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joshym · 2 months ago

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Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 6 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

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Word Count: 41.1k+ (deepest apologies)

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

Warnings: please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering. MDNI 18+ ONLY. I do want to preface by saying there is a potentially very triggering moment of shame over eating, including thoughts/trying to v*mit. PLEASE, as I stated before, proceed with caution. struggles with body dysmorphia/eating (including food restriction), strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, anxiety/stress/depression, a few sexual *feelings*, recollections of sexual encounters, sensual scenes shown on film, brief tornado encounter

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a/n: as i said in my warnings, there are some very heavy depictions of what it means to have an ED. i don't want to ignore these moments, as they are so very real. i felt it was only right to include an incredibly vulnerable moment. please, if you're struggling, don't be afraid to seek help. you are always worth it. i love you guys, & i hope you enjoy this chapter. (so far🤭)

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

Cherry Tree, Oklahoma: A year and a half ago.

You felt it the moment you woke up.

The air was different – thick. Thick and melancholy. You didn’t know what it was that had you feeling that way. Intuition? A bad dream that you didn’t remember anything from, only the feelings it left behind? It worsened as you left your room – walking to the kitchen left you breathless. Though, you still didn’t know why.

When you peered out of the living room window, the sky was dark gray, nearly black. You then chalked up the strange feeling to the weather. A change in the barometric pressure, an incoming storm – a big storm, one that would cause destruction everywhere it hovered over. That had to be it. It was Oklahoma, afterall. The most unpredictable, catastrophic weather is born there. It always left you anxiety ridden, sure. But, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

She was sitting in the recliner next to the front door. A blank, distant look about her eyes. She didn’t tell you good morning, she didn’t even look at you. Though she’s never been the one to offer you a cheerful good morning, you could tell there was something more behind her silence.

You wondered if her mind was just preoccupied with the skies' indication of bad weather. You began asking her if she’d gotten everything prepared yet – the generator, flashlights, candles, a pair of shoes for everyone. But as you were speaking to her, her distant look morphed into one of distress. She didn’t answer a single question, only choking back the sobs that overcame her, tears falling down her pale face. “Mom? Are you oka–,”

You were cut off by her pointing a single, trembling finger towards the kitchen. That was when it finally hit you.

He was usually the first one up. He’d start breakfast each morning before the sun rose. The smell would always infiltrate your room, always waking you earlier than you’d like. But on this particular day, you slept in a little later than usual. You slept in because there was no smell of maple syrup and eggs to wake you.

That thick, dark feeling that you woke up with quickly turned to pure concern. Where was he?

As though an invisible string were tugging at your legs, they slowly yet reluctantly carried you to the kitchen. Upon the first glance, everything looked normal. Everything, except…

It only took you a moment to notice the note on the fridge. The bright, yellow sticky note stood out like a sore thumb adhered to the flat-white freezer door.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl- Daddy”

The words didn’t register right away. You had to read them over and over again before it finally dawned on you; you didn’t see his truck in the driveway when you looked through the window. Only the oil stains it left on the concrete. He was gone. And you knew he wasn’t just gone for the morning, or for the day. He was gone for good. There wasn’t a single thing you could do about it. He made the choice to live his life without you. Given the fact that you, his only daughter, weren’t enough to convince him to stay, you knew you couldn’t do anything.

A clap of thunder roared around your house, shaking the very foundation it stood on. The bones of the home creaked and screamed with the pressure of the wind while plates and cups in the cabinets rattled. A few photos hanging on the walls fell to the floor, their glass shattering. Then the lights flickered for a moment before they went out completely, leaving the house as dark as it was outside. The sirens began their cry. The rain blowing sideways pushed its way through every window sill in the kitchen, tiny droplets splattering your face. But you kept still. You let it happen; in fact, you welcomed it. You just stood in the kitchen while your mom ran to shelter, keeping your feet planted where they were. You didn’t want to run, didn’t see the point.

The storm came at the perfect moment; it was the physical one that mimicked the one inside of your head. The emotions that couldn’t be released from your body were blowing all around you and your old home. After only a few minutes, (though it truly felt like an eternity) the skies calmed. The rain let up, the wind held still. And it was quiet. Eerily.

The sudden quiet meant you then had to confront the storm in your mind. The relentless destruction of your thoughts created a cyclone of torment within you. Your whole world changed in that single moment. The sole provider of your home left, leaving you, the full time college student working a full time job, to take his place. You could already feel the weight of your new responsibilities, of the new heaviness placed on your tense shoulders.

And you felt grief. Grief over losing someone who chose to leave.

How do you grieve someone who’s still alive? Someone who decided it was best to live the rest of their days without you? Your dad?

Cherry Tree faced an EF-2 that day. They said the winds exceeded one hundred miles per hour, leaving damage and destruction to most of the tiny town. Your home sustained minor damage – a few missing shingles, ripped up siding, the typical wreckage Oklahoma storms leave behind.

Your dad was always there to fix those things. But after that storm, it was up to you to fix them. And that’s exactly how you spent the two weeks that followed – fixing the things that needed fixing. The things you could fix, at least. The physical ones.

All on your own, you fixed the broken seals of the windows, replaced the missing shutters, cleaned up the yard the best you could. That storm forced you to face your new reality head on. You were now working two full time jobs; one during the day at the only restaurant in town, and one at Cherry Tree Grocery for the late shift. And then, there was your mom.

She’d only gotten sick a few months before he left. You hadn’t even fully come to terms with her prognosis yet, and you were thrown into being her caregiver basically overnight. All the things he had been doing for her, you had to learn to do. You essentially had to take a crash course in at-home-nursing. You learned far more about healthcare than you ever thought you’d have to, but you knew you had to do it. You managed all of that while taking classes online, and busting your ass to keep your grades up so you could move away. What had once been a dream to move away on your own, had quickly become getting you and your mom out of there as soon as you could.

You fought hard against the urge to reach out to him in the first weeks after he left. All you wanted was an answer to your one and only question – why? Why would he leave you with so much to worry about, knowing how badly you wanted to get the hell away from Oklahoma? During that time, you became more and more resentful towards him, more angry over the decision he made. So, the urge dwindled over time. It was after the one month mark of him being gone that you tossed your necklace in the trash can, ridding yourself of it – and him – once and for all.

But the letter he gave you along with the necklace…you just couldn’t let it go. You decided to let it be the last remaining piece of your relationship with him. It was painful as fuck to keep it, but you knew it’d be even more painful to not have it. (And yet, you somehow managed to lose it during the move. And, the necklace magically reappeared in your jewelry box, not long after you knew you tossed it. Still makes no sense. But you’re glad you have it, even if how you have doesn’t quite add up.)

There is a part of you that is grateful he left, and it’s the part of you that couldn’t stand living in Cherry Tree any longer. His departure only made the desire of realizing your dream of attending the U of M that much stronger. A new beginning was the best option for you and your mom. In fact, she pretty much insisted on it. She didn’t want to be there any more than you did once he left. The acceptance letter symbolized the beginning you desperately needed. The only loose end that needed tying was the house, and once the burden of that was out from under your feet, you left.

Your Firebird was your only means of getting the two of you there, so any money that you could spare from your savings was spent making sure the clunker would make the journey. Before then, you dad took care of your car troubles. Even promised you he’d help you get a new one before you left home. When he wasn’t there to make that happen, you had to make the best of what you had. The day you packed up the last of your things, the air felt different again – lighter, but still heavy with memories. You drove out of Cherry Tree with a mix of relief and sorrow clinging to you, the dusty Oklahoma roads fading in the rearview mirror as you headed north to your new home.

The storm that ripped through the town that day certainly left its mark; it transformed the tiny community, it transformed you. But it wasn’t just the physical destruction that changed the course of your life. The storm only made you realize that there was nothing left for you in Cherry Tree.

The storm was your dad, creating an unexpected upheaval in your life. It all happened so quickly, so unpredictably. There was no siren to warn you, no safe place in which you could take shelter until things went back to normal. He left his mark that day, much like the storm. Only, for you, it left a scar far deeper than any natural disaster could ever reach.

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Present Day

His desperate attempts at explaining – over explaining – are useless. Every word that leaves his lips feels like a distant echo to you, as though he’s already miles away. It’s like you’re standing in a vacant tunnel, hearing the whispers of those on the outside. You can hear that he’s speaking, but your mind can’t make out the words.

But you’re not in a tunnel; you’re in Jake's room. And he’s standing before you, pleading with you to hear his words.

He’s already a memory to you. A memory – just like your father.

How do you grieve someone who’s still alive?

You hear his every footstep against the carpeted floor behind you as you’re walking around to gather your things, hastily putting on your sweatpants and hoodie that you packed with you last night. You hesitate as you reach for the satin dress he bought you, the one you wore last night, the beautiful gift he wanted you to have for your date…

The hesitation wanes, and you quickly shove it in your canvas bag so as to not have to think about it any longer.

“I need you to listen to me.” You feel his hands grip at your shoulders, stopping you before you can begin your final walk out of his bedroom. His touch forces you to make out his words this time, when before they were mere mumbles in your head while you placed your focus on getting the fuck out of here.

“I need to go home, Jake.” The words are monotone as you say them, void of the storm whirling inside your mind. You keep your back to him, eyes fixed on your bare feet. You forgot to bring another pair of shoes, and you’ll be goddamned if you walk out of here with your heels on from last night.

Nope. Barefoot it is.

“Can I please take yo –,” Before he can finish his question, you quickly turn on your heel, shrugging his hands off your body as you face him. The now dried tears on your cheeks are met with fresh ones falling from your eyes, tears that refuse to be held back, no matter how badly you don’t want to show your hurt.

“NO, Jake!” His eyes widen, his eyebrows furrowed and his bottom jaw becomes slack. You didn’t mean to yell. You didn’t want to yell, at least not as loudly as you did. It just…happened. It was pent up rage, derived from pain and a moment that feels all too familiar, triggering emotions you’ve not allowed yourself to feel.

“I’m sorry, I just–” The tears are now a flood crashing in waves against your red cheeks. You bring your hands, covered by the sleeves of your oversized hoodie, up to your face, concealing and muffling the pain that’s surfaced.

No. You’re not sorry. You shouldn’t be sorry for feeling and expressing what you’re feeling. You’ve done that all your fucking life. He knows that. And he knows how fucking hard this is for you. He doesn’t say anything more, only pulling you in and holding you close, letting you sob into his chest. His scent instantly works to calm you, the scent of last night mixed with leftover hints of his cologne. But feeling his comfort only makes the pain hurt worse. It quickly dawns on you that you won’t have this for much longer, and you pull yourself away from him, wiping your face with your now tear-soaked sleeves. “I don’t want you to take me home,” you snap, your voice cracked and wet from your tears. You can’t avoid eye contact, though it’s not for lack of trying. You just can’t keep yourself from looking into his eyes, those sweet, honey whiskey eyes that drew you in the moment you saw them hiding behind his black frames.

And you’ve seen these eyes before. They’re angry, but they’re a sad angry. Despondent, heavy with heated sorrow. The last time you saw these eyes was in this very room, practically in the very same spot you’re in right now.

The last time you saw them like this served as the beginning for what you have–had–with Jake. Now, they represent the ending.

Those sad, fuming eyes hold yours only a moment longer, then flick downward as he takes a long breath to speak “How do you suppose you’ll be getting home if you don’t want me to take you?” His tone is both quiet and sharp, monotone. And he knows what you’re thinking before you even fully know.

There’s only one person you should turn to right now. And it’s going to piss Jake off. But you don’t care. Not right now.

You choose to not answer his question, knowing that there’s no real point in doing so. The silence laying between you two is broken by the squeaky hinges of his bedroom door when you turn around and open it. You step one foot through the threshold, but there’s one thing stopping you. “I want my book, Jake,” you mutter, your back turned to him as you’re staring down the long hallway. The words almost hurt coming out. They hurt from the tightness in your throat at uttering them, and they hurt because that book that once represented the beginning of so much, feels like it now represents the end all at once.

Poetic. Fucking. Irony. Your entire goddamned life is full of it.

“What book, y/n?”

“Le Morte d’Arthur. I need it back.”

He breathes an elongated sigh when you hear his feet padding towards the bed where the book still sits. You peer over your shoulder, using your peripheral to watch him pick up the book, turning a few of the yellowed pages for a moment before quickly slamming the cover shut. His feet shuffle toward you once more, carefully nudging your elbow with the physical emblem of the last few months of your life. “Here,” he spits, his touch far gentler than his tone that sends a jolt through your spine. “Guess I forgot about it.”

Clearly not, considering that’s where I found everything.

Without a word, you reach your other hand over your body, taking the book from him and letting your feet guide you the fuck out of his room. And where they’re taking you next is what you’re sure will set Jake off indefinitely. Keeping your composure right now is fucking hard. But you have to do it as you’re quickly trudging down the hallway, eyeing the stairs that lead to his room. It’s not until you’re halfway up the steps that you notice Jake at the end of the hall, watching you with hard eyes as you take the last few steps to the loft. You reach Josh’s door first, and for a brief moment, you contemplate knocking on it instead, knowing this choice would avoid upsetting Jake any further.

But you only think about it for a second before you decide to keep walking a few steps further, placing yourself in front of Sam’s closed door. You lift your hand to knock, but you’re hesitant as you remember the conversation you had with Jake about Sam. The one where you promised him nothing had happened with Sam, when he promised you that nothing happened between him and Stacy. The familiar sense of guilt over everything crashes over you. But when you look at the book held tight in your hands, and when you peek over your shoulder to the balcony, seeing that Jake’s body slumped and leaning against the wall, watching your every move, your decision is made.

“S-Sam?” You stutter with a light tap of your fist to the wood, timid and nerves billowing to the surface. A moment passes, and he hasn’t answered the door just yet. Before you choose to knock once more, you look over your shoulder to where Jake was, noticing that he’s no longer there. And it’s then that you hear a loud slam coming from the downstairs hallway.

Sadness weighs in the pit of your tummy at his absence, an absence that you’ll have to start getting used to. You then turn your focus back to Sam’s door, and just as you’re about to knock, the knob begins turning from the other side. He opens it only a little, peeking through the small crack he’s made. His tired eyes widen when they realize it’s you beyond the door.

“Y/n? Hey, what are–”

The look about your face must say more than any words you could utter, because he stops himself from speaking any further, opening the door all the way and inviting you inside. “I just–,” You don’t step in through the open door all the way, only about an inch or so, keeping your bare feet planted on the spot where the hallway meets the carpeted floor of his room. “Do you think you can take me home?” Your voice is shaking far more than you like, and it’s all you can do to keep from crying. His eyebrows scrunch in the middle, so very annoyingly similar to the way Jake’s do, before he reaches over to grab his coat and keys hanging from the hook screwed into the wall. He silently throws his coat over his shoulders, his eyes scanning over your body, trailing down to your exposed feet. His tongue peeks from the corner of his slightly parted lips, though he’s deep in contemplation. Brushing the messy hairs away from his face, his features soften, as though he’s come to the conclusion of whatever he’s thinking. He quickly turns around to go deeper into his room, rummaging through his closet until he finds a pair of white fluffy slippers, donned with a single yellow smiley face on the tops of them.

He walks back toward you, holding the slippers between your bodies as he gets closer. “Too cold to be barefoot,” he says, keeping still until you take the warm footwear from his hands. Setting them on the floor, you slide into them, one foot at a time. They’re much too big for your feet, but they’ll certainly do the job of keeping them warm. “Wanna tell me about it?” He asks as he leads you down the stairs, cupping your elbow should your feet slip out from the oversized slippers. You’re a bit too full of shame to talk about it, though you’re sure he already knows. How could he not be aware of Jake leaving? Certainly he can put two and two together. He notes your silence, opting to keep silent himself as your feet leave the last step. He walks ahead of you to the front door, unlocking it and holding it open for you as you make your way through the living room.

“Thanks,” you mumble as you walk through the front door, not bothering to look back when you take a final step out of the apartment. The air is bitter this morning, biting at the little bits of uncovered skin the moment you’re exposed to it. Your body instantly begins trembling with cold shivers from the elements. The tears that are begging to fall from your eyes will certainly turn to ice sickles the moment they do.

“C’mon,” Sam says, quickly locking the door before coming up behind you and placing his warm hands on your shoulders as you walk to his car. This all feels wrong. It feels so wrong. You’re grateful to Sam, but you’d be kidding yourself if you tried to say you’re glad he’s with you instead of Jake.

In one wrong move, you turn your head back to the apartment, your eyes instantly finding the window to Jake’s room. The blinds are drawn, so you can’t see him. But you know he’s watching. Part of you is glad he is. But the other part of you, the much bigger part, feels like pure shit over it.

Just as you reach Sam’s bright orange VW Bug, his arm extended towards the passenger door, you turn around to face him, stopping him with a grip on his forearm. Those tears that have threatened to fall since you walked outside are now leaking from your ducts as you face Jake’s window.

What you truly want to do is forego this whole thing and run back inside, find Jake’s embrace once more. But, you know better than to act on your impulse. And when you look into Sam’s eyes, you’re reminded of a time when he was the one who showed you the genuinity you were lacking from his brother when you first moved here.

There’s another impulse that’s weighing on you, and this is one you feel is the better option given the circumstances. And as though Sam can read the thoughts running through your mind, he wraps his arms around you, holding you as close to his body as he can. Your sobs are let out into his chest while his lips find the top of your head, a sweet gesture to remind you that you’re safe in doing this. Not that you had any reason to not believe that, but you’ve been worried Sam may never view you the same ever again after everything. So, needless to say, the reassurance is nice, and very much needed. “Let’s get you home,” he mumbles into your hair, thumbs tracing gentle circles at your sides.

Just as you start to pull away, his hand lingers on your back, warm and steady against you. You look up at him, catching a soft, understanding smile that speaks of adoration for you, despite everything. “Thank you, Sam,” you whisper, your tear-soaked voice hardly audible over the morning breeze.

He nods, brushing a few loose hairs that have fallen from his ponytail out of his face as he opens the door for you. As you settle into the passenger's seat, there’s a strange feeling weighing on you – a mix of nostalgia, a sense of relief. Perhaps this is truly where you’re meant to be. At least this morning.

But with a final glance at Jake’s window as the old Bugs engine begins humming, that mixture of complicated feelings turns into one single, heavy emotion; regret.

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Jake’s point of view;

I waited far too long.

I had every intention of telling her—the plan was already in place.

All I needed was to wait for the perfect moment to ask her to come with me. I knew she wouldn’t say yes right away, so I had to take the time to craft the right words, to convey the way her very essence softened my hardened heart.

Goddammit. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of what has transpired with her over the last few months was meant to happen.

But fate would have it otherwise. And I knew mine was sealed when she chose the seat next to mine on the first day of class. I thought I’d never have to see her bewitching face again after I so callously bumped into her in the hallway. But when that very same, beautiful stranger walked in late through the doors of Movack’s lecture hall, I knew I had to take every measure possible to fend off any infatuations that I felt could arise.

But, as though it were predestined, we were paired on a project she was just as passionate about—if not more—than I was.

I suppose I thought the film would be the best way to keep my distance from her while also keeping true to our commitments to the project. I surmised the addition of my family would keep us from having to be alone, having any real conversations to get to know one another.

I didn’t want to get to know her. Not because of her, because of me. I gathered immediately that she was far too wonderful for the likes of me, far too easy to fall for. Her beauty and complexity, the most exquisite and intrusive storm to my hardened heart.

She truly was too good for me… still is; utter perfection encompassed in the ethos of her femininity.

That fact was all but confirmed on that first day of class. When she checked my ego over a question I should’ve known the answer to, I knew I was utterly fucked. Intelligent, full of the wit necessary to challenge me. I was a fucking dick to her from the outset. But I had to keep my own feelings in balance.

Jesus — who the fuck am I kidding?

I didn’t ask her to help with the film to keep her away—I wanted her to play opposite me. I wanted her to play my fucking wife. I wanted the chance to act on the feelings that were already amassed, without the risk of her thinking they were anything more than for the sake of the film.

But Josh fucked it all up for me. The script wasn’t what we agreed on, no matter how much he’s fought me on that fact. His idea to shift the focus on infidelity, specifically her infidelity with fucking Lancelot was unadulterated bullshit. And when I had to watch her share so many scenes with Sam, scenes that should’ve been with me, the fire it ignited under my crawling skin told me that my attempts at keeping my composure about her were failing. Miserably failing.

Stacy was my escape. She had wanted me for years, and I knew she would be the perfect distraction from my growing feelings for Y/n — and from the agony of watching my brother touch her in ways I could only dream of.

But, fate wouldn’t hear of it. It didn’t fucking work. Stacy doesn’t hold a candle to Y/n; she’s nothing more than a flicker next to Y/n’s radiance. Wasting my energy with someone as dull-witted and mindless as Stacy only made me yearn for Y/n all the more.

Y/n’s mystique, her grace, the very aura she strides with…she’s the most captivating woman I’ve ever set my eyes upon. It took only a few weeks to memorize every minute detail of her face. Her sweet nose that crinkles when she laughs, her glittering eyes that hold the weight of a thousand beautiful lifetimes, her eyelashes that are as dark and full as a ravens wings, her crooked smile, succulent lips…she’s more elegant than any painting the most adept artist could ever render. As though her outward beauty wasn’t enough to lure me in, her endearing southern accent, the one that instantly told me she was miles away from her birthplace, charmed me even further.

I hadn’t found a single reason to stay here, a reason that made London feel like a poor decision until she infiltrated my existence, when her earthy, vanilla aroma inundated me with lust and desire.

And though she tried to hide it, I could tell she was looking at me with the very same eyes I saw her through.

The only thing I could do at that point was push her away, and keep pushing her until she despised her every thought of me. I couldn’t risk what I was afraid it could turn into.

It felt like knives tore through the inside of my throat when I said some of the most revolting words I could think of to her in class. I felt like the biggest piece of shit when her incredible eyes became glassed over with tears, when her round, rose lips downturned at what I had said…and I didn’t mean any of it. Not a single word of it. She didn’t deserve to hear such horrid things.

I fucking hurt her. And that was what my thoughtless self wanted.

I wanted it so I wouldn’t get attached, so she wouldn’t get attached. I’ve needed to get out of this fucking city–this goddamn country–since nearly every person I’ve ever loved died in the places I’ve called home. Other than my brothers, there’s been nothing to keep me here after my time at the U of M is up. And I swore there’d be no way in fucking hell I’d let some girl change that.

But what my imprudent ass couldn’t accept was that Y/n has never been just some girl. I’ve always known it, and I’ve been utterly terrified by it since I let myself watch her—observe her. All it took was one class period for the horror to sink in that she is different from any other woman I’ve ever beheld. She even surmounts every woman in fucking literature.

She’s magic.

And she’s broken me. She’s torn down every wall I’ve built since the death of my parents, then proceeded to destroy the ones that came up after I lost my grandparents. No one that isn’t my own twin brother has been able to see me the way she does.

I mean, Christ, I played guitar for her. Only her. I practically gave her my vulnerability, placed it in the palm of her open hand and closed her delicate fingers over it. I’ve shown her parts of myself, piece by tiny fucking piece, that a mere handful of people have borne witness to.

I assumed she’d be like every other girl I’d known, but the moment I held her for the first time, I realized just how profoundly wrong I was. From the first touch, the first taste, the first time I fucked her...

I can’t explain what she does to me, or how she does it. But she brings forth an animalistic side of myself, engulfed with pure desire for everything that she is.

I knew she was beautiful from the moment I laid my eyes on her, but when I discovered what she was hiding beneath her oversized attire, I felt longing anew. It was a cruel irony for Josh to make my room her dressing quarters. If I knew my brother at all — which I do, better than anyone — the little shit did that on purpose.

He knew of the risks. I knew them — what might happen if I were to open my bedroom door. And it did happen — the day she was trying on her costumes, and though I knew what I’d possibly be walking in on… I wasn’t the least bit prepared for the sight my eyes would behold.

As if Josh hadn’t fucked me over enough with the entire ordeal, he added to my misery by choosing costumes for her that only served to enhance her allure that already held me captive.

That black lace number she was in when I opened my door left my knees weak — my face, numb. I could see every outline of her form, every beautiful part of herself that she’d hidden in my short time of knowing her. The buds of her perfectly shaped breasts were peeking through the embroidered netting, the curve of her exquisite ass was just visible beyond the exaggerated slit of the gown. And her skin, glowing in the dim light, freckled and pristine.

I stood completely still — in awe of her. I wanted to fall to her feet at that very moment, and I suppose I would’ve if it wasn’t for Natalia. I knew it was wrong to stare at her, but no living mortal would’ve been able to avert their eyes from such an ethereal vision.

How fitting that she wore that very gown when I at last got to feel her, glide my tongue over every goddamn inch of her sweet skin, mark her so my brother knew who she really wanted…

I’ll surely never forget the way she melted under my touch that night, the way her skin became littered with goosebumps in the wake of my fingers. And when I discovered her little secret, the sexy scarlet colored ink beneath her breast, it left me stunned at first. Yet somehow, it didn't entirely surprise me. It suits her enchantment, her mystery. And it’s enormously tantalizing.

I simply became intoxicated by her. I needed more, and my futile attempts at withholding my true desires, of delving headfirst into something I knew I’d never be capable of coming back from, would inevitably fail.

Fuck. She made it so difficult. And it didn’t help when I realized how badly she needed it as well. How could I continue to deny her any further when I myself could no longer resist what we both wanted?

I chose to tread slowly, to take the time to learn her body and the ways in which she longs to be pleasured. I knew she was losing patience with me, but I had to wait until the perfect occasion.

I nearly gave in the night she wrapped her gorgeous, velvet mouth around my cock as I drove. I discovered the limitless desires she had been harboring, giving me all she had, keeping her promise of taking care of herself to the thought of me.

The birthday party felt like the opportune time to at last allow ourselves a true taste of one another, but when I discovered her little lie about the tattoo, my adoration for her burst out of my body like ten foot waves slamming against the oceanside.

I was angry. But more than that, more than anything, I just wanted her. And I didn’t want to give her a single reason more that she should find herself choosing the affections of Sam over me.

Fucking her for the first time… nothing in the world could come remotely close to the feeling. And when she’d told me she wished I’d do it — wished I’d fuck her — my heart had catapulted to a place it had never ventured before. Knowing she wanted it so badly… there had been no stopping that shit.

The feeling of her body… No other woman could ever compare — will ever compare. No matter where I venture in the world, there will never be another like her. She's the everlasting dream. My dream.

Every curve of her body — each time her gorgeous cunt would clench around my dick, her falling apart so gloriously at my touch… I found myself transcending space and time as I knew it.

That night was the one of the most glorious experiences I’ve yet to share with another living being, second only to last night.

And when I had her in the library…

Jesus Christ. I just need her. In every way that I possibly can.

And I hate how much I fucking need her. This is a new realm for me. I’ve always been my own unit, seeking the company of others only when it felt necessary. I’ve never known someone who could turn my lonely world upside down and inside out in the ways she has.

But it wasn’t until Natalia confirmed my fears that Y/n hadn’t been taking proper care of herself that I truly realized the possible breadth of my care for her. Something wholly new to me.

I felt the longing threads of my heart rip to tattered shreds. How could a woman of her magnitudinous beauty be so blind to it? How could she ever doubt the effect she has on unsuspecting souls by simply gracing a room with her charm? It shattered me inexplicably when I learned of the way she views herself. And that—that was when I truly realized the depths of my affections for her.

God, the depths… like that of the ocean.

I then sought out ways in which to help her, and the one thing I was certain would bring her peace was having her lend me a hand in preparing a home cooked meal. I had to suppress the rising flood of tears when I watched her eat it, seeming to have no more doubts in her mind as she did so. I saw the very same thing at The Whitney; Not a single burden behind her eyes as she nurtured her beautiful body.

God. She’s evoked feelings from me that I never thought could be mine to feel.

But I just can’t stay here. I can’t bear it any longer, and she has to understand that. It’s what she did herself when she chose to move here, to say a final farewell to the town that bore her own pain.

It isn’t her damn job to have to carry my pain, though. By every measure, I’m a failure. In the truest sense of the word.

I fell for her when I swore to myself I wouldn’t allow for it. I’ve hurt her repeatedly with my pure bullshit. The worthless tries at denying my heart.

And I’ve hurt her yet again by dragging my feet, letting her find out in the most careless of ways by leaving the evidence in her fucking book. And in turn, I’ve hurt my own goddamn self.

God knows how hard I tried to talk to her this morning, but she had already decided to hell with me. I can’t reproach her for it. I just wish she’d listen to me, I need her to hear me. There’s no reason she wouldn’t be accepted to Oxford. Fuck — her mind, so wondrous and brilliant. I want her there with me. I’ve suddenly found myself unable to take this trek across the sea without her. But I fear my time to present that to her is nearly up.

And it’s all my fault. Every bit of it.

But this morning… she had wanted to twist the metaphoric dagger in my already bleeding chest.

She’d gone to Sam. Immediately. As soon as I’d betrayed her trust, she’d gone to Sam. She could’ve at least asked Josh to take her home, though her and I both knew that Sam was the more obvious choice. The choice she knew would hurt me as much as I had hurt her.

But what she doesn’t know is how much I’m already fucking hurting. By my own hand, no less. I never intended for this, and yet, here I am, feeling things I’ve yet to allow myself to feel over a woman, a woman that walked into my life only months ago.

And now, thanks to me, she’s being held in the arms of my younger brother, shedding her tears into his chest right outside of my bedroom window.

Is she wearing his fucking slippers? Jesus Christ.

I could wring his goddamn neck for this. It’s not his fucking place. His bed wasn’t where she laid last night. His body wasn’t the one taking care of hers.

Though, I suppose I can’t fault him–I wouldn’t be able to gather the strength to turn her away, either. Not ever again, if the truth should be told.

I just…I’ve wanted so much more with her than this. So much more. But I must now accept the chance that I’ve fucked it all up. Perhaps I fucked it up from the very start; The fact that she ever wanted anything to do with me after the way I treated her is a remarkable wonder.

My nerves are engulfed in flames as I have to witness her getting into Sam’s car now. Him, shutting the door behind her, racing around to the driver's side so she’s not alone for too long, wiping the last of her tears with the cuff of her sleeve.

Tears that I fucking caused.

I’ve been through immense pain in my life, the kind of pain that feels like shards of glass slicing at my skin at the reminder. But this kind of pain, watching him drive her away because she couldn’t bear the thought of me doing it, it’s brand new to me.

I’m crossing over into untouched realms of misery, of torment.

I can’t let things with her end in this way. I won’t stand for it. As much as I wasn’t prepared for this to begin with her in the way it did, I’m not equipped to accept it ending like this.

I cannot leave for London knowing I was never given the chance to properly fight for her.

But if she won’t listen to me, I fear the choice will no longer be mine to make.

End of Jake’s point of view.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” you say, glancing around the car’s interior, charmed by its retro vibe. “What year is this Bug?”

He chuckles, giving the dashboard a little pat. “’66,” he replies proudly. “Picked her up a few years ago and been keeping her going ever since.”

“Of course you did,” you say with a grin. “Somehow it’s just… so you.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “One thing about me: I’ll always pick the quirkiest option.” And quirkiest or not, you have to admit, there’s something reassuring about the old car – a little bubble of nostalgia that somehow makes the morning feel a bit lighter.

“Wanna make a coffee run before you go home?” Sam questions, turning his face slightly toward you, his mustache curled at both ends, his lips tucked into a graceful grin as his fingers tap at the steering wheel. His voice, soft and tender, is enough to make your heart swell amidst the chaos that has been this morning.

One thing about Sam, he definitely knows coffee is the way to your heart, and while it can’t fix the broken pieces, it can certainly make it feel a little better.

“That sounds delightful, actually,” you say with a breath of relief over the promise of a little caffeine.

“Ah, good. Been to Hyperion yet?”

His attempts at making sure this morning feels as normal and not tense as possible are actually doing you some good, though you can’t help but feel a bit…weird about it.

It feels almost wrong to be doing this. Going to Sam when Jake’s upset you, getting coffee with him when you should be doing that with Jake. (When you want to be doing that with Jake.)

But, you must admit that Sam is raising your spirits, at least a little bit. And who are you to turn down a coffee in any case?

“Sure haven’t,” you say, bringing your legs up to the seat and criss-crossing them for a bit more comfort. “Any good?”

“Oh, yes. It’ll change your life,” he says as he flips his blinker to turn left at the stoplight in front of the U of M. Looking ahead, just down the street a ways, you see an old brick building with the Hyperion Coffee Co printed in black on a white background.

“I can’t believe I’ve never come here with how close it is to school and work,” you comment, trying to keep conversation, and just genuinely in shock that you’ve never even heard of this place. If it’s as life changing as Sam claims, this may become a new spot for you. Something different, a change of scenery. (And something in this town that doesn’t make you think of Jake. Even better.)

It looks nice enough from the outside. Quaint and charming. Enough to get your mind off of things, at least for a moment.

“You can stay out here if you’d like. I’ll keep the heat on for ya.” He turns the knob to crank up the temperature just a few more degrees when he notices your body shiver. “The usual?” He asks as he unbuckles his seatbelt and begins opening the door.

The usual. You seemed to have forgotten that Sam cared enough to memorize your coffee order. Though it’s not the most complicated, it’s still so sweet that he thinks enough of you to remember that. Something seemingly so insignificant means an awful lot to you.

Does Jake even know that? Does he care enough to know? Of course he does…right? It doesn’t matter, truly. He did so much for you last night, more than anyone ever has. But, if he’s leaving, does he really care? You shake your head, as if you physically rid yourself of the thought.

Coming back to your senses, you notice Sam patiently awaiting a response from you, his generous charisma as strong as ever.

Coffee, y/n. Tell him what coffee you want.

“I – I think I’ll do something warm this time,” you stutter, realizing he’s probably wondering why it’s taking you so long to answer. “A steamed latte with vanilla sounds perfect.”

He then steps all the way out of the car, winking at you with a kind smile and a nod. “You got it.” He shuts the car door behind him and scurries his way inside, looking back once more before he walks through the door.

A long, exhausted sigh leaves your lips as you relax your body against the cool leather. You let your eyelids shut for just a moment, resting your eyes and your head. But, the moment is cut even shorter than you planned when you feel your phone vibrating in the front pocket of your crossbody.

There’s no need in seeing who it is. You already know. And you’re not going to answer it. After the fourth ring, it stops altogether and you close your eyes once more, awaiting the heated comfort that Sam will bring you soon.

But then, it begins vibrating again, forcing your eyes to jolt open.

No. Just let it ring.

Just the same, it ends on the fourth ring. And you hope that by now he’s gotten the hint that you’re in no place to speak with him. Not right now. Not yet.

Before you can rest your eyes just a little more, you notice Sam using his ass to open the glass door of the coffee shop, a drink in each hand and his shoulder pressed against his ear, holding his phone. He’s basically putting on a juggling act trying to get the car door open with his hands full, so you lean over the center console to open it for him.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” you hear him say to whomever he’s speaking to on the phone, and you sense a bit of annoyance in his tone. But you don’t even think twice about that or his words as he hands you your coffee, too ready to indulge in the warm liquid that you know will take away some of the hurt laying on your soul.

But as you take your first sip, and as Sam positions himself in the driver's seat, his next words certainly grab your attention. “Well, that’s not what she wanted to do, Jake. She asked me to take her, why the fuck would I say no?”

You nearly spit the coffee out of your mouth when it hits you; he’s talking to Jake. And they aren’t just talking, they’re arguing. Over you.

Sam’s desperately trying to speak, but the yelling on the other end of the phone is relentless. You can’t even tell what he’s saying, but you know he isn’t happy. His sheer volume of speech confirms that. And you’re not surprised, given the way you left his room, going to Sam when he’s been a touchy topic with you and Jake.

Yeah, you feel a little bad. Only because you know he’s hurt by your actions this morning. But you’re fucking hurt, too. And the choice to separate yourself from him was made the moment you discovered he’s leaving the goddamn country and didn’t think to tell you.

“I – Jake, it’s not –,” Sam attempts, though his voice is drowned out by the yelling on the other end that you’re still unable to make sense of. “Would you please let me —,” he continues, uselessly. His palm meets his forehead, rubbing away the irritation as he holds his phone away from his ear, letting Jake’s words hang in thin air. And with his phone held away from his ear, you’re able to hear Jake a bit more clear.

