ily in ways u can’t understand

(Header by peytonsawyers ) spare accnt commencing as we speak

[heartpatch]

-> HEARTPATCH

ash- she/her - (over 18) — older than google

ps: just a swiftie who is exhausted at life, who lives in baltimore, md. who reads fan fics.

I just post swiftie things on my other account if you want it ask.

just a fellow fic reader;

i can’t write to save my life, but i can read all yours.

[stylesispunk]

Lately, i've been struggling with writing a lot. There are a lot of ideas coming to my brain and i haven't been able to fully process how i put those into words. I can't pretend I didn't put pressure on myself to do this because i would be lying if I said so.

I'm really okay when it comes to my own emotions and i'm really relaxed with this idea. I wanted to be honest and say that somewhere in the ocean will be the last fic i'll write. I'm not saying forever, but perhaps for a while because I TRULY NEED TO DETOX and reconnect with my own creativity all over again. I'm truly at peace with this choice.

Don't worry, there is still more of somewhere in the ocean coming and after that, i will have more space to read more and show my support to stories as i used to. 🩷🧚🏻‍♀️

kisses kisses & more kisses. 🫶

[stylesispunk]

and as always, my dms and asks are open for you all to come and talk 💌 i want this space to be filled with positivity as it used to be because that was all this blog was about. I'm sorry if my attitude came as too much or if i became unbearable at some point.

There are a lot of wonderful people sharing their art on here and I've had the pleasure to become friends with some of them. Also A LOT OF WONDERFUL PEOPLE ON HERE I AM FRIENDS WITH 🩷🥰

[stylesispunk]

Somewhere in the ocean

Harry castillo x fem!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: The one with Harry leaving for New York and Coco getting lost. w.c: 7,7 warnings: angst, mentions of abandonment, emotional distress, allusions to smut. Age gap (harry is 45 and reader 29-30) NO PROOFREADING. A/N: Hi babies! I hope you like this chapter. It's not the best, and I actually don't feel really proud of it, but I think it shows how much Harry and the reader care about each other. This chapter was supposed to contain smut, but I thought it didn't fit the vibes of the chapter very well, THE SLOW BUUUUUURN. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF THE CHAPTER!

dividers by @/strangergraphics

Morning came with the speed of the waves crashing against the shore in the middle of a violent storm. When the wind carried its fury and kisses your face with tiny knifes poking your skin, leaving tiny marks that are not seen from eyes that don’t know you.

Feeling ashamed of sadness is an utterly genuine feeling that comes with the wetness of an eternal rain.

After years of living under the constant, eternal sunlight, the clouds reached you in a strange way, with a pair of gray eyes that withered the flowers in your garden. Two eyes you used to know, but that now had come back for you to taunt you.

And this morning the day hadn’t changed. The mornings that used to be sunny and mild transformed into a cold, gray day that sent shivers down your spine, chills that not even the little dog sleeping next to you could protect you from.

Gray clouds stretched over the whole ocean, softening the sunlight pouring through your bedroom window.

It seemed like the day was crying already and for a few seconds after waking up, you laid there in your bed simply stared at the ceiling.

Disoriented as sadness caught up because reality was settling back in your chest, deep inside.

Harry was leaving today and the thought alone made you heart clenched in pain.

How many seconds and minutes?

How many hours, days or weeks had been enough for you to get used to him?

How come that the feeling of him leaving scared you this much?

You pushed the blankets away slowly and walked toward the window, still wrapped in one of your oversized t-shirt.

Coco followed rapidly behind you, his nails clicking on the wooden floor of the door.  

The day was totally grey, you could feel the icy wind kissing your cheeks without even opening the window. Even the sea sounded restless.

You were scanning the outdoors through your window when you spotted Harry.

Your breath caught at the sight of him.

Him, standing across the street in front of his house. He was dragging his suitcase towards the black car parked outside.

His curls danced with the wind and a pair of dark sunglasses hid his eyes behind them, despite the cloudy and cold morning.

From the distance he looked tired, he seemed as he hadn’t slept a blink either.

You watched quietly as he lifted the suitcase into the trunk of the car, and how he paused.

One hand resting on the edge of the car, still.

And then, as he had felt something, like a thread pulling him in, he turned his head toward your house.

Toward your window.

And even through the distance, you knew the exact second, he spotted you standing there behind the glass. His entire posture softened at the sight of you by the window.

Your chest tightened in a painful way because you didn’t know where you both stood after last night.

And perhaps, for the same reason, you didn’t know what to from now on. You stared at each other, neither of you moved. Just looking from opposite sides of the street.

The goodbye from last night suddenly didn’t feel correct.

Harry reached into the pocket of his hoodie, pulling his phone out.

Just a second later, your phone vibrated softly on your nightstand.

You looked away from the window only long enough to grab it, and there was a message from Harry.

Harry I hate leaving when we are like this.

Your throat tightened at that. You immediately looked back to him through the window and Harry was still there standing by the car. Watching you.

You noticed how he typed something out again and the vibration came in immediately after.

Harry Can you come outside for a second?

You stared at the message for just a second to make your heart race beneath your ribs. Without even thinking, you grabbed your cardigan hanging over the chair and headed towards the door with Coco following behind.

The front door creaked softly as you stepped outside. The cold air from this particular morning kissed your face in a more painful way than others. Today, the scent of rain and dusty salt seemed to be carried by departures you didn’t want to face.

Coco hurried ahead of you excitedly, his tail wagging the exact moment he spotted Harry walking in your direction from the street.

It felt like his body moved without making sense of his own body, as if his heart commanded his thoughts and actions when it came to you.

There was something almost boyish about him like this, under this light he seemed like a boy trying to mend mistakes that didn’t belong to them but for some reason he wanted to do right.

Coco reached him first, jumping excitedly around his legs. Harry bent briefly to scratch behind the puppy’s ears without taking his eyes off you as he did it.

Then he straightened again, walking closer to you. You could even see the exhaustion beneath his eyes, as he had a thousand things to say but he didn’t know where to begin. As he hadn’t slept a blink.

For a second neither of you spoke. You just stared at each other as the ocean crashed behind you.

Harry exhaled. “I didn’t want to leave like that.”

Your throat tightened immediately. “You already said goodbye.”

“Yeah.” His eyes searched yours. “And it felt horrible.”

The honesty in his voice made your chest ache. Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie before pulling one back out again shakily.

Something silver glinted between his fingers. Your brows furrowed slightly.

Harry held it out toward you.

You looked up at him, confused.

Harry smiled softly. “It’s the spare key to my house.”

Your breath caught as Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“In case Coco misses me. You can go there”

A weak laugh escaped from your lips and Harry’s expression softened at the sound.

This was the exact version he first met about you. A happy woman living next door.

A happy woman he got used to.

A happy woman he couldn’t take off his mind.

Neither from his heart.

“There she is.” He said, smiling.

You rolled your eyes softly, taking the keys.

Harry watched your hand for a second before looking back at you. “I know last night was messy.” His voice lowered, “And I know I probably handled parts of it badly.”

Your eyes dropped to your hands.

“But I need you to know something before I leave.”

Harry stepped closer, his voice became softer “I’m not scared of your past.”

Your eyes met his as him held your gaze. “I’m terrified of losing whatever this is becoming.”

The vulnerability in his voice surprised you because he sounded shocked by his own feelings. Like falling for you was the easiest task of his life.

“And honestly? That’s probably a good sign.” Harry whispered.

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. His eyes softened.

Then, before he could overthink it, he reached up and tucked a strand of hair gently behind your ear and the tenderness of his touch made your breath hitch.

“I’ll be back in a few days, okay?”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the key in your hand as if it was the only proof Harry was a real person and not a figment of your own imagination feed by your own melancholy.

Harry glanced down at them before looking back at you again.

“And when I come back…” his voice lowered, “I want to take you on a real date.”

You felt a thousand butterflies flying around inside your stomach at that.

Harry smiled at your expression.

“I’m really glad you opened the door last night.”

Harry looked at you quietly for another moment. Like he was trying to memorize this version of you standing in the cold morning air wrapped in an oversized sweater with his spare key still curled inside your hands.

As if this was the version of a new life he would come back to every time from now.

The wind moved softly through your hair and Coco sat between both of you.

And suddenly leaving felt much harder than it had ten minutes ago.

Harry smiled softly again, stepping closer to you. One of his hands cupped your face with delicacy in his warm touch. His thumb brushed the skin beneath your eye before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek.

Lingering there for a second.

Then another kiss landed softly right on the tip of your nose, making you let out the smallest breathy laugh.

Harry smiled immediately at the sound.

“There she is again,” he whispered again.

Then, Harry leaned down one last time and pressed a slow kiss against your forehead.

You closed your eyes automatically at that. At the feeling oh his lips on your skin, making your chest clenched. 

When he pulled back, his forehead rested on yours.

“So, no overthinking while I’m gone,” he murmured softly.

You gave him a look. “That’s literally impossible.”

Harry laughed quietly. “Alright, just a little bit more then.”

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. His gaze dropped on them immediately, as if he wanted to kiss you again, but something made him stop.

Like he couldn’t help himself, but then, he stepped back.

“Goodbye, baby.”

The nickname made your heart squeeze painfully.

“Goodbye, Harry.” You swallowed, throat closing.

For a second longer neither of you moved. Neither of you wanting to be the one to leave first.

Then Coco barked impatiently between your feet and Harry looked down at him.

“Right. Sorry.”

He crouched to scratch behind the puppy’s ears. “Protect her while I’m gone, okay my little baby? Be a good boy for me.”

Coco licked his hand.

“Traitor,” Harry muttered affectionately.

And then your laugh followed him all the way back toward the car.

And Harry glanced over his shoulder one last time just to hear it again, waving you goodbye with his hand.

And then, inside these four walls with a closed door behind, you became thar lonely person carrying a ghost of what you once were.

The return of Patrick brought all the memories you had of a life you didn’t miss anymore but you craved. Not because you missed him or you loved him, but because there right on his face, your fears were written. The version of you that wasn’t lonely as this.

And you couldn’t help but cry.

Three days after Harry left, your house became grey. Ever since he drove back to New York, the days had turned into grey rainy days as if the sun had left with him.

His laugh still lingered in your kitchen, even looking at Coco reminded you of him, and the puppu wandered towards the front door during the day as if expecting Harry to appear again.

Harry texted constantly.

Little things of an ordinary life that seemed foreign lands for you from this place.

Pictures from New York traffic with complains about meetings and blurry photos of overpriced coffees comparing them to yours.

Harry Did Coco remember me or has he moved on emotionally?

Harry I miss you.

That one sat unanswered for hours. Not because you didn’t want to answer.

Because you didn’t know how. The sadness from his departure had settled into your chest.

And the cloud raining over your hair made your heart stutter in fear, you were terrified of facing your family out of the blue now you had seen Patrick coming to your life.

All those feeling had settled like heavy fog. It followed you everywhere.

Around the café.

Into your sleep.

Into the quiet moments when your mind wandered too far. To your past, when at midnight you went through pictures and looked back a woman you didn’t recognize anymore.

Making you ignore everyone, even Harry.

And every unanswered text made guilt twist deeper inside your stomach.

Because you missed him terribly.

But something inside you had begun pulling inwards again. The fear and the exhaustion. The old instinct to isolate whenever life became too painful.

At night, you were sitting curled up on your couch with Coco asleep against your legs when your phone vibrated again.

Harry. I know you’re overwhelmed, baby. You don’t have to answer me all the time. Just tell me you’re okay.

Your throat tightened painfully as you stared at the screen for a long moment, but at the end you ended up locking the phone without answering again.

You didn’t feel okay at all.

The next morning rain poured heavily outside the doors. The day was cold and grey as everything felt inside your heart.

You were making coffee in your kitchen when your phone buzzed again across the counter.

This time it wasn’t Harry, but an email from a law firm name you knew so well. 

You almost ignored it, but something in your chest tightened as soon as you opened the message.

And the moment you read the first paragraph; nausea rolled through your stomach because they were still offering to buy your grandfather’s house from you.

A large amount of money that would make any person pause.

But that wasn’t what made your hands start shaking.

It was the wording.

As if you were a business obstacle rather than their daughter, like if you came from hell itself.

You kept reading and the deeper you got into the email, the colder your body felt.

"Failure to cooperate may result in legal proceedings regarding the property entitlement."

Your breathing stopped.

Legal proceedings?

Against you?

Over the house your grandfather left you because you were the only person who stayed beside him until the last days of his life?

The mug slipped slightly in your trembling hands, breaking and the coffee spilling over the ground beneath for feet.

Coco immediately lifted his head at the sound.

You stared at the screen. At the perfectly polished legal language threatening to drag you into court against your own family.

And suddenly the loneliness hit harder than before because no matter how much Harry cared.

this was still your family.

Your history.

Your pain.

And for one awful second, sitting alone in your kitchen while rain hitting forcefully against the windows, you felt twenty-four again.

Thrown out with two suitcases and nowhere to go.

During that week, the rain didn’t stop pouring fiercely. The gray skies seemed to settle directly into your chest.

You had barely slept during those days, barely ate and when the café opened every morning, you buried yourself in work like exhaustion could silence the thoughts running through your head.

You cleaned tables that were already cleaned, reorganized shelves once, twice and even stayed longer hour after than necessary, just to avoid sitting alone and drown in your mind.

Harry kept texting you, with gentle messages, funny ones, worried ones.

But you still couldn’t bring yourself to answer properly, not when you felt yourself slipping back into the version of you that existed right after that wedding.

The version who isolated herself and shut down people around.

By Friday afternoon, the café was packed with people. The sound of mugs clinking and espresso machines hissing filled the air while rain streaked the windows outside.

People were seeking warm inside this place.

And as you were carrying a tray of glasses toward the counter, you slipped with the glasses falling right after.

The sound echoed loudly inside the café, making you flinch at the sound.

“It’s okay!” Sophie called quickly from behind the register.

Embarrassed, you bent down to clean it.

But your hands were shaking now, even when you reached for another glass, it slipped too.

The entire café fell briefly silent as your breathing quickened. It seemed like everyone in here could hear your thoughts.

“I got it,” you whispered as you noticed Sophie coming to help.

But she didn’t hear you, well, she pretended she didn’t.

“Hey— no.”

She gently caught your wrist before you could touch more broken pieces of glass.

Your eyes looked red, tears threatening to spill.  

“Sophie, I’m sorry—”

“Nope.” Her voice sounded soft as always. “Back away from the tiny pieces.”

People went back to minding their business as Sophie grabbed the broom and the rest of the staff worked.  

You stood there frozen, humiliated and exhausted.

And suddenly too overwhelmed to even pretend you were okay anymore.

Sophie looked up at you while sweeping, her expression shifted at the sight of you.

“Alright.”

You wiped the silent streams down your cheeks. “I’m fine.”

Sophie gave you a look “mm. sure you are.” She pointed toward the back room, “Break. Now.”

“I don’t need a break.”

But Sophie pointed again, “Your office, now.”

And you were too tired to argue, so you walked.

You throw yourself on one of the chairs while Sophie entered a moment later carrying two mugs in her hands.

She placed one in front of you on your desk, then sitting on the chair across from you.  

For a second, she looked at you quietly. In complete silence.

Studying you with concern.

“Where’s my chirpy friend?” She asked.

Your eyes widened at the question because it hurt more than expected.

Sophie sighed gently. “I swear she disappeared like a week ago.”

Your throat tightened. “I’m trying.”

“I know.” Sophie’s voice softened, “but you look exhausted.”

You laughed weakly. “I am exhausted.”

“No.” She shook her head slightly. “I mean emotionally.”

Silence settled between both of you.

“You are somewhere else, at least your mind is.”

Rain tapped softly against the back window. It was the only source of sound for a moment.

“Is this about rich-boy with brown eyes?”

That almost made you smile, but you juts rubbed tiredly at your forehead with your hand.

“It’s everything.”

Sophie waited quietly, and maybe because you were too tired to keep carrying it alone, the words finally slipped out.

“My family is trying to sue me for my grandfather’s house. That’s why they sent Patrick here.”

Sophie’s eyes widened instantly. “What?”

You nodded weakly. “They already sent lawyers.”

“What the actual hell?”

A broken laugh escaped you. “Yeah.”

Sophie stared at you in complete disbelief.

“No wonder why you felt this sad.”

You looked away. “I just feel stupid.”

“Why?”

“Because Harry came into my life and suddenly, I started feeling happy again.” Your voice cracked. “And now I’m terrified everything’s going to ruin it.”

Sophie’s expression softened immediately as you stared down at your coffee.

“He deserves someone less complicated than me.”

The silence that followed lasted exactly two seconds because Sophie snorted.

“Please.”

You blinked up at her.

“That man looks at you like you brought the sun into his life.”

Your lips twitched upwards.

“I’m serious.” Sophie crouched slightly beside your chair now. “You know what I saw when he came into the café the first day?”

You shook your head weakly.

“A man with the most loving eyes.”

You pouted; eyes itched. “I miss him.”

Sophie crossed her arms and pointed toward the back door like she was moments away from escorting you out herself.

“Hey.”

You looked up tiredly.

“Go home and call him, okay?” she said, “I know you’re technically the boss and the one who gives orders around here…”

A tiny smile tugged weakly at your lips already.

“But as your employee,” she continued dramatically, “and unfortunately your friend too—”

“Unfortunately?”

“Don’t interrupt my speech.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m sending you home for the day.”

“Sophie—”

“Nope.” She said, grabbing your apron strings and untied them herself.

“You’re exhausted, and one more broke mug away from a full breakdown.”

A tired laugh escaped from your lips.

“There she is,” Sophie said immediately.

You groaned quietly. “Can everyone stop saying that?”

“No.”

She handed your jacket to you.

“Besides,” her voice softened now, “I’m pretty sure Coco wants to cuddle with you.”

Your chest tightened unexpectedly at the mention of him because suddenly the idea of going home didn’t feel quite as lonely as before.

Sophie watched your expression carefully. “And maybe answer Harry before he worries too much.”

You looked away immediately, guilt twisting your insides.

Sophie sighed knowingly. “He’s worried about you.”

“I know.”

“Then stop punishing yourself by pretending you have to deal with all this alone.”

Your throat tightened painfully because that was exactly what you were doing.

The old habit.

The old survival instinct, disappear before becoming a burden.

Sophie softened completely then and stepped closer. “You know what I think?”

You looked at her tiredly.

“I think you’ve spent so long surviving people hurting you that now you don’t know what to do with someone trying to stay.”

That hit right on your chest, you swallowed.

Sophie squeezed your shoulders.

“Go home, boss. And cuddle your dog.”

The rain had gotten heavier by the time you left the café, rain soaking through your clothes. Cold drops tapped against your umbrella while the ocean in the distance looked dark and restless beneath the gray sky.

It was almost scary. Today it only made everything feel lonelier.

Sophie’s words still echoed softly inside your head as you walked home and your heart bursted with happiness at the thought of cuddling your dog.

By the time you reached your porch, your sweater sleeves were damp from the rain.

You unlocked the front door, already expecting the usual sound of the tiny paws scrambling across the wooden floor of the house.

Coco practically launching himself at your legs the second you walked inside, but this time you were met with silence.

Your brows furrowed “Coco?”

You stepped inside quickly, shutting the door behind you, but nothing came.

Your stomach tightened “Coco?”

The house suddenly felt too quiet and too still.

You set your bag down, walking inside, but the living room was empty and his toys still scattered near the couch.

Your pulse started quickening. “Coco?” A nervous laugh escaped, “okay, not funny.”

You checked the kitchen, but nothing. Then the bathroom, then your bedroom.

And your heart clenched at no sight of Coco and the rain kept pouring outside this safe space.

“Coco!”

Panic started rising fast and irrationally inside you, because after everything this week, your body no longer knew how to react normally to fear. Only intensely.

You hurried back toward the living room, heart hammering in fear.

Then you noticed it the back door slightly open and your heart fell down your stomach. “No no no—”

You rushed toward it immediately and pushed it wider open, the cold rain and wind blew against your face.

The backyard was empty. The wind howled with force.

“Coco!” Your voice cracked this time.

Fear hit your chest so violently it almost made you dizzy.

What if he got out?

What if someone took him?

What if he ran toward the road and he—

Your breathing suddenly became uneven and before you could stop yourself, your shaking hand grabbed your phone.

The contact you pressed came instinctively.

Automatically.

Sophie

The phone rang three times before she answered

“Hey?”

“Are you okay?”

The question almost made you cry; you covered your mouth shakily.

“S-Sophie…”

“What happened?”

“I can’t find Coco.” You cried, “I think he escaped. I—”

“I’m coming, okay? I’ll help you find him.”

“Sophie—”

“I’m coming.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“Sophie, no, you don’t have to—”

“Hey, breathe for me first.” Her voice softened instantly again. “You’re panicking.”

