•ﻌ• | not-so fake? date | fake? boyfriends | not so fake? boyfriends | maybe? boyfriends | surely? boyfriends | finally? boyfriends |
"Hate to say it, but you've just dug your own grave." with a slightly awkward edge, he reaches a hand across the table to grip mine as he introduces himself. "My friends call me Four, and I think it should be baby to my boyfriend."
warning: light swearing
words: 1.5k
I shouldn't be laughing, I really, really, shouldn't be.
Cooped up in the corner of my favourite café, my hands busy themselves with turning a page in my book and then turning it right back again. I gave up on deciphering the words a long time ago.
All of my attention lays on the man before me. He'd just entered, pulled off his hat and tousled his stupidly blond curls, when his phone rang. In truth, the sound of his ringtone — some crazy guitar riff — had startled me, but watching the way his shoulders seemed to drop in utter resignation when he caught sight of whoever it is that's calling him is what kept my eyes drawn to him.
Blue, and I mean blue eyes search the space, clear desperation swirling within, and then he speaks up.
"Hi, ma"
Just as his gaze finds mine, my predicament worsens as this woman screeches over the phone. A jerky hand pulls back his phone, and I raise my book to hide my laughter as he shoots me a sour look. With shaking shoulders, I carefully lift my mug just so I have something other than the strangers phone call to focus on. When the hot tea isn't enough to calm me down and I splutter into it, his contempt fades and he sends me a teasing smile as he finally answers her.
"Yea, yeah I know it's been a while. — I know, ma, I'm so sorry. It's just busy with work and all that and" she seems to cut him off again, and I watch as he drags a lazy hand down his face. Good god, he has nice hands. "Yes, I'll be there for that… with my boyfriend, sure Ma."
Sucks to be me, I guess. No pretty blue eyes to get lost in then. I'll just stick to then woods.
"What do you mean, you think I'm making him up? Ma!"
From one second to the other, the entirety of the café goes silent. The grandmothers in the corner have put down their knitting, even the barista that can't help but chat up every single male specimen that enters he vision seems to quiet down. My seat opens up at the frayed edges and swallows me as I shake with hardening laughter. This stranger, as cute as he is even with his eyebrows knit tightly, is making up a boyfriend? Someone as pretty as that?
"Listen, Ma, I know Nan is old, but she's not sick? She's fitter than I am!" whoops, "I know, I know, sorry Nan, but I'm telling you he's real. I would know because I'm on a date with him right now."
Oh god, he's digging even deeper. Poor guy.
A spoon clatters to the ground somewhere, and I try my hardest not to wheeze at the red tint that takes over his face as his head turns to the sound. Making eye-contact with the single mother at the counter, her son giggles lightly as he picks up the cutlery and hands it to the man.
Dirty little liar, huh?
"He's using the bathroom, Nan"
God, if this weren't so fucking funny to watch, I'd have gone over and saved him from his misery already, but watching him spin around, stare at the ceiling and blush at every new sentence he hears over the phone is better entertainment than any book has ever been.
His curls are mussed up, a wild and untamed and pretty mess, and then it's decided. No harm in helping out some cute stranger that's talked himself into a corner he doesn't seem to be able to get out of, right? I've always wanted to be a knight in shining armour.
Plus, he'd make a really cute princess.
"Hey, baby. Have you ordered?" I slide out of my seat, strutting over to him silently. And despite myself, I grin as his eyes switch up to look at mine. "Who're you talking to?"
Pretty red cheeks form a smile, and he flounders to answer me, although he's speaking directly into his phone.
"My Ma, she's uh…"
— IS THAT HIM?!
God, that's a set of pipes if I've ever heard one.
Before I have time to think about it, and he has time to mess it up, my fingers have plucked the phone from his grasp as my other pointer motions towards my empty mug. "You know my favourite, right?"
And then his phone is by my ear, and I send a giggled hello down the line.
"Oh my days!" the strangers mother sounds like I've just announced the end of a war. "So you are real! I don't believe it."
Laughing lightly, I trudge back over to my seat, settling into the cushions gingerly.
"Looks like I am, it's nice to meet you, ma'am. Sorry it's over the phone." The stranger finally joins me, still red in the face and more than nervous. His grandmother raves on about how sorry she is, having genuinely believed her grandson had lied about — well, me — Because he'd never even brought me over. And all I can do is sit and stare at the way the afternoon sun casts a halo of gold around his head.
"I promise you, I am very real… No, he's not paying me, but now that I'm thinking about it, maybe he should."
He rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat as he sips his own beverage. Fuck me, he's pretty.
Despite my best intentions to keep this short, his mother somehow managed to face-time me. Oh fuck. This wasn't part of the plan. Staring up at him, it seems to be his turn to laugh as my plan goes sideways.
But I improvise, as one does, turning ma head down and smiling brightly at the two women on the other side of the screen. Big blue eyes not unlike the ones across from me stare back, and I giggle at the resemblance. Only, now that the phone is in the middle of the table, the stranger snatches it back before either of the women get a word in.
"Okay," he murmurs, sending a worryingly mad look at the device, "Enough of that. Like I said, Ma, this is a date. I'll see you next week."
"You both will!" whoops, times two.
He hangs up without a word, groaning quietly as he rubs a hand across his closed eyes. For a moment, I think I might've fucked up, but then he looks at me again and it's like the sun has turned into nothing but a firefly. His smile is radiant, all teethy and disbelieving, and I can't help but grin right back.
"Hate to say it, but you've just dug your own grave." with a slightly awkward edge, he reaches a hand across the table to grip mine as he introduces himself. "My friends call me Four, and I think it should be baby to my boyfriend."
I guess that's what I am then, hm?
"Oh god," dropping my head into my hands, I can't help but laugh again. "You made me up! How could you even?"
He giggles again shyly, and nothing really matters but the glimmer in his eyes. For a moment I think I might be the one making him up. Four shakes his head then, resting both elbows on the table to lean up close to me.
"I would never. Don't think I could even dream up a man as handsome as you."
Oh, that's rich.
He's a total, absolute stranger, and yet my fingertips dance across his bare, tattooed, forearm for a moment. I guess this stranger is my boyfriend now, so whatever. We sit in silence for a moment, and I laugh when I look at him and he's all blushy again. My shoulders shake as I lean back, letting the sun warm my face and his foot nudge mine into the space between his.
"So, baby." he drawls out finally, dipping his chin, "Let's finish our tea and figure out a good cover story for the imminent break-up?"
"You're breaking my heart! I just met your ma and now you want to rip her away from me again? That is so, so, truly and unbelievably toxic. I can't believe you would do this to me." I flounder for a moment, throwing my hands through the air in fake-exasperation.
Four is laughing again, open and speechless. But he caves, and then he's telling me all about himself, and his dog, and his ma and nan and homophobic cousin. And suddenly I find myself thinking that I should scratch out the fake in my newfound status at some point. If he'll ever let me, that is.
We finish our date well into the evening, leaving the café with the closing staff and profuse apologies. And then we meet again, just to get our cover right. Okay, maybe twice. Just to fill any last gaps so I can properly impress his Ma.
"Oh yeah, I saw him embarrass himself in public and decided to help a guy out. Next thing I know I get to call him mine."
han stop giving ivy cocky bfs challenge impossible edition
js a quick one this week ig bc uni is a lot rn & i don't have as much time to come up w good shit as i'd like
fake? date | not-so fake? date | fake? boyfriends | not-so-fake?boyfriends | •ﻌ• | surely? boyfriends | finally? boyfriends |
"You want to change into something more comfortable?" he's leaned against the counter across from me, eyeing my slacks and work shirt with a look I can't pinpoint. Nodding, I let him usher me over into the bedroom to pick something cosy. By the time I've washed up a bit and reemerge into the living room, he's already on the couch with Simba at his side. The TV is on as well, flickering with the loading screen of his console.
warnings: swearing, bad eating habits, everybody is an asshole lmao
words: 7.3k
For some crazy reason, despite the fact that the weather is still gloomy, cold and miserable, it's like Summer's arrived in my heart. We've been getting used to each other, Four and I. In the last week he's allowed me to come along on his and Simba's walks anytime I asked. Probably so he could steal my gloves and stay warm, but I'm not one to complain.
The sun claws its way through the muddy sky, fighting all day long to be visible in between heavy clouds. It's supposed to be getting warmer. It's February, for hell's sake, this is the part where the last remains of brown snowy sludge melt away, flowers bloom and birds sing. With Simba on my side I know it would mean entering my princess era.
He's as energetic as ever as he runs across the wet grass, chasing leaves and birds and plastic bags that are picked up by the wind. Four just huffs, squeezing my hand before he recalls him. "Atta boy," he hums easily, treat in hand and leash ready to be clipped back to his collar.
I barely catch the next words he says, but I'm not sure if they're being dragged away by the wind or if he simply doesn't want me to. "Want to come over later?" Ah, sure. A laugh falls from my lips, and I stare down at him as he casts his eyes through the open space.
"I've been at yours about five out of six nights in the last week." I deadpan, dragging him over to the exit. "Wouldn't want you to get sick of me."
"I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't want you around." — "Sounds familiar."
"Yeah, I'm getting there."
Together, we make our way back to his place. With our hands intertwined to fight off the cold, it's more than comfortable to trudge through the barren streets. It's quiet, even though it's Saturday, and it seems like the cold is keeping most people at home right now.
"I wouldn't be surprised if it snows again." Stopping dead in my tracks, I stare at him with narrowed eyes. "What?" he grins shyly, head already turned into his collar.
"We are not talking about the fucking weather." no, we're more interesting than that. No way. Landing a peck onto his cheek as I pass him, it's my turn to drag him along and towards the safety of his home. "I don't care about snow. What are we doing later? Is tonight gonna be the night you teach me your little video game?"
"Little?" whoops, "You didn't just fucking say that." with a shit-eating grin on my face, I turn back quickly to wink at him. "You-" his hand leaves mine, and the only warning I get is the steady wagging of Simba's tail before they pounce. I have no clue how Four runs this quickly in his long coat, but he does. Between a startled laugh and the genuine fear of being tackled into another dimension, my feet move quickly. I'm grateful that there's such a small amount of pedestrians out and about, because as much as I'm currently enjoying being chased through the streets by a hot guy and his dog, I would hate to run somebody over right now.
My lungs ache after we've rounded the first block, the cold air bites as I heave in huge breaths of air, "Stop, Stop!" I gasp, hands raising defensively as I slow to a stop, "I give up, okay-" And, goodbye. Four crashes into me, fully. I mean head on collision, whoa. Taking a step back upon impact, I snicker as he practically knocks me off my feet. Simba's barking by our side, running in small circles as we fight to keep our footing.
"I'm sorry," I tease, half-stumbling backwards as my arms rest on his waist for stability, "Didn't mean that, Toots. Teach me your glorious games." — "Fuck you." he adds, pulling back with a teasing grin and walking towards his home without another second to waste.
"I mean it!" struggling after him, my hand reaches for his once more, successfully keeping him from leaving my side. "Didn't mean to belittle them, I do want you to show me." another huff, another step, another deep breath of cold air, and he's silent.
"What's wrong?" — "It's no big deal." ouch.
I follow him around the corner silently, sulking as Simba takes his side away from me instead of between our legs where he'd been previously. Too much, fuck. Too teasing, too soon, fuck.
"I genuinely didn't mean to belittle your hobby. Genuinely. I'm sorry that it came out the way it did, probably could've worded that better. You don't have to show me, it's okay." Four isn't even looking at me, fuck, "Maybe-" our hands snag in the air as I stop in my tracks. My breath catches, and I force myself to swallow the lump in my throat.
"I can go if you want."
I'm not sure if it's from the darkness that falls over us or if I'm imagining things, but his eyes are colder than they've ever been. With our arms stretched between us, all I can make out is a steely, harsh swirl of grey from the distance. My fingers slide out from between his, and I rasp my throat in an effort to compose myself.
"Don't." the words are quiet. The knot between his brows only tightens, and Four sighs before taking another step towards me. Somewhere down the street, a streetlamp turns on, and all of a sudden his eyes find that vibrant, teasing edge again. "I know you didn't mean anything by it, it's not like you — For a moment my brain didn't catch up with that." another sigh falls from his lips, and he bridges the gap between us completely, "Come home with me. I'll show it to you, Sweets."
Simba comes to my side, settling his teeth around my fingers and pulling me along gently. "What the fuck?" Four laughs, dropping the dog's leash into my free hand and starting down the street. "Wait, he's-" I can't help but laugh, bend over to soothe the light sting of his canines in my skin, and follow along.
Finally, his building comes into view. I smile at his neighbour as we meet her on the street, giggling as Simba bounds over to greet her. "You again." she smiles, a challenging look in her magnified eyes.
"Me again."
"Be good, boy." Is she talking to the dog or me? I'm not sure, but I take her bag regardless, grinning as Four offers her his arm and takes her up with us.
The two of them bee-line towards her door, but Four opens the door to his home for me before helping her in. "Looks like it's the two of us, huh?" Thankfully, the dog is calm as I pat his paws dry, offering each one up without much thought and reaching out to lick at my chin when I'm down by the ground and close to him. "Okay, okay, I know." I grin, dropping to my ass.
"I know I should be glad that he likes you and all that. But mate, you know he licks his own ass, right?" Four grins from the doorway, half leaning against it. I simply roll my eyes, running the towel against Simba's tummy to clean him of dirt. Four enters fully, sliding off his shoes and stepping over the two of us on the ground to get towards the kitchen.
"Tea?" he throws back just before he disappears in the doorway. Humming in confirmation, both his dog and I follow along to stay by his side. The kettle is turned on, two mugs are grabbed from his collection. The sparrows, of course, and a second one in plain red glaze. He flits around the kitchen, grabs the tea packets and honey to make the beverages as I watch.
"You want to change into something more comfortable?" he's leaned against the counter across from me, eyeing my slacks and work shirt with a look I can't pinpoint. Nodding, I let him usher me over into the bedroom to pick something cosy. By the time I've washed up a bit and reemerge into the living room, he's already on the couch with Simba at his side. The TV is on as well, flickering with the loading screen of his console.
The pants I'd put on are a smidge short, but I don't pay it any mind as I sit down beside him and curl into his sweater. Dropping his controller into my hands, Four ruffles my hair in passing as he walks off to change as well. Dark green pants, an old, worn out band shirt that rides up over his tummy as he stretches, and my sanity has left the picture like an absent father. "Stop eye-fucking me, loser." Four huffs as he rejoins me, "Let's see if you're any good at my little game."
It's simple enough, at least it appears to be. I'm walked through the steps carefully, let his thumbs hover over mine as he walks our character through the world and explore new places. The cat people he'd told me about sometime look wildly different than I'd assumed.
"They look so weird, what the hell." I comment offhandedly, and Four laughs by my side, "What did you think, that they were little house cats?"
"Kind of." — "There is a kind of them that's more house cat looking. Their size and appearance are, like, depending on what kind of moon-phase they were born in. Super cool"
"Uh-huh." what the hell
The laugh that falls off his lips is loud, almost brazen. High pitched and so honest it takes my breath away. He sounds so real, so open and utterly perfect I lose my train of thoughts. In return, the little character on his TV screen stops dead in their tracks, unmoving as they're getting viciously attacked by some sort of icicle zombie-creature. Without his guidance and my hands laying limply in my lap, I've made them defenceless.
Half curled onto his lap, with my head on his shoulder, I let him lead me through the world, pretend to be mad when he messes with my hair and let him make fun of me whenever I completely miss a swing point blank or jumble through an attack wildly. My body shakes lightly with every new bout of laughter, but I make no move to escape his warmth. He's really warm, like a heated pillow. No wonder he's wearing a shirt in the height of winter.
"Okay, okay." he's gasping for air, pressing his free hand to his chest as I drop the controller, "I'm sorry, sweets, but you're so stupidly bad at this," steady hands grasp mine over the controller, moving my thumbs and returning the basically dead avatar back to life to save them from the abuse the<'re being subjected to. Gently, warmly, his fingers overtake mine as they fall limp completely, and I follow the character as they move, trying to categorize which buttons he's making me press. Steadily, Four walks me through the necessary steps to survive a fight, resting his chin by the side of my head and whispering each and every word directly into the shell of my ear.
"Time your attack right." Uh-huh, time it right.
"Be careful around the bigger ones, maybe cast a spell?" Casting spells, sure, just like you do.
His words are calm again, slightly teasing, and I wish the deep timbre of his voice wasn't so fucking breathtaking. But with the way he's going, with the pressure of his fingers against mine and the patience, the affection, that drips from his voice, nothing sticks aside from the fact that I'd do anything this man could ask of me.
"You're not even listening to me, are you?" he sighs finally, letting his head fall back on the armrest in mock disappointment. It's my turn to tease him, pausing the game before dropping the controller and rolling more firmly onto his stomach. "Can't, your voice is too pretty to focus on anything else."
His eyes are doubtful as they tilt back down towards me, and the grin on my face widens as I formulate a plan. "I mean it, you're so pretty! What's a guy gotta do to make you believe me, hm?" He just groans, mumbling incoherent complaints into the air. Caught up between giggles, I lay my chin on his tummy to watch the redness creep up his stretched out neck. "The prettiest boy I've ever known." I muse, sliding both hands to rest on his hips and keep him close as he makes a weak attempt to wiggle out from beneath me.
My head tilts down slowly, letting my lips rest against his clothed tummy before speaking again, "Pretty blue eyes," another light press of my lips, open-mouthed and half ruptured by my chuckles, "Beautiful curls." by the time I've rested another, more proper kiss a few inches lower and finally on the skin of his tummy, his head's still tilted away from me, but there's a short hiccup building in his chest. Fuck, what does it mean? Another follows shortly, but something tells me that if I don't finish what I started, I might as well burn at the stake.
"The cutest freckles." humming into his skin, my hands roam over his tummy as my lips trace the constellations that take over the side of his stomach and hips. "Could be my prettiest boy, If you'd let me." Four curls over top of me, shooing me away with an amused huff as he presses a few kisses to my head in return.
"I get it. I get it, stop trying to fucking woo me, you ass."
"Do you get it? Really?" Finally, right as my wandering head meets his love handles, I allow my mouth to open further and nip into the supple flesh. Gently, of course. Just enough force to dent the skin. My mouth lingers on the spot as I watch his eyebrows draw together. Out of sheer curiosity, I repeat the action to watch his face flush, feeling his breath hitch beneath my open palm, loosening the knot between his brows by letting my tongue dart over the reddened skin.
The words that fall of my lips are weak in tone, but I feel them so deeply in my heart, like the truth on my lips is made up of the fibres that hold the universe together. "My prettiest boy." Fours eyes don't leave mine, only switch from one to the other as if he's trying to find a lie. He won't. Then his hands reach up, push my hair back in broad strokes before settling onto my jaw and coaxing me up towards him.
He's leaned up onto his forearm by the time our faces are within reach, still staring me down. Blond eyebrows shoot together, curl up towards the sky and he's put on those stupid fucking puppy-dog eyes again. With a croaky voice, meek and insecure, he repeats my words back as he pulls me down. Our lips meet ever so gently, pick up a slow but impossibly deep pace and then he flips the table on me, pushes forward and into an upright position until he's settled onto my lap completely. Lightly, as if he thinks I would refute anything he could want to do to me, his teeth nip at my bottom lip on a rougher pass.
Fuck, by the time I've managed to swallow down my groan, his tongue has lapped over the skin as he pulls me in deeper. One hand at the back of my neck, the other by my chin, I allow him to guide me through it, let him take his time and do as he pleases. Far too soon for my liking, Four draws back, runs a hand through my hair as he breathes deeply onto my face. His eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide and Irises shining with all the words he can't find.
"I should kiss you more often if it'll shut you up." The sofa cushions welcome him easily as he drops back, legs still caging me in and keeping me in place. His groan is wrecked. Deep and guttural and fucking addictive. And yet watching as he lays before me, stretched out and lazy with his face flushed red and lips slightly swollen, he's the cutest, most endearing wreck I've ever laid my eyes on. Giggling lightly, I follow him down and lay my head back onto his stomach as I adjust our legs.
Finally, proudly and entirely satisfied to have embarrassed him, I press the side of my face into his tummy, running a restless hand up and down the soft skin on his side. He falls silent as well, allowing his own hands to brush along the back of my head.
With the game paused and reality rushing back in, it's almost quiet in his flat. Where I'd usually be begging for music, or a show in the background or just something to take the pressure of having to fill the silence before it becomes uncomfortable away from me, I'm content to listen to his stomach gurgle beneath my ear.
"Your tummy's got a lot to say to me." — "Oh, shut the fuck up, I haven't eaten since breakfast."The fuck?
"You haven't eaten?" My head shoots up, hands caging him in as I stare him down. My gaze switches to the clock on his wall briefly, noting that it's literally almost Five-thirty in the afternoon. Five-thirty.
"Missed lunch, it's too early to have dinner and I didn't feel like snacking before meeting you." What. the. fuck. "What do you mean you missed lunch? That's not how that works, Toots." the fucker shrugs, pulling his shirt down lightly as his eyes wander across the room to avoid my persistent stare.
"You think we can whip something quick for us? Oh, how about soup?" leaving his warm body behind on the couch is just about as hard as one would think, but I manage to do it nonetheless. With my mug in hand and a plan in mind, I stroll over towards the kitchen, stopping only to pet Simba when I reach his dog-bed. The cold air from the fridge slaps me in the face as I pull it open to look inside, and the minor annoyance is only reinforced by the steady drip of the leaky faucet.
Four is still impossibly warm when he reaches me, settling both hands on my hips, and I bite my lip when he slides his warm palms beneath the hem of the hoodie I'm wearing. "I could whip up some pasta." His chin hits my shoulder gently, but he doesn't grace me with an answer. We just stand there for a moment, leaving me trapped between the cold fridge and his warmth.
"No, let's figure out something else together. I'm not in the mood for pasta." Hands reach past me, sliding different ingredients out of the fridge and instructing me to begin my work. Washing some vegetables, I let Four position me at the counter to chop them up. The dull hits of the knife against the cutting board are interspersed by the steady drip of water from the faucet.
'Drip' and 'drip' and yet another fucking 'drip.'
The knife slides from my hand, resting in the mountain of carrots I'd prepared. "How do you fucking do that?" — "Do what?" Four asks, sliding up beside me and crunching on a piece of carrot. "Listen to the fucking faucet without going crazy?"
Another drip later, I've released myself from his grip in search of the problems. "Do you have tools?"
"You genuinely want to fix my sink." he deadpans, sliding another piece of carrot down to give to Simba. "What, are you a handyman or something?" he doesn't fight when I begin clearing out the cabinet beneath the sink, simply stepping away to hopefully grab his tools. Switching back up to inspect the hardware, I curse when I loosen it the smallest bit and sprays all over my hoodie. Turning it off quickly, the garment lands somewhere in the doorway as I pull it off. First things first, turn the fucking water off.
