[Footieslash] Life at the End of the World (1/2)
Oh God I can't believe I finally finished it. One of my longer fics to date. I'm quite satisfied with how this turned out (especially the later half towards the ending) and I hope you guys enjoy it too :).
Comments are forever adored, because I think this one is a bit different with the Ole/Scholesy fic that I've written previously, so I'd really love to know what you think!
Title : Life at the End of the World (1/2)
Author : hiro_chan
Pairing : Ole Gunnar Solskjaer x Paul Scholes
Rating : PG-13 for this chapter
Disclaimer : Purely fictional, no disrespect intended for the characters potrayed here.
Notes: I devided this fic into 2 chapters since I feel that putting it all in 1 chapter will be a bit too long and to tiring to read. The longer and the real Author's note will be by the end of the second chapter :p.
The timeline is when Ole beginning to have his knee problem, but Paul already has Alicia, so it's around 2001-2002, where Paul is 27 and Ole is 28 respectively. Oh, and of course, Becks is still in the club :D.
Oh, and Ole and Paul talks a lot in this chapter ;p.
You couldn’t believe what he had just said to you.
He approached you in the empty parking lot after the afternoon training was over. Usually there were still a couple lads around, most notably David because he loved to do additional free kick practices, but today it seemed like everyone but you was rushing to be at somewhere else.
He needed to talk, he said and you looked at him quizzically, wondering what it was that was so important that he couldn’t talk about it earlier, because you were with him practically all the time today.
He said he love you and the words hang in the air and the world came to a sudden halt. You weren’t really sure how to react to such kind of confession and you could only stare at him in a stunned silence.
“You know I don’t appreciate that kind of joke,” you replied icily as you found your voice, anger already bubbling in the back of your mind.
“This is not a joke,” he replied evenly.
“How is it not?” you asked, angry now. It was said that you have a short fuse when it came to sensitive matters, and it was absolutely spot on. “You suddenly came over and said that you - that you - For your sake I hope you don’t have your hopes too high on this matter.”
He grabbed your hand as you made to leave, one hand already on the handle of your car’s door. “Paul -“
You yanked your hand free from his grip. “No, Ole, shut up,” you said through gritted teeth, throwing your training bag onto the passenger seat. “We do not have this kind of conversation, we just pretend that you didn’t just say to me what you just said, and tomorrow things will be back to normal, no misplaced feeling whatsoever.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Paul,” he said. “And my feeling is definitely not misplaced.”
“It is misplaced. Because I don’t have anything - I can’t find it in me to answer your feeling. I’m sorry, but such kind of feeling should never exist in the first place. You have your family, I have mine, you know how the things work. Now let’s bury this matter and not talk about it again, because if you do bring this matter again, I’ll -“
You shook your head, letting your threat hanging in the air. “Excuse me,” you muttered and slipped into your car, slamming the door and drove away without another word.
When you looked at you rear view mirror, you could still see him standing there, watching you.
Watching you.
*
In the end, you didn’t quite get on to carry out your threat, whatever threat that might be.
There were a couple of reasons for that. The first one was because you were sure that the Gaffer wouldn’t appreciate it if you harm your own teammate, especially for a reason that you could not - and were not willing to - explain to him. Second reason was because you didn’t want to imagine the field day the press would be having if you did carry out such threat to him. Just imagining the journalists on your back 24/7 made you shudder.
The third reason was because of the way he looked at you, because of the way he just refusing to give up.
You were not stupid. You knew that these things, this same-sex relationship between footballers did exist. Hell, you only had to look as far as the other side of the training pitch, as far as the opposite side of the dressing room to find the living and undisputed proof of that. Your own best friends, David and Gary.
You were not a homophobe, and you actually didn’t care of such matter. You weren’t a busy body that tried to stuck your nose in to your colleagues’ private life - hell, you couldn’t give a damn about that. As far as you were concern, as long as they were happy, then you didn’t care what it was, what kind of relationship that they had between them.
The problem was you had never thought of yourself in their shoes. You had never thought of yourself involved in a same-sex relationship. Suddenly the very thought scared the hell out of you. Suddenly the worry became a monster that gnawed at your mind, bit by little bit.
And the most upsetting thing for you was how it made you unable to look at him in the same way like you’d always done. He was one of your closest friends, for God’s sake, and now you were becoming hesitant when dealing with him, you became too damn conscious of his mere presence and you hated it.
