Clyde Donovan x Reader.
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Summary.| As a member of an upcoming band, Y/N L/N doesn’t exactly believe in long lasting romantic relationships. However her best friend does, and that’s what got her here. Y/N wants to prove to her best friend Nicole she’s over Tolkien and on her way to a happy ever after. So, like any self-respecting woman she kisses the first guy she sees when she thinks Nicole is watching.
Turns out that man is none other that Clyde Donovan, much to her dismay. Clyde is a young hotshot artist and well known for his arsey ways. Which is why Y/N is positively floored when he agrees to be her fake boyfriend.
Cw.| Language, explicit sex, sexual harassment, degrading treatment/phrases, slight misogyny.
Note: When I’m given the choice between A, a slightly inconveniencing situation, and B, a shit show with a devastating consequence, I will inevitably chose option B.
Two years later.
In your defence, the man didn’t seem to mind the kiss too much. It did take him a moment to adjust—perfectly understandable, given the sudden circumstances. It was an awkward, uncomfortable, somewhat painful minute in which you were simultaneously smashing your lips against his and pushing yourself as high as your toes would extend to keep your mouth at the same level as his face. Did he have to be that tall? The kiss must have looked like some clumsy headbutt, you grew anxious that you was not going to be able to pull the whole thing off. Your dear best friend, Nicole, whom you had spotted coming your way a few seconds ago, was going to take one look at you and ‘Kiss Dude’ know for certain you were not even remotely committed to each other.
Then that agonising slow moment went by and the kiss changed. It became different. The man inhaled sharply and inclined his head a tiny bit making you feel like less of a squirrelling monkey climbing a baobab tree. His hands, which were kind of large and pleasantly warm in the cold outdoors of the party you were at, closed around your waist. They slid up a few inches, coming to wrap around your rib cage holding you to him. Not too close. Not too far.
Perfect.
It was honestly more of a ‘prolonged peck’ than anything. However it was quite nice. For a life span of a few seconds you forgot many things. Including the fact you were pressed against a complete stranger. You barely even had the chance to ask him, “can I kiss you?” Before you locked lips with him. That the reason you were even doing this was under the hope that you would fool Nicole. Your best friend in the entire world.
But a good kiss would do that; make a girl forget everything for a while. You found yourself melting into the kiss, running your hands across his jaw and brushing by his seemingly soft hair and you sighed, as if you were already out of breath and- nonono.
Nope.
No way.
You should not be enjoying this.
You gasped and pushed yourself away from him, frantically looking for Nichole. In the night time darkness off the party, Nichole was nowhere to be found. Which was weird considering you were certain you’d seen her coming this way.
‘Kiss Dude’ on the other hand, was standing right in front of you. His lips parted, chest rising and a weird light flickering in his eyes. That was when it had dawned on you of who exactly you’d just shared a kiss with.
Fuck you.
Fuck your whole fucking life.
Because Clyde Donovan was a know ass.
This fact wasn’t remarkable as everyone with even a small amount of fame was required some levels of assness. But in the pyramid of asses, Clyde Donovan was a special case. At least if rumours go anything by it.
He was the reason your roommate, Kyle, had almost given up on the band and quit music entirely. The one who made Kenny throw up from anxiety before a concert. He was the sole culprit for half of the upcoming artists quitting before they even got a chance. He was essentially the cause of stage fright.
Clyde Donovan may have been amazing at what he does, and have taken the public by storm but he was also mean and hypocritical. It was always obvious in the way he spoke and in the way he carried himself that he thought he was doing a better job at this whole music thing than everyone else. He was a notoriously moody, terrifying, pretentious dick.
And you had just kissed him.
You weren’t sure how long the silence lasted, only that he was the one the break it. He stood in front of you, insanely intimidating with eyes even scarier than him, himself. He was staring down on you. A scowled expression that you recognised from seeing him around at parties and other meetings with record companies. A look that was usually followed by him interrupting to point out an issue.
It’s okay. It’s totally fine. it’s okay. You would just pretend nothing at happened. Give him a nod and tiptoe out of here. Solid plan.
“Did- did you just kiss me?” He sounded utterly gobsmacked. His lips were parted and plump and—kissed. There was no way you were getting away with pretending you hand done anything.
It was still worth a try.
“No.”
It seemed to work.
“Ah okay then.” Clyde turned around vaguely disoriented and took a few steps to the table where the drinks were. Probably where he had been heading from the start.
You we’re starting to, foolishly, think that you were actually being let off the hook when he holted.
“Are you sure?”
Fuck sake.
You buried you face in your hands. “It not what it looks like.”
“Okay…I-okay.” He repeated. Slowly. His voice was hoarse, he was seemingly on the way to being mad. Or maybe he already was. “What’s going on here?”
There was no way you could explain this. Anyone would of found the situation odd but Clyde, who obviously considered empathy a bug, could and would never understand.
“I’m really sorry…I am but—this really isn’t any of your business.”
He stared at you for a moment. Then another. “Oh, okay. Of course.” It seemed like he was getting back to normal. His tone was starting to sound less surprised and more monotone. “I’ll just go and write a complaint about you then.”
You exhaled in relief. “Yeah that would be great. You know—what. Your what?”
He cocked his head. “A complaint. You basically just committed a crime of sexual misconduct.”
“No, I didn’t! What?”
He shrugged. “I must be mistaken then, someone else must have assaulted me.”
“Assaulted— I didn’t ‘assault’ you.”
“You did kiss me.”
“Well not really.”
“Without getting my consent.”
“I did actually ask if I could kiss you.”
“So why didn’t you wait for my consent?”
“What? You said yes.”
“Excuse me?”
You frowned. “I asked you if I could kiss you and you said yes.”
“Incorrect. You asked if you could kiss me and I laughed in your face.”
“I’m pretty sure I heard you say yes!”
He raised and eyebrow at you and let you daydream of the floor swallowing you whole.
“Listen, I’m so so sorry. It was a really weird situation and we forget it happened?”
He studied you for a moment. A look set on his features that you couldn’t quite decipher. You couldn’t help but notice how small you felt in his presence. For some reason he felt like he was towering over you. You knew he always made a point of making people feel insignificant, you’d seen him do it at many events, but never to you.
Well, except for a few second ago once you almost put your tongue in his—
“Is there something wrong?” He almost sounded concerned.
“What? No. No, there isn’t.”
“Well” He continued calmly, “kissing a stranger you’ve never spoke to, may indicate that there is in fact something wrong.”
“There isn’t.” You insisted.
He nodded, thoughtful. “Very well. Expect mail in the next few days then.” He started to walk past you and your turned to yell after him.
“You didn’t even ask my name!”
“I’m pretty sure I can find it out with one quick google search. Have a good night.”
“Wait!” You leaned forward and stoped him with a hand on his wrist that would take minimal effort to remove. He stared at the spot where your fingers wrapped around him. Right below a watch.
You let go of him and took a step back. “Sorry I didn’t mean to—“
“The kiss. Explain.”
You bit into your lower lip. You have really fucked up. You had to tell him now, it was the least you could do. “Nichole Daniels.” You looked around to make sure she was really gone. “The girl who was passing by.”
He gave no indication of knowing who she was.
“Nichole has…” you moved a strand of hair out of you face. This is where it was going to get embarrassing. Complicated. Maybe even plain wrong. “I was briefly talking to this guy, the manager for our band. Tolkien Black. But Nichole and Tolkien have always sort of hit it off and—“ you huffed and shit your eyes. You almost wished you hadn’t, you could see it painted clear as day behind you lids. Nicole and Tolkien flirting while you were his date. They talked about endless topics. Something you’d failed to do with Tolkien. The night had ended with Tolkien following Nichole like a lost puppy. Whether it was with his eyes or physically. You physically cringed recalling the memory.
“To cut a fun story short,” you cringed, “Tolkien ended things with me and asked her out and she said no because she didn’t want to upset me. Girl code and stuff. But I know she really really likes him. She’s afraid to hurt my feelings even after I told her it’s fine and she wouldn’t believe me.”
Not to mention you over heard her marvelling about him to your friend Bebe. But she would never betray you. And she sounded so dejected and disappointed. Maybe even insecure.
“So I lied and told her I had a date here tonight. Because she’s literally my best friend and I’ve never see her so out of character. Plus, she really likes this guy and—“ you’d now realised you’d been rambling. And not even to just anyone, to Clyde Donovan. Someone who definitely couldn’t care less. You tried to sawlike but your mouth was dry.
“Ah.” His expression was completely unreadable.
