____________________________________________________________________________________________________ slight nsfw under the cut! men and minors, dni. _____
cw! : fem!reader, suggestive text, blood mention, comfort, no use of y/n or reader, takes place in the ten months after season one, established relationships with all but the obvious.
pairings: parker ellis x baker!reader, yolanda garcia x freak!reader, trinity santos x ballerina!user, joy kwon x preschool teacher!reader, cassie mckay x professor!reader. (It's a lot, lol, ik..)
summary: reader playfully threatens to come to their place of work.
Doctor’s orders say no sex until you heal… which becomes you and your girlfriend's least favorite rule to follow.
details: smut (poly), top!ellis, service switch!mel, bottom!reader, established relationship!dating, oral/fingering/strap in v, light injury (stitches, reader), fluff, very slight hurt/comfort
It was absolutely not a good idea. And yet, you’d done it anyway.
Now you were paying for it.
A hospital visit late at night. Bright lights. Sterile air. The dull, thudding ache in your side that made every breath feel too sharp, too intentional. A laceration—neat enough to stitch, deep enough to hurt, and just serious enough to land you here under harsh fluorescent judgment.
Your face flushes under the attention as soon as the ambulance doors open, Dr. Robinavitch being one of the first to see you. Recognizing you as you're moved off the car and into the hospital.
Your face flushes under the attention as soon as the ambulance doors open, Dr. Robinavitch being one of the first to see you. Recognizing you as you're moved off the cart and into the hospital.
“Jesus—” his voice cut through the noise. “I’ve got her. Bay two, now. And nobody tells Ellis or King yet—we keep them focused. We’ll brief them after. Move.”
You smile weakly at him after the EMT gives the quick handoff report.
“I’m fine, really… I—”
“Mm-hm,” Dr. Robinavitch interrupts immediately, not unkind, already moving with the gurney as it rolls into bay two. “That’s what everyone says while they’re actively bleeding.”
“Hey,” he gestures for the team. “Let’s get her onto the bed.”
You wince, hissing as your side tightens sharply when they move you over. Instinctively, your hands start to reach for the wound, trying to brace against the pain, but they’re gently intercepted and guided away.
“Don’t,” one of them says simply. “Let us handle it.”
The dressing the EMTs applied is carefully peeled back, and there’s a brief pause. Just a tight, assessing silence before they continue, controlled and efficient. They're talking in that code mumble that you have little understanding of despite hearing it back home. About your heart rate, what stitching to do, how much pain meds to give....
Dr. Robinavitch leans in, taking it in with a quick, practiced look.
“Yep,” he says. “Need stitches.”
He straightens, already stepping back. “Can hand her over to you all?"
A short nod. “We’ve got it.”
He nods.
“I’ll be nearby if anything changes,” he says, before turning and heading out of the bay. Everything feels slightly distant, like your body hasn’t fully caught up with what’s happening yet. One of them offers you a small, easy smile. Despite feeling a little awkward, you smile back. Introducing herself to you as Dr. Cassie,
“How’d you end up like this?” she asks, tone light but curious.
You let out a soft laugh, but it catches slightly as a dull pull of pain reminds you your side is still very much there. The anesthesia hasn’t fully settled yet, more edge-taking than complete relief.
"It's silly, really... I was-"
Once the stitches are finished and you’re resting more comfortably on the bed, the room has finally begun to settle into something quieter. The urgency has eased, replaced by the steady hum of monitors and controlled movement.
Later, once things have calmed and the immediate work is done, they’re informed of the situation.
Mel is the first to move. Stethoscope still looped loosely around her neck, she’s already heading toward the room before the explanation is even fully finished. Parker isn’t far behind—because the moment she hears your name, her composure shifts. Subtle, but immediate. And then she’s moving too, just as fast.
They enter almost at the same time, finding you on the bed.
You manage a small, tired smile when you see them.
“Hi…” you say softly.
Mel stops just inside the doorway, frozen for a moment like she’s trying to take in everything at once. Parker doesn’t hesitate, she’s at your side immediately, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“God, baby…” she breathes, hand coming up carefully like she’s checking you’re real. “You scared me. I’m glad you’re alright.”
“I’m okay, they stitched me up.”
Mel finally steps closer, but her expression is tighter now—controlled, but clearly unsettled. Her eyebrows lift slightly at the word.
“Stitches?” she repeats, then exhales softly through her nose. “I—how did this… happen?” she asks again, her voice calm, but there’s something underneath it. Strained focus. Concern she’s trying to keep contained.
“It’s a stupid story, really. I’m embarrassed… I—”
“Hey,” Parker cuts in gently, squeezing your hand before you can spiral further. “You don’t have to explain everything right now.”
"No, it's fi-"
"Tell us...!" Mel blurts, honest and blunt before her expression softens a bit. Almost scared at her own tone. "I... please.. only if you want to, I mean."
You reach for her immediately, fingers curling around hers.
“Mel… come here.”
She steps closer right away, letting you pull her in just enough to feel her there.
“I’m okay,” you say again, quieter this time. “They stitched me up. It’s not a big deal.
“I was at home,” you start slowly, “just doing something stupid—moving a table I shouldn’t have been moving alone.” You glance between them. “It was heavier than I thought, I lost my grip, it shifted, and the edge caught me right on my side against the counter.”
“It wasn’t deep at first,” you continue, “but it opened more than I realized. By the time I got it checked, they said it needed stitches just to close it properly.”
You shrug faintly, like you’re trying to downplay it, though both of them are already looking at you like you’ve done something far more reckless than you’re admitting.
“I didn’t think it was that bad,” you finish softly.
Parker looks to Mel before turning back to you, her expression still tight with lingering worry.
“I can say for sure, between the two of us, that we’re just glad you’re alright.”
Mel opens her mouth like she wants to argue—stay, ask more, keep her hand in yours a little longer, but the moment is cut short by a knock at the door. It opens just slightly.
“Mel, they need you in triage. Med student needs help with an extraction.”
A beat. Mel exhales through her nose, eyes flicking back to you.
“I… yeah. I’ll be there.”
The door closes again, leaving a quieter kind of tension behind. You squeeze her hand gently, thumb brushing over her knuckles.
“I love you, mm? Go do your thing. I’m not going anywhere.”
Mel’s gaze lingers on you for a second longer than necessary—like she’s memorizing the fact you’re here, intact, breathing.
“Okay,” she says softly, voice gentler now. “I won’t be long. I promise. I'll be right back."
Parker watches her go, then looks back at you, her expression softening into something more exasperated than angry.
“Never move furniture like that on your own again.”
“Promise!"
Since you’ve been discharged and sent home, you finally feel a breath of relief settle into you—the kind that only comes from familiar walls, soft lighting, and the quiet safety of being out of a hospital bed.
Parker guides you carefully toward the bedroom while Mel stays close on your other side, ready in case you need support. When you shift a little too quickly onto the edge of the bed, you wince before you can stop it. Both of them reacting.
“Hey—slow down,” Parker says gently, hand steadying your arm.
“Are you okay?” Mel adds, already watching your face, scanning for signs of pain.
“I’m fine,” you insist again, softer this time. “Really. I’m okay.”
You ease yourself back onto the mattress, carefully settling in until your body finally relaxes into the familiar comfort of home. The ache in your side is still there, dull and pulling, but manageable now that you’re not under bright hospital lights. It's more like uncomfortable pressure than anything.
Parker exhales quietly, like she’s only just letting herself believe you’re actually okay. She pulls a chair closer to the bed but doesn’t sit yet.
“Alright,” she says, slipping into that calm, practical tone she gets when she’s trying to feel in control again. “Ground rules.”
You glance at her, already bracing yourself.
“No heavy lifting,” she starts. “No stretching or twisting. No strenuous activity of any kind for at least a couple of weeks. About four weeks. You’re not working out, you’re not doing anything that puts strain on your side.”
“And you’re not pretending you’re fine when you’re not,” Parker adds, softer now. “If it hurts, you say so. Tell us."
There’s a pause as they both seem to settle into the list, like they’re making sure they haven’t missed anything important.
Then Mel clears her throat slightly.
“And sex!” She adds, a little awkwardly, like she’s trying to make it sound as clinical as everything else but doesn’t quite manage it. “Also off limits. Until it’s healed properly...."