You pressed a trembling hand against your forehead. The rain and wind outside suddenly felt unbearably loud.

“I left the back door locked this morning I swear and now it’s open and he’s gone and—”

“Hey.” Sophie’s voice cut through the panic immediately. “Listen to me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“We’re going to find him.”

The certainty in her voice made your breathing falter. “Coco probably got curious and wandered out because of the storm.”

Your throat tightened.

“But he loves you too much to go far.”

A tear slipped down your cheek.

“And you are not looking for him alone, okay?”

The storm only got worse as you stepped outside the house, Rain soaked through your clothes within minutes of leaving, but the thought of cuddling with Coco again made your heart clenched.

All you could think about was your dog and his tiny body and how he hated rain.

The possibility of him being alone somewhere terrified and cold.

You walked through nearly every street around your house calling his name until your voice turned raw.

“Coco!”

People stared sympathetically from shop windows as you passed. Some of them promised to keep an eye out.

But every empty sidewalk made the panic inside your chest grow sharper.

Sophie showed up twenty minutes after your call.

Still wearing her café apron beneath a raincoat by then you were already crying.

“I checked the pier,” you said shakily the second she reached you. “And the grocery store and the little park near the dunes and—”

“Hey, hey.”

Sophie grabbed your shoulders gently.

“We’ll find him.”

But even she looked worried now. Later half the café staff had joined too.

Everyone splitting through different parts of town with umbrellas and flashlights as darkness slowly began swallowing the beach streets.

Hours passed, but no sign of Coco.

Every time your phone buzzed; your heart jumped only to crash again when it wasn’t news about Coco.

Harry kept calling, but you could find yourself brave enough to tell him about Coco missing.

You pressed a trembling hand against your forehead. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

Your voice cracked completely then. “What if he’s scared?”

Tears spilled harder down your face.

“Dogs always fin a way to go back home” Sophie said.

You covered your mouth to stop your sob.

“And Coco loves home. He loves you.”

That nearly destroyed you completely because Coco was home no. The tiny dog had filled the lonely spaces in your life without asking for anything except love.

By ten at night, your entire body ached with exhaustion. Your soaked sweater clung cold against your skin while rainwater dripped from your hair.

Sophie finally caught up to you near the boardwalk again. Her expression immediately fell when she saw your face.

“Oh, honey.”

You shook your head frantically. “I can’t lose him. I can’t lose my baby coco.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. And the second they did, Sophie’s entire expression softened with heartbreak.

Because this wasn’t only about Coco, but about every loss sitting then on chest.

Sophie immediately wrapped her arms around you despite you being completely drenched.

“You’re not going to lose him.”

But your body shook violently now. “What if he thinks I abandoned him?”

Sophie’s heart visibly broke at that. “Oh sweetheart…”

You cried harder on her shoulder, but suddenly, Sophie got an idea.

She held your face gently between her hands, trying to calm your breathing while rain poured around both of you.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Your chest heaved “I checked everywhere—”

“I know.”

Sophie brushed wet hair away from your face quickly.

“Did you check Harry’s house?”

You froze. Your eyes widened instantly.

Your breath got stuck inside your throat because Coco loved Harry.

He loved sleeping with Harry.

He loved following him around like a tiny shadow every chance he got.

And in your panic, the possibly hadn’t come to your mind. “Oh my God.”

Sophie immediately grabbed your arm.

“Come on.”

You practically ran. Rain splashing violently beneath your shoes while your heartbeat hammered painfully inside your chest.

Harry’s beach house sat dark at the end of the street, ocean waves crashing loudly behind it.

Your trembling hands struggled with the spare key Harry had given you that morning.

“Come on” you muttered, as the lock finally clicked and pushed the door quickly.

You were met with darkness and silence.

And your chest tightened again because this was your last spark of hope.

“Coco?”

But again, you were met with nothing but silence.

Your heart started sinking, but then a faint sound came from Harry’s bedroom.

Both you and Sophie froze.

A bark, a tiny one.

“Coco?”

Suddenly frantic little paws scrambled loudly across the floor, appearing running from the room.

Your knees nearly gave out in front of him “Oh my God—”

The puppy launched himself directly into your arms so hard you almost fell backward with him as a sob came out of you instantly as you held him against your chest.

“You little asshole,” you cried shakily into his fur. “Oh my God.”

Coco whined happily and licked your face repeatedly like he had absolutely no idea he had caused an emotional devastation inside your house.

Sophie let out the biggest relieved laugh beside you.

“I’m gonna kill him.” But she was smiling too hard to mean it.

You hugged Coco tighter, shaking with the lingering panic and relief while he happily wagged his tail against your arms.

“He must’ve gotten in before the storm started,” Sophie said softly. “Probably came looking for Harry.”

Your chest tightened painfully at that. Of course, he did.

The realization hit even harder when you looked around the house. Some Harry clothes were still thrown over the couch.

One mug left drying near the sink.

The faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air and Coco had gone looking for the other person who made this place feel safe.

Tears burned your eyes again suddenly.

Sophie noticed “Oh no,” she sighed softly. “Now why are you crying again?”

You laughed weakly through tears while holding Coco tighter. “He misses Harry too.”

Sophie softened, walking over and squeezing your shoulder.

“You should text him.”

Your eyes immediately lifted to meet hers and guilt twisted inside your stomach again.

"I know."

Sophie smiled gently. "Then stop punishing both of you."

Silence settled between you and Coco yawned in your arms.

Sophie headed toward the door. "I'm leaving before you start crying again."

You laughed weakly.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Soph. Thank you so much.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

Then, the door closed behind her and suddenly the house became quiet again.

Just you and coco sitting on Harry’s couch.

The puppy immediately curled into your side as exhaustion hit all at once.

Your muscles ached and your eyes still burned with tears.

And suddenly your entire body felt drained.

…………………………………….

The storm was still pouring outside when you drifted off on Harry's couch. At some point, with Coco curled tightly against your side, exhaustion finally took over you after days of no sleeping.

Because the last few days had drained you completely, the lawyers. Patrick and the memories of your family catching up.

And today, after losing Coco you hart had almost given up.

So, when sleep came, it came deeply.

So, when you the sound of a door closing pulled you from your sleep, your eyes opened.

You frowned sleepily, disoriented at first.

And then, cold. Cold plastered all over your skin. For a second you genuinely forgot where you were, so you opened your eyes fully, scanning around the space around you.

And there was Harry, standing by the door with one hand still gripping the handle of his suitcase.

His hair was messy, coat damp from the rain, adorned by an expression of complete surprise crossing his face.

Because the last thing he expected after a midnight was to find you asleep on his couch.

For a second neither of you moved, both of you blinked, mouth agape.

Then suddenly all the exhaustion and emotions from the week hit you again and before either of you could say anything, you stood, crossing the room.

His eyes widened. "Ba—"

And then you were right in his arms. Harry caught you instantly with both arms wrapping around your waist as you buried your face against his chest.

Relief hit him so hard it almost took his breath away.

"Oh." One of his hands immediately moved into your hair. "Hey."

Your arms tightened around him, closing your eyes and holding him closer.

But he also felt how could you were, how your clothes felt humid and how tensed your body felt under his touch.

He pulled back; concern mixed with relief.

"Jesus." his hands moved to your arms, trying to heat your skin.  "You're freezing."

You looked up at him, eyes watered.

"What happened?" Harry's face softened.

“Coco got lost and I looked for him all day!” Your voice cracked.

“Baby—”

“All day, Harry.” You throw your hands into the air in frustration. “I walked around this entire neighborhood in middle of this rain and he was here!”

Your voice rose “In your house!”

The entire time his hands remained on you, as Harry looked over your shoulder.

"Coco?"

A sleepy bark came out as an answer, the puppy lifted his head from the couch and the second he recognized Harry, Coco launched himself off the cushions.

"Hey, buddy."

The puppy climbed him, licking his face and whining.

Harry crouched down pet his ears. "You scared your mother half to death."

Coco licked his wrist. "Don't act innocent."

The puppy wagged as Harry shook his head as he stood again.

Then his eyes were on you again, "Baby."

You looked up.

"You are soaking wet."

You glanced down at your clothes, still damp from running through the storm earlier.

Harry looked horrified. "How long have you been wearing those?"

You shrugged. "Few hours."

His eyes widened. "A few—"

He stopped middle sentence, running a hand through his hair.

"No."

You blinked. "No what?"

Harry pointed down the hallway. "Go take a hot shower."

You opened your mouth.

"No arguments."

A tiny smile appeared in your face.

"Now."

You laughed softly. The sound made something warm settle inside his chest.

"I'm making some tea."

"Harry—"

"And probably soup and I’m gonna left some of my clothes for you to wear.”

You rolled your eyes. "I'm not dying."

"No, but you're definitely trying to catch pneumonia."

A small smile tugged at your lips. The first real one in days, but it suddenly faded.

Harry immediately noticed.

"What?"

You swallowed, looking down at your hands. "I'm sorry."

Harry frowned. "For what?"

"I didn't answer your messages, neither your calls."

There was guilt in your tone, "I saw them,” Your throat tightened. "I just..."

Harry's expression softened, "Oh, baby."

He stepped closer, tilting your chin upward with his hand.

"You don't have to apologize for struggling."

Your eyes immediately watered again.

Harry sighed softly. "I was worried."

You nodded. "I know."

"But I wasn't angry with you." His thumb brushed beneath your eye, softly. "I’m not angry at you i just wanted to know you were okay."

A tear slipped down your cheek and Harry caught it with his thumb, then leaning in forward and pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead.

Your chest tightened and Harry smiled softly.

"So now." He nudged your shoulder. "You will take a hot shower."

You let out a weak laugh.

"And you will make tea?"

"I will make tea." He grinned.

For the first time in days, the knot in your chest loosened because Harry was here.

The fear you didn't want to face had finally caught up with you, but this time it didn't feel like large hands strangling your neck, suffocating you and leaving you breathless. This time, air flowed within you, making you feel alive, making you feel you could give a chance to the man who knocked on your door one ordinary night, unaware that he would help you heal.

For the first time in years, being alone was no longer your refuge, but your fear.

And you smiled for the first time in days, because Harry was standing in front of you and despite everything that had happened, he had come back for you.

…………

The hot shower for sure helped you. It didn’t erase all the pain on your muscles or the stress weighting over your shoulders, but it made you feel warm and cared, like an embrace.

Your head and your heart stopped hurting under the steamy water.

Soft from countless washes.

The mirror in the bathroom still wept with condensation, its glass fogged by the heat of the warm water during the shower with the air carrying the scent of mint soap in its steam.

You stepped out from behind the curtain, droplets of water clinging to your skin streaming down your body, tracking cold paths down your spine and over the curve of your hips. You reached for the t-shirt Harry’s left for you outside the door. Which really meant one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants that were much too large. It was on of his, a worn, vintage band tee that had been washed a thousand times, the fabric was soft under your touch. The shirt alone reached halfway down your thighs.

It smelled like him.  

You pulled it over your head. The scent of him wrapped you instantly as the hem fell to mid-thigh, exposing your legs in a way that made you nervous to walk around because your felt to bare to face Harry under this light, especially the fabric smelled of him, cedarwood, clean laundry, and the faint, distinct musk of his skin. Being wrapped in his scent while your body was bare and vulnerable underneath.

You sat on the edge of the bed; towel draped over your shoulders while drying your hair.

A few minutes later there was a gentle knock on the partially open bedroom door.

"Tea's ready."

You looked up, and found Harry standing in the doorway.

Watching you.

For a moment neither of you spoke and you noticed Harry had changed too.

Dark sweatshirt and gray sweatpants.

Taking you in. His posture relaxed, but his eyes were tracked a droplet of water as it slid from your neck to disappear beneath the collar of your shirt.

He pushed off the frame and walked into the room, the floorboards creaking softly under his weight. In his hand, he held a thick, plush towel.

"Come here," he murmured, his voice raspy and low, vibrating in the suddenly too small space for the both of you to fit.

You trusted him, so you stepped toward him.

Harry didn’t touch your body. He could tell by your posture that being under his stare, looking like this made you felt bare, so instead, he draped the towel over your wet hair, covering your eyes for a moment before he gathered wet strands at the nape of your neck. He began to squeeze the water out your hair, his movements were gentle, almost mundane, as in a perfect routine as his fingers grazed your scalp sending shivers down your spine that had nothing to do with the cooling air.

You sat on the bed, the sheets cooling the back of your thighs, as Harry moved closer, standing between your parted knees. He rubbed your hair dry, his eyes focused intently on his task, though his gaze kept flickering down to the exposed skin of your bare legs and shoulders where the shirt slipped.

He swallowed hard; his Adam's apple visible in the low light. His jaw tightened; a muscle trembled beneath the skin as he tried no to look nervous while being this close to you. He was trying to be respectful, keeping his eyes on the towel and your hair, but the air in the room had thickened, it had changed, carrying a magnetic static that made the fine hairs on his arms rise up. Every time his knuckles accidentally brushed on your cheek or ear; the contact lingered a fraction of a second too long.

You could feel the tension in his shoulders and the way his hands trembled as he touched you closed.

You looked at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the way his damp hair fell over his forehead. How the silence stretched, filled only by the sound of your ragged breathing inside a tiny space.

The scent of him was intoxicating this close, clouding your senses, so you shifted your legs, your knee brushing on his inner thigh.

Harry froze at that, so did his hands over your hair.

Slowly, you reached up catching his wrists. Your fingers felt cool wrapped on his warm skin and Harry looked down, his eyes locking onto yours. The brown was dark, blown wide with a hunger he was fighting to suppress as turned on the seat, to face him fully.

Harry’s breath hitched. He didn’t step back. He couldn't. No when you were inches apart from each other. The heat radiating from his body palpable on your damp skin. He swore you could hear the beating of his heart as you stared up at him, lips parting. The world outside the bathroom stopped existing. There was only the sound of breathing and thunder of each other’s hearts in your ears.

He didn't move away. He couldn’t so his body leaned in instead, heat rolling off him in waves that met the chill of your skin. Now, inches separating you, close enough that every shaky exhale from his lips brushed your mouth.

Your lips parted as you held his gaze. Harry swallowed, he wanted to touch you, he wanted to drag his hands over your wet skin, to taste the water on your breasts, but the fight inside him showed in the fear of ruining it.

You kept his wrists captive, your thumbs stroking slow circles over his skin while your knee brushed his thigh. Harry's breath came ragged, his eyes focused on your face.

Harry swallowed hard, not because of desire alone, but because of everything that sat beneath it.

The fear, the hope and the terrifying realization that somewhere along the way you had become important to him.

Really important to lose now.

Neither of you moved for a moment and the bubble around you felt too charged, trapping the steady rhythm of two hearts trying very hard to keep up.

Harry's eyes searched yours as if looking for permission, as if making sure you were here with him.

Harry let out the breath he was holding, then he leaned forward, giving you the chance to pull away, but you didn’t.

And his forehead brushed yours first, his eyes closed and then, the same hand you were holding slipped free and rose to your cheeks, claiming his lips with yours.

Harry's hands remained in your cheeks, thumbs brushing the skin of your cheekbones as if he needed the proof, you were real, right there in front of him.

That the universe, for some reason, had freed him from a loveless future because just a few kilometers away from New York, the sea air was going to hold him and the ocean was going to bring him someone like you among the waves.

To him, to be with him.

The kiss deepened, with lust and devotion. You let your hand down his neck, to finally rest it on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

Harry smiled softly against your lips;

"Are you sure about this?" Harry asked softly, pulling away. Both of you breathing harder, foreheads nearly touching.

You nodded immediately and leaned in to kiss him again. But Harry pulled back just enough to look at you.

Not rejecting you, but looking for certainty.

"Are you sure?" His hand slid gently along your cheek. "Because I want you.”

Your heart stumbled at those words.

"But I don't want you to feel rushed about it."

The room became silent, suddenly the only sound was the beating of your hearts fighting to break free from your cages.

Your eyes softened. "Harry."

His thumb brushed your cheeks. "I mean it."

You felt your throat tightened, because after a lifetime of people deciding things for you, speaking over you, choosing what they wanted there he was, allowing you to breathe.

Making sure you felt safe.

Making sure you were choosing too.

A small smile appeared on your lips. "I'm not rushing."

Harry studied your face for another moment. “Okay." He said, smiling.  

Your hand moved to from his chest to cup his cheeks, feeling the warmth under your cold fingertips. "I want this."

His eyes softened immediately. "You don't have to prove anything to me."

"I know."

"You don't have to make up for a bad week."

A shy smile tugged at your mouth. "I know."

"You don't have to be afraid I'll leave if we take things slow."

"I'm not scared of taking things slow." You said, smiling back at him.

Harry smiled. "No?"

You shook your head. "I'm scared because I like you and I’m getting used to you."

The confession slipped out before you could stop it and for a second, Harry swore he stopped breathing.

"Great."

You blinked “Just great?”

He pecked another kiss to your lips, "Because I really like you too."

The fire igniting in your chest felt suffocating but in such a wonderful way. Harry wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to his chest.

"No more talking tonight."

"That's a bold promise." You said, smiling at him, "And what are we doing instead?"

Harry placed his hands on your shoulders. "Well, the tea must be cold."

"You keep bringing up that tea."

"Because I want to warm you up.” He said, looking down at you, realizing for the first time all week.

You laughed and he smiled at the sound.

"Feeling better?" he asked quietly.

A small smile appeared on your lips.

"A little."

"A little?"

You nodded. "Maybe more than a little."

The corner of his mouth lifted.

"Thank you for coming back.” You smiled,

"Of course, I came back."

"As soon as you could." You spoke for him.

"As soon as I could."

You looked down for a second. Harry gently tilted your chin back up.

"There she is." He said,

You groaned.

"Again?"

"Again."

Then he leaned forward and pressed one gentler kiss to your lips.

"Now come on." You wrapped your fingers around his wrist.

"The tea?"

"The tea."

And with his hand finding yours, the two of you headed towards the living room together while Coco snored on the couch, completely unaware that he had accidentally brought you both back to each other.

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[yms1]

do u ever miss your own energy. like damn what happened to me

[stylesispunk]

"Somewhere in the ocean - Part 7"

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: The one where you and Harry get hurt, but you also have each other by the end.

w.c: 6,8

warnings: fluff, angst (so sorry but is temporaray and really short), mentions of abandonment, mentions of death, crying, age gap (Haryy is 45 and reader is 29-30)

A/N: HELLO! This chapter made me cry while I was writing it, and I hope you like it. I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think.

happy reading and please please please let me know what you think. Also taglist is open if you want to be tagged 💌

dividers by @/strangergraphics

As the blood rose to your ears, the only thing you could feel was the touch of Harry's hand on your man. Solid and warm like the tenuous light that has enveloped your life since you knew it.

His touch tightened around your skin, but not in a possessive way, nor did it claim you the feeling of the kiss you had just shared, but rather supported you.

I'm here.

Because the expression of shocked that crossed your face was impossible to miss.

For a mere second you genuinely thought you were imagining him. That Patrick was just a figment of your imagination bringing back the dust from a past life that no longer existed. That the sea had made sure to hide beneath the water.

But it wasn’t. He was pretty much real and standing in front of you. Looking at you with an expression on his face that made you felt sick.

"Patrick?" you asked, barely above a whisper, disbelief lacing on the words.

Patrick swallowed. His gaze moving over your face he was tried to reconcile the woman standing before him with the one he remembered.

The bolter.

"Hi."

The word sounded absurd after all this time. As if months hadn't passed. As if your wedding hadn't imploded in your hands.

As if your entire life hadn't been divided into a before and after.

You stared at him, but you weren’t moving. Suddenly you wished to the earth to swallow under your feet.

Harry felt the tension radiating through your body and instinctively stepped a little closer to you.

Patrick noticed the movement, so his eyes felt on the man he didn’t know.

On your hand still tangled in Harry’s shirt. On the remnants of an interrupted moment by the ghost of the past crashing on the shore.

Something changed in Patrick’s expression for a moment, but you couldn’t know what. After all, you didn’t know the man in front of you anymore.

You stopped knowing him the days you walked away from him five years ago no looking back, not knowing the price you would have to pay for that so called stupid decision.

……

Five years ago, New York - St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

The interior of the Cathedral smelled like Black Dahlias. A suffocating aroma that you didn't like. Surrounding inside the church, on the altar, over the pews and in the hands of your bridesmaids who were your two best friends and your sister. The same as those who had helped you to plan this wedding.

The two of them were smiling widely at you, meanwhile Kiera’s gaze seemed lost in the war unfolding before her eyes and mind. Her fingers tightened around the bouquet in her hands you almost could see her expression hurting with the prick of the flower’s stem.

And behind you, everyone was smiling. Everyone was waiting. Everyone believed they were about to witness the happiest day of your life.

