#(so yeah you can see that I am not an expert in this field)

[faytelumos]

Mech pilot system where there's three pilots???

One for the left hemisphere, one for the right hemisphere, and one for the cerebellum?

Like, you all still have to be drift compatible, you all still have to be in the cockpit together, but there's basically two thinkers and one translator.

Imagine that the mech designers fought this for years. Two humans every time with massive neural network loads on both the machine and the humans. Pilots could only be medically cleared to operate a machine for four years, max, and then their careers were over. Most didn't make it even that long.

And then someone figures out that if you put in another human to translate between the humans and mech, it flows so much smoother.

Two pilots in the front, the ones doing the strategy and the martial arts and the orders and the takedowns. A third in the back, suspended and all but fugue as they relay human-to-mech and mech-to-human, a person turned into a slave drive, but still tangled up into everybody's heads.

Like, imagine the possibilities?!

You walk into the chow hall and the people who are interested in the shiny new pilots want to know if you're a Leftie or a Migi or a Cera.

Lefties and Migis who spent too long in the cockpit that day who feel like they can't think clearly without that little voice in the back of their head whispering the answers.

Ceras who space out when the room gets loud, who accidentally expect someone else to say what they're thinking, who have nerve damage all across their bodies because it takes all they have to sort data.

Mechs who are older than the trio structure who had their cockpits gutted and refitted, who have spaghetti running up to the chunk of metal that is the third pilot's seat, like a spare part slapped into the room and given too much control.

A Cera who hangs out in the mech bay because the humans are too far from them anymore, but the mecha can't talk to them, either.

a Leftie who can't stand being in the same room as their Migi without the Cera to talk between them.

A Migi who barely knows how to be their own person anymore because so much of their brain is just outside of their reach.

A mech that just wants things to go back to the way they were, pain and lag be damned.

[rosie-read-that]

bad blood / scott miller x reader

summary: set after twisters. when scott initiates a lawsuit against javi and his new business partners, they choose to take you on as their attorney—no matter that you and scott were once high school sweethearts, that you still have his ring in your closet, or that things between you ended catastrophically six years past. this is business. no need to go down memory lane… right?

content warnings: f!reader, alcohol use, language, offscreen parental death, one open door scene (unprotected piv), couple angst, riggs is his own walking red flag, questionable legal ethics

word count: 21.6k (sorry, guys 😬)

author’s note: here it is! i tried to rein in the length, but clearly i failed ✌🏼 shoutout to @hederasgarden and @sailor-aviator for giving scott his fandom-approved surname. on a final note, i am not a lawyer, i took one (1) business law class in college, so don’t take my word on any of this and definitely don’t do stuff with your ex while he’s the opposing party in a case you’re working (but if it’s david corenswet, i meannnn… should anyone be blamed?)

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

Well-meaning, and with typical Arkansan practicality, Tyler Owens leaned back in his chair and said, “Javi, you need to chill out, man.”

Immediately, you knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“What makes you think I’m not? It's not like my entire livelihood is on the line or anything, so why would I not be chilled out?—Dammit!”

“Actually, lose the tie,” you suggested, having watched him fumble for the last five minutes. You were sure it was nerves that did it, not a lack of dexterity.

Javi sighed and let the two ends hang pathetically around his neck. “I thought I was supposed to wear one…”

“I think that’s only for court,” Kate put in, “like with an actual judge and stuff.”

“Maybe in the 1970s,” remarked Tyler under his breath. Javi glared. “Bro, it’s gonna be fine.”

“We should be out there, tracking tornadoes!” There was a mounted television in the little waiting area, playing a 24-hour news channel on mute. Javi gestured at the weather report. It was March, and Tornado Alley was looking active, “robust,” as the weatherman put it… not that your clients would know firsthand, seeing as they were stuck in a high-rise in the city instead of out in the fields of Sapulpa County. Kate and Tyler were watching the radar images with twin expressions of restless longing. Javi yanked the tie from his neck. “That son of a bitch knew exactly what he was doing, tying us up in meetings at this time of year.”

“Yeah, he did,” you replied. “I know it’s inconvenient as shit, but believe me, I’m going to do everything I can to get you back out on the field. There’s no reason for all three of you to be here. I mean, it’s the modern age: some of this could be a Zoom meeting.”

 “You think we’re gonna Zoom in the middle of a storm?” Tyler quipped. Kate turned to him with a chastising look.

She was clearly just about as done as her other two partners, but a lot more level-headed about the fact that they were being sued for everything they had. Which you appreciated. Suits between friends and former business associates had a tendency to turn into mud-slinging wars, and there was nothing you hated more than a client stuck in denial. Kate was the opposite. She was cool-headed, calm. A happy medium between Tyler’s annoyed outrage (“who does this guy think he is!”) and Javi’s frustrated melancholy (“guys, I’m sorry, this is all my fault”).

Right now, Javi was sinking well into the latter.

“Just remember we’re here for you, Javi.” Kate rubbed a soothing hand across his back. “All the way. We know this is personal.”

“Yeah, which means it’s gonna get ugly. I hate the thought of our company going under because I had shitty taste in business partners, you know?”

“Well, you don't anymore. That’s character growth,” Tyler pointed out. “Now, I’m no legal expert, but as far as I can see, he’s got no legs to stand on—”

You held up a finger. “Uh, that’s not entirely true…”

“—and he’s going to come out of this looking like a complete and total tool. Which he is! If he wants to spend all this time and boatloads of his uncle’s money on a belligerent witch hunt, then so be it.”

“You mean our time, our money,” said Javi.

Kate looked at you. “If this ends up going to court, is it likely he’ll win?”

You sighed. “Okay, listen.” You sat on the coffee table. There was no avoiding the sight of three pairs of eyes with varying degrees of hopefulness trained on you, hanging onto your every word. Javi you had known before, but after a brief acquaintance, you’d decided that you liked Kate and Tyler too, had even spent an hour or two watching Tornado Wrangler videos on YouTube, and, while storm chasing seemed, well, kind of unhinged, their enthusiasm was contagious. They were passionate, not in a purely thrill-seeking or overly scientific way. They actually cared. And you wanted them to win. “The whole point,” you explained, “is that we’re trying to avoid this going to trial. If you’re looking to cut down on the cost to your bottom line—not to mention how this could drag on for literal years—it’s best to reach a settlement before this ever sees the inside of a courtroom. Either way, things are going to get a little worse before they get better. But the point is a clean break, right? When all this is over, StormPAR will never have any sort of claim over you. You’ll be free to chase storms, build your doo-dads—”

That got you a trio of chuckles. Good, let them think you were a meteorological idiot; all the better to make them feel like a united front.

“—and it’ll be like Scott and Riggs never happened.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tyler said, that steely determination from his old rodeo days coming through.

Kate gave a nod. “No matter what, we’ll be okay”

Javi put his hand on your knee. “Thank you… for everything. I know this has gotta suck for you too.”

“Who, me?” you asked, feigning ignorance. “I’m fine.”

“Mm-hm…”

“Do I not look fine?”

“You look great,” Kate said honestly.

“Miller’s gonna shit his pants.”

“Tyler!”

“Hey, we’re up,” your assistant announced, her fingers not pausing for a second as she typed on her phone. Abby may have the social skills of a polar bear, but her organizational skills were top-notch and you relied on her predatory instincts. Plus, you were sure that her geometrically perfect French bob had magical powers.

Signaling for the others to follow, you made your way down a hallway bordered by walls banded in frosted glass, the sound of typing and muffled phone calls familiar and yet not. This was enemy territory. Having you meet here instead of at the offices of Conway & Fine was a calculated move.

Before entering the conference room, you took Tyler by the elbow. “Please just… try to behave yourself.”

Me? He pointed at his face.

“Yes, you! Don’t provoke him—as a matter of fact, don’t even look at him—don't piss him off unless you want to make this a hell of a lot worse for everyone. Capisce?”

“I’ll be the picture of civility.”

You shot him a skeptical look.

“I’ll be a gentleman!”

You glared. “Tyler Owens, I’m holding you to that.” Adjusting your power suit, you put on your best Professional Face. “Alright guys, it’s showtime.”

Through the glass, your eyes landed on Scott. The temptation to bolt left you breathless, though you couldn’t say whether you wanted to run towards or far, far away. You wouldn’t. You were all too aware of the people standing behind you, counting on you, while Scott himself had been a stranger to you for the last few years.

You owed him nothing; this was simply business, you reminded yourself.

Simply business.

He turned his head and spotted you, and kept his eyes on you as you opened the door.

TEN YEARS AGO PARK HAVEN, PENNSYLVANIA

You’d been working on the same calculus assignment for the last three-quarters of an hour, the sound of rain lashing against your window doing nothing for your frazzled nerves.  While math was by no means your obvious strong suit, you would have finished by now if you hadn’t spent most of it staring at the wall beneath your windowsill, bouncing your leg, tapping your pencil compulsively against the edge of your AP textbook and imagining all the ways in which your life could go horribly, unfixably wrong. An outcome that now seemed likely.

“You still have time, sweetheart,” your mom tried to say at dinner that night. She smiled at you and patted your hand. “It’s only March.”

“Exactly—it’s March!” you’d wanted to say, but bit your tongue. There wasn't any point; your mom would always believe you were capable of walking on the moon, which was lovely, you guessed. Or it would be, if all your classmates weren't overachievers and if a lot of them hadn't already received acceptance letters and stuck pennants to the inside of their lockers for all the rejects to see.

It was hopeless… you should’ve gotten an answer by now.

Tossing the book and papers away, you buried your face in your hands and tried to hold it together. The sleeves of your sweatshirt emanated a woodsy, clean smell, kind of like rain in a forest, and you breathed in deep to let it ground you.

Slowly, the intensity of the storm outside faded to background noise, no longer angry, insistent—it was only rain after all, only weather. You sniffed, feeling silly, and snuggled into the navy-blue sweatshirt, wrapping your arms around your knees. The gold lettering read NICHOLS ACADEMY ATHLETICS. On you, it was practically a dress, and you’d been living in it all week, ignoring Mom’s teases about how “you’re going to have to wash it at some point!” while your dad watched you pass by, saying nothing, only flipping the page of whatever biography he was reading, not wanting to comment or so much as reference your boyfriend of two years, who played center field on Nichols’s prize baseball team and from whom you’d stolen the sweatshirt after a date at the park.

Try as you might, your dad had never warmed up to Scott, but you thought it had more to do with an objection to Scott’s father rather than to Scott himself. The whole family’s trouble, he said once, prompting a fight that ended with you slamming your bedroom door and not speaking to him for two days, until your mom laid down the law and said she wouldn't have that sort of tension around the house.

He didn’t get it. Scott wasn't like his father—if anything, you saw the way his jaw tensed whenever he heard rumors (whispered, unless intended to get a rise out of him by a school rival) about the private club scenes, the drinking, the reckless gambling, the other women. Of course your straitlaced dad assumed the apple wouldn't fall too far from the tree, but you knew Scott. You trusted him. And, fine, so you were seventeen, but you knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him—it happened, didn't it?

Granted, this was why that damned letter was so important. It was the perfect plan… so long as Scott got into MIT, which seemed like a given, and you into Harvard, the culmination of four years of meticulous planning and candle-burning work. But what if it didn’t happen? Could your relationship survive the time and long distance? As much as you hoped so, you didn’t want to find out.

Out of nowhere came sharp rap at your window. Startled, you looked up to see a familiar face peering through the rain-lashed glass, and automatically you sprang to your feet. “Scott! What the hell were you thinking!” you hissed, mindful of your parents, probably in bed at this hour. He paused halfway through the window, pretending offense.

“Wow, okay, here I thought I was making a big romantic gesture…”

“You’re soaking wet! You could’ve fallen and broken your neck!”

As you lowered and latched the window behind him, trying to be as quiet as possible, he defended, “I’m a tree connoisseur. If anything, I’m a that-tree connoisseur and she’s never let me down before. Literally. Sturdy branches on her.”

He had a point there. The tree directly outside your bedroom window had played makeshift ladder to him over the last couple of years—not that your parents were any the wiser. If your dad knew, he’d go straight to the nearest hardware store and buy the ax himself. (What he would do with that ax, having never done a day’s manual labor in his life besides recreational fishing, was beyond you.)

You shook your head, watching Scott drip all over the hardwood. God, he was stunning.

And there was a chance you might lose him forever in a few months.

You felt the sting in your throat and behind your eyes. “I’ll go get you a towel,” you said, averting your face and turning towards the ensuite so you could get a few seconds to yourself. He caught you by the wrist and spun you into his body.

“Wait a minute, kiss me first,” he demanded, a cocky grin on his face. You managed to see a flash of it before his lips met yours. You closed your eyes in spite of everything, melting into the kiss, into Scott, because it was as easy as breathing and just as pointless trying to resist.

His cheeks were cold, his mouth warm. Coaxing. The pressure of his hands on your waist like an anchor in the storm. He was perfect for you. How could you belong with anyone else? It was impossible.

His tongue brushed your bottom lip, and it was a move so practiced, so instinctive, so perfectly well-known, that it made the fear swell in your chest again. You held onto the front of his rain-drenched hoodie, breaking the kiss. Your breathing was ragged. You felt you could burst.

“You’re insane,” you tried to cover, burying your head in his chest. “My dad will kill you if he catches you.”

He took a step back and tilted your face up, gently, by the chin. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied.

“Tell me.”

