#ryan mcmahon

[soundncolors]

elijah hewson/inhaler on 3voor12 interview

[leaawrites]

You seem pretty sad for a girl so in love Series

One story based on one song.

Requests are open!!

Girl so in love

drop dead (Liam Gallagher)

stupid song (Eli Hewson)

honeybee (Grian Chatten)

maggots for brains (Josh Jenkinson)

u + me = <3 (Carlos Alcaraz)

my way (John Logan)

purple (Noel Gallagher)

You seem pretty sad

the cure (Jack Abbot)

begged (Theo Nott)

what's wrong with me (Conor Curley)

less (Jack Draper)

expectations (Bobby Skeetz)

cigarette smoke (Noel Gallagher)

[inhalerdublinbaby]

I'm gonna hold your bicep when I say this

[xoxokiaraaxoxo]

their reaction to you cutting your hair: yankees edition

a/n: this was a request! i hope you enjoy!!! thank you for reading, i love youuu!! also i think this is my first spencer appearance!!!

⸻

Max Fried:

Max would notice immediately, but he would not react in a huge way right away.

He'd look at you for a second longer than usual, quietly taking in the change before stepping a little closer. Not loud, not dramatic just observant in that very Max way.

"You cut it."

If it was a really dramatic change, he'd probably study your face more than the haircut itself, because that's what would get him most how much more visible you are now.

And if you asked if he liked it, he'd probably make you wait a second just to annoy you.

"Yeah."

A pause.

"You look really pretty."

And because he's Max, that would be the part that actually gets you the fact that he says it so plainly, like it's obvious, while still looking at you like he's more affected than he wants to admit.

He'd probably touch a piece of it once, almost absentmindedly.

"It looks good on you. Really good."

⸻

Ben Rice:

Ben would have one of the most immediately readable reactions.

He'd look up, blink, and his whole face would soften right away.

"Oh, wow."

Not bad wow. Very much good wow.

He'd smile almost instantly and walk closer without even thinking about it.

"You really cut it."

Ben feels like the type to ask before touching it, because he'd want to but he'd still be sweet about it.

"Can I?"

And once his hand is in it, he's done for. Smiling, staring, clearly trying to process how different you look.

"No, you look so pretty."

"Like…really pretty."

If you seemed even a little nervous, he'd reassure you immediately.

"I'm serious. It looks so good."

Then, because he's Ben, he'd immediately care more about whether you feel good in it.

"Do you like it?"

And if you said maybe, he'd just smile and shake his head.

"Well, I love it."

⸻

Jazz Chisholm Jr.:

Jazz would notice, obviously, but not in the way where he's standing there analyzing layers or acting like he suddenly became a hairstylist.

He'd look at you, clock that something changed, and just shrug a little like,

"Oh, you cut it."

If you asked, "Do you like it?" he'd probably look at you like that's a silly question.

"Yeah, you still fine."

Then with a grin, "You think I was about to say no?"

Jazz feels like the type who cares way more about your energy than the hair itself. If you walked in feeling yourself, that's what he'd react to. Not the inches gone.

And if you kept fishing for a bigger reaction, he'd probably laugh and say,

"Baby, it's hair. You still look good."

⸻

Giancarlo Stanton:

Giancarlo would not react loudly, but he'd react.

You'd walk in, he'd look up, and there'd be that pause that extra second where he says nothing because he's taking in the whole picture.

Then he'd stand up.

That's how you'd know it got him.

He'd come closer, touch the ends or the back of your neck, and if it exposed more skin your neck, your shoulders, your collarbone he'd absolutely notice that too.

"That's different."

Which might make you nervous for half a second until he looked at you again and added, lower,

"Looks good on you."

"Real good."

Giancarlo feels like the type to be more affected by the confidence of it than the haircut alone. Like the second you walk in carrying yourself differently, he notices.

"You look sexy."

Very calm. Very direct.