“I know what you’re fucking doing, and I’m not okay with it. She’s not yours to take care of! I’m gonna make you regret this, Sam. I know what your intentions are with y/n – “

Sam’s eyes nervously flick to you when he realizes you can hear everything Jake’s saying, and before you can hear anything else, he quickly brings the phone back up to his ear, quickly clicking the volume button down with his index finger.

“I’m hanging up, brother. Need to focus on the road.”

Sam just spoke over the muffled yelling completely before taking his phone from his ear and using his index finger to end the call, tossing it in the back seat so it’s completely out of sight.

“Guess we really ruffled his feathers, huh?” He jokes, turning the key to start the ignition. It stalls for a moment, having a hard time turning over. But with one more turn of the key, the engine hums a low vibration.

You’re silent as he pulls out of the lot, thinking about, well, everything.

What the fuck has this morning been? First, you wake up next to Jake, thinking that most of your days from here on out will begin the very same way. He makes breakfast and brings it to his room for the two of you to enjoy, something so domestic and charming.

Then, it all falls apart, seemingly as quickly as it was put together.

And now, you’re essentially back where you started months ago; with Sam, all for the purpose of making Jake jealous. Only this time, there’s more at stake. A fresh wound festered with the reality of what almost was, what you wanted. What you thought he wanted, too.

Maybe he does want something with you. But he obviously isn’t that invested in you if he’s not been honest this entire time.

What he was saying before Sam held the phone back up to his ear and lowered the volume, about knowing his intentions with you that have Jake very upset…

Perhaps Sam wants to be with you in the ways Jake just doesn’t. Maybe you’ve been wasting your time with someone who can’t commit to you while there’s someone very close by who can give you everything you’ve been looking for. Someone who’s been there all along, just waiting for Jake‘s inevitable storm that would make you realize that.

There’s only one fucking problem – you don’t want Sam the way you want Jake. That’s just a simple fact you’ve had to come to terms with. Sam is so undeniably special, but your mantra since you’ve met the two of them is still very relevant right now; Sam isn’t Jake.

But as it stands, you do feel something for Sam that is far beyond friends-only. And the fact that he hasn’t given up on you, even after you hardcore ghosted him and used him to get to his brother just may be the indicator you need.

He may not be Jake. But he is Sam. And Sam is everything kind and gentle in this world, bottled up in one beautiful person.

But Jake…

The way Jake makes you feel is completely different. No one has made you feel the way he does. He makes you feel beautiful, desirable. He makes you feel sexy, when that’s something you’ve never once felt about yourself.

But more importantly, Jake makes you feel safe. And during this upheaved phase of your life, when everything feels different and scary, safety is what you crave. It’s what you need. He gives you hope, he gives you meaning. Healing only feels possible with him. Maybe that’s why you’ve relapsed so hard since moving here. Aside from the trigger of the many life changes, you got so bad because he needed to see your pain to help you move through it.

Last night felt like the first time in your life that you felt like a whole person. Someone who is worthy of love, of being loved. The worries about eating all but vanished, and as you looked at him sitting across the table from you, you finally saw a future in which you were healed and happy.

That’s probably why this morning has felt so heavy. It seemed like just as your heart became filled with hope, it was ripped away from you at an unprecedented speed.

Aside from all of that, you’re also afraid that you’ve destroyed a brotherly bond, simply by needing them both in different ways. You led Sam on, then pursued Jake, and now you’re back to Sam. And Jake hates him now because of it.

The very last thing you want is to get in the way of the relationship between brothers. Brothers who live together, work together, have been through so much loss together. You can’t let yourself be the reason they hate each other, after an entire lifetime of leaning on each other. It’s selfish of you.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I feel like I’m the reason he’s so upset with you,” you carefully utter, finally finding the courage to say something to him. Because, the truth is, it is your fault that he was screamed at by Jake. This very realization is causing fresh tears to form in your ducts, because who the fuck are you to ruin their relationship? All because you can’t deny your feelings for both of them? As soon as something goes awry with Jake, you’re right back to seeking comfort from Sam. And that is not okay. You know it’s not.

And that’s why you feel like the worst kind of person right now.

But you don’t want him to see you cry again. And you certainly don’t want to have to explain why you’re crying, because admitting what you’ve done outloud isn’t something you’re ready for. So, with the help of another sip of your coffee, you’re able to keep the tears at bay.

“Ah, just a quarrel between brothers. Definitely not out of the ordinary for us,” Sam says, entirely unaware of the vast emotions you’re feeling, a sweet grin on his lips as he takes the final turn down the street your apartment rests on. “Nothing you should be sorry for. I promise it happens more often than you’d think.” He chuckles at this, and whips the Bug into the parking lot of your complex.

He’s obviously ignoring what he knows you heard, but you're okay with that. A conversation about that feels a bit too much right now.

“Thank you for bringing me home,” you say as he shifts the gear in park, letting the door unlock for you. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he says, his sweet eyes meeting yours, his gaze lingering for a moment. “Need me to walk you up?” He asks with a gentle smile that’s tugging on every string attached to your heart.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” you respond as you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door.

“Just thought I’d offer,” he says, still smiling as he watches you step out of the Bug. “Take care of yourself, and text me if you need me. I’ll see you later, okay?”

With a wave and a confirming nod, you shut the car door and watch him pull away.

As you head up the steel stairs to the second floor, a memory begins filling your melancholy thoughts. One that was triggered by something Sam had said before you got out of the car.

It’s a memory from the night your mom ended up in the hospital, and Jake stood by your side through it all. Even stayed in your apartment with you so you wouldn’t be alone, opening up to you about incredibly personal things when you couldn’t sleep.

“You know, it’s pretty late. And it’s a long drive back to my place,” he had said as he parked his Rover in complete silence, probably sensing your reservations about spending the night alone after what had just happened. “I could stay here, sleep on the couch. That way you’d have someone to take you tomorrow morning.”

You were utterly shocked by his offer, and you wanted it more than anything else in that moment. You needed him there. And though he tried to play it off by mentioning how far of a drive he had, it was very clear that he proposed the idea because he knew you needed him.

“Jake I – I can’t ask you to –”

“You’re not asking if I’m offering.”

He wasn’t going to leave you. No matter what. And he was right; you never asked him, you didn’t have to – he wanted to stay. And he knew how badly you needed his company.

He just got it. He understood the position you were in, and he understood your need for his presence, even before you understood what you needed yourself.

He’s made you feel safe from the very beginning. Even when you fought it.

And now, as you’re walking inside the quiet apartment, your mom still fast asleep, you’re wishing you could relive that night all over again. Terrible as it was, you had him to make you feel better.

The sadness you’re feeling is almost comparable to the heavy emotions of that night, but at least you had him to give you some peace then, even in the rocky beginnings of the two of you.

You don’t have that now.

And the reality is, you may never have it again.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The daisies sitting in the vase on your dresser are making a mockery of you as you enter your bedroom. As are the ones sitting on the nightstand next to your bed. One bouquet from Jake, one from Sam. And next to the one from Sam is the photo of you and Nat that she gifted you for your birthday, the photo Jake took.

Fitting. Disgustingly.

You toss your bag on the floor, not ready to take out its contents just yet. A tiny grin graces your lips as you kick off your footwear, the smiley face slippers Sam insisted you borrow for the journey home.

The only thing you can think to do, the only thing you want to do, is take a fucking shower. Wash it all away. Let the night before flow down the drain, along with everything else you’re currently feeling.

But before you can do that, the apartment needs tending to. Conveniently, the living room is a fucking mess. Not at all how you left it last night. Your mom certainly seemed to have no problem making the mess, but she’ll find every excuse possible that would explain why she couldn’t clean it.

It’s frustrating for several reasons. But the biggest one that’s rattling your already shot nerves is the fact that the apartment was spotless last night. And now, thanks to whatever compelled her to ruin all your hard work, it needs to be cleaned. Again.

You can’t shower in peace knowing the place looks this way. So, you’ll clean it first.

At least it’ll be a good distraction from everything. A good way to occupy your mind from the disaster that has been this morning. Everything you’re feeling is far too similar to the things you felt the day your dad left. Eerily similar. Like you’re not worth staying around for, and that’s been proven twice now.

Walking back to the living room, the first thing that catches your eye is the pile of dirty plates sitting on the floor, and the half-full cups of water on the coffee table. And that very coffee table, covered in crumbs from last night's meal. You brush them all off on the floor before picking up the dishes that have been left there, sitting them in the sink to worry about later.

Right now, it’s imperative that you vacuum. Those crumbs from the coffee table that are now embedded in the carpet will be the only thing you can think about until they're gone. And the couch – it’s just as covered in food remnants as the coffee table was. You brush them off on the floor, too, so their fate will be at the discretion of the vacuum’s nozzle.

You grab the vacuum from the coat closet, its cord tangled and twisted, much like the contents of your mind at the moment. As you try to unravel it, it only knots further, becoming a mess in your hands. You can only get a small amount of the cord free from the rest, and that’s all the lead you have to work with as you just decide to give up and plug the damn thing in.

The low hum of the vacuum fills your head with white noise, an intrusion you hoped would drown out the thoughts swirling in your head about everything. But, it doesn’t work. They’re still there, tormenting you as you clean up your moms mess for the thousandth time.

You focus on the crumbs disappearing into the nozzle, wishing you could suck away the thoughts, too. The daisies. The photo. Sam. Jake. The weight of it all presses down, heavier than the vacuum in your hands.

The couch cushions are next. You flip one over, finding a stain you hadn’t noticed before – a dark blotch that looks like spilled wine, or maybe coffee. You can’t be sure. It’s just another mark, another imperfection in your life that you’ll be forced to live with. One that you have no answers to the questions you have about it.

When you finish, the living room is as clean as it was last night. But somehow, it’s not making you feel any better. Like the mess was the only thing keeping you from the reality you can’t escape.

You set the vacuum back in the closet and head for the bathroom to finally rid yourself of any lingering piece from last night. The biggest thing – Jake’s smell is all over you. His sandalwood aroma, covering your body, your hair. You smell just like him, like his room.

And it really fucking sucks. You can’t stand it any longer, it’s too goddamn painful.

The shower is scalding, but you don’t care. It feels good. You stand under the spray, letting the hot water batter your skin until it’s red.

The water dripping down your chest reminds you of what still hangs around your neck; the sword necklace Jake gave you last night. The one that matches his. The sword, a symbol for so much. You grab the sword, clutching it tightly as you prepare to yank it off, break the silver chain in a hundred little pieces to flow down the drain with the water.

But, you don’t.

You let go of it, leaving it dangling between your breasts as the warm water continues to cascade down your body.

You close your eyes and imagine it washing everything away – the mess, the memories, the ache. But when you step out, dripping and shivering, you realize it hasn’t.

It never does.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

It’s not like Jake to miss class. For any reason, truthfully.

So, it certainly caught you by surprise when you arrived at Movack's class and saw an empty seat next to yours.

Class began over five minutes ago now, and he’s still not here. It’s pretty safe to assume he won’t be coming today. And though that should give you some relief that you won’t have to sit in the inevitable awkwardness for the duration of class, you can’t help but feel a little sad about it.

Regardless, at least you’ll be able to focus on school today. Not him. Perhaps his absence is a good thing after all. And, it’ll truly make things a bit easier for you in this class in particular. Movack made an announcement online that you’ll be working with your partners today on an in-class assignment.

It may be for the best that he isn’t here. Of course, it’ll leave you without a partner. But, you’re certain it’s nothing you can’t manage on your own.

“As you all know, today you will work with your respective partners on analysis,” Movack says, finally wrapping up his usual long-winded announcements he makes at the beginning of every class. “I’d like you to analyze the psychological dynamics of characters within the lore.”

Solo it is. And you’re actually okay with that.

“Ms. Y/n,” Movack says, causing you to jolt anxiously in your seat. “Mr. Kiszka informed me before class that he will be a few minutes late and wanted me to make you aware.”

Goddamnit.

Also, why couldn't he tell you that himself?

“O-okay,” you stutter, timidly as you notice everyone in the room glaring at you, Dr. Movack patiently awaiting your response. “Um, thanks for letting me know.”

You’re trying to not take it too personally that he felt the need to have the professor of the damn class tell you he’ll be late. But it isn’t working. In fact, it’s kind of making your blood heat to a near boil at the thought of it. And, him coming to class means you’ll have to interact with him. You’re not ready for that yet. Part of you thought he may avoid class because of that.

But, no. Of course not. This man never skips class. No matter fucking what. He’s also never late, though. And you can’t help but wonder why he’s late today. Not that it’s your business anymore. Or, was it ever really your business?

Just as Dr. Movack is beginning to give you all the details of the assignment, Jake comes through the lecture hall doors. Their squeaking hinges echo throughout the acoustics of the room, the heels of his boots click against the hard surface of the floor as he waltzes in. He’s in no hurry, of course. His walk is a saunter, no sense of urgency in his stride as he makes his way up the steps to his seat.

You try not to observe him too closely, your heart hammering in your chest. It is stupid how one quick, simple glance of the man has your body temperature increasing.

“Welcome to class, Mr. Kiszka,” Dr. Movack says, greeting him with a kind smile. (And all you can think about is your first day of class, when you were late and treated the exact opposite of Mr. Kiszka.)

Jake nods his head in response, taking his final steps until he’s right next to you. And, naturally, ignoring your existence. Not that you expected any less. You aren’t exactly pleased to see him, either.

He sits down with a deep and heavy sigh, glancing at you briefly before looking away just as quickly as his eyes found you. The scowl on his face is rather prominent, his lips pursed and unmoving. You want so badly to say something. But, what? No words feel appropriate, yet you can’t handle this screaming silence sitting in the tiny space between you two.

(This really does feel like the beginning of the semester all over a – fucking – gain.)

You’re angry as fuck with him right now. For reasons on a continually growing list. But all you can think about right now is how fucking good he smells. The scent that’s carried you through so much, the one you’ve found yourself covered in after being entangled within his bedsheets. It’s so close, yet feels further away than ever.

And he looks nice. So very handsome. Salt to the still very much opened and bleeding wound. Your cheeks flush as you eye his chest through the partially open button down.

“As I stated, you will be performing an analysis on characters and their dynamics. This is to bring us back to the root of the lore, while also preparing you for your presentations that are set to begin next week,” Movack continues, his voice now like a distant muttering to you as you’re suddenly finding it hard to focus any further with the addition of the presence to the left of you. “This assignment will be interdisciplinary – I want you to think about the infamous love triangle and how that affects Arthur’s dedication to the court.”

If it were ever possible for a person's heart to completely stop while they’re still living and breathing, right now would be that instance. You know you had a very physical reaction to the premise of the assignment, your body noticeably tensing and the gasp of air that you couldn’t hold in even if you tried.

You didn’t know what exactly to expect with this analysis, but it certainly wasn’t that.

Given Jake’s sudden change in posture that you can see from your peripheral, you’d say he’s feeling roughly the same as you. It’s too ironic. Uncomfortably ironic.

Movack’s had all semester for this. And he picks now to have the class work on it?

Not the fucking time for this, Movack.

“With your partners, I’d like you to discuss this in as much depth as our time restrictions of the class will allow,” he proceeds, as your heart simultaneously feels like it’s going to stop beating, yet rattling the bones in your body with its nervous pounding all at once. “Take notes, detailed notes, and turn them into me at the end of class. You may begin.”

You can practically taste the bile forming at the back of your throat. What the fuck kind assignment is this? God, you wish Jake would’ve just skipped the damn class. You wish you would’ve skipped. Hell, you have it in your right mind to hop out of your seat and sprint your way out of here. Take the F for the day. At this point, you couldn’t give a shit about your grade.

As if things weren’t awkward enough, this will certainly hit the nail on the head.

Neither one of you has said a word – you aren’t even looking at each other. How do you even begin this conversation? How do you pretend that things are normal, just for the sake of this class?

You hear the evidence that everyone else has begun their analyses, talking in depth with their partners while you and Jake have yet to speak to each other. Movack has definitely noticed that you two have yet to start. That much is clear in the way his eyes are piercing the two of you.

And, to make it worse, here he comes. Walking toward you, his arms crossed tightly over his beige sweater vest. His square frames are placed right on the bridge of his nose, his eyes peering above them in agitation as he positions himself before you and Jake. “Is there a problem?” He demands, his salt and pepper eyebrows raised as he impatiently awaits an answer from either one of you.

You and Jake look at each other at the same time, the first time you’ve looked into his eyes since you left his room the other morning. When you left him to seek the comfort of Sam.

And you can see it. Feel it. The very same pain you saw in his orbs that morning. They look the exact same. Only heavier, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than before. You begin to wonder if he’s been sleeping, because it certainly doesn’t appear that way. It can’t be because of you, right? Surely you’ve not hurt him that badly. He’s the one leaving. So, he can only be so hurt by his own doing.

But, still. He looks defeated. And it’s making your heart ache, even though you know it shouldn’t.

“A-hem!”

You both snap your heads back to Movack, who looks far more irritated now than he did before.

“Is there a reason you two aren’t participating? I’d hate to give you two failing grades for today, but that doesn’t mean I won’t –,”

“No, no,” Jake interjects, finally. “Sorry, we’ll get started right away.”

Movack hums as he nods his head, pushing his frames up to his eyes before he slowly turns to walk down the steps. He’s still looking, peering at you and Jake over his shoulder before he makes it to his wooden desk at the front of the class.

“Guess we better at least look like we’re doing something,” Jake mutters, begrudgingly turning the upper half of his body so that he’s now facing you.

You force yourself to do the same, knowing it’ll at least get Movack off your back. But, at the cost, that almost seems like the better option. Now that you’re facing him, looking at him again, it’s almost too much to bear as his downturned eyes are looking into yours once again.

But after noticing the heaviness in his eyes, the next thing you notice is just as devastating.

He’s wearing the sword necklace around his neck, dangling beneath his coins against his off-white button up. Hanging beautifully between his exquisite pectoral muscles. It’s odd that he's wearing it, given it’s identical to the one he gave you.

And what’s even more weird — you’re wearing yours, too. Only, yours is tucked into your sweater, hidden beneath the heavy black knitting. Out of sight, yet still close to you.

The fact is, you’re both wearing them. But he has the nerve to wear his in plain sight. And you immediately wonder if it’s to elicit something from you, perhaps a reminder of the fact that you’ve chosen to cut things off.

And that pisses you off.

“Well, we still need to have something to turn in at the end of class,” you start, your throat constricting at the first words you’ve spoken to him since that morning. Not the words you had envisioned, but here they are. All about fucking class so you don’t say what’s really on your mind. “So, don’t you think we probably need to actually do something instead of just looking like it.”

That came out much more harsh than you truly intended. But, you are right. His idea of just pretending isn’t going to cut it. He knows that, too.

His eyes grow wide, his jaw clenching. He brings his hand up to his chin, his finger vigorously rubbing at the skin.

“Kay,” he snarks, sharply. “Why don’t you get started then, y/n? Tell me the impacts that Guiniverre’s love affair had on the King.” He reaches behind him to his book satchel, rips a piece of paper out of his notebook and grabs the pen sitting in the front pocket of his off white button up. “Tell me how bad it hurt the King to see his beloved with someone else.”

Beloved?

He begins aggressively clicking his pen over and over, the sound of it overstimulating the fuck out of you.

Hell no.

“Let’s first discuss the treatment of the Queen,” you start, feeling every ounce of blood in your body reach your cheeks, your heart palpitating in your chest. “And how Lancelot treated her the way she deserved to be treated from day one, and didn’t lie to her like the selfish King did.”

Oh god.

You didn’t want to say it. But Jesus, the words just kept coming. Spilling out of you like a soda bottle that had been shaken too much.

You regret it. Instantly.

Jake just stares at you for a moment, blankly. You’re waiting for some sort of comeback, but he’s silent. Then, to make it worse, he starts etching everything you’ve just said on the paper. Everything.

“Jake. Jake, stop.” You try reaching across the table to cup his hand, but he quickly pulls away from you, ripping the paper with the point of his pen as he does so.

“What else would you like to say, y/n?” His voice is steady, yet charged and heavy. The weight of his glare is keeping you locked in, your body tense and unable to move. He lets the silence linger for a moment before leaning forward towards you, his tone sharpening further as he speaks. “I’m sure you’ve got more to add.”

The room suddenly feels smaller, empty. Like everyone else in the class has suddenly disappeared, leaving only you and Jake.

He glances at the paper in front of him, staring at the half-written words – your words. “Perhaps,” he says, his voice dipping low before rising with deliberate intensity. “You’d like to elaborate on how the King reminded her she’s a queen – by showing her exactly how indispensable she is to him.”

“Indispensable?” You echo, leaning closer to him, mirroring his body language with defiance. Your voice is sharp, cutting through the thick tension between you. “If that’s so, then perhaps we should discuss how he still wanted to leave her!”

His nostrils flare, his fingers tightening around the pen in his hand until you’re sure it’s about to break in two.

“Perhaps,” he snaps, his voice loud enough to make heads turn. “We should discuss how he bared his heart to her, and it still didn’t stop her from running to fucking Lancelot instead of letting the King explain himse –,”

“Jacob and Y/n!” Dr. Movack’s slices through the room, cutting Jake off from the remainder of his rant about the fictional characters, the rant that you know wasn’t just about them.

You hadn’t even realized how loud the two of you had gotten. Your heart pounds as the Movack’s words pull you back to reality. All at once, you’re acutely aware of the dozens of eyes on you, of the collective silence in the room. It’s like you’d both forgotten where you were, that this wasn’t some private, messy argument but the middle of class. And yet, none of that had mattered – until now.

“Class is dismissed early. Place your notes on my desk, and I’ll see you on Wednesday.” Your classmates begin unzipping and zipping their bags, closing their notebooks, shutting their laptops. “Jake and y/n, I’d like you to stay after class for a moment.”

Shit.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔

“This is the second time you two have disrupted my class.” Dr. Movack stands from his desk chair, walking around to the front to lean against the old wood bureau where you and Jake are both awkwardly standing. “I’m not blind to the fact that something is going on between you. I’ve noticed it all semester.”

He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, placing the frames on the desk. “You two are the best students in this class. Well, the best students I’ve had in years, actually. I don’t want to see you two fall short in your studies because of something that’s happening outside of this classroom.”

The both of you are dead silent. You can’t speak for Jake, but you feel like you could come unglued at any given second.

“Listen, whatever it is – and let me clarify, I don’t need to know, nor do I want to know – keep it out of this classroom. Let it go before you walk through those doors.” He looks to the large doors that lead out to the hallway, pointing to them. “Because if I hear one more display like I heard today, I won’t have a choice but to kick you both out of this class.”

Here it is. That heartstopping sensation you felt earlier, and that involuntary gasp that apparently comes with it.

“With as late as we are in the semester, and with as much work that I know you two have put into your project, I don’t want to do that. But, it won’t be up to me. This campus has a very strict code of conduct.” He pauses, his eyes shifting back and forth from you to Jake. “As intelligent as you both are, I hate seeing you break that.”

You’ve never heard Movack’s voice like this before. His normally loud and booming voice has softened, almost unrecognizable from what you’ve come to know.

He’s stern, undoubtedly. But, it’s the kind of stern that you’d hear from a loving dad who is disappointed. You feel his sincerity, his softness hidden behind his professor-persona.

It’s intimidating, yet it’s comforting all at once. He cares, deep down.

“Jake, I’ve known you long enough to know that this behavior is not in your character. And y/n,” he starts, looking at you with eyes that are soft and altogether hard as rocks. “I’m aware that I’ve only known you for a few months, but I know you’re better than this. I’ve seen it.”

He then picks his glasses back up, placing them on his face again as he steps away from his desk. “I’ve seen it in both of you,” he continues, placing his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks. “Listen, I’m not just giving you this speech because of today, or because of the last time this happened. I’m telling you both all of this because you’ve both been nominated for the Distinguished Student Award given to English Majors. I am the one that nominated you.”

Your eyes widen, your mouth parting in surprise. Instinctively, you look to Jake, whose face is emitting nearly the same expression as yours.

“I don’t know who will be chosen,” Movack goes on. “But I can’t stand the thought of you two being ineligible because of episodes like today, that I’ve now seen twice.” He moves back to his desk, leaning his back up against it as he crosses his arms over his chest, and one loafer-clad foot over the other. “This award looks really good to grad programs. Jake, I know you’re already accepted to Oxford.”

Fucking Movack knew before you did? Wonderful.

“But this award will guarantee funding through the scholarship only awarded to the student chosen. I can’t give you too many details, but you don’t want to mess up this opportunity.”

He then focuses his attention back to you, looking at you with a softness that is somehow reminding you of the way your dad used to look at you. “And for you, this would be money in your pocket since your tuition is mostly covered by the fact that you’re employed by the university.”

Money in your pocket…something you really need. You’d love to get you and your mom out of that shitty apartment someday, someday soon. Aside from that, this would be really helpful when you begin the process of applying for grad programs next semester.

You didn’t even know anything like this existed, let alone that you would be considered for something like this. You can’t fuck this up. Movack’s lecture is the thing you needed to bring your focus back to why you’re here in the first place; your education. The only thing that’s ever truly mattered to you. The reason you were able to get yourself out of Oklahoma, the thing that will prove to everyone and yourself that you are capable of achieving anything.

This award could open so many doors for you. And for Jake, whom a part of you wants to win it just as badly as you want to win it. He deserves it. Despite everything, he deserves it. He should be recognized for his talents, his incredible brain. He was accepted to one of the most prestigious schools in the world, after all. Painful as it is to think about, it’s not lost on you how impressive that is.

“Do me a favor and consider everything at stake here while you’re on Thanksgiving break,” Movack continues. “You two are shining examples of the brilliance of this department. Don’t let yourselves down by letting things get in the way of that.”

Movack excuses you and Jake, and the walk down the hall is filled with only the sounds of your sneakers and his boots against the carpeted floor. You stop once you make it to the stairwell, letting him continue his walk down the stairs. But when he realizes you’re no longer walking with him, he turns around, looking up at you as you’re standing still on the top step.

He takes a breath, as though he’s ready to say something. But after a moment of him looking at you, of you looking at him, there isn’t a single word spoken. Instead, the silence lingers until he turns away, continuing his trek down the stairs.

Not even so much as an apology over what happened in class, or a single comment about what Movack had to say. And you’re angry about it. He should’ve said something.

But then again, you also could’ve said something. And you didn’t. Couldn’t.

What transpired in class wasn’t all his fault. You’re self-aware enough to recognize that. And you’re aware enough to know that everything he said was rooted much deeper than the Arthurian lore. Maybe he really does care. And maybe you truly have hurt him. Hurt him more than you ever really intended.

But the damage has already been done. You fear there’s no coming back from this. From any of it.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The smell of charred turkey and singed herbs is rather potent throughout the entire apartment. So strong, in fact, that the freezing temperatures outside didn’t keep you from opening each window to air out the stench.

You had spent hours researching how to properly bake a turkey, what to season it with, how the hell you’re supposed to carve the damn thing. It’s not something you’ve ever had to worry about doing before, and you didn’t want to fuck it all up your first time.

But, as you make the first cuts into the smoky meat, you realize that you may have done just that. It’s cooked all the way through – that’s certainly not something you need to worry about. Cooked a little too well, in fact. It’s way too dry, that much is evident by the way your knife isn’t slicing easily through the meat.

Your mom couldn’t help you with the meal. Her coughing has gotten so much worse; she’s been struggling to catch her breath the past few days. You can hear the rattling in her chest when she speaks, when she coughs – she sounds bad. Really bad. Probably the worst you’ve ever heard.

You can’t be certain, but you’re suspicious that she’s stopped taking her medications again. A thought that simultaneously pisses you off and breaks your heart. You’re doing everything you can to help her, but if she won’t swallow the pills, she won’t be around much longer. And no matter what she’s done, that fact absolutely terrifies you.

So, Thanksgiving was up to you this year. And the sad reality of it is you would’ve been able to enlist Jake for help. He would’ve happily done it in a heartbeat. He’d be here right now, guiding you through the steps of preparing a meal you have zero experience in.

The only thing you managed to not fuck up are the mashed potatoes. And that’s only because they’re the instant kind. A little hot water, and voila. You have perfectly mashed ‘potatoes’ that taste subpar at best.

Even the stuffing you made from a mix didn’t come out right. Without gravy, (because you couldn’t find any instant gravy at the store) the stuffing and potatoes will just be dry and rather lackluster. But, at least it’s something.

The chicken noodle soup is a recipe from your late grandmother. Easy enough to follow, though it just doesn’t taste like it should. It’s certainly not the worst thing you’ve ever made, but you’re a little more than disappointed in the fact that the store was out of carrots. Carrot-less chicken noodle soup just doesn’t feel complete to you. And if you know your mom, she won’t be too thrilled about the lack of carrots, either.

A less-than adequate meal for your first Thanksgiving in your crummy apartment in Ann Arbor. There is a small sense of pride, though. Regardless of how the food turned out, you did it. All on your own, too. You know you deserve at least a little pat on the back for all the work you’ve done. And not just with the food, but how you’ve managed to keep you and your mom afloat. Being the sole provider and caregiver for over a year now, surely she’ll cut you a little slack if the food isn’t up to par with what’s typically expected for a Thanksgiving meal.

For years, you and your parents had gone to your dads side of the family for pretty much every holiday that called for family gatherings. The only family you had left after the passing of your maternal grandparents. And even before that, you didn’t get to see them but once a year for a few days during Summer break.

With your dad having exited the frame of your life completely, that means his family is also non-existent in your world. Last year was your first Thanksgiving without him, and the holiday was spent in a small diner over an hour away from Cherry Tree. It was the only thing open, and it was all you could manage at the time. It certainly didn’t feel like Thanksgiving, but it was the best you could do given the circumstances.

It was your goal this year to give your mom (and yourself) a decent holiday. And even if that means a shitty excuse for a meal, it’s still better than last year. A little, at least. Though, current life circumstances are still feeling rather heavy – some in old ways, some in new ways.

As you're plating each of your dinners, the main thing on your mind right now is your dad. He’s probably in Oklahoma with the rest of the family, enjoying his second Thanksgiving without the burden of you and your mom. You wonder if he’s happier now, if he’s relieved. Maybe he’s found someone else by now, someone that’s worth sticking around for. Maybe this new someone has a daughter that he loves more than you. Maybe…

Enough.

Those thoughts will do nothing but make this day a thousand times harder than it already is. It’s been difficult enough as it is, having to turn Josh down over and over again when he’s asked you to come over and celebrate with them. You’d told him that you needed to spend the day with your mom, and of course, his next idea was to have her come with you. Told you there was plenty of food, that Jake had spent hours preparing the meal.

That sounded even worse than dealing with the guilt of leaving her by herself. The situation would be far too awkward, and you haven’t even told your mom of everything that’s happened. It’s just too much to explain, and going tonight, having her go with you amidst everything…

Nope. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Alone with your mom it is. And though it’s not the ideal scenario by any means, it’s the best option. (And the morbid part of you can’t help but wonder if this’ll be the last Thanksgiving you’ll ever celebrate with her.)

“I think the turkey is a tad bit burnt,” you admit, defeatedly. “But hopefully it’ll still taste okay.”

She’s found herself in another coughing fit as you set the plate in front of her. The coughs are deep, heavy. They’re coming straight from her chest. “Try and take a deep breath for me,” you say, rubbing her back until she finally catches her breath. “That sounds bad, mom.”

“I’m…fine…,” she tells you through gasps of air. She sits still for a moment, letting air fully fill her lungs again before she reaches for the plate of food you’ve brought her. “No carrots in the chicken and noodles?”

Of course she noticed.

“Couldn’t find them at the store,” you tell her as you get settled in your dining chair. “I guess I waited too long to go shopping. Just about everything was sold out.” Pulling apart your piece of turkey, you grimace at just how dry looks. “And most of what I did manage to find was from the cheap brands that no one really likes.”

The turkey really does taste terrible. As you suspected, dry as fuck. Without a giant swig of your water, you’re not sure you’d be able to get it down. Gravy probably would’ve helped, you silently ponder.

After a few bites of potatoes, a spoonful of chicken noodles, and a bite of stuffing, you decide you’re mostly done with the meal.

The food is pretty bad. But that’s not the only thing keeping you from it. Eating was already hard; it’s about a hundred times worse right now.

The holidays have always been difficult, simply because they always revolve around food. And Thanksgiving, being the holiday for food, has typically been your least favorite one to celebrate. You have so many memories of family members giving you a look when you filled your plate with less food than they deemed appropriate. And you would get even more looks when you never finished everything on your already scarce plate.

It’s just a lot. Always has been. And this year, it’s just that much harder.

Your mom, on the other hand, has practically finished everything on her plate. Which, to say the very least, is shocking when considering how much she shit-talks your cooking.

“Does it taste okay?” You ask her as she smothers her last piece of turkey in mashed potatoes, shoveling it all in her mouth in one go.

“It’s a little dry,” she utters through a full mouth. “But it’s not half bad. Good job, sweetie.”

“Thanks mom.” Standing up from your seat, you take your half full plate to the kitchen and dump the sad remains in the trash. “There’s plenty more if you’re still hungry.”

“Done already?” She asks while you begin rinsing your plate in the kitchen sink.

“Yeah. The food was pretty filling,” you say, rubbing your tummy to indicate that you’re full. “Couldn’t eat another bite if I tried.”

She hums inquisitively as she sets her fork down on her plate, grabbing her cup and sipping on the store-bought apple cider you poured her. “You’re not starvin’ yourself again, are you?”

The plate in your hand crashes into the sink, slipping out of your grasp. You never truly know what your mom is going to say, but this…it caught you by surprise, startled you. This isn’t a conversation you want to have with your mom; you’ve never really had it at all. She’s always dismissed this part of you, pretending like it didn’t exist. Your dad was the one that got you help. Not her.

So, hearing her mention it is…strange, to say the least. Strange and uncomfortable. Though you don’t like discussing this with anyone, she’s the last person you want to talk about it with.

You’re not sure what to say, or if you should even say anything. Avoiding it feels like the best option – maybe she’ll forget about it, let it go if you change the subject. Just pretend like you didn’t hear it.

��Um, there’s some pie,” you force out, leaving the plate where it landed and turning off the faucet. “In the freezer, there’s a frozen pie. Pumpkin. If you want it, I can preheat –,”

“You didn’t break the plate, did you?”

The plate? She’s only concerned with the fucking plate?

“N-no?” You stammer, confused. Looking in the sink to be sure, you see the plate still in one piece. No cracks beyond the ones that were already there from age and use. “No, the plate’s fine. Do you want pie?” You ask again, finding this entire interaction incredibly odd.

“No, I don’t think so.” She pushes her now cleared off plate to the center of the table, standing and stretching her arms as high as she can. She coughs again, this one even deeper and more rattling than the ones before. “Think I’ll go take a bath and head to bed soon. I’m not feeling too great.”

Do you ask her about her medications knowing she’ll probably just lie? No, there’s no point. You know that. She’s clearly made the choice to forgo her meds again. And you learned the last time she did this that you can’t force her to take them. She’ll do what she wants, even if it means it’s slowly killing her.

And that thought, regardless of everything, absolutely breaks you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

After helping your mom through a bath, putting away leftovers, and cleaning the kitchen until the laminate countertops were sparkling, you’re at last snuggled up under your covers. Though it’s only a little after eight, being in your bed this early feels like the best way to spend the rest of the night. Your mom is already fast asleep, snoring away whatever Western film she’s chosen for the night, so there’s no reason you can’t hunker down in your room a little earlier than usual.

The apartment is freezing, but you don’t mind. It just gives you a reason to turn your heated blanket up as high as it’ll go, break out your prized pair of purple fuzzy socks, and a giant ass Nike hoodie you thrifted years ago.

This kind of weather begs for a Harry Potter night, one of your favorite things to watch during the colder months. But, of course, you can’t just watch them from the beginning. As of tonight, the Christmas season has officially begun. It’s only right that you watch The Sorcerer's Stone first, the one that, in your opinion, is the most Christmasy of the whole franchise.

The only thing you’re missing are your decorations you’ve always put up in your room. Your tiny tree that could only hold maybe five regular sized ornaments, the string of colorful lights with the big, retro bulbs you’d hang from your ceiling, the wreath you made yourself when you were probably eleven or twelve that you’ve hung on the back of your bedroom door every year.

You moved to Michigan so quickly, and there was only so much room in your Firebird for everything that encompassed your entire life. Decorations just weren’t a priority when you packed up your life in Oklahoma.

So, you’ll just have to make do with your fairy lights framing your vanity mirror, and your cuddly cactus plant that could probably hold a star on top, if you really wanted to get festive.