But as Patrick stood beside you at the altar, as handsome and confident as always. His hand wrapped around yours.

The man you had loved for almost seven years and the man who had betrayed you.

Your throat tightened. The priest was talking, his words felt distant because you felt like your body was being carried away by the current of the sea and you weren't making an effort to stay afloat.

All you could picture in your head wasn’t the dreams of a future ahead, but the image of Patrick’s mouth on Keira’s lips.

Your maid of honor and your sister.

What a cliché.

Your sister and your fiancé, your future husband hiding inside a room three weeks before the wedding while whispering promises to each other not noticing you were witnessing the scene behind the door.

The image replayed again.

And again.

And again.

Like a knife being twisted deeper on your stomach

But you could also recall the Panic on Keira’s face outside the hotel hallways when she attempted to leave the place and how Patrick desperately tried to explain making up false words taking you for a fool.

But there wasn’t another explanation for his tongue being in someone else's mouth and his body moving beneath the sheets wrapping in another women.

The humiliation creeped up immediately. Your body felt under fire, but you also felt pure rage.

So, three weeks after, you put on the white dress, you walked down the aisle holding your father’s arm, you stood at the altar.

You walked down the aisle.

But right now, your eyes burned, tears streamed down your face as Patrick kept squeezing your hand with concern etched on his face.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, leaning closer your ear.

You turned gaze, looking into his eyes and for a moment you wanted to find the man you had planned your life with, the father of your future children that wouldn’t have the chance to be born because all you saw right now was a stranger standing before you wearing Patrick’s face.

You looked behind you, at your mother dabbing at her eyes and your father looking proud and your brother smiling widely at you.

And suddenly you couldn't breathe because none of them knew and you realized none of them would choose you when they found out.

You looked at Patrick, he was smiling at you, again and at that moment something inside you finally broke.

Your heart and your faith.

So, you slowly pulled your hand from his, Patrick frowned confused.

The church fell in a gasp, all eyes were on you wondering what was happening inside your head at this very moment.

"No." you whispered, voice trembling.

The word echoed through the entire church.

"What?" Patrick blinked.

A tear slipped down your cheek. You looked at him one final time. At the man who had broken your trust and somehow expected to keep your future.

"I said no."

Then you turned, grabbing the gown of your dress and walking away while all gazes followed your gaze.

……………………………………

"I didn't know you had company," Patrick’s voice suddenly pulled you from your shock.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, voice sharp.

Patrick lowered his gaze briefly. "I came to talk to you."

A short, disbelieving sound escaped your lips.

"You are five years late for that, now, please go.”

His jaw tensed, attempting to step closer “I know I don't deserve the—""

"No," you replied immediately. "You really don't.”

You felt your breath stuck inside your throat, but Harry continued standing next to you without interrupting.

Patrick looked at him again, then back at you.

"I've been trying to reach you."

"Well, not finding me should be a hint.”

Patrick flinched. His reaction surprised you, at some point you would've felt guilty for causing it, but all you felt right now was exhaustion.

"So why are you here?" you asked again.

Patrick exhaled, wind stirring over his hair.

"I need to talk to you.”

Your chest tightened at that and your pulse hammered in your ears.

The warmth and bright day you have had suddenly turned into a cold dark night swallowing to your buried memories.

And standing between the future you were beginning to crave and the past you thought you'd escaped.

Your turned to Harry, looking deep in those brown eyes that now seemed brighter beneath the stars.

“Harry?” you asked, looking at him, “Can you give me a moment?”

Harrys eyes widened "Are you sure?"

You nodded. "It'll be a really short conversation." Your gaze shifted to Patrick.

It was a warning instead of an invitation.

Patrick looked away first.

And Harry didn't move immediately. You could feel the hesitation. The protective instinct fighting with his respect for your decision.

"I'll be inside with Coco.” He said, not taking his eyes off yours again.

"If you need me—"

"I know." You whispered, giving him a smile.

For a second, he remained there, but then he turned and walked up the path and you watched him go and you saw the porch light catch the side of his face.

Only when the door closed behind him did the silence truly settle, you felt bared without his body pressing against yours.

You were alone with five years’ worth of unfinished conversations standing between you and Patrick.

Neither of you spoke immediately, the ocean filled the silence with the waves breaking on the shore during this night

"I see you made another man fall for you." Patrick spoke.

Your expression hardened at that.

"That's how you're starting this conversation?"

Patrick rubbed a hand over his face. "I didn't mean—"

You crossed your arms. "Then what exactly did you mean?"

His jaw clenched. For a second, he looked like the same man from five years ago, from those three weeks before the wedding.

Patrick looked toward your house, then found your gaze again.

"He looks at you the way I used to."

The statement only made you angrier.

"No." Your voice came out sharp. "You don't get to compare yourself to him."

Patrick flinched, but you were tired of being the only person who had suffered the consequences from the failed wedding.

The ocean kept roaring and your patience finally snapped.

"Can you get to the fucking point?"

Patrick blinked.

You took a step forward. "What are you doing here? And how did you know where I live?"

The exhaustion in your voice was almost worse than the anger itself.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw. Nervous, perhaps ashamed.

"There isn't a right way to say this."

"Then pick a wrong way."

His eyes closed briefly. Then he finally looked at you.

"Your mother told me."

The words pierced right through your heart.  For a second you genuinely thought you had heard him wrong.

"What?"

"Your mother." Patrick swallowed.

The world seemed to tilt beneath your feet.

"No."

"She told me where you were."

Your chest tightened so painfully you felt your ribs had been squeezed.

Patrick saw the realization of those words crossing your face. He Saw the hurt.

"She had known all these years."

You left out a small broken laughed.

“All these years?”

Patrick nodded, looking at how your eyes watered.

"My mother had five years." You whispered, "everyone did."

The wind tugged at your hair as you swallowed painfully. "They never thought of visiting me?"

Patrick looked away for a few seconds, to everything except your face.

"You are dead to them." He said, quietly.

Your heart stopped for a second because despite knowing the truth, hearing it from the same man who has caused the damage hurt.

"Because of you and Keira." You whispered.

Before you could think, you hit his chest, to make him felt the way your heart hammered now.

"Because of you!" you cried out as your vision blurred with tears.

"My mother didn’t even come to her father’s funeral because of me, because she knew.”

Another hit.

"My entire family threw me away because of you!"

Patrick stumbled back half a step.

Your chest heaved. Years of grief finally breaking free.

"You cheated on me." Your voice cracked violently. "With my sister."

The words tasted bitter even now. "You destroyed everything."

Patrick lowered his head in shame, perhaps.

A sob escaped before you could stop it.

The sound seemed to physically hurt him.

"I know."

"No, you don't!" You stepped back from him.

"You got to keep your life."

Patrick looked up. "I didn't—"

"You kept your family."

You pointed toward him. "You kept your friends." Your voice rose. "You kept your house."

The tears streamed freely now. "And I had nobody caring for me just because I din’t get marry to you."

Patrick's face crumpled. “I married Kiera. She’s my wife."

You froze and for a moment you simply stared at him.

Then a hollow laugh escaped your lips. "Of course she is."

Patrick closed his eyes briefly.

You shook your head. The tears on your cheeks suddenly felt so cold.

"My sister." Your voice cracked.

The wind whipped on your hair as your heart ached.

Patrick nodded, “Look, I really need to talk to you and you clearly aren’t in your best state.”

Your shoulders shook. The anger was leaving your body now.

You wiped your eyes. "Just go."

Your voice barely above a whisper now.

Patrick swallowed. “I—“

“Go.”

Patrick nodded slowly.

"Look, I really need to talk to you, and you clearly aren't in your best state."

The words only made your chest ache more.

As if there were ever a good state to hear that your family had erased you from their lives.

Your shoulders trembled.

The anger that had been holding you upright was beginning to leave your body now, draining away and leaving behind nothing but exhaustion.

Grief.

Shock.

You wiped furiously at your eyes.

"Just go."

Your voice was barely a whisper.

Patrick swallowed.

"I—"

"Go." The word cracked.

You took a step back, but something warm trickled over your upper lip.

You frowned, confused, taking your fingers up to your nose.

When they came away red, your stomach tightened as the rest of your body.

Patrick's expression changed instantly. "You're bleeding."

You looked down at the blood staining your fingertips. Too many memories dragged back from the grave.

Patrick instinctively stepped forward.

"Hey—"

You shoved his hand away before he could touch you.

"Don't."

"You're upset. Let me—"

"Don't touch me."

The words came out sharper than you intended, the broken sound of your voice became just a snapping thrill flying.

But he kept trying to help and trying to catch your arm.

"Leave me alone and go." Your voice broke completely and Patrick stared at you.

His face crumpled at the sight if your face. Patrick looked at you one last time and then, he turned away.

He disappeared from your sight, leaving the ocean, the wind and the ache in your heart.

But then, another pair of footsteps approached from behind and you didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Harry and Coco, licking his face appeared behind you, but the puppy squirmed in Harry's arms at the sight of you.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

He carefully lowered Coco onto the ground and the puppy took off running straight to you.

"Coco—"

And the little dog crashed into your legs, tail wagging, stretching onto his hind paws to reach you, whining, licking your hands and demanding your attention.

Demanding that you stop crying immediately.

A wet nose nudged at your wrist and a small broke sound escaped from you lips as your puppy licked the tears off your chin.

"Oh my God." You laughed "Coco!"

Harry reached to your side and his expression changed the moment he noticed the blood beneath your nose.

His eyes widened. "What did he—"

"Nothing." You said, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

Harry frowned. "Nothing?"

"My nose bleeds when I get too stressed." A weak smile tugged at your lips.

His face softened immediately and you gave a small shrug. "It's annoying."

Harry reached up carefully, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. Then, he rested his cheek against on your hair.

"Come inside," he said softly.

You laughed weakly. "This is my house."

"There she is." A small smile tugged at Harry's mouth.

"What?" You sniffled.

"The woman who makes jokes of my words.”

A smile appeared on your lips and his eyes softened at the sight.

"There she is," he repeated, this time smiling at your smile.

Your chest tightened, you knew Harry could notice it despite not seeing it, so he planted a kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes at the feeling of his lips on your skin.

It felt like the sun kissing the horizon on the sea during the morning.

Then you opened your eyes again. "Harry."

His gaze immediately found yours. Patience and concern drawing on his face.

"I want you to know I don't love him, okay?"

Harry's expression changed to something he had been trying very hard not to ask.

"There are things I have to tell you." Your fingers trembled slightly. "And I will…Just... in a few days."

Harry nodded, whatever story was sitting behind your eyes, he wasn't going to force it out of you tonight.

"I don't love him," you repeated quietly.

Your hand lifted to his lips, so your fingertips on them.

The touch made him weak.

"And don't think for one second I regret kissing you."

His eyes searched yours, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a soft smile. Almost disbelieving.

Then he turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss into the center of your palm. Your breath caught at the action

"Good," he whispered. "Because I will be thinking about that kiss for so long."

"Do you want me to keep you company tonight?" Harry offered.

Your throat tightened, so you simply nodded, leaning towards him.

Harry wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer against his side. His chin brushing the top of your head.

And just as the moment settled in comfortable warmth…

“Woof!”

Both of you looked down at Coco staring both of you

“Woof!”

Harry looked down at the puppy. "Excuse me?"

Coco barked again. His tail wagging fast.

The puppy pushed his nose insistently against your shin.

Demanding inclusion.

You crouched slightly to scratch behind his ears.

“Okay, let’s go inside mister.”

The sun was exceptionally brightened today, as if anticipating the new waves of affection flying with the salt air all over this town. And despite de return of a ghost from the past threatening to destroy the peaceful life you had made of yourself in this place, no one could erase the smile on your face.

Harry was the reason behind.

That devastatingly annoying, desperate and handsome Harry Castillo, who was dropped by the door of your house by the universe without even knowing he would be the reason behind the flush on your face and the rapid-fire creeping inside your heart.

You had a mere reason to not desire burn yourself with the fire catching inside the chest when you knew you were developing the chemistry of love. Something new, at first fleeting air that caught in your breath but becoming into something that you could stop craving.

It felt foreign.

And it felt almost childish in a way you still allowed yourself to believe in a man wearing the knight armor.

But instead of riding a horse, he wore expensive clothes while carrying your dog like a baby.

And you couldn’t stop smiling as you arranged pastries inside the display case.

The Lost Beans was busy this morning, the buzzing of people chatting at tables and the smell of coffee lingered in the air.

The day was moving exactly as it should. Normal in that ordinary way you were so used to by now.

But as you were reaching for a tray of fresh croissants, the bell above the entrance chimed. You glanced up and froze in your spot. The smile you had vanished from your face.

Patrick looked completely out f place among the cheerful atmosphere of the café as if tainted a beautiful space with poison.  

Your stomach twisted at the sight of him.

Sophie noticed the change in your demeanor and walked closer to you.

“Are you okay?” She asked, touching your shoulder.

“Yes, I am.” You said, no taking your eyes off Patrick, “Can you handle this for a moment, Sophie?”

“Of course,” she said, clearly curious by the man in front of the counter. “Tell me if you need something.”

You nodded, watching her take care of the tray as you turned to Patrick again. He looked exhausted, as he hadn't slept, like if he regretted being there.

But he was there anyway, and he approached the counter.

One of your coworkers moved to take his order, but he lifted his hand, moving his gaze towards you.

"I want her to take my order.”

You stared back expressionlessly, looking at him coldly.

"I just want a coffee and need five minutes."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

His jaw tightened; desperation drawn on his features. "You don't understand."

Those words made you look at him.

"Then explain it from where you're standing."

Patrick glanced around the café, then back at you.

“Five minutes and I’ll leave you alone.” He said, not smiling.

You sighed, “Okay, go and sit.”

You remained behind the counter for a moment, staring at his back. Then you grabbed a coffee mug and prepare his drink.

A few minutes later you approached his table, Patrick looked up as you placed the cup in front of him.

His gaze lingered on your face, studying you. Perhaps trying to find traces of the woman he'd once known.

Then his eyes dropped to the coffee, he smirked.

"You didn't put salt in this, did you?"

The joke caught you off guard because years ago, when you were angry, you replaced his sugar with salt and Patrick used to spend half a morning pretending not to notice before finally admitting his coffee tasted like seawater.

Back then you used to laugh so hard until you cried, but the now the memory felt like it belonged to strangers.

But your expression remained flat and Patrick's smile faded immediately.

You sat down across from him, crossing your arms. "Go ahead.” Your voice cold, "Make it short."

Patrick stared at the cup for several seconds, he swallowed. "Keira and I are moving."

Your expression didn't change. "Okay."

His eyes searched yours, and when he didn’t get the reaction he hoped, Patrick looked down briefly.

Then continued. "We're going to Seattle to help with your father’s law firm."

You shrugged lightly. "Good for you."

Patrick finally laughed softly. "You really don't care anymore."

You looked out the window, at all this little life you'd built without him. Then back at him.

"No."

Patrick closed his eyes. Then he wrapped both hands around the coffee cup.

"Okay."

Something in his tone made your stomach tighten.

Patrick looked up. "Your mother and father...want your grandfather's house."

"What?" You blinked.

Patrick swallowed. "They want to sell it."

The words coming out his mouth felt so foreign it seemed they belonged to someone else's story.

Not yours, nor the yellow house with the sea view.

Not your grandfather's workshop still in there, not the porch where he used to sit every evening drinking tea. Not the place that had smelled of sawdust and peppermint candies.

Not to your house.

"They want the money." Patrick continued.

You stared at him, expressionless, but feeling the tears watering inside your eyes.

Trying to process what he was saying.

"To help me and Keira settle down in Seattle."

The café noise seemed to disappear, there was complete silence.

You laughed.

Patrick winced immediately.

"So that's why they remembered I exist."

Patrick's expression fell. "No."

"Really?" Your voice remained calm, “They didn't look for me for five years."

Patrick stayed silent.

"They told people I went mad in the head, but suddenly they want to contact me when they need a signature."

Patrick rubbed a hand over his face. "They need your permission."

"They won’t have it.” You said, final.

“What’s the problem with the house?” He asked desperately right not as if had the right. “I can borrow money and you can buy another house.”

Your eyes widened at that, “Are you mad?” you called out quietly “My grandpa left that house for me. It’s mine.”

“I—”

“Besides there are feeling involved with that house but what would you know?”

“That’s bullshit.” He said, his facade falling. “You could move with the man you were kissing last night.”

You snorted at how ridiculous his arguments were.

“Do you have any idea of who that man is?” He asked, “That’s Harry Castillo he is the CEO of multiple enterprises under his name, you could be rich and so your little life will come to an end.”

“What did you say?” You asked, angry.

“Come on! You were a lawyer; you were becoming one and now what do you do? Sell coffee?”

“How are you calling a working class now?”

But you were met with his widened eyes, his chest rising as his own desperation caught him up.

“Looking at you right now, “you began,” It makes so happy to be death for you all because you and that whole people are nothing but pathetic assholes.”

You stood, the chair scrapping the ground made a sound. “Now, go out of my café. I won’t sell the house.”

You turned away.

“Well, we will have to bring a lawyer into this.” He warned, making you turned to face him again.

“What if your new fling knows about how you left me at the altar humiliating me in front of people?”

“Well, I’m not—”

“Maybe there was a good reason a thrown you away after all.” He spoke.

His words would kill you before, but right now they meant nothing.

“Out.” You said, turning around.

But just as you were about to turn around by the counter Harry came into view following Patrick with his gaze. He looked at you looking for answers but you didn’t acknowledge him.

“I need a break,” you told Sophie before disappearing to your office.

Leaving Harry utterly worried. Sophie met his Gaze, the looked outside the window and Harry did the same, still looking at Patrick who now was pacing back and forth with his phone pressed on his ear.

Every few seconds he ran a hand through his hair before speaking into the call again.

Harry's jaw tightened.

"That guy is a dick." Sophie sighed beside him while drying a cup.

Harry glanced at her. Her bluntness would be funny under different circumstances.

Sophie leaned on the counter. "He came in acting like he owned the place."

Harry looked back outside again.

"I wanted to throw hot coffee at his face." Sophie said.

"Can you excuse me?" Harry's said, his voice remaining calm.

Sophie immediately understood and her eyes widened slightly as she glanced between him and Patrick outside the café window.

Then she nodded once.

"Please don't kill him. Cleaning blood off the sidewalk sounds exhausting."

That almost earned her a smile.

Harry pushed the café door open and stepped outside.

Patrick was still near the curb, pacing with his phone in his hand.

“Hey!

Patrick’s eyes lifted.

“What did you do to her?” Harry asked, stepping closer to him.

“She didn’t tell you who I am, right?” Patrick asked, defiant.

“You must haven’t been someone important if she didn’t.” Harry replied

Patrick laughed softly, “Well, I was. We were going to get married.”  

Harry’s heart suddenly stopped after that, but he tried hard not to show it.

“But you want to know why we didn’t?” Patrick teased, “She ran away and left me standing there just like happened to you.”

Harry remained froze, silent with a million of scenarios playing inside his head.

“That’s why se is lonely. Don’t be fooled by her kindness.”

But even as the words left Patrick's mouth, something in his expression changed because he knew he was lying.

Harry could see it.

Patrick himself didn't believe what he was saying. In fact, the sadness crossing his face carried something far more dangerous than resentment. You were all the things Harry knew and thought you were.

You were the sweetest person you could ever met. Patrick had fallen hard for you because of that, he had loved you so much, and there were still remnants of that love for you floating around.

Because you were that kind of people you only met once, like a fleeting star.

But you were too naïve. That’s why you were afraid to be fooled.

And without another word, Patrick left leaving Harry standing there, watching at how the love of your past life walked away.

Then, he turned around and took a glimpse of you from outside. You were by the window, looking angry, but deeply sad. He got lost on your face and the thoughts running through his head.

He didn’t notice your eyes had met his from the window.

You kept looking, he could see your eyes brightening at the sight of him, but he could only shake his head in utterly disappointment, and then he walked away.  

And as you followed him with your gaze, a strange feeling settled down in the pit of your stomach.

By the time evening arrived, the town had quieted beneath the darkening sky and the ocean keep rolling gently in the distance while the porch lights flickered on one by one across the neighborhood.

You walked slowly toward your house, exhaustion owning your body in every step you gave.

The conversation with Patrick still replaying endlessly inside your head and Harry walking away from you felt stranger.

Your chest tightened as your house finally came into view and then you saw him sitting on the porch with Coco in his arms.

Harry looked up when he heard your footsteps approaching.

The porch light cast soft shadows across his face. He looked conflicted.

Your heart hurt.

But before approaching, Coco noticed you next.

The puppy immediately perked up and squirmed out of Harry's arms before racing toward you, you bent, catching him to your chest. For a second you buried your face in his fur taking a deep breathe.

