so thank you. I really was trying to start a reasonable conversation with him.â Â
Adam inclined his head in acknowledgement. âLyleâs intentions are good, but heâs annoying as fuck with his methods,â he revealed. âAnd . . .â - he stilled for a moment and put two fingers to his mouth. When nothing happened he sagged a bit and kept talking â - A lot of people in the community canât stand him, but I try to give him some attention every so often. He deserves that much at least.â Adamâs voice grew thin and his hand went back to his mouth. Avery put a wary hand on his shoulder.
âNauseous again?âÂ
Adam gave a small nod. âYeah,â he breathed out. âNot . . . not as bad, but . . .â He held up a finger, mouth contorting in a queasy grimace.Â
Avery squeezed his nape. âGet the rest out, then Iâll drive you home.â If he expected any sort of protest, he was wrong. Adam nodded again before gagging harshly and then burping up a mouthful of bile. âThanks,â he gasped. âI think itâs all up now. But I need to lie down.â He shot Avery a cautious look. âYou really donât mind driving me? I mean - â he swallowed hard. - âI mean, Iâm sure youâd rather . . .not.âÂ
Adam sounded so uncertain that Avery was momentarily disarmed. His answer sounded more hesitant than he intended. Â
âWhat? Why? No . . . no of course I will.â Heâs been about to reach out to help Adam walk to the car but now pulled back. âWhy would you say that?âÂ
Adam reached out on his own and took Averyâs arm. âI could use a hand,â he admitted. âKinda dizzy.âÂ
Avery immediately threw Adamâs arm over his shoulder again. âRight. Sorry. Here, my carâs just up the next row.â They started shuffling again. Adam was still breathing heavily and Avery assumed his question would go unanswered. But just as they reached the Subaru, Adam sighed.Â
âBecause . . . of last time.â His voice was very quiet. âAt the bar.â Â
âOh.â Avery wasnât sure how to respond to that. Sure, last time theyâd left on a bad note - Adam had wanted another means nothing, one-night stand, and Avery had shot him down. But only after theyâd made out in an alley and Avery had stupidly let himself believe . . . well, something obviously unbelievable. But that was irrelevant right now.
âYouâre sick, and Iâm not an asshole,â he explained with a touch of impatience, opening the passenger door and carefully settling Adam into the seat. The man let out a relieved breath as soon as he was inside, rubbing a hand over his face and looking disheveled and exhausted. âI mean, if the situation was reversed, would you have left me to drown in my own puke?âÂ
âOf course not.â Adam chuckled weakly. âAlthough, as we both know, I sometimes am an asshole.â His hands shook as he fumbled to buckle his seatbelt and Avery had to restrain from the urge to just lean over and do it for him. âFor what itâs worth, I . . . regret that night. The assumptions I made.â He burped softly and immediately waved off Averyâs noise of concern. âIâm fine, Iâm fine,â he assured, but then he burped again and shuffled a bit in his seat. Â
âThereâs probably a bag in the glove box,â Avery said, turning around so he could pull out of the parking spot. âI think weâve previously established that Iâd rather you not puke in my car.â Adamâs apology hung in the air between them and he let it stay there while he scanned his ticket to exit the garage. âAnd . . . thank you. Maybe I made assumptions too.â He hoped Adam wouldnât ask what those assumptions were, although he had a feeling the guy would be able to guess. âAre you sure youâre not going to puke again?â he asked when the car bounced over a pothole and Adam gagged. He shook his head.
âPretty sure Iâm empty.â Adam curled over his lap for a minute and then straightened up. âStomach still hurts; thatâs all. Iâll be fine once I sleep it off.â Â
âWhich means you have to give me your address.â Avery knew Adam lived in an upscale building somewhere in the South End, but that was all. He suspected the man would have kept his exact location a secret from Avery forever if heâd been able to. Â
As if reading his mind, Adam gave an amused huff. âIronic, isnât it? That you finally find out where I live and itâs my own fault.â Â
âIâd hardly call getting food poisoning your own fault,â Avery pointed out. He paused for a second and then decided to ask the question heâd been wondering all afternoon. âBut you did come find me. When you were already feeling sick, I mean. So yeah, I guess itâs your fault that Iâm the one taking you home instead of Lyle.âÂ
Adam groaned. âOh god, could you imagine? Iâd probably have puked right in the ballroom while he droned on about how important he was.â He was quiet for a minute while Avery carefully maneuvered the car onto Newbury street and turned in the direction of the South End.Â
âItâs because I knew I could trust you. Both to get me out of that damn ballroom and then to . . . well, this.â Adam gestured around the car. âLike you said, you werenât going to leave me to drown in my own puke. Even though you probably wanted to.â
âOnly part of the time,â joked Avery. âI donât know why you trust me so much, but thank you.â They were already entering the South End and he was oddly disappointed that the ride was almost over. Which was stupid. Adam was sick and the only thing Avery needed to be concerned about was making sure the man got safely into his apartment. He pulled up in front of the building. âDo you need me to help you get upstairs?â
Adam shook his head. âI think Iâm okay.â He unbuckled his seatbelt but made no move to get out of the car. âI trust you because you turned me down.â He gave Avery a small smile. âNo oneâs ever done that before. Most people just give me what I want. As much as I hated it at the time, guess Iâm glad you didnât. â
Avery knew Adam wasnât bragging, and he also suspected it wasnât easy for him to admit that. Which meant if he wasnât careful, he blurt out something heâd deeply regret. âIâll continue to keep you humble then,â he grinned. Â
Adam finally opened his door. âIâll look forward to it.â
This one is the penultimate instalment of the Wendy Relapse arc. Here's a list of the triggers:
Briefly mentioned in the past: suicide attempt, drug overdose. | Mentioned in the past but not prevalent: transphobia. | Mentioned, but not graphic: bulimia, purging.
As always, I'll post a tl/dr of what happened in this fic for those who are not able to read it!
A huge shoutout to @tummyachesandchocolatecakes for all the counseling with Wen's ED!
--------------
Relapse was a funny thing.
For ten years, Wendy had battled against this dark desire to punish herself for not measuring up to her imagination.
During the first two years, bulimia had been her constant companion.
She had been fresh out of the hospital â stomach pumped, mind still fuzzy from the amount of drugs she had taken and the ins and outs of the place. Her parents had insisted she went home as soon as the doctor gave in to their relentless pestering, Wendy's father in his usual state of sullenness and her mother downright hysterical as she flip flopped between concern and annoyance at what their family and friends would think of a suicide attempt. A suicide attempt at sixteen!
Once she was reinstated home, Wendy had foolishly thought things would've been easier. For once, her parents were using the correct pronouns, although they slipped up more often than not and then seemed annoyed at her when correcting themselves. Nevertheless, they called her Wendy. W-E-N-D-Y, five letters and a name she had been happily giving out to her friends for the past year, resonating much like a gunshot when she first heard it out of her father's lips.
Crisped mouth, spelling it out slowly and then sighing, "at least you kept your initials," as he comforted himself in the small concession, "doesn't feel right."
She couldn't have agreed, heart hammering away in her chest as she sat in the big king sized bed in the middle of her bedroom, the piles of unopened gifts still sitting at her desk, as she hadn't gotten to it on her birthday night, too busy sneaking the pills out of her mother's medicine cabinet, the alcohol from the party that had already ended.
"I'd have liked if you picked something more in fashion with your real- With what I would have picked," Lydia had been pressed to the closet door, keeping her distance, arms crossed and wearing a perfectly ironed peachy suit, "Whitney used to be my pick before we found- Before."
Wendy had wrinkled her nose, rolled her eyes, "ironic and grim, mother," she hadn't been able to help the jab, as she was reminded of how the most famous Whitney anyone knew had died. In a bathtub and in February, no less. Too many coincidences not to cause her to snort and Lydia to flinch, her cheeks turning pink.
Simon had been sitting at the foot of Wendy's bed and for the first time in God knows how long, Wen had seen him open a little amused smile at the dark comment.
"I suppose Wendy it is," he declared, as if she would've taken any of their inputs into account.
For the next two months, she had been so euphoric over the newfound freedom of being accepted, however poorly, that everything had been buried under it. She had foolishly convinced herself that no depression could touch her as she was in cloud nine and that if her appetite wasn't back just yet, then good. She had had her stomach pumped after all, maybe those were just side effects, and hopefully a permanent one so she'd never again have to think about diets and jeans sizes-
It didn't work that way.
When Wendy had found herself, again, curled up on the bathroom floor of her suite and with her knuckles bleeding as they chaffed against her teeth, the skin weakened by the stomach acid, she had wept so hard that felt like a toddler.
Face swollen and a splintering headache, drool and vomit clinging to her chin as she buried her face in her arms and sobbed over the fact that things weren't magically fixed, that she wasn't magically fixed.
Admitting to it, that maybe her issues went beyond her parents lack of support of her identity, that perhaps her insecurities and short comings ran deeper than she had ever thought, was the hardest feat of all.
Until the day she died, Wendy would remember the disappointed look in her mother's face as she told them over dinner that she needed help... A wrinkle between her green eyes, exactly the same as Wendy's, that frustrated sigh at Wen's weakness and the manner she had dejectedly pushed away from the table and scoffed, "why aren't you happy? What else can we do to make you happy, aren't we doing enough?"
Certain words echoed through time, ghost whisperings that lasted from teenage years well into adulthood.
At twenty six, Wendy thought all of that was behind her. She had never felt better in her own skin, she had built a life to herself that she not just endured, but enjoyed. A career she felt accomplished in, the jolt of satisfaction at another crisis well managed enough to keep her going for hours. Friends, whom she didn't need to hide from, who found her quirkiness endearing rather than annoying. A boyfriend, who seemed so perfect Wendy sometimes wondered if she had made him up, from personality to looks to intellect, Vince seemed like he was a wish she had made upon a star.
Or a genie. A monkey's paw.
Why aren't you happy, aren't we doing enough?
Her new life seemed so utterly perfect, Wendy caught herself wondering where exactly did she fit in it. Reality and fantasy clashing, the woman she was not measuring up to the woman she wished she was.
She wished she had more time, in order to better distribute it between the hospital, her boyfriend, her friends, her hobbies. There were only twenty four hours in a day and she had to make concessions, cut things as she opened up space in her life to integrate Vince fully in it.
The hobbies had gone first. Probably for the best, Vince and everyone else had voiced their displeasure at the sheer amount of things she roped herself with, Bella bluntly telling her that she needed more hours to eat and sleep or she'd collapse.
Wendy was self aware enough to admit that she had overworked herself, filled her calendar a little too much, not only because she had the availability, but because it helped her not feel so- So lonely, when Vince was far away living a life she had thought would only culminate in their relationship crumbling and her heart exploding in a bunch of little pieces.
Part of her had been so certain of their tragic outcome, that she had been all too happy to let harder conversations slip them by. She had thought they already had a scheduled conflict in their horizon, why bother to bring up all the other obstacles that she could map out?
It was an extremely practical view of the world and Wendy knew others would have raised their eyebrows at it, nothing like the sweetness she projected or the bubbly attitude she tried to maintain. Jonah would've been aghast, the romantic that he was, no matter how much he tried to hide it.
Wendy had already defended herself inside of her own head. She didn't think that thinking their romance was doomed made her love Vince any less, on the contrary. She had been so sure of the heartbreak to come, but still she hadn't been able to turn away, clinging to the hope she felt when they were together. Those flashes of the future, that certainty that he seemed to sport on them, she had been willing to go through the heartbreak if only to bask in his love for a little longer.
When he hadn't chosen Doveport and instead chosen her, Wendy's didn't know what to do with herself. Relish, of course, enjoy every little new tidbit of intimacy that they now shared. How Vince's hair looked every morning and how he liked his coffee â more sugar than coffee, although he always put all the disgusting sweeteners in his own mug, so she could have the black coffee intact.
She loved hearing him hum in the kitchen as he prepared them dinner, or how he flinched as she pressed her cold hands and feet to him in bed and she loved the fact Vince craved sunlight like a fat housecat or a plant, how his mood always seemed to tank as dark clouds littered the sky.
What she didn't love was how odd she felt in this new order of things. How she felt awkward in her own home, always wanting to play the perfect girlfriend as if they were forever stuck in those early days courtship stage. How she sucked in her stomach whenever Vince wrapped his arms around her or how she couldn't say not to all the million little pastries he cooked up and how the bathroom scale hadn't realized she was living in a romcom and was instead daring to go up in digits.
She didn't like the paranoia that followed, or most importantly, the shame, as her thoughts spiraled and Wendy lied awake in bed listening to Vin's soft snores for countless nights. Once the paranoia and insecurity were reinstated, it had all come crashing down at an alarming speed.
A decade of managing, eight years since she had last stepped foot in the nutritionist's office, eight years since her therapist had given her a go-ahead and told her she no longer needed direct aid, unraveling in front of her eyes at a mind bogging speed.
Why aren't you happy, aren't we doing enough?
Bad timing, Wendy had first thought. Jonah's wedding was the event of the year, she was the maid of honor, her boyfriend had moved in with her... Too many changes, too many demands. Breaking down at the parking lot after trying on bridesmaid dresses had been nothing but the culmination of bad timing.
Her avoiding food was only her avoiding another breaking down from happening. She knew her own triggers, all she wanted was to avoid things from getting worse â So she didn't eat. Not in front of people, specially not in front of Vince or Jonah or Bella or Luke or Leo or Max or Barbie or anyone who was close enough to really pay attention to whatever was on her plate.
Everyone would have been thankful if they knew she was only trying to make the best out of the situation. She just didn't want to be an inconvenience.
That night, after dining at Bell's, when she had first purged, Wendy had thought: a hiccup.
A horrible, nerve wrecking hiccup in her decade long remission, but just a fucking hiccup. Nothing she couldn't come back from, just that one single time.
A hiccup, that turned into two. Three. A habit, a demand.
It hit her, as the stomach flu had wracked their little apartment, plastering both Vince and Max onto their backs, that the little hiccup had turned into so much more than that. A need, something she couldn't avoid even as they had a guest, even as her boyfriend was burning up and the possibility of Max catching her was almost a certainty.
She couldn't call that a hiccup anymore. It was a relapse.
Wendy had promised herself nothing would tarnish Jonah's day. It was her role as a maid of honor, after all, to make sure things ran smoothly, that no guest got too drunk and caused a scene, that no offending comment made it to Jon or Leo's ears, that they were having the time of their lives. It was her obligation, then, to leave her crisis back in the apartment and pretend, as best as she had ever pretended.
It would've been hard enough to pretend she wasn't falling apart, if she hadn't opened her big mouth and brought up the children's subject when Vince got a little too close to comfort to finding out something was wrong.
Vin might be a little oblivious and he extended her far too much grace than she, or anyone, deserved, but he wasn't daft. Of course he had realized something was off, from her flinching to her zoning out, to her odd absence during meals. Even if he couldn't puzzle together an eating disorder, he definitely could arrive at the conclusion that something was wrong.
Children were a low hanging fruit in the tree of conflicts. It had been a tense topic for Jonah and Leo just recently, the fact it would be an obstacle in hers and Vin's relationship wasn't amiss to Wendy, although it was hardly to blame for her behavior, so Vince had fully bought it-
And now things were weird.
In her frenzy to keep Vince from realizing what was truly wrong, she had delivered that killing blow â I don't want children, I won't ever want children â with no subtlety, no care for his feelings. By the time Wendy had realized just what she had done, the damage was done and they were on the road, to the party where she was expected to pretend everything was fine, now doubly so.
Through all of the rehearsal, her thoughts kept spiraling, all of her energy dedicated to keeping a smile on. Bella noticed, because of course she did, but Wendy had been able to get her to drop it.
Jonah glanced her ways a couple times, brows meeting in a weird confused manner, the question â are you alright? What happened? â on the tip of his tongue, but it was as if he knew that it was a pandora's box that he didn't want to open on the eve of his wedding day. He never asked her and Wendy carefully avoided his gaze, much like Vince was avoiding hers.
Halfway through dinner she had come up with a half assed excuse about the hospital calling her, in order to slip out. It was too much. Vince painfully ignoring her, trying to keep a happy smile on, Bella's eyes searching hers, all that damn food-
Her stomach had been empty, painfully so, but that hadn't stopped her knees from nearly bruising against the cold tiles of the bathroom floor as she brought up just stomach acid and sobbed into her arms.
By the time Vince came back to the bedroom, giggling and singing as he said goodbye to Angelina at the door, apparently having befriended Jonah's baby sister through the dinner, Wendy had turned off all the lights and curled up under the blankets, staying as still as she possibly could.
Hopefully he'd think she was sleeping, the last thing she wanted was for them to get in a fight so late that night or for her to be on the receiving end of his too honest answers when he was a little sloshed.
Vince let out a sigh as soon as he shut the door, the giggles dying immediately. He had been faking it, they were a match made in heaven. Two idiots.
Quietly he moved around and Wendy squeezed her eyes shut, even if she had her back turned, as the bathroom lights turned on. She held her breath, heart racing, mind scrambling as she wondered if she had somehow left evidence behind. Her stomach clenched, squeezing with hunger.
Vince took forever to step out, but when he slipped under the covers she could smell the minty toothpaste. The guest room was too fancy, the bed was king sized and Wendy felt like there was an ocean keeping them apart. She forced out a breath, her back still turned to him.
He rolled on the bed, tugging on the sheets and pulling her closer to him, so Wen took a breath and coaxed some bravery she didn't feel, as she turned to face him. The room was pitch dark, not even the moonlight making past the blackout curtains drawn, so she couldn't see his face at all, which was a good thing.
Wen opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to come up with something to say. She couldn't apologize, because what was there to ask his forgiveness for? Different perspectives? Her less than stellar delivery of the crude facts?
No amount of apologizing could change the fact that they wanted different things, no matter how much she desperately wanted to.
Vince's lips pressed to the top of her head, his arms wrapping around her as he pressed her close and Wendy closed her eyes, trying to ignore the burning behind them or the way Vin's breath hitched several times until she fell asleep, as if he was trying to choke down emotion.
-------------
Jonah was in the best mood Wendy had ever seen him in. She had foolishly thought he'd be having a nervous fit, but instead he was all relaxed, taking pictures with her and Angie and chuckling as they helped him get dressed.
Wendy's stomach let out a growl and her cheeks caught on fire, but luckily none of the Banks siblings seemed to have noticed.
"Jonah Isaac Wagner-Banks," Wendy enunciated, as she sat down next to Jon, filling up a glass with lemon juice and clinking it against her friend's, "you sound like a lord."
Jonah grinned, his smile so wide that Wendy wondered if his cheek muscles were hurting, "I do, don't I? Knighted for my contribution to medicine and eating ass skills."
Wendy choked on the liquid, while Angie let out a long suffering "Eeeww! I'm in the room, Jonah!"
Wen exchanged an amused glare with Jon, wiping the juice off her chin while giggling, "well, either way it has an amazing ring to it."
"So does Wendy Marshall Monacelli," Jon had bowed his head in her direction and caused her to roll her eyes. She could tell he was trying to get a rise out of her, so Wendy exaggerated her reaction by letting out a gasp, as if the thought had never occurred her before. It had, many times. She wouldn't change her name, Wendy Marshall meant too much to her, held too many memories for her to change it.
