Nobody’s Business

by sillygooses

Summary:

Bradley fucking Bradshaw wants to play mind games? Fine. Jake can play them, too.

Chapter 1: Chapter One: I Need You To Need Me

Jake Seresin is not touching Bradley Bradshaw.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. Because if he admitted it—if he let himself acknowledge the way his fingers keep brushing over Rooster’s pulse point, the way he can’t stop checking, double-checking, triple-checking that he’s alive—he might lose his goddamn mind.

They’re two weeks into their post-mission leave. Two weeks where Jake has been waking up in cold sweats, reliving the moment he heard Bradley’s plane go down, the moment he made the choice to say fuck the orders and follow. The moment he almost lost him.

And he can’t shake it. Can’t stop running his mouth like it’s a lifeline, like if he keeps talking, keeps spitting venom, keeps being Hangman, then maybe—just maybe—he won’t have to deal with the fact that Bradley is here, standing right in front of him, and Jake still wants him like he’s twenty and reckless all over again.

It starts small. A hand on Bradley’s shoulder. A nudge of his knee under the bar table. A grip on his elbow when they’re crossing the street, like Bradley needs guidance, like he’s not a grown man with a stubborn streak a mile wide. Bradley notices, of course he does, because he’s staring at Jake like he’s gone insane. Like he doesn’t recognize the man in front of him. Like he’s trying to understand what the hell changed between them.

“What is your deal?” Bradley finally asks one night, after Jake pulls him back from stepping off a curb like there isn’t a perfectly visible stoplight in front of them. His voice is a mix of confusion and something dangerously close to hope.

“You keep—” He gestures vaguely between them. “Hovering.”

Jake snorts, because snorting is safe. Rolling his eyes is safe. “I’m not hovering, Rooster. I’m making sure you don’t do something stupid, like get hit by a car, because you have the self-preservation instincts of a baby bird.”

Bradley narrows his eyes. “Right. So the whole thing where you haven't stopped touching me in the last hour was just you being your usual charming self?”

Jake opens his mouth. Closes it. Because, yeah, okay, maybe he’s been doing that. But it’s not like he has an explanation. Not one he’s willing to give, anyway.

“Relax, Bradshaw,” he says instead, flashing a smirk that feels like paper-thin armor. “Don’t go getting a complex. I touch everyone.”

Bradley just shakes his head, lips pressed together, and lets it go.

The thing is, it's a lie. They both know it. Jake had stopped the whole touchy-feely nonsense when Bradley left.

Phoenix and Coyote don’t, though. They watch the whole thing like it’s their personal soap opera, exchanging looks that say, "Could these idiots be getting somewhere?"

Bob, bless him, just sips his beer and pretends he’s not caught in the crossfire of whatever the hell is happening between them.

Jake keeps telling himself it doesn’t mean anything. That he’s just coming down from the adrenaline. That it’s normal to be hyperaware of someone after a mission like that. Can see it in the way Natasha won't leave Bob's side for too long, the way Payback and Fanboy are practically attached at the hip.

He tells himself that when his fingers brush Bradley’s again. When he catches himself watching the way the sun hits his stupid, ridiculous mustache. When Bradley's eyes glitter after telling a particularly bad joke, and Jake feels the warmth of it for the rest of the night.

Jake Seresin is not touching Bradley Bradshaw.

Except he is. And he doesn’t know how to stop.

Notes:

I just know Coyote is sick of Jake pulling this but what can he do? Gotta be there for your best friend. yall know how it is. anyway comment and such! lmk what u think!

Song- I Want You to Want Me by Cheap Trick

Chapter 2: Chapter Two: Your Song

The Hard Deck is packed tonight.

Voices are loud, laughter spills over the clinking of bottles, and someone is already half-singing, half-shouting along to whatever is playing on the jukebox. It’s the usual energy—wild, chaotic, a desperate attempt to burn off the high that comes with almost dying.

Jake Seresin sits at the bar, nursing a whiskey, shoulders squared, mask firmly in place. He’s been working overtime playing Hangman, quick with the smirks, sharp with the jokes, untouchable as ever.

If anyone notices the way his fingers tighten around his glass every time Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw laughs, they don’t mention it. They're kinder than he would've been in their position.

Jake had done his job. He saved Bradley’s life. That should have been the end of it.