Then you looked up at Harry again. He stood slowly, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans.

"I have to go back to New York tomorrow."

Your stomach dropped.

"It's just for a few days," he added quickly.

But the ache had already settled inside your chest.

You nodded, trying not to show how his now distant voice affected you.

"What did he tell you?" you asked,

Harry looked at you

Your throat tightened. “The part of me running away from the wedding...or the truth?"

Harry didn't answer immediately and that hurt more than if he had.

You looked away first. Wrapping your arms tighter around yourself.

"I knew he would do that." Your laugh came out hollow. "It sounds awful when you say it out loud, doesn't it?"

Harry stood in the same place, not moving.

"I left him at the altar, yes.” The words tasted bitter now. "And after what happened to you..." you swallowed painfully, "I imagine hearing that from him must've been—"

“But I never thought you would look at me differently without let me to explain what truly happened.” You said, hurt.

The hurt in your voice hit Harry immediately. It made his chest tightened.

His lifted his gaze, looking at your glossy eyes.

Your whole soul was wounded.

And suddenly Harry realized what his silence must have looked like from your side.

“I saw the way you looked at me today.” You shook your head softly, almost laughing at yourself.

Harry opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him to continue.

“You heard one thing about me and suddenly it was enough to make you walk away.”

Harry took a step toward you “That’s not what happened.”

“Then what did?” Your voice cracked. “Of course, you believed that excuse of a man before me.”

“I—I didn’t. But I’m honestly very confused right now.” He spoke.

“So, you will go back to New York.” You said, ignoring his words.

“I—I yes, I have—”

But the words died in his lips, when your eyes watered. His heart clenched at the sight. So, you took Coco with you.

“Thanks for taking care of Coco today. Have a safe flight.” You said, walking pass him, tears already streaming down your face.

Harry froze for half a second, watching tears slide silently down your cheeks as you moved toward your front door.

And suddenly panic gripped his chest. Because he knew that kind of walk.

Knew what it looked like when someone decided to retreat before they got hurt worse.

“Hey.”

You didn't stop. Harry turned quickly.

“Hey—”

The porch steps creaked beneath his shoes as he followed after you. “Please, don't do this.”

But you closed the door before he could reach you. Once you did it, you gasped, leaving Coco on the ground by your feet. Coco immediately circled your feet anxiously before settling beside you.

You leaned back against the door, forehead pressing against the cold wood as tears finally spilled freely down your face.

Outside, Harry stopped in front of the door, so close that if either of you reached through the door, your fingertips might touch.

He rested one hand against the wood.

You leaned on your door, forehead touching the cold wood. As your tears streamed down. “I was so happy,” you began, because you knew Harry was at the other side of the door.

He closed his eyes at the thought of your broken sound.

“I was so happy because I couldn’t stop thinking about our kiss and really felt over the moon, but you hurt me. I didn’t know you would.”

“Sweetheart—”

“No,” you whispered quickly. “Please let me talk.”

And Harry immediately fell silent because he could hear years of fear sitting behind your voice.

“I know I’m difficult and I know I get scared and I know Patrick showing up probably feels like some horrible warning sign to you—”

“It doesn’t—”

“But for one second,” your voice broke completely, “I thought maybe I could have something good. That I could have you.”

Harry’s chest hurt.

“I thought maybe someone could look at me and choose me.”

Inside the house, you slid down the door until you were sitting on the floor beside Coco. The puppy pressed next your leg immediately.

“And when I saw your face today…” you whispered, “it felt like everyone else all over again.”

Harry shook his head immediately despite knowing you couldn’t see him. “No.”

“No, don’t say that.” He pleaded.

“Patrick and my sister lied to my face,” you whispered.

Harry closed his eyes.

“I found them three weeks before I was supposed to marry him. Them both in bed in a hotel room.”

Harry’s hand tightened on the wood of the door.

His jaw clenched so hard it hurt. At the image of you walking into that room believing you were loved.

At the devastation that must have followed. You let out a trembling breath.

“I never felt my heart shatter like that before.” Coco rested his head on your knee while you cried quietly. “And I thought leaving him at the altar would humiliate him.” Your laugh cracked weakly. “But deep in my heart…” your voice softened painfully, “I chose to become the villain of that story before forcing myself to stay part of that family.”

Harry’s chest ached so sharply he almost knocked on the door just to hold you.

Because suddenly everything made sense. Why loneliness sat so naturally inside you.

“I grew up in a rich family, Harry.” Your voice sounded exhausted now. “Our marriage would’ve been good for both families.”

Harry could practically picture it. The appearances and the expectations. The performance of perfection.

“But when I did what I did…” your breathing hitched, “my father and the mother I thought loved me threw me away.”

Harry shut his eyes harder.

“Left me with nothing but two suitcases.” You wiped your face shakily before continuing. “Then, I came here looking for my grandpa.”

Harry remembered the way you spoke about him.

“And he took me in.” Your voice finally broke completely, “He loved me anyway.”

A tear slipped down Harry’s face before he even realized it.

“And when he died…” you whispered, “none of them came to his funeral.”

No wonder your grandfather’s house mattered so much.

It wasn’t property. It was the last proof that someone had chosen you without conditions.

“Now they want his house? My house? For money?” Your voice cracked into disbelief again. “Why are they so bad?”

Harry inhaled. There was nothing he could say that would make that pain disappear.

Nothing that could excuse people treating you like something disposable and maybe the cruelest part was that you were still asking why.

Harry finally knocked softly on the door. “Hey.”

Your breathing stuttered slightly on the other side. Harry leaned his forehead against the door.

“I didn’t want you to think I was cruel.” You whispered.

“Oh, baby.” The words escaped his lips,

“I don’t think that.” His hand flattened softly against the door. “I swear I don’t.”

Harry’s voice lowered. “You know what I think?”

He was met with your silence. “I think you were heartbroken.”

Your eyes squeezed shut immediately.

“I think you were twenty-something years old and devastated and trying to survive the worst betrayal of your life.”

The porch creaked softly as Harry shifted closer to the door.

“And maybe leaving him there wasn’t the best thing you could’ve done…”

A weak broken laugh escaped from your lips.

“But I understand why you did it.”

A tear rolled slowly down your cheek.

“And honestly?” he exhaled quietly, “after what they did to you, I’m surprised all you did was walk away.”

Harry smiled sadly on the other side of the door the moment he heard it. “There she is.”

You shook your head despite him not seeing it.

“You always say that.”

“Because I hate when you are sad.” He went silent for a moment, “Can you open the door for me?”

You closed your eyes, fear and longing twisted inside your chest.

Because opening the door this suddenly felt like more than just letting him inside your house.

It was fun how all always ended up with you both and a door in the middle.

And right now, it felt like letting someone see the parts of you you'd spent years hiding.

The abandoned daughter.

The woman terrified of not being loved.

Coco nudged your arm gently with his nose. As if encouraging you to open the door, so you closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath. Then slowly pushed yourself off the floor.

Harry heard the movement immediately on the other side of the door and his heart started beating faster.

You reached for the lock with trembling fingers.

You paused and for one terrible second, fear almost won.

What if he looked at you differently now?

What if this tenderness disappeared once the reality of your past settled in?

What if getting close to you eventually became too heavy?

But then you remembered him showing up while you were sick and him carrying Coco around like a baby.

Him sitting on your porch instead of leaving and listening.

Your hand finally turned the lock, opening the door slowly.

And there he was. Eyes immediately finding yours.

The second Harry saw your tear-stained face, he wrapped his arms around you.

And all the breath you’d been holding all evening finally escaped your lungs. Your face buried on his neck, taking a deep breath.

Harry held you tighter immediately. His hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair.

You shook your head weakly against him and Harry only tightened his embrace.

“I’m sorry I made you feel alone for even one second.”

Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt and suddenly all the loneliness you had carried for five years felt unbearably heavy.

Because now you knew what it felt like for someone to stay. Harry leaned his head, kissing your temple softly, then your forehead and then, after a small hesitation, the corner of your tear-wet cheek.

As if his kiss was trying to mend something.

Coco barked once from beside your legs. Harry let out the smallest laugh, still holding you.

“Yeah, buddy,” he murmured. “I’m fixing it.”

Then, he loosened his arms around you slightly, just to look down to your face.

Your eyes were still red, exhaustion from this day caught in there.

Harry brushed his thumb gently over your cheek.

“Do you want me to spend the night with you?” Part of him hoped you would say yes.

Not because he wanted more kisses, but because you felt fragile tonight and leaving you alone would mean leaving you with every painful thought still circling your head.

“I would rather not.” you shook your head.

Harry’s face softened immediately.

You looked down briefly before whispering,

“Goodnight, Harry.”

The way you said his name nearly broke him.

Harry nodded slowly. “Okay.”

His hand slipped down your cheeks.

But before stepping back completely, he leaned down, pressing one last soft kiss on your forehead. Lingering there for a second.

“Goodnight, baby.”

Your eyes closed at the gesture. Harry pulled away after that and Coco immediately wandered toward him, tail wagging softly.

Harry crouched slightly to scratch behind the puppy’s ears.

“You take care of her tonight, alright?”

Coco sneezed on his wrist.

“I’m still coming back after New York.” He said, looking up at you. “In case your brain starts lying to you while I’m gone.”

The smallest smile tugged at your lips.

Harry looked relieved just seeing it because leaving you was the last thing he wanted to do.

if you don't want to be tagged, please let me know: @jasminedragoon @heartpatch @ainhoetaaa @missadangel @person-005 @sarahhxx03 @sptbear @deviscave @hotforpedro @picketniffler @noisynightmarepoetry @suzysface @kakiki3 @brittmb115 @dammitj4net @balhoneysweetstuff @inept-the-magnificent @jisungandpedrolover @cuteanimalmama @maried01 @teal-anchor @sincerelywithheartt

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[heartpatch]

when god thinks you are the strongest soldier, and sends you more things to handle. i'm burnt out that i dont react anymore

[crashbandacoochie]

fyi if we’re mutuals you have full consent to be as feral as you want in asks and dms

[heartpatch]

i love how i go looking for certain fics and then they end missing. like they went into a dark hole in the universe. i could have sworn it was on my list to go back to, and i'm positive it was but its not there now smh. either im losing it or it really did disappear 🫥

[vehder]

i miss u so much (pre ai internet)

[stylesispunk]

Somewhere in the ocean - part 6

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: the one with you adopting a puppy and a confession of love.

w.c: 4,2k

warnings: fluff, tiny angst, so much fluff, age gap (harry is in his 40s and reader in her early 30s), reader referred to as "Iris" because of the flowers.

A/N: Hi lovelies. I'm sorry it took me so long to update this one. More than one month has passed.d by, I know. But let me tell you that I really needed this break. I'm gonna try to update this one weekly from now on, so please bear with me. Thanks for being on here, and for your support, you have no idea what that means to me!

happy reading and please please please let me know what you think. Also taglist is open if you want to be tagged 💌

dividers by @/strangergraphics

The dynamic between you and Harry switched like the waves hitting the shore. It turned into that special gateway from home in the middle of winter, when you needed to escape from the busy life that tormented you back at home, the one with swift movements and noise trapping you in.

The one where you stood by the sea with your hands in your pockets, the icy wind brushing against your face with surprising delicacy. It felt right. The sound of the waves almost touching your shoes, soothing you, and the wind making you feel human again. A deep breath and pause.

It became familiar.

Safe.

You were the cold wind against Harry's skin. The thing that startled him awake.

The one persona that reminded him he was still alive beneath the grief from a wounded heart, beneath the humiliation, beneath the version of himself he had started to hate.

You made him feel real.

You made him feel like a man again.

And Harry was like the waves meeting the shore.

Always coming back, always returning.

No matter how far they pulled away, they always came back.

He made you feel human. He made the silence inside you stop consuming you in that suffocating loneliness.

With him close, the empty spaces no longer frightened you.

The two of you blended into each other in that strange, silent way some people do when life places them in the right place at the wrong time.

It was ordinary. Perhaps that was what made it extraordinary.

Because after heartbreak, after disappointment, after being left behind and blamed and misunderstood, an ordinary life felt like the closest thing to experiencing magic.

A few days after the fever finally left your body, you returned to your routine.

Your strength returned slowly, first with short walks around the house, then longer mornings at the café, until Sophie finally stopped looking at you like you might collapse and allowed you to become the boss again.

Harry had also stayed. He returned to New York the moment you could stand on your feet, but he came back here four days later with two huge suitcases held in his hands.

He had chosen to slow down and settle in a quiet place where his heart could heal with the sound of the sea.

In his beach house now, though sometimes it still felt strange to think of it like that instead of simply the house next door where you lived.

Of course, he still got calls from New York. Apparently, the office was more like a chaos without him in there, but every time he talked about going back, his voice carried hurt.

This morning, the sun was so bright it made the sea look like glass.

You stood outside your house adjusting your sunglasses while Harry leaned on his car waiting for you, his keys spinning around his finger.

“You know,” he said as you walked towards him, “most people bring flowers on dates.”

You stopped short. “This is not a date.”

Harry opened the passenger door for you. “We’re adopting a dog together.”

You narrowed your eyes, a smirk on your face. “I am adopting a dog. You are emotionally supporting me.”

He smiled. “It sounds like a wonderful date.”

You tried not to smile as you got into the car. “

“Well. It’s not.”

Harry closed the door for you as if he didn’t believe you for a second.

Harry got into the driver’s seat and looked over at you.

“You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.” You said, adjusting your seatbelt.

“You’re adopting a living creature that will depend on you for survival.”

That made you pause your movements, “Well…” you began, “Perhaps, I’m a little nervous.”

Harry laughed softly and started the car.

The drive to the shelter was quiet. Windows down. Salt air. Music low, so conversation could slip between you two.

You pointed out the little houses you liked. Harry made fun of your color choice.

You argued about whether dogs should be allowed on beds. With you saying yes and him saying no.

And when you finally arrived at the shelter, your excitement became impossible to hide.

Harry noticed it immediately.

Your steps fastened, and your whole face lightened as if joy had found a way to live under your skin.

You stopped in front of the first row of kennels, immediately crouching to greet every dog like they were all old friends of you.

Harry stood behind you for a moment, hands in his pockets, just looking at you laughing with a golden puppy trying to eat your shoelace.

Looking at the way, you knelt down without hesitation to let a nervous dogs sniff your hand first.

He adored how you were acting exactly who you were when no one was asking anything from you.

He was overwhelmed by you and your existence.

He leaned on the kennel door, smiling to himself while looking at you.

Across the room, you turned, holding a tiny puppy in your arms, a small mixed-breed thing with oversized ears and sleepy eyes.

Your entire face lit up.

“Harry.”

He mirrored your smile as you walked toward him, holding the puppy.

“Look at him.”

Harry glanced down at the tiny creature now blinking at him, yawning.

He tilted his head. “He looks really judgmental.”

“He looks perfect.” You corrected him.

“He definitely judges people.”

You gasped, covering the puppy’s ears. “Don’t listen to this bully.”

Harry laughed softly, leaning closer to look at the tiny dog in your arms. The puppy blinked up at him with all the emotions of an old man trapped in a very small body.

“See?” Harry said. “He’s already disappointed in me.”

You cradled the puppy closer to your chest, protecting him from Harry’s jokes.

“He is a baby.”

“He has taxes to file.”

That made you laugh, one of those real laughs that came from your stomach and lightened the whole mood. Harry swore he could live inside that sound.

You looked down at the puppy again, your fingers gently stroking behind his tiny ears.

“He’s been here for three weeks,” you said softly. “They found him near the harbor.”

Harry’s expression shifted.

The puppy yawned again, then tucked his little nose against your arm as he had already made his decision.

And that was it. You were gone.

Harry could see it on your face. You looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Harry.”

He sighed. “No.”

You frowned. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I do. And no.”

“Harry.”

“No.”

You stepped closer, holding the puppy up to his face.

“Look at his little face.”

“I am. It’s manipulative.”

“He chose me.”

“You didn’t even look at the other dogs.” He said,

He looked between you and the puppy.

The puppy blinked once.

But according to Harry, completely Judgmental.

Harry pointed at him. “See? He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“So… can we take him home?” You smiled slowly.

He rubbed a hand over his face, then he sighed.

Deeply. Like a man accepting defeat.

“Fine.”

Your whole face lit up. “Really?”

“Yes, but if he walks to my house, he is paying rent.”

You let out a happy laugh and, without thinking, leaned forward and kissed his cheek quickly.

Harry blinked after you pulled back, and so did you just as fast, suddenly aware of what you had done.

Your cheeks warmed immediately.

“That was—” you cleared your throat. “That was for supporting the adoption process. Professionally.”

Harry slowly turned his head to look at you, one eyebrow lifting.

“Professionally?”

“Very professional gratitude from me.” You nodded with far too much confidence.

He stared at you for a second longer before a slow smile spread across his face.

“Right.”

You adjusted the puppy in your arms, refusing to acknowledge the heat still rising to your face.

“We are not making this weird.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were absolutely going to.”

“I was going to treasure this moment in private.”

That made you laugh again, and it was dangerous because every time you laughed like that, Harry felt himself falling for the woman who smelled like coffee and flowers.

“So, are both of you signing?” The owner of the shelter asked, breaking the bubble you and Harry were part of.

You opened your mouth to explain, but Harry answered first.

“Yes.”

You looked at him, and he looked back like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And somehow, for reasons you weren’t ready to think deeper into it felt even more intimate than a kiss.

By the time you got home, and after nearly an hour of driving and debating names, rejecting at least twenty ridiculous suggestions from Harry, such as “Sir Barkington,” and somehow “Espresso,” you had finally settled on Coco.

Mostly because the puppy responded to it and partly because Harry had admitted, very quietly, that he liked it.

So now Coco lives in your house. Which, as it turned out, meant chaos lived there too.

Absolute chaos.

“Coco! No—Coco!, stop! Coco! Give that back!”

Your voice echoed through the living room as the tiny dog sprinted across the house as if he was being followed by the police.

For the fifth time this week. You ran after him barefoot, one shoe on, one shoe off, dignity completely ruined as Coco proudly dragged your sandal twice his size across the rug.

“That’s mine!”

From the kitchen doorway, Harry was being absolutely useless. Leaning there with a cup of coffee in his hand, watching this whole spectacle unfold in front of him.

Laughing.

“This is not funny!” you shouted while trying to corner Coco near the couch.

“You have to admit it’s a little funny,” Harry said, taking a slow sip of coffee.

“He stole my shoe!”

“He’s just a puppy.”

You shot him a glare. “Help me!”

Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. “I don’t know… he seems pretty attached to it.”

Coco chose that exact moment to trip over the oversized shoe, rolling on the carpet, and then get back up as if absolutely nothing had happened.

You gasped. “See? He could’ve been hurt!”

“Oh, my god.” Harry laughed harder.

“This is serious!”

“Clearly.”

You lunged, but Coco escaped again, his tiny paws flying across the living room while you groaned in defeat.

Harry finally pushed himself off the doorway and crouched down as Coco ran straight toward him like he had chosen his protector.

“Come here, criminal.”

Coco stopped immediately. Harry scooped him up into his arms while your poor shoe still hung triumphantly from Coco’s mouth.

“Well,” Harry said, holding him like a tiny king, “the jury has decided he’s innocent.”

You stood there, slightly out of breath, staring at both of them.

“This is favoritism.”

“This,” Harry corrected, scratching behind Coco’s ears, “is justice.”

You walked over, reaching for your shoe, but Coco let out the tiniest growl imaginable.

Harry gasped. “Oh, back off, honey.”

You burst into laughter, shaking your head.

“This dog is going to ruin my life.”

Harry stood, still holding Coco against his chest, smiling at you in that quiet way that always made your heart trip over itself.

“No,” he said softly. “He’s probably going to make it better.”

Coco, clearly pleased with himself, shifted happily in Harry’s arms.

You crossed your arms, still glaring at both of them.

“I hope you know,” you said, “you’re encouraging bad behavior.”

Harry looked down at the tiny puppy tucked against his chest.

“He’s misunderstood.”

“He’s a thief.” You recalled.

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself again, but before he could, Coco leaned forward and licked him on his face.

You both froze. Then you burst into laughter. “Oh my god!”

Harry stood there, still holding Coco.  “Did you just—”

Coco licked him again, this time closer to his mouth.

You laughed harder.

Harry turned slowly to look at the dog in his arms. “We had an agreement, no kisses.”

Coco blinked.

“He likes you.” You said.

“He licked me.”

“He chose you.”

“He didn’t respect our boundaries.” Harry narrowed his eyes at the tiny traitor. “I defended you in court five minutes ago.”

Coco responded by trying to lick his chin again.

Harry pulled back just in time. “Unbelievable.”