"Wow," Wendy scoffed, pulling back as she played it all up, trying to ignore the sting she felt at the prospect she might never be Wendy Marshall Monacelli "playing matchmaker so soon in the evening? Leo did mention you're trying to pair Claire up, but leave me out of your schemes."
"You don't think Claire and Max would make a lovely pair?" Jonah questioned, leaning back on the armchair he was occupying, crossing his ankles as Angie walked over and bent down so he could close her necklace.
Wendy tried to ignore the weird way her head spun, as if she had gotten up too fast.
Max? He wanted to pair Max up with Claire?
Max, who was head over heels in love with Vince, who was antisocial on his best days, whose politeness and manners slipped at the smallest inconvenience, who was caring and fiercely loyal, whose laughter was becoming one of her favorite sounds. That Max?
She felt queasy.
"Who's Max?" Angie asked, perching her elbow on Jonah's knee, trying to join in the conversation.
"Vince's friend," Jon cleared up, smiling in a paternalistic manner at his sister, "Leo's integrat-"
"He's my friend too," Wendy interrupted Jonah sharply and her best friend's brows jumped up, Angie letting out a nervous chuckle.
"Awkward," she giggled, standing up as there was a knock on the door and she rushed up, telling Luke to come in.
Wendy hadn't anticipated how weird it would feel to walk down the aisle arm in arm with Vince. Even if they hadn't been on shaky grounds, she couldn't imagine it would've felt any weirder.
As a little kid, playing house had been her favorite activity. Her parents had kept her from anything they deemed feminine, so dolls were not in the picture, although her action-figures had reenacted the weirdest, controversial plots. By the time she had turned 13, when dating and romance started to become a reality as puberty hit, Wendy had already been keenly aware she was different and that those formative experiences wouldn't come in the usual packages.
Romance had been performative, not quite her role in it, but how it reassured her of her essence. Kissing preppy boys who kept her as a little secret made her feel dirty and Wendy had quickly catapulted into a more "mature" dating scene, freshmen college students acting as if it was perfectly normal to be with a sixteen year old and calling her "too grown up for her age".
With Vince it had been different. She had never felt more loved, more desired than when she was with him, more entertained and amused. It wasn't just what she got, but how she felt in return, a strong feeling that seemed to capture her heart and make her head spin, this insane desire to help him, make him happy in every way she possibly could, when she had been so used to being independent and alone.
Only with him, had she truly entertained the idea of marriage as a possibility. At one point, when he had told her in Doveport that he wanted to come back to Welton, that he choose her, it had not only been a possibility, but a likely outcome.
As relapse started to consume her thoughts, insecurities and paranoia eating at her, everything seemed to crumble.
"Wendy," Vince wrapped her up in his arms just as she got down the stairs, the steps giving her enough height they were eye to eye for once, "honey-"
Normally, Vin was very articulate, but it had been out of the window from the minute she delivered that killing blow. Instead all he could do was hug her close, pull her at arms length for a second as he took her in, a smile threatening to pull up his lips.
It made her eyes burn, face prickle, and Wendy shook her head, squeezing his hands in hers, "don't," she mumbled, trying to communicate now was not the time. It was Jon and Leo's time, not theirs.
Vince knew that, so he nodded and pressed a kiss to her brow, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and keeping her close as they waited for their cue to go down the aisle.
Everything was sort of hazy after that, the vows, Jon and Leo kissing, staying behind with Vin to help the grooms get rid of their jacket and ties, hugging Jonah so close that Wendy felt like he knew exactly what was wrong and was trying to mend her broken heart by squeezing her.
The conservatory was a dream. Her head felt floaty, from not eating all day, and Wendy smiled and hugged the Monacellis, left her boyfriend there as she moved to hug Bella- Then her eyes paused upon Max's head, two tables away, seeming lost and nervous.
Claire was sat next to him and Jonah's previous matchmaking schemes came back to Wendy's mind, a sudden flare of jealousy causing her face to burn as she saw the blonde doctor lean towards Max with interest, eyeing him up.
Wendy marched through the salon, planted her hands on Max's shoulders, startling him. She kept her tone light, humorous, biting back her tongue as she pointed out the fact that Claire too was single, probably masking off the weird jealousy churning in her stomach as ridiculous meddling.
All the while she spoke, Wendy carefully measured Max's reaction. The way he seemed mortified by her words, almost annoyed, how he leaned back as she squeezed his arms and shook him- Good. His lack of interest in Claire satisfied a sick desire in her and Wendy pulled back just as the ceremonialist announced the Wagner-Banks' first dance.
Her body was vibrating as she pushed through the crowd to get a better view of her friends, eyes searching for Vince as suddenly she felt like she had done something awful.
Wendy wasn't blind, from the first moment she had laid eyes upon Max she had seen he was attractive, almost as clearly as she had been able to clock his attraction for her boyfriend. It was plain to see, that silly animosity that was empty of any real heat, just banters and jabs as he measured Vince up several times, eyes lingering on the other man's body, on his lips.
None of that had surprised her, only emphasized her amusement and interest on the other guy, as she easily dismissed Max's crush as just loneliness and thirst for connection. She had exchanged smiles with Vince, a quiet conversation, smugness tinting his voice as he spoke with the other man, much like he sounded when Wendy herself got hit on. That's my girlfriend, yes I know she's nice to look at. Pride.
Somewhere along the way it had ceased being just amusement, much like Max's crush had ceased being just that, judging by how involved he was, how he was doing everything in his power to stay close.
"What the fuck was that, gorgeous?" Max's voice caused Wendy's stomach to collapse, her whole body getting covered with goosebumps as the other man's lips brushed her ear, "Are you auctioning me off?"
She stiffened up, frantically looking around the room to find Vin, a way out of this situation. Did this look as compromising to others as it felt to her?
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, praying her voice didn't betray her and fry. Max didn't answer her right away and Wendy entertained the idea that he had left.
"Uh-hu," he scoffed, then his voice was back, whispering in her ear, a whole note deeper than she had ever heard before, "my type is about half a foot shorter than Claire, so you're wasting your time."
Was he implying his type was her?
Wendy's head spun, significantly more than it had so far and she shifted her weight, adjusting herself so she didn't go down at the sudden dizzy spell.
Max wasn't into her, he was into Vince. If anything, he wanted to push her out of the equation and Wendy couldn't even bring herself to be mad, because Vin looked so fucking happy around him, it made her heart squeeze.
Wendy wasn't a jealous person, much like Vince wasn't, but Max brought up a sharp pain in her heart, as if she was having a prophetic vision of the future and it didn't include her, when she so desperately wanted in. Not quite that she wanted Max gone, away from her boyfriend and their lives, but rather like she was missing something that hadn't even happened yet, locked out of a fantasy.
"Funny, because I thought it'd be about a half foot taller and wider," She whirled around to glare at Max, only for him look ridiculously surprised, as if his infatuation with Vin was a secret and not something they all knew. Then his eyes dropped to her lips and Wendy wondered if his previous jab, about her being his type, hadn't been just to rile her up. If she was reading too much into this small interaction.
"A beautiful beginning to what we know will be a beautiful journey. Let us now join the celebration. Ladies and gentlemen, the dance floor is open."
"May I?" Max asked and Wendy hesitated, but let him take her by the hand.
He wasn't a particularly good dancer, but he smelt like tangerine and leather, from his truck maybe?
Wendy ignored his shower of compliments, pressed closer as she investigated the smell. No, not from his truck, the smell was richer, more complex. Perfume. Max's hand cradled hers, thumb ghosting over her knuckles and Wendy leaned her head on his shoulder as suddenly she was overwhelmed by the thought that this should've been Vince, that it was her fault.
All the emotion she had carefully kept at bay all evening, the tears she hadn't allowed to escape even as Jonah and Leo kissed at the sunset, washed over her in one wave and caused her to gasp, suck in a sob as they spilled over.
She wanted Vince. His smile and the lavender smell and her boyfriend, the future she had dared to entertain.
Max spun her around, pulled her close and Wendy caught Vince's eye across the room. Just pulling apart as he twirled Bella in his arms, all warmth.
His curls were already messy and he smiled at her, as if all fight had left his mind, moving closer- His brows dipped as he noticed the tears, concern written clearly on his features and Wendy looked away.
"I think you stole my date," Vince's voice was firm, worried, and Max scrambled away from Wendy as if he had done something wrong, painfully missing the fact that he wasn't dating Vin, she was. She was dating Vince, breaking his heart, falling for Max, ruining everything...
"What's wrong?" Vince didn't say that, but his hand came to up cup her cheek, thumbs wiping away the tears and Wendy let out another watery sob, wrapping her hand around his wrist.
So, so much was wrong, she couldn't even begin to answer him.
Vin tilted up her chin, forced their eyes to meet and then closed the space between them before Wendy could even open her mouth to give him yet another half-assed excuse.
Just a peck, then a proper kiss, hand resting on her nape and arm wrapping around her back, pulling her off her feet. Nose brushing hers and him sucking her bottom lip, running his tongue over it and his mouth slightly to the left, so he could kiss the corner of her mouth, whisper in her ear, "I love you, I love you, I love you-"
Wendy wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him as close as she possibly could. Was this goodbye, farewell, it was good while it lasted? Or hello, I've missed you, I don't want to break up, I don't want the future I crafted for myself since I was a little boy and drafting it up at my parent's image?
Vin planted her back down, moving back just enough so he could press his mouth to her forehead and Wendy shook with yet another sob.
"No-not here," she shook her head, trying to explain that he could not break up with her in the middle of the ballroom, when Jonah and Leo were mere meters away, when this would sour everyone's celebration so intertwined their friend group was, "Vin-"
He wrapped his arms around her, guided Wendy through the crush of people and when she glanced back, past her boyfriend's shoulder, Max was gone. Vanished, as if he hadn't been just there.
Vince took her past the bathrooms in the back of ballroom, the staff entrance to the kitchens and then onto the garden. Hydrangeas bushes everywhere, a trashcan to the side of the door and an owl hooting away.
The bushes were sitting in a raised bed of bricks, the thick slabs forming a large enough space to sit and Wendy collapsed on to it, her head spinning. Not just from emotion, spinning, Vince's head becoming two as her sight blurred in and out and he crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his.
"Wen-"
She let out a shaky breath through her mouth, blinked several times to force him into focus, then nodded, putting up bravery that she didn't feel. Crisis mode, escape routes forming on the back of her mind. Luke could drive him back, she could take the car, go back home and sob through the night and Jon would be none the wiser-
"Honey," Vince pressed her knuckles to his lips, "honey, look at me."
She was looking. That ridiculous superman curl falling over his forehead and the warmth of his eyes and the way his cheeks grew pink with rosacea whenever he danced or did any exercise and how his mouth was quirking up at the corners- Smiling.
"I won't pretend it wasn't a shock," he said, slowly and carefully or maybe it was just how her brain was working, "that I wasn't frustrated and upset. I've had very little plans for my life, but children were always there. A very conventional way of thinking-"
"Vince-"
"And I won't lie that I still hope you'll change your mind," he continued on, ignoring her and Wendy recoiled, pulled her hands from his grasp. She wasn't going to lie to him, lead him on- "but if you never do, I'll still pick you."
"I won't," it wasn't charitable, or romantic like his words, but rather sharp and vehement. He needed to understand this, before he went on professing his love once again and she believed it.
Vince let out a sigh, but nodded, "then you won't-"
"I don't want you to- To resent me-"
"It's my choice to make," he cut her off, moving even closer, between her legs as much as her dress allowed him to, "you can't decide I will regret it and breakup with me, it doesn't work like that."
"I can," Wendy's chin wobbled and she clenched her fists, glaring at him, "I can breakup with you, I want you to be happy- Not half measures and compromises-"
"You make me happy," Vince scoffed, "right now, in the future, you make me happy. I like kids, Wendy, and I'd love to have them, but not with someone else-"
"And when you ch-change your mind?" She challenged, sniffling, "when you wake up ten years from now and-"
"How many times have I've proved you wrong by now, Wen?" Vince frowned at her, then opened a smile, "I love you, as much as I can possibly love someone. I love you, I need you to believe in this, like I believe in us," he let out a hopeful sigh, "can you do that?"
A sob blubbered up and Wendy nodded, grabbing Vince's shirt collar and he immediately surged up to kiss her, causing her body to tip back and for them to half in the bushes, her giggling into his mouth, "I can, yeah, I can."
The rest of her night was a hazy frenzy. Going back to the party, dancing â draining one singular glass of champagne and ending up giggly and drunk, because she hadn't eaten all day â watching as Vin and Max danced together and feeling like she could almost see herself between them, a missing puzzle piece â and then spinning and spinning and spinning.
When she woke up again, there were voices down the corridor. She was sprawled on the bed, out of her dress but still in the uncomfortable lingerie she had worn under it.
Wendy took her time stumbling to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, try to get a good look at herself. Everything felt- Weird. Cottony, like the world was faded at the edges. Her stomach squeezed with hunger.
She should've gotten dressed, they were still at the manor and the people outside her door were probably Jon's fancy guests, but instead Wendy just wrapped the maid of honor silk robe around her... What time was it? How early? When had she gone to bed?
All she could remember was spinning - Bella's face, chuckling, as her and Vin brought Wendy upstairs. Relief.
Her head throbbed as she moved out of the room. Bella was sitting on the first step of the staircase, arms crossed and a frown on, Vince and Luke were standing and they were arguing-
Voices coming from underwater.
"It looked like she was drunk!"
"Even if she was! Why'd you assume a thing like that?! How jealous can you be, Luke?!"
"Even if she was!?" Lucas exclaimed, incredulous, "Wendy nearly got assaulted at a party, you wanted me to leave drunk Sophia with some sleazy asshole-"
"What-" Wendy frowned, standing in front of Bella. The sun was so bright, Bella's complexion seemed washed out, too white, "where's Jon...? Leo...?"
"They left to the airport an hour ago," Bella rolled her eyes, not seeming one bit bothered by the screaming match, "Vince tried to wake you to say goodbye, but you sleep like the dead..."
"Uhm-"
"-A real nice person!" Vince exclaimed, Wendy's mind struggling to understand the argument. There were colorful dots around Vin's head, tiny, glittering like Christmas lights, "if you ever bothered-"
"He's been to JAIL, VINCE!" Luke was yelling now, so loud, it made Wendy frown. Her head throbbed. She felt nauseous and weak.
"OH MY GOD- Don't hurt your back reaching!? It was a one night occurrence, Lucas, Max's FINE! You're such a fucking asshole-" Vince tugged at the roots of his hair, as if he was so pissed, he wanted to rip it out. The sun was reflecting off his white shirt, so damn bright-
The colorful dots turned black. Like TV static, clouding her vision. Wendy blinked, shaking her head and heard Bella's voice coming from underwater...
"Wen?"
She took a step back, the little black dots starting to glue together like ink splotches, becoming one grand black hole in her vision. Wendy stumbled back even more and then her foot lost any support, as it met the stair's first step-
This was so good! I really donât have any words.
I havenât reblogged the other parts but I have been reading them and really getting to understand her struggles and how sheâs come to terms with everything. She finally understands that this is entirely a relapse and not just her feeling insecure, this is something way more important. I think finally seeing what is actually happening has somehow helped the situation (if you get what I mean). Anyway, the way youâve structured this, with her past, her parents, her relationship etc. this made me think back to when she had to tell Vince about what she had been through in the past. How she was hesitant at first but felt as though it was the right time to tel, him. Sheâll get through this.
Hey hey! So my work has finally calmed down and my motivation is slowly coming back. I have a plot fic to finish writing but I need to get back into the hang of writing so help me pick a quick fic to write. Please.
I'm sleep deprived and this hasn't been reread for typos. I'm sorry đ
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Max was buzzing with nervous energy.
He had never felt so incredibly out of place, which was saying a lot, because he had felt like a Victorian child pressing his nose to a bakery shop's window most of his life.
"What the fuck..." he whispered quietly as he parked his car at the entrance of the venue and followed in the other guests. Suddenly his suit felt ill fitting, although it wasn't, far too simple in comparison to all of that.
There was an English manor rising to his right, opulent and capturing his eye. Only one of the double doors was open and there was a man planted there, hands carefully crossed behind his back, gloves on. A butler!?
Whoever he was, he was standing guard, so that was not where guests were supposed to go. Directly in front of him, after the manor ended and up a slight hill, there was a path leading up to a Conservatory. A huge construction made of black iron twisted in the finest pattern, crystalline glass, and arched ceilings. He was too far away to see inside of it, but judging by the torches and flowers decorating that path, the party would be happening there.
Finally, to his left, the white pristine carpet that everyone was avoiding, orchids and hydrangeas fighting for his attention and the rounded white chairs organized before a white greek inspired pavilion.
Max was sure he could live two lifetimes and he'd never see anything quite as pretty â and fancy â as this.
He made his way between the guests, awkwardly bumping with a couple people, looking around in search of a face he recognized-
"Come sit with us, son," Giuseppe Monacelli patted Max's back, causing him to startle, and then his shoulders dropped in relief. Alright, a familiar face.
Mr. Monacelli was smiling at him, looking almost weird as it was the first time ever that Max had seen him wear something different from his work polos. His salt and pepper wavy hair was all swept back, eyes glinting with amusement as he took in Max's surprise at the whole thing, "it's a gorgeous wedding, uh?"
"Is Jonah a royal, per chance?" Max teased, letting out a sigh as he relaxed and followed Giuseppe away from the crush of people.
Magda and Sophia were already sitting down, heads bowed together as they whispered and chatted, much probably about the grandiosity of it all.
"Hey Daniels!" Bella's voice cut through the crowd chatter and Max turned around, just as she realized he had company, "Mr. Monacelli!"
"Isabella," Giuseppe beamed at Bella, taking one of her hands and twirling her, "how beautiful you look, sweetheart."
Bella's cheeks blushed, slightly, and she opened a big smile right back at him, allowing the man to pull her into a one armed hug, wrapping her arm around his back as he squished her close.
Mr. Monacelli was not exaggerating, Max raised his eyebrows as he took in Bella's dress. Her mane of auburn curls was pinned up in a knot, locks falling gracefully from it just so they could frame her face. On her earrings, a pair of golden and green earrings that was catching the light from every direction, and then her dress was almost too simple, but not at all at the same time. Max didn't have the vocabulary to describe it, but he was sure Wendy would've used words like elegant, refined, classic-
As far as he was concerned, it was stunning.
"Hey, close your mouth, Daniels," Bella teased him, raising her eyebrows in a playful manner, "did you guys have a safe trip?"
"We did, we got to Portland yesterday," Mr. Monacelli answered, guiding all of them to the chairs and Max sat down next to Sophia, who startled as he did, eyes wide in her face as she looked at him.
She was wearing a deep red dress, light brown hair with all the waves silk pressed away, a river of caramel falling down her back and pulled away from her temples tightly by a bejeweled headband.
