oh, lover boy !

master list.

[nonbinaryjudean]

OCD things that you don't hear about:

episodes of paranoia, delusions, and dissociation

cyclical thoughts/spirals

magical thinking

episodes that can be very similar to psychosis or mania

attributing human emotions to inanimate objects

dermatillomania and trichotillomania

false sensations (like bugs crawling on skin)

paying way too much attention to very small things

physical health issues caused by compulsions

symptoms that are "problematic" (doing things that are considered "wasteful", needing reassurance or validation from others...)

extreme, deep, dreadful fear of things that can't truly be explained

disconnect between emotional and cognitive/logical responses or thoughts

contamination fears

problems with addiction and dopamine regulation

other people trying to force exposure therapy onto you without your consent and it making your anxiety way worse

list making

[bloodlustr]

DUDEEEEE i am SO OBSESSED WITH UR WRITING im trying so hard not to spam like 💔💔

i had a pretty epic idea, charlie accidentally eating a box of aphrodisiac chocolates that schlatt was saving/ maybe gave him for a prank??? and anyway charlie freaks out and you genuinely want to help him calm down but it’s taking everything in him to not push u against the nearest wall.. which he does

this thought has been plaguing my mind for centuries 🫩

THIS WILL BE GETTING THE COMMUNITY WET

IT IS OKAY TO SPAM LIKE (a follow would be nice while you’re there. (◍•ᴗ•◍))🙏🙏

-`✮´- lower case implied

“hey, hey charlie. c’mere,” schlatt ushers to him. charlie looks over at schlatt, who’s currently streaming. he was just passionately talking to you about pokemon, hands waving, his movements all exaggerated.

schlatt had a good mouthful of something, he calls over again, “yeah, come over here. leave er’ alone for a sec.” whatever he had in his mouth was close to spilling out so he cupped a hand under his chin.

charlie gets closer, chat blowing up at his presence. “hey charlie, try this.” he gives charlie a good handful of heart shaped chocolates. he looks at them, inspecting their shape and wondering where they came from.

“what are these?” he laughs, looking for the container they might’ve came in. “what are these, what the hell? and why do you have like twenty in your mouth?”

schlatt laughs, trying to close his mouth around the chocolates. to save me some time, im just going to make it like he’s talking normally. he responds to charlie, “fuckin’ just put em’ all in your mouth. c’mon.”

charlie laughs, “what the fuck. what is this chat?” he asks, holding one of the chocolates up to the camera.

“no—, nothing. it’s nothing!” he has charlie sit down. “just do it, pussy. i did it!”

charlie hesitates a moment. he bites his lip, he looks over to you and sees you laughing, knowing you’re getting a kick out of this. he takes a handful of them into his mouth and it quickly becomes a race to see who can finish them the fastest.

nobody but schlatt and the chat had any idea that the chocolates that charlie had were aphrodisiacs. meanwhile schlatt just had lindts. charlie gagged at the last few, didn’t spit them out but went and drank a reaaaaall big glass of water.

“hey, go check up on him.” schlatt, coughs, spitting some chocolate out into the bin under his desk. you get up and reluctantly follow. you check up on him. you padded into the kitchen softly and spoke, “you okay?” holding back a giggle.

“yeah, yeah. i’m fine. i won.” he flashes a pretty smile.

thirty minutes later, you and charlie were sitting on the couch watching some stupid fucking movie that ted gave you on dvd. he keeps shifting his hips and moving, it was driving you crazy because no matter how he would sit, ten seconds later he would get all antsy.

“charlie quit moving.” you huff, sitting a bit away. he flashes a sheepish smile.

“ugh, i just can’t get comfortable on this couch.” he lied through his teeth. the couch was quite soft and comfortable. but paired with a dull, throbbing ache between your thighs, it started to get annoying.

you sat up and went to go grab something, charlie followed, unbeknownst to you. he grabs your hips, his fingers dig into your plushy hips. (fucking HANDLES) his thick arms then wrap around your waist entirely. “fuck, m’ sorry. i’m sorry, baby.”

“ah- charlie, what? baby? what’s gotten into— oh.” you seen a box with sensual looking packaging. it says fucking ‘SEX chocolates’.

charlie presses firm, desperate kisses to the curve of your neck, alternating between licking and nipping the skin there. he breathes you in deeply. he murmurs apologies, he slowly gets you to walk towards the nearest wall.

“u-up. up, please. put your legs around my waist, mkay? i’ll hold you, pretty.” he whines almost, his hands go to your ass, fingers splaying out. he holds you as promised. and then presses your back to the wall behind you.

he needs to relieve himself desperately, so you let it happen. he humps into your core desperately.

“mgh, tell me it’s okay. tell me i can..” he huffs, hands desperately groping handfuls of you. anywhere he can reach.

“please...please just- do what you want with me.” you respond breathlessly, the firm rubbing of his tented jeans against your sensitive core through your soft thin shorts is heightening your need for him. tenfold.

his breath hitches as he reaches down and tugs the leg of your shorts to one side, reaching in again and pulling your panties aside.

“pretty...sooo fucking pretty.” he gasps at your cunt. he rubs his fingers through your swollen pussy folds and sucks at his fingers afterwards, greedily. he tugs the waistband underneath his balls. it’s throbbing and pink. the veins are very prominent.

the moment he’s inside, he’s fucking your cunt like crazy, desperate gasps and moans escape his lips as he tries to relieve that ache. his cock continuously swells and your cunt feels full and sticky. he pumps his length repeatedly into your insides.

“g-god..m’ stirring your fuckin’ guts...ya hear that?” he moans, drool trickling down one side of his mouth. he presses his face into your neck where your neck meets your shoulder. he takes big deep breaths of you, breathing in your scent.

your cunt gets increasingly sloppier around his cock, all your stirred fluids create a frothy milky ring around his thick base, arousal sticking to his soft patch of hair down there, some on his belly. he hoists you higher up the wall occasionally to keep going.

schlatt literally had to go mute in order to keep himself from getting banned. you both are so loud and fucking like rabbits, jesus fuck, even he’s sick of those erotic sounds. he looks into the camera, giving them all a knowing, sheepish grin.

schlatt eventually has to yell at you guys to move it to the bedroom, without pulling out he pushes you into the bedroom right by the wall and goes at you, pressing your thighs as wide as they can go. “fu-hh..ckk!!! your pussy’s s’good baby. ohh you’re so fucking wet!!” he grunts, kissing your collarbone messily.

you can’t even muster a reply, just taking it, your body being pushed up the bed, the headboard banging against the wall from the sheer force of his thrusts. his fingers dig into your hips so firmly that they bruise and leave small crescents from his fingernails.

there’s a puddle of fluids beneath you, you claw at the sheets, he’s insatiable under the influence of the aphrodisiac. he goes at you for quite a while and cums. a warm thick load shooting deep inside you. thick ropes of semen.

he pants and grunts as he releases all he has into you, the warmth and the full sensation causes you to orgasm as well. from holding back his release for so long, it got all hot and thick. you’re not complaining though.

your thighs tremble as you deal with the aftershocks of the intense sex. he pets you, his hands running along your body and your hair and his fingers rubbing your cheeks sweetly. “sorry, baby. sorry, my baby. i went too hard.” he murmurs, kissing the bruises repeatedly.

“you’re— hah...fuck...” you’re breathless and whiney. “do it again.”

LOL HI GUYS SORRY THIS WAS OWED TO YOU YESTERDAY I WAS SO BUSY.

[teddybearcookiesss]

“remember that one clip?”

Ted nivison

you were sat on your bed in yours and Ted’s room, the heated blanket cranked all the way up. it was later at night and Ted was still streaming, so you were scrolling on YouTube, looking for something that caught your interest.

you saw a video titled ‘Ted and Stella moments that make me feral’. you chuckled and clicked on it, curious at the little compilation a fan made. of course, you had all socials. you seen the edits and the fanfics, it was all silly but it did boost your ego.

the video started as a white screen with some wii music, the title covering the screen. the first clip was you and Ted on stream together, just doing a chill late night stream and talking. a dono came on the screen, “you guys are so cute, do you mind me asking what your guys favorite things about each other is?”

“hi! uhh.. no we don’t mind.” you and ted had a silent conversation with your eyes, confirming it was okay. “my favorite thing about stella is that whenever you make her laugh, her whole face scrunches up and she has this huge cheesy smile. it just lights up my day whenever I see it.”

you laughed, “aww.. teddy, that’s actually kinda cute.” he laughed at the nickname, “uhm my favorite thing about Ted is probably that he’s so caring. he does everything in his power to make the people he loves comfortable. he has just always been such a steady presence in my life. i also really like his di-“. And Ted covered your mouth with his large hand, “moving on!”

the next clip was us in the background of schlatt’s stream at the air bnb some friends stayed at for some content. we were sitting on the couch, and I was cuddled up to him, his huge frame always enveloping mine. we had no clue J had just started a stream, so Ted pulled me onto his lap and pressed a sweet kiss to my lips.

J walked back in with his drink and sat down, reading the chat. “can you guys get a fuckin’ room?” J yelled and you jumped, “the fuck?” You asked and Ted just laughed, picking you up bridal style and carrying you out of the room. you giggled the whole way.

the next clip was you guys sat down at the chuckle sandwich table. “can clitoris really get erect?” you pondered Austin’s question. “I mean.. I guess? Kinda?” you said, not really sure. “well.. like, what does it feel like?”

“it’s just a very, VERY sensitive bundle of nerves. i don’t think it gets hard like a dick, but i guess i could understand what they are saying.” You explained to Austin. “it is VERY sensitive, isn’t it, girly?” Ted said, teasing you. You shoved him, laughing lightly. “fuck off, Theodore.”

“is it always this sexual? Or is it just me?” Schlatt laughed at Austin, “it’s you Austin.” We all laughed.

the next clip was you in the passenger seat of Ted’s shitty Tacoma, secretly recording. you were on a road trip together, vlogging the whole thing for your channel.

you wanted some authentic content so you tricked him and pretended to turn off your camera. he had one strong arm on the steering wheel and the other resting on the center console.

Lana Del Rey’s Norman f*****g Rockwell album was quietly playing in the background. you leaned your head on his bicep, he looked down at you with the sweetest smile.

“hey, sweet girl.” he spoke quietly. “hi, teddy.” you smiled softly at your sweet giant of a man. “you look so beautiful. love your hair curly like this.” you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips.

his eyes closed momentarily, he visibly softened under your lips. you pulled away so you didn’t get into an accident, but he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“oohhh, be my once in a lifetimeeeee.” You started singing and he smiled even brighter at you, pressing a kiss to your head that was now laying on his bicep again.

the next clip was you guys at a party a couple years ago, when you were friends who couldn’t figure out their feelings.

a drunk Charlie had a camera in your face, asking your questions. “have you met the love of your life, lils?” he yelled, unnecessarily I might add.

“hell yeah i have! Teddy! that’s my boy, hes the best.” you drunkenly giggled at the thought of the boy you loved. Charlie whooped and ran off.

you didn’t know, but he ran to Ted. Ted was laying on the couch, drunk and a little high as well. “Ted Nivison!” Charlie yelled.

“Charlie slime!” Ted yelled back, laughing. “I have a question.” Charlie said, pushing the camera a little closer.

Ted nodded, urging him to go on. “Have you met the love of your life?!”

“she doesn’t know it, but i certainly have. my sweet baby. my darling girl. Stella!” he was obviously so out of his mind, his words slurred and wobbly. but he meant every word and anyone who knew you two, knew that.

the last clip was also at a New Year’s Eve party. jesus, you two party way too much.

it was a short one, only about twenty seconds. but you remember when it first got leaked, you were pissed and your fans went crazy over you two.

he was holding a bottle of pink Whitney in his hand, one of your personal favorites.

“trust me, baby. i got you. i know you love this shit.” he had said to you before wrapping a hand around your throat, tilting your head back.

he tilted the bottle and you felt it burn your throat as it slid down, he didn’t have a napkin so some spilled down your throat and glided down the tan skin of your chest.

he released your throat and set the bottle down, and leaned down to your chest, almost bent over, and started licking up your chest and neck.

you squealed, small, manicured hands grabbing his broad shoulders, “teddy!” he leaned down to your lips and pulled you into a searing kiss.

the clip was cut off with a black screen that said, “the last clip is so fucking insane. i got such a lady boner from that. bless Ted and Stella.”

you laughed and smiled, reminiscing on the life you and Ted had. It was so full of fun, joy, laughter, (drinking) all of it. you had no doubt about the stories you would be able to tell your kids.

you wandered into Ted’s office afterwards, peaking in to see if he was done. Thankfully he was.

he sat at his desk, looking so sexy in his sweater and mustache. you walked over to him, he looked over at the soft sound your feet made on the floor.

he backed away from his desk, inviting you onto his lap. you straddled him, and he kissed you deeply. “you look adorable tonight.” He said between kisses, and you giggled.

“thank you, teddy.” He groaned softly against your lips. “Whats got you all blushy, darlin’?”

“remember that New Year’s Eve party clip?” he leaned his head back and groaned, “dear lord, yes. still can’t believe that got leaked.”

You laughed, “I know. It was pretty sexy though.” He nodded, “true.”

[agressivelyaro]

everyone get more normal about casual sex right now. it's not morally wrong. sexual attraction is not evil. take a deep breath

[somethingeh]

Don’t You Want Me, Baby?

pairing - dennis whitaker x reader

word count - 6.4k

summary - you really do like dennis, even when you don’t show.

a/n - first huckleberry fic 🤭 this one is super cute. denny gets sad but then he feels better. this is not how this medical emergency would be treated btw, but plot. in my head for some reason reader has a bunch of tattoos but it’s not in the story. denny is a smitten kitten. i’m craving greek rlly bad now. enjoy!

—

Trinity was sick.

She was sick of watching Whitaker trail after you like a puppy. Sick of his heart eyes. Sick of hearing him gush.

“Did you see her with that little kid? She’s a natural.”

“She wore a bubble braid today. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

“Have you ever seen Fargo? I haven’t, but she says it's really good, I need to try it.”

“I wish I was as smart as her, did you see how quickly she clocked that liver laceration?”

Not that Trinity couldn’t appreciate an intelligent woman, but it was a liver lac for Christ's sake. There was a time when the boy would shy away from saying things like that, from opening himself up to ridicule. After growing up with three older brothers, he learned quickly what could put a target on your back, and having a crush on a pretty girl was high on the list.

But Trinity just had to push, to dig, to force his obvious feelings out into the open. Once they were, it was like a dam broke.

Because Dennis Whitaker was head over heels in love with you.

From the moment he stepped foot into the pitt, you were on his mind. Almost twelve months ago, as a fresh faced MS4 hiding out in an empty hospital wing, homesick for Nebraska, he had no one. When he caught sight of your face, a bit nervous like his, but with an edge that told him “I know more than you,” he latched.

You were an intern then, like Trinity, and the two of you became fast friends, much to Dennis’ chagrin. Dennis spent his entire disastrous first shift blushing whenever you looked at him, boiling when you started calling him Huckleberry too, and trying not to think too hard about how insanely out of his league you were.

You were strong willed, from the get go. You didn’t waste time stuttering like he did, you didn’t seem to care too much if people liked you, so long as they respected you. But Dennis did both, and he was pretty sure you had no idea.

You teased him, not quite as meanly as Trinity, but there was no way you didn’t notice the way the tip of his ears flamed each time. The way you talked to and about him made him sure you saw him as nothing more than Trinity’s annoying friend. When she sniped, you laughed along, snickering into her shoulder. When he made mistakes, you’d slap him on the back, and tell him he’d “get ’em next time, Huckleberry,” with a little smirk. The first time you’d done that, he’d let out an odd, involuntary little squeak that had Robby cocking his head.

But you had a soft side. And while you and Trinity were much like peas in a pod, you didn’t keep your softness as close to the chest like her. Trinity reserved it only for the quietest moments, the closest of friends. You, on the other hand, were confident enough in your emotional security and standing to provide people with a soft place to land, when you could tell they really needed it. And you were great at reading it.

It was calling Robby away to a quieter place away from everyone when he was about to snap. It was inviting Mel to a girl’s night when she seemed burnt out, and making friendship bracelets to give her something permanent and tangible to commemorate your friendship. It was getting the nurses coffee when patients were disrespectful. It was knocking your knee against Trinity’s and handing her a snack when she was behind on charting, or inviting yourself over after tough shifts when you knew she shouldn’t be alone.

The first time you helped Dennis, he nearly threw up his heart at the gesture.

It was just a week or two after PittFest, your first shift, when Amy’s husband died in the ICU. Everyone knew Whitaker had been holding out hope he would survive. It just didn’t seem right, didn’t seem fair. They had a good, pure, young love, one that didn’t happen to many people. And in an instant, it was gone. And Amy would birth her baby alone.

That night, he’d told Santos to just drive home without him. As he started his trek back to their apartment, breathing in the cool night air, he heard your voice.

“Hey, Huckleberry!” He whipped around. “Wait up!”

For perhaps the first time since meeting you, he didn’t immediately smile at the sight of your face. He gave a weak attempt, one that fell flat, but you didn’t seem bothered. Just fell into step beside him. He eyed you a little, unsure of your motives as you huffed and adjusted your bag.

“What’s up?” he asked.

You shrugged, glancing at him.

“Can’t I just want to walk with you?” you asked, a hint of your usual teasing hidden in a much more sincere voice. “I’m headed this way anyways.”

He didn’t fight you, even if he knew your apartment was in the opposite direction. You walked in silence for a while, letting the air be filled with distant sirens and the scraping of your sneakers against the pavement. Eventually, you broke it.

“Got any plans tonight?” you asked.

He gave an almost chuckle.

“Yeah, me and leftover takeout,” he muttered. “How about you?”

“Well, Trin promised me a ride home this morning,” you said, pretending to sound more annoyed than you were. “We were gonna have a movie night, but I got bumped by you know who.”

He did know who, unfortunately, all too well. He’d heard Garcia’s name screamed through the walls more times than he’d care to remember. He nodded.

“Why not just go home?” he asked. “Call an Uber.”

“Are you kidding? And miss this weather?” you asked, pulling some tangled earbuds out of your bag. “I love fall. October’s probably my favorite month. Didn’t you celebrate Halloween in Amish-land Arkansas?”

His lips actually twitched.

“Broken Bow, Nebraska,” he corrected gently. “And I’m not Amish.”

It was a nice night, he thought, taking it in truly for the first time. The air was crisp, but not biting, and the sky was crystal clear, and spattered with the few stars you could make out from the city. Red, orange, and brown leaves crunched under foot.

“Well, don’t worry,” you said, fiddling with your phone. “We’ll get you to a proper Halloween party this year.”

That made him nervous. He wasn’t a big drinker, a lightweight, Trinity said, and he wasn’t big on crowds, either. Especially in the dark, with free flowing alcohol lowering people’s inhibitions. But perhaps it was the idea of being close to you, in your little homemade “slutty Hannibal Lecter” costume, that made him so nervous. He’d overheard you talking about it with Trinity and Samira, like a creep. He didn’t know it would be “little”, exactly, but if it was anything like your Fantastic Mr. Fox costume from last here, that he’d seen when stalking your instagram, like a creep, he wasn’t far off in his imagination.

Before he could think of something to say, some excuse to lay the foundation for, you were handing him an earbud. He just looked at your hand, then up at your face. You quirked a brow.

“You put it in your ear, and music comes out of it,” you said slowly, hint of a smile on your mouth. “Sure you're not amish?”

He swallowed, and his lips twitched again. He took the earpiece, hesitantly, and was shocked to hear Stevie Wonder. You were watching his expression.

“Don’t be so surprised, you’re not the only one who has taste,” you said. “It’s not like I live under a rock.”

He’d smiled fully then, which seemed to be what you were aiming for. He’d gone to bed that night, still heavier, still sad, but with a nice memory to color his dreams. You had walked with him. You had shared your earbuds. You had been close enough for your elbow to brush his several times on the way home.

He’d always had a crush, but that was the night he realized he was really falling for you.