"So, are you?" Four giggles from behind me, crunching on some veggie right after. "Or do you just like to strip down and crawl under your fake-boyfriend's sinks?" Giving a noncommittal hum, I slide forward to make sure the pipes are fine and I can cut the water. The words singe themselves into the depths of my brain.
"Yeah," I can't help but grunt as I finally find the right valves. "Grew up in a family that saw no point in hiring handymen when well, we were handy men?" he hums mid-bite, seemingly unaffected by the lack of sense I'm making. "My dad taught me how to get shit done pretty early."
"Your dad teach you how to look as sexy as you do as well?" he hums, all breathy and unfocused and I turn back just in time to see his chin jerk back up and stare at the ceiling instead of my back.
"Hell no, got the looks from my mum, but I'm glad you're enjoying the show." laughter is easy, laughter is safe. This is safe territory, my maybe-boyfriend's allowed to call me sexy. Being mindful not to hit my head when he nods with the prettiest red cheeks, I stare him down for a moment before winking. "Anyways, yeah, I was shown my way around most things. Anything my dad didn't teach me some other family member knew how to do."
Suddenly, I'm all too aware of his eyes on my back. My bare skin burns beneath his gaze, as if he was taking me apart atom by atom. He thinks I'm hot. Regardless of the heat that creeps up my neck, I work on making sure everything's in order so I can fix the hardware.
"God," he groans quietly as I come up to lean against the sink to take it apart. Swallowing deeply, I steel myself. "If you want to smack my ass just do it, Toots. God won't do it for you." I bite the inside of my cheek, not brave enough to look back at Four but practically feeling the warmth radiate off him from across the room.
"You sure?" he asks meekly, but before I can answer the balls of his feet thud against the checkered tiles, he slides forward lightly and plants a firm hand right on my butt. Only he does it hard. The sheer force of his palm on my skin makes me jerk forward just a smidge. Enough for my head to meet the edge of his cabinet with a loud 'Bonk'.
A hand comes up to grab the spot immediately. In the back of my mind, I hear that soundbite he showed me a while ago. Some Latin words, a chant I'd consider to be demonic if it weren't so fucking funny. My forehead thumps with each beat of my heart, but my cackling comes easily as he pulls me from the cabinet with wide eyes.
"Fuck." he all but yelps, turning me around to face him. Hands wave in the air frantically, as if he can't decide whether to soothe the spot or run away. And yet he stands rooted to his spot, squishing me between himself and the counter behind me. "I'm so sorry." he stutters, wide eyed and shaky. Between frantic, maybe lightly concussed and pained laughter, I allow him to finally put his hand on my head.
"It's okay," I bring out between laughter, "I can't even be mad at you for that." He's still paralysed, so I reach out and hold his hips with shaky hands. "Like, wow." I giggle, "You really meant that slap, hm? Been waiting for the chance?"
He's silent, his hand still tracing above the point of impact as if he wants to pull the injury right out. He's trembling. Fuck, my pretty boy is trembling.
I regret shooting up where I laid the moment I do it, but his hands steady me as the world spins around us. "Handsome boy." I hum, unsure about whether or not the tears in his eyes are of my making or is own. "Four." They're of his, fuck. Wordlessly I switch our position, place a leg between his and pull his head onto my shoulder. The hand on his back wanders upwards, keeping him close and steady against me. His forehead finds the crook of my neck, and I will my free hand to move as I soothe his curls. When the first whimper falls from his throat and warms my skin, I kiss his hair and pull him in tighter.
"It's okay, I'm okay baby." he hiccups, groaning a miserably apology into my skin. Between hurried breathing and unsure hands, I barely make out the self-loathing whispers that fall from his lips. "You barely hurt me. I'm not mad at you. You're okay." the words are meaningless, gentle reassurances and quiet affirmations as I press them out.
"Stupid, stupid fucking-" he mumbles. Over and over and fucking over again.
Something about his immediate panic, a reaction so wrong for a situation as silly as this one, breaks my heart into a million pieces. "Don't say things like that, baby, please. Not for this." His head feels light in my hands, so fragile. Watery eyes trail across the tiles, and he sniffles once before wiping at his running nose and meeting my eyes. They're steely, almost grey in the dim lighting.
"I didn't mean to hurt you." he forces out, as if the words were too heavy to say. They must be, the truth I'd known all along hangs heavy between us. "I know that, Baby. I know. Plus, I told you to go for it. And go for it you did." My other hand finds his cheek, and I fight the smile on my face as I lean forward gently.
"I'm so sorry." he huffs, letting his fingertips ghost across the spot. But there's a smile on his face, sudden and earnest, and I grin right back at him as my hands drop. Finally, Simba trudges into the room, nudging his head against Fours leg as he sits beside us.
"I might forgive you if you kiss it better."
"Okay." he's leaning forward heavily, dotting my face with featherlight kisses. His lips are salty by the time they reach mine, and I keep them there with a hand to the side of his face. I deepen the kiss quietly. Reach a hand up to rest on his jaw, tilt his head just the smallest bit to the right, and seal my lips over his. Four reacts the worst way he could, stiffens in my hold as one hand grasps at my forearm before absolutely melting into my touch. Just as I'm pulling back, giving him space and calm to figure it out, he's dragged me closer once more. Good god — Who I might have to start believing in because there's no way I could land a man like him without divine intervention — the things I'd let him do to me.
"I'm okay, Four. And I am not mad at you. Nothing more than a little nudge." pointing at my forehead dramatically, I giggle as he kisses the surely reddening spot again. Then his lips find mine, even heavier, more desperate, as if there's something he has to prove. I match the tilt of his face, open my mouth in time with his and let him take control. Breathing into my mouth, his eyes flick to mine despite the closeness. Then they're back on my lips, pupils dilated as he squeezes my arm. Another peck later, drawn out as it is, he's separating himself and shuffling around the kitchen to grab me a pack of frozen peas.
Mindlessly pressing it to my forehead as I lean against the counter, I make it a point to pinch his ass — in retaliation, of course — before sending him off. "I promise I'm good, now let me finish."
Four purses his lips and sends me one of those forced smiles a stranger would receive, nodding as he wipes away the last bits of his tears. Just as he turns back towards the counter, the doorbell rings. "You expecting somebody?" All I get is a shake of his head before he's trudged off towards the entryway.
"Mate, what the fuck?" Is all he brings out as a jumble of voices overlay his. "Oh, fuck."
"You missed fucking practice, you dingbat! And you better have a good fucking excuse for not letting us know-oh." I turn just in time to watch as a man that can only be described as a flurry of limbs crashes through the doorway. Just for a moment, he looks like a deer in the headlights, but then his eyes switch, his grin widens and I think I have to fear for my life.
"What the fuck happened to you?" his eyes flit back towards the other two men in the hall once, surely catching the redness in Fours eyes. And oh my god they're gonna kill me. This is fine, this is okay, sure. My hand falls from my head, mouth snapping open and shut as I watch the shortest of them slide in front of Four.
"It's not what it looks like?" Jesus, the little guy's scary. Finally, it seems the culprit behind this misery seems to get what's going on. And all he does is laugh. "Jeez, lads. Listen to the man." he giggles as he's freeing himself from the pile to walk towards me.
"The dumbass hit his head trying to fix the sink, nothing to worry about." I watch the suspicion drain out of their eyes, giggle when Simba struts in and steals their attention.
"Practice." The tallest one points to the third member of their little group as he speaks up, dark eyes zeroed in on Four as he mindlessly pets the dog. "Sorry," he cringes, "I forgot we scheduled an extra session today, wanted to hang out with-"
"Your boyfriend, sure, poor excuse but I get it, I too would prefer staring as a half-naked man fixes my pipes, I see you, Ivy." the tallest grins mockingly, earning him a smack square to the back of his head. Jeez, okay. I can handle this, whatever. Clambering about briefly, I shuffle back to the sink to finish up my work, ignoring the appreciative whistle behind me as my cheeks burn.
For a moment, all I focus on is my work — at least I try to— but it's a bit hard to ignore the heavy stares they're surely giving me. Grunting lightly, I work on getting everything sealed tightly again, trying to ensure nothing can go wrong any time soon. The others are talking behind me, going on about some music thing and gossip about their crew and technical stuff I know nothing about.
"Can you turn on the sink for me? Wanna see if I did a proper job." None of them answer me, but I hear a light snicker from what I'm assuming is Three. I feel the press of legs on either side of my hips, hiding my groan at the proximity as Four stands above me. For a moment, the faucet is turned on, running smoothly until he turns it off again. Silence falls over the group as we wait for the dripping. But it doesn't come. Pulling out from beneath the sink, I crouch between his legs for a moment, humming as he runs a hand through my hair to underline the 'thank you' he's offering me.
"You better keep this guy around, Ivy." Three hums, pointing a carrot stick at me before handing it to Simba, "Might wanna borrow the hot handyman some time around. You fix cars?" chuckling mildly, I run a hand across my neck to soothe the warmth before nodding. They grin in triumph, cackling as Simba chomps down on his snack. "Look a' that."
Four rolls his eyes beside me, redder than I've ever seen him, but neither of us have the strength to stop the guy. "Get out a lawn chair or two, you and me. Maybe just one." they point at him, "And then we sit and watch your pretty boy bend over my car."
What the fuck
My laughter is stunned, eyes wide and unsure as Two reaches over to slap the taller man again. "Stop flirting with Ivy's boyfriend, you're gonna kill the man." I should correct them. I really should. But I don't. Instead, I lean back and watch in silence as Two picks Simba up like he's a little chihuahua. The third of their group, Vessel, barely reacts quickly enough to slide the bowl of cut vegetables away before the dogs maw snaps shut and steals it all. Not that it's any safer with him and Three grabbing random pieces.
"Should I just? Hold on." A bit of awkward shuffling later, I've finally wrestled the veggies away from them to finish cooking our meal. In favour of saving a bit of space in the cramped kitchen, I tap the side of Fours thigh before hoisting him up on the counter beside me. Letting him walk me through his plan quickly before busying myself while they talk about some details he missed at practice.
"I thought you were a bad cook?" Two mumbles from beside me, bright blue eyes meeting mine with a raised brow. "Did Four say that?" my gaze shoots to the man in question, but he just shrugs before discussing a riff with Vessel. "Nah, his Nan told me the other day." Two nods, readjusting Simba with little effort.
"Wow, what a betrayal. I do think I'm decent at it." I press out, jokingly poking at Fours hip with the back of my utensil. "Not gonna have the poor guy starve, at the very least." Two's jaw is set, Blue eyes wandering over my form like a protective mother. What's with all these people being so protective of Four? Wait, I take that back. My b- the man meets my look for the fraction of a second and I'm reminded of the fact that I, too, would rather die than see him hurt.
"Right." the drummer finally grins at me, and I realise for the first time that there's no need for me to be afraid of a guy that's like, the size of a bass-guitar. "You just make sure to treat him well." Never mind, what the hell? Somebody give him brown contacts, this is terrible.
"I've tweaked the drum parts a bit as well, mate. Just to smooth things out in the live version." Okay, nod and smile. Let him turn away. Be good, yes, be the best. Let them do their thing, focus on the food. I only half pay attention to the rest of their conversation, just a tad bit guilty of making Four forget about their practice.
As if he sensed that the food's basically done and I just can't bring myself to separate them, Vessel turns to me with a polite smile. "Sorry for just barging in, we don't want to keep you two from dinner." I'm about to fight, want to tell him that it's no big deal and I'm sorry for messing with their schedule — unknowingly but it still happened — when he's already grabbing Three and ushering him from the room.
Even Two manages a teasing smile in my direction before settling Simba down, waving at Four and following the others. They leave in as much of a flurry as they arrived in, somehow both incredibly chaotic but controlled at the same time.
"Your friends are nice." I deadpan, watching as Four slides off the counter and walks back over to my side to help with plating the food. All he does is reach up a hand to pat my shoulder, grab his plate in one hand and mine in the other and walks off towards the small dining table.
"You better get used to them if you want to stick around." he grins as he settles in his seat. I drop into mine without much thought, stretching my legs under the table as our eyes meet. "I can get used to them, sure. Plus, I'm almost entirely sure we could get along, that was just a lot."
Snickering into his food, he finishes chewing his first bite and throws up a thumbs-up before speaking "Looks to me like someone's bad at sharing." — "You kidding? I'd share a lot of things with the long guy, no matter how shortly we've known each other. You're simply not one of them, Toots."
We eat in relative silence, I only snort occasionally when Four catches me slide a small bite over towards the edge of the table and into Simba's reach, making the man kick my foot lightly. Which led to us playing footsie, of course. Which in turn led to both of his ankles crossing over one of mine and holding my foot hostage.
"Let's watch something." — "No more video games?" both of my hands sneak around him as I watch him clean up our dishes. It's strange that we've already found this routine, strange that he leans back into me when my arms wrap around him and that I'm not surprised that he uses far too much dish-soap.
It's the good strange, of course, but strange nonetheless.
"I don't think I have the patience to watch you get beat the fuck up all night, so no. We're gonna curl up in bed and watch a movie or two." Right. I follow him over through the living room and into his bed. Like he's done it a million times over, he grabs a fluffy blanket from the back of the sofa, clutching it under his arm before reaching for one of Simba's toys and pushing open the door to his room with his hips. Right, so were getting comfy.
Turning on my heel, I make my way back to the kitchen to grab some water and a few snacks, dropping my loot onto his nightstand before looking down at him. He's already curled up in bed, propped up by his mountain of pillows with Simba by his side. Both of them look up at me expectantly, and I don't waste another second and just let myself fall forward.
Four yelps, trying to catch me before I go tumbling right into him, and I fight my hardest to stay composed as I manoeuvre myself to sit against the headboard by his free side. "What?" I add simply, chuckling as his hand comes up to slap at my chest before he settles deeper into his pillows. "Dick."
In favour of not having to see the slightly disappointed edge on his face for another moment, I let him pick the movie, lay back and accept Simba beside me as he hops over our legs and stretches onto his back. From the moment the opening credits roll, my mind is occupied by other things. How am I supposed to care about some weird movie he's put on when Four's breathing is just the tiniest bit laboured? How am I supposed to pay attention to anything aside from his fidgeting hands? How am I supposed to sit here and pet his dog when it feels like the man's experiencing an existential crisis?
My hand settles around his shoulder with purpose, gently but steadily dragging him around to lay more on his side. The stiffening of his muscles is met with a steady rub over the skin as I wait for them to loosen back up. They do eventually, smooth over under my careful ministrations as I watch his hands drop to his lap. But he doesn't settle on my chest, sadly enough. Instead, he props himself up on his arm, facing me completely as the first few scenes of the movie fall on deaf ears.
"How's your head?" god, he's unnecessarily cute when he's all flustered and unsure. Giving him a noncommittal hum in response, I knit my eyebrows together in mock-pain and look up at him shortly. "I don't know, I don't think you kissed it better enough."
Before I know it, two steady hands land on my thighs, grab them tightly and pull me lower onto the bed. He's above me now, lit up by the golden glow of his bedside lamp and smiling through faked anger. "Are you saying my kisses are bad?" His fingers ghost over my skin, reaching up beneath his hoodie and onto my sides. Oh, hell no. "Are you, hm? Are you saying I suck and should stop, is that it?" Hes cackling, settling over me as his fingertips draw featherlight shapes and slight pinches into my sides.
I can't help but laugh, winding beneath him as wanton giggles fall from my lips. "No!" god, I'm shrieking. If it were anybody else above me I'd be embarrassed, but I just reach out and grab his arms in flimsy attempts of grounding myself. "No?" he's still looking down at me, a teasing glint in his eyes. "What's it then, hm? Say it,"
"No, no-" I'm helpless, entirely out of breath and weak beneath his touch, "No, baby- your kisses are great, uh, five star rating. I just." he's still tickling me, drawing more and more hiccuped giggles out from deep within my chest. "Want more." fuck. Fours hands still on my sides, eyes widening as they flit over my face.
"Your greed sickens me." And suddenly he's grinning from ear to ear, pulls a hand out from beneath the hoodie and grabs me by the jaw. His lips find mine in a steady, all-consuming kiss. It's my turn to gasp into his mouth, arching my back as his hand slides up towards my chest and rests right on my beating heart. Fuck, his grip is steady, commanding, trapping me between his flushed skin and the soft bedding. Fuck. I've kissed him a few times, sure, but never like this. He's fast, desperate, inexplicably precise in the way he lets his tongue drag over mine, and the groan that escapes me is a surprise to even myself.
My heartbeat is fast, erratic, and I push up against his hand as he separates himself from me. "Easy, cowboy." Warmth floods my senses when I look at him. A gentle smile rests on his lips, underlined perfectly by the blush that's covering his cheeks. Gone is the confident, domineering man that had kissed me, replaced by this soft little guy faster than I can blink. Blue eyes search mine for a moment, curious and eager, and his smile widens into a teasing grin before he eases the pressure on my chest and allows me to come up and follow. I kiss it off of his face, reach out to hold him steady and swallow the huffs of laughter he can't seem to contain.
"Better?" huh? His tone is teasing, egging me on as he lays his weight onto me. This time around, it's his head that lands on my chest. "Your injury, bastard." the warmth that creeps up my neck is overwhelming, and I've never been happier to not be in his field of vision. "Yeah, yeah. I'm all better. Although I might have some setbacks if we don't keep up the kissing." smooth. He chuckles, surely rolling his eyes at me as he pulls my hand over his shoulder and onto his back.
"Shut up I'm trying to watch this." — "Fuck you."
"You wish."
if they seem in too deep that's cause they literally are stfu. they are all i think about your honour omfg to think i wanted to finish this this week is crazy i have so much to say wtaf
as always, tell me what you wanna see, tell me what's bad and what's good and what to name this fucking series because it's safe to say it has to get a separate masterlist now lmao
Two sets of footsteps, a smidge too heavy for the late afternoon and lead by perfectly tiny paws, mark their way up the old steps. Cold water still drips steadily behind us, and we stop dead in our tracks just outside of Fours opened door. "We should, uh…" he trails off, looking down at his dripping jacket.
warnings: swearing, mention of verbal abuse, nakey boys
words: 6.2k
"Give it here." I hum, easily reaching a hand out towards Four to carry his tote for him. I know for a fact that my boyfriend would have pulled back and insisted on carrying it by himself just weeks ago, but now he gives it to me without much of a complaint. The hand it frees up follows quickly, fingers lacing with mine as we stroll in comfortable silence. Simba trots along quietly, just by his other side as if he wants to build a protective bubble around his human. It's quite funny to see the hard shell of hyper independence Four had built around himself be dismantled and replaced as if it had never been there in the first place.
The eagerness, maybe even apprehension, has worn off within the last few months. Months, phew. In it's place, something deeper has taken shape, something that wraps my hand around his like it was always meant to be there. Something that makes me want to carry his groceries or bags and watch him brush his teeth and journey across the whole city just to see him on our lunch-break.
Absentmindedly, my fingertips rub across the reddened, tender spots his bag had left behind in his palm. Gently, as timid as the spring sun, I lift his hand to press a kiss onto the warmed skin. Our steps are unhurried, regardless of how filled with people the streets are today. In the face of fresh leaves and longer days, the whole city has woken up and apparently decided that everybody has to be outside right now. It's quite miserable to be caught behind one slow walker after the other, but being by Fours side does make it worthy.
Enjoyable even, but don't tell him that.
Despite my best intention, a long and hefty yawn leaves me while we wait for a street light to turn green, and Four grins from my side like an idiot. "Told you it was a bad idea to stay up all night playing video games." I'm dragged across the street with intent, then led towards the closest café. "You were literally the only reason I stayed up that long, Baby. If your dumbass hadn't been out mining all evening I wouldn't have had to build a whole mansion and would have been asleep by like, ten."
Four hums out a mocking 'Grandpa' but before I have the chance to pout, he lets me pull open the door and kisses my cheek in passing. To say I'm regretting the long hours we spent playing Minecraft at his place would be a lie, even if I might need a bit more time to renovate our mansion at some point. While I would never find the motivation to stay up for it if I had been alone, being curled up on the couch with my lover is nice regardless of what we're doing.
I'm dragged from my thoughts as the door of the café falls closed behind us. The place is one of those trendy, clean-girl-aesthetic spaces that are so completely and utterly beige the world momentarily feels as if I'm looking at it through a filter. Ignoring the loud chatter and finance bros in their ugly coats, I reach for Fours hand again to beeline towards the counter. Even if we had the time to stay, which we don't, this whole coffee thing needs to happen quickly before my eyes forget the colour of his.
Being so focused on fleeing this place, I almost miss the low grunt of my boyfriends name being uttered from a few paces away. Before I have the chance to gather my bearings, Fours hand tenses the slightest bit in mine as the stranger comes over. He's all sharp lines and control, dark hair slicked back and dressed to the nines in what might be the ugliest fucking suit I have ever seen.The wide smile on his regal features is enough to make my brows knot together. Plus, even though Four clearly knows the man, Simba's making no move to greet him like he would any other person he considers to be a friend. That's a red flag if I've ever seen one.
From the outside, the hello's they're exchanging might seem pleasant, if not a bit detached, but there's something about the way Four seems to struggle with getting his words out easy that stops me from leaving his side to order our drinks. The stranger nods into my vague direction, tight-lipped and barely there, and yet he doesn't even look over to acknowledge me. To my surprise, Four squeezes my hand once before handing me Simba's leash, willing me to step away slowly to give them some privacy as I order. Not once—even as I almost bump into a living barbie doll—do my eyes stray from their interaction. Because what the fuck?
It feels like my Toots was exchanged, abducted by aliens and cloned and somehow the person they sent down is grey. Like they ran out of the colour that made him him. I don't dare dwell on it any longer, not when I could be getting our drinks, scaring the baristas out of their minds so that they rush our order, and return to his side. We should go outside before all colour drains out of his rosy cheeks.
Finally, as we reach the short queue, the dog's tongue darts back out to pant, and he lays down between my slightly spread legs as we wait. I backed off, sure, and I'm glad about it given that Simba had been so tightly-wrung just now, but my eyes never leave the two men. He's conceited, this stranger. Fucking condescending and arrogant too, judging by the way he looks at my Four down the length of his nose. Between the sharp jaw and the smile that hardly manages to differ from a sneer, this cold shell of a person is so uncanny, I'd call him a skin-walker to his face if I weren't trying to be a good man.
What I am willing to admit without hopping off my pretty little high horse is that evident by the messy hairline, his trip to turkey simply didn't pay off. Serves the fucker right.
He reaches out, what the fuck, the palm of his hand may land gently on Four's elbow, but one look at his strangely pale face, what the fuck, at the way his eyelids flutter as if he's trying not to flinch and the unmistakable tightness of his shoulders gives away just how uncomfortable he must be. What. The. Actual. Fuck. And yet, my boyfriend's eyes are stoic where they meet mine across the room, just barely certain enough to make me move with the line instead of walking back over and just fucking pummelling that fucker.
