“We’ve come to a decision”, “we are on our side”, “to our world”, “thought we carved it out for ourselves”, “we don’t need heaven, we don’t need hell”, “we are better than that”, “our car”, “we both get plenty of use out of it”, “we are a team, a group, a group of the two of us”, “you don’t have a side anymore, neither of us do, we are on our own side”, “we could have been us”, “do we know a Jim?”, “he is not our friend”, “he needs us”, “we can make a difference”.
Oh my, how about # 11? I'm literally scared with your story right now! 😅
11. Found Footage (or) Rituals
31 Days of Horror Prompts
Part 2 of the prompt
Sacrifice
Peeta
I stare and stare at Mother through the tears clouding my eyes, wishing I had some way to confront her for betraying me like this. Her discomfort is obvious. She refuses to look at me waiting on the dias with the priest and King’s Guard. Mother’s little sacrificial lamb. Or payday.
10,000 coins. My mother traded my life for 10,000 coins. Am I worth no more than that? She’s so foolish in her greed for Cray's coins, she hasn’t realized what the aftermath will mean for her. The coin won’t last forever, and she isn’t getting any younger. My brother Emmer won't do half of the work required to keep the bakery running.
Simmering with anger and disgust, I pay no mind to the priest as he draws the family name for the female Tribute. My ears perk up when I hear the selection.
“Everdeen,” the priest informs solemnly, eyes scanning the crowd. The guards tense on the dias, and my stomach sinks. There are only two Everdeens of reaping age. The girl I’ve spent my life half in love with, and her younger sister.
“I volunteer- I volunteer as tribute!” Katniss say frantically, removing herself from the group of eighteen-year-old girls as the King’s Guard approaches. She doesn’t fight when they take her by the arms and lead her to the dias, positioning her on the other side of the priest from me.
I bite hard on the inside of my mouth to keep from screaming.
Katniss
The villagers trail behind me and Peeta as we’re led up the mountainside to the place of sacrifice. Members of the King’s Guard surround us, the priest leading our procession. The party moves us along to our deaths.
Whether our blood is enough to please our god or not, whether he'll show mercy and lift his curse from our land or not, are nothing to me. I won’t be here to see the grass grow or rain fall. There’s already been such an abundance of death over the last two years. Half of our village is dead of disease or starvation. My father was taken in the winter. Considering that, what can the lives of an almost grown boy and girl mean to our god?
Conversation from the villagers drones on some meters behind me and Peeta, not unlike the warning buzz of a trackerjacker hive. The heat is unbearable and I’m so thirsty. The skyline is a blur of glare and angles. Normally I’m better in the elements but today I’m weak and trembling.
I glance at Peeta, remembering the tears in his blue eyes when they met mine once I joined him on the dias. I’m struck by the multitudes behind the far-off expression he wears now. It’s as if he’s here in body only. Apparently my thoughts are not because I slip a bit on the loose stone beneath our feet, too engaged in studying him.
What a time to be curious about my neighbor. I roll my eyes at myself.
Righting my steps, I look away before Peeta catches me staring. It's easy to lose your footing here and the king’s guard shackled Peeta and I’s wrists together, so if one of us fall down, we both go.
Of our separate strokes of misfortune Peeta’s had the worst of it, knowing his mother sold his life for coins. At least I had the choice to volunteer when the priest pulled the name Everdeen from the basket. I couldn’t live with myself if Prim were selected by a throw of the dice over me. I promised my father I’d take care of my sister. I meant that promise.
I’m not a believer in our god’s preferred choice of human sacrifice, and neither is our priest. He allowed Cray to remove his son Brutus from the lottery and bribe the crowd.
Peeta stumbles on the path, murmuring an apology after veering into me. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” I say. The intense sun must be affecting him too.
What difference does anything make? We’re marching toward death. I don’t think a bruise on my shoulder will matter to our god.
“I’m not at my best today.” I catch Peeta’s eye and he shrugs. “It’s unfortunate since this is my last.”
As much as I could break down and cry, I bray like a mule with laughter, wishing I had something comforting to say to Peeta. He’s a better conversation keeper than me.
“You can pay me back by helping me stay on my feet,” I say, composing myself.
After slowing his steps and stepping more carefully with me for a few minutes, Peeta speaks up. “Katniss, can I tell you something?” his voice is frantic so I assume it’s important. Maybe some great sin he wants to get off his chest.
“You can,” I move with him to the left as he steers us away from a dip in the ground. Before we began talking, I debated whether to search for my mother or Prim in the crowd behind us, but Peeta has given me a distraction. No use looking back. My family is already gone to me. It will hurt less for them this way.
“I hate that it’s you here. I’ve always admired you,” he says under his breath.
“You admire me? How?”
Peeta cracks a smile. “In every way.”
“I just wanted you to know I wasn’t surprised a bit when you volunteered so your sister wouldn’t be selected. You’re so brave.”
For the last thirty meters or so, the guards have steadily lost breath and are now wheezing due to the increasingly higher altitude. We would certainly be punished for talking if our keepers weren’t struggling to breathe. Instead, they stare at Peeta and I, and I hate that they’re our audience. One of the guards mumbles, “lunatic,” to the other under his breath.
Ignoring the men, I look down at my feet before speaking, embarrassed by my feelings. I admire Peeta too. “I think you would have volunteered, if your brother was the one chosen. You’re kind. Generous.”
“I wish we’d spoken before now,” Peeta says.
“Me too,” I say, meeting his glance.
We’re almost at the summit now. This conversation is little more than a way to distract ourselves, but I’m comforted by it. I feel less alone knowing I’ll have a friend by my side when it all ends, although I don’t want Peeta to die, either.
KPKPKPKPKP
The priest, followed by two small boys holding the train of his robe off the ground, descends the steps to the pavilion where he'll lead the sacrifice at a safe distance. The crowd waits for the ritual to begin.
Peeta and I alone are at the summit of the mountain, bound together on the altar stone. A ring of straw and twigs encircle us, ready to catch fire the moment the archer’s flaming arrow reaches it. Peeta and I are no longer shackled by our wrists but sit upright, facing away from each other.
When the priest speaks I can’t make out what he is saying. His back is to us, addressing the crowd. I recognize the archer setting up his gear. “That was supposed to be me,” I tell Peeta.
“Who was?” he asks, turning his head my way.