The room goes still. Your eyes widen slightly before you can stop yourself, heat rushing to your face almost instantly.
“I—” you start, then falter, embarrassment creeping in. “I wasn’t… I.."
Your words trail off completely as your cheeks flush deeper, suddenly very aware of how strange this entire conversation feels. Silence lingers for a beat too long. Parker glances between the two of you, then very deliberately breaks it.
“Do you want water or something to eat?” she asks, tone shifting smoothly back into normality like nothing just happened.
"Please..." she nods, getting up from the chair to grab some items for you.
Mel sits onto the bed, looking over at you.
“Im alright… how’re you? I'm more worried about you,” you ask, reaching for her hand, fingers curling gently around hers as you intertwine them.
Mel doesn’t hesitate before taking your hand properly, holding it like she needs the contact to settle herself.
“I’m good… worried,” she admits, voice quieter now. “I’ve been worried sick about you. I don’t like that I have to go to work and you’re here… unattended.”
You shift slightly on the bed, careful of your side, but don’t let go of her hand.
“You and Parker are on different shifts,” you remind her softly. “There’ll always be one of you here like usual..."
That seems to ease something in her expression. Not fully, but enough.
“Oh… right,” she says after a beat. A small exhale follows. “That’s good.”
Her thumb moves absently over your knuckles, slower now, like she’s grounding herself in the fact that you’re here, talking, warm under her touch.
After two weeks, you start to get restless.
Not because of the pain anymore, it’s mostly a dull reminder now, something you only really notice when you move too quickly or twist the wrong way. The stitches are out, the skin is healing, and your body is starting to feel like yours again.
But that’s not the problem. The problem is them.
You’d been genuinely disbelieving when Mel first brought up sex as something to avoid. Not because you needed it, you’d thought it was obvious, unnecessary to even mention. It wasn’t like a few weeks without it would matter.
You could go a month. Easy. Except it wasn’t just that.
It was the way Parker kissed you before she left for work. Soft, lingering, like she was trying to make up for the hours she’d be gone. The way Mel’s hands always found you when she passed behind you in the kitchen, gentle touches at your waist, your shoulder, your thigh, absent-minded but impossible to ignore.
The way they both looked at you when they thought you weren’t paying attention. Each touch was harmless on its own. Together, it was starting to feel like something else entirely. And it was driving all of you crazy.
It starts to show...
Little things at first. Your patience thinning, your replies a little sharper than you mean them to be. When they ask if you need anything, if you’re okay, if you want help, you find yourself sighing a little too quickly, brushing them off.
“I’m fine,” comes out more clipped than intended.
“I said I’ve got it.”
And you hate it, a little. Because you know they’re just worried. You know why. But it’s like something under your skin won’t settle.
They notice.
They don’t call you out on it—not directly. But Parker’s a little quieter when you snap, her responses softer. Mel just watches you a second longer, like she’s trying to piece something together she hasn’t said out loud yet.
At work, it’s different. They’re the same. Snappy, feeling it settle into their bones.
But underneath it, there’s something else. A tension that wasn’t there before. A distraction they both push down the second it starts to surface. They don’t talk about it there. They don’t even look at each other too long.
Late that night, the apartment is quiet.
You’re asleep in the bedroom, finally comfortable enough to rest without shifting every few minutes. The door is cracked open just enough for the soft glow of the living room TV to spill into the hallway. On the couch, Mel is tucked against Parker’s side, her head resting lightly against her shoulder. Some show plays in the background—something neither of them are really paying attention to.
They’re talking quietly. About work. About patients. About nothing important. Parker hums at something Mel says, turning slightly to press a slow, absent-minded kiss to her temple. Mel tilts her head up in response, their lips meeting properly this time. It’s soft. Familiar. Easy.
But when Mel pulls back, something lingers. Parker notices it immediately.
“What?” she murmurs, voice low.
Mel hesitates, just for a second.
“…I miss her,” she admits.
Parker’s hand shifts against her arm, grounding. “She’s here,” she says gently. “Down the hall.”
Mel shakes her head slightly, gaze dropping.
“I know,” she says. “I just… miss her. Like—”
She trails off, but Parker gets it.
“Oh.”
A quiet beat settles between them.
“Yeah,” Parker exhales softly, leaning back into the couch. “I get that.”
Mel’s fingers fidget lightly against Parker’s sleeve. “It’s been two weeks.”
“I’m aware,” Parker says dryly, though there’s no real humor in it.
Another pause.
“I miss her in bed,” Mel admits, quieter this time. “Not just—” she gestures vaguely, then drops her hand. “Just… all of it.”
Parker’s thumb brushes slowly over her arm.
“Yeah,” she says again, softer now. “Me too.”
The TV continues to play in the background, neither of them watching anymore. Because now they’re both thinking about the same thing. And trying—very deliberately—not to act on it. Not until you were completely healed.
You gasped, breaking the kiss with Parker to cry out at the sudden, intense pleasure. Parker took advantage of your open mouth, her lips claiming yours again, swallowing your moans. Mel continued her assault, her tongue flicking against your clit, her fingers sliding into your wet heat, curling to stroke that spot deep inside that made your toes curl.
Parker's hands found your breasts, her thumbs brushing against your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You could feel the tension building, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly, ready to snap. But just as you were about to tumble over the edge, Mel pulled back, her fingers sliding out of you, leaving you bereft and whimpering.
"Not yet, love," Parker whispered, her voice husky with desire. "We've got all night."
Parker grinned at Mel, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"We're going to take our time," she promised, her hands moving to your hips, flipping you onto your hands and knees. She reached into the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a strap-on harness and a dildo, already slick with lube.
Mel watched, her eyes wide with anticipation, as Parker secured the harness around her hips, the dildo standing proud and ready. She ran her hands over the silicone, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "You ready?" she asked, her voice a low growl.
You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps, your body already craving the feel of them both again. Parker positioned herself behind you, her hands gripping your hips tightly. She leaned down, her breath hot on your ear. "Here we go," she whispered, before slowly pushing into you.
You moaned, your body stretching to accommodate her, the sensation of fullness overwhelming. Parker gave you a moment to adjust before she began to move, her hips snapping forward, driving into you with steady, powerful thrusts. You pushed back against her, meeting her stroke for stroke, your body already building towards another release.
Mel, not content to just watch, reached between your legs, her fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles. The dual sensation of Parker filling you and Mel's fingers on your clit was almost too much. You could feel the pleasure building again, higher and more intense than before.
Parker leaned over you, her breath ragged in your ear. "Come for us, love," she growled. "Come all over Mel's fingers."
And with a cry, you did, your body convulsing as the pleasure washed over you, drowning you in its intensity. Parker continued to thrust into you, drawing out your orgasm, until you were nothing but a boneless, quivering mess between them. Mel, her fingers still slick with your release, brought them to her mouth, sucking them clean.
Mel pushed you onto your back, her body covering yours, her legs straddling your hips. She reached between them, guiding Parker's still-slick dildo into her own waiting heat. She began to ride it, her hips moving in a slow, sensuous rhythm, her eyes never leaving yours.
Parker, her hands gripping Mel's hips, began to thrust up into her, matching her rhythm. The sight of the two of them, lost in their own pleasure, was almost enough to make you come again. You reached between them, your fingers finding Mel's clit, rubbing tight circles as Parker filled her.
Mel's movements became more frantic, her breath coming in short gasps. You could feel her body tense, her orgasm approaching. "Come for us, Mel," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "Come all over Parker's cock."
And with a bitten back gasp, she did, her body convulsing as her pleasure washed over her. Parker thrust into her one last time, her own release finding her as she collapsed onto your bodies, the three of you a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfied moans.
In the aftermath, you lay entwined, limbs loosely tangled together as the room settles into a quiet, steady calm. The earlier tension has melted into something softer now—warmth, closeness, the slow return of normal breathing.
Your head rests against Parker’s shoulder while Mel stays close at your other side, her hand absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm.
For a while, none of you say anything.
Just breathing. Existing. Letting it settle.
Then Parker exhales softly, a quiet huff of disbelief slipping out.
“God,” she murmurs, voice low and a little rough, “never injure yourself again. I can’t ever wait that long.”