"You look amazing," Max told her, fighting the little amusement he felt as her whole face turned pink. He glanced past her shoulders, so he reach over her to squeeze Magda's hand, "so do you, Mrs. Monacelli."
"Vince warned me you're a charmer," Ma rolled her eyes, squeezing his hand right back, "did you manage to get a look at him? We haven't seen him anywhere."
"He's probably with the grooms?" Max shrugged and Bella earnestly nodded, sitting in an empty chair in front of them, twisting in her seat to look at the group.
"They're all locked away, but Leo should be coming out any minute now- What time is it?"
Max, who had pointedly ignored the sign on the yard telling them to relinquish their phones to focus on the ceremony, checked the hour, "uh- About a quarter to five."
Bell bit down on her lip, glancing worriedly around the venue, then let out a sigh, grabbing the skirt of her dress as she got up, "I'll go check on him, he's already late."
"Nerves," Ma said, just as Bell sped away, "poor thing must be so nervous, it's quite the event."
"If he doesn't show, do we have to leave?" Sophia asked, humorously, although it passed her parents by and she only earned a glare instead. Max snorted.
"I'm not leaving until I get to taste the buffet," he whispered, leaning in so only Soph could hear, and she grinned at him so much that dimples he didn't know she had appeared on her cheeks.
Ma was beyond entertained, neck barely keeping up with how fast she kept turning her head around. Occasionally she leaned in to notify them of a particularly notable guest, not that it made a splash of a difference to Max. "That is Dr. Banks, he had a TV show in the 90s" and "that is Matteo Stefanelli, you went to one of his games in the 80s, didn't you Beppe?" and "that cannot possibly be- Is that Elena Manley-Newman?"
"Who?" Sophia asked, fiddling with the purse resting on her lap.
"She was a top model in the 90s," a voice answered, behind Max, and he jumped. A woman whom he had never seen before, but who still felt oddly familiar, was looking at the Monacellis with a smile.
She had a tan complexion, with warm chocolate brown eyes and very, unruly curly hair, clearly dyed a cherry red and up in a thick ponytail on the top of her head. Her smile seemed incredibly familiar-
"I'm sorry," she switched her bedazzled purse from one hand to the other, "I'm Marisa Martinez, Isa- Bella's mom? You must be Vince's parents, she told me I'd find you here..."
"Oh!" Ma perked up immediately, as if they were old friends and not strangers, "Bella's mother? You have an amazing daughter, you must be so proud-"
Max droned them out, bumping his shoulder with Sophia's as he could see the plain judgment all over her face. The kid didn't have a smidge of a poker face, she couldn't be more bored. Teenagers.
"Smile," Max leaned in to whisper and Soph scoffed, glancing around.
"They're late, aren't they?"
As if on cue, a soft violin music started to play, from a sole violinist ahead of all of them and all heads turned to the back. A lot of people were still standing, finding their seats, which seemed unusual to Max, but he didn't have any experiences with weddings to know.
Leo came out of the grand manor with Bella right next to him and others might have seen it as sweet, but Max knew the blonde enough by now to notice he was clinging to Bell for dear life. He let out a chuckle, getting up from his seat to shake Leo's hand and pat his arm as they reached the group, Bella waving to her mom and jumping up and down like a puppy as the woman cooed at her.
She let go of Leo at the end of nave, being pulled away by the woman that Max was sure was Jonah's mom, as they looked incredibly related, not just due to appearance, but because she also felt like royalty.
Then the music got louder, everyone in their seats by now, and the rest of the wedding party came out of the house.
Vince and Wendy were in the forefront and all of Max's judgement and awkwardness flew out of his mind as he took them in.
He hadn't really considered he'd see Vince and Wendy walking down the aisle and Max also hadn't predicted the way it caused him to swoon.
He wasn't prepared by the swell of affection that washed over him, his hands suddenly sweaty, eyes unable to tear away as he took in Vince â the man caught his eyes just as he passed by Max's seat, winking in his direction and Max's whole face turned red. Suddenly he felt like a teenager, heart racing and butterflies flapping their wings in his stomach.
Wendy was... Resplendent. There was no other word he could describe her with, as the golden hour sun caught her silver dress just right, making it seem like liquid gold was hugging her body, a bright smile on, eyes sparkling as she tilted her body slightly to wave in his direction as she passed them by. His heart skipped a beat, as he wondered if the wave was only for him or to the whole of Vin's family, as his brain tried to warn him.
He would've been lying if he said he looked anywhere else but the duo the rest of the ceremony.
As soon as Jonah and Leo finished exchanging rings and kissed, all the guests got up to cheer and clap and the officiant let them know the party would be in the conservatory.
"Miss Monacelli?" Max said cheekily, offering his arm to Sophia and she beamed as she took it, so they could follow the crush of people to the party location. If it had been up to him, he would've elbowed his way all the way to the end of the aisle where Vince and Wendy were, but they were very clearly staying behind for a reason, probably to help Jonah and Leo in the manor.
The conservatory was an event of its own. Max felt dizzy and overwhelmed as he stepped in, Sophia squeezing his arm and letting out a squeal as she said "Oh my fucking god!" accent thick in her words. He exchanged an incredulous look with her.
The whole construction was already stunning, the dark iron intertwined with crystalline glass, but the decor was elevating it even more. There were several round tables scattered around, with flower arrangements in the middle of them, orchids wrapped around each other to form some sort of modern sculpture. From the vaulted ceiling there were hanging three different fussy chandeliers, sending little rainbows everywhere, along the white floors with little black square inlays. At the thickest, more industrial parts of the metal structure, they had wrapped layers of greenery and baby's breath.
Max's stomach plummeted as he guided Sophia to the table where her parents were already sitting down and realized their seats were marked. His card wasn't there.
"Oh-" he let go of Soph and frowned, nervously scratching his beard as he tried to figure what to do.
"There was a board at the front with the seating chart, son," Mr. Monacelli explained, "you're table six."
Alright, table six. He hoped he'd know anyone there, otherwise this would make for a very weird, awkward night...
As it turned out, he didn't. These were all strangers and Max had to bite the inside of his cheek not to cringe. He wasn't a particularly sociable person and he had no idea of what to do with himself.
He sat there, trying to quell his anxiety as the people introduced themselves. Chuck, Dean, Sandy, Matthew, Barbie, Claire, Thaissa- He couldn't place the names to their faces if he wanted to and he didn't particularly want to.
Across the room, he caught Bella's eye. She was sitting between her mother and Lucas and she raised the champagne glass in his direction in a long distance toast, causing Max to snort and raise his. To feeling awkward and dejected.
"Hi everyone," Wendy's voice caused him to choke with the liquid, as she planted her hands on his shoulders, keeping him on his seat and addressing the others, "have you met, Max? He's a teacher at Doveport with Vince."
"What do you teach?" A blonde, Sandy?, asked him, leaning forward as she was all curiosity.
"Chemistry and biology," Max answered, his cheeks heating up. Wendy's fingers traced the prickly hairs at his nape, from his undercut that was hidden away since he had his hair down and sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't pay attention on what Suzy was saying.
"He's also such a nature guy," Wendy continued, apparently unaware of how her fingertips ghosting his skin was driving him insane, "he likes long lonely hikes."
"Oh Dean loves those," another woman, maybe this was Taylor?, said, patting the chest of a man he assumed was Dean with the back of her hand. Max nodded curtly, because really what was he supposed to say about that?
"I like hiking with my girlfriend, not all alone" Dean complained, pouting in a playful way, and apparently that was all that Wendy really needed as she moved both her hands to squeeze Max's shoulders, some weight behind it as she shook him slightly.
"You see, Max is single, so..." she let her voice trail off in a teasing manner and the blonde that Max had previously identified as Suzy-Sandy raised her head to stare at Wendy, her cheeks turning crimson as she predicted the following words, "Claire is single too, Max."
Oh, for fuck's sake.
Claire-not-Suzy let out a groan, hiding her face in her hands while the other laughed and Max forced up a smile, when all he wanted was to glare at Wendy, leaning on Claire's direction, "I think she's hinting at something, don't you think?"
Claire raised her eyes from her hands, her whole face ablaze, shaking it from side to side, "my god, Wendy? Did Jonah set you up to this?"
Before Wendy could answer, or anyone, there was an overall chatter on the room as the ceremonialist announced "Welcome to the dance floor, Mr. Jonah Wagner-Banks and Mr. Leo Wagner-Banks!"
Everyone got up as the lights shifted, the chandeliers fading to a very low yellow haze, pulling them into the dark, and a light cannon pointed at the dance floor, bathing it in gold as the band started up.
They all huddled closer to the dance floor in order to see them do the waltz and Max moved so he was behind Wendy, leaning in to whisper "What the fuck was that, gorgeous? Are you auctioning me off?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Wen answered, not moving to look at him behind her shoulder, eyes trained on the couple as they swirled around. Leo's face was all pink, Jonah clearly guiding the dance as Max could tell he was the most used to ballroom dancing.
"Uh-hu," he scoffed, draining the rest of his champagne, lowering himself so he could whisper in her ear, "my type is about half a foot shorter than Claire, so you're wasting your time."
Vince was going to punt his ass, Max thought, trailing his eyes across the room in search of the man. How dare he speak with Wendy like this, even if her breath hitched slightly at the provocation, finally making her tilt her body back to glare at him, a blush devouring her cheeks and going down her neck.
"Funny, because I thought it'd be about a half foot taller and wider," Wendy bit out, just as sharply, and Max felt like he had just been slapped. People started to clap as the dance finished and so did they, Max sustaining Wendy's unamused glare... And letting it drop to her lips. Somewhere between the ceremony and now she had switched lipsticks, they were no longer peachy-pink, but painted a dark, oxblood red.
"A beautiful beginning to what we know will be a beautiful journey. Let us now join the celebration. Ladies and gentlemen, the dance floor is open."
The crowd started to dissolve as they separated into couples, people returning to their seats and others joining Jonah and Leo at the dancefloor-
"May I?" Max bit out and Wendy stared at his outstretched hand for a second too long, before nodding and taking it.
He was no dancer, far from it. Max could count in one hand the amount of times he had slow danced in all of his life, but he'd be damned if he'd pass up such an opportunity.
He twirled Wendy around, her dress swirling around her as there was a slit all the way to a couple inches above her knee, then pulled her flush to him. She had tiny hands and he squeezed it in his, twirling them from side to side with not a tenth of the grace Jonah had been previously sporting.
She tilted her body back slightly, eyes studying his face and Max waited as she scrutinized him, before raising an eyebrow and twirling her once more, this time so her back was pressed to his chest, "did anyone tell you you're being very rude tonight?"
"What? Why?" Wendy leaned her head back, to his shoulder, eyes glancing up as Max looked down. He twisted her around so they were back on the original position.
"Stealing the spotlight? You're gorgeous," he said, grinning as Wendy's whole face turned red and she rolled her eyes at his line, letting out a huff.
"Please," she scoffed and the song seamlessly transitioned into a second one. Max didn't let go off her hand and Wendy didn't pull back either, happily continuing to sway with him, "I'm happy you came."
"I'm happy I came too," Max pulled her closer, now with an arm wrapped around her back and Wen's chin slotted on his shoulder, her right hand cradled in his. He closed his eyes as they continued to turn around-
"I think you stole my date," Vince's voice caused Max to scramble back, his heart racing, hands suddenly burning as if he had been doing something wrong. Wendy's eyes were huge in her face, but not as if she was startled... Overtly shiny.
She was teary eyed?
Max frowned, forgetting all about how guilty he felt at the sight, concern overwhelming him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Vince's hand came to rest on his shoulder, a vicious grip that Max had never felt before, but that he knew very well what it meant.
Get away.
He took a step back, let go of Wen's hand, just as Vince took his place. Wendy's face tilted up to look at her boyfriend and Max's heart squeezed as he saw Vince wipe away a tear with his thumb, finger tracing down her cheek and cupping her chin as he bent down and kissed her.
Not a peck, not the careful and polite kisses that couples sometimes exchanged. A kiss, open mouthed and his hand moving from her chin, to the back of Wendy's head, pulling her closer to him, her arms promptly wrapping around his neck.
Max's stomach squeezed with jealousy, except he wasn't sure of whom he was jealous of. He felt like some villain, standing on the sidelines and desperately wanting to insert himself in the middle. To take Wendy from Vince's arms and kiss her, to step in her shoes and be kissed like thatâ He needed air.
He stumbled outside of the Conservatory and folded in the middle. His whole face was burning, prickles like a thousand ants all over his neck and chest. He couldn't breathe.
Max stripped his tux jacket, then leaned back, resting his back against a random pine tree next to the Conservatory and tried to focus on the music that escaped to the garden, instead of the ringing in his ears.
What the fuck was he doing? What did he even think he could accomplish, other than make both Vince and Wendy hate him? When they had been nothing but kind to him, more than anyone had ever been before?
It took him at least three more songs for Max to muster up the courage to make it back inside. He carefully avoided any sight of silver, running into Jonah and Leo â who were over the moon and hadn't even noticed that Max was shaking like a leaf as he congratulated them both on the wedding.
He sat back down at the table six, just as dinner started to be served. There were little menus on the table and waiters who came to collect their orders for the three different options of the main dish. Max had no idea what exactly he ordered, he just had flashed a smile and pointed at Claire as she ordered, saying "I'll have whatever she's having."
Claire didn't need much incentive to talk with him and Max would've needed to be blind and deaf to not realize she was openly hitting on him. He couldn't focus on it, so he was politely nodding along as she blabbed about how she knew the grooms â she worked with Jonah and Wendy. Had gone to college with them and knew the rest of the gang as well-
"I mean, I don't think he remembers me at all," Claire snorted and Max blinked several times as he struggled to understand whom she was referring to.
"I'm sorry?"
"Vince," Claire rolled her eyes, pushing the lobster tail around in the sauce, "we hooked up once at some football party."
Oh? Did Wendy know this?
His questions probably showed on his face, because Claire shrugged, "Wen knows, there's no bad blood. She's really not the jealous type and it was before she even moved to town- Besides, like I said, he doesn't remember."
Max's bite soured in his mouth. Of course she wasn't the jealous type, anyone else would've gotten him killed by now given how openly he hit on Vince. For some reason, all that managed was to make him feel shitty.
He let his eyes search around the room. Vince was sitting with Lucas, Bella and her mom, more like crouching down next to the them and laughing. Jonah and Leo had their very own groom table and were enthralled with each other. Wendy was nowhere to be found.
Dessert came. He sucked it up and took Claire dancing, making her brighten up like a puppy. The music switched from slow songs to pop halfway through and Max let out a sigh of relief, much to his companion's poutiness.
They danced three more songs and then he lost her as a group of girls pulled Claire to them-
"Whoa, easy there," Vince chuckled as Max stumbled and nearly fell on him, "ease up on the champagne, buddy."
Urgh. Max wished he was drunk, but he had actually put down the champagne ages ago and was startlingly sober.
"You don't dance?" Max yelled over the noise and Vince's brows jumped up, in a challenging manner, "you didn't at the graduation!"
"That was different, don't you think?" Vince smiled at him, all pearly whites, then Max stumbled back as the other man took a step forward, "what, don't you?"
They were dancing?
Max didn't know what to do with himself, heart racing away in rhythm of the beat, sweat running down his back as Vin rolled his eyes and grabbed his elbow, positioning the blonde so they could side step together and twirl around each other.
"Oh- Why do you know how to line dance!?" Max giggled, throwing his head back at the strangeness of the situation, clapping as Vin jumped to the right and so did he, following his movements with a couple seconds' delay. Once he got the hang of it, it was pretty easy. One to the right, two to the left, step back, clap, twirl, repeat.
Vince jumped back as Max got the hang of it, shimming behind him, his hands grabbing Max's hip just as he moved and switched their positions, so Max was now the one spearheading.
Max's words died in his mouth as Vin continued to rock his shoulders, his curls sticking out, brown eyes meeting his with a feverish hint-
"C'mere," Wendy grabbed Vin's tie and his face softened, two red dots on his cheeks as he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her off the ground, causing his girlfriend to squeal as he kept twirling them over and over.
Max wiped at his sweaty forehead, looking around the room in search of a water bottle-
He collapsed back down on his seat, tugging off his tie and fishing out a bottle from the ice bucket that had appeared. Even the label said "Jonah and Leo Wagner-Banks."
He was panting as he pressed the cold glass to his forehead, whole face still pulsing from all the jumping around, letting his eyes drift around the room- Until he saw Sophia stumble outside.
Something was wrong, his senses sobering up immediately as he saw her shoulders hitch and she disappeared out of the room. She was crying?
Max grabbed a second water bottle, shaky fingers crumpling some linen napkins, then followed her out.
Away from the dizzying lights and the loud music, he felt more like himself. What time was it? How long they had been jumping around, lost in that dream state?
Sophia was braced against the tree he had previously used as his own escape, but unlike him she was facing it, both hands pressed to the bark and her head hanging between her arms.
"Soph?" Max stepped closer, touching her elbow gently as he stepped into a more familiar, comfortable role. This was Sophia, his best friend's annoying sister, his sassy student, he knew how to handle her at the very least, "Sophia, everything alright?"
"Uhm-" she was breathing with a certain difficulty, brows furrowed, "don't- Don't feel well..."
Max reached in, touched her cheek and forehead, then rolled his eyes. He was too warm to feel anything, everything was cold to his touch, "what's wrong? Did you overdo on the champagne, Monacelli?" he asked humorously, "you know you're under twenty one, right?"
"No, my- My head..." Sophia whined, whole face scrunching up with pain. He was aware she now got migraines, Vince had filled him in, and Max had his fair share of dealing with students with headaches, but he didn't know exactly what to do.
"Do you want me to get your parents, sweetheart?"
Sophia shook her head, stumbling slightly, so he lurched forward and grabbed her by the elbow, throwing her arm around his shoulder and wrapping his free arm around her waist as her knees buckled.
"Okay, okay- We gotta get you out of her-"
"What the fuck are you doing?" Luke's voice was several notes too loud, sharp as a knife. He had stepped out of conservatory and was glaring daggers at Max, "get your hands off of her."
Wasn't that just rich? Max rolled his eyes, "we're doing just fine without, thank you very much. C'mon, Soph-"
"I said," Luke took a threatening step forward, inflating like a fucking pigeon. His cheeks were all red from all the dancing around and Max had the distinct feeling he was drunk, "let go of her or I'll make you."
"Alright, Schwarzenegger, I heard you," Max scoffed, cringing as he felt Sophia let out a little hiccup, more of her weight collapsing against him, "now get the fuck out of my way."
He hadn't been fully aware of just how pissed off Luke was, or how quick he could move even though he was probably sloshed, because suddenly Lucas was shoving Max back by the chest with all his force, taking Sophia from him.
He stumbled with so much force, that his back met the pine tree, stealing the air from his lungs. A spike of pain echoed through his head.
"She's drunk," Luke glared at him, fuming as his fixed his arms around Sophia, "what the fuck is wrong with you? It's not enough to hit on Vince, you wanna take advantage of his sister too?"
"What?!" Max startled, blinking owlishly at him, "she's not- I'm not- What's wrong with you?!" he all but yelled, jumping forward, "you think I'm trying to take a fucking drunk minor out of a party, based on what evidence!?"