Instead of answering, you made your way to the bathroom and got a towel out of the linen closet. You could feel Scott’s questioning gaze, but he waited, rubbing the towel across his head, brows knitted together as you hesitated, still trying to hedge. “I just—we have that exam next week and I’ve fallen behind on calc and I think I’m going to have to start over on my AP Civ end-of-the-year project, and my mom—”

“Your mom’s great,” Scott interjected.

“Why, d’you want her?”

He pursed his lips. As soon as you said it, you knew that it had sounded kind of bitchy.

“Fine, okay. She’s great, she’s just… trying to help.”

“Is this about Drexler getting her Harvard letter? Because it’s only—”

“It's only March. Yeah. That’s what Mom said. But I’m cutting it close, right? Some people got their letters in December, Scott—December!” You looked down at your feet. “I’m not going to get in.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, it sure feels like it!”

“C’mere.”

“No.” You shook your head.

“Come here,” he insisted, tossing the damp towel onto your bed and holding your arms loosely, his hands stroking up and down. No matter how much you held onto the scent-memory of him on his Nichols sweatshirt, nothing compares to the real thing. He made everything better; and if not, he made everything feel like it could get better, because he was Scott Miller, and the world bent to his charm or else. “You’re going to get in,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “They’d be crazy not to have you.” And the thing was, despite being utterly convinced only two minutes before that the worst was inevitable, you wanted to believe him, wanted to convince yourself that everything would settle into place as it should.

Scott dipped his head to brush his lips against yours, a deliberate barely-there sweep that made your eyes flutter closed and your arms lace around the wide breadth of his shoulders. Scott’s hands traveled down your back, pressing into your hips until you were flush against the length of his body. You felt him smile as he let you deepen the kiss, and the little rumble of his almost-laugh pinged all the way down to your toes, warming you from the inside the way only Scott could.

As his mouth moved down to your jaw and then the side of your neck, you slid your hands down his chest and then stopped, feeling something other than the hidden planes of his stomach through the fabric of his dark hoodie. You pulled away. Scott’s face had frozen into a look of mild panic and his hands wrapped around your wrists, holding them loosely, which only made the alarm bells ring louder in your head. That was not the sort of face he would make if he was hoarding old receipts.

“Scott?” you asked. He looked away, exhaled, and let your wrists drop with a resigned expression. You reached into his pocket, pulling out a sheet of white letter paper folded into quarters, carefully and with Scott-like precision. “What…” you began, glancing at him briefly and opening the sheet.

At the top, in cardinal red: Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

You might have gasped. At the very least, one of your hands flew up to your mouth. “Oh my God… Scott…”

“We don’t have to talk about it now.”

“Scott! This is from MIT! You got in?”

“It's really not a big deal.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders curved slightly inward.

Not a big deal? “Scott, shut up! You got in!” you exclaimed, aghast.

“You’re not upset?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” You set the letter down to the side, knowing he’d want to keep it—that so much as folding it and putting it in his pocket so he could make the ten-minute run to your house in the middle of a downpour must have been a minor sacrifice on your account. Because he wanted to tell you. Because he wanted you to be the first person other than his mom to hear the good news. “We’ve talked about this. This is your dream school, babe.”

“Yeah, well, it feels kinda shitty celebrating now.”

“Stop.” You reached up and gave him a peck on the lips, stroking his cheeks, resting your forehead against his. “I'm so freaking proud of you. You’re going to be the best, most kick-ass engineer.”

You looked into his eyes so that he’d know it was true, and for a moment you could tell he was letting himself feel the achievement—his shoulders relaxed, he caressed your hands gratefully, but there was something about his smile that signaled not all being well.

“I heard Mom talking on the phone with my uncle today,” he confessed.

“Your uncle Riggs? Down in New Orleans?”

“Yeah. She doesn't want me to know, but I heard her talking about college and…”

You placed your hands on his chest. “Is it that bad?”

He didn't like talking about it but you knew his father had made a few bad investments lately, and from your own dad, who had confided it to your mom in secret one night—not that he saw you lurking outside the kitchen, drawn by the mention of the name “Miller”—you were aware that he had made a truly catastrophic impulsive bet with some Swedish businessmen he’d been trying to impress. Add to that the drawn look on Mrs. Miller’s face whenever you saw her, and the overly sympathetic way your mom referred to “poor Pamela,” and you had enough evidence to assume that Scott’s father had royally fucked up this time. 

“They’ve been talking about selling the house,” he said with a dark look. “I think my parents are going to split up… for good this time.”

“Oh, Scott…”

“So who knows? I might not be able to go to MIT anyway—even with this.”

“Are you okay?” you asked, aware that nothing got his back up more than pity. But you had to ask.

He shrugged. “It is what it is.”

This was a side of him you’d never learned how to handle, not even after two years of dating. For all that he was an expert at making you feel like the world was yours for the taking, when it came to his own struggles, he was a tightly closed book. Instead of admitting when he was hurt or disappointed, he resorted to indifference and the kind of dark humor that could put you in a bad mood if you weren't careful.

Right now, all you wanted was for him to know that you were there for him. Nothing you could say or do would make Ray Miller grow practical common sense or an ounce of familial consideration—you weren't even sure that he knew your name, despite being Scott’s long-term girlfriend; he was hardly ever home, and never present even on the occasions when he was. But you could state the obvious, just in case he’d doubted it for a second.

“Hey, I love you,” you said to him.

“I love you, too,” he replied. “Now, no more shop talk—why do you think I risked my neck climbing up here?” And just like that, the matter was closed, the dark look disappeared, replaced by the telltale lowering of his dark lashes as he dropped another kiss at the side of your neck, his arms tightening around you, turning you so that the backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“And here I thought your intentions were pure,” you replied, trying to downplay the butterflies in your stomach.

“Darling, there’s no such thing… especially when it comes to you.”

“What an idealist,” you rejoined, then fell quiet when he kissed you again. Without missing a beat, he lowered you onto the bed, hands gliding beneath your sweatshirt with apparent purpose. “Scott,” you protested, “my parents are across the hall.”

“So we’ll be quiet. Or we’ll get caught. What's the worst that could happen?”

“Um, you flying headfirst out that window?”

He pretended to think about it, then, by the warm glow of your bedside lamp, you saw his mouth quirk into a smirk before he dove towards your lips, eyes twinkling. “I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a price I’m willing to pay.”

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

“The damages your client is seeking are absolutely unreasonable. I would even say they border on the ridiculous—and, quite frankly, even frivolous!”

“Frivolous! Your client founded his new company with StormPAR assets—”

“His assets!”

“—accumulated during his tenure as a business partner to my client. Assets which came out of the pocket of Mr. Riggs as well, might I remind you!”

“We were equal partners!” Javi exclaimed, no longer able to keep his temper in check. You supposed the moment you snapped at Mr. Rankin, Javi figured the gloves were off.

Maybe instead of worrying about Tyler, you should've worried about yourself.

Rankin stabbed a finger at the files stacked in front of him. “Exactly, and Mr. Miller deserves to be compensated for the financial losses incurred from your breach of contract.”

Javi balked. “What, I can’t decide to leave my own company?”

“You can do whatever the hell you want, just not with my money,” Scott said in a dangerous monotone. For the last half-hour you’d been trying not to look at him, focusing instead on his middle-aged bespectacled lawyer, but to say you weren't losing your shit would be disproven by the Montblanc you’ve been fidgeting with since the meeting began. When he wasn’t glaring daggers at his former business partner, you could feel the power of his gaze, daring you to meet his eyes again.

“Oh, you mean your uncle’s money?”

“Javi.” You touched his hand in warning.

“You weren't turning your nose up at my uncle’s money when you were trying to found StormPAR.” Scott gibed. In your periphery, you saw Kate rubbing her left temple.

“Me? I thought we were partners, partner.”

“Like you give a shit! You jumped ship, Javi—you jumped ship, set up shop with the opposition, then hired my ex-girlfriend so you could get away with robbing us blind!”

You gritted your teeth. “Mr. Rankin, control your client.”

“‘Control your client’?” Scott spat out, leaning forward and turning the dial up to ten. “What the hell is wrong with you? What are you even doing here?”

“My job, Mr. Miller.” This time you did risk staring him in the face, ignoring the play of light on his cheekbones, the shape of his lips, the triangle of exposed skin at his throat that you used to know so well. “I work for StormLab. You might find my presence objectionable, but that’s neither here nor there as long as my clients choose to keep me on retainer. If you don't like it, you’re free to leave and we can negotiate with Mr. Rankin directly.”

He said nothing. Scott was never at a loss for words unless he was well and truly pissed, the force of his intelligence diverted into barely suppressed anger. You could've heard a pin drop in that conference room. His hands were on top of the table, tense, almost shaking, and the rise and fall of his chest was visible even to you. Against your will, your brain threw up images of those same hands holding yours, threaded through your hair, brushing gently against the small of your back; those same arms drawing you close; the same mouth smiling.

You cleared your throat, shuffled a few papers around, and once again addressed the general room and Mr. Rankin. “Now, if you turn to page 16, you’ll see that Mr. Rivera is willing to formally sell his share of StormPAR for less than he’s entitled—if both Mr. Miller and Mr. Riggs agree to desist in interference with StormLab, which, need I remind you, was founded two-thirds of the way with assets entirely independent from the former. If this action’s purpose isn’t frivolous, then Mr. Owens and Ms. Carter should be removed from this suit.”

“Like hell,” Scott interrupted, prompting Javi to fire back with:

“What, you think we’re not good for it? I’ll have you know—”

“You expect me to believe you started your little company on the merits of an NWS salary and a fucking YouTube channel?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tyler lean forward, ready to pounce. Rankin muttered, “Language,” and pushed his eyeglasses up his nose. You knew he was a personal friend of Scott’s uncle—you could also tell that he would rather be out on the golf course than in the middle of this friend-divorce and embarrassing squabble, one where his input seemed superfluous and his counsel went unheeded even by his client.

Scott went on, full of accusation. “You used StormPAR money, didn’t you?”

“If you want to request any financial disclosures…” you began.

“We’re talking.”

Bitch. “No, you’re berating,” you shot back.

Javi put his hand on your wrist. “It’s fine. Yeah—I guess if you want to look at it that way, if I was making a living off StormPAR and taking Riggs’s money, then yeah, technically my share of StormLab exists because of what we had.”

“Javi.”

“No. Fair’s fair and all that. I don’t want any part of it anymore. Hell, you can have it. But come on, man, don’t pretend you’re doing any of this because you’re broke. Even if I gave you half of whatever StormPAR’s worth, it wouldn’t make a difference. You’re mad that I left. I get it. Let’s settle this, you and me. Leave Kate and Tyler out of it.”

“You stole our data!”

Now, that couldn't stand. “He made the executive decision to share data with Mr. Owens’s team.” Sure, it was a technicality but it was a true technicality.

“Bullshit!”

You sighed. “Are we getting anywhere here, Rankin?”

The lawyer glanced down at his watch and shook his head almost mournfully. “It’s not looking likely.”

“Wonderful.” You stood up, gathering your things and motioning for Kate, Tyler, and Javi to do the same. “Well, we’re all very busy people and clearly meeting in-person is counterproductive. Shall we agree to make this a video call next time? My clients have places to be.”

“I’ll bet they do,” Scott mocked, staring not only at Javi but at his new partners for probably the first time all afternoon. “How’re your investors doing, by the way, knowing you’re getting sued for infringement, breach of contract and fiduciary duty…”

You wanted to strangle him. In a voice that matched him venom for venom, you turned to your assistant and said, “Did you get that on record, Abby? Please, keep going,” you urged Scott, “you might just win us a dismissal.”

After a moment of charged silence, you told your clients: “We’re done here.”

“You’ll be hearing from me,” said the reluctant Mr. Rankin.

You snatched the chrome door handle from Tyler. “Boy, am I looking forward to it.”

Outside, you didn’t stop until you’d turned the corner into another section of the office, not wanting to be within eyeshot of Scott when you gritted your teeth and let the mask of cool indifference fall.

“Well, that went…” Tyler trailed off, leaning against the metal doorframe of Copy Room 3. The smell of toner and ozone was strangely comforting, bringing you back to your professional self now that Scott and his stupid, handsome-as-ever face were out of view. That, and you were noticing that Tyler Owens in a corporate-adjacent setting didn’t sit well with you; you couldn’t decide whether it was the outdoor tan or the in-your-face belt-buckle that gave it away. Regardless, he seemed too big for the confines of a downtown law office.

“It went like a garbage fire,” you confirmed, “which means about as well as I expected.”

Kate crossed her arms. “So we’re going to court, then.”

“I’m going to keep pushing for him to drop StormLab from the suit.”

“That just leaves me,” Javi remarked, downcast, but still willing to take one for the team.

“I mean, Javi, dear, you did abandon the partnership without ironing out all the kinks first.”

“How was I supposed to know I needed to hire a lawyer?”

“Um, literally everyone knows you’re supposed to hire a lawyer,” said Tyler, “especially if you’re dealing with someone like Textbook Type A over there.”

Javi ran a hand down his face, then shook his head. “What can I say? I-I thought he was my friend.”

“I know.” You clapped your hand on Javi’s shoulder. I understand. “But sometimes all that does is make it worse.”

After a bit more commiserating you parted ways with the three, hanging back with Abby to touch base on a few points and clear up the rest of your schedule, which included a deposition in an hour-and-a-half and witness prep at 4:30. Understandably, you were in the mood for none of this and wanted nothing more than to retire to your apartment with a glass of red and a bowl of popcorn as big as your head à la Olivia Pope, but alas… you were trying to make junior partner.

No rest for the wicked and all that.