There’s a faint hint of humor in it, but it’s buried under something more honest.
Mel lets out a small breath that almost sounds like a laugh, her forehead resting lightly against your shoulder.
“That was medically necessary,” she mutters, though there’s no real conviction behind it anymore.
You shift slightly between them, a tired smile pulling at your lips.
“I’ll try to avoid it next time,” you murmur.
Parker hums, her hand finding yours again, fingers threading together like it’s second nature.
“Please do,” she says softly.
And this time, there’s nothing strained or restless left in the silence that follows—just the quiet comfort of being exactly where you’re supposed to be.
-- first impressions; you, someone with whom doctor ellis has been speaking with exclusively online for the better part of the past few weeks, find yourself in the er during one of her shifts. 1323 words
cw: parker ellis x female reader!! mentions of vomitting / throwing up (nothing graphic, but several implications); reader has hair that can be tied up.
[ save me doctor ellis, save me. ]
masterlist | rules
i did not have anyone to blame for this but myself. definitely, no one else but myself.
well, no one held a gun to my head and forced me to scarf down the rest of that sushi platter from that sketchy take-out place that should have not still been in business, but i did, and here i was, clutching what was formerly my bedside trashcan and currently the bucket i was hurling into as the poor bastard who just happened to be the uber driver dealt the terrible card of having to drive me to the emergency room at 2 in the morning probably broke a few traffic laws to get me to the er as quickly as he could. i was absolutely sending him a hefty tip for having to listen to my half-conscious, feverish - what should have remained as the inside kind - thoughts. mostly incoherent thoughts (overshared childhood experiences) and random facts from the stack of notes i was reviewing for an exam i was having in the next week. lord, bless him.
soon enough, i was being wheeled into a room, still clutching my bucket to my chest like it was the only thing keeping me sane. in a way, i suppose it was, it was the only familiar thing in an otherwise unfamiliar environment. vitals, an initial interview - i was sitting propped up against a bunch of pillows with a new little bucket a nurse gave me while they sent up my trash can and its contents up for analysis. but only after she swore she would get it back and i would be able to go home with my trash can. it was a really nice trashcan.
i was feeling a little less nauseous after taking a pill the nurse had handed me. not completely well, of course. my stomach lurches so i duck back into the bucket and when i look up, i see a doctor pushing open the curtains to come inside.
now, on a normal day, i would have recognized her. if i wasn't dehydrated, throwing my guts up, and resisting the urge to keel over from the raging nausea that kept me drifting from one world to another and on a very thin line between consciousness and passing out. unfortunately, on this day, it was all of that and more.
"what? you couldn't wait to see me that much that you just had to send yourself into the emergency room?" a voice muses.
"who - are you?" i ask groggily, blinking in hopes to clear my vision but it did anything but. somehow making me just a tad bit dizzier than 3 seconds ago.
there was a pause and the doctor huffed out a laugh, "hi, i'm doctor ellis,"
"funny," i laugh weakly, "i matched with an ellis on a dating app couple of - weeks ago, she's a doctor too,"
"yup, that would be me,"
my eyes squint as i stare at the doctor at the foot of the hospital bed, then they widen, " no - parker? nuh-uh,"
"mhmm, in the flesh," she laughs, "don't worry, i'm not the one treating you, just checking on your file," parker clicks through the computer, eyes narrowed in focus.
"oh, god," i say woefully, "i'm pretty sure i asked the uber driver to take me anywhere but here,"
"ouch, so you don't wanna see me?"
"not prematurely, and especially not right now - i am a wreck,"
"eh, you've looked worse,"
"...can't decide if that's your idea of a compliment or if i should be offended,"
parker opens her mouth to retort and it was at that moment i feel my stomach curl uncomfortably again so back into the bucket i went, dry-heaving and all.
parker had her hand on my back, a paper cup of water in her other hand held out to me. i also realized that my hair was now carefully tied out of the way (the tie on her wrist no longer there) and i crack a weak smile, "i'm keeping the tie,"
she snorts, "go ahead, it's not the only tie i own,"
"is this one a special tie?"
"if it'd make you feel better, then yeah,"
"it does," i hum as i turn, placing the bucket on the bedside table, " aaand enough staring at that," i sigh, glancing up at parker, hands clasped together.
"did not take a single peek, doll, don't worry," parker laughs, smile turning fond as she tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
i feel my stomach churn. not in the way that i had to throw up again - although i imagine it would turn in that way in a while - but in the way only she could make it turn. like the butterflies i get any time she would text me dumb things to make me laugh, things she said reminded her of me. i glance away shyly.
"how're you feeling?" she murmurs, pulling her hand away from my hair to pull a stool closer to my bedside.
"like crap?" i shrug.
"very specific, sweetheart, one can solve your medical problems with that amount of detail," sarcasm coats her words.
"it's just - a stomach bug, or something," i mumble, staring at her hand when her palm rests on my thigh, the warmth seemingly seeping through the thin hospital blanket on my lap, "i had bad sushi -"
"from the place near your apartment?"
"...maybe?"
"sweetheart -"
"listen, i was with my friends and we were gonna get sandwiches from the deli beside it, but it closed early and we were all hungry,"
"and you decided to get...sushi?"
"it was filling! a really hefty serving too, they were actually pretty good,"
"maybe not the best seeing as eating them landed you in here,"
"maybe it was a one-time, bad batch,"
"you are very optimistic," she laughs, the hand resting on my thigh moving up and down in a way that was intended to be comforting but all i felt was the way all the thoughts were flying out of my brain.
"focus," she laughs, giving my thigh a quick squeeze, "how many did you eat and do you remember what was in them?"
"the nurse already asked me all these questions," i whine, "can't you go read her notes?"
"well, i want to hear it from you,"
"don't you have other patients to see, doctor,"
"nice try - someone's gonna page me when they need me. so, answer the question,"
"you said you aren't the one treating me,"
"doesn't mean i can't ask questions and be concerned," parker leaves my thigh in favor of reaching for my hand instead, "just wanna make sure you're alright,"
it was my turn to grin, this time a little wider, "fine," i give her hand a small squeeze, "i'll cooperate."
"good," she smiles back and i look down at our joined hands.
"...this was definitely not how i imagined our first meeting to go,"
"me neither, but hey, if i'm being honest, i'm glad it happened sooner rather than later,"
a snort escapes me in response, "and here i was, thinking that seeing me hurling my guts out left a terrible first impression on you,"
"oh, don't worry about it, my first impression of you is the terrible blood pun you left under the photo of me in my scrubs,"
"it was witty! for a second and in the moment! then the adrenaline wore off and i prayed for the ground to swallow me whole after,"
"well, it won me over, didn't it?" parker pokes my head gently, "m'here talking to you and making sure you don't die of boredom,"
"yeah," i grin for the millionth time since seeing her, shifting on the hospital bed to inch closer to her, "yeah, i suppose it did,"
"so..." she rolls the stool close, "does that mean we're still on for dinner on saturday?"
I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You
Chapter 1: I’m Biting My Tongue
Parker x gn!reader
“you are the girl Ive been dreaming of ever since I was a little girl…”
Synop: You and your childhood friend Parker are practically joined at the hip. Ever since you were in middle school it’s always been you and him against it all. You even chose to go to the same college, unable to spend more than a few hours away from each-other. Everything has been perfect but, with the threat of another love interest entering your life, you are both forced to either confront your feelings - or forever be stuck as what you deem a ‘normal’ friendship
Words count: 8,803 (and counting)
Includes: Parker Bradley x reader, gn! Reader insert, angst, angst with a happy ending, jealousy, college setting, childhood friends, friends to lovers, sloppy makeout, teasing, eventual smut, you likes someone else, unrequited crush, oblivious reader, will add tags as I go
A/N: Once again I have cooked up a song flavored fic. This came to me in a caffeine induced dream… as you can tell, I’m VERY normal about Parker. Anyways, this this fic will likely only be three chapters since it’s based on three specific lines of the song (with a possible bonus if wanted), but each chapter is going to be real long. Eat up.
This town is dying. Heat slings off the pavement and straight into your corneas. The slick excited thrum of the school year has burned and died into another type of mundane. The AC of your apartment rattles loudly, doing nothing but spiking your electricity bill for next month.