"Don't cause a fucking scene," Luke wrinkled his nose in disgust, "security-"
"Oh wow, you're going to call security on me?" Max was taken aback by the aggression, feeling like he had been slapped. Of course Luke would, he didn't belong here, did he? No matter how much he had been fooling himself thinking he could be a part of this group, basking on the fact that Leo â and by extension Jonah â liked him well enough to invite him, Lucas knew he'd never belong.
"Sssstop-it- ithurtssss..." Sophia whimpered, her whole frame shaking as she let out a sob, the hand that wasn't grabbing Luke's bicep to keep herself upright grabbing at her head and removing the bejeweled headband she was wearing, chucking it away.
Max's heart squeezed and he took a step closer, "oh, sweetheart," he cooed, glaring when Luke took a step back, shielding her from him, "you gotta lie down..."
He wasn't the best caretaker in the world, but Max was intelligent enough to know someone with a migraine needed to be lying down in the dark, and not standing outside of a wedding party, held hostage in the middle of a fight.
Luke's brows met and Max rolled his eyes, completely ignoring the other man as he took Sophia's hand in his, "I'll drive you back to the hotel, how about...?"
"She- What's wrong, Soph?" Luke asked, tilting his body to get a good at her. Max gritted his teeth. This snotty motherfucker. Accusing him of trying to abduct a minor and now acting all sweet.
"C'mere, sweetheart," Max tugged on Sophia's wrist slightly, but Luke's grip around her waist tightened and all he managed was to jostle her- Sophia folded by the middle with a sharp retch, bringing up her dinner all over the grass and narrowly avoiding Max's shoes.
He jumped back, just as Luke stiffened up, maneuvering Sophia slightly so he could pull back her long hair and coo, "oh, get it up," he sighed, rubbing her back and glaring daggers at Max, "get the fuck out of my sight."
"The hell I will," Max hissed, moving so he was on Soph's opposite side, "over my dead body I'm letting her go with you. You're a dick, no wonder your wife rather drive four hours to spend time with me than talk with you."
Luke's face blanched and Max knew he had struck a nerve, but by now his temper was getting the best out of him, tension he had held in for the longest time suddenly flooding his senses, "what? Can't handle the truth? And let's not mention how you needed to collapse like a fucking Victorian damsel to get Vince to move back here, you and I both know he was thriving in Doveport. You're sad."
A lie. A blatant one, but that didn't stop Luke from jerking away from Sophia as if he had been slapped.
Soph let out a whimper and Max wrapped her up in his arms, pulling her closer to him, taking her full weight. He should get her lying down in his car, explain to the Monacellis that he had taken her back to the Portland hotel the Wagner-Banks had booked for all guests.
"Vince doesn't like you, he pities you," Luke said, regaining his composure, "he sees you as a stray pet he found on the road with a limp and no amount of you wiggling your way into our lives is going to change that," then he reached with his outstretched hands, since Max was frozen on the stop, "c'mon, Soph, I'll help you get-"
"Nnnoo," Sophia slapped his hand away from her, clumsily, but frowning, "g'away from us."
Luke's face clouded, brows meeting, lips twisting down, "What? Soph, I just want to-"
With much effort, Sophia opened her eyes, blue and teary with pain, the migraine causing her speech to slur as she said, "go. Away," she shuffled closer to Max, sniffling pitifully and the fight that had depleted from him at Luke's hurtful words returned tenfold as Max understood Sophia was openly siding with him.
"C'mon," he took a step backwards, "let me drive you back to the hotel."
Jonah knew he had been manic, nearly downright hysterical as the wedding approached. Between the spooked staff, Leo's endless amusement and his friend and family's annoyance at his state, it was impossible to miss.
So it was much to his surprise that he woke up on the morning of the wedding and realized that he wasn't nervous at all.
Leo was still asleep, snoring softly, and Jonah stared at his face, â arms sandwiching his pillow and his chin resting on his forearm â openly staring as the sunlight streamed inside their suite and bounced off Leo's hair, reflected off his dark blonde lashes.
His cheeks were prickly with the start of a beard and he twitched slightly as Jon ran his thumb over his jaw, tracing the contour of it and his cheekbones.
The sun was too high to be early morning, it must've been at least 9 AM, so he better wake Leo up, as they had a long day ahead of them. He rolled on the bed, scooting as close as possible, and pressed a kiss to his boyfriend's naked shoulder, hand wrapping around his wrist, "Leo? Wake up, baby."
Another twitch, Leo's brows met, but he didn't wake up. Jonah shook him just a little, keeping his lips pressed to Leo's overheated skin, "wake up, Mr. Wagner-Banks."
"You can't use that name yet," Leo grumbled, his voice a whole note deeper, eyes still closed, but lips quirking up in a smile, "I heard you're getting married today?"
"I am," Jonah smiled right back, flicking a hair strand away from Leo's eyes as they opened, the blonde blinking several times to get used to how bright the room was, "can you believe some fool agreed to marry me?"
"Some lucky fool," Leo grinned, closing the space between them with a kiss and rolling them on the bed so he could be on top, pushing Jonah against the pillows, "some incredibly lucky fool."
In the end, they were so late for breakfast that the group sent up Wendy, her voice traveling through the door as she knocked and said, "get your asses out here, the photographers are already in the yard!"
----
"Do you have everything?" Leo asked, for the third time, and Vince let out a scoff, meeting Luke's amused glare.
Luke rolled his eyes, leaning back on the chair as he got his makeup done, because although the bruise on his cheek was mostly gone, that wasn't enough for Jonah and he had insisted he wore concealer.
"We have everything, kiddo," Vince moved so he was next to Leo by the window, squeezing his nape in an almost parental manner, "cufflinks are here, brooch too, your suit jacket is hanging behind the door, mints- Hair spray... Oh."
Luke raised an eyebrow, trying to see what had interrupted Vince's listing, but the makeup artist glared at him, "just a second, I'm putting some setting spray on you."
"Alright," he couldn't nod or really move, so all Luke could do was raise his thumbs up as he was sprayed with a fine mist of something that smelt like perfume and cucumbers.
The woman patted his chest, "wait a couple seconds for it to dry and you're all good," she promised, starting to gather up her supplies. She hadn't done much to Leo â probably due to the blonde's sulking â only filled in his brows, applied some skin serums that Luke had no idea what they were and made his cheeks pinker than normal, some pink chapstick despite Leo grumbling about putting on lipstick like a middle aged conservative would.
They weren't alone in the room. There was a team of photographers that came and went at least three times, taking pictures of them as they chatted and had lunch â separated from everyone else, because Jonah apparently was traditional like that â, hanging in the shadows as they got dressed and snapping pictures quietly.
Luke hadn't been in an editorial in so long, it immediately made his mind go back to his teenage years. Every special occasion, the photographers in their house, the same type that didn't ask for specific poses but always seemed to manage to get the few and sparse smiles between them.
Now the smiles weren't fake, they were abundant, and he was more than happy to have this on camera to look back on later.
"What is it?" Luke got up from his chair, redoing the buttons of his shirt as he walked to where Vince and Leo were looking out of the window, entertained like cats.
"They finished the decor," Vince explained, pointing outside. Part of it had been done during the rehearsal dinner, but last Lucas had looked out of the window during lunch it still hadn't been finalized. Now it was.
There were hundreds of white orchids, mixed in with white and blue hydrangeas and baby's breaths just about everywhere. They had created a path with a pristine white carpet that went from the top of the hill, all the way to the greek pavillion at the end of it, with the lake behind it. On either side of the carpet, sleek silver torches were planted, barely appearing between the structures with orchids wrapping around them and the hydrangeas on the floor. At each side, the white rounded chairs, slowly starting to fill up.
"I- I- God, I have to-" Leo stuttered and Lucas planted a hand in the middle of his back, rubbing up and down in a reassuring manner. Leo took a steadying breath, "I have to go out there before it's too crowded, I'm-" he'd be standing at the end of the altar, as they had already rehearsed in the previous night, "you know."
"We know," Vince moved in the room, so he could grab Leo's tux jacket and Luke got moving as well, grabbing the cufflinks and the delicate flower brooch that was meant to be sitting on the dusty blue lapel of his suit.
"Breathe, Leo," Vince instructed, easily guiding their friends' arms into the armholes of his jacket, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle away from the ironed fabric, "deep breaths, okay? You're alright."
"I'm- I think-" Leo shook his head, cheeks puffing out comically as he tried to take in a breath, "I think I'm gonna throw up..."
Luke raised his eyebrows, finishing up closing the cufflinks on his wrist and meeting Vince's eye.
"Uh... For real...?"
"Yeah-" Leo pressed a fist to his mouth, leaned forward and grabbed Vin's shoulder to steady himself, just as Luke immediately got moving.
He rushed to the suite's bathroom, grabbing the wastebasket, and then ran back to the room.
Vince had maneuvered Leo sitting down on the bed, removed his jacket once more and spread his legs apart so there would be no risk of him being sick on the suit. He was fanning the blonde with a magazine and the photographers had lowered their cameras and were queuing out of the door.
"Here," Luke pushed the basket into Leo's chest and caused him to gag with the sudden movement. He cringed in sympathy, he had expected this behavior from Jon, not Leo, "dude, take a deep breath, you're freaking out."
"It's so many-" Leo spat inside the bin, opening and closing the hand that wasn't clutching the basket, still trying to take a breath, "so many people."
"So many people who love you," Vince cooed, his voice incredibly soft, like he was talking with his baby sister, "Leo, hey, look at me-" he gestured for the blonde to meet his eyes and Leo shook his head.
"I don't feel well-"
"You're not gonna be sick," Vince rolled his eyes in a frustrated manner, "look at me."
Brave, Luke thought, as he wasn't so sure Leo wasn't about to throw up. He looked pasty enough to.
Vince was a man of faith, though, so he forced Leo's eyes to meet his, lowering the bin away, "these are all people who love you, you understand that, Leo?" he said, very slowly, "everyone is here to celebrate you-"
"I don't know all of them," Leo wrinkled his nose, chest jostling as he hiccupped and hurriedly pressed the back of his hand to his lips. Luke grabbed the ditched bin, just in case, but Vin seemed unbothered.
"The ones you don't, Jon does, and you're an unit now, are you not? These are people who want both of you to be so happy, you have nothing to be nervous about," Vince grabbed the ditched suit jacket, gesturing for Luke to help him, "there you go-" he gave Leo a sturdy shake, "you got this."
Leo nodded, timidly, the tip of his nose suddenly pink and color returning to his cheeks as he threw his arms around Vince's neck and tugged him into a hug.
Luke snorted as Vince melted immediately, hugging the blonde right back. He rolled his eyes in a fond way, gesturing quietly to Leo, "you got this?" he mouthed, without making a sound and Vin raised a thumbs up behind the blonde's back, hugging him even tighter.
"I gotta go give Jonah the rings," Lucas said, getting up and planting a kiss to the top of Leo's head, causing him to sniffle, "I'll see you on the altar, kid."
Leo let out a little watery chuckle, "I'll see you on the altar."
Jonah's suite was on the opposite side of the hallway, just far away enough they wouldn't glimpse at each other as the crew walked in and out of both rooms.
Lucas knocked, then heard a giggle and Angie's voice "Come in!"
Angelina was entirely glammed up and for a second Luke forgot how to breathe as he saw her. Their relationship existed in a weird limbo between friends and siblings, as he had been home more often than Jonah had in the past years and seen her more often than he had.
Her hair was up in a complicated knot, adorned with pearls, and she was wearing a silver dress, fabric pooling at her cleavage like a roman goddess statute, long legs peaking from the slit that went just above her knee.
"How do I look?" she did a little twirl and Lucas opened a bright smile, a memory flashing in front of his eyes. Angie, seven years old, back when he was fifteen. Sitting outside of his gate with her scraped knee and fallen bicycle, bottom lip sticking out as she valiantly tried not to cry. Pink helmet decorated with glittery butterflies and her mumbling she had been wanting to learn so she could show Jonah when he came home from the boarding school.
"You look amazing," Luke choked out and she let out a giggle, whole face lighting up as she looked over her shoulder.
"Jon, Luke's already crying."
"I told you he would," Jonah sounded all smug. He was sitting down, relaxed and nursing a glass of juice, Wendy sitting right next to him and clinking her glass with his in an amused way.
"Oh shut up," Luke grumbled, squeezing his eyes and blinking away the sudden burning there, "Leo's going down already, we should start getting on our marks."
"Vince is with him?" Wendy asked, standing up and planting her glass on the tray. She was also a sight to be beholden and Luke gave her an open once over, causing her cheeks to heat up and her to roll her eyes at him, "don't give me those eyes, Atwood."
Luke snorted, hugging her with one arm and planting a kiss to the top of her head, then saying in a low voice, "give me a minute with him?"
He was glad it was Wendy, who didn't ask questions and was clever enough to catch the shift of things in the air. She nodded, fixing the buttons of his shirt, "we're gonna be waiting for you downstairs."
Both women hugged Jonah, then they were out of the room and Jon let out a sigh, rolling his shoulders and glancing out of the window of his room. Luke followed his gaze, smiling as he saw Leo was already out there, shaking hands and making the slow track to the pavilion where he was supposed to stand as the entrances were made to the music.
He had grabbed Bella as his moral support somewhere along the way, because she was holding his arm, auburn hair burning orange as the 5 PM sun started to lower on them, the guests rushing to their places and the violin players getting in position.
"I knew he'd find a way to pull her in," Jonah huffed, not frustrated, but sounding proud.
Luke smiled at him, "can't blame him, my wife is a vision," he said smugly, then grabbed the box in his pocket as Jon turned to look at him, "safe and sound, man," he opened it to reveal the rings, "are you ready?"
Jonah's bright smile slipped for the first time all day, that cloud of near arrogance melting as he nodded, taking the box, "will you laugh if I say I was born ready?"
Luke snorted, but his sight got blurry all over again. To busy his hands, he smoothed Jonah's tan jacket, fiddled with the pocket square, "I'm so proud of you," he said through the tight knot in his throat, stuck there even as he tried to clear it, "I'm so happy for you, brot-"
Before he finished his sentence, Jonah tackled him with a hug. Tight, rib crushing and shoulders shaking slightly. Lucas' shoulders dropped, the knot in his throat loosening up as he hugged his best friend right back, squeezing him and pulling back just enough to pat his cheek and wipe away the tears running down his the corner of his own eyes, "well, fuck-"
"I love you," Jonah said, quietly, but firm, "I don't know how this happened, because trust me, I tried to get rid of you so many times-" he chuckled and so did Luke, new tears rushing up, "but I'm glad you're here with me."
Luke shook his head, a sudden sob bursting through and he let out a whine, "oh fuck you-" he groaned, as his whole face burned, "I love you too, Jon. Both of you."
---------
Leo hadn't been nervous about the wedding even for a day. From the minute Jonah had proposed â or tried to â all he had felt was incredible certainty and excitement. Even when they broke the news to Jackie and she had prompted twenty questions and tried to highjack the planning, even when Leo had failed at it and passed the wedding responsibilities to Jonah, even when their plans started to become a reality and he was suddenly in a suit, cake testing and venue visiting. Not once he had been nervous.
Until today.
His heart was racing and his hands were sweating and he felt like he was going to be sick.
"Oh there you are-" Bella stopped on her tracks as she met him downstairs, chaperoned by Vince who had a steady hand on his back, "uh- Everything okay?"
"Everything is alright," Vince spoke for him, but Leo nodded in agreement. Everything was perfect, he was just so worried about not messing it up, "he's just nervous, can you get him to the altar?"
Bella's eyes widened, blue sparkling even more as it was surrounded by black mascara and some green reflective eyeshadow, "of course-" she jumped forward, grabbing Leo's bicep and he took her hand from it, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing her knuckles.
"Thank you," he said quietly, squeezing her fingers and curling his arm so he could guide her around like a lady.
She leaned in, "no, thank you for saving me from the sharks," she said, which was just her being sweet, so he felt like he was the one doing her a favor and not the opposite way around, "deep breaths, it'll be over before you know it."
"I don't know if I want it to be over," Leo admitted quietly, although he was still shaking with nervousness. Bell's fingers curled on his forearm a little tighter as they moved through the crowd and he started shaking hands, smiling to his friends, people from work, the hospital, the baseball team whom he really liked, faces he had never seen before-
Through all of it, Bella was a steadying rock and before he realized he was at the altar, the violinists moving into position and the justice of peace took his place. Jackie stepped forward to meet them and Leo let out a shaky breath, meeting her eyes. They were hazel just like Jon's, a shade darker, more brown than green.
"My darling," she cupped Leo's face in her hands, smiling at him like they had known each other for much longer than they did. Just barely a year and a half and yet he never felt like she was faking to like him, to- "my darling son."
He waited for her to finish her phrase, then it hit him she meant him. Jackie looked amused as she patted his cheek and took Bella away from him with the grace of someone who had done it a thousand times.
Bell hesitated, then leaned in, planting a kiss on his cheek and smiling at Leo, "breathe out," she whispered, flashing him a brilliant smile and then stepping away with Jackie and sitting down just as the music started.
There was a general rustle at the first soft violin notes and Leo bounced nervously on his feet, twisting his sweaty hands. Almost no one was looking at him now, although he caught the eye of his work friends and flashed them a smile, before looking ahead once more.
Vince and Wendy were spearheading it. Wen was wearing the most ridiculous heels Leo had ever seen and he let out a little nervous chuckle at that, probably so she could look proportionate next to Vin. They didn't separate at the ending of the nave, but instead moved to stand behind Leo, to his left, Vince breaking protocol as he thumped on Leo's back and gave him a reassuring smile.
Angie and Luke were next. Angelina was smiling so much he was sure he could see her molars and that Luke was the only thing keeping her from rushing through the walk and ruin the choreography Jonah had drilled on them like a marine in the previous night.
As soon as they reached the end of the walk, moving to the free spot to the other side of the pavilion, the music changed.
This was new, through all of the rehearsal they had done it with the violin group, I Can't Help Falling In Love playing during all of their walks-
But no, there was a saxophonist now and Leo couldn't help the blubbering laughter that came up as he realized Jonah had kept this a secret from all of them. What a diva.
Four notes, a song Leo didn't recognize, and then he caught Jonah's eyes at the end of the nave and all of the previous nervousness vanished as if it was magic.
Jonah had insisted on entering on his own and Leo was glad, because he couldn't even pretend to keep his eyes off of him. It was like all their guests disappeared.
His racing thoughts stopped and Leo opened a bright smile, sight blurring as Jonah smiled back at him, casually walking to the sax notes as if he did that everyday, as if they were seeing each other across the football field, the crowded hospital or the hall of their building after a long day.
Leo blinked quickly against the tears and let out a watery chuckle as suddenly a handkerchief appeared in front of him, Vince patting his back as he did that.
He took it, squeezing the square of fabric in his hand and letting his eyes rake over all of Jon, the way his curls were catching the sunset just right, how he had picked the perfect tan color for a suit that brought out his deep complexion, how his eyes were so incredibly green as they were all watery-
"It's no use if we both cry," Jonah choked out just as he reached Leo and the blonde shook his head, wiping away the tears and turning to face him, forgetting for a second that they were standing in front of fifty guests.
