“I’ve already survived in a nightmare realm before, and from one to the next isn’t a big deal. I’ll help smooth out the process of trials, try keeping everyone on their toes between tasks. should make things run at least a little bit better.” He takes into account the leadership role the others put upon someone who looks no older than twenty. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help. My goal is to keep you guys going.” he wasn’t lying, he really had no intention of facing actual death back home. so this was much less nerve-wrecking. Not only that but if he could figure out how to get ‘The Nightmare’ out of his dream realm in this world he could probably kill him just as easily as in the original world.
he watched as the survivors just sat around, not doing anything. Those who busied themselves only did so to mess with supplies collected from trials and ‘skirmishes’ outside them. He decided people wouldn’t keep their minds off trials on their own, so he’d do it for them. Dwelling on dreams never makes the nightmares go away. He let his head spin with new questions for a moment before asking “Mind sharing ‘leadership’ with me?” he knew it wasn’t a role he chose for himself but maybe.. “If we work together we can cover more ground on rules and or strategies, not to mention how much research I’ve done with this sort of stuff, it cant be easy to lead alone.” his sleep deprived face made no attempt at being ‘pretty’ as he smiled slightly.
A/N : I have written fiction for the DT fandom for some time now, but I’ve just been too wimpy to actually make my own blog and do it. I have plenty just sitting in drafts on my laptop, and I hope to write many more at request. I am comfortable with writing smut, dark plots like this one or other prompts, but I DO NOT condone Grethan fanfiction and I WILL NOT write it. I do write for Ethan as well. Feel free to follow or submit a request!
I remember vividly the first time I saw the G-unit of Peninsula. I would’ve been fascinated with the haunting art work cluttering the walls if I hadn’t been so psychotic then. It smelled like floral perfume and vanilla, but the unmistakable stench of bleach clung to the air like chemical clouds. There’d been a girl hunched down with oddly cut black hair framing her shoulders as she sat hugging her legs like a statue. I learned that was normal behavior among some of the residents.
Three months I’d been here with no end in the foreseeable future. I was sixteen and state law mandated I be held here against my will until I became of age. I’d also learned to get used to the bleach stench, and I’d responded virtually well to therapy and medication. I spent most time sketching likewise haunting pictures like the ones I’d seen my first day and I even participated in the ridiculous antics we all like to play on the staff.
They are good people, the staff, and my comrades, they are even better. Although I detest being forced to stay in a mental institution, they make it worth the while. We make blanket forts in the common room and watch Disney movies, dye each other’s hair at midnight when we are supposed to be in bed, and we hold each other when we feel that uncontrollable insanity start to creep in.
Each of us have our own mental illnesses, our own stories that bent and broke us and brought us here, I am no different. I never speak about it openly like some of the others, still guarded in therapy with prominent psychiatrists and therapists. I wear it on my body for all to see though, it doesn’t take but a look to see why I’ve truly been brought here.
Alice down the hall had made me beautiful yarn bracelets to wear over my wrists, although they are much too thin to cover the ragged and deep scars. They are here and there and everywhere, but the great part was that no one asks me why or how, they wear them too.
We have been wrangled up after breakfast to head for the common room for group therapy. Exercises like breathing techniques and how to express your feelings, we always crack jokes through the awkward parts and pretend we’re normal.
There is someone waiting there today apart from our group therapist and staff workers. He is sitting in a chair facing the back of the room, his foot bouncing on the white tile. He wears a hat, which isn’t unusual, as the staff lets us dress and do as we please for the most part. I can’t see his face, but I can see the golden earring dangle from his ear.
Like always the therapist makes us sit in different chairs beside different people, placing us where he wants us as we whisper and tease each other. Our therapist, Drew, directs me to the seat across from this newcomer, placing me there quickly as he returns to the rowdy group to settle them. I didn’t watch my best crazy friend Alessa refusing to sit next to the corridor’s flirt Quentin, I regard this new boy instead.