“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, using the back your hand to act as a handkerchief as you sit on the carpet. Your black tank top clings to your skin like glue, and your shorts somehow hang loose from your legs in juxtaposition. Papers litter the floor almost resembling a giant pin board, and a pen lays victim to your teeth. Your first class of the day is only an hour away, and you are sure as shit that you would have to crawl on your hands and knees to finish this paper in time. Each word carefully chosen, just to be crumpled and thrown away once the deadline passed. Poetic, really. You exhale, swearing you can see the steam of your breath as you lay defeated on the floor. The carpet strings tuck between your fingers and tickle the back of your legs, blanketing you in an itchy comfort. This college stuff was somehow less work, but more difficult than you imagined. There wasn’t anything stopping you from binging the Twilight series for the 40th time instead of doing your calc. Nothing forcing you to hobble to class each day. You would have thrown in the towel already if it wasn’t for something, or someone, keeping you tacked in place.
Like clockwork, there’s a rhythmic pound at your door, yet you don’t stir. You knew who it was. Who it always would be.
“Yellow~” your door creaks open to the tenor singsong voice of your best friend, his blue hair wind swept from the ride over. His smile fades into confusion then shock, the door closing with a snap behind him. “Good golly Y/N, what is this!?” Exasperated, he wastes no time kneeling on the floor beside you, wrapping his large nimble hands around your shoulders and shaking you back to life.
“Just shoot me dead,” you groan, head rolling as he shakes you.
“You waited until NOW to finish the essay?” His nose brushes yours, close, but he was always like this. He was your best friend, after all.
“Parker, I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t want to hear it.” You meet his gaze, holding a hand up to block his face. He darts around it, used to this dance.
“If you would have-“
“No.”
“I’m just saying-“
“Shut uppp.”
“If you follow the RULES,” he draws out, shutting up your attempts to interrupt him with a grin, “you would’ve had it done. That’s all I’m saying.”
“What rules?” You shake him off your shoulders, messing with your hair to make it look semi-decent for lecture.
“MY rules. THE rules,” he holds out a finger with each bullet point, rambling on about its importance. “You divide the amount of time you have to complete the assignment by the amount of time you want to spend AND if you run into anything-“
“Yes I know. Call Parker.” You sigh, resting your head on your knees, looking at him with a soft smile as he scratches the back of his head with a tired sigh. You two had been thick as thieves since you were kids. Two quirky loners looking for a friend, lucky enough to find each other and never letting go since. His dyed hair has faded into a cacophony of blues, pinks and greens from your haphazard dye job, but it is still your Parker. The ever touchy, ever cheerful boy you met way back in middle school. He was always there to cheer you on, make you laugh, and fill your night with some kind of game or adventure. Late night escapades to the park riding on the back of his bicycle, acting out movie scenes with his action figures, and one on one games of cards to the point you could read the shimmers in his eyes like a book. He was encompassing, and you were always there to listen to him gush about his new obsession, pierce his ears, and attempt to dye his hair all the crazy color combinations he’s ever wanted. The silver studs from several years ago still hang slightly crooked in his lobes, though now joined by more hoops and rings more professionally punctured. His nose adorned with a silver hoop, scrawny body somehow captures all his energy in a barely strung together bundle. If he wasn’t your closest and longest friend, you would’ve probably had a crush on him throughout high school. The longing nights of wishfully thinking of homecoming dances and prom whisked away by every present pang of sociability. You could snicker to yourself thinking back to those days, his mop of brown hair pasted back in his blue tux waiting for you on the stairs. The way your head sat in the crook of his shoulder, and the shaky hands that hesitantly asked you to dance. But that sort of thinking was useless. You were friends - and ruining the sheer amount of late-night memories and promises you shared wasn’t worth such a childish notion.
Parker’s eyes shyly dart to take in your attire, how your shirt clings to your body and wills a second glance. You turn to face him, and he quickly looks away as if committing a secret eighth deadly sin.
“So,” he clicks his tongue, silver studded tongue slightly chattering against his front teeth “class is in an hour.” He says matter-of-factly, causing you to stiffen.
“Care to help?” You say gesturing to the papers of ideas in front of you, along with your open and actively overheating laptop.
“You got coffee?” He asks with a smile, a warm saving grace, fingers reaching to angle your laptop screen towards him as he squints his eyes.
“Of course, do you know who you’re talking to?”
Thanks to Parker’s help (and a gruesome amount of coffee and sugar), in both of your crazy minds you were somehow able to form enough coherent thoughts to pull together your paper. Parker sips his second iced caramel coffee, filled to the brim with whipped cream in your “Freak in the sheets“ Excel mug.
“Thank you thank you thank you!” You chant as you yank him into a hug, causing him to chuckle out a surprised choking noise. His free hand gently cups your shoulder blade, humming in response. It almost feels too affectionate the way his fingers fit against your spine, his eyes fluttering closed to take in the warmth of your body and sweet sugary smell. You quickly pull away, snapping Parker out of his thoughts as he licks whipped cream from his lips, rushing to your bedroom with hurried steps. “Shit, fuck, I need to get ready!” You had just enough time to throw on something clean and semi-presentable, opting for a loose band shirt and black denim jeans torn in the knees. You don’t even think to close the door as you fumble into your outfit for the day, this was Parker. There isn’t anything he hadn’t seen back in senior year when you both decided to go swimming in the lake. Still, Parker's ears burn, muttering a soft prayer to himself and focusing all his attention into the swirl of the creamer in his cup. He knows he shouldn’t think like this. He shouldn’t flick his eyes your way in hopes of something, but he can’t stop. It’s all he’s ever known, the quiet yearn and hushed gasps of want, choked down like sandpaper in his throat. It wasn’t always like this, but when you stayed up one night senior year to listen to him ramble on about some new obsession and drifted to sleep onto his shoulder… He shivers. Friends shouldn’t think like that, he thinks, his leg anxiously tapping against the floor. So why can’t he shake this?
You interrupt his thoughts with the heavy bang of your door against the wall, hopping on one foot as you shove yourself into your sneakers. You were a mess, but at least a hot mess was better than nothing. Sweat beads on your forehead and you almost trip over your feet as you stumble into the living room, bag slung over your shoulder. You lean over him, dragging your laptop and shoving it alongside the various papers into your bag.
“Ready?” His poker-faced grin spreads as his eyes soak you in, leg stilling in the moment as he sets down his mug. The shitty stick-and-poke tattoos from drunken nights and lost games peer through the holes in his jeans as he eases himself into a standing position. You look up at him, still not used to his growth spurt as he now towers over you. His lean body blocks the trickling sunlight through your windows, your head reaching just above his chest. Something about that always makes your throat dry.
“Nope.” You chuckle, fiddling with your keys as you push your door open. He follows, slinging his patched up and decorated backpack over his shoulder. You pause in your steps, eyes met by the familiar sparkle of firetruck red “Parker.”
“Yyyeees?” He sings, laughing to himself, his eyes crinkling in the corners.
“Why the living FUCK is your bike here?” You pinch the bridge of your nose, a combination of amusement and annoyance biting your cheek.
“Where else would it go?”
“I don’t know, OUTSIDE. Not outside my THIRD floor apartment.”
“Nuh uh, nope! I’m not having some NPC steal my beloved, and mind you, ONLY form of transportation!” He says pointedly, hands gripping the handlebars.
“You’re impossible.”
“Aw, come on, you love me.” His eye twitches, sucking his cheek as the words leave him. You only roll your eyes, tapping your foot.
“Whatever, I am not helping you carry that back down the stairs.”
“Touché.” He clumsily (and quite loudly) leads the bike back down the stairs, hissing like it's him being hit when it grazes the walls. You watch, biting back amusement and leaning over the railing until Parker clears the landing.
“How the ever-living FUCK did you get that up here to begin with?” You ask as you clack down the stairs, at least having the heart to help with the door.
“Skill and expert handling.” He angles the bike out the door, shoving it out after a minute of fumbling with a triumphant ‘yes!’
