Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | WC: 993 | Day 02: Ice Skating | Rating: G | Warnings: None | Tags: Pre-relationship; Steve Harrington has a crush on Eddie Munson; Post S4; Disregards S5; Humor; Steve is a good babysitter.
It had been Dustin’s idea, but Steve only said yes after Max and El ganged up on him and started giving him puppy dog eyes.
Steve hardly denied those two anything on a normal day, but when they teamed up like that? Impossible.
So of course Steve agreed to take the whole bunch of kids ice skating that weekend, why not? He did, however, pointed out that his Beamer, as amazing as it was, could only fit so many of them.
“Don’t worry, Eddie said he’s also free this weekend and can tag along,” Lucas said before Steve could even finish his sentence. “He said he can drive Mike, Max, Erica and me, since we live closer to him.”
“Eddie said he’s going to ice skate with you?” Steve found himself asking in disbelief. “Did Erica threaten him, or something?”
“What? No!!”
In Steve’s mind, Eddie Munson willingly agreeing to do any kind of physical activity was merely a theoretical notion; something Steve knew that, in theory, could happen, the same way a person could be struck by lightning or could win the lottery, but not much more likely than any of those things.
He kept those opinions to himself, though. If the kids were saying Eddie had agreed, Steve had no reason to doubt their word; they were little shits, yes, but they were no liars.
And that’s how Steve ended up, ten in the morning, on a Saturday that was supposed to be his day off, driving Dustin, El and Will all the way to the next town so they could spend the day skating until their legs became jelly and they could barely stand anymore.
He took Robin with him, because if Steve had to spend his day off babysitting their dipshits, she had too.
They arrived at the ice rink quickly enough, but Eddie’s van was already parked in front of the building when they got there.
“Man, those assholes must be skating without us,” Dustin whined, not even waiting until Steve had parked the car to throw himself out the Beamer.
“Jesus, Henderson! Chill! The rink isn’t going anywhere,” Steve chided, but Dustin was already out and power walking to the front door.
El and Will at least took the time to thank Steve first before they were running after Dustin.
Steve let out a heavy sigh as he unbuckled his seatbelt. Well, at least they were already wearing their warm coats and gloves; small blessings, right?
He and Robin found the kids already at the rental counter, talking to the woman there and getting their skates. They thanked her, rushing towards the benches so they could put the skates on and join their friends that, just like Dustin had supposed, were already on the ice, skating to their hearts’ content.
“Can you see Eddie anywhere?” Steve asked as he got closer to the rink’s boards, his eyes roaming the crowded space in search of his friend.
He could spot Max’s red hair easily, then Lucas and Erica close to her, but Eddie was nowhere near them.
“Oh my God,” Robin gasped beside him, her eyes comically going huge. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
For a moment, Steve didn’t understand her shock. But then he followed Robin’s line of view and finally spotted Eddie.
On the opposite side from where the kids were awkwardly trying to hold themselves up on their skates like baby giraffes.
Skating like a fucking pro.
What the hell??
“You’re seeing that too, right?” Robin asked, pulling at Steve’s sleeve. “I can’t be the only one seeing that.”
“He’s incredible,” he breathes out, in awe.
Because the way Eddie skated was beautiful; there was no other way to describe it. It was fluid, the way he glided on the ice, his skates sliding easily with every push of his legs, his hair flying as he gained speed and twirled without effort, laughing out of pure joy.
“Ugh, you’re such a jock.” Robin rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe seeing Eddie skate is doing it for you.”
“Robin, shut up! That’s not it!”
“It totally is. I can see the blush on your face, Harrington, you won’t fool me.”
“I said shut up!”
“Why are you yelling?”
Steve had been so distracted by their little argument that he didn’t see Eddie approaching, and he squeaked embarrassingly loud when he spoke right next to them.
“Jesus Christ, Stevie, what’s up with you today?” Eddie asked, not even hiding his amusement.
“Yes, Stevie, what’s up with you today?”
He glared at Robin, even though she hardly cared.
Eddie chose to ignore their shenanigans. “Are you gonna stand there the whole day? It’s really fun watching the kids fall up close.”
“I’m not getting in there, sorry,” Robin said, pulling the fakest guilty face Steve had ever seen. "I can’t skate for shit. But have fun, you two. I’ll be at the snack bar, reading and eating chips. Bye-bye.”
“Robin!!” Steve called out. No use, she was already making her way to the snack bar, waving her hand in a mocking farewell as she went.