“But I obviously don’t have a date. I honestly kind of forgot she would be here and see me and know I didn’t have a date so I panicked and acted on impulse and uhm well—you know.” You wiped a hand down your face. “I’m so so sorry. I didn’t think.”
Clyde didn’t say anything but it was clear to you that he was thinking.
“I just want her to believe have a date.”
He nodded. “So like any self-respecting woman, you kissed the first person you saw in a hallway. Logical.”
You leg out a pained whine. “Well when you put it like that, it probably wasn’t my best moment.”
“Probably not.”
“But it wasn’t my worst, either! Im pretty sure Nichole saw us. Now she’ll think I was on a date and she’ll hopefully feel like it’s okay for her to go out with Tolkien—“ you shook you head quickly. “Look in honesty so sorry about the kiss.”
“Are you?”
“Please don’t write a complaint about me. I really thought you said yes.”
Suddenly. All at once, everything set in. It fully dawned on you. It felt like a tonne of bricks. You had kissed a complete stranger, who then turned out to be the last person you wanted to kiss considering he had a reputation for being a notoriously unpleasant. And now that same guy was staring at you in an odd, pensive way that made you feel so small.
Shit.
Maybe it was that you were running on minimal sleep. Maybe it was that your last coffee had been far too long ago. Maybe it was Clyde Donovan looking at you, like that. All of a sudden this was all way too much.
“No no—actually you’re absolutely right. I am so so sorry if you felt like I was harassing you at any point please you should write a complaint about me. It was a horrible thing to do and I really didn’t want to. Not that my intentions mattered because it’s more of your perception of the situation that matters.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“I’m going to go now. Thank you and I’m really sorry.” You spun on your heel and ran as fast as your legs could carry you.
“Y/N” you heard him call after you. “Y/N wait—“
You didn’t stop. You didn’t slow down you sprinted out of there as fast as your could and to your car. You were essentially running on pure adrenaline.
You got back to your shared apartment with Kyle as fast as you could and slumped down on your bed and it was only then it dawned on you.
Clyde Donovan—know ass—has called you by your name.
Note: Kyle will be mad at me for dating Clyde, and I can’t do anything about it. It is an inevitable fact.
“Pass the salt.”
You would have but Kyle looked like he was already salty enough. So you leaned your hip against the counter and folded your arm across your chest. “Kyle.”
“And the pepper.”
“Kyle.”
“And the oil.”
“Kyle…”
“Sunflower. Not that grape-seed crap.”
“Listen. It’s not what you think—”
“Fine. I’ll get it myself.”
To be fair, Kyle had every right to be mad. And you did feel for him. Kyle was a year older than you, he had been pursuing this dream for longer than you had. He family were never “musically talented” per se but they were musical, and so were their children. Only Kyle was the one to go on and do something bigger than just singing or preforming for his family. Did Kyle want to be in for a musical career? Probably no. Did he want to be a lawyer like his father, and like his parents had wanted and pressured from him? Also no.
Not to say that Kyle was unhappy. His plan was to get a nice cushy life which he was achieving essentially spot on, which his parents would not be able to object to. In the mean time, all he really wanted was to have a normal life and spend it with his friends which is exactly what he was doing. He did things that were unimaginable to most of the friend group, like, cooking real food! Going on hikes! Meditating! Sitting down and reading!
Which is why when Cylde simply walked past him after telling him his cords sounded weird and that he should work on it, it made him a very very miserable few months. In retrospect, that might had been when Kyle started wishing a plague on Donovan’s house (he had been reading Romeo and Juliet at the time).
“Kyle, can we please talk about this?”
“We’re talking.”
“No, you are cooking and I am just standing here, trying to get you to acknowledge that you are mad because Clyde—”
He turned away from his casserole, wagging his finger in your direction. “Do not say it.”
“Don’t say what?”
“You know what.”
“Clyde Don—?”
“Do not say his name.”
You threw your hands up. “This is crazy. It’s fake, Kyle.”
He went back to chopping the asparagus. “Pass the salt.”
“Are you even listening? It’s not real.”
“And the pepper, and the—”
“The relationship, it’s fake. We’re not really dating. We’re pretending so people will think that we’re dating.”
Kyle’s hands stopped mid-chop. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Is it a…friends-with-benefits arrangement? Because—”
“No. It’s the opposite. There are no benefits. Zero benefits. Zero sex. Zero friends, too.”
He he stared at you, narrow-eyed. “To be clear, oral and butt stuff totally counts as sex—”
“Kyle.”
He took a step closer, grabbing a dishrag to wipe his hands, flailing his nostrils. “I’m scared to ask.”
“I know it sounds ridiculous. He’s helping me out by pretending we’re together because I lied to Nichole, and I need her to feel okay about dating Tolkien. It’s all fake. Clyde and I have talked exactly” —you decided on the spot to omit any information pertinent to The Night—“three times, I know nothing about him. Except that he’s willing to help me handle this situation, and I jumped at the chance.”
Kyle was making that face, the one he saved for people who wore sandles with socks. He could be a little scary, you had to admit.
“This is…wow.” There was a vein pulsating on his forehead. “N/N, this is a whole new level of stupid”
“Maybe.” Yes. Yes it was. “But it is what it is. You have to support me in my idiocy because you are my roommate and one of my best friends.”
“Isn’t Donovan your best friend now?”
“Come on, Kyle. He’s a dick. But he’s actually been pretty nice to me, and—”
“I’m not even—” he grimaced. “I’m not going to address this.”
You sighed. “Okay. Don’t address this. You don’t have to. But can you just not hate me? Please? I know he’s been a nightmare to like the whole world, you included. But he’s helping me out. You, Craig and Nichole are the only ones I care about knowing the truth. But I can’t tell Craig since he’ll tell Nichole and Nichole can’t know—”
“—for obvious reasons.”
“—for obvious reasons,” you finished at the same time and smiled. He just shook his head disapprovingly, but his expression had softened.
“N/N you’re amazing. And kind, way too kind. You should find someone better to date than Clyde. Someone to date for real.”
“Yeah right.” You rolled your eye’s. “Because it went so well with Tolkien. Who, by the way, I only agreed to date following your advice! ‘Give the boy a chance,’ you said. ‘What could go wrong?’ You said.”
Kyle glared, and you laughed.
“Listen, I’m clearly bad at real dating. Maybe fake dating will be different. Maybe I’ve found my niche.”
He sighed. “Does it have to be Donovan? There are better famous singers that you can date.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. Bebe Stevens?”
“Isn’t she married?”
“Oh. Yeah. What about Tweek Tweak? Not a singer I know but definitely someone who’s single.”
You burst into laughter. “I could never fake-date Tweek, not with how assiduously Craig’s been thirsting after him for the past five years.”
“He has, hasn’t he? Well did I ever tell you I caught them two seriously flirting in his family coffee shop last week? I’m pretty sure Tweek winked at him multiple times from the behind the counter. Now some say he just has a twitch, but—”
“‘Me. I said that he has a twitch. And you tell me about Craig and Tweek every other day.”
“Right.” He sighed. “You know, N/N, I just want Craig to be happy. And I would have fake-dated you myself in a heartbeat to save you from goddamned Donovan. I would have held hands with you, and given you my jacket when you were cold, and very publicly gifted you chocolates and roses and teddy bears on Valentine’s Day.”
How refreshing, to talk to someone who’d watched a rom-com. Or ten. “I know. But also you but you bring home a different girl every week, and you love it. And I know you love it. And I don’t want to cramp your style.”
“Fair.” Kyle looked pleased—whether at the fact that he really did get around a fair bit or at your thorough understanding of his dating habits, you weren’t sure.
“Can you please not hate me, then?”
He tossed the kitchen cloth onto the counter and stepped closer. “N/N. I could never hate you. You’ll always be my bubbala.” He pulled you into his chest, hugging you tight. At the beginning, when you’d just met, you had been constantly disoriented by how physical he was, probably because it had been a while since you’d experienced such physical contact. Now, Kyle’s hugs were your happy place.
You lean your head on his shoulder and smiled into the Cotten of his T-shirt. “Thanks”
Kyle held you tighter.
“Also I promise if I ever bring Clyde home, I’ll put a sock on my door—Ouch!”
“You evil creature.”
“I was kidding! Wait, don’t leave, I have something important to tell you.”
He paused by the door, scowling. “I’ve reached my maximum daily intake of Donovan-related conversation. Anything further will be lethal, so—”
“Pete Thelman, the one funding that giant Cancer Awareness event got back to me! It’s not decided yet, but he might be interested in having the band perform!”
“Oh my God.” Kyle walked back to you, delighted. “N/N, this is amazing! I thought we had no chance, honestly.”