“Parks, you failed your driver’s test twice. I’m surprised they let you operate a bicycle.” You walk ahead of him, urging him to follow and drag along his bike, not riding as to keep up the conversation next to you. Sweat licks the back of his head deliciously, causing him to momentarily take off his hat and run his colored nails through his messy locks. You try not to watch, focusing on the sound of cicadas serenading your ongoing chatter.
“I’ll have you know I CHOSE to fail,” he argues. The cards in the spokes make a childish rendition of what a motorcycle might sound like, clacking on each bump in the pavement as you round the sidewalk. The one great thing in the hellscape of your apartment building was the fact that it was only a seven-minute walk to campus, five if you really hurried. Fighting for parking was not something you had in you to do this early.
“I seem to remember you going on and on about owning your dad’s Corolla and finally being able to have your own pair of fuzzy dice.”
“Firstly, and I mean this with all due respect, fuck you,” you laugh, earning a pleased smile and furrowed brow from Parker, “and secondly, who says I don’t own a pair?”
“Well, where are they?”
He clicks his tongue, casting his gaze down on you.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He grins at you with a certain unreadable glimmer, poker-faced eyes still unreadable even after all this time.
“Yes, exactly that’s why I asked!”
“Sorry,” he fans his index and thumb over his lips, sealing them shut from this dumb banter, “my lips are sealed. You’ll just have to come over and see.” His grin turns hopefully upwards, a glint in his eye. That’s right, since Parker got his own apartment, you haven’t seen it. It was recent, to be fair, he had moved this summer, but with the hustle of school and moving yourself into a one-bedroom hell, it’s easy for things like this to slip your mind. Nevertheless, he always rode over to walk to class with you, even though you weren’t sure how out of the way that was. He just did it, an unspoken rule.
“Are you trying to invite me over?” Your lip curls. Your foot catching in a crack before trying to smoothly walk it off earns a huff of a chuckle from Parker. Tired and hurried students push past you as you cross the street to the main campus, almost certainly freshman who think that they can’t be a second late to class. It completely contrasted the unrushed way you walked alongside Parker, feeling as if you had all the time in the world. Actually, you should probably pick up the pace.
“Mmaaaybe~” He shoots you a grin, wiggling his brow and biting his lip in newfound giddiness. He matches your newfound haste without so much as a pause, long legs simply carrying him along. You are sure that if he wanted to, he could walk the whole campus in 10 minutes flat. Parker bites the inside of his lip, egging forward some sort of answer. Why did this simple question shoot butterflies through him? It was just… Well, it’s you.
“is that a yes?”
“To quote you, mmmaaybe~” you mock, holding up your pointer finger in false intellect, earning a disappointed scoff. You watch him visibly deflate, shoulders hunching forwards. He looks like a scorned dog, regretting whatever trouble he got himself into. You immediately regret your quip, fidgeting with the leather strap of your bag nervously.
“Parker, you know I’m obviously coming over,” you mumble, nudging his shoulder. His smile once again overtakes his face, a sparkle in his mauve eyes making him look like a kid on Christmas day.
“REALLY?” He practically shouts, and you quickly shush him as peers turn their heads to see what the commotion was about.
“Yes, yes! Why wouldn’t I?”
“Shit I gotta clean. I gotta get snacks, plan activities-“ he rambles, speaking every thought out loud like an open book, causing you to blush with how important he deems this. No one had put in that much effort before, deemed you important enough to fuss over in the back of their brain. He did.
“Parks, calm down. I’m not the president,” you joke, turning away so he can’t see the pink starting to take over your face. This week was a bit tricky, projects almost past due were piling up and you really needed to do laundry. “How about next week?”
“DEAL!” He half shouts, leaning closely to your turned away face, which you once again shush as the heads annoyedly turn your way, “Gives me a PERFECT amount of time to prepare.”
“Parker, I’ve seen your room in high school, I don’t think this could be much worse,” you snicker, remembering the scattered boxes of games littering the floor with strewn out clothes hastily masked with a spray of whatever sugary sweet scent he decided to wear that week. It was definitely a boy’s room.
“Ah ah, HIGH SCHOOL. I’ll have you know, I’m no longer a mere boy,” he states, pausing before his voice takes on a deeper joking timbre, “but a full-bodied man now.” His lips curl, watching the goosebumps pin prick your neck in response to his unusually growlish tone. You clear your throat, pushing him away playfully. Before you can finish coming up with a response, your phone buzzes, causing you to quickly flick the screen on. Your face changes into a sappy grin, tapping away at your keyboard while Parker tries to glance at your screen over your shoulder. His eye twitches again, reading the name on the screen and scowling at the thought of the person it might belong to.
(Hot) Dirk: Hey, how’d the essay go?
It was your classmate and year long crush Dirk, texting you about the essay you just scrambled to put together. You had to put the ‘hot’ in front of his name to differentiate him from the other Dirks in your contacts… even if there were none. You could pick out that messy fluff of black hair and indie poseur style from any crowd, as well as the blue of his flannel he tied taut around his waist that highlighted his girthy form. It was almost embarrassing how much of him you could picture off the top of your head…and how much you could imagine at that.
“What does he want?” Parker asks with a glare, trying not to sound too annoyed in his question, settling on feigning confusion. You turn towards him snapping out of your daydream, noticing the snarl caught in the corner of his lip.
“He’s asking about the paper.” Your response is short, unable to wipe the stupid grin off your face. God, you are such a hopeless romantic, yearning over someone who looked pretty and said you were nice once. You weren’t even sure until you had a group project that he knew you existed, and still didn’t know if he remembered your name. The dreadful thought of being labeled on his phone as ‘That creep from English 200’ causes you to shudder.
“Yeah? And?” Parker huffs, eyes burning into the dim blue light of your screen, willing it to implode at any moment.
“And I said it went well.” Your voice wavers, a bit unsure as you bite at your thumbnail.
“Liar,” he scoffs, smirking a bit to himself, eyes lazing about on the nip at your thumb. Why did everything you do make him feel… funny? Well, at least around HIM you were truthful. Unabashedly yourself, which gave him hope. Hope for what? He wasn’t entirely sure, but for… something.
“Make sure you mention that I helped you,” he adds with a certain tinge of salt that makes your brows furrow in confusion. Parker is protective, sure, but this is something new. Something that just started happening as of late. He was never one to act snide towards any of your other crushes or partners in the past, but now? Maybe he was just worried you were moving too fast. Worried you were going to get hurt and cry into the couch again. Yeah, worried. Your phone pings again, eyes flicking towards the blue bubbles like a dog salivating over a bone.
(Hot) Dirk: Great! Hey, want to go get some food afterwards? U know, to celebrate? My treat.
Your heart almost jumps out of your chest, hands trembling with excitement over the invitation. In your frazzled brain, it almost sounded like he was asking you on a date. Eyes re-reading the message twice over to make sure it was real. Parker groans loudly, rolling his eyes which were so lovingly shaded by a blue lock of his hair.
“Oh, come on.” You hit his shoulder harder as he parks his bike outside the hall, for some reason trusting a campus full of broke college students more than your apartment complex. “He’s being sweet.”
“Yeah, sweet, that’s a word.” He hisses in a mumble, hands shaking as he messes with his bike lock, kneeling on the hot stone. You open your mouth to speak, but are caught off guard by his harshness. As if sensing your plight, he forces a grin back onto his face, turning to face you as he lodges his teeth in the fat of his cheek. “I guess it should be fun. You’ve only been ogling this guy for what? Eight months?”
“Six,” you correct, an embarrassed flush creeping over your face as you turn off your phone, shoving it back into your back pocket.
“Riiiight…” Parker slings an arm around you, pulling you close to his heat ridden body, musk and sweet cologne deliciously combining with the summer sweat. You had to force yourself to ignore it in a hasty compliment, masking the saliva that pooled in your mouth. You playfully mess with his red beanie, the staple to any outfit he wears, earning an offended gasp and laugh. You smile, leaning into him as you walk into the comfort of the frigid lecture hall. To anyone else, you would look like a couple. Anyone but you two.