That damn traitor.
“What do you say, Harrington? Are you joining me or not?”
It was so unfair. Just like with the girls, Steve could hardly say no to Eddie either, but when he gave Steve those pleading eyes, Steve was powerless.
And the asshole probably knew it.
Not that Steve minded.
“Okay, okay,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll go rent my skates.”
“Great! Don’t take long,” Eddie grinned, before skating away and disappearing into the crowd once again.
Steve watched him go for just a moment, then turned on his heels and marched towards the rental desk.
Steve just hoped he wouldn’t end up embarrassing himself too much. Because if watching Eddie skate from afar had already made Steve almost drool, he could only imagine what watching that up close would do to his poor heart.
summary: arthur morgan falls victim to hosea's old schemes. this one doesn't seem so bad
tags: simple fluff maybe not as fluffy as I wanted
When Hosea Matthews approached you in town, talking about watching a friend’s horse for him you didn’t have to think twice before agreeing. The old man was fond of you and it was mutual as whenever he was in the area he would drop by to help you carry something–usually some folded clothes you washed for the seamstress in town–and you would return the favour by gifting him random items that reminded you of him, like a scarf one time. You didn’t know but he wore it around whenever he could and snapped at anyone who tried taking it. In fact, you didn’t know any of the gang. That was on purpose. You knew what Hosea did, the whole town knew about Dutch Van der Linde’s gang. You’re one of the rare sorts that never saw the gang in person, until Hosea.
It’s Hosea’s adamance that every time you talk he warns you not to mess with the others.
“That Micah Bell. He’s a right piece a’ work.” He had told you one day with a scowl on his face before continuing to teach you how to knock someone out in an emergency.
It’s Hosea’s normal stubbornness about the gang that leaves nonetheless wiser of his plans. Plans to matchmake you and a certain complicated outlaw. He hands you the lead with a click of his tongue and wishes you well before leaving you by the stables with a new friend.
You take a good look at the horse and it dawns on you that Hosea never gave you her name. She was certainly well cared for with a shining chestnut coat and a couple white spots on her torso. She stares at you in judgment, snorting derisively at you.
“Well I’ll be…being judged by a darn horse. Ain’t that a good sign.” You muse.
You wrap a hand around the lead, gently leading her along with you out of town to the river bank not too far.
“Come on, girl. You can graze while I work.”
Fortunately, the horse begins to warm up during your day together. In fact you almost cried when she set herself down behind you, nose prodding at your side affectionately. She watches peacefully as you wash the fabric in the river water. The scene looks like something from a painting.
Returning back to town, you’re surprised to see a rugged cowboy type instead of Hosea. He’s undeniably good looking with his thumbs hooked on his belt and black bandana around his neck loosening just so, enough to see the beginning of the hair on his chest. He lowers his head, eyes squinting in your direction.
“You Hosea’s friend?” He asks briskly.
His eyes seem to drift over you, looking you over. If you weren’t too busy wiping the sweat from your palms you would notice the sharp intake he does as he takes in your face.
“Yes. You must be her rider. She’s a gentle one.” You answer quickly, distracting yourself from the man in front of you by looking at the horse next to you. She snorts softly, stomping her hoof.
The cowboy’s head tilts, and you see his eyebrow quirk up, lifting his hat just slightly.
“Gentle, huh? Don’t get that much…” He muses in a low tone. “She must like ya’.”
He steps closer, and reaches for the lead in your hands, fingers brushing against yours.
“Arthur.” He says simply. “Arthur Morgan.”
You smile softly at him and Arthur thinks he must be dreaming up an angel in front of him. He was always a weak man for a sweet thing like you. Damn Hosea borrowing his horse and forgetting her in town.
“Nice to meet you Arthur.” You reply and his pulse jumps at the sound of his name coming from you.
Your mouth moves but Arthur realizes he’s not quite on earth right now. His eyes continue to flit from across your face, taking in the way your lips curl and lashes flutter. He’ll be damned if you ain’t the most gorgeous creature he’s ever seen. Creature seems rude but he means it in the best way–you can’t be human. His admiring is cut off when he sees the heavy basket of half-dried fabric clearly waying down your arm as it hangs in the crook of your elbow.
“Lemme help you there…” He murmurs suddenly, already hovering his hands by you. Tempted. “Looks heavy.”