“Well no, me either, but I guess we were wrong! It would be—”
“Fantastic. It would really be fantastic. N/N I’m so excited, and proud of you for following your gut.” Kyle took your hands in his, his face-splitting grin slow and gentled. “And your mom would be so excited, too.”
You looked away, blinking rapidly. You didn’t want to cry, not tonight. “Nothing is set in stone, I’ll have to persuade him. It will invoked quite a bit of him reviewing the band and out music, and pitching us to him. Which you know is not my forte. It might still not work—”
“It will work out.”
Right. Yes. You needed to be optimistic. You nodded, attempting a smile.
“But even if it didn’t…she would still be proud.”
You nodded again. When a single tear managed to slide down your cheek, you decided to let it be.
Forty-five minutes later, you and Kyle sat on your minuscule couch, arms pressed together, watching RuPaul’s Drag Race while you ate a very undersalted veggie casserole
Note: maybe this whole fake dating thing isn’t so bad. Turns out, Clydes connections are going to benefit me. They’re also completely unknown to me.
You arrived to the second fake dating Thursday late again. But for different reasons this time—all Pete Thelman related.
You had overslept because you had stayed up till some unbelievable hour in the morning practicing the pitch with the group and rehearsing how you were going to sell the project to Pete Thelman. You only stopped when Kyle threw a tangerine at you to tell you to shut up since you were keeping him up from sleep. You needed up moving to your room and carrying on for at least another two hours.
Then if you weren’t already late enough, you had realised that your normal outfit (an oversized shirt, leggings and your hair in a messy bun) was probably not the best outfit to showcase your professionalism and sell you as a “future colleague” so you decided to change into more business attire. Dress for success and all that.
You burst through the door whispering the words to yourself over and over and then you noticed Clyde.
It was an okay-ish day for the time of year. You glanced at him, and immediately you knew he was in the nastiest of moods. That rumour of him throwing pens and pencils around his office because a deal was unsuccessful, or because one of his employees messed something up or something equally inconsequential had happened came to mind. You felt the need to duck.
It’s okay. You told yourself. This was worth it. It was all worth it. Things Nichole and Tolkien were starting to work out, really well. Better than even anticipated actually. They were almost officially dating, they had shown up to your most recent group outing together. You were hopefully going to convince Pete without messing things up, and in the right attire since you had made the last minute decision to change. In addition, you were gaining a free drink out of all this. You just had to look on the bright side. Even if it meant looking past this pitch-black mood of Clyde Donovan’s, it would be worth it.
“Hi.” You beamed. He looked at you, squinting as if you were too bright, with a look of angst and hatred painted on his face. “How are you?”
“Fine.” His tone was clipped, his expression unchanging, as usual. He was waring his usual attire. You couldn’t help but notice his muscles wondering if his clothes had been custom made. You had also taken note that his hair had gone ever so slightly shorted in length. It felt surreal to you that you were at the point that you were taking note and keeping track of Clyde Donovan’s hair and his moods.
“Ready to get coffee?” You chirped.
He nodded dismissively. Barely even looking at you. On a table inside one of your executors was glancing back and through pretending to clean the monitor of her laptop.
“Sorry I was late again. I just—”
“It’s fine.”
“How was your week?”
“Fine.”
Wow, okay. “Um…did you do anything at weekend?”
“I worked.”
You got into line and fought off your sigh. “Weathers been nice, huh?” God, you’d made it to awkward conversation fillers.
He grunted in response.
It was starting to be too much. There was a limit to what you would do for this fake dating relationship—even for a free coffee. You sighed. “Is it because of the hair cut?”
“What?” He looked shocked.
“Is the mood because of the haircut?”
“What mood?”
You gestured to him. “This. This bad mood you’re in.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not in a bad mood.”
You snorted—thought that was probably not the right term for the noise you’d just made. It was too loud and derisive, more like a laugh.
A snaugh.
“What?” He frowned, unappreciative of your snaugh.
“Come on.”
“You ooze moodiness.”
“I do not.” He sounded almost offended you’d even said that about him.
“You so do. But it’s fine, you’re allowed to be in a bad mood.”
It was your turn so you took a step forward and smiled at the barista.
“Morning. Can I have a pumpkin spice latte and that cream cheese danish over there. Yep, that one thank you. And”—You pointed at Clyde with your thumb—“he’ll have a chamomile tea. No sugar.” You added cheerfully taking a few small steps to the side to avoid damage in case Clyde decided to dart a pen at you. You were surprised when he calmly handed his card to the barista. Really, he wasn’t as bad as they made him out to be.
“I hate tea.” He said. “And chamomile.”
You beamed up at him. “That is truly unfortunate.”
“You smart-ass.”
He stared straight ahead, but you were almost certain that he was about to crack a smile. There was a lot to be said about him but not that he didn’t have a sense of humour.
“So…not the haircut?”
“Mm? Ah, no. It was a weird length. Getting in my way while I was running.”
Oh. So he was a runner. Like you. “Okay. Great. Because it doesn’t look bad.”
It looks good. As in really good. You are probably the most handsome man I’d ever talked to in the last week, but now you look even better. Not that I care about these things. I don’t care at all. I rarely even notice you’d, and I’m not sure why I’m noticing you, or your hair, or your clothes, or how tall you are. I really don’t get it. I never care. Usually. Ugh.
“I…” he seemed flustered for a second, his lips moving without making a sound as he looked for an appropriate response. Then, out of the blue, he said, “I talked with the CEO this morning. He’s still refusing to discuss a new contract.”
“Oh.” You cocked your head. “I thought they weren’t due until the end of September.”
“They aren’t. This was an informal meeting, but the topic came up. He said he’s still monitoring the situation.”
“I see.” You waited for him to continue. When it became clear that he wouldn’t, you asked, “Monitoring…how?”
“Unclear.” He was clenching his jaw.
“I’m sorry.” You felt for him. You really did. If there was something you could empathise with, it was contracts and how awkward they can be and how awkward companies can be about them. “Don’t that mean you can’t continue your career?”
“I have other plans it’s just awkward.”
“So…the problem is that you can’t remain here?”
“I can. But my contact would change and I like how it is now and I would like it to roll over and be the exact same on my next contract.l
Uh? “I see.” You cleared your throat. “So…let me recap. It sounds like they might terminate your contract based on rumours, which I agree is a crappy move. But it also sounds like now you can go bigger and get even greater deals with better companies, so…it’s not the end of the world?”
Clyde gave you an affronted glare, suddenly looking even more cross.
“Okay okay, I’m sorry I just don’t see how you’re truly missing out, i mean—” you were cut short when the barista handed you your danish.
You took a bite out of it—fuck it was nice—you watched his face, how it contorts, while you were chewing. He was watching the barista.
“Look okay, my point is, it’s not an insurmountable problem. Besides we’re working though it together, showing people that you’re going to stay here forever because of your amazing girlfriend.”
You pointed at yourself. His glare followed your hand, clearly he was not a fan or rationalising or working through his problems.
“Or you can stay mad, we can go to your office and throw pens at each other till the pain of being pelleted overrides your shitty mood? Sounds like fun, no?”
He looked away, rolling his eyes. You could see it in the curve of his cheeks that he was amused. Likely against his will. “You are such a smart ass.”
“Maybe but I’m not the one who grunted when I asked how your week was.”
“I did not grunt. And you ordered me chamomile tea.”
You smiled. “You’re welcome.”
There was a quiet moment when you chewed through your of your danish. Once you’d swallowed you rationalised a little and said, “I’m sorry about your funds.”
He shook his heads “I’m sorry about the mood.”
Oh. “It’s okay. You’re famous for that.”
“I am?”
“Yep. It’s kinda of your thing.”
“Is that so?”
“Mmm.”
His mouth twitched. “Maybe I wanted to spare you.”
You smiled, because it was actually a nice thing to say. And he was not a nice person, but he was very kind to you most of the time—not always. He was almost smiling, staring down at you in a way that you couldn’t quite interpret but that made you think weird thoughts, until the barista deposited your drinks on the counter. He suddenly looks like he was about to retch.
“Clyde? Are you okay?”
He stared at your cup and took a step back. “The smell of that thing.”
You inhaled deeply. Heavenly. “You hate pumpkin spice latte?”
He wrinkled his nose, recoiling. “Gross.”
“How can you hate it? It’s the best thing your country has produced in the past century.”
“Please, stand back. The stench.”
“Hey. If I have to choose between you and pumpkin spice latte, maybe we should rethink our arrangement.”