At least he gave you your time and space to breathe. At least he gave you time to think. He acted as was normal when in presence of the rest of the lads, and you took his lead and pretended like nothing was happening either.
This was just a temporary matter, you assured yourself. That this feeling, that this worry, sooner rather than later would vanish and his feeling for you would evaporate, and things would then back to normal, you didn’t have to worry no more.
So why was it, whenever you looked at him, whenever you caught him looking at you that way, did you find it harder to escape from this feeling?
*
Champagne glasses clinking and low buzz of the conversation filled the grand hall. The end of season party was taking place and you were supposed to have fun now, but parties had never been your favourite and as always you found it boring after awhile.
You found yourself standing by the large window, nursing your drink quietly, looking out to the sprawling garden jut slightly below. You weren’t left alone for a long time though, because there he was, walking towards you, champagne in hand.
“Thought I’ll give you company,” he said, smiling as he stood beside you. “You look kind of lonely.”
“I’m not a very good company,” you said gruffly and his smile didn’t waver.
“I know.”
But he was still standing there, not showing signs that he might leave you anytime soon, and you couldn’t help but found your attention drawn to him.
Your mind went back to those weeks ago, when he made his confession and your hands clenched at the thought. Even after all these times, you were still unable to make any sense of it. You’ve tried your best to avoid the issue, though you made sure not to avoid him because that’d be too obvious, but seeing him right now, you just couldn’t help but asking.
“Why?”
He glanced at you. “Why what?”
“Why - ,” you felt your face heat up as you uttered the words. “Why do you love me?”
He turned to you then, his gaze seeking yours and you tried your best to avoid it. You were never really good in things like this.
“I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice gentle. “I just do.”
“You can’t not know about it,” you said, your eyes still trained on the garden outside. “There must be some reasons.”
“Maybe, then, I love you for the same reasons with Claire’s.”
You glanced at him sharply. “That’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t know me as well as she does.”
“I know enough to make me sure about how I feel.”
You look at him again, shaking our head lightly. “No, Ole.”
He sighed. “Why are you making this so difficult?”
Your eyes caught her figure in the middle of the room. She was chatting animatedly with a group of ladies, such a lovely, lovely woman and even until this time you still couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have her. You hold the champagne glass tighter.
“I’m not making anything difficult. I just want things to make sense.”
“What things?”
“Why you love me. And what about Silje then? What are you going to do with her? Do you not love her anymore?”
Suddenly you couldn’t see Claire anymore, because suddenly he was right in front of you, his blue eyes flashing.
“I’ll always love her like I always do. My love for her does not have anything to do with what I feel for you. And you know what? This is a bullshit conversation, Paul, and you know it. You’re just stalling because you’re afraid. You’re afraid of me, afraid of what I feel for you, afraid of what it’ll do to your perfectly constructed world, but wake up and smell the coffee, Paul. You cannot completely control this kind of thing. I didn’t plan to fall for you, but I do, and I’ve come to terms with that and I’m happy. I do want you. Now the ball is in your court. You have to deal with it because stalling won’t result in anything, Paul.”
He straightened up, and you couldn’t do anything, not even say a word back to him. All you could do was stare at him in surprise, in amazement.
“I’ll just.. leave you with your thought then,” he said, more gently this time. And before he left, he looked at you and said, as he bowed slightly so that his face was very near to yours, “and if you ever think it’s impossible for someone - for me - to love you just for you being who you are, then you’ve got to know yourself better.”
*
“He really does love you, you know?”
The words stopped you in your track, losing your perfect momentum and the ball that you’ve been juggling bounced off lazily away.
“What?”
Ryan looked at you, almost expectantly. “Ole. He really does love you.”
You felt your face burning, and you were absolutely sure that your face was very red right now. “He told you? He fucking told you?”
“Erm. Accidentally, to be honest. He looked so down one day and I took him to drink to cheer him up. He just - well, accidentally slipped up.”
You were so tense right now. This was humiliating for you. No one should know about this matter, but here was Ryan ... “Who else knows?”
“No one,” he said lightly. He threw himself to the ground, sitting on the grass and he looked up at you. “So? Do you love him back?”
“That’s none of your fucking business, Ry,” you said through gritted teeth. You moved to walk away but his hand moved quickly to grip yours, preventing you to go.