You blink. You’re thinking up ways to decline, certain that any longer in this cowboy’s–no, outlaw’s presence will reduce you to a puddle. Arthur ever the gentleman doesn’t touch you, but he does stand there until you give in and begin walking. He slips the basket from your arm, grasping it with more ease than you had a moment ago. He glances back at you.
“You a seamstress here?” He asks as you begin walking next to him, his horse trotting behind you both.
You shake your head, hands raised.
“Oh, no. No, I just do the washing for her. She’s an older lady, can’t do the work much herself–sewing takes up the little energy she’s got.” You explain. Arthur can’t help but notice the cute furrow in your brow as you do so. Damn right. Of course you were a good person too.
You catch his staring and look away, your palms are still sweaty and for some damn reason, just meeting the guy has butterflies fluttering about in your stomach. You glance back at his horse.
“She have a name? Hosea never told me.” You inquire curiously.
He follows your eyes and chuckles, stopping to pat the mare’s neck with fondness. She whinnies gently, clearly enjoying the attention.
“Macha. She ain’t my first horse but she’s been a ride for sure…bites everyone back at camp.”
You laugh at that, surprised that the horse would be so temperamental. She must really like you, to your pride.
Too soon you reach the little rundown seamstress shop and Arthur seems to share your disappointment, grunting as he sets the basket down by the door.
“Well. I suppose I should thank you for watchin’ her for me. She ain’t easy.” He rumbles.
Macha snorts in anger like she understands him, and slams her head into him in retaliation. You gasp as he nearly falls right into you, instinctively touching his shoulders to keep some distance. A warmth floods your stomach as you process his hands catching himself by your hips. Rough fingers grip your sides, just moments before loosening, clearly accidental.
Arthur chuckles a bit, but looks awfully worried. He looks down at you, giving you a close look at his striking eyes.
“Apologies…I uh…” He coughs into his fist, fingers tapping against your hips just before he lets go. He looks back at you with a boyish smile. “I don’t suppose this ruins my plans to ask if you’re taken by anyone…does it?”
Your lips twitch, ignoring the missing warmth around you. You feign nonchalance, adjusting your sleeves.
“I am not…no.”
He nods, also pretending to be cool. You see the crinkle next to his eyes however as he moves his head away for a moment.
“...Good. Good. I’ll see to it that I join Hosea more on his little trips.” He nods to himself. “Woulda’ came down here quicker if I knew you were around.” He mutters.
Arthur flicks the brim of his hat and heads off with Macha. That night he’d return to camp and be greeted with Hosea’s smug smirk.
“I told ya’ I knew a good one, Arthur.” Hosea says to him watching as he ties Macha with the others.
Arthur just grunts dismissively, but he’s already thinking of you when he lays down for the night. What it might be like to fall again, after Mary. It felt good. Really good.
Summary: Hal reflects on all the ways he could have kept you around for another New Years. (Hal Jordan x fem!reader)
Word Count: 3.0K
Notes: brief mention of injuries, mild language, a soft spot for Hal Jordan.
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Your favourite tradition with Hal had always been the New Year. He'd come back and whisk you away with that signature grin, leather jacket on his shoulders while he offered you his arm. The same arms that wrapped themselves tight around your waist as he grinned down at you, crafted smirk on his lips as he counted down with the crowd at whatever party in Coast City, Gotham, or Metropolis that he had somehow managed to get the exclusive invite to. Then he'd kiss you breathless, pulling away only to whisper, "Happy New year," against your lips before greedily taking another kiss.
It had been Hal’s favourite activity too. He couldn't explain the rush he got picking you up from your apartment, seeing you smile at him. When it came to pestering the other members of the Justice League for tickets to their city events, he started a month ahead to really wear them down until they agreed (however he always started two months early in order to get tickets to Bruce’s New Year Gala). He didn’t care if he became a pest at the watchtower, there was nothing better than seeing you all dressed up on that front step, smiling at him like he had just brought you the sun (which he would if he could).
You meant the world to Hal Jordan, which is why it felt like his was tearing apart right now. There was a persistent ache in his chest, and a sharpness of breath every time he swallowed. The crook of his arm felt light, and his back was unusually straight without you jumping on him from behind. He was on Gotham for business, dreary and depressing as usual. The clock tower loomed in front of him, except this time there wasn’t a crowd counting down, or a kiss waiting on the other end.
Ten.
“You’re late.” You had said to him as he raced into the restaurant, hair combed with only his fingers and suit jacket thrown over his arm. He tried to give you a charming smile to make up for it, but he could see from the frown on your face you weren’t buying it.