Right. Peeta can’t see what I do, facing the other way.
“The archer, Marvel. I was training for that position. I’m a better shot than him.” I pause. “I think it’s almost time to begin. The arrow is lit,” I add. My voice trembles, the fear catching up to me, good and strong.
Behind my back, Peeta sighs. “Katniss? Hold my hand and don’t let go, please.”
His grip is warm and strong, and eases the panic boiling in my belly.
When the priest stops talking and the archer draws back on his bow string I close my eyes. “It’s coming,” I warn Peeta, pressing my back against his, wishing I could disappear behind his broad shoulders.
The crowd falls silent. I wait, preparing to hear the sizzle of brush and twigs catching fire. Instead there’s the sensation of air moving above our heads. Marvel overshot us. “He missed,” I say.
Behind me Peeta laughs softly, the sound inside his chest rumbling against my shoulder blades. I squeeze his hand, he squeezes mine back.
As Marvel releases the shot he stumbles. Odd- he isn’t as good as I am with a bow, but his balance is good.
But it’s not just Marvel faltering on the mountainside. The ground below us shakes, rumbles, and deep trenches appear beneath the priest, the King’s Guard, and the entirety of the village. I watch in horror as everyone I’ve ever known disappears into massive, gaping maws of darkness below us. It happens so fast they hardly have time to scream in terror. Once every person, every soul is gone, the trenches close again, sealing them underground. The village. Peeta’s mother and brother. My mother.
Prim.
All gone. Peeta and I are left alone on the altar rock.
“Our god had a different sacrifice planned,” Peeta says sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry Katniss.”
I am stunned into silence. The ropes that bind Peeta and I together fall away when we pull away from each other, as if they’d never held any tension at all.
Description: Steve goes through a bad breakup, but a sweet voice and a friendly smile helps him realize he can begin again, and that he definitely should.
Masterlist HERE.
Word Count: 7,980 ish.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bartender!Reader.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: Angst. Curse words. Mentions of drinking to numb the pain, sorta. Sad Steebie, then a resolved Steebie. Mentions of cheating, and the crappy feels that come after.
Requested: Nah, but it is for @cxptain 1k followers prompt challenge! And the prompt will be in Part 2! Anywho aaaaah!! Congrats to you lovely, you deserve every one of those followers and yet so so many more! Here’s to many, many more to come for you! And I can’t wait to watch as your lovely blog as it grows and grows! ❤️❤️❤️
A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.
Lovely page divider by writeyourmindaway
This is set in the Post Endgame, Everyone Lives AU. Endgame happened about 2 years before the beginning of this story, but no one died during Endgame, and Steve stayed in the future. However, he did still hand the mantle of Captain over to Sam. Also, this part is based off the Dean Lewis song of the same name, Be Alright. So, hope you enjoy!
Steve stood there, completely frozen in his spot in the middle of her kitchen. He’d only arrived moments ago, but he could already feel the shift in the air. He could already sense the impending destruction coming at him, at full force. And deep down he knew in the next few moments, everything would change. The next words out of her mouth would ruin everything, would shatter him completely.
He continued to stare at the floor between him and the woman he loves, the one he knows he will have to stop loving after tonight. He doesn’t know why he feels this way, he just does. And he isn’t ready to face the incoming heartache.
After a final deep breath in, he slowly slides his eyes up and sees her face is unchanged. It wasn’t just a trick of his mind, this isn’t just a joke, he’s not having a nightmare. All the emotions he’d noticed the moment he entered this kitchen are still very much there. Just under the surface, there is no way to mistake them. Her eyes are sad, so damn sad, and he knows that if they could, they’d be drowning in the unshed tears.
His eyes lock on hers for only a moment, before she can’t keep the contact any longer. She turns her head away from him, she’s trying to hide whatever is pooling in her eyes now. She’s trying to find the strength to voice the things screaming at her, in her mind. On instinct—or just from muscle memory, he can’t be sure—he reaches out for her hand to comfort her. A move he’s done time and time again. And the moment he takes her smaller one in his own, he almost retracts from how cold she feels. No longer is her skin warm and comforting, now it’s cold and unknown.
But he doesn’t even get the chance to pull away, because before he can, she does it for him once again. This was his second attempt to touch her, and she wasn’t having any part of either tries. She wanted no contact right now, be it from touch or eyes.
Steve would give anything to hear her thoughts in this moment. He wonders what is running through her mind. Why she can’t look at him. Why he can’t touch her.
He doesn’t have to wonder, silently, for long though.
“I made a dumb mistake,” she finally whispers, and he can’t miss the tremble in her voice—Or how her body is starting to resemble that now as well. But he can’t give it much more thought, when she turns her regret-filled, watery eyes to meet his, finally. Her voice breaking slightly on her next words, “those cigarettes weren’t, Bucky’s. They were my friend’s.”
His brows furrow, what’s so bad about that? It only takes him a second more for it to all click. The way her voice quivered on the word ‘friend’. He couldn’t have heard that right. She couldn’t mean what he thinks she means.
Without even realizing what he’s doing, he reaches out and cups her cheek. He doesn’t know why he does it, maybe so he could keep her eyes on him long enough to find the answers he wants in them. To find the truth he begs internally is there. That he heard her wrong, that he’s overthinking this all. He desperately wants to find in her eyes, that this isn’t what he thinks it is.
But he is crushed when he does see the truth, because it’s not the truth he wanted. It’s the truth that he had in fact heard right. That he wasn’t imagining anything. Yes, they’d had issues in their relationship. Yes, he was away a lot and he knew it killed her. That she hated how often he was away on missions. How she felt neglected and alone. They’d have many long nights arguing over these exact things. But he never thought it would end like this. Not once did he see this outcome coming.
Her next words tell him she is moving on. He didn’t even know they’d gotten this bad. He didn’t even realize they were in a place where she could move on from him. But clearly they had.
“I kissed him yesterday—well, actually he, he kissed me,” she turns her face away from his grasp, and his arm falls limp beside him. A tear rolls down her cheek, and she quickly swipes it away as her shaky voice adds, “but I didn’t stop him. I kissed him back.”
He feels it as the colour drains from his face, the deep claws of betrayal clasping onto his heart in a deadly grip. He takes a small step back, as if her words were a physical blow. He shakes his head as everything sinks in, but he can’t shake how her admission has made him feel. He knows he should walk away, but he is frozen in his spot once again. He wants to stay and fix this, but he knows from the look in her eye that there is no fixing this now. There is no going back.