Jake had stopped with the unnecessary touching. Curbing the urge to reach out and make sure Bradley was really there. It was the end of it.

Except Bradley won’t stop looking at him. 

Jake can feel it, the weight of his gaze lingering like it’s meant to settle something between them. But nothing needs settling. Not anymore.

Jake pushes away from the bar with a sigh, heading over to challenge Fanboy to a round of pool.

Then, like the universe is out to personally ruin him, the noise in the bar shifts. Voices lower, footsteps shuffle, and Jake turns just in time to see Bradley sitting at the old piano in the corner.

Jake freezes.

Because he knows what this means. He knows what Bradley sounds like when his fingers press against those keys. And the moment Bradley starts playing, Jake wants to throw his drink against the wall and leave before this can get worse.

Too late.

Bradley’s voice cuts through the bar like a damn knife.

The song is familiar, too familiar—something from years ago, something private. Something Jake had forgotten how much it hurt to remember.

It’s a love song. It had always been a love song.

Bradley used to sing it with him. Late nights, cheap beer, their shoulders pressed together on some old couch, their voices twining together in a way that had nothing to do with harmony and everything to do with them.

Jake grips the pool cue so hard his knuckles go white.

He can’t—he can’t stand here and let Bradley do this. For a second, Jake’s sure Bradley is looking at him as he sings. There’s something almost hesitant in his voice, something raw beneath the steady confidence.

Do you get it? Do you understand what I’m telling you?

The others are watching too. Phoenix, Coyote, Bob—they all glance between them, waiting, hoping, maybe even begging for this to be the moment one of them finally gives in.

Jake feels like he can’t breathe.

Because Bradley shouldn’t be allowed to do this. To bring this back up. To pull him under with that voice and that song and make it impossible for Jake to keep pretending this doesn’t mean anything.

So Jake does what Jake does best—he runs.

He shoves the cue away and stalks toward the door.

Bradley’s voice follows him, wavering for just a second, just enough for Jake to know he’s noticed. Jake doesn’t look back.

Outside, the night air is sharp against his overheated skin. He drags in a breath, hands shaking at his sides.

This is fine.

He just needs a second, just needs to shove this all back where it belongs—

The door swings open behind him. Jake doesn’t have to turn to know who it is.

“Hangman,” Bradley says, voice quieter now, but still carrying that thing that Jake isn’t ready to name.

Jake closes his eyes. Swallows hard. “Not your business, Bradshaw.”

Jake’s stomach twists. His jaw clenches. A pause. Then, softly— “Why are you singing about being mine?”

Bradley doesn’t answer.

And Jake? Jake does the one thing everyone always accuses him of. The one thing he never got to do last time. This time, he walks away from Bradley.

Notes:

Everyone watching the Serenshaw Shit Show in the bar like ooooh.

Song- Your Song by Elton John

Chapter 3: Chapter Three: Save A Horse...

The next day, Jake Seresin wakes up with a plan. A stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless.

Bradley fucking Bradshaw wants to play mind games? Fine. Jake can play them, too.

The team is going out again tonight, a different bar this time—some honky-tonk spot just outside of town, all whiskey and neon and the smell of sawdust on the floor. Jake’s home turf and if he's being honest with himself -which he never is- a way for the team to apologize for letting Rooster try to kill him at the Hard Deck last night. If Bradley wants to get in his head, then Jake’s going to get in his first.

And so he dresses for battle. Fitted jeans, boots worn in just enough, the kind of button-down that stretches just right over his chest, and—just for the hell of it—his cowboy hat. If Rooster wants a show, he’s about to get one.

The moment they walk into the bar, Jake makes it his mission to be everywhere. He orders a drink, flashes a smile at the bartender, then immediately starts making rounds.

Fuck you, Bradshaw.

There’s a mechanical bull in the corner, and he’s on it within ten minutes, gripping the rope with one hand, tipping his hat with the other, smirking as the group cheers him on. He lands easy, rolling onto his feet, giving a little bow like the cocky bastard he is when the ride ends.

Fuck. You. Bradshaw.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Bradley watching. Just standing there, drink in hand, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

Idiot, Jake thinks viciously.

But something about that soft, quiet smile makes his stomach flip.