“Only by ten minutes, got caught at work.” He had said, arm coming to circle your waist, which you shook off. He hadn’t been lying, he had gotten called to Oa for an emergency. However he didn’t particularly feel like revealing that he was in fact the local superhero, the Green Lantern, on your anniversary dinner. Or the fact that he was late because of a potential threat to some Lanterns stationed in deep space.
“Not ten, twice that.” You snapped. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair again. “You’re still in the waiting area, I clearly wasn’t that late.”
“It's because we lost our reservation, Hal.” You murmur, brushing past him and refusing to meet his eyes as you storm out the restaurant.
“Shit.” He hisses under his teeth as he watches you leave, before turning to follow you. He offers a small wave to the onlookers from nearby tables, privy to the whole argument, and nods apologetically as if he hadn’t screwed up his anniversary.
Nine.
“Nine weeks?” You ask, peering up at him with eyebrows furrowed. “You’re going to be gone for nine weeks?”
Hal bites the inside of his cheek, cursing as the frown settled across your face. He nods, “Yeah, sorry babe,” and he winces, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket. It was times like this he wishes he could tell you everything, let you know it wasn’t his fault. That he was doing this for you, so that you could be safe back on earth. He wanted to show you had badly he wanted to stay with you, to sleep in on Saturdays and watch dogs in the park from your bedroom window. To make you a coffee before you went to work, and kiss you on the cheek before he left for his.
You just sigh, flipping through the calendar splayed out on the kitchen counter. “You miss my birthday you know.” You say quietly, head in your hand.
“Yeah I saw.” He replies, lump in his throat. “I’m really sorry, babe. It’s just work-“ he cuts himself off with a frustrated groan. “You know I’d stay if I could, right? I wouldn’t go if there wasn’t any other choice. I love you, you know that.” He says softly.
Silence.
That was the first time in your entire relationship you hadn’t said it back. He watched as you chewed at your lip, and he could see your eyes mist up slightly. It made his heart clench painfully in his chest, and his mouth went dry, not knowing what to say. He knew he should stay in the kitchen with you, to talk it out, but he couldn’t.
Muscles heavy with shame he turned from the kitchen, heading back into your shared bedroom to continue packing. Maybe things would have been different if he hadn’t been a coward.
Eight.
There were eight missed calls on his phone when he checked, all from your phone and minutes after the other. He cringed, finger hovering over the button to call back, before it slid to click the phone screen off instead and he pocketed it.
“No personal business on the job.”
He turned, looking over his shoulder to catch the gaze of Batman who was busying himself with an array of computers. They’d set themselves up on the rooftop of a Metropolis skyscraper, monitoring transmissions from the adjacent LexCorp building. Hal stepped away from the edge he had been standing near, observing the chaos in the streets below, turning to face the black clad man.
“I know that.” He scoffed, green mask crinkling in annoyance.
“You accept any call here and Luthor could be made aware of our position.”
“I said I know,” Hal snapped back, shoulder blades rising. “I didn’t take the calls.”
Hal sighs, feeling the phone vibrate in his pocket again. “It’s just…my girl. She’s worried is all. I said I was here for work. She’s probably losing her mind.” He confesses quietly. The weight sits uncomfortably in his chest, and his ego bruises slightly confiding in Batman of all people. Yet he can’t stop the words coming out to the silent vigilante.
The man in question just sends him a side eyed glance, face stern but doesn’t tell him off. “We’ve been going through a hard patch. Just busy with work, you know? And we’ve been able to go out less and it’s just putting a bit of a strain on us. Not really her fault, it’s mine if anything.”
He signs and pinches the bridge of his nose as if to alleviate the oncoming headache. Batman just regards him silently, the white slits of his mask narrowing. Eventually he gives a grunt, turning back to his computers. “You can call her when it’s all over.” He says gruffly, making Hal sigh.
You were definitely going to kill him when he gets back.
Seven. Six. Five.
He punched in 765, the code to your gated apartment building, only to be met with a red light and a buzzer sound. With a groan he hit his head on the cool metal of the grate, fingers coming up to find the button for the intercom. Typing in your shared apartment number and he waited as the dial tone began. It rung four times, making Hal worry, before you finally picked up and the tension eased out of his shoulders. “Hey doll, the code isn’t working,” he starts, aligning himself in front of the small camera so you can see him. “Can’t get in.”