You’re only a few minutes into the movie, but your eyes are slowly becoming heavier, each blink longer than the last. There’s a certain peace with tonight, thinking about Christmas and watching a movie that has always made you happy. It’s all made you feel so comfortable, and the addition of your warm blanket is the cherry on top of the perfect, cozy night to yourself.

Letting your eyes fully close, you begin to doze off to the sound of the movie, letting it lull you to a restful, tranquil slumber.

Until your phone vibrates.

Initially, it scared the hell out of you, your eyes shooting open in an instant. Sitting on your nightstand made the vibration much louder than normal – you swear you felt your bed shake along with it. You clutch your chest, the intrusion making your heart race.

Reaching for it to see who it is, you’re fully expecting a text from Nat, or another plea from Josh to join them for Thanksgiving.

But reading the screen tells you your thoughts over who it could be are very wrong. It’s the last person you expected to hear from tonight, and you’re reluctant to even open it. You were so relaxed, so close to resting. Why did he have to ruin it?

You let the text remain unopened for a bit, but you know damn well your anxiety won’t let you leave it that way for much longer.

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath as you click on the message.

Jake: Don’t let the food sit out there for too long, it’ll get cold. There should be plenty for both of you.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you sit up in bed, unwrapping yourself from your heated blanket-burrito and using the remote to pause your movie. You read the text again, trying to make some sense of it.

Did he…drop food off at your front door?

There’s only one way to find out. The chilly air hits your bare legs the minute you get out of bed. The shivers run up and down your body as you quickly leave your room and head to the front door. Keeping your arms in the sleeves of your hoodie, you open the door to see probably five or so tupperware containers, stacked neatly by size in front of your door. Further inspection tells you they’re full with food.

Quickly, so as to not let any more cold air in the apartment, you gather the containers, finding a way to cradle them all in your arms so you only need to make one trip. You use your foot to close the door, hurrying to the kitchen before one slips out from your arms.

Pieces of turkey in one container, mashed potatoes in another, stuffing, the most gorgeous mac and cheese you’ve ever seen, and sweet potato casserole. Each lid you open lets out steam; it’s all so warm and fresh. And it smells absolutely heavenly.

The first thing you have to do is taste the mac and cheese. Grabbing a spoon, you dig into the gooey side dish. Strings of cheese hang off the spoon as you bring it to your mouth.

Jesus. This has to be the best thing that’s ever touched your taste buds. It’s perfectly creamy, and you can taste so many different types of cheese blended in with just a hint of garlic. You’ve never had gourmet mac and cheese, but you’re pretty sure this is about as delectable as it gets.

Next thing to try is the potatoes, which you’re sure were handmashed. Those instant ones you made earlier don’t even deserve to be called mashed potatoes, especially in comparison to Jake’s.

Before you know it, you’ve tried at least a few bites of everything. And, as you presumed before you did a taste test, everything is incredible. Jake is certainly skilled in the kitchen, and it makes you wonder if he’s missed his calling as a prestigious chef.

Then again, his literary brain is one of the things you love most about him. It would be a shame for him to not pursue something in the written arts.

You’ve suddenly remembered you haven’t thanked him. Though you’re not exactly on speaking terms, you can’t let him do all of this, driving over twenty minutes just to bring you and your mom something to eat, go without a proper thank you.

You: Thank you, Jake. That was really nice of you.

You pressed the send button before giving yourself the chance to overthink the tone of your message. (Which, you’ll still do. But, at least you didn’t type the message a hundred times before you sent it.)

After finding a place for everything in the fridge, you walk back to the front door to lock it, remembering you hadn’t earlier. You then go to peek in your moms room to see if she’s awake to offer her some actual good food. She’s still asleep, her snoring now a dull noise as she’s deep in her slumber.

It’ll be a nice surprise for her in the morning, you think to yourself as you head back to your room. You’ve ignored the fact that your phone has yet to vibrate with a text back. No response from Jake, and it’s been a solid ten minutes. (You know it’s not that long, but your anxiety about texting him makes it feel like ten hours.)

Oh well. It is what it is. He doesn’t have to respond, and there’s a good chance that he won’t. You’ll just have to be okay with that.

You crawl back into bed, clicking the button on the control to your heated blanket a few times to ensure it’s up all the way before unpausing the movie. Though, it doesn’t feel quite as relaxing now that your mind is a bit preoccupied with the fact that he’s still not responded. You keep glancing at your phone on the bed next to you, waiting for the screen to light up with his name.

But, it doesn’t.

And that’s okay. Or, at least you’re trying to convince yourself of that. It was, afterall, your choice to cut things off with him. He’s already done more than he probably should’ve done. Though, you still don’t really know why he did it. The fact that he thought of you at all feels good. Really good.

But, did he do it because he wanted to, or because his twin that’s been texting you all day put him up to it?

That’s the question running laps around your mind as your eyes are becoming heavy again, the sound of the movie fading as you’re starting to drift to sleep.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I really need your creative mind, y/n,” Josh begs. “I can’t do this without your eye, my dear. You’re the heart and soul of this whole thing.”

You’ve been on the phone with him for nearly fifteen minutes now; he’s been incessantly begging you to come over the entire time. He swears he needs your help with the final edits of the film, making sure everything flows properly, that the story line makes sense. Why a film genius like him needs your help is beyond you. But you’re flattered, nonetheless.

And while you are flattered, and you do want to help, going over there means risking an interaction with Jake. That’s risky territory at the moment, and you can’t help but be a little offended over the fact that he never responded to you the other night.

“Can we just go somewhere else?” You ask him, the phone nearly slipping out of your palm from the nervous perspiration. “I just don’t want to see–”

“I can get rid of Jake,” he interrupts, speaking a little quieter than he was before. You’ve got a sinking feeling that means Jake is in the room, or at least nearby. And that possibility has your tummy doing flips. “I’ll just tell him he needs to take Sam’s shift, let him handle the office for a while. I do have that power, you know.”

He wheezes a chuckle to himself, and it actually makes you smile too. It eases your edginess for a moment, but that quickly fades when you hear another voice on the phone, one that seems to be a bit further away.

“I can take the fucking hint.” He’s yelling, he’s angry. And you suddenly feel like absolute shit. You then hear a rather loud bang, presumably the front door being slammed as he made the decision to leave.

“Well, that takes care of that little nuisance,” Josh says, still giggling. “So, you’ll come?”

“W-was that Jake?” You ask, though you already know the answer. The very mention of his name makes your heart ache, and hearing that tone from him is like a slice to the skin.

“Sure was,” he chuckles. “He’ll get over it. The coast is clear until six o’clock when the office closes. I’ll be awaiting your anticipated arrival, my dear.”

“Josh, wai–” You hear a smooching sound from his end before the call ends, cutting you off completely.

Little shit. He didn’t even give you the chance to turn him down again. It’s only reluctantly that you’ll go. And you may as well go now. Get it over with quicker.

You couldn’t care less about your appearance today. Comfort takes priority over cute as you pull on your clothes. Sweats today instead of leggings, your trusty Billy Joel crewneck – an old relic from the ‘90s that used to belong to your dad. Not that sentimentality has anything to do with it; it’s simply warmer and sturdier than your other options. Men’s clothing always seems to be made better than women’s, and vintage pieces like this remind you of a time when quality mattered. Heavy, durable, and practical – exactly what you need today. The fact that it was once your dad’s? Pure coincidence. (Mostly.)

A little moisturizer and aquaphor for your lips is the extent of your makeup, and a messy bun on the crown of your head is all you care to do for your unwashed hair.

You slip your phone in the front pocket of your crossbody before securing it over your shoulder and heading to the coat closet to grab your puffer. You’re trying not to breathe as you walk past your mom, hoping by some chance that she’ll ignore the fact that you’re leaving. She’s been sitting on the couch for hours now, watching every film Clint Eastwood ever made back to back.

“You know,” she starts, keeping her eyes glued to the forty three inch insignia. “Your grandfather performed a few stunts in his movies. Remember that?”

Pulling your coat from the closet, you hold it under your arm as you turn your attention to her. “Yeah, I do,” you say, smiling softly at the fond memory of his stories. “I really miss him.”

She’s not looked at you until now, and she’s smiling at you. Something you’ve not seen in a long time. At least not a genuine one. Her eyes are smiling, so you know she means the one she’s wearing across her lips. “I miss him, too.”

You’ve not talked about your grandfather in years. Not since he passed. Your mom forbade you to do so, saying it hurt too much to talk about him.

Her grieving process was much different than yours. She felt her sadness by watching movies he loved, but not talking about him while she did so. You felt yours by asking your dad about any memories he had with him.

He’d always warned against asking your mom too much about him, or anything about her childhood altogether. There’s so little you know about her life growing up. You only know the things your dad had told you, and you know a little from what your grandparents felt comfortable divulging, which truly wasn’t much.

Her mother, your grandma, struggled immensely with her mental health. She struggled in a time when the world simply didn’t acknowledge that the brain could be just as sick, at times more, than the body. She never got the help she needed. Though she tried to be the best mother she could be, you’re fairly certain she put your mom through a lot as a kid. From what you’ve gathered from your dad, she would act out and cause quite a bit of disruption at times. She did it purely for the attention it garnered.

But she never remembered doing it. As your dad described, it was like a switch would flip inside of her mind, turning off the logical side of her brain and closing her eyes to what she was doing. She’d even gone so far as to make herself sick a few times, just to get attention from people. When the switch would turn back on and she’d realize what she’d done, she felt terrible.

By the time you came around, she had finally gotten some help. She became the mom your mom always needed.

You loved your grandma. She was as sweet and gentle with you as any grandma should be. Her and your grandpa both were. But they lived in Texas, so you didn’t see them as much as you wished you could’ve.

His passing happened only a few weeks after hers. You’re certain he died of a broken heart. As much trouble as she gave him throughout the half century they were wed, he still loved her.

He couldn’t find the strength to attend her funeral service. Said he’d already gotten his closure, and didn’t see the point in letting the wound fester even more.

He was already gone by that point. A soulless vessel just waiting for the body to give out.

You weren’t able to go to his service. Money was far too tight to make the drive to Fairview more than once in such a short period of time. Your dad did everything he could to make the trip possible. And if you’re remembering correctly, your mom didn’t exactly fight to go. She kind of just…gave up on the idea. Didn’t even try. If you had to guess, aside from the money issues, she more than likely just couldn’t handle attending both of their funerals so close together.

This is the first time she’s mentioned him since then, and it’s…odd. But, a bit comforting. While you don’t have too many memories of him, of either of them, the ones you do have are beautifully engraved on your heart forever.

There’s a longing to stop what you’re doing and sit with her on the couch, take advantage of this rare moment of her wanting to talk about something she’s never talked with you about before.

But you made a promise to Josh. And that promise is quite dear to you. And, it’s not like you’ll be out late. You’ll get home just in time to make dinner and, hopefully, continue this conversation with her.

“I-I’m going to help with some things on the film,” you say, timid over the sudden wave of guilt for leaving right now. “But I’ll be back in just a few hours. Is soup okay for dinner?”

“Sounds good to me,” she responds, deadpanned and monotone, eyes now back on the screen. “See you later.”

“Okay.” Her sudden tone-shift has you a little nervous, that feeling of disappointing her weighing on your chest. “I’ll be back around six thirty. Love you,” you say as you head out the door, and you wait just a moment to see if she’ll respond.

She doesn’t. She essentially waves you off, and you leave in silence, left in complete confusion as to what the hell just happened.

Part of you wonders if she’s attempting to rebuild your relationship. Well, could you even call it ‘rebuilding’? Or… more likely, was it possible she continued to work (like always) to cover up everything that’s happened in your life again? The slightly more cynical part of you wonders, like you often have been lately, if she started the conversation to guilt you into staying home.

In truth, you just don’t know with her anymore. And you may never again. Well, at least you thought you understood her. Thought that your entire life.

But, as you’ve recently discovered, you may have never truly known her. The fact is, you’re coming to the conclusion that she’s manipulated you into believing things that just aren’t true. When Jake played you Stevie Ray Vaughn, reminding you of music that defined your life up until this point… You pondered the music you thought your mom introduced you to. Certain things with him have forced your brain to remember things from your past a bit… differently.

Your mom didn’t listen to Stevie. Your dad did. He played his music, he talked to you about how much he admired him, and your mom took the credit for it. And, your dad being the man he had always been for her, had let her have that. Let her take credit where it was due him. She ‘took credit’ so often that she had you convinced, for years, that it was the truth. And, when he left, she took advantage of the newfound ‘hatred’ you developed for him, and used that to her advantage.

Perhaps you’re just easy to manipulate.

Or, she’s just that good at strategically lying.

Jesus. You just wish Jake wasn’t leaving.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

This is your first time at the Kiszka place since Sam took you home the other morning. And while you know Jake isn’t at home, seeing his Rover outside as you pulled into your parking spot most definitely elicited some strong emotions from you. A bit of a jumpscare to see it, to say the very least.

A helpful reminder that he is technically here as he’s working the front office of the complex. So, avoiding that specific area is necessary. If you do that, you’ll be just fine.

And though Jake may not be at home, someone else most definitely is. As if your life isn’t enough of a disarrayed puzzle, the closest spot to park your car in was an empty one right between Jake’s Rover and Sam’s Bug.

Okay, universe. I fucking hear you.

As you’re getting out of your car, you catch sight of Sam jogging toward his Bug, smiling wide when he sees you. “Hey, beautiful!” He pulls you in for a tight hug once he gets closer to you. His blue Patagonia pullover feels so soft and warm against your cold cheek. And he smells amazing, like eucalyptus mixed with the scent a rain shower leaves behind. “Here to help my brother, are ya?”

“Mhm,” you hum into his chest, reluctant to break the hug as it's freezing outside. As you pull away a bit, you look up at him, his warm smile making the cold air a little less crisp. “Are you helping, too?”

“Well, with Jacob taking up my post in the office, I’m free to head to the animal shelter like I’ve been wanting to.” He shrugs his shoulders, his grin growing even wider. “Kind of been thinking about adopting a puppy. Finally have the chance.”

You’d sort of hoped he was going to stay and help, but the fact that he looks so excited about the possibility of getting a puppy makes up for the fact that he’s leaving.

He gives you one last hug before walking to his car. “I hope you find the perfect baby to bring home with you,” you say as he opens the squeaky driver's side door.

“Me too! I’ll see you later, beautiful.” With that, he hops in and starts the ignition as you power walk your way to their apartment, desperate to get out of the cold.

Josh welcomed you with literal open arms when he let you inside, hugging you tight against his soft beige sweatshirt before you could walk all the way in. The display of affection made you breathe a sigh of relief. You’re glad to know that your friendship with him is okay despite everything. In truth, you have been a bit worried about that, given Jake is his literal twin. It would only make sense he’d choose his side over yours.

But what you’ve learned about Josh in the few months you’ve known him, is he’s the most unbiased, loving ray of pure sunshine who doesn’t hold anything against anyone.

He's the kind of person anyone would be so lucky to have by their side. And you just so happen to be one of those lucky few.

“Talk to me,” he says as he pulls out a chair for you to sit at the dining room table. He then sits at the chair right next to yours, turning it completely so that his entire body is facing you, his way of letting you know you’ve got his undivided attention. “Are you doing alright?”

“I’m doing fine! Stressing about finals, but other than that I–”

“No,” he interrupts, crossing one khaki-clad leg over the other and folding his arms over his chest. “You know what I’m talking about.” He leans his body against the back of the chair, getting himself nice and comfortable as he’s prepared to hear the truth about how you’re actually doing. “You can’t hide from me, y/n.”

Well. Perhaps he’s correct about that. You’ve almost always been able to hide the way you truly feel from people, but when you moved here to Michigan, you found it much harder to do so with the people you’ve befriended.

There’s no answer as to why they are able to see you so vastly different than anyone else in your life ever has. They just do. The fact that they see you at all is a wonder entirely unheard of to you.

In a display of defeat, your body slumps down in your chair, your elbow meeting the table as you move your head to rest against the hand of the same arm. “I’m…a little sad, I guess. I don’t know, I just –,” This new territory of expressing whatever the fuck is happening in your mind is not exactly a comfortable place for you just yet. And you’ve had to do it an awful lot as of late. Jesus. Your emotions could use a fucking rest. “I thought things were going well. Better than they actually were. I can’t – I just don’t really know how to articulate it.”

“Trouble articulating is certainly not something you need to worry about with me,” Josh giggles, unquestionably referring to his slightly long winded rambles that sometimes take awhile to get to the point he’s trying to make. That characteristic just so happens to be one of your favorite things about him.

But just as he’s about to finish his thought, your whole body stiffens in fear as you hear the front door unlock and begin to open. Glancing at your phone, you note that it’s not even two yet, so surely it can’t be him…right?

The door opens a little more, and your breath is held tight in your lungs at the possibility of who’s behind the frame, your body frozen in your chair, entirely unable to move a muscle.

Dear god, please no.

“Well hello, darling!” Josh lovingly boasts as Malachi struggles to walk inside with his hands full of carryout bags from Shake Shack, impressively juggling his keys and phone all at the same time.

Thank fuck.

Not that you don’t love to see Malachi all the time, but you’ve never been happier to see him than you are right at this very moment.

“I know you’re a little busy, babe,” Chi says, struggling to find his footing and a free hand to shut and lock the door with. “But I could really use a little help making sure the food actually makes it to the table.” One of the bags falls from his fumbling hand, but with pure grace and luck, he somehow catches the handle with the tip of his foot, bending his knee so that the bag is suspended from the ground.

Josh yells a monstrous laugh, clapping as he bolts out of his chair with such speed that the whole thing slams on the ground. “That was talent, baby!,” he shouts, jogging his way over to lend Chi a hand before he loses his balance.

He grabs the bag still dangling from Chi’s foot, finally giving the poor man back his footing. You smile as you watch Josh lift on the tips of his toes to plant a big smooch on his cheek. “Thanks for picking up lunch, babe.”

“Mhm,” Malachi hums as they bring the bags over to the table you’re still sitting at. “Wasn’t sure what to get you, y/n,” he says as he and Josh are moving the fast food contents from the bag to the table. “I hope a grilled cheese and some fries are okay!”

You didn’t know food would be involved today, but you are hungry. Extremely hungry, in fact. Needless to say, meals have been even harder since you discovered Jake’s little secret. Just one more thing to add to the endless triggers as of late.

And though eating is hard right now, a grilled cheese is actually one of your safe foods, something you’ve never been too anxious to eat. A childhood staple that’s never been too much, yet just enough. “You can never go wrong with melted cheese on toast,” you say to Chi. “You really didn’t need to get me anything, but I appreciate it.”

“My thoughts precisely. And it was no problem at all,” he remarks as he sets the meal down in front of you, along with a few crumpled up napkins. It smells so wonderful. You’ve suddenly gotten the urge to rip open the foil wrapper around the sandwich and scarf the whole thing down as quickly as you can. Of course, that’s not what you’ll do. One bite at a time like a normal, not ravenous person will do just fine.

“You two get anything done while I was out?” Chi asks as you take your first bite, letting the warm cheddar sit on your tongue for a moment, relishing in the melted gooeyness.

He pulls out the chair on the end of the table beside Josh, digging into his own food once he sits down next to his partner who’s nearly finished his burger already.

“Not quite,” Josh answers, mouth full of food, wiping ketchup globs from the sides of his lips with his napkin. “We’ve been catching up, haven’t we?” He looks to you, smacking his food and winking. “And don’t think we’re done with our conversation just yet, sweetheart.”

Dammit.

“Ah, the Jake drama, I take it?” Chi speculates, examining his burger with a huff of irritation. “They never remember to leave off the damn pickles.” Begrudgingly, he peels them off the patty, one by one, tossing them in one of the bags he brought the food in.

“Picky picky,” Josh teases, tossing his trash in the same bag with the forsaken pickles. “Anyway, as I was saying,” he begins, dusting the salt from the fries off his hands and turning his chair back to face you. “We’re not done talking about this.” His hands reach for yours, cupping one the one not holding your grilled cheese between his two palms. “I don’t want you to let anything that happened with my brother make you feel like you should keep your distance from us.”

You know he’s referring to his multiple attempts at reaching out to you, inviting you over, eliciting your help on the film. He’s certainly been trying to keep you around, and while you’ve never really been able to identify your self worth, the fact that he’s gone to all of this trouble just to maintain a friendship with you truly does make you feel good. Really good, actually.

You’re suddenly feeling incredibly horrible for ignoring his endeavors. Avoiding Jake doesn’t mean you need to avoid Josh, or Malachi, Sam…

They are extensions of Jake, to a degree. But they aren’t Jake. You can have relationships with them without the addition of Jake. If they’re okay with it, then so are you.

“I won’t,” you confirm with a deep sigh, setting your sandwich with a few small bites out of it down on the foil it was wrapped in, deciding you’ve had enough. “I promise.”

You’re glad Josh hasn’t decided to cut you out completely, because losing Jake is hard enough as it is. It would be much worse if everyone decided you were no more than an insignificant fling in Jake’s life (which could still be the case… for Jake, at least.) and chose to cut you off when he did.

But you can’t help but wonder why no one thought to mention it to you, or why it was never brought up. Obviously, Jake’s decision wasn’t on a whim, or some spur of the moment choice to move to another country. This had to have been in the works for a long time now. And you know his brothers knew about it. They’re his brothers, for christ sakes. One of whom literally shares his DNA.

Aside from that, Jake’s job as co-business-runner of this incredible complex is far too important to just leave without warning. There have no doubt been several talks amongst all of the Kiszkas. And surely, they’ve begun the process of hiring someone in his place by now. (The mere thought of all of these loose ends getting tied up sucks, by the way. Makes it all the more real that he’s actually leaving to live in an entirely different fucking country.)

So, a question that’s been sitting in your mind, festering, lingers.

“Can I ask you something, though, Josh? And I want you to be honest with me.”

You’ve certainly piqued Josh’s interest. He sets his burger back down on the table just as he’s about to take a bite, choosing you to give you his full attention. “Of course, love,” he says.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me he was leaving? I’m far past done trying to comprehend Jake’s silence about the whole thing. I cannot wrap my mind around that—.” Shifting your weight in your chair, you try shrugging off the tension forming in your body at the thought. Tugging at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, you let out a heavy sigh as you stare at your fidgeting hands. “But I just want to know how come no one warned me. I mean, I know we weren’t exactly public about…,” you pause, thinking of the right word that describes what you and Jake are – were. “...our thing together. But we didn’t really hide it, either. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is I feel like someone should’ve told me, you know?”

You peer at Josh through your lashes, having felt far too nervous to look at him until you said what you needed to say. His hand is rubbing at the back of his neck, his lips curled in a nervous grin. “Well,” he begins, fluffing the curls sitting on his forehead with the back of his hand. “I can’t argue that, my dear. You’re right; someone should’ve told you. It’s not that I didn’t want to – I was obligated by oath.”

“Oath?” You question, finding yourself awfully intrigued by this now-apparent promise to keep quiet.

“He made me – us – vow not to tell you, or to let on to it until his timing felt right.” He shrugs his shoulders, uncrossing his legs and places his hands in his lap. “I trusted that he’d find the right time and the right way to present it to you. He fucked his entire plan up. The whole goddamn thing.”

Us? Plan?

You’re hearing Josh’s words, but you’re growing increasingly frustrated over the fact that it seems everyone knew before you did. Along with the frustration is the maddening confusion that seems to relentlessly linger. “Who’s us?” You ask, fighting the frustration seeping out through your tone of voice. It’s not Josh’s fault, you know that. He’s not the one you’re upset with, and you don’t want him to think your anger is toward him.

“Well, Malachi and I,” he says as he gestures toward his partner who’s just finished his burger. “And Sam.”

Sam? He talked to Sam about this? Your heart practically skipped a beat at the mention of his name.

“But he hadn’t told Natalia or Danny yet. He didn’t trust those two to not spill the beans,” he giggles, Chi joining him with an agreeing smile.

He’s certainly correct about that. Nat wouldn’t have kept something like this from you, wouldn't have let him keep it from you. She would’ve made him tell you.

So, yeah. He was smart in keeping her out of it. And telling Danny would mean practically the same thing as telling Nat.

But if he asked Sam to keep it from you, wouldn’t that mean Sam was privy to your situationship? He acted like he had no idea you two were a thing…acted? It certainly makes more sense to you that Sam would’ve known this whole time. How could he not? The times you and Jake snuck off together and weren’t seen for the rest of the night, or the unspoken glances and subtle touches you’ve shared in front of everyone. The fact that you completely ghosted Sam when things with Jake were picking up.

Surely he knew before he found out about your birthday date with Jake. It’s possible that he really was naive and oblivious to it, but you also can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it than that. Especially considering what Jake said to him on the phone the morning he took you home.

What if he has known this whole time, but chose to ignore it? What if he was waiting for the moment Jake would fuck up and you’d turn to him once again?

Jesus. That’s a lot to take in, and you’re in no place emotionally or mentally to consider all of that. Your fingers begin rubbing away the ache present in your temples, and you feel Josh’s hand reach for your knee to offer you some comfort.

“I’m sorry, love. You probably feel like you’ve been lied to by everyone,” Josh goes on, the sympathy in his voice touching your heart. “But no one had any malicious intent. We just wanted Jake to take the reins on this one and, well, he blew it.”

Yeah, that about sums it up.

“You don’t need to apologize, Josh. It’s not your fault – or yours,” you add, directing the words toward Malachi, who looks a bit uneasy with the direction this conversation has taken. Definitely not what he bargained for when he showed up with the food, you’re sure. One of the most non confrontational people you’ve ever met. “I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. It makes sense. Really, I get it.”

Josh gives a gentle squeeze to your knee before letting go, offering a sweet, apologetic smile. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he says, chuckling softly through his nose. “I’ve never seen him this…,” he pauses, raising his hands as though he’s reaching for the right word. “...entranced before. And don’t you dare let on that I told you this,” he says, waving his index finger toward you. “But he’s absolutely captivated by you, my dear.”

You cock an eyebrow at Josh’s words, feeling a mix of emotions about it. You know Josh wouldn’t lie to you, but you can’t fight the lingering sense of doubt over what he’s saying.

The way your stomach tightens and then flutters at his words, though… The idea that you ‘captivate’ him in a way his own twin has never witnessed another woman ‘captivate’ him — it makes your skin tingle in a way that has you reminiscing. Reminiscing on the evening of your birthday…

But, when you think about the night of your birthday, when he played Lenny for you and handed you that part of his heart, it does make you wonder if it could be true, that he is captivated by you.

You can’t be certain about how he feels, but what you do know is you are undoubtedly captivated by him. In every way, unfortunate as it may be.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“My god,” you mutter as you’re seeing the first clips of the film. The picture is beautiful. The cinematography is beyond what you imagined, like a movie with a billion dollar budget, set to be released on silver screens around the globe.

The fact that your group of people, that Josh was able to produce something of this magnitude…

You knew it would be beautiful. But you didn’t realize it would be this professional.

“Josh, this is –,” you say, watching only the exterior shots he grabbed to set the scene. “Wait –, “ You press the spacebar on the laptop to pause the video, looking at Josh who’s grinning into the palm of his hand at your reactions. “I didn’t know you had a drone!”

The footage is of a mountainous landscape, from above it. He’s slowed the video down, letting the powerful cinematic music play over the view of the lush peaks. The camera rounds the mountains, hovering above a crystal lake glittering at their bases. It then turns to the field of trees next to the water, their leaves in full evergreen wonder. He must’ve filmed this at the beginning of August, as the colors of the trees are exactly as they were when you moved here. You remember, because they charmed you instantly.

“You like it?” He eagerly asks, anxious excitement laced in his voice. “I thought the drone footage added a bit of je ne sais quoi to the piece.” He kisses the tips of his fingers in a chef's kiss of sorts, in regards to his work.

Awestruck is the only word that appropriately encapsulates how you’re feeling as you watch this masterpiece, and you’re hardly two minutes in. The quality is perfect. The colors are so rich and deep. How a college student managed to create this is absolutely beyond you. Then again, this is the mind of Josh you’re witnessing. After months of working with him, seeing his gorgeous visions come to life, you really shouldn’t be all that surprised. You’ve been utterly impressed by him since day one of working with him.

“It’s beautiful, Josh. Better than any movie that’s come out in the last few years.”

He laughs shyly, pausing the film with a tap against the space bar. “I can’t accept that, y/n. But, it most definitely means a great deal coming from you.”

“Don’t inflate his ego,” Malachi chuckles, gathering all the trash from lunch on the dining table. He leans down to Josh, whose face is contorted in annoyance, offering an apologetic kiss. Josh lifts his hand just as their lips are about to meet, so Chi’s lips land on his flattened palm. “Awe, c’mon, babe. I just was joshin’ ya.” Chi winks in your direction, grinning mischievously from the corner of his mouth.

You can’t help but giggle, holding your hand up to your mouth to suppress how hard you truly want to laugh.

“You are done,” Josh says, holding back his desire to laugh by brushing down the slides of his mustache. “I believe the costume picker-outer is no longer needed during the process of editing the film. You know, since the costumes are already picked out and filmed.”

Malachi winces as he tosses the fast food trash in the trash can, clicking his tongue. “Ouch, babe. Got me there,” he says, sarcastically, strutting back toward the table and leaning down to Josh once again. “This costume picker-outer is going to take a nap and leave his brilliantly callous boyfriend to edit in peace.” They both giggle, and Josh finally gives in and gives Chi the kiss he went for earlier.

As Malachi heads up the stairs, you notice the blush in Josh’s cheeks as he scrolls through the footage on his laptop. “You guys are sickeningly cute,” you say.

“We are, aren’t we?” Josh replies, the gap in his front teeth on display with the biggest grin you’re sure you’ve ever seen from him.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve been looking through video clips for over two hours now, lending Josh a hand in editing and arranging them wherever you can. It’s certainly a bit weird and almost uncomfortable to see yourself, well, like this. You hadn’t realized just how much of you you’d see on the screen. Both in the amount of scenes you’re in and the amount of skin you’re presenting.

Especially those scenes with Sam.

Though it is uncomfortable to see yourself tangled up with him like that on the screen, the way it’s filmed is incredibly sexy and perfectly sensual without it being too much of either of those things.

Josh’s camera skills are unmatched, as you’ve discovered by watching everything back. He filmed all the right things, found all the best angles. The ones of you in bed with Sam, the ones you were most nervous to see, are so beautifully done. You don’t even see yourself in them, you see Guiniverre. And when you see her, you see beauty in yourself that you’ve never known before.

Josh paid extra careful attention to the shots of your body, being sure you’re not in a place to be objectified, but admired. Only very small glimpses of your body are shown, but enough that it’s very clear what is and will be taking place with the queen and her secret lover. It’s simply magnificent, cinematically stunning. You’re proud of it, and you have no doubt it’ll guarantee you and Jake a good grade in Movack’s class for this genius adaptation of the lore.

You’re mesmerized by each scene you watch, but your favorite scene you’ve seen thus far is the one in which the queen and Lancelot kiss for the very first time, hidden in their secret sanctuary in the forest.

It was the first scene you’d shot. You were so nervous; you hardly knew everyone at that time. Yet, it’s the most convincing acting you had done in all of the scenes you’ve seen. Not only that, but it’s the most aesthetically beautiful. The place Josh found for it was incredible, and you find yourself thinking about that little hidden gem amongst the trees behind their apartment complex quite often.

Watching all of this has brought back so many memories of filming. Like that day you filmed the first scene, how Jake was pissed and you got to witness your first twin fight.

As you watched further, there were little clips interspersed within the captured film that highlighted times like that. ‘Behind the scenes’ footage, if you will. The candid moments made your heart skip a beat and your eyes well with tears. A smile, pulling easily at your lips as you reminisced. It was as you reviewed these clips that you truly realized how this experience had been one of the best in your entire life. Truly. This group of people, having changed your life so inexplicably… It made you wonder if part of your reason for winding up in Michigan was to simply meet and love all of them.

These small, carefree moments in time you remember witnessing (others you were sure occurred as you busied yourself with costume changes) — they rivaled many cherished family videos of your own. Because, you realized, these times and these people had taught you an authentic appreciation for life like you’d never had before. Every single ‘outtake’ made your chest ache and long for all of it, all over again. A never changing existence with these wonderful individuals you got to call your friends. Chosen family, even.

Giggles and snorts filled the room at the miscellaneous clips, thrown in at the most hilarious times. Extremely serious scenes would end with a ‘cut!’. And Kiszka mischief would immediately follow in the very next break of camera footage.

You snickered watching the clips of Jake and Sam, stealing the cameras and filming each other at the same time. They were flipping the bird at one another and laughing so hard at Josh throwing a fit over them “mistreating the equipment.”

And then one of your favorite days filtered in. When Jake was practicing his British accent and sounded way too much like Jack Sparrow. His little accent, endearing to you in a way you still can’t describe.

His brothers gave him so much shit for the lilted tone. You grinned as you watched film roll back of them telling him he sounded like the drunken pirate, only serving to fan his flames. Acting like a pirate for the rest of the day, yelling “argh!” at least every five minutes and continuously asking where the rum had gone. (Of course, there was no rum to begin with. Only tequila… a Jake staple.)

As well, you heard him yell “parlay” in the background of some of the clips. You remembered he’d done it anytime Josh told him to prepare himself for a scene. At which point Josh would remind him that they were, in fact, not on a pirate ship and, consequently, there was no captain to take him to.

You belly-laughed harder than you ever had that day. Just as you did watching them now. Josh was so frustrated with him and his pirate antics, but after a while he got in on it, too. Jake’s impression, arguably better, probably due to his childhood obsession, (and his adult obsession – his car is named the black pearl for a reason, after all) but Josh’s, heard again in these outtakes… it wasn’t half bad.

Those days were simply the best, and you’re finding yourself reflecting on them with a feeling of pure joy, with that bothersome undertone of sadness. Though those days were only a few months ago, some of them even less than that, you miss them. You always will. You miss the peace they gave you, the new sense of belonging they provided that you’d never known up until that point.

Things are so different now, and you hate it. You’re afraid you’ll never be able to hangout with all of them again. Things would be too awkward, too tense. Those days are only left in your memory as some of the best days of your life. And your memory, sadly, is probably where they’ll stay.

But at least you have something to commemorate those memories; the film will forever exist in the ethos of time, a visual representation of the moments — some bad, but most of them wonderful — echoed in your mind for the remainder of your lifetime.

“The red looks so vibrant, Josh,” you say as you watch him edit a scene in which the queen is wearing her red gown, the most stunning costume you’d ever seen when you put it on the first time. And the red lips, the special Guiniverre red you wore that you’ll always identify with your portrayal of her (and you’ll certainly never forget the smear of it, all across Jake’s face. The two of you, hidden behind the door of his room). The lipstick in every scene is so brilliantly bright – you knew it would be a staple for your version of her, and the red lips, along with the red dress and Sam’s red costumes are suddenly inspiring you.

“I have an idea, and if you hate it, it’s okay. Just don’t tell me you hate it,” you say, still eyeing the suddenly iconic lip color.

Josh stops what he’s doing as he grins and gives you his attention. He squints his eyes as he looks at you, staring directly into yours and biting his lip.

“I see a glint of genius in your eyes,” he says, staring at you almost uncomfortably intently. He then bends his torso and places his elbows on his knees, making a fist with his hands for his chin to rest on.“I’m all ears. Let’s hear it.”

He’s looking up at you with giant, baby cow-like eyes, lashes nearly touching his dark brows. He certainly looks intrigued, and you’re fighting against the nerves to voice your thoughts to someone so talented. But, if anyone isn’t going to judge you for an idea, it’s Josh.

“The color red is really significant in this film – it symbolizes their lust and the intensity behind their passionate affair,” you begin as he cocks an eyebrow, nodding his head while his lips part a little. “Here’s what I’m thinking. We edit every scene with Guiniverre and Lancelot to be black and white, except for the color red. So, her lips, her dress, the bedsheets, anything red is highlighted as an ode to their passion.” He quickly lifts from his bent over position, bringing his hand up to his mouth as his eyes grow wider.

“Brilliant!” He shouts, so loud that your body jolts. “Your mind is a visionary trove, y/n. What a dazzling testament to your pure genius!” He leans forward and cups your face in both of his hands, planting a wet kiss on your cheek. “How very Spielberg of you, my dear.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Almost two more hours of non-stop editing have gone by, focusing on the colorization of the scenes that’ll be mostly black and white, save for the red details.