So he keeps going. Dancing with anyone who will have him, letting hands linger on his arms, his waist, laughing too loud, drinking too much.

FUCK. YOU. BRADSHAW.

He doesn’t care who touches him—doesn’t care whose hands skim over his stomach, whose voice is in his ear.

At least, he doesn’t care—until he turns and sees that stupid mustache up close.

“Bradshaw,” Jake says, like he’s been caught in the act. "As I live and breathe."

“Hangman,” Bradley says back, just as easy. "You look good."

Well, fuck me. Jake thinks dizzly. 

And that's the thing, it's always been Bradshaw or Hangman or Rooster or Seresin. Had been since the moment Bradley walked out. But sometimes Jake wishes... he doesn't know what he wishes.

All he knows is he walked in here with the intention of making Bradley hurt. Making him bleed. The way Jake bled last night. But now...

Jake sways a little, just a little, but Rooster steadies him. His hands are warm where they grip Jake’s arms, too warm, familiar. Jake’s still breathing heavy from dancing, the heat rolling off his skin, but Bradley? Bradley looks untouched. Like he could do this all night and still walk away unaffected.

Jake hates that.

“You look good,” Bradley says again, and it burns. Because he says it like it’s just a fact. Like he’s been thinking it all night, maybe longer.

Jake’s stomach twists. He could walk away. He should walk away.

Instead, he lets Bradley pull him into the next song.

They move together too easily, like old habits that never really die. Jake’s too tipsy to stop himself from falling into step, from letting Bradley guide him just a little, just enough.

Bradley’s hand slides low on his back, too familiar, too easy, and Jake wants to shove him away but also wants to press closer, closer, so instead, he does nothing at all.

It doesn’t matter. None of this matters.

Because in the morning, when Jake wakes up, head pounding and heart aching, he’ll decide none of it happened.

It’s nobody’s business but his own.

Notes:

Cowboy jake is so dear to me genuinely.

Song- Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy by Big & Rich

Chapter 4: Chapter Four: ...Ride A Cowboy

Bradley watches, jaw tight, as Jake leans back on the mechanical bull like he was made for it. Of course he is. Of course Jake Seresin rides the damn thing like it’s nothing, one hand in the air, the other gripping the handle, his whole body moving fluidly with the machine. The cowboy hat tilted just enough to be cocky, his grin sharp and dangerous.

Jake is trying to kill him. Bradley can almost hear his voice, "Fuck you, Bradshaw."

Phoenix elbows him. “You’re staring.”

“Shut up,” Bradley mutters, but he doesn’t look away. Not even when the ride ends, and Jake dismounts with a smug little hop, adjusting his hat like he owns the place.

And then Jake is dancing—spinning, laughing, pressed up against strangers, golden under the dim bar lights. Bradley tells himself he’s going to stay put, that he’s not going to do this, but then Jake turns, tipsy and grinning, and Bradley knows himself well enough to know when he’s already lost.

So he moves.

Jake doesn’t notice him at first, too caught up in the movement, the hands on his waist, the music thrumming through his body. But Bradley steps in close, lets his fingers skim the back of Jake’s neck as he leans in.

"Bradshaw, as I live and breathe," Jake drawls, voice liquid smooth, but Bradley sees the flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or something softer. Something real.

Bradley swallows. "Hangman, you look good."

He does. He always does. And maybe he shouldn’t say it, maybe he shouldn’t do this, but "You look good," he repeats.

Jake doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t say something biting or cruel.

Instead, he lets Bradley draw him in, lets their bodies align like they always have, like gravity.

Bradley knows Jake will run again. He knows this is temporary, a flash of heat before the inevitable cold.

But if he enjoys it while it lasts, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Notes:

Bradley pov??? I’m silly what can i say?

Song- Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy by Big & Rich

Chapter 5: Chapter 4.5: It Must’ve Been Love (Is It Over Now?)

Phoenix slammed her beer down on the table, eyes narrowed as she watched the absolute trainwreck unfolding across the bar. “I swear to god, if those two idiots don’t figure it out tonight, I’m putting in a formal request to transfer to the Air Force. I cannot take this anymore.”

Coyote, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin, popped a peanut into his mouth. “Nah, you love the drama.”