It took about two seconds for Trinity, and the rest of Allegheny General, to notice it. It took about two months for her to get him to admit it out loud.

He was just glad his brothers weren’t there the night he let everything loose. Ever since he was little, he’d had a tendency to fall at the feet of girls he could never get. Or else, in Trinity’s opinion, girls he could never bring himself to approach. Because although she’d be slow to admit it outloud, her little Huckleberry was a catch, in a lot of ways. He was sweet, genuine, and gentlemanly. Not that she’d ever looked for a boy herself, but from what she heard from her straight girlfriends, those types of men were hard to come by.

When she’d talked to you, tried to gauge interest, you’d said you “wouldn’t be opposed to it.” Which, in your language, meant you wanted to kiss him silly.

Now, almost a year after that night, she was officially at her wits end. She stared at Whitaker where he sat staring at you, head in hand, practically radiating lovesickness.

Pathetic.

You were all technically in the middle of hand off, bright and early. You’d always gotten along well with Jack, and everyone knew you were one of Robby’s favorite residents. You stood between them as they checked patients off the list, preparing day shift. Samira, Mel, McKay, and Langdon all stood clustered around the hub while Abbot’s team gathered their belongings.

Trinity watched in second hand embarrassment as Whitaker’s name was called, once, twice, thrice, before he snapped out of his trance. He straightened up to see all eyes on him, and instantly his pale skin flushed red. No one seemed surprised. On the contrary, they all appeared to have a bit of knowing tease in their expressions as he floundered. All except you, of course.

“What?” he asked stupidly.

Robby pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You’re taking Mr. Gibson, in South 4,” he said tiredly. “And please, do try to listen during hand off. It’s your patient’s life or death.”

Whitaker flushed even darker, eyes flickering to you for only a fraction of a second, before focusing entirely on the tablet that was handed to him.

Robby shot Santos a look, who shrugged helplessly. You just gave Dennis a short smile, and headed off to your own mountain of work.

As everyone dispersed, waving goodbye to Abbot and the night shift, Trinity held Dennis back.

“I’m done,” she hissed, causing his brow to furrow.

“Done?”

“Done taking all your redirected yearning energy!” she said. “No more nights filled with, she looked at me today, oh, she wore a green sweater, can you believe it? She —”

He shushed her furiously, whipping his head around and scanning the area in panic.

“Would you keep it down?”

“Oh please, like everyone doesn’t already know,” she waved away.

“Everyone knows?” Whitaker asked weakly, sounding like a kicked puppy.

“I really don’t have time for this,” sighed Trinity, rubbing her temples. “You are asking her out. Today.”

All the pink drained quickly from Whitaker’s face, leaving him even paler than usual.

“I can’t do that, are you crazy?!”

“Why not?” she asked. “Look, you're not still the bumbling idiot she first met. You're an intern now, you got a haircut, you're doing great!”

He let out a humorless laugh, hand tugging at the haircut she’d convinced him to get by hinting it was your type.

“I’m still a bumbling idiot, around her, at least,” he said defeatedly.

“Yeah, but she likes you,” said Trinity.

Whitaker’s eyes lit up with something like tentative hope.

“Really? She said that?”

“Well, not — not in so many words,” said Trinity, and Whitaker’s face fell again. “But I can tell! You have to trust me.”

“Trust you,” he scoffed. “Like you’ve never steered me wrong.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’ve got to at least know,” she said. “Maybe she’ll say no, but what if she doesn’t? What if you both like each other, and you never say anything, and she moves on with someone else?”

His mouth opened as though to speak, but he just shook his head.

“I’m not exactly good at talking to girls,” he said.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

He glared.

“So then help me, smartass.”

She clapped her hands together excitedly, before Dana barked at them to get to work.

Trinity found little breaks throughout the day to help Whitaker work out a strategy. Did it feel a little like high school? Yeah, but it was kind of sweet, too. One of his nails was nearly bitten off by the end of the day.

His head was swarming with pick up lines, and tips he knew he’d never remember.

Eye contact. Stand up straight. Smile. Be concise, don’t ramble. Cut straight to the point. Practice an understanding rejection face, just in case.

He ran through his “lines” in his mind as he watched you at your locker from behind the door of his own. He felt nauseous. He felt stupid. He knew Trinity would force him to do it, no matter the medical emergency he could fake. He could feel her watching him.

As he made his shaky way out through the ambulance bay, staying a careful ten feet behind you, he ran into Robby, who was of course staying late to finish up some last cases. He didn’t look at Whitaker, stayed focused on his cup of something hot, but spoke.

“You might want to be standing next to her for this,” he said quietly, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You look like a stalker trailing behind her like that.”

Dennis couldn’t bring himself to string together a sentence before Robby was gone. He was caught up in the mortification of realizing his boss knew about his silly school boy crush, and he didn’t realize he was even still moving until he walked straight into you.

The two of you stumbled, and you looked around at him.

“I’m so sorry!” he said urgently, face already burning. “I — I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry. Really.”

You just smiled tiredly at him, swinging your bag back over your shoulder.

“You’re good, Huckleberry,” you said, starting your stroll again and letting him keep next to you.

His eyes never left you, wide and terrified, while his mouth opened and closed like a trout. You sent him a glance out of the corner of your eye.

“Everything okay?”

He pictured Trinity’s angry face, and forced himself to speak.

“Hey,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. You — are you… okay?”

You nodded slowly.

“Pretty okay,” you said. “Got some cramps. Nothing a bubble bath won’t fix.”

“Right,” he said weakly, swiping his sweaty hands on his pants. “Right. So…”

You were reaching the edge of the parking lot, where he knew you’d part ways.

“So,” you repeated.

He cleared his throat again.

“Are you doing — what do you have tomorrow? To do, I mean. Tomorrow.”

Smooth.

“Absolutely nothing,” you said blissfully. “I’m off work, so me, in bed, watching reality TV and ordering pizza. What about you?”

His heart was pounding painfully hard and fast in his chest. He was grateful for the dark, covering his flushed face.

“I’m off too,” he said, then he bit his tongue.

“Cool,” you said.

You were at the rusted railing now, that marked the end of hospital property, and did nothing to keep anything in or out. He could feel you preparing to turn right, nod goodnight and disappear, while he continued home to the left.

“Okay,” he said, resolute, stopping in his tracks and turning stoutly towards you.

You stopped too, confused. He swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“I — I was just wondering,” he said faintly. “I mean, I just — would you want to go out with me?”

He surprised even himself with how quickly it slipped out, eyes widening along with yours. There was a second you just stood together.

“Out?” you asked, slowly.

He gripped the strap of his backpack like a lifeline. If he wanted to back pedal, this was the time. Out as a group! Out to the movies, as friends! But he didn’t. He grit his teeth.

“Like,” his voice cracked and he coughed. “Like on a date.”

You still looked surprised. It wasn’t a great sign, he thought, if you couldn’t even comprehend the idea of him asking you on a date. Couldn’t comprehend the idea of him being that type of person for you. His gaze dropped to the ground.

“You’re asking me out?” you said, still moving slowly, like you were trying to process. “Huckleberry?”

Alright, so it was a bust. He tried to keep a brave face, as he plastered on the realest smile he could muster, wanting just to get home where he could nurse his broken heart in peace and solitude.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It was just an idea. I don’t… expect anything, or anything. I just —”

“Tomorrow night?” you interrupted.

He blinked owlishly. He wasn’t sure how to receive the small smile sneaking onto your face.

“Tomorrow night?”

You nodded, a bit of mirth lining your pretty features.

“Because tomorrow night would be best for me,” you said. “Timing wise, I mean. Unless you want to wait a week.”

His jaw fell a bit. He was pretty sure you just said yes. He shifted his weight nervously.

“Yes, yeah, me too,” he said. “That’s — that’s what I was thinking.”

“Great,” you said sweetly, already taking steps backward. “We should try that new Greek place on Hancock. I’ll text you. Okay?”

He could only manage a small, spasming wave as you smiled and turned, earbuds fit in your ears. He watched you walk away, heart still beating like a drum, although the perceived “danger” was retreating. He might have stood there, frozen on the sidewalk, for hours, if Trinity didn’t come rushing up to him.

She barrelled into him, tugging his arm like a little kid. He just swayed, eyes still fixed on the spot you had turned out of sight.

“Well?” asked Trinity, impatiently. “What did she say?”

Dennis had to make a concerted effort to unstick his throat and form words.

“She said yes,” he said, hushed, like he still didn’t believe it.

Trinity let out an uncharacteristic squeal, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“I told you she liked you!” she said, giving him a hearty shake. “Seriously, Huckleberry, you’ve got to have more faith in yourself. But more importantly, you’ve got to have more faith in me.”

She started steering him back into the parking lot to her car. He shuffled alongside her.

“So, where are you going?”

“That new Greek place, uh — Bistro Elysium, I think it’s called.”

“Nice. What are you gonna wear?”

He stopped dead.

“Oh my god. What am I gonna wear?”

***

Whitaker kept Trinity up until 11 pm helping him pick an outfit. And simultaneously, curbing his pits of panic. Unlike him, she was working the next day, so she stayed half awake as he pulled out options. He didn’t have too many clothes, having spent the last few years completely broke, but Trinity knew some good thrifting spots.

Once she snapped, sick of his whining and second guessing, she pulled something from his closet herself, and stalked off to bed, grumbling. He was grateful all the same. A white t-shirt, some dark jeans, and a worn leather jacket. Simple. Easy.

He got into bed and tried to sleep, but his mind was buzzing. Would you like the outfit? What would you wear? He hoped you would wear the knit cardigan with the flower buttons, he loved seeing you in it. You always looked so happy, and so proud to answer “I made it myself!” whenever anyone asked where you’d gotten it. But he knew he’d be floored if you showed up to the restaurant wearing a paper bag.

He hadn’t had much Greek food, but he knew it was one of your favorites. He cursed himself for not getting it more. Then at least you’d have something to talk about should silence persist. He could impress you, ask you your favorites, tell you his in return.

The next day, he woke up to a text from you.

Goodmorning :D wanna meet there @6?

His stomach jolted. The entire history of text threads between the two of you were about plans surrounding Trinity’s birthday, work, or tiktoks. You also liked to send him movie and music recommendations, classifying him as “uncultured” when you found out he didn’t know who Orson Welles was. He’d of course done his research since then, and The Magnificent Ambersons was now one of his all time favorites.

He typed out a message with a thumbs up that seemed too forced, then one with a period that seemed too somber, before he landed on one.

Sounds good! See you then :)

Then he agonized over whether or not the smiley face was too much, though he couldn’t unsend it, because you had already seen it and responded with… a sticker he didn’t understand of a person he didn’t know. He just hearted it happily and went to make himself some breakfast.

As he ate eggs and microwaved hashbrowns, he poured over the restaurant’s menu, trying to memorize all the dishes he was pretty sure he heard you mention before. Trinity graciously agreed to late rent so he’d have the cash to get you whatever you wanted.

Of course he would need to pay for the date. It was the same christian farmboy part of him that added a light blue button up over his t-shirt as he got ready. He knew Trinity would roll her eyes, but he couldn’t help hearing his mother’s stern tone, tearing him a new one for taking a girl out in a shirt without a collar. He already wasn’t picking you up. He had tried to convince you, but you insisted walking was fine, since your apartment was “so close anyways.”

After spending the entire day rehearsing his order in his head, double checking his outfit from every possible angle, texting Trinity throughout his fluctuating anxiety levels, and practicing talking points in front of the mirror, he was shaking as he tied his shoelaces. The drive wasn’t far from the apartment, about ten or fifteen minutes, and he was unsurprised he beat you there.

“How many?” the hostess asked as he stepped inside.

“Two,” he said, suppressing a smile.

He checked his watch as he sat down at a table for two. It was only 5:45, and you’d agreed on 6:00. He’d been determined to get here before you, but now he regretted it. He wished he had brought a book, but would that have been rude? He could have looked at his phone, but he didn’t want to be scrolling when you walked in. He wanted to look engaged and excited. So he fiddled with the menu, pretending to read, though he’d had his order memorized for at least six hours.

He couldn’t help glancing at the door periodically, and by periodically, it was every two minutes. Every time someone came in, or even just walked past the door, he jolted a little, straightening. But he was always left disappointed. Around 6:28, someone with your same haircut passed by the window, and he sighed.

By 6:45, he was getting worried, and he was starting to get pitying looks from the staff. You weren’t often late, but it happened. Maybe your clocks were behind. Maybe you took a nap and slept through the alarm. Maybe there was a plumbing emergency, and you had to wait for the super. But surely, you would have texted.

He checked his phone. There was nothing. He sent off his own text, desperately hoping it came off as casually concerned, and not almost-out-of-my-mind anxious.

Hey, just checking in. Everything okay?

He stared at the little blue bubble for too long. Then the door chimed — he snapped his head up, only to be met with a sweet looking couple. He tried not to get sulky as he watched them sit across from one another, smiling, holding hands, and being happy. Good for them, he thought bitterly, picking at a grain in the wood table.

He sent another text. Then another.

At around 7, someone finally came over, to fill the empty water glass he was rotating. It was lucky the restaurant wasn’t busier, or he was sure they’d ask him to leave. But the nice-looking older woman whose nametag read “Lydia”, looked nothing but sorry for him.

“Waiting for someone, dearie?” she asked, in that too-sweet tone that clearly said poor thing.

He tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“She’s on her way,” he said, not sure if he was trying to convince Lydia or himself. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

He hated the pitying smile she gave him. She patted his hand.

“Sure you don’t want to order anything?”

He started to say no, but hesitated. He checked his watch again: 7:07. You weren’t coming, but he might as well get some good food.

“Actually, can I order some things to go?”

He shot Trinity a quick text.

Still at work?

She responded quickly.

of course

who do u think i am someone with a work life balance?

He ordered a few pita wraps, souvlaki, some vegetarian moussaka, and some baklava. He almost forwent the spanakopita, your favorite according to Trinity, out of spite, but it felt stupid. He was mad, he thought, as he loaded the bags of food into the passenger seat. But more than anything, he was hurt.

Why? He would have understood if you had rejected his advance, but why say yes only to stand him up? The most invasive parts of his mind were convinced it was all a prank from the start. Maybe one of those little games you played. Maybe you were at your apartment right now, laughing at the idea of him sitting alone, stupid enough to actually think you’d go out with him.

The logical part of him knew that that was crazy. You could be a little mean, but you weren’t cruel like that. And even if you didn’t want to date him, he was your friend. You’d probably gotten cold feet. Said yes in the moment to make it less awkward, out of pity, but couldn’t bring yourself to go through with the date nor face him with rejection.

None of the options made him feel any better. The smell of the rich food next to him, though he’d barely eaten, was nauseating rather than enticing. He wanted to take an advil, get in bed, and forget the day ever happened.

As he pulled into the PTMC parking lot, he texted Trinity that he was outside, and to come get the food. He didn’t feel much like interacting with people, who might ask why he got the food, why he was dressed nice, what he was doing out. He wasn’t about to tell them what a loser he was. Trinity, he realized, had probably already told everyone about the date.

He rested his forehead on the steering wheel with a long suffering groan. He needed to go home. Where the hell was Trinity?

He texted her again.

Where are you???

Trin I really need to go home.

Please come outside.

I swear I will leave you here.

But he wouldn’t, and the food would start getting cold soon. So, against better judgement, he grabbed the bags and got out of the car.

He was going to kill Trinity in her sleep, he thought, as he walked through the side entrance and immediately caught the eye of three people he knew. He kept his gaze on the ground, maneuvering the turns on muscle memory until he reached the break room. He dumped the food on the table.

He tried to sneak back out the way he came, but he was spotted the second he stepped through the door.

“Whitaker!” Robby shouted.

He went over to the hub, reluctantly. Robby had his glasses perched on his nose, arms crossed, like a father about to give a lecture. Dennis chewed his thumb nail.

“I brought a bunch of Greek from that new place,” he said, averting his eyes. “It’s in the breakroom for whoever wants it.”

“You said Greek?”

Great, the night shift was here to share in the moment. Shen was rubbing his hands together.

“Break room,” said Robby.

Shen and Ellis turned right around and headed in that direction, throwing weak thanks at Dennis behind their shoulders.

“We appreciate that,” said Robby good naturedly. “Look, I’m sorry —”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” said Whitaker with a stiff smile, face pinkening quickly. He was humiliated enough as it was. “Do you know where Santos is?”

Robby raised a brow.

“South 4.”

Without another word, Dennis marched on, keeping his head down to avoid eye contact.

“You’d better have a good reason for ignoring me,” he said with an edge as he opened the door. “Because I’ve been sitting —”

He ripped the curtain back, but cut himself off when he saw the scene.

Trinity, Mel, and Jack were standing around the bed, and in the bed, was you.

His heart dropped down to his stomach as he took in the monitors and tubes connected to you under a gown. You were on an IV, heart rate elevated, fever, and looking a little green around the gills. You opened your eyes sleepily as he entered, and a weak smile pulled at your lips.

“Denny,” you said, stretching his name out long like you were happy to see him. “You’re here.”

His cheeks flamed instantly, an initial reaction of embarrassment. You’d never called him Denny before. You’d barely called him Dennis. No one called him Denny.

His second feeling, that hit him like a wave, was guilty relief. You hadn’t stood him up, at least, not on purpose. You’d been stuck in a hospital bed, apparently sick as a dog. You hadn’t forgotten him, or ignored him.

What anger he’d built up at you quickly dissolved into worry. He looked to Trinity for an explanation.

“Appendicitis,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “Sorry about date night, Denny. She didn’t text you?”

He just shook his head and took a seat by your bedside. He opened his mouth to say something to you, ask if you were alright, but you booped his nose and sent him melting again.

“You’re cute,” you giggled. “Like — like a ghost. A British ghost.”

“She’s also on some painkillers while we wait for surgery to open up,” Jack supplied with an amused lilt.

It made sense, Whitaker thought, as you played happily with his hands, but it didn’t stop his cheeks from flaming from a familiar fluster. Even laid up, you were the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. And any smile like the one you wore now could only prove to brighten your face more, no matter how gray you looked.

“We’ll give you two some privacy,” said Mel.

She practically had to drag Trinity from the room.

“Keep it PG in here!” she called with a smirk.

Jack chuckled, looking reluctant to leave himself, but pulled the curtain closed as he left the room. With them gone and the glass door shut, it felt weirdly quiet. And Whitaker was suddenly rather nervous to be alone with you.

You, on the other hand, seemed too content, threading your fingers through his. He wasn’t about to stop you. Your hands were soft, and he loved the heat of them close to his. It was then he realized just how long it’d been since he’d even held hands with someone.

“You gave me a good scare there,” he said softly, eyes trained on your expression.

Yours moved slowly up to his and blinked lazily. Your smile was widening.

“What do you mean?” 

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

“I just didn’t know where you were,” he said. “You never showed up, and you never texted.”

In an instant, your pretty smile fell into a frown. He immediately regretted saying anything, he should have waited until you were out of surgery, and out of pain meds. He tightened his hold on your hand and tried to smile. You were still frowning.

“Oh, no,” you said. “I didn’t think of it. I didn’t — were you all alone? Did I leave you all alone?”

“Not all alone!” he said quickly, leaning forward. “There — um… there was a waitress!”

You started blinking faster, and your lip started trembling.

“No, no, no!” he said desperately, scooting his chair ever closer. “Don’t cry, don’t cry! It wasn’t for that long, and — and we’re together now, right?”

You sniffled, tears welling but not falling. You looked thoughtful.

“Right,” you said eventually, and his smile turned true. “That’s right. This is the date then.”

He glanced around the sterile white room, needles in your arm, and though he couldn’t see it, he was sure a group of coworkers were outside your door talking about you, and he grimaced.

“Or,” he said, being careful not to upset you any more, “we could just hang out tonight, and when you get better, we can try going to a restaurant again. How’s that?”

Your tears were now forgotten, but you huffed. You seemed to be cycling through stages of grief.

