You, every time.

Word count: 1389
Author's note: this chapter will be split, the first half is from Johnny's point of view and the second half is from Maeve's point of view. Happy reading!

Friday the 3rd of March

Johnny.

"Wow," Adam murmured the word under his breath.
"I know," Johnny said equally quite, running a hand through his hair.
"I mean, wow," he repeated, eyes slightly glazed over.
"Yeah, I know," he said again, slightly more irritated now.
"Just, wow,"
"Yes alright we get it thank you!" Johnny snapped at his brother who seemed to have broken from some sort of trance. It was Friday afternoon and they were due at their parent's house in half-an-hour. They were sitting at the window of table of the local pub, the atmosphere more dead than a graveyard. It was always like this in here. A few lonely old men with peaked caps and Gillettes, who had nothing better to do with their Friday night, as well as the most unfriendly barman to ever have graced a public house. He brought Johnny and Adam their pints. Johnny picked the thing up and drank three-quarters of it one gulp.
"Easy Johnny," Adam tried to warn him but he didn't listen.
"What do I do? Have I fucked this beyond repair?" the drink was washing through him now but it was having little effect.
"I don't know... did you fuck her beyond repair?" Adam asked amused.
"Can it puss-face! I actually need your help here," he groaned in return.
"No... no I don't think you have..." Adam spoke warily but still with a slight edge of amusement to his tone.
"Oh what do you know, puss-face, have you ever even kissed a girl?" He snarled at his brother.
"You asked me for help remember? And if we are talking about being good with women, at least I can manage to keep one in my house without her storming out on me because I told her I didn't want a relationship!" Adam seethed back.
"Okay, that fair," Johnny sat back, defeated. A silence sat between the brothers for a moment, "What do I say to her then? Come on,"
"Well you don't say anything right now, you need to give her some room. I guess you need to figure out whether you love her or not, since she said she loves you," Adam theorised.
"Okay," Johnny took another sip of his beer, "okay," he repeated, "okay." Then he looked up at his brother, "Don't you dare say a word to mum and dad,"
"You think I'm going to tell mum and dad? What exactly would I say? 'Hey mum and dad, Maeve is a no show tonight not because she has to work late at the bakery as Johnny told you, but because your youngest son slept with her and then told her that he didn't want a relationship! Are you proud?'" The be-speckled brother grinned at him.
"Shut your mouth," groaned Johnny, finishing his pint and getting up to go for another. Once he had retrieved one from the monosyllabic bartender, Adam spoke in a hushed voice.
"So don't think I don't have any questions, you slept with our childhood best friend, how was it?" He asked his brother.
"I'm not going to answer that!" Scoffed Johnny, but all Adam had to do was raise his eyebrows and he relented.
"It was great. Of course it was fucking great it's Maeve. She's hot and pretty and I think-" Johnny stopped himself. He had never said the next words out loud. Not about Maeve or any other woman.
"And you think...?" Adam prompted.
"And I think I'm in love with her," a sullen silence sat between them in the air and hovered like an unwelcome odour, "I've fucked this all up haven't I?" Adam gave a slow nod and his brother collapsed with his head on the sticky surface of the table.
"You think you're in love with her?" Adam repeated to which Johnny nodded whilst his head was still on the surface of the table. "Shit on it," Adam murmured.

~~~

Johnny had just gotten home from Friday night dinner at his parent's house, which had been fairly eventful. The piano tuner had come so they had gone out for curry, but he called and told them the house was on fire. Apparently he was making a joke, which none of the family appreciated. Johnny had missed Maeve every moment of the night, turning to his left to try and crack a joke in her ear or send her a smile just to find she wasn't there. His apartment felt deathly quiet and empty without her in it. The telephone began to ring but the man ignored it, going into the bathroom and splashing cold water over his features. When he brought his face up to look in the mirror he let out a deep sigh and dried of his face with the back of his hand. The phone went to voicemail with a low toned beep.
"Hi Maeve, this is Terry, from the coffee shop. Give me a call some time, I'd love to grab that drink. Thanks, bye now." the male voice crackled to an abrupt stop and Johnny felt his heart do the same. She had given some guy in a coffee shop her number? He felt an inexplicable spike of jealously and sickness in his chest. Of course Maeve had every right to give someone her number, she wasn't his after all. But something about thinking of her with Terry - who ever he was - felt so unexplainably wrong. It hurt in his chest and left a lump just at the top of his throat that no amount of swallowing could take away. Johnny walked to phone and pressed one.
"this message has been deleted," the robot voice monotoned.

~~~

Saturday 4th of March

Maeve.

Maeve was using the pole to push up the awning of the small bakery. Maxwell's Bakers was on the outskirts of London on a tree lined street and was mostly kept alive by the regulars (most of whom were close to death themselves) who lived on the same street as the quant little shop. Maeve had been asked to open up that morning so she had been out of her hotel by five o'clock, although she hadn't slept. She hadn't got proper sleep since Thursday night. Instead, she would just replay her conversation with Johnny over and over until the words hurt her head. Once she had successfully pushed the awnings up, the girl unlocked the front door and began to take the stool's off of the tables. There were only a few small indoor seating areas and all the chairs were mismatched and equally ancient in their design. Moving to the pegs in left corner, Maeve threw her hair up into a pony tail and put on her apron over the top of her dark-wash jeans and forest green jumper. Then, she grabbed a piece of chalk from just by the till and began the never-ending task of writing up today's pastry options on the board. Maeve alternated her shifts - working in the back during the week helping as a pastry chef and working out front on the weekends. The shop was usually covered by one pastry chef and one person on the till - today, that was her. Her colleague would arrive within the hour and then they would open.

As she wrote, Maeve's thoughts strayed to Johnny. Sometimes, her mind would linger on her words from Thursday night - on what she could have said differently, on how every single one of them was the truth. But other times, she found her thoughts wandering in a different direction: his hands tracing down her waist, her hips, running her fingers through his chestnut brown hair. Or the way he kissed down her neck and shoulders until she was moaning out his name. Maeve still had the markings from dinner table, the imprints on her hip bones and the hickeys on her neck. Part of her wished she regretted sleeping with him, but she didn't. She didn't want the markings to go, or the hickeys to fade. That would be mean it was all just a memory, that it was over. Perhaps it was.