He looks at her for a moment more, this woman he loves, this woman he wanted to spend his life with. Yeah, they had a lot of really bad moments, but they also had a bunch of really nice ones too. With one more deep, shuddering breath in, he turns on his heel without a word and walks out of her place. The door slamming in finality, as if it were the period at the end of a sentence, the end of their relationship.
“You alright there, big guy?” A sweet voice inquires softly in the loud space around him, but even with all the background noise, he couldn’t miss the concern playing in every word.
He glances up from his glass, the one he’d just been staring into for God knows how long. Long enough at least for the ice cubes to have all melted now, and the drink to have turned warm in his clutches. He knows he can’t actually get drunk, but there is something so therapeutic about sitting alone in a bar, with a drink in your hand. Where you are surrounded by lots of people, music, merriment and cheer. Where there is someone resting their eyes on the bar top near the end, and groups of friends piled into booths or around pool tables. Everyone going about their lives, with no notice of him or his troubles. He feels unnoticed, anonymous, and that’s exactly what he needs to feel right now.
He’s never been to this establishment before, walked by it hundreds of times on his route to his girlfriends place. And in this moment, he can’t understand why he’s never stepped foot in this pub. He’s eyes drift around the room quickly, everyone is enjoying themselves, everyone is keeping to themselves. Not a single person even paying him a moment's notice. As if he was just a random stranger, and not the man out of time. He likes it here, he decides.
His eyes finally slip over to the bearer of the sweet voice, and if Steve hadn’t just had a bomb dropped in the middle of his life. If he hadn’t just walked out the door of his girlfr—ex girlfriends apartment, he’d probably have felt his heart flutter at the beautiful creature before him. He probably would have drowned in the beautiful hues of her eyes, or begged to hear her soothing voice once more, or melted at the soft up-tilt at the corners of her lips, or blushed at her unwavering attention—which was solely placed on him at the moment, and no one else.
But he is numb right now. He is broken, and shattered, and above all else, hurt. He is sitting alone in this bar, wishing he could get drunk on the booze in his glass, and ignoring his phone that has been vibrating endlessly from its current place, face down on the bar top where it’s been sitting ignored for the last hour. Message after message, and a bunch of missed calls, but all from his friends. Not from her trying to reach out to tell him it was all a sick joke, or that she wants to try to fix things. But he knows for a fact that none of these messages or calls are from her. They couldn’t be now.
Because he’s been in this bar for 2 hours at this point, and he’d already reread a bunch of their messages. He’d already looked back at all the ones she’d sent, trying to pinpoint where it all went wrong. He knew he shouldn’t have, he knew it wasn’t right, but this was all just fucking with his head. Causing him to make bad decisions.
Bad decisions like reliving a bunch of their moments through pictures, the ones he’d slowly gone through and deleted of her. Of them. Every little piece of her that was saved and held so safely, so lovingly, in this little brick of metal and plastic. He knows he shouldn’t have looked at the photos before he deleted them, but his gluttonous mind told him he had to see it all just once more. He’d gone down memory lane for a solid hour, before he had finally deleted every photo, and then, just before deleting her contact info from his phone, he’d blocked her number.
It wasn’t so much to prevent her from contacting him, it was more to prevent him from getting his hopes up every time his phone made a sound. Every time it vibrated with an incoming text, or rang with a phone call. He knows his silly mind and hurt heart would skip a beat every time his phone made even the smallest of sounds. And just the thought of that alone was maddening, was enough to drive him insane. So blocking her meant he knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was not her. It could not be her anymore.
“I’ll be alright,” he answers, the words feeling like a lie at the moment, but he knows they’ll be true one day. Some day. He takes a sip of his drink, his nose crinkling just a little at the instant reminder that his drink is now warm. As he sets the glass back down, he finishes his words off more truthfully, “soon enough.”
A soft giggle plays in the thick air around him, effortlessly cutting away some of its weight. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. But do you want me to get you a new drink or maybe some fresh ice?”
She’d clearly seen the disgusted look he’d sported just after sipping his now warm drink.
He is just about to shake his head, he can’t get drunk anyways, so there is really no point in his wasting his money on booze that’s essentially just for show. But before he can even begin to move his head, she beats him to it by gently taking the glass with the offending drink and dumping it in the sink between them, just under the bar top. “Ya know what? Let’s just get you a new one, my treat.”
Now he does shake his head, “that’s not necessary, really. But thank you.”
And she just outright ignores him, making and then placing a fresh drink before him. And then she leans in, her elbows resting on the bar as she gives him a small look. One that is both serious and yet so so cheeky, and he honestly doesn’t know what to make of it.
“Just between you and me, booze is never necessary,” she shakes her head softly, “but it does help sometimes.” She gives him a small half smile, as she pushes off the bar to stand back up, before knocking her knuckles on the top as if to get his full attention. But little does she know, she already has it. “I hope it’s able to help you tonight, big guy,” she says, not unkindly, not as if he needed the booze to actually help him. More sweetly, hopefully even, as if she prays this final drink will be the last moment in his bad times, and once it’s finished all his worries will just disappear, like the booze in his glass.
And he hopes so too.
Bucky’s voice pulls his attention back from his phone, where he’d once again been going over their texts. Still trying desperately to find where it all went wrong. He’d deleted everything else about her off his phone, but 2 months ago, when his thumb had hovered over the delete button for their text conversation for the first time, he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t ready to delete that final piece of her. Probably due to the small hope in him that they could still fix this, that this was just a hurdle they had to work themselves through.
Deleting photos is one thing, you can just take new ones. You can find most of the photos, the important ones anyway, scattered throughout social media, if you really wanted them back. But deleting the text thread, that was so final. There was no going back from that. There was no getting all those little moments back. No way to remember and relive those Good Mornings and Sweet Dreams. No way to laugh over the silly conversations over her boss embarrassing himself, or the hilarious chats they had over Tony’s daily antics. There was no way to replay the sweet words typed to cheer the other up, or remind the other of their undying love.
He almost wants to laugh sardonically at that last thought. ‘Undying love’ his America’s ass, it was clearly anything but that.