And just as you expected, it looks incredible. Josh has given the scenes an almost noir effect; they’re grainy and contrasted, very low exposure. It’s beautiful, divine, and so sexy. The pops of red are subtle, yet alluringly effective. It looks even better than you imagined, all in thanks to Josh’s eye for filmmaking.

You both decided on only the intimate ones to look this way, that it shows the significance of their ill-reputed affair and sets them apart from the rest of the film. The only scene of this nature that won’t look this way is the first kiss between the lovers, and that’s simply due to the breathtaking scenery surrounding them. It’d be a shame to take away from that, and Josh believes it makes perfect sense that their first encounter be colorized.

Everything is turning out even better than you could’ve ever imagined. And while you’ve only tackled a handful of the scenes in this masterpiece, you know the rest of this film is pure magic.

It’s getting late now, and you promised your mom you’d be home at a good time tonight. (Not to mention, it’s almost time for Jake to get off work, and you don’t want to risk that intrusion.)

“I’m forever in your debt, y/n. Thank you endlessly for your insight today.” Josh helps you put your coat on, handing you your crossbody once you’re situated in your puffer. “You’re the very thing we needed for this film, I hope you know that.”

You thank him with another hug, letting the embrace linger as he sways you back and forth. You then hear the front door open again, and you look over expecting Sam to walk in with his newly adopted baby from the shelter.

As the door opens further, you look down towards the floor in hopes of seeing a dog walking through. But, what you see is no dog. It’s a boot. A black boot. One you recognize rather well.

The way your heart picks up in your chest, your breath catching in your throat… it’s embarrassing. But you can’t help your bodily reaction of his closeness. His proximity, fulfilling secret desires of being with him again. Secret, ridiculous desires.

And as the rest of him walks in, you’re met with the person you tried to avoid tonight. For obvious reasons, but mostly because you can’t trust yourself around him. Jake walks in, seemingly unaware that you’re standing only feet away from the door. He turns around to shut and lock it, kicking off his boots before he finally notices you and Josh.

You don’t say anything, he doesn’t say anything. The two of you stand still for a moment, sharing an awkward glance in complete silence. God, how you wish things were different.

Josh being Josh, can’t handle the quiet tension any longer. He knows the two of you probably won’t say anything unless he breaks the tension himself. “How were things at the office?”

Jake heads toward the kitchen, walking past both of you to get to the fridge. “Fine,” he says as he grabs a Miller Lite from the top shelf. “Pretty slow. Slow enough that I probably could’ve worked from here and just had the phone on me.” Based on his tone, you’d say he’s still a bit angry over having to work tonight. Also, the fact that you’re still here is most likely not helping.

He cracks open the can, taking a large swig of it before he walks out of the kitchen toward the hallway.

“Oh,” he mutters before as he stops midway to his room. He spins back around to face you, taking a few steps closer. Your heart beats at the prospect of him being nearer to you, even if only a little. “Sorry I didn’t respond the other night,” he says to you. “I had just forgotten to.” His voice is gentle and sincere, yet there’s a touch of sadness encompassed in his words. “So, um, you’re welcome. I hope you and your mom enjoyed it.” His lips form a thin, sweet smile. He nods his head as he takes another sip of beer, disappearing back down the hallway.

You ignore the way your heart falls at his sudden lack of presence. Him, being the last thing you wanted to see and the only thing, all at once. Foolishly, you long to follow him down the hallway.

But you don’t.

“He insisted on bringing it to you,” Josh tells you as he gently nudges you, capturing your attention from the last spot you’d been able to see Jake. Fuck. You let his nudge sort of guide you to the door. He takes the hint and begins walking you there. “Said he knew your cooking wouldn’t suffice.” He laughs, and you can’t help but chuckle a little, too. Because, well, it’s absolutely correct.

As you say your goodbyes to Josh, and head out the door and walk to your car, your heart feels like it’s beating in your throat. There was so much you wanted to say to him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to utter a single word. You only gave him a half smile when he apologized for not texting you back. You could’ve at least thanked him again for the food.

But, you didn’t. And all you can think about now is the way he smiled at you before he went to his room.

It was a Jake smile, no doubt. But it was missing something. What was missing, you can’t be sure. Whatever it was, it has you ruminating on everything Josh told you today. Everything about Jake… his ‘plan’ for telling you about London.

You may never know what his plan was, because you’re not allowing yourself to get close enough to him again to find out. One thing you can be certain of is his plan wouldn’t have changed the outcome. He would still be getting ready to leave, and that alone is enough to force you to keep your distance.

Because if not, you fear you’ll fall for him… Further than you already have.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The coffee tastes bitter this morning. The cold foam on top isn’t as foamy as you normally prefer it, and the vanilla is, well, lacking, to say the least.

Not even Carmen, the most lively girl with her sweet freckles and stylish glasses, could bring you out of your slump this morning when she handed you your coffee. She already had it made for you before you even walked in the automatic sliding doors, and normally her toothy smile always brightens your day.

But, not today. Not for the last few days, in truth.

You told Nat you weren’t coming to the coffee shop this morning. It was a lie, clearly. And you feel bad for lying, but you need a moment of reprieve before the day begins. A moment away from home, from work, from classes.

Any time you can get to yourself, you’ll take it. Even if it means being dishonest to someone who truly doesn’t deserve it.

You could’ve just told her the truth, and you know she would’ve understood. But you also know that she would’ve fought you on it. You need to be around people, you can hear her voice telling you in your head. You shouldn’t be alone right now.

But you want to be alone. Your longing for solitude as your mind wraps around everything is far greater than your need to be with people right now.

Talking to everyone is just too damn much. Every single conversation you’ve had as of late has absolutely drained every piece of you. There’s no harm in telling a little white lie, if only for the sake of balancing and maintaining your own mental peace.

But, that peace is disrupted, shattered, replaced with pure guilt when your eyes catch the person currently walking into the coffee shop. Her pace is quick as she bolts through the door, her normally tamed curls are full of frizz and tangled in a messy bun. She’s wearing her giant Aalyiah t-shirt with an even bigger fluffy cardigan over it, and baggy sweats as if she had just gotten out of bed. But she still looks beautiful. Beautiful as ever. And, she looks mad. Her eyes connecting with yours freezes you in your spot.

“Just as I suspected,” she says as she stomps over, joining you at your lonesome table meant for two. “Had a pretty good feeling I’d find you here.” She slams her book bag on the table, yanking the chair out from under it and planting herself in it.

Dammit.

“Nat, I’m sorry. I just needed to be –,”

“Alone?” She interjects, giving you the most frustratingly disappointed look you’ve ever seen her give, her voice practically echoing around the coffee shop. “You’re alone all the time, y/n. And no offense,” she insists, yet her tone would suggest that she most definitely means to offend you a bit. “But I don’t exactly trust you to be alone right now.” She pauses, her eyes flitting up and down your body that’s slumped down in your chair. “Are you eating? Because it really doesn’t look like it.”

One way to irritate you is to take away something you feel you’re entitled to, like having alone time. No matter how much of it you have or need. And another way to irritate you is when someone insinuates that you’re not allowed to do the things you need to do in order to cope.

Everyone deals with shit in different ways. Some need to be surrounded by people, some need to have time to reflect on their own. You just so happen to be in the latter category. Just because someone doesn’t handle things the same way as you, doesn’t make them wrong in doing so.

And, to bring up your eating?

No. That has quite literally nothing to do with what’s going on right now and you do not want to entertain that at the moment.

You know she cares. She probably cares more than anyone else. But she’s bordering on the line of being downright rude and, with everything else happening in your world, it’s not the time to hear that your best friend doesn’t trust you. That’s the last thing you want to hear right now, and for what? Because you want to be alone?

“Okay, for one, can you please lower your voice?” You say through gritted teeth, the blood rushing to your cheeks from fear that everyone in this blessed coffee shop heard what she said. “And second, what do you mean you don’t trust me, Natalia?”

There’s a lingering, rancid vanilla taste from your coffee sitting in your chest, creeping up and burning your throat. You feel like you could throw up. This isn’t what you want right now, it isn’t what you need.

The palms of your hands slam against the metal table, then reach up to your scalp, fingernails scratching at the roots of your hair. A display of the raging turmoil happening inside, unable to be concealed any longer. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Natalia. I can take care of me, my mom, anything. Don’t treat me like I can’t.”

Fuck.

That nauseous feeling is even worse, the very thought of taking another sip of coffee sounds revolting. This fucking sucks. All of it.

You don’t want this with her. And you don’t want her to leave you because of this, because of who you are. But you’re clearly causing her vast amounts of unneeded stress, burdening her with your shit self-esteem.

Maybe she’d be wise to leave you, to end this friendship and find someone else to replace you.

“Got it. I’ll let you be alone.” Her voice is sharp as she stands up from her chair, the metal screeching loudly against the floor as she pushes it underneath the table. She turns from you, beginning to walk away, but something stops her feet from moving further. She then turns on her heel to face you again, taking small steps closer to you. “I know you’re upset with him. And I know you’re going to miss him.”

Her once angry eyes have turned softer, more understanding as she’s staring into your own, as yours begin to fill with tears. “But don’t let him be the only reason you care about yourself. Because what will you do when he leaves, hm?”

The tears that were filling your eyes are now streaming down your cheeks, warm and salty to the taste when they reach your lips. She moves even closer, her hand reaching for your shoulder, her touch offering a gentle reassurance. “I love you, okay? Don’t try to push me away.”

With that, she leans down to kiss the top of your head, then walks away toward the glass doors she entered just moments ago. With blurry eyes, you watch her walk to her car through the window.

You shouldn’t have lied. You know that. Being honest with her would’ve made this whole situation fair much better. She’s just looking out for you, and her love is a bit tougher than what you’ve been used to. While you wish she’d show you more careful love, perhaps tough love is what you truly need. And perhaps she is aware of that as well.

Even though it’s something you’re not entirely familiar with, deep, deep down, you are grateful for it. She forces you to question the way you care for yourself, she forces careful self-reflection when it’s not something you’ve ever really done.

One thing you know, undoubtedly, is that you can’t let yourself lose her.

Deciding it’s time to swallow your pride, and when you realize she’s still sitting in her car that hasn’t moved, you gather your bags, toss the revolting remains of your coffee in the trash, and speed walk your way outside.

She’s staring at her phone when you walk up to her driver's side window, lost in a mindless scroll through TikTok, slumped in her seat. She’s aware of your presence, that much you can tell. It’s obvious she’s waiting on you to make the first move. (Though, in your mind, walking out here in the first place was the first move.)

Alas, you’ll give in to her stubbornness. With your fingernail, you lightly tap it against the glass to get her attention. It’s clear she’s fucking with you when she doesn’t acknowledge you right away. So, you tap the glass again, a little harder this time, and continuously until she has no choice but to humor you.

She slowly turns her head in your direction, looking up at you through her beige framed Ray-Bans. Keeping her eyes on you, and making an intentionally slow effort, she presses the button to lower the window.

“Seriously, Nat?” You say in response, giggling at her almost comical pace with lowering the window. “Are you going to let me apologize to you or not?”

“Oh, so you’d like to apologize, huh?” She mockingly states, at last letting the window roll the rest of the way down. “I’m all ears.”

With a roll of your eyes, a deep breath, a one last gulp of what's left of your ego, you begin your plea for forgiveness. “I know what I did was wrong. I should’ve just been upfront with you instead of lying.” She lowers her glasses a bit more down the bridge of her nose, waiting for what she really wants to hear. “And, you’re right. About everything. I don’t take care of myself the way I should, and it’s definitely been much harder lately.”

With a smirk, she takes off her Ray-Bans, fully revealing her golden irises, like sweet honey in the morning sun. “Yep, I am right,” she says through a snorting chuckle, adjusting herself in the seat to face you better. “And you should also know that you’re a really shitty liar. If you’re gonna do it, at least get a little better at it, geez.”

Well. When she’s right, she’s right. You are a shitty ass liar, apparently, given she knew the very place you’d be. The one you said you swore you wouldn’t be at.

“Do you forgive me?” You ask quietly, internally worried that this may have driven a rut in your friendship. And it’s all your fault.

Without a word, she places her sunglasses back on her face and unlocks the car. “Get in,” she says.

Confused, but in no place of wanting to argue with her, you walk around to the passenger seat. Once you’re in the car and buckled, she puts the gear in drive and slowly makes her way out of the parking lot.

“W-where are we going?” You question, far more perplexed than you were before. She takes a left out of the lot, leaving campus altogether. “Nat, we have class, remember? Women in Literature? We need to be there in less than ten minutes!”

She smirks as she continues to drive further away, ignoring your concerns about class. “Hello?” You try waving your hand near her face to get her attention, to which she only turns to you and smiles.

She stops at the red light, completely tuning you out as she digs into her purse, retrieves her phone, and scrolls through her Spotify playlist. After a moment, she chooses Stay High by Brittany Howard. As the smooth melody fills the car, she bobs her head in time with the beat. The light turns green, and she drives forward, her focus entirely on the music.

You can’t help but laugh at whatever she’s planning, but the potential of missing class is certainly gnawing at you. She, however, appears completely unfazed — dancing to the music, belting out the lyrics, carrying on as if you’re not here at all.

“Natalia Deloris!” You do something you hate other people to do, and you reach for the volume button to turn the music down. “Stop ignoring me! What are you doing?”

She says nothing as she stops in front of the Kerrytown Market & Shops, tossing the gear in park and pressing the button that turns off the ignition.

“Listen,” she says, taking off her seatbelt and facing you, smiling at your clearly confused expression. “There’s no forgiving you, because what happened doesn’t require forgiving.” She pushes her glasses up to sit on top of her curls, against her messy bun that somehow enhances her striking features even more. “I’m not mad at you, dude. I get it. I just worry about you.” She lets out a soft sigh, her fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry that I’m a little harsh with my love sometimes. I don’t always think about how to say things before they come flying out of my mouth.”

That is certainly true of her, but you love it. Her extroverted nature is something you truly adore, as well her tendency to love so hard that she sometimes can’t hold it back. Every introvert needs their extrovert, and you’re so happy that you are her chosen introvert.

“I’m sorry if I don’t show you enough how grateful I am for you, Nat,” you say as you stare down at your lap, knowing all too well that you have a hard time accepting when someone truly loves you. Which means, to you, it doesn’t always feel real. So, you don’t show nearly as much appreciation for it as you should. “But, can I ask you a really important question?”

“Don’t, babe. I know you’re grateful. And yes, of course,” she says as she’s putting her phone in her purse and zipping it shut.

“Why the hell are we at Kerrytown and not in class?”

“Told Dr. Lacey we were with each other over the weekend and that we’ve both come down with horrible colds,” she says, sounding as though she really believes herself.

“What? Why would you do that?” You ask, shocked though, a little relieved to not have to worry about that class today.

“Decided we could use the morning for a little girl's day.” She gets out of the car and you quickly follow suit. “You’re going shopping with me. It’s the least you can do after your little trick you pulled on me this morning,” she says with a stone face, though her contagious smile is breaking through her facade as she begins walking towards a boutique.

“You are such a hypocrite, Natalia!”

She stops mid-stride to the store, turning on her heel to look at you. “How the hell am I a hypocrite?”

“You were so upset with me for lying, and you lied to get us out of class!”

She starts to say something in retaliation, but before she does, she ponders what you’ve said, grinning when she realizes. “You may be right about that,” she says, once again taking steps in the direction of the store. “But my lie was better and benefited both of us.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling at the fact that she will always have the last word. “You got me there, babe.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve been laying on the floor in the middle of your room for, what you think, has been well over an hour.

Flat on your back. Leaky eyes staring at the ceiling, tears falling past your ears, wetting the hair behind them.

Before you found yourself here, you were trapped by your own hand in the bathroom, doing everything you could to bring your dinner back up. Everything. But nothing worked.

The intense fullness from the salmon bowl you made sent you careening down a massive spiral. You knew you’d feel this way after you took the first bite of the perfectly baked, buttery fish.

But goddamnit. It tasted so good. So fucking good. And you’d been craving it all day. It was all you could think about. It’s one of the few dishes you’re truly skilled at making, and you certainly proved that tonight. It was the best it's ever tasted.

That’s why you just couldn’t put it down. The first bite turned into a second, then a third, and before you knew it, you’d finished the whole fucking bowl full of rice, steamed broccoli, and the best salmon your hands have ever prepared.

It made you feel good at the time. Each bite was just as delicious as the last, garlicky and lemon pepper seasoned to near perfection.

But the stark reality of it all crashed into you the moment you set your empty bowl in the sink to be cleaned. You felt it, felt the thing you despise the most.

It was the kind of full that made you sleepy, groggy. Your skin felt greasy, your arms felt huge. Your face felt puffy.

And your stomach was bloated. More bloated than you’ve felt in a very long time. It felt like a rock sitting beneath your skin.

The shame was instant. The guilt came shortly after, but greeted you even stronger than the shame.

Once you helped your mom into bed, you locked yourself in the bathroom. And you did something you shouldn’t have done — you looked.

I look fucking pregnant, you thought, your fingers gripping tightly at the protruding flesh. There was no amount you could’ve sucked in to mask it. It was just there, taunting you with the reminder that you did that to yourself.

And then, it began.

The manic research on your phone of ways to get rid of the bloat, how to digest your food quicker. Every site said the same things – consume less salt, drink hot tea, avoid processed foods, don’t eat too quickly.

You didn’t have any tea in your kitchen, and the rest of the tips, well…it was just too late to avoid those things. The damage had already been done.

So, when none of those options were possible, your mind took a much darker turn.

You tried to do it. You did what you knew would trigger your gag reflex, but it just didn’t work. You couldn’t get your finger back far enough, couldn’t keep it there long enough for anything to happen.

So, you turned to your phone again, typing something in the search bar that you’ve never felt the need to type before.

How can you make yourself throw up?

Your thumbs typed as fast as they could. In part because you were shameful over what you were typing, and because you were desperate for reprieve from the far more profound shame over eating so much.

But the first thing that you saw upon your search inquiry was something you weren’t prepared for, something that forced you into a much different reality than you wanted to face.

It was the website to the National Eating Disorders Association, with the words Get Help attached to the link below it.

It scared you. You didn’t expect it. And it certainly stopped you, your thumbs held frozen above the link that begged you to click on it.

But you didn’t. Couldn’t.

You’re not that far gone that you have to seek help in that way…right?

Defeat overshadowed the shame as you slumped yourself down on the bathroom floor, letting your phone crash against the ceramic tile.

And you cried. You sobbed. Harder than you’ve ever sobbed before.

And you let yourself do it. You needed to do it. There wasn’t anything left to do.

Minutes went by. Several of them. But exactly how many, you don't know. You didn’t keep track. The tears just kept coming, and you were in no place to stop them. They were old tears that you never allowed to be shed, and new tears that needed to join them.

They were tears from the nine year old you that grew breasts before anyone else in her class and was bullied over it. Tears from the eleven year old you that discovered she could skip the breakfast her dad made in the mornings if she slept in just a few minutes later. Tears from the thirteen year old you that began skipping lunch everyday at school. Tears from the sixteen year old you that was told she was severely anemic from malnutrition and needed the highest dose of iron supplements her doctor was able to prescribe. Tears from the eighteen year old you that refused to take senior pictures because she hated the way she looked. Tears from the nineteen year old you who was told there was a slim chance she’d ever be able to have children.

And tears from today you. The you that misses her dad, the you that is tired of people leaving and lying to her, the you that wants so badly to love her body the way Jake did.

The you who’s going to fucking miss him.

When your eyes decided to let up, you slowly stood from the floor, grabbing your phone and heading to your room.

And that’s where you’ve been ever since. Laying here, letting a few stray tears fall as they please. You’ve no control over them anymore. They now choose when to cascade down the sides of your face. And you’ll let them. They need to be shed.

You want to talk to someone, but at the same time, you don’t.

You can’t bother anyone with this anymore. Especially Nat, who's probably sick of hearing it by now, and whose voice is currently playing on a continuous loop inside your head.

“But don’t let him be the only reason you care about yourself. Because what will you do when he leaves, hm?”

She said those words only hours ago. She probably doesn’t want to be bothered with all of this again, twice in a single day.

No, you can’t do that to her. She shouldn’t have to worry about you, or have to hear about your pathetic triggers again. She’s too good for you, too strong of a woman to be burdened with the likes of you. She would deny that if you told her. She’d tell you she loves you and you’re the best friend she could ask for. But you know she’s too good for you. (And, deep down, she probably knows it, too.)

But more than anything, what's haunting you is the one person you truly want to talk to right now: Jake.

And you can’t do that.

You can’t just call him up, listen to his voice to make yourself feel better. You can’t get in your car and drive to his apartment so he can hold you. You can’t let him be the one who saves you, because you won't have that option anymore once he leaves. Just like Nat was trying to get you to understand earlier, that you now understand too well.

And she’s right; what the hell will you do when he leaves if you only try to heal because of him?

But, fuck. He’s the source of your safety — was. You don’t know how you’ll ever find that again. And in moments like these, you need that the most. You can’t even talk to him anymore.

So, instead of following your heart, you’ll continue to lay here. You’ll lay here as long as you need, keeping your eyes off your body and up towards the ceiling. Letting the tears come and go as the deem necessary.

Relapses happen. You’ve known that for the majority of your life.

But this one…this one is different. It’s darker than any other time before. Admitting that, even if only to yourself, is quite difficult.

And you’re scared you may never be able to pull yourself out of it. Because, while you’ve been able to do that every time before, this time is so very different.

You’ve always been able to do it on your own. But what if…

What if you really need someone by your side this time?

And what if that someone is currently packing his things to move across the world from you?

You want to heal. God knows you do. It’s miserable to live this way. But your fear is that you’re too far gone at this point, that the hope of you ever being able to eat food like a normal person is dwindling with each passing day that you struggle, each year.

You don’t want to live like this anymore. But you also don’t know anything different.

It’s a sad reality you’ve had to face for as long as you can remember, and it’s one that you’ve had to confront even more so since you moved here.

Perhaps there’s a reason for it.

The tiny optimist in you would like to think that, because this season has been so much more difficult than any other, that means you’re closer to healing than you’ve ever been.

But.

The much larger pessimist in you is fearful that the true reason you’re struggling more than ever is because…

…because this may be your final battle.

The battle you’re destined to fail.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Why don’t you like this?” Nat asks you, tugging at the green chiffon fabric sitting against your hips. “This looks hot as hell on you.”

“Nat. Are you joking? This looks awful.” The reflection in Nat’s gold framed, full length mirror isn’t one you’re exactly thrilled with. This is the third dress of hers you’ve tried on and nothing is up to your satisfaction. And of all of them, this one is by far the worst. Swamp green, long sleeves made of the most uncomfortable material, and the skirt bunched up at your hips. Not exactly the way you want to look for the premiere tonight.

“I look like Kermit the fucking Frog in this color.”

She rolls her eyes with an exaggerated groan, waving her arms in defeat. “Well, your highness, I’m just about out of options that meet your royal standards of dress wear for the evening.” She comes behind you to help you unzip the horrid gown she’s put you in. “And Kermit, y/n? You seriously think this makes you like an amphibian with some man's hand stuck up his ass?”

“Uh, yeah. I may as well bring a banjo tonight so I can sing about fucking rainbows.” You pull the dress over your shoulders, instantly scratching your arms once it’s off due to the itchy chiffon that was clinging to your skin. It made you feel suffocated and trapped in its green netting.

“I’m convinced that you’ll find something wrong with anything that I give you to try on,” she grumbles as you help her put the dress back on its hanger. “I give up! You’re impossible to please.”

“That’s not true! You just have terrible taste in dresses,” you say, laced with sarcasm because it’s certainly not the case. All of these pieces would undoubtedly look amazing on her, just not on you. Though, you’re convinced she could wear just about anything and make it a fashion statement.

Her outfit for tonight is the epitome of grace and effortless beauty. The soft baby pink of her soft, velvety gown perfectly compliments her glowing caramel complexion. It hugs her body beautifully, and the off-the-shoulder neckline seems designed just for her, highlighting her elegant physique. Her natural curls, sitting just above her collar bone, are lustrous and full of body. It’s rare that she wears her hair down, but you love it when she does. Her gorgeous curls only enhance her striking presence. She truly is one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.

“I really think you should just wear this one, babe.” She points to the dress you brought to her place with you. The one that’s laying across her bed, the red dress Jake bought you. It’s the nicest thing you own, and you love the way it looks on you. But, wearing it tonight feels weird. It was purchased specifically for your date, and what it now symbolizes for you is deeper than just the gorgeous, satin dress you wore for your birthday.

“You don’t think it’ll be weird? I mean, considering it’s —,”

“It will not be weird.” She interjects your thoughts as she takes the dress from her bed and holds it out for you. “If anything, seeing you in that sexy number will make him regret ever lying to you in the first place.”

She’s probably right. No, she is right. (You hope, at least.)

And, aside from the fact that this dress makes you feel beautiful, the color is fitting given its significance in the film.

Deciding to give up on trying on anything else that you know you’ll hate, you slip into the dress and, for the first time tonight, admire your reflection — something you hadn’t done with any of the other gowns you tried.

“Like I said before, babe,” Nat says, fetching her black faux fur shawl she had you try earlier in the evening with something else. You despised it then, but with this dress, it’s altogether different. “This dress was made for you. I mean, look at your ass!” She looks you up and down, biting the knuckle of her index finger, shaking her head in disbelief.

Your face, completely flushed as you giggle at her remark and contort your body to see what she sees. There is a rather pronounced, rounded curve, the material and fit of the dress accentuating the shape. But, it’s not that impressive. At least not enough to warrant her reaction.

She drapes the shawl over your shoulders, pulling it snuggly around the front. The soft, textured fur frames your neckline in a graceful v-shape, elegantly cascading from your back and delicately covering your upper arms, leaving the tops of your shoulders exposed. It's timeless, and so classy. More than that, it promises to shield you from the biting, Michigan air as this dress wasn’t exactly made for such temperatures. “I love this,” you say, running your fingers over the soft warmth of the faux fur. “It really dresses it up, doesn’t it?”

The confidence in her I told you so smile says she knew all along that this would look as good as it does. “You should never doubt my stylistic abilities.” She heads to her closet, bringing out a shawl that almost identically matches yours, only hers it white. A gorgeous fit with the baby pink color of her gown. Her beauty is simply impossible to ignore.

“You‘re so beautiful, Nat.” She smiles, her perfect teeth whiter than the shawl she’s draping over her shoulders.

“So are you, my gorgeous bestie,” she says as she grabs her liquid lipstick to put on one more coat before Danny gets here.

As you watch her paint her lips, you remember the lipstick you brought that you had planned to wear. And, it’s no coincidence that it’s the very same one you wore for your portrayal of Guiniverre. You grab your cross body from her bed and rummage through it to find the lipstick. And as you’re doing that, you’re reminded of one more thing you brought — the sword necklace. You’re considering wearing it, but only for the sake of the film. (Part of you is clinging to the hope that Jake will wear his, too.)

Standing next to Natalia in front of the mirror, you quickly coat your lips in the scarlet shade, using your finger to blot the excess and clean up the sides. “Oh that color is perfect,” Nat says as she’s finishing up her own lips. She makes a kissy face in the mirror once she’s done, leaning over like she’s about to plant one on your cheek until her phone begins ringing.

“I bet that’s my Prince Charming ready to whisk us away to the royal ball,” she says, tilting her chin upward in a regal pose, waving her hand in as though she were a true Princess. “You ready, babe?”

Mimicking her royal stance, you link arms with her and practice your very own Princess wave, thinking of the way Princess Mia learns to do it in The Princess Diaries. “Thou art ready,” you say, in your best (albeit, horrible) British accent. (Jake would certainly be disappointed.)

As you’re heading out of her room, walking arm in arm to the front door, you’ve suddenly remembered something you forgot. “One sec,” you say as you unlink your arm from hers. “I left something in my bag. You go ahead and go out, I’ll be there in a minute.”

She dances her way out of the door, humming some tune that sounds like something from a Disney movie. “Don’t keep us waiting, darling! The King anticipates our arrival!”

Walking as fast as your heels will allow, you reach her room and grab your bag sitting on her bed. The sword charm is the first thing you see as you unzip it, and without much of a thought, you pull it out, placing it around your neck.

The clasp is tricky without someone to help you, but after a few tries, it’s finally secured.

After one more glance in the mirror, finger combing your bangs and adjusting the necklace so it sits just right against your chest, you decide it’s the perfect final touch.

And with that, you head out the door to begin what you’re certain will be an unforgettable evening. (For many, many reasons.)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The neon lights reading ‘FOX’ can be seen blocks away from the building they’re lit against, practically blinding against the stark contrast of the night sky. Glorious reds and blues glow with the sparkling stars, illuminating the city with their gleam. It’s an incredible sight to behold, adding to the seemingly endless reasons you’ve fallen madly in love with this city.

“Wait, is that where we’re going?” You ask as Danny makes a sharp turn on Woodward avenue, coming closer to the theatre and essentially answering your question as he pulls into the private parking lot across from those neon lights you’d been eyeing for several minutes.

“I’m so excited to finally see this place,” Nat says, her voice high in pitch as Danny shifts the car into park.

You knew the viewing of the film would be at least a little more formal than your typical classroom presentation, but you weren’t prepared at all for this.

Formal is indeed the correct word. It’s comparable to a Hollywood premiere – not that you’ve ever been to one, or anything close to one, but this certainly feels like something you’ve seen in the movies a time or two.

Josh wasn’t bullshitting when he told you to go all out with your attire; everyone is dressed to the nines. Gowns and suits, a true black tie affair. You’re suddenly feeling more grateful than ever that Jake bought you this dress. There’s not a thing in your wardrobe that would fit the bill for a night like this.

There are a few students walking in that you recognize, but for the most part, it feels almost too official for a collegiate event. You didn’t realize anything of this grandeur existed within the realms of the U of M. Apparently, this is an annual thing, just before the end of the Fall semester.

Keeping strictly in the English department, Natalia’s never been to one as you either have to be exclusively invited or a film student. She’s always wanted to experience it, so Josh made sure she’d get the chance to come, even though she wasn’t part of the film. She’s one of the VIP guests for the night, listed right along with the cast and crew of the film. Her eyes are practically as bright as the neon colors in the theatre’s sign as she steps out of the car, taking it all in as this was her very last chance to attend one of these things.

Enhancing the Hollywood-esqu aura, a lush green velvet carpet stretches up the stairs to the entrance, illuminated by spotlights that guide your way. You may as well be a beloved film star, gracefully making her way across the grand carpet to the premiere of a highly anticipated movie directed by the industry's biggest names. That's certainly how it feels, at least. And while this event may not have the global scale of a blockbuster premiere, you are, in essence, the star of one of the films being showcased tonight. College film or not, tonight, you truly feel like you might be someone special.

“Holy fuck,” Nat mutters under her breath as the two of you take anxious steps along the carpet together with your arms linked together and clutching your shawls in the wake of the cold air, Daniel towing closely behind. “This is…insane, right?

She took the words right out of your mouth. “That’s putting it lightly, Nat.”

“I think I’m a little underdressed,” Danny giggles as you get closer to the two ushers in full tuxedos, coat tails and all, greeting you as you approach the doors.

“Welcome to The Fox, ladies,” one of them says before noticing the tall man in a black turtleneck and maroon slacks following behind you, awkwardly waving to get their attention. “My apologies,” he continues. “And gentleman.” They each open the doors on their respective sides, and when you catch the first glimpse of what’s behind them, your breath is completely sucked away from your lungs. You’ve never seen anything more magnificent in all of your life.

East Asian architecture is an art deco lover's dream. The colors are so full, so rich, mimicking the ones glowing on the outside of the building. The intricately designed ceilings, golden and lined with chandeliers, practically reach the height of the stars.

Another staircase, with statues of lions with jeweled eyes guarding the base of the railings, is in front of you, leading where you can only assume will hold the evening's main event. The only thing you can think to compare it to is the grand staircase depicted in the Titanic, though you’ve got a feeling this may be even more majestic than anything James Cameron could ever hope to produce.

“Pretty sweet, isn't it?” Danny says, standing behind the two of you with a hand on each of your shoulders as you’re both left awe-struck by the vision before you. “Been to quite a few musicals here with my family. I promise you, it’s just as beautiful every time I see it.”

Approaching you is yet another usher, dressed in full black tie with a clipboard held in his hands. After greeting the three of you, he glances down at the list attached to the clipboard, taking his pen and making marks. “You’re here as guests of Mr. Kiszka, I presume?” He asks, as though he’d been waiting on the three of you to arrive. He smiles as you each confirm, making one last mark on his list. “Right this way.”

With that, you’re led up the grand set of stairs. Nat takes your arm once more, giggling as Danny is stuck walking behind you two again.

There are hundreds of seats with gold crowning, upholstered with red velvet, facing a giant screen that’s framed by a curtain the same shade of red as the seats.

This is certainly not the kind of theater you had in mind when Josh explained what tonight would entail. You expected a classic AMC or a Regal. Not this.

The theaters back home are nothing like this one. In the almost six months you’ve lived here, you’d never once driven by the Fox Theatre. It was forty minutes away from your home in Ann Arbor, but still. You’d never even heard of it, which is mind boggling considering the sheer history this place must have. Apparently, this place is quite the home for the prestige around here. This city will never stop surprising you, and you fall in love with it a little more each day.

The usher has led you all the way to the first row of the orchestra pit that’s blocked off with red ribbon, a sign reading "Reserved” attached to them. Each seat has a name card on it, and once you find yours, you’re appalled when you read the names on the seats yours is between.

Samuel Kiszka on your left, Jacob Kiszka on your right.

While you’re not entirely certain, you do have a pretty good feeling you know who’s behind this.

Thank you, Joshua.

Jake and Sam aren’t here yet, of course. Nor is your director and his partner. The Kiszkas are notorious for showing up at least a little late everywhere they go, but you thought for sure they’d break that late streak for tonight of all nights. But, no. They have yet to make their grand arrival. And that is only serving to heighten your already shot-to-hell nerves. Not knowing when Jake and Sam will be here, if they’ll show up together, what their reactions to this little seating arrangement will be that you will get to witness first hand.

Aside from all of that, the thing that’s really tying your nerves in knots is what Jake will be wearing tonight. Something regal, you’re sure. He’ll no doubt sport his necklaces, maybe a hat. Perhaps he’ll wear something all black – your ultimate weakness – sleek, irresistibly sexy…

Fuck. Just thinking about it makes your core ache, but also hurts your heart with just as much intensity given the circumstances with him right now.

And then, there’s Sammy, who will be on the other side of you all evening. He elicits an entirely different set of emotions from you. Emotions that are just as complicated as the ones you feel with Jake, but in ways that are completely unique to Sam.

Jesus. Though you know it’s an unrealistic wish, you hope that somehow the two of them just decide to not show up tonight, save you some of the agony of sitting right in the middle of them. But, you know them both better than that. They wouldn’t dare miss an opportunity to support their brother. And that’s why you are here, too. To cheer on Josh, to show him the love and admiration he deserves after pouring all of himself into this film.

You’re just so grateful to be a part of it. The fact that it’s all coming to an end tonight dares to bring a few tears to your eyes.

“Bitch,” Nat whispers as she takes her seat next to the empty one that will be Sammy’s, throwing you a look after reading the names on either side of you. Her hand flies up to her mulled wine-painted lips, muffling a laugh at the pure irony of the situation and the discomfort you’re sure is evident in your features.

Danny, already seated in his assigned chair near the end of the row next to Nat, leans over her to see what the fuss is all about. And when he realizes it, he is having a hard time not laughing at the matter as well. “Big yikes,” he giggles.

“Stop it,” you mumble through gritted teeth, deciding to simply pretend like everything is normal. You want to make things the least awkward they can possibly be when they arrive and discover the situation for themselves.

“Hi, girlies!” You hear in a familiar, high-pitched voice. One that you should’ve expected to hear given her involvement with the film, though you truly hadn’t thought about that possibility until this very moment.

And, here she is. Floor length, completely sequined gown of vibrant pink, a slit running all the way up to her bronzed, smooth thigh. The bust is strapless, of course, and her boobs are basically pushed up to her fucking chin. Her platinum locks are curled and feathered to near perfection, her makeup without a single flaw against her already unblemished skin. And a glance behind where she’s standing realizes a fear you didn’t prepare yourself to have tonight – her name is taped to the seat on the other side of where Jake will be sitting.

So, suffice to say, this little seating arrangement is probably the worst way to have placed everyone.

Josh on the end next to the aisle, then Malachi, Danny, Nat, Sam, you, Jake, and Stacy. You certainly don’t hate the universe, but you do wish it would align a little more in your favor from time to time.