You make your way to what you both have deemed since day one your seats, sinking into the static smell of chalk dust and old fabric. Parker's bare knee through the rips in his grey jeans bumps into yours, not moving away from the newfound contact. A faded tattoo of a tic-tac-toe game peeked through right above the crest of his knee, a line crossing a diagonal row of X’s. You try not to pay attention to the steady thump of your heart as you reach into your backpack to pluck out your laptop, setting it in front of you with a hearty clack. Parker stretches to reach into his bag, tattooed arm caressing your shoulder as he yanks it out from a bed of stray papers. When did he get so… toned? He hums, catching a few stray glances at you before opening his laptop to play solitaire, not needing to pay attention to the rules of grammar. He already knew them. He pulls out a pencil, not to take notes, but to stick in his mouth to bite, molar indents littering the orange flesh. You snap your laptop back to life as you lean into your hand, letting the unholy chill of the AC soothe you.
“Hey!” A low voice calls, settling somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach as your eyes widen. You stumble to turn towards the speaker, hands fumbling to turn your laptop away to shield them from whatever embarrassing thing you were looking up. Parker’s gaze travels from your ungraceful movements to the owner of the voice, a hot exhale leaving his nose. Out of every single person in the universe to stand before you, it had to be Dirk.
“H…hey!” You call, taking in the way his white shirt clings to his skin from the sauna outside, hair perfectly tousled in a curated mess of curls. Your jaw threatens to unlatch, eyes looking anywhere but where they should be. Parker's teeth bury themselves deep into the wooden flesh of his pencil, threatening to snap the poor thing in two. The metal of the eraser lays crushed between his incisors, biting down to keep the violent outburst from spewing out of him. Hate wasn’t a strong enough word, he hated math class. No. He loathed Dirk. His knee presses harder against yours, grounding himself in the fact that you chose to sit beside him. Grounded in the thought that every day you woke up to see him, not this new, fleeting crush of yours. The primal look on Parker's face should’ve warned you enough of the discomfort brewing, but being the fool you are, you feign ignorance.
“Can I sit here?” He motions to the seat next to yours, on the other side of where Parker sat like a statue.
“No, sorry, seat’s taken-“
“Of course!” You cut Parker off quickly, shooting him a confused look as his eyes flick away from you. Dirk's eyes flick between Parker's disgust-ridden face to yours, quirking a brow before attempting to step over Parker. Parker not-so-smoothly catches his foot, causing him to tip forward, pressing you into your seat.
“Woah uh, sorry,” Dirk says in a mumble, eyes looking up at you through a tangle of curls. You could feel his breath on your face, his hands gripping the sides of the seat to steady himself. You can’t help the blush that bursts forth on your face, wishing you could both disappear into the plush of your seat and pull him into you by his shirt collar.
“S’no problem!” You quickly say as he wades over you, filling in the seat beside you. You turn towards Parker, annoyance warping your smile. “What’s the matter with you?” you mumble harshly, cupping a hand around your mouth as to not let the sound travel.
“Nothing,” Parker flatly replies, drawing his knee away from yours and arching his body to the side. Part of him aches at the lack of contact, the feeling of your cool skin against his was something he yearned for at any moment. You loudly exhale through your nose, choosing to ignore his childish behavior and turning away. Dirk catches you in a conversation, which quickly heightens your mood, even if it was just about homework. Parker's knee bounces unsteadily, brows knitting together as his mind races. What even was his problem? Not getting attention from you? No, no that wasn’t it. Then what was it? The way you looked at Dirk… The way your eyes fluttered whenever he plagued your screen. The way you hid yourself away, quieted yourself when around him. The thought of you guys holding hands. The thought of your lips gracing his so gently. The way Parker could never be-
SNAP. Parker's teeth snap together against one another, the faint taste of old wood on his tongue. The pencil, once bitten in his mouth, lies in two parts in his lap, severed from each other with a harsh bite. Parker glances over his shoulder, watching you laugh at whatever mediocre thing Dirk said while he rubs his jaw. He grits his teeth together, sighing before reaching into his bag to retrieve a new pencil to chew to distract him from this feeling.
The rest of class passes in a blur, unable to will yourself to focus on anything the professor has to say. You fidget with your hands, sneaking glances at Dirk who lay bored against his desk. His eyes never catch yours, boring holes into the back of someone’s head instead. What did you have to do to get him to simply look at you? The professor finally dismisses you for the day, luckily five minutes early this time. If you believed in a god, you’d be thanking him right now. Parker, on the other hand, felt as if class couldn’t have been any longer, festering in a litter of sheared pencils and pieced together thoughts. He couldn’t focus, but for an entirely different reason. The entire lecture he really did try to ignore you, but couldn’t help but glance over to you each five minutes or so. His eyes trailing the curve of your face to the soft flesh of your bitten lip, lingering there for too long to be called friendly. He also noticed how unmoved Dirk was to be beside you, half falling asleep all lecture and ignoring any hope of eye contact you threw his way. His eyes flicked from your face to your anxiously bouncing leg, and even though he loathed the mere thought of Dirk, he also wished that the other guy would give you one glance to please you just the slightest.
Dirk yawns loudly, clearly having not paid attention to anything this entire time. He wastes no time stuffing his bag with his laptop, quickly rising to his feet to leave. He catches your eye, a silent plea to leave woven in his corneas. You turn towards Dirk, remembering the promise to go out after, and mouth a silent ‘sorry’ Parker's way. Although his body screams at him to run as fast as he can out of there, he stays immobile. His feet locked against the beige carpet by your gravity. The silence kills you, no one making a noise except for the quiet rustle of Dirk's hands through his mostly empty bag. Shit, were you going to have to make the move?
“Sooo…” you try to be smooth, acting as if you can’t clasp your bag as an excuse for hanging around, “do you still want to get food?”
“Huh?” Dirk blinks, confusion littering his perfect face.
“You know… to celebrate…” you awkwardly mumble, eyes still locked on your bag. Parker doesn’t move behind you, his long shadow casting over you like a halo.
“OH!” Shooting up, Dirk's eyes widen, nodding to himself a few times. “Yes! Yeah, sorry I forgot… how about I come get you around 6ish?” He stands, shuffling out from the line of desks and past you. You catch a whiff of his cologne, the earthy undertones attacking your sense of reason.
“Yeah, yeah sure! Oh uh, I live off campus. At the Steinitz apartments?”
“Cool, sweet. I think that’s only a two-minute walk from my dorm!” He chuckles, a melody you wish you could imprint on your frontal lobe. Parker watches with the same dead stare, white knuckles digging into the strap of his bag. ”Oh!” Dirk adds, hand brushing across his jaw, “do you think I could borrow your notes by the way? I don’t think I got everything down…”
“Yeah uh, sure,” you respond meekly, swinging your bag to your hip to riffle through for your notebook. You find the doodled-on spiral-bound book and flip to today’s notes, praying your handwriting looks good. You rip the pages out in a swift motion, shakily handing it to him. “So I’ll uh… see you at six then?”
Dirk's eyes drift over your notes, nodding to himself with a hum. “Yup! I’ll see you at six. Don’t be late.” He cheekily adds a wink, almost causing you to implode as he walks away.
“Holy shit…” You mumble turning to look at Parker.
“Holy shit…” He mumbles back, eye barely twitching.
You practically skip out of the room, Parker slowly trailing behind. You swear that colors look brighter, and for now you suddenly believe that good things do happen in real life.
“Holy SHIT!” You excitedly shout into your hands, turning to direct yourself towards Parker, who looks as if ten years were added to his age. “Wait. Do you think this is a date??” You slightly panic, remembering the mountain of laundry that lies in your room and lack of time to throw something clean together.
“I don’t know.” Parker responds, a false grin clung to his face as he kneels to swiftly unlock his bike, ripping it off with the key around his neck.
“Did it SOUND like a date?” You stand beside him, watching him push himself back up to his feet, hands gripping the bars of the bike rack.
“It sounds like you’re just getting food.” He states flatly, head turned away from you. It was strange, you thought, they he wouldn’t meet your excited gaze. You both were usually excited about the same things, like when they finally released ‘UNO - No Mercy’ on the one day in the spring when you had all day to fuck around. It had been quite some time where you were asked on a date by someone, the last time being a really shitty movie in someone’s basement sophomore year.
“Oh god, fuck, what should I even wear?” You ramble on mindlessly, anxiety taking a hold of your excitement and twisting it into mania. Parker grips onto your shoulders, leaning down to look directly into your eyes. Your breath catches, body going stiff as his gentle grip brings you down from your high. He stalls a moment; anger, worry, and something else flash across his face before he finally opens his mouth.