You released Abby for a late lunch and made your way to the bank of elevators after a brief pit stop at the restroom, side-eyeing the fancy automatic taps and the whiff of something hotel-like emanating from the vents. You’d have to tell the office manager at Conway & Fine to up your game.

Fishing your phone out of your bag, you pushed the elevator button and began scrolling through a frightful amount of emails—there were intraoffice communications and check-in requests from clients, a few items of junk not caught by the email filter, the latest newsletters from PennAlumni and the Oklahoma Bar Association, as well as an invitation to an old mentor’s golden anniversary celebration. You were in the middle of responding to this when Scott sidled up next to you, giving no indication other than the familiar scent of his cologne and the tap of shined leather shoes against the polished tile. Of all the bad luck…

“So what is this, some kind of a decade-old revenge plot?” he finally asked, disconcerting you with the fact that he was standing so close to you that you couldn't glance at his expression without craning your neck. “Maybe I should’ve expected it from you, but Javi? I didn't know he had it in him.”

“Go away, Scott. This is business.”

“Really, is that what you want to call it? He could've hired anyone.”

“Well, he chose to hire a friend.”

“Right…” A laugh. Dry, cynical. “And what's your excuse?”

You stared at the light above the door, willing it to flash green and put you out of your misery. “Believe it or not, my taking this case has nothing to do with you. Forgive me if I thought you could be a fucking adult about it—clearly I was wrong.”

Ding!

You walked into the elevator without looking back. As parting words went, you thought they passed muster. Except, instead of being a regular person and taking the next car, Scott followed you in, ignoring the outrage written plain on your face.

You looked at him as if to say, “Do you mind?” It was obvious that he didn't. Whatever composure he’d lost in the conference room had been regained now that it was just you, and him, and the shared knowledge that you would have avoided being alone with him if you could.

He stood next to you, towering. As the floor number inched downward from 22, you were all too aware of his presence: the Scott smell of him, the warmth of his body, and the brush of his dark linen jacket against your arm. You wished you handed discarded your own in the restroom; you needed armor, and while Scott had donned his as soon as he was able, he had caught you unawares, expecting him to play fair even when all the evidence of the last two hours had told you that “fair” was no longer in his vocabulary.

As if to illustrate the point, you felt him lean in, his voice the closest it had been in over six years. “You always did love making a show of taking the moral high ground. How’s the view, sweetheart? You must love getting the chance to look down on me for change.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Not bothering to contain your disgust, you stepped away from him, clutching your bag in a white-knuckle grip. For a moment you felt struck by lightning. There was a time when you knew the planes of his face better than your own—the slope of his nose, the variations of blue in his eyes; you knew the shade of his hair in every light; how to tell a false smile from the true. But this Scott… the one with the shuttered expression, the see-if-I-care set to his shoulders, “how’re your investors doing, by the way”… It wasn’t like those things came out of left field—Scott had always been capable of a certain amount of pride, petulance, vindictiveness, even. But it was like the best parts of him had been filed away, or else hidden so deep that you couldn't find nary a sight of them when you looked into his face. “What happened to you?”

You saw his jaw clench. “If you want to know, then you shouldn’t have left.”

8…

7…

6…

You took a breath. “That whole last year—you pushed me away and you know it.”

Instead of answering your honesty in kind, Scott hitched up his sleeve so he could glance at the time on his fancy Swiss watch, a present from Good Old Uncle Riggs on the event of his graduation from MIT. “Yeah, well, you made it easy.”

4…

3…

2…

The doors opened onto a vast lobby. Incredulous, you kept waiting for him to take his words back, to apologize, to so much as glance at you, damn it. When you saw there wasn't any point, you swallowed the knot in your throat, stepping out of the elevator car and feeling twenty-one all over again.

This time, he didn't follow you. He leaned against the back handrail, not reacting even when you mustered every remaining ounce of dignity to say, “Go fuck yourself, Scott.” Then you turned on your heel and walked away.

TEN YEARS AGO PARK HAVEN, PENNSYLVANIA

Once more on your bedroom floor. Scott sat at your back, his arms wrapped around you and his head bent over yours. “Hey, listen to me… we’ll make it work. I’ll call you every day.”

“With a full slate of classes? That doesn't make any sense.”

“I don’t care if it doesn't. Hey,”—he kissed your temple—“it’s you and me. That doesn’t need to change”

“You say that now…”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” You sighed. “It’s the hot nerds I don’t trust.”

You felt him laugh. “You’re a hot nerd.”

“Stop it.” But you smiled anyway, probably for the first time since you’d opened the rejection letter from Harvard. Concerned, your mom had called Scott while you were holed up in your room, ugly-crying into the bedspread, and it was enough to make you regret having been so bitchy about her the week before. She really had been trying to help… not that it mattered now that Harvard had given you the hard pass.

It wasn’t like you had no other options—you’d have been crazy not to line up a contingency plan or two. But Harvard had been your dream since you could remember caring about college. It was your castle in the sky, the thing that kept you going through four years of grueling hard work, a neverending grind of AP and Honors classes, student clubs and extracurriculars. And still it wasn’t enough.

“We regret to inform you…”

Well, not as much as you regretted it.

As if reading your mind, Scott wrapped his arms a little tighter, his tone light when he said, “UPenn’s nothing to scoff at, you know. You’re upset because you got into an Ivy League?”

“An Ivy League in Philadelphia,” you protested.

You didn’t add “and not the one I wanted” because you knew, objectively, that he and your parents and Ms. Andersson, your favorite teacher, were all right. You were incredibly lucky to have gotten into the University of Pennsylvania—the campus was beautiful, it was close to home, and, like Harvard, it boasted its own fair share of Supreme Court Justices and legal luminaries. It wasn’t like your future was in complete and utter shambles. You would still have everything you wanted… except Scott.

You felt him shrug behind you. “So what? It’s just a five-and-a-half-hour drive—or an hour-and-a-half by plane if we’re desperate.” You shifted so you could shoot him a funny look. “I might have googled it,” he admitted, “right after you told me you got in.”

“Of course you did…” The fact that he had started making plans without waiting on Harvard made you feel better; it meant he had every intention of making it work and maybe you were the downer, seeing the situation as near-hopeless when, really, there had to be couples who didn't let physical distance stop them from being together.

Glass half-full. All you needed was a little faith, a little more optimism.

“At least we’ve got the whole summer,” you said, trying to implement this new, sunnier outlook.

You felt Scott stiffen.

“What?” You turned around properly, anchoring your hand on the side of his neck. You had a minor panic when he wouldn't look at you, and at the guilt written on his brow. “Tell me,” you said.

“Uncle Riggs wants me to spend the summer down in NOLA—something about getting to know me better. I think he must’ve worked it out with Mom. She’s finally put the house up for sale, doesn't want me around when strangers start traipsing through and asking about whether or not she’ll throw in the vintage furniture for an extra few grand.”

At last, after years of painful back and forth, the Miller divorce was imminent. True to Scott’s prediction, “poor Pamela” had hired an attorney and filed paperwork on the very week he climbed through your window. So far his dad had been uncharacteristically passive, perhaps figuring he had put his family through enough, or else fearful of the very same Marshall Riggs who had been summoned from the rafters to come through for his sister after a period of long estrangement.

It was Riggs who had retained Pamela’s ace divorce attorney, Riggs who agreed to pay most of Scott’s tuition. Spending a few months with him seemed like the least he could do. You were disappointed. But you understood.

“When do you leave?”

“Two weeks after graduation.”

“So we have a month,” you said. “That’s thirty days.”

“More like twenty-six… and three quarters.” He smiled the same wistful sort of half-smile that was on your face, and you kissed him, savoring the familiar taste of mint on his mouth from the gum he chewed out of habit.

“Then let’s not waste a second,” you answered back.

He placed a kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”

When he said it, it sounded like a promise that everything would be all right, and in spite of your worries you chose to believe him.

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

For the last ten minutes you’d had trouble hearing Kate’s voice clearly over the phone, but you figured it was to be expected since she was calling from the middle of nowhere (at least to your urban- and suburban-bred estimation), and really, after almost three months of similar experiences, you’d grown tired of plugging your ear and saying, “Kate? Kate? You’re breaking up!”

On the upside, your cognitive skills had to be getting a real workout from filling in the weather-induced gaps in your conversations. Case in point:

“—bad luck with the last two, but I—feeling—building in the east—”

“Yeah, her Spidey Senses are tingling!” you heard Javi yell in the background.

Kate laughed. “Go away!”

“Ask her if she caught the livestream!” Tyler said, no doubt from the driver’s seat.

It sounded like she had you on speakerphone, so you spoke to him directly. “Ty, need I remind you that I have an actual job.”

“Ouch! Did you hear that?—thinks we don’t have real jobs!”

“I did not—”

The clarity improved, and you could hear the sound of car doors slamming and voices cracking jokes in the background, which usually meant they’d returned to Kate’s mother’s farm in Sapulpa, where StormLab kept a satellite office in Cathy Carter’s barn. It was makeshift, but what you saw of it during one of Tyler’s Facetime calls had a rustic charm completely at odds with the glass-and-chrome offices where Herb Rankin worked.

Actually, now that you gave it a moment’s thought, not even Herb Rankin fit into his office.

“Listen to her, the Big City Bigshot slumming it with the rednecks,” Tyler went on, earning a few spirited hoots and howls from the other Wranglers.

“Kate is from New York!” you objected. You waved an arm in the middle of your dim-lit apartment as if anyone could see you, vaguely aware that you were holding a pair of chopsticks and had probably sent a strand of shredded cabbage flying behind your couch.

This assertion was too much for Javi to bear. “Excuse me! Kate is OK to the bone, New York’s just where she keeps her apartment.”

Kate laughed as she said something you couldn’t catch, then Tyler’s voice came, audibly close to the phone. “Hey, that reminds me, where’re you from, again?”

“Pennsylvania.”

“That is not a Philly accent.”

You were about to say that not everyone in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania sounds like Rocky Balboa when Javi replied, “That’s ’cause she’s from the fancy part of Pennsylvania—but we don't hold that against her.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Tyler asked, “Wait, you’re not billing us for all this shit-talking, are you?”

You let out a snort, picked up your phone, and held it close to your mouth. “You know, maybe I should, Arkansas.”

At first you couldn’t work out what the hell was going on when Tyler broke out in “It's the spirit of the mountains… and the spirit of the Delta… it's the spirit of the Caaapitol doooooome,” but by the time the other Wranglers pitched in, with all the gusto of a drunk karaoke night despite being stone-cold sober, you understood that you had been treated to a rare and hopefully never-to-be-repeated rendition of one of the state songs of Arkansas. A short while later you hung up, cheeks sore and still laughing to yourself. The silence in your apartment was deafening by comparison.

Sometimes, you called them just because you lacked company. There wasn’t much to report on the Rankin front—as much as you had tried to negotiate on Javi’s behalf for a less hostile resolution, Scott insisted on keeping Kate and Tyler in the suit and seemed determined to take their tiff before a judge if his terms weren’t met.

Even Rankin seemed fed up.

Maybe it was a bad idea, maybe it was the two glasses of wine you’d had with dinner or the post-ballad high. Maybe you wanted to be the one to make StormLab’s problem go away. Whatever the reason, after you put the dirty dishes in the sink, you found yourself calling the one person you swore you’d never speak to ever again.

For good measure, as the dial tone rang you poured yourself another glass. When he answered, you nearly choked.

“Can we talk?” you managed to ask, swallowing down a mouthful of Syrah. There was a long silence on the other end. You didn't know if he had your number saved, if he knew who had called him, or whether he’d recognized the sound of your voice. You remembered that the last thing you had said to him was “go fuck yourself,” and added it to the mental list of why maybe you shouldn't have called him after all.

Tyler’s impulsiveness seemed to be as contagious as a rash.

Scott answered: “Not without my lawyer present.”

Okay, fair. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. He sounded clipped, like he’d rather be lowered into a tank of leeches than be on the phone with you. You were reconsidering the wisdom of your actions when he asked, “What do you want?”

Your eyes darted around the living room. Thinking on your feet wasn't new to you, it couldn't be, in your profession. But a part of you knew you’d taken a stupid gamble in pressing the call button, and now that the die was cast, you had to make it count.

You opted for the aggressive approach.

“Rankin says you're being uncooperative.”

You could feel the animus on the other end. “No, he didn't.”

“It was implied. No one wants to keep drawing this out, Scott. So, come off it. What is it that you’re actually looking to get out of all this?”

If he opted to tell you to go fuck yourself, you figured it would be fair play. This really was business, and not having to look him in the eyes made it easier to feel the rush of adrenaline that came with making a risky move in the name of work. You knew that technically, and in the strictest interpretation of the word, reaching out to another lawyer’s client crossed the line into inappropriate, but you were also a couple years beyond green. If you could cut out the middleman and get Scott to come to the table in a serious way, it would all be worth it. And Rankin could go back to playing 9 holes without losing face in front of his old school mate Riggs.

You waited for Scott’s response with bated breath.

“I want StormLab run into the ground.”

The answer came as no surprise but his tone did. Dark, intense, almost as bad as one of the nights he snuck into your room after a fight with his dad. It was the one and only time you’d ever heard him say he hated his father—his lack of control, his thoughtlessness, his inability to keep his word. Afterward he’d pretended he never said it, or rather, he was careful to never bring it up again, but you knew he had meant it.

And he meant it now. He wanted to take StormLab down. He’d succeed over your dead body. Javi and the others were counting on you.