⸻

Anthony Volpe:

Anthony would notice and think you looked good, but he would not be passionately invested in the haircut itself.

"Oh, you cut it."

If you asked, "Do you like it?" he'd say yes right away, but not in a way that sounds like he has strong opinions about the hair specifically.

"Yeah, of course."

"You look pretty."

Anthony feels like the type who would care more about whether you like it than about the haircut itself. So his follow up would probably be: "Do you like it?"

And if you said yes, that would pretty much settle it for him.

He's not the guy who's gonna be obsessed with the chop. He's the guy who's gonna think you're pretty regardless and then move on.

⸻

Jasson Domínguez:

Jasson would be quieter about it at first.

He'd look at you, take a second to figure out what changed, and then that little smile would show up.

"Oh. You cut your hair."

He feels like the type who doesn't always react loudly when he really likes something. Instead, he'd get more focused. More attentive. He'd step closer, touch the ends, glance at your face again, then smile like he already knows you know it looks good.

If you asked, "What?" he'd probably say something annoying and flattering at the same time like,

"You know it looks good."

And if you tried to act unsure, I think he'd get more direct.

"No. It does."

"You look really pretty."

Jasson feels like he'd adjust fast and then act like this version of you makes too much sense for him to even miss the old one.

⸻

Aaron Judge:

Aaron would notice, but he would not make a huge deal out of it.

You'd walk in, he'd take a look, and he'd just go,

"You cut your hair."

Very matter-of-fact.

If you asked whether he liked it, he'd answer honestly, but calmly.

"Yeah. It looks nice."

He's not the type to act like a haircut changed the earth's rotation. Aaron feels more like the type who loves you consistently, so whether your hair is long, short, curled, straight, whatever, his reaction would mostly be "you're still you, and you still look good to me".

If you kept pressing him for more, he'd probably smile a little and say.

"You want a bigger reaction than you're gonna get."

Then kiss your forehead, "You look beautiful. I'm just not dramatic."

⸻

Cody Bellinger:

Cody would make it feel easy.

He'd look up, grin, and go, "Oh, wow."

And you'd know right away it was a good wow.

Cody feels like the type to get up, touch it, smile again, and say exactly what he means without making it weird.

"I like it."

If it was really dramatic, he might laugh a little just because he's surprised by how different it is.

"You look like a whole different person."

Then, because he'd know how that sounded.

"In a good way."

He'd definitely be one of the more casually reassuring ones.

"You look really pretty."

He'd make it feel safe to have done something bold.

⸻

Carlos Rodón:

Carlos would notice, but I don't think he'd care in some huge way.

He'd probably glance at you and go,

"Oh, you cut your hair."

And that would be it at first.

If you asked whether he liked it, he'd be honest, but casual.

"Yeah, it looks good."

Carlos feels more like the type who might joke about how much you cut off or how different it is, but not because he's deeply attached to your hair more because he likes reacting to things.

So if you were expecting him to be all emotional over it, he probably wouldn't be.

He'd just look at you, shrug a little, and say,

"Baby, you always look good. I'm not doing a whole reveal over a haircut."

Then probably kiss you and keep it moving.

⸻

Oswaldo Cabrera:

Oswaldo would react with his whole heart.

You'd walk in and he'd light up immediately.

"Ohhh!"

"You look so pretty!"

Big smile, big energy, immediate hype.

Oswaldo feels like the type who would absolutely want to see it from every angle, would definitely touch it gently, and would gas you up so hard that any nerves you had would disappear within thirty seconds.

If you did something dramatic, he'd love that you did something bold.

"No, I love this."

"You look beautiful."

"So, so pretty."

He'd make you feel like getting the haircut was the best idea you've ever had, and he'd be so sincere about it that you couldn't even roll your eyes properly.

⸻

Amed Rosario:

Amed would be more subtle at first, but not hard to read if you know him.

He'd look at you, pause, and give that small nod like he's taken in the change and made a decision.