You leaned against the kitchen counter for support, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“This is the funniest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Harry looked at you, still holding Coco like evidence in a criminal trial.

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Oh yeah, baby.”

“I don’t like this house anymore,” He sighed.

You reached for Coco, intending to save Harry from further emotional damage, but instead of coming to you, the puppy buried himself deeper against Harry’s chest.

You stopped.

Then, very slowly, he lifted one eyebrow.

“Well.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”

“He made his choice.” He smiled, using the same words from the day you adopted him.

“He is confused by your expensive cologne.” You replied, sounding wounded by your puppy treason.

Harry smirked. “Or maybe,” he said, lowering his voice just a little, “he knows I’m planning on staying.”

Your breath caught for the smallest second.

There it was again. That thing between you.

You locked your gaze with his, looking at him, standing in your kitchen, hair messy from the sea breeze, your dog tucked safely in his arms as he belonged there.

Like he belonged here, and suddenly the room felt smaller.

“You’re getting very comfortable in my hose.” Your voice came out softer.

Harry’s smile changed then. “I think,” he said quietly, eyes holding yours, “I’m getting comfortable.”

For Harry, this felt safe.

The beach had become yours without either of you meaning for it to. It had started with small walks after closing the café, then longer evenings sitting on the sand with Coco running in reckless circles around you both, and eventually it turned into a picnic blanket spread beneath the late afternoon sun, shoes sitting somewhere near the dunes, and the ocean waving endlessly in front of you.

The wind was soft today. The weather is warm. 

You sat cross-legged on the blanket, unpacking sandwiches, fruit, and the small bottle of wine

Across from you, Harry was failing miserably at keeping Coco from stealing half the food.

“Absolutely not,” Harry said, holding a piece of bread just out of reach while Coco stood on his tiny back legs.

You heard Coco barking as you kept rummaging inside your bag.

“He’s starving.” You spoke.

“He ate twenty minutes ago.” He recalled, “I fed him.”

“He’s a growing boy.”

“He’s just a criminal with a pretty face.”

You ignored him, continuing to unpack the basket.

More bread, more fruit, and a small container of pasta salad.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Pasta?”

You glanced at him. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not,” he said, though the corner of his mouth lifted. “It just feels nostalgic.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a softness in your expression. with the wind moving gently over your face, carrying the salty air through your hair.

Laughing when Coco tried to steal a piece of bread from Harry’s hand, but failed miserably.

At some point, your shoulder brushed against Harry’s.

Neither of you moved away. In fact, you kept in contact.

“It’s quieter here,” Harry spoke looking to the landscape in front of him.

You followed his gaze.

“New York doesn’t give you this,” he added.

“No,” you murmured. “It doesn’t.”

The waves crashed gently, closer now as the tide crept in, and Harry turned his head to look at you.

The wind had softened your hair across your face, the sunlight caught in your eyes, and the sun was clearly burning your skin gently.

You glanced at him. “I think you miss New York, though.”

Harry stayed quiet for a moment. His eyes lingered on your face, on the sunlight warming your skin, on the way the wind kept pushing strands of hair across your cheek like it wanted his attention there too.

For a second, he almost forgot the question, but then he looked back at the ocean.

“I think,” he said slowly, “I miss the version of me that existed there.”

You frowned slightly, turning to him. “The one before everything happened?”

He nodded, “The one who knew exactly where he was going. The man who had plans for the next ten years of his life.” He let out a small laugh, but there was no humor in it. “That man was exhausting, but at least he was certain.”

You listened quietly, and you noticed Harry picking at a loose thread on the blanket.

“Sometimes I wonder if I should go back just to prove I still can be him.”

“Will you miss Coco when you go back?” You asked, suddenly.

Harry turned his gaze back to your eyes; they had darkened sadly. And for a second, he could see it, the thing hiding underneath your question.

The hesitation dancing around. The fear sitting quietly behind it.

The one you hadn’t said out loud.

Will you leave me too?

His expression softened instantly.

He reached down absentmindedly to scratch behind Coco’s ears, where the dog was half-asleep between you both, completely unaware he was part of the conversation.

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. “I’ll miss Coco.”

You nodded, looking back at the ocean like that answer should have been enough.

“I’ll miss the way he steals your shoes before work.”

A tiny smile tugged at your mouth.

“And the way he acts like I’m his lawyer every time he gets caught.”

You let out a tiny laugh, and Harry shifted a little closer.

“And I’ll miss how he somehow always knows when you’re sad before anyone else does.”

Your fingers played nervously with the edge of the blanket.

The waves rolled in and out, just like breathing.

“But he’s not really what you’re asking, is he?” Harry asked softly.

Your breath caught. There was no escape.

You looked down at your hands. The honesty felt embarrassing now that it was standing between you both in plain daylight.

“I just…” You started, then stopped.

Your throat tightened.

But Harry waited patiently.

You swallowed, looking back at him. “I don’t want to be something temporary to you.”

The words came out more fragile than you intended.

“I know your life is there. I know this place is supposed to be an escape.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “And I don’t know how to stand here and let myself feel all of this if one day you’re just going to leave and I become another nice memory you had by the sea.”

But you were met with silence and the rolling waves. The kind that makes your chest ache. You hated how vulnerable you sounded.

Hated how true it was.

But Harry didn’t pull away. If anything, he looked like your honesty had only brought him closer.

He reached for your hand then, giving you time to stop him, and when you didn’t. His fingers laced with yours on top of the blanket.

“You are not temporary,” he said.

Your eyes stung. Harry held your hand tighter.

“You’re the first thing that has felt permanent in a long time.”

Your breath shook. He looked at you like he needed you to believe him.

“I came here because my life fell apart, yes.” he admitted. “But I stayed because somewhere I found something I didn’t even know I was looking for.”

His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles.

“A home.”

And your heart broke a little because there was something so painful about having your heart held so carefully, knowing the feeling would end.

He looked down at Coco, who was now asleep across both of your legs like he personally owned the beach.

Then Harry looked back at you.

“So yeah,” he said quietly, the corner of his mouth lifting just a little, “I’ll miss Coco.”

Your breath caught and he leaned a little closer.

“And I’ll miss you.”

The words were simple, yet somehow that made them hit even harder.

Your chest tightened so suddenly it almost hurt. Harry let out a small breath, like saying it out loud had taken something from him and given something back at the same time.

Suddenly, Coco barked at a passing seagull, breaking the moment.

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“He’s very brave.”

“You meant very delusional.”

You smiled, then looked back at Harry.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

The wind, the waves, the peaceful silence.

And without really thinking about it, you shifted closer to him.

Your knee brushing his. Your shoulder resting against his arm.

Harry didn’t move. He let you come closer.

Harry carried the empty picnic basket in one hand, the other brushing yours every few steps like neither of you quite knew whether to hold or pretend the connection didn’t exist.

And before you could make up your mind, you both had already reached your porch.

That was the problem with good days. They always end too quickly.

You unlocked the door while Coco ran inside.

Harry stood beside you, hands back in his pockets now, looking at you with that soft expression that had become far too dangerous for your liking.

“Well,” you said quietly.

“Well,” he said as well.

“Thanks for today.” You smiled timidly.

Harry shook his head. “No, thank you. I had a wonderful day.”

You laughed softly and a small silence settled there. The kind of silence that carried too much to fit into words.

Saying goodbye tonight felt wrong right now.

Just small and empty words unable to fit the day you both have had today.

So, Harry leaned in just enough to kiss your forehead gently.

Softly, and slowly.

“Goodnight, Iris.” he murmured, his breath ghosting on your skin.

Your heart squeezed. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He smiled, then turned and started walking down the path.

The gravel crunched softly under his shoes as he walked away from the porch, his hands slipping back into his pockets like he was trying to contain the was his heart was beating.

But suddenly, the door creaked open behind him.

He didn’t have to turn right away to know it was you, he heard your footsteps.

And when he finally turned, you were already there in front of him, even closer than expected. Your breath shaking.

For a second neither of you say anything. The porch light spilled just far enough down the path to catch your face and how your eyes desperately searched his.

“Why did you follow me?” Harry asked quietly.

But you didn’t answer with words, you took one small step closer.

And suddenly the space between you both became a figment of nothing.

Harry’s breath caught when he realized just how close you were. How close you were that he could feel the warmth of your breath.

Close enough that if either of you leaned, your lips would meet for the first time. Like the both of you that night when he came to your life.

You froze at the realization.

Harry’s gaze dropped to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

The world around you felt strangely quiet. Like the ocean itself had paused somewhere in the distance.

“I’m trying really hard not to do something reckless.” Your voice was just a whisper.

A small, breathless smile tugged at Harry’s mouth.

Neither of you moved, but neither of you stepped away either.

The tension in that tiny space between your lips felt electric now, charged with everything that had been building between you since the first night in this same place.

Harry lifted his hand slowly, hesitating only a second before letting his fingers rest gently on your cheek.

“Tell me to stop.”

But you couldn’t because standing there, with the ocean somewhere behind you and your heart beating like it wanted out of your chest, stopping was the last thing you wanted to do.

Harry looked at you for one more second, like he was making sure this was real.

Then he kissed you, like he had learned that rushing you was never the right answer.

His lips were warm against your cold ones, careful at first, almost reverent in a way he had found out the taste of wine, and your fingers tightened on his t-shirt.

His hand cradled your cheek like he was afraid this was just a figment of his imagination.

The kiss deepened just enough to make your knees buckle, and for one perfect second, the world disappeared into this kiss.

There was no past. No failed weddings. No New York.

Just you and him.

But then the sound of your name danced with the salt wind to your ears in the voice of a ghost.

You pulled away from Harry’s kiss, breathless, your forehead almost touching his.

For a second, neither of you moved, but you turned at the sound of your name coming from other lips.

And your body went still.

Standing at the edge of the path, under the dim porch light, was someone you hadn’t seen since that failed wedding day.

With a face that looked almost the same.

Older, maybe.

Harry straightened beside you instantly, his hand falling from your face to your shoulders, but his body staying close.

Protective and confused at once.

The stranger with the familiar face is looking at your flushed face. The truth was written all over the moment he had interrupted.

His expression shifted it felt like being pulled backward into a life you had worked very hard to survive.

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[stylesispunk]

"Promise me"

joel miller x fem!reader

masterlist | series masterlist

From the days of you and I, a set of stories from our lovely couple: It can be read alone.

summary: While on the road something triggers Joel's fear of losing you.

wc: 2,5k

warnings: none.

A/N: hello! How have you been? i won't say sorry for taking a break, but here i'll give you a tiny short story from joel and our girl from the days of you and I in case you are missing them.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

You know she won't disappear if you look away just for one moment"

Joel closed his eyes for just a second to contain the exasperation the teen besides him caused within him. She had this noisy and annoying voice talking to his own fears he had been fighting ever since the step outside the QZ.

"I'm just observing." He replied in a harsh tone.  

"I know."

"No, you don't"

"Oh, I know, man. What I didn't know was that you were this softie."

He shot a look that could scare any kind, but not Ellie. In fact, he was met with a smile.

"She is my partner."

"Partner? Oh my god,” she started, “She told me you were her husband, stop chicken out and feel proud you got that woman."

"That woman?"

"She is way too beautiful for you."

He rolled his eyes at that, but the teen's statement was just true.

"I'll give you that.” He fought the need to smile at that.

You were like a red rose growing out froze ground. One in a million, almost impossible to find in a world rotted to its own core.

Ellie smiled.

"I asked her to marry me by the way."

"Shocking, so you have feelings." She shot without looking at him, but still smiling at her own words.  

"I'm not a monster.” He added.

Ellie snorted softly at that, still watching you from where you stood a few steps ahead, adjusting your pack like you always did before moving out.

“Debatable,” she muttered.

Joel shot her a look again, but there wasn’t a bitter taste on his tongue in it this time.

Ellie kept walking ahead, chin up, studying you as you walked some steps ahead from them, with that knowing little smile she had.

“So,” she went on, “how did you do it?”

Joel frowned. “Do what?”

“Ask her,” Ellie said, like it was obvious. “You don’t exactly seem romantic.”

Joel huffed under his breath, ready to answer to answer, but you turned around.

“There’s this building over there,” you said, pointing down the street. “We could check it out and maybe rest a bit?”

Your eyes locked on his figure and for Joel everything disappeared for a moment.

His brain stalled for a moment.

“Oh my god,” Ellie muttered under her breath, grinning. “There it is.”

Joel blinked, snapping out of his trance.

“What?”

Ellie nudged his arm.

“You literally forgot how to talk.”

“I did not—”

“You did,” she insisted, barely holding back a laugh. “She asked you a question.”

Joel cleared his throat, straightening slightly like he was trying to recover.

“Yeah,” he said, finally looking back at you. “Yeah, we can check it out.”

“Are you okay?” You tilted your head just a little.

Joel nodded. “I’m fine.”

Ellie made a noise behind him.

“Softie,” she whispered, mocking at him.

Joel shot her a warning look, but she just smiled wider.

You looked at them, confused.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Joel said.

“At all,” Ellie added, completely unhelpful.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, clearly suspicious but you were completely exhausted at this point so you didn’t say anything.

“Alright” you said slowly. “Let’s just go, please. I’m exhausted.”

He adjusted his pack and moved right after you, his pace fastened until he was walking beside you.

“You alright?” he asked, softer now.

You nodded, but it was slow.

“Just tired.”

Joel studied your face for a second, the faint tension drawn on the crease between your eyebrows and your sleepy eyes.

He reached for your hand without making a big thing out of it, his fingers brushed yours before interlock your hands together.

“You tell me if you need to stop,” he said.

You glanced at him; your expression softened. “I just did.”

That earned the smallest hint of a smile from him.

And with that, the building loomed over, closer to you. Its windows broken.

It was too quiet, but that silence was loud enough to worry Joel.

It felt like a monster waiting with its claws open, ready to caught you.

His grip on your hand tightened.

Ellie slipped in behind you both, her usual talking went quiet, eyes scanning.

Joel moved ahead a step, his instincts taking over his actions as his shoulders squared as he listened.

You took a slow step forward, eyes closing as you adjusted to the dim light filtering through broken windows.

“There’s space in the back,” you murmured, looking at him.

But you were met with his silence. His hand pressed on your stomach, guiding you back behind him.

“Stay,” he muttered.

You frowned. “Joel—”

But he was already stepping ahead, scanning corners, checking doorways.

You studied him for a second, but you ended up stepping past him anyway.

Joel turned immediately.

“Hey—”

“I’m just checking,” you said quietly, moving further into the room.

The floor creaked under your weight. Your eyes traced the walls, the old furniture and the dust floating in the air.

Joel followed close behind you, even closer than before.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered.

Ellie hovered near the door.

“I don’t like anything about this place,” she added.

You crouched slightly, checking the ground and the edges, tracing the surface with your fingers.

“It looks clear,” you said, though your voice held a hint of uncertainty.

But Joel didn’t let his guard down. His hand hovered near you, like he was ready to pull you back at any second.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “That’s what worries me.”

You stood again, turning towards him, but you hear a faint sound coming from somewhere inside the building.

Your head snapped toward it.

His arm shot out immediately, pulling you back this time, pressing you slightly behind him.

“Back,” he whispered sharply.

Ellie step just beside you.

The sound came again. Joel’s jaw tightened.

“It’s not empty,” he said.

Your hand instinctively gripped his arm now and Joel glanced at you.

“We don’t stay here,” he said.

Ellie nodded immediately. “Best idea you’ve had all day.”

Joel didn’t argue. His hand found yours again, tighter this time.

“Come on,” he murmured.

Suddenly, a cracking sound broke the eerie silence of the dusty room.

Your hand slipped from Joel’s grip as the ground beneath your feet collapsed, swallowing you into its darkness, knocking the air from your lungs.

Your ears ringed and for a moment you couldn’t think until Joel’s voice broke the sound.

“Hey!” He sounded panicked.

You coughed, trying to push yourself up, wincing as your body complained in the aftermath of the fall.

“I’m here—” you choked out, trying to raise your voice.

Ellie’s voice followed, “Oh shit—are you okay?!”

You blinked, trying to see through the dust floating around you. Your chest tightened for a second.

“Yeah, I think so,” you said, though your voice wasn’t really convincing.

“Don’t move,” Joel ordered as you heard him pacing above.

“A bit late for that.” You replied, trying to joke.

But he didn’t respond and you swore you could picture his face right now.

“Ellie, look for something—a rope, anything—”

“I’m looking!” she called out, exasperated.

You moved slightly, trying to sit up, but pain shot through your side. You sucked in a breath.

“What happened?” Joel asked, worried.

“I’m okay,” you promised.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You pressed a hand to your ribs.

“I just fell in wrong side.”

Joel swore under his breath. He kneeled at the edge of the hollowed ground, leaning over, trying to see you.

“I’m coming down.”

“No,” you said immediately, looking up at him. “Joel, the floor’s not stable—”

“I don’t care.” He said, ignoring your complaints, testing where he could pressed his weight.

“Joel—”

“I said I’m coming down.”

There was no arguing with that tone.

“I found this!” You heard Ellie said.

Joel grabbed the rope Ellie brought, tying it tightly around a beam.

“Hold it,” he told her.

“And you, stay right there.”

You gave him a look despite not seeing him clearly.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His mouth twitched at your tone, then he started going down carefully, holding onto the rope.

But then you both heard it.

The clicking sound coming from where you were at.

Your blood ran cold.

“Shit,” you whispered.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see it, the silhouette moving and trapped down here with you.

Above, Joel was already trying to go in there faster.

You forced yourself to stand, grabbing your knife with you.

“Joel—don’t,” you called up, your voice as low as possible.

“Stay where you are,” he ordered in the same volume as you.

But the sound was enough for the clicker to focus on, the clicker turned toward you

You backed up slowly, your foot hitting something behind you.

“Shit,” you breathed, as you noticed there wasn’t space.

“Hold on,” he said. “Just hold on—”

But the clicker lunged towards you. You raised your knife just in time, but your footing slipped on dirty and you went down hard, the creature crashing into you.

Its weight pinned you down. Its head jerked wildly right on your face.

You shoved against it, your arm shaking as you tried to keep its mouth away from you.

“Joel!” Ellie shouted, followed by a gun fire.

And the creature going still on your face. Joel grabbed it and shoved it off you immediately, his hands moving fast, checking you before you could even catch your breath.

His hands were on your arms, on your shoulders, a then on your face.

His fingertips, cradling your cheeks, carefully.

“Look at me.”

“I’m fine—”

“Look at me.”

His eyes stayed on you, his eyes almost burning your skin with intensity as he tried to look for anything, but your hand slid to his arm, letting him know you were okay.

“I’m okay,” you said softer.

Joel exhaled slowly; tension still pressing on his chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered, closing his eyes for a second, jaw tight. “You keep saying that.”

“Guys, are you okay?” Ellie asked from above.

Joel didn’t look away from you.

“We’re fine!” he called back at her.

“You’re staying right next to me this time.” He muttered, pointing his finger at you.

You softened at his concern. “Okay.”

“You don’t do that again.”

“Which part?” You let out a weak breath, almost trying to add a tiny tint of humor to all of this.

“All of it.”

You met his eyes and he looked terrified.

Not anger on them.

That unsettled you.

“I’m okay,” you reassured softly, cradling his cheek with your hand.

Joel stared at you for another second, like he needed to be sure of it.

“Did he—” he started; voice breaking “Did he bite you?”

You blinked, still catching your breath.

“Bite me?” you repeated.

Joel’s jaw clenched as he nodded.

“Yeah.”

You shook your head.

“No.”

His eyes scanned you again, slower this time, more careful, focusing on your skin.

“Show me.”

You almost rolled your eyes, but your hands were still shaking from what had happened, so you just lifted your arms slightly, turning a little so he could see.

“I’m fine, Joel.”

But his fingers brushed your sleeves, then your neck, checking for any mark, any blood that wasn’t yours.

And then, he pulled you into him, wrapping his arms tightly around your body.

You froze, but still melted into him.

Above, Ellie made a noise to catch your attention, “I’m still here, by the way.”

But Joel ignored her.

For just a moment longer, he held you there, like he had almost lost you. That was not something he was willing to risk again.

Joel finally glanced up at Ellie who now was noticeable.

“Find us a way out.” He said, while pressing his hand a little on your back.

“Okay!”

“That was too damn close.” He whispered, turning his head back to you.

Above you, Ellie’s voice echoed once again, letting you know she had found a way you both you use to free yourselves from it.

But neither of you moved right away. Joel still held you there, and you rested your head on his chest, allowing the beating of his heart to calm down a bit.

At night, after you had found a safer place to spend the night. Ellie fell asleep, curled up in the corner with her jacket under her head.

But Joel hadn’t, He had been focused on your safety. He noticed how tired you were getting at after these last days of walking on the road.