"I know you loved her, but it's over now, pal,” Bucky says gently, but Steve can’t miss the finality in his friends words. He had spent the last 2 months since he walked out of her apartment moping around the tower. All his friends had been trying to cheer him up, trying to help him through it, help him move on from it, but he just wasn’t ready yet. “It’s never easy to walk away, but you gotta let her go. It’ll be okay soon, you’ll see.”
Steve just nods numbly as he clutches the phone tightly in his hand, a momentary thought that if he tightens his hold even just a fraction more, the phone will be crushed. Broken beyond repair. And maybe that would be for the best? Then their texts would just be gone, and he wouldn’t have to be the one to delete them. He wouldn’t have to put forth the effort to finally click delete, like he’s tried and failed multiple times to do over the last 2 months.
“It's gonna hurt for a bit of time,” Sam adds softly, as if handling a wild animal that could snap and kill him at any moment, if he even so much as makes a single wrong move. And maybe that’s smart on Sam's part, maybe Steve is a wild animal right now. He doesn’t want to be, he doesn’t want to hurt anymore. He doesn’t want to be coddled anymore, he doesn’t want to be the reason his friends feel like they have to walk on eggshells around him anymore. But heartbreak does insane things to a person. Sam gives Steve a small, pensive smile as if assessing him for a moment. He seems to find whatever he was searching for, Steve guesses, as he motions to the half empty drink in front of Steve. The very one Bucky had doused with Asgardian Mead right after they had been delivered to their table. “So bottoms up, let's just forget tonight. You'll find another one, one day, man, and you'll be just fine. But you gotta let her go first."
Steve nods once more, as he forces his phone into his jeans pocket, feeling the warm metal slide along his thigh as it goes. He raises the drink up to his lips and drains the remains, before he’s even put the glass back down on the table, Bucky’s hand is in the air, calling the bartender over with another round.
He is starting to feel the mead now, it’s starting to fill him with a fuzzy warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. His mind is becoming more muddled and hazy, but in all the best ways. He takes a deep breath in, relishing the blankness the liquor is painting his mind now. It’s a welcome reprieve after the 2 months he’s just had.
“Here ya are, guys,” the bartender says as she places down three fresh drinks.
And Steve furrows his brows at the familiar sweet voice. His eyes snap up from the table and land on that same bartender he’d talked to, two months back. He hadn’t seen her once since they’d arrived here an hour ago, and he figures she must work the later shift. As the first time he was here, by himself, she hadn’t been the original one to help him. Her inquiry into his state had been their first interaction, he hadn’t even noticed that night, in his hurt and heartbroken little bubble, when she’d relieved the male bartender. The original one who’d been supplying his drinks for the first 2 hours of his first visit.
And now, once again, he hadn’t even noticed her relieve the male bartender. Hadn’t even noticed her enter the pub. Hadn’t even noticed her approach their table. How he hadn’t, he has no idea. His eyes take her in, more fully this time than the last. She’s beautiful. How had he missed that before?
Her eyes drift over to his, as if she can feel him looking. A flash of confusion in her eyes is followed very closely by what he thinks is recognition, and then the small uptick of the corners of her lips follows them both. “How ya holding up, big guy?”
And yep, it was in fact recognition he’d thought he saw.
Steve feels the involuntary smile pulling on the edges of his lips, and he does nothing to stop it from happening. He hasn’t smiled, even a small one, in months, and he can’t bring himself to kill this one now. It’s nothing to write home about, but it’s a small step in the right direction. “I’ll be alright, soon enough,” he replies, the words sounding just a little better this time around. Just a little less like a lie, just a little more truthful, hopeful even.
Her smile grows just a tad bigger at his words, and a small, soft voice in the back of his mind informs him that she’s even more beautiful when she smiles.
“That’s really good to hear, you don’t suit the frown,” she says honestly, as their eyes stay locked for just a second more, before she breaks the contact to glance around the table to his two best friends. “If you guys need anything else, just holler,” then she gives him a final glance, paired with a small nod before she heads back over to the bar. And if Steve said he didn’t watch her make her way back over to the other side of the pub, he’d be a liar.
“Now I understand why he was so insistent on coming here tonight,” Sam mutters under his breath to Bucky, fully aware Steve also has super soldier hearing and would catch every word.
And he had, as he now rolls them over in his mind a few times, and honestly, he’d just wanted to come back here because he’d liked the atmosphere. He’d liked that no one gawked at him, or bothered him. Everyone here had just seemed in their own little worlds, much like he’d been—Or at least that’s the excuse his mind had conjured up for his true reasonings behind not wanting to go anywhere else, for his first time out in 2 months.
But maybe that wasn’t the real reason at all. Maybe he hadn’t even realized the true drive to return to this little obscure pub, tucked away between a flower shop and a thrift store.
Steve finally drags his eyes away from the beautiful bartender and back to his friends, not missing the looks they are both sending him now. He just stays silent, refusing to say a single word. Refusing to fill in the blanks around the interaction he’d just had with the beautiful bartender.
“So,” Bucky says slowly, after a few silent moments, about to voice the question that’d just been lingering in the air around them. Clearly his curiosity couldn’t handle waiting any longer for the answer to come on it’s own. “You gonna share who the pretty dame is, Punk, or?” he trails off there, and Steve watches as one corner of his best pals lips slowly tilts up in an interested but cheeky smirk, growing with every passing second that Steve doesn’t reply.
He fights his own smile entirely this time, as he pulls his phone from his pocket, while he answers flatly, vaguely, “the bartender.” Steve is a little shit, and he is completely aware of that fact.
Bucky sighs exasperatedly, that wasn’t the answer he’d wanted, Steve guesses, “I meant, what’s her name, ya cheeky bugger.”
Steve snorts as he stares intently at the screen of his phone, he knows his next reply isn’t going to satisfy his friends curiosity anymore than his last one did. He shrugs, nonchalantly, as his eyes drift back to her behind the bar, “dunno, never actually got her name.”
Bucky groans into his glass at his lips, but the chuckle that follows it shows he wasn’t really that upset. And Sam playfully mutters something Steve couldn’t quite hear. Or maybe he just didn’t care to listen hard enough to actually hear him.
“You planning on finding out her name?” Sam asks after a moment, his voice is much louder this time.