“Hi, Stac,” you say as you plop yourself in your seat, feeling the weight of dread over what events the next few hours will bring. “You look beautiful tonight.”

The words felt like fire against your tongue. But, they’re quite true. And no matter how you feel about her, she deserves to know she looks incredible. Suddenly, you’re feeling like you don’t quite measure up. A familiar feeling, one you wish you weren’t experiencing tonight.

Stacy’s glossed lips become stretched over her pearly teeth in a huge smile as she takes her seat, smoothing down a few sequins and pushing her boobs up even more as she does so. “Awe, thanks, y/n!” She says, almost as though she was expecting the praise. She wasn’t surprised by your compliment, at least. That much is evident in her I know, don’t I? tone of voice.

You glance over at Natalia to gauge her thoughts on the interaction, and to no surprise, her lips are pursed tightly, as if to force them shut so she won’t say what’s truly on her mind. Which is almost always a good thing. She’s one of the sweetest souls you’ve ever encountered, but she can be quite ruthless when she wants to be – not all of her thoughts should be vocalized. And when they are, someone will end up with sore feelings. But, she means well. Most of the time.

There’s only ten twenty minutes until this thing is set to begin, and still no sign of a single Kiszka. While you’re not happily anticipating Sam and Jake’s arrivals, you are beginning to worry a bit about whether Josh and Malachi will make it on time. It is his big night, afterall. Showing up late may not be the best look to all of these scholarship funders, with their pockets full of a promising future for only a few of these anxious students presenting tonight.

Josh always pulls through, you know that. He will be here. It may be nearing the very last second that he makes his grand appearance, but he’ll do it in style. Stylishly late.

“Nat,” you quietly mutter, a failed attempt at getting her attention as she’s whispering in Danny’s ear, the two of them giggling like two kids who’ve just said something they really shouldn’t have.

They’re adorable. And nauseating.

“Natalia Delores!” Your voice has a bit more umph behind it this time, enough that her and Danny both now have your attention. Her face says she’s definitely annoyed by your interruption, but you can’t be bothered with that at the moment.

“What, y/n?” She responds, matching your tone almost perfectly.

“Do you think they’d be mad if I switched spots with Sa–,”

“Here we are, sir.”

“Ah, thank you, good man!”

“What’s up, Sammy?” Danny says, lifting from his seat to greet his friend with a full body hug, offering a playful tap to his ass. “Handsome fucker,” he jokes. “You get all dressed up for me?”

One thing you’ll never deny is just how sexy Sam is. He’s gorgeous. He truly does look handsome as hell tonight. He’s donning a full red suit, tailored flawlessly to his physique. Tight in all the right places.

And, he’s matching you. The hue of his suit is an almost exact compliment to your dress. There’s no way he would’ve known what you had planned to wear, so it’s most definitely not on purpose.

But, Jake may not believe that. He just might think it was a deliberate choice for you two to match. And there’s a chance he’ll even be a little angry about that presumption.

Good.

You’ve always known Sam to have a rather eccentric sense of style, but he always makes it work. His style is so very much him. Most probably wouldn’t be able to pull off a suit of this shade, but he just does. He can make anything look good. Anything.

“Only for you,” Sammy winks as he shimmies his way down the row in search of his seat, Nat standing to give him more room down the narrow way.

“You’re right here,” she says, pointing to his name taped on the back rest. “Right next to y/n.” She looks to you, noting the horror in expression you’re sure your features are screaming. You mouth out the words Thanks, Nat and she chuckles, blowing you a kiss for forgiveness that you can’t help but smile at. Fucking brat.

“Y/n! Look at you!” Sam nearly shouts, leaning down and taking your hand, forcing you to stand up. He pulls you in for a deep hug, holding you close for a few seconds longer than what most would deem appropriate. “I like that we match,” he whispers in your ear, meant only for you to hear. His lips just barely ghost the skin beneath your earring. Every inch of your skin rises in goosebumps, your heart fluttering.

“Th-thank you, Sam,” you stutter, keeping your voice as hushed as his. He leans away, breaking the hug and letting you see the smile across his lips. His grin urges one from you, too. His smile is always contagious.

He pats your arm, then moves to sit down. And just as you’re about to take your seat once more, a well-known cologne overwhelms you, a sexy, captivating scent of musky sandalwood that you recognize all too well as…

“Jake!” Danny shouts, echoing across the acoustics as he leaps out of his seat yet again to embrace his friend. “Looking snazzy as ever, I see.” He pats his exposed chest, twiddling with the lapel of his suit’s jacket. Even as Danny’s hand slides down the lapel, your eyes stay firmly planted on the tanned skin of his chest and abdomen. “Where the hell’d you find this?”

Jake’s famous giggle leaves his smiling lips, his teeth sparkling white against the contrast of his all black garb. “Malachi dug through endless trenches to find it for me.” He brushes at each of his shoulders, adjusting the waist of the jacket as he straightens his posture. “Found it a rather fitting piece for the night,” he says, pursing his lips through a smug grin, acting as though he’s the true belle of the ball.

And you are in an even worse predicament than you’d thought you’d be in.

Nat’s eyes almost instantly find yours. Hers are wide and smiling, faux sympathy for you laced in her golden irises.

You’d already prepared yourself for the chance of him showing up in something that would leave your knees weak and your skin on fire. But nothing could’ve prepared you for what you’re witnessing right now.

“Is that hand sewn?” Nat asks, standing from her seat to give Jake some room to head down the row in search of his seat. He nods his head to confirm what she already knows, scooching his way through as you’re practically frozen in your seat, watching him get closer and closer to you. Your eyes are glued to the impeccable way his expensive, straight-leg, black satin slacks hug his round ass. The suit might as well have been made for his beautiful body.

“You know your brother finds only the pinnacle of clothing. He wouldn’t have let me show up in anything less than the absolute best quality.”

“He doesn’t do that shit for me, damn,” Nat snarls as he passes her, his back just slightly brushing against her, then walking slowly past Sam. You’re certain it’s on purpose, but he’s avoided all eye contact with you thus far. And you’re mentally thanking whoever the hell you need to thank for that, because it would absolutely make things all the more awkward.

But you can’t seem to move yourself from your chair when he turns around finally, body no longer turned towards the front to get through. No, he’s now facing your row of seats. And your poor legs can’t handle his proximity, feeling numb at the fact that he’s now so close to you. The thick silvery stitching embroidered on this suit jacket, in the image of a sword piercing his chest, dark red stones, the color of blood, dripping from the blade, are blinding against the black satin they’re embedded in. It’s the beginning of December – the temperatures are frigid. Yet, his jacket is completely open, exposing his toned (and unseasonably tanned) chest, his tummy, all the things about his body that make your head spin.

And, no surprise, he has quite the collection of coins hanging against his bare skin. Some that you’ve seen him wear many times, some that you haven’t. But there’s something noticeably missing.

He’s not wearing the sword tonight, and you are. And you know he sees it. His eyes confirm that as they’re staring directly at your chest where the necklace rests.

You’re embarrassed that you’re wearing it, wishing you would’ve just left it in your purse. Or, better yet, left it at home. There’s no way to know what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling. But if you had to guess, his thoughts aren’t exactly happy ones at the sight of you wearing the dress he bought and the necklace that matches his own that he deliberately chose not to wear.

The air becomes trapped in your throat as he approaches you, his eyes flitting to yours for the first time tonight. Damn this theatre for not having enough space in the rows of chairs – he can’t get past you, so you have to stand in order for him to reach his seat.

But you’re still stuck. Stuck in fear, in hurt feelings, stuck in awe of him.

How are you supposed to stand when the feeling in your legs has essentially vanished?

How are you still feeling this way about him after he lied to you?

As his eyes are still fixed on yours, he takes the last step towards you. He reaches his right hand down to yours, holding his palm up and open, ready for you to place yours inside.

What – ?

Tentatively, hearing nothing but the erratic beating of your heart pounding in your ears, you take his hand. He helps you out of your seat, his dark eyes keeping tight hold of yours.

You suck in a breath as he begins to walk past you, not speaking a word. With the way he’s now turned, you can’t help but notice… unlike everyone else he’s just walked by, his back isn’t facing you – it’s the front of his body slowly gliding past you. He’s so warm, so sturdy. And you feel all of him. And while you may never get to feel him inside of you ever again, you can certainly feel his cock pressed against your front. It’s taking every ounce of strength you’ve got to not let on to what it’s doing to you. The throbbing in your core is enough to make you want to take him right here. And while you certainly shan’t do that, you can at least play out the scenario safely in your thoughts.

His right hand still has yours in his grip, while his left gently grabs your hip. His hand slides down as he fully passes you, his thumb just barely skimming the top of your thigh. His fingertips linger for just a moment longer, before finally letting go of your hand. It’s then he discovers where his seat for the night is, and you can see the slight downward curl in his lips as he realizes.

Now you’re left to wonder – was the indication of disgust over you or Stacy?

Her squeaking voice pierces your ears as she greets him, having no problem standing to pull him into a hug. Something you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

There’s a tightening in the pit of your stomach as you sit back down, feeling far too many things all at once right now. He does look irritated as he’s hugging her back. But, he’s still hugging her. You know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t hold the embrace any longer if he didn’t have reason behind it. It could be to make you jealous, (a trick you’re all too familiar with) or, worse, it’s because he wants to keep hugging her.

Either way, you’re mortified by it. And if you didn’t have as much self-discipline as you thankfully do, you would've used that moment to unleash all your true feelings about her, to her. Just as you should’ve done a long ass time ago.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Are you excited to watch this?” Sam asks, throwing a sly wink and nudging your shoulder with his. “I bet we look pretty hot,” he giggles, his famous laugh that forces one from you. No matter how much you don’t feel like laughing right now. Sam can always make you crack a smile.

You look to Jake out of your peripheral to gauge whether he’s listening or not. He’s sitting stone cold on the other side of you, completely still, looking only at the stage that is set and ready to proceed with tonight's events.

He’s still not spoken a word to you. But to be fair, you’ve not said anything to him either. It hurts. It feels like absolute shit. It’s almost like everything wonderful that happened between the two of you never truly happened at all. The slate has been wiped clean, like you’re in the very same place you were with him when you first moved here.

But, the unfortunate part about that is, there’s a painful history there now… where there wasn’t one before.

You almost wish you could go back in time, rewrite the story of you and Jake and take out all of the beautiful things you shared. At least then you wouldn’t have this weight settled between you two as you’re sat very close to one another. The problems you two had would have remained unspoken and left as nothing more than a mutual hatred.

But, nope. That wasn’t what the stars had written for you.

In truth, he should be your date this evening, your other half as you watch the very thing that brought the two of you together, reminiscing about the last few months spent pouring yourselves into this massive project. Instead, you’re both acting as if the other doesn’t exist to either of you anymore. Heavy silence is all that is left.

And that feels like shit.

But, at least you’ve got Sam. And no matter the situation, he’s a bright light and a calming spirit, one that is able to calm yours at this very moment.

“Oh, yes. I know we look hot,” you respond, speaking loud enough that hopefully Jake heard you. Is it absolutely shitty of you? Yes, yes it is. But at least you can admit that. And at least you know it’s sure to ignite a fire in him, get the wheels in his head turning. Maybe even force him to speak to you. Because god knows you will not be the first one to break the ice tonight. Nope. He can do that if he really wants to.

You sneakily glance over to him just to see if he’s wearing any sort of reaction on his cold features.

But, alas, nothing. He’s still staring at the stage, as if his glare will make this whole thing begin that much sooner.

And that thought makes you realize that Josh and Malachi are still not here. The masterminds behind this whole thing, and they are cutting it way too close for comfort.

Leaning over Sam, you reach for Nat’s arm, tapping her until she looks at you. “Where are they?” You ask, motioning toward the two empty seats at the end of your aisle.

Nat shrugs her shoulders, lifting her hands up. “Fuck if I know,” she says. “Josh probably spent over an hour figuring out what to wear, my brother probably had to have at least five outfits prepared for him to try on a hundred times before he decided on something.”

“Fucking diva,” Sam mumbles under his breath, chuckling to himself.

“He is the definition of diva,” Nat confirms. “Beyonce’s got nothing on that man. And Malachi does nothing but encourage it.”

“Speak of the diva himself,” Danny chimes in, looking over his shoulder as Josh is practically flying down the green carpet toward you all, Malachi speed walking close behind.

All of you have now turned your attention toward him, and he stops just before he makes it to the seats to put on a dramatic curtsey, one from each side of his body.

Now you understand what took them so long.

He’s dressed in full sparkle. Head to toe. Literally.

As he approaches his seat, you note the elaborate pattern of rhinestones glued around his black tight-lined eyes. His cheeks are glowing with an iridescent highlight that the bright lights of the theater accentuate gorgeously.

And his jumpsuit. It’s truly unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Full velvet, with a jacket of the most intricate designs you’ve ever seen sewn with beads and jewels. It almost perfectly mimics the iridescent color on his cheeks. Each time he moves, you see pinks and lavenders in the material. Even some blues as he gets closer. And, as a reminder that he and Jake are in fact twins, the neckline is taking quite the plunge down his chest, hitting just below his sternum.

These boys must never get cold, you ponder.

He looks absolutely immaculate. Not that you expected anything less, but still. Josh is the best kind of unexpected. This man always keeps you on your toes, never knowing his next extraordinary move. The traits of a true, professional director who creates the most revered and timeless pieces.

Malachi compliments him beautifully with his black velvet tux. And god, he looks handsome, too. They both pulled out all of the stops. It looks like they both got fresh haircuts, their facial hair cleaned up and shaped. They are absolutely gorgeous, and it makes you so indescribably happy to see them like this on what very well could be the night that lays the foundation for something even bigger for them. Especially for Josh.

If you know anything about film (and you’re pretty sure you do), you have no doubt that this one will be a crowd favorite. No doubt that it should open every door possible for Josh to have a future in this business. Which he very much deserves.

The house lights begin dimming just as Josh and Chi are taking their seats, proving that they truly did make it just in time. How on earth they did that is nothing short of a damn miracle.

A spotlight hits the master of ceremonies, a tall man without a single hair on his head, appears from behind the velvet curtain to thunderous applause from more than a hundred excited film students. Josh whistles through his fingers, and you’re impressed by how loud he is. While you don’t recognize this man, almost everyone else in this room certainly seems to adore him. “Welcome, my dear students and guests, to the annual University of Michigan Film Fest,” he boldly announces through the microphone. “As many of you know, my name is Dr. Steven Turner, and I am the department head for our film studies program on campus.”

After more applause, and more whistling from Josh, Dr. Turner waits for everyone to quiet down before he announces the films that will be presented. There are only three films that will be shown in their entirety tonight, one of them being Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur, under the direction of the one and only Josh M. Kiszka.

You felt the thumping of your heart when Dr. Turner said the (very long) name of your film, and it’s truly beginning to settle in that you'll be watching yourself on the screen tonight. And so will everyone else. A crashing wave of anxiety courses through your veins at the thought, tingling under your skin. Your tummy is twisted in knots, your leg bouncing with nerves. There’s no turning back now.

“At long last, I present to you our first film of the night,” Dr. Turner declares, and you’re silently praying and pleading that Josh’s film isn’t first. You need time to prepare yourself before you watch it like this. “Written, produced, and directed by senior Josh M. Kiszka,”

Fuck.

“Please enjoy the debut of his first short-film, Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur.”

As he exits stage left, the spotlight begins dimming until it’s gone. Then, the curtain begins to lift, revealing a huge projection screen. Suddenly, it displays the title card of Josh’s film in an elaborate red font against a stark black background.

This is it.

Your whole body begins trembling with unease. The knots in your stomach have turned into pure nausea that you’re trying your hardest to swallow down. But, as the image on the screen shifts to the opening sequence, the beautiful drone footage Josh captured of the mountains, your throat suddenly becomes too dry to swallow.

At this point, the entire row must be shaking from your bouncing leg. You can’t help it. You’ve seen yourself in this film, but you’ve not seen it like this. On a humongous screen and in front of over a hundred people, no less. You’re fearful of their judgements, what they’ll think of you playing the Queen.

The opening footage starts to fade out, and the first thing that fades in – The Queen. In full color, she’s dressed in the deep, red gown, the first costume you had tried on. As the angle widens, Lancelot, in his white velvet top and red cape, is seen standing across from her in their secret spot hidden in the middle of the forest. They stare into each other's eyes, longingly. Hopelessly and forbiddenly in love with one another.

Lancelot, Sam, begins to speak his first lines, the first of the entire film.

“My love. I accept this token and will wear it as I carry you with me, that with it wrapped around my arm, so as you are wrapped even tighter around my heart.”

And then, the Queen, you.

“With it carries the promise you will return to me, unmarked and whole. Again will you lie with me, again will you hold me as tightly as my token holds you.”

As you’re watching yourself on this screen that is larger than your entire apartment complex, your leg continues to bounce, your teeth biting at your brittle nails. It’s only the beginning; there’s still so much left of this film to witness, and you’re not sure you can find the strength in you to keep watching. If seeing yourself like this has you ready to run out of this theater and never look back, how the hell will you be able to sit through what’s to come?

No. You can’t do it. You’ll ask Josh to forgive you later, but right now, you have to get out of here. As you uncross your legs, readying yourself to make a quick and hopefully unnoticed exit, you feel a warm hand against your trembling thigh. Your right thigh. The side Jake is on.

With a downward glance to your lap, you see the hand you’ve come to know quite well as his. You’d know those hands anywhere. There’s no doubt you’d be able to recognize them instantly, even without seeing his face.

Your leg has stopped bouncing, and your body begins to relax as you no longer feel the desire to escape. You feel like you can breathe again, all from the most gentle, grounding touch from someone you’re supposed to hate right now. At least, you think you’re supposed to.

Without being able to stop yourself, you look at his face as he’s absorbedly studying the screen. His lips are parted just slightly, his brows carefully knit as he’s focusing his attention on his twins project. All at once, as though he really wasn’t paying as close attention as you thought, he looks down at his hand that’s still resting against your thigh. And once he realizes, he removes it.

“Sorry,” he whispers, still peering down where his hand once was. “I didn’t mean to, I just, I knew you were –,” he stammers, his raspy voice hushed and soft so as to not disturb any viewers. He takes a deep breath, the hand that was on your thigh rubbing at his lower chin. “You look beautiful,” he sighs, looking back to the screen.

Whether he’s referring to you on film, or right now, you can’t be sure. Either way, your anxious wave has settled to a warm calm, wrapping you in a quiet embrace.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and you’re almost certain you see the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Though his hand isn’t there to offer you comfort any longer, the effects it left are lasting. As the scene in the forest comes to its end, and as the big first kiss is taking place between the lovers, your nerves have significantly calmed down. You’re still not completely comfortable, but knowing Jake could somehow sense that you needed someone, that you needed him, is giving you a sense of peace over it all. He’s still right next to you, and that’s truly enough to help you get through this.

“We look pretty good, huh?” Sam whispers, nudging your arm with his elbow. If you were to be completely honest, you had almost forgotten Sam was here. You’ve been so focused on watching yourself on the film, letting your nerves get the best of you before Jake intervened. And, while you’re sitting here between both of them, just as close to one as you are to the other, Jake was the one who noticed you were feeling tense.

Not Sam, whose smile is oblivious while eyeing your shared kiss projected on screen. It was a good kiss; it was a great kiss. You’ll never forget the way it made you feel, the way Sam made you feel. The passion is there in this scene; it’s there in all of your scenes with him.

But if your memory serves you right, (and you know it does) you were only a convincing actress when Jake was nearby, when he was watching. His very presence ignited something within you, and the only person who could fan the flame at that moment was Sam. So, with every kiss, heavy and full of emotion, you envisioned Jake. Every. Single. Time. And because he lingered in the background for nearly every scene you shot, watching you as you acted with his brother, your performance is far more authentic than you realized — as you were in the moment. Watching it back now, fully edited and being viewed the way it was intended, the affair does appear incredibly believable.

The heaviest scenes, the ones in black and white have finally been reached. You’re taken aback by how magnificent the editing turned out. On the big screen, it’s an entirely different experience compared to watching it on the laptop. The reds are even more vibrant, more eye-catching and captivating. Every intimate moment between the illicit lovers is a beautiful depiction, where the color red emerges as a poignant symbol of their passionate affair.

But, the beautifully filmed and edited work doesn’t change the fact that you are the one portraying the Queen. No matter how many times you tell yourself that it isn’t really you being pictured across the screen, you still see pieces of yourself that serve as a daunting reminder. As someone who’s never been keen on her appearance, it’s certainly difficult to view yourself in such a manner. You’re just thankful that Josh was so careful in the way he filmed you, and even more mindful of your scenes when it came time to edit.

As this vigorous affair is unfolding on the screen, it’s becoming more intense than it’s been conveyed in the story thus far. The camera pans the expanse of the Queen's body, clothed in black lace. The gown striking within the noir effect. You’ve almost forgotten entirely that it’s your body, feeling as though the camera has truly made you unrecognizable as y/n. And, you’re okay with that.

The camera stills on her torso, and suddenly a hand appears just below her rib cage. A widening angle then reveals the Queen in a passionate exchange with Lancelot. Their bodies become tangled, fully engrossed within one another as their love is about to consummate.

You’re beginning to notice a sharp change in Jake’s breathing. Every time the Queen's lips meet the ones of the King's most trusted companion, you see Jake shift in his seat out of your peripheral vision, breathing heavily through his nose.

You know exactly why. Anxiety begins to creep its way back in as you ruminate on how Jake must be feeling. Watching these intimate moments between the Queen and Lancelot transpire on such a massive display, knowing how he feels about the actors beyond the film. The anxiety is quickly morphing into immense guilt, and a bit of shame. Though you know it’s not your fault, it is certainly making you think of other choices you’ve made as of late.

This moment in the film is one you remember quite well. And it’s not just because of the contents of the film that you have such a vivid recollection, it’s what happened behind the camera that makes your heart flutter. As the scene progresses with the lovers, the King suddenly makes a dramatic entrance through the doors of the boudoir, bearing witness to his wife’s best kept secret with his second in command.

You’ve practically stopped breathing at the sight of Jake as the king, wearing the cropped chainmail top and black pants, his sword attached to his hip. He despised the top at the beginning, having an almost visceral reaction when he wore it for the first time. Yet, you remember feeling as though he was the most enchanting vision you'd ever seen before your eyes. That very same feeling is overwhelming you at seeing him wear it again.

As the King begins to speak, the black and white slowly fades away to color, a decision Josh made to symbolize the ending of the forbidden affair.

“I thought I knew better than to heed Mordred's vile words of my first in command. And yet, I find that I needn’t worry of his lies, only those of my beloved and her dearest, both of whom betray their King.”

The King’s voice, Jake’s voice, is so deep and raw, vibrating the floor beneath your feet from the power behind it. As he speaks his lines, your mind takes you back to the day this was filmed. Jake was the most angry you had ever seen him, and he placed that energy into the King’s reaction to seeing his wife in bed with another. He couldn't even finish the scene at first, as his anger overcame him and he was no longer the king you’re seeing on the screen.

He lost control and stormed off set, and when you followed him to his room, you witnessed his unraveling for the first time.

That moment, while you were filming this very scene, serves as the beginning of what has now ended, and seeing a representation of it through the film makes your heart feel as though it could shatter at any second.

Jake’s leg has now begun to bounce in the seat next to you, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking the same things you are. Unlike he did for you, you choose not to rest your hand on his leg to offer him comfort. It’s not that you don’t want to, you’re just not sure that you can. You fear it’ll only make things worse for him, given how quickly he chose to remove his hand from you just moments ago. The touch would probably cause him even more discomfort, and you don’t want to be any more responsible for that than you already are.

In the film, after the King has threatened Lancelot with his life, the scene then shifts to his infidelity with Camillie. This is one you haven’t watched yet, and now you’re understanding what Jake may have been feeling this whole time watching you and Sam.

As the pair begins to kiss one another, the camera closes in on their faces. Watching Jake lips interlocked with hers in high definition isn’t something you were ready to see. And to make this moment much more difficult than it already is, you hear the infamous giggle that belongs to Stacy from further down the row. As your eyes leave the screen and glance her way, you’re wishing you would’ve just kept your attention on the film. Her hand is on Jake’s thigh, and he is smiling.

The rage you’re suddenly feeling is surpassing every other emotion you’ve experienced in such a short amount of time. What is she doing with her hand on him? Why does she think she has that right? Because of her miniscule little role she played in the film?

You want so badly to get Nat’s attention, but it would be inappropriate to do so during the film. And, Nat is just as enthralled by it as everyone else.

And you should be, too. It’s a true work of art, a magnum opus. Why can’t you let everything else rest so you can enjoy what you helped to create? If not for you, for Josh and Malahchi who labored endlessly over this. It’s not fair to either of them to allow your mind to be so preoccupied with other things that you know don’t matter right now.

As Camille and the King's scene comes to an end, it then fades into the final goodbye between Lancelot and Guiniverre. He’s holding her, telling her that he must put an end to this affair, if only to spare his life from the King’s wrath. In a final display of their love, they kiss one another deeply before he sets off.

The moment is powerful, as it shows the Queen and Lancelot doing what they know is right, while the King has just been shown having his own affair behind the back of his wife. The camera closes in on the Queen’s face, tearfully watching her lover fade into the shadows. You’re enthralled by moment, as you can feel the very emotions you felt as you filmed it all over again.

You hear a sigh from Sam, who nudges your shoulder once more as you’re the single shot on the screen. And with the nudge of his elbow, your body is shoved into Jake’s.

You begin to apologize for it, but as you look at him, his eyes piercing yours, you’ve found yourself unable to speak. His face is close – close enough that you needn't hardly move if you decided to kiss him. And the desire is there, no doubt. His warm breath fans your face, eliciting chills all over your body. His eyes begin to move down to your chest, and you feel your nipples begin to perk at breath touching your skin. You know he notices, as you can see the hint of a smile on his lips, even in the dark theatre.

The longing to lock your lips with his is dire. To feel him again, to taste him again; you’d be damned to say you haven’t wanted that this whole night. His eyes slowly lift back up to yours and his tongue glides over his lips, and before you can say or do anything, he turns his attention back to the film.

Taking a deep breath, mentally brushing away any other thought, you do just as he did and focus your eyes back to the screen, watching the most beautiful film progress before your eyes. Instead of wasting this time worrying about what you can dwell on any other time, you’re choosing to witness the retelling of a King and Queen who loved one another, yet they couldn’t be together for many reasons, most of them beyond the telling of the well-known tales.

You know you have a bias, but this adaptation of a lore you’ve studied for more years than you can count is truly the best you’ve yet to see. Josh’s careful attention to the details of the classic story, while adding his own magical touch to the insight of each of these characters – these incredibly deep and complex characters – it’s done in a way you’ve never seen. To be part of something like this, it’s the biggest honor of your life.

As the film is reaching its final scene, you feel tears welling in your ducts as you watch the King prepare his final speech. Jake’s acting is something to be revered, and his portrayal of this timeless character is award-worthy in itself.

As the King, Jake, holds Excalibur high in the air, the tears begin falling down your face as the King bares his heart to his knights.

“Guinevere, my queen, my love, has forsaken our sacred bond for the arms of my most trusted knight. The pain of this treachery pierces deeper than any sword.”

As he proclaims his love and hurt over his dear wife, and his loyalty to Camelot, this magnitudinous film reaches its ending.

Once the final credits begin to roll, the whole theatre starts rumbling with roaring applause. And as you look over your shoulder, the tears start falling even harder when you see a standing ovation from every person filling the Fox. Josh is nearly beside himself when he notices, a look of pure relief and pride on his tear-stained features.

“You did it, babe!” Malachi shouts, standing with Josh to embrace one another. The rest of the row stands to join the ovation, as the applause seems to be endless from the crowd. Sam’s arm wraps around your shoulder, pulling you into a short side hug. You then catch sight of Nat, who seems just as emotional as you are with streaks of black mascara down her cheeks.

And then, you look to Jake, standing beside you and gazing at his twin with nothing but admiration laced in his smile. To see him so clearly proud of his brother is such a beautiful thing, and it’s certainly distracting you from everything else you’ve felt tonight.

The film, and everything surrounding it, has reached its final closure.

It’s done. The hard work has more than paid off, in your opinion. Seeing it like this, played before an eager audience as though it were being premiered in Hollywood, has made everything about it worth more than gold. You’ll still present it in class next week, but this – this was what it was made for. It’s a crowd pleasing masterpiece, and Josh should be nothing but incredibly proud that he is the creator of something so extraordinary.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

After watching the other two films, each of them far beyond anything you expected tonight, the viewings have come to an end. You didn’t realize the sheer talent present at your school, and it enlists a sense of pride within you. These students, Josh included, are so passionate about what they do, and it’s so very clear in every piece you’ve seen tonight. You’re in awe of every one of them, to say the least. But, putting your clear bias to the side, Josh’s film surpasses the other two by a massive landslide. His is as close to perfection as a short film can possibly be, with or without you.

Dr. Turner, joined by four more faculty members from the Film Studies program, walks back on stage to more applause from the crowd. “Distinguished students and guests, we are pleased to present this year's Hopwood Award for Screenplay and Cinematography,” he announces.. “As you all know, students who earn this award are guaranteed a full ride to The Los Angeles Film school, as well as the opportunity to shadow a world renowned director of their choosing.”

As you look down the row towards Josh, his nerves are present in his body language, a timid smile across his lips. You are filled with nerves, your chest tightening and your palms becoming damp with perspiration; if you are this jittery, you can’t begin to imagine how Josh is feeling. He’s holding Chi’s arm with one hand, gripping Nat’s hand in the palm of the other. Touch is his comfort, and you’re sure he’d be clinging to every one of you right now if he could.

He looks down the row as he’s chewing on his bottom lip from anticipation, locking eyes with you as. He mouths the words “Thank you,” and you respond with a quiet “Good luck!” He nods his head, blowing a kiss as you offer one in return.

“After careful consideration, the board has chosen the student whom we believe has directed the most visually stunning and well-written short film. This has been no easy choice, as each film we’ve seen tonight more than qualifies for such a prestigious award,” Dr. Turner says, holding the physical representation of the award in the hand not holding the microphone. “But the student we’ve chosen has displayed time and time again what it means to be a director in a field that requires the kind of talent and discipline that we’ve seen from him over the years.”

Without even realizing it, your hand is gripping your necklace, something your anxious thoughts decided you needed right now. Your pounding heart can be felt against your hand, beating so quick you’re afraid you’ll faint if the recipient isn’t announced.

“With that being said, the student we feel is the most deserving is…,”

Come on, come on.

“...Josh M. Kiszka, for his impeccable direction of the astounding Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur.”

The mention of his name has each of you shooting up from your seats, cheering and shouting for Josh as you fight back the gleeful tears. As Josh stands, he hugs Malachi tightly before the two of them walk hand in hand up to the stage to accept the award. Everyone in the crowd is clapping, rallying behind him and encouraging him.

He deserves this. More than anyone in this room, Josh deserves this.

As Dr. Turner hands him the award, he shakes his hand and pulls him into a hug. Everyone from the board walks by to congratulate Josh, shaking hands with him and Malachi, commending the two of them for their work.

Josh is wiping away a few tears as Dr. Turner hands him the microphone, patting him on the back. “You’ve made a grave mistake in handing me this,” Josh jokes in the mic, cackling to himself. There are quiet agreements from each of you, knowing damn well that Josh will talk forever if given half the chance.

“I promise to keep this short. I would just like to extend my gratitude to a group of people that have been the driving force in seeing this dream of mine come to fruition.” He looks at your row, holding out his hand to you all with heavy emotions present on his smiling face. “My brothers, Jacob and Samuel, my dear friends y/n, Natalia, Daniel, and Stacy –,” Of course she had to be mentioned.

“ – and, lest I forget, my loving partner, Malachi.” Standing beside him, Malachi wraps his arm around Josh's shoulders. “You all are the beating heart of this production. Without each and every one of you,” he tearfully exclaims, holding up his award. “This wouldn’t have been possible. Know that my love for you is boundless.”

He takes a bow to the crowd, blowing kisses all across the theatre. As he hands the mic back to Dr. Turner, Josh pulls Malachi close to him for a hug. The two of them, so proud and full of love. It melts your heart in every way a love like theirs should.

And watching them has you longing for your own hug, specifically from the person to your right. But as you look over, he’s already lost in a hug. With Stacy.

Before you can give yourself the chance to lament on it, Sam reaches for you, pulling you into his arms. “Can you believe it?” He sways you back and forth, turning you both in a circle, to where you’re now facing Jake, who’s no longer in an embrace with Stacy.

He’s looking at you, staring into your eyes while you’re wrapped in his brother's arms. At once, you try to pull away from Sam so you can celebrate with the one you really long to be with.

But, it’s too late.

With a solemn smile, tearing his eyes away from yours, he walks right past Stacy down the other side of the aisle. She tries to get his attention, but he’s paying her no mind. You watch him continue to walk, until he’s gone, completely lost within the sea of people in the theater. You let go of Sam, beginning to follow after Jake until you feel a tug on the back of your arm. “Don’t,” Josh whispers in your ear from behind you, his thumb rubbing circles on your arm. “Just let him go.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: i can't lie, i'm a little sad the filming days have ended, too. i know this was a lot, & i am once again offering my sincerest apologies, lol. see you in part 2. 😘

as always, thank you all for your love & support. hearing from you guys makes my heart soar, & it truly keeps me going. my inbox is always open. don't ever be afraid to reach out. 🤍

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or send me an ask/dm & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you!!!) (also, i know tags are being a little weird right now—will you let me know if you did/didn’t receive a notification?) sending all my love!

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joshym · 5 months ago

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Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 5 (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

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Word Count: 25.1k+

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

Warnings: please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering. MDNI 18+ ONLY struggles with body dysmorphia/eating (including food restriction), conversations about/admitting to having an eating disorder, strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, anxiety/stress/depression, jealousy, emotional/verbal abuse from a parent

SMUT-18+ ONLY: unprotected sex, sex in a library, fingering, (f rec) a bit of spanking, tiny bit of cockwarming, a tinge of possessiveness, overstimulation, hickies, praise, heavy use of sir/doll pet names, very sweet sex. this chapter is a little sappy in places, lol.

a/n: thank you all so so much for being patient with me. your support means the whole world. ♡ love you all endlessly.

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You’ve been lying on top of him, tangled in the sweaty, rumpled mess of his sheets, for what feels like hours—though it’s only been a few moments.

There’s something about his embrace, his strong and toned arms fully enveloping you; There’s a sense of safey here that you’ve never quite known, one that you’re suddenly terrified of ever losing.

And yet, there’s still something plaguing you. As you’re cuddled up the most intimately the two of you have ever been, you’re feeling the guilt of how things transpired tonight. Of how you’re game you’d been playing with Sam eventually caught up to you. And though you don’t regret where it’s landed you, you do regret the dishonesty that brought you here.

“Jake?” You say, meek and quiet as you lift your head to look him in the eye. “C-can I be honest with you about something?"

His eyes were closed, but he opened them the second you began to speak. “Of course, doll.” He hums, kissing your forehead and donning a lazy grin.

You sigh as you lift yourself off of him and lay over on your side so you can better face him, laying your head in the crease of your elbow.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, following your movement by laying himself on his side, too, facing you as he props his head up with his hand. “You look a bit troubled.”

Starting this drawn-out, difficult explanation isn't easy. But here you are, already committed. Best to just come out with it, to finally relieve yourself of this burden. "First, I want you to know I didn't sleep with Sam. We got close, but I stopped it." Sitting upright, you grasp the black satin sheet to shield yourself, though it's not your exposed body that leaves you feeling vulnerable right now. "I hated seeing you with Stacy that night, and I understood why you went into your room together. So, I tried to get back at you by getting close to Sam. But I couldn't go through with it, and I—"

When he clasps your hand, a sudden air of confusion flickers in his sleepy eyes, prompting you to halt your over-explanation.

"I don't want Stacy.” His tone is resolute, firm. His eyes are imploring you to trust his words. "She tried hard that night, but I turned her down."

A rush of embarrassment flushes your cheeks. How could you have misunderstood so completely?

Yet, there's still the lingering suspicion that he might be telling you what he thinks you want to hear, especially considering his state before he drove you home that night...

