𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐮𝐲 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎 & 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

(39) 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘦

A/N

I'm sorry for leaving you all without an update for like a week or something, my brain has been all over the place!

I hope this chapter really makes up for my absence - it's extra long for you all ;)

I really hope you enjoy this chapter more than anything. I enjoyed writing it. A lot.

As if I need to say this but.... *MATURE CONTENT WARNING - THIS CHAPTER IS EXTREMELY NSFW, NC-17, 18+, ALL OF THAT STUFF, SO READ WITH YOUR OWN CAUTION*

Additional warning: *daddy kink ahead, just to forewarn you*

Enjoy, babies, and make sure to leave me some feedback and love.

C x

___

May 1973

Too many things to do, too little time. Fuck, what if I've done it wrong? What if I've convinced myself I'm doing something completely different to what I'm supposed to be doing? Do I have enough to buy some more pasta? What if I've been completely reckless with the money? Emma will never forgive me. She'll move out. And Brian will see what an incompetent, disorganised mess I am and leave me. How long until my pen runs out? Should I invest in some new ones? Wait, my paper isn't stacked straight, let me—Shut up, Maria, don't be so stupid. Have I eaten? Should I eat? Look at yourself, you're a mess, there's nothing wrong with skipping a meal or two. Or three. You don't have time to focus on anything else, you dumb piece of s—

"Here you go, love. No milk and three sugars, like always." Brian settled a mug of coffee on my desk, shutting the bedroom door behind him with his foot. He had purple socks on and I grilled him on his choice when he first arrived, even though I thought they were the cutest things in the world.

I chewed on my lower lip again, the metallic taste from before coming through sooner and stronger. I mumbled a short 'thanks' to Brian, who settled on my bed behind me. We were at the flat, as you can tell, and Emma was down at Sinclair Road. It became a thing at this point: the only time Emma and I saw each other was whenever we both had a coursework class at Imperial or when we all got together every now and then. Brian practically lived at the flat.

He'd leave parts of his wardrobe behind after staying over a few nights, so he had some stuff to come back to. His odd piece of jewellery hung up amongst my own. His shoes sat neatly besides mine in the hallway and his coat fused with my denim jacket. Ingredients for his own vegetarian concoctions in the fridge. He even kept his wooden acoustic perched against the corner walls of my bedroom. No agreement, no planning. It just happened.

I took a visual detour, setting my eyes on the steaming mug of coffee. There were three sugars in there. I needed all the sugar and caffeine I could get. The thing with me is that if I am in the mood to work on something, I need to do as much of that thing as possible because I don't know when the next time I'll have the motivation will be. But that also led to a tendency to obsess over said thing. In this case, that thing was my coursework. I started to remind myself of Brian when he would constantly stress and work over his thesis for his PhD.

I gulped down a quarter of the steaming hot coffee, not grimacing once at the burn it sent to my tongue and down my throat. When I went back to writing, the ache forming again in my right wrist, I felt an uncomfortable shiver travel up my spine and vulnerability took over me. I glanced to the side of me. "Stop watching me, Brian." I couldn't see him, but I just knew he was watching over me as I worked. And it made me nervous.

"I'm not."

I scrunched up my eyebrows, turning in my seat and noticing that he was, in fact, perched at the headboard of my bed, his eyes focussed on a music magazine on his lap. I sighed to myself, angry at my brain for distracting me with something that didn't exist.