Steve finally turns back to his friends. “Yeah, maybe one day,” he replies, taking a sip of his drink and instantly noticing Bucky had already added the mead to it. When had he done that? Beats Steve. Was he complaining? Not in the slightest. “When I’m ready,” he adds as his eyes drop down to his phone’s screen once more, and with a deep stabilizing inhale and a resolved exhale, he finally clicks ‘delete.’
It’s time to start actually letting her go now.
His heart pumps in his ears, not much louder or faster than usual, but he can hear it so clearly in the early morning silence. It’s his first run through the park in months, he’d been away on basically back to back missions for the last 6. Throwing himself head first into whatever and wherever he was needed. He’d just got off a 4 week undercover mission in Italy, and had finally decided it was time for a break. It was time to just be home for a bit and settle back into normal everyday life.
When he’d first started accepting and requesting missions 6 months ago, it had been for the distraction. It had been to put his brain power to a better use, instead of sitting around and mopping about his breakup. He’d needed missions to keep him out of the dark places in his head, to keep him away from the ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’.
But after a couple months, he no longer felt like he needed the distraction anymore. He felt like he was through the worst of it, but he feared that was only because he was still out there, still working away and doing his part to help the world. So he’d just continued on, taking any and every mission presented to him. His friends had started to worry he was pushing himself too much, that he was forcing himself to keep going too hard. And yeah, they were probably right, he probably was.
But his fear of coming home, only to instantly have all those deep emotions he’d been trying to, and successfully, escaping, kept him going. His fears that the second he stopped, they’d all come flooding back. That he’d find himself nowhere near as healed and moved on as he’d truly thought he was while away.
But even super soldiers needed a break sometimes. So after these last 4 weeks of pretending to be someone else entirely, he decided it was time to drop all the personas and just be Steve Rogers for a while.
The first few days back, he waited impatiently for the emotions and heartache to come. He waited for his mind to drift to those dark places once again. But after a week of being home, neither of those things ever happened. He still felt like he had out there in the world, working away every day. And the realization that he had actually let her go now, was a glorious one indeed.
So glorious that his friends believed a celebration was in order. Though they pretended that wasn’t the reason behind it at all, that it was just a ‘welcome home’ party for Steve. One that for some reason wasn’t even mentioned when he’d actually come home, but instead a week later. And yes, everyone had been present in the tower for the last week, so that wasn’t the excuse. And no, no one had brought this up once over the last week. It had only been decided on this morning by Tony, and he’d used the exact words ‘a welcome back party for Cap’. Steve believed the welcome back part was referring more to his mental state, than his physical one, but he’d let them have their party. And he’d enjoy it too, having missed them all immensely over the last few mon—
He felt it before he heard it, the impact of something small slamming into him, followed by a sound of someone's breath leaving their lungs with force, “ooof.”
His arms luckily worked faster than his brain, and managed to catch whoever Steve had just ran right into. His eyes taking just a few seconds longer to get the memo, before they dropped down to inspect the poor person he had just about barrelled down, but their head was still clasped delicately but firmly to his chest so he couldn’t make out if they were actually okay or not.
The smaller form quickly extracts themselves from the embrace, untangling their arms from around him, where they’d clearly also reacted hastily to prevent their swift meeting with the ground. And as they are pulling back, a sweet voice meets his ears and causes him to perk up. “I’m so sorry, are you alright? I was not paying any attention to where I was—“
His eyes widen for just a second, not long enough to be noticeable to anyone but him, before he quickly catches and corrects it. Of all people to slam into, it had to be her.
No, not her, her. Her, as in the beautiful bartender. And Steve can’t help it as his eyes take her in once again, more thoroughly this time, taking in new details of her face that he hadn’t even noticed the last two times he’s seen her. In his defence though, he had a lot going on back then, and the pub wasn’t exactly brightly lit. At least nowhere near as bright as this open and airy spot in the park is, what with the glorious summer morning sun lighting up the world around them both.
His heart flutters just a little, when he sees the shock morph into recognition, then finally into something he can only believe is happiness. Fondness even.
“I’ll be alright,” he says as a small cheeky grin plays on his lips, he is well aware he’s basically only ever said the same few words to her, but he likes how they have changed a little each time he’s said them, “soon enough.”
Her smile now matches the sun shining down on them both, and the soft voice from before, the one at the back of his mind, is a little louder this time, as it informs him that she is stunning when she smiles like that.
“And this time, I actually believe you, big guy,” she nods, and he can’t miss her smile shifting into a grin. A cheeky as hell one, and Steve decides he likes that smile best. If he’s honest, it suits her best, at least from what he can tell. She playfully rubs at her head as if it was hurting her, “but for real, what are you made of, freaking lead?”
He chuckles deep in his chest, shaking his head, “some days, I definitely think I am.”
She giggles at that, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. It’s something that he feels like he could never get sick of hearing, no matter how many times he does. Then, the next place his mind goes is that he desperately wants to hear it again.
However, all those thoughts fly out of his head when what just happened finally clicks fully in, and he instantly wants to kick himself for not asking this yet. “Are you alright though? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His eyes roam over her, not to ogle, but just to assess that she is in fact okay. As if he could actually tell just by looking, the schmuck.
She nods, “oh yes, I’m okay. Not the first time I’ve distractedly walked into someone. And it definitely won’t be the last,” she chuckles softly at that.
Steve signs in relief, glad he hadn’t hurt her, then something in him pushes his next words out, as if he were the most confident man on the planet, “are you heading somewhere right now? Could I buy you a coffee, to make up for the whole running into you thing?”
A light pink dusts her cheeks, as she glances down at the ground shyly, “I would love nothing more then to say yes to that offer, but I’m actually just heading to the pub to deal with a few last minute issues. And I’m already running rather late.” She glances back up at him, a small frown marring her features in a way that makes Steve want to do everything in his power to bring back her sunshine.
He doesn’t though, and instead just nods, as disappointment seeps through him, but he hides it as best he can behind a small understanding smile. “That’s alright, another time then.”
She chews on her lower lip for a second, and he can’t miss the internal battle clear as the day in her eyes. Like she wants to just say ‘fuck it’ and go to coffee with him, but she knows she has somewhere else to be. With a small sigh, she nods, “another time for sure.” She glances down at her watch, and a small groan leaves her lips, before she looks back up at him. “I’m so sorry, I really have to go, but it was so nice seeing you again, big guy.” She goes to walk passed him, but halts and glances up at him once more, “come visit me one night soon?”