He can hear your sign on the other side. “Codes change every month Hal,” you remind, the flicker of irritation in your voice not going unnoticed. “Changed up last week.”
He rustles the flowers in his hand, crumpled from being pressed against his chest for so long. “I was kind of busy, work kept me occupied.” He says, trying to be suave but the nervous smile on his face still lingers. The door buzzes again and the light turns green, metal creaking as it slides to let him in.
“It always does.” You say, voice flat until the static tone of the intercom cuts.
Four.
He had four more drinks that he should have, going out to celebrate with old drinking buddies as one of his old, non-hero friends got hitched. The bachelor party had been a blur of sounds and colours after a while, and for a few pressing moments he had to remind himself that he wasn’t the bachelor anymore, he had someone waiting for him at home. The very same person he hurt as he stumbled in inebriated through the front door, tie loose and hair mussed. He could see the hurt flicker in your eyes as you took in the smear of dark lipstick against his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth.
“Have fun?” You ask, crossing your arms. He thinks you’re beautiful even when you’re angry at him. He can see it in the way you dig your fingers into your arms, the slight quiver of your lips as you hold yourself back. He just nods in return, world spinning as he does. “A lotta fun,” he slurs, blinking away the lights dancing in front of him, tempting him to collapse onto the wooden floor. “A lotta pretty ones…” he snickers to himself, and your body freezes. If he was sober he’d backtrack faster than Barry could run, explain that the whole night he kept himself in check, that he actually came to his senses and denied everyone that threw themselves his way because they weren’t you. That you were the prettiest person he knew, that he didn't really mean to make such a comment.
But he doesn’t. He stumbles to the couch and collapses into its groaning arms while you regard him from the doorframe with a scoff.
“You’re pathetic Hal Jordan.” You spit at him, but he can hear the hurt in your voice. If he was a better man he’d chase after the shadow of your retreating form, but he doesn’t.
He doesn’t know if he deserves to.
Three.
Hal Jordan had three things that he valued in his life. There was his work, of course, with the justice league and as a Lantern. There were the people of his city, his home, who had already endured so much, and then there was you. From the first time that he saw you, he knew everything was about to change for him, and he could only hope that it would be for the better. He wasn’t so sure what to call it now.
He had never expected things to get so messy.
Fires littered the streets of Coast City like pockmarks as he soared overhead, a threat too big for him to handle alone striking his city. Ever since it was rebuilt it had attracted all sorts of crazies, at a frequency that called him in more often than he’d like. Biting down his pride he had called the League. Was it sometimes overkill? Yes. Was Supes beginning to get worried about his ability to defend his city? Most certainly.
But he couldn’t risk the city being destroyed again. Not when you lived here now.
His heart fell through his chest coming to the rubble of your apartment building. Touching down he leaped across the bricks and warped metal, courtyard strewn with personal belongings. Some of them he recognised, such as the framed art piece he got on sale that you hated but hung anyways, the glass now shattered and frame broken. Many were from other tenants, remnants of their lives now pinned under stone and steel. The paramedics had corralled as many people as they could off to the side of the road, blankets wrapped around shivering shoulders.
That’s where he beelined for next, relief quickly filling his veins as he sees you on a medical stretcher, bruised and scraped, but alive. You make eye contact with him, offering him a faint smile as he approaches.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly, wishing more than anything he was out of the suit right now. To be Hal Jordan, the worried boyfriend. You nod, smile flickering weakly at the corners of your mouth. “I’m fine.” You say back hoarsely, hugging the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “I’m just waiting for someone.” You say, eyes flicking to the shattered phone screen beside you on the stretcher.
He feels guilt gnaw at him like a rat in his ribcage, and his own smile is tight in return. “I’m sure whoever you’re waiting for is worried to hell and will be here any moment.” He tries to sound calm, as if he isn’t going to wrap the whole battle up just so he can make good on that promise. You let out a dry laugh, not the kind that you’d let when he’d surprise you in the kitchen, or when he’d spin you around while strolling in the park.
“I won’t count on it.” You say, trying your best to stay calm. “Thank you for coming to check on us, for caring.” You say softly, giving him a warm smile that goes straight to his heart. Since you’d been having a rocky time he couldn’t remember the last time you smiled like that for him.
“No problem,” he said, voice caught in his throat. “Stay safe.”
As he walked away to talk to the paramedics to increase the range they should check for survivors, his heart fell painfully into his stomach. If only you knew how much he cared.
