Read my mind | Van McCann

4.

He hears from her more often now: emails, texts and the occasional phone call. They talk about everything - books and music, her work, Catfish, family, his lyrics. He knows more about her life now than he ever has and it's nice. Very nice.

While still subtle around friends and family (no sex during holidays) when they're alone he may as well be her boyfriend. He's not surprised. It was the point. Y/N needs more than just sex; it's why she hadn't found someone else, why this has worked for so long.

They're practically in a relationship.

He hasn't touched another since they began.

He gave her a key not too long ago, along with a logical reason so she wouldn't overthink the gesture. "This way you can drop off your stuff if I'm at work, since you never seem to let me pick you up."

Which is true. Y/N still drops by fairly last-minute and never lets him pick her up. He's managed to drop her off a few times but only if he found a reason for the airport or train to be on his way.

She hasn't needed to use the key yet - mostly from lack of presence.

It's been seven months since the last time he saw her, the longest he can remember since they started. And he's okay. He's fine. This was always going to be part of the arrangement. The entire point is that he can handle it.

He can. He can handle it.

He'd just underestimated how hard it would be, to actually have her in his life, in his bed, to be with her, inside of her, and know that one day he'll likely have to let her go, let her go, let her go.

Nowadays, Van is a casual drinker, usually when he's with the guys. He's careful. He's always been a careful drinker except for when emotions were high and Van just wanted to drown everything out. There were no more drugs in his life besides the occasional joint passed around after parties with the band and whoever else has stuck around.

Cigarettes are usually his drug of choice. Sometimes when he's writing he'll go through two packs, forgetting to eat, drink, or sleep until he's done.

That night, he's weak. That night, he's lost in his head and he can't escape it. He doesn't want to leave the apartment and he can't seem to find the words to write. It's happened before, it'll happen again, because sometimes he's overwhelmed and there's just too much.

He grabs the bottle of whiskey left in his cabinet and he drinks and he smokes and tries to numb the feeling like he's that goddamn nineteen-year-old again begging the girl to run away with him.

"Van?"

It's the middle of the night when he wakes up to the sound of her voice. He blinks, rubs his eyes.

"Y/N?"

She takes off her jacket, strips down to her underwear and throws on one of his shirts before climbing in bed with him.

And Van must be dreaming, because what are the odds? For her to just appear, right when he's at his lowest. He doesn't know if this is a blessing or the universe's way of saying "fuck you!" because he can't turn her away. Not now. Not when he needs her this much.

She moves closer, worry etched in her expression before she calls his name again, softer this time.

What are the odds? That the woman he'd searched for so many times when he was young (you aren't eighteen any more), going through inadequate replacement after replacement, would be here now?

He takes her entirely by surprise when he grabs her shoulders and shoves her down, climbing on top of her. She goes to kiss his lips and he gives her his cheek instead, mindful of his breath. (Cigarettes and booze, how can you put this on her?)

He touches her under his shirt, bunching it up above her breasts, drinking her in, drunk off her body, before thrusting hard and fast and deep. Her hands are stroking his shoulders, his hair, and he can't help but whisper, "Y/N, Y/N," because for all the times he's done this, lost himself in the body of another when he needed to forget, this is the first time it's her.

They finish together, something which shocks him because he hadn't been thinking too much of pleasure, hers or his, just necessary release. Van doesn't climb off her right away, instead he holds her close, his face hidden in her neck as he feels himself softening inside of her.

"Are you okay?" she asks, stroking his back under his shirt.

He nods. "I'm sorry... Sometimes I-"

"No, no, I came out of the blue. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing."

He rolls off her, running his hand through his hair. He needs a glass of water, needs to take off his sweaty shirt. He needs sleep.

Van turns his head and Y/N is staring at him with concerned eyes.

He smiles. "I'm glad you came."

That night, after they both strip and find water, he holds her tightly, tighter than he's probably ever let himself before, and hopes she doesn't notice. (He knows she does.)

In the morning she wakes him early, mouth hot and wet around him. He returns the favor, hoping it serves as an adequate apology for falling apart inside her the night before.

They're on their way to the shower when she tells him that she has to leave soon - "this trip wasn't exactly planned" - and he can't believe what a fucking mess he was, wasting the time they had.

He tries to make the apology in the shower extra special. From the sounds she makes he thinks he accomplishes it.

Y/N lets him drive her to the train that day and he's surprised to find that she's heading back to Washington so soon and not some other random state or country. He's parked in front and when he looks towards her she's nervous. He waits.

"So... you know how I have that contact here? Of course you do, it's why I'm usually here. Well, he... moved. To New York, actually, which is funny, because he was always saying how he was going to but he never did but now... well. he... did. So, well, the thing is... I probably won't be around as often any more, Van."

That explained her absence the last few months. He inhales deeply, wishing for a cigarette. "Well, I'll see you when I can."

She nods. And it's awkward. It feels like a break up. As if they hadn't had enough of those. What was he thinking? She hesitates for a moment.

"Are you going to be okay?"

And there it is.

He smiles. "I'm a songwriter, love. A night of booze, sex, and general over-dramatics comes with the territory."