He smiles down at her, a small nod of his head, “of course.”
Her smile grows bright and brilliant once again before she heads off towards the pub. Steve glances over his shoulder to watch her leave, and just as he is about to focus back on his morning run, he swears he hears her mutter “stupid Tony Stark.”
But he couldn’t have heard that right, right?
He shakes his head and then starts running in the opposite direction, on his way back to the tower. Already planning his next visit to the pub, his next chance to see the beautiful bartender, that seems to be slowly infiltrating his mind. In all the best ways.
He stands stunned on the sidewalk, staring up at the outside of the establishment Tony had booked for his ‘welcome back’ party. The very same establishment he’d been planning all day to visit, the first evening he has off this week. Was this just a coincidence? Had Tony just booked this place by complete fluke?
One glance at the man in question, then to his two best friends, tells him this was no mistake. This was all planned perfectly, in their minds. He sighs as he shakes his head to himself, he isn’t sure what the entire night's plan is, and he hopes it won’t be too embarrassing. But with his group of friends, it probably will be.
Tony is the first to move towards the door, all the avengers having stood on the sidewalk for a moment to allow their pub choice to really sink in. To all watch his reaction to their party venue for the night. And it hits him then, that his entire team now clearly knows of the beautiful bartender. He glances at Sam and Bucky, both looking a little bashful and he knows they spilled the beans.
Probably not on purpose though, because they did work with spies. And talking to Nat could turn into an interrogation real quick. Without her victim even realizing it. If she got even a hint of you hiding something, she would expertly have you telling her all your dirty secrets before you even noticed it.
And Clint, well, you never really knew where he was at any given moment, so he overheard way more than he should. But never gave too much indication that he knew anything, most times. Spies—Steve chuckles as he starts to follow his friends into the pub—ya couldn’t keep a damn thing away from them.
And as for Tony, Steve is positive he had Friday inform him whenever a couple team members were having a deep conversation. Steve is also positive that Tony has specific trigger words for Friday to listen out for, and inform him the second one is uttered aloud. Things like: Date, Kiss, Mistake, Mad, Pissed, or Tell me—and honestly, probably hundreds more. Just small words that could be a part of a much more risqué conversation. Because Tony seemed to also just know everything about everyone. He always had some form of blackmail at his disposal.
Just as he is about to head through the door, a familiar sweet voice hits his ears.
“Hello, Mr. Stark, Welcome to The Black Swan,” the lovely voice pauses as the rest of them make it through the door. The group probably looking rather intimidating, all huddled in the entrance of the pub. “Is this your whole party?”
“It is,” Tony replies as he looks around the quaint pub in curiosity.
Steve’s eyes finally land on her, as hers quickly assess all the party members, and when they skim right past him, he is almost sad for it. That is, until she double takes, and shock fills her face. She corrects it quickly, and gives him a small hesitant smile before shifting her eyes back to Tony. “The party room is all set up for you guys, if you’ll just follow me.”
He follows behind dutifully, as she leads them through the scarcely occupied pub, and to a set of double doors that he’d never noticed before. Not that he’d been here often, nor was he too caring of his full surroundings those first two visits. She pushes open the doors, motioning for the group to enter the room, as she states, “make yourself at home, everyone. Kelly and Michael will be your tenders tonight, and they’ll come in to take your orders in a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” the group says or mutters collectively, in response as they make their way into the small banquet room.
As he passes by her, he sends her a smile, and she returns it, though it’s nowhere near as bright as earlier in the park. It almost looks uncomfortable. Forced even. And he wants to question if she’s alright this time, but she nods and walks off before he can even utter a sound. He watches her go, once again, before he shakes his head, making a note to track her down later, and privately see if she is okay.
His eyes move to the room, as he is the last one to enter, and it’s not a banquet hall at all, it’s more of a lounge. Inviting and plush black leather couches and chairs are set up in the middle of the room. A few tables around and between them, plus near the edges of the room, with soft lighting overhead. Old black and white photos and prints scattered across the walls, showcasing the pub and its guests throughout the years.
Steve decides he rather likes this room, likes the atmosphere just as much as the rest of the pub. It’s inviting, and casual, and airy, and, and friendly; all things he appreciates, and is sure has entirely to do with the beautiful bartender. Or at least, he believes it has to do with her at least.
“Well, you all heard the woman, make yourselves comfortable,” Tony chirps as he heads over to one of the big black chairs and plops himself down unceremoniously. Which causes Steve to chuckle through a head shake as he heads over to get seated with the others.
“Is she the owner?” Bucky pipes up after everyone has settled. The question to anyone else’s ears would just sound nonchalant and unimportant. Like it was just a random question that popped into his head just now. But the look in Bucky’s eyes, as he’d stared Steve down while asking, tells him it very much wasn’t a random question, but instead a well played and quickly planned attack.
“Little miss?” Tony clarifies, tilting his head towards the door, and Bucky gives him a nod in confirmation, then he answers a second later. “Yeah, she is. Sweet girl,” he notes, “had a wonderful chat with her this morning. I was intrigued, she isn’t that old, yet she fully owns this place all on her own.” His eyes catch Steve’s, “we just talked business for a bit. I enjoy learning how others amassed their empires, even the small ones.”
And yep, Steve is fully aware, from the cheeky look in Tony’s eyes, that he knows the entire story behind his small, and few, interactions with the beautiful barten—bar owner, he corrects. Tony wasn’t curious about how she acquired the pub at a young age, he was just digging for information for his own personal gains. Maybe he just wanted to know enough about her so he could run a background check or something.
Or maybe it was for entirely different reasons, Steve can’t be sure at the moment. But what he is sure of, is that Tony will let him know the exact reasons behind his lengthy talk with her, soon enough.
The night goes well, minus the lack of a beautiful bar owner, but that’s just a Steve problem. As he glances around the room at his friends, his family, all at different stages of intoxication, him and Bucky included, he smiles. He really did miss them all, just as he’d missed nights like this. Ones where he felt like himself, like at this very moment he had not a single care in the world. Like he hadn’t just gone through a breakup, the end of his 2 year relationship with a woman he thought he’d grow old with.
He missed being able to just have a fun and relaxed evening with his friends, not having to hide any part of him away and plaster on a fake smile to play the part of a well adjusted man. Instead, his smile was real, and he wasn’t hiding a damn thing.