“I’m sure whatever you do, whatever you look like, if he really likes you and this is in fact a date,” his breath catches, the word date coming out in a whine, “you’ll be fine.” You nod at his words, not used to him being so… earnest. Usually, he had some goofy joke to jab in, but not this time. His hands give your shoulders a quick squeeze, lingering for a minute before he withdraws them and stands fully upright again. Your heart thrums quickly in your chest, not because of the date, but because of Parker. His smile, the way his hands fit against you like a puzzle, the way those words would’ve meant nothing if they weren’t carried on the wind by his voice. No. You shake your head, watching Parker drag his bike along the sidewalk, cards panging against metal.
“Sorry we can’t walk home together.” You add softly, surprised in the amount of disappointment this brought you.
“S’fine,” he says softly sighing, looking back at you as he mounts his bike with an ache lost in his eyes, “I have to work anyways.”
“Well then I guess I’ll call you later?”
“Yeah, sure. Call you later.”
Parker's eyes linger thoughtfully before he starts pedaling, shooting off in a blur across campus. His hair a cotton candy blur in the wind, his tank top fluttering similarly behind. Tears of frustration dot his lashes, falling off like snowflakes in the breeze. If he pedaled fast enough, he thought, if he wore himself out, then maybe he could outrun his desire for you.
You brave the lonely walk home, sun freckling the sky in a cacophony of oranges and reds. You never realized how long the seven minutes back to your place felt without someone to keep you company. By the time you arrive home, everything is again a blur of emotions. Anxiety rears its ugly head as you overthink every possibility. What if it rains? (There’s no rain in the forecast.) What if it’s cold? (It’s the middle of summer.) You rifle through your drawers for a nicer pair of clean clothes, tossing rejections to the side to join the rest of the laundry. You had about an hour to get ready, and thirty minutes set aside after that to overthink. You decide on a tighter long sleeve striped shirt and a pair of black denim shorts. They were short enough to show some skin, but not short enough that parents would have to shield their children’s eyes as you pass. You shimmy into your attire, overanalyzing your hair in the mirror again and again. Parker hasn’t texted you since your conversation, which was a little weird, but he did have to work. He had gotten a job last year at a small diner near campus, wanting the extra money to burn on minifigures and games. It was based on an ‘old school’ drive-in, having the workers run out to your car to take your order and deliver your food. At first it was fun, a way to make some extra cash, run, and stay busy during the slow season; but now it was necessary. You had listened to him rant about work on the phone probably a million times, as he always called you after his shift. When It was a really bad shift, such as the time someone didn’t change the fry oil at the correct time causing everything to char and overcook, he would call you from inside the freezer.
Now that he had his own place, even though he was never late to anything ever, he HAD to go to work to pay rent. He said at first that it was a small price to pay to be able to live out his bachelor pad dreams, but now it was slowly becoming a burden. You had to admit that he did pull off the uniform quite well; short white and blue sleeves with light washed denim that boxed out his form perfectly. Originally, he absolutely hated it, calling it an ‘impeachment of his individuality’, but ever since you said it made him look cute, you haven’t heard any complaints. The only change he had to make was the fact he no longer was allowed to wear the diners roller skates, being the only server forced to run around in beat up vans. It was really for his own good though, he couldn’t be trusted with anything on wheels. You’ve had to patch him up from accidentally eating pavement more times than you could count on two hands.
Finally, you tame your hair into something you can manage, giving it one last scrunch before slipping on some loafers. You pause to look in the mirror, embarrassingly posing a few times to make sure everything looks good. The alarm on your phone blares out in Radial, and you snap to turn off the alarm. 5:45, 15 minutes to look like you nonchalantly arrived at the curb. You wonder if he was already outside, eager to take you in his beat-up car or whatever he drove to some Italian restaurant made in dreams. You fumble with your keys in the door, locking it twice and pushing against the door to make sure before nervously walking down the stairs. A piece of landlord special white flakes off the wall from where it so lovingly met Parker's handlebars, peeling into an awful yellow. Chuckling softly, you head out to the curb, pacing back and forth while trying not to check your phone at every bird chirp you hear. Five minutes pass, then ten, then fifteen. Before you know it, it's 6:30, and still no word from or glimpse of Dirk appears to whisk you away from your doorstep. Your foot taps quicken, mumbling plausible reasons for his lateness under your breath. Cars speed past on the road to your left, watching to see if any slow to pull into your parking lot – yet none do. Now it's 6:45, and you’re chewing on your fingernails as a nervous habit, sitting down rather than standing. Your phone buzzes in your sweaty palm, daring to slip out as you pounce to scan the screen. Your eyes blink, mouth slightly open in a gasp.
(Hot) Dirk: Srry, smth came up. Can’t today. Another time?
Insecurity works its way into your shaking hands, hope dying along with the sun. If you were any better, you wouldn’t respond. You wouldn’t make up an excuse that makes sense as to why he couldn’t walk the two minutes from his dorm to your place. Hell, drive thirty seconds to your place. If you were better, you wouldn’t let this happen, but you aren’t, so you slowly tap the keys once more.
Y/N: Ok yeah no problem. Hope everything’s ok!
Your eyes linger on the delivered notification, two, five, ten minutes – not once changing to read. Tears of disappointment and frustration threaten the corners of your eyes, feeling like a child who didn’t get their way. You didn’t care if he took you to a convenient store for all you cared, but now here you were. Dressed up and sitting on the cooling curb. A waste of a night. The growl of your stomach pulls you back to reality, causing you to wipe away from tears you didn’t realize fell. You realize you had nothing to eat since you weren’t going out anymore, and hardly anything is greasy enough to soothe the burn of what you deem as rejection. You mull over the idea of takeout, but the thinness of your wallet says otherwise. You groan, slumping your head into your hands in what could be deemed the worst night of your life. Then it hits you, the solution to everything. You stand, clicking the unlock button on your keys with a new directive. Parker.
You steer your way to the diner like a moth to a flame, knowing the route like the lines on your hand. Your radio blasts “Head Like a Hole”, rattling the change in your cup holder and threatening to burst your speaker system. You swerve into a spot in the front of the building, turning off your car to be surrounded by silence once more. The gravel lot grinds against your shoes as you exit your vehicle, opting to head to the mostly empty inside portion of the diner which no one used anymore. The bell above the door sings as you push against it, inhaling the smell of fryer oil and underpaid labor.
“Howdy! Welcome-“ Parker stops short, jumping back a bit at the sight of you in the café. His eyes trail across your outfit, from your shorts so lovingly revealing your sun kissed skin to the tight pull of your shirt. He blinks a few times, gasping like a fish out of water for words before clearing his throat.
“Y/N?” He curses at himself for excitement in his voice, quickly clearing the countertop bar in a swift motion and jogging over. “Why are you- why are you here?”
“Oh, you know, just wanted to visit my favorite person at work.” You say sweetly, sniffling a bit from your cry scream sing-along in your car. Parker can’t help but notice the red puff of skin near your eyes, hands stuttering to reach forward and cup your face before fisting into balls by his sides.
“Where’s he?” he draws out the word like a curse, looking not so inconspicuously over your shoulder to glance at the cars outside.
“Not here.”
“What-What happened to?”
“Something…came up.” You force a smile onto your face, clutching your wallet to the bone. Parker's jaw tightens, scowl peeking through his teeth before looking back at you, feeling guilty for the amount of relief that washes over him.
“Sooo… are there any spare fries for a friend?” You ask sweetly, batting your eyes as an added precaution.
Parker squints his eyes, sucking part of his cheek as if trying to decide something of upmost importance. You knew how he was about rules, but from an outside point of view it probably looked like you just asked him for the keys to the city. You hoped you could garner some pity points in this situation, not wanting to beg for yet another thing in the same day.
“Roll for it,” he says with a small smile, unclasping the die keychain from his pants he keeps on him for such occasions. Somewhere deep in your notes was a running tally of all the times this had come up, including the time Parker had furiously rolled to drop out (it never succeeded). The cold plastic die clatters on the table, and you carefully twirl it between your fingers with a hum.