“I can’t believe this,” you said with a childish pout. “All the shitty dates I’ve been on in my life, and for a guy I actually like, I get appendicitis. Now?”

He couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy at that.

“A guy you like, huh?” he said shyly.

“Duh,” you said. “I’ve never agreed to go out with a coworker before, you know. You’re just — too fucking cute!”

His whole body felt flooded with heat.

“Well,” he said, somewhat squeakily, “you’re pretty fucking cute yourself.”

You let go of his hands and pulled the sheet over your face. He couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d never seen you like this, and he doubted he’d ever see it again. Embarrassed, and smiley, and open. He was sure you’d regret it later, but he was enjoying it greatly. Not only did you not stand him up, you liked him.

He felt like a teenager, butterflies taking over his stomach. He reached over and gently pulled the sheet from your face, only for you to immediately throw both arms over it. He could see a small smile underneath, though.

The door pushed open suddenly, letting the bustling noise of the ER in briefly. The curtain was whipped back to reveal Garcia. When she saw Whitaker sitting so close, hands resting on your bed, and you, flustered and hiding, she raised a brow.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said smugly.

Dennis moved his hands back to his lap as you peaked out from under your arms.

“Yoyo!” you said happily, dropping them completely. “Did Trin send you in here to find out if Denny had kissed me yet? Because he’s still holding out on me.”

Garcia grinned devilishly at Whitaker, who spluttered.

“Denny?” she asked, moving over to check your stats on the monitor. “No, unfortunately. I’m here to send you up to surgery.”

“Are you doing it?” you asked, eyes going wide. “You’re so smart, Yoyo. I hope it's you.”

“You’re in luck,” she said, smiling with a touch of fondness as she looked down at you and unlocked your bed wheels. “Move over, Huckleberry.”

“Yeah, Huckleberry,” you giggled, with none of Garcia’s snap.

He jumped quickly aside to let Garcia wheel you through the door. He trailed behind as you rolled out towards the hub. As soon as he was out of your sight, you whined.

“Where’s Dennis?”

He jogged quickly ahead to walk at your side, and you calmed instantly, holding out your hand. He took it, careful not to upset the pulse ox. 

“Well isn’t this sweet?” said Dana as they passed by the hub. “You’re keeping her company.”

She was standing with an impressive group, composed of Mel, Samira, Trinity, Abbot, Robby, Shen, Princess, and Perlah.

“Isn’t your shift over?” he said awkwardly, eyes darting anywhere but at them.

“Isn’t this supposed to be your day off?” said Abbot teasingly

Trinity raised her phone and snapped a photo.

“Hey, what about — what about HIPAA, or something!”

“I didn’t see anything,” said Robby.

“Goodbye!” Whitaker grumbled as they reached the elevator.

“Yeah, you go wait hand and foot, like a good boyfriend!” said Trinity as the doors closed.

He flipped her off.

Still, he was there by your bed side almost two hours later when you came to, and helped you shuffle back and forth from the bathroom. Unfortunately, not long after that, the nurses could no longer ignore that visiting hours were long over, and they kicked him out.

You were barely awake at that point, but your grip proved to be very strong still, as you clinged to his hand.

“Why do you have to go?” you whined.

“They’re making me,” he said. “I’ll come back and visit you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you sighed, like it was a great emotional charge.

You let go, but he hovered by your bed for a second. Cheeks already heating for the millionth time that night, he leaned down and gave you a quick peck on the forehead. You practically preened, smiling wide, eyes closed.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, lingering by the door.

“Night,” you muttered, before falling into sleep. He stayed for just a second, watching your chest rise and fall slowly, before leaving.

Despite everything, it was one of the best dates he’d ever been on.

The next morning, just as he was parking his car in the lot, his phone pinged with a text from you.

I STOOD YOU UP OMFG

He just chuckled, preparing to type back, when another text came in.

Promise I’ll make it up to you ;)

His face glowed red and he choked on his coffee. He was in for quite the ride.

---

requests open!

[savannahcore27]

[zombiivalentine]

what does that spell? | cheerleader!reader x mike wheeler

genre/warnings: aged up to seniors in hs, cheerleader!harrington!reader, hurt/comfort, no smut, established secret relationship

desc: After hurting his secret girlfriends feelings, Mike wheeler has to do something grand to win her back

w/c: 2.9k

a/n: hi guysss lowkey this is so short and kinda crappy im soz i just wanted to get something short n sweet out there bcuz i have a really long fic idea that might drain me a bit umm she isn’t proof read honestly writing this felt so cliche but in a good way idk lmk if u like it pls dont lmk if you hate it

Mike Wheeler hated basketball games. He hated all the noise, the jocks, the way that everyone fantasized over all the cheerleaders. It was high school conformity at its peak. 

There was one thing he did like, though. 

Mike had been dating the cheer captain, Y/n Harrington, since the summer before the end of their senior year. Now, it was April, at the rally right before the big playoff game. Mike didn’t understand all the hype, but Lucas had spent the past week training 25/7 for this game. 

Y/n had always been popular, a people's princess just like her older brother. The party, if they were being totally honest, were always too scared to try and talk to her; and Steve had always made it very clear that they were not to fuck with her. Mike had always thought she was pretty, he would blush when he saw her in the hallways. But she was way out of his league; Mike couldn’t stand a chance. Despite always going to the same school, they first met during the summer on a day where he went to Steve’s house with Dustin to drop off something. 

Face to face, she was so much prettier than Mike remembered from afar. She had the sweetest smile Mike had ever seen. “Mike! Dustin!” she said when she opened the door “how can I help you guys?” 

Mike’s jaw practically dropped at her knowing his name. Dustin, sure–that was Steve’s best friend–but Mike? The prettiest girl he had ever seen, Hawkins star cheerleader, Y/n Harrington knew his name. 

Dustin had to do all the talking, explaining to Y/n that they were just returning a can of hairspray that Dustin had borrowed from Steve for a date. They stayed at her door for a while, having small talk about their summer plans and whatnot. Y/n asked them about Hellfire, which Mike had to embarrassingly confess he was the dungeon master of. 

“yeah-I mean, it’s like-it’s totally not a big deal” he stumbled “total nerd crap, y’know? We just sit around and roleplay..really lame” 

Y/n shook her head “I actually think it’s pretty cool. Looks really confusing but I’ve always wanted to play” 

“We can teach you” Mike offered “I can teach you, if you’d like” 

Y/n started showing up a lot more after that. Mike swore it was a coincidence, like he didn’t get information on where she would be from eavesdropping on Nancy’s calls with Steve. They ran into her and her friends at the arcade a couple times, they had bumped into her at the pool; Mike eventually worked up the courage to invite her to go swimming with them at Lover’s Lake. She quickly assimilated into their friend group. Mike was kind of surprised by it–little miss popular fitting in with all the freaks and outcasts. 

Her and Mike would hang out alone, too. He taught her all about Dungeons and Dragons, showed her all of the last campaigns. They would sit alone in his basement for hours, just talking back and forth. 

Y/n was the one who made the first move. Mike had taken her home on his bike after a movie night with everyone in his basement. Right outside her front door, Y/n grabbed Mike’s face and kissed him. It was a small peck, she pulled away and looked at him nervously. 

“Sorry” she whispered “I shouldn’t have-” 

Mike shook his head and pulled her in for another kiss, a longer one this time. 

They made things official about two weeks after their first kiss. Mike knew it had to be a secret, no one could know about them. He thought of Steve, who would beat him up–but he also thought of all the popular kids in school, the ones that loved Y/n and hated Mike. They would never let her live it down if they knew about them, she would lose her status, her friends, maybe even her position as cheer captain. 

They kept it a secret for months. They acted normal around friends, around family, they treated each other as friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Mike liked sneaking around, if he were being honest. It was sort of thrilling; all the kissing in the backs of movie theaters, the secret picnics and late night walks. He liked sneaking around in school even more. They would make out in janitor's closets, right before games or DnD campaigns, in the woods during lunch. 

Everything was a perfect, secret bliss. 

That was until a week ago, when Mike was forced to tell his best friends about her. Mike still swears the fight wasn’t his fault. 

They were sitting alone in Mike’s basement, cuddled together on the couch watching a movie. Y/n had her head resting on his chest, her arms wrapped around his torso. One of Mike’s hands was playing with her hair, the other resting on her legs that laid on his lap. 

“Mikey?” she whispered. It was late, both of them half asleep and barely paying attention to the movie. 

“Yeah, Y/n?” 

“I think,I think I wanna tell everyone…about us, I mean” 

Mike’s body froze. “What?” 

She lifted her head to look at Mike’s face, a nervous smile on her lips “I mean, we’ve been together for like, eight months already” 

Seven months and 23 days–not that he was counting. 

“Don’t you think people should know already?” 

Mike didn’t know what to say. She was too sweet for her own good, too sweet to realize that publicly dating Mike would be her downfall. “I dunno, Y/n” 

Y/n swallowed. He could see the disappointment and fear pooling in her eyes. “Why not?” she asked “I mean, doesn’t have to be everyone. We could just tell the party?”

Mike shook his head “If we tell them then Dustin will tell Steve, Will will tell Jonathan, Lucas will tell Erica. The whole town would know within a week.”

“Is that really so bad, though?”

Mike held his breath. He couldn’t say yes, that would be rude. He couldn’t say no, that would be a lie. 

“I know we don’t-we don't say it” Y/n continued “but, but I love you, Mike. I wanna love you outside of the confines of this basement. I wanna love you in front of our friends and at school” 

She was staring up at him with wide eyes. Mike’s hard was racing, his mind lost. That was the first time she had ever told him she loved him; and Mike wanted to say it back with all his heart. It danced on the tip of his tongue, the words I love you, Y/n begging to escape. But he couldn’t, he never could. Mike didn’t know why, he knew that he loved her. He knew that she loved him. He knew, logically, nothing bad could happen from saying it to her. He just couldn’t. 

“We can’t” was all he could say as a response. 

Y/n’s eyes flooded with tears so fast. She pulled herself away from Mike. “Wow,” she muttered “real sweet, Mike” 

Mike sighed “I didn’t mean-” 

She stood up off the couch “No, no I get it…I tell you I love you and you just tell me we can’t? Really? Do you…do you not love me” Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence, tears threatening to spill out. 

Why did she have to ask that? Was it not obvious in the way he kissed her, the way he held her? “People can’t know, Y/n” He knew it wasn’t the right thing to say, but he couldn’t get any other words out. 

“I should go,” Y/n muttered “I don’t-I dunno, Mike. Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this, not if you don't, you don’t-” 

Mike stood up to follow her as she walked to his door. “C’mon, Y/n, don’t say that. You know that’s not true” 

“So then say it. If it’s not true then say it, tell me you love me”

There was a pause, a quiet moment that went on for way too long. Mike could only stare at her in silence. 

Y/n scoffed and shook her head, muttering “I can’t do this,” before rushing out the door. 

That was the last time Mike talked to her. She had ignored him for the entire week. Everyone had started getting suspicious when she walked into first period all teary eyed. And when she stopped sitting with them during lunch and went back to join the cheerleaders, they all definitely knew something was up. 

Mike didn’t know what to do. By Wednesday his body was filled with dread and guilt. He wanted to make things better, he needed to. That was why he told all his friends. 

He sat Lucas, Will, Dustin, Max, and El down–told them the entire story all the way from the beginning, starting at that day he and Dustin first met her. He told them about their fight, about how Y/n wanted to go public, about how she loved him and he couldn’t bring himself to say it back. 

At the end of his story, Lucas was smirking. Dustin and Will let out a groan and reached into their pockets to grab their wallets. They both pulled out a five dollar bill and handed it to Lucas. 

“Knew it!” Lucas said in a sing-song voice. “I told you guys, I called this months ago”

Mike's eyes were wide “What? How the hell did you know?” 

Lucas shrugged “Dave from basketball asked her out. Y'know, that hot guy that any girl at Hawkins would die to go out with? Yeah, he told me she rejected him because she was busy studying with you, Wheeler”

Mike groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Does everyone know?”

“Only us,” Dustin said “we were just betting on it” 

Will nodded “Yeah, me and Dustin thought she was too cool for you”

Mike shook his head back and forth aggressively. He looked up at his friends, face full of despair “What do I do? I’ve totally gone and fucked everything up! She’ll never forgive me” 

“You need something big,” Max told him, “a big grand gesture to win her back, to prove to her that you love her.”

El nodded “Yes! Something grand to make up for your stupidity” The girls laughed to themselves. 

Mike groaned. His hands grabbed his hair and tugged at it, as if the pain would bring him new ideas. “I can’t think of anything” he muttered 

Dustin clicked his tongue with disappointment “C’mon, man. I think the solutions pretty obvious” 

Lucas was smirking “How do you feel about pompoms?” 

That was how Mike got where he was now, standing on the sidelines of this week's pep rally. Nerves soared through his entire body, sweat coating the microphone he held in his hand. He looked at the bleachers, watching all the students listen to the principal's speech about dominating the court and whatnot. The cheerleaders had just finished their set. Y/n did great, as always; when was she anything other than perfect? She was sitting on the bleachers with the rest of the cheerleaders drinking water and laughing. He watched as she looked behind her to scan the bleachers. Her smile faltered when she skimmed past Hellfire's usual spot and saw none of them there. 

Mike took a deep breath. He looked across the gym to Dustin, who was giving the DJ ten bucks to leave his stand and let Dustin take over. Over the loud speakers, cutting off Principal Higgin’s speech, was Dustin’s voice. 

“Thank you, Higgins, for the lovely and redundant speech” There was a scattered laughter at Dustin's comment “We’d like to introduce a special friend to the stage…everyone please clap it up for Mike Wheeler!” 

Dustin played a blowhorn sound and some victory music as Mike walked to the center of the gym. There were a few people who clapped along, but most people just stared with confusion. He locked eyes with Y/n, who was staring with furrowed eyebrows. Mike planted his feet and cleared his throat into Mike. 

“Hey guys,” he said. His voice was shaky and his breath was weak. “Well-um, the reason I’m here is…theres this special someone, someone who deserves the world. And-and I’ve been too stupid–or too scared, really–to give it to her. She’s so perfect; and you guys would agree that she deserves this and probably more. She’s funny, sweet, smart as hell…she’s everything I could ever dream of.” Behind him, Will, Lucas, Max, El, Dustin, Erica, and two other members of Hellfire  were standing facing the crowd with small posters. 

Mike stared at the crowd, an awkward silence briefly coming to the crowd. He coughed and nodded to himself, “right, yeah…” he set the mic down onto the floor next to his feet. Feedback screeched across the gym, causing everyone to cringe and cover their ears. Mike put his arms straight against his side, trying to mimic the posture he had seen Y/n practice so many times. 

“Give me an I!” He lifted his arms above his head to look like an I. Some of the crowd followed along, a tiny recall of an “I” returning his chant from the crowd. Will lifted his poster, revealing a letter I painted on it.

He moved his right hand to stick out horizontally on his side “Give me an L!” More of the crowd started to follow. His eyes fell on Y/n. Her expression was unreadable. Lucas raised his poster as the crowd screamed back “L”, revealing another painted letter. 

Mike continued on with his chant, calling out every letter without taking his eyes off Y/n. I-L-O-V-E, by then, realization dawned on her face. She bit her lip, a small smile spreading across her face. Mike was grinning like an idiot by the end of it. Y-O-U. By then, everyone was participating. Mike put his hands back to his sides “What does that spell?” 

A unanimous “I love you!” spread across the gym. Dustin ran back to the DJ booth to play some cheers, fireworks, and any other stupid preloaded sounds he could find. Mike waited for the noise to die down. There was a low muttering around the gym, whispers spreading wondering who this was for. Mike took a deep breath.

“I love you, Y/n” he said as confidently and as proudly as he could, “and I hope this shows you how sorry I am for not saying it sooner” 

Y/n had tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. There were sporadic claps and cheers from the crowd. She stood up, tripping over her and the team's water bottles and gym bags. She ran to Mike, putting her arms around his neck and jumping to wrap her legs around his waist. Mike's hands moved to wrap around her back, holding her up as they kissed. This was definitely not school appropriate, and they would both be getting into crazy trouble for this–but Mike didn’t care. All he could think about was Y/n in his arms, the feeling of her smile against his lips. 

A rough hand on his shoulder is what pulled Mike away from the kiss. He hadn’t realized all the commotion they caused. Some people were clapping, some people were yelling–some people had started to make out on their own. Principal Higgins was staring at Mike and Y/n with the angriest expression they both had ever seen. 

“Detention. Both of you. Tonight.” 

Y/n nodded, ever proper “yes sir, sorry sir”

“And you!” Higgins turned to point at Dustin, who was still playing with the controls on the DJ booth “You are on thin ice, Henderson! Do you hear me?” He walked up to Dustin, who tried to run and hide behind the bleachers. 

Mike turned his attention back to Y/n. He grabbed her hands and interlocked her fingers with his. “So, do you forgive me?” 

Y/n tilted her head to one side as if she had to think about it “I dunno, your Y was pretty sloppy” 

Mike scoffed “I had a horrible teacher! Seriously, Erica doesn’t know anything and I had to give her $50 bucks just to join us-”

Y/n cut him off with a quick kiss. “You’re an idiot” 

Mike hummed, pulling her in as he kissed her back. “I love you,” he said against her lips 

“I love you too, Wheeler” Y/n said almost immediately. 

Mike's hands wrapped around Y/n’s body, pulling her as close as he could. He thought of all the consequences to come. He could imagine Steve twisting a bat in his hands, getting ready to swing it at Mike's face once he found out. He thought of the endless teasing he would get from his friends, the insane debt he owed to Erica for her help. One thing he didn’t mind, though, was detention. Sure, usually it’s boring; you just sit around and stare at the ceiling or clean chalkboards. But something told Mike–maybe it was the way Y/n was kissing him–that tonight's detention wouldn’t be half bad. 

In fact, if Mike were being honest, he was kind of excited. He liked the idea of being locked in a room with Y/n for a couple hours after everyone's left the school. 

[croworro]

Is it greedy to want all three of them in my bed right now?

[heartbreakgrill]

5000 likes!

[cryptic-doe]

me when they're nerds with glasses and lowk big muscles.. 🤤🤤

[heartbreakgrill]

⋆˚꩜｡ prologue: i can do a lot in 15 minutes!

♥ liked by sadiesink, taylorswift, and others

daphknee so did u guys like the song or did u make me #1 on billboard as a prank uwu

see more comments

"And fucking Taylor Swift liked my post! This is insane! I didn't even know she, like, actually existed in the same timeline as us, like...she feels like God. Like God just came down from heaven and liked my Instagram post and now I can die happily!"

Jerry, Hannah, and mom stared blankly back at me, unsure of how to keep up as I bounced in my seat, whipping my head back and forth, words spilling from my lips.

I turned to my bag and started rummaging for my chapstick, never stopping my string of words, "and Jeffrey Jordan! From that band I saw back home last October, ma? You remember? Like, he's not even that famous, but it's so cool that I've seen him in concert and he now, like, is listening to me! Insane!"

Mom's smile lifted at this, as though she finally caught on to what I was saying. "That's amazing, baby. I am so proud of you."

Jerry and Hannah quickly glanced at each other, the air finally quiet for a split second. Jerry figured maybe I was done, so he sat forward and raised a hand. "Daphne-"

It had only been quiet because I had been rubbing my lips together. I smacked them, barely meeting Jerry's eyes. "taylor swift, jerry! taylor fucking swift!"

hannah sighed, head in her hands, "language, daphne. what did we just talk about?"

mom and i looked at each other. i widened my eyes as a warning to her quirked smile. last week, we'd made hannah the butt of all our inside jokes. i looked back to hannah and recited the punchline, though tried to remain stoic and understanding, "'popstars don't swear."'

"except in their #1 billboard chart song!'' hannah's stoic expression morphed into this gleeful grin as she cheered.

mom and i joined, bouncing in our seats, making the moment into a song that we all chanted and danced to. it was jerry's turn to put his head into his hands as we three girls made up a beat and vibed to, "daphne is number one, daphne is number one. daphne is number one-!"

jerry tried to speak again, "daphne-! daphne, hannah, jennifer- please! girls!"