His eyes are glued to the floor but I can tell he is handsome right away. His eyebrows are dark and very deep set, his lips rose red, and I truly believe the odd earring suits him somehow although it would look ghastly on anyone else. His rough hands gripped tightly together and I could see that under his young and manly pretense, he is shaking like a leaf. And just like every other person I have encountered, my mind asks the same question it always had, why is he here? Then I remember that no one knows exactly why I’m here yet, apart from the head psychiatrist, and I realize that’s his own business.
Even when everyone is seated and somehow quiet for once, this boy still hasn’t lifted his eyes from the tile. Drew begins his usual boring introduction, explaining we will be sharing our biggest fear. Quentin decides to make some stupid joke about being scared of Alessa’s morning breath, and I chuckle nervously, I’d always been able to dodge serious inquiries during group therapy, but this seems to be inescapable now.
Drew hushes everyone sternly, but with his genuine smile, and points to Alice beside him to begin. Each person down the line has a fear that is reasonable; Quentin is afraid of guns, having seen his father shoot himself in the head when he was twelve. Alessa is terrified of strangers, she was raped by a man who had followed her home after a night to the cinema with her friends.
It isn’t missed that Drew skips over this newcomer, his head still hangs low and hands still knotted together. Things are going well, everyone has been able to proclaim aloud their deepest fears, but I am cautious when it comes around to me.
“Y/N, it’s your turn.” I look to the ceiling in contemplation, Drew sighing softly, his gentle tone slowing the racing of my heart. “You can trust me, you can trust us. What do you fear, Y/N?”
I don’t look to anyone but the young man across from me, simply because he is the only one not looking back. I stare deeply at the dark line running the hem of his sweats, willing myself to stop being weak all of the time.
Nine. It was my least favorite number.
I’d enjoyed the age of four, the year I’d finally been granted a daddy. I hadn’t understood then that’d I already had one, a shit stain of a man who’d cared more for his drugs than his own blood. Doctor Anthony Callahan, neurosurgeon for Johns Hopkins Medical, my mother had met him on vacation in the Caribbean while I stayed home with my Aunt. I remember at six, I’d begged my mother often to tell me the story of how she’d met Daddy, and I still remember the twinkle in her eye.
He was everything to me. He kissed the boo-boos and dried my eyes when I thought I saw shadows in the dark.
I had loved him so dearly, my Daddy.
Nine, nine fucking years old.
My mother had a habit of taking a weekend every month to fly off to some city across the country, enjoying wine and shopping with her girlfriends; and she was able to, Daddy made excellent money. I looked forward to those weekends, because it meant Daddy and I would do all sorts of fun things.
Mini golf, horse back riding, the amusement park; and every wish I had, he granted.
Unfortunately, this particular weekend on Saturday morning, he’d reluctantly called the nanny to come sit me since an emergency surgery was necessary at the hospital. He kissed my forehead nine times, once for each year of my life, promising he’d be back by dinner, and then he’d take me somewhere nice and then ice cream.
I’d spent the day playing checkers and card games with the older lady, she’d even braided my hair with tiny flowers and picked out a pretty blue dress for me to wear, Daddy’s favorite color.
“He will love it.” I’d smiled wide as her wrinkled fingers rubbed my shoulders in a motherly way, giving me a warm smile.
Minutes turned into hours, and it was nine o'clock with no Daddy in sight. So the nanny had dried my tears and tried her hardest to coax me out of the little dress for bed. But I’d refused, telling her that Daddy always came in to give me a goodnight kiss, and he’d see how pretty I was even then. So she’d smiled fondly and let me lay in my dress, the sound of the crickets from the open window lulling me to sleep.
I don’t remember what time it was, and I don’t want to. I do remember however, so profoundly, having a dream of running in a wide open field of wheat. I was older, but I knew it was me by the dark birth mark on the back of my calve. I was hand in hand with a man with dark hair, and I could hear our laughter so loud and free. He twirled me, and I saw my face with the most beautiful smile I think I could’ve ever had. I remember believing it was Daddy running with me in that field, sometimes I still believe it was.
A dip in the bed woke me, right before this man was ready to turn and face me. I longed to know, to be sure it was Daddy, but this disturbance interrupted me.
“Honey, it’s your Daddy.”
And then I didn’t care about a stupid dream, because Daddy was there and that was all that mattered.