Two.
There had always been the two of you, against the world. That’s what Hal thought at the dinner of your first month anniversary together. However, that feeling was nothing more than a memory as he came home, late as usual, to the spare bedroom where he had been banished the past week. It was a new apartment, in a neighbourhood that you had been reluctant to move into but he had insisted it had the best safety. He knew he had done this to himself, but it did nothing to quell the ache he had in his chest that craved to have you close.
As he passed the ajar door of your once shared bedroom, he cant help but let out a small sigh, eyes cast back down to the floor as he wills himself to walk past. He’d been sleeping there shortly after the last city attack, where despite his best efforts he only got back to you in plain clothes two hours after the paramedics had let you go. He should have had the conversation with you about him, his work, but he still couldn’t bring himself to say it.
He was losing you; he knew that. Hell, everyone knew that, even the Bat. He’d seen the side glances cast to him in meetings, obscured behind the overly sympathetic (and not very concealed) gazes of Superman and Flash. He hated the pity, feeling like everyone was watching him lose the one thing he managed to both treasure and isolate the most.
As he dropped his bags on the bed he changed out of his suit. He knew it was dangerous to come home in the suit in case you found out, but there was just some small quiet part of him that hoped you might. That you might have stayed up, worried about him cheating or some equally heartbreaking scenario, and catch him coming home. Then he wouldn’t have to have the conversation itself and the cards would be on the table instead of him having to place them there. He knew that’s what it would take to have even a chance of keeping you.
Changed into a loose shirt for sleeping he crawls into the cold sheets of the guest bed, fiddling with his ring. Not for the first time, he thought of how you deserved any other ring that this cursed green one in your life.
One.
When he came home there was nothing of yours left. Clothes gone from the closet, books taken off the shelves. Nothing to indicate you had ever been a part of his life, just a single piece of paper on the kitchen counter. His heart had dropped to his floor and his knees wanted to buckle, despite having prepared and resigned to this moment mentally for weeks. He traced the faint curves of your handwriting, ghosting his fingers over the swells of your vowels.
You had left a pros and cons list, separated into two columns on the yellow grid paper by a thick black marker. In the cons you had written things like, ‘stays back late at work all the time, forgot anniversary, doesn’t pick up when I’m worried, comes home late’, and the worst one in his eyes, ‘cheating?’ surrounded by many scrawled question marks.
His eyes fluttered over to the pro’s column, unable to look at the hole he dug himself any longer. In more delicate handwriting you had delicately listed only one thing.
One, single thing.
I love him.
Now, Hal stared up at the clock face of Gotham, hands shoved into jacket pockets as he waited to meet Bruce. He waited on a park bench nearby, standing up when he saw the looming figure of the billionaire begin to approach him.
He hoped that no matter wherever you had taken yourself, whatever you had decided to do when you moved on, that you could hear the way his arms ached with your absence, and the way he faltered to say your name.
spent my summer months in your unwashed sheets - uncertain
pairing: george russell x alex albon
word count: 1.2k
characters: george russell, alex albon
tags: angst, confrontations, internalised homophobia, george russell needs a hug, george russell loves alex albon, alex albon loves george russell, break up, amorphous undefined galex situationship
summary: Alex has gotten used to waking up alone after spending a night with George. After all, something is better than nothing, right? But they can't go on like this forever, and Alex knows it.
Alex woke to the early morning sunlight streaming in through the chink in the curtain. The rest of the room was still dark, clothes strewn across the floor and his bedsheets rumpled from the events of last night. Yawning, he rolled over and stretched out an arm. He knew it would hit cold bedsheets, but that didn't make his heart sink any less as he bunched a handful of pristine white duvet in his fist. His bedroom door was slightly open, the light from the hallway slicing across the room and intersecting with the sunlight over his bed. Sighing, he lingered for just a moment longer before rolling out of bed and scrambling around for his clothes.
He was still half-asleep when he stumbled into the kitchen, head still heavy with the indulgence of the night before. Of George's hands on him, mouth hot against his neck. It was only after he turned back around from his kitchen cupboards that he noticed he wasn't alone.
"Jesus, George." The Brit looked up at the sound of his name from where he was sprawled, shirtless of course, on the sofa, "Tell me you're there next time, you gave me a heart attack."
George shrugged as Alex turned back to the cupboards, setting the bread bag on the counter, "Why wouldn't I be here? I was last night."