“Why weren’t you wearing a shirt when I came back down stairs? And why did you look exactly like you do right now before you drove–”

"Y/n." He stops you, squeezing your hand tightly, urging you to stop overthinking. His eyes lock onto yours with intensity, pulling you into his earnest gaze. "I need you to believe me when I say nothing happened between us. It doesn't mean she didn't try, and I admit, I entertained the idea for a moment. But I couldn't stop thinking about—" He wraps his arms around your waist, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap. "I couldn't stop thinking about you..." Leaning in, he kisses you softly and sweetly. "And how badly I wished it was you in my room with me," he whispers. "Not her."

He carefully lays both of you back down, you resting on top of him just as before. "Do you believe me?" He asks gently, reassuringly.

Though uncertainty is still weighing on you, present in the tightness forming in the pit of your tummy, you know there's no reason to not believe him. He’s not given you one that should make you doubt his words, and his actions as of late have certainly validated them.

Even if they had slept together, it's in the past, just like your almost rendezvous with Sam.

You can’t change the past. You can’t destroy the tumultuous foundation you and Jake built upon first meeting one another. You can only grow as a result of it. Everything that has happened in the past is just that–in the past.

What’s the sense in dwelling on it when you can put that energy into something far greater?

Terrifying as it may be, and though you tried with all of your might to deny it, you want him. And you’ve got a pretty good inclination that he wants you just as much–something you once convinced yourself was impossible.

In truth, what’s happening right now is all that matters.

“Of course I do,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss the flesh of his peck. “Do you believe me?”

You're left a bit perplexed as his chest erupts with a vibrating chuckle, a lazy snicker escaping his lips. "What's so funny?" you ask, a touch offended, propping yourself up on your elbows to face him.

"Relax, doll. It's nothing," he replies, still chuckling softly as he gently guides you back into your previous position. "But I have to admit," he continues, his fingers now tracing over the chilled goosebumps on your arms. He reaches over, pulling the tangled covers over both of you. "It does feel good to come out on top with Sam."

"Jacob," you giggle softly, feeling your body completely relax under the warmth of the sheets and the comforting heat from his body beneath you.

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You’re realizing the very reason why Jake was so adamant about wearing this costume in particular. He’s petitioned for it since filming first began months ago, but Josh simply wouldn’t budge.

“Not until the right moment,” he’d told Jake the countless times the conversation had been brought up, each time Jake nearly demanded that he be allowed to wear this outfit.

It got so bad that Josh took some rather extreme measures, resulting in hiding this costume from Jake until he and Malachi believed the time was right.

So, because of that, you hadn’t seen it. Not on him, at least.

That is, until this very moment as he’s sauntering out of his room with an air of confidence you’re finding so fucking sexy.

And this outfit…it’s certainly forcing you to feel things you most definitely should not be feeling right now.

The first time you’ve seen him in all white, and you’re quite literally shocked by it. It’s Jake, but it’s a completely new version of him.

The first thing your eyes fall to are his white pants that fit him a bit too well. The most snug fit you’ve seen on him, and they’re not doing much in the way of concealing his…member.

To make things so much worse for you, the white shirt he’s wearing is cropped, donned with a silver breastplate over his chest. The jacket over top is also cropped, with a long train in the back that flows elegantly behind him with each stride of his legs.

And, your favorite part: his sword.

It’s held tight to his waist, secured in the black sheath with the belt wrapped around his hips.

And you’re sure he’s done something different to his hair, looking as though he’s taken a curling iron to it.

He’s moved closer to you, locking eyes with yours as he throws you a quick wink. And that confirms what you were already wondering the moment he walked out of his room; he’s wearing fucking eyeliner. Tightlined on the bottom and top lids, smudged out a little on the outer corners.

This is all far too much to take in right now. Your knees feel as though they're on the verge of buckling beneath youtu.

Fucking Jake.

“Alright, everyone,” announces Josh while he finishes packing up the last few things he’ll need for today's shoot.

Your head snaps over in his direction, your eyes longing for Jake as soon as you do so.

But, you don’t have to be too sad for too long, as you feel Jake come up behind you. Close enough to your back that you feel his firm abdomen against your body. And, to your utter demise, you feel as he lays a sneaky hand against your hip, squeezing just enough to let you know he’s there.

Fuck.

You do your best to focus on Josh as he rambles on, explaining (in his typical, long-winded fashion that quickly became one of your things about him) the ins and outs of today's scene.

“And what better place for that than our beloved campus?” Josh remarks, flashing a wink your way that you snicker off. He’s a goof.

He goes on about how the shoot will take place in front of the historic U of M law school, the most eye-catching of all the buildings on campus. The one that looks just like a castle fit for the King of Britain himself.

“I can’t begin to fathom that, after this scene, this little brain child of mine will be completely filmed.” He quickly wipes a stray tear from his glittering eyes as he starts to pace around the living room, stopping when Malachi wraps a supporting arm around his shoulder.

“I just wanted to thank all of you for your endless help and support on the most extensive project I’ve taken on. This film…” Josh pauses his talking to gain a bit more composure, his voice beginning to crack with the heavy emotions that are begging to be felt. “...it will open so many doors…for all of us. And I undoubtedly believe that.”

Josh’s eyes flick to Jake’s behind you for a blip of a moment. Was that meant specifically for Jake? If so, what did it mean?

On top of the secret look, Jake’s grip on your hip loosened just a bit for the briefest of moments. It would’ve made you ponder further, but only seconds after he’d let up his hold, he was back to grasping at you.

This time, his thumb brushing purposefully against your ass for just long enough that you had to cross your legs awkwardly.

Fucker.

As Josh sturdies himself against Malachi, taking a moment to gather his emotions, he clears his throat in preparation for one more announcement. “But before we head over there, I’d like to share with you all the official title of this masterpiece we’ve created together.”

Josh said from the very beginning that he wanted to wait until the filming was nearly complete before giving it a name. He wanted to see it to the end before giving it an “all encompassing heading.”

Knowing the title of this film will make the ending feel official, and it makes you a little emotional to see it all come to a close. This project has given you so much you never thought you'd have, and to finally know its name...

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel Jake’s hand land on your lower back, sliding slowly up the hem of your shirt as he lightly scratches the bare skin with dulled nails. Every inch of you is painted in goosebumps, and you’re suddenly finding it hard to take a full breath any longer.

“The purpose of this film,” he begins, effectively drawing your attention back to him, “Was to show a different side of the infamous, yet idolized romance. It’s a beautiful retelling, full of love, betrayal, hurt, and eventual death. After witnessing the genious of this immaculate cast,” he continues, being sure to make eyecontact with everyone in the room so that no one feels excluded. “I finally decided on a title that I feel speaks for the film.”

Josh looks to Sam, who begins a fake drum roll with his fingers against the kitchen counter.

“Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur,” Josh proudly boasts, making a dramatic display by excitedly clapping his hands together and bowing to everyone before him. “I know, it’s somewhat of a mouthful.” He laughs.

“And that translates to…?” Danny asks, he and Nat cuddled up on the couch together.

“Ah, I was hoping you’d ask!” Josh smiles, pointing his finger toward Danny before crossing his arms over his chest. “It means The Dark Intrigues of Guinevere and Arthur. I thought it fitting to stick with the French theme, given the source from which the script was derived.” He raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased with himself on

The Dark Intriges…

With everything surrounding this film, everything it’s brought you, it just couldn't be more suited.

Your eyes are drawn to Sam once more when his connect with yours, seemingly paying no mind to how close Jake is standing behind you as he smiles and subtly winks you way. Smiling back at him hurts, because you’ve got a solid feeling he knows nothing of what's going on with you and Jake. What you hope will happen is he’ll figure it out on his own. Telling him would, frankly, fucking suck. The guilt you feel is tremendous, though.

And for that reason, the title of this film is all too fitting. Even beyond it.

“I love it, Josh,” you tell him. “It’s beautiful.”

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“I can see why you fought so hard for this outfit,” you say, slyly as Jake is driving the two of you to campus.

Jake had actually called you as his riding partner on your way to the parking lot…in front of everyone.

And while it’s not exactly been a secret (amongst almost everyone, at least) that you two have this thing for each other, it still made your skin heat and butterflies fly rampant in your belly when he claimed you’d be riding with him. He certainly didn’t want anyone else riding with you — only him.

He’d told you as much as soon as you were both closed into the Black Pearl, his hand momentarily having squeezed your thigh when he spoke the words that made your heart flutter.

In the present moment, you can see the flush in his cheeks as he grins, full toothed. “Yeah? Like what you see, huh?” He says with a cock of his eyebrow.

“Mhm. Very much so, actually.”

“C’mere,” he tells you just before he stops at the red light. You lean over toward him, and with a finger hooked under your chin, he pulls you in for a heavy, deep kiss.

He’s clean shaven, his face feels so smooth. And he tastes just like his birch wood aftershave.

It’s not until the car behind you honks that the kiss is broken, and you both realize the light has turned green. Judging by the now continuous honks, it's probably been that way for a bit.

“Best we don’t start something we can’t finish, hm?” He utters, laughing when the car behind passes him and the driver throws him a very erect middle finger.

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Stacy wasn’t supposed to be involved in filming today, and still yet, to your pure and utter disgust, here she is. She’s standing next to her car, eagerly jumping up and down as you all approach the parking lot across from the law building.

Even with the radio on, and the windows rolled up, you can still hear her shrill screams of irritating excitement to see everyone.

What the fuck.

“Jake!” She blurts as he gets out of the car, ignoring her attempt to give him a hug while he makes his way to the passengers side to let you out. “O–Oh! Hi, y/n! Didn’t think you were filming today!”

Yeah, I could say the same for you.

“Nice to see you again, Stac,” you say, doing your very best to not sound like a total bitch. “Just wanted to watch the final scene being filmed. I assume that’s why you’re here, too?”

Anyone else would have no problem seeing right through your fake kindness, but Stacy doesn’t seem to. In the time you’ve known her, you’ve noticed that she’s not the best at picking up on most social cues. She just continues to live in her little happy delirium, unable to read every room she graces with her movie star beauty.

“Oh yes! I can’t believe our project is almost over.”

Our project?

She inserts herself between you and Jake, standing as close as possible to the two of you, facing Jake with her back to you. The chemical-like smell of her cheap coconut body spray (which she’s obviously bathed in) stings the inside of your nose. Combined with her equally cheap hairspray, it's an abrasive scent she’s clearly nose-blind to.

As much as you’d like to say a few choice words, you bite your tongue and step away from her. Jake, looking just as annoyed as you, quickly joins you and begins leading you across the street to the front of the building. The sound of Stacy’s mule heels clicking against the pavement grows louder behind you as she hurries to keep up.

Read the room, Stac.

Josh and Malachi are already in full production mode as they’re working together to set up the perfect shot in front of the law school. “Can you bring me the light reflector, babe? We need the right balance of light on the bricks,” you hear Josh as Malachi as he’s looking through the viewfinder, making adjustments to the framing.

“How’s that?” Chi asks, holding the reflector steady.

Josh looks through the camera again, motioning for Jake to come stand in front of the lens as he tells him how to position himself. “Ah!” He exclaims, throwing an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Perfect!”

Just then, Sam, Nat, and Danny pull in the parking lot in Nat’s Escalade. Even from across the street, you can vividly see the look on Nat’s face when she spots Stacy. Her expressionsays it all—her annoyance for Stacy has only grown in the last several weeks, and one thing about Nat? Her thoughts rarely stay safely within her mind.

“What a…pleasant surprise,” Nat grumbles sarcastically as she approaches all of you, her eyes narrowing on the blonde standing to your right who’s trying to wedge her way in between you and Jake yet again.

Stacy’s smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers, putting on a sweet and clueless grin. “Hey, Natty Batty! How are you?”

You have to quickly muffle your giggles with your hand when you see Nat wrinkle her nose at whatever the hell that nickname was. The look of utter disgust on her face is blatantly obvious to everyone else. But, not to Stacy. To no surprise,

Danny, ever the peacekeeper, excels at diffusing tension with his genuine smile and warm embrace. Nat’s irritation melts away instantly as Danny tenderly kisses her nose, eliciting a wide grin and a rosy blush. He is her perfect balance, just as she is his.

“My twin!” Josh shouts, snapping his fingers while still squinting one eye at the viewfinder. “Someone send my twin over here—this shot is more perfect than I couldn’ve imagined, and I don’t want to waste daylight!”

Jake gently squeezes your hand. “Looks like it’s my cue,” he says, smiling down at you. “Wish me luck.” Your face glows red when his lips carefully brush against your cheek. No one seemed to notice that he did this, no one except Stacy. Her shock is evident on her face as her eyes are locked tight with yours as you simply smile and casually wave her direction. To which, she rolls her eyes and looks away, crossing her arms over her chest in a silent temper tantrum. Good.

Your attention is pulled back to Jake as he’s walking toward the camera, and there’s no sense in trying to avert your gaze. His body is so strong, so broad and sturdy. His walk is most definitely one of the sexiest things about him. So confident in his strides, and the way he’s holding on to the sword swaying from his hips…It’s taking everthing in you to put on a casual facade. But, if anyone is going to see right through it, of course, it’s Nat. You feel her nudge your shoulder, breaking you from your Jake-induced trance. “A little distracted, there?” She winks, her and Danny both chuckling at you.

“Here’s the king!” Josh booms once Jake finds his way in front of the camera. “Okay, Jakey boy. This monologe, it’s incredibly significant to the entire piece, and will close out this story we’ve created.” He steps away from the camera, meeting Jake in his spot to brush out a few wrinkles in his jacket and guide him to the exact position he needs him in. “It will also serve as the King's final oration before his death. So, you know, no pressure or anything. But, it does need to be pristine.” He giggles, offering a gentle pat to his cheek.

“I won’t let you down, good sir,” Jake returns, saluting him. And when Josh finds his place back behind the camera, he mimics the very same to his twin.

“Ready, Jake?”

With a nod of his head, you watch Jake effortlessly slip into character. Straightening his posture, he places his hand on his sword, (excalibur, of course) readying himself for the draw of his weapon.

“And…action!”

Then, with a deep breath, Jake begins.

“I stand before thee, on the brink of battle, yet my heart is heavy with a betrayal most grievous.”

His eyes, as glowing as ever, cast downward in heavy emotion, as if seeing the haunting memories play before him.

“Guinevere, my queen, my love, has forsaken our sacred bond for the arms of my most trusted knight. The pain of this treachery pierces deeper than any sword.”

He’s using his accent, the very one that Josh swore he despised, but it seems Jake has been practicing. He sounds much more believable this time. Perhaps it’s the emotions he’s conveying, the seriousness of the scene. Whatever it is, it’s the best he’s ever sounded.

His voice wavers slightly, his emotions suddenly becoming even more palpable as he looks off in the distance. You swear you can see welling tears in his honey eyes, the way they’re beginning to glisten against the sun.

“My soul, shattered and consumed by the weight of a despair so fraught and injust. I am but a man, burdened with the agony of a broken heart. A wound that may never heal. Yet, I must not falter. For the sake of my beloved Camelot.”

His grip on excalibur tightens, his knuckles nearly white.

“I will rise above my personal grief to fight for all that I hold dear. But know this, my loyal knights—if I should fall on this day, it will be not from the blade of our enemy, but from the tremendous sorrow that consumes me.”

He then pulls excaliber from her sheath, holding her high as the metal gleams against the dying sunlight. And when he does, he looks at you, holding character while his eyes pierce your soul. Tears begin falling from your eyes at the heightened emotions emitting from him, the woe that he’s conveying so well. It nearly feels real, as though it’s been pent up for a long time. It’s striking, it’s beautiful.

“Let it be known that King Arthur fought not just against the foes outside these castle walls, but against the demons within his very own heart. My story,” He holds his weapon even higher, looking up to it in admiration and strong will gleaming through his eyes. “Will become a great title of an unimaginable fable, woven through the seams of time. And to that, I say, onward! Onward for Camelot, onward for Guinevere, the queen of my desolate heart!”

Everyone is silent once the monolouge finishes, letting it hang in the air for a moment as Jake still holds the sword high above his head. It seems everyone is a bit awestruck after that, after what you’re sure will be the most powerful ending to this film.

Josh slowly steps away from the camera, looking at his twin with his mouth hanging wide open, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “...cut,” he says quietly, purely astonished. “And that, my friends, concludes the filming of Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur.” He practically runs to Jake, grabbing him in a tight embrace. “Bravo, my brother!”

Jake hugs him back, one handed as he’s still carrying the sword. “Should we do it again? Just to be sure it’s oka–”

“Fuck no!” Josh cuts in. “We won’t get any closer to perfection than that. That was raw, you just let yourself become the King with no hesitation. No, no.” Josh shakes his head, breaking the hug, wiping the tears falling along his cheekbones and placing a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “That was it. That was our ending.”

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“I insist,” he keeps on, refusing to accept any answer that’s not a yes. “And I mean no offense but, your cooking skills are lacking a tad.”

“Well now officially offended, Jake!” You can’t help but laugh, knowing he’s absolutely correct. It’s true that you’re no cook, but damn–he’s certainly humbled you a bit more.

He’s been on your case all day about having you over for a “proper dinner,” according to him. One that he’s prepared entirely from scratch. Rather adamant about it, in truth. Your phone buzzed all throughout classes, during your small shift at work. And now, as he’s walking you to your car from the library, he's not dropped the topic since he met you at the circulation counter.

“Josh will be working the office, and Sam has plans with Danny.” He takes the key right out of your hand as you approach the driver's side door, unlocking it and holding it open for you. “So, you’d actually be doing me a favor.”

“Oh yeah?” You snicker as he hands back the key, leaning your back against the frame of your clunker. He steps in between your slightly parted legs, pressing his body against yours. “And what exactly would that be?”

He steals a quick kiss from your lips as he runs his fingers through your locks. “Keeping me company, of course.”

His lips linger on yours a bit longer this time, another plea for you to at last agree to his proposition. How could you possibly deny him any longer? “Alright, alright,” you concur. “What time should I be there?”

He smiles, snatching one more kiss before quickly making his way to his Rover. “No later than 6:30. And you’re to bring nothing but your lovely self.” He winks as he climbs in the driver's seat, starting the engine and peeling off before you have a chance to argue that last bit.

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The kitchen is filled with the tantalizing aroma of fresh ingredients as Jake had everything laid out and ready to make dinner before you go here. The scallops are neatly arranged on a plate, a bundle of fresh spinach resting nearby, and a bowl of gleaming pomegranate seeds wait to be transformed into a glaze.

“You ready to become a master chef?” Jake asks, flashing you a playful grin as he hands you an apron.

You manage a smile, though your tummy is fluttering with nerves. Nerves over fucking up the meal, but even more so, nerves over eating the meal.

It’s the only reason you were apprehensive about tonight. It’s as simple as your fear of eating, of eating in the presence of someone else. But what you didn’t know was Jake’s plan to have you help prep the meal.

What made him want to do it this way is completely beyond you, but you have to admit that it seems to be helping even the slightest with your fear.

Still yet, you’re uncertain about the whole thing. If you had it your way, the two of you would plant yourselves on the couch and watch something on the television, fight eachother over dominance when you start getting handsy with one another.

As if he can sense your hesitation, your racing thoughts, he steps closer, his smile softening into something more intimate as he helps adjust your apron. His fingers brushs against your waist, lingering for just a moment, but long enough to steal your breath. “No worries, doll,” he says, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve got me as your sous-chef. We’re in this together.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides down to gently rest on your hip, guiding you to the cutting board. “First things first,” he starts, his tone casual though his touch is anything but. “We’ll start with the spinach. Rather easy—we’ll just chop the leaves into smaller pieces.”

You pick up the knife he’s placed beside the greens, noting its heavy weight of this massive blade. Jake’s hand hovers nearby, his presence steady and warm. “You’ve got this,” he murmers, his voice close to your ear. The proximity is sending a shiver down your spine, but his presence makes you smile, nonetheless.

As you begin to chop, Jake leans in, his breath tickling your neck as he begins telling a story about his first attempt at cooking scallops. “I burned them so badly, they were basically little hockey pucks,” he giggles. “And don’t even get me started on the smoke alarm. Sent my brothers in a screaming frenzy. I swore my grandfather was ready to kick me out.”

You chuckle at the image of Jake frantically trying to clear the smoke out of the kitchen, of Josh and Sam being scared to death over it. But it doesn’t fully distract you from just how close he is, how his arm brushes agaisnt yours when he grabs another knife to help you chop the last of the leaves.

With the spinach done, Jake moves on to the scallops, setting a pan on the stove. “Alright, here’s the trick with scallops: you want a hot pan. They should sizzle as soon as they hit the surface. Like they’re saying, ‘We’re here, mother fuckers and we mean business!’”

Laughter bursts from your belly at his completely cheesy remark. He jokingly pats himself on the back at making you laugh so hard before handing you the metal tongs. He lets you take them but keeps his hand on them as well, guiding you as you place the scallops in the pan.

While the scallops are searing, Jake moves on to the pomegranate glaze. He pours the juice into a saucepan, adding honey and lemon with a flourish. “This part’s fun,” he says, giving you a wink. “We’re basically making a magic potion. When we drizzle it over the scallops, it’s going to taste like pure heaven.”

His voice drops a notch, and when he holds the spoon to your mouth to taste the glaze, his fingers softly brush against your lips. You open your mouth to allow the tangy sweetness of the glaze to spread across your tongue, but your mind is admitidly elsewhere, fixated on the heat radiating from his body.

“What do you think, doll?” He mutters, his eyes watching your tongue as it collects the sauce that dripped on your bottom lip. “Is it to your liking?”

“It’s perfect.”

You take the spoon from his hand and lick off the reminents of the glaze, taking your time to put on a bit of a show for him. When you set it back down on the counter, his hands, still a little sticky from the sauce, grab hold of your face and pull you closer to him. “Let me try,” he moans sweetly in your mouth, tasting what’s left of the glaze on your tongue. “Mm, you’re right,” he says, stealing one more taste of your lips. “Perfect.”

With the scallops now seared and the glaze ready, Jake guides you through plating. He arranges the spinach on the plates, then hands you the spoon to drizzle the glaze. “Just a little drizzle,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Like you’re adding the finishing touch.”

You follow his lead, trying to focus on the task, but it’s rather hard with him so close, his hand brushing your back as he leans in to admire your work. “Not bad for a first try, huh?” He says, his breath warm against your ear.

“Not bad at all,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The evening was about as close to perfect as you could’ve hoped for. Well, aside from your mom’s phone calls beginning to become persistent as the night lingered.

The meal was glorious, and the way Jake had you help with preparing it gave you some sense of control over it all. It certainly helped you overcome some of the fear of eating, and though you’re normally the cook at your own place, tonight just felt different. Perhaps it was because Jake was with you this time, his peaceful aura working to calm you. You felt okay. More than okay.

While the fear was still there, Jake’s voice worked to quiet the no-so-nice ones in your head.

He helped. He helped a lot. And he doesn’t even know it.

But now, you’re home, lying in your bed with a belly full of seafood. The thoughts are much louder now than they had been all night; the anxieties have managed to slip back in your head now that he’s not here to protect you from them.

The night ended far quicker than you wanted, though you know it’s not anyones fault. Josh called needing Jake’s help with a particulary irate tenant, one that only Jake knows how to deal with properly.

After more than a few minutes arguing on the phone, after Jake promised to kick Josh’s ass for making him come help, you offered to get out of his hair so he could handle the situation. It was late, and you knew being out any longer would result in more phone calls from your mom, more guilt for being gone.

You miss him. You miss the safety and reassurance he provides that you just can’t get at home.

No, there’s no safety here anymore.

There’s tension, resentment. On both sides.

When your head hits the pillow these days, your mind has a much harder time shutting off. You’ve replayed the conversation with your mom over and over again. Dodger…

You think about whomever this is almost nightly since the very mention of the name caused her to spew such horrible things your way. The name served as some sort of trigger for her, and you just want to get to the bottom of why.

Thinking about it is beginning to put pressure on your now throbbing temples and cheekbones. It feels like a rubberband is tightening around your whole head, the only relief coming from the tips of your fingers pressing down on either side of your nose.

Everything feels out of your control. Everything. If you could just figure out who he is…He?

Suddenly, you remember.

You sent yourself the contact from your moms phone. You have Dodger’s number.

One phone call is all it would take. One phone call, and you’ll have your answer.

The screen of your phone is nearly blinding in contrast to the darkness of your room. The first thing you do is turn the brightness down before anything else so your eyes can have an easier time adjusting.

You scroll through your contacts until you see the name, your thumb stilled and hovering above it once you see it.

You’re scared. You’re not sure why you’re scared. There’s so much you feel like you don’t know, that’s being hidden from you. And calling this number might mean learning some — perhaps all — of those things.

You’ve just got a feeling, a feeling that you can’t understand.

The hand that’s not holding your phone reflexively reaches to the necklace around your neck, taking hold of the little charm with your initial. When you rub your thumb over the engravement, you feel a tiny sense of peace in the grasp of your hand, against the ridges of your thumb.

And you’re also suddenly feeling like calling Dodger may not be the right thing to do.

Not right now, at least.

There’s someone else you’d much rather talk to, someone that will make you feel like everything is okay, even if it truly isn’t.

It only rings once on the other end before he answers. “It’s awfully late, doll.” His voice is quiet, deep. “Everything okay?”

You huff a breath of solace, feeling your nerves dull and the ache in your head begin to ease a bit at merely hearing his voice. “I just wanted to say thank you again for tonight,” you tell him, lips curling into an honest grin. “It meant a lot to me.”

You hear a faint, breathy giggle in your ear. “Happy to do it, babe.”

Babe.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You have a fondness for nights like these, when you close the library on your own. There’s something so calming, so peaceful about the vacant building in the evening.

Albeit a little spooky, it’s in all of the best ways. Never once have you felt unsafe or scared here.

And you never grow bored. The stories that line the ceiling-high bookshelves provide all the wonder and escapism one could ever want for.

As for most weekend evenings, it’s been awfully slow tonight. Not that you’re complaining; it's provided you with ample opportunities to explore a little deeper than you’re normally able to. As much as you adore working with Nat, she usually talks your ear off the entire shift, so, without her, you can give yourself a little you time to walk around the quiet space.

At a quarter to ten, the library will be set to close in about fifeteen minutes. With all of the closing duties complete, all that’s left to do is lock the doors when the clock strikes ten. There’s not been a single person in here since early this afternoon, and you’re willing to place a wager on it staying that way until it’s officially time to close it down.

But just as you’re thinking the remainder of the night will be still, you hear the familiar creak of the large wooden door.

Who could possibly need the library at this hour?

With a roll of your eyes, you make your way down the stairs to greet whomever decided to waltz in here at the last minute.

And when you catch a glimpse of who it is, you’re not shocked in the least.

“Hi, doll.”

You should’ve known as soon as you heard the creaking door. This has, afterall, happened before, as history would tell.

“Jake, what are you doing here?” You ask as you approach, feeling your cheeks flush at the sight of him in his denim button up over a slightly torn white v-neck and tight dark wash jeans.

He closes the small gap between the two of you, making graceful strides your way as he reaches both hands out to grab hold of your hips, a lazy grin exposing his pearly whites. “Thought I might check out a book before closing time," he says, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. "Got any recommendations?"

You laugh, trying to ignore the way your heart races at his touch. "At this hour? Really, Jake, you're impossible."

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "You know me, always full of surprises." He releases your hips but not before giving them a gentle squeeze. "But seriously, I just wanted to see you."

You playfully begin walking toward the shelves, pretending that you’re carefully looking for something that may pique his interest, hearing the click of his black heeled boots against the hardwoods.

"Well, you’ve got me," you say as you’re facing away from him, trying to keep your tone light while you feel the warmth of his body against you when he gets closer. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"

You look over your left shoulder to him as he tilts his head, considering. "How about you surprise me? Pick something you think I'd like."

You nod, turning your attention back towards the bookshelves, grateful for the brief moment to collect yourself. As you scan the rows of spines, you can feel his eyes on you, a warm, steady presence that’s both comforting and exhilarating. After a moment, you pull "Tell Me to Stop" by Charlotte Byrd from the shelf and turn back to him.

"Here," you say, handing it over. "I think you'll fancy this one."

Jake takes the book from your hands, his fingers lingering just a moment longer against yours. "Ah, I’ve heard of this one. Thanks, doll," he murmurs, his voice a low, intimate whisper. As he reads the title, his lips curl into a slow, knowing grin. "Quite the dark romance, I hear," he says, his eyes locking onto yours with a heat that sends a thrill through you.

“It is rather…enticing,” you snicker, sucking in a sharp breath when his free hand finds your hip once again. “Very dark, very romantic.”

You glance at the clock just as the hands indicate that it’s officially closing time, but before you can tell Jake that you need to lock the doors, you hear the novel thud to the floor as he pulls your body into his. His lips collide with yours while your hands instinctively run all over the expanse of his back and shoulders.

You savor the taste of him, already familiar yet exhilaratingly new each time. The spicy peppermint against his tongue, the lingering taste of black coffee, sweet and bitter—so very much him.

Inappropriate as it may be, you can’t begin to stop yourself. The library is closed, and the chances of anyone else walking in are incredibly slim to none. And though the risk is there given the doors are still unlocked, you can’t deny that makes this ordeal all the more exciting.

He pushes your back against the shelf where you found his novel, and the books on the other side hit the floor from the force, their echoing thuds heard throughout the old walls of the building.

You feel him, hard and rock solid against your hip, his lips hungry and eager for yours. There’s a need coursing through your veins that only he can bring forth, a need that waves all caution of being in a public place (closed or not) to the wind.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” you grumble, your lips hardly leaving his.

“Yeah,” he whispers, rutting his hard cock into your hip. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

Jesus.

He groans, deep and raspy when you reach between your bodies to feel him through his jeans. He thrusts his hips into you, pushing himself into your palm. “Turn around,” he mumbles, already leading you there before the words even leave his lips.

“Yes, sir,” you moan while you hurriedly turn to face the shelving. One hand softly grips the back of your neck, finding the waistband of your leggings. He pulls them and your underwear down in one swift motion, fingers instantly prodding at your leaking entrance. You groan and sigh his name, your cunt throbbing and yearning for him.

“Color.”

“Green.”

You hear him unbuckle his belt and yank down his zipper with his other hand, his cock now resting on the skin of your lower back while he pushes his middle finger inside to the knuckle. “Spread your legs a little more for me, doll,” he mumbles into your hair. You spread them as much as you can, but you can only go so far with the way your leggings are stretched on the middles of your thighs. “Wider,” he groans, quiet and deep from his throat.

The threads in your leggings snap when you spread your legs even further, and you feel the breath of his chuckle against the back of your neck. “Is that enough for you?” You snap, half out of irritation, half out of desperation.

He then pulls his finger from you, swatting the flesh of your ass just enough to startle you. “Careful, doll,” he mutters, the tip of his leaking cock now replacing his finger. “You know what happened last time you got cheeky with me,” he whispers, one hand gently massaging your ass cheek to help remind you, while the other still has firm hold on the back of your neck.

“Yes, sir,” you comply, noting a snarky chuckle from behind you before he nibbles at your shoulder.

“Are you ready for me, love?” He questions. His voice is still stern, yet becoming gentler all at once. He kisses your shoulder, the hand on your neck moving to brush your hair out of the way as his tongue follows a path to the back of your ear.

“Y-yes, sir,” you reiterate, finding there’s hardly any air left in your lungs to speak with.

Any air that is in your lungs is instantly stolen from you when he slowly glides himself inside your soaked cunt. You hold on to the shelves with a white knuckle grip as he fills you slowly and completely, letting you get comfortable with him nestled away inside of you.

“That’s my girl,” he growls in your ear, keeping his thrusts very slow and deep. “Always so wet and ready for me, huh?”

He then takes both of your wrists, bringing them down to rest against your lower back, holding them still with one hand. His pace quickens with this new leverage, pounding himself into you with a force that causes at least five more books to fly off of the other side of the shelves.

“Wish you could see this, doll.” You feel him lean the upper half of his body back as his hips keep their rythmn, keeping your wrists held together while his other hand holds you sturdy by your shoulder. “You look so lovely like this.”

Your wails reverberate from the high pitched ceilings, bouncing off every wall. His cock sliding in and out of you at this momentum has the band within you daring to snap at any second, your walls fluttering and squeezing his twitching dick.

A series of explicitives mixed with his name escape your lips, near incoheriences as you’re feeling your body coming closer and closer to letting go for him.

“Jake Jake Jak–”

“That’s it, doll. Give it to me, so fucking wet.” His breathing is labored, hitched as it’s becoming caught in his throat as you gush around his twitching cock. A feeling of bliss so indescribable, so intoxicating. An intoxication only made possible by Jake.

He’s close behind you, his rhythm faltering and becoming sloppier and harder. You’re on the brink of overstimulation, but you don’t care. You’d let him keep going forever if you could.

“Where do you want it?” He asks, slowing enough so he can gain a bit more composure before he gives it to you.

“Inside,” you plead with a high pitch in your tone, desperate to feel full of him. “Please, sir.”

“Fuck.” His hips pick up their previous speed as he lets go of your wrists, letting you grab hold of the shelves once again. “A-are you sure?”

Is it risky?

Absolutely.

But, the risk is there whether he pulls out or not. And right now, with every heightened, burning cell in your body and the already present risk of doing this at work, you want it. You need it. Every caution went out the window the moment he walked through the doors tonight.

“Y-yes,” you stutter. “Fill me up, sir.”

A deep, rumbling sound you’ve yet to hear from him erupts from the depths of his chest, and within seconds of your plea, he’s doing just as you said. He’s filling you with everything he’s got, so much that you feel it spilling down the insides of your thighs.

He slows himself to a complete stop, stilling himself inside of you as he catches his breath and letting you do the same. “Goddamn,” he mutters through panting breaths. “You’re just too fucking perfect.” You hiss as he pulls himself out all the way, slow and steady so you’re as comfortable as possible. You reach down to pull your leggings up, but he gently stops you before you can finish. “Just a second, doll.”

You turn your head over your shoulder as he’s taking off his denim shirt and reaches it down to clean the traces of him left on your inner thighs. “We sure made a mess,” he snickers as he helps you bring your leggings back up.

You feel you have to muster every little bit of strength you have left to turn your body around to face him. He giggles at your exhausted state, and you can’t help but grin at the state of him. Sweat accumulated on his eyebrows, dripping down his cheeks, his eyes heavy and drowsy.

He drapes his shirt over his shoulder before he pulls you into a lazy hug, holding you against his warm body. You fully melt into him, letting your arms fall to his sides and your head rest against his chest. “You’re going to have to help me put those books back on the shelf,” you chuckle, remembering just how many of them hit the ground.

You feel his chest rattle as he laughs and kisses the top of your head. “Let’s just leave ‘em. Blame it on the ghosts.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve never looked forward to your birthday. Years of it being spent alone, your mom never allowing you to have birthday parties, people constantly forgetting about it…you just can’t recall a time that you actually felt loved on this day. So, it’s just another day to you. You’ve learned to not expect much from people when it comes around.

And just like any other day as of late, today is filled to the absolute brim with school, work and the countless things you’ll need to do at home.

Just another day.

But you know that this one will perhaps be a bit harder, as it’s the first you’ll spend without your dad. Even though birthdays have always left you feeling just as insignificant as the other 364 days of the year, your dad would still make it a point to surprise you with a little something every morning on this date.

Usually, it was a red velvet cupcake from the Sweet Crumb bakery just down the street from your home, adorned with a single golden candle that he would wait to light until you were awake so the wax wouldn’t melt all over the cream cheese frosting. And, without fail, every year he’d lay a single white gerbera daisy on your pillow for you to wake up to, usually with a little note tied to the stem that said, “To My Wildflower.”

On your sixteenth, he gifted you your once favorite piece of jewelry— a little golden heart charm with the initial of your first name engraved on it, hanging from a golden chain.

The very one you wore every single day. Well, until he left, that is. And that was when you decided you no longer needed it, that it simply didn’t mean the same to you.

But somehow, it made its way to Ann Arbor, even though you distinctly remember throwing it away along with the handwritten letter that had been in the jewelry box. The same letter you still can't seem to find, even though it was always kept alongside your necklace. You recall hesitating when the thought of throwing it away crossed your mind. In the end, you weren’t quite ready to part with it.

Odd.

And yet, despite everything, you’ve recently found a quiet happiness in knowing you still have the necklace. Today feels as good a day as any to wear it. Even though he left, he can’t take the necklace away, and wearing it gives you a small sense of control over it all.

Alas, there’s no cupcake or flower awaiting you this morning, though. Not much of anything, actually. Only once in your life can you remember a gift from your mom, and you’ve a strong feeling this year won’t be much different.