You moved the phone to your other ear. “Right, well… that's not gonna happen, so any other alternatives?” You could feel he was about to end the call, so you tacked on, “Wait, just… hear me out, okay? Forget about Tyler and Kate—this isn’t about them, really, this is about StormPAR. Compromise on this one thing and you have a better chance of being compensated for what went down last year. You and Javi can just… move on with your lives. On paper it's about money, right? Riggs’s investment? So let’s settle this as soon as possible.”

“You and me?”

“And Rankin,” you added, your conscience getting the better of you.

There was a pause before Scott repeated, “You and me.”

“I don’t…”

“That’s my final offer.”

Alarm bells of a different sort rang in your head. On the phone was one thing, but in person, alone? Could you really sit across from Scott and keep your cool?

You had to. More than that, you wanted to prove to yourself that you’d grown up since you were twenty-one, that you were assured and confident and could handle messy things like sitting across from your ex. There were many things you regretted from that time; the one you regretted most was a reluctance to stand up for yourself. What was Tyler always saying? You don’t face your fears, you ride them. Frankly, you still weren't sure what the hell he meant by that, but it sounded a lot like “put your money where your mouth is.” At some point you had to choose to take action.

“Okay, fine,” you said. “When and where?”

“You busy tonight?”

You scoffed, casting a glance at your open laptop and the piles of paperwork lying on top of the coffee table. “I’m busy every night.”

“Perch. In an hour. Don’t be late.”

THREE YEARS AGO PARK HAVEN, PENNSYLVANIA

As a rule you’d been avoiding your hometown for the last three years, ever since your breakup with Scott. It was easier to stay in Oklahoma, where the possibility of running into someone who knew the Millers or would ask “are the two of you still together?” was slim. After your father died, you started to regret being such a coward. So much lost time… although your mom kept telling you that your dad understood the need to have your own life and never held it against you.

You held it against you, and all the more when your mom decided to downsize and move in with a friend.

After requesting two weeks off you got on a plane to Philadelphia and drove south to Park Haven to help her pack. You stayed up late, wore holiday pajamas, filled your hand with paper cuts, and inhaled about four pounds of dust in the attic. It was nice to spend time with your mom. All the old grievances seemed minor in comparison with the massive changes that lay ahead. Always one for sentimentality, sorting through boxes full of clothes, keepsakes, and old mementos put your mom in an especially chatty mood, and you soaked everything in, not having realized before how little you knew about your dad. He was so reserved in life, so buttoned-up, with clear expectations of himself and others that you were surprised to learn about his stint in an amateur dramatics troupe, the year he tried his hand at playing the alto sax, his fear of geese.

“Geese?” you asked your mom.

“Yes, geese. Those fuckers are vicious!” Having never heard your mom swear before, you froze while elbow-deep in a box of photographs dating back to the 70s. All she did was shrug and finish the rest of her margarita while lightbulbs flashed on her navy blue Rudolph sweater. “What do you want me to say? Parents have secrets, too.”

“Well, I think this parent went a little hard on the tequila,” you said.

Your mom plucked a faded Polaroid from the box. “You know… he didn’t look it, but your dad was actually a lot of fun. We both were. Then… life gets in the way, you start caring about PTA meetings and getting the HOA off your back…”

“Fuck the HOA.”

“Right on! Can’t say I’ll miss any of those jerks.” She sighed, and with a little shake of her head, put the Polaroid back in the box. “Sometimes I worry—” She stopped herself and glanced at you nervously.

“What?”

“Sometimes I worry that you think about us, about your dad and me, and that you don’t see us as having ever been in love. Especially after you and Scott—”

“Mom,” you warned.

“I know, I know, me and my big mouth.” She held up her hands, chuckling to herself. Normally you’d seize the opportunity to change the subject, but you were thinking a lot about how you could’ve been a better daughter, all the times you shut the door in their face because you didn’t want to feel scolded or uncomfortable, because you weren’t interested in what they had to say.

Your mom was trying to respect your privacy. The least you could do was not leave her with the impression that you thought she had a “big mouth.”

You reached across the box and touched her arm. “That’s not what I meant.”

“All I mean is… I know you’re not dating.”

“How do you know that?”

She grinned. “Mothers have their ways. I just don’t want you giving up, is all. If Dad and I weren’t the model marriage—”

“What are you talking about?” you asked. “Half of my friends have divorced parents. And even if you were divorced, the whole ‘nuclear family or you’re a failure to society’ thing is so five-decades-ago.”

“Well, good! Because I was happy—I want you to know that. Maybe it wasn’t the sort of romance people write songs about—God knows your dad had his faults. He wasn't perfect. No one is. But when you love someone… it’s less about keeping score and more about what you build. Together.”

She looked off to the far wall, where their wedding portrait sat propped in its frame, ready to be wrapped in old newspapers and put away. You turned around and looked at it, too—at your mom’s curly updo and poofy skirts, the sleeves that looked like pool inflatables, at least to your modern eyes, at your dad before his hair went gray, the sheepish smile on his face like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten away with the steal of the century.

You’d gotten so used to its presence in the living room that you couldn’t remember the last time you gave it more than a passing glance.

Lit by an alternating flash of blue and purple lights, your mom’s face was cast in an otherworldly glow. Then the spell was broken, and she was your mom again in an ugly Christmas sweater, smiling fondly at an old memory to which you weren’t privy. “For some reason, we brought out the best in each other. That mattered to us more than anything we ever did wrong.” And that was that, a twenty-nine year marriage summed up in a few sentences.

You said, “I guess that does sound romantic… in a super-practical, boring, construction-analogy sort of way.”

She laughed and threw a wadded-up newspaper at your head.

“Dad never liked Scott,” you said after a while, rolling the ball between your hands.

“What makes you say that?”

You threw her a pointed look. Her expression said, Oh, alright.

“He wasn’t disapproving, exactly. He was worried about you. Who wouldn’t be? Your first boyfriend, your first love… I don’t think he was quite ready to see his teenage daughter all head over heels over some guy on the baseball team. And the Millers, well… they had their issues, as a family. Maybe your dad didn’t want you becoming collateral damage. But, oh sweetie,”—it was her turn to touch your arm, Rudolph’s nose squished against the cardboard—“it was never about Scott. When you told us you were engaged, we were so pleased for you! And then a few months later… just like that…”

You swallowed the knot in your throat. How much time would have to pass before you could think of Scott without a tidal wave of sadness hitting you square in the chest? Collateral damage, that was one way of putting it. “I guess Dad was right, after all.”

“He never said ‘I told you so,’” your mom pointed out, “and he never would’ve wanted to.”

You squeezed her hand. “Yeah, I know.”

A phone call from your mother’s friend Rose prompted a break in packing. She went into the kitchen to discuss sideboard dimensions, and you went upstairs, where you were slowly going through your childhood bedroom and putting things in boxes marked Keep and Donate, or else in bags to be discarded when trash day rolled around.

You were almost finished, the walls empty of medals and photos, the corkboard of mementos lying in the recycling bin outside. Already it felt like a bedroom that had belonged to someone else, and while you were sad to know that, after the house was sold, you would never step foot in it again, the process of taking things down one at a time had given you a sort of detachment. There were items, like the snowglobe your friend Tash gave you when she got home from a skiing trip in the Alps in the seventh grade, that you had once thought you could never do without. But now Tash lived in LA with her wife and kids, and you hadn’t spoken much since high school except for a few text messages now and then.

You’d decided to keep the globe but you knew it would live in a box in your closet, a relic rather than an everyday part of your life in Oklahoma.

Speaking of closets, you tackled the wardrobe next, marveling at how many items would be considered “trendy” now that the fashion cycle had taken a turn—or God forbid, “vintage.” There were stuffed animals shoved into the top shelf, your old 50 State quarter collection, debate club certificates, a landscape picture from your senior year mock trial, and a shoebox falling apart at the seams.

You took it to the stripped bed with shaking hands, knowing you’d been dreading this most of all but that it had to be done, so why not now.

After you broke your engagement off with Scott, you’d gone home to lick your wounds. This was before you found a job, before you decided to move to Oklahoma on the literal toss of a coin, knowing only that you couldn't stay in Pennsylvania and that you needed a fresh start. Left with no other options, home had been your best bet, even though the weeks spent living with your parents and avoiding their worried questions had seemed at the time like cruel and unusual punishment. When you moved out you had left something behind, hidden beneath seashells and baubles and silly notes you had passed during class, movie stubs, train tickets, an inexplicable piece of gum, the collar that had once belonged to Clover, your old childhood dog.

You lifted a school ribbon and found it: a blue velvet box with a golden clasp. Your heart pounded in your ears. You took a deep breath, let it out again before lifting the lid… and there it was, glinting in the light of late afternoon.

“Honey, Rose wants to know if you’d like to join us for dinner at her place!”

Box, ring, and all tumbled onto the hardwood. Though you were alone, your mother calling to you from the bottom of the stairs, you felt incredibly guilty. “I’ll be right down!” you yelled back. You got on your hands and knees and slipped the ring back in its cradle.

It felt dangerous somehow, like a live grenade. But you couldn't get rid of it. When you went back home at the end of the month you packed it at the bottom of your suitcase and it’d been living with you ever since, moved from closet to closet, unseen but never quite forgotten.

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

The jewel twinkled in your hand, an oval diamond surrounded by small clusters and set in a ring of yellow gold. It was one of a kind. Scott told you he found it at an antique jeweler’s who dated it to the summer of 1880; it was a genuine Victorian piece, and for nearly four months it had been your most prized possession.

The same foolhardy impulse that made you call Scott and agree to meet him made you dig it out of your closet, right after you spent twenty minutes agonizing over what to wear and the state of your hair. This isn’t a date, you kept reminding yourself. If anything, it might be a trap. He was, after all, Marshall Riggs's nephew.

Letting your lesser sense win out, you slipped the ring on your finger and watched it catch the light. It truly was a beautiful ring. And it was sentimental, as though its selection revealed a hidden truth about Scott.

Its weight on your hand, present and comfortable, calmed your racing thoughts and the nerves roiling in your belly. You kept it on as you dressed and got ready, then chalked it up to a desire for punctuality when you rushed to the elevator, through the lobby, and into your waiting Uber still wearing it. The driver’s presence snapped you out of your momentary lapse in sanity. They were chatty, and the more you talked about work and the weather and what you liked doing in the city, the sillier it felt to be wearing your ex-fiancé’s engagement ring. Before getting out, you stuck it in the pocket of your linen duster… which was also, admittedly, kind of a stupid thing to do.

(You blamed Tyler for all of it.)

Located at the top of a fifty-floor high-rise, Perch was a bar and restaurant with full views of the city and a James Beard Award-winning chef. The atmosphere was relaxed and unfussy, the lighting unobtrusive, and the cocktails reasonably priced. At the door, the vest-clad host directed you through the assemblage of diners and beyond a decorative glass partition to the tables reserved for business meetings, minor celebrities, and men who didn’t want to be seen with their mistresses. Scott was there in rolled-up shirtsleeves. You watched from a distance as he rubbed his stubbled cheek and his pointer finger came to rest at the seam of his lips.

You would not stare at his mouth or let your eyes linger anywhere on his person. This was business, goddammit.

But hell if he didn’t look good. You hated that after all this time you still found him maddeningly attractive.

“Seriously?” he asked, casting a pointed look at the portfolio in your arms.

“Well, this isn’t a social call.”

“By all means.” He gestured at the seat in front of him, mockingly formal. You glanced at the coupe waiting on your side of the table, a cheerful yellow with a perfect white foam on top and a twist of lemon peel. “I took the liberty of ordering your usual.”

You sat down and set the portfolio to one side, adopting an air of casual indifference. “Actually, it’s not my usual anymore.”

“Really?”

“But thanks anyway. So, from previous conversations with Javi—”

“What is this mythical new usual?”

“Are you kidding?” you balked, narrowing your eyes.

“No, I’m just curious.” He propped his chin in his hand. Maybe lying had been a petty move on your part but you’d be damned if he forced you to backtrack and you came out of this looking a fool.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but at some point you’re gonna have to learn to live with uncertainty. Anyway—”

“You don’t have a new usual.” Scott smirked. “It’s still a gin sour and you’re just being difficult.”

“Difficult… Wow, okay! We”—wagging your finger in the space between you—“are not together anymore, so these mind games you’re trying to play are highly inappropriate and also kind of a dick move—”

“A dick move!” he repeated.

“Yeah, a dick move! Which I know is, like, your whole personality now—”

“Is it?” he laughed.

“—but I’m trying to settle this like an actual grown-up and all you’ve done for three months is make that very difficult for everyone involved!”

He rolled his eyes. “This is such a fucking boring conversation.”

Incensed, you had the fleeting thought to throw your drink in his face, but people only did that in soap operas. “You were the one who wanted to do this in person!” you fired back, shrill and drawing the attention of a server who promptly beelined to a different table and pretended not to hear. Which only made you wonder what sort of clientele frequented her section.

“And you were the one who called me,” Scott pointed out, “not the other way around.”

His being right made you even angrier. You had thought you were prepared, that magically you’d be able to have a civil conversation that settled the matter in a way that left you with your pride intact and StormLab the clear winner on the side of good. Clearly, you’d miscalculated. “You know what… fuck this.” After downing half your cocktail in a single gulp, you gathered the portfolio in your arms and made to stand before deciding that, actually, you wanted to get a few things off your chest first so that abandoning your PJs would be worth it. “I am so over this whole… fucking… stupid… mess. I’ve had actual divorces that were easier to mediate, Scott. Whole marriages—and not short ones either! Just take the fucking shares! Please… take the shares and go back to Riggs and leave us all the hell alone. We’re tired, okay? This is just… so unbelievably tiring. And fuck you, by the way—yes, it’s still a gin sour.” You finished yours, figuring that if Scott was paying, you might as well.