"Okay."

Which, from him, would already mean something.

Amed feels like the type to not gush immediately, but to show how much he likes it by staying focused on you a little too long, touching it once, and then saying something simple that lands because he doesn't waste words.

"It looks good."

If you asked him to elaborate, he'd probably give you a look like you were asking for too much and then still do it.

"It really does."

A beat.

"You look good, mami."

That would be more his speed lowkey, confident, direct.

And what would feel most like him is that he'd get more visibly into it later than in the first second. Once the surprise wore off, he'd keep noticing it. Keep touching it. Keep looking at your face a little longer.

⸻

Ryan McMahon:

Ryan would react with dry honesty.

You'd walk in, he'd look up, and after a beat he'd say,

"That's definitely different."

And because Ryan feels like the type to not sugarcoat the surprise factor, you'd probably have to wait a second before he clarified.

Then he'd look at you again and go,

"Looks good, though."

Very straightforward. Very normal about being surprised by a big change.

Ryan feels like the type who wouldn't oversell it, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't mean it. If he kept glancing at you after, or touched the ends while you were talking, that would tell you more than a huge speech would.

And if you teased him for not being dramatic enough, I think he'd just look at you and say,

"What, you want me to lie? You look really good."

Plain, but real.

⸻

Trent Grisham:

Trent would care the least in the most Trent way possible.

He'd look at you, notice it, and go,

"You cut it."

That's it.

If you asked, "Do you like it?" he'd probably give you a look and say,

"I did not have prior attachment to the old one, so yes."

Which is such an annoying answer that you'd have to laugh.

Trent feels like the type who would genuinely not care much about the haircut itself because, to him, it's still your hair and you still look like you. He's not gonna act like it's life-changing.

If you kept pushing for more, he'd probably sigh and give you a real answer just to get you to stop.

"Yes, it looks good."

Then after a beat:

"You look good. The hair is fine."

Which is honestly the most Trent version possible.

⸻

Cam Schlittler:

Cam would be one of the sweetest.

You'd walk in and he'd just stop for a second, smile slowly, and go,

"Whoa."

Not performative. Not dramatic. Just genuinely surprised.

Cam feels like the type to react very sincerely. So if you asked whether he liked it, he wouldn't make you work for the answer.

"Yeah."

"You look really good."

And if you seemed even a little unsure, he'd get even more earnest.

"No, seriously."

"You look really pretty."

"It really looks good on you."

He'd probably ask if you were nervous before you did it, if you liked it, if it felt weird getting used to it because he feels like someone who'd be tuned into whether you were okay, not just whether the haircut was pretty.

And once he got used to it, I think he'd quietly get very into it.

⸻

José Caballero:

José would make it into a full reveal.

You'd walk in and he'd react like he just witnessed a before-and-after transformation in real time.

"Oh my God."

"Wait, wait, wait."

He'd absolutely be loud, dramatic, delighted, probably moving closer immediately to inspect it like this is breaking news.

José feels like the type who'd make you spin, ask why you suddenly look like a totally different person, and hype you up at a volume that makes the whole room aware you got a haircut.

But underneath the performance, he'd genuinely love it.

"No, this is good."

"This is really good."

"You look gorgeous."

And if you laughed at him, he'd just double down.

"What? You do."

"You look sexy too, don't play with me."

He'd make it impossible for you to feel insecure about it for even a second.

⸻

Spencer Jones:

Spencer would have a really sincere reaction.

You'd walk in, he'd look up, and he'd pause for just a second too long not because anything is wrong, but because he's genuinely thrown off by how different you look.

Then he'd smile.

"Whoa."

That would probably come out before anything else.

Spencer feels like the type to be a little stunned at first and then very straightforward once you asked what he thought. Not overly slick, not too dramatic, not trying to tease you just for the sake of it.

"You really changed it."

He'd probably step closer, look at it properly, maybe brush a piece back or touch the ends carefully, still taking it in.