You can’t remember a time in your life that you’ve truly been celebrated as a person, just for who you. You’ve always been left to wonder if you’ve just never been worthy of it. A life in the shadows, you’ve always said. In the shadows of everyone else around you, around the important people.

For that very reason, you’re grateful to have stumbled upon the people who are in your life now—the ones who’ve been a thousand miles away but feel like they should have been with you all along.

But, they're in your life right now for a reason. There’s a deeper purpose to the fact that you’re just now meeting them in this stage of your life, not any other one.

What the reason is, you may not know for a long time. Or, you may never know. Regardless, you’re grateful to them. And they have no clue just how much they’ve helped you come into your own in the incredibly short time you’ve known them.

As you gaze at your closet, only partially filled with clothes, the thought of wearing something a bit nicer for class and work crosses your mind. Yet, as you rummage through the same five pairs of leggings and your tattered sweatshirts and oversized sweaters, you realize there’s nothing that nice to wear.

Your ensemble from the infamous night at the haunted house is washed and hanging neatly in the back corner of the small space, but the thought of wearing that again isn’t exactly a pleasant one. There’s just too much associated with it to want to put it on your body again. There’s always the outfit from the night of the birthday party, but you haven’t had a chance to wash those clothes just yet. So, your uniform of choice— leggings and a massive sweater— will have to do for today.

Just another day.

Although, you figure it’d do little harm to wear your nice sweater today, the white button up with beige flowers stitched all over it. The one that pairs perfectly with your white, hightop converse, sprucing up your usual look a bit. And with the addition of your dads gifted necklace, your vibes are at least a little nicer today. Nicer than you normally feel, at least.

And, fuck it. You may as well add a touch of makeup, throw a few curls in your hair, just for the hell of it.

Once you finish dabbing on a little black mascara and rose colored lip gloss, you take a step back from your vanity to get the full image of yourself. And surprisingly, you’re quite pleased with the outcome.

With a few spritzes of your Being Frenshe vanilla cashmere perfume, you feel it’s about as good as it’ll get for the day. And, oddly enough, you’re pretty happy with it.

Your birthday may not be your favorite, but at least you can make yourself feel a little better with your appearance. It’s a bit of a foreign concept to you, to feel okay in your own skin. But you’ve found that, lately, it’s come a little easier.

(And you know exactly who to thank for that.)

You grab your cross body bag, picking up your phone that’s still plugged into the charger, and before you place it in the front zipper of your bag, you notice there’s an unread text from Jake that he sent about fifteen minutes ago.

Before even opening the message, there’s a warm feeling flooding through your body at seeing his name, something you’re sure you’ll never get used to.

Jake: May the flames of our souls dance together endlessly. And yours, burning brightest as you embark on another trip around the sun. Join me for a celebratory feast on this fine eve. At the stroke of 7:30, look for me from the balcony of your watchtower. I’ll be awaiting your anticipated arrival from your chariot of the night, The Black Pearl.

It’s not that you expected him to forget, but the prospect was strong in your mind nonetheless. It’s historical that people have forgotten your birthday, or at least didn’t pay it enough mind to reach out to you about it. So it’s no wonder why you questioned whether or not someone you’d just met a few months ago would think to text you.

But, it's Jake. Jake is different, and you know that. You've seen his heart.

Just as you’re about to respond, you see the three little dots bubbling under his last text, so you wait a second to see what else he has to say.

Jake: Also, there's a surprise for you in your car. (Please lock it at night) See you in around 12 hours, beautiful.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re shocked when you see the most beautiful bouquet of white gerbera daisies mixed with wildflowers sitting propped up in your driver's seat. It’s the biggest you’ve ever seen; there must be at least fifty daisies wrapped up in there.

(It appears as though you did get your daisy this year after all— and then some.)

But that’s not it. There’s an incredible red dress lying across the back seat with a jewelry box sitting on top of the crimson, satin fabric. And just when you think he thought of everything, you spot a pair of black heels on the floorboard, a note attached to the ankle strap of the left one.

Wear this tonight, and you’ll be the loveliest sight. - JTK

My god. The lengths he has gone to, all to make today as special as he can. It warms your heart, yet sends a slew of uneasy nerves through your blood.

As much as you’re grateful for this new addition to your wardrobe, you can’t help the burgeoning thoughts that it may not fit the way you’d like.

Clothes shopping is a difficult task for you. The mere thought of knowing your size, your exact measurements…it’s a massive trigger, suffice to say.

So, you just don’t do it. Sticking to leggings and oversized tops is the easiest thing for the very simple fact that those items always fit the exact same. Most of what you have in your closet that aren’t those things are items you bought years and years ago that you’d always had the best intentions of wearing, but couldn’t ever bring yourself to do it.

The thought of trying on this dress is a scary one. The thought of it not fitting…terrifying. Mind-numbingly.

Jake doesn’t know that. Of course, he had no idea of your inhibitions to try new clothing when he bought this for you. It’s the sweetest gesture, and his intent is nothing but pure. Nonetheless, you’re worried about the whole thing.

What if it truly doesn’t fit? What if you despise the way it looks on you? It could highlight all of your worst features, it could cling to the areas of your body and put them on display.

But he’s expecting you to wear it.

A rock in a hard place. You’re completely stuck.

The last thing you’d allow yourself to do is make him feel bad for something he had no idea would trigger you so bad.

You can’t control how your body will look in the dress, how it’ll hug you in perhaps a few ways that may be unflattering. But one thing you can take control of today, is how much food you decide to put into your body.

Meals are simply out of the question today— until your date, at least.

You’re not risking the inevitable pooch that will make itself present with anything you decide to eat. A little hunger is okay if it means you might fit the dress a little better.

You take the dress, shoes and jewelry from the back of your car, grab the lovely bouquet and head back up to your apartment to set everything in your room.

As you stare at the dress laid out on your comforter, you can’t fight the rush of anxieties creeping up. As much as you want to try it on now, so you’ll know for sure if it’ll be a good fit for tonight, you just can’t. Not yet. You’d like to remain as blissfully unaware for as long as you possibly can.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You feel rather accomplished as you leave your Classic Horror course, having just gotten back your analytic paper on the ever scandalous novella Carmilla with a ninety eight percent decorating the front left corner in red ink.

And even better, your professor told you that your paper scored the highest out of the forty six people in your class.

You're mentally patting yourself on the back as you head to the library for your shift, feeling a sense of pride in your work that you initially thought wasn’t worthy of any praise.

Movack's class is canceled for today, and you’re a little sad about that. You never thought the day would come when you’d be upset about not having Movack’s class, the one that’s shown you grief after grief this semester. But, it’s the one that introduced you to Jake. And with how things are at last falling into place, that class has turned out to be one of the best things that’s ever happened to you.

But, not having Movack’s class means you can get a few extra hours of work in. Your bank account will certainly be grateful for it, and, in truth, you love your job enough to sacrifice a few hours of free time.

You’re almost sure that you’re the only person in the world who wants to go to work on their birthday. Natalia offered more than once to work extra to cover your shift, but you wouldn’t hear of it. Apart from being with Jake, the library is the best place to be today. (And t certainly beats being stuck at home.)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A huge bunch of sparkly silver balloons is the first thing that catches your eye as you’re nearing the circulation desk. And right next to the balloons, is your dearest Natalia with an excited smile stretched across her perfect teeth.

She’s not even supposed to be at work today. Yet, here she is. And you’re so happy to see her.

“The birthday girl!” She exclaims, practically sprinting to you while holding out a gift bag that perfectly matches the balloons.

“Nat! What did you do?” You exclaim through a ridiculously large smile, so big it’s almost embarrassing.

You’re not used to this kind of attention, especially on your birthday.

A day that you had prepared yourself to be just another day, has turned out to be one of the best birthdays you’ve ever had.

And you needed it.

You just didn’t realize how badly you needed it until you got it. It feels silly to be so emotional about everything, but it just can’t be helped. Happy, thankful tears begin falling down your cheeks as you try to sniff them away, but to no avail.

Nat sets the gift down and pulls you into a full body hug the moment she sees your emotions surfacing. There’s no sense in hiding them, especially with Nat. If anyone is going to understand your feelings, it’s her.

“I’m not letting go until you do,” she says, squeezing you tightly in her toned arms. She smells so good, so much like her. Like a field of lilacs and freshly brewed coffee.

When you finally decide to let go, she uses the sleeve of her fitted mustard yellow turtleneck to wipe thye tears from your cheeks.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you tell her once you notice the splotch of mascara you left on the shoulder of her top.

“Don’t be sorry,” she responds, picking the gift back up and holding it out to you once again. “But you have to open this before you go fix your makeup.”

With shaky hands, you take the bag from her, instantly noting its weight.

“Nat, you shouldn’t have done–”

“I wanted to,” she interrupts. “Now, open it!”

You reach your hand in the bag and pull out something wrapped it white, sparkly tissue paper. It’s heavy, but not too heavy, and oval in shape. As you begin ripping away the tissue, you see the beginnings of a beautiful bronze antiqued frame with rose gold flowers carved into it. And when you see the photo it surrounds, the tears begin making their appearance one more.

Why can’t I keep it together?

It’s a photo of you and Nat, a candid shot of her helping you fix your hair as you’re getting ready in Jake’s room for a scene. You’re dressed in the red gown from earlier scenes, so the photo is at least a few months old.

It's beautiful. It perfectly embodies your friendship with Nat, capturing where it was then and where it is now. It's a frame, frozen in time, depicting how she has helped you every step of the way since the day you met her, always being right there behind you in everything you do.

“Nat it’s–” You try, choking on your words through heavy emotions. “I just love this so much.”

You stare at it a few moments longer before pulling her in for another embrace. But as you’re holding her close, you suddenly begin to wonder…

“Who took this?” You ask her, breaking the hug only a little so you can see her face.

“I’ll give you one guess,” she winks.

“Jake?” you ask, shocked. Yet, somehow, not shocked at all. She nods her head to confirm, and all you can do is smile at the lovely thought that this simple gift represents so much.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Get a plate! There’s plenty here,” Nat says as she’s filling her silver paper plate with one of everything from the spead.

Cupcakes, a massive variety of chips and every dip one could possibly want for, pretzels, popcorn, an entire fruit tray with a white ceramic bowl holding a fluffy cream cheese dip…

So. Many. Snacks.

So much temptation on a day that you really don’t want to be tempted. You can’t risk your tummy sticking out tonight for your date, and any amount of these snacks will do just that.

But dammit, they look incredibly appetizing. And your empty stomach is begging you to scarf down one of those vanilla cupcakes with the pretty baby-pink frosting.

You feel guilty about it. Shameful. Nat spent so much time and money on this for you, but you just can’t allow yourself to do it. You won’t do it.

Eating isn’t a priority right now.

“I will in a bit! I just need to enter these returns really quick,” you tell her, pretending to focus on your computer that isn’t even turned on yet, making haste in gathering up whatever paperwork that’s around you to try and bullshit your way out of this.

It’s not really working, though. You don’t even have to look at Nat to know what she’s thinking, what her face is saying.

“It can wait,” she jolts, her tone short and sharp as ever. “I know you didn’t eat breakfast. And I can bet you don’t have any lunch plans.” She grabs the papers out of your hands, setting them aside. “So, eat something. Now.”

How does she–?

Think of something to say, y/n. Quick.

“I, um, I actually have food in my car for lunch. Just forgot to bring it in—”

“Come here,” she cuts you off, taking your right hand from the keyboard as you’re trying to sign in to the computer and leading you to the back room. She closes the door and motions for you to sit down next to her on the pile of old books you usually sit on when you’re sorting through things to be shelved. “What's going on with you?”

“Nothing! I just—”

She holds a hand up between you both, stopping you before you can continue with whatever bullshit was going to fly out of your mouth. “Don’t you dare tell me nothing. You hardly ate anything at the birthday party, you never take your fifteen minute meal breaks at work, you turn me down for lunch almost every day and when you do actually go with me, you take maybe three bites of your tiny salad and chug your water.”

You’re stunned silent for a moment. For several moments, actually.

What do you say? There’s nothing you can say, no excuse that could ever suffice when she’s caught on to this much.

You don’t like talking about it. Talking about it, to you, is a much worse feeling than the painful hunger you’ve put yourself through. Admitting you have a disorder makes it all the more real; it’s too vulnerable of an admition for your liking. Especially outloud in the presence of someone you know you shouldn’t keep secrets from.

“I—,” you start, but it’s useless. There isn’t a single word ready to leave your tongue. Nothing is ready at the forefront of your brain.

“You’re losing weight, y/n. And you’re losing it in the most unhealthy way possible.”

No. You can’t do this today. It’s not the time.

It’s never the time.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now, Nat,” you spit as you stand up, walking toward the door until she stops you with a firm grip of your forearm, holding you in place.

“We have to talk about it,” she asserts, frustrated. “You have to talk about it. You can’t keep pretending it’s not an issue. Stop avoiding it.”

You quickly snap your arm out from her hand, refusing eye contact. You know she’s right, but this means you have to confront it. And doing that is probably the worst thing about this illness that you’ve been carrying for so many years. It only shows itself periodically, making you believe you’re finally healed, only to rear its ugly head just when you think you’ve rid yourself of it once and for all.

Confronting it feels like you’re giving it some sort of power; you’ve convinced yourself that ignoring it will make it go away. Eventually.

But, you know that isn’t true. Years of living by that very sentiment have proven it. No matter what, it keeps finding its way back. An unwanted, cruel friend that somehow brings you a bit of comfort, no matter how horrible it may be to you.

You can’t bring yourself to lie to Nat. Besides, she knows you well enough that there’s no use in it; she’d know you weren’t being honest. Both a gift and a curse that she knows you so damn well.

Unsure of what to say, you just bring your hands up to your face in a sore, pathetic attempt at muffling your cries.

Nat doesn’t say anything as you feel her grab you and hold you tight, keeping you close to her. You can feel the beating of her heart against your own chest, beating almost as quickly as yours is.

As hard as this is for you, it’s probably hard for her, too.

“I’m sorry to bring this up on your birthday,” she begins, slowly pulling herself away from you, taking your hands away from your tear-soaked face so she can look you in the eye. “But I’m doing it because I want you to have more of them.”

“I’ve just lost so much control, Nat,” you sob, finding it rather hard to look her in the eye as the words begin to spill from your lips. “Everything is out of my control. My dad leaving, my mom, my feelings for Jake that I wasn’t prepared for…”

Even when good things are beyond your control, they’re still beyond your control. You never meant to fall for him as deeply as you did– it just happened. You tried to resist it, to keep your emotions in check, focus on anything else. But, feelings, especially those holding this much weight, can’t be controlled. Not by anyone. And as wonderful as these feelings are, there’s still this persistent fear that something, anything could go wrong with Jake, and you’ll find yourself powerless against it. Just one more thing you can’t control. It’s just so heavy.

“But the one thing that I can control is–”

“Eating.” She says it before you can, like she knew how much it hurt to say it out loud— she wanted to do it for you, take away some of the fear. “It’s something you can control when everything else seems too hard to manage. But, at some point, it’s not you that’s in control. It’s the disease that’s controlling you.” She pauses, waiting until you gather the courage to look her in the eye. “And when you avoid it, you’re letting it control you.”

Every single thing she’s saying is true. Undoubtedly.

It’s just not as simple as not letting it take control. God, you wish it were that simple. But with every factor at play– the unrelenting need to have reign, the severe bouts of body dysmorphia– it’s bound to take over, whether you like it or not. And that is where she’s very much correct; this illness manipulates you, makes you believe you’re the one calling the shots, when it’s truly the opposite.

As you see the tears beginning to fall from her honeyed irises, your heart swells. She cares. She cares more than just about anyone else in your whole life has cared. “Please, y/n. You have to take care of yourself.” She hugs you again, holding you even tighter than before as you both cry together. “Take care of yourself for you, and for all of the people who need you healthy, who need you here.”

Need.

You’re needed?

Even with as long as you’ve been taking care of your mom, needed isn’t something you’ve ever felt of yourself. You’ve never felt good enough to be needed.

“I know he hasn’t said anything yet,” she continues quietly, still holding you tight. “But Jake has asked me several times if you’re okay. He knows something is up, y/n. And he cares.” She pulls away, her arms outstretched as her hands hold onto your shoulders, thumbs rubbing the place where your bones are beginning to protrude a bit more. “He just doesn’t know how to approach you about it, and he’s not always the best at showing it, but I promise you; he cares.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

There’s a plate of food sitting in front of you, and a war waging its highest battle inside of you.

One thing you’ve always known to be true with this illness are the intense feelings of shame involved with…everything.

Eating is shameful, not eating is shamefiul.

And what’s worse about the shame associated with not eating; when people know.

Realizing that Nat knows, coming to terms with Jake knowing…

You’ve managed to swallow a few bites. A piece of popcorn here, a pretzel there. A few chips, (but no dip) a nibble or two of the pink frosting on top of your vanilla cupcake.

Do you eat because you want to? (Because you need to?) Or do you do it because people are starting to notice?

Right now, you know you’re only doing it to appease Nat. To make her feel better, to keep her from being upset with you.

Is it right? No, absolutely not. It’s wrong in about twenty different ways. But, you’re eating. A half step in the right direction is still moving foreward.

Things have been a little quiet with you and Nat for the last hour or so, quieter than usual. The only words you’ve spoken have been exchanges about students turning in or checking out books. You can’t get rid of the tension between you two, and you hate it. It’s not that she isn’t trying to ease it, you’re the one feeling awkward as fuck right now. It’s a strange feeling associated with someone knowing about your struggles. Even if it is your best friend. It’s yet another vulnerable layer of yourself peeled away from its protective barrier.

If anyone should know, you’re glad it’s her. And you know that of everyone else, she has your absolute best interest at heart, always. No matter how brash she comes across. She’d never use it against you.

Still yet, she knows. And anyone knowing is hard for you. It just means that she’ll keep a closer watch over you, especially when it comes to food. That is something you most definitely don’t want.

You just don’t want things to be different with her. But, no matter how badly you wish for that, things will probably be much different from now on. People will always view you differently when they know what you struggle with, and Nat is no exception.

“Looks like you’ve got a little visitor,” you hear Nat say as your eyes are fixed on the computer screen, breaking you from your endless thought train. When you look up, you see a vase filled with a lovely bouquet of more daisies, just like the ones left in your car for you this morning.

Jake. Your heart skips a beat at the thought that he came to surprise you at work, too.

“More flowers?” You say with a winded giggle, reaching to slide the vase over to the side so you can see his face. “You’ve done way too much, Ja–”

Before you finish moving the vase, your stomach drops when you see who's responsible for this beautiful gift.

It’s not Jake who brought them to you.

It’s Sam.

And here he is, standing before you in one of the nicest outfits you’ve yet to see him in; black slacks with a handsome red knitted top underneath a black blazer. He’s holding your favorite coffee in his hand, and wearing the sweetest smile that has his mustache curling on either end of his lips.

“S-Sam! Oh, this is so sweet, but I—”

“I figured you were probably getting off work pretty soon,” he interrupts, setting the coffee down next to the flowers. “I thought we could,” he pauses, removing his aviators and tucking his hair behind his ear. “ I just wondered if you’d want to go get dinner tonight. For your birthday, of course.”

Fucking hell.

His red cheeks and warm smile are making your heart ache.

Looking at his sweet face is just…it’s almost too much. You know turning him down is going to hurt him. But it just might hurt you more.

“That’s so sweet of you, Sam. But I…”

Fuck.

“I actually already have plans tonight.”

He tucks another strand of hair behind his ear, fidgeting with the sunglasses he’s still holding. “Oh, okay,” he says with a heartbreakingly innocent smile. “With your mom?”

Ugh.

Do you tell him? Do you lie to him for the sake of protecting him? It might crush him, and you don’t want to do that. But, he needs to know. And as much as you don’t want to utter the words, lying about it, only for him to find out later, is far worse.

Well, here it goes.

“No. I’m going with Jake.”

That fucking hurt like hell.

You have no doubt that the look on his face will stick with you for a very long time. His eyes, suddenly downturned like a puppy who’s just been separated from his mom, and his lips that have parted just slightly. His whole body slumps over, his shoulders seeming to go weightless as his arms fall to his side.

I’m so sorry, Sam.

You hear Nat abandoning the desk, shutting the door to the backroom and leaving you alone with Sam, in complete silence. Good call, Nat.

It’s the kind of silence that’s so quiet, it nearly hurts your ears. It’s awkward tension, your words left hanging in the air all around him.

Please say something, Sam. Anything.

You feel like the dirt beneath the deepest points of the earth, even deeper than that. You and Sam weren’t anything even close to exclusive, but you know you led him on. Selfishly, and for all the wrong reasons. You love Sam, but you can’t see any relationship with him beyond the beautiful friendship you’ve grown. But now, you’re worried that all but vanished as soon as you uttered his brother's name.

“We just made the plans this morn—”

“...you’re going with Jake?”

His tone is almost pleading with you to say it isn’t so. He sounds sad. So, so sad.

A part of you thought he might’ve gotten the idea by now that you and Jake have become a bit of an item. Or that Jake would’ve said something to him.

But, given his reaction to this news, he most certainly had no idea. Meaning, you get to be the one to break it to him.

Great.

He looks you in the eyes as he nods in understanding, a tiny, defeated smile on his lips. “Okay.” He hesitates, looking down to the ground for a brief moment, then back to you with a smile a bit more genuine than the last. He takes a deep breath and places his sunglasses back on his face. “No big deal. I hope you two have a great time.”

You try to thank him for the sweet gifts, but he’s already walking towards the door. Your heart suddenly hurts, hurts incredibly bad. You know he is hurt, and that is the very last thing you ever wanted to happen.

But, at least he knows. Perhaps, since nothing was ever actually official between the two of you, he’ll be able to move on with no problem.

As much as you are enamored with Jake, there will always be a soft spot in your heart for Sam, the one who’s been the most graceful with you since the very day you met him.

I’m so sorry, Sammy.

You hear the door behind you creak open as Nat has determined the coast to be clear of any more awkwardness with Sam finally gone. “Well, that was brutal.” She says. “I guess I thought he would’ve figured it all out by now.”

“Me too,” you respond, still picturing the sad look about his sweet face. You feel weighed down with guilt, with shame. You shouldn’t have let it go as long as you did, shouldn’t have used him the way you did.

But, what’s done is done. There’s nothing more you can do about it.

You just hope he’ll find it within himself to forgive you someday…

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve just finished your shower, with your hair and makeup flawlessly done. Your skin carries a subtle, enticing fragrance of vanilla and cashmere, and you’re wearing the new black lingerie set you’ve been eager for Jake to see.

But now, with everything perfectly in place, it’s time to finally try on the red dress he bought you. You’ve managed to put it off until now, but with only twenty minutes left before he’s due to pick you up, your time for stalling is running out.

You’re feeling incredibly nervous, your tummy tight and a bit nauseous. You’ve not even checked the size yet—what if it’s completely wrong? What if it’s too small or too big? Did he guess your size just based on how you look?

No, y/n. He probably got your size from Malachi who has your literal exact measurements for your costuming.

But, what if it just doesn’t fit and looks terrible on you? Will it accentuate everything about your body that you don’t like?

Goddammit.

You’d give almost anything to have someone by your side right now. You wish your mom could be here to calm your nerves like she used to. But you know that turning to her might only heighten your anxiety. Instead, you’re frozen in fear, staring at the red dress draped across your bed. Its silky fabric shimmers softly in the dim light of your room, only your apprehension.

But then, an idea crosses your mind. The only person who knows about your dysmorphic thoughts, your best friend who understands you better than you sometimes understand yourself, is just a mere phone call away. A FaceTime away, even. Though things were a bit rocky with her today, she's still the only person you want to help you through this right now.

With only fifteen minutes until he’s set to arrive, you quickly grab your phone and search Nat’s contact, tapping the little film icon to the right of her name.

You set your phone up on the vanity as it’s ringing, and just as she answers, the look on her face reminds you that you’re only wearing a black lace bra and matching thong.

“Goddamn, y/n!” She shouts, bringing her closed fist up to her mouth. “Daniel definitely has some competition now!”

“Nat, stop it!” You chuckle, making a horrible attempt at trying to cover yourself up.

“Whatcha need, hot stuff?”

“Jake bought me a dress to wear tonight, and I’m terrified to try it on,” you say, holding it up in front of the phone so she can see it.

“Girl, that will look sexy as fuck on you. What the hell are you so scared about?” She asks, shocked as you show her the gorgeous outfit he so lovingly surprised you with.

“I’m just…what if it doesn’t fit me and I look like utter shit in it?”

“How the fuck are you going to know if you don’t just put the damn dress on?” She loudly asserts, intently watching you with a very annoyed expression, impatiently waiting for you to try it on and get over this hesitation you're feeling. “We’re not having another Alter’d State dressing room incident; put that bitch on.”

“Jesus, okay! Give me a second.”

You step out of frame, rolling your eyes and giggling at her aggressive love that you’re starting to somewhat get used to.

And, being distracted by her aggressiveness has somehow helped you to finally put this dress on your body. You did it so quickly, without hardly a thought, that you honestly didn’t even realize you actually did it.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you adjusted the soft, silk fabric, smoothing it over your hips and tugging it into place. It feels tight, a snug fit you wouldn’t normally choose for yourself.

But without having taken a single glance in the mirror, you can tell that it most definitely fits you. As you instinctively run your hands up and down your sides, feeling it out before looking at your reflection, you’re realizing that it actually fits you really well.

But, you’re worried about how it looks on you. As you’re feeling around your body, you’re noticing the way your lower belly sticks out, the very distinct protrusion of your hips, the dips above your thighs. It’s very tight. It may fit a little too well, and that meaning it's probably putting all of your insecurities on display.

“Y/n! Hurry up, already!” You hear Nat spout from your phone that's still perched upright on your vanity.

“You have to be honest with me, okay?”

“Aren’t I always?” Nat scoffs.

Running your hands over your body once more, sucking in your tummy as much as you possibly can, you take tentative steps in front of your phone screen.

It’s just Nat, it’s just Nat…

“Well?”

“BITCH!” She yells, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin, almost falling over from her sheer volume. “That dress was fucking made for you! Why are you always so weird about clothing, when everything you try on looks perfect on you?” She continues, Danny now in the frame and agreeing with her.

A wave of relief washes over you, feeling your cheeks warm at her words, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “You really think so?”

“Uh, yeah, babe. You’re going to leave that boy completely speechless.”

You step to the side, allowing yourself to see your full image in the vanity mirror. With every ounce of strength you have in you, you do your best to ignore the things about yourself you typically focus on. Instead, the first thing you notice is the way your breasts are accentuated beneath the tight fit, the way the square neckline is just low enough to highlight your clevage in a tasteful, yet sensual way. You’ve never seen your breasts so round and full at the top like this. Part of it is all thanks to your new bra, and part of it is definetely due to the fit of your outfit.

Wow.

And although it’s sleeveless, thick straps being the only thing giving your shoulders some coverage, you’re not tempted to put anything over to cover your arms over fear you’ll hide the incredible things it’s doing for your chest.

“Thanks, Nat. You’re the fucking best, you know that?”

“Fuck yeah I do,” she chuckles, her and Danny blowing you mass amounts of kisses over the phone. “Have the best time tonight, and keep me updated!”

She hangs up the call just as Jake sends you a text that he’s just about here.

The strappy heels he gifted you with the dress are sitting next to your bed. You place your feet in them, (perfect size, of course) securing the strap around your ankles. When you stand, you feel a bit like a newborn deer attempting to gain balance. But after a moment of practice, striding around your room a few times, you feel a bit more comfortable in them.

With one final glance in the mirror, doing everything you can to only focus on the things about your appearance that you do like, your gaze shifts to the jewelry box sitting on the left of your vanity. The very one Jake left in your car along with the rest of your outfit for the evening.

You lift the lid, and inside are the most glorious, tear shaped black diamond earrings. My god, they’re stunning. And not that you’d care either way, but by the looks of them, they’re most definitely real. You can’t even begin to fathom the amount he spent on them, on everything he’s done so far. And the night has hardly begun.

It’s an almost uncomfortable feeling to be so cared for on your birthday. There’s a budening, lingering thought that you truly don’t deserve everything that’s been done for you so far.

The birthday party, where everyone showed you immense amounts of love and adoration, Sam’s sweet and gentle gestures, the beginnings of what you’re sure will be the most elegant evening you’ve ever experienced…

Is it possible that, just maybe, you are worthy of a love you’d never thought fathomable in your life thus far?

It still feels awfully strange, but, a good strange. A welcome strange.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Where are you going?” You hear your mom rudely question, with a cough behind the Kleenex in her hand, as you’re pulling your coat from the front closet. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

“Going out,” you say while looking through the peephole to see if Jake has made it up the stairs yet. “And it’s a new dress.” You check your makeup once more in the mirror next to the door, brushing away the fallen eyelash sitting on top of your cheek. “Dinner is ready for you in the oven, and I left your medications next to your bed— have you taken them?”

She scoffs as she looks you up and down, as though she’s horrified by what she sees. “And with who?” She asks, sounding utterly shocked that you could possibly have anyone who’d want to celebrate you on your birthday while altogether ignoring your question.

“Jake.” Your answer is sharp and quick. To the point, not letting yourself fall for the guilt she’s inevitably preparing to lay on you.

You’ve done everything she’s needed tonight. The apartment is spotless, there’s plenty for her to eat, her oxygen tank (that she refuses to wear against the doctor's order) is full.

God forbid you get to enjoy your own birthday—for once.

“So I don’t even get to spend your birthday with you?”

There it is.

There’s no doubt of what she’s trying to do, and you’re not going to give her the space to do it. She’s never prioritized your birthday, hasn’t even so much as acknowledged it once today. She just wants an excuse to argue, a reason to keep you here when you both know you don’t need to be.

If you don’t give her the attention she wants, she doesn’t hold the power to make you feel bad. So, you’ll just ignore her every attempt at putting you down.

And clearly, she’s not happy about it. “I see,” she mutters. “Guess your mom isn’t important enough to spend your special day with. And that dress is a little too skimpy, if you ask me.”

She knows the perfect way to trigger you, the perfect things to say that’ll make you want to rip the dress off and cover yourself with the nearest oversized outfit, or hide beneath your covers and forget tonight was ever supposed to happen.

“Trying to impress him with your body won’t get you where you think it will,” she keeps on. Her voice is becoming louder, as if she knows you’re choosing to not hear what she’s saying. She thinks yelling will get your attention a little better. “A little pathetic, if you ask me!”

Good thing I didn’t fucking ask you, you think safely to yourself.

She’s making it really fucking hard to not say anything, but thankfully Jake knocks on the door right at the perfect time before your mouth gets the best of you.

Don’t listen to her, don’t listen.

You hear her make continued, snide remarks about how your body looks, but you’re too preoccupied with getting to the door to meet Jake. And once you do that, you’ll be safe from whatever shit she’s spewing at you. The first thing he does when you open the door for him is greet your mom, but she isn’t having it.

“Don’t be out all night,” she says as she makes her way to her room, slamming the door behind her.

“Just ignore her,” you say to Jake. “She’s in a mood.”

“You look like an absolute dream.” He completely disregards the interaction with your mother, choosing to focus all of his attention on you. He walks in a circle around you, eyes grazing every inch of your body. “I knew this would look immaculate on you,” he attests, hands reaching out to gently squeeze your hips.

But the real dream is him.

He’s adorned in his usual all black, but it’s much different than anything you’ve yet to see him wear.

Handsome just simply isn’t a strong enough word. Perfection is the closest way to describe what you’re seeing in front of you.

Tailored black pants that hug him just right. A black vest with a dramatic scooped neckline that plunges far past his chest, allowing for the best display of his chain that holds so many silver coins, more than you ever see him sport. And alongside them, hanging a little lower than the rest, is a silver sword charm That one, specifically, is reminding you of where it all began with him.

My Arthur.

His blazer drapes over his broad frame with effortless elegance, sitting atop his wide shoulders as if it were crafted just for him.

And his hat.

His black, wide brimmed hat, the very one you’re sure he wore the day you met him. The one that, despite your every reservation, piqued your interest.

Just when you thought that he had gone all out with his attire, the extra nine is added when you catch sight of his silver and black striped boots.

“Jake, you look…” Your breath catches in your throat. No word seems adequate. You can’t find the strength to resist pulling him in for a deep kiss, the only way to truly express how much you love the way he looks.

You catch a hint of his aftershave on his lips, mingling with the taste you’re coming to know as distinctly his.

God, he tastes so good. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you last saw him, but you’ve missed his lips.

And you miss him the moment he pulls away, just as the kiss deepens.

“We better go, love,’ he whispers against you. ‘Can’t be late for our reservation.”

Reservation?

“Where are we going?” You inquire, staring intently at his lips that you want nothing more than to become lost in.

“You’ll see when we get there.”

With a playful, gentle slap to your ass, he takes your hand in his and leads you out the front door.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

It looks like a fucking castle come to life directly out of a medieval romance. (Rather fitting.) A wonderful, massive Victorian mansion that nearly appears out of place in the modern streets of the big city.

How have you never seen this place before?

The outside is full mortar stone, the roof different levels of height with rounded columns that are peeked at the top. Extravagantly huge balconies are wrapped around each level. It’s glorious, it’s too much.

“What is this place?” You ask, stunned and wide eyed as he pulls the Rover up to the man dressed in formal attire waiting for him at the circle drive near the back of the building.

It has valet parking. Fucking valet. You’ve never been to a place fancy enough that you don’t even have to park your own car.

Now that you’re closer, you’re able to read the red, oval sign to the right of the elegant circle drive.

The Whitney: Restaurant | Ghostbar | Gardens is displayed in white lettering.

One thing is for absolute sure; there is nothing like this where you’re from. Not even remotely close.

Out of instinct you reach for the handle of the door, but Jake stops you with a firm grasp on your upper thigh.

Fuck. You’ll never get used to the grip of his hand, how strong and intentional his fucking hands are. You never knew you could be so turned on by a man's hand before; that was before Jacob Thomas (and his sexy ass hands) entered your life.

“Stay right there,” Jake tells you as he jumps out of the driver's seat, handing the formally dressed man his keys along with a tip for his services.

When Jake opens your door, he takes your hand and helps you from your seat, as though you truly are royalty.

Once you're out of the car and sturdy on your feet, he locks his arm with yours, almost as though he’s escorting you to the most lavish ball.

Before taking control of the Rover, the valet opens the door for you and Jake, revealing the incredible interior.

And just as you suspected, it’s stunning. It’s more than stunning.

You knew places like this existed, but never in your wildest fantasies did you think you’d be stepping foot in one of this magnitude.

The first thing you notice is the baby grand piano sitting in the massive foyer near a painted portrait that must be over a hundred years old.

Gold’s and royal pink’s detail the walls an intricate pattern, and the ceiling. Wood carved in utter beauty and class.

“Right this way, Mr. Kiszka.”

A woman, dressed in a floor length, black gown, guides you around the corner to a private room.

Your breath is abruptly stolen from your lungs when you walk through the massive, gold trimmed french doors separating the space from the rest of the mansion. It’s dimly lit, with most of the emitting from the candles positioned all around the room. Next to the single round table, fixed with a black lace cloth and red napkins in the shape of roses, is a tremendous fireplace that surpacres your height.

As Jake leads you to it, you're able to really see the intricate detailing across the stone work. It’s full white stone, with angels that are nearly the size of you carved into the sides, reaching from the top to the hearth.

“Here you are, just as you requested.” She motions to the quaint table, the only one in the whole room, seated directly next to the immaculate fireplace. “Included in our private dining is a complimentary bottle of Antinori Tignanello, imported directly from Tuscanny. May I begin the evening by pouring you both a glass?”

Jake instantly looks to you for your answer, and when you eagerly nod your head, he tells the waitress that you’d both love to have a glass.

“Jake,” you whisper as she leaves to fetch your drinks. “Imported from Tuscanny? How much did all of this cos–”

“That, my sweet doll,” he interrupts. “Is not something you should worry your pretty mind over.”

His smile may actually melt your heart. You can tell, with the twinkling in his eyes, that he truly wanted nothing more than to give you the best. This all feels so authentic, so pure. Nothing you’ve ever quite felt before.

Before you know it, the waitress is back, setting large, deep wine glasses in front of you and Jake. “The Tignanello is rich with notes of cherries, red berries, and a hint of lavender.” She begins pouring your glass first, then carefully finishing with Jakes. “It’s beautifully complimented with notes of roasted coffee and a touch of cocoa powder, closing with a tad of spice and fresh herbs.”