“Don’t go, Paul,” he said calmly, his wide eyes staring at you, holding you in place. “Talk to me. I can help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“No, you clearly do. You’re - your body language - you kind of begging for someone to help you making sense out of this. So sit down and talk to me.”
You glared back defiantly at him but his gaze never wavered and he looked so sincere, so genuine, and this was the man that you’d known for half your life, your best friend, your comrade in arms, and he’d picked you up before and who knew, maybe this time he’d be able to help you get out of the mess again.
You sighed and admitted defeat. You sat beside him, your head in your hand and the sun was shining, warming your skin and you wondered why these days you couldn’t really enjoy such simple things in life anymore.
“I don’t know where to start,” you mumbled.
“Hm. How about what your feeling for him is?”
“I don’t know,” you moaned. “I really don’t know. It’s all mixed up now. A couple of months ago everything was fine. No complicated feeling. And then he suddenly said he - he - he loves me. Loves me. Loves me in a wholly different way. Loves me like I love Claire, loves me like he loves Silje. Fuck.”
“I try to let it pass but apparently it has messed up with my mind. And now everytime I see him, that knowledge always hang in the back of my mind, and I don’t know how to deal with it. You know how I am dealing with emotions. And now, I’m just - I’m just frustrated I guess. There’s a nagging feeling that I have, but I don’t know what to do with it.”
There was a small smile gracing his lips. “Well, you know, Paul, I say you do have some kind of feeling for him now.”
“Yeah. I hate him.”
Ryan let out a surprised laugh. “Why? Because he loves you?”
“Because he makes me feel this way? Because he makes me too conscious of myself now? Because of many things? I don’t know. I just hate him right now.”
“Ah, the love-hate relationship. The most delicious type of all.”
You shot him a dirty look, and he gave you his wide-eyed innocent look.
“And he said, Ryan, that his feeling for me has nothing to do with his feeling for his wife. That he’ll still love her as much as he does today. But how could that be possible, Ry? Of course his love for her will lessen because now he has to give some of it to someone else. And I don’t want to do that to Claire. She doesn’t deserve such things like that.”
“But that’s possible, Paul,” he said gently. “It’s just a matter of dividing your time, your attention and your love properly.”
“How would you know about that?” you said, perhaps a bit too harshly and you know it was unfair because he was just trying to help but you couldn’t help feeling frustrated.
There was a moment of silence (when he just stared off to a point in the distance that you couldn’t see and somehow he looked wistful and sad) and he looked at you and said, “I love Gaz, you know?”
The confession took you by surprised and you supposed you looked pathetic sitting there and staring wide-eyed and gaping slightly at him. You blinked. “Gaz?” you asked after finally finding your voice. “Our Gaz? But - but - but isn’t he - isn’t he with David?”
“I know.”
“And - and he knows?”
“Yeah, more or less,” he shrugged. “And he, well, let’s just say too attached to David to consider me, but it’s okay. It’s not his fault. It’s not mine either, because this kind of feeling, you just can’t control it.”
” You cannot completely control this kind of thing. I didn’t plan to fall for you, but I do, and I’ve come to terms with that and I’m happy. I do want you.”
Ole’s words from that night at the party sounded in your ears. You blinked and stared at Ryan and somehow at least a small part of the whole thing kind of made sense to you.
“What I want to say is, Paul, take your chance. He wants you. And you, obviously, whether provoked by his confession or anything, feel something for him too, although maybe right now not as intense as his, but it’s there.”
“And if your love for Claire is as deep and as strong as you believe it to be, then you don’t ever have to worry about it diminishing. Even if there’s Ole, you don’t have to worry. You’ll understand once it happen. And then, maybe you’ll understand what Ole meant, when he said he’d still love Silje even when there’s also you in his heart.”
“You just have to realize how lucky you are, really.”
He smiled at you and you couldn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything because the words stopped in your throat and you ended up hugging him, almost toppling him backwards.
“Fuck you, Ry,” you said, your voice heavy with emotion. “You’re too smart and wise you old man.”
He let out a laugh and you let the sound of it, warm and familiar and comforting, washed over you and he hugged you back and you hold him tighter.
“Thank you.”
You felt, rather than saw him smiling, and his hand patted your back gently.
“Anytime, Paul. Anytime”
~to be continued~
2nd part will be posted tomorrow at the lastest :). There's some parts that needs some more touching up.