“I suffer the drama,” she corrected, waving her bottle in the direction of the bar where Bradley was not-so-subtly staring at Jake, who was currently in the middle of a very pointed dance with some random woman. “That? That is not normal ex behavior. That is some ‘I still dream about you at night’ bullshit.”

Bob, who had been silently nursing his drink like the unfortunate third wheel to this disaster, sighed. “They were literally in love.”

Phoenix and Coyote both turned to him so fast that Bob physically recoiled. “What?” he asked, defensive.

Phoenix narrowed her eyes. “You knew?”

Bob gave her a flat look. “You didn’t?”

Coyote nearly choked on his drink. “Hang on, Bob—quiet, observant, doesn’t-get-involved Bob—knew they were in love before we told him?”

Bob shrugged. “I have eyes. You guys are too used to those idiots to realize most people can pick up on social cues”

Phoenix dragged a hand down her face. “Okay, fine. Fine. So we all acknowledge that we’re dealing with epic levels of dumbassery here.”

Coyote gestured toward the bar, where Bradley was gripping his beer a little too tightly. “He looks two seconds away from fighting that poor girl for talking to Jake.”

Bob took a slow sip of his drink, eyes tracking the situation. “Yeah. He’s gonna do something stupid.”

Coyote exhaled. “Ten bucks says Jake’s gonna do something even stupider.”

Phoenix threw her hands up. “How do we always end up chaperoning these two?”

Coyote grinned. “Because it’s fun.”

Bob just sighed. “Because you’re cursed. And somehow I got roped into this”

And as they watched Bradley finally snap and start stalking toward Jake, they all collectively braced for impact.

If they ended up betting on whether or not Bradley and Jake would go home together that night.

Well, it was nobody's business but their own.

Notes:

MY FAV POOKIES EVER YESS I NEEDED TO GIVE THEM A CHAPTER IDC.

song- It Must Have Been Love by Roxette

Chapter 6: Chapter Five: Hard For Me To Go Home

Jake doesn't go to his place that night. He doesn't go to his own bed, doesn’t sleep under his own sheets. He doesn’t wake up alone, either—but that’s nobody’s business.

He's home. In Bradley's home, anyway. 

The thing about Bradley is that he takes up space. Even when he’s silent. Even when he’s still. Even when he doesn’t mean to. Jake has always hated that about him—because it makes it impossible to pretend that he doesn’t care.

Jake watches the sunrise from the other side of the bed, from a place that isn’t his anymore, and listens to the steady rhythm of Bradley snoring beside him. He should leave. He knows it. But his body won’t move, like it’s anchored in place by something he won’t name.

Bradley shifts in his sleep, brow furrowing like he already knows Jake is thinking too much, and Jake wants to be so, so cruel. He wants to reach out and smooth it away, let his fingers drag down the familiar slope of Bradley’s jaw, just to see if he can.

Just to see if he’s allowed.

But then Bradley might wake up. And if Bradley wakes up, he’ll look at him like that again—like he sees him, like he knows him, like he’s something worth knowing—and Jake just can’t fucking handle it.

He swallows hard and forces himself to turn away, sliding out of bed with practiced ease. This isn’t the first time he’s left without saying goodbye.

It doesn’t take long to gather his things. His boots by the door, his shirt crumpled on the floor. He moves quietly, methodically, even though Bradley sleeps like the dead and probably wouldn’t wake if he slammed the door on the way out. But Jake won’t do that. He never does. He’s already taken what he shouldn’t have; there’s no need to be cruel about it.

Still, something keeps him there, rooted in place when he should be long gone.

The sheets are tangled where he left them, a mess of warmth and sweat and things he won’t say out loud. Bradley breathes in deep, sighs out, and Jake clenches his jaw so hard it aches. He turns away before he can talk himself into staying.

Outside, the world is already moving on. It always does.

And if Jake doesn’t text, if he doesn’t call, if he doesn’t go out with the others when they ask where he’s been—then that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Notes:

oh jake. ur an idiot actually.

Song- To Be So Lonely by Harry Styles

Chapter 7: Chapter Six: Why'd You Come In Here Lookin' Like That?

The next week, finds Bradley at a bar he doesn't know the name of.

Bradley knows how to hold a grudge. He learned from the best, after all.