The soft notes of the sax floated away, fading, and the justice of peace cleared his throat, "welcome, loved ones. We are gathered here today to join Leo Wagner and Jonah Banks in holy matrimony-"
"I love you," Leo whispered, completely drowning out the man, and Jonah smiled right back at him, the golden sunset bathing him.
"I love you more," he mouthed, taking Leo's hands in his and squeezing it, as their officiant kept speaking.
Hereâs part two, picking up where the appendix fic left off (last year lol). Iâm thinking about writing part 3, but thatâs still to be decided.
Thank you to @bellysoupset for the help!!
⸝
Rose decided that calling an ambulance was the best option, since Ezme could hardly move without crying out in pain. It took forever to get there, or at least it felt that way. Rose paced the length of the living room, her hands shaking as she cast frantic glances toward Ezme, who lay on the couch, her face pale and contorted in pain. The 911 operator had assured her help was on the way, but every passing second stretched unbearably.
Rose was interrupted when Ezme touched her hand and pitched forward, Rose barely had time to react before Ezme gagged, her body convulsing violently.
âShit- Ezme!â
Then it happened. Ezme turned her head just enough before vomiting all over the rug, her whole body shaking with the effort. The sound was awful, a wrenching, gut-deep retch that left her gasping. Tears streamed down her face, her shoulders heaving as another wave hit, and Rose could do nothing but watch, heart hammering.
Ezme whimpered between gasps, her voice raw and broken. âI- canât-â She sobbed, curling in on herself, her body stiff with pain. âIt hurts, Rose-make it stopâpleaseââ
Rose felt utterly helpless. She knelt beside her, brushing damp hair from her clammy forehead, whispering desperate reassurances she wasnât even sure Ezme could hear.
âItâs okay, itâs okay, Iâve got you,â Rose murmured, voice shaking. âThe ambulance is coming, just hold on for meâ
Ezme moaned in agony, squeezing her eyes shut as another sharp wave of pain tore through her. She was delirious, exhausted, and Rose had never seen her like this. It made her stomach churn with panic.
Rose tightened her grip on Ezmeâs hand, pressing a trembling kiss to it. âJust a little longer, baby. Just hold on.â
The ambulance had finally made it, and Rose sat stiffly, her fingers clenched so tightly around Ezmeâs hand that her knuckles were white. Ezme was barely conscious, her skin clammy and too pale, her breathing shallow. Every bump in the road made her wince, but she was too weak to complain. That was the worst part, Ezme never shut up about pain, always grumbling about how annoying it was, always brushing it off. But now, she didnât even have the energy to tell Rose she was fine.
âStay with me, baby,â Rose whispered, her voice cracking. âYouâre gonna be okay, ma chèrie. You have to be okay.â
The paramedic checked Ezmeâs vitals, adjusting the IV in her arm. âHer blood pressureâs low. We need to move fast.â
The panic clawing at Roseâs chest tightened. âJustâjust do whatever you have to, okay? Just fix her, please.â
She could barely focus as they pulled up to the hospital. Everything blurred into a rush of movementâdoctors shouting, nurses pushing Ezmeâs stretcher down the hall. Rose tried to follow, but a nurse gently stopped her at the doors to the operating room.
âYou have to wait here.â
Roseâs breath caught. âNo, butââ She looked past them, catching one last glimpse of Ezme as they wheeled her inside. Her face was slack, her tattoos standing out starkly against her pale skin. No. No, no, noâ
The doors shut in her face.
Rose pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, a sob forcing its way out. She had to sit down before she collapsed, her legs threatening to give out. She couldnât go through this again, she canât lose someone close to her again⌠She heard her name being called and she spun around, moving her away from the trance she was in. It was her mother, she had forgotten that she called her when they were in the ambulance.
âChèrie? Que s'est-il passĂŠ? Ezme va bien?â She sounded frantic and concerned, trying to stay calm for her daughter and pulling her into a hug.
âMum?â Her voice broke, a feeling of relief washing over her and she broke down into tears, sniffling. She didnât know how long they sat there, her motherâs arms wrapped around her, rubbing her back slightly. All she could hear was the echo of Ezmeâs weak voice in the ambulance, the way her grip had slackened in Roseâs hand.
âIs she in surgery?â Her mother broke the silence, but when she got no answer she looked down at Rose who was clearly zoned out. âBaby?â
âHmm? Y-yeah sheâs in surgeryâŚâ Her mother frowned, pressing a kiss to her temple. Rose sighed softly, âI shouldâve convinced her to come in earlier, I- this is my fault-â
âNo, this isnât your fault, these things happen and we donât have control over it okay? Sheâll be alright, this is Ezme remember?â Rose nodded and moved closer so that her mother could hug her tighter.
Nurses passed by, doctors rushed in and out, none of them coming towards her a she was growing more worried and impatient by the minute. She needed answers, she felt helpless just sitting there doing nothing. Negative thoughts filled her mind and she couldnât stop them.
What if she didnât make it? What if Rose had pushed too hard, waited too long to convince her to come in?
A nurse appeared in front of them and Roseâs mother touched her shoulder gently, pulling her from her spiral. âAre you Ezmeâs emergency contact?â
Rose looked up, her throat was dry. âYeah. Is sheââ She swallowed hard. âIs she okay?â
âSheâs in surgery now. Her appendix ruptured, which caused an infection, but theyâre working to remove it and clean the area. Itâs a serious situation, but sheâs in good hands.â
That wasnât enough. Rose needed to see her, needed to hear her make some dumb joke about how hospitals sucked and that she was never coming back here again.
Instead, all she could do was nod numbly as the nurse led them to the waiting area.
Minutes stretched into hours. Every time a doctor walked by, Roseâs heart lurched, but they never stopped for her. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms just to keep herself grounded.
She wasnât ready for a world without Ezme in it.
Then, finally, a doctor approached her. She stood up, so quickly that her head spun slightly. She searched the doctorâs eyes looking like a ship lost at sea, wanting to hear good news.
âEzmeâs out of surgery,â he said. âSheâs stable.â
Rose felt like she could breathe again for the first time in hours. âCan I see her?â
âSoon. Sheâs still groggy from the anesthesia, but weâll bring you in once she wakes up.â
Rose nodded quickly. Sheâd wait. Sheâd wait as long as she needed toâjust as long as Ezme woke up. She looked down at her mother, smiling with relief, her mother returning the gesture too.
_________________
The steady beep of the heart monitor was the first thing Rose heard when she stepped into the hospital room. It should have been reassuring, proof that Ezme was alive, stable, but all Rose could focus on was how small she looked in the hospital bed. Pale, exhausted, wires and IV lines hooked up to her, a stark contrast to the woman who always stood tall, unshakable.
Rose sank into the chair beside the bed, her hands trembling as she reached for Ezmeâs. It was warm, too warm. The doctors had warned her about post-surgery fevers, saying it was common, but it didnât make it any easier to see Ezmeâs forehead damp with sweat.
She had spent hours pacing, waiting for Ezme to wake up. Thinking about what sheâd say.
âYou scared the shit out of me.â
âYou donât get to brush things off anymore.â
But now, sitting here, watching Ezmeâs chest rise and fall, Rose felt something else pressing harder against her ribs. The sheer, aching relief that she was still here at all.
She exhaled shakily, rubbing her thumb over Ezmeâs knuckles. âYouâre a real pain in the ass, you know that?â she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. âAlways acting like youâre invincible. Like you can just push through anything.â She let out a bitter laugh. âYou didnât even tell me how bad it was. If I hadnât pushed you to go, if I had let you walk it off like you wanted toâŚâ
She trailed off, her throat tightening. She didnât want to think about what could have happened.
Instead, she rested her forehead lightly against Ezmeâs hand. âJust wake up, okay? So I can yell at you properly.â
It felt like hours, but eventually, Ezme stirred. A quiet groan, the faintest flutter of eyelashes. Rose bolted upright, watching as Ezmeâs eyes slowly cracked open.
At first, they were unfocused, dazed. But then they found Rose, and a weak, lopsided smirk tugged at her lips. âHeyâŚâ
Tears pricked at Roseâs eyes, but she swallowed them down. âHey, dumbass.â
Ezme blinked sluggishly. âHospital?â
âYeah. Surgery. You almost didnât make it because youâre the most stubborn person alive.â
Ezme exhaled, her smirk fading. âShit.â
âYeah. Shit.â Rose squeezed her hand. âWeâre gonna have a long talk about this when youâre feeling better.â
Ezme didnât argue. Didnât roll her eyes or try to brush it off. She just looked at Roseâreally looked at her, taking in the exhaustion, the red-rimmed eyes, the worry still carved into every inch of her.
âIâm sorry,â she mumbled, voice hoarse.
Rose let out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. âYeah. You will be.â
When Drew's Away, Jeremiah Will . . . Get Indigestion
A/N: So this is a beast of a fic. And it went in a different direction than I intended. I played with cutting it in two but finally decided to just go for it and post. There is a lot of adjacent emeto in the first half and then actual emeto in the second. There is also a death - not an OC - and it happens "off screen" but it's there and in a hospital. We will see the fallout of some of the action here, but not immediately. Also, @writing-whump wanted to see Adam a little softer, so here's some of that. We're going to be hints of more later on.
âYou look tired, sweetheart; I hope youâre not working too hard with me away.â Drew peered critically through the phone screen, frowning at the bags under his boyfriendâs eyes. His hand fluttered by his side for a second, as if he was trying to reach out and touch the man. âIâd think youâd sleep well without me there, snoring in your ear.â Â
âYour snoring lulls me to sleep,â assured Jeremiah. âMuch more relaxing than trying to catch a nap in the residentâs lounge.â Now he was the one examining his boyfriendâs face. âBut how are things there? I imagine your dad is happy to be home. His discharge numbers looked excellent.â And now that things are stable you can come back to Boston. If it had been a long week for Jeremiah, it must have been doubly tiring for Drew. He hadnât said anything about it yet, but Jeremiah knew it was coming.
âHe wants to know when he can get back to the Club, if you can believe it.â Drew gave a lighthearted chuckle. âI told him Iâd take him in a couple of days, but only to sit in the clubhouse. Thereâs no way Iâm letting him on the golf course in this heat.â Drewâs voice grew muffled for a second and when his face appeared again he was holding an oversized muffin Jeremiah recognized as coming from Drewâs favorite childhood bakery. âWe took a walk at 6:30 this morning - he managed two full loops of the neighborhood before I made him come inside and rest.â He took an enormous bite of the muffin and whined with appreciation. âGod, I love Sweetie Bâs. Weâll go out again close to sunset. And Iâll fill the car with gas.â
Jeremiah smiled indulgently at his boyfriendâs stream of consciousness chatter. It had been a long week at the hospital - made longer by the fact that heâd been following Drewâs fatherâs progress as well, and talking to Drew about it every night. Jeremiah hadnât been the least bit surprised to learn that Drew had befriended the entire nursing staff in the ICU and was getting his father all sorts of extra attention. And the man was absolutely eating it up. Jeremiah assumed it must be getting stressful; Drewâs relationship with his father had been prickly and strained ever since the day Drew had come out at sixteen. There had been a fight when he informed his parents that no, he would not be escorting Lucy Wells to the country club cotillion the following month and no, he would not be joining his fatherâs investment brokerage after college. Drew had agonized about going home to help with his fatherâs recovery, but ultimately knew he couldnât avoid it.Â
âIt must be annoying to have to drive so much again; Atlanta traffic still horrible?â Watching Drew devour the muffin reminded Jeremiah that heâd skipped lunch, and he carried the phone with him while he rifled through the fridge, looking for something to eat.
âActually itâs been fine. Just back and forth to the hospital and now chauffeuring my dad around. Heâs letting me drive the Jag, so thatâs been kind of awesome. Oh, and I visited Mallory and Davis and the baby; they loved the outfit Noa picked out. Good call on getting her to help.â
Jeremiah tried to hide his surprise. âI thought you said his car was a âpretentious gas-guzzler.ââ The refrigerator was disappointingly empty and he tried to remember the last time heâd gone to the market. Not since Drew left, at least, and that had been a week ago.Â
âThat was before I got to drive it,â Drew laughed. âIt moves like itâs on air; and the sound system . . . -â he gave an appreciative huff. â- my dad even let me put on the Broadway station!â Â
âOh. Thatâs really . . . great, hon. I thought your father hated musicals.â He didnât want to be a downer, but Jeremiah wondered how much of Drewâs enthusiasm was sustainable. It sounded like Dean Thorton was still enjoying the flush of having not died from his heart attack, and his good mood had even spilled over to his treatment of his son. But Jeremiah himself knew what it was like to be drawn in by the manâs attention - and then dropped just as quickly. Drew had always been particularly cynical about his fatherâs intentions, and it was a bit disconcerting to see him embracing it now.Â
âHe changed his mind,â Drew said lightly. He leaned forward so his face filled up most of the phone screen. âBut tell me about work; youâd mentioned a new patient?â
Jeremiah gave up fretting about Drewâs sudden affection for his father. When the relationship went south again, as Jeremiah knew it inevitably would, heâd be here to help his boyfriend pick up the pieces. Meanwhile, there was a frozen pizza in the freezer, and a package of mozzarella sticks Jeremiah didnât remember them buying. He dumped them both on a baking sheet and cranked up the oven while he told Drew about Toby.
âHeâs 18, almost 19, so there was some discussion about whether to keep him with Peds or have adult cardiology take his case, and I won.â The truth was, as soon as Jeremiah had met the young man, heâd wanted him as a patient. Toby was supposed to start a six-year medical school program in the fall - the same one Jeremiah had attended. And he was on a scholarship too. He was determined to make it there and Jeremiah was determined to help him.Â
âViral infection that went to his heart,â he explained. It was a rare and serious complication of some illnesses. âTreating him with everything weâve got and hoping the damage isnât permanent.â It would mean a heart transplant if it was, and Jeremiah wanted to avoid that outcome at all costs. Â
âMmhmmm, well Iâm sure youâll handle it. What? Oh sure, let me get my shoes; Iâll let you tell me about your hole in one again.â Â
It took Jeremiah a second to realize that Drew wasnât talking to him anymore and that he was looking at an image of the ceiling of the Thortonâs kitchen. Then Drewâs face appeared again. âSorry about that,â he said. My dadâs ready for another walk.â He reached towards Jeremiah as if trying to touch him through the phone. âYouâll tell me later about Teddy, okay? I want to hear.â Â
âToby,â Jeremiah corrected. âYeah, sounds good.â He didnât mention that later heâd probably be back at the hospital. This was Drewâs time to help his father, he reminded himself. Regardless of what Jeremiah might think, he wasnât going to be the one to interfere - or later say I told you so.  Still, as he said goodbye and disconnected the call, Jeremiah couldnât help but feel a little irrational hurt. Which was stupid; it was a good thing that Drew was getting along with his father, since he had to spend so much time with him. Just because Jeremiahâs relationship with his own was irrevocably fractured didnât mean that Drewâs had to be too. Â
Maybe he was just hungry.
The pizza and cheese sticks were probably too much for one person, but Jeremiah didnât think much about that as he ate while he went through Tobyâs treatment notes on his iPad. His cardiac function had deteriorated, and it wasnât clear why. He started texting with the attending cardiologist and half an hour later decided to go back to the hospital to examine the young man in person. When he went to put the rest of the pizza and mozzarella sticks away he was surprised to find an empty plate and feel indigestion blooming in his chest. But that was par for the course for a third-year resident; surviving on Pepto and little sleep was the way to learn the most and get the best cases. So Jeremiah took a quick slug of the pink liquid and drove back to the hospital to see his patient.Â
****Â
Three days later Jeremiahâs daily upset belly was just an annoyance to ignore at work - and when he FaceTimed Drew from the hospital. Theyâd been apart for ten days now and he drummed his fingers impatiently on the table in the residentâs lounge while he waited for the call to connect. Â
âHi love; is everything okay?â Drewâs head was framed in sunlight like a halo and Jeremiah had to squint to see his face. Â
âFine here; werenât we going to talk at five?â Jeremiah was certain of the time theyâd agreed because at 6 he was going to observe Tobyâs next cardiac function test. Â
âOhhh, youâre right; I lost track of the time. Look who Iâm hanging out with!â Drew tilted the phone so Jeremiah could see his lap, and the toothless baby sitting on it. âSay hi to Uncle Jeremiah, Tripp!â Drew took the childâs fat little hand and made it wave at the screen. The baby shrieked with delight. Drew giggled back and made the boyâs hands wave some more. Â
âYou seem to have a fan,â commented Jeremiah, rubbing his stomach to work out a cramp. Even though heâd been looking forward to having Drew to himself for their talk he had to admit it was cute to watch him fawn over his nephew. âAre you babysitting?â Â
Drew kissed Trippâs head and inhaled deeply before grinning back at Jeremiah. âThey should bottle that smell, Seriously. And no; they came over for dinner. Weâre all working on heart healthy recipes so my dad has plenty of options. Tonight I broiled fish with a lemon herb marinade like you taught me. He loved it, and tomorrow weâre going to try chicken with Chinese spices.â Â
âThat. . . that sounds great.â Jeremiah stifled a burp. Heâd been existing on take out and frozen dinners in between extra shifts at the hospital for almost a week now and it was definitely starting to catch up with him, no matter how much he tried to deny it. Indeed, the urge to burp came right back, and this time he didnât bother to swallow it down. It might be perverse, but at the moment Jeremiah wasnât above playing up his belly ache for a little long distance attention from his boyfriend. âOof,â he complained, rubbing at his chest. Â
Except that Tripp took that moment to grab Drewâs face, shoving his fingers into the nurseâs mouth and pulling off his glasses with the other hand. Jeremiahâs belch went unnoticed while Drew laughed and bounced the boy on his lap. âOh, youâre going to be a troublemaker, arenât you? A little trickster, no, a Trippster!â Drew finally looked back at the phone, seeking approval of his joke. âDonât you think so?â he asked Jeremiah. âA âTrippster!ââÂ
Jeremiah forced a smile onto his face. He was starting to feel a touch queasy, and was glad heâd get to go home after Tobyâs test. Twelve hours of sleep would do wonders. And more Pepto.
âThatâs . . . uURP! . . . cute,â he gasped through another burp. It tasted like the onions from the hotdog heâd gulped down before getting on the call - the fastest thing to eat heâd been able to find in the cafeteria. This time Drew heard, and raised his eyebrows.Â
âYouâve got indigestion,â he accused. âI can tell by the sound of your burp. Theyâre different when you have a virus.â He leaned into the phone, expression softening. âItâs been that busy, hasnât it?â
Jeremiah felt a beat of warmth in his chest that for once had nothing to do with his crappy diet. âCanât hide anything from . . . you,â he croaked through another hiccup. âHospital hotdogs might have . . . ugh . . . been a mistake tonight.â He rubbed at his chest, trying to work up a better burp. It was getting close to six; he was going to have to leave soon and he felt like heâd barely had time with Drew. And his stomach felt like hell. Heâd been counting on his boyfriend to ease his mind but instead he felt anxious and out of sorts. Definitely not the right attitude to go be a doctor. But Drew seemed oblivious to Jeremiahâs emotional distress.