"daphne is number one!" i stood and pointed to jerry as i shook my hips, "jerry is no fun!"

mom and hannah lit up, even more, at my rhyme and went to follow. but, jerry slapped a hand down, "ladies!"

hannah snapped back into her stoic nature, but shot me a wink as i slumped back into my chair. mom side eyed jerry and i stifled a giggle.

jerry gave me another look, "daphne."

"sorry," i brushed my hair behind my ears, sheepish. "you have my attention, promise."

"good," jerry touched the stack of papers on the desk beside him, "because we have a lot to talk about."

he unpacked whatever had been piled up there, handing mom, hannah, and i each a manila folder and thick, stapled packet. i started to rifle through, mostly curious about the biggest piece of information that was handed to me.

jerry paused me with a scuffle of his tone, "wait for that." he was grinning, "that's kind of a surprise, yeah?"

jerry was so professional, so stoic, that getting this kind of interaction out of him was special. i crinkled my nose, nodded once, and set the packet away. i did notice, as i did, however, that a giant CONFIDENTIAL was stamped in red across the front.

i was antsy.

"first, tour," jerry pulled looked down at the set of paper in the pile.

i followed suit, scanning through what looked like dates. "wait- why do these all say sold out? hello? ain't no way-"

mom touched my hand from across the table. hannah continued for jerry, "way. with the single blowing up on tiktok, the tour sold out overnight. i mean, you were already selling tickets like crazy, but now- just. you should be proud of yourself."

"just like we are," jerry cleared his throat. sweet words, but his face was back to it's blank slate. "now, we just need to decide if we want to add more. on the back is listed all of the possible new shows we could add to the current tour."

hannah hummed in agreement, "two new london shows, a week in la instead of one night, another canadian date. south america, japan."

"hannah, that's not a tour," my jaw was continuously dropping.

mom finished my thought, "that's a world tour."

hannah winked, again. i jutted my chin out, brows furrowed with shock and radiant glee. i looked at mom and she shrugged with this prideful tilt in her cheeks. i glanced over the dates, again, again, again.

"fuck it. let's do it."

jerry scribbled around on his papers as hannah brought out the next list. "merch," she flipped through. "biggest drop yet. but, again- website sold out. people have been flooding the emails with notification requests. so i'm thinking we pump some stuff out quickly, while we still have their attention."

"still have their attention...?" my brows stayed together, though my eyes were curious, now. i always knew this was a possibility, the fire burning out and the ashes scattering with the wind.

people had shortened attention spans. just because your song goes number one doesn’t mean anyone would care about you when the numbers drop.

"we don't know how long they'll stick to this song before something else comes out. i mean, i know we love her, but it's been a bit since taylor swift released anything. never know," jerry leveled with me. it made sense, though i hated it.

i nodded again, encouraging myself, "yeah, uh, please. let's do it. i remember this stuff from that last meeting. i love these hoodies. oh! this beanie! so stinking cute!"

"got it. i'll post some instagram stories, so if your phone's blowing up, that's why," hannah tsked her tongue rhythmically as she opened her phone and started tapping around.

i leaned back in my seat, feeling a little overwhelmed. and there was only more. another music video, another single, a list of dates to release the album. a potential collaboration with 5 seconds of summer, people to write thank you cards to (taylor swift and harry styles had sent flowers and chocolates, respectfully).

it was...a lot.

i always wanted to get this famous, duh. who didn't? but that sense of urgency as the marker moved away and away and away from where we stood…it was scary. i was just the next pretty face for the world to enjoy. i was trying to stomach the fact that starting now, for the rest of my life, i would be performing and behaving and acting and breaking my back to maintain validation.

or i could say fuck it and do something batshit crazy. we’re all gonna die, anyways.

jerry interrupted any spiraling i could rabbit hole down with the smacking sound of the confidential folder hitting the table. “now, for the big one.”

hannah shook my arm excitedly. mom and i shared yet another look as the woman sat up in her seat and opened the folder. i went to do so, as well, but Hannah had caught my eye as she started on an explanation.

“so, i know a few months ago, we’d talked about getting you back into acting once you finished up the album. once things got a little more stable. i mean, we also didn’t want to just throw you into something tiny.”

jerry butt in, “especially now that you’re blowing up like you are.”

at the mention of acting, i sat up again. “no way?” i swear there were goosebumps on my skin. i pulled open the folder and jumped out of my seat.

“well, there’s this little show we thought you might-“

“holy fuck.”

“language!”

a/n: small little into baby chapter to introduce our character and set up the story !!! more parts coming soon tehe

tag-list: @babytOmatoes @ennycutie

[socialistfremenist]

[heartbreakgrill]

I have an unreasonable obsession with the Delicate series. It is absolutely fantastic and i cant wait until the next chapter!!❤️❤️

responding to these in case y'all lost my notifs or smth tehe

it has taken me so long to write this so i imagine weve lost some fwiends uwu

part 12 out rn. crying.

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token) ; Part 12- "Dive bar on the East side..."

daisy's in her grunge tumblr era fr fr

“So? Who’s hungry?” 

I plastered a somewhat fake smile across the tears running down my face as I planted my hands on my hips. Sam had his arms out still, from where I had just been grabbing onto his shirt, crying about Jay my fucked up mindset. Ronnie and Max stood just inside the doorway to my apartment and clutched their luggage like they were pearls layered on their necks. 

Everyone looked put off, to no surprise. I looked like a mad woman- hair an unbrushed mess, leftover mascara smearing down my cheeks, pajamas askew. I tugged up my shorts and ran my fingers through a knot to nervously occupy my mindset. 

No one responded, so I went on, “There’s a really great breakfast place right down the-“

“Girl,” Max slid past Sam, abandoning his bags by the door, “please shut up for two seconds and let us love on you.” 

I held it together even as Max pulled me into him. He encased my frame against his chest, patting my head gently. I squeezed my eyes shut so I didn’t have to look at Ronnie and Sam’s expressions. I heard shuffling as the door closed. I thought that being in his arms would send me back over the edge, but it held me back together. 

The sadness was dissipating, anyways. It’s not like I really had a reason to be so upset. I was the one in the wrong here. 

But, for some reason, I couldn’t shake this sinking feeling right in my chest. 

Is this what Oliver had felt?

No…no way. I wasn’t him. I could never be like him, I could never be…so cruel.

“Ugh,” I pulled back, wiping at my eyes and hoping the thoughts would dissipate. “It’s okay, everybody. Don’t be so worried about me. It’s really not a big deal-“

“Daisy, Jay Hill just stormed out of your apartment and you’re standing here crying. What do you mean it’s ‘not big deal?’” Sam rested a hand on my shoulder. 

I looked up at him through my lashes, heart swelling with some sort of childlike vulnerability. There was something about being around him that made me want to return to my role as his little sister for the next month. I could be that delicate, naive girl because he was here to hold me through it. I didn’t have to be responsible or alone or take care of mom’s things or pretend like I had everything together. He was here to clean me up, to take care of me. 

But, I couldn’t put him through that again. He had bent himself over backwards the entirety of last year when everything happened with Oliver. As far as he and everybody else knew, I was happy, safe, finding success in life by reopening mom’s shop. 

No one could see me falter. So I wouldn’t let them. 

But I did let him hug me again, sniffling somewhat. “Well, it’s basically my fault, so.” 

Ronnie stood beside us as Max took the bags off to the side of the kitchen. She stroked my hair. I furrowed my brows at her as Sam questioned my response. 

“Well, like…” I sniffled again, “I was like…he wanted to date or whatever but, I’m just. I’m not really in the place for that right now. So I think I was…leading him on.” 

“Okay, player,” Sam tossed his head back to laugh and ruffled the hair Ronnie had just smoothed out. I watched all the concern dissipate from his eyes as the humor replaced it. I let myself smile, for real this time, rolling the sadness off my shoulders. 

She shoved his chest and tucked an arm around me. I lay my head on her, almost playing like I was being protected from my bully of an older brother. “Shut up, Sam-Ham,” she spoke teasingly, a dare in her eyes. 

I watched him glare back at her, though the corners of his mouth itched. I wondered if there was still something going on here, if they would ever tell me. 

Ronnie grinned and I knew it to be true. 

“Yeah, Sam-Ham,” I flipped him off, pouting my bottom lip to no longer feel like I was on the outside of whatever love affair they had going on here.  

He pushed my hand away as that special smile he seemed to have reserved for Ronnie disappeared, “You’re allowed to be sad, Daz. But good Lord, the drama. You’re so mom.” 

I grinned at that, though sheepish about his words, “No, I am not.” 

Sam led the way into the living room and plopped down on the couch. “Sure are. She was always dealing with moral crises. Too nice to just be. To do her own thing. Just do your thing, Daz. Gotta stop letting these guys rule your life.” 

I joined Max on the loveseat. He pulled me to his side. I happily cuddled up there, though I scoffed at my brother, “I am doing my own thing, Samuel. I’m here. Im opening the shop.” 

That was an utter lie, but I wouldn’t be telling him about any of that right now. In fact, I wouldn’t be telling him anything more than what we were discussing on the surface. As far as he knew, everything was perfect. 

I was not spiraling about the situationship I had with his best friend a year ago. I was not struggling to make up for the loan I had taken out to fix up moms shop. I was not facing a quarter-life crisis about my life here in our hometown. And I was, sure as hell, not rethinking the fact that I had dropped out of school. 

I was not lonely and yearning for Europe, yearning for my found-family, yearning for the life I had found there and the stupid words that Oliver had said to me on the rooftop. 

“To discovering life. To finding life.:

I was simply thrown off because of some guy I’d been seeing. That was shallow, but that was easy. It was something Sam and Ronnie and Max could swallow. 

Max poked my shoulder, “You’re doing amazing, Daz. We peeked downstairs real quick before we heard the…dispute up here. Looks great.” 

Ronnie nodded her head from the couch, “Love the new floors. I knew that staining would look awesome with the sunlight.”

“I know, it was kind of a risk, but it was worth it,” I happily moved on to the new topic with them. 

Sam narrowed his eyes on me. I acted clueless, offering him a polite smile. He mhmed. I grinned. 

“I do like it,” he shook his head once. “You have a timeline sorted out yet? Still just taking it day at a time?” 

“Yeah, it’s just easier that way,” I replied. Then, the last ten minutes were processed. “Wait…what the fuck are you guys even doing here? Was I not supposed to come get you from the airport?” 

Ronnie giggled as Max squeezed my arm. She replied, “Our flight got moved up. Figured it would be a nice surprise. Perfect timing, too, it seems.” 

“Bleh,” I waved her off, “let's not. Anyways,YOU’RE HERE!” 

I sat up on my knees, the excitement finally taking hold. I tossed my arms around max and shook him around as best I could. “I’m so happy. This is going to be the best month. Ever!” 

Sam ruffled a hand through his hand, “it’s gonna be a month, that’s for sure.” 

Ronnie smacked his arm, “God, you’re so negative.”

“What?” I inquired. 

Max patted my back before we settled into our original position, “The album is due here in a few weeks and we’ve barely cracked a dent in it.”

I cringed at the issue. “Oh, no.”

Ronnie pointed to Max with a stern expression, “We,  nothing. You guys have all done your duty. Oliver, however…”

At the sound of his name, my heart literally palpitated. My palms grew a little sweaty. It was like second hand smoke, choking my lungs. Up until now, he existed on a plane far from my own. Now, he was one degree of separation from me. He was, probably, just up the street at the Days Inn, unpacking his bags, running a stressed hand through his shaggy hair at the looming deadline of the album. 

“How can you announce an album without the songs being done?” I rubbed a hand over my thigh, willing away the anxiety by making more conversation. “That feels illegal.”

“Well, by lying,” Max cracked a sarcastic smile. 

I cringed again. Sam hummed in agreement, “Yeah. So, that’s why we’re here. Not sure why management picked this town, considering…” he waved a hand towards me. “But, I guess, ya know. It’ll be good for the rest of us to get some semblance of a break.” 

“Where are you guys staying?” I poked and prodded, hoping they’d reveal more information about Oliver without me having to really ask.  

Ronnie pointed towards the window, gesturing that way, “Days Inn. Though, Sam and I were kinda hoping…” 

“To stay here?” I perked up, “yes, fuck yeah. Please. Dear God, I’m so tired of being alone!” I groaned and attempted to sound somewhat sarcastic. 

Sam knew me better than that. In fact, all three of them knew me better than that. Ronnie smiled sadly. Sam narrowed his eyes again. 

“Everything okay, Daz?” Max murmured. 

I looked to him, plastering that fake smile again. “Yeah, everything is great. I'm just excited for the apartment to not be empty.” 

“Well, lucky you,” Sam maintained the humor as if to help me save face. 

We fell into further conversation, discussing what my work schedule looked like these days, though that rarely ever changed. We went on to make plans for a later lunch before I had to go in for my Friday night, 3-11pm shift. 

I left midway through the conversation, excusing myself to go make up the extra bedroom. Though, in reality, I just needed a moment to breathe. 

I moved through the room hastily, popping open the window hastily to garner a deep inhale through the screen. The mid morning sun was hot, from what I could tell. But it was alarming to my frozen nervous system. 

I wished I’d grabbed a cigarette out of my room, but I was attempting to ground myself with some healthier coping skills. Deep breathing, light meditation, somatic taps, woo-woo bullshit. 

If I squinted hard enough, I could make out the street corner of the hotel. Our town was small, tight knit, with everything important here on main street. Including that hotel. 

And my work was but a block away from it, the closest little pub one could find on this side of the town. 

I had to start preparing myself for the reality of the situation. He’d probably stumble in at some point, probably order a shot of whiskey. And I’d have to wait on him. I’d have to smell his menthols across the bar, have to steady my breathing as he’d coax his drink on a stool. 

I didn’t know if I was capable of doing this. 

But I had to be. 

No one could know this was still affecting me like this. Least of all, him. 

He needed to see me moving on, having fun, glowing up and growing into my skin. 

He needed to think that he’d still lost out on me- which, sure, he had. 

But I didn’t want to be the pathetic puppy groveling over the fact that I’d been his side chick for three months. 

So, play a part. For just this little bit of time. I could do it. Thirty days and he would be gone and I could go back to staring at our pictures from Paris like I’d lost half my soul back in England. 

I busied myself with setting up the guest bed, putting on clean sheets and removing any junk that I’d been storing in here. I instead shoved it into the hallway closet, shutting the door on that problem for the next month. 

I returned to the living room just as everyone was standing to get ready to leave for lunch. “Give me 10 and I'll be ready to get going.”

“No worries. We’re gonna put our shit away,” Sam waved me off. 

I turned to head to my room when I heard Max rustling up off the couch. “Can I join?” He caught up to my shoulder in the hallway. 

I grinned up at him and stepped to the side, allowing him space to go into my room. “After you.”

I shut the door and immediately felt my shoulders relax. I loved my brother, but he had been so concerned about my mental health the past year that I sometimes felt exhausted being around him, especially after what he had just witnessed. 

Max plopped onto my bed, watching me with his head in his hands as I got dressed. “Adam and Cy are coming to lunch.”

I perked up a bit again at that fact. “Really? Aw, yay. I was just talking to them the other day. But, I haven’t seen them since…well, Christmas.”

Last year, everyone had gotten a singular weekend to come and see me for an impromptu christmas dinner in February. Sam had come during the actual holiday, and we’d celebrated with the few family members we still had contact with. But, everyone insisted on making a big deal out of it considering it was one of my favorite holidays. Cyrus and Adam had tracked down a tree the morning they flew in and surprised me with it before I woke up, with the help of Sam, who had an extra key. 

It was magical and spectacular. I felt like a little kid again back then. 

Then, 6 months passed, and I hadn’t seen them since. 

We last talked when I reviewed the Gethsemane file for them, over a late night FaceTime wherein they both took detailed notes on my opinion. I hadn’t mentioned the fact that they sent me a file containing Oliver’s vocals, but I’m sure they’d figured that out by then. It was one of those unspoken parts of our relationship, like the fact that Adam had seen Oliver and I in the hallway once and never told a soul. 

Secrets. 

I was good at those. 

“They’re ecstatic to see you, love,” Max smiled cheekily. “Im really happy to be here, too. Ive missed you.” 

I pulled a blouse over my head and quickly grabbed my brush. Then I plopped down next to him on my knees, beginning to brush out the knots in my hair with a grin. “I know. We have loads to catch up on. How's that Damien guy you were seeing?”

“Bleh,” Max shoved his head into a pillow, “Don’t wanna talk about it. We’ve moved onto to Shaila.”

“OOOOO,” I shook his shoulder about. He was all cheeky again and shrunk away slightly, “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“Not much to say. You don’t really get to learn much from the backside of a woman’s body. Though-”

“Bad Maxy,” I popped his head with the brush. “You just got here. Don’t be so crude that I kick you out.”

He shrunk away as I swung the brush again, yelping. Then he attempted to strangle the brush from my hands. 

We were giggling, loudly, falling back into our old dynamic so easily. Sam must have heard- and must have been hangry- because it didn’t take him long to pound on the bedroom door and grovel that he needed to hurry up. 

Soon enough, we were headed off to lunch. It was only a few blocks away, luckily in the direction opposite of the hotel. So, we walked, having met up with Adam and Cyrus outside of my apartment. The afternoon was all hugs, smiles, catching up on stories, teases about me and my grown up life. Last time these guys all really were around me, I was a grieving little baby, still bright eyed and bushy tailed. Now, I was really starting to live my life- as far as they knew. Maybe I’d just gotten really good at pretending. 

Oliver was so quiet last summer that I didn’t really miss him within this dynamic. Yet, a part of me still felt empty without him here. It just always felt that way. I spent some time wondering how he would react to my jokes, if he would participate in this conversation like he never did. 

I wondered if he was still quiet, if he was worse, or if he grew out of these ways and was a talker now. I remembered the conversations we’d have in his hotel room, on the streets of Paris that one time, out in the lounge of the tour bus when we’d get lucky enough to be on the same one. 

He was quite talkative. I wondered if his introverted habits had worn off. Or, if he ever went out with the guys anymore. Maybe he really was worse and maybe he was an ass. No one spoke about him around me. It was like they literally kept the idea of him contained in a small box in the corners of their memories. 

Each time a story would involve him, they’d jump around his name like it was on fire and they were covered in gasoline. Or, they’d trail off completely and cover it up with some other anecdote, ask me a separate question to draw the topic of conversation away from Oliver. 

As lunch was winding down and the waiter was bringing around our checks, Adam’s phone began ringing. 

I glanced up from my lap, where I’d been scrolling on my phone as conversation had lulled. He briefly met my eyes as he greeted the person, then turned his head away from me. 

He was on the phone with Oliver. Oliver was on the other line. 

Oliver was…

Well, he was a real person, not some figment of my imagination like he well and truly seemed to be. 

He was breathing, alive, right down the street. 

I looked back down at my phone quickly, pretending to not be eavesdropping, pretending to not be straining my ears to hear his voice. It was muffled, deep enough that I could barely pick it up. 

But, as Adam replied to some question, that I’m assuming had to do with when lunch would be over, I briefly heard Oliver chuckle. 

He chuckled. 

Adam had said, “Heading out soon, bro. Just waiting on our checks. You still wanna duo again on COD?” 

And Oliver had laughed. 

He chuckled. 

Chortled, giggled. However anyone wanted to say it. 

“Only if you want your ass beat again,” I caught the words. 

My chest felt a little tighter. My stomach gurgled, the anxiety upsetting the food that had just settled there. 

My chest wanted to run. To get far away from here and from him. My mind wanted to fight, to take the phone from Adam and curse Oliver out. To demand answers. But, my body just sat there frozen. My thumbs hovered atop my phone screen, lip so lightly caught between my teeth that I could feel the blood rushing to them. 

Adam cleared his throat as he set his phone down. I glanced up, then back down. There was a sad smile on his face. 