It would be easier if Jake didn’t give him so many reasons to stay mad. If he hadn’t walked out of the Hard Deck that night when Bradley played their song. If he hadn’t spent the next week ignoring their invitations, letting his hair grow out and his temper grow short. If he hadn’t looked so damn good when he finally showed up again tonight— smug smile and cowboy boots like he was sent from the depths of Bradley’s own personal torment.

Jake always looks good. Too good. Hair longer, curling just a little at the nape of his neck. A perfect mess of golden strands that Bradley had once buried his fingers in, pulling, tugging, holding on for dear life. He looks so fucking good, it makes Bradley feel sick.

Bradley should’ve left the bar the second he saw Jake up on that stage. Should’ve walked out before Jake even opened his mouth, before the first note hit, before he could hear that damn voice wrap around the lyrics of a song that had no business being for him, for them.

But he didn’t. He stayed. And now he’s gripping his drink like it might be the only thing keeping him upright.

Phoenix had her nails dug into Bradley’s arm before he even realized what was happening. Coyote was watching him like a spectator at a car crash. Bob just muttered, "Oh, finally."

And that damn voice. Smooth, warm, cutting through the noise of the bar like it was made to do just that. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that Jake can look like that, sing like that, hold every single person in this damn place captive, and still—still—be the biggest fucking coward Bradley’s ever met.

The song choice doesn’t help. Not when Bradley remembers the way Jake used to hum it under his breath when he thought no one was listening. Not when he remembers Jake lying next to him, tracing nonsense shapes into Bradley’s bare shoulder, whispering, "I’ll always be yours, you know that?"

Jake had meant it at the time. Bradley knows that. But time has a way of making liars out of everyone.

And Bradley—well. He'd been lying to himself longer than he cared to remember.

The song is coming to an end, and Jake is still looking anywhere but at him. And Bradley should be mad—hell, he is mad—but more than that, he’s just tired. Tired of pretending he doesn’t care. Tired of pretending he doesn’t know exactly what’s happening.

Because Jake is up there trying to convince himself of something. That’s what this is.

It’s not a show, it’s not a performance. It’s a fucking confession, one Jake will probably never admit to.

Bradley was already halfway to the stage by the time the last note hit.

Jake saw him coming, of course. That was the thing about Jake Seresin—he always saw Bradley coming.

Bradley should leave. He should. But Jake is walking off the stage now, making his way through the crowd, and Bradley knows exactly where he’s heading.

Straight to him.

"They’re on a collision course, these two." Coyote noted blandly, handing Phoenix a drink.

"None of our business," she responded, downing it in one go.

"So slow, Rooster," Jake said before Bradley even opened his mouth. The words were light, teasing, but the way his fingers twitched at his side said something else. The way his breath hitched when Bradley stepped just a little closer told the truth.

Bradley licked his lips, tilted his head, and let himself smirk.

"Yeah?" he asked, voice low enough that only Jake could hear. "Then why are you still singing about being mine?"

Jake didn’t answer. He just swallowed, hard, and looked at Bradley like he suddenly realized something.

And it scared him.

Notes:

so much unfinished business and yet its “nobodys business” it drives me crazy

song- Why’d You Come in Here Lookin’ Like That by Dolly Parton

Chapter 8: Chapter Seven: Forever Yours, Faithfully

Jake doesn’t know what he’s expecting when he steps off the stage. Applause? Laughter? Someone to call him a dumbass and drag him away before he embarrasses himself even more? All he knows is that he’s smiling, wide and a little breathless, the adrenaline humming under his skin in a way that feels almost manageable. Singing Journey to a crowd does that to a man.

And then he sees Bradley.

There, at the edge of the crowd, looking like he just got the wind knocked out of him. Lips parted, eyebrows drawn, eyes dark and unreadable in the low lights of the bar.

Jake knows that look. He knows what it means when Bradley licks his lips like that, when his fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach out and touch, take, claim. And fuck if that realization doesn’t make Jake feel like he’s burning up from the inside out.

For a second—just one—he lets himself bask in it. The knowledge that he can still do this, still make Bradley feel something. Still make Bradley want him.

And then he shoves it down, because that’s not the point. That was never the point.

"Too slow, Rooster," he says. And damn him but it's a little breathless. 

"Yeah?" Bradley answered voice quiet. "Then why are you still singing about being mine?"