And now I’m ready to leave, you thought.

But Scott had other ideas.

“You spoken to your mom lately?”

“What?” You gaped at him, wondering if you were losing your mind. Was he? Was there a dimensional shift happening that you weren’t aware of?

“Pardon the observation,” Scott went on, “but you don’t seem… well.”

“Are you being for real right now?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

And how else could you mean it? was on the tip of your tongue. But the look on his face made you stop. No bullshit, no smug provocation. He was serious. Somehow, that was more unsettling than when he was fucking with you. It brought back too many memories.

“I was sorry to hear about your dad.”

He looked you straight in the eyes when he said it. You wanted to burrow into a hole in the ground—into him, if you were being honest. It didn’t matter how many years had gone by. A part of you was still twenty-seven and glancing at the door wondering if maybe, just maybe…

“Oh, I’m gonna need another one of these,” you whispered to yourself, stunned back into a seated position. The server came around and eyed your empty glass, asking meekly if you would like anything else. “I might as well,” you answered, sounding patently glum. All the while Scott kept a neutral expression, even waited until you had another drink—and a glass of water—in front of you, giving the server a soundless thanks before she scurried away.

Probably off to the kitchen to tell her coworkers about the crazy lady at B25.

“I thought about showing up to the funeral, actually,” added Scott when you had regained most of your composure. “But I didn’t know if I’d be welcome. Mom, being a firm believer in Emily Post, thought it’d be better if we skipped it. She sent flowers, though.”

“She what?”

“She sent flowers. Your mom never said?”

You shook your head. She must’ve been trying not to upset you. But you had been upset anyway, thinking about how Scott should’ve been there, how you had always expected him to show up and make things better.

All this time you had used his absence as yet another example of how little you must’ve mattered in the end. Which made no sense, because you were the one to break things off—and yet, that entire winter’s morning, you had bargained with yourself that if he showed up through those chapel double doors you would forget everything and beg him to take you back. It was too late for that. But knowing that he’d thought about going loosened a painful knot in your chest that you weren’t aware you even had.

You cleared your throat. “How’s your mom, by the way?”

“She’s doing all right. She’s part of a sewing circle, believe it or not.”

“Please tell me that isn’t a euphemism.”

“God, I hope not.”

You smiled involuntarily, picturing Pam Miller in her sweater sets and pearls. “I’m glad she’s doing okay. Your dad…?”

He picked up his drink, a Macallan on the rocks. It was his uncle’s drink, too. “I haven't heard from him in years. Guess neither of us ever saw the point.”

“Scott—”

“How’d you and Javi become an ‘us’ anyway? He never said.”

Fair enough. It made sense that he wouldn’t want to talk about his dad, let alone with you. But talking about Javi? When an hour ago he had admitted to wanting to bankrupt Javi’s company?

“I’ll be on my best behavior for the next”—he looked down at his watch—“fifteen minutes. Promise.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s better if we table all the personal talk,” you hedged.

“Better for whom?”

“Better for my clients. And better for me, too. We’re not friends.”

“We’ve never been friends,” Scott pointed out.

“Exactly. So why lie and pretend like we are?”

“Call it a term of this negotiation.”

“Scott…” Already this night was going nothing like how you’d planned. Your defenses had all the strength of a thin paper bag; he was in front of you, all dark-haired, blue-eyed, 6’4” reality and you weren’t unaffected. You wanted to keep talking to him, make the moment last… and all the more because you knew it had to end at some point. Scott would never be yours—not again. You’d made your peace with that a long time ago. But he has a right to know. Maybe if you could convince him that there was no grand conspiracy against him, he would be more amenable to Javi’s offer.

This is business, you reminded yourself. Redirect, bring it all back to StormLab.

“Fine,” you decided, settling in to tell the story of how you and Javi first met. “It happened maybe a year after I moved to Oklahoma City… I was out with a new friend and she took me to this bar after dinner to meet a bunch of people, one of whom was Javi. We get to talking, he tells me all about this new company he’s starting with a friend of his, says it’s a lucky coincidence or maybe fate having a twisted sense of humor because—”o

You broke off. You hadn’t considered how to broach this particular detail in the story. Obviously, Javi had no idea at the time how messy your backstory with Scott was. He had only thought to poke fun at his friend and seemed delighted to have solved a long-standing mystery for himself.

“So you’re the girl!”

“Come again?”

“The girl, you know. He has a picture of you in one of his old notebooks from college. What a small world!”

“What?” Scott prompted. You felt your face heating up and took a sip of water to hide it. You couldn't well omit the rest having already begun, but the knowledge that Scott had kept a photograph of you, whether by accident or otherwise, made you flustered then and it flustered you now.

You settled for: “He said he recognized me, and that he thought we might have a friend in common. Obviously, he meant you. He was dating one of Christa’s friends at the time—”

“Rachel.”

“Yeah. So he’d show up, be around… You know how Javi can be.”

“Like a persistent terrier.”

“Sounds like your kind of business partner.”

Scott looked away.

Not wanting to push things further in that direction just yet, you explained, “I work a lot, so it’s hard for me to make friends. Javi seems to make them wherever he goes. It’s nice having people like that in your life, to open you up, remind you there’s more to all this than billable hours and senior partner tracks. But we never talked about you. Not until this whole thing happened.”

“What thing did he say happened?”

Tread carefully now. Scott was watching you intently—if you said the wrong thing it might start a new argument between you and make his relationship with Javi a hell of a lot worse. In polished business-speak, you recited: “Just that you had a fundamental disagreement about the direction of the company.”

Your reward was a skeptical laugh.

“Also, that he might have left you on the side of the road during a tornado… which he feels bad about, by the way.”

“Not bad enough.”

“Scott, you can’t really want to ruin him, can you? I mean, this is Javi we’re talking about.”

“That’s not part of this discussion.”

“Okay?” you shot back. “I don’t remember agreeing to that condition.”

“You’re still at this table.”

“And that can easily be fixed!”

“All right, calm down.” Maybe it was you in danger of starting another fight. Scott, holding up his hands in a show of good faith, said, “I thought we were playing nice here, being civilized, acting like adults… What else have you been up to?”

“You want to know about my life?”

“Like I said, I’m curious. And seeing as this is a momentary parley, I plan on making the most of it.”

Again, you took in his face in search for any signs of subterfuge and found none, only the barest hint of levity in his eyes at your willingness to argue. It reminded you of the old days, when Scott would delight in teasing you for the sole purpose of seeing what your reaction would be. “Fine. But it’s going to be quid pro quo,” you demanded. “Call it a term of this negotiation.”

His mouth curved into a smile. Then he held out his hand across the table and waited for you to take it before saying, “Term accepted, counselor.”

In the end, playing nice with Scott turned out to be a lot easier once you’d established a few ground rules, mainly the stipulation that either of you could say “pass” if you weren’t willing to answer a question.

You went through the whole gamut of discussing your first jobs after college, gossiped about the old Park Haven crowd, the who-married-who and the who-got-divorced of it all. It turned out that, like you, Scott hadn’t returned to Pennsylvania much in the last few years. StormPAR kept him traveling through the Great Plains for most of the spring and summer, and during the rest of the year he lived in New Orleans, where Riggs and his mother lived. You got the sense that his life revolved around work, and that StormPAR, while not the be all and end all of his professional fate, had been an important part of it until Javi called it quits. You figured this explained, in part, why he took the loss so personally, and though you kept your thoughts to yourself you lamented that his one attempt to branch out for himself and away from his uncle—if you could call taking a major investment from Riggs “branching out”—had gone badly.

Either way, by the end of the evening you felt you’d been a little hasty in believing the old Scott had left the building for good. You exited Perch in higher spirits, glad to see that the night was clear and that the air felt good on your cheeks. When he asked if you were getting a car, you shared your desire for a long walk and he responded with mild horror until you explained that you didn’t live far. “Maybe twenty minutes? Thirty at most.”

“I’ll walk you home,” he insisted. You didn't argue because you were secretly pleased. The only thing you had to guard against was the urge to take his arm as you used to do. You felt giddy with it, which you were sure had to be the alcohol, but it was also the fact that Scott was here, in the flesh, that you were cracking jokes and sometimes even pulling smiles from his otherwise deadpan expression. You’d forgotten how that could make you feel like you’d won the jackpot.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re going to take this the wrong way,” you prefaced while walking backwards on the sidewalk, “but I have a really hard time imagining you as a storm chaser.”

“Excuse me!”

“I mean…” You stopped and full-body gestured. “I mean, look at you!”

“What?”

“Even your slacks are pressed!”

“Objection, why are you studying my slacks like a degenerate?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you replied, and fell into step beside him, if only to keep him from seeing that you were embarrassed by the implication that you might’ve been checking him out. “All I meant to say was—”

“That I don’t look like a rugged adrenaline junkie? Maybe ‘Rodeo Clown’ is more your thing these days.”

“Don’t—Tyler’s actually quite decent, you know.”

“But you knew exactly who I was talking about.” Scott snapped his fingers as if to say, Gotcha! as you ruefully shook your head. Something about Tyler Owens tended to evoke a Neanderthal-like competitiveness in certain men—Scott, being competitive by nature, fell for it all too easily.

“This is me.” You pointed at your building. It was a relatively new construction with climbing greenery and pop-out balconies where you’d lived for a year-and-a-half after a not inconsiderable raise, and the reason why you worked sixty hours a week.

“Can I come up?” Scott asked.

You whipped your head so hard that your temples throbbed. “That’s…” A no good, awful, terrible, ill-conceived, perilous idea?

Scott seemed to find your distress highly entertaining. “Jesus, would you relax?” he said. “I’m not asking to tuck you in—unless, if there’s someone—”

“There isn’t,” you hurried to say.

“Oh? How come?”

The knowledge that the man with whom you were formerly engaged was inquiring as to the current state of your love life with all the breeziness of do you have the time? was enough to make you believe in karmic punishment. “Like I said, I’m busy,” you managed to eke out, which only made him lift his shoulders as if to say, Then, what’s the big deal?

Scott Miller was good at that, getting his way.

“Fine,” you caved. “But only for ten minutes! Fifteen, tops!”

“Scout’s honor.”

In the elevator car you stuck your hands in your pockets, searching for your keys only to find the cold hard metal of your engagement ring. You looked guiltily at the oblivious Scott, who was staring at the floor display with a contented expression and was none the wiser about your having worn it earlier in the night like some kind of weirdo. Should you give it back? At the time he’d wanted nothing to do with it, but was keeping it the proper thing? Was it good for you to even have it?

At last you found your keys at the bottom of your purse. You opened the door, trying to remember how well you’d tidied after dinner as he walked in, inspecting everything. You watched as his gaze traveled over the open-plan kitchen and living area—the work files, magazines, and old mail stacked on various side tables; the midcentury beechwood couch you got for a steal at a secondhand warehouse when you first moved; the shelves, filled with books and framed photographs and trinkets you’d brought from home; and the view from your window, which wasn’t nearly as spectacular as the one from Perch, but it faced west, and if you were home during golden hour you could see the other buildings lit orange and gold.

“Yeah, this is exactly how I pictured it,” Scott mentioned at last.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… you,” he answered. Your stomach turned to knots. He made you feel seen like nobody else could, not least of which because you’d let him back when you were younger and less guarded. Your heart kicked wildly in your chest, urging you to go to him, go to him, explain everything, get him back, because he was the one. Then Scott looked away, pointing at a sad fern that sat on a pedestal next to your mounted TV. “You still can’t keep a plant alive worth shit.”

“Rude,” you fired back, grasping at levity in order to shove the other thoughts away.

Scott drifted back to your bookshelves, seeing a few paperbacks he must’ve recognized from your old room at Park Haven. “And yet you keep trying. Do you actually use any of these?” he inquired, motioning towards the half-dozen board games you kept piled on an open top shelf. There was Clue and Monopoly, Candy Land, Sorry!, Scrabble and Life.

“Sometimes,” you replied, “when I have friends over. Which hasn’t happened much this year, if I’m being honest.”

“Let’s play.”

You laughed. You didn’t believe him. He pulled one of the boxes out and took it to the coffee table and all you could do was stare, incredulous, as he took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves, actually sitting on the floor and looking expectantly at you to join him.

“You want to play Life with me?” you challenged. “Doesn’t that seem a little…”

“And you call me uptight.” He waved you over, determined not to take no for an answer. “Come on, hotshot, live a little.”

Despite your better judgment, and after a moment’s panicked hesitation, you lowered yourself next to him. He still smelled the same, like rain and sandalwood and pine. You wanted to curl into his side and feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your ear, like you’d done on the nights he spent hidden away with you in your room. You had never gotten to live together; all you had were countable memories of waking up next to him and thinking, One day… one day we’ll have this every day.

As he set up the board, all you could do was stare at his hands.

SIX YEARS AGO NEW ORLEANS

Marshall Riggs greeted with you a double-kiss at the door, one on each side of your cheeks. Then he held you at arm’s length so he could look you up and down. “Would you take a look at that,” he said to Scott, “pretty as a picture! I suppose this is the part where I welcome you to the family?”