God, why the fuck did I wear my emotions so out there? Why did my face have to read what I was thinking? 

I didn’t want anybody else to notice, so I persevered through the pain and attempted to continue my level on my game. Adam was still staring at me, I could tell. 

Luckily, the waiter was returning our cards. He had to look away to accept the tray and pen and thank the waiter. 

I felt his gaze linger back over my face before he busied himself with signing the receipt. Then, Cyrus spoke up from his side of the table, “Who was that?” 

I stood up, slow enough to not make myself look too guilty of any pining. I tucked my phone into my back pocket, “I’ve gotta get going. Need to get ready for work. I’ll see you guys tomorrow evening though, right? I’m working a little earlier so we can maybe do a game night or something.”

Adam was staring at me again, eyes sad, brows furrowed in worry. Everyone else was normal, unaware of the moment we’d just fought through together. I wiped my hands on my pants, worried blood was there from the clawing of my memories. 

I bid farewell to my friends, letting Max squeeze me against his chest, passing a kiss to my brother’s cheek. I avoided Adam as he probably went in for a hug and instead focused on Cyrus. 

Then, I was out the door. My legs pumped so quickly as I made my way home. 

Soon enough, I was on my window seat, legs tucked up underneath me, window propped open, cigarette between my lips. I’d fought the urge off for too long today. I needed this. Deserved it. 

I set a timer for twenty minutes and let myself cry through the puffs of the stick. Then, I really did have to get ready for work. 

I pulled on a pair of black leggings, a pub t-shirt, and ensured all my things were in my bag before heading out the door. I walked to work today, even though I really didn’t want to crawl through this heat. 

I just needed the air, needed to nurse another smoke, needed to feel the concrete cursing the curve of my spine. 

When I made it to work, it was already so busy that I didn’t have time to think about anything or anyone. I was caught up in the rush for the next six hours, some late night football game drawing in all of the parents just when we dipped in business. 

Though I couldn’t think about it, the anger was still there in my bones. I could feel it in the way I scrubbed at the counters, in the hardness of how I poured drinks, in the way I interacted with one of the rude regulars. 

Before I knew it, 10:32 was on the clock. We were open till 2, but Shaun was the only one who ever closed. He was too concerned for my and the other girls’ safety to make us stay out that late. 

“Hey, can I step out?” I came to a quick-breathed stop next to him at the end of the bar.  

He finished filling up a glass and glanced at me. “Uh, sure. Just grab Jo another whiskey. And don’t let the door close. The locks all fucked up again.” 

“Oh, I love this decrepit old bar,” I patted his shoulder, moving my way down the back of the bar to grab a whiskey bottle. 

I grinned at Jo as I came to stop before her. Before I could speak, Shaun tsked me, “Hey, this decrepit bar and decrepit bartender pay your rent.” 

“Right,” I made a face at Jo, “you’re right. I’m forever grateful for these sticky booths and bitchy owner.” 

She patted my hand as I pushed over her glass, a sweet grin on her wrinkled lips. “I missed that smile, flower.” 

I picked up a rag, wiping off the ring her glass had left on my side of the bar. I slowed my movements as she delivered the line.  

I furrowed my brows, “Huh?”

“You’ve been so off all night,” she tilted her head as if it were obvious. “What’s going on?” 

I sighed, shoving my hands into the pockets of my apron. I needed to get better at masking my emotions. I was so fucking obvious. 

Though, Jo had known me when I was younger. Her business always purchased flowers from mom. She was one of the locals who had donated to put together her funeral when she’d passed. 

When she saw me here again all those months ago, she’d burst into tears. Now, she was a regular on my shifts and my shifts only. 

I lolled on my feet, back and forth, then kicked at the keg beneath the bar in front of me. “It’s…nothing, really. Just…more bullshit in my messy ass life.”

“Oh, cmon, baby,” Jo reached out for my hand, “give this old woman something interesting to gush about. It’s so obviously about that boy, isn’t it?” 

She knew everything and anything there was to know about Oliver. He was pivotal in my life. He was…well, at one point he was my life. Sometimes it still felt that way. 

However, Jo must just be a good guesser. 

“It is,” I rolled my eyes, waving her hand around in mine, “but I don’t know if I can talk about it.”

“Don’t have to,” she waved me off, “give me one sentence and then you can go burn your lungs with those sticks of cancer.”

“How’d you know I was smoking-“

Jo waved me off, again, “Think I don’t see the box in your apron? I may be old, but I’m not dumb.” 

I laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck. I took a deep, deep breath, avoiding her eyes as my kind raced with what to tell her. I had to tell her, too. She would not let me get away with not saying anything at all. 

She let go of my hand but not before patting it. I wrung my fingers on either hand, still gathering the words. I finally settled on the messy, rushed out breath of, “He’s in town and he’s staying at the hotel down the road and I kinda thought he would come in tonight considering we’re the only bar on this side of town and I realized that I actually don’t know him at all anymore and he might not drink he might just do coke or, worse, he might be sober and he might be better and I’m stuck working at this shit bar while he’s out there living his life and I’m regretting every single thing that’s happened since last May.” 

Jo just smiled at me. There was no pity there, no push for further explanation, no demand of my time nor severance. She shrugged before taking a sip of her whisky. She swished it around her mouth and said, “That’s all. Enjoy that smoke for me, won’t ya?” 

I hung my head, still feeling sheepish. She reminded me that things didn’t need to be so complicated all the time. They could just be. 

I patted my apron pocket, where she knew they were, and winked then headed for the back door. 

It was chilly out tonight. I shivered and cursed myself for not bringing a jacket as I carefully propped the milk carton inside the door. 

I pulled out a cigarette, lit it up, and reveled in the burn that warmed up my chest. 

I really did think Oliver might come and try to see me. Then again, as I told Jo, I wasn’t even sure if he still drank or anything. 

Perhaps, he’d gotten sober. Perhaps he’d still sworn off cigarettes like he did whenever we were still sleeping together. 

I used to say that we were seeing each other, but I knew that wasn’t true. He never really saw me, did he? 

Anyways. I didn’t know. I didn’t know him now. God, I didn’t even ever really know him then, either. 

I was a stranger to him and his life, estranged from any semblance of the truth. I could sit here and pretend that knowing how liked his tea or the way his calloused hands felt on my back meant anything. Or I could be realistic and keep forcing myself to move on from the lies he’d suffocated me with. 

I was angry again, and found myself pacing somewhat. I was meant to come out to get some air, but I was just getting myself riled up. 

I spent a few more minutes like that, just thinking about him, thinking about everything I’d never known and never would know about him and us and what we were and what he wanted. 

Once, when we were curled up in his hotel bed, his arms snug around my bare waist, my hair splayed across his black-stained chest, he had told me about his dad. 

He left when Oliver was little. Just five. He said he didn’t remember much about their relationship, but this: every Friday, each and every Friday, at around 5pm, his dad would get home from wherever he went everyday. It couldn’t been work, could’ve been a hostel. But he would come home. 

Oliver would run down the driveway, excited to see his dad, excited for the cherry soda and candy he’d bring him. His dad would park by the mailbox, content to run the rest of the way and meet Oliver. He’d pick him up in his big strong arms, spin them around, all giggles and joy. 

He let Oliver talk his ear off about whatever he’d gotten up to that day. Then, they’d go inside. Oliver said the only other thing he could remember was that his dad always smelled sour, like what he later realized was alcohol. 

Then, he’d set Oliver down because his mother would be storming out of the house, the storm door slamming against the old wood. She’d wave the kitchen rag around at him, demanding to know something. Oliver didn’t know what- he was too concerned with the struggle of opening up his cherry soda, of shoveling down Tootsie Rolls and a Snickers bar. 

Soon enough, the Friday became infrequent. His dad would come home and discard Oliver, sometimes just tossing the grocery bag into his son’s hands. Eventually, he stopped brining home anything. 

Then he just stopped coming home. 

When Oliver spoke of him, he still wore this vibrant, bittersweet grin. 

Everyone’s perceptive of any situation was always going to be different, that’s what he had learned. 

He didn’t know his father anymore, but he knew he’d always love him. 

His mother, however, never loved him and was being abused behind closed doors. 

Despite any good memories Oliver had of his father, he was not a good person. He said it made him sick, but he couldn’t stop loving him.  

He couldn’t stop thinking so fondly of the sweet memories until they’d burn holes into his brain, his perceptions, his realism. 

He just loved him. 

I never understood that till now, till I was stuck here, pacing the back alley of the pub with old, broken down bottles around my feet, a cigarette between my lips, and the dull ache of a love I’d never get to get over. 

I was reaching the end of the cigarette, but five minutes into my break. I knew Shaun would need some help sorting out some of the registers before I’d leave, so I decided to start heading back inside. 

Then, I heard a scuffle down the alley, towards the street. 

I stepped out from underneath the fire escape I was standing beneath, coming into the light more. A figure cast a shadow across my feet, a few feet away from me. 

The tall, lanky man came into view and I felt my entire world freeze. His features were all the same, yet so entirely different. Yet, it only took me a mere second to adjust my eyes to the sight of him in the dim glow of the street light, of the buzzing bulb above my head. 

I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. I didn’t know how to move anymore. I didn’t even know if should, or if I should play pretend that I was a fucking mannequin or something or maybe he was just not real. 

But, God, he was fucking real. He was exactly as I’d remembered, shaggy hair but a few inches shorter than I’d remembered, gray green eyes stormy and tired yet older, wiser. All saged and distant. 

He wore a black hoodie, as he so often did, and black jeans. Though, now, he had red Converse on, with headphones dangling out of the neck of his hoodie. 

I didn’t let him speak first. I took control of the situation, immediately throwing my nervous system into fight or flight. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Oliver took another step forward, a cautious hand held up between us, “Daisy, I-“

“No, what the fuck are you doing here?” I pointed an accusatory finger at him, unaware of the cigarette still in my hand. 

Oliver followed the smoke trail, eyed the ashes falling to my feet. He furrowed his brows and I watched as concern lace his pupils, “You’re smoking now?” 

I followed his gaze to the cigarette in my hands. I threw it down to the ground harshly and stomped on it with the toe of my shoe. “It’s none of your business.” 

He was frozen, it seemed, only his head moving to watch my movements. I was harsh, angry, stoic. He was…soft, somehow. Stable. 

He was here, standing in front of me. A real person. A real life fucking person. 

“I can do-“ I began to argue my case, when the realization really hit me again, “no, what the fuck are you doing here right now? Why are you here?” 

“I thought you knew, we, were recording down the road. They’d didn’t tell you- I-“ he finally moved as the confusion fogged his mind. He moved a step forward.  

I threw a hand up, warning him to not move closer with a flash of my eyes, “Don’t you fucking dare. Of course I knew, Oliver. I’ve spent the last month counting down the days so I could prepare myself, so I wouldn’t be jump scared like I am right now. I mean, what the fuck are you doing right here, right now? At my job? At 11pm at night? What do you want?” 

“I…” he stepped back, but I didn’t lower my hand. He huffed a deep, patient breath. I hated that he was so collected right now. He appeared so…cool and calm. Maybe he really had changed like I imagined he had. 

I think I hated that even fucking more. “You what?” I nearly spat, interrupting his thought process. 

“I wanted to see you,” his eyes were sad as he looked down at me, nearly a pout creasing his lips. 

I shook my head harshly, hair falling down around my face. I pushed it all away behind my ears. I was getting weepy. I sniffled pathetically and ran a hand across my dry lips. One hand on my hip, I took the other and pointed again, “You don’t get to see me. Do you…do you seriously not understand that?” 

“No, I-“

“No, you obviously fucking don’t. No, no,” I paced for a second, trying to find my bearings. Then, I turned around, kicked the stupid fucking milk cart out of the way. I grabbed onto the door before it could close and looked back to him one last time, “Get the fuck out of here, Oliver. I don’t want to see you. I-I just…” my voice cracked, “I can’t believe you came.” 

I slammed the door behind me, grateful that it was locked. He might have taken the chance since I was right here in front of him. But he’d never come into the bar, I knew that much was true. 

What the fuck was he doing? What the fuck, why the fuck did he think I’d be okay with this? 

Why would he come down here at this time of the evening? Why would he come to the alley? Was he just hoping I’d be standing there or was he passing by to reach the front door? 

God, he had smelled good. I could almost still smell the lingering of his cologne in the air between us. I wondered if he’d put it on before he came down the hotel. Maybe he hoped I’d fold at the same old scent that used to send me down a rabbit hole. 

Maybe he’d hoped I still loved him. 

But I didn’t. 

I didn’t fucking love him. 

He was a fucking cruel, sick bastard. He was…he was a dick. I was- I was his goddamn side chick without even knowing it for three goddamn months. 

And then he tried to tell me that he loved me and I was a stupid dumb ass girl for telling him I loved him. 

And I’d spent the last year of my life trying my best to get the fuck over him. But it was all so impossible. I…

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get over him. 

And maybe he knew that. 

Maybe he’d known all along. Maybe that was his sick joke. 

Maybe he’d even sent Adam and Cyrus the wrong demo so that I’d have to hear his stupid recording, maybe he was trying to get me to fold. 

I didn’t love him. I wouldn’t fold. He was a stupid liar if he thought I would. He was wrong. He was always wrong. 

i planted my hands on the counter. Jo was caught up in a conversation with Shaun, leaving me alone to process what the fuck just happened. 

I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t need to see him. I couldn’t see him. 

It was throwing me off. It was…

It was changing things. 

I liked it. It felt good. It was…a rush. 

He hadn’t changed one bit, though. He stilled looked…he looked the same but so different. A little bit older, but still…still my Oliver. 

The memories were more vivid now. I could remember what his lips tasted like now that I had seen them again. I could feel his hair between my fingers. 

I could feel his hands on my body, his breath on my tongue. 

His thoughts in my ears, his voice singing me to sleep like a lullaby. 

I was…

“I have to go,” I was telling Shaun, tearing off my apron and throwing it onto the counter, smokes be damned. 

“Oh?” He inquired, pouring Jo yet another whiskey. 

She eyed now suspicuously, somewhat concerned at my frantic nature as I squatted down to grab my things out of the basket beneath the bar.  

I haphazardly put on my coat, brain occupied. He was on me. He was all over me. He was always all over me. 

He was always going to be all over me. 

“I just…I need to go home. I’m sorry, I’ll work over tomorrow to make up for it,” I barely got out as I headed for the back door, slamming it open. 

The air was cold in my lungs. 

“Oliver?” I shouted his name, hoping he might have stayed. 

Of course he didn’t. Why would he? I’d cursed him out. And sure, he deserved it. But he had to know I still wanted him. 

He had to know I still loved him. 

Then, I was running. 

I was going after him. 

I remembered that night on the roof top. The very first night on the roof top. The night when he’d put out his cigarette for me, had pulled up a chair and told me to sit. When he’d learned about my mom, when he’d listened intently as I was on the verge of tears talking about her cancer. 

When we took that shot together, I realized that up until then, I’d been living life in black and white. He was a rush of color, vivid and alarming and blinding to my eyes. 

And he was telling me- no, demanding me to find the life I didn't know had been missing from my entire journey so far. 

I didn’t know what I meant then, what it meant. I had started to somewhat understand when I left Europe, when I rode that plane home, all alone. 

But I didn’t get it, truly get it, until now when he puffed a breath of air back into my life. 

I’d gone back to black and white, to gray. To lifeless, dull monotony. 

And then he showed back up and was giving me CPR. 

I was yelling his name. He couldn’t had made it that-

He didn’t make it that far. 

He was a block away, hood up, head down, hands in his pockets. He looked…he was sad. He was beaten down and tired. 

He heard his name and looked up, twisting his upper body around to see what all the commotion was. 

I skidded to a stop and shouted his name again, “Oliver, wait!” 

He turned around completely, pulling down his hood. He furrowed his brows, licked his lips. I wanted- needed to see more of his face, but he was still far away. 

I picked back up my pace to close the distance between us. Before I knew, he was right there in front of me, for the taking. He was here. I was…

“I’m glad you came.”

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token) ; Part 11- "Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs."

“So, let’s do that, then.”

I looked up from my notebook, ceased doodling the black circle that was turning into a hole in the piece of paper, brows furrowed. 

“Do…what, exactly?” 

I lifted my pen to my mouth and teethed at the cap. 

“Roleplay the situation. You be her, I’ll be you. I’m curious as to how you believe she would have reacted. Then, rather than intellectualizing that, we can sit with the feeling together and process it. Sounds good, yeah?” 

The weather outside the window behind my laptop screen was rainy, cold. Tiring. I rubbed my eyes and dropped my pen. 

“I mean…sure. You’re the expert,” I offered a lazy smile.

She chuckled, reaction late due to the finicky telehealth portal. “Okay, let’s get on, then. I want you to begin.”

“Erm…what do I say?” I stuttered somewhat, face flushing with awkward anticipation.  

“What do you think she would say?” 

“To what?” I scratched my ear. 

She nodded once, non-judgmental even when I acted like a clueless prick. “Let’s say that she is responding to your text. What did it say again?” 

I sighed before opening up my phone. My background rarely ever changed, having been a picture of my cat up until three months ago. Now, it was a list of affirmations. It was weird, but it helped my brain rewire itself in the moments I felt like checking to see if she’d read the message or before logging onto social media to see hate comments. 

I can control my thoughts. 

“Basically just, like…’Hey, wanted to clear things up. Fiona was somebody I loved a long time ago, but things were kinda fucked up. Such and such, her and I went back and forth a lot and she kinda abused me or whatever. Just, like…I had a lot of trauma from that so I’ve been behaving in a shitty ass way. I loved you and you deserved better than me…whatever.’ I don’t know. Too much. It makes my chest hurt,” I shuddered slightly before tossing my phone onto my bed. 

“Oliver, that was brave. Every time in the last 6 months that I’ve asked you to read that message, you’ve changed the subject. But you just did it. Congrats to you and your brain,” she offered a thumbs up. 

I let out the suffocating sigh I’d been choking on and took a deep, nasally breath. A small smile itched at the corner of my mouth. I wiped my lips and took a risk. Everything in life felt like a risk anymore, but as she said, congrats to my brain. 

I was living for the first time- not just surviving like I’d been for years. All my life, probably. 

“I think she’d say something, like…” I thought really hard, focusing on the subject at hand and not on the flashes of images of her rushing through my head like a nosebleed. 

I cleared my throat as the overwhelming, bitter sweetness took hold of my senses. I grabbed my stress ball from beside me, gnarled it, and continued through a tight chested response, “I know. I was stupid for letting myself think I could change you.” 

“Would she say that? Call herself stupid?” 

“She did, I’m pretty sure. And I’d probably say, like, no you’re not. I love you, you’re not stupid.” 

She nodded, “Do you see how you often escape to this confession of love? Rather than taking accountability?” 

“Oof,” I pressed a hand over my heart and laughed at her quirked brow. “WOW. No wonder I pay you so much money.” 

“I’m serious!” She put her hands up defensively. “Oliver, what does that mean to you?” 

“The love confession? It means everything. Saying I love you and telling her that and expressing my feelings…I would hope it would make her stay. but it didn’t.” 

“Is it, by chance, a grasp? A reach, then?“ 

I licked my lips, anxiety growing ever so slightly. “A reach-for-for what?” 

She breathed, “A reach for forgiveness? A fight or flight way that our mind responds to the threat of her leaving. ‘If I say I love you, she can’t possibly leave. Not if it means so much to her.’”

“Well, that sounds manipulative,” I interjected. 

She didn’t respond. She simply let me sit there in the pregnant beat of what we’d concluded together. 

“I was kinda…shitty. To her. No wonder she didn’t forgive me,” I pressed a hand to my forehead, neck dangling low. 

I kept damaging my stress ball, focused on breathing deeply. 

“Listen, Oliver- shoot! It’s already 3. We will have to continue this next week. But, for your homework, I really want you to continue this exercise on your own. If you’re doing a writing session or something soon, please consider it. Think of her perspective. Think of how she felt. Don’t confine yourself to your own worldview. I’ll see you, yeah?” 