Bucky had smuggled more mead into the pub with them, so Steve was feeling the effects of it right about now. Not enough to be drunk, but enough to be a little less sober than he normally was. Tipsy, as Sam always called it.
His eyes adjust to the pool table before him, after a few drinks, a few team members had decided a game of pool was in order. So the ones who wanted to partake, had left the sanctum of the lounge and ventured into the main part of the pub to take over one of the pool tables. Right now, Sam and Bucky were up against Nat and Clint, and the game was getting a little intense. Both sides wanting to win it all, for the bragging rights and the meagre funds they’d all placed down in the beginning. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was more then they’d all walked in the joint with.
Steve was standing off to the side, his mead spiked drink in hand, watching the intense battle as it played out. Every so often, his eyes would drift to the bar, seeking out a familiar form, but they’d never find the one they were looking for. He checked his watch, seeing it was nearing 11, and he is pretty sure, if his memory is accurate—which it usually is, that she normally started her shifts around that time. At least from the hazy memories in his mind, he is pretty sure that’s correct. He’d never really been looking at the time, both his other visits here. Though he’d spent a lot of those two times staring at his phone’s screen. Not at the time, but he could just remember it on the edges of his memories. Peeking just above where his eyes were focused on, both those nights.
And yeah, he’s pretty sure both times he’d seen her for the first time those two evenings, was just after 11. Almost completely positive about it, actually.
His eyes check his watch once more, seeing it’s just passed 11, and then they flick up to the bar once again. And yep, there she is, in all her radiant and relaxed glory, he notes quickly in his mind. And before he can think better of it, he’s making his way towards the bar, unconsciously seeking out her presence. As if he just needs to be closer to her, he just needs some small piece of her attention. Maybe it’s the booze, or maybe it’s something more. He doesn’t dig deeper into the true reasons behind it, and instead just allows his body to make the calls all on it’s own. He isn’t complaining with the direction it’s taking him currently, anyways.
He takes a seat in an open spot at the bar, placing his drink down in front of him as he does. She is busy making someone else’s drink at the moment, so he just waits patiently for her to notice him. Realize he is sitting here now, and come over to him on her own.
That doesn’t take long, once she finishes off the drink she glances down, as if again being able to sense his eyes on her, and makes her way towards him. Stopping once she is directly across the bar top from him.
“Hey, big guy,” she sends him a small smile, the nickname she’s always used for him making him return the gesture, “need a refill?”
He glances momentarily down at his drink, before gently shaking his head, “no. I’m okay for now.”
She nods, and before she can take her leave, he pipes up, “so, you own the place?”
Her eyes leave him, and travel around the space fondly, “I do.” Then they find his again, as she leans on the bar top, just like his first time here. And when her voice comes out, it’s just above a whisper, keeping her words between them, and only them, “so, you’re an Avenger?”
Steve grins, as her earlier reactions make more sense to him now. She obviously hadn’t realized who he was the first two visits, not till he showed up with the whole team of world saving superheroes, and looking like the only one who’d fit the original Captains descriptions.
“I am,” he nods, taking a sip of his drink but not taking his eyes off her. He doesn’t want to miss a damn thing.
She nods, the cheeky look back on her face. The exact one he is really starting to enjoy more and more, everytime he sees it, “and their Captain at that.”
“I was,” he corrects. “Gave that title over to Sam a few years back. Wanted to step back a bit, maybe finally have a life of my own.”
“And how did that go for you?” She asks, intrigued, “Did you get the life you wanted?”
He thinks the innocent question over, not missing the small, yet deep undertones within it. Or at least what his mind takes as a deeper underlying meankng, just due to all he’s personally been through since handing the mantle of the Captain over to Sam. He hums, answering truthfully, “at first, it went well. I thought I’d found it in the beginning, but I’m realizing more and more that I hadn’t actually found it. Not truly, at least. Not in the way I’d thought.”
She hums in understanding, nodding her head softly, and then she looks him dead in the eye, “so, what are you going to do about that then, big guy?”
He thinks the question over for a moment again, he’s never told her about his ex, or why he’d ended up in this pub 8 months back, but the twinkle in her eye tells him she’d figured it out. Or at least figured out the basics. That she understands that his words truly meant he thought he had found a life with his ex, but then he hadn’t in the end. And now he needs to figure out where to go from that. Where he wants his own life to go. No more living it for someone else, he needs to live it for himself. For Steve Rogers, the scrappy little kid from Brooklyn.
He gives her a small smile, taking a sip of his drink before he answers, “I’m going to try again.”
She smiles brightly at him, “that’s a wonderful idea, Steve. You deserve the world, and don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t.”
He nods, trying to hide how much he loved hearing his name fall so effortlessly from her lips. “I won’t. Promise.”
She nods, pleased with his answer, then glances down the bar before turning back to him as she pushes off the top, “well, duty calls.” She gestures to his glass, “need a refill before I go?”
Steve shakes his head softly, “no, I think this is my last one for the night.” For awhile, he actually means.
She nods once more, a small happy smile on her lips, before she ventures off to help someone else, and Steve gets up to head back over to the pool tables. To his friends.
But all throughout the rest of the night, he finds himself still glancing back at the beautiful bar owner, as she floats around happily in her own little world. In her element. In the space she’d built entirely by herself. For herself. Something Steve knows he needs to do for himself, as well, he needs to build the world around him that he wants. The life he deserves, entirely on his own and just for him. Not for anyone else.
And as Steve glances at her once more, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so breathtaking in his life—No, scratch that. He is positive he never has. He knows for a fact, that he hasn’t. Not yet, at least.
And as the night draws to an end and Steve heads back to his house, walking part way with his friends, he finally realizes that he will in fact Be Alright. Completely and entirely, Soon Enough.
(This fic actually took some inspiration, at least looks and height wise, from @10yrsyart Book Omens character designs. Though they’re not described explicitly so they can be hc in any way you like!)
Summary: Written for Book Omens Week.
Crowley and Aziraphale drink quite a bit, this time for pleasure rather than for the stress, and fall asleep on the sofa in the back room of the bookshop.
They wake up with terrible hangovers.
---
[1] Daffodils, or Narcissus flowers, mean “Egotism, Formality” in the language of flowers, but are also closely related to a Greek word meaning “intoxication” (which is narcotic). Dalia is a name that in Arabic stems from the word for grapevine and in Hebrew from the word for [tip of a] branch, especially that of a grapevine or an olive tree.