I sat up in the bed, still half asleep but pushing the messy hairs of my braid down from their chaos, turning to him with a bright smile and high tinkling voice. “Look Daddy, Mary Ellen braided my hair. And look! We found this dress, isn’t it pretty? I just knew you would love it, it’s blue, your favorite color.”
His dry hand reached out to touch softly to the fabric on my shoulders, and it was stupid for me to mention, he couldn’t even see me in the dark. “It is very pretty, Y/N, you sure do look pretty for daddy.”
I couldn’t see him when his hand trailed lightly down my arm to grasp my wrist, placing his other hand on my chest to push me down into the plush mattress. I didn’t think much of it, he was probably tired and wanted me to go back to sleep.
And I couldn’t see him when he grabbed both my wrists, thrusting them harshly above my head, so hard it pushed my knuckles into to the headboard with a hard crack. I winced, assuming it was only an accident, Daddy would’ve never hurt me on purpose.
But I was wrong, I was so very, very wrong.
And it happened so quickly, and it didn’t matter that I screamed so long my throat was raw, no one was there to hear me. And I couldn’t see him.
I couldn’t see him when he ripped my dress, or when he’d ripped my princess panties, my favorite pair.
I couldn’t see what he did to me that night in the dark, or any of the other nights he’d done the same.
But I could feel it, I could feel the hurt. It ripped me apart, physically and mentally.
My Daddy, my precious and perfect Daddy; he was never as perfect as I thought.
And I could still feel him, even when I couldn’t see him.
And it haunted me, just like the dark.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat, the long and intense silence bringing this boy to look me in the eyes with wonder. He is beautiful, the most beautiful and singular person I have ever seen.
I feel a little braver now, his hazel eyes boring into mine, with no intent to harm or deceive, only wonder. “The dark. I’m afraid of what happens in the dark.”
It is silent again, everyone taking in my first true confession. Drew, being the wonderful therapist he is, moves on quickly and harmlessly, finally bringing to light this boy who is still staring me dead in the eyes.
“G-unit, I want you to meet Grayson.”
No ones attention is on me anymore, but his, his eyes do not falter a moment. Everyone simultaneously greets Grayson with a hello, he still stares back at me.
“Grayson will be with us for a while, and I know he’s going to be a great addition to our sessions. I’ve heard great things about him, and I’m excited to see how he grows.” Drew then regards Grayson, and only then do those hazel eyes depart from mine. “And Grayson, what are you afraid of?”
He’s very nonchalant, but I can feel that it’s forced, that he’s trying so very hard to seem strong about this. “It used to be losing my brother, but I’m not so sure what I fear anymore.”
And he still stays nonchalant as Drew begins discussing how controlling fear can be, but I don’t listen to him, because I’m too intently focusing on that fear I still see in Grayson’s eyes.
It’s pouring outside, and the thunder is unbearably loud. Most of us don’t care for storms, so we huddle up in the common room in front of the old tv, giving into Alessa and watching The Little Mermaid for the seventh time this week.
The wool blanket is thick and heavy over me, and I’m content in this moment, surrounded by people that I have grown to love in my own backwards way. There is one resident of G-unit missing, but no one comments on this, Grayson has made it clear he wants no friends. We leave him be, we all have taken our own time to open up to each other.
Two months and I have still never said a word to him, although I pretend in my head that I have. I can’t deny that I have a tiny crush on him, well, a big one. The pang of jealousy I feel when Alessa smiles at him makes me want to punch her right in the teeth, but I don’t mention my feelings, she’d only either tease me or tell him.
I’ve watched him read by the window, and how he grips his hair when he’s frustrated, which is often it seems. He always has ice cream after dinner, and I even heard him last week yelling someone’s name down the hall in his sleep. He intrigues me, and I can’t help but to spend most of my useless time thinking about him.
I’m laughing as everyone has begun singing Kiss the Girl just like Sebastian, Drew walks past the door way and hushes them, but they only sing louder. He shakes his head and keeps walking.
I’m happy in this moment, that is, until the tv flickers after a sudden bolt of lightening flashes from outside the window.