Ordering our usual drinks happens naturally, even though my tongue feels laden, causing the words to tumble from my mouth way too quickly and clumsily for my liking. Quietly, I note that my usual café keeps dog-treats for four-legged friends, and reach into my pocket to pull one out for Simba absentmindedly. If one of us is getting a treat, all of us should. Leaning onto the counter, my eyes never stray from the weird interaction happening across the room, and I dart over without as much as a thank you when our drinks are finally done.
My boyfriend's fingers are strangely cold against mine as I hand over his cup, and not another second goes by before he's pulled into my side and my arm is thrown around his shoulder. Beady, bug-like eyes stare up at me, and I revel in the fact that it's this stranger's turn to be looked down on. The same old snarling smile—openly unpleasant and as condescending as it is cold—breaks apart on my face, and I gesture mildly to my occupied hands as I address the situation.
"Mister." followed with a mocking nod and a once-over of his pretentious attire, "Would shake your hand but I don't really want to. Plus, my boyfriend and I have places to be," I finally discern the burning in my chest as possessiveness, raw and biting, and guide Four from the space with as gentle of a nudge as I can muster. The stranger opens his mouth, but my head tilts the slightest bit, just enough to shut him up.
Get the fuck out of my face, loser.
And with that, the bell rings above us, the door falls shut and the sun brings colour back into my vision. The outside world comes crashing in so quickly it almost gives me whiplash, but I welcome the sweet relief that floods my senses. My arm doesn't leave Four's shoulder, no matter how uncomfortable it might be to walk like this, and I find our way through the crowded street as he walks in silence. The coffee warms my hand, and I once again want to reach into my pocket to give Simba a treat for sticking with me when my hold on his leash is as weak as it gets. It's like the leather hanging off my pinky is just for decoration, and the dog comes along purely because he wants to. Now that I'm thinking about it, I can't really blame the bugger because same.
No matter how easily the calm has returned to Simba, it doesn't require a genius brain to feel the tension still rolling off of Four in waves right now, so I change our direction at the last minute and drag my boyfriend into the closest—albeit tiny—park. Beneath old and young trees alike sit a few chess tables. Regardless of the fact I have no interest nor clue how to play the game, I guide us over there to sit for a moment. Four lets me, still entirely caught up in his mind. Quietly, a hand reaches over to pull his bottom lip from where he worried it with his canines so it stops fucking worrying me in return. It makes his eyes snap up to stare at me, still wide and more glassy than I'd like.
He clears his throat once, as if something in his chest needs to give in order for him to get the words out, and the second his tongue darts out to drag across his reddened and chapped lips, my head shakes once. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to, Four." Almost imperceptibly, his eye twitches again, and my voice softens in return, "I don't need to know who that was, baby, not if you're not comfortable telling me. Okay? It doesn't matter right now. Just-" he's curled up in the rickety chair, shoulders slumped forward as his fingers grip the paper cup tightly. Simba's snout is rested on his leg, and I sigh quietly as he reaches out to pet him.
"Breathe for a few seconds, I don't like it when your eyes get like that." — "Like what?" he snorts, eyes finally gaining a weak, teasing glint. Rolling mine in return, I lean back and nudge his foot with mine, "Like all, uh, watery and shit. It's like somebody knocked the sun out of your sky."
He just stares for a moment, gaze still caught somewhere between weariness and exhaustion. And no matter how much time passes, he doesn't calm down. Doesn't stop wringing his hands, or twisting the paper cup when my gaze takes a decisive edge to get him to stop.
"Just breathe, I meant it. Let yourself settle."
Thankfully, he listens to me for once. With his dog sheltered between his legs, Four pauses, just sits in his own silence. At some point, I reach out towards him to hold his hand as he breathes. Blue eyes dart across the board between us, and I can't help but snort as his brows furrow. My free hand comes up to rub across my chin in an attempt to soothe my smile into compliance as his stoic eyes snap up to me.
"Sorry," I hum, nudging his coffee cup towards him, "We must look stupid to everybody else, thinking this hard about the first move in a chess game." thankfully, the irk between his brows eases, and he snorts into his drink. Four's voice is meek, as if he's confessing some huge, embarrassing secret to me. "I don't even know how to play fucking chess." — "Neither do I, Baby. Who gives a shit?"
My fingertips never stop their movement, drawing hearts and circles and little stars across his skin. His head lands softly in my palm when he loses the strength to hold it all up on his own. I'm not sure how long we sit there, Four all caught up in his mind while I can't do much but stare, but it doesn't actually matter to me. Not until there's a droplet on the tip of my nose, and then one on the pinky that rests on the back of his limp hand. Ah, fuck.
Quick as lightning, Simba's stood up and crouched by Four's chair. The man just groans, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "You ready for cardio?" huh? His grin is lopsided, still somewhat wobbly, and the laughter that falls off his lips when I utter the worst joke I can think of is gruff in it's entirety. "Puppy hates the rain."
The clipped sentence is followed by the scrape of his chosen seat against the floor, and Simba darts between the both of us as the rain picks up. Nodding once, both of our cups are disposed off, then we're off towards home. Two brisk steps into our escape, a clammy hand finds mine and squeezes. I don't answer verbally, not when we're getting wetter and wetter and Simba's pulling on his leash as if the world will end with wet fur.
I'm almost scared he'll go running straight into traffic with how quick he's rushing. But then a red light comes, and through some miracle, this little Angel stops dead in his tracks and watches the cars pick up speed as they pass. I can't help but giggle, I really really can't. Clutching a hand over my mouth at the sight of increasingly wet—and therefore less voluminous—fur and unsteady feet.
Four only sighs, clearly used to these antics. "I thought he loves water? What happened to all the time spent jumping through puddles?" I grin as the light turns green and we make our way across the street. "Water's only his thing when it's below him. I wish I knew why just as much as you do." Judging by the heavy clouds above our heads, it's only fair to assume our way back home will be a true fight. My suspicions are confirmed when a loud thunderclap shakes the sky.
"Ah," my boyfriend groans, grabbing my hand tightly as he picks up his steps. "If there's anything worse than rain, it's gonna be storms." just as the words pass his lips, it's like the sky opens up to ruin his poor puppies life. Big, striking raindrops fall all around us, and before we've even begun jogging properly, before we've rounded the corner or thought about finding a tube station, our clothes are completely, entirely drenched.
Between hurried steps, his Tote falling off my shoulder, the impatient scrape of Simba's paws across the wet asphalt and the strong, insistent hand dragging me along, laughter comes stupidly easy. All the way we have to cross, it bubbles from our chests. Finally, we reach his doorstep, and even if there's hair in my eyes, and water squelching in my shoes, I have no choice but to double over. My chortles are loud, breathless and racking through my whole body.
Thankfully, a steady and somehow still warm hand finds my middle, wrapping around my securely as Four fishes through his pocket for his keys. His dog is so impatient by now, he's begun nipping at our wet pants as he rounds us. His leash is forgotten, and I beg and pray that there won't be more thunder to scare the boy.
"I know, I know." Four answers his yips, reaching out to unlock and push open the door. The dog darts through and up the stairs immediately, urging us to follow on the first landing. But pale blue eyes look at me through soaked curls, smiling wide and honest, and he presses a hard kiss to my chilled lips. It's urgent, and deep, and I shiver when his free hand finds the back of my neck. My hand flies out towards the doorframe, leading us into the dry corridor as I grin into the kiss. His lips are still chapped, regardless of the raindrops that map across the skin, and I can't stop my tongue from darting out to run across and steal the taste. A stray droplet drips from his hair, runs across the bridge of my nose and right from my lips to his, just cold enough for the both of our grins to crack into giddy giggles.
Finally, when the shiver in my limbs has me pulling back and straightening back up, his eyes twinkle in the dim lighting, blue as a wild ocean. "There you are." I hum, reaching for the sides of his face to press a kiss onto his cold nose. "My prettiest boy." Just as Simba takes another impatient step down towards us, I hush him and we ascend the winded staircase.
Two sets of footsteps, a smidge too heavy for the late afternoon and lead by perfectly tiny paws, mark their way up the old steps. Cold water still drips steadily behind us, and we stop dead in our tracks just outside of Fours opened door. "We should, uh…" he trails off, looking down at his dripping jacket.
"How do you usually handle this?"—"I strip." the oh that falls off my lips is quiet, a little coarse as it lands between us, and I almost choke on my own spit when I go to clear my throat. Four grins widely, tilting his head in that teasing way that lets me know my cheeks are about as red as I fear. "Smooth, handsome. Real smooth."
He frees his feet from his boots without batting an eye, leaving them standing on a mat beside his door. His socks with the sardine pattern as well, and I can't help but stare as he shrugs out of his jacket. Only when his calloused fingertips fumble with the edge of his sweater does my soul return to my body, folding in half so quickly I'm dizzy as I undo my laces. The soaked clothing lands in a forgotten corner as he throws it, and I follow in his footsteps in dropping my jacket. Like it's the simplest, most natural thing in the world, he pulls his shirt up, up, up over his plush hips and perfect chest and wrangles the fabric over his freckled shoulders.
Focus. No need to worry.
There's nothing to worry about. No room for insecurities as he stares me down in waiting. Okay, okay. Time to be scared, he's grabbing my hoodie. The back of his fingers rest heavy and warm and present on the sides of my tummy. He's waiting. Not pulling, not asking or pressuring. Just there. Bright blue eyes search mine, switching between one and the other like a broken record. And then he takes a step towards me, our toes almost touching.
Four is half naked in this random fucking hallway and I'm frozen solid by the weight of my own insecurities. Quickly, shaking fingers reach for his to leave the hoodie behind, only for him to grip tighter. wha— "I can deal with a few droplets on my living room floor, Sweets." with a jerky shake of my head, I tug the fabric from between his fingertips and just drag it off. It's halfway to my chest when he lays his palm flat over my heart.
The hood throws a shadow across my head, and I blink through the cold droplets that fall from it. "I'm good. I trust you, Four." his hand warms my skin through the thick material. For a moment, it's like he's holding my heart in his palm, and I swallow deeply before shrugging my shoulders out of their uncomfortable position. The sound of my hoodie against the floor is deafening, and my breath comes in embarrassingly quick bursts as he stares me down.
He nods once, all stern and assertive, and his hand burns on my bare skin as he pulls me over to kiss the exact spot his hand had just warmed. It rings like a shot to the heart. Tumbling out of our clammy jeans is as hard as it was to be expected, and laughter finally frees me from the unease of my own making as Four almost tumbles into his entryway. The door falls shut behind us heavily, and between the warmth of his flat and the proximity of his naked back to my chest, it all doesn't feel so hard anymore.
"I'll go dump our clothes into the wash, you make sure Simba's dry before he develops a grudge." he smiles at me, squeezing my hand as he gives me the towel before disappearing somewhere in his flat. "Okay," my voice finds me timidly as I crouch down towards the dog. "Let's get you dry, sweetheart. Sorry about all that rain. Really does suck to be so cold and clammy. And look at your little legs!" With every new drag of the towel over his fur, accompanied by gentle strokes of hi soft-bristled brush while I'm at it, the volume returns to him. By the end of it, he stopped looking like a stick-figure and more like himself again.
Only when he's satisfied and done grunting in my ear whenever I rub over his ears does he get up and waltz over towards the bedroom. Glad to have him warmed up, my shiver is easy to ignore while I go look for my boyfriend. He's still only in boxers when I find him brewing tea in the kitchen, a towel slung over his left shoulder. It's almost embarrassing, really, for me to be this unnerved because the singular, meaningless barrier that is clothing is missing between us. He's still my Four, still hums as he prepares our drinks and still looks at me the same when he finally turns around.
With our roles reversed, he reaches out to grab my hand where I'm lingering at the kitchen island and pulls me towards him. I swallow around the lump in my throat, hands hovering above his gentle hips for a moment too long. "You can go grab some sweats and a shirt if you want, sweets." Four offers, even if he makes no move to release my hand. All words die on my tongue when the space is finally closed. I feel him before I actually touch his skin. Smell the rain in his curls and his favourite blend of herbs in his mug. His skin is running so hot, the sound of his humming so comforting, my fingertips have no choice but to dig into him. And then it's like I never knew restraint. He doesn't jerk away as his back makes contact with my cooled chest. Doesn't make a single sounds as my face burrows in the back of his neck, doesn't even complain when water drips from my own hair onto his skin steadily. His warmth stays, solid and trusting beneath my barest touch. Dragging my hands all over his tummy, I wrap my whole being around him, and yet he remains warm and comfortable and here as I forget where I end and he begins.
"Or don't." the words are quiet, uttered just for the sake of it as they fall on deaf ears. It takes every fibre of my being to inhale again, and it only makes me want to curl into him tighter. Four coaxes my hands to loosen on his waist, turning around to face me as the tea steeps. The constellations of freckles on his tummy span wider than I ever knew, and it startles me to see the way they crawl all the way up towards his chest. He says my name once, reaches out right after and dumps the towel onto my head. With the grace of a baby giraffe, I drop forward and onto him. The cold tiles beneath our feet, one white, then black and white again, distract me enough as his hands come up to rub my hair dry. Four's all over me, running fingers up the back of my head and dragging the damp strands away from my forehead.
Never rough, never impatient.
Finally, he reaches around to nudge my chin up and towards him. With nothing said but everything done, I can't really help but smile at him again. "There you are." the words ring in my ears, and suddenly the whole world feels too loud for me again. But his eyes are warm and blue and just the way they always are when he's happy "My prettiest boy." It's a statement. Firm and sure and undeniable as we stare at each other.
And then he turns away and takes our tea towards the bedroom and I'm reeling from the certainty he welcomed me with. Not a moment later, I turn in my spot, drag a hand through my freshly-fixed hair and dart after him. We lay in the same bed, his chest on mine, listening to the same music we always do. His hands find the same pattern, and the drag of his fingertips across my skin is enough to remind me that just the way I looked after him, I was never unsafe with him either. It takes basically no time for me to warm up, cradled safely beneath him and his favourite navy blue sheets. And then Simba crawls up towards my other side.
He nudges Four's restless hand once, causing him to reach across me and pet him instead. Now that my heartbeat isn't the only thing I can hear anymore, I notice that the storm outside has only picked up. Wind whips against the rickety windows, and the sky lights up in random intervals as lighting strikes off in the distance somewhere.
"Drink some tea before it cools off completely." we're still pressed close together, and with the mug in one hand and the other slung across his shoulders, I finally have the time to look at his tattoos. Intricate line art meets bold blackwork and I watch the motives change and move and distort as he reaches for my hand. "There's so much to talk about right now." Four simply hums into his mug. "But I don't feel like saying anything at all."
We twist and turn as time passes, rearranging our hold on each other between gasped laughter whenever a limb falls asleep. It's dark out already, and the rain still pelts against the window without remorse. My boyfriend's face is inches from mine, breaths mingling where we meet in the middle. A hand on my hip, the other holding mine in what little space we kept between our hearts. I don't pay any mind to his wandering eyes, not when I'm busy counting freckles on his shoulder and neck.
"That was my ex boyfriend earlier." His voice is barely a whisper, finally voicing what both of us already knew. "Thought so."—"He's a real asshole. The one that my Ma is scared will always linger in the back of my mind."
"He won't."
Blue eyes finally meet mine as I muster him, and the tight-lipped smile on his face shows less doubt than I'd feared. I squeeze his hand anyways. "I won't let him." his short breath lingers just between us, and then he sighs deeply and talks.
"I don't think he ever liked me. Not really. He's the kind of man that likes the idea of having a partner but isn't actually comfortable sharing his life with another person. Whatever I was asking for, I was always being clingy." He swallows deeply. My hand wraps around the back of his head, pulling him right under my chin. "I was always too clingy. Wanted to hold his hand on the way to work. Wanted to kiss him goodbye and hear about his day and it was always too much. Always. And then I became ugly. Uninteresting, somebody just good enough to drag into his bed when it got a smidge too cold."
"Hey, Four, baby. We don't have to talk about him if you're not ready." — "I know that," fuck, he's sniffling already. "But I want to."
Before I know it, hot tears slide down into the dip between my clavicles, curving with the skin before getting lost on my chest. And yet his voice is as steady as can be. "He was so, fucking mean about it. Gave me a piece of what I wanted when he thought I would go, and then reared his head and broke me down further when I couldn't. Belittled my job, was weird with Simba and complained the entire time every time we visited my family." His chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, matched perfectly by my own hiccuped breaths.
"Sometimes I think I'm lucky he never laid a hand on me. But I think the only reason he never took it that far was because I was pathetic enough to crumble beneath his words. He never had to get his hands dirty to ruin me."
His words hang above us, and it takes me a moment to understand that he genuinely means them. When I do, a hand reaches his jaw, holding him gently as I move away enough to meet his eyes head on. "He didn't ruin you, Four. I don't believe that, his hatred has nothing on your love. There's not a single thing he could have done that could ruin you. Because I look at you now and you're the best man I've ever known." he's trembling, still practically naked by my side and it makes me drag him closer again. "You're not ugly, or clingy, or too much or not good enough. You're none of the things he did or didn't do to you."
"He manipulated you, used you and treated you in a way no person should be treated even when he never had the right to. And you and I both know, deep down in our chests, that it was all in vain. You're still loveable, still creative and kind and pretty and trustworthy. Open about your likes and dislikes, great at your job, good to your family, gentle when it matters most. You know what that means?"
If it were any other situation right now, I might have laughed at the meek shake of his head, but right now the only thing that's running through my mind is getting him to understand. "It means that you're a good Person. It means that you and your huge heart have won."
"Out there, just earlier. I thought I had to throw up with the fear that you'd take one look at my body and see me the way I see myself. And you didn't. You laid yourself bare for me like it was the easiest thing in the world when I know for a fact it's the hardest. You let me show you that trust in my own time, on my own terms. Showed me that just because we're skin to skin doesn't mean the both of us are anybody but us. In all the time I've known you, really known you, you've not given me a single reason to doubt you. Not once have I felt the need to hide, to hold back and break myself down into some bastardized stomach-able version of myself. You're yourself with such certainty you've never given me the chance to be anybody but my truest self as well."
His quiet tears have turned into sobs, and I card my hands through his hair as he hides in my chest. Stop the millions of thoughts that beg to leave my mind in favour of whispering sweet nothings in his ear. My own tears don't matter, I let them run across my cheeks and dry in the hollow of my throat without care.
"And I know just how much strength it must take to live your life like that, but I admire you so much for it. The way you carry yourself while uplifting others, giving your love freely and offering you own heart up in the midst of it. I think you're the strongest person I know."
"I've been nothing but weak since I've met you." the words hit like a punch to the chest. Like he reached his hand beneath my skin and squeezed as tightly as he could.
"You let me in. Four, I-" my mouth snaps open and then closed again, wholly overwhelmed with the love I want to hurl at him, "I meant it when I said you're strong. With every fibre of my being. But that doesn't matter, because I want you to know that you don't even have to be. At least not all the time, you know? Fuck it, fucking fuck it all and be weak. Stay in bed for too long, cry without having a proper reason and don't quit that stupid habit you consider to be bad. Be weak and silly and afraid and let me be there with you. Let me be there for you. Lay in my arms and get it all out of your system and let me like you even more when all is said and done."
There's more words on my tongue still, restless and angry and begging to just finally be let out in all their raw, overwhelming truth. It feels like I could talk for hours. Could list off every single time he showed up for me, could name every plate he removed from his armour and could thank him with every new word. But I don't because no matter how teary his eyes are as he picks himself up, the hand he clasped over my mouth is quite insistent on ending my ramblings.
"Gotcha." — "Too much?" he just nods, grinning as the mumbled words pass his fingertips. "He's not man enough to ruin me, understood that much. But let's save the rest for some time where I can actually believe them. For a day when weakness doesn't feel like resting beneath Damocles' sword." I could fight back, could say all the things I want to say and hammer them into the folds of his brain right now, but I don't. Because if anybody understands that trust, and change and love need time to grow, it's me.
Instead I let my tongue dart out to lick at his hand, watching him fall back onto his haunches as laughter spills from his lips. He runs his spit-covered hand across my torso without a second thought, turning so that both his palm and the back of his hand are cleaned before he drops down and lets his laughter fade into childish giggles.
"Why the fuck are you such an emotion roller coaster, dude?" he's grinning, laid on his side as he stares over at me. "What do you mean?"—"One moment you're all sappy the world isn't ending you're good and okay and I've got you and the next it's all over and you've decided that you should annoy me to death instead."
All I can do is hum, turning onto my side to mirror his position. And then my gaze flits across him, settles on what must be goosebumps that are covering his tattooed arms, so I reach out to drag him closer. Hooking one leg between his, I turn both of our bodies to lay him halfway across mine. Like a literal space heater, the warmth of his skin finds mine, his wandering fingers lighting me on fire.
"I like talking about sadness. Like being deep and complicated and impossible to handle, but I don't believe in ruminating about these things. It's good to get things off your chest, just for the sake of understanding yourself and the situation, but once that's done it's time to let things go again."
"That makes sense. The only thing that should be on your chest is my head, Baby." Stupid, stupid perfect boy. His giggled breath falls over my chest, tickling the tender skin with every new huff. Despite my better judgement to make fun of his idiotic joke, I laugh along with him. Even Simba seems to want to escape our melancholy, and he stands up for a moment to lick at our heads.
Four was right, the chaos erupted so quickly it's giving me whiplash, but there's something so natural, so us about it that I don't have it in me to care. The storm might be all the way around us, loud and persistent and ever changing, but we're here and we're okay and that's all that matters right now.
i'm still alive yaya!! ik this is a smidge messy but it's been sitting in my drafts for too long atp there's no getting better
mental health is lowkey worse than ever, but I got my sleep token tatt i've been wanting for a year & there's still good music to be discovered & also i get to see my mom on my birthday so maybe it's not all horrible
fake? date | •ﻌ• | fake? boyfriends | not so fake? boyfriends | maybe? boyfriends | surely? boyfriends | finally? boyfriends |
But god, I could not care less about the man right now. Who cares if his cheeks are tinted red? Or if his jacket makes him appear to be just a smidge shorter than he actually is? Sat in between his legs is the biggest, cutest, fluffiest creature I have ever seen.
psa: we're in it for the puppy
warning: light swearing
words: 4.4k (wowza)
"Oh hell no, toots. I want to meet the dog, are ya kidding?"
With my phone tucked beneath my ear and my other hand full of groceries I stumble through the aisle, dodging a stray kid on my way to the produce section. After our fake date the other day, we exchanged numbers with a promise to meet again and create a timeline for our supposed relationship.
Just to get his ma and nan off his back, of course.
"We're literally just walking, I doubt it'll be any fun for you."