“Get some rest,” he said softly, but still not giving you a choice.

So, you didn’t argue, you just lay there on your own jacket, listening to the night sounds enveloping the silence that had consumed.

But you truly couldn’t sleep. You could feel Joel’s eyes on your back while he fought his own exhaustion. Sitting in there, near the window, with his rifle close to his chest.

You shifted, turning around to look at him.  “Joel?”

His head turned immediately at the sound of your voice.

“Yeah,” he said, low so he wouldn’t wake Ellie. “I’m here.”

“I need water.”

Joel nodded, grabbing the bottle from his pack and crossing the room quietly, crouching beside you as he handed it over.

“Here.”

Your fingers brushed his when you took the bottle from his hand.

Then you drank, and Joel watched.

Not words uttered.

“I’m okay,” you said softly, like you already knew what he was going to ask.

He nodded. “Okay.”

But the word didn’t carry much weight. There was a distance on his voice.

You pushed yourself up, seating on the wall.

“Joel.”

He met your eyes.

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Going silent when something bothers you.” you said.

Joel exhaled, looking down at his hands for a second before his gaze came back to you.

“I’m fine.”

You gave him a look. “Liar.”

That got a subtle reaction from him.

“You could’ve died today.” He said, not looking at you right in the eye.

You softened. “But I didn’t.”

He rolled his eyes at that, “That’s not the point.”

You held the bottle in your hands, studying him.

Joel’s gaze flicked briefly to your arm, like he was checking for something again for something that wasn’t there.

Then back to your face.

“I can’t—” he stopped, jaw tightening.

You leaned forward a little. “Can’t what?”

Joel shook his head slightly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Silence stretched between you, by the corner of your eye you noticed that Ellie had shifted in her sleep but didn’t wake.

Joel looked at you again, really looked this time.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice sounded so small the words almost died by the end.

Your chest tightened a little.

“You’re not going to,” you said softly.

Joel didn’t answer right away because fate wasn’t something he put his trust in. Fate wasn’t guaranteed. 

So instead talking, he reached out, hesitating for just a second before resting his hand on yours.

You knew the feeling. You were aware of how Joel saw you. Not as a broken dove, but more like a rose, a flower which petals are falling down when not being looking after at.

But that didn’t mean he thought you were weak, but for the same reason love made you weak. That feeling settled as his heart, blinding his own view about you. It made his heart beating faster and his chest collapse, not with love but the inevitable feeling that came out from the love he had poured on his soul.

That solely feeling terrified him, it made him feel scared and useless.

And you knew that even without hearing those words, even without asking. In was written on his eyes. It was spoken on his silence. It was on his hands and the ways your skin felt beneath his fingers of the mand that had killed with them.

Now trembling under your stare.

You weakened Joel.

And you got weakened by Joel.

“You should sleep,” he murmured.

You didn’t pull your hand away.

“Only if you do.”

He shook his head.

“I’ll stay up.” He said, pouting his lips.

You sighed “Joel...”

But you knew better, and instead of pressing, you shifted, making space beside you.

“Then sit here at least.”

He hesitated, pouting his as the considered his next movement, but then he sat next to you, shoulders touching as his expression kept the same.

You cupped his face, warm fingertips on his jaw.

He turned his face to look at you.

“You really have pouty lips,” you murmured, brushing your thumb softly over his bottom lip.

Joel huffed; the corner of his mouth lifted just a little.

“Yeah?” he said, voice low.

You leaned, pressing a kiss on his lips.

Short and sweet.

But the taste lingered on them.

Joel’s smile faded and turned softer. His hands came up, resting over your wrists for a second before sliding to hold your arms.

He looked at you like he was trying to memorize the way you looked under his stare.

“Don’t you ever leave, please.” he begged you.

There was something almost fragile in the way he said it.

Your expression softened immediately. You brushed your thumb along his cheek this time.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, “I promise.”

Joel searched your face for a second longer, like he needed to be sure.

Then he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes closing as he breathed you in.

“Okay.” he murmured.

And he kissed you. Lingering on your lips a little bit longer. In that was of him to express all the love he wasn’t able to pour into words all the time.

You could weaken each other, but you also made yourselves stronger.

tags: if you don't want to be tagged, let me know.

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[auteurdelabre]

Holding Pattern part 6

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

a03 link here

Summary:

You move back to your childhood home in Florida to care for your ailing mother, only to find the past waiting for you in every room. Your always kind older cousin Santiago refuses to let you disappear into the sadness, pulling you into his world without hesitation. But Santi's world involves Frankie Morales; your cousin's best friend and the boy who broke your heart decades earlier. Thrust into each other’s orbit again old memories make their way to the surface, blurring the line between hatred and desire.Because the boy you learned to despise is the man you can't seem to forget.rated 18+ for later chapters

THIS STORY IS ON A03

tags: Friends to Enemies, First Love, Childhood Friends, Brother's Best Friend trope kinda, Angst, Smut, Flashbacks, First person POV, Protective Frankie, First kiss, parent with terminal illness, HEA.

notes: Happy Frankie ... Wednesday! It's funny, when I started this story I had no idea how much it would come to mean to me. I think the formatting, the storyline, the characters, it all just fell together. Like this is a story waiting to be told in the universe and I happened to be the one putting it into words. A vessel if you will. It is quickly climbing the ranks as being my most beloved story to write. I might take a little break after this - my fingers are tired writing two intense stories at once!

This is my favorite chapter so far and for reasons I think you'll see. Don't forget to comment!

Your mother doesn't get out of bed the next day. She's exhausted, likely from last night's ordeal that she does not remember, even as she flexes her bandaged hand. 

She's always a bit more lucid in the mornings, so you take the opportunity to ask her what she needs, making sure she's comfortable enough.  

"I'm fine, honey," she says patting your hand, trying to hide a wince. She's in a lot of pain today. You know you'll have to prepare the morphine tablet soon. You give her a sponge bath and brush her hair.  

"Is Hilary coming to visit?" She asks as you wipe under her arms. "I feel like she hasn't been here lately." 

"Maybe soon." 

No point telling her it's been about two months since your sister took off for a new life in Canada. 

After the sponge bath you give her a cup of tepid tea when she refuses breakfast. 

"I wish there was vodka in it," she jokes when you pass it her way. 

You can't really smile back when she says that. Jokes of her alcoholism aren't funny to you. Not when they dominated most of your childhood.  

You feel the first twist of the knife in your gut. 

"I was just remembering when you got sick as a little girl. You were always so sweet," your mom says, holding the cup. 

Her teeth are yellowed at the top when she smiles your way. The same hue as the former whiteness of her eyes. 

"I used to love when I was sick and you took care of me," you admit quietly. 

The simpering look she shoots you only serves to increase your ire. That she could lay there and pretend your childhood wasn't a blur of screaming at Hilary and drinking until she passed out. 

"My friends would talk about how horrible their kids were when they were ill," your mom says with a fond look your way. "But not you. You never kicked up a fuss. Just thanked me over and over for taking care of you." 

You shouldn't rise to the anger that storms within you. Shouldn't let that sweet comment from her be twisted. 

Let it go. Let it go. 

But you can't. 

"That's because it's when you felt like a real mom." 

It goes quiet for a second, the room stuffy. You study the marked walls; you note the edge of the curtain looks dingy, that you should change her pillowcase. Anything that distracts you from what you've said, but more importantly, what your mother hasn't. 

"I was always a real mom," she finally says. Her voice is ragged, and her narrow chest wheezes with the effort.  "I was always a real person too. It’s my first time on earth too, honey. I made mistakes just trying to figure it out. Same as you." 

"You made a helluva lot more mistakes than I did," you snap back, unable to stop yourself. 

And she flinches, hurt. But no satisfaction comes from that. No closure, no acceptance. It's just a cold cruelty you've thrown at a woman too weak to fight back.  

It makes you feel sick to your stomach. 

"I hope one day you forgive me," she says, eyes on the window. 

"I do forgive you," you say with a sigh. 

Her face turns your way, creased and so old. You don't remember her ever looking this old. She's not angry. Just quiet and sad.  It makes you hate yourself for not controlling your temper. 

"I don't know that you ever will. But you need to know that no matter what, I always loved you and your sister. I will until the day I die."

THEN

Frankie is twenty one when he returns from the army to attend his parent's funeral. He stands at the front of the church in one of his father's old suits, looking everywhere but people's faces. 

Frankie's parents were in a plane crash coming back from Argentina. Their first international trip alone together since they got married. Santi relayed all of this information to you the second he got back into town. 

You stare at Frankie from the pews, both taken aback at his physical change and devastated to see your friend so broken. 

His hair is shorter now, his curls shorn into a slightly grown out buzz cut. It makes his face look so angular, so mature. It's taken away that sweet, soft appearance you always equated him with. 

Gone is the lanky boy with long legs. Now he's muscled, solid. His shoulders have always been broad but now they fill out properly with bulging arms. Like he's a puppy who finally grew into his oversized paws. 

He turns now as his aunt approaches. She's a wreck, sobbing into his shoulder, her mascara smudging on his white shirt collar. It looks like a mournful spider nearing his throat. 

"¡Oh, mi dulce Francisco, el mundo es tan injusto!

She is loud and draws the attention of many attendees. Frankie doesn't seem to notice, his eyes look far away. 

Of course you, Santi and and Travis are in attendance along with Hilary. Your mom is at work, unable to pass up the shift. Santi's dad is out of town. You wear a black sweater over a long black skirt you found in your mom's closet. It's too warm for a day like this, but it was the only thing that seemed appropriate. 

Despite being eighteen and starting college in the fall, you feel even younger watching this display of grief. You can't help wondering how Frankie is going to manage this all himself. 

You sit several pews back with your family, watching the boy - now a man - give the eulogy for his parents. You've never seen Frankie cry and even now as he stands speaking of his parents virtues, his eyes remain dry. 

"My parents taught me the value of loyalty, of being brave. They showed me that love conquers all."

It's a surprisingly sweet sentiment considering the complicated relationship he had with his father. 

The elder Morales often used fists instead of words while his wife sat by, ignoring it all. Frankie never spoke about it much. Not to you anyway. He always was more of a private person. 

He only talked about wanting to be like his dad and joining the army. That his mom made him his favorite cake every birthday from scratch. That his dad played football with him in their backyard.

He stuck with idyllic memories and judging by the eulogy, clearly lives in them now. You can understand that. 

Afterwards the reception is held at the Morales home, now solely Frankie's, you realize as you walk up the driveway with a casserole your mother made the night previous. 

It's not too busy, just as the funeral wasn't. A few of his mother's friends from bridge are scattered around refilling sandwich plates and replacing beer cans. 

Some of his dad's army buddies are there too, but they're really just there to drink free booze and reminisce about basic and dumb army shit. 

His aunt welcomes people in, taking their food with thanks and adding it to the long table they brought in. 

She kisses your cheek and says something in Spanish that you don't catch. Her floral perfume is cloying, fighting for dominance over the bouquets that line the space. 

Santi is talking with Travis by the food table, their faces drawn. You move slowly through the line, grazing on sandwiches and pickles. They're sour on your tongue, the crunch satisfying.  

You move to an empty spot on the wall, spine pressing against the cool stucco. You don't want to be drawn into conversation with strangers. You've always been more comfortable people watching.  

You glance up, and can see where Frankie's mom stenciled some green flowers around the arch of the kitchen. Something about that personal touch makes your heart hurt. 

"The mortgage is paid off, but I worry how he'll get on," an elderly woman says to another. "How will Francisco afford the taxes?" 

She's got crumbs on one downy cheek, speaking softly as to not be overheard. She doesn't notice you clinging to the wall holding a cup of lemonade, your ear tilted to hear better. 

"I mean, he just finished his flight training," she says. "He's still got years of service ahead of him." 

The other woman is a tall slender thing with eyes like Frankie's. She must be a relative. And she looks concerned. 

"Do you think he'll actually go back?"

"Of course he will." 

"I'm not so sure." Her voice gets even softer. "I mean, with his father gone he doesn't have to worry about impressing him anymore." 

You want to listen to more but Hilary arrives at your side, the scent of cigarettes clinging to her clothes. She has a rumpled look about her, like she slept in her clothes. For all you know she did - she's barely at home anymore. 

She comes to stand beside you, both your backs pressed against the wall. She surveys the space along with you, sighing. 

"Damn, this is bleak." 

"It's a funeral, Hil." 

"Still," she mutters, shaking her head before she looks your way. "You ready to go?" 

Your eyes move around the room, landing on Frankie. He's sitting on his lumpy couch, nodding shallowly at some relatives. He looks broken. 

You turn to your sister. "I'll meet you at home." 

She doesn't seem surprised. She just gives a nod, murmuring that she's going to grab dinner on the way home. You wave in her direction but your focus is on the defeated looking man across the room. His eyes lift briefly, catching yours before moving back to the floor. Your heart cracks at the sadness in his expression.

You stay long after everyone else files out, helping to clean empty bowls, wiping down tables with Santi. 

Eventually only you, Santi and Frankie remain at the Morales home tidying the place and moving furniture back into place. His aunt wanted to stay as well but Frankie was firm in needing space. 

"You guys don't have to do this," Frankie says, voice tired. He's not wearing that suit jacket anymore, the tie loosened at his neck.

"It's fine," Santi insists, handing you a plate to be placed into the dishwasher. "We're almost done here. You go take a load off." 

You focus on the task at hand, listening to Frankie's receding footsteps. When he's safely out of the room Santi speaks under his breath, his eyes bloodshot. 

"I have to go to a meeting downtown, but do you mind sticking around for a bit longer? I'm worried about him."

His gaze is over your shoulder and your eyes follow. From where you stand in the kitchen you can see into the living room. Something about Frankie's downturned face, the way he sits on the couch backlit by the dying sun is heartbreaking to watch. 

"I can stay," you murmur to Santi as he grabs his car keys. 

"You sure?" 

You nod, giving him a tight hug. 

"Try to get him to eat," he murmurs. "He didn't touch anything today." 

You wave him off before preparing a small plate of leftovers. You grab a beer from the fridge and carry both over. 

"You're still here? I thought I heard the door close." 

"Santi had to go." You place the plate on the coffee table along with the beer. “But I still have time to hang out.”

He takes only the drink, taking a long sip before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He makes no attempt to touch the food on the plate. He just sits there staring at it with a distant look on his face, rubbing his fingers on his black dress pants

"You need to eat, Frankie." 

"Not hungry." 

You slide next to him on the couch, fixing him with what you hope is a leveling look. 

"I'm not leaving until you eat something. So either choke down a sandwich or set up the futon." 

A twitch of his lips, a resigned huff. He shifts forward, taking a sandwich half and bringing it to his mouth. You watch his jaw flex, bare of facial hair, shaved for the army. Your eyes travel the expanse of him now that you're actually sitting next to him. He's gotten so much bigger since his time away. 

"I miss your hair," you murmur. Your fingers twitch, eager to run themselves through the shorn curls even though you know better. 

"Me too," he says ruefully running his palm along the top of his head. "I feel naked." 

"It's because you don't have your hat either."

He smirks. "I miss being able to wear my own shit." 

He manages the other half of the sandwich and some pasta salad before he gives up, telling you that he's not taking another bite. You play with your keychain, feeling the hemp braid rasp under your fingertips while he finishes. His eyes cast to it briefly. 

"Still got that." 

"Mhm." 

You don't have a car of course. Those cost money, money you don't have since everything you've earned while at part time jobs is going towards school. 

He tilts back the beer bottle and you watch his plump lips rest against the rim as he takes a long lingering sip. 

"So you're officially flying huh? Is it everything you wanted it to be?" 

"Better," he replies, lowering the bottle to the table. "When I'm up there it's like everything makes sense."

"I wish I could ride in one," you offer, leaning back into the couch as you imagine it. "It must be amazing." 

"There's flight places around here that offer rides." 

"Expensive," you remind him. "And besides I only want to ride if..." 

You stop yourself before it slips out. The admission that makes your heart throb in your chest. 

You only want to ride if Frankie's the one flying. 

You've had fantasies of exactly that, of seeing Frankie in his element. You have imagined him taking you over mountains, soaring through the sky. 

And sometimes you even fantasize that he'll take you somewhere quiet, landing in gorgeous empty fields with flowers and soft grass. You picture him declaring his long hidden love for you, of taking you right there in the open, his muscled body over yours as he groans your names between sweet promises of forever. 

"I'll take you up one day," he says and not because he's in love with you. He says it because you're his friend and that will have to be enough. 

You hum thoughtfully in response. 

The years without him have been hard. His sporadic visits, his poor communication. Despite your heated assurance that you'd never write to him you tracked his address down from Santi a week after Frankie boarded that flight to Texas. 

You sent him letters for a full three months, well wishes, catching him up on developments back home, sincere hopes that he was flying happily. You asked him question upon question about his time in basic. 

His replies were inconsistent, full of smudged ink and short replies. You don't know why you were that surprised, it's not as if he'd been a loquacious person before. So you stopped. He never mentioned it. Never sent another letter your way. 

"You must be eager to get back to base," you say tightly. 

"Not really." 

Your face betrays your surprise, a lift to the corner of your mouth in delight. He doesn't want to go back. Maybe his aunts were right.

"So you won't be heading back for more training?" You ask, hands folded over your belly. 

"Of course I will. It's just I've got a few weeks of furlough on account of, well," he makes a vague motion to the house. "You know."

You try to hide your disappointment behind a weak smile. A large part of you had been hoping that he was returning for good. That was his father out of the picture he wouldn't feel the need to remain over there. 

But he's always wanted to fly, always wanted to escape this town, this house. And now he's been dragged back in the worst possible way. 

"Your first year of college is coming up in a few weeks, right?" Frankie asks, looking a little more upbeat as he intentionally changes the topic. 

You give a genuine smile in your response. "Yep. I can't wait."

Mom. Hilary. Drinking, fighting, screaming. Thoughts of living on campus a few hours away brings you peace of mind knowing you'll be escaping it all. 

He goes quiet, nodding his head. His fingers tap tap tap against his thigh, he's deep in thought. 

You like this quiet moment with him, you enjoy the familiar peace his presence brings. Your anxiety immediately goes to the question of when it will end. When will he be tugged away from you again?

"Santi told me your mom had some rule about not letting you date until you were eighteen." Frankie laugh is low and rumbling like distant thunder. "Is that actually true?"  

He gives you a tired smile, clearly thankful to talk about something light, something not about dead parents and mortgages and what he's going to do with the rest of his life.

"Uh huh."

"So are you gonna go out and find a boyfriend then? Or are you gonna wait to find yourself a college boy in September?"  

"I've dated before Frankie," you say with a roll of your eyes. "I'm not a total loser." 

"Since when?"

"Since last year when my mom started drinking in the morning." You scowl. "She's too wasted to remember her own name most days, let alone get mad at me for dating." 

His brows rise. "How am I just learning about this now?" 

"You haven't been here for years," you remind him. "Been off flying helicopters, remember?"

It's said breezily, but there is a weight to the edges. The words you think but never say out loud. That you miss him, that no boy kissing you even comes close to how you feel with Frankie just sitting on a couch. 

"Guess I'll have to knock off my v-card before September, though" you joke, feeling your face heat up. "Don't want to start school the only virgin." 

He blinks slowly, a beat passing. "I thought you just said you dated."

"I have." 

"And you've never slept with anyone?" Frankie asks in a husky whisper, gaze skipping to your mouth and back to your eyes. 

"No." 

You think of Hilary only last week laughing herself silly over the fact that you're still a virgin. She herself lost her v-card the day after her fifteenth birthday. She thinks it’s hilarious that you're still a virgin at the ancient age of eighteen. 

"Really? No one?"

"Jesus, why is that such a big deal?" You say, rolling your eyes. "I'm sure you've slept with a ton of girls but-"

"No." 

You pause at the interruption, brows knitting together. "Huh?"

"I haven't slept with a bunch of girls. Who told you I slept with a bunch of girls?" 

"I...I guess I just assumed. I mean, Santi isn't exactly at church every night." 

You stare at him, mapping his dark eyes glassy from the beer, his full lips he keeps swiping his tongue over. 

"How many girls have you slept with?" 

You watch as Frankie's chest and cheeks begin to flush. 

"Like, one. One time." 

This pulls you up short. You know for a fact that Santi has slept with at least four girls already. He doesn't go into details, but you've heard rumblings of it when he talks to Travis. 

"But... You're twenty one." 

"I'm aware." 

Frankie is not an ugly man by any stretch of the imagination. He's also kind and patient and... How has he only slept with one girl? And only once?

"So many girls at school had crushes on you." 

Frankie groans, sliding a hand down his face. "No they didn't." 

"They did. And I know plenty that still do."

"Well even if they do I can't exactly do anything about it," Frankie mumbles. 

"Why not? You have your own place now."