I’m no longer laughing, my throat feels as if it’s closing right then and there. No one realizes my sudden tenseness, and I don’t say anything.
I calm as minutes pass and it seems that this one flicker is all that will be, but another loud crash of lightening bolts from outside and it’s here, the dark.
I don’t hear the gasps, or the subtle scream that Alice belts, I am in fight or flight mode. The wool blanket falls into a puddle on the floor that I can’t see, and I bolt. I know G-unit well enough by now to know my way around without sight, but the fear gripping my heart leaves me unable to comprehend anything.
My fingers trace the walls, my breathing ragged, and I realize I’m crying. I feel like I’m going insane and I have no idea which door is mine since I’m counting. I feel I’m close, if I can only get there and get that flashlight in my bed drawer, I’ll be okay, I’ll be able to see.
I’m so close I can breathe just a little easier and I get a boost of adrenaline, launching myself forward to a sprint only to be grasped by the shoulders and pulled quickly into another room.
I freeze, I cannot move, and I cannot see. This unknown person is still grasping my shoulders tightly, and it comes all at once. These hands are on my shoulders, but I feel hands elsewhere, and for a moment I think Daddy is here, he’s come to find me; but then a soft whisper makes my knees shake and I nearly fall to the floor.
“It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s just me, Y/N, Grayson.”
I exhale loudly, but still on edge, because no matter how beautiful this boy is, I still don’t know him; but I know what happens in the dark.
I try to speak, I try to lift my arms to push him away, but they’re jelly and I’m powerless. His hands release my shoulders, and for a moment I’m suspended in darkness again and terrified, before he places them on my cheeks. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I-I just know you’re afraid of the dark.”
I swallow even though my throat is prickly and dry, my voice is hoarse and sounds nothing like I’ve ever heard when I speak. “How did you know where I was?”
I feel him shift in front of me, the slick sound of his tongue wetting his lips. “I could smell your perfume.”
I blush, and he can’t see me, and I can’t see him, and for once I am thankful for the dark. His hands pulls me downward gently to the rug on the floor, and as if he knows, he leaves his hands on my crossed knees so I know he’s there.
“My brother was always afraid of the dark.”
His voice is like honey, so deep and smooth that I could just lather myself in it. “Was he?”
I hear a small chuckle and I smile despite still feeling uneasy. “I used to tease him for it, turning off the lights while he was showering. He’d always get me back somehow though.”
The air is tense then as I feel his demeanor change. I can’t sense a smile from him, only that same nonchalant attitude. I know that I told myself before that it was his business, but I long to understand who this brother was and what so tragically must have happened to him for Grayson to be in this dark room with me now. “What happened?”
His hand involuntarily grip the fabric of my sweats, but I’m not intimidated. He’s feeling the things he doesn’t want to, but I know that he needs to. “He was always better than me at everything. He could catch a football better than me, do an equation better than me, he was my twin, but I still always looked up to how sturdy and consistent he was. I-I didn’t know what he was facing, and-d I-I,” he takes a long and shuddering breath, “he never told me he was depressed, and I was too stupid to see it. Looking back now, the signs, they were all there, just hidden very well.” I feel his tears drip onto my hands that now cover his, and I can’t see his face or how much pain he’s in, but I can feel it. All over me. “We’d had a really important game that Friday, the best team in New Jersey, and Coach was pushing us real hard to beat them. Practice every morning at 5, we practiced during study break, by the end of the day he was exhausted. He was really quiet, more so than usual, but he played the best game he ever had.” I can literally feel the gleam off of his smile as he recalls this, and I’m entranced by this tale he’s giving me. “We were down by a field goal with fourteen seconds left in the game, right on the thirty yard line, so close to winning. Coach was screaming at us, his face all red, and normally we’d be snickering secretly over this, but he was still so quiet. Coach had given him the go ahead to run long and catch the ball in the inzone, it was our only chance, and I remember hugging him hard and telling him he had it, that I had his back. I always had his back.” I’m so wrapped up in this, gripping his hands hard but he doesn’t falter. “The ball snaps and my adrenaline is racing, and when you’re playing ball it’s like another world, it happens so fast and all I can see is white jerseys and tackles, but then I see him in mid air, that ball wrapped in his hands and he’d done it, he’d won our ticket to state. Everyone was wild and waiting for us when we stepped out of the locker room, some of the cheerleaders came and told me about a party that was happening right after, and we’d just won, of course I was going to celebrate.” His hands turn palm up as he grasps mine and squeezes them roughly as he lets out a roar of frustration. His tears are back, and harder, and they’re not the only tears hitting my hands now. “He was so passive about it, being the good brother he is and assuring me he was just too tired to deal with it and to go on without him. And I did. I fucking went because I was selfish, and there was this girl I’d been chasing for months that was going to be there, and I just knew I was going to get her then. I had some drinks, like everyone else, and it turns out I did end up bagging this girl and stealing a kiss and winning her number. I was pumped, I felt like nothing was stopping me and I just had to get home and tell him.”