And if you asked whether he liked it, I don't think he'd hesitate long.

"Yeah."

"You look really good."

If you were nervous, he'd pick up on that fast and get even softer about it.

"No, seriously."

"You look amazing."

"Really pretty."

He'd be more quietly affected than loud about it, but you'd absolutely be able to tell he was very into it.

⸻

taglist (lmk if you want to be added!!): @diorjtrk @wildlaufey3 @graceeehhhh @hotwheels1108 @you-got-me-star-lost-16 @thelunarbar @hockeygirlyyyy @quinnintheabyss @peachmango-kombucha @boybandbaby @divinedelusional @hockey-racing-fubol @melsgf @anonymousie @refinedanimal @spooky-newt @selv1sh @twistedprincess-92 @earthlings0000

⸻

MASTERLIST

⸻

[weregettingcheesecake]

he got up like frankenstein being brought to life 😭

[neotckyo]

Inhaler oh how i love u

[kdoxkeic]

Long overdue… Irish women/men have a chokehold on me

[concreteeeee]

BitterSweet // Elijah Hewson X Reader.

requests: (1) pre-relationship!eli with an incrediblyyy oblivious and socially awkward girl that kinda avoided him bc he’s very charismatic and lowkey a fuckboy so she think he’s fucking with her 😭😭 and eli is tryna pursue her and making it obvious that he takes her really seriously + (2) i was just wondering if you could write an imagine where eli helps the reader with her anxiety / through an anxiety attack or something similar?

words: 3,6K

You had enjoyed the band; they were instrumentally solid, and their lyrics were captivating. Live, they were even better. Eli, drenched to the point that his hair was soaked, let out soft groans in between sung syllables. This was just the soundcheck, and though only a few fans were around, he was performing like it was the real thing.

“Think we can tweak it a bit more?” His voice pulled you back, a warning that you might be getting in over your head. Eli chuckled, eyes trailing over you from top to bottom with a slight smirk. You couldn’t tell if it was meant to intimidate, mock, or if he just found you pathetic.

“Of course,” you replied quietly, certain no one else heard. The walk over felt longer in your mind as the guys watched, and you reached for the guitar in his hands. His swift movement to pull the strap off revealed hints of muscle, all the pale skin and the brief brush of his arm, warm and damp with sweat, replayed in your mind.

“Will you be around?” His voice was deeper, smoother than when he sang, with a lazy edge that was almost too pleasant to listen to. You were getting paid for this entire experience. “It’s my job.” He raised his brows, that same confident grin tugging at his lips. You avoided direct eye contact, though you glanced at him from the corners of your eyes. You didn’t mean to sound so blunt. You were only here to set up the studio for their album recording—a short period, and soon enough, you wouldn’t see them again.

You liked them well enough, but Eli had that vibe of the guy who would’ve bullied you in high school. You thought you were past that. “I’ll be around,” you said more clearly, finally looking him in the eyes. He nodded, making a mental note of your face up close and the matching brand of your boots and his. Your delicate hand passed the guitar back to him, and he couldn’t resist; it was too easy.

“Thanks, pet. I’ll be needing you again soon.” Your gaze dropped quickly as you backed away. Josh overheard and laughed, while Eli turned a bit pink—no regrets, though. You knew guys like him. You’d worked with bands before, and you understood better than to let whatever that was get to you.

…

You only spoke when asked, keeping things strictly professional. Eli was openly watching you, blatantly, if honest. The producers asked you questions now and then, and you always responded, they’d nod and follow your advice right after. Eli already thought you were smart, which only made him more intrigued. You were focused, a little shy, content within your own bubble; he admired that. It was obvious you were fine like that, and he was bothering you, but he didn’t know any other way to approach you.

“Hey, uh…” he started, sitting across from you at lunch. Once again, you were alone, not in a bad way, just enjoying your break. “What’re you listening to?” You lifted one side of your headphones to hear him. He cleared his throat, needing to repeat the question before you could answer.