It was midsummer in Louisiana, on the hotter side of balmy and with the cicadas out in force. Shortly before you graduated Scott traveled to Philadelphia and asked you to marry him. Saying yes had been a no-brainer. You were in love, had put up with four years of distance and near-breakups, and now here was the culmination of all your compromise, communication, and hard work. For a second there you’d thought it would end badly; you were both in highly-intensive undergrad programs, there was only so much you could hash out over phone and video calls, and you were young. The question of “do we really want to make a life-changing decision at twenty-one?” had crossed your mind. But upon further reflection you realized that the answer was yes—had always been yes. And Scott seemed to agree.

In the absence of his father, “meeting the family” entailed paying court to his Uncle Riggs, a man you had spoken to a few times, at holiday parties and summer outings hosted by Pam, now settled in New Orleans and much happier than you’d known her before. But all those other times, you’d met Riggs as Scott’s girlfriend. Now you were his fiancée, with a fancy law degree and a diamond ring and everything, and while you would’ve preferred keeping your distance you knew this was important to Scott—that Riggs was important to him.

So you put on a smile and indulged the old man. Do it for Scott, you said to yourself. You’ve come this far. No point faltering while you were at the winning stretch.

You bowed your head. “Thank you for having us, Mr. Riggs.”

“Please, just Riggs,” he laughed. “Or Marshall—but only my ex-wives call me that.”

You soon found he had a way of twinkling his eyes that made you feel like you were sharing a joke. As he pointed out the features of his home—the old tapestries, the mural commissioned by Candice, his second ex-wife, the wall he knocked down because he wanted to “open up the space”, and his plans to expand the front garden, which, as it was, made the house look like it was in the middle of a tropical rainforest—he regaled you with stories about the people he knew, going off on tangents and bringing it back to the topic at hand. He was genteel and witty, and though he carried himself with Southern indifference there was no doubt he had power: he cocked his head, and a woman in an apron appeared with a tray of mint juleps; Scott held onto his every word; and when you were led into a dining room that might’ve fit forty or fifty at least, it was taken as a matter of course.

He pulled out your chair and sat you at his right hand because it was “the place of honor,” and Scott smiled encouragingly. You were doing so well.

You only wished that you could feel it.

“So, you want to be a big-deal attorney,” Riggs announced, digging into a perfect roast chicken. “What kind? Criminal?”

“Oh, no,” you replied. “Civil all the way. I’ve got a few offers but I want to shop around, make sure I’m making the right first move.”

“The right first move!” He pointed his knife at you. “I like that. By any chance, are you a chessplayer, sweetheart?”

“Can’t say that I am. My family are more into board games, really. Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick?” you explained.

He got a kick out of that. But he was partial to chess. “Opening moves—if you look at the big picture, they don't seem all that important. But well, in that case, why the hell’re there so many of ’em? Napoleon Opening, Greco Defense, Bled Variation, Balogh Defense… Sometimes how a thing starts dictates how the rest of it’ll unfold, from midgame all the way down to the end. If you're gonna do something, might as well do it right the first time or so I always say. Don’t I, boy?” He turned to Scott for confirmation.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yessir…” Riggs chuckled, spearing a roasted sprout. The ends of his bolo tie shifted on his neck. A turquoise the size of an acorn sat between his collar, and he was dressed to the nines—for your benefit, the guest of honor’s.

Nevertheless, there was something of the austere in his eyes. You couldn’t shake it when he put down his fork and sat back, looking from you to Scott, nodding like a king about to give his blessing to a pair of kneeling courtiers. “Pretty as a picture…” he repeated. “Look at you both—young, on the cusp, and none too hard on the eyes, if I do say so myself. A real golden couple on our hands! To opening moves”—he raised his glass—“may we always know when to make the right one.”

You raised your glass to be polite.

Scott leaned across the table. “Before you ask, yes, he is always like this.”

His uncle laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and called for “champagne! To my nephew and his beautiful bride!”

As the night wore on, you convinced yourself that any discomfort was all in your head. You worked your way through three dinner courses, all impeccably cooked, and by the time the doberge was served you decided that you had judged the man too harshly. Sure, he was old-fashioned, but he was also jovial, polite, and he clearly doted on Scott.

“How nice it is to spend some quality time,” he remarked when Scott left the table, saying Pamela was on the phone. She wanted to know what plans you had for the rest of the week, whether you were still on for the garden fête on the 25th, and what dates you were considering for your engagement party, whether that would be here or in Pennsylvania, but I really do think you’d better do it here.

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” he said to Riggs, leaving you alone with his uncle. Now he had focused all of his attention on you, the full glare of his eye-twinkle and magnetic allure. He wasn’t a handsome man; it wasn’t about his looks—which were well past their prime—but about the knowledge that he could get almost everything he wanted simply by wanting it.

“It’s a shame we never did this sooner,” he went on. “Why do you think that is?” You shifted guiltily. The truth was, Riggs had always made you a bit uneasy. He had a reputation as a difficult man—ruthless, exacting, guileful, hard to please, and he liked doing business in the gray, always legal but never quite on the up-and-up.

Over the last four years, you may have avoided him on the grounds of self-righteous principle, but you couldn't admit to that if you were trying to leave a good impression.

You hedged, “I’m afraid law school doesn't leave much time to spare.”

“Very true… Not that I would know—it was always too much book learning for me, I’m a man of action,” Riggs explained, sipping his whiskey and looking happy as a clam. He had polished off two slices of cake earlier, but only because we’re celebrating. “Now, my nephew… he’s a bit o’ both, isn’t he? Either way, he’s got too much of his mother in ’im.”

You frowned, wanting to say a word in defense of Pamela. Riggs waved you off. “Don’t mind me, I’m just a silly old man with too many opinions. It tends to rub people up the wrong way—don't think I haven't noticed!” Another laugh, another narrowing of the eyes that could have been humor but which you felt like a lightning strike down your back.

He knows and you’re making something out of nothing struggled for dominance within your head, and still he kept on talking, forcing you to pay attention and leave the question unresolved.

He pointed in the direction where Scott had gone. “That nephew of mine—I don’t have any children of my own, did you know that? It never happened for me. Four wives and nothing to show for it—imagine that! But that boy… good thing his father never knew what to do with ’im—smart as a whip he is, and like a dog with a bone once he’s got an idea in his head. That part I’d say he got from me,” he said with a chuckle, wagging his finger in the air. He gave your hand a few avuncular pats and then kept it there, meaty and warm.

“I can see that you love ’im… I can see that you really love ’im. What bright, young, sensible girl wouldn't? You should see him ’round the office! He breaks hearts left, right, and center wherever he goes—a real catch, my secretary always says, and she’s been with me since Scott was yea-high. He’s got his mother’s looks, which I’ll say not to sound too self-serving, heh!” A slight tug on your wrist. You kept your objections to yourself, saying, He’s just a strange old man. As your discomfort grew, stretched to its very limits, he removed his hand and was back to being an innocuous grandfatherly man again. He seemed a little sad, wistful, even. Almost frail.

“I don’t know what I would do without him,” said Riggs, staring at his empty plate. “I really don't. Oh, here! before I forget—I have something for you.” He reached into the inner pocket of his cream suit jacket, extracting a long envelope which he slid across the table with a paternal expression, his gaze warm. You began to object, and, “Go on, now!” he insisted. “I don't hold with false modesty! Nothin’ but a waste o’ time in my book. Open it! Call it a graduation present to help you get started. Scott said your old man was taking some time off from his job, feeling under the weather.”

You opened the flap to find a check with more zeros on it than you could’ve reasonably imagined, payable to your name and typewritten in official font.

“Mr. Riggs, this is…” Your hands shook, you felt too hot in the enclosed dining room. Where was Scott? What was taking him so long? You slid the check in the envelope and tried to push it back to Riggs’s side of the table. “There is no way I can accept this,” you said. “It’s too much money, and while I appreciate the gesture—”

“Nonsense! It’s my pleasure and I won’t hear no can’ts or won’ts about it! I want you to know how well Scott’s been doing here since he finished school. He’s flourishing, all my business associates love him. I can’t possibly make do without him now.”

“I don’t understand,” you said, a pit growing in your stomach.

Once more Riggs pinned you with that twinkle in his eye. “I think you do, a smart girl like you. A man should sow his wild oats while he's young. I had a pretty young wife when I was his age. Marjorie, her name was. My first. It's true what they say—you never forget your first… By God, she was beautiful! and we had all these plans… so many plans! Dreams, really. But mine were always just a little too big for her, you understand, and at first that didn't matter much—we were in love. But then… the kids never came, and Marjorie had too much time on her hands—at the very least, she had more time on her hands than I did, that’s for sure! That gets to a woman sometimes.

“I know you won't have that problem, big city lawyer and all,” he said to you, as if in you he had the fullest confidence and he was speaking about other, less distinguished women. “But really, even if Marjorie’d been an ambassador to the United Nations she’d still have had a compunction about something or other… Ambition’s a hard pill for most folks to swallow.

“Now, you seem like a nice girl… really, I like you plenty! But let’s talk facts here for a minute. You are not the girl for Scott—not when he’s trying to become the man that he’s trying to become. The boy’s got the instincts of a killer. Really! All I’ve gotta do is stand back and look at him! But you, my dear, you’re nothin’ like him. You’ll never be. For most of my life, I thought the perfect woman would be someone to ‘balance me out,’ as they say. It’s taken me almost fifty years to find out that ain’t nothin’ but bullshit made up by Hallmark or whoever to sell us some cards. There ain't no use fighting one’s true nature. You and Scott are doomed to fail—if not now then in five years, if not in five then in another ten! You’ve seen the cracks, haven't you? He’s not the boy you met in Park Haven. He’s becoming his own man. He doesn’t need you anymore.”

You were almost too stunned to speak. Between the casual misogyny, the callous worldview, and the envelope that lay between you on the table like a coiled snake, you felt like you had left reality—there was no way this conversation could be taking place with Scott just in the other room.

“Let me get this straight,” you began, willing your voice not to shake, “you’re offering me money to break up with Scott because you think I’m not good enough for him?”

“No, no, no!” Riggs drew in close to you and took both of your hands, his face earnest and pained. “You’re getting this all wrong. I’m not some mustache-twirling villain trying to thwart the course of true love! You’re a wonderful girl, I’m sure Scott’s been very happy with you. But everything has its season. The time for moons and Junes and Ferris wheels is over. You can leave him to me now.”

“With all due respect, you’re out of your mind!” You slid your chair back, making an angry scrape along the tile. Riggs closed his grip around your hands.

“Sittdown before you wreck the boy’s life.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Did Scott ever tell you about his old man? How he squandered the family fortunes and left him and Pamela all but bankrupt? Now, me, I’d have done the decent thing—put a pistol to my head for all my sins—but the man has his pride, though I don’t know where-all he gets it from. You see Pam now, up in her French colonial sunning her face and drinking cocktails like the belle of the ball?” He pointed to his chest. “I did that. Scott’s shiny new diploma from M-I-T? Right again! Now, I don't believe in somethin’ for nothing. Everything in this here world has its cost, sweetheart. Everything. I have invested in that boy—not just money, but my blood, sweat, and tears! I won’t abide a loss. I won’t abide it.”

“Scott isn’t an investment,” you shot back. “He isn't yours to own.”

“And yet it would seem he’s worth more to me than he is to you. If he marries you, he and Pam won’t see another cent from me even if I have to drive past them through the gutter. I’m telling you I would throw my own sister out on the street for him—my own flesh! Can you say the same? Could Scott? Would he choose you over his poor, silly mother? Now, I highly doubt that.”

The crazy thing was, he seemed genuinely aggrieved by this predicament of his own making. In his face you could see him imagining the scene—him in his black town car, driving past Pam. And yet he remained immovable. Either you gave up Scott or he would make good on his threat.

It was callous, immoral. I have invested in that boy.

The sound of Scott’s shoes came up the hallway. Riggs folded the check into your hands and said, “Don't make a scene. Think about it.”

“What did I miss?” Scott stopped to kiss the top of your head before resuming his seat. You felt nauseous, your hands clammy around the paper you hid in your lap. To you, Scott seemed like he belonged in another world, another time—a Before-Time.

As you tried not to cry, Riggs smiled at him broadly and said, “Oh, nothing much. But I have a little present for you.”

He pulled a box from the bottom of his seat, crimson leather and beautifully stitched. Scott lifted the lid. Inside was a silver Patek Philippe, the watch he would wear when you saw him six years later, sitting across from you at a conference table with a strange coldness in his eyes. He showed it to you, beaming with pride, and while you couldn't remember what canned response you gave, you did recall that he pulled Riggs into a hug, and said, “Uncle, you really shouldn’t have…”

PRESENT DAY OKLAHOMA CITY

For nearly an hour you and Scott sat on the floor of your living room, playing at marriage and midlife crises and how many babies you would have, which on any other occasion would have made you hysterically laugh or, as Javi said on the night you met, remark upon the universe’s odd sense of humor.

But you were strangely levelheaded. If anything, you felt slightly out-of-body and yet entirely in your body, if that made sense.

You were aware of every piece put on the board. You watched the spinner turn in a rainbow of colors, the clack of the spokes sounding faster and faster before it slowed and then drew to a stop. You felt the couch cushions at your back. Scott’s shoulder brushed against yours sometimes, when he reached for one of the tiny bright pegs that went on top of the tiny bright cars. It felt like you were inside of a dream, and because dreams didn’t matter and had no consequences unless you let them, you started to ease into surrealism.

You played the game, and gradually your body began to relax. This was familiar to you—Scott taking it way too seriously, you poking fun at the furrow between his brows, the way you alternated between cold-hard strategy and chaotically negligent gameplay just to see a reaction flicker across his face. He stretched his legs out beneath the table, threw an arm across the seat-edge of the couch; sometimes, you would recline further back and your neck would touch his arm. You did it a few times, feeling embarrassed at first. But when you saw he didn’t mind, you let your head fall back, waiting as he picked a card.