He starts sobbing now, falling into me like a small child who has scraped their knee and needs coddled. I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know me, and we can’t see each other, but I can feel that he needs me, he needs this. I grip onto him as my tears are staining my cheeks and falling into his hair, and I don’t like this part that’s coming and neither does he. Just like a vcr tape, let’s rewind back to the part we like and disregard the ones that we don’t. But life, it doesn’t work like that, and that’s how we ended up here, we couldn’t rewind. “I was ignorant and drove home, my parents were gone and my sister had been away at college for a month, it was just him inside and all the lights were off. It was so unlike him. I told you, he was afraid of the dark. It didn’t matter if he was passed out asleep or in the middle of the day, there was always a lamp that stayed on in that bedroom of his. I felt odd, and it wasn’t just those drinks I’d had, but something didn’t feel right. And I mean that literally, like inside me, I didn’t feel the same. I remember yelling for him from the foyer, nothing.” He grips my shirt, his body shaking as he clings to me for his life it seems. “That walk up those stairs was damning. I didn’t know, but at the same time, I did. He wasn’t in his bed, in fact, I searched the house over and he wasn’t anywhere. I started panicking, he’s a man, but he was still young and what if someone had done something to him? I was just near calling the police when I noticed the back door was open slightly, just enough for a piece of crinkled paper to stick in between. I got hope then that this would be one of those times he’d get me back for teasing him, but that letter, it was far from a joke. It was scribbled and hard to read, but I got the gist by the end. And when I looked up in fear that he acted out exactly what he’d written in that letter, he was there.” He was pulling so harshly at my thin shirt that I was sure that it would rip. I couldn’t process anything but these overwhelming emotions that I could feel radiating off of him into me. It was anger, and guilt, and hurt all in one. “That tree we’d climbed a million times. Mom would scream at us to get down, but we’d sit in it all day, sometimes taking things to throw at our sister from the top. He fell off when we were twelve and broke his arm, he had the sickest cast at school and everybody was jealous. He hung there from it, that tree, just hanging there.”
It was so silent, I could hear nothing but his ragged breathing and gasps for air. “I’m so sorry.”
He pushes off of me suddenly and the atmosphere changes again. He’s angry, not at me, but at himself. “Don’t be sorry for me, Y/N. It’s my god damn fault Ethan’s dead. If I had of paid a little bit more attention to him than football and girls then he’d be alive. I’m the reason he’s fucking dead! I am! I deserve to be rotting in the fucking ground, not him. But here I am still breathing and living when I don’t fucking deserve it!”
I push him back harder, his back falling against the edge of his bed as I get as close to his face as I can. It is so dark, but I’m not afraid. “You better not ever say that again. You deserve life, you deserve peace. He didn’t leave like that for you to feel this way! He left because he was sick and he couldn’t help what was happening to him, and neither could you. I didn’t know your brother, and I don’t even know you, but I do know that he would’ve never wanted you to blame yourself.”
He edges even closer, yelling in my face as he lets out his demons on me, and I take them. The dark doesn’t matter to me anymore, what matters is this beautiful human being realizing his purpose out of this. “I could’ve found him help! Or talked to him more, I could’ve done something! Can you imagine what it’s like to know that the person you’ve been connected to from the very beginning of life felt he needed to die and pursued it? I can’t imagine what he saw, what he felt, what he endured. I should’ve saved him.” His head buries into my neck as I feel all of his body fluids pool there, the spit from his open mouth, the tears, the snot, and I didn’t care. “Why couldn’t I save him, Y/N? Why couldn’t I have saved him?”