"Please, toots. Promise I don't need any fancy dates or expensive gifts. I'd be fine just grocery shopping with ya'." I smile as I pick up a few tomatoes. Four snorts on the other end of the line, mumbling something vaguely insulting. Rolling my eyes at how dense he is, my attention drifts off as we continue our conversation.
Despite the immediate attraction I felt during our fake date, Four seems to be unreachable now. Without my full knowledge or consent, it feels like there's a gap we can't quite bridge right now. Is he the cutest guy I met in a long time? sure. Am I entirely ready to meet his family once and then stage a "break up" and let our time together run its course if that's what he wants? sure.
We could be Friends, maybe. If he'll want me to be.
"Right, sweet cheeks. We'll be at the park around five? South-eastern entrance, I'll see you there." And with that, he's hung up on me. Great, sure, that's whatever. Sighing quietly, I allow my mind to run its course as I finish my shopping. Produce, some Protein, walk right past the sweets— actually, who cares about one packet of crisps, hm? Should I get dog-treats?
The things are dropped off and stored at home quickly, and then I've grabbed a thicker scarf and run out of the door again so I'm not late to meet Four and his puppy. The streets are almost empty, and the second the door falls shut behind me, I get why. The wind is positively howling, blasting through the streets at unknown speeds and almost stealing my scarf before I've secured it around my neck.
Luckily, once my headphones are in my ears and I've rounded the block, my body is warmed up by the movement and the way over to the park doesn't seem to be quite as terrible. Four is standing by the entrance when I draw close, as promised.
But god, I could not care less about the man right now. Who cares if his cheeks are tinted red? Or if his jacket makes him appear to be just a smidge shorter than he actually is? Sat in between his legs is the biggest, cutest, fluffiest creature I have ever seen. And upon spotting me, it comes bounding closer like we're the ones going out right now. Long-lost soulmates ready for an Oscar worthy reunion.
Without wasting a second, my knees hit the floor with a thud as my hand reaches out for the dog to sniff it. "Simba!" Four groans behind us, clearly unhappy about the dog breaking command but used to it. With a laugh, I run a tentative hand through the dogs long coat, brushing some hair away from his cheek as I cuddle him.
"Hiya shortcake." I hum out, laughing as Simba pushes me to sit on my ass and promptly places himself in my lap. Four reaches out, letting his finger-tips feign a smack towards my forehead. When his hand connects, it feels more like he's petting me than anything else, but that's not the point.
"I'm not short, mate." — "Just weak then, hm?"
Rolling his pretty blue eyes again, Four recalls his dog with ease before reaching a hand out to help me up. After another more formal introduction between me and his furry friend, we're off towards the park.
Frost covers most of the foliage, dipping branches closer to the path as they're covered in little crystals and making everything look more like a painting than actual nature. Small rivulets of water are frozen over, glimmering in the last rays of sunshine where they lay unmoving.
"I never paid attention to how pretty the park looks when it's all frosted over." — "Well" Four huffs, hiding deeper in his coat, "It'd for sure be more fun if it weren't so fucking cold. I know I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Simba."
Laughing, I make it a point to flick his undoubtedly cold reddish nose. "Your own fault, toots. There is no bad weather, only-" — "Bad clothing, yes I know." He rolls his eyes as he stuffs his hands deeper in his pockets, trying and failing to huddle up for warmth. "You sound like my ma. Maybe I do have to break up with you before you two get to meet."
"And risk them thinking I was never real? You wouldn't do that to your mum would you? Make her think you AI-generated a boyfriend?"
Simba stops by a tree, making us stop as well so he can go about his business. My scarf is pulled from my neck, and I ignore the deepening red of his cheeks, and the coldness of his necks as my fingertips wrap it around him. He grumbles, of course. Because when does he not?
"Stop complaining, toots. I can always take it back."
"Yeah, yeah." He huffs as we begin walking again, "Anyways, the family meeting is on Friday, we're having dinner at seven." His chin nuzzles into the fabric around his neck, and I can't help but smile at him. I categorize the way he dips his face down to hide from the cold, his fingertips as they brush across the frayed edges of the scarf and the blond curls that get pushed up around his head.
"I'll be there." okay, why don't we keep our cool. Four seems to be thinking the same as he turns to look up at me. It's my turn to turn red, and I huff as I turn to look at the scenery again. My voice didn't waver, not one bit. It only came out so soft because I'm suddenly very cold.
"My family's got Welsh roots, just to warn you." that makes me pause, "Welsh?" — "Yeah," he turns to me, looking infinitely more comfortable than he did minutes ago "But don't ask me to say anything, it's not that fucking deep."
Laughing, I catch up to him again. We walk in casual silence for a moment, and then I notice the shaky grip he has on the leash. "Don't tell me you didn't bring gloves."
"Shut up"
"Toots," I grin, trailing around to his other side to look at the hand he's not hidden in his pocket. Don't tease him, just for once. "Want me to take Simba? At least as long as there's nobody around?"
Four just nods as he hands me the lead before explaining the dog's basic commands. All it takes is for me to repeat them once, and the fur ball comes bounding towards us.
"There you are!" I basically gasp, ignoring the lightness of my voice for the sake of watching his happy tail, "Who's a good boy, hm? Listening so well to me?" Leaning down, he eagerly collects some pets from me as Four laughs at our side. "Such a good boy, Simba!"
A cold hand slips into mine, and I grin as Four deposits a dog-treat in my palm. "Simba can you sit?" He does, of course, staring up at me with huge brown eyes and what has to be a literal smile, "Good boy," I coo, leaning back down to give him his treat and then nuzzle his cheeks with my gloved hands.
Turning both myself and his face towards his owner, I grin widely as I notice his raised phone. And his flustered smile. "Need a screensaver to, uh, look convincing." He huffs, cheeks tinting red as he turns and motions for us to come along.
Sure, toots, sure.
Simba trots on beside me silently, and we let him roam for a moment as we slow down our walk. Slowly but surely, we get to talking. Every word he says, I categorize and save for later, selfishly wanting to hold on to the things he tells me, no matter how our story ends up going.
He's a musician, which is stupidly fitting, and from the moment he spills that information, I want to follow him home sit on his couch and watch. Watch his hands flit across the fret board, watch him sway with the movement and listen to him hum along to the songs he plays. For a moment, he rambles on about technical stuff and touring and all that before eventually trailing off again. Shame.
His blue eyes shine as he brings up his bandmates, and his laughter rings through the empty park when he tells a story from their tour. My nose rumples when he brings up a particularly wet and grimy memory, but his smile is ever-so radiant, and the way he pushes a hand to his chest to calm himself down brings a smile of my own to my cheeks.
"You really are pretty as shit, you know that, shrimp?" he's quiet for a moment, just staring up at me before it seems to click in his brain and his face drops into a scowl. "Shrimp?" — "Yea, pretty short as shit."
My grin is shit-eating, despite the fact that he shoves me so hard I almost go tumbling into a nearby bush. "Oh, no you did not." I chuckle, leaning down expectantly. "You wanna tussle, shrimp? Do you?"
He does, apparently, and so does Simba. From one moment to the other, I am uprooted and running through the frozen grass. Four bounds after me with Simba on his heel, laughing as he launches himself at me. Two arms around my torso, he pulls me to the ground and giggles as he rolls over and stands above me. Before I have the chance to catch my breath, the dog reaches us and scrambles beside me.
A hot tongue laps at my frozen cheek, and I laugh defenceless as Four huffs above me. Just a moment later, he's reached down and grabbed his dog, laughing wholeheartedly the entire time. Despite my freezing cold ass as the frost settles into my back, I take his outstretched hand and pull him down beside me.
Four yelps, struggling briefly as I get up.
"You suck so hard." He laughs, leaning back and holding his dog's collar to keep him from his face.
With a roll of my eyes, I finally do pull him back to his feet.
"You love it, why else would you date me?"
"Fake date, sweet cheeks."
Fuck this guy.
After we collect ourselves, we continue on. Recalling Simba, I smile down at the dog as he trudges close to my right side. Once again, a cold hand finds my left one, and I swivel my head to look at Four. Taking the treat from him, I give it to Simba silently before sending him along.
We talk some more, about families and traditions and favourite foods, and I laugh when I find out he's allergic to bananas.
"Don't make fun of me for that." he whines lightly, "Do you have any idea how annoying people get about that?" grinning lightly, I nudge his shoulder with mine, "You're so safe here, toots. I hate those things anyway. Can't even imagine having to explain that one to you if you liked them."
"So…" he trails off, wiggling his light eyebrows, "You're trying to tell me you're into dudes but don't like bananas at all?"
"Oh my god?!" I flounder, and I have half a mind to reach out and shove him again. Four just shrugs, laughing as Simba comes over to my side once more. "Can't tell if I hate it or respect it, toots." I giggle regardless of how stupid his statement was, grabbing at his arm so he doesn't walk away from me.
Petting the dog helps me calm down considerably, although all of that calmness is washed down the drain as Fours hand slips into mine. This time around, I retrieve the Dog Treat with my other hand, making sure not to let his cold fingers slip from mine again.
The cold doesn't help hide his blush, but I decide to just drag him along instead of making even more fun of him. Our conversation picks back up again, as light and playful as can be, and we slowly make our way out of the dark park and back onto the roads. He games, I find out quickly, and despite my heartfelt disinterest for any sort of console myself, I just hold onto his hand as he explains his favourite games to me. Fallout— okay, know that one— elder scrolls oblivion? I hope that's an actual game and he didn't just curse me or something.
"And you," he drags out the u in the sweetest ways, "don't game." he turns, staring at me with slight judgement. "You know you can tell me when I'm boring you, right?"
With a shake of my head and a squeeze of his hand, I let the words I want to say ruminate in my head briefly. "I don't mind gaming, just never had enough interest to play a game for more than a few weeks. Besides, it's clear you like it, and it's nice to listen to people talk about things they like."
"Never apologize for being passionate about something, not to me." Four just nods, pressing his lips together before he pulls me around a corner. I barely waste another thought about the fact he's leading me towards his home, follow blindly through the streets as one hand is occupied with Simba and the other with Four. Together, it seems they are kidnapping me.
I have to nudge him with my shoulder slightly to get him talking again, but he does eventually explain the lore of Skyrim to me as well.
"Maybe I'll teach you a few things one day."
We slow to a stop at some point, and beneath the warm street lights all that matters is that his hand is warm in mine. He smiles, all teeth and rosy cheeks, and I forget that this is play-pretend. Despite all the weirdness I'd felt when we were texting, I find myself not wanting to back out of this. Not even in a million years.
"We got so wrapped up that we didn't actually make any solid plans for your family, did we?" he just laughs, backing up a step as Simba follows towards his front door.
"Let's warm up inside. I'll make a cuppa and we can devise some master-plan."
"How do you know I'm not some crazy serial killer here to eat you and steal your dog?" with his back to me, I can only watch as Fours shoulders shake with his chuckles.
"You? Want to kill me?" Twinkling blue eyes throw a look of utter mockery over his shoulder as he pushes the heavy door open. Leaning against the frame, he nudges his chin up once before walking inside, "Even if you could, you wouldn't dare to kill me in your wildest dreams, sweet cheeks. My Ma knows what you look like."
Simba tugs on the leash once, properly judging me, and so my next complaint dies on my tongue and I follow. The dog wants me to go up there, so I'll follow. Got no other choice.
Walking up a few flights of creaking stairs, Four waits by his door expectantly, and he crouches when his dog approaches. Like a practised routine, said fur ball stops in the doorway, sitting down and lifting his wet paw to get it dried off. I just watch from a few steps away, giggling when they turn the drying off into a small tug of war.
When it all seems to be in order, the leash is unclipped and the dog trudges in first. Naturally, I follow, taking my own wet footwear off by the paw printed rug in his entryway and hanging my jacket next to Four's like it always belonged there.
"What kind of tea do you like? And how do you take it?" He hollers from inside, seemingly already busying himself by starting the kettle. Walking down the short hallway, the wood flooring is surprisingly warm. As I turn, I catch a glimpse into his kitchen. Checkerboard flooring sets a contrast towards the deep brown cabinets, and the light counters are filled with slight clutter. From the highest shelves, plants dip their tendrils downwards.
Fuck, he's still got my scarf on. With a shrug, I lean up on the small island and watch him flit around. His mugs are on display, hanging by the handle and allowing me to study each and every unique design. I decide on the spot that the one covered in small sparrows is my favourite. The man turns to me, raising an expectant brow when I don't answer verbally.
"Words, pretty boy. 'I dunno' isn't a kind of tea I own."
"Just make two of whatever it is you like, toots. I'm not picky." I add simply.
"If we're gonna be boyfriends, I need to at least know your favourite tea, mate." Four deadpans, leaning his hip on the counter opposite to me. "Your whole personality can't be 'I like whatever you like', you're a fruit, not a vegetable."
My chuckle is hidden behind my fist strategically, and then I comply and tell him how to make it. With a stern nod, he turns away from me again and finishes the beverages quickly. Mine goes in the Sparrow mug, fuck him for being perceptive. Two steaming mugs sit before me readily, and yet he turns away again to feed Simba, who had been eagerly awaiting his dinner by my side.
"Like I said earlier, Dinner's Friday at Seven." He supplies easily, "I'll go there early to help with the cooking, but I'll send you the address so you know where to go-"
"I'll go there when you do." I stop in my tracks when he whirls around to face me, "If I'm not interrupting some tradition or anything. Might be nice to meet your Ma before there's so many people around. Plus, I don't mind helping out."
"You don't have to, I mean, don't you have work?" Shrugging, I move the teabags in the mugs to distract myself. "I have a short day on Fridays, so that's no problem." For some reason, the words rest heavy on my tongue before I finally get them out, "I wouldn't offer to come if I didn't want to, y'know?"
With Simba chomping down happily, Four grabs the mugs and leads me through the narrow doorway. The flooring creaks beneath my feet slightly, and I smile when I note that he strategically dodges certain floorboards.
One of the walls in his living room is painted a deep, kind of rusty red, matched perfectly by a huge leather sofa. Four chooses the seat in the corner of it, nestling himself into an array of patterned throw pillows and turning to me. "Raises a question."— Uh oh— "Why are you doing this for me? So readily as well?"
Swallowing, I place myself on the soft couch as well. Sinking into the cushions, I admire the large bookshelf that surrounds his TV for a moment. It's filled with everything but books, which is surprisingly on brand. After a moment of gathering my wits, my eyes find the strength to meet his once more.
"It was a joke at first, sure. But, uh, you're cool? I dunno," fuck this stupid brain for running out of things to say right now, "I don't know. Believe me or not, but I like spending time with you. Like, even just going to the fucking park in the middle of winter has been so nice?"
"You have no friends." he deadpans, and my mouth opens and closes quickly as I watch him smirk at me lazily. Smug bastard.
"I do have friends! I just-" — "I'm joking, no need to defend yourself. Today was nice. I like spending time with you as well. So I'll pick you up at Four Thirty on Friday and then we'll help my Ma and Nan prepare dinner for six thousand siblings and cousins and a billion nephews and nieces." Four laughs at me, patting my hand over the armrest in what I'm sure was meant to be a calming gesture. But the slight lingering of his palm across my knuckles leads to the exact opposite.
For a moment, we sip our tea quietly, giggling at Simba as he hops onto the sofa between us. With his head in my lap, I begin absentmindedly stroking behind his ears.
"Is he coming too?" Four just nods, smiling as the dog begins breathing so deeply his breath turns into light grunts.
"If you keep petting him like that he'll stay stuck to you the entire night as well."
"Don't threaten me with a good time."
"Are we gonna stick to the café meeting?" he asks finally. "Sure," I shrug before smiling smugly, "You were making a fool of yourself, so I decided to play knight in shining armour. Couldn't resist asking you out when you smiled at me so sweetly."
With a fake gag, he turns and stretches lazily. My eyes rake over his body with abandon, watching his sweater ride up on his tummy, grinning as his back pops lightly and he groans in response to it.
"Okay, we met at a café, feel free to get a bit more creative over why you ended up asking me out. Jesus. Let's say we met like…. Ten weeks ago, gives us a nice foundation of knowing each other without making them think I've been hiding you overly long."
Nodding in confirmation, I cuddle up closer to Simba. "Can't have your Nan thinking you're embarrassed of me." — "Never."
The glimmer in his eyes has become familiar, and I bask in the warmth of those blue irises as he turns to lean on his arm. For a moment, he seems to be studying my face, cerulean eyes trailing over my figure lazily. Or maybe I'm imagining things, could be either of those.
"So with that set," I hum, still cuddling the dog, "What made us stick around? Aside from the looks, that is."
Four chuckles, staring up at me quietly. "I don't know, you have this thing."
"This thing." I deadpan with half a mind of calling him out for bullshitting. "We need a little more than that. Let's see, you have more than a thing." with my eyes casting through the room, I rake my mind to find a few details.
"I like your passion. Whether that's your music or your games or your dog, you don't half-ass things." — "Right, so competence."
Humming in confirmation, I don't let his air of condescension deter me. "And you can be funny when you want to, you remember how I like my tea and always give me my favourite mug for it."
"Food is a big thing. We dislike the same things and despite your looks and bad jokes, you know how to feed a man."
Silence engulfs us, as heavy as it is light. He's stupidly perceptive, and stupidly sweet about it.
"You're probably the most considerate guy I know." He's begun fiddling with the ends of my scarf again, "You give me your scarf when I'm cold, hold doors open and listen to me ramble about the things I like. No matter how stupid."
"Nothing you like is stupid." — "Shut up, sweets."
"So, in conclusion…" he trails off, slightly unsure when his eyes finally meet mine again.
"So in conclusion, I'm the goat and you're so lucky to have me."
Fuck.
With speeds I've rarely seen in humans, he launches himself across the sofa again, hands on my sides as he wrestles me into a choke-hold. I'm laughing, despite the lack of air, because nothing could top the view of him right now. Staring down at me as he pins me into the cushions, all anger and mockery and something I might just be imagining.
"In conclusion. We're good together, but it's new. And I want you on your best behaviour."
Is it just me or is he getting closer?
Just as my hands find solid ground to lift me up, when I've made up my mind that a kiss can't hurt to aid our little act and I should just go for it, the moment is over. He drops his arm around my neck, slides away and over towards Simba again with a rasp of his throat, and I feel the distance at the bottom of my heart.
"No kisses, at least no real ones." He presses out curtly, and all I can do is nod. "We'll see how my family likes you and then we'll decide if we should keep it up. No use pretending if it just doesn't work."
A shame, really, but the last thing I want is to overstep. Whatever happens on Friday, this is for him and him only, I can't be selfish right now.
We finish our tea in relative comfort, probably because petting Simba is the most comforting thing in the world, and then I leave. I know when I've overstayed my welcome, so I get up. Grab our mugs and leave them by the counter, give him a smile I don't mean and swallow down the want for more.
He's the boss. This is for him.
We solidify our plans as he leans in the doorway to watch me put on my shoes. I don't bring up the fact he's still got my scarf, ignore the twinge in my heart at the sight of him and his dog. All cosy and safe and home.
Without so much as a handshake, or a hug, or anything for that fucking matter, I leave. Let's hope Friday goes well so he can decide whether or not he actually wants me around. God, let's hope his decision is one I can live with.
decided to change the header for this series bc that is just fucking them i take no criticism for that it is them period thank you
also this is becoming a series yes yes i'm surprised myself by just how taken i am by them (defo not bc i feel overwhelmingly boy rn and this is like... me if i could act boy irl) i love giving ivy a bf i love ivys bf i love ivy
but yeah, writing this has been sm fun if you have anything (& i mean anything) to add or say or ideas where this should go plis plis hit my line bc i love it i love you i love life (wowza) this is so it to me rn you don't understand
Giggling, he grabs our mugs — I get the sparrows — and finally ushers me back over with a stern look in his eyes. "You're trying to tell me that you were willing to stay curled up in a freezing flat for god knows how long without batting an eyelash and the moment you think I might be slightly annoyed you're ready to become world's finest handyman?"
warnings: swearing, mentions of verbal abuse, gay stuff
words: 8,5k (triple wowza)
I'm fine if all I get is radio silence, really I am. I mean, he hasn't texted me since I've dropped him off Eight days and roughly 17 hours ago, and I'm doing fine right now. I don't have a reason not to be, given that I'd literally told him to think it through, to take his time and reach out if — hopefully when — he's comfortable and sure that the notion of us is something he wants.
I'd told myself I'd be fine with any decision he makes, told myself that it's better to leave the ball in his court rather than unwillingly pressure him into something he might not be ready for or truly want.
I don't get to be disappointed by the fact that no matter how long his gaze had lingered on me, no matter how tightly he'd squeezed my hand and made me hope he was going to pull me in, he didn't. And I have to respect his decision. I will respect this decision.
But with every new gust of wind that swoops through the dark park, with every rattle through the barren branches and drip of meltwater, the lies trickle away. Like the last bits of brownish-muddy snow, the truth is ugly, insecure and shameful in the bottom of my heart.
I want him. Ew.
I take it back, good god, no.
I like him, like a normal human being.
The air is cold, and despite every ounce of discomfort that comes with it, I am grateful for it. Grateful for the way it clings to my limbs, slithers beneath the fabric of my jacket and makes me huddle up for some semblance of warmth. Because it's all I can think about. I'm only miserable because I'm freezing my butt off, not because I'm still on my own, or because I forgot my gloves and don't have a hand to reach out to. Definitely not.
My phone is in my freezing hand, his contact pulled up and closed, again and again and again. Nothing comes of it, nothing at all.
It's weird to think about what happened, my brain switches from treating it like a fleeting moment long gone and the one and only thing that motivates me to keep going. It's insecurity and fear, the lingering thought that there is somebody, something, someplace out there where I could belong and I somehow let go of before it was ever really mine. And then it's hope. Hope that I'll be found again, invited in and taken home. Hope that I'm not the only one stupid enough to want this. Hope that he'll stop keeping me at arm's length.
Fuck, it's cold.
My feet find a familiar path, carry me down the same street they always do when I don't know what to do with myself, and before I know it I've found the place that used to be my refuge in moments like this one. Used to be. The lighting filters out through the large windows and onto the street, but it doesn't fill me with the warmth I expect.
It leaves me standing outside and entirely unsure about whether or not to enter the café. It'd be safe, easy. Lee would make my usual order while we chat for a moment. I'd say hi to the other regulars, find my booth and that would be it. I'd sit down and pull out my book and read until they close.
It used to be my favourite place in this town, a safe haven that never failed to make me comfortable. At least I thought it did. But at some point, I think it just became routine to come here, to pretend nothing matters and I have no responsibilities when I'm tucked into my favourite spot.
The light that barely reached me before gets drowned out as the sky darkens, and I use it as my chance to escape. I don't want to stay, I don't want to be the guy that runs away from his problems and pretends they're not real. Don't want to keep up this routine and let it swallow me whole.