“It’s not the first time you ignore me like that, and I like it.” You had to bite your lip but still laughed, as if he were too much to believe.

“The Strokes,” you showed him your phone, sipping your Coke. You fidgeted with the strap of your white tank top, which happened to be just like the one he often wore—and was wearing now. Along with the boots, it was oddly charming.

“I love The Strokes, real teenage throwback. What are your favorites?” He smiled wide, a grin he hadn’t seen all day, feeling confident this was going well.

“See? We have so much in common,” he teased, even though, so far, it was just the band and clothes.

“I’m not a big fan,” you shrugged, “I think his voice is lazy and dragged out, not really my style, though the instrumental’s good.” His heart sank a little. You spoke so casually, completely unaware of the impact. Eli hadn’t found flirting so difficult before.

“All right,” he glanced around, watching you look at your empty plate instead of his eyes. “Did you enjoy yesterday? What did you think of the show?”

You briefly thought of the awkward moment adjusting his guitar with everyone watching and how he’d been appearing more and more on your social media—not him directly, but clips of him with fans. You’d even gained some random followers from being spotted with the band. Your feed was flooded with videos of him leaning close to a girl at the edge of the stage, his damp curls brushing her face. She’d clung to him, and he clearly loved the attention, even stopping post-show to chat and connect with everyone. It was an energy you didn’t have. You’d once wanted to be more like him but were now comfortable being reserved. He was just naturally good at it.

Then there was one photo—a girl holding his face in an intimate kiss—that made you pause. A fan captioned that Eli would make a perfect boyfriend, even if they weren’t together anymore. She was gorgeous, and he looked like he belonged with her. Him talking to you felt off, like he was doing it out of pity; you weren’t even on the same page.

“I really enjoyed it. You guys are very good.” You were honest, forcing a smile and pushing away your thoughts to show you meant it.

Eli wasn’t convinced of that. “Good to know. We’re close enough now to hang out and maybe share a cigarette or two.” You looked up at him, his hazel eyes gleaming, his freckles glowing with a hint of blush. He had that high-school-crush look, but it still didn’t make sense.

“Can’t you talk like a normal person?” In your mind, the question hadn’t sounded so hard.

“I don’t know; this way I get to keep talking to you, don’t I?” He raised his brows as looked away, noticing the rest of the band watching from another table. He could be over there, so why wasn’t he?

He dropped a crumpled napkin on the table and waited, saying he’d be persistent later when you just nodded, unsure what to expect. You were about to speak, and it was warming to see him actually paying attention, his caramel eyes fixed on you, his whole body focused—until he nudged the table, spilling half of the Coke onto your white top.

“Sorry,” his accent thickened, sending a jolt of anxiety through you. People glanced over, and Eli began wiping the spot, his hand brushing over the stain.

“It’s not helping,” you said, touching his shoulder. “Eli, it’s fine; you’re just making it worse.” Your firm tone made him stop, realizing you were right.

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling a little embarrassed, and he quickly noticed. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his black button-down and handed it over for you to wear. It wasn’t like you could refuse; you still had the whole afternoon before you could head home and change.

“Sorry, like, the flirting’s intentional, yeah, but I wouldn’t ever mean to harm you.”

You fiddled with his shirt, playing with the buttons. It smelled nice. He was now in a tank top like yours, and you remembered mentioning how you liked his arms before to the voices inside your head.

You cleared the table, picking up his napkin too, and he watched as you tossed his number into the trash on your way out.

“These things happen, I guess,” he chuckled, getting the closest he’d come to a genuine smile from you. The lighthearted way you suggested he’d done it on purpose; if he’d known that smile would come out, he certainly would have.

“Don’t worry. I’ll give it back,” you reassured him, grateful he wasn’t phased by the incident, though disappointed the conversation had ended, even if it wasn’t going great. At least it was something, and he got to appreciate how well his shirt suited you the rest of the day.