Hope you enjoyed the 1st part and do let me know what you think :D!
Comments are forever adored, because I think this one is a bit different with the Ole/Scholesy fic that I've written previously, so I'd really love to know what you think!
Title : Life at the End of the World (1/2)
Author : hiro_chan
Pairing : Ole Gunnar Solskjaer x Paul Scholes
Rating : PG-13 for this chapter
Disclaimer : Purely fictional, no disrespect intended for the characters potrayed here.
Notes: I devided this fic into 2 chapters since I feel that putting it all in 1 chapter will be a bit too long and to tiring to read. The longer and the real Author's note will be by the end of the second chapter :p.
The timeline is when Ole beginning to have his knee problem, but Paul already has Alicia, so it's around 2001-2002, where Paul is 27 and Ole is 28 respectively. Oh, and of course, Becks is still in the club :D.
Oh, and Ole and Paul talks a lot in this chapter ;p.
You couldn’t believe what he had just said to you.
He approached you in the empty parking lot after the afternoon training was over. Usually there were still a couple lads around, most notably David because he loved to do additional free kick practices, but today it seemed like everyone but you was rushing to be at somewhere else.
He needed to talk, he said and you looked at him quizzically, wondering what it was that was so important that he couldn’t talk about it earlier, because you were with him practically all the time today.
He said he love you and the words hang in the air and the world came to a sudden halt. You weren’t really sure how to react to such kind of confession and you could only stare at him in a stunned silence.
“You know I don’t appreciate that kind of joke,” you replied icily as you found your voice, anger already bubbling in the back of your mind.
“This is not a joke,” he replied evenly.
“How is it not?” you asked, angry now. It was said that you have a short fuse when it came to sensitive matters, and it was absolutely spot on. “You suddenly came over and said that you - that you - For your sake I hope you don’t have your hopes too high on this matter.”
He grabbed your hand as you made to leave, one hand already on the handle of your car’s door. “Paul -“
You yanked your hand free from his grip. “No, Ole, shut up,” you said through gritted teeth, throwing your training bag onto the passenger seat. “We do not have this kind of conversation, we just pretend that you didn’t just say to me what you just said, and tomorrow things will be back to normal, no misplaced feeling whatsoever.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Paul,” he said. “And my feeling is definitely not misplaced.”
“It is misplaced. Because I don’t have anything - I can’t find it in me to answer your feeling. I’m sorry, but such kind of feeling should never exist in the first place. You have your family, I have mine, you know how the things work. Now let’s bury this matter and not talk about it again, because if you do bring this matter again, I’ll -“
You shook your head, letting your threat hanging in the air. “Excuse me,” you muttered and slipped into your car, slamming the door and drove away without another word.
When you looked at you rear view mirror, you could still see him standing there, watching you.
Watching you.
*
In the end, you didn’t quite get on to carry out your threat, whatever threat that might be.
There were a couple of reasons for that. The first one was because you were sure that the Gaffer wouldn’t appreciate it if you harm your own teammate, especially for a reason that you could not - and were not willing to - explain to him. Second reason was because you didn’t want to imagine the field day the press would be having if you did carry out such threat to him. Just imagining the journalists on your back 24/7 made you shudder.
The third reason was because of the way he looked at you, because of the way he just refusing to give up.
You were not stupid. You knew that these things, this same-sex relationship between footballers did exist. Hell, you only had to look as far as the other side of the training pitch, as far as the opposite side of the dressing room to find the living and undisputed proof of that. Your own best friends, David and Gary.
You were not a homophobe, and you actually didn’t care of such matter. You weren’t a busy body that tried to stuck your nose in to your colleagues’ private life - hell, you couldn’t give a damn about that. As far as you were concern, as long as they were happy, then you didn’t care what it was, what kind of relationship that they had between them.
The problem was you had never thought of yourself in their shoes. You had never thought of yourself involved in a same-sex relationship. Suddenly the very thought scared the hell out of you. Suddenly the worry became a monster that gnawed at your mind, bit by little bit.
And the most upsetting thing for you was how it made you unable to look at him in the same way like you’d always done. He was one of your closest friends, for God’s sake, and now you were becoming hesitant when dealing with him, you became too damn conscious of his mere presence and you hated it.