But you never stay. Alex wanted to say, but something stopped him. Looking at George was always painful, the ache of having him and not all at the same time. It had begun months ago, a drunk confession, the thrill of after. And Alex had woken up the next morning alone, and George treated him no different. Then he would show up at Alex's door and the cycle would begin again. He was too helpless to resist it, because at least having George for only a night was better than not having him at all. That thought terrified Alex more than anything. Abandoning the toast he was making, he went to join George in the living room, "I know… It's just… nothing, never mind."
George nodded, not meeting his gaze, "Ok. Oh, I got you breakfast, by the way. It's over there, on the table."
Alex looked over, his heart warming a little at the sight. It was just a pastry that George had probably acquired from any one of the bakeries in Monaco, but his heart soared at the gesture, "Oh, uh, thanks Georgie." He only got a non-committal grunt in reply, slightly dampening his good mood about it all. Still, it was a start. He headed over, picking up the plate and offering it to George, "Do you want to share?"
"Can't, sorry." He got up from the sofa in one swift movement, searching around for his discarded t-shirt, "I have to go."
Alex's heart sank as he sat, picking at the little pastry George had bought. He pushed a flake around the plate with his finger as George headed back towards the bedroom in search of his missing shirt. Of course, why had he ever expected anything different to happen? Any small hope he'd had of George finally spending a day with him had dissipated. He would always leave at the end of it with a frosty goodbye and pretend it never happened. Sometimes he could see flashes of shame in the way George cringed when he touched him or flicked his gaze away when he looked at him. And something inside his chest began to crack for the first time.
George was hurrying back down the corridor that led to his bedroom, pulling his shirt frantically over his head while he checked the time. His blue eyes darted around the room, wide and panicked, barely landing on Alex. The Williams driver sighed and then spoke, quietly at first.
"What's the rush?" He kept his tone light, cool, testing to see if George would respond. The other man stilled on his way to the door, one shoe halfway on as he cocked his head quizzically. His hair was still mussed up from the night before, and Alex hated how endearing it made him look.
"Sorry?" George asked, and Alex didn't miss the way his eyes widened just a fraction.
"I was just asking what the rush was." Alex leaned back in his chair, trying his best not to betray the storm of emotion swirling in his chest, "Can you really not stay?"
"I'm a busy man, Alex." George laughed but his voice was strained, and his smile didn't quite meet his eyes, "You know I've got things to do."
Alex shook his head, closing his eyes as he tilted his head to the ceiling, "That's not an answer, Georgie."
The other Brit shrugged, "Do I have to give you one?"
And something inside Alex broke.
"Yes! Because I have no idea what we are, George. You always just leave me in the dark and pretend that this never happened. Are you ashamed of me, is that it?" He laughed wildly, bitterly, "Perfect, pretty George Russell can't ever be seen with another man." George almost physically winced at that, and Alex knew he'd hit the nail on the head, "Well I wish you'd just tell me instead of leaving me to work these things out for myself, Georgie. Instead of leaving me to wake up alone every time."
"Baby, baby, look I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." George crossed the room in two strides, one hand going to Alex's waist and the other moving to cup his chin. He leaned in, and Alex wished it was easy enough to melt into his touch and forget about needing this answer, like he did every other time they were together. He didn't have to complicate it. But he needed to know. So he flinched away from George's touch, catching his pale wrist with a gentle hand before it could touch his cheek, "No, George. We can't keep doing this, I can't keep doing this. I wish it was that easy but it's not. You don't get to have me halfway like this anymore." It felt like he had to drag the words out of his chest, unpicking the thread he had used to stitch his heart back together over and over. George's face was devastating, his blue eyes wide and round and swimming with tears. He pulled away, stumbling backwards a few paces before speaking.
"Alex, I- I can't." He wrapped his arms around his torso, suddenly looking very small, "Not out there, not yet. Alex, I'm so, so, sorry, I wish I was brave enough. I just want you."
"Well, you can't." His voice trembled as he spoke the words, trying to ignore the way his heart was breaking, "I can't do this anymore George. If you've got shit to work though, that's fine, and I'll be there for you. But this," He gestured at the space between them, "It has to stop. At least until you've figured all this out."
George hesitated for a moment longer, teardrops beading on his long eyelashes. Then, slowly, he turned and left without a word. The click of the front door seemed to echo through the apartment, and Alex fell onto the sofa and finally let the tears flow.