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Thank you, thanks. See ya,” I hovered my mouse over the red button and clicked it as she finished waving. I shut my laptop lid before leaning back in my chair. 

There was a hole in my stress ball. 

Jesus Christ. 

I felt uncomfortable and wanted to run away from these feelings. I wanted to take a shot of whiskey or, fuck, have a cigarette. 

But I didn’t do that shit anymore. 

No, now I sat with the uncomfortability. I risked my own self satisfaction for the sake of growth, humility. 

For the sake of understanding and processing what had happened all those months ago. 

I’d been doing really well- in terms of moving on- until I discovered we were to be visiting her town for a month. Now, I swore I saw her face, heard her voice, every single time I took a breath. 

She was a ghost, haunting my narrative. In my dreams. If I shut my eyes and focused long enough, I swore I could feel her hair between my fingers. 

Of course I still loved her. I always would. A corner of my heart was reserved for her fingers to wrestle and mutilate my very being. For the first few months after we had gone off on our own paths, I’d sworn up and down to anybody who would listen that she meant nothing to me. But I’d known from the moment I saw her across the airport that she was everything always, everytime. 

Though, the denial was harsher at first, especially when I discovered she was moving on with her life. 

I’d overheard it from Max one night on one of the last tour stops. He was goofing off with Adam about some joke she’d told him on the phone. That’s when Adam brought up how beautiful she looked with her new highlights. 

(I would’ve killed to see them.) 

Max made a joke about how she knew it now and everyone around her did, too. Then he mentioned a few names, like they were on a hit list. 

I rolled my eyes, gruffed, and slunked past them. Max looked bewildered as I went and opened his mouth to say something. 

I held a hand up, glared, “I don’t give a fuck about her, Max. And I need everyone to stop acting like I do. Let’s move on with our lives, please.” 

Needless to say, I’d heard a few choice words from Sam about that. 

The way I treated everyone around me started to catch up to me, especially as our fame grew. Divas never lasted in the industry for a reason. 

And I was getting tired of running straight into the fire. Tired of being rude to the people who cared about me. 

Then, eventually, with my therapist's help and the regrounding of my relationships, I finally let myself know how deeply I cared for her. And how okay that was. 

The closer I got to being in the same time zone, the same atmosphere as her, the more it began to hurt again. 

With the demand for a new album looming, I’d been cracking down at pumping out some more demos. The pressure got to be a lot sometimes, but I managed. And, with the development of the world of Sleep Token, I was able to write about that, too. 

Though, every single lyric wound up being about her. I didn’t hate it…but it didn’t help the whole healing and moving on thing. I didn't really think I’d ever be able to do so.

So, maybe this song writing homework thing would be helpful. 

Once my chest loosened up a bit, I moved through the apartment to the music room. My guitar sat there, awaiting me to pick it up and fight my way through another song. 

And fight, I did. 

I spent three hours plucking at the strings, coming up with shit ass lyrics about how it hurt to be led along by some guy. But it was all too on the nose, and all too shallow. Daisy was more complex than that. Daisy was a storm and a sunny day all at once. She was an upbeat song and a ballad again and again. 

She was everything. 

And no simple guitar chords could capture just how much I’d ruptured that. 

Luckily, my phone started ringing from the other room. I leapt up from my computer chair all too excited for the relief and jogged to go and grab it. It was Adam. 

“Hey, man,” I answered, cheerfully. I never used to do that. 

Everyone still came across as surprised when they encountered or experienced my newfound enthusiasm for life. 

“Hey, bud,” he was smiling, I could hear it. He always saw more in more. “Listen, I don’t have very long. I’m seeing you later, anyways. But, yeah, I just emailed over a demo Cyrus and I put together. I really think you could pull something sick out of it. Let me know what you think, okay?” 

I nodded along before replying, “Sure, dude. I’ll take a listen right now, actually. I’ll see ya later?” 

“See ya! Love you man.” 

“Love you,” I grinned from the interaction 

I walked back to the music room and slumped down in my chair. I plugged my phone into the speakers and began playing the demo they’d sent me. 

While it began playing, I popped open my notebook. 

Visions of Daisy played in mind, almost like she was painted inside the guitar chords. Like the strings of the bass and the drumsticks had taken oil and smudged her face out before me on the canvas of my memories.  

I saw her, dancing at the club, dolled up in pink with blush swelling her cheeks. I saw her pink skin between my fingers, easily moldable and easily taken for granted. I saw her in the bus’ kitchen, white milk dribbling down her pink lips, like some vision of Eve holding an apple. A snake wrapping itself around and forcing our proximity closer and closer until- sin. 

The religious motifs kept replaying in my head. As did the color pink. 

I saw a garden in my head, and saw Daisy there. Smiling, adorned in gorgeous roses and…mums. Like she was waiting for me in Eden. 

She was like a god to me. Pure, pink, holy. I was always on the outside. Always locking myself out of the gates. She had wings and I had flown so close to the sun that mine had melted. Now, I was cleaning wax out from underneath my fingernails. 

Even amidst her beauty, amidst her forgiveness, when I had the whole world in my hands, I was still a black smudge. I was a mess, a stain. A sinner, even though he’d been baptized time and time again. 

Then, almost like a lightbulb, I remembered a phrase written somewhere across a grave. 

“Et in Arcadia ego,” I murmured as I read it off of the Google search I’d quickly typed up. 

Even now, even as I have found seeds and planted my own garden, death lingers. The thought of it, the feel of it in my skin, the death of my past life and the things I have ruined. 

Even in Arcadia, there am I. 

I didn’t have to try anymore. Everything came pouring out of me within moments. Lyrics, the motif of the few songs I’d written so far, the meaning of Emergence.

Everything connected. All because of her. 

Everything was always about her. 

I messaged Adam to reschedule our plans, too involved with the song to go down the street to some crowded-ass pub full of cigarettes and noisy sports fans. However, Adam no longer let me cancel on plans unless I had a really good excuse. 

So, there he was ten minutes later, knocking on the apartment door, scaring the cat with his noisy boots as he walked in with a six pack under his left arm and a bag of snacks in the other.

He took one look at me, hair disheveled, a familiar gleam in my eyes, and nodded with a sly smile, “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

I took the bag from his arm and excitedly began to walk to the music room. He followed, apologizing to Sprite as she crawled around his discarded shoes. “I was literally about to start recording what I’ve got. I think we could add some more piano, too, but- just- you’ll see.”

Adam took a seat on the pull out couch behind my computer desk, cracking open a beer and offering me one. I thanked him before shoving my headphones back on. He hadn’t said anything in response, so I hesitated before getting the recording going. 

“What?” I flushed, nervous he was going to hate it. 

“I haven’t seen you this excited for a track since Euclid, is all,” he shrugged and extended one arm over the back of the couch. 

“Well,” I laughed, “therapy was productive today.”

Adam snorted, “Oh, yeah? What did you cover that’s got you so inspired?” 

I sucked a breath and averted my eyes away, almost ashamedly. “Well…um, Daisy.”

Adam’s smile dropped, just enough to clarify the bittersweet sadness in his blue eyes. “I’m excited to hear, Ollie. I really am.”

The sympathy brought down my mood. And it got my brain buzzing about her, again. 

I could never escape it. But, again, I didn’t really want to. It was better to have known and lost her than to have never known her at all. 

“Did you guys tell her we’re coming to visit? What did she say?” I fumbled with my fingers, the strings on my sweatpants. 

“Yeah,” he didn’t hesitate. Max and Sam always hesitated when I’d ask them about her. It pissed me off, but it wasn’t like I had the right to know. 

He continued, “Yeah. She’s really excited. The shop is almost put together. She, uh…she’s grown up a lot. Like in the face. And she cut her hair off. She looks…she looks happy, Oliver.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and stretched my neck, almost uncomfortable. I wanted to see her face. I needed to see it, I- 

“Can I see?”

Adam hesitated this time. He touched his phone tenderly. “Are you…are you sure? I don’t want you to make yourself upset, Ol.”

“I just want to see her eyes, Adam,” I finally met his gaze with a small, sad shrug. “Please.”

Within a second, he had her Instagram pulled up. There were four posts since I’d last seen her, all dense with random pictures, some of her, some of her friends, of food, buildings. 

Her mom’s shop. Her, in front of the small building with the keys in her hands, a bandana holding her hair back. Jeans- I’d never seen her in jeans before. I’d never seen her in this purple sweater or these Nikes. 

She started getting her nails done, reds and greens and gold stars on her pinkie fingers. Got highlights. It brightened her eyes, made her lips look glossier. 

Then- 

She cut it off. It was so short, almost to her chin. And she wore it in all of these adorable styles. Space buns, braids, half up, buns, ribbons and head bands. 

It looked softer than before. 

She looked softer than before, if it were possible that she could even be. Life was so harsh and even as it continued weathering her, she remained polished. Like a stone. 

Adam was right. Her face had grown, too. She looked older, wiser, but still had that child-like light in her eyes. 

There was a guy in some of her pics, but she didn’t look to be too involved with him. I knew her, whether either of us wanted to admit it, like the back of my own hand. She wore her heart on her sleeve and her emotions all over her face. If she really, truly cared all that much about him, she’d look like she did with me. 

In love. 

My hand shook slightly. I cut myself off, unwilling to ruminate and continue to scroll through each photo again and again (I’d already done it twice). I handed Adam back the phone with an, “Alright. Ready?”

“Let’s hear it,” Adam jumped back in with me, a deep breath arched over his response. 

I rolled back my shoulders, matched the depth of his breath, and said, “This is Gethsemane.” 

Daisy:

“Hey, have you seen my smokes anywhere?” 

I gasped a deep breath as Jay’s cold hand shook my shoulder. Evie jumped up from my side, bowing into a long stretch. My eyes blinked open, squinted, and I turned my head to look at the man. 

“Huh?” I shook my hair, grasping consciousness. “Oh. Um…”

I pulled myself up from the bed, sheets leaving creases in my skin, and leaned back against the headboard. My eyes were fully open now, so I was processing the question. “Your smokes…um. Oh! I saw them in the kitchen when we got back last night.” 

“Yeah, I dropped 'em there, but they’re gone,” he huffed. “You take them or something? I mean, I won’t be mad. I just wanted a smoke with my coffee. You know how I like-“

“Okay, Jay, chill,” I ran a hand over my puffy face. Nicotine addicts. “I’ll come help you look.” 

I knew for a fact that they were on the counter with his keys, jacket, and my purse. I’d put them back there whenever I came in from my late-evening reflection down in my mom’s shop. 

Sure enough- Lifted up his jacket, and there they were. “See?”

Jay coughed into his fist. His smoker’s lungs were worse than Oliver’s. He, at least, could make it a week on one pack. Jay went through about one a day.

And he kept a methodical track of his addiction. 

“Did you bum one?” He fingered through the sticks. 

I looked from the cupboard, where I’d been getting a cup down, “Hm?”

“Did you take a smoke, Zee? I’m not mad, just wondering why two are missing. I had enough for the morning, then I was gonna go to the corner store,” he pulled one out, tossed the pack back onto the counter (that I’d just cleaned). 

I watched him stick it between his lips and head to the window. “No, I didn’t. You probably just smoked more than you thought. You were pretty fucked up last night.”

That part was true. His wife was coming for more of his money than he thought she was, so in his anger, he got drunk enough that I had to call an Uber to get us home. Cost more than I wanted nor was capable of spending, but he was supposed to be ordering us breakfast to make up for it. 

Doubt it would happen. 

I followed him to the window seat. He gently pushed Evie off the cushions to sit and pop open a window. I watched him light his cigarette and I took a deep breath as he huffed it. 

“Whatever. I’ll just run out and grab some,” he cleared his throat again. He noticed me standing there and lifted the corner of his lips in a smile. “C’mere, babygirl.”

I let him grab my ass and pull me into his lap. My face tucked into his neck, which smelled of cigarettes and Axe. I squeezed my eyes shut. It almost smelled of Oliver. 

I could withstand the thoughts whenever I was alone. The chunks of time through the week whenever Jay was at work or meeting with divorce lawyers or living his own life, I was able to suffocate the thoughts and move on with my day. Oliver’s face would pass through my mind like a breath. Then, I’d feel the bittersweet memory for a pulse. And I’d move on. 

But, then, Jay would come around for dinner or haul me along for grocery shopping or call me at midnight for a fuck. And he’d bring around that smell of smoke, so thick, so goddamn heavy, and my mind would spiral. And, though we never brought up the conversation topic from last Friday, he was still seeping the shit into my skin, poisoning my routine with the memories of someone he’d never even met. 

Like, right now. 

He was putting his cigarette out in my mom’s old ashtray, gripping my skin, grabbing the back of my neck to lift my face and kiss my mouth. 

My eyes were still shut. I rewound the tape of my memory, envisioning days in Oliver’s hotel room. 

His sweet lips, his gentle hands even when he was being rough with me, black paint left over under his finger nails as he grabbed at my hair and pulled my head back. 

“Oh, my god,” I moaned into someone’s collar as they bit into my shoulder. 

Jay was harsh, Jay was fast. 

Oliver licked over the wound and kissed each tooth mark. Oliver brushed a knot out of my hair afterwards. 

Jay was taking my top off. 

I think my favorite time with Oliver was the first. The first time he ever saw me naked, even if sometimes it felt like he never had. Even if sometimes it felt like I’d been bare before him the entire time and his mind was so far into the clouds that he was blind to authenticity. 

The first time. 

I think I was on the roof, as I so often was. Maybe we were still in England? Maybe Scotland? I couldn’t remember very well, I was too caught up in him at that point. 

The sexting had gotten intense. The making out in the elevators was getting friskier and, well, riskier. We were sneaking in bits of each other as often as we could. 

Jay popped off my bra and threw it across the room. Evie jumped and ran and hid in my bedroom. Jay squeezed my ass in his hands, molding and grappling my skin. 

On the tour bus the night before, I hadn’t been able to sleep. So, I went out to the small kitchen to get a glass of milk. Oliver was staying in the bus that evening because the other one had broken down. 

And there he was. 

I could still see him, as I looked towards my own kitchen and squinted my eyes. Lights off, road flashing by outside the window, black hoodie framing his shaggy hair and gray green eyes. 

“What are you doing up?” I whispered, so as not to scare him. 

He hadn’t noticed me. He was in front of the fridge, holding a glass of milk. So coincidental. 

He turned to me, and I took in his sleepy posture. Bare feet, gray sweats. 

“Ask you the same thing,” his sentence was short and his voice was gruff with sleep. He took another sip of the liquid. 

I stepped beside him, pulling my sleeves over my fingers in a shy movement. I avoided his eyes as I got closer. I was craving him so badly at this point that even being in his presence prickled my skin, had my body responding in ways I never thought could happen. 

Oliver seemed to feel the same. His hand ghosted mine. He fiddled with my sleeve to free my fingers and softly caressed my skin. I finally drew my eyes to him. 

“C-couldn’t sleep.” I shrugged insecurely. He tilted his glass to me, offering it up. “Yeah, thanks. That’s what I came out here for, actually.”

“Figured,” I took the glass from him as his other hand came up to my ear. He tucked a piece behind and rolled a thumb over my earring. The corner of his lips lifted into a smile. 

I took a breath. He smelled of cigarettes. Milk and cigarettes. What an odd combination. 

I shuddered at his touch as I went to take a sip. The cup faltered and milk slid out of the side of my mouth. I cringed at myself, tilting my upper body into an embarrassed laugh as I set the cup onto the counter. I went to wipe away the mess, but Oliver’s thumb moved there instead. Instead, my hand landed around his wrist. 

I watched his eyes as he swiped his thumb across my bottom lip and swiped up the milk on my chin. He went to move his hand away, but I held it there. His green eyes were deeply stained with some glass-like emotion, like he was sad, though basked in glory at the sight of me. 

It was holy. I was his cathedral. He was a sinner. 

So, pray. 

“Oh, that feels so good, Jay,” I moaned against his cheek as he swept a hand down the front of my pajama bottoms. 

His nails scratched against my belly and he fumbled around for a second. “Yeah, baby, I know it does, baby. I know it does.” 

I turned my mouth and sucked on Oliver’s thumb. I held his eyes. I curled my tongue around his nail, around the pad, back and forth for a moment. Then I drew my mouth back, still holding his hand there, and popped my lips off. 

Oliver grabbed me by the throat, one hand finding itself at the curve of my hip. His lips were on mine within one more glance, wherein his eyes turned into fiery, passionate sin. 

I was burning down.  

I had been tempted. 

Jay pulled his hand out a moment later before pushing me off his lap. Then he fumbled with his belt before putting both hands on my shoulders. “Come on, baby, remind me what that mouth of yours does.” 

He pushed me to my knees. 

Oliver kissed and kissed and kissed me. But I wanted more. I needed more. I needed to show him how he made me feel, to show him how I felt every single time he looked at me. 

My hand came to his wrist. I gently tugged it off of my throat and pulled back. As I did, his eyes flew open, “what’s happened? Are you okay? Did I- oh, Daisy.”

I slid a hand down his torso, dipped my finger into the line of his sweatpants. He cut himself off as I sunk my teeth into his collarbone. 

He wasn’t wearing any boxers. 

I grinned up at him. “Sneaky.”

Oliver touched my wrist softly, “you don’t have to- Daisy.” 

I had drug my nails down the length of him. 

Jay kept a hand at the back of my head, pulling at my hair and shoving my throat down on his dick. 

Oliver put a pillow on the floor so my knees wouldn’t hurt afterwards. 

Jay was silent the entire time. No praise, no gratitude. No guidance nor connection. 

Oliver spoke my name so gently. He touched my face and made me keep my eyes on his, even when he tossed his head back in pleasure. He pulled my hair up into a hair tie as more and more pieces fell out of the bun I’d worn to bed. 

“That’s so good, Daisy.”

“You’re so pretty, darling. So pretty with my cock in your mouth.” 

“Oh, darling, oh, darling. Thank you, darling. You are wonderful. Doing such a good job, Daisy.” 

“Such a good girl taking my cock in your mouth like a good girl.” 

When he came, Jay aimed for my face. Then he took himself into the bathroom to shower. I climbed up off the floor and shimmied back into my top. I used his t-shirt as a towel before tossing it towards the laundry basket by the front door. 

I washed my face in the kitchen sink, made up a glass of hot tea. He took so goddamn long in the shower. 

I took my mug over to the window and ensured nothing had gotten dirty. As I did, I heard a text message notify my phone back in the room. I went to turn to go grab it when I noticed his cigarette was still burning. So, I picked it up to snuff the flame. Whoever it was had sent me 4 more texts. 

Hands full, mind busy with the fleeting images of Oliver, I didn’t remember to set down the cigarette. I simply carried it as I picked up my phone and came back out to the window seat. I sat, took a sip of tea, then put it on the ledge beside the ashtray. 

The cigarette smoke lulled past my face as I read the messages from my group chat with Cyrus and Adam. 

Cy- finished up this demo. Don’t know if u remember when we sent u the rough draft a few months ago. 

Adam- it’s the gethsemane one. So fire. 

Cy- o yea! 

Adam- you’ll love it daz. Listen soon xxx 

Adam- and no vocals on this one either. Don’t worry 

I laughed at their incessant texts. They were so big-brother coded. 

I grabbed my headphones off the coffee table really quickly before clicking on the demo. It loaded up soon enough and a soft, somewhat familiar piano chord began ringing in my ears.  

It went through barely a measure of music before someone took a deep breath and began singing. 

I jumped up, dropping the cigarette I’d forgotten was still in between my fingers. My headphones popped out of my ears, so the song at least stopped as I scrambled for the fallen stick of fire. 

It had burned a small hole in my moms pillow already and flitted ashes around the window seat. I cursed and quickly danced around the kitchen for the hand held vacuum. Once the mess was cleaned, the cigarette put out, smoke fleeting past my senses, I was able to process which pillow had been marred. 

It wasn’t anything special, just a red puff with gold embroidery. I smiled sadly, at first, until I turned and saw a blackened hole on the back. And another. Three. 