I don't want to be alone.
For a moment, I think about seeing him. Want to walk all the way through the darkening streets to his flat and knock on his door. Would Four invite me in? Would he lead me to the kitchen, make my tea just the way I like it and put it in my favourite mug? Would my head find a home in his lap and Simba's on my stomach? Would his hands tug at the knots in my hair until the bad thoughts had been torn out and all that remained was him?
Would it kill me to stop thinking about him?
The keys are heavy in my hand, struggle to fit in the lock they were made for as if not even my flat wants me to be here. But then they comply, and I push the door open with a heavy grunt. I know my flat isn't the most comfortable place in the world, in fact, I barely consider it to be a proper home, but this cold is out of the ordinary. At least it should be. Sighing more heavily than the situation demands, I drop my bag, shuffle across the rickety flooring and bring a hand to the radiator.
Nothing. Despite the knob being turned up to the max, the metal casing is ice cold. My head drops forward onto the window, jerking back again when the thin glass is also freezing. Fuck that then, I guess this day is simply predestined to mess me up. Doesn't matter, not like this is the first time the heating fell through.
I'm fine on my own, always have been and always will be. Four is his own person, who is allowed to make decision that are good for him. Even if it ends us, it should bring him forward, that's all that matters.
Night falls over the city completely, and at some point light from the streetlamps filters through the curtains and illuminates the dark room. By now, I'm no stranger to the heating going out, so I don't bother to call or text anybody. This house is positively ancient, and there's days where simply nothing works. God knows it'd be a lot nicer if that didn't happen in the winter, but there's nothing to be done.
I'm not sure how long I stay stretched out on the bed, still dressed in my thick coat and yet freezing. Nor do I really care, to be honest. After basking in my misery for a good few minutes, I pull on a few layers of clothing, grab a blanket and figure out something warm to feed me.
The only refuge I have is my trusty heated blanket, but even then the chill within my body never seems to go away. It clings to my ribcage, settles deeply in my chest and makes itself at home there.
There's a knock on the door, one I'm half willing to ignore until I remember I didn't even lock it and it's swung open. The person's lit mostly from behind, hiding their face from me, but given that I'm viciously attacked not even a moment later, I assume I know who decided to barge in.
"Yo, your neighbour let me up I don't think your bell — why is it so dark in here you vampire?" His hand finds the light-switch after a few failed attempts, and the light flicks on with a pathetic whizz. Not that I care, I'm too busy cuddling Simba as he jumps all over my lap. "And cold! What the fuck happened here, mate?"
With a shrug that he can totally not see with my constant movement, my answer isn't quite as nonplussed as I'd hoped. "Heating's out. Happens more than you'd think. Are you here to bully me about it or can I do something for you, Toots?"
"You're sitting in the dark. Ice-cold. Miserable as it gets and you're just… chilling?" — "Yep." I pop the P in a futile effort to make the situation any lighter. "Landlord might have it fixed by tomorrow, no biggie."
His boots are heavy against the creaky flooring, and his eyes take on a cold glint in the dim lighting as he stares down at me on my bed. Simba, for all intents and purposes, seems to be the happiest right now. Snuggled up without a care in the world. Four stares down at me, eyes dark and insistent and just as I'm about to shrink back and try to escape his studying glare, he nods once and turns away from me.
"Come on, we're getting out of here Elsa." His frame takes up the middle of the room, imposing as he stands there fully dressed and with a guitar case in hand. "Don't look at me like I'm the crazy one. I wanted to talk to you, princess, but I'm not doing it in the fucking Ice castle. I'll make you a tea. Let's go."
Simba takes it as his cue to leave my side, and the minute I'm not covered by the fur-ball, I'm reminded of just how cold it is in my flat. All it takes is one shiver before I feel the urge to listen to him.
"Good boy, Simba." He hums as the dog sits beside him, "At least one of you knows how to listen."
"You don't have to do tha-" His eyes flick up to me once, and despite it being a short moment, I've spent enough time with him to know just what the look is meant to convey "I don't have to do anything. But to push your own words down your throat, I'm offering because I want to. Now come on, Don't fucking mess with me."
"You're su-" — "Yes." the rest of his sentence gets drowned out as I free myself from my cocoon of blankets and stumble towards the door. His laughter is enough fuel to make me lace my boots in lightning speed, and when he reaches me in the doorway, I can finally catch a look at his smile again.
"Atta boy, knew you could listen." He pats my cheek once, his grin so wide it's almost cocky, eyes illuminated from within, as if they held entire storms beneath the cerulean surface. Tinted cheeks settle once more, and the stubble that covers them is so light it reflects the golden glow the hallway casts on us.
"I missed you."
"What's gotten into you today? Thought it was my job to be emotionally charged and complicated." Is all he offers in return. Despite the heaviness, despite the urge to run away and give up and make his life easier by keeping me out of it, I let him pull my hand into his pocket, show him where the keys lie and watch him lock the door behind us.
Simba takes my other side, and once again it feels like they are kidnapping me. I let them, follow down the crooked stairs and out into the cold — who am I kidding it's barely any warmer inside of the house — and down the street.
"Were you at practice?" I ask dumbly, if only to break the tension between us. All Four does is hum in return, looking up at me as we wait for the light to turn green. "Yup, hate to say it but the boys knocked some sense into me."
It dawns on me then that today might not have been planned on his side either.
"You weren't going to call me, were you?"
His silence speaks more than any word ever could, it lingers like the fog that surrounds us, cools me down and settles in my already heavy heart. He doesn't eve-
"Don't you dare fucking run away now." he grits out as he pulls me along, "Yes, I was too scared to. But I'm here, aren't I? I'm leaping across the gap I held you at, for real this time. And while this bravery might not last forever I want to do this right now. So let me. Okay? Let me chase the things I want."
All I can do is squeeze his hand in mine as him and Simba pull me along. Contrasting to mine, his flat is as warm as ever as he leads me inside. My scarf is unwrapped before I have the chance to blush at the touch of his fingertips against my cheeks, my shoes find their place next to his just the same way my jacket does, and I'm pliant as his hands find my waist and lead me over to his couch.
Dropping like a sack of potatoes, the grin on my lips is finally strong enough to grow teasing again. He's staring at me, hands clenching and unclenching for a moment as he seems to think, and I chuckle as he sends me a defiant look before moving again. Steadily, he pulls a thick quilt over my body, rolling me over and squeezing me into the armrest before he's hollering at Simba to come over and lay down next to me.
"You stay and warm up, I'll make us tea." he nods as he's rushing away. For a few minutes, all I can hear is his humming, the sounds of the kettle and a quiet, unmistakeably 'tink!' as his faucet leaks. Again and again, the rhythm stays unchanged. Not even Simba's steady breaths can distract me enough to ignore it.
The blanket is left behind, despite my freezing feet and unsteady hands, and I make my way into the kitchen to linger by his side. "I can fix that." — "Fix what? The fact you can't follow a simple order and stay put?" Four huffs, already trying to herd me back towards the sofa.
"No," I hum, standing straight despite his continuous push against my chest, "The sink. Is it not bothering you?"
Giggling, he grabs our mugs — I get the sparrows — and finally ushers me back over with a stern look in his eyes. "You're trying to tell me that you were willing to stay curled up in a freezing flat for god knows how long without batting an eyelash and the moment you think I might be slightly annoyed you're ready to become world's finest handyman?"
His laughter picks up when all I do is shrug, and he watches me plop back into my spot expectantly. "Alright, you big oaf, maybe tomorrow if you find the tools you need. But we have bigger fish to fry right now. What do you wanna watch while we warm up?"
Four lingers at my side, scooting a bit closer as Simba settles between my legs. His knee is warm where it rests against mine, and I wish I were more of a man, so maybe my heart could stay steady in a moment like this.
"Would you show me one of your games?"
His head whips around, and my hands jerk up to the air as his neck cracks loudly. Wide eyes meet mine, and then he leans over and begins laughing. He just broke his neck and now he's laughing?
"Relax, sweets. I'm okay. I'm just stiff is all, nothing to worry about." he soothes, grabbing one of my hands to nuzzle his cheek against it while his other drops to my leg. Fuck him. "You don't have to entertain me playing." he soothes, and I fight the urge to squeeze his cheek as it curves against my palm. "We can just put on a show for now."
"What if I want to watch you play? Will you do it then?"
"You actually want that? Despite not knowing a thing? Genuinely?"
I nod, and he's flying off the couch to turn on his console, fiddling with cables and controllers and cartridges before he returns to me. If I were any less inclined to looking at him, I wouldn't have noticed that he's sitting closer to me now. But I am, and to feel his warmth against my side, still out of reach and dampened by the blanket but undeniably there, is enough to send me into a fully new frenzy.
He starts his game, immediately rambling about the Tamriel, which is the world apparently, and all the different provinces and deities and cat people? Khajit, he called them, and I try my best to remember the name. Despite my best efforts, I know I won't be able to retain most of the information for long, so I slide me and Simba further down, lean into the cushions and allow myself to really look at him as I pet the dog.
The redness of the tip of his nose has receded a bit, replaced with a giddy flush on his cheeks. Every word that falls from his lips is articulated by a smile, underlined and settles with a vivid glimmer in his eyes. His curls are unruly as always, hanging over his eyes and curling around the back of his ear.
"Are you even listening?" he grins, and I only realize now that his eyes have found mine. Humming in confirmation, I list off the few facts that stuck with me before finally settling my gaze on his TV. "Loser." he hums without any bite as he launches into more descriptions of assassins and guilds and even more gods for some reason.
Finally, the drip of his faucet gets tuned out and I can focus on him. Toned fingers wrap around the controller in his hands, pushing buttons so quickly I can barely keep up as he rushes into one fight after the other. At some point, he tilts his hands to show me better, describing every move he makes and giving me a perfect view of the always-moving digits. With the fight won, he shows me the different buttons and spells and attacks he creates.
Turning towards me lightly, he puts the controller down to dive into more world-stuff. It's fun, really, getting to watch him be so passionate about the provinces and gods and good and evil and — OH!!
With a yelp, he jumps around at a noise from the TV, launching himself into my side as a character jumps him on screen. I can't help myself, not at all. All I can do is wrap an arm around his shoulder and laugh as his hands fly across the controls to beat the bad guy up. Finally, when his heart has stopped racing, he separates our bodies once more, clearing his throat as he makes his avatar continue on his journey.
"What?" he huffs out after a moment, looking down at me with a stunned grin. It's breathy, still spooked from whatever happened when he wasn't paying attention, and I can't help but stretch my arm out lazily.
"C'me back." my fingertips flutter lightly, as if that'll get him to come closer. "What?" he parrots, somehow even shyer than before. "C'mere." I reiterate, because god, if he doesn't let me hold him now I will end it all. "Wanna be closer, Toots. So stop being shy and c'mere."
Finally, with the grace of an absolute chicken, he slides closer and lets me rest my head on his shoulder. "You never cuddled a guy before? You're shyer than a virgin bro." my head lands with a heavy thunk as he pulls back, and yet his laughter is all the medicine I need to walk off the totally real injury his couch inflicted.
Before I get a chance to add more salt to the wound, he enters my space again, nudges me to sit straight and then pulls my head onto his shoulder. "Happy?" — "Very."
Slowly but surely, the tension drains from his shoulders, and he settles by my side. With every new fight and ever switch of his fingers I begin to understand the game more, slowly but surely learn to categorize the things he's telling me.
"Is my head on your shoulder making you so impossibly nervous that you keep fucking up or are you just bad?" The controller soars through the air as he flings it behind himself to face me. I barely think to hold up my head, sitting more upright to look at him properly.
"Yes." oh, he's so red. cute. "Yes, uh, wait No. No, I just, uh, did want to talk to you, remember?"
uh-oh.
"Sorry for not reaching out sooner," — "You mean not planning to reach out at all?" — "Yeah." the last sip of my tea is the sweetest, filled all the honey that settled at the bottom, and I make it a point to reach for his hand when I put it back down. Despite my intentions of light banter, he's got that look in his eyes again.
Brows knotted tightly, with the corner of his bottom lip caught between his teeth and eyes so watery I'm scared he might start crying any moment from now, he looks like a puppy. Like I stepped onto his tail and now have to scoop him up into my arms and spend the rest of my life making that up to him. In an effort not to make him even more nervous than he already is, I simply take his hand in mine.
"You have nothing, absolutely nothing to apologize for, you puppy." I grin with a squeeze of his hand, "I told you to think things through for a reason. Sorry for teasing you about that."
Four rolls his eyes at my quip, clearly unimpressed, but he turns his hand beneath mine, and when his palm fits into mine, he twists it some more to get our fingers to intertwine. "It's okay. Now that you're here I'm not even sure why I was so scared myself."
Silence falls over us, broken by a sparse chuckle as Simba stretches with a big yawn and trots over to his water bowl. With my lap freed up, Four inches closer slowly. "I don't exactly have the best track-record when it comes to letting good people into my life. My last partner was kinda, uh, abusive, I guess." one look at my face has him scrambling up, waving his hands in the air for a moment. "Never physical, he wasn't that bad. I just — even the slightest insults pile up after some time."
"I don't mean to interrupt you, baby. But I never want you to say that again. Just because bad, maybe even objectively worse things happen to other people, just because insults may be meaningless on a singular occasion or it was a long time ago, doesn't mean you have to, or should ever downplay the things that were done to you. Your pain and fear and everything else you may feel about it are valid. Regardless of severity of the actual moments that caused it." squeezing his hand, I reach out with the other one to lift his chin.
Watery eyes meet mine, somewhere in his irises I think I find the cracks of his soul, tiny and weak and oh-so fragile. "Your feelings are valid, Toots. I'll eat the guy if you want me to."
"I hate you." he sniffles, but the grin on his face settles my beating heart. "I don't mean that." nodding gently, I smile back at him. "It's been a few years since then, I've been single for long enough that I thought I was over it. Turns out it doesn't work like that. You're great, I want you to know that before I keep rambling."
"It's just that meeting you opened a lot of wounds I thought I'd healed."
"But it taught me that there's things I need to face to heal them. Things that just need to hurt before they can get better. And as terrifying as it is, I think I want to do it. Want you here and want to get out. But I need you to know that it'll take time."
Finally, as if in slow motion, a tear drips from his eye, clumping his lashes before it runs down his cheek. A hand hovers in the air, and only when his eyes meet mine do I reach out and wipe it away. He sniffles, but doesn't pull away. It's still warm beneath my blanket, but his face is cold beneath my fingertips.
"You come here now, Toots."
Wordlessly, and just before Simba can reclaim his spot, Four shuffles forward and lets his torso drop over mine. Giggling, I allow him to push me into the cushions, take gentle hold of his thigh to settle it over my legs. His muscles tense beneath my hands, as if he's expecting some sort of blow I'd never deal, causing them to fall back to my sides.
The whine he lets out is throaty, and yet impossibly light, and I laugh as he flings his hands around to find mine and place them onto his sides.
Slowly but surely, I rub a soothing circle across his back, stay silent as he hides in my chest, guide Simba into my side as well so he can rest. It takes a moment, one I am glad to offer Four, but he melts completely, settling into me like it's the safest corner in the world as his sniffles die down.
"You're so brave, you know that?" I whisper into his hair finally, following it up with the press of my lips. "Thank you for telling me." The weight of his statement is suffocating, hanging between us like thick fog, like even he is stunned by how much it meant.
"Do you want tea?"
His giggle is drowned out against my neck, but he nods before pulling back. Murmuring a promise to be back soon into his hair, I reach for our mugs before turning back. "Which mug is your favourite? Want me to reuse this one?"
"The uh," he's red, curled up into a tiny ball and almost whimpering, "Yours is my favourite too."
He likes the sparrows. This fucker has been giving me his favourite mug.
Snorting lightly, I take both of our mugs towards the kitchen. Starting the kettle and finding the tea is fairly easy, and I bridge the time by cleaning our mugs to give him the sparrows this time. With the utmost concentration, I measure the milk and honey to hopefully get the amount right on both of them before bringing the mug back over.
Blowing on it lightly, I urge him to take a drink.
Just after I've sat down, he shuffles back over, and my hand reaches up to support his so we don't get any hot tea on our laps. This time around, he throws both legs over mine and leans into my side as if it's where he always belonged.
"Good?" — "Perfect." he hums in response. "Sappy fucker."
Snorting, he just settles and puts on some movie I barely realized he looked up.
"I need patience right now, baby steps."
"We have all the time in the world. Baby steps are better than no steps at all." humming, he sips his tea as he casts his eyes up at me. They're still shimmery, lashes still clumped together by unshed tears, but he's seemed to gather his strength and is resolute in his words. "But I don't want you to treat me like I'm fragile. Things can move forward, have to, even. I'll let you know should that be too fast."
"I promise to listen, Four. I would rather gauge my own eyes out than treat you badly."
Silence falls over us, his attention switches to the movie, and mine goes to twirling strands of his hair between my fingertips. Simba snores on his lap, content with the peace that settled in the warm space. It's not uncomfortable, time drags on slowly but surely, and I smile as I watch him trace the small birds on his mugs.
"Simba has to pee still." he almost whines, stretching out across my lap. Absentmindedly, I brush the fabric of his sweater back over his tummy, running my hand over to his waist before freeing myself from beneath him.
"I take it a walk around the block is enough?" — "No, sweets. That's not what I meant." he smiles. "We can go together, Take him around the block and then get to bed."
"That's okay, Baby. You rest and stay warm and finish your movie. I'll ring in a few minutes."
I've barely pulled on my shoes when he hollers out to me. "Be quick about it, I want cuddles!" Laughing, I clip on Simba's leash before answering. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you have a crush on me!"
The streets are somehow even colder than they were earlier into the night, and I'm more than grateful to have a warm place to rest tonight. Simba goes about his business quickly before decisively leading the both of us back towards his home.
Ringing the bell, Four is quick to let us up. He awaits the two of us with a towel in hand, cleaning the dog's paws and pressing a kiss to my cheek before ushering us inside.
He kissed me. On my cheek.
"Regret your decision yet?" with a sly grin, I reach out to grab his hips, pressing my freezing hands into his love handles. "Fuck you." he whines, twisting out of my grasp and rushing into the living room.
I follow slowly, plopping down onto the couch beside him. "I don't regret anything, Toots. Not when it comes to you."
"Oh-Kay. Enough of this sappy shit. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you have a crush on me." His face is close enough for our noses to touch the smallest bit. "Let's go to bed, loser."
Quietly, I trail after him, stand beside him in the bathroom as we brush our teeth and get ready for bed. Letting him have his space to shower, I begin prepping the sofa, rearranging the few pillows and settling the blankets.
"You dense piece of shit."
Leaned against the doorway, he sends me a disappointed look where I'm petting Simba on the couch. Upon seeing him, the dog jumps up and trots towards the bedroom. "Good boy." he grins as Four makes space for him. "You gonna be good for me too? Or do I have to spell it out for you?"
"I don't want to impose, Toots. The couch is fine."
"Fantastic, you know what's better? My bed. And I want you there with me, so come the fuck on." silently shuffling my way over, I roll my eyes when he pecks my cheek and let's me through with a teasing 'good boy'.
His bed is positively huge, covered by a thick duvet and the prettiest bedding I've seen in a man's room. He wants me here, this is okay. Quietly, he takes my hand in passing and pulls me down. Like a practised routine, Simba jumps up and settles by his feet, and Four smiles at me in the darkness.
"I was promised cuddles. Want me to kick you to the curb after all?"
Huffing quietly, my arms reach out and allow him to rest on my chest. He's warm, so so impossibly warm. My nose is filled by the scent of him, clean and familiar. Sighing deeply, his hand finds my side and begins to draw random shapes into the skin.
"Was that a dick?" — "Fuck you, go to bed."
Slowly but surely, the gentle brush of his skin against mine, his steady breath and cosy room lull me to sleep.
"Were you gonna spend the night in that place if I hadn't come around?"
There's no real point in hiding it, is there? Humming in confirmation, I keep my eyes closed even as he separates himself from me. Fingertips run through my hair, and my eyes finally flit open to stare at him. "Why?"
"It's not that bad, I've done it before." — "Liar." — "Okay, yeah. It sucked, but I would have managed."
"Looks to me like you have a bit of healing to do yourself, hm?"
"Dunno, not really? Could just be that I'm not exactly the best at reaching out these days. If you haven't realized, I just have a bit of a tendency to be too intense, so I try to stay chill more often. My middle name should have been 'too much'."
"What is your middle name?" laughing, I pull him down gently. "That's beside the point."
"You've never been too much for me, sweets. This isn't something you should be chill about. And I would have let you stay over had you asked regardless."
"I know that now. But I'd have had to sleep on the couch if I'd reached out, right? Hate to say it but I kind of prefer your bed."
with a final, tired laugh, he curls up by my side to rest.
Sunday morning finds me slowly, quietly, in the shape of a wet nose nudging at my hands to try and get some food. I wake with a giggle, which sounds so fake I could laugh at myself for making such a dumb fucking statement, but it's true somehow.
Blessedly, Four is still sound asleep beside me, arms wrapped tightly around one of mine and I make it a point to separate our bodies as gently as I can before sliding out of bed. Tip-toes lead me across the room quietly, and I stifle a groan when Simba stares at me from the door. Of course, bro needs to pee.
Without bothering to change my clothes, I pull on my coat and lead him from the door. It's still, for whatever reason, so goddamn fucking cold I wish I were dead, but thankfully we're quick about it.
And stuck outside because I don't have a key. And ringing would mean waking Four.
Fuck.
A stout elderly woman walks up beside us, and I have to try my hardest to keep Simba calm at my side. "Well good morning, young man!" she smiles up at me. And then she looks down, laughs at what I'm assuming is my pants — they are a smidge short, I'll admit — pets Simba shortly and meets my eye again.
"I'm assuming you're Four's new friend? The kind young man he took to see his parents?" — "I think that would be me, Ma'am." nodding to herself, she grins. "Locked yourself out? I'll let you two up if you promise me something."
"I'd give you the world if you did, Ma'am. And I'll even take that bag for you should you want me to."
Laughing, wise eyes find mine and her accent takes a bit of a heavier tilt as she grabs my hand and pulls me along. "Try not to hurt the boy, he deserves the best."
"I promise."
Nodding dumbly, I take her bag from her and it is so stupidly heavy I'm surprised she even managed to carry it. The doors are unlocked quietly and she ushers us up towards his, and apparently her, floor gently. I bring the bags over to her kitchen, thank her for helping me out as she opens Four's door quietly, and wish her a nice day.
Simba's towel is easy to find, and I carefully wipe his paws clean before he leads me towards the kitchen. He knows where his bowl is, shows me his food and even the sticky note that says the amount he gets for breakfast. I give it to him with a round of pets and a kiss to his nose before sneaking back into the bedroom.