Aziraphale smiled, eyes closed, and cuddled up against Crowley on the couch he’d been previously sure was too small for the both of them to comfortably fit on. He was inordinately pleased with the couch for not being so, and the couch was rather chuffed at the silent, but still angelic, praise being thought about it. Crowley had threatened it telepathically and was rather glad it didn’t fight back against any Entirely Reasonable Expectations TM and had, in fact, gathered it’s couch-y wits about it and widened accordingly. That being said, the couch, and their positions, were exceedingly comfortable.
Both the angel and demon had been drinking. It wasn’t for any particular reason so much as they enjoyed being in each other’s company but hadn’t quite gotten into the habit of not needing excuses for it even after being so thoroughly ignored by their respective sides— after hundreds of years, learning not to look over one’s shoulders was quite difficult indeed. So they drank and shared stories about the couple of weeks[2] they’d been apart, taking inventories and passing out miracles of both hellish and heavenly origins now that they no longer had quotas to meet or budgets to stick to.[3]
[2] Since they are rather immortal—not the unkillable kind, of course, just the long-lived kind— they have a somewhat shaky grasp of how much Time is considered long.
For the best comparison, it’s easiest to assume they tend to think of a Standard Human Year in the same way a Human might think of half a week. That is to say, not very long and not entirely unreasonable to not see someone for if you know they’ve been busy, but certainly long enough to start pining again if you’re in love. This, however, also means that Crowley is 100% a flash bastard with a hot new hobby or wardrobe every weekend to all the other immortals in his acquaintance.
[3] Crowley had quite a few quotas to meet that he often found difficult to reach with how humanity rarely needed much of a push in the first place (hence the reasons he took credit for them nonetheless, but the paperwork for the actual Demonic Intervention Miracles, or DIM, was Hellish. [3.1]). His budget for DIMs was approved ad infinitum in part because it was the only thing he’d asked for in recognition for his work Up Top with the Tree Debacle and also because Dagon decided not to bother dealing with requisition forms every 12 days on the dot for miracles to keep him from discorporation. Truly it was more work to give him a new corporation to his specifications than it was to keep him from coming back to Hell whining and complaining.
Aziraphale, on the other hand, was constrained in the other direction. He had quotas to meet and rarely had trouble with them as he was, in fact, a divine being of Love who liked to spread that Love as much as possible. He did, of course, have a bit of a terrible habit of tending towards unnecessary expenditures of Heavenly Ordained Enterprises, or HOE, like an extra marshmallow [3.2] or pulling a street urchin out of the way of a run-away cart without putting himself in self-sacrificing harm’s way.
[3.1] Pun intended, of course, because puns were the lowest form a wit. So low, one might say it was from Be-Low
[3.2] Gabriel had always given him a pass on re-warming his hot chocolate, though not tea or even coffee, as the word ‘hot’ was in the very name, and therefore must be kept that way, per Her will. Even if he didn’t quite know what chocolate was or why Aziraphale seemed to be around it so often to keep it warm.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, voice light and pleasant, as he dragged his fingertips through the lanky demon’s hair and down the back of his neck, “Have you heard about bees? They've got dances for maps. ”
Crowley snorted in response, shifted a little, but otherwise doesn’t move in Aziraphale’s arms. He was far too comfortable wrapped up in the warmth of an angel’s embrace and far too lazy besides. They were both also far too drunk to manage to untangle themselves from one another with any level of coordination. Best just stay like this, simpler that way, of course.
“Bees?” Crowley grinned. His voice canted up in mock incredulousness, nuzzling his face against Aziraphale’s chest, thoroughly sozzled. “ ‘Ve heard abou’ ‘em, yeah. S’what’s– what’s to do?”
Aziraphale blinked, a little slow and confused. “What’s about them, m’ dear? They're indoub– indo– very much needed! For grapes! And fruits, and pears.” Aziraphale’s face turned morose and tears gathered in his eyes. “A–and they’re dying !” He hiccuped a sob in the way drunk people do, sad enough to sound upset but not quite fully capable of processing most things, let alone complex emotions, to start crying in earnest about it.
“Shh!” Crowley shushed, startled by the sob, and clumsily patted at Aziraphale’s face with his free hand. It was more of a light smack really. The other was trapped underneath Aziraphale’s back, so, while rather useless in this instance, he wasn’t entirely inclined to be upset about it since it meant their chests were pressed together by necessity.
“S’ok! S’ok, Angel! Adam's set it to rights–a bit–and you can use you’re miracles or somethin’, jus’ yanno, maybe make some more flowers and clovers. No one c’n be mad at you fer that, yeah?” Crowley panicked while attempting to sound calm.[4]
Aziraphale just hiccuped a few more sobs, face still dry even though his eyes were a bit on the blurry side. “Flowers? You know them?”
“Yeah, s’fine, Angel, shh. I’ll get you flowers, yeah? With bees in ‘em.”
“You– you will?” Aziraphale gasped, pulling Crowley into an even tighter embrace,[5] which he happily melted into.
“Mhm, should do,” Crowley muttered, breathing in deeply once Aziraphale’s arms relaxed around him again and closing his eyes. His mouth opened to take in the scent he was surrounded by, smelling of Aziraphale’s old barbershop cologne, wine and old books, and something that was uniquely Aziraphale.[6]
[4] He was rather terrible at that. Rarely did one meet someone who was more obviously panicked than Crowley, who sometimes looked panicked even when he was, in all actuality, entirely fine. Must be his face.
[5] It really was for the best Crowley didn’t need to breathe, even if he liked to. And that he had enough ribs and vertebrae to displace all the excess force in Aziraphale’s arms. The angel had been a Guardian for a reason, no matter how much he liked to play at being soft and harmless. Crowley never forgot, least of all like this, and even though as a demon he should be frightened by it, Aziraphale’s strength had always felt like a warm promise at his back, something that felt like safety.
[6] He smelt like light, pure and unexplainable, he also smelled like comfort, which was just as unexplainable as smelling like light but it felt quite a lot like Love. Which Crowley might admit to, one day, but only if he was cornered and only ever to Aziraphale himself. But then again, Crowley could be biased, and simply thought that Love smelled a lot like Aziraphale, instead of the reverse. He’d also be hard-pressed to ever admit that thought either.