Jake takes his glass, holding it out in front of him and signaling you to do the same. As soon as you do, after a clink of your glasses, you both take a sip.

Wow.

“Extraordinary,” Jake says to the waitress, who’s earnestly awaiting your reactions. “Absolutely remarkable.”

You can’t help but giggle at the way he’s swirling the liquid around his wine glass, as though he’s a bonafide wine connoisseur. So very classy, so very sexy.

You start to feel a bit nervous when she and Jake then look to you to hear your thoughts. You’re not sure what to say that won’t sound completely silly. Jake knows how these places work, and being from the tiniest town in Oklahoma, you most surely do not know the proper etiquette of a place such as this.

You’re no expert when it comes to imported wines, but you certainly know a good wine when you taste one. And this one is probably the best you’ve ever had. But how do you say that without sounding too…Oklahoma?

“Uh it’s, I mean it’s the best I’ve– it’s truly stupendous.”

…stupendous?

Jake covers his mouth to conceal his little giggle, and the waitress has a bit of a dumbfounded look about her. You couldn’t have said that any more awkwardly if you tried.

“G-glad to hear that!” She giggles, breaking the unease hanging in the air. “I’ll be back momentarily with your salads.”

Your head falls in your hands from pure embarrassment. “I am so weird,” you say, muffled.

Jake chuckles again, taking your wrist as you look up to him through your fingers. “You are not weird. That was adorable.”

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The vibration from your phone can still be heard, though it’s tucked away in your clutch.

Someone is texting you, and you’ve a good feeling it may be your mom. Your anxiety grows stronger with each text that comes through, knowing she’s probably sending you messages out of anger over tonight.

Though you want to just ignore it and be present, when it vibrates two more times, one message sent directly after the other, you decide to just turn your phone off for the rest of the evening.

“Everything alright?” Jake asks, noting your sudden onset of anxiety when you see several text messages from, just as you thought, your mother.

They all say essentially the same thing, accusing you of not caring about her, of only caring about yourself and Jake. It’s not worth the turmoil of responding. She’s been fully taken care of for the night, she’ll be just fine on her own for a little while.

“Just my mom,” you tell him as you shut your phone off and slide it back in your clutch.

“I know she’s sick,” he begins, finishing off the last bite of his arugula salad. “But, that doesn’t give her the right to treat you the way she does.”

“Yeah,” you agree, searching for the strength to eat more than a few bites of your salad. “You’re right. She hasn’t always been this way, though.”

You know that doesn’t matter. But you also know, deep down, that she has always been like this. You’ve just convinced yourself that it was okay, that she wasn’t that bad.

He thanks the waitress when she takes his now empty salad plate, leaving yours as it’s still decently full. “When did she start acting this way?”

Ugh.

“I guess…Well, it got worse when my dad left, around the time she got her diagnosis. And the move was a lot for her.” That felt weird to say to him.

“Natalia told me a little about him, about your dad,” he admits with a worrisome tone, like he’s revealing a great secret. “I–I hope that’s okay. That she told me, I mean. You hadn’t said anything about him and I–”

“Of course it’s okay,” you nod, interrupting his apologetic spiel. You’re glad he knows, and you’re even more glad that you didn’t have to tell him.

You then start feeling a familiar ache in your heart associated with thinking of your dad, reaching up to grasp your necklace. “He just couldn’t handle it any longer, I guess. We were just too much for him.”

I was too much for him…

“Do you miss him?” He continues, eyes attentively narrowing on you.

“I shouldn’t,” you start, awkwardly shifting in your chair. “But, yeah. I do. He was…it felt like he was the one who loved me most, you know? Or, I thought he did. And when he left…I just didn’t expect it. Never saw it coming.”

Knowing in your heart that you miss him is one thing, but saying it…

“It’s okay that you miss him,” Jake says, reaching across the table and taking your hand, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “Even if what he did hurts like fucking hell, you can still miss someone who hurt you. You can still love them, too.”

That isn’t something you’ve allowed yourself to acknowledge, that you can still have feelings of love for someone that caused you so much pain. But, you do still love him. You love him so much. And you thought he loved you the same. That is why it hurts so fucking bad. The memories of him are comforting, but they serve as a reminder of the fact that he chose to leave.

You squeeze Jake’s hand as tears begin to form. “I’ve just felt so guilty for missing him, like I’m betraying myself for missing someone who left us…who left me.”

“Missing him doean’t make you wrong or weak,” he tells you, gently shaking his head as his waves brush against the tops of his shoulders. “Just makes you human, you know?”

For the first time in quite a while, you feel a spark of hope. Maybe, through Jake, you can find a way to heal, to embrace a future that isn’t held back by pain and abandonment.

A smile tugs at your lips at the thought, wondering if there could be a future with Jake. Right now, you’re having a hard time imagining one without him. “Thank you, Jake. I really needed this tonight.”

“You deserve it, doll.” He lifts your hand, kissing your knuckles through a smile. “This and so much more.”

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The anxious, intrusive thoughts are relentless as she sets the beautifully plated Chicken Francese before you, urging you to take only a bite or two and leave the rest untouched on the fine china

But when you look at Jake, sitting across from you, taking a generous sip of his wine, it’s clear he’s waiting for you to take a bite before he starts on his own.

A gentleman, through and through.

It’s no surprise that when you look into his eyes—kind and unwavering in their adoration for you—the anxious thoughts suddenly dissipate, melting away in the warmth of his gaze.

My safe place.

The way he looks at you, as if you’re the most stunning vision he’s ever laid eyes on, with pure awe shining in his golden irises.

He makes you feel beautiful, like you’re enough.

And when you feel that way, you feel deserving of nourishment. He makes you feel worthy. There’s something about his presence, about how he cares for you as if you’ve been together for the better part of your young lives, as if you’ve always known him…

He has a way of quieting the intrusive thoughts, even if only for a moment. Just the two of you, in this palace, enjoying each other’s company.

And, a moment is all you need to fill your body with the love you’ve been so scared to show it. Perhaps it’s how much love he shows your body that forces you to believe it’s okay for you to show it some love, too.

The first bite feels like a small act of defiance against the days of hunger you've endured. The moment the warm, buttery chicken touches your tongue…it’s suddenly more than just food; it’s a reminder that you do deserve to nourish yourself. As you chew, the richness of the sauce envelops you, and the warmth seeps into your very being, igniting a spark of joy that you seem to only feel about food when Jake is around.

You’re not just feeding your body; you’re healing your spirit, reclaiming a piece of yourself. With every forkful, you allow yourself to believe that it’s okay to feel good, it’s okay to fill your body with what it needs to sustain.

As you stick your fork in what will be the last bite, you look to Jake. He seems to be enjoying the food just as much as you. And when you lock eyes, you fill your mouth with the very last morsel left on the china. A strength you didn’t know you had, but he has helped you discover it.

Instead of feeling shame over eating the entire meal, you’re grateful for it. You’re happy you ate it all. Your body needed it, your mind needed it.

No, there’s no shame.

This is a new feeling; you're proud.

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“You certainly didn’t give me much time for planning,” he says while placing a small, red velvet box on the table between you. “But thankfully, I was able to purchase this on rush order.”

“You’ve done so much, Jake. I can’t accept anything else—”

“Yes, you can.” He smiles, warm and comforting. “Open it, doll.”

There’s no chance you can deny him, especially with that little pet name that not once has failed to make you utterly weak.

You’ve no idea what this could possibly be, because he truly has gone all out for you. It makes you wonder what he would’ve done if he’d had more than just two weeks to plan everything, because it feels as though he’s done it all.

Once you open the box, your jaw nearly hits the table beneath you. It’s a necklace with the most gorgeous sword pendant hanging from its chain. And, even better, it’s a near identical match to the one’s wearing. Only a bit smaller to suit you better.

“To commemorate the completion of our film” he begins, standing from his seat and walking around behind your chair. Taking the box from your hand, he carefully pulls out the necklace and places it around your neck. “Because it led me to my Guiniverre.”

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With a clink of your silver forks, you cheers with your first bites of chocolate lava cake before filling your mouths full of the gooey, decadent dessert.

“Happy birthday, sweet girl.” He licks the extra chocolate off the fork, his tongue wrapping sensually around the metal, eliciting a few strong feelings within you. And he must notice; he catches your glare, (that you’re not exactly trying to hide) winking at you while gliding his tongue along his bottom lip. “Here’s to the enchanting splendor that is you.”

He brings his napkin up from his lap, carefully dabbing his face with it before accidentally dropping beneath the table. “Oops,” he sneers. “Rather clumsy of me, hm?”

You chuckle as he fluidly and elegantly dips under the white tablecloth to retrieve it, taking his time while he does so.

It isn’t long before you feel a gentle, sturdy hand wrapped around your calf, slowly leading up to your bent knee. Then, following the smooth glide of his touch, you feel the softest kisses against the smooth skin along the same path. The fabric of your dress is bunched up to your upper thighs, his lips following, urging you to at last uncross your legs. And when you do, his kisses, more fervent and intentional, meet the inner thigh of your right leg, then your left.

“Jake…,” you whisper, wanting more than anything to submit to his advances, yet feeling the shame of it all at once. “Not…not here, baby.”

He responds with one long, slow lick of his tongue, nearly meeting the heat between your legs before backing away altogether.

“Jake…please.” You reach your hands under the table, searching for his face to bring back to you. You feel his hands find yours, pulling your hand to his lips where you can feel him smile as he kisses your palm.

You can hardly conceal your elongated sigh of dismay when he lifts back up to sit in his chair. “Don’t look so sad, doll.” He folds his previously dropped napkin in front of you, teasing the hell out of you. “We’ll go home very soon for the rest.” He stands up, pushing in his chair before offering you his hand to help you up. “But first, we must embark on our tour of the mansion.”

As badly as you want him to take you right now on top of this table, the floor, anywhere, you can’t deny your excitement to get a better look at this glorious place. “Sounds wonderful,” you mutter as he leans in for a quiet kiss, leading the way to the foyer where your waitress is generously waiting to guide you through the Victorian home.

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“We’re no strangers to the paranormal here,” she admits, walking you through a narrow hallway that leads to a multitude of rooms you’ve yet to explore. “There are numerous accounts of ghostly sightings. Many claim to see the very same apparitions.”

She opens the door to a room decorated with Victorian furniture. Large, hand painted portraits of a man and a woman hang from the walls, framed with antique gold.

“David and Sara Whitney were the original owners of the mansion after its completion in 1894,” she begins, pointing to the portraits that immediately caught your eye. “David personally oversaw the construction of his home, being sure that all fifty two rooms he requested were structured to his liking. Sara, his wife, insisted on a fireplace in each room,” she continues, drawing your attention to the one in the room you’re standing in. “But David wouldn’t hear of it. So, instead of the fifty two fireplaces she wanted, she only got twenty of them.”

She continues taking you through each room that is available for tours, showing you seven of the ten bathrooms, giving you a detailed, rich history of the place and showing you photos of the paranormal activity caught on camera.

Though you’re utterly fascinated by it all, especially the ghost stories, you can’t seem to keep focus with Jake’s wandering hands. Every corner you turn, he reaches down to squeeze your ass. Everytime she looks away, he cups your breast with a strong grip.

You’ve smacked his hand away each time, fearful that she’ll eventually catch on to what’s happening behind her back.

But, when Jake stops you, holds you up against the wall and locks his lips tight with yours, you decide to blow all caution to the wind at this point, unable to deny him any longer. That is, of course, until your fear becomes recognized.

She stops mid sentence, clearing her throat to get your attention.“The tour is almost over,” she says, standing in the middle of the hallway, her hands resting on her hips. “Do you think you two and handle yourselves for just a few more minutes?”

Feeling completely embarrassed, you both awkwardly apologize and agree that you can manage it. (Hopefully, at least.)

You wipe the smudged lipstick from your face and Jake’s before carrying on with the tour, keeping the touching to a minimum of just handholding.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The drive back to his place was full of red light kisses, heavy and hungry touches. Every still moment in the Rover resulted in your hands all over each other.

Neither of you wasted anytime getting in the front door and down the hall, Jake stopping just as you approached the door to his bedroom. He’s holding you against the wall, hands wrapped tight in the roots of your hair as he kisses you hard and deep.

His lips stay attached to yours as he leads you into his dim, warmly lit room, closing the door before he guides you to his bed, seamlessly laying you down on your back as he braces himself on top of you, taking his black hat off and tossing it to the other side of the bed.

He’s holding the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your now messy locks, his tongue filling your mouth with the taste of the last hints of the imported wine, reminding you of the lavish evening he’s already spoiled you with.

He carefully moves your head to the side to gain access to your neck, kissing and sucking on the tight skin, humming everywhere his lips touch. You open your eyes only for a moment, but when you do, you see his dark red SG sitting on the stand. It’s reminding you of a promise he made, that one day he’d play for you. As much as you don’t want this to end, hearing him play is something you’ve thought about almost everyday since you discovered this facet about him.

“Jake, can—can you do something for me?” You ask him while he continues to caress you with his lips.

He stops only to respond, keeping as close to you as he can. “Anything for you, doll.”

Having the worst time attempting to talk as he’s licking along your neck, you point to the guitar sitting beside the bed, hoping he’ll know just what you’re wanting.

“Yeah?” He plants one more kiss as he begins to sit up on the end of the bed. “Want me to play you a little something?”

You move to sit next to him, smoothing down your hair a bit, looking into his golden eyes with eagerness. “Would you?”

“Of course, my queen.” He flashes the warmest smile, tucking loose hair behind your ear while he sweetly kisses you once more. “I’d be delighted.”

He approaches the guitar stand, fingers lightly brushing against smooth surface before gracefully grasping the neck, taking it from where it rests. Draping the black leather strap over his shoulder and across his chest, he adjuts it so that it fits snuggly against his torso, cradling it comfortably against his body, letting the weight of the instrument settle in his hands.There’s a still humming sound when he plugs the chord into the small Marshall amp in the corner.

“Needs a little tuning.” He takes his pick from the top of the amp and uses it to pluck a few strings, adjusting the knobs along the head. It doesn’t need much, though. It sounds wonderfully melodic already. And god, does he look beautiful holding it. It’s a brand new side of him that you’ve known was there, but seeing it…it’s only serving to increase your every desire for him.

He lets out a satisfied hum when the strings are in perfect tune, his eyes flitting back up to you with a loving smile.“Any requests?”

“Whatever strikes your fancy,” you tell him, ready to hear just about anything at this point, your body beginning to vibrate at the vision before you.

“Hm, what strikes my fancy…,” he begins, heavy in contemplation. Then, he looks at his wide brimmed hat still sitting on top of the duvet. And as though that was his very inspiration, you see the gleam in his eye when he picks it up to place it back on his head. “I feel it’s only proper when playing a little SRV,” he winks.

He starts playing a few chords, and while you can’t quite place them, they do sound awfully familiar to you. They sound peaceful, soothing. “Do you know the story about Lenny?” He asks, continuing to play the beginning notes of the melody.

You smile when you suddenly make the connection. Lenny, a staple for any Stevie Ray Vaughan lover. Of course you recognize the melody, it’s a classic. You do know a bit of the song's backstory, but you’re willing to bet you don’t know as much about it as he does. And, you’re very much looking forward to hearing him talk about it.

“I can’t say I do,” you admit, shaking your head, looking into his dark, whiskey eyes. “Tell me about it.”

His fingers continue strumming the all too familiar tune, swooning you with each heartfelt chord he plays.“It’s a profound melody, heavy with the weight of love for his wife, Lenora.” Still standing, he lifts a leg and places his foot along the edge of the mattress, letting his guitar rest against his knee. “He loved her deeply, and he set out to express that love through music. No lyrics, just pure music, melody.”

You can feel the vibration of every note he plays, your eyes flicking back and forth from his to his fingers methodically and intentionally moving along the fretboard. The way he’s playing from memory, as though the song is woven into his very soul–it’s nothing short of exhilarating to witness such a beautiful thing.

“It shows his ability to convey the deepest emotions through his guitar, how he can almost manipulate it to sound like a voice. There’s not a single word throughout the entire piece, yet you can indubitably hear the essence of his heart being spoken through his fingertips.”

You’ve always been able to hear it in Stevie’s playing, and you swear you can hear it in Jake’s playing. The tune sounds nearly identical to the original, yet the message he’s conveying is a bit different, a bit more melancholy. Whatever is weighing on his heart, is coming through with every movement of his hands.

When he reaches the most pivotal part of the song, he throws his head back, his eyes closed and brows furrowed together. His lips are parted, speaking quiet whispers to his instrument as his fingers move at a speed you didn’t know possible.

The rich, bluesy tones emitting through his instrument, the painful yet adoring cries of the melodies. The careful vibratoes and reverbs that are so identifiably Stevie’s, mimicked in Jake’s very own stylistic approach. The rhythms, the variations in tempo…you know, without a shadow of a doubt that Stevie himself would be more than flattered by such a gorgeous rendition of his beloved piece.

He then becomes fully immersed in the tune, his back arching as he throws his head back even further than before, sending his hat tumbling to the ground but he’s not paying it any mind. Just when you thought he couldn’t look more captivating, more sexy, he forgoes his pick, placing it on the edge of his bottom lip. With a seductive grace, he plucks the remainder of the song at a slowed down tempo, each note still resonating with deep emotion.

“He called her his guiding light, the source of his every inspiration,” he mutters after taking the pick from his mouth, gently strumming the final chord. “His love for her was evident in everything he did, but nothing quite captures it the way Lenny did.”

He gazes at his guitar for a moment, his fingers gliding along the fretboard, a soft smile playing on his lips. With a lingering touch, he removes the strap and carefully places the guitar back on its stand.

You slowly rise to your knees on the edge of the bed, beckoning him with a subtle wave of your finger. He does without hesitation, and when he’s within reach, you grab hold of both sides of his jacket collar, drawing him even closer. His eyes, dark and heavy in lust, meet yours with a half grin, the air thickened with anticipation.

“Does this mean you liked it?” He whispers, beginning to close the tiny gap between you. His hands find your hips, rubbing along the satin material of your dress until the fabric becomes bunched up at your waist.

“Loved it.” ”

Feeling as though you can’t hold back any longer, you pull him by his collar and melt your lips into his. So much passion, so much vigor behind his lips.

His hands reach around to your exposed ass, squeezing the flesh hard in his grip before cracking his open palm against your right cheek.

“Fuck,” you gasp. You then lean down to kiss his neck as your fingers diligently begin to unbutton his vest. Much like when he was playing you the song, he throws his head back to allow you better access to the skin, his lips parted and heavy breaths falling from them.

When you reach the last button, he lets you pull his jacket and vest off his body in one go, leaving his top half bare. You then lean down even further, letting your lips kiss along his sternum, sucking marks on the skin of his chest, licking along his nipples. He sucks in a breath as you do so, his fingers then becoming tangled in your hair while he hums and groans as you lean up to his neck once more.

“You sound pretty, Jake…,” you mumble into his flesh, feeling the sped up beating of his heart as your lips meet the pulsepoint of his neck. “I think I like you like this.”

You feel the bobbing of his Adam's apple against your lips as he chuckles, breathing deep and heavy while you continue grazing your lips over the tight skin, sucking and biting, smiling at the goosebumps and dark marks left behind.

“Jesus, what have you done to me?” He groans, still grinning when you bring your gaze to his pretty face.

Each time you think you’ve at last broken through the entirety of his exterior, you find yourself digging deeper and deeper still, discovering there’s still much more beneath the surface that he’s slowly allowing you to reveal. You can feel him begin to crumble under your touch; for him to grant you this position of power… it’s not the Jake you met a few months ago. It’s a Jake you convinced yourself wasn’t there, that he wasn’t real.

As much as he makes you unravel before him, you’re discovering that you have the same effect on him. And oh, how empowering it feels.

Your hands cup his cheeks, thumbs rubbing his pink cheek bones. His eyes, pupils dark and heavy against the warm amper of his irises,ock onto yours as his grip finds the small of your waist. “What have you done to me?” He softly echoes before his lips gracefully meet yours.

He leans you back gently, laying you against the mattress. Standing before you as you’re sprawled out on the bed, he gazes down at you with eyes that hunger for everything you are.

And the vision of him, shirtless and sweaty, his cock hard and strained against his black slacks.

Goddammit.

How could someone this alluring, this striking, be looking at you the very way he is right now?

“Just want to look at you like this for a bit, doll,” he whispers, fingers delicately grazing your calves, falling to your ankles. “You know you’re beautiful, right?” He takes the heel off your left foot, then your right. He leans down closer to you, hovering above you. His hair tickles your chest, his lips brush against your collar bone. The coins hanging from his neck feel cold as they graze your chest. “Tell me what you want from me.”

His breath is hot against your skin, his voice husky and deep.

His hands trail slowly down the curve of your torso, the warmth of his touch leaving a lingering everywhere they touch. When he reaches your shoulders, he pauses, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he gently slides the straps of your dress down your arms, the silken fabric whispering against your skin as it slips lower. With a soft tug, he exposes your bra, the lace barely concealing the soft rise of your breasts.

He dips his head, his hair splayed across your chest, and begins to nip and kiss the tops of your breasts. His lips leave a series of gentle marks, each one a claim, as his tongue, wet and warm, starts its slow and deliberate journey. He glides from the valley of your cleavage to your neck, savoring every inch of the path. He playfully takes the silver sword charm he gifted you earlier in his teeth, letting it dangle for a moment before releasing it to rest against your breasts.

With the charm now lying between you, he continues to lick along the curve of your neck, tracing the line of your pulse. His journey seals with a tender kiss, ending his path with an intimacy that sends shivers down your spine. “Tell me," he repeats.

Your mind and mouth are suffering a massive disconnect, your lips unable to utter the words you so desperately want to say. All you can do is whimper, squeal out a pathetic plea for him to ravish you. The upper hand you once had has all but vanished, all thanks to the power he will always hold over you.

He softly giggles when you grip his shoulders, pulling him into you as you wrap your legs around his back. What your mouth can’t say, your body certainly can.

The kisses are heavy, sloppy. Your hands find their home weaved in his locks, pulling gently, but enough to elicit a weighted whimper from him, the most gorgeous sound.

“Again,” he moans. “Do that again, doll.”

Oh, he likes this.

You comply, tugging at his chestnut waves once more, this time with more force. The same whimper escapes his plump lips, sending a shiver through your core.

As you pull again, his hand quickly moves between your legs, his fingers finding their place against your fluttering clit, moving in slow but intentional circles over the black satin covering you.

Upon instinct your arch your back, silently imploring for more and more.

Your mind and body ache for him when he sits up. He’s standing at the end of the bed once more, staring down at you, a sultry grin curling at the corners of his mouth.

He says nothing as he pulls his belt through its buckle, unbuttoning and pulling the zipper down from his pants. He drops them to the floor, leaving him only in his black boxer briefs.

He reaches his hand down, lightly rubbing his palm against his clothed cock that’s practically begging to be freed from the constraining fabric.

Jesus.

As much as you’d love to feel his fingers, his tongue, you’re nearly desperate for his cock at this point, not in any place to wait much longer for him to fill you.

His eyes darken as he watches you sit up and pull your dress off in one go, removing your bra next just as quickly.

He hums as you bare your breasts, groaning as his eyes fall to your secret ink below the curve of your breast.“Lie back down, doll,” he groans, his voice rumbling deep from his chest. When you comply, he swiftly yanks your panties off, discarding them onto the floor. He then removes his boxers, finally revealing what you've been craving.

With a swift motion of your hips, he draws you to the edge of the bed, standing before you and sinking his fingers into your soft flesh. His cock glides against your folds, slowly tracing your slit, the tip teasingly nudging your clit. You press yourself against him, yearning for more contact as his head finally probes your wetness. 'Please,' you whisper, your voice cracked and trembling with desire.

You needn't say another word as he fills you slowly, inch by inch, gripping the backs of your thighs while he watches himself enter you. His heavy-lidded gaze remains fixed on your cunt as he stretches you, maintaining an impossibly slow pace.

“Jesus,” he huffs through a staggered breath. “I love watching you take me.” He slides out slow and gentle, thrusting back in with the same deliberate pace. “I love the way you grip me, how you pull me in.” His voice grows deeper, raspier. “Feel me, doll?” He lays his palm against your lower tummy, applying gentle pressure slowly as his cock disapears inside of you. “Feel how much I fill you?”

The thumb of the same hand that rests over your tummy glides down to your swollen clit, flicking the sensitive bud ever so lightly as he maintains his slow pace. You can no longer keep your eyes open; your lids grow heavier by the second from the overwhelming stimulation, listening to your mutual heaving breaths and the clinking of his silver pendants against his chest.

Your cheeks flush with heat, and every muscle in your body tightens. You feel your walls clenching around him, pulsing and fluttering with each breath.

“Let it go, doll,” he mutters deeply, watching as you begin to fall apart beneath him. “Don’t hold back, okay?”

One more flick of his thumb sends you crashing into waves of pleasure. Your hand reaches down to grip the sheets, your nails digging into your palms. Your other hand finds your breast, sending jolts of sensation through you. Your back arches off the bed, skin tingling and glistening with sweat.

Each breath from your lungs is rigged and stuttered, your lips only able to cry his name over and over.

He doesn’t stop, only slows enough to let you come down slow and easy, letting you truly feel every bit of your pleasure.

After a moment to catch your breath, you muster the strength to reach up for his shoulders, pulling him down to you. His lips crash into yours, and he remains tucked inside you, staying numbly still as your walls flutter, your cunt making a mess of both him and the sheets.

“You okay to keep going, doll?” He asks, the sincerity in his tone tugging at your heart.

You nod, silently pleading for another kiss—you suddenly find yourself craving the taste of his lips. “Mhm,” you mumble, keeping your lips pressed firmly against his.

Without breaking the kiss, he uses the strength of just one arm to flip the two of you over, his cock still nestled deep inside you.

You’re on top now, still kissing him as you begin to grind your hips slowly against his. You find the perfect rhythm, each movement consistently hitting that special spot inside you. Positioned just right, your clit rubs against his lower tummy, forcing you back into the precipice of another blissful end.

He moans deliciously against your lips, and you lift just enough to see his face. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips parted and pursed. “There you go, doll,” he mutters, his voice quiet and ragged. “Give it all to me.”

His hands grip your thighs, his nails leaving crescent moons on your skin. As they move to your hips, they urge you to move faster. Summoning the little strength you have left, you follow the rhythm of his hands, bouncing and grinding your body against his.

With a sweaty palm, he slaps the left cheek of your ass, forcing you to cry out his name louder than you ever thought possible.

“Inside,” you manage through a whimper. “Cum inside, sir. P-please.”

'Fuck!' he groans, and within seconds of your request, he’s painting your insides like a masterpiece. You’re not sure how you find it within you, but your body succumbs to the overwhelming need for release once more.

Together, both of you reach a blissful peak in the most intoxicating, exhilarating way.

Keeping him inside you, feeling the trickles of his release drip from you, you slump down, burying your face in his neck. His skin feels warm against yours, sticky with perspiration.

“Are you okay, my doll?” He asks, panting and breathy.

My doll.

You can only manage to nod your head, to smile against his neck as you leave a gentle peck to the dampened skin.

He chuckles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on top of your head. His finger glides up the curve of your spine and back down, caressing the top of your hip. It’s an area of your body you’ve never been particularly fond of, yet you find yourself warming to it under his tender attention.

If he appreciates your body like this, especially having now seen you so intimately more than once, maybe you can learn to appreciate it, too.

"You okay like this for a little while, doll?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper. “Is it alright if we stay like this for a moment?”

You’re not ready to end the contact just yet, longing to feel his warmth against you, in you, for a little while longer. You’re grateful to know he feels the same way.

You hum in agreement, planting another gentle kiss on his neck and nuzzling your face against him as closely as possible.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

It’s the darkest point of the night, the moon settled against the earth in her fullest form. She creeps in the windows ever so slightly, mixing her silver hue with the golden light from the single lamp positioned in the corner of Jake's room.

The air feels cool, and the tiny beads of sweat that once covered your skin have left a chill in their wake, sending a swarm of goosebumps across your body. But he’s so warm—so warm that the cold doesn’t matter when he holds you. This is one of your favorite things about him: how closely he embraces you after you’ve shared your bodies.

Chest to chest, your hearts slowing their rhythm together.

Though your bodies are no longer intertwined as they once were, you sense an even deeper connection with him now, lying together in the purest forms of yourselves, cuddled up to fend off the night’s chill.

You can’t recall a time in your life when you’ve felt more at peace than you do right now. Everything feels far too perfect to be real, too wonderful to be anything but a dream.

Things feel good. Things feel right. Yet, in this blissful moment, a nagging fear begins to surface—a sense that something will inevitably come along to shatter it all. It’s a lingering worry you just can’t seem to shake, not matter your efforts to do so.

But for now, you’ll savor this moment as it unfolds. It may become a distant memory someday, and you want to remember as much of it as possible if—or when—your haunting fear becomes a reality.

“Looks like you’re the one all marked up this time,’ you giggle softly, rolling onto your side and propping yourself up on your elbows to admire the purple marks you left on his neck and chest. “Sorry about—”

“No need for an apology, doll.” He leans over toward you, gently pecking your lips. “I’ll wear ‘em with pride, let the whole world know the lips from which they came.” He throws his head back, holding his arm high in the air as if presenting himself to some invisible audience, basking in his imaginary applause after his scene.

You kiss him once more, chuckling against his lips that are curled in a satisfied grin. “That was absolutely terrible Jake.”

He grins wider, pulling you closer. “Maybe, but it got you to kiss me again, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes playfully as he leans over the edge of the bed, rummaging around for something.“One more gift,” he says, reaching for whatever else he has in store for you.

“Jake,” you start, breathless and giggly. “I’m serious this time. No more gifts.”

“Hold out your hand.”

“No I can’t–”

“Last one. I promise.”

Shaking your head, you do as he said and hold out your open palm. He drops it in your hand, and instantly, you know exactly what it is.

“Your pick?” You ask, stunned over such a personal memento. “I can’t take this, Jake!”

“You must not know much about guitar players,” he jokes, closing your fingers around his final gift and kissing your knuckles. “I’ve got a million and one of these lying around. This one belongs to you.”

No words could ever come close to revealing what’s in your heart at this moment, and the only way you can think to thank him is with your lips. You kiss him slow and gentle, wishing on every star that father time would somehow stop his hands of time right at this very moment.

This plain, black guitar pick, worn from its obvious heavy use, little lines left from the indentions of his thumb, has suddenly become your favorite gift.

To keep it safe, you place it inside of the sage-green case that protects your phone. And by doing that, you’re sure to carry it with you everywhere you go.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The rise and fall of his chest from his deep, sleeping breaths, the beating of his heart against your upper back, his arms wrapped lazily around the front of your body, his face nestled in your hair against your neck, his warm breath on your skin…

You’re sure there’s no better way to wake up in the morning. You almost don’t want to open your eyes, fearful that once you do, the most perfect dream of being held close to Jake will be just that— only a dream.

But your fears are put to rest when you feel him begin to stir, a soft kiss of his lips meeting the skin under your ear. “Good morning, love,” he whispers before slowly creeping out of bed. “Stay where you are, I won’t be long.”

A sleepy grin graces your lips as you feel yourself dozing off again, relishing in the early morning quiet.

The inviting smells of cinnamon sugar and fresh coffee lull you awake after a little extra rest. Jake left the door cracked, so his whole bedroom smells like the most delicious breakfast.

After a few more moments of resting your eyes, you open them to the bright sun creeping through the blinds of his mostly dark room. With a stretch of your rested limbs, you sit yourself up on the edge of the bed, looking around the room and admiring all the things you love the most about it. The things you love the most about Jake.

With the door only cracked open, you can see the Edgar Allen Poe canvas you love so much hanging on the back. “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.”

God. You love his mind. Reading it is reminding you of the very first time you walked in his room, how wholly nervous you were to witness such an intimate part of him before you truly got the chance to know him.

And now, while you’re sitting on his bed after having been together the whole night, the memories of meeting him for the first time begin flooding your brain. How much you thought you hated him, when in reality, the two of you just didn’t know what to do with the feelings you had for one another.

Then, as you glance to the bedside table right next to you, you’re reminded what really started this whole thing. The film, yes. But even before that, it was the book you lent him.

Your copy of Le Morte d’Arthur, the very one you gave him all those months ago for the sake of the film, is sitting on the very top of the other books he has stacked on top of eachother.

You’ve not seen it since you let him borrow it, and truth be told, you’d nearly forgotten he had it still.

I’m sure he won’t miss it, you absently think to yourself as you pick it up, fully intending to take it home with you today.

But as you do, two folded pieces of paper fall from the front cover and land on the floor beside the bed. Old copies of film scripts, perhaps? You knew they had been using this book to help write it, maybe these were the early versions of the final thing. Pure curiosity begs you to look at them—you’re quite interested to see their process of creating this beautiful masterpiece. Surely Jake won’t mind, since you’ve been so involved in this whole thing.

You pick them both up and open one of them, fully expecting to see an early, handwritten version of the script that would become the cinematic masterpiece that is Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur.

But, that isn’t what you see. Not even close.

At the top of the page, in bold letterhead, reads The University of Oxford. And beneath it is the London address where it’s located.

And beneath that…

“Dear Mr. Kiszka,

With reference to your application for graduate study at Oxford, we are delighted to convey the decision to offer you a place in the Literature and Arts Masters program beginning in the Spring of 2024.”

Spring of 2024…next semester.

The pit of your stomach drops, as though the most dense weight has settled there. You keep reading the words, hoping that by some tiny chance you’ve somehow misread them. But, as your eyes scan the words over and over again, there’s not a smidge of doubt.

He applied for a school in London. He was accepted.

He’s leaving.

And he’s leaving soon.

You're struck in a state of shock, of disbelief. It’s a familiar feeling of betrayal, one you hoped you’d never have to experience again.

You’re trembling as you unfold the second piece of paper, and just when you thought this whole thing couldn’t become more painful, you’re proven wrong.

The other folded document is his schedule of classes. He’s gone as far as to make a schedule. And their starting date is in two months.

Less than two months, and he’ll be gone.

Hurt and angry tears begin to well, blurring your vision so you can no longer read the words on the papers held in your hands. This kind of sadness, this ebb of shock and disbelief, it’s overwhelming. Your mind is stuck on an endless loop, replaying every moment from the last few months. There must’ve been signs you missed. But how? How could you have been so blind?

He had so many opportunities to tell you, yet he didn’t. You’re left to wonder if he ever planned to tell you, or if he was just going to leave, leave you as though you never existed.

Maybe you truly are easy to leave. First your dad, Jake…

You hear his footsteps coming down the hallway, getting closer to you. The door opens all the way, and you look up to see him carrying a plate full of food and a coffee mug as he greets you with a gleeful ‘good morning.’

Then, he realizes.

His expression turns from one of joy to alarm when he sees the silent tears falling down your face, the papers you’re still holding in your hands.

“Shit, y/n I–”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You question quietly as you try to swallow down every tear.

His face pales, and he hurriedly sets the plate and mug on the dresser beside the door before taking tentative steps towards you.

“I–I was going to tell you I just–”

His stuttered words hang in the air, unfinished. He runs a worried hand through his tangled hair, breathing heavily at the sight of you with his best kept secret in your grasp. A hurtful silence lays between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words, of broken trust. The room suddenly feels colder.

He slumps down on the bed next to you, eyebrows knit with concern. His beautiful features, painted with guilt and worry. “I tried not to let this happen—I mean, I just didn’t think things between us would—“

What?

“…you weren’t supposed to find out this way.”

There’s so much you want to say, yet each word that dares to pass your lips feels useless. In truth, there’s nothing you can say.

It’s already done.

The distance between you now feels more pronounced than ever before, like he’s already left.

Your source of comfort, your safety, your guiding light…

He's already gone.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: i suppose our girls intuition was right...

what do we think will become of this? & who do we think will provide her with some much needed comfort?

& on that note, see you in chapter 6🫣🤍

as always, thank you all for your love & support. hearing from you guys makes my heart soar, & it truly keeps me going. my inbox is always open. don't ever be afraid to reach out. 🤍

sending all my love!

National Alliance for Eating Disorders. Please reach out if you're struggling. You're worth it. 🤍

taglist:

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka angst #jake fic #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet smut #gvf smut #gvf fic #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #le morte d’arthur #greta van fleet #greta van fic #greta van smut

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