He eyes your cup like it contained radioactive waste. “Maybe we should.”
He held the door open as you exited the coffee shop, taking care not to come too close to your drink. You could see through the windows of the lobby that, outside it was started by to drizzle. Some passers-by were hastily putting their hoods up and getting their umbrellas out. You had been in love with the rain since as far back as you could remember. You watched happily, Stopping with Clyde outside the cafe. He took a sip of his chamomile tea, and it made you happy.
“Hey,” you said, “I have an idea. Are you going to the event the company’s been promoting like crazy?”
He nodded. “I have to, if I want to keep this contract I kind of have to suck up to them.”
“Ah. That sounds…fun.” You winced sympathetically, almost laughing again at his appalled expression. “Well I’m going, Tolkien says it promotes the band and shows are our bonding, something about us being seen as normal people. Are you going to make any of your big shot friends go?”
“No. I have other ways of making them miserable.”
You chuckled. He was funny, in that weird dark way of his. “I bet you do. Well, here’s my idea; since it’s a closed event, we should hand out. In front of the CEO and contract manager; they’ll see we’re basically one step away from marriage. Then he’ll make a quick phone call and a truck will drive up and give you your new contract right there in front of—”
“Hey, man!”
A black and red haired guy approached Clyde. You fell silent as Clyde turned to smile at him and exchanged a handshake—a close bros handshake. You blinked, wondering if you were seeing things, and took a sip of your latte.
“I thought you’d sleep in.” Clyde was saying.
“The time difference screwed me up. I figured I might as well come here and get to work. Something to eat, too, you have no food, man.”
“There are apples in the kitchen.”
“Right. No food.”
You took a step back, ready to excuse yourself when the guy turned to you. He looked eerily familiar, even though you were certain you had never met him before.
“And who’s this?” He asked curiously. His eyes were unnervingly black.
“This is Y/N,” Clyde said. There was a beat after your name, in which he should have probably specified how he knew you. He did not, and you really couldn’t blame him for not wanting to feed your fake-dating crap to someone who was clearly a good friend. You just kept your smile in place and let Clyde continue. “Y/N this is my collaborator—”
“Dude.” He man pretended to be bristle. “Introduce me as your friend.”
Clyde rolled his eyes, clearly amused. “Y/N this is my friend and collaborator, Pete Thelman.”
Note: I guess I’m not a very observant person. I don’t take into account how deeply I rely on people being in my life until they aren’t for 3 days.
It was Thursday night, you would be leaving for the airport in eight hours to catch your flight to LA. You had missed fake-dating-Thursdays as Clyde was already in LA. Not having fake-dating-Thursday this week pained you a little, it seemed it hadn’t really occurred to you how much you enjoyed it till it had gone. You would see him in fourteen hours though, that was a bonus.
You weren’t really sure why not seeing him saddened you so much, you clearly really relied on his presence in your life to keep you company.
You shoved some underwear into your suit case, it was full. Too full. When you had closed it, the edges didn’t meet. You had to climb up on your bed and sit on your suitcase in order to zip it shut.
When you had finally won the wrestle with your suitcase, you went into the kitchen where Kyle and Nichole were waiting for you. You had told them you would only be a minute and ended up taking an hour. You plopped down in the other chair at your dining table, folding your arms on the table and resting your head on them.
Nichole reached her hand over and rubbed your back. “Packing getting to you?”
“Yeah. It sucks. I hate packing.”
“Well, you could go and nap, we have like seven hours till we need to get ready to go.”
“I would, but I’m actually going to go to the studio and practice.”
Nichole’s hand halted. “Y/N.” You lifted your head up, Kyle and Nichole were sharing a look. A look that your couldn’t quite decipher.
Kyle sighed. “Y/N you’ve been spending so much time at the studio, like, twelve hours a day.”
“Yeah, we’re worried. We’ve hardly seen you, girl.”
If you were being honest, you had kind of been kind of been hiding from them. Or well, not them per say but definitely from Nichole, considering she is the only one out of the three of you unaware of you and Clyde not actually being a couple. If you didn’t spend time around her there was no reason to lie, thus, the lie couldn’t get any worse. But you also wanted to keep practicing for Pete’s event, it was convenient timing if anything.
“I’ve just been busy, you know Pete’s event means a lot to me and I want to be my absolute best.” Well at least there was some truth.
“And you will be, but if you overwork yourself you’re just going to exhaust your talent.”
You sighed. She was right, actually. You had been burning yourself out. You had known when you got home at 1am on a Wednesday, but chose to ignore it. You were enjoying the distraction, when you were in the studio there was no one there to lie to, there was no one there to pretend to be dating, the was no one pecking you, bugging you, just you alone with your thoughts. Which had actually given you time to handle the situation with Stan in a much more civilised way—especially compared to your initial reaction.
“No you’re right. I’m actually going to go and catch some sleep, like you said.”
“Good.”
Kyle, though not speaking, gave you a nod of approval.
You got up and went back to your room quickly setting an alarm on your phone. You sunk into your bed and closed you eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.
You alarm had scared you awake. You practically sat up straight in your bed. It had been a long while since you had to set one, you forgot how loud they can be.
You laid in bed for a while, simply mustering up the strength to get out of it. When you finally did you felt like your head was spinning, you'd had one of those naps where you didn't feel any better after it. You stumbled into the kitchen and quickly got yourself a much needed glass of water.
“Hey sleeping beauty.” The voice had almost startled you. You spun on your heel to be met with Craig. It felt like forever since you had actually seen him like this, the last time it was just a one on one conversation with the two of you you’d ended up arguing about Craig’s obvious feelings for Tweek.
Craig was sat at your breakfast bar, his lyric note book under him. You walked over to where he was sat, resting your elbows on the worktop. “What you writing?”
“Just some lyrics.” You tried your best to get a peek of it, however, Craig shut the note book and put it aside when he caught wind of what you were trying to do. You never really got why he was so protective over that note book, but you never questioned it. Everyone had something they didn’t want people to see, you figured that was just his.
“Okay.” You straightened your spine. “Okay, Im going to go freshen up then I think we can go to the airport.”
Craig nodded. “I’ll go tell Kyle and Nichole you’re just freshening up then we’ll go.” He spilled out of the stool and disappeared to Kyle’s room.
You went to your room and quickly threw on some comfortable clothes and grabbed your suitcase and carry-on, quickly checking through your notes on your phone to see if you had ticked off everything you needed. You had, luckily. You were free to go. You quickly left your room, being sure to shut your bedroom door behind you.
You were going to see Clyde soon.
The thought almost startled you. You’d been doing a fairly good job of not thinking about him, or how you hadn’t seen him all week. Not at fake-dating Thursday, not even in passing. You hadn’t seen him all week, it felt like a part of you had gone missing. It had never really dawned on you how much you relied on his presence in your life. You never realised how much you relied on “norm” which for you consisted of; seeing Kyle every morning, going to work, seeing Nichole and seeing Clyde.
But for now, you had to not think about that. You had bigger things to think about. Like airport security, something your deeply despised. You loved flying and travelling however you could not stand airport security. You understand the need for it you just hated how longwinded it was, and how time consuming it was, and how mentally and physically draining it was.
You slipped your trainers on stood up. “We ready to go?”
Nichole nodded. “Yep! I helped Kyle pack while you were asleep and Craig and I came over here fulled packed so we’re ready to go!” She was beaming. Over the last few weeks she had been a lot more smiley, you almost felt responsible for it, if you hadn’t of lied to her she wouldn’t be with Tolkien. She would still be miserable. Given you’d put yourself through utter misery for close to 3 months but it was worth it to see you best friend so happy.
“Let’s go then.” Kyle grabbed his keys and opened the door, holding it open for everyone. One by one you filed out. Kyle locked the door and you left the apartment complex.
The whole travel you thought about Clyde. You allowed yourself to. You were excited to see him—not that you’d let him know. Despite the worries that had once circled your mind upon agreeing to sharing a room with him, you were honestly excited for it. Sharing a room with him would be so bad, not at all actually. You enjoyed his company, a lot. He was fun to be around and it turned out you actually did have a lot in common with him.
AN: i recommend reading [0.11-extra] before this, some things may not make sense completely without it.
Note: I agree to things before I have the chance to fully think them through, I’m impulsive and that’s certainly not benefitting me.
You had arrived to fake-dating Thursday on time, for once. Not something that happened very often for any event, let alone fake-dating Thursday. In fact, you weren’t just on time but you were early. You were now sat in the cafe at ten minutes to ten waiting for Clyde to make his appearance.