âThose hotdogs are always a mistake,â he laughed. âNo wonder you look all sweaty.â His expression grew calculating. âYouâre not nauseous, are you? Have you taken Pepto?âÂ
âNo,â Jeremiah lied. âAnd yes. Took some earlier.â That was the truth, although heâd taken so much of the medicine lately that it had pretty much stopped working. âAfter I observe Tobyâs cardiac function test Iâll go home and get some sleep.â Â
âKeep me posted on how it goes,â Drew told him, although his attention seemed to be back on his nephew again. âIn the meantime, I think this one needs a new diaper.â He grinned suddenly into the camera. âI think Iâve changed him more this weekend than Davis has since he was born. Apparently, men in his family âdonât do diapers.ââ He rolled his eyes. âHow Mallory puts up with that Iâll never understand.â
Jeremiah did understand, quite well. âOh . . . come on,â he scoffed, fighting the need to burp again. âHow many diapers do you think your own dad changed?â Privately he wondered about Drewâs mother too, but the sudden scowl on Drewâs face made him bite back the comment. Â
âTimes were different then,â he said mulishly. âHe was working a lot.â Â
This was the first time Jeremiah had ever heard Drew defend his fatherâs behavior so blatantly. Until now the story Drew told was of a father who became more and more absent as Drew grew up and made it quite clear that he had no interest in peewee football, or golf . . . or girls. Now this revisionist history made Jeremiahâs stomach clench with an odd sort of nausea. Â
Or maybe it was just the hotdogs. Â
âIâve got to go,â he said thickly. His mouth was coated with the gross, greasy flavor of boiled hotdogs, but there was no time to get something to drink. He was already late, and so his goodbye to Drew was rushed and stilted and he jogged down the hallway swallowing down the burps that kept coming up with every bouncing step.Â
Toby looked a little better than when Jeremiah had seen him just that morning, and his eyes lit up at the sight of the young doctor. âAbout time, doc,â he croaked weakly, reaching out a shaking fist to bump with Jeremiahâs. âLetâs get this party started.â He peered at Jeremiahâs face. âYou look almost as tired as I am,â he accused. Â
Jeremiah forced a laugh. âWhen youâre a doctor youâll do it better than me,â he promised with a grin. âAlthough running late . . . and just running - ahem - is pretty much a requirement.â He cleared his throat but it didnât really help with the queasiness pooling there. If Drew had been around heâd have sent Jeremiah right to the bathroom to belch properly. Or vomit up the offending food, even. But Drew was in Atlanta nursing his father and spoiling his nephew, so Jeremiah gulped down his nausea and focused on the numbers crossing the monitors above Tobyâs head. Maybe heâd joke with him later about how constant indigestion was something else heâd have to learn about when he started medical school.
Tobyâs numbers showed some improvement, and Jeremiah left the hospital a couple hours later feeling more relaxed and less queasy. He even decided to stop at the market to get some real groceries, and got drawn in by Whole Foods prepared meals section and a chicken piccata dish. Mashed potatoes and green beans also made it into his basket, and Jeremiah was actually hungry again by the time he got home. Or maybe the thought of something not fried or overprocessed was just too appealing. He ate standing up in the kitchen, sending Drew a text about how Tobyâs test had gone with one hand while he shoved spoonfuls of potatoes into his mouth with the other.Â
Drew hadnât texted back by the time Jeremiah was ready for bed and he had to resist the urge to open up FaceTime. Thoughts of his boyfriend sitting at the country club in a proper collared shirt, smiling and talking with his parents and their friends made him feel unaccountably sad. It wasnât that Jeremiah wished he was there too; he wanted Drew home, away from the people he was certain did not have their sonâs best interests at heart.
But now he was exhausted. Toby was stable and Jeremiahâs stomach seemed to be in check for once, so he climbed into bed and wrapped himself around Drewâs pillow. After ten days it didnât really smell like the nurse anymore, but it was better than nothing.
When his phone dinged with a text later, Jeremiah jerked awake, thinking that Drew was finally calling him back. But the glowing numbers said 2:33 am, not 11 or 12 like he expected. And the message - from Tobyâs attending cardiologist - was dire.Â
It was after 8 am when Jeremiah finally stumbled home. There were finally texts from Drew on the phone in his hand but he couldnât bring himself to respond to his boyfriendâs cheerful messages from the night before:Â
So sorry I missed you; the Clubâs dining room has a âno phonesâ policy. But yay about Tobyâs cardiac function! Youâll get that kid to medical school yet!
OMG Tripp tried some of the Clubâs baked mac and cheese and now heâs obsessed! Itâs the absolute cutest thing to watch him eat!
Hope you had a good sleep, love. Bringing my dad back to the Club - theyâre letting him walk two fairways at 6 am for exercise. Heâs bugging me to let him swing a club but I told him he needed to listen to his cardiologist and wait another week. Love you!
Damn, I forgot how pretty and peaceful the Club is so early in the morning. No one else here lol!
The phone dinged again as the Uber turned onto his and Drewâs street but he couldnât even bring himself to look. Just the thought of reading about âthe Clubâ one more time made bile rise in his throat. And uncharitable thoughts about the unfairness of Drewâs father surviving his heart attack when Toby had not just made the sense of being off-balance even worse.Â
If Drew had been there, actually home, in Boston, it would have been different. If Drew had been in Boston heâd have looked at Jeremiahâs face and known what to. . . but that didnât matter. Because Drew wasnât home, and Jeremiah couldnât figure out what words to text even if heâd been able to make his numb fingers work and his stomach stop churning enough to focus on the screen. All he could see, whether his eyes were open or closed, was Tobyâs face, pale and slack and still. Just two days earlier, Jeremiah had brought him a Duke University pennant for his hospital room - as hope that felt like a promise. It was hanging above his bed until after, when Tobyâs mother had taken it down and care folded it up before hugging Jeremiah and thanking him for taking such good care of her son.Â
That was the first time heâd almost vomited. Â
Heâd been nauseous ever since but that was okay; it felt fair, that he was sick, even though it wasnât remotely the same. But feeling good and strong and healthy would have been worse.Â
He had to figure out how to tell Drew - to find a time he wasnât at the Club or driving his father or something. The nurse would probably want to come home, and Jeremiah was going to let him. Sure, heâd make a token objection first, but in the end, he wanted his boyfriend, dammit.
Instead, at that moment, he had Adam. Jeremiah squinted up the pathway to his and Drewâs cottage trying to figure out if he was hallucinating, because why would Adam Calder be sitting on his front stoop at 8 am on a Saturday morning? Or was it Sunday? Jeremiahâs brain was too muddled to puzzle it out.
âDamn, Miah. Iâd ask if youâd forgotten about our breakfast but the answer is all over your face. You look like hell.â Adam stood up and peered critically at him. âAre you sick?â
Yes. No. For anyone else, Jeremiah would have softened his delivery, but subtlety was generally a waste of time with Adam. âI lost a patient,â he said curtly, pushing past the other man to unlock the door. There was bright sunlight streaming in through the back windows and Jeremiah marched over and roughly pulled the drapes closed. If only he could shut off his brain as easily as the light.
There was a sudden, heavy hand on his shoulder. âDamn, Iâm so sorry, Miah. Was it unexpected?â
This felt all wrong. Jeremiah should be telling Drew, who wouldnât have had to ask questions, who would understand immediately the medical terms Jeremiah used and their significance. He would have understood what Jeremiah was feeling, even if Jeremiah himself didnât know. He started to nod, and then shook his head.
âIt . . .â he began, and then gulped down past the thickness in his throat. He tried again, each word feeling like a weight he couldnât hold another second. âHe umm . . . Toby. His name is . . .was . . .â Jeremiah sucked in a breath as a fresh wall of pain and realization hit. He couldnât do this now. His eyes prickled and he swiped angrily at them - crying over a patient was fucking unprofessional, no matter what Drew said. And Jeremiah wasnât about to start now, without Drew here. Adamâs hand was still on his shoulder and he shrugged it off.
âIâm fine,â he said roughly, even as his stomach clenched and rolled. Another wave of wrongness washed over him then. He gagged, the effort nearly bending him in half. Nausea surged. Â
âYeah, I donât believe you.â Adamâs hand was back on his arm but this time it was steering him down the hallway. âTry not to puke yet, okay?â Â
Jeremiah let himself be propelled towards his and Drewâs bedroom because it was easier than trying to think for himself. âIâm not going to . . .â His answer was interrupted by another gag and he bit the inside of his cheek to try to control his body. Crying over a patient, maybe, but getting sick over one? Unacceptable. Toby would have given him such a hard time for that, and that thought broke something inside. Jeremiah gasped out a sob, tripping over his steps and trying to breathe past the weight in his chest. Â
âHere, talk to Drew.â Adam thrust a phone in Jeremiahâs face. âHeâll be a lot better at this than I am anyway.â Adamâs words were brisk but his movements surprisingly gentle as he guided Jeremiah over to his bed and sat him down. A second later the FaceTime connected and Drewâs concerned face appeared.Â
âJer? What happened? Why is Adam . . . oh. Oh, sweetheart.â The tone in Drewâs voice was all Jeremiah needed. He gave a stiff nod. Â
âThis . . . this morning,â he choked out. âCoded. . . Toby. . . I . . . I . . .â He gulped down, unable to say anything more.Â
âShhh,â Drew soothed. âI know. I know. You donât have to explain.â
But Jeremiah did, because Toby reminded him too much of himself, and the young man heâd been eight years ago. Smart, driven, poor. Fatherless. Determined to become a doctor. And now he wasnât going to get that chance and Jeremiah couldn't stand that thought. He shook his head and took deep breaths to try to slow the way his own heart was pounding in his throat. Â
âT-t-toby,â he stuttered. âHe said . . . he . . . uUlLP . . .â Jeremiah couldnât bite back the next gag. Through the phone Drew made another soothing sound, telling him not to talk, but Jeremiah shook his head. Â
âLet me talk to Adam then,â Drew commanded, and then suddenly the phone he was holding was gone and Adam was talking to Drew instead and Jeremiah just felt sick. Dimly, he heard a conversation that didnât really register: pretty upset . . . yeah this morning. . . I donât think so, at least not here - he gagged a bunch though . . . Iâll do my best, but I know heâd rather have . . . wait, now? Okay yeah, but honestly, I really think you should think about . . . oh shit, he just got really pale . . .  Â
âOkay, Drew said to take you to the bathroom because youâre definitely going to puke.â Adam tugged on Jeremiahâs arm. âAnd I agree, so come on.â Â
âWhereâs Drew?â Jeremiah burped into the toilet. This was so stupid. If he was going to get sick over losing a patient, he wanted his boyfriend there. Even on FaceTime.
âHe uhh . . . he had to go.â For once Adam sounded like he was at a loss for words. âSomething about his father and a doctorâs appointment I think?â He settled himself down on the floor next to Jeremiah. âI guess Drew had to drive him or something.âÂ
There was something thick and bitter in Jeremiahâs mouth. âYeah,â he said sourly, spitting. âOf course.â He squeezed his eyes shut. âDid he . . .â he began, and then shook his head. âForget it.â Because vomiting in front of Adam Calder was one thing, but admitting anything about his boyfriend was absolutely not going to happen. He started panting over the bowl. Maybe in another situation heâd have been able to calm his stomach down, but not now. No fucking way.Â
Heâd forgotten how observant the man was though. âI told him I thought he should come back home,â Adam commented before leaning forward to rub Jeremiahâs back. âI mean, it was important for him to be there for his dad and all, but isnât he a lot better now?â He thumped Jeremiahâs back for emphasis and a bubble of air jumped into Jeremiahâ chest. âAnd more importantly, I thought he was kind of an ass to Drew in the past.âÂ
âHe was,â agreed Jeremiah. He pressed his belly against the side of the toilet to force out the burp. âAnd I have a feeling he will be again. But Drew . . . â a surge of nausea cut off his words. He hovered another second until his stomach spasmed and spit up a mouthful of puke. Adam gave an impatient huff.
âBut Drew is finally able to do something his father approves of,â he finished. âThatâs a hard thing for a kid to walk away from.â
Jeremiah paused to see if he was about to retch again. When he didnât immediately throw up, he shook his head. âDrewâs . . . Drewâs not a kid. And he knows better.â His stomach still felt so full and queasy; he wished the vomiting would go faster so he could just get in bed. Adam shook his head.
âHeâs a kid in all the ways that matter here,â he disagreed. âI get why itâs hard to turn away from his dad right now, even if itâs not healthy. Here, lean forward and try to force up a burp or something. Letâs get this puke party started, okay?â Â
That was too close to what Toby had said to Jeremiah, the last time theyâd talked. He found he didnât need to force himself to belch because all of a sudden his dinner was in his throat. And then he was finally bringing it all up in two powerful gushes. Â
âOh . . . fuck,â he gasped, burping up stomach acid that made his throat burn. His head was spinning and there was a sickening ache in his middle, but the immediate need to throw up had eased. Adam handed him a glass of water.Â
âHave you told him?â he asked, while Jeremiah rinsed his mouth and then froze over the toilet when he suddenly felt sick again. Â
It was just a burp this time and Jeremiah finally sat back on his heels. âTold him what?â he asked, even though he was pretty such he knew what Adam meant. Â
âTold him you think his fatherâs going to hurt him again,â he said matter-of-factly. Adam waited while Jeremiah got shakily to his feet. He didnât hover, but it was clear he was ready to grab him if he showed any signs of falling over.Â
If it had been anyone else, Jeremiah might have deflected or downplayed. But Adam was watching him with that same open, interested, empathetic expression that had first drawn Jeremiah in when he was a shy, closeted, twenty-year old. Then, the question had been âdo you think you might be interested in guys?â Jeremiah had blushed and stuttered and finally whispered yes, and Adam had listened and not judged, years before that stupid Tik Tok trend was a thing.Â
Now Jeremiah found the truth just as easy to reveal. âI havenât, and I wonât.â He moved gingerly back into the bedroom and settled himself down with a sigh of relief. âAnd when it happens, I wonât say that I knew it would. Because what good would that do? But Iâll be there for him when he needs me.â Â
âWhat happened to my timid, inexperienced Miah who didnât know how to talk to boys?â Adam teased. He plunked the bathroom garbage can on the floor and handed Jeremiah a fresh cup of water. âSo mature about relationships now.â He sat down on the end of the bed. âYou really love him, donât you?â Â
Jeremiah wasnât sure if he was imagining or projecting the air of wistfulness in Adamâs tone but he didnât mention it. What he was sure of was that any regret Adam may be harboring didnât have anything to do with his and Jeremiahâs past. And was absolutely not feeling well enough to delve into anything about Adamâs present. Â
âI do,â he answered simply. âWith all my heart.â And heâd tell him that when they talked later. And Drew would understand that it was time to come home.
"God, kill me," Vince whined as he stumbled out of the bathroom, the back of his hand pressed to his lips, his wet hair falling limply around his face, the curls starting to form once again.
Wendy opened an amused grin, rolling on her stomach in bed and eyeing him up and down.
Her boyfriend was a sight to be seen and not just because he was just like she liked him: queasy. Vince was blocking off most of the light spilling from the suite's bathroom, with a towel wrapped around his hip and the water droplets were still running down from his hair, onto his shoulders, back and stomach. His stomach was sticking out slightly, not bloated as she had seen him when sick or when he overdid it, but definitely still a little upset from the previous night's debauchery.
"Let's skip rehearsal and I can take care of you," Wendy suggested, although she didn't mean it. Their bags were packed, they were sleeping at the venue like Jonah, Leo, Bella, Luke and Angie. There was a dedicated villa just for guests, that was how fancy the place was.
Wendy mourned the fact that Vin looked this good right when she couldn't much about it.
He opened a tired smile, walking to the bed and sitting down with a heavy sigh, muffling a breathy burp in his fist, "do we have any painkillers? My head is killing me."
"Of course," Wendy squirmed on the bed, grabbing the meds off the bedside table's drawer and then moved so she was fully sitting up, passing the pills to Vin, "did you have anything to eat today? The headache might just be hunger..." She wouldn't know, she had spent the morning out with Jonah, during his spa day, leaving Vince passed out on the couch. When she had finally returned, he had still been asleep but in the bed, waking up just as she finished packing.
Vince gagged at the mention of food, shuddering violently as he forced himself to swallow the pills, "don't- Urgh," he made a face, showing his tongue as he took a second too long to swallow and the pills started to dissolve in the back of his throat, "don't mention food, Wen."
"Sorry," she giggled, pressing her lips to his shoulder and running her fingers up and down his arm, "do you want some dramamine? Help you settle your stomach for the rehearsal dinner?"
There was going to be a whole dinner, Vince really was out of luck. Her boyfriend let out a groan, tipping his body back and Wendy squirmed so his head settled on her lap, damp hair be damned. She smiled, planting a hand in the middle of his chest and rubbing in circles.
"Uhmmm, you're an angel," Vince sighed, turning his head to place a kiss on the inner side of her thigh, "dramamine will make me sleepy."
"We're an hour and a half away from the venue, you can nap on the car," Wendy suggested and he frowned, then nodded, sitting back up.
"Yeah, alright. If I get sick during rehearsal Jonah will have my head," Vince got up gingerly, in order to start to get dressed, while Wendy retrieved the meds and a glass of water.
Her own stomach was hurting, although in her case it was hunger. She wasn't quite sure when she had last eaten â lies, she knew exactly when it had been. That morning when Vince had stumbled home, she had been all but emptying their fridge in a sudden binge, thank God he had been too drunk to even notice her as he passed out on the couch and slept through the subsequent purging.
"Are you ready?" Vin pressed a kiss to her temples and Wen startled, flinching away from his touch. He raised his eyebrows, "Wen?"
"Sorry, I- I zoned out," she forced up a smile, "yeah, I'm ready, let me just put my heels on."
Vince was frowning at her and not because of his headache. Wendy could feel his eyes on her back as she went into her closet to grab her shoes and the whole while as she checked her purse and toiletry bag.
"What is it, Vin?" Wendy blurted out, just as he finished getting ready and was sitting on the edge of the bed, tying up his shoes.
"I- It's just-" Vince's brows met and he snapped his mouth closed in a severe line, looking oddly upset at his own lack of articulation, "something is wrong."
A chill ran up Wendy's spine and her heart started racing. Had he caught on the fact she had been doing everything in her power to not eat in front of him? The sudden lack of groceries, followed by a suspicious influx as she replaced after a binge? The late night sneaking into the guest bathroom and the faucet left running?
"I don't know what it is," Vince finished tying his shoes with a bit too much force, "but something is wrong. You're- What's on your mind? What's bothering you?"
She opened her mouth to deny, then paused. Her hands were sweating, "I... I'm just-"
It was all he needed to eagerly lean forward, hooked on her every syllable as she validated his intuition.
"You're just...?"
Her and her stupidly big mouth, Wendy thought sourly, starting to panic.
