hold me really tight (until the stars look big) - I

Tate didn't mean to, like, interrupt, or anything. He had just walked up four stairs to reach apartment 38B, his mind full of Vince and his stupid, dumb words and his even more stupid, dumb face. He had popped his knuckles, opened the door and before he knew it he was listening to some song he had never heard before. Jael is... a good vocalist. She's a good guitar player too, based on what he's hearing and assuming it's her playing. Of course it could be Mica, but as her "best friend forever" (Mica's words, not his, not ever his) he likes to think he knows about her way of playing: She plays softer, with a more indie-like feel to it. Jael's playing is more... modern. Not too Top 40 Pop Song, but more complicated. You can hear that she's been playing for a long time, that she knows what she's doing, that she had lessons. It's different than Mica's, whose style has always been flowing, spontaneous, but it's not better or less good.
He opens the door as she plays the last chords, her voice fading out. He catches Mica's eye, who smirks at him, like she knows exactly that he had been listening in. He shrugs. Jael stopped playing. She blushes as she sees Tate in the doorway. He looks apologetic.

Jael doesn't say anything. Her fingers are still in the position of the last chord as she kind of tries to find a way not to look at Tate, but it doesn't work. Damn, why does he have to look this good...? "Hi..." Her voice doesn't sound as confident and firm as she wanted it to.

Tate can't help but chuckle. Neither can Mica, but her laugh sounds a bit more hysterical than his. 'That was... good,' he brings out eventually.

Jael blushes even deeper. "Thanks," she says while she puts down the guitar. "It's my favorite song... I can kind of dream it." She's not planning on playing anymore, so she gathers the sheets—they're spread all over the floor—and puts them back into the map, just to keep her hands busy.

49 pics
Floor plan

'Oh,' Tate says when he realises what she's doing. 'I didn't mean to interrupt, really. You can go on if you want.'
'Nah, we were done anyway, don't worry about it,' Mica says, giving Jael a few sheets.

Jael takes the sheets and puts them in the map, then closes it and brings her guitar to safety in the bag. "I um... I want to ask you something." She clasps her hands, biting down on her lower lip.

Tate raises his eyebrows expectantly. 'What?'

Jael hesitates for a slight moment, then: "I called Denny. He wants to meet up." She breathes out, still not sure if she really wants to, but Denny begged her to.

Tate looks thoughtful, and a tad surprised, as if he hasn't texted Mica over this. He then shrugs. 'Not alone. Mica and I will be right there, within earshot. Same rules apply as for the phone. No dropping hints, no talking about anything that could trace back to anyone or anything you've seen since the day I took you. Are we clear?'

Jael nods and then dares to ask: "What happens if I do...?", just out of curiosity.

Tate rubs his hand over his face. Mica frowns, eyebrows knit together. He looks tired. He looks wrecked.
'It won't happen,' he says. And if she was anyone else, she probably wouldn't have heard it, but she's Mica, and she's Tate's best friend and she hears it. Because he sounds kinda broken. And the words sound a hell of a lot like I don't know.

Jael regrets asking. Her throat is thick all of a sudden. "I'm... going to... be alone for a while." She scrambles to her feet and gets her guitar, calls Polar and leaves the living room after giving Mica a slight smile.

Tate sits down on the now vacant spot on the couch and sighs, burying his face in his hands. 'I don't wanna talk about it,' he says.
'I know.' Mica doesn't smile reassuringly. Mica doesn't do anything she doesn't mean, and she's not going to reassure her best friend when she doesn't know if it's ever really going to be okay. 'So we're going to talk about Vince.'
That emits another groan from Tate. 'He's an asshole. Remind me why I liked him so much again?'
'Because he makes--or made, can I use past tense yet?' (Tate shrugs.) 'Anyway--I'm going with the past tense, it sounds really capital S Strong--he made me happy. And that made you happy. So you liked the guy.' She sounds "capital S Strong, Tate thinks. But he knows she's not. Her voice is too shrill to be capital S Strong right now.
Tate shrugs again. She does have a point. 'I found him at B&G, said I wanted to talk, asked him about you, about the twins,' Tate starts. Mica's breath hitches. 'He said he "wasn't ready to be a father" and "couldn't ever be what you wanted him to be". He also told you to think about the Anniversary Promise, and that you should go on with your life and keep the babies.' Tate doesn't look at Mica. Not yet. He needs to tell everything before she breaks down and eye contact always makes her break down. 'He will pay the child support, but does not want the kids to have his name.' He runs his fingers through his hair. tries to continue. There's a lump in his throat. Mica is shivering. Her leg twitches. 'He said he'd talk it over with you, later. He kept repeating the Anniversary Promise. I don't know what that is. He said you did.' Mica drops on his lap, then, clutches to him, heaves in a breath that sounds like a sob. There are tears. He can feel them. Her hands tremble where they grip his shoulders tightly.
'Hey, it's gonna be fine,' he mumbles into her hair. He brushes her hair out of her face. She bites her lip and cries, head buried in his neck. 'We're in a tough situation, but I promise you: you and your babies are going to be fine, you hear me? I am going to take care of you.'
It's silent for a long time. Mica cries softly, Tate hums, runs his fingers through her hair over and over again. She becomes pliant, soft. The hard line of her eyebrows is smoother, although sadder.
'Thank you,' she mutters eventually. She sounds about as wrecked as Tate feels. 'Sometimes I wonder what I would do without you.'
'Be homeless, probably,' Tate deadpans. They chuckle, even though neither of them really think it was funny. He kisses her forehead.

