#n0bodyson

[anoffering]

he sees @n0bodyson sitting on the couch in their living room when he walks in — he drops his duffel bag by the door and kicks his shoes off, grinning as he walks over to her. “ hey, you. ” mitch grins, flopping beside his wife on the couch and turning his head to look at her. “ practice fucking killed today. alexander and braxton are still injured, by the way. it's driving me crazy. ” he leans over to give her a kiss, then falls back into the same spot. until he notices a wrapped box next to her.

“ who's that for? ” it's for him, she says, and hands it to him. he didn't know what the occasion was. his birthday was months away, christmas was too. maybe she just wanted to surprise him. ella was always thoughtful like that. carefully, mitch tears the wrapping paper off, and opens the box. his heart stops. crocheted baby booties, made with pink and blue yarn. he looks up from the box, his jaw dropping. “ are you...? ” mitch asks, and before she can answer, he scoops her into a hug as his eyes burn with tears. “ oh my god. really? ”

[tremaynes]

no but ella @n0bodyson and fionn are so important to me. two people from different places with similar-but-different shitty childhoods who no longer have the adults that did love them around found each other and decided almost instantly that they were family now, that they had each other, that they could support and care for each other. fionn does one hundred percent think that ella's his sister. sometimes he forgets that they're not actually related, which makes for awkward explanations when he's talking about how he has no connection to his bio siblings or how they were mean to him when he was little.

and they're best friends and they have a lot in common and even where they differ, in who they are or what they like or how their trauma has affected them, they have that support now. they have each other. and sometimes that looks like fionn eating all ella's homemade food and sometimes it's doing karaoke together and sometimes it's just sitting quietly and stroking their hair.

it is ENTIRELY coincidental that they have the same surname, just spelt differently, but my god they absolutely milk it.

[tremaynes]

sunlight has filtered in through the blinds, bathing the bedroom — and fionn, still sprawled out, covers down at his waist — in morning light. it's not often like him to lie in, but a combination of a long shift yesterday, every time they lay down interrupted by the bell for another call, and a late night with @n0bodyson has left him dead to the world. it was worth it, though. work was a day he'd rather forget, but he's been desperately lapping up whatever he can get of troy's company for a long time, now, long before they slept together; the man's aloofness did nothing to quell fionn's interest, after all. now he knows how good he is with his hands, fionn might never be able to leave him alone.

"you're cute when you sleep."

fionn groans softly as he stirs, a hand finding the other side of the bed cool to the touch as he takes a moment to remember where he is. ending up in troy's bed hadn't been the plan, after all; fionn had just wanted to hang out. ❝ cute? ❞ he grumbles, half-awake as he rolls onto his back and stretches. troy's by the doorway, half-dressed like he's been awake a while; the sunlight hits his eyes and fionn has to actively suppress a gasp at how beautiful he is. whichever magazine it was that called him the most attractive hockey player was right. and he's into men. what are the fucking chances?

❝ morning. ❞ he drags himself to sit up, picking up his phone on the bedside table to check the time; surprisingly, it's not as late as it feels. fionn smiles, bright and warm, for a moment—and then he remembers that he's in someone else's bed, someone who got up instead of cuddling (or going for another round), someone who is keeping his identity a secret from the entire world, and it becomes a lump in his throat that he swallows down. he usually gets home before the hollowness starts to replace the relief. but he actually likes troy.

of course he does. he's a fucking idiot.

his smile remains, like he's easy-going, like he's cool either way, but it dims. ❝ do you want me to leave? ❞

[stormlit]

[to: ella 🍝] sos can i raid your spice rack [to: ella 🍝] [attached: IMG2859_202606.jpg] [to: ella 🍝] also sofiya is doing her free program today if you want to come over and watch [to: ella 🍝] bring cumin and curry masala if you have it 🩵

the texts had, admittedly, been sent in a bit of a panic, too many things cooking for her to be able to leave, even to knock on ella's door, and too frustrated by the fact that she'd managed to knock her spice jars off the counter, leaving a mess of broken glass and powder on the kitchen tile. (after the photo had been taken, she'd cleaned up, in between stirring and turning and trying to figure out how the fuck to season now). tatiana isn't even a clumsy person, is the worst part; her job requires too much precision for that kind of carelessness. it was just bad fucking luck. and cooking's meant to be a favourite hobby.

she'd left things simmering on as low a heat as she could while waiting; the knock at the door is no surprise, but tatiana's glad to see @n0bodyson there regardless, immediately stepping back to let her inside. ❝ my saviour, thank god. come in. ❞ the whole apartment smells of curry, thanks to both her cooking and the spillage. it could be worse, she supposes. ❝ there's still a while before sonya's group. which is good, with the set back. you want tea? ❞