A small part of you actually wished he wouldn’t come today, after the embarrassment that was yesterday. The scene of you massaging sunscreen into Clyde’s chest replaying itself in your head. You would never live it down, by far, out of everything that was the worst thing you’ve ever had to do in this fake-relationship. Hell, it was the worst thing you’ve ever had to do in your life. It was humiliating.
But, you couldn’t keep dwelling on it, plus, considering Clyde’s track record he probably wouldn’t address it. So instead you decided to focus your attention on planning an outfit for the concert, you wouldn’t be leaving next week and you swore you would dress your absolute best. This definitely wasn’t the first concert you’d ever done but this was definitely the first one with meaning so deep to it.
You continued to busy yourself by reading the most recent updates from some of your favourite critics—they had all written some amazing comments about the band—they always kept your mind occupied when you needed it. You quickly checked the time, Clyde was late, which considering his “character” tardiness was the last thing your expected.
Shit. You were thinking about him again.
You made a quick effort to think of something, anything else. Clicking on random tabs and websites to distract you, even going as far as to accidentally click on a pop-up-ad of some random “milf” supposedly 20 miles from you, in a desperate attempt to essentially jumpscare the thoughts out of your head. After clicking on the pop-up-ad, it had absolutely worked. You quickly x-ed out of the tab and went onto twitter, it had been a while since you last properly checked it.
You opened up twitter and went onto the trending page only to find yourself gobsmacked.
You stared at the tag, Clyde was trending? Why the fuck was Clyde trending? You clicked on it, a force in your finger that almost snapped it in half, you could of sworn you felt it throb for a moment.
You read through a few of the messages then re-read them, well it was nice that none of them were necessarily negative, however, you were absolutely not prepared for, for half a moment your thought you’d fallen off your chair. Then you focused on the first one, it was a quote tweet, the original poster was Stan. What the fuck? Your mouth practically unhinged.
By now Clyde had arrived however you couldn’t bring yourself to look up, in fact, you couldn’t take your eyes off the computer screen, no way this had gotten out of work. You felt physically sick. You looked up at Clyde your mouth still agape, he cocked his head ever so slightly. You slowly raised your hand and motioned him to come over, he quickly rushed around and bent down next to you staring at the screen. You heard the faintest of gasps.
You turned to Clyde with a look which must have been horrifying as when you made eye contact he flinched, only slightly. He sighed and stoop up, straightening his back then he walked over to the chair opposite you and folded himself in it. The chair looked like a kids toy chair compared to him. It felt like ever since yesterday, after seeing his body, he seemed even bigger than usual, like an illusion of sorts.
You opened you mouth, you were going to say something profound had you not been in a total state of shock and disbelief, completely void of things to say. Clyde, surprisingly, seemed to pick up on your state and decided to speak for you, “I’m going to be honest, Y/N one of the first things we agreed was that this deal was strictly for in the work place, even my public relations manager had advised we do as such, I’m sorry you friend did something so shitty, but I don’t know how going to deal with this, however we will so you need to try to calm down. It’s not the end of the world.”
You redirected your wandering gaze towards him. What was he saying? Whatever it was it didn’t make sense to you, you were sure you were going to hurt. Right now, all you needed to do was pretend this wasn’t real and deal with it when you aren’t as worked up about it—which would probably be never.
“I doesn’t matter. We’ll deal with it later, Clyde. Let’s go get coffee.” You quickly clicked off the tab and closed your laptop. You had, for a very long time, known how to condition yourself and how to fake it, which, as of right now was your biggest ally. If you faked it, you faked it to yourself and if you fake it to yourself you didn’t have to think about it.
Luckily for you, Clyde had caught onto what you were doing and simply got up and followed you to the counter, not saying a single word. All he did was stand next to you, so close you could feel his body heat, like it was radiating. For some reason, it made you feel safe—protected.
The barista gave the customer before you their order and walked up to the cash register, giving you all her attention. “Hi! What can I get for you today?” Her voice was sickeningly friendly you almost told her to get real but instead your bit your tongue and answered, making a point of staying polite.
“Hi! Can I get a chamomile tea and an iced coffee? Two pumps of caramel.” Clyde gave you a look before paying for the order. The barista wandered off to prepare your drinks. You sighed, realising a breath you hadn’t even realised you’d been holding. You felt so incredibly tense.
“I heard your don’t have a room for next week? Getting one lest minute is going to be really hard you know?”
“Yeah I do know, Clyde. What is the aim of telling me something I already know.”
“Well I was thinking,” he paused, seemingly deep in thought. Looking for the words. “Without this sounding obnoxious maybe you could share with me?”
You felt yourself suck in some air. What was up with him today? You whipped your head around to him, your mind felt frantic. What could he possibly want sharing a room with you? You stared at him, hoping he would explain or tell you something, anything that made the whole idea sound even a little bit less creepy.
He stared at you for a moment before trying to explain only to get too worked up. He stopped and took a deep breath. “Okay, that’s not what I mean, I mean I have a room booked for the week from Pete as a thank your gift for letting him stay at my place. However, I’m only going to be there for three days, two before you’re supposed to arrive and the day of. I have a few meeting down there then I’m preforming then you perform then the day after I have to leave, I have another performance so we’d only be sharing for one day.”
You swallowed thickly and nodded, slowly. “Okay but that one night we do cross over, we’re going to have to share a bed.”
“No, we won’t. The room I booked is two bedroom.”
“Oh.”
Really, there was no reason decline, no matter how hard you searched and racked your brain. You began to weigh up the options, but really you hadn’t considered any negatives aside from the one of you maybe walking in on the other changing and concluded that declining would be foolish. You were already struggling enough trying to work out what you were going to do a free room would be really perfect.
You sighed. “Oh what the hell. Yeah, if you don’t mind, I’ll share with you. Thank you so much Clyde.”
He did his mouth-twitch-thing. “You’re welcome.”
You tried not to focus too much on his face, or that fact that his mouth-twitch-thing—which was now the technical term—only seemed to be reserved for you. It, honestly, made you happy that Clyde could trust you enough to be a “vulnerable”—but not really just a little laid back—version of himself. It was like this deal you had was also a secret alliance, it was nice.
The more you thought about how the deal had brought you closer the more the anxiety of it ending in just under a week began to peck at your head. Would you just go back to normal like nothing had ever happened? Like you hadn’t kissed him—twice—or like you hadn’t sat on his lap? Would all that just be forgotten and you return to a normal life like you had just 3 months ago?
The thoughts began to form into anxiety in the pit of your stomach, if anything, you really liked Clydes company, you’d even gained solace in it once or twice, you didn’t want that go away, you honestly wanted him to stay a part of your life. But for now, you had to dismiss the thoughts, you couldn’t entertain them till next week, right now, you just need to focus on being happy. Being in a bad mood wouldn’t help anyone while your practice and prepare for the show next week.
Almost as if on cue, the barista called your drinks out, knocking you off your train of thoughts completely. You took a step forward and grabbed your drink, taking a sip of it. Any sadness you’d had vanished completely in that moment, this drink was exactly what you needed, you felt yourself physically brighten up.
You made your way back to the table, sitting where you had sat before when your found out about—
It didn’t matter.
Clyde folded himself into the chair across from you again. The silence was awkward but telling. You both know something had to be said or you would be stuck here staring at each other longer than needed. Alas no matter how much your racked your brain you couldn’t find a single conversation, considering how close you and Clyde had gotten you still weren’t unfamiliar to awkward silences with him.
Clyde picked up his phone and check up them sat up straight. “Fuck.” The “u” lasted for longer than what was probably necessary. “I’m so sorry but I need to go.” He got up and grabbed his bag and left quickly, not waiting for your goodbye.
A little rude.
You let out a breath, you didn’t know you had been holding, and slumped back in your chair. Today was absolutely going to be a long one.
You opened up your laptop again and logged back in. Happy to not see twitter when you opened it. You would have to ask Tolkien to make a statement about it and make one yourself and get Clyde to make one.
This shit was too much for a Thursday morning.
You went onto a random gaming site. Usually when you were upset or stressed about something, playing crappy online games helped. Your favourite one had to be and of the Papa’s games, today though, you had a craving for Papa’s Freezeria.
You had been playing for roughly 15 minutes when your brain decided to abruptly remind you of the deal you had made with Clyde.
Shit.
You had originally agreed because a free room is a free room, a lunatic would turn that down. But then you remembered, this was your shitty life. Nothing ever went the way you wanted them to go, no you essentially were a rom-com now. There was no way you would get out of this amazing offer unscathed. You knew for a fact, without a shadow of a doubt there would not be two beds.