Jael lays down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the talk with Vince went, how Mica's doing right now.
She covers her eyes with her one hand, tries to think of an explanation as to why she cares for these people so much even after knowing them just a few days. It's been eight days now with Tate, eight days and it feels like an eternity. And it feels right, despite everything Tate has done, despite the fact he killed Tina and despite the fact he's so fucked up, it feels so right to be here.
She's scared, though. Tate frightens her as much as he fascinates her. She's afraid of him, just as she's drawn to him, though she's more afraid of what he's capable of. She knows he'd never hurt her. The way he handled her this morning speaks for itself: he cares.
Only if he cares. Mica's words echo through her head, though she's not sure on what topic they were said. Only if he cares.

After a long silence, Tate speaks up. 'I'm so insensitive, but I'm going to ask anyway.' Mica stills. 'What's the Anniversary Promise?'
Mica pulls a face. 'Can we do this later?'
'Sure thing. Told you I was insensitive.'
She shrugs. 'Could've been worse.'
'How much worse?'
'You could've left me after your sperm impregnated me, leaving me with not just one, but two children.'
Tate hums. 'That much worse.'

Jael sleeps in after a little while, Polar laying at her feet. She's hugging her pillow—a sleeping habit she doesn't care getting rid of—and lays in fetal position, Polar snuggling her toes. She dreams about home.

After about an hour, Mica dozes off and Tate has to carry her to bed. She apologises seven times, but she's half asleep, so Tate doesn't think she'll remember it when she wakes up. He crawls in next to her and pulls the blanked up over them both.

Jael wakes up later that night and goes take a look outside the guest room, but no one's there. She turns on the lights as soon as she finds the light switches and decides to make dinner, for if Mica and Tate want to eat anything.
It doesn't take long for her to be busy, alone with her mind. She loves cooking, it's something she always liked to do.

Mica nuzzles closer to Tate, who groans (really unattractively, but who cares). They're both still completely dressed. It's uncomfortable, but Tate smells like home. If he notices her crying on his henley, he doesn't make it known.

Jael eats alone in the kitchen and when it's 9 PM she decides she's going to bed. She puts a note on the counter telling Tate and Mica there's food in the oven if they want something to eat and parks Polar on his blanket with three dog treats and filled bowls.
A little less than ten minutes later she's in the shower.

Seriously, it's not like Tate doesn't want to cook. It's just... he never had to. First, there was home, with his mother and the smell of deliciousness and fresh herbs and safety permeating the air. Then, there was college, where he shared a dorm with a guy named Richard, who claimed everyone called him "The Rickster" but no one ever really did. When he made a pro/con list (in Macy's lists-will-save-the-world phase) the only pro was that Richard's mother was a chef and taught him some fine tricks over the years, and Richard made food for an entire army. So there was no cooking there either. And then there was his own place, where his siblings and mother dropped by food (because he was getting "too thin"), or where Macy cooked, or where Macy invited him to have dinner with her and Vinnie at her place. And honestly, his gym addiction allowed him to eat takeout whenever someone else didn't cook for him. Also: when the need is high, Tate Hale knows how to make eggs. Or a cake. Or tacos. Taco's are the easiest things to make, ever. Also: he knew how to make pancakes. With bacon. So, yeah, he never really cooked. So when he escaped from Mica's bed (she sleeps like an octopus) all hungry and hungry and hungrier, and found her note. Lets just say he could cry. He eats two plates.

Jael gets out of the shower, puts on the oversized T-shirt from Tate she's been sleeping in from Day One after doubting to sleep in her undies because honestly at that time Tate was still off limits to her. Now sleeping in his body odor is like heaven, but she'd be the last to admit she actually likes it. She bought pj's with Mica, but she doesn't bother wearing them yet.
She smells like Tate and his shower gel and she doesn't feel like Jael-the-girl-with-rich-parents anymore. She's just Jael, and somehow that feels like being a whole new person.