Something was building beneath your skin. You felt restless, and a little reckless. Despite the law you laid down at the restaurant, you couldn’t stop your gaze from lingering. It lingered everywhere: on the hollow of his throat, the shape of his nose, the play of light across his cheeks, his mouth, the spaces where his white shirt gapped between the buttons and you could see his bare chest underneath. Oh, you’re in trouble… you said to yourself, and yet it didn’t matter. You didn’t care. This was a liminal space, a void where you could be honest and unafraid of the truth.

Even when Scott caught you looking, all he did was look back. He let the tips of his fingers touch yours when sliding a card from your hands, knocked his knee against yours. There was a time—or maybe you imagined it—when you felt his hand stroke your shoulder and you almost did something out-of-line. Because there was a line, blurred, but it existed; you kept within the bounds because you knew it was the sole condition to prolonging this state, so you bought owner’s insurance and traded in stocks, changed careers, had twins, repaid a loan (with interest) and made your slow and steady way to retirement at Countryside Acres.

At the end of the game, after all the remaining play money had been counted, it was Scott who said, “Looks like I win,” and all you said was, “Why am I not surprised?”

Then you glanced at the clock. “It’s late.”

“And we haven’t killed each other. How’s that for a détente?” Scott began putting all the parts away, pulling the pegs out of the cars first, sticking each one inside its appropriate little plastic bag. You would’ve thrown them straight in the box and not had a care in the world about it, but you liked that he did.

It was a Scott thing—patient, methodical, kind of annoying, and mostly well-intentioned. You sat back and watched him do it.

“Wow… they teach words like that at MIT?”

“They tried it out with our class—apparently, word was going ’round that STEM nerds lack empathy.”

You smiled. “Now where would they go and get an idea like that?” His eyes flicked down to yours. Having finished, he went back to reclining against the couch, one arm draped over his bent knee.

His gaze on your skin felt like a physical touch, and when it stopped at your lips, a shock of heat went through your body, from the crown of your head down to your toes. You watched him swallow. The urge to kiss him was vicious, urgent and unrelenting, and when you saw his mouth part, his tongue emerging to wet his lips, you thought, Now now now, but then Scott stood so fast he almost upset the table.

“I should go,” he managed to say, his voice ragged. He sought sightlessly for his discarded jacket, found it lying over the top of the couch, and he couldn’t escape fast enough. Frustration rolled off him in waves.

“Scott!” You scrambled to your feet. You might have touched the very edge of his sleeve, but he held up his hand to stop you coming any closer.

“This was a mistake.”

You went stock still. The spell was broken—this was no longer the dreamworld where nothing mattered, this was the Real World. The one where everything had been broken, not least of which because of you, and it was all a mistake. Calling him had been a mistake, meeting him had been a mistake, thinking that you could control anything you felt about him had been a mistake.

And now there was this: Scott raking his hands through his hair, turning in the middle of the room, almost a decade’s worth of anger and disappointment and confusion and, why not, maybe a little hatred thrown into the mix.

“You never trusted me!” he threw in your face. “And I mean never—even when we were in high school, especially not in college—”

“Why are you talking about college?” you demanded, your voice rising to meet his.

“Every time I called, it was like you were expecting me to tell you it was over. Every girl I so much as spoke to when you came to visit—”

“I was eighteen! What the fuck do you want me to say? That I was insecure and kind of an idiot? Yeah, no shit! I thought we’d moved past that!”

“No, we didn’t move past it because it never changed! Maybe it stopped being about other women, but then it was about work, about the time I spent shadowing at my uncle’s company. Do you have any idea how exhausting it was to keep having to convince you that I was all in? And what, somehow we went from that to ‘you’ve changed, Scott, I don’t think I like who you are anymore, Scott’—?”

“What the fuck? I never said that!”

“The night we had dinner at my uncle’s—the night you left! And again in the elevator—”

“Can we not do this?” you plead. “I thought we weren’t going to do this. We agreed!”

“Well, maybe I'm changing the terms.”

“Then this ends right here.”

There was silence. You knew it was coming, and yet it still hurt like a freight train hitting you square in the chest when he looked you in the eyes and said: “What else is new?”

You flinched. You felt your whole body recoil, your eyes sting. Your fault. The one who couldn’t stand up for herself, couldn't commit, who ran at the first sign of trouble. You and Scott are doomed to fail. Riggs had laid down his vision for the future and you had believed him, had chosen to believe him more than you had ever believed in Scott, or in yourself.

You’re not the girl for him. You’re nothing like him.

Hadn’t you always told yourself the same in the darkest recess of your mind? Hadn’t you, in truth, been just a little bit relieved when you packed your things and moved back to Park Haven, play-acting ended, no more trying, no more waiting for the other shoe to drop?

“I’m sorry.” Scott took an immediate step towards you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did,” you shot back with more vitriol than you intended.

“Don’t do that—don’t pretend to know how I fucking feel.”

“You forget, Scott. I know you.”

“I thought the whole point was that you didn't! That I was so… unrecognizable!”

“Well, you are!” you exclaimed, shouting again. “Suing Javi? Trying to take down his company? Being Riggs’s, what, fucking loyal dog—”

“Oh, spare me the hysterics…”

“Did you say it?” you cut in. “Did you really say you didn’t care about that town full of people?”

Scott froze. You watched his jaw clench, and you knew in that moment that he'd been counting on Javi’s discretion on that score.

If your intention had been to preserve any goodwill between them, that was all going up in flames now. Hell, after tonight, you and Scott might be incapable of being in the same room together, let alone working towards a peaceful resolution to a civil suit.

“You weren’t there,” he ground out. “There were other things going on.”

“Did you say it, Scott?” It was obvious that he had. The shame kept him from saying another word when you finally stepped around the coffee table. “But God forbid I say a word against Marshall Riggs, the undoubted patron saint of Tornado Alley. I'm sure his real estate empire only exists so he can share his considerable wealth with the downtrodden and needy!”

“What do you want me to fucking say? Do you want me to apologize for who my family is? I'm sorry if you find my uncle objectionable, but he is the only reason I ever made something of myself—you ever consider that? I’d be nothing without him—nothing! You think my father could have lifted a finger? Riggs is the only reason Mom and I made it through that summer. I owe him everything! So he makes business decisions you don't agree with—”

You scoffed.

“—but Javi knew exactly where all that money came from. He wasn't duped, I didn’t trick him… he made a choice. He made a choice! And then, what, Kate Carter comes along and he grows a fucking conscience? Give me a break…”

“And where the hell is yours! You think I give a shit what Marshall Riggs does? I care about you, you fucking idiot! Are you really going to stand there and tell me you’re happy? That it… that it feels good to know you’re suing your best friend, that you seemingly have no other friends, that you’ve hitched yourself to your uncle and the most you can say is you’re doing it out of obligation? You used to want more for yourself, Scott!”

He laughed at that. Rubbing his hand across his mouth, he regarded you with a derisive humor.

“Tell me, how’s the trust fund going? Your dad—he was always a pretty shrewd investor, right? and your mom’s family… they’ve got those boutique hotels along the eastern seaboard, the ones that get their pictures in the magazines and all over social media? It’s pretty easy to talk about wanting more for yourself when your father didn’t sink your family prospects on a deck of cards. I do what I have to do. Not that you’d ever understand.”

Money—had it been this big of an issue the whole time? Had you ignored it all the years of your relationship? Money… and jealousy of your father, Scott’s resentment towards his. You felt so blind, so stupid. The “cracks” Riggs had referenced had been there all along, and instead of talking about them you had stuck your head in the sand, worried that if you said the wrong thing all your insecurities would be proven right. That Scott would leave.

Scott… Did you ever stop to consider the damage that leaving him alone with Riggs might cause?

“You only think you can’t make it without him,” you dared to say. “But he doesn’t care about you.”

“What, not like you do?”

“No,” you affirmed. “Not like I do.”

Scott frowned at you. He appeared almost childlike, vulnerable. A boy calling “no fair!”, probably with Riggs’s voice in the background saying, Life isn't fair. “You don't get to do that. You don’t get to do that after all this time… you—you fucking left!”

“He offered me money. Did he ever tell you that? How he tried to buy me off to leave you? You talk about my trust fund, and it’s true—I grew up lucky, but we never had Marshall Riggs Money. There’s rich and then there’s capital-R Rich, the kind you only get when you’ve turned being a ruthless son-of-a-bitch into an art form.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes—you know I’m telling the truth. I never liked him. What's more, he could tell I didn't like him, and he couldn't have that… no, not Riggs. He’d gotten used to you being his right-hand man and he wasn’t about to lose you. So he waited until you left the table—”

“I’m not going to listen to this.”

“—he waited until you left the table,” you repeated, almost toe to toe. You forced yourself to continue, even in the face of Scott’s patent distress. You couldn't live like this, not anymore. Keeping secrets, taking the biggest share of the blame. “‘If he marries you, he and his mother won’t see another cent from me even if I have to drive past them through the gutter,’” you recited. “Those were his words. I’m not lying to you—I wouldn't, not about this.

“He was never going to let us be together. Obviously, I didn’t take the money, but he was dead serious about his threat. And I was angry. I thought if only you’d stood up to your uncle before, if you weren’t blind to what he really was, I would never have been put in that position. So I took it out on you. I blamed you. And I said things…”

You faltered, remembering the night you returned to the hotel. You couldn’t stay, not with Riggs’s check in your pocket and the memory of his hand gripping your wrist. But Scott didn’t understand. He didn't know what had made you so upset, why you were throwing your clothes into your suitcase and talking about flights and returning his ring and about how it was time you stopped pretending. And, yes, you took to heart what Riggs had implied about other women. You weren’t picky. You weren’t careful. You just had to leave.

You were ashamed of it now. The knowledge of how you’d acted lodged in your throat like a stone you couldn’t swallow down. Scott remembered it, too. His eyes flickered this way and that, recalling, wondering how much of it was true.

“I said things to you that I wish I’d never… that I still think about, and I still regret, because I love—” Your voice broke. You placed your hands over his chest, then cradled his face, willing him to believe you, willing yourself to be brave. “I still love you, Scott. I love you. I should’ve told you the truth, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“No… you left,” he said weakly, bracing his hands around your wrists.

“I know I did… I know, but he can’t have you.” You kissed his mouth, once, twice, as many times as he allowed, and all the while you said the things you should’ve said that night in New Orleans. “I won’t let him have you… not this time… not again.”

Scott turned his head and the heat of his tongue met yours.

One second he was all coiled tension and the next he was all over you, walking you back towards the couch, kissing a trail down your neck, one hand tangled in your hair while the other was already up your skirt matching his strokes to the curl of his tongue. He laid you down on the couch, settling between your thighs, and even clothed the weight of him felt familiar—the pass of his hand up and down your leg, the way he liked to tease you by wandering just close enough to where you wanted before pulling away, distracting you with a searing kiss or a shallow roll of his hips.

In the past, there were times when he would draw it out for hours, taking you to the brink and back until you were sure you wanted to curse him.

At a friend’s New York wedding, he made you come three times before he entered you, and you weren’t too proud—now, with the real Scott on top of you, all over you, soon to be in you if there was any justice in the world—to admit that you had replayed that night in your head sometimes when you were lonely. When a bad day at work or an ill-advised night of drinking too much ended with you trying to chase sleep on the heels of an orgasm that was never as satisfying as the ones you got with Scott.

Even when you managed to make yourself come—really come, that full-bodied electricity-followed-by-deep-silence feeling—you had been all too aware of his absence. What was the point, you had wondered, if you couldn’t curl up next to him or listen to the steady flow of his breathing or hear him sigh into your neck when he wrapped his arms around you and went to sleep? What was the point if, upon waking, you wouldn't have Scott and his early-morning voice, the clarity of his eyes, the smell of the coffee he made in his stupidly expensive espresso machines? (God, you missed that coffee.)

It was Scott… it was only ever Scott.

The couch was a perilous place to be doing any of this. You weren't sure that he fit in it, for one, and for another, you were mildly worried about the potential costs of fixing a broken midcentury piece of furniture. Oh, well, you thought, life’s too short. Not bothering to undress, you pushed aside articles of clothing, hands bumping into each other, scraps of fabric pushed aside, belt buckle rattling as it landed on the floor, until finally he surged into you, gripping the side of the couch and burying a curse against your neck as you stretched around him.

He slid a hand below your hips and fixed the angle. The sex was hurried, messy and it had nothing of grace; it was imperfect and rather cramped, really, but all that mattered was how he felt. He felt like home. As you came, he entwined his fingers around yours, and then he finished, trembling, prolonging a wave of pleasure that took your breath away.

Don’t go, you want to say into his heaving chest.

Somehow, he turned you on your side so you could stretch along the couch. He wrapped his arms around you, stroking feather-light touched along your arm as his breathing slowed. You felt tired, hollowed out, but not in a bad way. In a quiet-before-the-storm way, when you can smell water in the air and the breeze picks up, and the world sits on the cusp of being new.

“I miss you,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I miss you too.”

After that, there was a silence so long it made you think he’d dozed off, but then he spoke again, painfully honest and a little scared. “I don't think I can do what you need me to do. I’m not… that’s not who I am anymore.”

“I think you are,” you said back. “I think he’s who you’ve always been.”