[tremaynes]

the sea breeze ruffles fionn's hair, making him glad for the sweatshirt he'd put on today (still something of a shield for him, its left sleeve pinned up below the elbow with ella's help), and yet the sun shines, and he can't say he minds. it's a kiss, welcoming him home again. this is, after all, where fionn has always come to, every time his life's felt like it was falling apart. maybe he waited to be cleared to fly, maybe he's got his therapy sessions scheduled by zoom while he's here, maybe he brought his best friend in the world, but fionn still thinks he's running, just a little bit. just for a little while.

the tension feels less, here; he can remember how to breathe again.

as they wander along the beach, fionn pauses, bending to pick up a piece of sea glass he'd spotted in the sand. ❝ my nan collected it, ❞ he says, holding the sea-worn blue piece out to @n0bodyson with a smile he truly means. ❝ i think there's some in your room, actually. i like to pick up any i see for her. ❞ most of the house has been slowly redecorated, each time fionn's come out here, but he's kept touches; his nan's knick-knacks, the photos on the wall (mostly of his younger self, which feels mildly narcissistic), the quilts, the door frame he used to be measured against. he's kept the feeling the cottage always had, just with less hideous carpet. the vases full of collected sea glass are dotted around the place, including the guest room's windowsill. ❝ we'd drive over to one of the pebble beaches, 'cause she was convinced they were better for sea glass, and see what we could find. i'm pretty sure my grandad just came along for the fish and chips. which—if you're just here for that, too, it's okay, ❞ he teases, ❝ we can get some for lunch. ❞

[tremaynes]

it had been sunny when fionn had set out for his run, just his music, the rhythm of his feet beneath him, and the promise of a weather app that had clearly been lying to him; he's drenched by the time he takes shelter in a coffee shop. he pauses by the door to catch his breath (and try to leave the worst of the dripping on the mat), and resigns himself to the fact that his hair's going to dry frizzy. well, he's here now; might as well get a coffee to warm up, so he doesn't feel bad about waiting for the worst of the shower to pass. because it will pass.

the fucking weather app is still promising clear skies, as he gets in line. fionn snorts softly, switching to his messages. the warmth of his drink in his hand is welcome, and fionn looks around for an open spot, among everyone else ekeing out their drink to avoid getting wet, making a beeline for @n0bodyson when he spots him. ❝ hi, troy, ❞ he says, unbothered by interrupting him. he looks like he's been staring at the same thing on his phone, unmoving, for a while anyway, and despite everything, fionn likes him. even if he's kind of an asshole; fionn can understand that kind of defensiveness, even if he himself grew the other way. he pulls people close too easily, seeking any kind of connection, however fleeting—and however much that ends up hurting. ❝ you get lied to by the weather forecast too? ❞

[tremaynes]

"You’re a much better liar than I expected you to be."

❝ thank you? ❞ in truth, fionn isn't sure whether it's a compliment or not; he doesn't love lying, after all, save for when it's about himself. then, he thinks nothing of saying i'm fine when he isn't, of pasting a smile over all the cracks in his soul as though they're not wide enough to trip over. the last thing fionn ever wants to be is a burden, and if that means he can't be wholly honest, except for with a few close people, then so be it.

but that's not the sort of lying @n0bodyson means, fionn reckons. hopefully, jack doesn't know about that at all; that's a little too vulnerable for someone he barely knows. so instead fionn shrugs and cracks a smile, intentionally keeping things light-hearted. he's good at that. ❝ what, you thought i was some kind of...do-gooding square? mate. ❞ that's cute. that's really cute. ❝ come on. i'm sober for a reason. i've done all kinds of shit. ❞

[stormlit]

❝ hey, you were great today. you'll keep me updated on that kid? ❞ walking out of the hospital always feels like a risk, as though a tether might yank her right back through the doors before she's even managed to get her jacket zipped up. do any of them really leave? tessa certainly feels like a part of her is always here, even when she's got time off—and she loves her job, yes, but she wishes that wasn't the case. it'd be nice to be able to fully switch off sometimes, is all. really get out of her head.

but you don't go into emergency medicine for the great work-life balance, do you?

jacket on, doors closed, none of the night shift have called her back inside because some disaster's unfolding, hallelujah! tessa smiles at @n0bodyson, more than a little relieved, and tries to place work in a box labelled do not open until tomorrow. ❝ you wanna grab something to eat? it's— ❞ she checks her phone, ❝ —still reasonably dinner time. ❞

pitt starter call