I hold him tightly as he melts into emotion. It is cathartic and I can feel that tension washing away from him. “We can’t always save people from themselves, you know. They have to do it. You didn’t know, Grayson. You didn’t know he was hiding that all away, and he didn’t want you to or he would’ve told you. Life, it is so perplexing and fucking hurtful, and I wonder why things like this happen. And I don’t know. I don’t know why, but this is the way things are. But you have to understand that he wouldn’t have wanted you to be like this. He isn’t in pain anymore, he is somewhere happy and perfect like he always should’ve been.”
He is calm and quiet and soaking in my words, I know. I’m no speaker, but I hope even one thing I said makes a difference. Who knows how to fix broken people?
He fiddles with the draw strings of my sweat pants as we sit in silence in the dark. I feel peace that I haven’t felt in ages, and how ironic it is that it’s happening now. He sounds like a scolded child when he asks me, “why are you here? Truly here?”
I pull myself backward as we lay against each other on the scratchy rug. Not even Alessa knows why I’m really here, but I feel I owe it to him for everything he’s felt just now. “People are not always good, no matter how perfectly we see them. I know the dark very well, and I have for a very long time. It hides things in the shadows, things kept secret and locked away, and I was a secret.” He’s tracing patterns on my arms as I stare into nothing, normally I would be hyperventilating just existing in the dark, but his hands are reassuring and I’m okay like this. “I had a Daddy once, it’s a well known truth that little girls love their daddies, and I was no different. I trusted him, I believed in him, I worshipped him, because he was always so good to me. But daddies don’t touch their daughters the way he touched me, and I guess after so long, I didn’t want to be touched anymore. He was holding a gun to my head when my mother walked in, and sometimes, I wish he’d pulled that trigger. I just want to shed my skin and throw it away, it doesn’t matter how much I wash or scrub, he’s there. He’s always there somewhere, in the dark when I can’t see and I’m terrified. I’m terrified of what might happen when the lights are off and I can’t see, I never know if he’s waiting there or not, like he use to. I got so tired of feeling disgusting in my own body that I trashed every inch of myself that I could, maybe if I looked horrible, he wouldn’t touch me anymore. But it never mattered what I did or said, he was always there waiting, he’s still out there waiting. My mother refuses to accept it, she chooses to ignore the obvious truth that slaps her right in the face. She sent me here to heal my apparent habitual lying and self harm while she still sleeps in the same bed as that bastard and gives it up to him.” I feel kind of insane at this point, because not once have I ever so blatantly told the truth like this out loud to anyone. I’m laughing and I can feel him ease up on his elbow as he hovers over me. “I’ll have to face him one day, and I think I’d rather die than ever do that. I’ll never have peace or happiness, because who in their fucking right mind would ever want to love someone whose been touched the way I have? How can I fucking continuously open up my mouth and explain this again and again to different faces for them to turn around and decide this is too much for them. It’s a joke really, how fucking sad it must appear to be as frail and weak as someone like me.”
I can feel that he’s trying to decipher this information, and I expect him to sit up and exclaim that this drama is far too much for him too. He doesn’t though, he only strokes my hair and does something I’ve longed for anyone else to do, he takes what I said and believes it and he doesn’t make me relive it by giving out details. He only whispers to me that I’m beautiful and that only the luckiest man in the world would ever have the pleasure of giving me happiness. “The hands that have touched you do not define you. Your life will be far beyond anything you can imagine right now. You will be happy, I’m sure of it.”
I’m blushing and smiling and that half content happiness back in the common room is nothing in comparison to this exploding feeling in my chest right now. I’ve forgotten it’s dark, and I find I rather like laying on this awful rug with no sight, only feeling his soft hands and his emotions. “I do hold out hope just a little. I had a dream once, and I’ve never had it again, although I can recall it like it truly happened. It was so real I could feel it happening inside me and not just in my head. I always used to think it was him I was running and laughing with in that field, but I’m not so sure of that anymore. I was smiling and laughing, and it all seemed to real to just be a dream.”