Note: there is a significant link between the amount of sunscreen poured in my hands and the intensity of my desire to murder Nichole.
“Now go right.”
“Got it.” Kyle’s finger flicked the indicator. A clicking sound filling the small car. “Going right.”
“No don’t listen to Craig. Turn left.”
Craig leaned forward and swatted Nichole’s arm. “Kyle, trust me. Nicholes never been to the farm. It’s on the right.”
“Google Maps says left.”
“Google Maps is wrong.”
“What do I do?” Kyle made a face in the rearview mirror. “Left or right? N/N, what do I do?”
In the back seat, you looked up from the car window and shrugged. “Try right; if it’s wrong, we’ll just turn around.” You shot Nichole a quick apologetic glance, but she and Craig were too busy mock-glaring each other to notice.
Kyle grimaced. “We’ll be late. God; I hate these stupid picnics.”
“We are, like”—you glanced at the cars clock—“one hour late already, I think we can add an extra ten minutes to that. I just hope there’s some food left.” Your stomach had been growling for the past two hours, and there was no way everyone in the car hadn’t noticed.
After the minor argument you’d had with Clyde over text, you’d been tempted to simply skip the picnic. Hole yourself up in your room and practice the drums—just like you had all weekend—ignore the fact you had told him to fuck off in one of the messages later on, and with every little reason. You could use the time to work on a report you were doing for your friend, which was providing a trickery time than you had originally thought when agreeing to it—probably because you were essentially unprepared for everything. But you’d changed your mind last minute, telling yourself that you’d promised Clyde you’d meet here and show off to the department chair. It would be unfair of you to back out after he’d done more than his share of the deal when it came to convincing Nichole.
That was of course in the very unlikely case he still wanted anything to do with you.
“Don’t worry, Kyle,” Nichole said. “We’ll get there eventually. If anyone asks lest say that a mountain lion attacked us. God, why is it so hot? I bought sunblock, by the way. SPF thirsty and fifty. No one is going anywhere without putting it on.”
In the back seat you, Tolkien and Craig exchanged a resigned look, well acquainted with Nichole’s sunscreen obsession.
The picnic was in full swing when you finally arrived, as crowded as most events with free food. You made a beeline for the tables and waved at your advisor, who was sitting in the shade of a giant oak tree with other faculty members. You’d advisor waved back. No doubt please to see that her advice is probably what got you here. You smiled weakly in a valiant attempt to not look resentful, grabbed a Chester of white grapes, and popped one into your mouth while letting your gaze wander around the fields.
Nichole was right. This may was uncommonly hot. There were people everywhere, sitting on the lawn chairs, laying down in the grass, walking in and out of barns—all enjoying the whether. A few were eating from plastic plates on folding tables close to the main house. There were at least thirty games going on—a verity’s on valley ball with the players standing in a circled, a soccer match, and something that involved a frisbee and over a dozen half dressed dudes.
“What are they even playing?” You asked Nichole. You spotted Tweek tackle someone from admin and looked back to the almost empty tables, cringing. Slim picking was all that was left. You wanted a sandwich. A bag of chips. Anything.
“Ultimate Frisbee, i think? I don’t know. Did you put on sunblock? You’re wearing a tank top and shorts, so you really should.”
You but into another grape. “You Americans and your fake sports.”
“I’m pretty sure there are Canadian tournaments of Ultimate Frisbee, too. You know what’s not fake?”
“Melanoma. Put on some sunscreen.”
“I will, Mom.” You smiled. “Can I eat first?”
“Eat what? There’s nothing left. Oh, there’s some corn bread over there.”
“Oh, cool. Pass it over.”
“Don’t eat the corn bread, guys.” Tolkien popped up between you and Nichole. “Kenny said that some guys needed all over it. Where did Kyle go?”
“Parking—holy shit.”
You looked up from your perusal of the table, alarmed by the urgency in Nichole’s tone. “What?”
“Just, holy shit.”
“Yeah, what—”
“Holy shit.”
“You mentioned that already.”
“Because—holy shit.”
You glanced around trying to figure out what was going on. “What is—oh there’s Kyle. Maybe he found something to eat?”
“Is that Donovan?”
You were already walking toward Kyle to fine something edible and skip the whole sunscreen nonsense altogether but when you heard Clydes name, you stopped dead in your tracks. Or maybe it wasn’t Clydes names but the way Nichole’s was saying it. “What? Where?”
Tolkien pointed at the Ultimate Frisbee crowd. “That’s him, right? Shirtless?”
“Holy shit,” Nichole repeated, her vocabulary suddenly pretty limited, given here twenty something years speaking English. “Is that a six-pack?”
Tolkien blinked. “Might even be an eight-pack.”
“Are those his real shoulder?” Nichole asked. “Did he have shoulder-enhancement surgery?”
“That must be how he used the contract money,” Craig said. “I don’t think shoulders like that exist in nature.”
“God, is that Donovan’s chest?” Kyle leaned his chin over your shoulder “was that thing under his shirt while he was being a dick and shredding my chords a new one? N/N why didn’t you say he was shredded?”
You just stood there, rooted to the ground, arms dangling uselessly at your sides. Because I didn’t know. Because i had no idea. Or maybe you had, a bit, from seeing him push that truck the yesterday—though you’d been trying to suppress that particular mental image.
“Unbelievable” Nichole pulled your hand toward herself, overturning it to squirt a healthy dose of lost job on your palm. “Here, put this in your shoulders. And your legs. And your face, too—you’re probably at thought risk for all sorts of skin stuff, freckles McFreckleface. Ky, you too.”
You nodded numbly and began to massage the sunscreen into your arms and thighs. You breathed in the smell of coconut oil; trying really hard not to the about Clyde and about the fact he really did look like that. Mostly failing, but hey.
“Are there actual studies?” Tolkien asked.
“Mmm?” Nichole was pulling her hair into a bun.
“On the link between freckles and skin cancer”
“I don’t know.”
“Feels like there would be.”
“True. I wanna know now.”
“Hold on. Is there Wi-Fi here?”
“N/N do you have internet?”
You wiped your hands in a napkin that looked mostly unused. “I left my phone in Kyle’s car.”
You turned your head away from Nichole and Tolkien who were studying the screen of Tolkiens iPhone, until you had a good view of the Ultimate Frisbees group—fourteen men and zero women. It probably had to go with the general excess if testosterone in your work place. At least half of the players were people you were sure you’d never seen before except Clyde, of course, and Pete, and Tweek who despite his usual jittery self and then was doing a fairly good job at not-jittering to say he’s usually pumped up with caffeine to a point of concern. All men were equally shirtless. Though, no. Not equal at all. There was nothing equal about Clyde.
You weren’t like this. You were really not. You could count the number of guys your been this viscerally attracted to on one hand. Actually—on one finger. And at the moment said guy was running towards you, because Pete Thelman, and bless his heart, had just thrown the Frisbee way too clumsily, and it was now in a patch of grass approximately ten feet from you. And Clyde, shirtless Clyde, just happened to be the one closest to where it landed.
“Oh, check out this paper.” Tolkien sounded excited.
“Khalesi et al., 2013. It’s a meta-analysis. ‘Cutaneous markers of photo-damage and risk of basal cell carcinoma of the skin.’ In cancer epidemiology, biomarkers and prevention.”
Tolkien fist pumped. “Y/N are you listening?”
Nope. No, you were not. You were mostly trying to help the your brain, and your eyes, too. Of your fake boyfriend and the sudden warm ache in your stomach. You just wished that you were elsewhere. That you were temporarily blind and deaf.
“Hear this: solar lentigines had weak but positive association with basal cell carcinoma, with odds ratios around 1.5. Okay i don’t like this. Tolkien hold the phone. I’m giving Y/N more sunscreen. Here’s SPF fifty; it’s probably what you need.”
You tore your eyes from Clyde’s chest, no alarmingly close, and turned around, stepping away from Nichole. “Wait. I already put some on.”
“Y/N,” Nichole told you, with that sensible, motherly tone she used whenever you dipped and confessed that you mostly got your veggie servings from french fries, or that you washed your colours and whites in the same load. “You know the literature.”
“I do not know the literature, and neither do you, you just know one line from one abstract and—”
Nichole grabbed your hand again and poured half a gallon of lotion in it. So much of it that you had to use your left palm to prevent it from spilling over—until you were just standing there like an idiot, you hands cupped like a beggar as you half frowns in goddamn sunscreen.
“Here you go.” Nichole smiled brightly. “Now you can protect yourself from basal cell carcinoma. Which, frankly, sounds awful.”