Sleep eludes me, of course it does, but I take the time to warm up. And to watch Four, but don't tell him that. He's pretty in the morning, even if the rays of sun that filter through his blinds are weak and his hair is mussed up and he's drooling. His eyes, bleary and half-lidded, are the colour of forget me nots, pale and gentle and timid and more beautiful than ever. And also open.
"Good morning to you too, creep."
Smiling lightly, I roll over to hide in his chest, giggling when his hands find my back and recoil at the cold. "I went out with Simba, think I deserve some cuddles for surviving in the freezing cold." — "You walked him already?" suddenly, he's wide awake, pulled back and staring down at me, "How'd you pull that off? You leave the door open?"
"Nope, I just, like, walked out. Forgot that I needed keys for some reason. But your neighbour let us up, she's a real sweetheart. Are all your friends retired?"
The laughter that spills from his lips is lazy, more of a huff now that I'm thinking about it, but it's the sweetest thing I've heard in a long time. "Sure, sweets. Maybe I'm just so fucking likeable and respectful that all the Nans are drawn to me, ever think about that?"
"'Bout how great you are?" he hums in confirmation, "All the time, Toots."
His face is awfully close all of a sudden, noses almost touching as he tilts his head to meet my eyes. Without giving him a chance to run, I follow when he turns onto his back, letting my chin rest on his chest to look at him.
"Don't I look stupid from down there?" — "You look stupid from everywhere." He sighs, blue eyes rounding out into that begging-puppy thing he does. Between giggles and reaching out to keep his head close to mine, my next words are clumsy and far more breathy than they should be. "Stupidly cute, you sad fucking puppy. Especially when you make those stupid little heart eyes."
I could kiss you right now.
And yet I don't. I let him slide from my grasp, stretch out one last time before getting up and trudging towards the bathroom. His shirt rode up in the night, giving me the unabashed pleasure of watching his supple hips sway. Pale skin is covered in a light dashing of freckles, and I have half a mind to jump up and follow him just so I can watch them move.
My head drops back into the cushions, and splayed out on my back the sigh that leaves me is all-too dramatic. Simba comes padding in, nosing at my leg as if there's some part to his morning routine I forgot about. "What, you bugger?" I grin down at him, "You need something?"
"Attention is all," Four interrupts from the doorway, "But you and I need breakfast." He urges, walking over and grabbing me by the wrist. "Up you go, get ready so we can eat."
By the time true sunlight filters through his kitchen window and I'm perched onto the armrest of the sofa, washed up and cosy in a hoodie of his, he's whipped up some breakfast for us. With the dog once again nudging my hand and trying to get some pets, I finally give in. He's huge in my arms, but surprisingly light given that most of his size comes from his long coat.
The thump of Simba's tail grows more erratic when Four turns around, holding up his phone with a beaming smile. "You're fucking spoiling the geezer, sweets. Gonna ruin him." And yet he reaches towards the counter and picks up a small piece of sausage to feed him.
"You know," it's absentminded when I trail after him and lean onto the counter, "As thankful as I am for breakfast and all that, do let me know when you want me out of your hair, right? The last thing I want is to overstay my welcome."
An entire fucking egg is shoved into my mouth without much care, and I have to try my hardest not to fucking choke on the thing as he begins cackling. Perched up onto the Island, with his legs tucked beneath him and his PJ's still slightly askew, he makes too pretty of a sight for me to ignore. No matter how weak the sun might be in the earliest spring, it shines on him with vigour, turning his locks into strands of pure gold. The paleness of his under eyes gets illuminated as well. He looks younger, less jumpy, and I think there's even specks of gold in his eyes, reflecting the freckles that dance across his cheeks.
"Don't move," I choke out finally, still catching my breath from his attack. My phone is cold in my hands, I'd barely bothered to check it since coming here, but it does the job of capturing the moment. With a shy grin, he demands to see it, only to complain about his hair and clothes and puffy cheeks.
His eyes refuse to meet mine, flitting from one corner to the room, to Simba and then out of the window.
"Toots," got'em, "You look great, fucking fantastic even. Better than anybody should this early in the morning. If I were less of a chicken I'd have kissed you the moment I came out here earlier." It's my turn to grab an egg, crack the shell against my forehead and stuff it in my mouth to see if it might shut me up.
Stunned laughter reaches my ears, his gaze is heavy, slightly teasing as it meets mine, and even Simba worms his way out of his seat on my arm. Mumbling a 'shut up' around a mouthful of egg, I turn around. Dumbass, what the fuck happened to leaving the ball in his court?
"At least make some tea if you're gonna avoid me." I can practically hear the grin he's sporting, choosing to shoot a silent middle finger over my shoulder as I wordlessly get to it.
Did he like my tea yesterday?
"Was the tea any good yesterday?" — "Told you then it was perfect, sweets." he just hums mid-bite. Good, good, not everything is lost then. I try, I really try to keep my cool, stay distant and slow and respectful but the second his eyes meet mine, his hand reaches out and he grins at me like I pulled the sun from the sky, it's like he tractor-beams me right back to him — for a lack of better term.
"Did you get sick already or why are you so mushy today?" Four huffs out, finally handing me some breakfast of my own. Instead of taking it, my head drops to settle on the junction between his shoulder and neck. "You're making me stupid, you Asshole." — "Oh, so it's my fault now? Sure, blame it on the hot guy why don't you."
Nonetheless, he lets me stay in my position. With a hand lazily brought up to his hip and rubbing circles into the bare skin, I watch him cut up his food and eat slowly. "Aaah-" he laughs, leaning back and making my head drop lazily, "You're taking it too far now, mister. I'll let you cling on, sure, but you're a grown adult." …
"You look constipated, stop that and eat like a regular fucking guy. You're not some baby bird, baby."
And so breakfast becomes a quiet affair. Aside from the occasional approving grunt or shared bites, a calm silence settles over us. For once in my life, I don't feel the urge to fill it. Most of the things I'd want to say to him are stupid, and all the other ones he probably already knows about. Judging from the look he sends me after he catches me staring at his hands for a second too long… Yeah. He knows.
Taking the plates and our emptied mugs over to the sink — "Nuh uh, Toots. You made it, I clean it. Go sit back and look pretty." — I begin to wash up carefully. Instead of listening to me, Four sneaks a hand around my waist, hovering just above my hip bone. "Right," I huff, "Get in here then."
Both arms wrap securely around my middle, and he huffs like a tired dog when his cheek hits my shoulder. Carefully rinsing and cleaning the dishes, I pretend not to be hyper-aware of his breath on my shoulder. Steadily breathing in and out, warm air trickles across my shoulder, sending goosebumps over my upper arms.
"Am I doing it right, kind sir?" — "Are you always this gentle with everything, or is it just the fragile things?"
My hands stop mid-air, hanging limply as both of our eyes fall onto the mug in them. It's the one with the sparrows again. "Everything, I guess." Is all I can offer before returning to my work. "I barely think about things like that, it's just the way I've always been."
He hums into my skin, warm and breathy and heavy with all the things he doesn't say out loud. "Is that weird?"
"I think it makes you really cool."
It's a sweet compliment, I think, but I can't help but laugh at the timid way in which it fell from his lips. "Are you flirting with me?" His hand squeezes my side once, and I can't tell if he wants me to stop or if he's egging me on.
"I mean, I was definitely trying to since you came over, but either you're dense or I am because something's not adding up here.". With the words, he leaves me behind. Just as I turn away from the sink and towards him, he's plopped back onto the couch.
With an upturned brow, he spreads his arms as if to usher me close, only to fall back and spread out on the cushions when I don't. "Jesus Christ, Baby. This is not what I meant when I said Baby steps." He's giggling like a maniac, peering up at me through his lashes shyly. "Are you ever going to kiss me?"
Oh.
My feet stop dead in their tracks, eyes zero in on his face to see any, and I mean any ounce of hesitation. There's none, but doubt draws in slowly. The longer I stare, it seems. Maybe I should say something?
Okay, puppy-eyes. Act now or die, for fucks sake. He's sat back up onto the armrest, head tilted up the moment I step closer.
All I see is him, all I feel is him. The way his hand lingers on my wrist, his smile creeps back onto his face and is chest brushes mine as he raises himself further. My head throbs with the rush of my heartbeat, loud and erratic and staticky.
"Do you want me to?" It's silent again.
The murmur that follows is drowned out as his lips meet mine. The touch of them is soft, he tastes like honey and faintly salty, and it takes way too long for my body to catch up with my running thoughts. He kissed me. Blinking rapidly, my hands hover at his sides.
The glint in his eyes is enough to tell me he's about to say something stupid, so I push down the embarrassingly big grin on my face and finally, finally bridge the distance. With one hand settled heavily on his side, the other finds his hair as my lips search for his.
Where he'd kissed me shyly, unhurried and calm, it's like I'm a feral animal that's finally found it's prey. Pushing into him steadily, his gasp allows for my tongue to lick into his mouth, sliding against his briefly.
Fuck. No baby steps, sure, but this was a leap, no?
Pulling back quickly, I use the weight of his hand on my chest to try and calm my still frenzied heart. Slowly but surely, I catch my breath, spewing out mumbled apology after profanity and more apologies as I smooth down his hair. Like the asshole he is, he's giggling like a child, dropping back onto the sofa and pulling me down with him.
"What happened to gentle?" He teases, a careless glint on his spit-shiny lips. He's leaned back on the backrest kind of awkwardly, his legs on either side of my hips as my Torso hovers above his. "Sorry." It's breathy, positively wrecked, but it just makes him smile wider as his hand tugs at my hair.
By the time he's done shaking his head, his face is tilted to the side, nose nudged against my cheek as his eyes search mine. "Ball's in your court, baby." — "Oh shut the fuck up about your stupid fucking balls and kiss me."
My arms almost give out from the gentlest touch of his lips on mine. We're back to being unhurried, all that matters is him and his skin against mine and the curve of his mouth. Wrapping a hand around his back, I grunt lightly as I lift us up and him into my lap. My lips never leave his. I revel in his gasp, in the way he goes limp in my hold and grips my arm to stay steady.
"Thank you." He pulls away, grinning like he won a Nobel-prize. "For kissing you? Hate to say it but I doubt I'm enough of a catch to warrant gratitude." Humming lightly, a hand finds the back of my head as his eyes study mine. "You kind of are, Sweets. But I'm not thanking you for the kiss, I'm thanking you for everything."
"Once again, why?" — "'Cause I want to, and I think you deserve to know that I appreciate you being this good to me."
"You're an idiot." My Idiot.
It's like the weight off the world fell off his shoulders, because next thing I know I'm trapped on his sofa for the better half of the day, wrapped up in a quilt with his head laying heavily on my chest and Simba snoring by our side. We're watching something, and I'd tell you what it was if I had any braincells left to think about anything other than the man in my arms.
My hand is in his pocket as we walk Simba, and my scarf rests around his neck. We talk about everything and nothing, share childhood trauma and random annoyances as we make our ways through the streets. My doorway looks more like the gates to hell when we stop in front of it, and for a moment I wish we were the only people on earth.
"Don't be a stranger." — "That's rich coming from you."
He throws a wanton 'fuck you' after me, and I race down the steps again. My lips land on his heavily, sealing a quick but messy kiss onto them before I squeeze his hand, flick his forehead, and bounce.
I am absolutely, positively fucked.
big fat oversized thankyou to @ghostlygothicgay for supplying me with into on elden ring i am sososo thankful
kinda hate this so be honest if i'm delusional or not, i think maybe the kissing could have gone better but i'm not that comfortable w all that ig
i love them still they're such bullying losers
tell me if this needs a rewrite, yap if you liked it, drinks some water & love & be loved
fake? date | not-so fake? date | •ﻌ• | not so fake? boyfriends | maybe? boyfriends | surely? boyfriends | finally? boyfriends |
Four makes it a point to grab my hand as we disembark, and I raise it unceremoniously to blow some warm air and maybe the tiniest kiss on the back of it. I'm not sure if I'm doing it to piss him off or to calm myself down, but both outcomes are achieved regardless of that.
warnings: swearing, (attempted) homophobia
words: 7.4k (double wowza)
Alright, I've got this. My clothes are nice — stylish yet comfortable and just chill enough to look like I could also be headed to an art-gallery — I've done my hair and painted my nails and prepared a dessert to impress Fours Ma and hopefully the rest of his family.
And it's not even Four o'clock in the afternoon yet. What can I say, I'm just terribly chill and nonchalant.
Surprisingly enough, I have nothing but jitters to blame for being ready this early. Despite the fact that I'm not even his real boyfriend and they could hate me all I want because I probably won't be sticking around anyway, I really want to make a good impression.
So, instead of taking a breather, maybe reading another chapter of my book or doing my dishes, I pace my flat relentlessly. Like a mad-man, it's kitchen counter to sofa, gaze out of the window like I'm some crazed adventurer and then check myself out in the bathroom mirror.
Let it be known that I am not doing finger-guns. Nuh uh, neither am I running frantic hands through my hair or whispering pep-talks to myself. And I'm also not realising that I do actually look like I'm going on a quest for glory. Oh my god I need to change.
That's plain pathetic who would-
Doorbell, Fuck. Is he early?
He is. Good lord, Four's early. Clambering through the small space and dodging my side-table with the grace of somebody who's smacked into it balls-first on one too many occasions, I heave the old door open way too quickly.
All this idiot has to say is "You look like a slutty elf."
I have half a mind to slam it closed in his face again. "Hello to you too, Toots." I hum instead, sighing deeply and slumping against the door as he steps inside.
"Don't call me that." — "Why?" — "What the fuck are my parents supposed to think, hm? That this is a joke? You need something proper."
"Looks like somebody wants to be called baby, hm? Has the time finally come?"
"Fuck off"
Laughing lightly, I allow Four to explore my shabby flat for a moment. Where his home is vintage in the best of ways, mine is in the worst. Even Simba seems to think that way, because instead of following his owner in looking at the tiny kitchen, taking three paces across icky linoleum floors to the squeaky couch and then laughing at my twin-sized bed, he sits down right by my side.
I pet him quietly, letting my palm flatten the fluff on the top of his head while mussing up that behind his ears. He sits calmly, nudging his head into my leg with a happy grunt. We could also just stay here, no? A cosy day in doesn't sound too bad.
"If you want to change you better do it now, Legolas!" Four hollers from inside, and I leave my place in the hallway to lean against the entry to my bedroom instead. He's already got my closet open, shuffling through my hoodies like he owns them.
"Got a problem with the fit? You embarrassed or what?" I inquire jokingly, as if this was all planned and I do want his family to think I'm out of this world. "Don't answer that, I know that I look like a Tree. Green on the brown pants wasn't my brightest Idea."
"Those pants weren't your brightest Idea." With a dramatic gasp, I lean the back of my head against the doorframe like a damsel in distress. "I love these pants, oh my god?"
"They're corduroy, dumbass. My Granddad wears things like that."
"Conversation point, we can bond over our good style then!"
Instead of answering verbally, Four snorts into his hand, only giggling more when Simba comes strolling inside and hops straight up on my bed like he owns the place. With my eyes turned to slits, I turn to stare at the dog. "You're lucky you're cute."
Without warning, a sweater gets chucked at my head, and for a moment I wonder how he knew that this one's my favourite. And then I rip my dumbass head out of the sky, look at the sweater and remember that nothing is ever that deep. He picked it because it looks cool, which is also why it's my favourite. Jeez.
"Go on then, we don't have all day," he offers, sitting down next to his dog and looking at me expectantly.
"Careful," I warn, letting my hands roam to the hem of my shirt and lifting it lightly, "Before I start making fun of you for being this ridiculously early." And then I've grabbed the fabric and begin shedding the layers. That seems to shut him up.
Slowly and meticulously, while being fully aware I'm essentially stripteasing in front of this poor boyfriend of mine, I take off the different garments and return them to their rightful place in my closet.
Ignoring the goosebumps that spread over my arms, I grab a wife-beater and pull it over my naked torso as I finally turn to face him again. Four is bright red in the face, one hand on Simba and the other flung over his lap, and all it takes for him to break is the slow arch of my eyebrow and a teasing smile.
Before I've gotten the chance to warn him of the fact that my bed is tiny, he's gone boneless. And then he drops, flings his body back on the bed and cracks his fucking skull against the brick wall. My body reacts swiftly, reaching out to pull him up again, hands shooting up to cradle his head as I giggle into the crown of his hair.
With his head pressed firmly into my chest, I rub the sore spot, forcing my grin to subside to press a kiss there as well. "Fuck" he whines, giggling as I sit down next to him on my cramped bed. "How do you live with a bed like this?"
The space between us, although it felt like it had been bridged just a moment ago, feels cold in the absence of his chest close to mine. Blue eyes are still slightly pained, eyebrows knotted like he has royalty to seduce, and the apples of his cheeks have tinted impossibly.
Offering a meek shrug, I rub the sore spot one last time before unfolding my legs to finally get dressed. "Aww, come on." Four whines as I pull on the sweater, all pathetic as he clutches his head. "I was enjoying the show!" — "Did you get a concussion? Brain-bleed? Are ya havin' a stroke?"
Stalking over to him, his hand is cradled between my hands as I observe his eyes. Simba jumps up beside us, clambering onto his lap and licking at his face. Four shakes his head, jerking away from the attack and I reach around to the back of his head to stop him from hitting it once more.
"I'll put on a proper show some other time, we got places to be." — "Promise?"
Stupid heart, stupid man, stupid fucking everything. Without another word, I leave the room to collect my Tupperware. His chuckle bounces off the walls, contrasting with the grating rattle of the tube as it zooms past just outside. But he follows silently, grabbing the coat he'd thrown over the back of the sofa and ushering Simba towards the door.
"What's this then?" Four hums as he spots my huge container.
"Dessert." I offer simply, not bothering with an explanation. "Let's go, I wanna make a good impression on your Ma. Being on time would help tremendously."
"Tremendously?"
"You heard me."
"Yeah, yeah I heard you Gramps. But don't worry about making a good impression, they're already more than elated over the fact you're bothering to help with the cooking. Or that you 'want' to meet them at all."
"Elated" it's my time to deadpan, turning my head around to face him as I hop down the stairs lazily. With a roll of his eyes and a light shove, he matches my tempo. Soon enough, he's bouncing down the stairwell with Simba in tow and a fluttering scarf.
My fluttering scarf.
I don't comment on it, nor do I comment on the impression his last sentence made. Didn't exactly peg him for someone that dates assholes, but it's not really my business to pry. Instead, my feet carry me down faster as well, and I make it a point to bow at the waist as I pull open the door for him and his companion.
"No gloves again?" Four shoos me off, stuffing one hand into his jacket and clutching Simba's leash tightly in the other. "Dumbass." I mutter before slipping my fingers through the loop and squeezing both of our hands into his free pocket.
It's still cold, but without fresh snow the streets have begun getting sludgy. Unlike me and Four, who are meticulously evading puddles and snowy spots, his dog is jumping around aimlessly, using every last bit of leash to shuffle through the frozen-over mountains of snow and explore the sidewalk.
Eventually, we make it to the tube, riding all the way out of the city. I watch as the scenery changes outside of the window. Tall, cramped buildings and wide streets make space for older brick houses and patches of grass. Trees whizz by at high speeds and there's children playing by the quiet roads.
Four makes it a point to grab my hand as we disembark, and I raise it unceremoniously to blow some warm air and maybe the tiniest kiss on the back of it. I'm not sure if I'm doing it to piss him off or to calm myself down, but both outcomes are achieved regardless of that.
By the end of the small platform, two figures seem to be awaiting us, shrouded in the dim lighting of the late afternoon.
"Ah, hun!" one of them yells, and without taking another step towards them, I recognize it as his Ma without a shadow of a doubt. Four turns red, squeezing my hand as if to tell me not to try my luck, so I hide my smile in the edges of my scarf.
Simba seems to be as happy about seeing the figures as Four is miserable, and I can't help the chuckle from escaping as he lazily unclips the leash and allows the dog to bound towards his family.
The two of us follow unhurried, and I suddenly can't bother to put on an act as I linger a few steps behind to let him say hello to his family. His mother hugs the guitarist tightly, spinning them around with a few steps while what I'm assuming to be his father pets Simba.
Four looks just like his Ma, I note as her eyes fall on me. It was easy to tell over the phone already but now that she's standing right in front of me it's like a slap in the face. They have the same roundish face, bright blue eyes and curly hair. It's almost like his father wasn't even there to help. And, god is she beautiful.
"You must be the little boyfriend!" she squeals, leaving her son behind as if he's a speck of dust and coming towards me. Let's be chill, be cool, no time to mess this up.
"I am," I grin lightly, immediately swerving my hand over and bending down to reciprocate the hug she engulfs me in. "It's nice to meet you, Ma'am."
The woman pulls back, and I miss the sincerity of her arms the second she does. He has her smile. Kind of? Because as radiant as Fours smile is, his mother's feels like a thousand suns joined forces. "None of that, hun. Call me Deborah. And now let's go get out of the cold, hm?"
I'm left reeling as she promptly grabs my free hand and drags me along like she knows me my whole life. Turning lightly, I send his father a curt nod, addressing him with a clipped 'sir'. He just grins, shooting me a wink as if to say 'get used to it' before calling out to Simba and following along.
When I look at my boyfriend, I can't gauge the look on his face, no matter how hard I try. So I slow my steps, turning back and motioning for him to come along. Deborah allows me to tuck him into her side, and I linger back with his father to let them catch up in peace.
This is for him, after all.
We reach their home after a relatively short walk, and I kind of hate just how much stepping inside feels like coming home. The warmth of the fireplace makes it impossibly welcoming, dragging me in and dulling my nerves at the same time. It's cosy, familiar, lived in. Every picture on the wall, every dent in the wooden flooring and colourful curtain tells a story of their own.
I chuckle as Simba gets his feet cleaned up in the same old routine I saw a few days ago. Awkwardly balancing my Tupperware in one hand, I shuffle out of my shoes with the other.
"Ah!" Deborah yelps, "Talk to me, boy! Here, let me take that so you can get undressed in peace. What in the world have you even brought?" — "Dessert" the guitarist supplies from the doorway, clearly not bothering to wait.
Wide blue eyes flit to mine, and I can't do much but scratch my head and shrug. "It felt weird to just show up empty-handed. So, uh, my mum sent me a recipe and told me to make a little something. Hope you don-"
"Ach honey," she grins widely as she reaches up to pat my cheek. As she grabs my hand and leads me inside, her presence seems to ensure my worries are left in the entryway, "You didn't have to! These brats I call my kids are way too ungrateful for tha'." Placing the dish into the fridge, she turns to me.
"Enough with the shyness now, boy. You're doing fantastic, much better than the last rascal this one brought 'round." Four shoots her a sour look from across the room, and I cringe lightly before my eyes find the woman beside him.
"As if that was hard." she supplies, and I am once again impressed by this family's genes. Another set of bright blue eyes, just impossibly wise and enlarged by a pair of thick glasses, a stout frame and untamed curls. His Nan looks like the text-book definition of one, and I can't help but smile widely.