Chuckling, I shook my head. I imagined my mom here, all those years ago, probably in the same spot as me. Probably jumping at the thought of some guy. 

The connection to my maternal figure lifted something in my chest. Something revelrous, like dead bones being brought back to life. 

I was capable of listening to this song without feeling like the world was going to explode. The tightness in my chest? The tears I could feel welling already behind my eyes? The bittersweet goosebumps on my skin? They were just emotions. I could handle emotions. 

I shrugged a hoodie atop my pjs, pocketing my phone, earbuds, and the cigarettes. 

Knocking on the bathroom door, I shouted, “I’m going downstairs for a minute. Holler if you need me.”  

“K,” Jay murmured, voice washed out from the sound of the water gushing around him. 

I flitted down the steps of the building that led into the flower shop. Things were starting to look a little bit better. Not the best, no, but there was no longer mold eating away at the floorboards. 

I sat on mom’s stool, the legs smeared with paint and Sam and I’s heights in sharpie before we’d gotten too tall. The seat was torn up, dented, uncomfortable. 

But, I sat down, content enough to die here within this song. 

Hearing Oliver sing Emergence had hurt. But those lyrics didn’t resonate with me. 

These, however— holy fuck. 

I stuck my hands into my pockets as the song continued. My fingers fumbled around a cigarette, accidentally. I pulled it out and ran it across the top of my lips. Then I eyed it suspiciously, eyes squinting. 

I was taking a puff before I realized what I was doing. 

At first, I coughed terribly. I had to hold onto the counter in fear that my life was going to give out. My lungs ached. 

And then, I was able to focus on the sweet burn of the nicotine in my chest, heavy on my lips. 

I smoked the entire thing before the song was over.  

-

Before I knew it, it was the night before everybody was coming to visit. They’d be here around noon. I offered to pick them up, but Sam didn’t want me to have to face Oliver just yet. He wanted it to be on my terms, when I was ready to do so. 

After listening to Gethsemane about five billion times, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to. At the same time, I craved him like I was starting to crave cigarettes. 

I had become a smoker. 

I wasn’t too happy about it, but I was maintaining the addiction pretty well. One a day. Usually, at the end of the day, when I’d escape from the apartment and go down to the flower shop to listen to Gethsemane or Emergence or replay all of their old songs. 

It was funny- I had the opportunity to listen to this music everyday, all day, for a good four months, and I discarded the idea so often. I regretted it now, now that all I had left of Oliver was his voice. His lyrics, the faint memories of him. 

I shook my shoulders of the thought, of the taste of cigarette on my tongue, and put the light out in my mom’s old ashtray. I needed to get to bed before everyone would be getting here. Unfortunately, Jay had been staying over more and more, so to get into bed meant nudging him over and sacrificing the blankets for the sake of my corner of the mattress. 

Evie looked at me from the doorway as I struggled to get into bed. Her eyes were judgemental, more than any regular cats were, predispositionally. Flipping her off, I finally got into my spot. I sighed, exhausted from another day of getting the shop figured out, flipping the furniture we'd be using, meeting with the bank about the loan, ready to sleep. 

As soon as I got comfortable, shut my eyes, Jay flipped around and pressed up against my back. I rolled my eyes, already overheating and just accepted that I wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight. 

And that’s what happened. When I did fall asleep, I would gasp back away from some nightmare. I didn’t remember much about it, but I knew it involved Oliver. 

I think it was some stupid text message from him, interrupting me in a moment like this one, where I’d finally maybe moved on a bit more than I ever thought possible and he decided to come back around. 

I knew it was because of the cigarettes I’d been smoking, because of the music and the fact that he’d be here. 

Today. 

It was 10 am when Jay started stirring and I woke up from the last nightmare. 

(Oliver, rain, a love confession, a twist of the knife.) 

I groaned at the sunlight peeking into the room. Jay thought it was cute and twisted me around to face him. 

“Morning, sexy,” he planted a wet kiss on my neck. 

I wanted out of his grip, but when I went to move away, to continue to wrestle myself awake, he held tighter. 

“Oh, you’re not getting away that easily,” he proceeded to bite down on my skin, getting me in all the places where he knew my body would react. 

I gave in, hoping that this would maybe erase the pictures of Oliver racing through my memory. 

The anger was growing. The anger at myself, for giving into the cravings, for feeding my addiction to the past. The anger at Jay for not filling the space the way I needed him to. There really wasn’t even anything wrong with him- but he wasn’t Oliver. 

Jay pushed my shirt down, cupped my breast, rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. My back arched into his touch, my need for satisfaction, distraction giving in. 

He was just wrong enough in all the right places that I hated him. But I loved this feeling, that someone wanted me for who I was now. Just for the sake of me being Daisy. 

I didn’t have to be cool, I didn’t have to put bandaids onto Jay’s knees or his past as some excuse. 

We just were. That was enough for right now. 

Jay grabbed my hair, harsh. He barely touched my legs before moving us around, pushing his boxers away, pulling my hand down there. He kissed my neck, “Tell me it feels good, baby. Tell me.”

I missed Oliver. 

I didn’t respond, flashes of Oliver taking over my consciousness again. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, darling,” he touched my face gently, laying my head down on his mattress. 

“I don’t care if you do, Oliver.” 

“I do,” he chuckled sadly. “You’re too precious…too…” he lay a hand flat on my stomach, dragging it down my thighs to push my legs open slightly, “too soft. So soft.”

His lips trailed from my knee to my upper thighs. “God, you’re so soft, darling.” 

Jay had gotten restless, assuming I needed more encouragement to give him a blow job. So he jabbed two fingers between my legs. 

I grabbed his hair in between my fingers, forcing his eyes to mine, “Oliver, I’m begging you. Hurt me, please. Please.” 

He smirked, slow, hesitating, “Maybe just a bit.” 

“Oh, Oliver!” I forced myself to cum, lost, caught up in my head. 

Jay was off of me quicker than I could open my eyes. “Who the fuck is Oliver?” 

I shot up from the bed, pulling my shirt down, shaking my head to clear my consciousness. Who ever post nut clarity was good for you had never said the wrong name as they were cumming. 

But I didn’t think I had. I didn’t say Oliver’s name, did I? There was no way I said his name. 

I didn’t…I didn’t feel that way for him. 

No, no. I didn’t. No. 

Fuck him. Fuck Oliver. 

Fuck…FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.  

“You said Oliver. Who. The. Fuck. Is. Oliver?!” Jay stepped closer, his voice raising just enough in volume to send me into fight or flight. 

And, sadly, I would always fight for someone to stay. 

“Oh, Jay, I didnt…” he was putting in his clothes, hastily, like he was trying to run away from me. “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t- I’m sorry! Okay? I didn’t mean to!” 

I went to grab his hand, but he ripped it from mine. 

“Fuck you, Daisy. Fuck you and fuck whoever the fuck Oliver is.” 

Well, I couldn’t say I disagreed with that sentiment. 

I followed him out into the living room, watching, scared as he gathered up his things. “No, no, please don’t go. Jay, please!” 

I couldn’t be alone. I couldn’t do this alone. I was…

I didn’t want to be alone. I needed this. I needed this reward system- be alone for a couple days, then I’d get to be around somebody who wanted me. I didn’t have to continue to convince myself that I was happy being here, being back home. I could just pretend. Jay helped me pretend. 

Jay headed through the kitchen to the door. I caught up, grabbed onto his wrist. He ripped away from me again, twisting around to shout into my face.  “I’m leaving, Daisy. This is…this is fucking patheitc. I deserve better than this. 

He was probably right. He was…he was kind, even if he was messy. Polite, even if he forgot to buy us breakfast. A good person despite the cigarette ash and the harshness of his edges. He was…

He was me, one year ago. 

God, the fucking universe was playing tricks on me. 

I grabbed my hands, wringing out the nerves. I fucked up. I fucked this up. I could’ve had…could’ve had something good, but I was too concerned with fucking Oliver and the stupid shit he did to me a whole entire fucking year ago. God. 

I was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. FUCK. 

“Please, please don’t leave. Please, I’m really sorry. I-“ I reached out again. 

Jay turned away from me, chest heaving, shoulders shaking. I calmed my words, lowered my volume. Waited a moment. Hoped the pregnant space would lessen the blow, could bring him back to me. 

He looked back at me, spittle on his lips from his angry he was, “Fuck you, Daisy.” 

He left the door open as he stormed away. I listened as he pounded down the steps, then as his feet paused. An interruption, an, “Excuse me.” 

Footsteps ascended the stairs, a couple pairs. 

Sam was entering my front door. Ronnie, Max and Sam. Worry on their faces. A softness in Sam’s tone as he approached me, arms out as if to provide a soft landing for my fall. 

“Daz? What’s going on? You okay?” 

I fell into my brother.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld-deacti]

The Pitts

Pairing: Dr. Whitaker x Surgeon!Reader

Summary: Dr. Whitaker has never been a problem for her. That is until he becomes the problem. A top surgeon, known for her cool-headed precision and unshakable confidence, suddenly finds herself an absolute disaster whenever he's around. Her usual Casanova charm? Gone. Her composure? Nonexistent.

Author's Note: Normally pathetic wimpy white guys make my skin crawl but there's something about Dr. Whitaker. Leave me alone in a trauma room with that man and he'll crawl out.

The second Dr. Whitaker walked into the room, she felt it—that ridiculous, uncontrollable shift from composed and capable to absolute disaster.

Normally, she was unshakable. A top surgeon, one of the best in her field. She had the respect of her colleagues and the unwavering confidence that came with years of being at the top. She handled pressure like it was nothing, made life-and-death decisions daily, and never let anything rattle her.

But with him?

She was a train wreck.

It was like someone flipped a switch in her brain, and suddenly, she couldn't function. Her hands trembled, her words stumbled, and she found herself laughing at things that weren't remotely funny. Worse, everyone around her noticed. Everyone except him.

"Hey, nice scrubs today," she blurted out as Whitaker passed by.

He stopped, giving her a quizzical look before glancing down at himself. "Uh... thanks? They're just the standard ones."

She nodded far too eagerly. "Yeah, but, you know, you really make them work. These ones are really holding up!"

A beat of silence. Then, from behind her, someone choked on a laugh. She turned just in time to see Dr. Robby shaking his head, trying (and failing) to hide his smirk.

Whitaker, completely oblivious, just smiled politely. "Appreciate that, I guess."

As soon as he walked away, Robby leaned in. "Smooth."

She groaned, rubbing a hand down her face. "Don’t."

"Oh, I will," he said, thoroughly enjoying her downfall. "You’ve got it bad."

"I do not."

"Right. That’s why you’re out here complimenting a guy’s scrubs like he’s wearing designer."

She sighed, crossing her arms. "It’s not a big deal. It’s just... annoying. I’m a top surgeon, Robby. I perform complex procedures without breaking a sweat. And yet, one guy walks into a room, and I—"

"Turn into a bumbling idiot? Yeah, I’ve noticed."

She shot him a glare. "Not helping."

Robby chuckled. "Look, you’ve always been the one in control. Maybe the idea of someone making you lose that control freaks you out. But if you ask me? It’s kind of refreshing."

She frowned. "Refreshing?"

"Yeah. It means you actually care. And maybe, instead of fighting it, you should just... let it happen."

She opened her mouth to argue but found herself at a loss. Because deep down, she knew he was right. And yet, it was easier said than done.

Which was why she was completely caught off guard when, after yet another day of fumbling around Whitaker like an idiot, everything changed.

It happened so fast. One second, she was standing at the nurse’s station, and the next, Whitaker was walking toward her with purpose.

Then he stopped right in front of her, grabbed her face with both hands, and kissed her.

Her brain short-circuited. Somewhere in the background, she vaguely registered the sound of someone gasping, followed by another voice going, "Oh, finally."

When Whitaker pulled back, his expression was unreadable, but his touch lingered, his hands still cupping her face. "I, uh... just found out something interesting."

She swallowed hard, heart hammering against her ribs. "Yeah?"

He smiled—soft, amused, and just a little smug. "You like me."

Somewhere behind them, someone who was absolutely Dr. Robby muttered, "Took him long enough."

She wanted to die. But also? She really, really wanted him to kiss her again.

And judging by the look in his eyes, he absolutely was going to.

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 10; "Are you ever dreaming of me?"

a/n: girl i had to literally grind and write all of this today bc surprise song release means daisy and oliver have a fucking STORY TO TELL YALL enjoy this mess.

Humming. 

Soft, sweet, supple humming. It vibrated like a bee buzzing close to my ear. Was there pollen growing there? Had I morphed into some type of flower?

Was I leaking honey? 

The humming lifted sweetly, a higher octave. I almost recognized the song, the tilt in it’s lift, the bend in its melodic swing. No, I did recognize the song. It was…it was something so familiar that I couldn’t put my finger on it. 

“What is that?” I asked. The picture that I had not realized was fuzzy focused, above, like an Eagle’s scope. I was watching somebody. 

But, I was in my body. I was there, on those white crested sheets, sheets that were pristine but in need of an iron. I was shivering, heat rolling down my spine as the humming kissed the shell of my ear and a voice whispered into my drum. 

“A song.”

It was amused, almost. Teasing, maybe? It knew something I did not know. 

“Yeah, but what song?” I watched the dimples in my cheeks punch holes in my face and felt the laughter gently vibrate my chest. 

The humming was…a person. A shadow, real, but so fuzzy. An outline. A depleting figure. 

They shifted. They whispered, again, “You know it.”

I giggled again. Why was I so stricken with this…thing? “I can’t put my finger on it.”

The person/shadow hummed again. This time, the hum emphasized the soft rise in the song, but still did not sing any words. I could feel the rest of them now, their hands flat against my hips and stomach, their chin pressing into my shoulder. The breeze exited their mouth each time they breathed. Mint. Something…else. Someone.

“Are there words?” 

They chuckled this time. Then, took a chest-heavy breath before singing, “I once was poison…”

I could hear the wet touch of their tongue to their lips as the words thwacked. “But, now…”

My lips uncontrollably went taut as a smile overcame my blushing cheeks. “Now, I’m your daisy,” I’m not a good singer, so I didn’t try. I just whispered the words back and twisted to meet the shadow’s eyes. 

He continued, grinning, white teeth shining over pink lips, sleepy, bagged-eyes. “Baby, for you I would fall from grace,” his one hand slid up and over my cheek. I followed it’s line and watched as black paint smeared my skin. “Just to touch your face…if you walked away-”

Oliver did not get a chance to finish because my alarm was going off. 

That wasn’t the first dream/nightmare/shit show that had invaded my nighttime slumbers or, even, daytime naps. But, it was the first in nearly 6 months. It had been really bad for the first couple of weeks. I don’t think I got a full night’s sleep for at least a month. I was up after every dream, sweating, sobbing, calling Max and yelling angrily at my stuffed squid. It was a counseling tactic that ended up saving my life (and stopping me from responding to Oliver’s texts). 

(“Daisy, I need to tell you something…”)

I ended up going back to my therapist for about three months. It didn’t take long for me to edit my life, considering I was already pretty open to the change. I knew I was accepting poor behavior from people (it ended up being much more evident in my work life) and needed to be more assertive. My first session was…interesting. I sat down on the couch across from Marie, who I had not seen since I was 19, and started bawling. The first month went like that, crying about Oliver and how much I missed my mom (something I didn't even know was affecting me). And then the ball got rolling. 

And, now, when I had these dreams, when I woke up in a hot sweat and my cat jumped from the bed in a fright, I knew what I needed to do to not spiral. I pushed the covers off of me and thought about the dream. It was…fucked up. And I couldn't even remember if it had actually happened or if I made it up. Curse me for being on a Taylor Swift kick lately. Her lyrics were causing me to go loony. 

It was realistic. Too realistic. I had almost forgotten how Oliver felt against me, at my side. Nothing in the world felt quite like that. I’d tried to replicate, sure, and got pretty close during my first semester of graduate school whenever an international student (British) and I had a fling. But it was…weird. And, then I ended up opening up more to Marie about Oliver. 

And then I dropped out of school. 

The cool, early-March air was biting at me. I’d forgotten what it was like to live in an upstairs apartment during the winter. An old one, at that. So I pulled the covers back over my legs. Processing…

The dream did not mean anything bad. It was simply a memory, a twisted one, at that. Gaps filled with things I wish were said, probably. It was…bittersweet, a new, difficult emotion I’d been struggling to wrap my head around. 

I opened up my journal and wrote it down, wrote down how it had made me feel, and how I was going to cope with it. Cleaning. Spring cleaning, to be exact. The apartment was a pig-sty, to be frank. 

Unopened boxes, cobwebs in corners, paint splatters from the trimming I’d installed last week. Not to mention the entire shop downstairs…

I got up from the bed, practically skipping to my dresser but a foot away from the end of the comforter. The bedroom was tiny, tinier than I was used to. I slipped on warmer clothes and tied my hair back. 

I Bluetoothed my phone to a mini-speaker and carried it with me to the kitchen. I popped on the kettle and shoveled half a pop tart in my mouth. Evie rubbed herself between my legs, probably dropping massive amounts of fur on my pants. I squatted down to love her while the kettle started to whistle. I snapped up before the water could boil and poured it out over the bag of tea. 

“Let’s go, Ev,” I murmured over the rim of my mug as we shuffled into the living room. 

It was a fucking wreck. I groaned and threw my head back, causing some of my hair to slip out of the tie. 

I set the speaker and tea off to the side and got started. I was off work today, luckily, so I had time to really dig into things. But I did still have plans to go out later with a friend. And it was late. I’d gotten pretty good at having a routine, but the mornings after I worked I did not have any energy to get up at a good time. It was better than it had been. 

The first two weeks after I’d dropped school, I stayed up until 4 am every night and slept on my new (thrifted) couch until the sun set. It was…a process, moving here, getting the swing of things. 

But, this felt good. Unpacking- finding a place for everything. My mugs in the cupboard above the stove, spices along the wooden rack my mom had haphazardly installed a million years ago. The cat’s stand by the big picture window, where all of our random throw pillows sat. I hadn’t realized how many things were left by her until I got the keys from Sam and we drove my stuff down here. 

But there were things- the spice rack, the pillows. Her old, vintage vanity squeezed in the extra (tiny) bedroom that Sam and I used to share. I’d made a point to clean that one up the most when I first got here, considering every one of my friends wanted to visit as soon as they could. It was a peaceful spot, where I’d also unloaded my books onto our old bookshelves and bought a comfy reading chair. A pull out bed set beneath the chair, some fancy contraption Max had found at some Swedish furniture store overseas. He was always sending me pictures of decor pieces. He knew me too well. 

I got about three boxes unloaded before I splatted myself onto the (clearing) couch, phone and glass of cold water in hand. My phone began to buzz with a call from a familiar contact on the screen. 

“Daz!” absolute ruckus on the other end. “Daz I miss youuuuuuuu!”

The voice was absolutely slurred, nearly drowned out by the club music thumping in the background. A few other voices yelled atop his and it seemed like the phone rustled around. 

A new voice, my brother’s. “Daiiiiiissssyyyyy, waiiiiizzyyyyyy, mmaeeeeeeeeee!” 

Then, Ronnie, a stern, calm and collected familiarity, “Daisy? Are you there? Sorry for these idiots. It’s been a crazy ass week and they’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating?” I giggled as she scolded them somewhere away from the speaker. “Celebrating what?” 

“New tour! New song, album, fucking lore!” Ronnie yelled in response. “Sorry- hang on. Max- if you want to talk, come outside!”

The noise lessened, yet a string of voices seemed to follow her outside. I pulled my phone away and optioned to FaceTime them instead. Their faces loaded before me- Ronnie, Max, Sam, and even Cyrus. I grinned wide at the sight. 

Of course I’d kept contact with everyone. Ronnie and Sam helped me move in the off-season, Max visited maybe 3 or 4 times. Cyrus, Adam, and I correspond in the group chat we’d made last summer and now still used. We’d play Minecraft together on the weekends, recommend each other books, and they'd send me samples of new music they were working on. 