The words freeze him, any lingering heat from his performance fell away quickly. 

What the hell was he doing?

He moves past Bradley like he doesn’t see him, like he’s not painfully, excruciatingly aware of every inch between them, of the heat radiating off Bradley’s body.

“Jake—”

He doesn’t stop walking. If he stops, he might not start again. If he looks, he might do something stupid, like stay.

And he can’t—he can’t.

So he doesn’t.

He gets his drink from the bar, ignores the way his fingers are shaking when he wraps them around the glass. Ignores the way his heart is pounding, how he can still feel Bradley’s eyes on him, how he knows—knows—if he turned around right now, he’d see that look again.

He throws back the whiskey instead, hoping it burns hot enough to make him forget the way Bradley had stared at him like he was something holy.

He’s not an angel. Stopped being one when Bradley stopped calling him one. The day he walked out.

Notes:

BRADLEY 100% CALLS JAKE ANGEL IDC. TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE? DONT PLAY WITH ME. anyway im obsessed with them and these movies so i wrote this and idk but lmk the vibes and if u see anything wrong!

song- Faithfully by Journey

Chapter 9: Chapter Eight: Ignoring Tornado Warnings

Bradley approaches him first.

It’s not hard. Jake has a pattern, a rhythm even when he’s trying to disappear. The bar isn’t even that far from base, some hole-in-the-wall joint where the music isn’t too loud, and the whiskey is cheap. But Jake hadn't been here before.

He's nursing a drink, swirling the amber liquid around in his glass like it holds the answers to everything he refuses to say out loud.

Bradley slides into the seat next to him. Close, but not touching. The air crackles between them anyway.

Jake doesn’t look at him. “Come to tell me off, Rooster?”

“No,” Bradley says, and his voice is quiet. “Came to talk.”

Jake lets out a humorless laugh, finally turning to look at him. “That’s new for us.”

Bradley flinches, just a little. “I know,” he admits. He hesitates, then, “I’m sorry.”

Jake’s fingers tighten around his glass. His jaw clenches. “For what?”

Bradley looks at him, really looks at him, and it hurts. “For leaving. And making you think I wouldn’t have come back.”

Jake exhales sharply. “And they say I'm one who had a problem with staying.”

Bradley sucks in a breath. It’s like getting hit straight in the chest. “Jake—”

“No, listen,” Jake interrupts, and there’s no bite in it, just something raw. “I don’t know how to be what you want me to be. But I’m still here. And I’m always going to be here. That’s just how it is. You and me, Rooster. We don’t know how to quit each other.”

Bradley swallows around the lump in his throat. “I don’t want you to be anything but you,” he says, and it’s so damn honest it makes Jake freeze. “I just want you to let me stay this time.”

Jake blinks at him. His mouth parts slightly like he doesn’t know what to do with the words.

Because, yeah, Bradley left. But Jake had chased him away. Said things he knew would hurt to see what reaction he would get.

His mouth is dry. It’s stupid, really. He’s been shot at, thrown off carrier decks, and flown missions that should’ve killed him, but nothing—nothing—has ever terrified him like this. Like standing in front of Bradley Bradshaw, who has never once backed down from anything, who looks like he’s been through hell and is still somehow so damn beautiful, and who is staring at Jake like he’s daring him to blink first.

They were so bad at this.

“Angel,” Bradley  whispers, like he can’t help himself.

Jake swears something physically cracks inside his chest.

Bradley was the one who left, who ran, who let the weight of his own fears drive them apart. And now, after all of it—their personal war, the second chance, the mess they’ve made trying to not love each other—it’s Jake who stands his ground.

So quietly it almost gets lost under the hum of the bar, Jake says, “Please, stay.”

And that’s it. No grand declarations, no promises that might break under the weight of them. Just this. Just them.

And it's enough. 

And if he and Bradley lean closer together at the bar, speaking softer than they ever had before. If he and Bradley mend old wounds and laugh quietly, together, for the first time in years, then that's nobody's business but their own.

Notes:

OKAY LAST ONE AHHHH istg i can never let these 2 go they consume me unfortunately. oh well! its nobody’s business but my own <3

song- Tornado Warnings by Sabrina Carpenter

Notes:

yall know how it can get with hyperfixations. anyway comment and lmk what u think!