Tate's still sleepy, but he knows that if he goes back to bed now, he'll wake up in a few hours and his entire rhythm would be fucked up. He writes a note, takes his car and leaves. Maybe he'll go to the 24 hour gym, maybe he'll go stop by at his parents later.

It's around midnight when Jael wakes up from hearing the front door of the apartment open and close. She's too sleepy to open her eyes and just lays still, hugging her pillow. She's dreamed about Tate, and now her entire body is warm, while she tries to get the dream back.

It's about midnight when Tate silently slips into the apartment. Mica is on the couch, Ben & Jerry's in her lap. He recognises the film on the TV as Remember Me, but Mica doesn't seem to be watching.
'Where were you?' she whispers when he sits down next to her and yawns.
'Parents,' he shrugs.
'Seriously, you go to your weirdly amazing but creepy kind-of psychic mother while there's a girl in your house that may or may not have Stockholm syndrome?'
He nods. 'Yes. She said I should go for it.'
Mica chokes on the ice.

Jael falls asleep quickly after the sounds in the house die down. She snuggles the pillow, a slight smile crossing her face as she falls into her dreams again.

Tate tells Mica goodnight, kisses her temple and strips off his shirt on the way to the guest room. When he opens the door, Jael is in the middle of the bed, hugging a pillow. Tate's pillow. She looks carefree, when asleep. Less tormented, less worried. He strips off the rest of his clothes and rummages through the dressers to find boxers and sweatpants. He'll shower in the morning, doesn't want to wake her now.

Jael wakes up a little, though. She opens one eye and then another and yawns, stretches herself. Her eyes find Tate and she gasps and freezes. Fuck.

Tate looks at Jael, who stretches, but she seems to be asleep still. He runs his fingers through his hair and fishes a red boxer out of the cabinet.

Jael groans a little, her cheeks fluster. She burries her face in the pillow and says, voice muffled: "You're impossible."

Tate jumps. 'Fuck!' He turns around, back towards her, says: 'Fuck. Sorry. I thought... I thought you were asleep. Damn. Sorry.'

Jael looks up and smiles a little. "It's okay. I might be still sleeping..." she murmurs, still drowsy.

Tate grins. 'My ass sure is something to dream about.' He puts on his boxers.

Jael closes her eyes again. "You arrogant dip-shit," she whispers. "You're right, though..." She's far away, not even really aware of what is happening.

Tate laughs freely, pulls up his sweatpants and crawls in next to Jael. He tugs at her hand. 'You'd have to let go of my pillow.'

Jael hugs it tighter. "No," she groans. "It smells like you." She snuggles her face into it again.

Tate rolls his eyes. 'I also smell like me, dumbass,' he says affectionately. 'So let go of my pillow and you'll have an entire body that smells like me right next to you.'

"Pillow is softer." She doesn't let go, but opens her eyes again, lets them wander off to his torso.

'I'm sorry that I'm lacking in the soft fat department.'

Jael finally gives in and gives him back his pillow, but not without crawling next to him right after that. She smells like sleep and his shower gel and the faint odor of her own body. She falls back asleep right away after snuggling next to him.

Tate chuckles, curls into Jael as if to protect her (he likes feeling useful, alright) and falls asleep. And if Mica sneaks in later and takes a picture of them, no one could ever prove it.

Jael heaves a quiet sigh and just sleeps. No dreams, no anything, just her and Tate.

Tate wakes up not long after that, Jael cuddled up against him. He sighs, but doesn't move.

Jael is still asleep, breathing steady. She's peaceful, her lips curled in a slight smile.

Mica dreams about bloody babies and wailing cries and Vince holding a small bundle of life and joy and looking up at her, smiling. She wakes up with wet cheeks.

Jael turns away from Tate halfway through the night and wakes up without any pillow to hug. She sits up straight, rubbing her eyes. The alarm clock on the night stand says it's around 7 AM and she decides to get up. She slips out of bed.

Mica trashes in bed. The dream is good and it hurts, it hurts because she's half-aware that it's a dream and she wants it not to be. She wants it to be real.

Jael goes downstairs and decides to make breakfast. Outside the snow is still falling. She's walking bare feet, bare legs. She makes the sandwiches absentmindedly. She's not at all aware of what happened last night.

Tate walks into the living room not much later, not-yet showered and wearing skin-tight shorts that come until just above his knee and a long-sleeved sportsshirt. 'I'm going for a run,' he yawns. His hair is sticking in seventeen different directions. 'You wanna come?'

Jael turns to him and hesitates. "I'd love to," she then says. "I'll get my sports clothes." She pushes a plate with one sandwich on it towards him. "You eat." She smiles and leaves for the guest room.