“It’s yours now, ma’am.”

…

At home, you made yourself dinner, still wearing his shirt. Sure, you told yourself it was just because of the chill, but deep down, you knew you wanted his scent—cologne mixed with a hint of cigarettes—lingering around you. Despite your reluctance, you eventually washed and dried it to return it properly. As you lay down in bed, a wave of mental relief washed over you, savoring the solitude after spending nearly the whole day with them fine-tuning songs. You picked up your phone, intending to scroll until you drifted off, when an Instagram notification popped up. Opening it, you saw he’d followed you and even sent a message. You set your phone aside for a moment, feeling like he was physically there; somehow, it made no difference.

When you accepted the request and opened the DM, the first thing you saw was a picture: a can of Diet Coke spilling onto his jeans, captioned with, “Thinking of you.” You couldn’t help but laugh softly to yourself. Eli probably thought it was funny—maybe it was, in a way. “You there? Am I getting ignored online too?” It made you realize you'd left the chat open, staring blankly. “Sorry, was busy,” you replied, though you instantly regretted it, realizing you could've been friendlier.

The typing dots popped up again, followed by, “With something more important than me?” You had to admit, his shameless confidence was quite charming. “Washing your shirt to return it. Hopefully, you won’t try that again xx,” you replied, heart-reacting to the Coke photo he’d sent. You didn’t want him to think you were actually ignoring him. After a pause, just as you were about to drift off, his final message came through. It was a voice note, low tone, a little sleepy, smooth.

“Uh, don’t see the problem, you know? Got to talk to you, and now you’ll return my shirt with your scent on it. You’re making this hard for me.” You could practically hear him smiling through the words, and once again, you found yourself grinning into your blankets.

…

You know those days that just aren't good? Your eyes ached, and there was a sharp pain in your head. Before entering the studio, some girls in Inhaler shirts were gathered near the entrance. They greeted you, and you nodded back, answering a few quick questions about them. You were polite, so one of them handed you her number, asking if you could give it to Eli. You took the slip of paper—it seemed routine, as if he received these often. She was beautiful. Your mind wandered to the number of girls chasing after him, not just here, but everywhere.

"Bobby’s sick; they’re not coming in today." One of the producers announced, and you felt a bit guilty for being relieved. Today, you didn't want to see anyone. It was hard to explain—if you knew how to avoid it, you would. Your chest felt like it was being crushed, heart racing, the familiar grip of anxiety that you just couldn’t make stop. As you thought about leaving, it hit you that you'd have to pass by those girls outside and take the bus home alone. You also worried about the delay in recordings, though you didn’t think Bobby should be there if he was unwell.

"Uh, you here by yourself? We won’t be recording today; thought someone might’ve told you. I just needed to grab my stuff." Eli shook his lighter, a rescuer in disguise. You held a cigarette between your fingers, hoping it would distract you, but you were restless, tapping your boot on the floor and fumbling in your pocket for your own lighter to no avail. He didn’t seem to notice anything wrong—at least he didn’t show it. His curls were perfectly in place, his jacket pulled over his arms, and that familiar, inviting smile. He’d clearly spent some time talking outside.

You opened your mouth, numb lips struggling to hide how off you felt, but no words came. He stepped close, his rings catching the light, and you focused on how nice his hand looked—a random, sudden thought that made you frown slightly. "Let me help," he whispered, his minty breath brushing your face. With the cigarette at your lips, you kept patting your jeans for the lighter. This was the closest you’d ever been to Eli; his fringe touched your forehead, and you realized how easily you could rest your head on his shoulder if you just leaned in. He sparked the lighter, holding it to your cigarette, his scent dizzying. His hand brushed your shoulder, and you wanted more. His calm eyes took in your vacant look as his fingers traced down your arm. For the first time, you couldn’t look at anything but his steady gaze. His freckles seemed to judge you silently, wondering why you had no control over yourself.