"My Nan, Sweets." Four smiles, all red in the face and shyer than even myself. Deborah squeezes my arm and I take it as my cue to step towards the both of them. This time around, I expect the hug, bending down easily.
As she releases me, I slide a careful arm around Fours waist, looking down in hopes that he won't mind it. "It's very nice to meet you-" — "Don't you dare call her Ma'am." his dad chuckles from the kitchen, so I nod, press my lips together and stay silent instead.
"Call me Nan, boy. And now come, we have a lot to do."
I'm lead back into the kitchen, handed an apron and posted by the expansive island right next to Four. With a knife in his hand and a peeler in mine, we're instructed to prep the potatoes as the other two participants flit around the kitchen.
Despite my better judgement, despite the fact that I know this is fake, despite all the mixed signals and insecurities, I relax with him beside me. Watch as he catches up with his Ma and Nan, smile politely when his father and grandfather arrive and let myself be a part of them.
"What do you do?" His dad asks as he settles into an armchair not too far from the kitchen. Welp, guess it's my turn to talk. The ease of his personality and the slight teasing I'm subjected to are more familiar than they should be, and we banter around for a moment as I supply him with the basic facts.
When the sheer Mountain of potatoes is done and handed off to Deborah, Four washes his hands again before slumping onto the counter beside me. "Tea, Sweets?" humming lightly, I pretend not to care about the way his hand lingers beside mine, pinkies barely touching. When he grabs my chin and turns my face towards his, I do lose it. Frowning at his condescending smile, I sigh before answering.
"Yes, you remember my favourite?" he smiles, and then the bastard has the guts to press a kiss to the tip of my nose before walking away.
With the first ingredients on the stove or in the oven, we do find ourselves having a bit of downtime. As Deborah mindlessly picks a new task, Nan grabs my tea and hands it over. This mug has birds on it as well, cutely enough, and she smiles up at me before she speaks. "How did you two meet, if you don't mind an old hag being a bit nosy?"
Now this, I have prepared for.
"I don't mind at all." I laugh "We met at a café a few months ago. I like to go out to read whenever my flat gets a bit too depressing to stay in, and I guess I got so wrapped up in it I didn't hear when they called my order. Four, uh, took the mug, walked through the whole café and gave it to me like nobody else in that place would consider drinking black coffee." Nudging his shoulder with mine, pride wells up when he gives the most imperceptive nod, "He's got a bit of a knack for getting my head out of the clouds."
"We got to talking a bit. Wanted to buy you a book for the holidays at that point, thought he could help."
Nodding absentmindedly, the woman stirs her own tea for a moment. "That's sweet, and just after we'd talked about how hard it's gotten to meet people naturally."
"Guess I got lucky." I grin, looking over at him as he meets my eyes. Don't lean in. No kisses. None. Not even a little one.
The women coo, and I hear the men laugh over in the living room.
Taking a sip of tea, I'm not sure wether to be stunned at the fact he actually remembered the way I like it or to try and stop my heart from beating wrong. He's different here, I note quietly. For some reason, and I hope from the bottom of my heart that it's not because he's acting, he's less guarded, calmer. As if he needs the presence of others to convince him I won't, like, jump him or something.
But then his eyes are on me again, and that layer of something has returned to them. It's like there's literal storm clouds forming above his head. From one moment to the other, the calmness is gone, the house grows just a bit colder and I think I have to go. There's uncertainty in his eyes, an urgent edge I can't exactly point but know it's pointed at me and me alone.
I've barely finished asking for the restroom when his hand finds mine and pulls me into the hallway. My legs fight to stay aligned with all they have as he tugs me along, and now I'm sure I've ruined it somehow.
The bathroom tiles are antique, shiny and filled with little designs. The pastel pink colour reflects none of the things I'm feeling right now, and I think I might cry because it is so ridiculous. My b- Four runs a hand across his face, and I cower at the sternness in his eyes when he looks at me from across the room.
"What?"
He shakes his head, as if his thoughts had betrayed him and he's just now managed to reel them back in. Every step he takes towards the door, I add another to follow. Until I don't. He's backing away from me. Who am I if I don't respect that?
I stop dead in my tracks, like a deer caught in his high beams. "Sorry." I muster up, taking a step back. He barely has the time to shake his head again before I'm blabbering on. "You don't have to say anything. But tell me if I'm doing too much, or too little or if you want me to go, I swear I don't-"
"Chill, dude." he huffs. The smirk on his face makes me want to barf. Not as much as his neutral face does when he drops it. "Listen, I didn't actually mean for things to go this way. Right?"
He's shaking, oh god. What do I do? Help, reach out, step back?
"I guess there's nothing to be done. As much as I want to kick you out, and trust me a part of me wants nothing more." his steps are deafening in my ears, no matter how gently he's advancing. "I was entirely convinced they were gonna hate you. That you were doing this as a joke and turn into a bitch when there's actual work or conversation or the flicker of familiarity."
It's my turn to back into the wall, and unlike me he does follow every step I take. "And you're not. For whatever stupid fucking reason, you're earnest about this."
His hand comes up to cover my mouth and swallow my retort, but his grin is enough to let me know he knows just what I was going to add.
"I thought I could do this once and then kick you out of my life, pretend it's just another failed relationship, pretend you were just another prick that didn't care about me the way I care about him. That's why I wanted to keep the distance."
"You didn't trust me." My eyes must be as big as saucers, "Not that I blame you."
Fuck, he's close, and fuck does that make me nervous.
Nodding briefly, he steps towards the door again. "I feel crazy for saying this, but the last hour changed that. I don't want you to worry about overstepping my boundaries, don't want you to pull back from holding my hand or smiling at me. At least not tonight. And I know this is selfish, and kind of mean, but even if my cousin gives us shit, I-" He runs another hand through his already messy hair before leaning against the door with a thud. "I want you to be my boyfriend, just for tonight. And I want you to mean that."
The next moment, we're gawking at each other. Okay. Okay. I can do that, right?
"What, you're not even gonna say anything? Don't tell me I broke you." he hums, but all I can offer in return is the shake of my head.
"I do actually need to pee, baby. And unless you wanna hold it while I do that, I — uh — have to ask you to turn around?"
Finally, finally he's laughing again. It's bright, and loud, and the realest thing I've ever managed to pull from his mouth. "You're a fucking idiot, I can't believe I'm doing this." Nonetheless, he turns and leans his forehead against the door this time. "That's alright, baby. I know I'm irresistible."
I give his hand a slight squeeze as we walk towards the kitchen, and just before we're back in earshot, i can't help but let some words spill from my mouth as well. "I like you, I meant it when I said that. And I'm here for you, regardless of how this whole thing unfolds."
With a last squeeze of my hand, we reenter the room and are immediately whisked up to help again. His Nan spends a considerable amount of time trying to instruct me into my next step, and I spend a considerable amount of time being an absolute idiot about it.
"How — I'm so sorry, but I don't get this at all, Nan. I think you should do this, I think I'm too dumb for that. I mean - how?" I whine lightly, curling in on myself as his dad and granddad come over. The bastards, laugh, and not just lightly. This man, this sweet old tiny man with his horned glasses and five hairs is slapping his fucking knee at me.
Four steps up as well, drying his hands on a rag before throwing it over his shoulder. His rolled up sleeves and the dusting of something on his cheek only add to the fire in my belly. I should most definitely not be thinking about the things I'd let this guy do to me, not in front of his Nan. And I definitely don't.
"Here, idiot." he says between chuckles of his own, sliding in front of me and grabbing the ingredients from my unsure hands. Fuck, No holding back. As my hands come up to rest on the counter on either side of his waist and my chin hooks over his free shoulder, his Nan sends me a wide smile.
With impressive precision, he does something entirely different fo the things she'd shown me? My eyes track his movement as he walks me through the steps, but with his soft body against mine and the patience of a literal angel, I don't have it in me to complain to his Nan for misleading me.
"Oh, look at tha'. The boy's always been better at explaining things than me." she giggles as she returns to Deborah. His dad comes back around, looking at my new attempt and clapping me on the back lightly. It's not perfect, far from the one Four whipped up, but it does look somewhat right.
I'm barely granted to bask in the kiss he presses to my cheek and the encouraging smile on his face when has dad speaks up. "You want a beer, son?"
Reluctantly, I shake my head to decline as gently and politely as possible. "No, I don't drink actually. But thanks for the offer." I have a bit of trouble understanding the older man, and only realise that it's because he's speaking fucking Welsh when Nan pats the back of my hand with a smile.
"Can't keep the poor sod in the dark, ye' old geezer. He is a good one an' he deserves to know that, aye?"
"So good, in fact," Deborah adds with a grin, "I want you to call me Debbie, hun. And just so you know, that is an actual privilege."
I thank her quietly, and it seems like that made the last nail in the coffin that declares me as a friend. Fours dad whistles lightly, as if he's surprised by her statement, and then sends me a brief nod and takes his leave.
Four and his family work like a well-oiled machine, and I am ever so grateful to find a place in the midst of them. When all the dishes are prepared and I'm not offered a new task, I allow Simba to herd me over to the Sofa.
"Looks like you're winning hearts all over the place, son."
All I can do is laugh as I slide to the ground in front of the couch so I can properly curl up with the dog without getting the furniture dirty. Simba licks my hand as he settles in my lap, and I grin widely before petting him.
"You should've been there when they first met, granddad.I don't think Simba's been that excited to see me since I got him." Ducking my head lightly, I allow him to step over me and curl up on the couch.
For a few minutes, all my focus lays on the dog. The family's conversation carries on about friends I don't know and sports clubs I don't care about, so I allow myself to stay quiet and focus on him. Every drag of my hand behind his ears is met with a light grunt, almost as if he's snoring while fully awake, and I chuckle when he stretches out across my lap fully.
A hand reaches the top of my head, and I fight the giddy grin that threatens to curl on my lips as Four cards his fingers through my hair. Flicking a hand over my head, the gentle drag of his fingers is enough to stop me from complaining as he messes up my hairstyle. Time passed quickly, it barely feels like it's already almost Seven, but it is.
The doorbell is shrill, and I fight the urge to wince as Simba steps all over me in order to clamber towards the door. I feel the way Four tenses up as well, and when Debbie gently calls the dog back and his hand leaves my head, I think I know it's for a different reason than I initially thought.
Even his Nan sends me a suddenly wary look, so I lean my head back to look at him. I'm in the dark, completely and utterly clueless about the sudden shift in emotions. Does he need Distance?
My partner slides into an upright position, letting his knee press into my shoulder. No distance then. Like it's the simplest thing in the world, I raise my hand to loop beneath his thigh and grab his.
Simba trots back into the room first, settling on my lap again. As if he knows just how much he calms me down, he presses his face into my hand and I have no choice but to pet him again. Like a mother Hen, Debbie leads the whole club in, and good god is there a lot of them.
"You weren't kidding when you said six billion nephews." I whisper meekly, and luckily it seems to be enough to pull a giggle from his tight chest.
"Alright, everyone. You know the drill, go wash your hands, find your seat and I'll serve you. Oh!", Nan gets up and turns to me with a teasing grin, "This is Fours Boyfriend. Have at it with him if the food tastes different than usually."
I Ignore the pointed look from one of the women as I introduce myself, making it a point to squeeze my boyfriends hand. Afterwards, I follow his lead to get up and make our way towards the kitchen while the horde of kids run off to wash their hands.
"So, new boy toy, hm?" the weird one cuts in. Boy am I glad to have forgotten her name. "What kind of bastard is this one? The-"
Before she gets out another word, before his Granddad has the chance to get up or I have to watch tears threaten to fill my Fours eyes, my words snap the tension in half.
"The kind of bastard that won't hesitate to spit in your food if you disrespect the people I care about."
The grin on my face is harsh, condescending. Don't even try it. It's the kind of smile that pulls tightly around my mouth and leaves no room to fight back, the kind that signals danger instead of love. I hate it, hate how wrong it feels and how cold it makes my chest to flash it, but god, I'd wear this mask for the rest of my life if it'll make him keep looking at me the way he's doing right now. "Nice to meet you too."
Ignoring his wide eyes, and the sour face of his weirdo cousin, I lead Four into the kitchen. His Nan, bless her heart, high fives me as we step in. "Knew you had it in ya'" she grins, and I reciprocate it before looking back at my boyfriend.
"You okay?" all he does is nod, pulling me close and wrapping both arms firmly around my middle. "I meant it when I said I'd look out for you." I chuckle. "And just for the record, I also meant it when I said I'd spit in her food, I'm not kidding."
All he does is murmur a short thank you into my chest, as if it's a surprise that I stood up for him.
Despite the fact we're hardly any good with our hands clasped tightly together, we help the two women carry the food out to the table before finding our seats. The weird one looks like she's close to tears when I slide into the seat beside her, and I can't help but send the sweetest, fakest smile I can muster into her direction.
A round of 'thank you's' is offered and I try my hardest to drop my fork quietly when Four's Granddad clasps his hand together and begins praying. The weirdo is once again, terrified, but I'm too busy to
a) hide my laughter behind my hand
and
b) prod at Four's thigh for not warning me this would happen
to care.
To my, and evidently also Nan's chagrin, the prayer goes on for far longer than any prayer should, but when we finally get to dig in, I think it was all worth it.
"This is heavenly what the fu-" okay, who let the weird one keep her shoes on? I did not need a sharp heel wedged between my toes tonight, "-Flip?" My boyfriend laughs at me freely this time. I exchange a few words about the food with the other cooks, silently hyping each other up for doing such a good job before I'm whisked into more conversation.
His sibling are real tattletales it looks, and we go on about jobs and hobbies and neighbours and for whatever stupid reason even politics. It's not too bad, really. When things get too much, and conversation takes a turn I can't follow, I opt to sit back and listen instead.
With my one hand stroking across Fours thigh every time it's free for a few seconds, Simba laid behind both of our chairs and the quiet knowledge that nobody will give either of us shit again, I settle deeper into my chair and relax.
"Okay." His dad claps his hands together when everyone seems to be done. One of the kids is already perched on his lap, and the girl giggles as he speaks up. "A little birdy told me there's unknown Tupperware in the Fridge, I do sincerely hope that there's dessert in there."
From one moment to the next, all eyes in the room seem to be on me. Even worse than that, they've all gone silent. The grandfather clock in the corner rings right on time, and I rasp my throat as I watch the little bird figurine pop out.
"Sure, uh." Fuck it, no time to be shy, "It's my mum's recipe, so I forbid any and all birdies," I point a joking finger at the children, "To say they don't like it."
Adamant little heads shake from left to right, and the adults crack up shortly. "Oh, before I forget." I add simply because I can, "She put a spell on the recipe, so only birdies that help with the dirty dishes get to have some."
The kids go wide eyed and scramble up to stack dishes and bring them to the kitchen. Nan claps me on the shoulder with a gentle smile before the two of us tag along, and Debbie turns back to stare at the adults that are sat around the table giggling. "He told me about the spell, even helped me put one on the ice cream so only big birdies that help washing up get to eat it."
After cleaning up quickly, and surprisingly efficiently as everybody lends a hand, we make our way back to the table. This time around, the twins — or how Four calls them, Tweedledee and Tweedledum — make themselves at home on both of our laps.
"Oh, you are stuck with us now, hun." Debbie laughs from across the table, prompting me to shrug. "Hope this isn't too big of a surprise, Debbie, but I really really don't mind."
The weird one murmurs something along the lines of privileges, and I have half a mind to stick my tongue out at her. Instead, I exchange a cunning grin with Debbie, who adds a singular, stupidly proud nod for good measure.
"Now, now." Fours Dad cuts in, "Let's not get hasty here Debs. I'm not keeping the boy around if his witchcraft doesn't taste the part." With that, he begins dishing out a few portions, and despite the fact I'm fully ready for it this time, they dig in without a prayer.
"Bitchcraft!" Tweedledee yells as he bounces on my lap, and I'm too busy to stop him from falling off to hide my laughter. Leaning back, I try my very hardest not to choke on my food as I'm left dissolving into giggles.
There seems to be no choice but to laugh as the other kids join in, most either too young to understand their little misspell or just old enough to dig it. My partner thunks his head into my shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut to as he tries to calm down. With a hand on my thigh, he squeezes it intermittently, and my hand falls on his to redirect the gesture.
"Kids, kids. Inside voices," Nan yelps "It's witchcraft! With a w! Look, you're gonna kill your uncles if you keep this up"
Uncles
Uh-oh. That's a lot. My shoulders grow rigid, spine straight as I stare at her. Am I the only one freaking out here? Uncles? With an s? Wide eyed and uncertain, my head swivels from her, to Debbie and then to Four.
Instead of the closed off, reluctant or miserable look I've learned to expect, it's like I'm looking at the sun. He meets me with a wide grin, unguarded and safe, and then he raises his free hand to the base of my neck as his thumb rubs along my jaw.
And his smile never drops, never.
Not when his siblings start laughing at me and Tweedledum toddles off his lap to chase Simba around or even when the group disperses over towards the living room.
Eventually, I send him off as well. Just as I get up to help Debbie and Nan with the last of the dishes, I remember something. No holding back. And so I bend down, run a hand across his shoulder and leave a kiss right beside the spot.
The women try to shoo me off, arguing about me 'having done more than their own kids', but I relent. As nice as this family is, there's too many people not to eventually get a headache. So I fall in line, stand between them by the sink and dry off the fine china. We're shrouded in silence for the first time tonight, and I bask in the safety the two of them provide.
Our return to the living room is met with an immediate discussion. A feisty one at that, and you know what the worst part is? It's about which board game to play. They're arguing like a life's on the line over fucking UNO. Four welcomes me at his side, and Simba jumps up on our laps to save himself from the kids.
Sisters and Brothers crank up the heat with every new argument about the games, and by the time they've grown personal, I've leaned back and switched my focus on playing with the curls on my boyfriend's head. Ultimately, we play both of them, and I make it a point to be a bit dumb about them when I realise just how competitive these kids are.
"Last Tube's about to leave." Granddad mentions at some point in the late evening, making me look up at the clock as well. Humming in return, I stare down at Four. His feet are propped up on his Ma's lap, allowing him to stretch across the entire couch and rest his head on my side. He squints, grabbing the hand I'd thrown over his torso and waving it around lazily.
"We should probably get going then, hm?" his glare might've been scary if his cheek wasn't mushed against me this cutely, "C'mon, baby. Let's get you home."
Ignoring the different complaints that get issued across the room, a suspicious amount of them pointed at Simba's departure, I prop Four up gently. Gently guiding him into the hallway, I help with his jacket, wrap my scarf around his neck and put my gloves on his hands. Nan linger in the doorway with way too many leftovers in her hands.
"Thank you for having me, Debbie." I offer politely as I sling an arm around Four's shoulder. "It was lovely to meet you and your family."
She just shoos me off, laughing lightly. "It was lovely to meet you too, hun. Thanks for the dessert, and the spell." she winks. Giving both her and Nan a hug and letting my boyfriend say goodbye to them as well, I can't help when she murmurs something in my ear.
"You go and look after our boy, yeah? He deserves the best."
With a last mock-salute and a wave into the living room, we're out of the house. Darkness engulfs us, swallows up the warmth in my bones and returns the pressure to my chest. The day's ended. I'm no boyfriend any more.
"Let's go, before we miss the tube." Four ushers, grabbing my hand and dragging me along. Just like before, he stuffs them into his pocket as we walk towards the station. It's silent aside from the odd car that drives by or the whistle of the wind, but I'm not brave enough to break it.
"Thank you." he offers finally.
"There's no need to thank me." — "Liar."
"Fuck you."
And then we're silent again, get on the tube wordlessly and sit down side by side like it's the most normal occurence for him to rest his head on my shoulder.
"I know I made it a point to say I'm doing this for you, but that's a lie, Toots."
"What, you gonna blackmail me now or something? Hate to say it but there's not much I have to offfer." he grins smugly, meeting my eyes in the Window across from us.
"I wouldn't dream of it," I chuckle, "I came with you because I wanted to. I kept telling myself that I did it for you, that I was bein' a nice guy and helping you get your Ma off your back, but I was selfish, really. I like you, Four. Knew that I did from the moment I met you."
"Romantic." — "Shut up."
"How is it possible that messing with you becomes even more fun when I'm tired."
"Bullying comes naturally, I guess."
The tube rattles on, stopping every few minutes before picking back up. Simba is sat between my legs, his head on my thigh and eyes closed as I pet him. We don't continue our conversation. No matter how much I want to tell him what tonight did to me, how much it meant and how badly I want to stay in his life, I don't allow the words to come out.
It's his call, guess it always has been. "I like you too." Is all he offers as he gets off at his stop. Humming in confusion, I realize his move almost too late, but chase after him regardless. The wind drags me towards him as the tube leaves, and he stays rooted in his spot when I advance.
"This is all really fast." he states, both hands tucked into his pockets. "But I like it. I like you. I won't lie, trust is kind of hard right now. No person in my family has ever managed to keep their mouth shut about anything, so I'm sure you can figure out why. But I want to try."
"Try what?"
"Keeping you around." he offers simply. "If you play your cards right, that is."
He laughs at me when I ask to walk him home, simply turns around, drops Simba's leash and leaves his dog behind. I reach him with quick steps, pick up the leash and stuff my other hand into his pocket to entwine my fingers with his.
if i read this draft one more time i'm deleting myself off the internet istg it's getting worser & worser the only good part about this is debbie i love women
more boyfriends, light whump, i love making these bitches go through things yaya can you tell that i have no idea where this is going
they are making me crazy but the semester is almost over so i'm allowing it
as always, talk to me, request things, add your two cents do whatever i'll love you regardless
when Four shows up at a café, trying to convince his ma he's dating a man that doesn't exist, where's the harm in being that man?
Over the course of fake, not-so-fake, and later on very real dates... walls are broken down and bonds are formed
warnings: explicit language, sexual innuendos, emotional hurt-comfort, specific warnings on each chapter
•ﻌ• fake? date
•ﻌ• not-so fake? date
•ﻌ• fake? boyfriends
•ﻌ• not so fake? boyfriends
•ﻌ• maybe? boyfriends
•ﻌ• surely? boyfriends
•ﻌ• finally? boyfriends
•ﻌ• obviously? boyfriends
cross-posted on ao3 & wattpad under RestlessNights455
fake? date | not-so fake? date | fake? boyfriends | not-so-fake?boyfriends | maybe? boyfriends | surely? boyfriends | •ﻌ• |
If tonight goes anything like I hope it will, maybe this will be it. Maybe today will be the day that I get to actually make him mine. Some tiny part of my mind keeps telling me to pull the brakes, give him time and let him figure this whole thing out, but what if there's nothing left for him to figure out by himself? What if this is the part where he learns to just let me in and learn to be loved the way he deserves.
warnings: swearing, mildly sexual content
words: 5.3k
Date night, phew.