He tenses beside me and I fear I’ve said something completely wrong. He pushes up on both forearms, leaning down so far that I feel his breath fanning over my face. “In a field? In a field of wheat?”
I scrunch my eyebrows together because I recall never mentioning anything about the field being of wheat. “Wait, how did you-”
And I don’t get to finish, because his lips come crashing down onto mine. I’ve never been kissed, ever. All of those times that monster touched me, not once did he kiss me, and for that I am glad. Simply for, now Grayson will be the first of one of my favorite things, and its electricity from my hair to my toes. He is gentle and reassuring before pulling back, the lights buzzing on, and they’re so bright that we both squeeze our eyes shut in pain.
He doesn’t bother with giving either of us time to adjust, pulling me up by my hands and pressing his forehead to mine. “I had that same dream, only it happened right after Ethan died. I have had it every night since then, and it has been the only thing that makes me feel anything but sadness. I’ve spent hours, days, trying to decipher if it was showing me something, or if my mind was only giving me shit. It was you. You were the woman I was holding, Y/N.”
Grayson turned 18 three weeks before I did, and in that time he had found a quaint studio apartment to snag with the state’s money above a book store right down the street from the grocery store he landed a job at. For those three weeks he called me every night at 7:30, excitedly telling me every little thing he’d done, seen, or bought for our apartment. And every night he would tell me he loved me so sweetly before promising the same thing each time, that on my birthday he’d be there bright and early to fetch me.
My mother had called twice the night before I was meant to depart, leaving a message with the desk attendant that I was welcome to come back home anytime, so long as I apologized. I never returned her call, and I never planned to.
That morning, Grayson held his promise right on time, standing in the foyer of the complex with bright eyes and a happy smile. I rushed to grab him tightly, missing his scent and his strong embrace those three weeks he was away from me. He grabs my hand and exclaims, “you’re a free woman!” And we giggle all the way down the street to the bus stop.
There was nothing more beautiful to me than Grayson. How he took all of my jumbled mess and held it together like it was his place to. That year we spent in the G-unit was spent falling in love with each other every day over books and strolls through the hallways. In sly looks during group therapy, and cuddling on the couch while everyone sang Kiss the Girl just like Sebastian. We’d grown, just like Drew hoped we would, and we still faltered, a lot actually. He missed Ethan, and we both knew he always would; and I still couldn’t let go of what had transpired in my life, but his loving hands proved that someone could touch me out of love and admiration. There was never a moment I had to question if he loved me, he showed me by every smile and touch and word that he could give. We were broken, and I assumed everyone kind of is in their own way, and life is so unfair most of the time that I couldn’t comprehend how I could ever truly live it. But the one thing I did know was that I could take on anything with Grayson by my side, even the dark.
Anonymous said: Can you write a fic (not dialogue) about pregnant olicity? Maybe them telling the team or something
It happens on Sara’s third birthday.
They’ve been enjoying things in their bubble, the one they’ve fallen into since the positive pregnancy test became a permanent fixture in their lives. She’d crept nervously over to him as he served up dinner one night, placed the plastic stick into his hands, and watched that soul-deep look of joy spread over his face. Since then, they’d existed in this closed off space where between bouts of morning sickness there was nothing but smiles and a nervous excitement they weren’t sure how much longer they could contain.
But they kept it to themselves. They’d debated telling select few, but wanted to wait until they had all okay from the doctor before announcing it officially. Unfortunately, the issue of who to tell didn’t leave them with many options. Telling Thea would leave small hints that would trickle through to Digg, which included Lyla, which lead to Curtis, who might hint something at work, then Sara, who might get that ‘I have seen the future’ look they were starting to fear, then Donna, who quite frankly, would have an announcement out before they could finish their sentence.
“Valentine’s Day is coming up, right?..
Wait.. What day is it? OH NO, IT.. IT WAS SUNDAY!!” Quentin exclaimed, pure fear and dread crossing his face in one horrible moment. He began pacing back and forth, muttering to himself nervously.