At least he gave you your time and space to breathe. At least he gave you time to think. He acted as was normal when in presence of the rest of the lads, and you took his lead and pretended like nothing was happening either.
This was just a temporary matter, you assured yourself. That this feeling, that this worry, sooner rather than later would vanish and his feeling for you would evaporate, and things would then back to normal, you didn’t have to worry no more.
So why was it, whenever you looked at him, whenever you caught him looking at you that way, did you find it harder to escape from this feeling?
*
Champagne glasses clinking and low buzz of the conversation filled the grand hall. The end of season party was taking place and you were supposed to have fun now, but parties had never been your favourite and as always you found it boring after awhile.
You found yourself standing by the large window, nursing your drink quietly, looking out to the sprawling garden jut slightly below. You weren’t left alone for a long time though, because there he was, walking towards you, champagne in hand.
“Thought I’ll give you company,” he said, smiling as he stood beside you. “You look kind of lonely.”
“I’m not a very good company,” you said gruffly and his smile didn’t waver.
“I know.”
But he was still standing there, not showing signs that he might leave you anytime soon, and you couldn’t help but found your attention drawn to him.
Your mind went back to those weeks ago, when he made his confession and your hands clenched at the thought. Even after all these times, you were still unable to make any sense of it. You’ve tried your best to avoid the issue, though you made sure not to avoid him because that’d be too obvious, but seeing him right now, you just couldn’t help but asking.
“Why?”
He glanced at you. “Why what?”
“Why - ,” you felt your face heat up as you uttered the words. “Why do you love me?”
He turned to you then, his gaze seeking yours and you tried your best to avoid it. You were never really good in things like this.
“I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice gentle. “I just do.”
“You can’t not know about it,” you said, your eyes still trained on the garden outside. “There must be some reasons.”
“Maybe, then, I love you for the same reasons with Claire’s.”
You glanced at him sharply. “That’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t know me as well as she does.”
“I know enough to make me sure about how I feel.”
You look at him again, shaking our head lightly. “No, Ole.”
He sighed. “Why are you making this so difficult?”
Your eyes caught her figure in the middle of the room. She was chatting animatedly with a group of ladies, such a lovely, lovely woman and even until this time you still couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have her. You hold the champagne glass tighter.
“I’m not making anything difficult. I just want things to make sense.”
“What things?”
“Why you love me. And what about Silje then? What are you going to do with her? Do you not love her anymore?”
Suddenly you couldn’t see Claire anymore, because suddenly he was right in front of you, his blue eyes flashing.
“I’ll always love her like I always do. My love for her does not have anything to do with what I feel for you. And you know what? This is a bullshit conversation, Paul, and you know it. You’re just stalling because you’re afraid. You’re afraid of me, afraid of what I feel for you, afraid of what it’ll do to your perfectly constructed world, but wake up and smell the coffee, Paul. You cannot completely control this kind of thing. I didn’t plan to fall for you, but I do, and I’ve come to terms with that and I’m happy. I do want you. Now the ball is in your court. You have to deal with it because stalling won’t result in anything, Paul.”
He straightened up, and you couldn’t do anything, not even say a word back to him. All you could do was stare at him in surprise, in amazement.
“I’ll just.. leave you with your thought then,” he said, more gently this time. And before he left, he looked at you and said, as he bowed slightly so that his face was very near to yours, “and if you ever think it’s impossible for someone - for me - to love you just for you being who you are, then you’ve got to know yourself better.”
*
“He really does love you, you know?”
The words stopped you in your track, losing your perfect momentum and the ball that you’ve been juggling bounced off lazily away.
“What?”
Ryan looked at you, almost expectantly. “Ole. He really does love you.”
You felt your face burning, and you were absolutely sure that your face was very red right now. “He told you? He fucking told you?”
“Erm. Accidentally, to be honest. He looked so down one day and I took him to drink to cheer him up. He just - well, accidentally slipped up.”
You were so tense right now. This was humiliating for you. No one should know about this matter, but here was Ryan ... “Who else knows?”
“No one,” he said lightly. He threw himself to the ground, sitting on the grass and he looked up at you. “So? Do you love him back?”
“That’s none of your fucking business, Ry,” you said through gritted teeth. You moved to walk away but his hand moved quickly to grip yours, preventing you to go.