Seeing you weren’t taking a drag, he pulled the cigarette from your lips and placed it in his. "You can hear me, right?" His thumb brushed your palm, and you focused on your breathing as your eyes began to water. Eli was patient, his calm presence grounding you as you tried to steady yourself. Holding your hand, he gently pressed it to his chest so you could feel his heartbeat—thankfully steady. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Feel that, love?" Closing your eyes, still feeling overwhelmed, you listened to his words. "Just breathe with me. You’re not alone; it’s all gonna be fine." His voice was a balm, and slowly, it started to sink in.

"You’re doing great; you wouldn’t even need me here," he said softly, matching your small laugh with his own. Your knees gave way slightly, and he held you by the waist, you were closer than ever before. "We can just sit here until you’re alright, yeah?" You nodded, sinking to the floor beside him, surrounded by a few guitars. You toyed with the rings on his fingers, finding it a welcome distraction, and he didn’t mind. Exhausted, as you always seemed to feel, Eli noticed your tired, red eyes and pulled you against him. It was only his shoulder, but you let yourself lean in. He took a drag from the cigarette, ready to toss it aside to focus on you, but you took it from him, repeating his movements.

"So, that’s our first kiss," he murmured, his usual flirty tone and smug grin returning. He seemed proud. "What?" you muttered, throat sore, but he didn’t need to hear it; he saw it on your lips. His free hand slid along your back, keeping you close, wanting to distract you from your own mind. He was good at it.

"The cigarette’s a swap of saliva, right? That counts." You wrinkled your nose, thinking how typical it was for him to come up with something like that. You put out the cigarette, tossing the butt away. Nicotine didn’t help much, but it was something—it was human nature, and you understood that. He noticed your shy smile, his effect on you having its way. "Not funny, Eli. I don’t get why you do this," you murmured, exhaustion pulling your eyes closed, though you stayed nestled against his soft shoulder. He swallowed, realizing you weren’t playing a game; you were just oblivious.

"One of the fans outside even gave me her number to give to you." Your tone was gentle, though the crumpled paper in your hand suggested you had some opinion on it. "You think I’m just messing around with you?" He took your face in his hand, studying your troubled eyes. "Why would I do that? I wouldn’t flirt with you if I didn’t mean it. I don’t know how to be more obvious."

The firmness in his voice cut through like the edge of a blade. Now it was his turn to look at you like a puzzle piece he couldn’t quite figure out. You stared at him like he’d just spoken in another language, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Aren’t you? I mean… isn’t this just, like, a thing you do? Flirt with people for fun?” Oddly enough he was still comfortable, Eli could be anything but scary.

He looked at you, serious, shaking his head slightly, as if letting you slip through his fingers was out of the question.

Eli raised an eyebrow, his grin slipping. “Is that what you think of me?”

You fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know. I mean, you’re… you know…” Your voice dropped as if admitting the truth was embarrassing. “You’re you.”

He leaned closer, his voice low but insistent. “And what if ‘me’ wants you? What if I’m serious ‘bout this?”

Your eyes shot up to his, wide and startled, but you quickly looked away. “You’re not.”

“Yeah, I am,” Eli said, his gaze more serious now, one of those looks you couldn’t avoid. “I don’t just flirt with everyone. I don’t chase people. But I’m chasing you. What’s it gonna take for you to get that?”

His chest had been racing, but it started to calm as he took in your parted lips and the tears lingering in your eyes. He knew he was overwhelming you at a tough moment, and he hated that. His fingertips traced the bridge of your nose, lightly outlining your soft lines, enjoying how close you allowed him to be. “Are you okay, little one?” he asked softly, the edge of his jacket brushing your cheek to wipe away the last of your tears.