Vince was staring at her expectantly, he hadn't done up his tie, the silk pieces falling on either side of his neck and he was making zero movement to get to it, communicating he was entirely willing to skip the rehearsal dinner if she didn't talk with him.
Vin wasn't a combative person by nature, if anything he was more of a doormat, taking way more punches than he should. Nevertheless, when he made up his mind on something, Wendy had learned it was almost impossible to get it out of his head, stubborn as a mule.
"I have all night," he scoffed, crossing his arms, brows furrowed, equal parts concern and annoyance.
Great.
"I was just thinking about Leo and Jon-"
Vince squinted and then rolled his eyes, letting out an offended huff, "yeah, alright," he said sarcastically, "you're jumpy and avoiding me and flinching when I touch you, because of the wedding," his voice was dripping venom now and Wendy's ears started to ring. So close, she could just- Just tell him.
What was the worst that could happen? He'd look at her with pity and then try to fix it all, quickly learn it was out of his hands, get frustrated with her and done with their relationship? If she said it out loud, Wendy knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn't help feeling it.
"I- I," this was unlike her, the stuttering and fumbling over her words, Wendy could tell she was only making the situation worse by the second. The more she prolonged it, the more Vince's expression shuttered.
"Wendy, honey, talk to me," a new tactic, as he stepped close, hands stretched out and palms facing up, as if she was a wild animal he was scared of startling, "I'm your boyfriend, whatever it is-"
"I don't want children," Wendy blurted out, brain wracking as she searched for anything to tell him, that wasn't the actual situation at hand. Vince's mouth snapped closed, anger and annoyance leaving him, eyebrows jumping up in surprise. Disarmed. She knew it had been sudden enough, important enough of an issue for him to fully believe it, all other options fleeing his mind, "ever. I don't ever want children."
It wasn't a lie. If anything, it was a conversation they should've had a million years ago and that she had been purposefully avoiding, well aware that Vince wasn't aware of her position on the issue. If he had been, they certainly wouldn't have been living that little fairy tale life they currently were.
Still, it wasn't the truth behind her behavior and in her paranoid state, that was all that mattered. As long as he didn't know about the purg-
"Ever?"
Vince's voice was harsh, although stunned, and Wendy was pulled out of her spiraling thoughts as if a bucket of frozen water had been dumped over her head. She had entertained the idea of bringing this up several times and each time she had talked herself out of it, figuring it wasn't the right timing, that she didn't have the right words, as if she could poise it in a more gentle manner, then Vince's reaction would be different.
She nodded, timidly, and Vince took a step backwards and fell back down on the bed, elbow pressed to his knees and hiding his face in his hands.
A new sort of dread started to eat at her, the previous panic forgotten in favor of realizing just how much she had messed up.
Wendy took a tentative step forward, crouching down by her boyfriend's knee and planting a hand there, trying to get a look at his face, "Vin...?" She called out, biting the inside of her cheek, "Vince, talk to me...?"
He lifted up his head and for a second Wendy had thought he'd be crying. It was well in character for him, Vince didn't play macho with her, tearing up over the dumbest stuff. Instead, his face was stone cold and that caused Wendy's stomach to clench, a wave of nausea washing over her. This was bad.
"I...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" told him? Something that they should've talked about already? Hell, something that he should've guessed by now?
"For how long you've known?" Vince asked, firmly, "have you always known?"
Her mouth felt dry and Wendy nervously licked her lips, eyes searching his face. Had she ever been on the receiving end of Vin's anger? Ever? Annoyance, yes, but never anger.
"...Yes," she nodded, then squeezed his knee a little tighter, "Vince, I'm sorry-"
"No," he shook his head, clenching his fists several times and squeezing his eyes shut. Wendy lurched forward, cupping his face, but Vin immediately grabbed her wrists, keeping her from coming any closer, "no, you don't have to apologize."
Bad, bad, bad, this was really fucking bad.
Wendy's eyes prickled with tears, "I thought- I just thought you'd-"
His shoulders dropped, eyes meeting hers, wrinkling at the corners as Vince forced up a smile and squeezed her wrists in his hands, "honey," he shook her softly, "breathe."
Was she overreacting? Wendy's mind was whirling, she wasn't sure if she had just royally fucked it all up or not. Vince, normally so easy to read, an open book, was carefully put together and she couldn't tell if he was angry or annoyed, or worse, disappointed, or â unlikely â if he was amused by her panic because they were on the same page.
They were not on the same page, all she had to do was glance at him to know he wanted kids, she had known it from day 2 into their relationship and carefully ignored it, every time she had seen him with Livia and her heart squeezed, every time she had been at Doveport and seen him surrounded by children, she had known.
"Wendy," Vince shook her a little harder, releasing one of her hands in order to grab her chin and force their eyes to meet, "breathe, you're hyperventilating."
She let out a shuddery breath, whole body shaking and gulped down the knot in her throat, "I'm sorry-"
"Oh, baby," he never called her that and Wendy grimaced at the pet name, curling away and Vince rolled his eyes and pulled her into a hug, pressed a kiss to her temple, "you don't have to apologize, it's alright, it's alright," he said, voice warm against her temple, a hand open flat on her back, "you're alright."
It still didn't feel like Vince. Wrong pet name and far too many reassurances, empty ones because she knew-
"Do you- Are we," Wendy interrupted herself, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, organizing her thoughts, "we're not on the same page, are we?"
Vince pulled back just enough to offer her a tight lipped smile, shaking his head, "no, we're not," he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, "but we're gonna be late."
She was going to be sick.
Wendy squeezed his shirt, tightly, "Vince, are you-" mad at me? Breaking up with me?
"I love you," he answered, instead, planting a kiss to her brow, "and we'll talk about this after the wedding."
What for? She wasn't going to change her mind and neither was he, better rip the Band-Aid now. They were not Jonah and Leo, Wendy wasn't going to magically change her mind.
"And if I don't change my mind?" She asked, as Vince ushered her up, let go of her arms and started to grab their bags, moving around as if being late to the rehearsal dinner was of any importance.
"I'm not asking you to change your mind, Wen," Vince grimaced, leaning on the doorway of their bedroom, suddenly seeming too big, like he didn't quite fit in there, "I'm saying we'll talk about it after the wedding-"
"If you're gonna break up with me, do it now," her lips were numb and Wendy knew she was being childish, selfish even, "just do it, another day won't make a difference, will it?"
His eyes flashed with something she could not decode. Eyebrows met once more, the corners of his lips tugged down, and Wendy sucked in a breath.
She fought the urge to close the space between them or to cross her arms in a defensive manner, curl up into herself. Wendy counted one-mississippi-two-mississippi-three-mississippi-four-mississippi-
"You've known for two years, I've known for ten minutes," Vince's voice was carefully devoid of any emotion, not angry or annoyed, not loving or soft either. He was laying out a fact, "I'm asking you, we talk after the wedding. I've earned some time to think, don't you agree?"
Wendy nodded, stunned into silence. He mimicked her, nodding as if they had just decided something, then grabbed the bags once more and turned around, "c'mon, we're gonna be late."
Only a day late; maybe tomorrow I'll write someone getting drunk for Cinco de Mayo. And yes, I did watch the OG trilogy yesterday to help me with some of the details.
Star Wars Day
âHappy Star Wars Day love.â Jeremiah, ever the earlier riser, set the large tray he was carrying on the bed and then leaned over to give his boyfriend a quick peck on the lips. Â
Drew stretched and yawned, careful not to knock over the tray as he slipped out from under the covers. âLet me brush my teeth so I can give you a proper good morning kiss.â He grabbed a t-shirt out of the dresser and pulled it over his head. âWeâre staying in pajamas all day while we watch, right?âÂ
âOf course.â Jeremiah followed Drew into the ensuite; after three years together they were both completely comfortable performing most bathroom activities in front of each other. After Drew finished peeing and brushing his teeth Jeremiah wrapped his arms around him from behind and rested his chin on his shoulder. âSo, are you Han or Leia?âÂ
Drew chuckled. âWhat do you think?â He leaned in, and for several long minutes, breakfast and Star Wars and pajamas were forgotten.
It was the gurgling of Jeremiahâs stomach that finally interrupted their activities. Drew chuckled and rested his hand on his boyfriendâs bare hip. âBreakfast in bed time?âÂ
Jeremiah was still catching his breath, but finally he nodded. âMaybe Iâll drip syrup on you for round two,â he teased. Â
âNot if you get it on the brand new bedding youâre not,â Drew grinned. âWe can eat in bed, but any other food-related activities are going to happen out on the sofa.â
âSo bossy,â Jeremiah sighed, leaning over to pick up his pajama bottoms. Â
Heâd made a feast, and all of it Star Wars themed. In addition to enormous round cinnamon buns that looked like Princess Leiaâs hairdo, there were âlight saber sausagesâ and âBoba Fett bacon,â âBananakin smoothiesâ - served in Solo Cups, of course, âObi-Wan omelets,â a huge pile of fried âPoe-tatoes,â and âWookie Waffles,â with the aforementioned syrup. Â
Drew whistled at the spread. âThis looks amazing, babe.â
âOh, I almost forgot the coffee!â Jeremiah gave Drew a push on the chest. âI need to make our Luke and Leia lattes; feel free to get started on the food.â Â
Drew groaned. âI think youâre âForce-ingâ the jokes here,â
Jeremiah stuck out his tongue and left the room.
Drew climbed back up onto the bed, happily snuggling against the pillows. Heâd had a long week at work and was still feeling kind of exhausted. It was a rare and lucky thing that he and Jeremiah had a Saturday off together and the thought of spending most of it in bed watching movies sounded heavenly.Â
He looked at the array of food Jeremiah had made and started munching on one of the waffles, dipping it in a little bowl of syrup and searching on the television for Attack of the Clones. Theyâd easily decided to skip Phantom Menace and planned to make it through Return of the Jedi by the end of the day, and then watch the final three tomorrow before Drew had to be back at the hospital at 6pm to start a 16 hour shift. Â
âCan you fix your breaks to have breakfast with me Monday morning before I start my rounds? Like 7:30?â Jeremiah leaned forward to take the very last sausage link and pop it into his mouth. âYou finish at 10, right?â
Drew gave an amused huff. âHow can you think about your next breakfast? Iâm going to be digesting this one for a week.â He pressed on his chest and worked up a belch. Â
âNah, youâll be ready for pizza in a couple of hours.â Jeremiah kicked his knee. âYouâve been wanting to try that new place, right? Ala Sicilia?â Â
âSeriously, how can you already be thinking about lunch when Iâm about to fall into a food coma?â Drew got off the bed and grabbed the tray. âIâll take this to the kitchen; maybe walking around will help me start to digest.â He burped again and made a face when his chest ached. âI think you gave me heartburn.â
âTo be fair, you gave yourself heartburn.â Jeremiah opened the bedside table and tossed him a bottle of Tums. âStop whining and go put the tray down so we can get started with Sith, please.â
âItâs a good thing youâre so cute, because youâre being kind of annoying.â Drew whirled around and carried the tray out of the room without waiting for a reply, but not before Jeremiah managed to hit the back of his legs with a throw pillow. Muttering something that sounded like so annoying under his breath, he kept walking.
When he returned a couple of minutes later, it was with a couple of bottles of Sprite. âWe donât have any sparkling water and I need to burp some more,â he explained. âThought maybe you did too.â Â
âIâm fine, but thanks,â said Jeremiah. âWant me to rub your stomach while we watch? I need you to be in shape for pizza later.â Â
âIâll never say no to a belly rub,â laughed Drew. He pulled off his shirt and lay back dramatically on the bed. Jeremiah eyed him critically. Â
âYou werenât joking about being bloated.â He gave an experimental poke right below his boyfriendâs navel. Â
âOw!â Drew batted his hand away. âThat doesnât feel like a rub, Jer." He shifted on the bed and pouted when Jeremiah didnât immediately put his hand back. âPlease? My belly needs relief.â
âLet the doctor work,â Jeremiah bossed. He nudged the Sprite. âDrink up.âÂ
Drew swallowed a couple of gulps of soda and then leaned back into the pillows. Jeremiah turned on the next movie and began moving his hand much more gently across his stomach, but it didnât help. âHarder,â he said through a soft moan. He touched a couple of fingers to his neck. âItâs right there, the air I need to burp up.â Â
Jeremiah palmed the side of Drewâs stomach with one hand and pressed his thumb against the middle with the other. Drew concentrated for a minute and leaned forward from the pillows, finally working up a rumbling burp. Â
âOhh, thatâs good; do that again,â he said, blowing the air off to the side. Jeremiah helped him work up a second burp and Drew gave a contented sigh. Â
âKeep doing that and I may forgive you for putting me in his position in the first place.â He placed his hand over Jeremiahâs and moved it across his stomach.
âMaybe I like you in this position,â said Jeremiah cheekily. He pushed Drew back into the pillows. âNow shut up and let me work.â
By the end of Revenge of the Sith, Drew wasnât feeling as bloated but he still wasnât hungry. Still, when Jeremiah again brought up pizza at the start of A New Hope, he agreed, figuring that by the end of the movie heâd likely be ready to eat at least a few pieces. He got up to pee while Jeremiah called in the order about halfway through the movie, and when he returned from the bathroom, snuggled against his boyfriend again.
âWhy does lying around all day watching movies make you so tired?â he complained. His body felt oddly heavy and sluggish, which he blamed both on the rest of his undigested breakfast and lack of movement for so long. Â
âWant to take a walk to pick up the pizza with me before we start Empire? Maybe it will get rid of some of your lethargy.â Jeremiah leaned in close to his ear. âBut you probably have to put on a shirt first.â
Drew turned his head and gave Jeremiah a kiss. âFine, but Iâm keeping on the pajama pants.â
Ala Sicliia was four blocks from their apartment on a cute commercial street that also housed their favorite coffee shop, a salad and sandwich place, and an ice cream parlor. As they walked by the last, Jeremiah slowed down. âOooh, they have Star Wars flavors today - we should get a pint each of Light Side and Dark Side and have a taste test.â Jeremiah was bouncing up and down with excitement and Drew tried to muster up enthusiasm to match.Â
âSure,â he said, swallowing down the need to burp since there were so many people around. He suspected it would be a deep one.  âSounds good.â Heâd been able to hide the burp but the churning in his stomach was starting to make gurgling sounds and he hoped no one walking by could hear them. It was weird to still feel so bloated, and Drew wondered whether something or other heâd eaten just wasnât sitting well. Heâd take some Pepto at home and that should sort things out.
The restaurant was noisy and crowded with all kinds of people who apparently didnât care that much about watching the entire Star Wars franchise. It also smelled strongly of garlic and marinara sauce, both of which Drew usually loved. Today it just felt cloying, like he was breathing in olive oil that was traveling right down into his stomach and making it feel even heavier and more full and sloshy. He tried not to shuffle impatiently while Jeremiah paid, suddenly really needing to get away from it all.  It was a relief to get back outside. Â
âI cannot wait to try this; did you see all their toppings? Next time I want to try the white truffle pizza, and the one with hot honey and fried chicken.â  Jeremiah leaned in and gave the box he was holding an appreciative sniff.  âBut you canât go wrong with the classic pepperoni.â He bumped his hip against Drewâs. âHow many pieces do you want?â
Drew managed a tight smile. âWould you believe Iâm still kind of full from breakfast?â
âNope,â said Jeremiah cheerfully. He clearly thought Drew was joking. âOh damn, look at the line at the Creamery. I donât want the pizza to get cold, so maybe we skip the ice cream?â Â
âGood . . . urrrp . . . good idea,â Drew said. This time he couldnât hold back his burp, and it was as deep and wet as heâd expected. But he felt a little less full afterwards and he sighed with relief. Jeremiah snorted.
âNow you have room for an extra slice,â he teased.Â
But back at home Drew could only manage a single slice before he was full again. âSorry,â he said sheepishly, rubbing his stomach. âMaybe Iâll be ready to have some cold leftovers tomorrow?â He got up and got the Pepto from the cabinet where they kept their meds and slugged some down, trying to imagine that it was coating his stomach and soothing his discomfort and not just making him feel even more full.
âOkay, but next time Iâm not letting you eat anything before dinner because youâre really missing out.â Jeremiah leaned forward and closed the pizza box. They were on the sofa in the living room now, watching the opening lines to Empire scroll up the screen. Â
The opening scenes on Hoth were noisy enough that Drew didnât think Jeremiah could hear his stomach whining, but after a couple of minutes he had to force out a cough, trying to clear the heavy feeling in his throat. He trailed his fingers up Jeremiahâs leg. He didnât really want to say anything, but as a nurse, he couldnât ignore the ache in his stomach anymore. âYouâre feeling okay?â he asked, trying to keep his voice casual. He burped into his fist again. Â
Jeremiah turned on the sofa to look him in the eye. âFine,â he nodded. His forehead creased. âYouâre not.â It was not a question.
Drew shrugged. âIâm not sure; I just still feel really full, more than I should, given how long ago we had breakfast, and just the one piece of pizza.â He leaned forward over his lap for a second and then straightened up. âAnd I canât stop needing to burp.â As if to prove his point he belched into his chest. âThey help for a minute and then the feeling comes back.â Â
âSo apparently I did give you indigestion.â Jeremiah grimaced. âAlthough Iâm still putting this on you for eating so much.â Â
âFine,â said Drew heavily. âBut I need another belly rub then. At least until Luke and Vader start fighting.â He pulled his t-shirt back over his head. âIâm not apologizing every time I burp.â He settled his back against Jeremiahâs front and snuggled against him.Â
Jeremiah chuckled. âI wouldnât dream of asking you to.â He wrapped his arms around Drewâs waist and rested his hands back on his stomach.
This time it didnât feel as good, though, even when he burped. There was a swirling discomfort growing in his gut that was making him start to feel vaguely queasy, and around the time Luke was leaving Yoda to go save his friends he had to push Jeremiahâs hands away. Â
âI think . . . ulpp . . . I think thatâs enough,â he stuttered past a gag and sat up, leaning over his lap and bracing his arms across his knees. His stomach lurched with a hiccup and he couldnât hold back a groan of discomfort. âFuck.â Â
Jeremiah rested his hand on his bare back. At first Drew assumed he was only giving comfort but after a second it started moving up unevenly, as if he was lifting his hand and then placing it somewhere else instead of rubbing in a smooth motion. As if he was checking the temperature of Drewâs skin.
âLove?â he asked softly. The hand cupped Drewâs cheek and then his forehead. âI think this might be more than something not sitting well.â His lips replaced the hand on his forehead. âYou have a temperature.â Â
Drew groaned. âIâm getting the chills but I hoped I was imagining things.â He squinted at his boyfriend. âHow high?
Jeremiah chuckled and put his hand back on Drewâs forehead. âYouâre a lot more accurate with your hand than I am but Iâd say a bit above 100 right now.â Drewâs stomach chose that moment to give a thick gurgle and he made a soft noise of discomfort. Jeremiah lay his hand across the organ. âAnd this is definitely unsettled.â
Drew blew out a breath and lay back against the sofa cushions. âI think I passed unsettled around the time we ate the . . . the pizza,â he said thickly, fighting the urge to gag. He threw one arm over his eyes, not wanting to say the rest out loud but trusting his boyfriend would. He heard the man sigh and then felt a feather light touch on his side. Â
âNausea?â The word hovered between them, as if waiting to see what came next and finally Drew gave a tight nod.