You cringe as you realize what you've said. But Frankie doesn't seem to notice because if he was pink before he's absolutely tomato red now. 

"It's not that. It's... "

"It's what?"

"It's just; I can barely talk to girls." 

"You talk to me."

"You know what I mean," he grumbles. 

Yeah, you know what he means. You're not romantic interests to one another. You're just one of the boys.  

"But, that one girl," you offer gently. "You must've talked to her." 

Frankie gives a dark huff of amusement through his nose, voice taking on a bitter quality. 

"She only came to talk to me because she saw my uniform. I could've been anyone, she just wanted to fuck someone in service." 

He begins flinching as if it's happening that very moment. 

"I couldn't even enjoy it. I was so paranoid I was doing it wrong and that she'd tell all her friends." 

"You really think a person would do that?" 

"Of course they would. But I just wanted to get it over with. I didn't want to be the only virgin at basic anymore."

You feel yourself starting to falter. You never considered that possibility. Frankie is smart, he's good at everything he tries from electronics to driving. You bet he's good at sex too. 

"I'm sure you didn't have anything to worry about. I'm sure you were great," you tell him, because you believe this to be true. 

"Yeah but what would you know, virgin?"

He grins wider when you laugh in surprise. The two of you lapse into quiet, eyes on the near darkening room. The sun has started to set, the space growing dim. 

"So are you gonna sell this place?"

He shakes his head, his own eyes moving slowly around the room, landing on pieces of furniture, photos on the wall. 

"No. It doesn't feel right to do that. This is the only home I've lived at for more than six months." 

You nod and remain silent even though you want to pepper him with questions. How will he afford it? Will he actually want to live in the house by himself? Doesn’t it feel like living with ghosts?

You want to just be present and comfort your friend, but something he said earlier won't leave your mind. Something that needles your insides until you can't help but turn to face him. 

"Do you think a guy would do that too?"

"Do what?" 

"Like, do you think he'd tell his friends if the girl was bad at sex? Or a bad kisser?" 

Frankie looks at you skeptically. "I dunno. I wouldn't but..." He shrugs, "you never know I guess."

A fear you'd never even considered starts to play in the back of your head.  An ugly thought that makes your stomach drop. 

Was I a good kisser? 

You return to your mother's room that afternoon to open her windows so she can enjoy the sunny day and feel the balmy breeze that teases the trees. 

You position a TV tray over her lap, putting a few crackers with peanut butter on a plate in hopes it will whet her appetite, but to no avail. You bring her another tea and a glass of water which she thanks you for. You hope that the bitterness of this morning has faded. 

You sit by her bed, watching her sip the tea and listen to the birds that chatter outside. As you do this your eyes blur, mind on last night. 

Frankie's patience with your mother, the way he tidied the kitchen for you. And before that, the way he apologized. Frankie has never apologized like that to you. 

It makes something in your stomach shift. This acknowledgement of his kindness. It's been so long since you've seen that from him. It unnerves you. 

"I've thought about my funeral and I don't want one." 

You drift back into alert focus, brows knitted.  "Huh?"

"I don't want one," she repeats firmly.  "Just scatter my ashes and be done with it." 

Something about her firmness makes you feel queasy. The thought that one could think about their own mortality with such a detachment boggles your mind.

But she is your mother, she has told you what she wants. And it would be arrogant of you to assume you know better. So you sit up straight, voice soft. 

"Where do you want them scattered?" 

"Anywhere," she says, about to shrug when she suddenly stops herself. 

"Wait, actually, I know where." 

Her eyes go bright, something within them reminding you of youth. She's traveling through time; you can see it in the way her face softens, as if the lines are disappearing before your eyes. 

"I used to go camping at this really beautiful spot in the keys," she says with the kind of breathless excitement you can imagine she had as a girl. "My mother took me every year." 

"Grandma camped?"

You can barely recall her from your youth, who passed when you were barely 6 years old. The memories that you do have of her are of severe woman who didn't like to get dirty. 

"Yes. My father was away working so often and we didn't have much money. Camping was free and we'd go with other families in the neighborhood."

She swallows, throat dry. You pass her a cup of water which she drinks greedily. You wipe the small trickles that escape at the corner of her mouth with a bundled bit of tissue. 

"Most of my summers were spent swimming and eating hot dogs, telling scary stories around a campfire." 

She gets a shy look on her face, eyes dropping to her teacup. 

"It's where I had my first kiss."

You sit there trying to imagine the aged woman in the bed as a young girl with pigtails and a blush across her cheeks as she kissed the boy she fancied. It makes a soft smile overtake your expression, heart swelling.

"It sounds amazing," you finally say, fascinated by the change in your mother's voice. "Why didn't you ever take us?"

"They did some renovations to it. Made it more privatized so I couldn't afford it." 

She winces again, hand drifting to her belly. She doesn't have to say anything, you give her the morphine tablet, watching her chase it with a cup of water. 

"What was the name of it?" you ask, curious.

She purses her wrinkled lips in thought, eyes bleary.

"It was called ... Oh goodness...What was it?"

You wait patiently, noting when she finally recalls and her eyes twinkle.

"Blue... Blue Bird....Heron! Blue Heron campground. Yes. That's right." She looks your way with a serious expression, her mind clearly settled. 

"That's where I want my ashes to be scattered. Blue Heron campground." 

"Okay, Mom," you say, trying to swallow the sudden lump in your throat. "I can do that."

 Hey. How's Canada? 

HIL: cold. 

HIL: also Justin is a fucking asshole. Being married sucks, I don't recommend it. 

Noted. 

HIL: how's Mom? 

Still dying. 

HIL: that tracks. 

She told me she wants to be buried in some old campground she went to as a in kid. 

HIL: Blue Heron? 

How the fuck do you know that??

HIL: she mentioned it a couple years ago. We were talking about camping and she told me about it. 

She never mentioned it to me. 

HIL: you weren't around. 

Do you think you might come back to see Mom?

HIL: not sure. . kind of feel like I did my daughterly duty keeping her alive until you got there.

Right...

Look what I did. [nose.jpeg]

HIL: Fuck off is that a nose ring?? 😲😲😲😲

HIL: it looks infected. 

It might be. I took it out this morning. It wasn't really me. 

HIL: couldn't agree more. I'm the rebel remember? 😈 You were always the good one. 👼

Look how that turned out. I just had a fight with a woman about to die. 

HIL: about time!!! you always had to play good daughter when we were kids. 

I didn't really have a choice. You had the bad daughter title firmly in your grasp. haha Sorry that came out wrong. 

HIL: it's fine. 

HIL: someone had to be the family fuck up. 🤷

You were never a fuck up, Hil. 

HIL: Sure I was. 

No. You were the one who had to grow up too fast. You were the one who took care of me even though you had your own shit going on. I don’t think I ever said thank you for that.

HIL: ew stfu don’t thank me. HIL: it’s just what sisters do.  

THEN 

"Frankie, was I a good kisser?"

It bursts out of you; the thought playing on loop the last five minutes is unable to be silenced any longer. 

Frankie tilts his head to the left, frowning at you. The eleven lines between his brows deepen. 

"Huh?"

"You remember that party you had at your place years back? You kissed me, remember? In the kitchen. Was I a good kisser?"

For a moment he appears deep in thought, like he can't remember what you're talking about. And then suddenly recognition flashes in his eyes and he starts to chuckle softly. 

"Pip, that barely counted as a kiss." 

"Still."

"You didn't even kiss me back," Frankie says gently. "You just stood there." 

"I didn't have time," you mumble, embarrassed. 

"I didn't want you to kiss me back," Frankie corrects. "You were thirteen."

You feel like you're thrown through time, transported back into your awkward 13-year-old body. You remember the way Frankie had looked at you then, a mixture of piteous disdain. 

But tonight he's not looking at you that same way. His look is inscrutable, impossible to read and so you just shrug.

"I'm eighteen now."

He takes a slow measured breath. 

"I know." 

The way Frankie's eyes rake up and down your body let's you know the barely three years that always seemed to separate the two of you has faded. 

He lowers his half full beer bottle to the coffee, fingertips grazing it to ensure it stays upright. 

It's like a thick tension has settled over top the two of you, your breathing synchronizing before Frankie stands abruptly. 

He carries his mostly empty plate to the kitchen and you're thankful for the reprieve. Blood is roaring so loudly in your ears that you're having trouble hearing anything aside from the running water of the sink. 

When he returns your face is so warm it makes your eyes water. Frankie settles in next to you on the couch, closer than before you notice. 

His shoulder rests against yours, his body warm next to you. His hands rest on his legs, the dress pants stretched taut over his muscular thighs. 

You shift on the lumpy couch that you've spent countless days on watching movies or playing games with the guys when Frankie's parents were out of the house. You're convinced that you could point out every bumpy spot from memory alone. 

"You ever do other stuff with guys?"

Your head snaps up to see Frankie staring at you with an open look. 

Something in the husky way he says it makes your insides quiver. "Other stuff?"

"Yeah. Third base?" 

Your cheeks flames as you hide your face against your shoulder, wishing you had another topic of which to divert him.  But another part of you, a hungry part deep in your belly wants more. More of Frankie's eyes burning black, more of his shoulder pressing against yours.

"Yeah," you mutter, unable to look at him when you answer. 

He looks surprised, eyes narrowed on you. 

"Who?" 

"Some guy I met at a party Hilary threw with Poppy. Kevin." You clear your throat. "And you? You do any of that stuff with other girls?"

Even if Frankie has only had sex with one girl, that didn't mean that he hadn't fooled around with plenty. That thought makes your nose flare, vision blurry. 

"Of course." 

"A lot of girls?" 

His full lips purse, brows knitted. He looks like he's really taking your question to heart. 

"About six?" He looks into the distance. "Yeah. Six. At least I know I do that stuff right." 

White hot jealousy surges through your body at the comment. Images of Frankie with faceless women, his mouth between their legs, his wide fingers knuckles deep as they keen his name invade your thoughts. 

Your hands curl in your lap, nails digging into the fleshy part of your palm. They leave little angry crescents in your flesh. 

"Did you like doing stuff with Kevin?"

You keep your eyes on your hand, watching the crescents go from blanched white to a rosy pink. 

"Yeah, it was fine." 

"He make you come?" 

The two of you don't have conversations like this. You talk about flying and play cards and go swimming. You don't talk about sex. That's stuff he saves for Santi and Travis. 

You suck in a sharp breath, tripping over your words.

"Um. No, I don't- no... No he didn't." 

Kevin was perfectly nice, but he was lazy. He didn't pay attention to the signals your body was giving. His fingers just jabbed as he asked you if you were close. 

When he spread you out in his bed his mouth was sloppy, too wet and his tongue was as sharp and clumsy as his fingers. 

You'd wanted to get the experience, tired of hearing Hilary talk about her dalliances, giving you a piteous look when you didn't understand and couldn't relate.  

But now sitting next to Frankie you can feel arousal pooling between your thighs, the hot flames that go up your neck, that deliciously deep pull below your navel. 

And he hasn't even done anything but talk. 

He's quiet for a long time. You still can't look at him for too long; especially since you’re not sure you could avoid staring at his mouth. 

"I bet I could make you come." 

He says this with a casual nonchalance, as if he's mentioning the two of you should get ice cream tomorrow afternoon. Instinctively your thighs clench. Thoughts of Frankie's mouth between your legs has you jumping out of your skin. 

Your voice comes out breathy and wobbling. "What?" 

"I bet I could make you come" he repeats, not embarrassed at all. "Can I?" 

You're on fire both from intense embarrassment and even more intense arousal. There's fear there as well, of the unknown. 

"I don't think I can..." You pause, feeling mortified. "I can only do it myself. Uh, alone." 

Frankie shoots you a smug look now, brow arching.  "I could do it." 

You take in how his eyes travel down the length of your body, moving between your legs and settling. 

You feel your panties dampening further, humiliated that you're so eager. He just lost his parents and you're sitting here getting turned on. 

"I guess I want the distraction," he explains when you don't respond

Guilt suffuses you. You're supposed to be here to help your friend, to distract him from the ugliness of today. 

"You don't have to do that Frankie. We can distract you in other-"

"I like doing it," he interrupts. "A lot."

Fuck. Your breath leaves you when he shifts closer to you, big hand coming to rest on your kneecap. 

"I miss doing it."  

You can't quite breathe evenly; it's coming out in short little huffs. He removes his hand, moving back. 

"Only if you want to," he adds, his eyes looking worriedly to your face. "You don't have to say y-." 

"Yes." 

It comes out quickly, expelled from your lungs like a scream even though it's barely a squeak. 

"I want it," you say clearly to avoid any misunderstanding. 

I've wanted it for years. I've dreamed about it. Touched myself to the thought of it. I want nothing more than for you to make me come. 

He grins a soft, shy thing that makes him look boyish and gentle. The Frankie you've always known. 

And then it begins.

Still seated beside you, Frankie's leans forward and his wide fingers go to the hem of the long black skirt you wore for the funeral. The fabric bunches up slowly and you watch the ascent, face slack as it ends in wrinkled layers across your hips. 

He suddenly pauses, brows knitting. 

"You can't tell Santi," he says, dark eyes wide. "You can't tell anyone." 

"Duh." 

No one can know what's about to happen. Not just for Frankie's sake but for yours. Travis' mockery would be relentless. Santi would feel betrayed by both of you. 

No, tonight is for you and Frankie alone. 

"You tell me if you need me to stop." 

You're shivering when his palm slips under the fabric, warm skin on your legs, squeezing gently before tracing slow lines along your inner thighs. 

"Don't stop." 

He bites back a smile. The dimple in his cheek pops out, making you swoon. 

Warm fingers tickle along the outside of your panties gusset, surely feeling the heat and the damp there. You bite down harshly on your lower lip to hold in the whimper building in your throat. 

He doesn't look away from your face when he does it, if anything he looks closer. It makes you feel studied and you flush as you duck your head, embarrassed. Those same searching fingers curve around, slowly inching themselves inside the cotton, finding the slick seam of your          sex. 

You gasp, eyes going huge as dinner plates as you gaze up at him. You're taken aback to see the open desire on his face. 

"Just relax," he murmurs voice soft. 

You go to nod, mouth dropping open when you feel that first swipe of his fingers dance along the seam, grazing your clit. Your hips jump and Frankie grins. 

"Easy there, Pip."

You give a breathless laugh, giddy and terrified. You've wanted this for so long and you don't know how to act now that it's finally happening. Your hands are at your sides, loosely placed on the cushion. Your thighs are spread and Frankie's hand is hidden under the thick fabric of your skirt. 

When his fingers finally breach you, you feel your eyes blow wide, stuck on Frankie's face as your jaw drops. It feels intense, so much more intense than it was with Kevin. 

Frankie's fingers are long and thick and they move within you slowly. They don't force themselves, they take their time as they stretch your honeyed walls. You savor the steady work of the two fingers that sink into you, curling as his thumb circles your clit.

You're barely able to focus on anything outside of Frankie's hitched breathing and the way he's tucked you up close to him. He's warm; his shirt damp from sweat and it makes your head spin. 

You can't help but make soft little noises, and when Frankie leans closer, head tilted you realize it's because he wants to hear them. This realization makes the throb between your legs intensify. 

When he curls his fingers into a come hither motion, your back bows, stomach clenching before everything in you turns liquid. 

"Oh fuck," you groan, grabbing him by the collar as he works at you. "Fuck fuck." 

He's smiling, you can hear it when he breathes your name, your real name, not Pip. But you're too focused to open your eyes, hips rutting, chasing after the pleasure that suddenly bursts behind your eyes in white sparks. 

"F-Frankie," you gasp, eyes flying open as you come on his fingers, your core spasming as he continues his steady thrusts, the tempo never changing. 

"C'mon, c'mon," he chants under his breath over and over like a mantra watching as you shatter for him. 

It feels like it goes on forever. Your hand is still fisted in his shirt, holding tight as your voice cracks and you finally flop back, spent. 

His hand shifts back from under your skirt, glossy fingers leaving a shiny trail down your inner thigh. Your eyes track them, mouth going dry when Frankie pops his glossy digits between his lips. 

You can only stare as he closes his eyes, savoring the flavor of you on his tongue. Your body burns for him in that moment, shocked and needy, speechless when he removes them from his mouth and his eyes are pitched black. 

You surprise yourself by leaning forward and slanting your mouth against his - curious to see if you can taste yourself, eager to feel his warm lips properly. A proper kiss. 

He doesn't pull back, doesn't even flinch. He just remains in place, mouth parting, tongue brushing yours. You taste only him. 

The kiss is deep, slow and tender. He doesn't rush it, he just moves to hold

your face and lets you discover him. Shivers run the length of your body. 

This was the kiss you wanted all those years ago. The searching kind, the gentle type. The kind where a man holds you gently and kisses you like you mean something to him. 

You do this for a while, until your lips are swollen and the sun has started to set. Only then do you pull apart, shocked to find that somewhere in the process you ended up half in his lap. 

His eyes flutter open, pupils still dominating his lusty gaze. 

"Did you like that?" He murmurs, face dangerously close to yours. 

"Yes," you breathe quietly. Your heart flutters. 

He grins, teeth gleaming like sunshine and then it's him who moves forward to capture your mouth. He begins making soft little groaning noises when you crook your arms around his neck. 

Suddenly he's pushing you backwards on the couch before following after. The kissing moves to groping you over your clothes, hilariously chaste considering he had his fingers buried within you only minutes before. 

Your thighs are around his hips, whimpering as you feel him swollen between the layers of fabric. 

"Frankie," you moan between kisses, "I want you to fuck me." 

He gives a dry laugh, assuming you're joking. But when you're face remains fixed his breathing elevates. 

"You don't want to do that with me," he says, chiding. "I barely have any experience."

"I know."

"You might hate it." 

"I know." 

"You might not come." 

"Frankie!" You snap, getting angry. "I just want to lose my virginity okay? Stop making it such a big deal." 

It is a big deal. It's a very big deal, but you have a feeling if Frankie knows how big a deal it is he won't even consider it. 

But this is something you've wanted for a long time. The only boy in the world that you'd feel comfortable doing this with. 

He takes his time to survey you, likely going over an internal tally of why this is a good idea and why it's a terrible one. He must settle on the former though. 

"We should do it in my bed," he says huskily. "What do you think?" 

You stand eagerly, nodding. 

"Yes. Let's go."

"You’re really sure?"

“Yes.”

You've always been sure of Frankie. 

Rosalita arrives for her overnight shift, giving you a small hug as she sees you. She's smells like coconut, her hair tied back from her face. 

She hangs up her jacket, looking over her shoulder to see you placing a tea for her on the table along with some recently purchased cookies.  

"How lovely," she says with a genuine smile.

She moves to you slowly, her movements soundless. Despite her age she moves like a young woman, silent and delicate. She settles herself across from you, taking a cookie and breaking it in half then gives you a conspiratorial wink. 

"Shouldn't have too much sugar." 

You warm your hands with your own tea, watching the steam move lazily above the water. She chews quietly, taking stock of the cleared table the two of you sit at. 

"You cleaned." 

You glance around the tidied area, thoughts of Frankie in your head. His actions last night haven't left your mind. 

"How are you?" You ask, looking at her with a strained expression. She returns it with a serene look, one shoulder rising. 

"Completely fine."

"I kind of thought you might not want to come back." 

 She gives you a chirpy laugh; shaking her head and placing a hand overtop your own. 

"My dear, this is my job. I have seen much worse. I have been through much worse." 

"Like what?" 

She looks thoughtful up at the ceiling, lips pursed. 

"One woman pushed me down the stairs. Another sprained my wrist. I had a gentleman that threw his feces once. But that was an extreme case."

You can't understand it. How a woman can be treated so terribly day after day and still rise with the sun, still smile as if the world isn't a cesspool of miscreants.

"How do you stay so... Kind? So positive?"

"I think of myself as very fortunate to take care of the elderly." She takes another sip of tea from her mug. "Your mother has lived a long life and she deserves to end it with dignity." 

You're suddenly aware that your cheeks are getting warm. The kinder she is the worse it gets. 

"How do you not get angry? I feel so... Angry." 

You haven't admitted that out loud to anyone. The very sentence makes you feel drenched with guilt. 

"Because I know they react out of fear or frustration. It's never cruelty for the sake of it." 

For not the first time, you think Rosalita might actually be an angel. An honest to goodness cherub sent to earth because who else could approach it that way? 

You think of last night. Of Rosalita's stressed expression, of the blood on her cheek. 

"I just..." You feel your brows saddle. "I'm just so humiliated that it happened. Which is so dumb because I know she didn't do it on purpose. I know she was just genuinely afraid but... I'm just so embarrassed she did it." 

"Please don't be," Rosalita says. "I care for your mother. I hold nothing against her. It's the disease, not her." 