“Yeah,” you replied, the incident finally slipping away as you looked back at him, unable to focus on anything else. His careful eyes, the freckles scattered like constellations, each carrying its own name that you gave them—it was hard to think of anything but them. “God, I must’ve been such an idiot, right?”

He chuckled, his laugh warm and steady against you. Then, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, gentle but grounding, repeating it a few times as if to anchor you. You rested your head against his chest, nestling your face there, feeling the safety of his warmth. Your arms wrapped around his waist, a quiet comfort settling in.

“You weren’t an idiot. If anything, I’ve been bugging you since I got here.” You murmured a soft agreement, and he laughed again.

“But it worked, didn’t it? What do you say?”

You hid yourself a bit more in his embrace, feeling good, as he held you close, content to be your shield.

…

There was a comfortable weight draped over you, not unpleasant in the slightest. Your legs were tangled up with his, and you could feel his breath against your shoulder, soon followed by a series of light kisses and playful bites. You laughed into him, accepting your fate, and hugged him tighter. “Good morning,” he murmured, his voice sounding even better with that just-woke-up rasp. You glanced around, fully taking in the scene. His hand rested on your waist, his touch warm, and he was amazing at reading you, always respecting your pace.

“No one’s here yet. I’m not about to get you in trouble.” You smiled back at him, genuinely relieved.

“So you’re gonna hide us from them, huh?” he teased. “Hurts my feelings a little, y’know?” You looked down at your feet, ready to counter him, but before you could, his face was close again. He pressed a soft, wet kiss to your cheek. His messy curls tickled you, and you ended up laughing.

“When I make you nervous like this…” he traced his thumb along your hands, which were colder than your hot cheeks. “Is it a bad thing? Does it bother you?”

You met his gaze, smiling with your lip caught between your teeth. “I like how you talk to me, Eli. I just… don’t know how to deal with it right away.”

He nodded, his smile warm. “Good. I like that—it’s cute how you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

So effortlessly, he pulled the same reaction from you as before. The two of you kept talking, stealing these quiet moments before anyone arrived. Eli picked up on your hesitance with him, knowing you thought he was too charismatic for someone like you. But he also made it clear he didn’t mind your quieter world; he’d be just as happy living in it if you’d have him there.

Later that day, you ended up with his jacket draped over your shoulders and his hand resting gently on your back. You got to listen Bobby complimented you, saying you were better at adjusting his bass than any of the past techs they’d worked with. The way he talked about you was similar to how Eli did, which made you suspect Eli had already mentioned you to them before, even without knowing you well yet. None of them questioned your sudden closeness with Eli, not even when he introduced you like they didn’t all already know who you were. They were welcoming, you felt at ease.

 Eli’s hand slipped from your waist slowly, your smile softening as he looked at you. He was enjoying the way things were going. “I’m gonna grab us some food,” he said, tilting your chin up and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And a Diet Coke too.”

 You grinned, your smile so wide it showed all your teeth. “Want me to come with you?” Before either of you could say more, Ryan appeared with a question about drum kits, and Eli could see in your eyes that you wanted to answer.

 “I’ll be right back, I promise, little one,” he chuckled, leaving you with them. Minutes later, Ryan mentioned, “It’s great that Eli managed to finally talk to you. We’ve been hoping to catch you since that project you worked on with Miles.”

 The statement was so casual that you raised your eyebrows, realizing it had been over two years since that project—quite some time if you thought about it. “You guys were looking for me?”

 Ryan nodded, as if it were obvious. “Actually, Elijah suggested it. He’s into the albums you worked on. It took a while—you’re not exactly easy to track down.” You laughed, looking at them, struck by how Eli had admired your work for much longer than you’d ever realized. You’d thought he was out of reach, yet he’d appreciated your work from the start.

 “Don’t break our boy’s heart, alright? We’d have to side with you then, but we’d rather not,” Josh added with a smirk, and you felt your face heat up just as Eli returned, grinning, with a Diet Coke and fries in hand.

 You figured maybe you could handle this, after all.