âYeah,â he admitted. He rubbed his hand over his mouth as if that could hide his harsh swallow - a useless attempt to try to push away the lump in his throat. As if saying the words gave his body permission, a stronger wave of discomfort washed over him and he mumbled the rest. âAnd not the kind that can be fixed with pepto or belly rubs.â  He sighed and opened his eyes, finding Jeremiahâs. âWe had two nurses out in the ICU this week with gastritis this week.â
The other manâs lips tightened in sympathy but not surprise. âCouple of doctors are down too.â He touched Drewâs cheek. âHow bad is it? Do we need to move this party to the bathroom? We could bring my laptop.âÂ
Despite the queasiness, Drew managed a weak chuckle. On the screen, Luke was hanging from the bottom of the exhaust chamber in Cloud City, waiting for the Millenium Falcon to rescue him. âIâm definitely going to throw up, but not yet. I think I can make it through Jedi.â He leaned forward and belched, a thick one from the pit of his stomach, and then sat back again. âYeah, I . . . Iâve got time.â He took a deep breath. âBut Iâm going to need to keep burping.â Â
âWhatever you need, love; do you want another Sprite?â Â
Drew quickly shook his head. âNothing . . . nothing else is going in,â he said thickly, belching into his fist. âAnd Iâm sorry. Youâre probably going to get this.â
Jeremiah shrugged. âLike I said, itâs all over the hospital so I was probably doomed no matter what.â He touched Drew on the arm. âWant to snuggle or do you need some space?â Â
âSpace . . .hic . . . space. Sorry.â Drew grabbed the blanket folded over the sofa arm and spread it over his lap. âBeing touched feels like too much right now.â If he was being honest with himself, everything was starting to feel like too much - the chills shivering up his spine from the fever, oddly combined with the prickly heat of nausea that kept erupting across the back of his neck, the way his belly wouldnât stop swirling and how it sent nauseating pressure up into his throat. Like back in the pizza place, the sensory discomfort was everywhere, only this time Drew didnât have a way to get rid of it. He swallowed thickly, trying to form the next words.
âActu . . . actually, could you . . . ugh. Could you get a trashcan or something?â He jolted with a hiccup that has halfway to a heave. âIâm not going to puke,â he said quickly when Jeremiah gave him an alarmed look and jumped off the sofa. âBut I need to spit up some of this saliva cause itâs making me feel gaggy.â
âIs that the technical term for hypersalivation, love?â Jeremiah called from the kitchen. Drew tried to focus on the action of the screen, hoping his boyfriend would hurry. He didnât want to spit on the floor, but the thought of swallowing again made his jaw quiver with nausea. Â
Thankfully, the man returned not a minute later with his arms full of all sorts of things. He put the smaller powder room garbage can, carefully lined with a bag, on the floor at his feet and Drew greatly leaned over. He barely needed to spit; the action was more just one of opening his mouth and letting the ropey saliva heâd been holding there drip into the bin. When he sat up again, it was to find that his boyfriend had set up an entire table of supplies. Despite himself, he chuckled.
âTimes like these I really like dating a doctor,â he croaked, taking in the bottles of Gatorade and water, box of kleenex, and a small bowl that looked like it held a damp washcloth. Jeremiah gave him a gentle smile.Â
âI learned from you, you know. My caretaking skills tend to be more technical.â His mouth quirked. âI apologize in advance if, when you start vomiting, I use the term âemesisâ at any time.âÂ
Drew spit again. ââItâs . . . itâs okay.â His boyfriend was clearly trying to joke but he didnât really have the energy for banter right now. âNauseaâs worse,â he managed. He took a couple of slow, deep breaths, struggling against the need to heave. He leaned back against the sofa again. âHow . . . how much more?â Â
He meant the movie, although it kind of sounded like he was talking about how much sicker he was going to be feeling too. The next burp started rising with nauseating pressure and he leaned over the trashcan just in case. It was mostly dry, and afterwards he leaned forward to grab the water bottle to try to clear the taste of pizza out of his mouth. âGod, this sucks,â he sighed. Â
Jeremiah carefully leaned over and kissed his forehead. âIâm here, sweetheart.â Drew gave him a weak smile.
âGonna . . . ugh . . . gonna be close.â He didnât care if the man understood he was talking about whether he could make it to the end of the movie before throwing up but he didnât have the energy to explain more. He gagged off to the side, not even trying to keep it down, holding up a shaky hand to indicate he didnât need anything when Jeremiah jumped.
Heâd given up on even pretending to watch the movie, so sick to his stomach now that his brain was trying to convince his body that yeah, probably time to move to the bathroom. He felt the next wave of prickly heat crawling across the back of his neck and suddenly his jaw was heavy, falling open with a quiver.
Jeremiah had obviously not been paying attention to the movie either. He touched Drewâs arm.
âLove? You just went white. Dâyou want to . . .â The rest of his sentence, as well as his movement to reach for the garbage can, was cut off by Drewâs next retch. He lurched to his feet.
âYeah,â he managed, pushing his way past the coffee table and stumbling down the hallway. Even though the powder room was closer, Drew wanted to make it back to their ensuite, but for a few seconds he worried heâd miscalculated. His stomach heaved more violently as he entered the bedroom and he had to force down something thick and heavy so it didnât come up all over the floor.
By the time his stomach contents rose a second time heâd made it to his knees in front of the toilet, barely aware that Jeremiah was leaning over him to put up the seat and give him a bigger space to throw up in. Even so, the first retching burp was dry, and he panted heavily for a moment, eyes squeezed shut against the crushing nausea. He retched again.
âThatâs right, get it up.â Jeremiah patted his back, not that it was necessary at this point. Drew heaved up the pizza in a thick, undigested lump, gagging as the smell of garlic and olive oil assaulted his nose. His stomach turned over again, sending up some of his enormous breakfast.
âUhhh,â he groaned between heaves. The vomiting wasnât giving him any relief yet; heâd eaten way too much for him to be able empty his stomach quickly, although at the moment it seemed more intent on purging all the air from the Sprite. The urge to belch rose and he began burping uncontrollably, rocking back and forth on his knees and trying to push something solid out too, but the effort only made him dizzy.
âBreathe, sweetheartâ Jeremiah rapped him sharply between the shoulder blades and it interrupted the spasms in his stomach to allow him to finally take in a breath.  âBetter?â
Drew shook his head. âStill . . . still really nauseous.â He hovered over the bowl, letting saliva drip down until his jaw grew heavy again. âComing now.â He threw up again and groaned. His stomach ached horribly on top of the nausea. Â
Jeremiah wiped his mouth with a piece of tissue and when he stood up to wet a washcloth in the sink, Drew curled up on the floor, too tired to keep holding himself up. Â
âOh sweetheart, Iâm so sorry.â Jeremiah lay the washcloth across his neck. âDo you want a pillow here or bed and a trashcan? Either is fine.â Â
Drewâs stomach turned over again. âHold on,â he rasped, forcing himself upright again. He vomited some more, this time tasting foul and bitter from the depths of his stomach, and then rested his head on his arms, curled over the bowl. âBed now,â he said, spitting again. âI think I got a lot of it up.â Â
Jeremiah had to help him stand; he felt as weak and shaky as a kitten and black spots whirled in front of his eyes as he soon as he was upright.
âCareful, Iâve got you.â Jeremiahâs voice was calm and relaxed, and Drew leaned into that as he let himself be led to bed and back against the pillows and under the covers, all still set up from watching movies that morning. He settled back with a sigh, unsurprised to feel his boyfriend pinch the back of his hand and then make a satisfied sound. Â
âAt least everything you ate and drank earlier seems to be keeping you from getting dehydrated,â he said. âGive me a second to line the trash can with a bag; are you okay for a minute?â
Drew burped into his fist and then nodded. âWill you get a towel too?â he asked. âI donât want to puke on the bedding.â Even though the nausea had receded for the moment, it was still obviously hovering in his stomach and back of his throat; there was no question he was going to need to vomit again soon. Â
Jeremiah chuckled. âYou and the bedding,â he said affectionately. He lowered the lights. âTry to sleep now, love. Maybe by tomorrow youâll be feeling up to rewatching Return of the Jedi.â
Favourite tropes: I love writing people with indigestion from eating late or too fast, I like the slow progression of those fics and while writing them. I also loveeee when OCs need to burp but can't, or when they do, it brings them no relief. I just love the idea of someone with trapped gas. đ when the motivation comes back, I'll get to explore some more favourites!
Not so much: I don't think I've written enough to specifically dislike a certain trope, but from my experience, i would definitely say appendicitis fics are harder than I thought, lol. Also, I have some angsty fics coming up, and I personally find them so difficult to write. I've also made that hard for myself with giving my OCs so much trauma to deal with. (oops) đ¤ˇđžââď¸đ
The bell over the bakery door chimed, its cheerful ring grating against Lunaâs fraying nerves. She glanced up with a practiced smileâtight, brittle, and entirely hollow. Normally, the scent of fresh pastries and warm bread would wrap around her like a hug, but today, it only seemed to twist the knife deeper. Her stomach was a hot, bubbling mess of gas and nausea, gurgling in protest as she shifted her weight behind the counter. She wished she hadnât forced herself to eat lunch.
She pressed a hand to her midsection, trying not to wince. It felt like her gut was full of something angryâevery few minutes, pressure would build behind her breastbone, begging for release, only for the burp to get stuck halfway, lodged painfully in her throat like a hot stone. Her jeans, usually snug in a flattering way, now felt like a vice. The waistband cut into her bloated belly, making her squirm. With a quiet breath through her nose, she reached under her apron and unfastened the top button, her belly expanding with a soft, muffled whine of relief.
âLoon, are you okay?â Maria, one of her coworkers, asked, coming around the corner with a tray of croissants. Her tone was light, but there was a furrow between her brows.
âIâm fine,â Luna murmured, forcing another smile. Her voice came out tight and too high. âJust a little⌠stomach thing.â
Her belly answered for her with a long, wet gurgle that made her cheeks burn. She gave a sheepish shrug and turned back to the register.
Time dragged in agonizing inches. Every customer interaction was a performance she had to drag herself through. Her stomach churned and sloshed with every movement, bubbling like a cauldron. The nausea clung to her in wavesâfirst creeping, then crashing. She ducked into the back several times, clutching her gut and leaning over the sink, eyes watering as she hiccupped and gagged, but nothing ever came up. Just dry, pitiful sounds and the growing heat of frustration in her chest.
Around midafternoon, she tried sipping ginger ale, but the fizz only made things worse. It stirred something deep inside her belly, and she let out a loud, gurgly burp that slipped out before she could stop it. âUgh- excuse me,â she whispered to no one, her face flaming red. She pressed a hand to her lips and belched again, wet and sharp. Her eyes watered. âGodâŚâ
By the time she read Danielâs text: âHey baby, howâs your day? Canât wait to see you tonight. Love you.â She was barely holding it together. Her hands trembled as she typed back:
âRough. Stomachâs a mess. Canât wait to be home. Love you.â
Closing time couldnât come fast enough. She moved like a ghost, going through the motions of locking up and wiping down the counters, her arms heavy and her gut groaning like it wanted out of her. She doubled over with another hiccup, sharp and sudden, and let out a low, breathy moan as she pressed both hands to her stomach. Another sticky burp forced its way up, louder this time, echoing off the bakery walls.
She barely made it to her car. The drive was a nightmare. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of nausea straight up her spine. She burped uncontrollably the whole ride, thick, painful ones that stung the back of her throat and left her gagging. She pulled over once to lean out the door, dry heaving until her arms trembled from the effort. Her belly kept gurgling like it was speaking its own languageâlong, squelchy growls that turned her skin cold.
When she finally pulled into the driveway, she sat behind the wheel for a long minute, forehead resting against it, breathing shallowly. She hiccupped again, then let out a guttural burp that left her teary-eyed and panting.
Daniel was already at the door, his silhouette blurred through her watery vision. He opened it before she could even reach for her keys.
âBaby, Jesusâyou look wrecked,â he whispered, catching her before she could stumble.
She collapsed into his arms like sheâd been waiting for them all day. âI feel like hell,â she mumbled, her voice cracking. âEverything hurts. I just want to feel betterâ
He guided her inside without hesitation, helping her out of her jacket and onto the couch. She groaned as she sank into the cushions, unzipping her jeans all the way and letting her bloated belly rise, tight and round beneath her soft tee. Her stomach let out a wild growl, bubbly and miserable.
Daniel returned with a steaming cup of ginger tea and a water bottle. âHere, baby. Tiny sips, okay?â
She nodded, taking the tea with both hands. It smelled like heaven, but the heat of it made her gag, and she shoved it aside. Her belly gurgled so loud it startled them both. Then came another hiccupâviolent and high-pitchedâfollowed by a sick, spluttering burp that left her slumped forward.
âDaniel-â she groaned, her voice hoarse. âI think Iâm gonna be sick.
âOkay, okay. Come on, babe.â He helped her up, and she half-stumbled toward the bathroom, both hands wrapped around her middle.
She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet just in time to retch. At first, nothing but painful heaves came, but the moment she tried to inhale, a monstrous burp ripped from her throat, wet and ragged, followed immediately by a violent flood of vomit. It hit the bowl with a harsh splash, the force making her cry out between heaves. She was usually a âget it over and done withâ type of person, but today she just felt to vulnerable and miserable.
Daniel knelt beside her, one hand holding her hair back, the other rubbing firm circles into her back. âIâve got you, baby. Just let it out.â
Luna sobbed into the toilet between rounds of retching. Her belly gurgled again, long and high-pitched, just before another wave surged up. She moaned, miserable, spewing more vomit into the bowl. The sour taste burned her nose and throat, tears streaming down her cheeks as she panted between heaves.
After what felt like forever, the spasms finally slowed. She slumped forward, forehead resting on her arm, weak and shaking.
âI hate this,â she whispered brokenly. âIt hurts, babe.â
âI know. I know, baby,â Daniel murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. âYou did amazing. Letâs clean you up.â
He helped her wash out her mouth, guided her gently back to the couch, and wrapped her in one of their coziest blankets. Her belly still whined occasionally, soft gurgles and watery whimpers making her flinch. Every now and then, a small hiccup would sneak up, followed by a low, rattly burp that made her grimace.
Daniel stayed with her the whole time, one arm wrapped around her shoulders, whispering soft things like, âYouâre okay, Iâve got you,â and, âJust breathe, baby.â
The night stretched onâlong, slow, and quiet. She didnât eat. She barely drank. But she laid there, tucked under his arm, breathing in sync with him while her gut slowly settled into something less monstrous.
Eventually, she drifted off against his chest, his hand still rubbing slow circles across her back. And though her stomach still gurgled beneath the blanket, and her throat still burned, she knew sheâd be fine and feel better soon, because he wasnât going anywhere.
âââââââ
The room was dim now, lit only by the soft glow of a salt lamp in the corner. Outside, the city murmured faintly, the cars in the distance, the occasional voice drifting up through the apartment windows. But in their little living room, time had slowed. Luna lay half-curled under the blanket, her head resting on Danielâs thigh, eyes glassy and half-lidded, body still trembling faintly from the earlier upheaval.
Her stomach gave a sudden glorp, wet and embarrassedly loud, and she winced. âGod,â she muttered, her voice a scrape. âStill making noises like Iâm brewing a potion in there.
Daniel smoothed his hand through her hair. âA really angry one,â he said softly, a small smile playing at his lips. âBabe, you sure you donât want to try lying on your side? Might help settle it.â
She didnât answer right away, just hiccupped again, her body flinching from the sudden jolt. A burp followed, thick and involuntary, rattling from deep in her chest. She let it out with a tired moan, pressing her face harder into his thigh.
âI feel like a broken soda can,â she croaked.
âYouâre a beautiful, miserable soda can,â he murmured, brushing his thumb over her temple.
Luna smiled gently, âYou sound stupid and youâre not helpingâ She shifted uncomfortably and groaned as her stomach churned with the movement.
Daniel snorted and kissed her head, moving so he was laying flat to make Luna more comfortable.
Another hour passed like that, slow and syrupy. Luna tried to doze off again, but every time her stomach gave a particularly loud glunk or she felt another burp building, her body jerked awake. She sat up once, abruptly, hand flying to her mouth.
Daniel was there instantly, crouched in front of her. âBaby-?â
She gagged, a hiccup shaking her whole frame. Then she lurched off the couch and ran back toward the bathroom. He was right behind her.
This time, the vomiting came fast. Violent, like her body was punishing her for even trying to rest. The sounds were wet splashes and low, echoing moans as she emptied what little was left inside her. Her belly sounded like it was collapsing in on itself, whining and sloshing. She clung to the porcelain rim like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
Daniel knelt behind her, arms around her waist, forehead against her shoulder blade. âItâs okay, Iâve got you, baby. Let it out. Iâm right here.â
She sobbed through another wave, her throat raw, her face pale and clammy. Her stomach clenched so hard it made her toes curl. When it was finally over, she didnât even try to get up. She just sagged into his arms, breath shaking.
âFuck,â she whispered, voice cracking again. âFuck, I feel like Iâm dying.â
âYouâre not,â Daniel said softly, kissing the back of her head. âYouâll be fine. Iâm right here.â
He helped her clean up again, this time lifting her off the bathroom floor like she weighed nothing and carrying her back to the couch. He brought a cool cloth for her face, tucked the blanket tighter around her, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
âJust rest now,â he said. âNo more moving unless itâs to get you some ginger candy or a time machine.â
She gave a weak laugh that turned into a burp, then a hiccup. âGod- still? Why is my stomach talking?â
âItâs processing trauma,â he said gently. âLike the rest of you.â
Luna closed her eyes, too tired to even roll them. Her belly let out another long, sulky gurgle beneath the blanket.
Hours passed. The night deepened. Daniel stayed with her, reading his book he grabbed off the shelf, massaging her lower back when the cramps returned, rubbing slow circles into her scalp when she hiccupped or whined. At some point she whispered, âIâm sorry,â into his chest.
He blinked. âWhat on earth for?â
âFor being gross. For ruining tonight. For- ugh.â Another burp pushed up, one that ended in a sharp little gag. She buried her face in his shirt. âThat.â
Daniel leaned down and kissed the top of her head. âBaby, thereâs nothing gross about someone I love feeling this awful. Youâre not normally this embarrassed, what happened to my care free girlfriend?â
That made her cry again. But this time, it wasnât from pain.
The gurgles of her belly began to slow to a tired simmer, and she finally drifted off into a deep sleep.
could ezme have confused her appendicitis for period pain like a lot of women do? does she get bad period pain?
Hi anon, I think maybe she couldâve, but honestly sheâs just very stubborn and doesnât want to be a burden to anyone. And no, sheâs doesnât usually get bad period pain even though if that was the case, she wouldâve still forced herself to push through. I think sheâs learnt that doing this hurts the people around her so, sheâll definitely change in the future.
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