You've heard this before. During a group therapy session that Greg suggested when you were together. A chance to talk with other children of alcoholics. 

"Alcoholism is a disease," a thin woman leading the meeting said. "Just like diabetes or heart disease." 

Your fingers curled in your lap, teeth gnashing. 

How can it be a disease when she chose to pick up the bottle time and time again? 

You'd left at the smoke break, not even bothering to finish the meeting. When Greg asked you that evening how it went, you'd shrugged and said you didn't get much out of it. 

Rosalita finishes her tea, pushing it slightly back. 

"How is your mother today?"

"Really good," you say and now you find it possible to smile. "Like, she was so lucid this morning."

"Wonderful." 

"We talked about her life as a kid and... It's like she's getting better. I mean, I know that's insane. Like, dementia doesn't go away, but-"

Rosalita lightly shakes her head, the look in her eyes heavy. You feel a flutter start in your chest. A bad one. 

"My dear we are nearing the end and you must prepare yourself." 

You know. You know that. But maybe, just maybe, a silly part of you wondered if the doctors got it wrong. If she wasn't as sick as they thought.

"She was just so with it today," you say, chin quivering. "Talking about her childhood and...I only had to give her one morphine tablet." 

You trail off when you're voice starts to shake. Rosalita looks like she hates herself for having to reply. 

"Have you ever heard the term terminal lucidity?" 

"No."

Your mom makes a moaning noise from the next room and Rosalita's attention is immediately diverted. She stands giving you a soft smile and then she moves into the hallway to check on your mother.

Terminal lucidity. 

You bring up your phone, typing the words into Google and reading at an intense speed. 

"Terminal lucidity is the sudden, unexpected return of mental clarity, memory, and cognitive alertness in patients suffering from severe dementia, brain damage, or other terminal illnesses shortly before death. Known as "the last goodbye," this rare phenomenon allows nonverbal or unresponsive individuals to communicate clearly, often lasting from minutes to hours."

You don't know why this but this has your fingers shaking so hard that you drop your phone onto the table. It clatters loudly, the sound setting you on edge.   You push yourself up from the table, suddenly needing fresh air. Needing to breathe. 

You need to leave. 

THEN

You've never really been in Frankie's room before. Frankie's parents never really liked him having friends over and definitely not in his bedroom. His hand is sweaty holding yours, so warm it feels like he's on fire. You stare at his profile, noting the way his throat bobs nervously. 

As he leads you inside you can't help but survey the clean and neatly stacked shelves, the model planes made with such attention to detail. 

He releases your hand as he moves over to bed made up so tightly you could bounce a quarter on it. He pulls back the sheets, plumping his pillow before walking back over to you. 

His eyes trail along your collar, down over your breasts, lingering at your skirt. He's drinking you in like water.

"Can I undress you?" 

You feel shy at that, hesitating. You don't know about Frankie seeing your body with all its imperfections. You thought you might do it with all your clothes on. 

"I'll go first?" He offers, fingers fumbling at his belt. "Maybe that would help?"

You give a half shrug, still not sure. 

You watch in quiet fascination as Frankie strips down, stepping out of his pants, socks and unbuttoning his white shirt. He tosses it all in the corner of the room. 

His cheeks are pink, his chest flushing as well. You see the extent of it when he removes his undershirt and tosses it into the same corner. 

He's breathing a little more heavily now, and you can see his arousal bulging in his blue boxer briefs. It's intimidating as much as it is exciting. 

"Now you," he says, indicating you should do the same. You figure he's abandoned the idea of undressing you, sensing it's too overwhelming. 

You glance around at the room, feeling like the light is vivid despite the setting sun outside his window. 

"Can we close the curtains?" 

"Sure." 

He moves across the room, tugging the pale grey fabric across his bedroom window. Its better, the light dimmed but everything is still visible. 

"That okay?"

"Yeah." 

"Do you want me to turn around?" He offers gently. "You can get into the bed and under the covers?"

Relief nearly makes you dizzy. 

"Yeah. Don't turn around until I say." 

He turns and you tear the clothes from your body, curling them into a ball. You don't want him to see your panties or bra. Something about the thought too intimate despite the fact that he's going to see you naked in mere moments. 

You place them on the chair beside his desk, looking over your shoulder to make sure he's still not looking. 

He isn't. His body faces away from you, his hands flexing at his sides. You scurry back over to the bed sliding under the covers and plumping up the pillow behind your head. 

"Okay." 

He turns around, eyes trailing over you in bed. You have the blankets held up under your chin, your eyes wide. You hope you look sort of appealing and not like a scared mouse. 

He moves over to his desk, pulling a small wood box from the shelf overtop it. You watch as he produces a small foil packet from inside. A condom. 

He stares at it for a long time, not looking your way. 

"You can say no any time," he reminds you. 

"I know." 

He gives a relieved exhale, coming towards you. He's still wearing his boxers and your curiosity is overwhelming. Kevin's dick had been nothing to write home about, fairly normal, no weird marks. 

But you want to see what lies between Frankie's thighs. You've thought about it more times than you care to mention. 

He's still standing beside the bed, about to climb in next to you when you hold up a hand. Interpreting it as you needing to slow down or stop Frankie immediately jumps back. 

"Sorry, too fast or?"

"It's not that," you whisper, voice hoarse. "It's just, can I see you first?" 

Frankie isn't as shy as you are. He nods, tugging down his boxers and kicking them behind him. Then he stands there, chest puffed and lets you take him in. 

You stare at his stiff member, utterly fascinated. His is so... Pretty. Bigger than Kevin’s. So perfectly proportioned, the color golden with a pinkish tip. It makes you bend forward on the mattress, tongue extended. 

His cock twitches aggressively at the sight and Frankie nearly jumps out of his skin, stepping back with a shaky laugh. 

"You can't do that."

You cock your head, puzzled at his reaction.  

Kevin loved blow jobs. He couldn't be more enthusiastic enough about them. And you've read enough magazines to know that no guy turns down head.  

"Do you not like blow jobs?" 

Frankie flushes, shaking his head.

"I like em too much." 

You shrug. Whatever. 

You re-position the pillow behind your head and lean back, watching Frankie slide the condom over his erection. He's panting through parted lips, eyes fixated on his fingers. When it's secured he glances over at you. 

He's going to see all of you now, the thought making your body tingle. He was brave enough to show you his naked body, so you lay your hands palm down on the mattress. 

He peels back the sheets slowly, as if he's savoring the sight. You watch his eyes rake down your naked form, lingering over the curves and valleys of your body and you tense up when he just blinks. 

"Holy shit," he finally whispers.

You remain watching his reaction, only fully relaxing when you see the hungry look in his eyes intensify.  

"Get into bed," you say plainly. You don't want to wait anymore. 

Frankie is flushed, his ears a bright pink when he crawls in next to you. His body is warm, the hair on his legs rasping against your calves. 

"Ready?"

You grin widely. "Yeah." 

He pushes himself to his knees, clumsily positioning himself between your legs. He looks like he's going to explode out of the condom. 

You take in a deep breath, letting your thighs fall open, indicating to him that you're ready when he is. His eyes immediately move to your glistening sex fully bared to him and his brows saddle. 

"Jesus, Pip," he groans, covering his eyes. 

You snap your thighs together, mortified. What did you do wrong? 

He looks in pain. Kevin never looked at you like that. Are you ugly down there? It's always looked normal to you. But maybe to Frankie it's repulsive. He's seen a lot of vaginas. At least six.  

This was a huge mistake. 

You go to roll away, off the bed and he peels his fingers from his face, holding you by the shoulder. 

"Wait, what are you doing?"

"Just forget it okay?" You snap, one arm covering your bare chest. "Clearly I fucked up and you don't want to do this anymore."

He frowns. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You covered your eyes," you say, tears turning him into a watercolor blur. You wipe them away, jerking your head to the side. 

"I told you I didn't know what I was doing," you sniffle. "You didn't have to be an asshole about it."

You pause when his big hands come to cup your face, forcing your eyes to his. He looks surprisingly amused. The sight infuriates you enough to attempt and jerk your head away. But he holds you in place, waiting for you to settle. 

"Pip. It wasn't a bad thing," he breathes. "You just looked so damn good I was worried I wasn't gonna be able to last." 

Oh. 

"You don't need to know what you're doing," he continues, voice soft. "I'll take care of you." 

Then he moves forward and presses a kiss to your mouth. Sweet, tender and innocent. A kiss that conveys that he's got you, you're safe. You kiss him back, sighing softly. 

"Let me see again," he whispers against your mouth, voice husky. "Please?" 

He leans back, eyes on your lower belly in anticipation. 

You swallow, thighs falling open once again. He sucks in a breath, eyes fixated between your spread legs. You know the pose must be lurid, but now you like how it makes Frankie go all pink. 

"Can I go down on you first?" he asks raggedly. "Please?" 

You can only nod, too eager to feel embarrassed when he shimmies down the mattress, laying on his belly and, urging your thighs to part for him. 

They relax, unhinging to spread widely for him. Your face burns but you don't let yourself look away from his reaction. He gives a low groan when he peers between your legs, face going slack as he sees the mess you both created there earlier on the couch. 

You watch, fascinated as he moves forward, inhaling deeply before groaning again. 

His eyes move lazily up your body, meeting your steady gaze with his own. Before you do or say anything more, his mouth descends. 

What happens feels quick despite Frankie tasting you at his leisure; licking and making obscene noises that make your body break into goose bumps. 

When you come in an absurdly quick fashion he raises his head as you go limp on the mattress, breathing raggedly. He looks absolutely ruined and you wonder if you appear the same. 

"That was so fucking hot," Frankie pants, his mouth glossy as he crawls back up next to you on the bed.

You pull him towards you and he kisses you feverishly, excitement palpable as he nestles between your thighs, notching himself at your entrance. 

"Ready?" 

You nod, holding your breath. 

"Tell me if you need to stop," 

Now he holds his breath, watching your face as he feeds himself into you slowly. You feel the first sting of it when he's halfway in, sucking in a lungful of air. He immediately stills, eyes searching your face. 

"It's okay," you assure him. "Keep going." 

You smell the old spice of his deodorant, the soapy laundry scent of his skin. For the rest of your life those scents combined will take you back to this moment. 

It will take you back to Frankie working his way inside you with a delicate balance of arousal and tentativeness. It will take you back to that first moment his body settles within you to the hilt. To the blown out black of his pupils. 

It will take you back to the gentle, rhythmic rocking of his body over yours, to the gentle creak of the mattress, to the building pressure that began to morph into pleasure when Frankie begins to kiss your neck. 

It will make you smile at the sweetness of your combined youth, at the clumsy way your teeth clack when he starts to kiss you during it. Or the way your leg cramps partway. 

"Fuck," Frankie grunts, his face buried in your neck. His hands fist in the blankets, his shoulders rolling. "Fuck, baby, you feel too good." 

You smile to yourself, perversely proud of something you didn't even know you were doing. 

But then you parse his words, eyes blowing wide. 

Baby.

He called you baby.

He's never done that before. In the decade you've known him Frankie has never called you anything but your name or Pip. Something about this makes your skin burn in the best way. Like you want to run around the block with the sudden glory you feel.

Sex is nothing like you read about in cosmopolitan, nothing like the porn you've giggled over while watching on the school computers with your friends during free period. 

This is sweet and slow, punctuated with soft grunts and moans as the mattress creaks. Frankie doesn't look away from you for a moment. He checks in with you periodically if you've been too quiet for too long or if he thinks he's hurting you. 

He never is. 

His left hand goes to find yours on the bed, fingers lacing. He presses it down into the mattress, mouth on yours as he slowly thrusts. 

And when you finally climax it isn't some big, loud screaming thing. It's your body arching, voice a cracked moan of his name. 

"I've got you," Frankie's rumbling voice tells you. "Go ahead. Let go. I've got you." 

The words, his touch, and the way his mouth finds yours. It's all so good, your hips rolling against his until you’re sweaty and spent, trying not to give a disbelieving laugh.  

Now it's Frankie's turn and you watch in fascination as his brows saddle when you grab his middle. 

"Harder," you insist, wanting to feel just how powerful he can be. "Deeper."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." 

Frankie could never hurt you. 

You feel the weight of him pressing down on your pelvis, reveling in the way he moans your name. And then you watch his eyes squeeze shut, his thrusts pounding into you as you feel him release. 

Your magazines prepared you for pain, for blood on the sheets and some out of body pleasure. None of that occurs. There is no blood, no intense pain. The pleasure you felt was good, but not the kind you read about. You don't even know if that kind of pleasure is realistic. 

No, it's nothing like you read about or prepared yourself for and you couldn't be more thankful. It was real and it was Frankie and that makes it perfect. 

He licks his lips, eyes bouncing between yours before he extends his neck and kissing your mouth. Its so feather soft, so perfectly sweet. 

He pulls himself from you slowly, gauging when you wince. It feels a bit sore between your legs but nothing overwhelming. Frankie rolls off of you to land onto the mattress beside you. You both breathe heavily, shoulders touching. 

"Was that okay?"

You give a satisfied hum, nodding.  “Yeah.”

You’re not a virgin anymore.

"Be right back." 

You don't glance after him as he throws the blanket off of him, for modesty's sake. You hear running water, the sound of rustling. 

You remain laying there so uncertain of yourself. Frankie gave you what you wanted, so should you leave? You tense up, uncertain as you glance around for your clothes. 

Your panties are beside the bed and you tug them on quickly. You're still glancing around for your t-shirt but throw yourself back when you hear the bathroom door in the hallway creak open. 

Frankie pads back into the bedroom pulling on fresh pyjama pants. You remain laying there, totally thrown. Why isn't he saying anything? You watch him pull a T-shirt from the dresser before he's crawling back into the bed next to you.

"Here."

He hands you the soft shirt with some obscure band on the front. You stare at it for a moment, figuring perhaps he thinks you'll need it for the walk home. You sit up, curling forward as you hurriedly tug it down over you. Now that you both have finished, the thought of him seeing your bare chest makes you shy. 

The shirt is oversized on you of course, and it smells like his laundry detergent. You notice he's watching you, one arm behind his head, the other between the two of you. 

You wait for him to ask you to leave now that you've had sex. When he doesn't you worry he's extending this to be kind, maybe he thinks you need this emotional aftercare. 

“Thanks for that.”

You prepare to take the blankets off from over your legs but you stop when you see the concerned look in Frankie's eyes. 

"You don't have to leave," he whispers. "You can stay over if you want."

His vulnerability touches something in you. That big strong Frankie who has always been the one to save you now needs saving.  The affection you've always held for him seems to multiply, making the answer you give him instinctive. 

"I'll stay."

You slowly lower yourself back down beside him, watching him settle into the bed with a soft exhale. It sounds like relief. 

Your shoulders touch his and you think that this is how you'll sleep, side by side, breathing slow. But his hand is sliding over your belly to tug you towards him. He urges you onto your side, pulling your spine against his front. 

You feel as he curls around you, long legs and arms holding you like a sentry before tucking you under his chin. You've never been held like this. Not with one's entire body, with this warm calm that floods your body. When he kisses the top of your head you believe you might actually melt. 

"Night, Pip." 

"Night, Frankie."

The night air is a welcome balm to the burning despair in your chest. You propel yourself along the cracked sidewalks with tears in your eyes. 

You forgot your phone back at home and you don't want to go back for it. You just want to be free, away from all of this, away from the pain. 

Santi is too far away and you can't call him. Payphones don't exist anymore. So much of your youth has been decimated, revamped, killed off. Gentrification of the nearby homes, the local bodegas gone, all to make way for a city you don’t recognize anymore.

You turn the corner and realize the only home nearby is the one you've unconsciously been walking to this entire time. The house you can never forget. Its still in the quiet of night, the distant sound of buzzing insects the only sound.

You're not actually expecting him to be home. It's not even seven - he's probably out with the guys or – 

"Pip? What're you doing here?”

The door opens abruptly and his eyes widen when he takes in that it's you. He's wearing jeans and a t-shirt. When you see the Standard Oil hat perched on his head your lower lip starts to wobble. 

“Is your mom okay?"  Frankie's voice isn't hard and neither is his gaze. He's genuinely curious. 

"It's... It's...I needed to be away..."

He doesn't wait for you to finish trying to find the words. He just gives you an inscrutable look and then steps backwards motioning behind him. 

"Do you want to come in?" 

You hesitate. The thought of going inside Frankie's house right now seems too overwhelming. You want to remain here on his step, still able to breathe the fresh air. 

“I don’t know.”

He nods, not rushing you, not upset. He folds his arms over his chest but not in a defensive mode, more like he's holding himself, like he's bracing himself for something you're going to say. 

"My mom..." You manage to whisper.  "It's... She doesn't have..." 

You can't say the words. Can't commit then to the air. If you don't say them out loud then maybe they won't come true. She can't leave. Not when things looked like they could be changed. Not when forgiveness feels possible. 

And suddenly the words are getting trapped in your chest, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to think, making it hard to do anything other than gasp for lungfuls of air. You struggle, eyes frenzied, brows shooting to your hairline when it doesn’t come. You’re stuttering, unable to stop.

“Breathe, Pip.”

Frankie's hands are there at your shoulder, broad and gentle. They ground you as he squeezes his fingers into your skin lightly. He crouches slightly, trying to catch your eyes with his. 

"Take a breath.”

He models this, slow and deep, making you copy him. 

In.... And out.... In.... And out. 

His hands are gently removed from your shoulders only when you're breathing grows even. 

"Okay. Try again. What’s going on?" 

Your face crumples, and you're not sure how you can say the words. But his steady voice and the way he stands there, waiting with such openness, makes it possible to answer. 

"My mom doesn't have much time. I thought she was doing better but that's just something that can happen right before the end." 

And for once you want that familiar comforting feeling Frankie used to bring you. Whether it was pulling you from trees or holding you in bed. You want him to chase away all the ugly fears that you can’t.

And like some kind of miracle he nods like he knows this, somehow he senses it and he holds out his arms to you. It's a simple gesture, soft and welcoming. His arms, strong and golden remain there, waiting.

You go willingly, the action natural, easy, familiar. And the second you hit his chest and inhale that familiar old spice and laundry scent you feel a ragged cry cleave from your throat. 

"She can't leave me." 

One of Frankie's big hands cups the back of your head, the other holding you against him. He murmurs your name, that he's got you. You sob quietly into his chest, tears soaking the soft fabric of his t-shirt. He rocks you slowly, soothingly. 

"I'm here, I've got you," he rasps when your sobs quiet. "I've got you, baby." 

dividers by @saradika-graphics

taglist

@ashleyfilm

@beezusvreeland

@joeldjarin

@maried01

@peppermintfury

@severelysentientnova

@speaktothehandpeasants

@vickie5446

@yellowbrickyeti

[heartpatch]

this week; will be the ultimate test. will i or won't i finally cut my own hair off during this 80 degree week. starting on monday and ending on sunday

only time will tell.

will she...

or won't she

is the question

anyone wanna take bets?

[heartpatch]

day one. it survived no cutting ✂️

[heartpatch]

this week; will be the ultimate test. will i or won't i finally cut my own hair off during this 80 degree week. starting on monday and ending on sunday

only time will tell.

will she...

or won't she

is the question

anyone wanna take bets?

[heartpatch]

everyone has their certain nicknames they hate or see as childish for an adult. doesn't mean you have to ask them their age and ask detailed reason why you think that. let everyone have their opinions and preferences. not all see it the same you do. just like you hate certain kinks, and hate breeding or whatever else.

just let them have it. and dont judge them for it

[brighttears]

Stranger Masterlist

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Upon arriving in Jackson, Joel is shocked to hear that you’re here, too—his partner of eight years, that he walked out on, six years ago. He wasn’t expecting a happy reunion, but it ends up being much harsher than anticipated, and the reality of the consequences of abandoning you punches him in the gut, almost literally. Will he be able to find a way to mend your relationship, or has he lost you entirely? You both reach out to Tommy to work through your emotions, but it’s up to you to figure out what to do about the resentment, sorrow, and yearning you both carry, and if the deep friendship you once had is worth saving. Does he deserve to have you back after what he did? Will you give Joel whatever it is you think that he deserves? What can six years apart do?

Word Count: ~5k per chapter

Warnings: Dripping dropping sopping with angst until like chapter 5 (verbal fights, harsh words are exchanged, you kind of hate him but more will be revealed on that front, he also feels incredible guilt and shame), smut in later chapters (warnings on those chapters), reader is traumatized, a bit of character building, slow burn, a little off canon for storyline purposes (also no Ellie, Tess or Maria sorry ladies), undefined age gap

Detailed warnings before each chapter! 

A/n: I’m back for a moment!!! Just got this idea and sprinted with it, another long one. Angst is so fun <<333 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

more to come…

[womanifesting]

my heart is a beautiful place and anyone would be lucky to live there