Only instrumentals, though. 

They were some of my favorite people. It had just been a month or so since I’d actually spoken to all of them on the phone. I was- usually- working when they were not performing, writing, or traveling. But, this was the first Friday I had gotten off in a while. And, considering the time difference, I was pretty sure they’d just finished some show or something. 

“Ugh, anyways-” Ronnie began and met my eye through the screen. “We’re celebrating, if you couldn’t tell! But, how are you? What are you up to? Max wanted to call cause he said you work too much and probably miss us. Which we all know is true. We miss you Daz!”

Everyone yelled in response, cheering my name and waving and grinning. I could cry, I missed them all so much. “I’m good! I miss you all so much more! Please come visit soon!”

Ronnie glanced back at Sam, so quickly I almost didn’t notice it. She wore a sneaky smirk. “Well, here’s part of the reason we’re celebrating, peaches!”

I jumped up onto the couch, dancing around as they shared the news. They’d be here in a week! Visiting me and my tiny little rundown apartment and shop for an entire month! They had some time off before the next tour cycle started and they could not think of a better place to be. 

“We wanted to see you and help you get settled! We know it’s been a few months, but we basically ditched you at the apartment before we had to get back to Europe. So, clean off the couch, Daz!” Sam pushed his way to the phone to speak to me. I could tell he’d been drinking. His eyes were red, bloodshot and his smile was crooked. Oh, how I loved and missed him. 

But, soon! He’d be here!

We’d be here, together, continuing mom’s legacy. 

It was a dream. Come true. 

One I hadn’t even known existed until I found myself in the streets of Europe. 

But, here she was. Jumping up and down on her thrifted couch with her cat. Her very own cat! Her hair short, her hair chunky streaks of blonde. I was…Daisy. I was Daisy Hatlett, if she had ever existed and taken up space in her own existence. 

I plopped onto the couch. Max took up the screen now. “I’m coming, too, Daz! Clear out the extra bedroom, lovely!”

“Oh, my God! You guys! I don’t think I’m going to be able to house all of you. Next, you’re going to tell me that Cyrus and Adam are coming to stay, too!” I pressed a hand over my eyes, but still could not stop grinning. 

I peeked through my fingers because it went silent on the other end. All I could hear was the thumping of London club music resounding throughout the patio they were hanging out on. 

“Jeez, tell me you hate me, Daisy,” Cyrus spoke up, attempting to break through what I could only describe as awkward silence. 

Max pressed his lips together. “She might. She might.”

“So,” Sam swept the phone from whoever had been holding it and walked away from the crew. “Listen, Daisy. I should have called you when we were all sober to deliver the news, but…um. To make it easier, you know? I don’t…we’re all- basically management heard us talking about visiting. They looked into it and I guess there’s a good recording studio like an hour from you. They want us all to have some privacy in a small town to recuperate and, I guess, chill. But they want the guys to still be able to tweak parts of the album before it comes out. So…yeah, they’re sending us your way. We’re all coming.”

My dream felt like a premonition now. 

It was crazy how, after months and months sober from something, from somebody, after resisting relapse and cravings and a text message that loads after the plane touches down, it’s crazy how you can still feel it. On the tip of your lips. The very drug you’d been getting over. And you could feel, for even just a second, just as helplessly young, dumb, and naive as you had nine months ago. 

“Oliver’s gonna be here? In my town?” I murmured somewhat, knowing I looked stricken. 

Sam nodded sadly. “But…listen, okay. You won’t even have to see him. He’ll be…he’ll be in the hotel or recording most of the time. And…even if you do, Daz, he’s, like, a completely different person. Fuck, he laughs now. Like, all the time. He’ll show us dumb ass memes and laugh-”

“I don’t need to know that,” I shook my head with a giggle that was anything but joyous. “Um…it’ll be fine. It’ll feel-” use those emotions, girl, “weird. But, it’ll be good. I’ll get to see y’all!”

I ran a hand through some of my blonde streaks. Sam watched and trailed the subject off, distracted by the alcohol and my hair. “Daz, you look so pretty. You look…you look so grown. And healthy. So healthy. I love you, sis.”

I pouted my lip at the complement. “Aw, Sam-Ham! I can’t wait to see you!”

And see him, I would. Him and Cyrus and Adam and Ronnie and Max and…and probably Oliver. But, I was not delicate now. I was a grown woman. I was…mature, like Sam had said. I’d finally started to live my life and I wasn’t susceptible to a bacterial growth like Oliver. 

That’s what he was, in mine and my therapist and my friends’ minds. A growth. A tumor. And the old me had died from him. From that, a new Daisy, a healing, evolving Daisy was reborn into whoever the hell she wanted to be. Like a butterfly, I’d emerged from a chrysalis. 

“Send me the details of your flight and I’ll come pick ya’ll up! We can give everybody a tour of our hometown!” I urged him. 

Sam gave me a thumbs up, but Max was talking over him again. “Is she good with it? Does she like the idea? Is she gonna kill us- Daisy!” 

Max gave me heart-eyes through the phone, grinning. “Daisy, I cannot wait to see this flower shop. I cannot wait to help you get it all set up and ready for the grand opening! Have you set a date yet?”

Oh, haha, totally! I have everything together! I wanted to lie through my teeth. But, I know I couldn’t. Instead, I shrugged, “Not really. It’ll happen when it happens. I’m still trying to get settled back into things. I’m unpacking the living room today since I’m off.”

“Blasting Tay-Tay, I’m sure,” Ronnie teasingly rolled her eyes. 

“Hell yeah, girl!”

“Blast our new song!” Max whined, “I love Tay-Tay, you know I do. But get us some streams, babygirl!”

I exited out of the FaceTime app and opened Spotify. I could see their faces in the corner of my screen as they continued yelling. “Yeah, come on! It’s so fucking good, Daz. You’ll love the end part, for sure,” Cy added in. 

“Mayyyybe,” I shrugged, though I did ponder the idea. 

Emergence. 

What a title. 

I wondered about what Sam had said- how Oliver had changed. 

And I wondered if he felt like me, different, aged. New. A butterfly in the place of where a caterpillar had been. A reborn soul in the place of a tumor. 

Maybe I couldn’t listen to it. It would remind me that he’s human. Which, of course, I knew. It was a fact that had helped me heal. But, I think hearing about his own struggle with his identity might send me over the edge. 

I was going out later…and that always meant alcohol, which fixed any reopened scars. Not healthy, I know, but journaling didn’t always feel fun to do. 

“What’s it about?” I ventured, opening back up the FaceTime. 

Cy and Max side-eyed each other. Sam and Ronnie had left a second ago, probably to get drinks. 

“Um,” Max shrugged, “you know who’d you have to ask that question. Sorry, Daz.”

“Well, you helped write it, right, Cy? C’mon, tell meeee,” I pouted again.

Cy shook his head, “I wrote the drums, that’s all. It was…it was all Oliver, hun.”

I rolled my eyes and opened Spotify again. The cover was pretty, all rosy pink flowers. 

It reminded me…God, it reminded me of my mom’s shop. 

I wonder…

Wondering was a dangerous thing. I shut down my brain. 

I talked to them some more, hearing about their most recent tour, The Teeth of God. Though, they had visited off and on when that tour happened, so I basically knew everything, But I loved when Cy and Max told stories. They were hilarious. 

We talked for another half an hour before Ronnie and Sam came back. They made a big deal about some song that was playing in the club and demanded Cy and Max come dance. After a round of phone-hugs, smushy kisses on the camera from Max, and promised-calls from my brother, the sound of a hung up FaceTime call resonated. 

I checked the time. It was somehow nearing 5pm already. My stomach was growling. 

So, though I lingered over the music app with the tip of my thumb, I exited out of the app altogether, I got up and went to make myself dinner.

-

Friday nights in my hometown were busy. 

I noticed after my first few shifts at the local pub. I made more money there from just a three day weekend work week than I had at the clinic. Sure, men were creepy and pigtails brought in more money, but having a surplus of ones was sick. 

All this to say, I was happy to have this evening off. 

I’d reconnected with a few people from high school and they’d been begging me to go out on a Friday. Tonight, Jay and I would be hitting a bar 15 minutes up the street that had a pool, mini golf, and some band headlining the small stage. 

He was knocking on my door around 9pm, just in time for my setting spray to dry and my shot of vodka to kick in. I used to drink to get drunk, and now I just did it to chill. It was fun. 

I opened the door with a chirpy, “Hey!”

Jay, a tall, blonde-headed car salesman, leaned down for a hug. Sure, he had been a frat boy at the local community college and had asshole friends in high school. But, everybody grows out of those embarrassing phases and become…well, he was sweet and paid for dinner when we went, opened the car door when he drove me places, aaaaaand he was a pretty good fuck. Hey, grown up Daisy did grown up things now, like sleep with the captain of her high school football team. 

I squeezed my arms around his neck, catching a whiff of the sweet cologne he was wearing. And- was that smoke? Cigarette smoke? My mind almost flashed back, but I moved on. “Mm, you smell good,” I giggled as I pulled back. 

Jay kissed the corner of my lips, sliding his hand to my fingers. I shut the door and he began trotting us down the steps to the side entrance of my building. “You, too. And you look good, too. I like this skirt.”

His other hand tugged at the bottom of the tight black piece. I giggled again, “Well, thanks. Thought I’d dress up for once.”

“Aw, you don’t have to. You look just as good in your sweatpants as you do this little number.”

We loaded into his car as we talked, soon rolling down the road. We were not together. And, no it was not because I had developed some weird attachment issues. I was really just looking for a low-commitment fling while I went through this major transition in my life. And Jay’s wife had just left him for some lawyer in the big city up North. 

We had the same needs and wants right now. 

We had a good time at the bar, sloshing back shots every once in a while, dancing on the tiny little dance floor beside the similarly mini-stage. I was no longer a light-weight now that I regularly drank, like normal people my age. So, it took a few extra Dirty Shirley’s and Long Islands to get me to the point that made this night out really fun. We went from playing pool to practically mosh-pitting to Mr. Brightside. Jay went so far as to volunteer to sing with the band and I became their honorary tambourine-girl. I demanded a photoshoot and drunkenly posted the pictures to Instagram with the caption, “FEEL THE BEAT!!!”

Eventually, the night started to wind down. We drove back to mine (old Daisy would have had an aneurysm if she knew I was letting someone drunk drive me) and had sex on my couch. The cat was still an adjustment for me, considering she liked to sit by the picture window and just stare at me. 

When it was over, Jay picked her up and held her to his bare chest, boxers low on his hips. “You’re a little creep, aren’t ya?”

I giggled as she nuzzled into his neck, purring through her sweet little mouth, “She really is. I don’t know how to get her to stop either.”

Jay sat on the arm rest and Eve jumped from his arms, back to her spot on the windowsill. He leaned down close to me and wrapped a hand around my cheek. “I have a pretty good idea.”

He was flirting, making a pass for another round. I blushed, nonetheless, and kissed his wrist. “What might that be?” I smiled coyly. 

Jay took my lips in his, a supple kiss, before whispering and nipping at my ear, “The bedroom has a door.”

I let him kiss me until I was in his arms, his hands strong under my thighs. He sobered me up through another restless round of (sure, vanilla) sex. Afterwards, he curled me into him, a deep sigh rattling from his chest. 

“What was that?” I laughed, rearing my head back to see him better. “Something to share?”

Jay shared my laugh, though there was a deep, distant look that settled in his eyes. “No, no…well…I don’t know. I was just thinking…”

“Oh, no,” I mocked, “is the world ending?”

“Oh, Zee,” he pretended to squeeze me to death. “No, I just…we’ve been going out for some time now.”

Oh. 

Oh!

Ohhhh….

“Yeah?” I sat up now, his arms falling off of me. 

Jay followed, slowly, cautiously. Was he feeling how I had felt when Oliver passed me off like this?

I pushed that observation away. It burned going down. 

“I just…you have to know that I’m really into you, Zee.”

The nickname felt weird. And I felt…weird. This all felt weird. 

“Jay, I…” i raised my hand to stop him, but he kept going. 

“Honestly, I think I’m falling for you. I have to tell you before we end up hurting each other. Because I know you must feel it, too-”

“I’m gonna be sick!”

I rushed from the bed and to the bathroom, a few steps down the hall. Jay called after me, unaffected by the rush, “Oh- okay! Let me know if you need anything!”

I shut the bathroom door behind me. Slid down it’s wooden spine. Pulled my legs to my chest. I was breathing heavily. I didn’t even need to throw up, I just- I needed away. It was suffocating in there. 

I thought that this was just a casual thing, but I guess not. 

And now I just felt- like shit, to be honest. 

I tip-toed back into the room just to see if he was asleep or not. Luckily, he was passed out, jaw loose, snores coming from the back of his throat. He worked long hours.  I praised the universe for the saving grace and continued to pray that he would forget about his conversation by the morning. While he was snoring, I put on some pj’s and went out to the living room. I sat beside Evie on the bench by the big picture window, watching as the moon turned red. A blood moon. I didn’t even know that was today. 

I got up to grab my journal and sat back down. Something in me stirred. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the phone call earlier. Maybe it was this confession from Jay. 

Maybe it was that dumb fucking dream. But I was missing London. I was missing the dirty streets of Paris and the spitfire rain in Ireland. I missed the gray skies and seeing my brother everyday. 

I missed Oliver. 

I let myself feel it. I had fought it for so long, but now I just tried to accept it. It was okay to miss people. I loved him, after all. But, this feeling usually passed after a moment. 

I opened my journal and wrote about it. I wrote about how it slickened my throat and made my chest feel tight, the regret, the missing, the moving on. 

It was worse than normal. It wouldn’t go away. It screamed in my heart and burned my head. 

I don’t know why. I was over it (wasn’t I?) but my head started to race. He was…alive. Despite the fact that I didn't even know who he was anymore. He was doing things and moving on with his life. Me, too. I guess. 

Oliver was a living and breathing person. His life didn’t end when our love did. That was hard to wrap my mind around. Though I was doing the same thing. 

He was still writing songs, touring shows, painting himself in black every night. Writing songs.

And here I was- buying my mom’s old flower shop with Sam, moving back to our hometown, deciding I didn’t want to go to grad school. 

Emergence. Out from underneath…

He was still…growing. I was growing. We were growing- away from each other. 

Something about tonight, the blood moon or the information that he had released a song…something unravelled in me.

I could not stop thinking about him. 

Was he sleeping with somebody, too? Was he dating some girl? Was she the reason for this new song? Was she clutching his bicep in the busy streets of London and laughing in the park in Paris while he told some stupid joke?

Was he falling in love with her? Was he confessing like Jay had? Or was he detached like me, unable to really move on from what we had last summer? 

Unable to love somebody else the same way he loved me. 

And then I found myself going through our text messages. God, I was really spiraling. 

I’d deleted them when I got back home from London, but then my phone took a shit and I got a new one. Here, the iCloud hadn’t been backed up in so long that it reverted back to how it was when I’d boarded the plane. Oliver text messages and all. 

Even the notification I’d gotten when I landed, the one I deleted, silenced, and never even opened. Airplane mode only lasted until you turned it off. Then, whatever failed to deliver just…popped up, wooshed through the atmosphere and over the seas. 

It still was unread, and I ignored it even as I scrolled all the way up to the start and took myself through the journey of last summer. 

Oh, Daisy…

The words he used, the things he told me. Fuck- the picures he sent me. I found myself wet again even though I’d just been relieved twice. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

The names he called me. 

Love, darling…

Sneak to my room later- meet me after the show- you tasted good. 

Fragments of messages raced past my vision. Blurred. Anxious. It was all coming back, though I am not sure now that it had ever really left.

How could I have ever forgotten about him? Sure, my body lost the memory of him. But, even then, I think if I squeezed my eyes shut enough, I might be able to replicate the feeling, pretend Jay’s blonde hair was dark brown, that his blue eyes were that sweet greenish-tan. Pretend that his hands, strong, sure, were the toned ones of a certain Brit, fingers strong from piano and guitar playing. That his voice was laced with an accent, his tooth crooked but beautifully supple atop his pink, plump lips.

And, then…there was his spirit. The things he liked- the coffee and Ray Bradbury books. The song about someone being a fisherman and that poem about that fisherman painting looking over the top of a love affair. The signals he always sent me through these coded messages. 

I’d forgotten that one. 

But, there it was- a link to a PDF, an offer to let me borrow that book that he loved. 

Reading it now- 

“You lie bent up in embryo sleep

below the painting of the blue fisherman

                             without a pillow…

I watch you and wonder at you.

I know your face by touch when it's dark

I know the profile of your sleeping face

the sound of you sleeping…

I know the hills

         and gullys of your body

                   the curves

                             the turns.

But there are times

when you can smile in such a way

that I'd forget a ten year war

and lie down in your shadows' shadow

and live on sounds your stomach makes…

But there is little salvage to be had

in bent and broken nails

and things that might have been

if I'd had wiser eyes

or been a fisherman

                         in blue.”

Had I been that naive?

He never used the words directly, but it was clear now, how vivid that love was that he had for me. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

There was something else. Something I could not quite place. What- what the fuck was it? Nudging at my brain like Evie nudged at my thighs. 

I smelled it. I smelled it somewhere. I traced the smell, sniffing through the air like a deranged lady. I sniffed the edge of the couch. It was there but it was- faint. Like it was a lifetime ago. Then, Jay’s t-shirt on the arm rest. Warmer. His coat- dangling off the coat rack. I patted the pockets and there it was- a pack of cigarettes. I was an addict moving through the world, tracking down the scent of a drug or a drink like a pack dog.

I held them in my hands, squishing the pack. Then, gently, I brought it to my nose and sniffled the aroma. Cigarette smoke. 

Oliver. 

The roof. The pool. The city. The look of his cheeks cinching in as he breathed in the cigarette smoke. The smell as he held my hair back and I puked on the streets of London. The smell of his fingertips on my cheek. The taste of him after I chased him down in the hotel elevator. Me quipping to him that it would fucking kill him- him laughing. 

His laugh, fuck his laugh. Fuck, holy shit. I was weeping a little bit now. 

I wonder if he could feel it, 12 million miles away from me. I pinched myself like a voodoo doll and willed the feeling. 

It smelled like a part of me that I had pushed down for months. Healed, sure, but pushed away.

The part of me that had loved him. 

I took a cigarette from the pack and felt around his pockets for a lighter. Then, ashamedly, looking around the apartment like someone was going to catch me in the act, I slipped on some shoes and a hoodie. 

I took the stairs down to the flower shop and weaved my way through boxes. I took a seat on the stool behind the counter, crossed my leg over the other. It was freezing- nights in May were never warm. But I ignored goosebumps, embraced them, almost, and kept moving. 

I lit the cigarette without ever touching it to my lips. I watched as the edge caught the flame then set the cigarette on the counter. I typed through my phone, searching for something on Spotify. I hit play. 

Emergence. 

I lay my head on my hands, propped upon the counter, eyes practically crossed as I watched the cigarette burn. I closed my eyes, breathed in his smell, and listened…

Come on, come on out from underneath who you were…

I looped the song. Once, twice. A fifth time. And, then…

I opened the text. 

I didn’t know who I was right now. This wasn’t the old Daisy, but it wasn’t the new Daisy, either. This was someone entirely new. Someone…

Someone who needed to know the answers. Someone who still could not believe it. 

Someone. Just someone. 

“Daisy, I need to tell you a few things. If you do not want to hear me out, that is okay. You do not owe me the time nor the space to speak my truth. But, I don’t think I would able to live if I did not do so.’’

Crying. Sobbing. I took a moment to breathe in- cigarette smoke- and centered myself. 

“Fiona is somebody who I used to lo-”

I stopped there. I deleted the message. 

I relapsed, if only for the night. I let myself revel in the drug, revel in the burning memory of him, if only to just get it all out again, if only to just fulfill the prophecy and will of that fucking dream.

Then- I went back upstairs and lay myself underneath Jay’s arm. 

I listened to his soft snoring as I fell asleep, sniffing and smelling like cigarette smoke.