Phew.
For the love of fucking god, I have never been this fucking nervous. Not at my high school graduation, not when I came out to my parents or started university. Never. But here I am, a tiny figurine of that game he likes so much stuffed into my pocket, glaring up into the dimming sun as I wait for him to just end my suffering and let me up into his flat.
I rang the doorbell two whole minutes ago, and Four still hasn't answered. I'd ring again if I wasn't so focused on not hyperventilating. Instead, I keep both hands firmly stuffed in my pockets, and lean against the short stone railing for support. Did he change his mind? Four did say that he'd tell me if I was going too fast, but I'd kind of expected him to be nicer about it. Then again, this whole thing started all messy, so I can't really blame him for getting cold-
"Sweets!" huh?
Turning around, the exact man I'd been hoping for comes running up the short stairwell. Blond hair strewn about by the wind, a leather messenger bag sliding off one shoulder and the prettiest flush crossing over his freckle-dappled cheeks. "So sorry," god, he's basically stumbling over his own feet as he slows to a stop right before the door. And he's out of breath, "I had, uh, the thing is… work was all-" — "Relax, relax." my hands reach out without much thought, successfully stopping his bag from falling to the ground and slinging it over my own shoulder. "Catch your breath, Four. No need to feel bad, I've barely been here for a few minutes."
He sighs deeply, leans against the front door for a moment, and then grins into the sun. He looks light, untouchable, almost holy as he's cast in the bright rays. With another huff, Four drops his head in a poor effort to hide his smile. "What?" my own head dips forward to match his, and I search his impossibly bright eyes for a moment.
"Don't try and fool me into thinking that three minutes isn't enough to get you all wrung up and anxious." he grins, and then there's a hand on my cheek, warmed by his movement and a smidge too shaky to be as cool and collected as he probably wants to appear. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, today hasn't exactly been going my way so far." — "That's okay, let's make sure to make the rest of it a little better." I've barely finished my sentence when his lips find mine, a kiss so chaste and gentle it leaves me reeling.
"Better." and then he follows it up with another one, just deep enough to leave the faint taste of mint lingering on my mouth well into our trek up the stairs.
Simba is already waiting by the door when we make it there, wagging his tail impatiently and jumping up our thighs like a mere puppy. "Hey, bubs!" Four grins widely, dropping down to his knees without a second thought to properly say hi to him. "Hi, I'm sorry, I know. I know I'm late. We'll go for a quick walk in a moment, hold on." even through the grin on his face, the inconsistent baby talk he shares with his dog and the valiant effort he puts into suppressing his sigh, it's easy to see the stress still radiating through him.
"Four." his name falls off my lips gently, as noncommittal as possible. He stops dead in his tracks, turning towards me more sharply than he'd probably intended, if his wide eyes are anything to go by. The gap between our bodies closes quickly as I follow him into the space, and he settles beneath the palms of my hands as they reach his tensed shoulders. "You go take a few moments to yourself. Okay? Unwind, get ready, I'll go out with Simba."
His head drops forward and onto my shoulder, causing my hands to slide over his and down his back, ultimately settling on his hips. Slowly, mindful of his carefully placed furniture and decoration, I walk us over and into the kitchen. "You're too good to me." he whines into my skin, face warm against the collar of my shirt. "I don't want to use you." giggling lightly, I reach lower to lift Four onto the counter behind him.
"You." he's gone soft in my hands minutes ago, so I use the opportunity to press a few pecks into his skin. "Are not using me. You're not even close to it. I offered it because I wanted to. Anything to make the rest of your day better, right?" Finally sliding away, I go through the well-known routine of preparing a cup of tea for him. Once the brick-red rim of his favourite sparrow mug touches the pink of his lips, I send him another grin before backing towards the door.
A joking finger points at his face, and the command I utter along with it is positively useless it's uttered so gently. "You go decompress, figure out what you want to wear, and by the time the two of us," the finger switches over to wag between Simba and me, "Return, we'll get to our date. There's no hurry."
Before he has time to nod, I've ushered Simba over towards the door, grabbed his leash and treats and anything else we could need, and pushed open the door as well.
"Bye, honey! We'll be back before you know it." — "Fuck you!"
"Maybe later."
And then the door slams shut, there's a small yip in my ear, and we trot down the stairs in perfect sync. Sure, the date already isn't exactly going the way I planned it, but the moment the afternoon sun hits my face again, I've decided to just let things happen. I reckon this'll go well if it's meant to be. Simba trails by my side quietly, only slowing down occasionally to inspect his turf and stare down another — truly angry — dog across the street before he returns to my side. Together, we reach our favourite park quickly, and for a blissful few minutes, the dog roams through the fresh grass.
With the few added meters his longest leash offers us, he trots from one bush to the other while still safely tied to me, and I let my mind wander along with him. If tonight goes anything like I hope it will, maybe this will be it. Maybe today will be the day that I get to actually make him mine. Some tiny part of my mind keeps telling me to pull the brakes, give him time and let him figure this whole thing out, but what if there's nothing left for him to figure out by himself? What if this is the part where he learns to just let me in and learn to be loved the way he deserves.
Mindful of the time, I let Simba take a few more moments to strut around as my mind ruminates on what is and isn't the right thing to do before finally deciding that we have to make our way back over to Four's flat. By now, I'm sure he's had some time to drink his tea and shower, and if he's still unsure about his outfit I might as well just help him with it like he did me all those weeks ago. This time, we don't have to wait long after ringing the doorbell to be let up, and a grinning Four welcomes us into the space. As always, Simba waits patiently to get his paws cleaned up before running inside and jumping straight into his bed. Four's hair is still damp, the curls more defined than what I'm used to, and I pretend that his smell isn't enough to drive me crazy when he kisses my cheek. Let's blame the kiss for that.
"Five minutes, I need to finish drying my hair so I can get dressed. Is that okay?" I follow along quietly, dropping onto his bed so I can watch him as he stands in the en suite. "Sure, take all the time you need."
For a few minutes, I warm up my cooled down body as I lay wrapped up in his sheets. Four is just a few paces away, methodically crunching and diffusing his hair in front of the big mirror. He's wearing a pair of relaxed black jeans, and despite the occasional teasing look he send my way when he catches me staring at his ass, he doesn't say anything to reprimand me. With every new position of his diffuser, my eyes track up and over his shoulders, watching them bend and flex beneath his wife-beater. Good fucking god, he's perfect. Pale, freckled skin stretches over his muscle and fat, and I want nothing more than to go over and just take a bite out of his bicep. But I don't, no time to interrupt him in his work.
Lazily, I sit up to meet him as he steps close to my resting place. A hand finds his hip while the other supports my weight, and the grin on his face is enough to let me know he knows exactly what I'm thinking. "You're so fucking beautiful." — "Sure" He's the one to cross the last bit of distance, settling his lips over mine as his hands tilt my face up. Four is unhurried in his advances, and I think I might like kissing him the most when it's like this. When he's in control, slow and steady, a kiss just for the sake of it. Just as I want to reach out fully, drag him into my lap and coax his mouth into giving me more, he pulls away again. Running a hand through my hair once, he uses it as leverage to push me back into the covers before turning around to find a shirt. Smiling teasingly as I groan into the fabric, he holds up a few different options, and ultimately decides against the one I chose. Instead, he pulls a simple, stone grey shirt over his head, walks back over and pulls me up to finally leave.
We pull our shoes on in the entryway, and when I habitually search for my keys in my pocket, my fingers wrap around another, less familiar item. Grinning widely, I turn over to face Four. "I almost forgot." Luckily, the figurine fits into my fist perfectly, making him none the wiser. "I swear, if you're doing that thing where you just make me hold your hand I'm kicking you out." Despite the scepticism, he reaches a hand out below mine, palm up and still warm.
"You think that little of me?" I chuckle, opening my fist and letting the trinket drop into his. "Made me think of you." I shrug as I watch him turn it around in his hand. Four laughs, light and abashed, as he musters the weirdly painted thing. "What the fuck is this?" huh? He's looking up at me expectantly, a mocking look takes over his features. "Is it- is that not one of the guys from your game?" squealing in delight, he basically doubles over in his spot.
"Is that one of the guys from my game? Which game even." he's wheezing as he stares at the little viking in his hands, slapping a hand over his mouth when he finally catches sight of my scandalized gaze. "I'm sorry, sorry." with a rasp of his throat, he's recomposed. "I have no clue who he is, but he's perfect."
Simba receives another treat, thumping his tail happily as he watches us go, and I make sure Four brings his scarf as we leave his flat behind. Luckily for us, the sun hasn't quite gone down yet, and we bask in the last few golden rays as we go on the short walk to the restaurant I'd picked. I don't even make it to the corner of his block before my hand pulls his from his pocket and encases it. "Shut up." he utters a quiet, "I'm not saying anything." and then he raises our hands and presses a kiss to the back of mine.
"Are you sure the little guy is not from your game?" It takes him a moment to remember what I'm talking about, but then he grabs the figurine from his pocket. he brought it? "Positive." sighing deeply, I squeeze his hand once. "But I don't care, he looks kind of cool. Plus, I get to name him this way."
We don't talk much aside from uttering random names for his viking every once in a while, too focused on dealing with the traffic of the early evening to really bother. We're relaxed regardless, stare at each other shyly as we wait for lights to turn green, he squeezes my hand in order to stop me from running into a biker, and then relaxes into my back as I guide him through a particularly crowded spot. The evening begins quietly, not quite as planned, but without pressure or expectation or room for anxiety.
"How are the boys?" I ask finally, stopping to let him settle into the booth across from me. With his back to the wall, Four leans into the bench before he answers. "Good — Three's salty that he didn't get an invite, but other than that — yeah, they're good." Of course, that greedy bastard. In the cramped booth, illuminated dimly and completely overwhelmed by the surrounding chatter, I think I might be losing him again. Fours eyes flit around the space in quick intervals, as if he's categorizing every way out and strange person and sound he doesn't like. Luckily, the table we're sat on is small, and when my knee slots between both of his, his eyes finally return to me. And then a tattooed hand reaches out to hold mine again, steady fingers running over the back of it in familiar patterns.
"Practice is going well, we've been playing together for so long there's hardly any disagreements or fights anymore." — "How long have you guys known each other?" with our hands interlinked over the table, he delves into their history undeterred, explaining how they came to be, this random pack of them, and how they've grown and changed together. Their friend group becomes even sweeter as it unravels before me, and I can't help the stunned laughter when he discloses that the particular closeness they share on stage doesn't exactly always end there.
"Oh my god you guys actually fuck?" — "Only once or twice, maybe!" he squeaks, hiding his face behind his free hand poorly. The last bite of our entrée comes crawling up my throat from how viciously my laughter has claimed me, and I have to reach for my drink to alleviate the slight scratch of it. "Maybe, Four? Maybe, accidentally, you and your bandmate slept together? What, did his dick just magically slide inside of you? Or was it Mormon-style and you involved the others."
He's giggling as well, dissolved to shaky shoulders and reddened cheeks. Patiently, I wait for him to compose himself as my own laughter dies down. In the dim, artificially reddened light of the paper lanterns, he looks even more like a tomato than he probably actually is, and his eyes gain that mischievous glint again. "I'm sorry, this is so dumb." — "That much is obvious." — "But things just kind of happened? None of us really bother to talk about it or do anything. Crazier things have happened on that tour bus."
This is absolute insanity, but I listen regardless. We talk a bit more about the band over dinner, eventually sliding over into some meaningless chatter as we focus on our main dishes. After one too many longing glances at my food, I quietly raise my spoon to bring it over the table and offer him a bite. "Oh, no I'm good. I don't want to steal your food from you." My hand remains unmoving, elbows rested heavily on the table between us. Four glances between my spoon and face shyly before finally stretching over and accepting the bite. The small bit of broth that drops off his lips is caught by my finger easily, and I keep my eyes on him as I lick it off absentmindedly.
Bright blue eyes become impossibly wider, and a smile breaks out on my face in perfect synchronisation to the one on his. He hums in content, pointing at my bowl with his chopsticks as he swallows his food. "That." impossibly stunned, he leans back into his seat, "Is insanely good. What the fuck." mindlessly grabbing another spoonful, I reach it over again, glad that there's no protest on his sharp tongue this time around. He accepts the second bite happily, nodding with each chewing motion.
"Want some of mine?" it's my turn to nod and stretch closer to his hand. His eyes remain focused on my mouth as I chew, and I can't help but groan at the rich taste. "I can't believe, that after all this time of coming here, Mai never even suggested I try this. Holy shit, the betrayal." For a moment, his utensils remain hovering in the air, and then he giggles into the back of his hand when I reach over the table. Wordlessly, I pull his bowl towards me and let him lift mine out from between my outstretched arms. While there isn't exactly much left of either dish at this point, we finish each other's plate, chuckling whenever our eyes meet.
"Four." my smile turns tense as our Server comes over and he has the guts to reach for his pocket. "What?" is all he answers, a strained smile of his own trying — and failing — to light up his face. "Please tell me that you're not thinking of paying right now." he just hums a tiny embarrassed sound. "Nuh uh, mister." I shoo him off, making sure the Server only looks at me as he comes over. "No way in hell did you think I was gonna take you out on a date and then not pay… Thank you, have a nice evening." after paying and tipping more than I actually consider sane, my eyes find the man across from me again.
"Thank you." he murmurs quietly, half-tensed in his seat with his wallet opened in his hand. "It's the least I can do, Toots. Now let's get out of here."
Collecting our jackets, I make sure to wrap him up in his scarf, smiling down at where the tip of his nose is disappearing within the deep red fabric. "You know what." he speaks up quietly, slipping his hand into mine like it's always belonged there. "You really planned this thing well. I mean, sure, there was some people around but the restaurant was surprisingly calm." he casts a gaze up at the darkening sky, and I reach around him to make sure he's not drifting off the sidewalk. "And it's not super duper late yet, so I can ask you to come home with me for ice cream without a way for you to put up a fight."
"We both know I would never fight the prospect of coming home with you, especially not if there's ice cream involved." I chuckle, finally switching our positions to have one arm slung around his shoulder as we stroll towards his place. "And thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."
Four nods absentmindedly, chewing on his bottom lip in thought. The light of a passing car illuminates his face, and the distant look in his eyes is enough to keep me from pressing for answers to whatever it is he means to say. By the time we reach another stoplight, I just pull him in closer to press a kiss to the side of his head. "Thank you for everything, Toots."
Despite our unusually slow walking, something I'd hate if it was anybody else at my side, we finally reach his building. There's no question about whether or not I'm coming up, all he does is unlock the door and push it open before letting me pass. By now, I've walked up the winding staircase enough times to almost dodge all of the squeaky steps in it, and the giggle that rings out behind me is reason enough to ignore one or the other on purpose. The door to his flat is nudged open a bit, and Four raises a hand to gesture for me to wait.
I do so, and a moment later a dark, wet nose shoves through the crack and pushes the door open further. Simba is energetic as ever, darting around our legs as he welcomes us. Four had left a few ambient lights on for him, so his flat as as comfortable as ever as we step inside and unwind. My jacket finds its place beside his, and he rolls his eyes at the size difference between our shoes. And then his hand finds the small of my back and pushes me right over towards his bedroom.
After cleaning up quickly, I accept the pile of clothing that's pushed into my hands, changing into the familiar pair of his pyjamas as I finally settle into his bed. Four dances through the room, switching on a few decorative lamps and string lights before finally, blissfully, settling into my arms. Yet another thank you is murmured into my collarbone, and I take my chance to press a kiss into the crown of his hair.
I've understood by now that he's not just thanking me out of a force of habit, so I bite back the teasing answer that sits at the tip of my tongue. Debbie's words ring in my head, loud and persistent and impossible to forget. My Four has love all twisted. He needs a chance to figure out what it really looks like. "You're very welcome, Toots."
We lounge in silence as he picks out a movie for us to watch, and I grin into his hair when he chooses one of my favourites. Only when the credits are already rolling do I remember the promise of ice cream, and I wouldn't be me if I ignored that craving. He groans into me as I wrestle out of his grasp, reaching around firmly to stay stuck to me.
"I was promised ice cream." his hold doesn't ease, if anything, he grips my bicep even tighter as his leg wraps around me. "Stay, we can do that later." with our legs entangled, and my measly attempts of escaping his hold, it's impossible to stay serious, and we dissolve into a heap of giggles more quickly than I'd like to admit. His free arm comes up to my side, and he sits up straighter as he rolls me back towards himself. Fours chest hovers just inches above mine, and it's then that I realize I only have one chance to escape.
My hands shoot out quickly, settling firmly on his plush hips, and then I begin to tickle him. Quickly, my fingers dart beneath his shirt to tease and nip at his skin, and he tumbles on top of me as laughter overtakes him. Writhing away, he twists and turns and builds a gap between us. Finally, just when I think I'm free, he gets his retribution. Firm, spiky canines settle into the flesh of my bicep, successfully indenting the skin and making me giggle yet again. But I escape, dart into the kitchen to steal whatever ice cream I can find in his freezer along with two spoons.
My lovers arms are open when I return, and upon the sight of the two flavours I'd picked, he seems to forget all plans of revenge. Instead he welcomes me, grinning at Simba as he settles by his feet as well. "Got my favourites," he laments, as if it wasn't he himself that stocked it into his freezer. He plucks the cookie dough from my hands, pulling open the container with his teeth before immediately digging in. With the other one in hand, I let him throw one of his legs over mine as he slides lower, and then we focus back on the movie.
Until a spoon comes flying up towards me, at least. With a huff, I reach over to accept the bite of cookie dough ice cream, making sure to get him some of my salted caramel as well. We exchange a few bites as the actors on screen live through trauma that's beyond imagination. A few times, he points at the screen to talk about some random fact or mistake they made, and I'm once again stunned at how knowledgeable he is.
Coldness overtakes me as Four returns the ice cream to the freezer, returning with a bottle of water to rehydrate after all that sugar. Only he stops short in the doorway, with that tight expression on his face again. "Are you okay?" — "Why do you still call me Toots?" for a moment, he just lingers, wringing the bottle in his hands as he studies the ground. What? "I-"
"Never mind, it's dumb." he shuffles over, placing the bottle down and perching up by his side of the bed. Carefully, I inch a bit closer, being mindful not to disturb Simba too much while also making Four aware of my advances. Despite my best intentions, I stop short at his back, a pinkie barely touching his on the duvet. "I'm sure it's not dumb."
The movie goes on in the background, drowned out by the blood that's rushing through my ears. Finally, as I look out of the window above his shoulder, something in his reflection reminds me. A snort escapes, and I slap a harsh hand over my mouth. "Are you talking about our first meeting?" the silence he returns to me is biting, insecure and scared.
"Four…" I trail off, unsure of what to say. Does he want us to..?
"Is it too much to ask?" what? "I know I said that I need time. I know that I'm broken, and stupid, and I barely know how to let you in without feeling like I'm handing you a knife to carve me open with. But," finally, fucking finally, he turns to me, and I can't help but revel in the fact that his eyes are determined where I expected them to waver. "All I want is for us to be real. I know that that's selfish and if you change your mind and want to go…"
The words trail off as my eyes burn into his. All I want is for us to be real.
Us to be real.
"Baby." he stops in his tracks, still perched precariously at the edge of his own bed, his own sanctuary. Wide eyes finally focus back on mine, and the moment I catch the insecurity he'd hidden from me just minutes ago, I finally allow myself to reach forward. Gently, my hand lifts his, stretching his arm towards me as the other one settles on his hip to drag him closer. He doesn't fight, doesn't complain or shiver or hide away as he settles in my lap. All Four does is stare.
"This is real." the words are hoarse, spoken deeper and more wrecked than I'd ever dared to before. But with his heartbeat racing against mine and the never ending pressure to finally get the words out, I don't pay any mind to it. "It always has been, at least to me. If we were in any other scenario, if I were any younger and dumber and less inclined to be the best I can for you, I would have probably blurted it out far too early. I wanted to be yours from the moment you first let me in. Since the first time I saw this stupid little heartbreaking smile of yours, I have yearned to be by your side."
My mind is running in circles, I can't form a coherent thought as word after word falls from my mouth, one more idiotically sincere than the other. My voice dies down, my fingers tremble where they dig into his hips but with every reckless confession, my eyes stay on his. And when I finally think I'm taking it too far, when the last bit of my sanity escapes me like a fleeing horse, he shuts me up.
His lips crash into mine in a way that's so foreign to me it leaves me breathless from the initial contact on. Deep, hungry, the type of kiss that says more about need than any word ever could. His tongue darts out, tinged sweetly by the vanilla in his ice cream, and for a moment it leaves me wondering what I taste like to him right now. Am I as all-encompassing as he is? As perfectly sweet and impossible to ever deem enough to stop? As his groan reaches me, deep and guttural and warm as fresh blood in my mouth, I get the confirmation I needed. It's like every dam he ever built, every feeling and thought and touch he held back is flooding me at once.
Warm hands are everywhere, fingertips dancing across my skin, gripping my shoulders and running up my neck as his hips flush with mine and his breath is dragging through my lungs. The tip of his finger presses just beneath my jaw, and I gasp into his mouth as he separates from me to chase the trail he'd left with his mouth. With every new press of his lips into my skin, a ragged breath is punched out of me, and I unravel under his ministrations. Four trails off above my collarbone, sinking his teeth into the flesh in a final, claiming gesture before he sits back.
With the support from his hands leaving me, it's like I lost all tethers to reality as my body drops into his bed. "Fuck, Four." a press of his fingertip to my tender skin pulls a whine from my chest, and I gasp through the next words. "Baby. For fuck's sake, baby." — "Let me hear it." he groans above me, and I muster every bit of strength I have left to close the distance between our hearts again. "I'm yours." I mumble into his mouth. He hums in content, and I feel his chest rise and fall with every deep breath as I press an open mouthed kiss by the collar of his shirt. "And you're mine."
The sounds of the outside world finally come rushing back in as the reality of our words settles. Distantly, I notice that Simba left our side, and the plot of our movie has thickened so much it might as well be impossible to understand. But it doesn't matter, because my boyfriend giggles into my shoulder, throws a leg over the side of mine and pulls me to rest in the middle of his bed.
We're still chest to chest, closer than I'd ever been with anybody else, and it feels so right I don't even care about how stupid I must look right now. Once, then twice, he kisses the reddened spot on my collarbone, as if he's apologizing for getting so caught up in his passion. However, silence comes easy right now. Good things take time, after all.
"Stay with me, baby. Need to hear your heart beat against mine tonight."
literally, like, losing my mind atp i can't believe i wrote that. anyways i had to add the picture i can't handle this shit anymore. they're getting there, wowow, they're actually figuring it out
gotta go back to uni next week sigh, i'm not ready for another semester i've barely caught my breath yet but it's whatever i'll manage