“I…” you would have face-palmed, if you’d had the freedom to move your upper limbs. “I hate sunscreen. It’s sticky and it makes me smell like a piña colada and—this is way too much.”
“Just put on as much as your skin will absorb. Especially around the freckled areas. The rest you can share with someone.”
“Okay. Nichole, you take some, you too Kyle. You’re a ginger for God’s sake.”
“A redhead with no freckles, though.” He smiled proudly like he’d created his genotype all on his own.
You turned to Tolkien. “I already put on a ton. Thanks, babe.” He leans down for a brief kiss to Nichole’s cheek, which almost devolved into a make out session.
You tried not to sigh. “Guys, what do I do with this?”
“Just find someone else. Where did Craig go?”
Tolkien snorted. “Over there, with Scott.”
“Scott?”
“Yeah that guy with diabetes, you know the one.”
“Is he pissing him off? Or—”
“Guys.” It good all you had not to yell. “I have no mobility. Please, fix this sunscreen mess your created.”
“God, N/N” Nichole rolled her eyes. “Your so dramatic sometimes. Hang on—” she waved at someone behind your, and when she spoke her voice was much louder. “Hey, Donovan! Have you put on sunscreen yet?”
In the span of a microsecond your entire brain burst into flames then crumbled into a pile of ashes. Just like that, one hundred million neurones, one thousand billion glial cells, and who know how many millilitres of cerebrospinal fluid, just ceased to exist. The rest of your body was not doing very well, either, since you could feel your organs shut down in real time. From the very beginning of your acquaintance with Clyde there had been about ten instances of you wishing to drop dead on the spot, cor the earth to open up and swallow your whole, for a cataclysm to hit and spare you from the embarrassment of your interactions. This time, though it felt as though the end of the world might happen for real.
Don’t turn around, what’s left of your central nervous system told you. Pretend you didn’t hear Nichole. Will this into nonexistence. But it was impossible. There was this triangle of sorts, formed by You, Nichole in front of you, and Clyde probably—surely—standing behind you; it wasn’t as if your had a choice. Any choice. Especially when Clyde, who couldn’t possibly imagine the depraved direction of Nichole’s thoughts, who couldn’t possibly see the bucketful of sunscreen that had taken residence in your hands, said, “No.”
Well. Shit.
You spun around, and there he was—sweaty holding a Frisbee in his left hand and so very, very shirtless. He walked over to you, a perplexed look briefly occupying his face before he returned to his regular stoic one, then one of slight shock upon seeing your hands. He knew exactly what was coming.
“Perfect. Y/N has some extra, why don’t you let her put it on you?” Somehow the complete severity of the situation only just dawned on you when the words left Nichole’s lips. You were going to have to touch him. Touch his abs. And his large shoulder blades. His large shoulders—
“Oh okay, sure.” He threw the Frisbee back to the game telling them that he had to do something. Your eyes shot to him. Why was he agreeing to this? Many thoughts circled your mind. The main one being panic. You couldn’t do this. No way. There was no way you would lather Clyde Donovan in sunscreen in front of every person you have ever—and will ever know. Your eyes flickered between the sunscreen in your hands and Clyde’s broad chest. You were not going to do this. No way in hell. You couldn’t. And yet the sunscreen in your hands had starts to seep through the cracks in your hands leaving you with only one choice.
Fuck your life, for a real one.
You took once glance at Clyde to check his expression, you wanted him to retract his former statement, tell you that it was absolutely unacceptable considering the fact that you had only known this guy for a little over two month now and had spoken to him a total of twenty-three times and hardly knew anything about him. And despite all that wishing his expression didn’t change.
You raised your hand and started to massage the sunscreen into his chest. His firm chest. You tried your very best not you but the sweat began to collect in your hairline and the way that the sun was shining on you there was so doubt he could see it, glistening.
“Y/N.” Clyde said, it wasn’t loud enough that the group now behind you could hear but it was loud enough that your could hear. You looked up at him, his mouth did one of those twitch-things of his again. “Don’t worry about it.”
You heaved a sigh. He was right, you guys were going to find yourself in situations like this all the time now, considering you had a track record for it with Nichole. However that didn’t make the situation any less embarrassing. If anything that made you more embarrassed at the mere thought of something of this monstrosity happening ever again. Part of you couldn’t believe what you had gotten yourself into the other part told you you were insane. Of course this was your life, of course because what other purpose would your best friend had than to make it hell?
You continued to massage it into his skin. “Hey, Y/N are you good for a room when we go to Pete’s thing?” Your head whipped around to Nichole as a small seed of anxiety planted itself in your thoughts. What on earth could that question entail?
“I thought we’d be sharing?”
“Well, about that. I’m going to share with Tolkien, do you mind?”
Right, of course. “No! Not at all.” You forced a tight smile onto your face and looked back at Clyde, trying to focus all your attention on him.
“You’re gonna be okay for getting a room? You’re sure?”
“Positive!” You were lying to your best friend. While it felt shitty this is what you had wanted, this is what you had asked for at the start of all this, you had to be happy.
You focused fully on Clyde, blocking all of the thoughts about how you were going to stay in LA for a week out of your head and to be thought about on a later date. By now, you had fully coated Clydes front. You looked up at him. He cocked his head ever so slightly. His thick brown hair sticking to his forehead.
“Can you turn around? I finished your front.” He nodded then turned around. You were now met with his back. Holy shit was his back big. You couldn’t see all his muscles. Which wasn’t something you were typically attracted too but considering when he’s dressed he looks so skinny, his sleeper build was causing that heat to erupt in your stomach again. You were going to fight it off but you were interrupted by Clydes awkward swaying, you’d been buried in your mind for far too long.
You began to massage the sunscreen into his back, his muscles moved a little, jolting when you hit tight spots. This felt wrong. Like an outer body experience. Part of you thought you were going to double down on yourself at at moment. It was all just too much. You wanted you laugh at the pure idiocy of the situation but at the same time you wanted to cry at it. It was wrong—on every level possible.
You finished his back as fast as you could finishing it off with two taps on his back to let him know you were done—something you would cringe about when trying to fall asleep that night. He turned back to you. You looks at him, straining your neck. Why was he so goddamn tall?
“Well, thank you Y/N and thank you Nichole for…watching out for me?” With that he ran back to the game. Maybe he was still annoyed at you for the yesterdays mini argument. You stood rooted to the spot for a moment before turning around and grabbing the same napkin you had used the first time to wipe you hands and wiped them again.
“Wow.” Kyle said, approaching you. “That was an insane amount of sexual tension I just saw.”
You whipped your head around to Kyle, a breathy laugh forcing out of your lungs. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Ky.”
“That was like hella sexual. You just lathered him up N/N.”
“So what? It’s just an acquaintance helping an acquaintance.”
“Psh. Yeah right.”
“What? I’m being serious Kyle.” Your voice went a few octaves higher than you would have liked.
“Sure. If you guys ever fuck don’t say I didn’t tell you it would happen.” You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder. He dramatically stumbled away from you causing you to roll your eyes once again. Before he could get back up you walked over to Tolkien and Nichole who were now finally joined by Craig.
“Y/N I just saw that m scene with Donovan when I was talking to Scott, what was with the PDA?”
You stared at him. Dumbfound.
“Well come on. You used to complain about how gross couples who publicly doted on each were, where’s that same energy now?”
You stared at him a second more. Craig Tucker. Your childhood best friend and known for being a notorious asshole when it came to teasing. There was nothing Craig did better then pissing people off, which was being shown ever so clearly to you in that moment, one of the main factors to answer for why people don’t like him.
It took you more than physically restraint to not tell him to fuck off, or to sock him right in the face, instead you opted for the latter’s latter and shoved his head back, plopping yourself next to Nichole leaving a spot for Kyle next to you.
You would be counting down the seconds till you could go home.
Note: Any rumour about my love life will spread at a speed which correlates with my desire to keep said rumour a secret.
Brainstorm. One of the biggest up-coming bands in the music industry, an industry that housed many millions of people all fighting for a child on the pedestal. No pressure. You had no idea the exact number of people but the almost of discourse and drama you’ve seen online you could probably hazard a guess; far too many. Therefore, you reasoned that you would probably never have the misfortune of running into Clyde again, considering that in your two years within the industry you’d only ever crossed paths with him once, which was The Night (it had been only a handful of days since the kissing incidents, but you already knew that every time you thought back to last Friday you would call it The night and it would stay that way for the rest of your life), it was highly unlikely that you would ever cross paths with him again. In fact, you were fairly sure that not only did Clyde Donovan have no idea who you were he also had no desire to learn—and had probably already forgotten all about what happened.