“Don’t go, Paul,” he said calmly, his wide eyes staring at you, holding you in place. “Talk to me. I can help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“No, you clearly do. You’re - your body language - you kind of begging for someone to help you making sense out of this. So sit down and talk to me.”
You glared back defiantly at him but his gaze never wavered and he looked so sincere, so genuine, and this was the man that you’d known for half your life, your best friend, your comrade in arms, and he’d picked you up before and who knew, maybe this time he’d be able to help you get out of the mess again.
You sighed and admitted defeat. You sat beside him, your head in your hand and the sun was shining, warming your skin and you wondered why these days you couldn’t really enjoy such simple things in life anymore.
“I don’t know where to start,” you mumbled.
“Hm. How about what your feeling for him is?”
“I don’t know,” you moaned. “I really don’t know. It’s all mixed up now. A couple of months ago everything was fine. No complicated feeling. And then he suddenly said he - he - he loves me. Loves me. Loves me in a wholly different way. Loves me like I love Claire, loves me like he loves Silje. Fuck.”
“I try to let it pass but apparently it has messed up with my mind. And now everytime I see him, that knowledge always hang in the back of my mind, and I don’t know how to deal with it. You know how I am dealing with emotions. And now, I’m just - I’m just frustrated I guess. There’s a nagging feeling that I have, but I don’t know what to do with it.”
There was a small smile gracing his lips. “Well, you know, Paul, I say you do have some kind of feeling for him now.”
“Yeah. I hate him.”
Ryan let out a surprised laugh. “Why? Because he loves you?”
“Because he makes me feel this way? Because he makes me too conscious of myself now? Because of many things? I don’t know. I just hate him right now.”
“Ah, the love-hate relationship. The most delicious type of all.”
You shot him a dirty look, and he gave you his wide-eyed innocent look.
“And he said, Ryan, that his feeling for me has nothing to do with his feeling for his wife. That he’ll still love her as much as he does today. But how could that be possible, Ry? Of course his love for her will lessen because now he has to give some of it to someone else. And I don’t want to do that to Claire. She doesn’t deserve such things like that.”
“But that’s possible, Paul,” he said gently. “It’s just a matter of dividing your time, your attention and your love properly.”
“How would you know about that?” you said, perhaps a bit too harshly and you know it was unfair because he was just trying to help but you couldn’t help feeling frustrated.
There was a moment of silence (when he just stared off to a point in the distance that you couldn’t see and somehow he looked wistful and sad) and he looked at you and said, “I love Gaz, you know?”
The confession took you by surprised and you supposed you looked pathetic sitting there and staring wide-eyed and gaping slightly at him. You blinked. “Gaz?” you asked after finally finding your voice. “Our Gaz? But - but - but isn’t he - isn’t he with David?”
“I know.”
“And - and he knows?”
“Yeah, more or less,” he shrugged. “And he, well, let’s just say too attached to David to consider me, but it’s okay. It’s not his fault. It’s not mine either, because this kind of feeling, you just can’t control it.”
” You cannot completely control this kind of thing. I didn’t plan to fall for you, but I do, and I’ve come to terms with that and I’m happy. I do want you.”
Ole’s words from that night at the party sounded in your ears. You blinked and stared at Ryan and somehow at least a small part of the whole thing kind of made sense to you.
“What I want to say is, Paul, take your chance. He wants you. And you, obviously, whether provoked by his confession or anything, feel something for him too, although maybe right now not as intense as his, but it’s there.”
“And if your love for Claire is as deep and as strong as you believe it to be, then you don’t ever have to worry about it diminishing. Even if there’s Ole, you don’t have to worry. You’ll understand once it happen. And then, maybe you’ll understand what Ole meant, when he said he’d still love Silje even when there’s also you in his heart.”
“You just have to realize how lucky you are, really.”
He smiled at you and you couldn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything because the words stopped in your throat and you ended up hugging him, almost toppling him backwards.
“Fuck you, Ry,” you said, your voice heavy with emotion. “You’re too smart and wise you old man.”
He let out a laugh and you let the sound of it, warm and familiar and comforting, washed over you and he hugged you back and you hold him tighter.
“Thank you.”
You felt, rather than saw him smiling, and his hand patted your back gently.
“Anytime, Paul. Anytime”
~to be continued~
2nd part will be posted tomorrow at the lastest :). There's some parts that needs some more touching up.
Hope you enjoyed the 1st part and do let me know what you think :D!