“Y’know fine. Evens,” you call, side eyeing him with a grin, semi-thankful for the distraction it brings. He sighs, softly chucking and eyeing the die with an eerie gaze. You, being broke, sad, and quite hungry, absently bring the die to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the number 6. Out of the corner of your lashes, you swear you saw Parker turn pink, softly gasping. The die clatters to the table, ricketing off its pointed sides before finally placing a face up. Four. You hiss in glee, pumping a fist while Parker rolls his eyes, scooping the die up and stroking the pad of his thumb on the number 6, out of sight.
“Lucky shot.”
“Does luck also grant me a soda?”
“You’re pushing it, Y/N,” Parker points a threatening finger, grin still glued to his face, curling into a one-sided dimple. You smile sweetly, knowing he would bend whatever rule he had in his brain to get you one, especially now. It was honestly really sweet, adding a bit of a warm feeling in your heart that was previously snuffed out.
He quickly scrambles to the kitchen to make a ‘special request,’ pinning it on his own hunger. It was an easy lie, he was always hungry anyways; fast metabolism be damned. Without missing a beat, he swipes two semi-clean cups from the nearby caddy, taking his rightful place back as a kind face behind the counter. He flips them once to show off, filling one with cherry cola with light ice, remembering the way you like it, and one with root beer. He sets them both in front of you, sliding the root beer to his side with a sideways grin. You chuckle softly, shooting him a questioning look.
“What? I’m allowed,” he emphasizes, sliding a straw your way. You waste no time peeling away the wrapper, shoving it into the glass and taking a long sip of your drink. The sugar is exactly what you needed. Watching him work was like watching a bee in a hive, a natural dance and shimmy to get everything done. You barely notice the steaming basket of fries he slides in front of you. He dabs some ketchup onto the side of the wrapper, dipping it in before biting it himself to make sure they’re good. Your mind drifts to the events that happened earlier. How stupid it was for you to be hopeful. You swirl your straw, eyes watching the carbonation fizz to the top. How stupid indeed.
“So,” Parker starts, breaking the silence, “no offense towards you, but what do you even see in him?” Parker’s eyebrow raises, fingers fiddling with the wrapper of his straw.
“Well he’s handsome, really smart, he’s nice to me and-“ A piece of paper flies at astounding speed into your cheek, cutting off your next statements of adoration. Parker holds his straw to his lips, a sly grin wrapped around the straw.
“Laaaame!” He dramatically raises his arms, shoving his straw in his fizzy drink and hunching back against the serving table.
“Oh bite me,” you scoff, eyes taunting him.
“Oh, don’t tempt me.” He purrs, causing you to shudder and choke on your drink. You cough as he cackles, your ears stained pink from the comment. You really did not want to think about that right now.
“Oh, come on, it's not lame.” You protest, returning to the topic whilst wiping the sticky syrup from the corner of your mouth. Parker's eyes follow, licking the bottom of his lip thoughtfully.
“Well, I think it's lame that you like someone just for being nice to you!” He starts, lip twitching at the corner. He sighs at his own passion-laced statement, palming for his drink and shoving it down his throat like saving grace. Too much, Parker, he thinks, cooling off his brain with a satisfied exhale before continuing. “He should, you know, really appreciate you. You should be the first thing he looks for each day, the reason he smiles when everything around him seems like shit.” He swirls his straw around, the ice cubes melodically pinging off the sides of the glass.
“Seems like you know the feeling?” You ask, looking up at him with a weird lump in your throat.
“It’s not something you know. You just… feel it.” His happy-go-lucky persona slips, a genuine surge of desperation laced between his lips. His eyes bore into you, the melted chocolate hue almost urging you to understand. Your mouth gapes for a second, fingers tracing the condensation on your glass.
“I-“ Before you can finish your thought, a car horn blares, jolting you out of your seat. Parker visibly folds, brow twitching in annoyance.
“Aw shit, one minute.” Parker sighs dramatically, the promise of minimum wage dragging him away from the conversation.
“Just a minute ASSHOLE!” He chimes almost too gleefully, grabbing his note pad off the table and running out the door. The bell above chimes like a dying star, leaving you alone with the hum of the dying fluorescent lights and scrape of metal against the grill. A radio in the back room sings distantly, almost cathartic with how much you have to strain to listen. ‘The words on the streets and it’s on the news, I’m not gonna teach him how to dance with you…’ You swivel on your seat, red pleather squeaking against your bare legs. Parker was leaning against someone’s car, writing down their order quickly (and most definitely sloppily) whilst waving off the other cars flashing their brights for attention. He wipes his brow, glancing at you through the steam splattered window and mouthing the words ‘kill me’ before sprinting off to the next car. You chuckle softly, shoving a fry absently into your mouth. Parker looked so… free, even if he half-jokingly begged for death, he was downright graceful balancing several tasks at once. Even in his grease-stained uniform and scuffed sneakers, he still had that boyish charm. Multi-colored locks that swooped past his forehead flying in the wind, not caring what anyone in this small town would say. Skin littered with scars and tattoos, proof of his interests and past stories that still brought a smile to your face, and that smile. That smile that stayed glued to his face, goofy and playful, peeking out at you within your favorite memories. Could you… think of Parker in that way? Your closest friend since you were little? If your lips somehow touched… his soft, bitten lips… you swivel back around, huffing while taking a swallow of your drink to calm the heat festering inside of you. The song of the bell rings out again, Parker wiping his forehead and bounding over still catching his breath.
“Sorry, sorry customers are always first.” He throws the notepad into the servers’ window, carefully placing each scrap of written orders in a neat line.
“I’m technically a customer,” you snidely remark, earning the grin you love to slide back up his face.
“Let me rephrase. PAYING customers,” he pointedly says, clicking his pen in your direction.
“Touché.” Chuckling, you shoot him a look that makes him shiver, your playful words matched with half lidded eyes. Parker pulls on his collar, clearing his throat and leaning back against the counter, close enough to grab.
“Anyways, what were you saying? How soooo in looooove you were with-“
“No no, not in love. I LIKE him. Did anyways” You quickly add with disgust in your words. Parker catches it, unable to smother his smile.
“Nawww, it’s loooove,” He playfully teases, leaning on his hands.
“Parker I swear to god if I didn’t love you so much I would kill you.”
Parker’s eyes flicker, expression molding from shock to mischief
“Aww you love me?” His voice takes on a lower timbre, staring at you like a coil ready to spring free. His eyes search your face for a hint of expression, lowering to your lips for a fraction of a second before back to your eyes.
“Duh, I mean you’re my closest friend.”
His eye twitches, the crease apparent in his smile.“Right, right,” he mumbles, trying and failing to keep the rhythm of his voice steady. He turns to busy himself, clicking his pen in his hand.
“I still love you though,” you add, chewing another fry off your plate. Parker’s face burns red, lucky that he’s both facing away and that his hat covers his flushed ears. They always gave him away.
“Sh…Shut up and eat your fries. Loitering is against the rules you know.” He cursed himself for his stammer, pretending to be occupied with perfectly arranging the papers in an even straighter line.
“Alright, alright, I’ll get outta your hair. I’m wiped anyways.” You slide your mostly empty dish across the checkered counter, save for a swipe of ketchup on the crinkled paper. Your keys jingle in your palm, rusty metal of the chair squeaking as you rise. “I’ll catch you later Parks, and uh… thanks. For being here for me.”
Parker gulps, half wishing he kept his mouth shut to keep your company, and half thankful for the safety of embarrassment.
“I’ll catch you later. You’re ALSO WELCOME for breaking the RULES for fries by the way!” He calls out as he watches you exist the door, the chime sounding sadder than the time before. He watches you struggle with your broken car door, exhaling a laugh before you peel away from the dingy diner that caged him in place rather than by your side.
Why did the thought of you with someone else bother him so much? Why did he feel like chewing off his skin imagining your hands intertwined with someone who didn’t know how much you truly were worth? You deserved someone who would turn the world on its head for a glance, someone who did everything in their power to make you laugh. Someone who broke the rules to keep you three feet away from them. Parker’s heart throbs, sliding down the wall behind him onto the floor with a groan. “God help me…” he mumbles, hands sliding down his face. He knew the feeling in his chest, almost choking out a sob at the thought of its name. Love.