Unless, of course, you were incredibly, so unbelievably wrong and he did end up filing a complaint. In which case you would be seeing him again, when you pleaded guilty in court.
You figured you couldn’t wait for time fretting about any of it and focus on the more pressing issues; like how you had to start pitching ideas for upcoming music videos, looking at ideas and making board to show the team. Or the note Kyle had left on the fridge this morning, telling you he had seen a cockroach scurry under the fridge, despite the dozens of traps you’d lay out. Or the most crucial one; the band was getting big and more attention was on you, you were becoming nervous with the amount of pressure. You were bound to crack at any moment, you could feel it coming. On top of that you were getting low on money again and you couldn’t find it in yourself to ask people for help with it, it just felt wrong.
You opened you laptop with half a mind to google, “Organs you can live without” and “How much you can earn for donating them.” but got sidetracked by the twenty new emails you’d received in the time it had taken you to get to the coffee shop, order your coffee, get it and find a seat. They were almost exclusively reminders of subscriptions, Nigerian uncles and a few newsletters you’d signed up for multiple years ago. You quickly marked them as read eager to work on some business things Tolkien had asked you to help with, and then you noticed one message was actually a reply. A reply from…holy shit. Holy shit.
You clicked it so hard you almost broke your pointer finger.
Your heart skipped a beat. Then it started galloping. Then it slowed down to craw. You could feel all your blood pulsating in your ears and eyelids. Surely that wasn’t healthy, but yes. Yes! You had potential business. Only potentially, so maybe. Definitely maybe. He had said great. That had to be a “great” sign, right?
You frowned and scrolled down to re read what you had sent him several weeks earlier.
Well if Pete Thelman, one of the most popular artist at the moment and the lead in the cancer awareness campaign, came to Denver and gave you even 10 minutes off his time you were positive you’d be able to convince him.
Well…maybe.
You were better at actually doing campaigns then pitching yourself for them. Communication was probably your biggest weakness. Okay, definitely your biggest weakness. But you had a chance to show the world how important this cause was to you and the other members. You could practically jump for joy. This was something you’d allayed been passionate about after all.
You sighed and packed everything up and head for your the record company, to discuss the new music video, plus you needed to be out of public or you’d end up screaming.
When you got to the company you made a beeline for the kitchen.
You stood at the kitchen counter and working out ways you’d tell Tolkien, you’d done this as a surprise for him since he’s wanted to do it so bad but was afraid of looking like a fool. You turned around to so someone scowling at you.
You startled you’d almost dropped your coffee.
“Fuc-Jesus!” You clutched your chest and took a deep breath. You held on tight to your coffee cup. “Nichole. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Y/N.”
Thats definitely wasn’t unnerving. Nichole never called you Y/N, not unless you were being reprimanded for biting your nails or damaging your hair.
“Hey! How was your—“
“Friday night.”
Fuck. “—weekend.”
“Donovan.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“I saw the two of you together.”
“Oh, really?” Your surprise sounded painfully playacted even to yourself. Maybe you should of gone into drama in high school instead of band.
“Yeah at the party.”
“Oh, cool! I didn’t see you or a I’d of said hi.”
She frowned at you. “N/N. I saw you. I saw you with Donovan. You know that I saw you, and I know that you know I saw you because you’ve been avoiding me.”
“I have not.”
Nichole have you one of her formidable “get real” looks. It was prolly the on she used when she would argue with other students back in school. She was in the debate team. She knew how to argue, and how to manipulate, that was a fact. She for fearsome and indomitable, one of the things you love about her—but now right now.
“You haven’t answered any of my messages. For the past two days. We usually text like every hour.”
she was right, you did, multiple times. you switch you'd cup to your left hand for no other reason then buying time. "I've been...busy?"
"Busy?" Nicholas eyebrow shot up. "Busy kissing Donovan?"
"Oh. Oh, that. that was just...uhm."
She nodded, as if to encourage you to finish the sentence. When it became apparent to Nichole that you wouldn't, she finished for you.
"No offence, N/N but that was most bizarre kiss I've ever seen."
Stay calm. Stay calm. She doesn't know. She can't know. "I doubt that," you retorted weakly. "Take that upside-down Spider-Man kiss. that was bizarre. More bizarre than—"
“N/N you said you were on a date that night. You’re not dating Donovan are you?” Her face twisted in a grimace.
It really could have been so easy to confess the truth. Since the very start of your friendship you and Nichole had done more moronic things, together and separately; the time you panicked and kissed Clyde Donovan would become one of them. One they would laugh about during “girls night” over some form of alcohol.
Or not. There was a chance that if you admitted to lying now, Nichole would never trust you again. Or she’s never go out with Tolkien. And as much as the idea of your best friend dating your ex made you shrivel up inside, the thought of your best friend being anything but happy made you shrivel up even more.
The situation was depressingly simple; you were alone in the world. You had been for a long time, ever since high school. You trained yourself to not make a big deal of it. You were due many people were alone and found themselves having to write down made-up names and phone numbers on their emergency contact forms. During collage music had been your only way of coping and you were perfectly ready to spend the rest of your life making music for yourself and your own baselines as your faithful companions till you ran into an old acquaintance from when you were younger—Nichole.
In a way, it had been love at first sight. You entered the dorm room, she was the only person there, and also the only woman you’d come across in the little time you’d been at the collage.
When you were in the communal area and all the other people around you, who were only guys and predominantly white, you’d started to regret going to into music production.
That was until the girl with curly dark hair and a pretty, round face plopped into the chair next to you and muttered, “so much for inclusivity, am I right?” That was the exact moment everything changed.
You two could have just been allies, as the only non-males potentially in your entire year. You could have sound solace together when some bitching was needed and ignored each other otherwise. You had lots of friends like that—all of them actually, circumstantial acquaintances who you thought fondly of but not very often. Nichole though, has been very different from the start. Maybe because you found out you both enjoyed spending your Saturday nights eating junk food and falling asleep to rom-coms. Or maybe it was that she had insisted on dragging you to every debate group and wowed everyone with her bullseye comments. Maybe it was her opening up to you and explaining how hard she had worked to be here. The way sometimes her family hadn’t even supported her, truly they didn’t believe she could make it as far as she has. Or when one of her professors for music making asked her if she was in the wrong class and truly, was confused. The fact that people still didn’t trust that, despite the evidence through grades, she was more then capable of being here. They thought she was less than that, much much less.
You, who’s path here had been a struggle but no where near as much of a struggle, was befuddled. Then enraged. Then in absolute awe of her perseverance and ability to harness her doubt and turn it into fierceness.
And for some unimaginable reason, Nichole seemed to like you just as much. And when your budget hadn’t quite made it to the end of the month, Nichole had shared her instant noodles with you. When your computer had crashed without backups, Nichole stayed stayed up all night helping you recreate the baseline that was apart of an assignment due the next morning. When you had no where to go over the holidays, Nichole would being you home with her to Colorado and let her family ply you with delicious food. And when you had felt like you weren’t good enough to be in a band and produce for the world, Nichole had talked you out of it.
The day you had met Nichole’s rolling eyes, a life-changing friendship was born. Slowly, you’d began to include Kyle and become a trio, but Nichole…Nichole was your person. Family. You hadn’t really thought it was even possible for someone to like you.
Nichole never asked for anything herself and in the few years you’d known her, she’d never shown interest in dating anyone—until Tolkien. Pretending that you had been on a date with Clyde was the least you could do to ensure her happiness.
So you bucked up, smiled, and tried to keep your tone reasonably even when you asked, “What do you mean?”
“I mean that we talk every minute of every day and you never mentioned Donovan. My best friend is supposedly seeing the superstar singer Clyde Donovan, and somehow I’ve never heard of it? You know his reputation, right? Is it some kind of joke? Do you have a brain tumour? Do I have a brain tumour?”
This is what happened when you lied. You have to tell more lies to cover the original lie, it was like the domino effect, each lie got worse and worse and less and less convincing than the previous. There was no way you could fool Nichole. There was no way you could fool anyone. Nichole was going to get mad, then Tolkien would get mad, and Kyle too. And then you’d find yourself utterly alone. The heart break would make you flunk out of everything, you would lose your visa and your only source of income and move back to Canada where it always snowed and people ate moose and—
“Hey”
The voice was deep but squeaky. It came from behind you and you didn’t even have to turn to know it was Clyde. The fuck was he doing here? Just like you didn’t need to turn to know the warm weight steadying you, a firm but barely there pressure applied to the centre of your lower back, was Clyde’s hand.