THREE WEEKS LATER

You were enjoying a rare weekend off from work. Figuring you could do with some real time off the clock, you’d let the office know you’d be holding all work calls and emails until Monday. Abby’s eyes had nearly popped out of her skull in a rare show of feeling, but after the emotional turmoil of the last few months, you knew you needed to walk around the city, have a massage, touch some grass, maybe eat a pint of ice cream in front of a frothy period drama—a true-blue staycation.

The morning after you and Scott slept together, you’d agreed that it was in everyone’s best interest to let things be. He needed time to think about a few things, and regardless of your shared history, you were still Javi’s lawyer. You distracted yourself by doubling down on other cases. It helped that dealing with Mrs. Richardson-Burkhardt and the four Barone siblings was as eventful as watching an HBO television series—between the scathing one-liners and last-minute twists, there was little bandwidth left over to think about Scott.

And yet you always managed.

For better or for worse, Scott had always been good at making you hope for things. Even when you wanted to err on the side of caution, expect the worst and thus avoid disappointment, just the fact that he loved you made you feel like anything was possible, like you could make things happen.

“We brought out the best in each other. That mattered to us more than anything your father and I ever did wrong.”

At a department store downtown, you watched across the way as a young couple studied a tray of rings at the jewelry counter, diamonds sparkling in the light. The woman grabbed her partner’s arm and pointed at one of the selections as if to say, “That one!”, and for a moment they were in perfect sync. The salesman offered up the band with elaborate flourish, the groom-to-be took his bride’s hand, slipped the ring on her finger, and they admired it together, the play of white gold on her black skin.

The woman beamed. So did he.

“Looks like we have ourselves a winner,” the pleased salesman declared.

After lunch and an overpriced iced coffee, you arrived home with a gift for the Travises’ golden anniversary party, a pair of gold-accented crystal champagne glasses you hoped would survive the flight. It would be nice to see your mom again, to reunite with your old college friends, and revisit old haunts.

The thought of going home no longer filled you with dread—for which, even if nothing came out of your night with Scott, if he decided that upending his life was too much for him to handle right now, you would always be grateful. For years, your idea of a worst nightmare was running into him and having the truth spoken aloud, plainly, and for both of you to hear. Nothing will ever be as bad as this, you told yourself.

But it was a half-lie. Not seeing him again would be worse.

Already, you felt his absence like a hollow in your chest.

On the kitchen counter, you saw that your phone began to ring. “Javi, how’s the weather looking?” you asked, putting him on speaker as you poured yourself some water.

 “She’s a fickle mistress, I’ll tell you that! Hey, I just wanted to let you know… Scott called this morning. He says he’s dropping the suit.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t sound too surprised. Any of that you're doing?”

“No,” you replied, picking up your phone, “that’s all Scott. I haven’t spoken to him in weeks, actually.”

“Well, he sounded different. Still Scott, but a shorter stick up his ass, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I know a part of how everything went down was my fault—business is business, as my Ma always says. I sold him my share of StormPAR, which means I also have to pay back some of the money we took from Riggs. That’ll hurt like a—well, you know… I’m not the guy’s biggest fan these days. But if I don’t have to hear the name Marshall Riggs ever again, I’ll count myself lucky and say it’s a price well-paid.”

“And Scott?” you ventured to say.

“Honestly, I think he’s done with the whole thing. Sounds like he’s closing up shop, which makes sense. He’s a damn good engineer but kind of hopeless as a chaser.”

You laughed. “Yeah, I guess I can see that. Are you okay?”

“Me, or me and Scott?”

“Both.”

To Javi’s credit, he took a few moments to actually think about it. “Yeah, I’m good. You know me… I never stay down for long. Man with a thousand plans. Me and Scott? Man, I don’t know about that one… I did leave him by the side of the road. Ruined one of his immaculately pressed shirts.”

You snorted. “God forbid.”

“Yeah, God forbid. Listen, if it were up to me, I’d just let bygones be bygones. Life’s too short, you know. Shit happens… I don’t want to be a guy who burns bridges over money.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“What I mean to say,” Javi spoke over a sudden burst of wind, “is that if Scott ever wants to give me a call, I’ll answer. You can even tell him I said that.”

“Me?” You set your glass down with a clatter, heat rising to your face.

“Yeah, you! I’m not an idiot, hotshot, that history’s not gone ancient yet.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm… Anyway, the wind’s picking up. Kate’s off reading her dandelions.”

“You know, I kinda wish I could see her doing that…”

“Watch out, we might make a chaser of you yet!” Javi crowed.

You shook your head, said, “I wouldn't hold my breath,” but you were smiling. The sun streamed through your open windows and anything was possible.

Once Javi ended the call, you stared at your phone, wondering… And then you decided to be reckless one more time. Call it a calculated risk, you thought instead. You held the phone up to your ear and listened to it ring. The dial tone sounded a few times, and then it stopped.

He’d answered.

“Scott, it’s me,” you said, trying to relax the thrumming in your heart.

There was a pause and then you heard his voice: “Did Javi tell you?”

“Yeah, we just got off the phone.”

“Open your door.”

You made a face, glancing at the screen and holding it against your ear again. “What?”

“Open your door, UPenn!”

You dashed to the entryway, patting your hair, blotting your face, wondering if your shirt was wrinkled. When you pulled the door open, you saw Scott in full view, in the middle of the day. Not wearing white. The blue of his shirt brought out his eyes, which looked tired but less burdened, too.

He seemed lighter, if not happy then trying to get there.

“Thought I’d skip out on being a sore loser this time.” He gave a half-shrug.

“I don’t know, Miller… from here it doesn't seem like you're losing.”

He smiled at the floor, almost shy. And when he looked into your face you saw the boy you fell in love with at Nichols Academy, the one who took baseball too seriously, who loved Hemingway and your mom’s apple crisp, the one who sang bad Sinatra and got into fights and thought James Watt was something of a god. It was like the worst of the last few years had gone away, leaving only space for something new to grow, to be built—together.

“All I want is you,” promised Scott, taking you into his arms.

You stuck your hand in your pocket, extracted the ring you’d kept there for almost a month like a talisman, like a good-luck charm, and held it up to Scott. He stared at it, and then at you, with something like shock.

Something like awe and wonder.

“Don’t you know? You've always had me.”

And in that hallway, Scott Miller, a man who’d never cop to having a romantic bone in his body, spun you around and kissed you and wouldn’t have cared if your neighbor at Apartment 424 had noticed or if one of his investors appeared. Maybe there was something to Tyler’s corny catchphrase, after all: If you feel it, chase it—no matter the odds, no matter the obstacles in your path, because feeling it was purpose and inspiration and direction when you lost your way.

It took you a while, but you understood it now.

[qqueenofhades]

I’m in undergrad but I keep hearing and seeing people talking about using chatgpt for their schoolwork and it makes me want to rip my hair out lol. Like even the “radical” anti-chatgpt ones are like “Oh yea it’s only good for outlines I’d never use it for my actual essay.” You’re using it for OUTLINES????? That’s the easy part!! I can’t wait to get to grad school and hopefully be surrounded by people who actually want to be there 😭😭😭

Not to sound COMPLETELY like a grumpy old codger (although lbr, I am), but I think this whole AI craze is the obvious result of an education system that prizes "teaching for the test" as the most important thing, wherein there are Obvious Correct Answers that if you select them, pass the standardized test and etc etc mean you are now Educated. So if there's a machine that can theoretically pick the correct answers for you by recombining existing data without the hard part of going through and individually assessing and compiling it yourself, Win!

... but of course, that's not the way it works at all, because AI is shown to create misleading, nonsensical, or flat-out dangerously incorrect information in every field it's applied to, and the errors are spotted as soon as an actual human subject expert takes the time to read it closely. Not to go completely KIDS THESE DAYS ARE JUST LAZY AND DONT WANT TO WORK, since finding a clever way to cheat on your schoolwork is one of those human instincts likewise old as time and has evolved according to tools, technology, and educational philosophy just like everything else, but I think there's an especial fear of Being Wrong that drives the recourse to AI (and this is likewise a result of an educational system that only prioritizes passing standardized tests as the sole measure of competence). It's hard to sort through competing sources and form a judgment and write it up in a comprehensive way, and if you do it wrong, you might get a Bad Grade! (The irony being, of course, that AI will *not* get you a good grade and will be marked even lower if your teachers catch it, which they will, whether by recognizing that it's nonsense or running it through a software platform like Turnitin, which is adding AI detection tools to its usual plagiarism checkers.)

We obviously see this mindset on social media, where Being Wrong can get you dogpiled and/or excluded from your peer groups, so it's even more important in the minds of anxious undergrads that they aren't Wrong. But yeah, AI produces nonsense, it is an open waste of your tuition dollars that are supposed to help you develop these independent college-level analytical and critical thinking skills that are very different from just checking exam boxes, and relying on it is not going to help anyone build those skills in the long term (and is frankly a big reason that we're in this mess with an entire generation being raised with zero critical thinking skills at the exact moment it's more crucial than ever that they have them). I am mildly hopeful that the AI craze will go bust just like crypto as soon as the main platforms either run out of startup funding or get sued into oblivion for plagiarism, but frankly, not soon enough, there will be some replacement for it, and that doesn't mean we will stop having to deal with fake news and fake information generated by a machine and/or people who can't be arsed to actually learn the skills and abilities they are paying good money to acquire. Which doesn't make sense to me, but hey.

So: Yes. This. I feel you and you have my deepest sympathies. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to sit on the porch in my quilt-draped rocking chair and shout at kids to get off my lawn.

[ilyasorokinn]

hey!! can i request number 23 from the physical affection prompt list (a hug that some might consider as ~too long~) with roy kent please?

ONE LAST TIME

eek! i'm so excited for this because this is the first time i've written for roy on here! this is basically just the scene after roy gets injured in his last game and keeley comforts him! also, i am american. just thought i should preface that. i hope you enjoy :)

23. "a hug that some might consider as ~too long~" (from this prompt list)

tw: the injury (but not detailed)

it was quite a cliche. you weren't sure what you and roy were. you had been friends since he started his professional career but never anything further.

although, you had discovered pretty early on that you liked him. that tiny little crush turned into a full-blown love. but you could never tell him. the mere thought of him not reciprocating the same feelings made you sick.

so, you pushed those feelings down and tried to forget about them. you continued to be his friend and agreed to go on as many dates as keeley could set you up with.

sports were never really your thing. yeah, you went to a few games growing up with family but you never really understood them. when you and roy started hanging out, he started inviting you to games and you started to pick things up.

now, as you sit in your seat in the stadium, bundled up in your million layers, rebecca on your left and keeley on your right, you could confidently call yourself an expert in the sport of football.

you were standing up, nervously holding onto keeley's hand was roy ran down the field to stop jamie from kicking the ball into the net. he slid down to the ground, using his leg to kick jamie's legs out from under him, sending him to the ground.

the crowd cheered jumped to their feet and cheered when the ball flew in the other direction. keeley pulled you into a hug, jumping up and down.

you cheered, but kept your eyes on the field, pulling away from the hug with a nervous look on your face, "what? what is it?" keeley asked.

"he's not getting up."

the crowd stopped their cheering as roy writhered on the ground, clearly groaning in pain. the doctor rushed onto the field as a few of the players crowded around him, sam by his side.

keeley held onto your hand as rebecca ran a hand across your back, trying to calm you down. you watched the scene in front of you anxiously, waiting for roy to get up.

you only looked away from the field when the crowd of people started cheering for you, "roy kent, roy kent! he's here, he's there, he's every-fucking-where!"

roy laid on the ground for an extra second, listening to their cheers before the doctor and sam helped him off the ground. you let out a sigh of relief when he gently brushed sam off with a pat on the back, and handing the captain band off to isaac.

he stood before the crowd, clapping at them and giving them an appreciative nod before walking off the field, all by himself.

it took a second for you to gather yourself, but once you felt like you were good, you gathered your things, looking over to the other two women, who understood and gave you big smiles and quick nods.

you navigated your way through the building, toward the locker rooms. you peeked through the windows, seeing roy sitting alone in his stall.

you pushed open the door and he briefly looked up at you, but when he saw it was you, he looked down, "you're not allowed back here during a game." he told you.

you ignored him, approaching him slowly, "i told you, you have to get out." he repeated, but again, you didn't listen, "i mean it, stay the fuck away from me."

you set your jacket down and sat down next to him. you reached for his hand and squeezed it. when he didn't pull away, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

he leaned his head on your shoulder, reaching for your other hand and practically folded into you. neither of you said anything. you sat in silence, enjoying each other's company.

you didn't know how long you sat there in silence. it would have been minutes, it could've been hours. when he was really, he pulled his head up and looked at you.

you smiled, "i know." you nodded. he opened his mouth, but you beat him to it, "me too." his shoulders sagged and you saw his lips pull up into a small smile.

taylor's tumblr-versary!

[splatoonpolls]

I can't really take "media literacy is dead" that 100% seriously ever since it became like a "pop psychology" term. It just sounds like everyone one day woke up for forgot the most basic of basic things. “Media literacy is dead” and they don’t add a because or due to. They show an example and sometimes refuses to expand on why it is dead. It shows the consequences but not the cause or the action.

Because like. It is already dead. It has been dead for a long time for a certain group of people. People always had shitty opinions on media. As long as it has existed. The thing was, they didn't just have access to express their opinion you know. Before it was mainly professional critics and academia. Now with social media, everyone can say shit. And that includes people who have shitty takes. It is no different than a nonartist trying to insert themselves in an artist centric situation. Most people will never be an expert unless they have spent hours upon hours learning about something. And that is where i think the problem comes from. Beginnner hobby artists saying "Klein's blue" is nothing special and they can do it. People have always joked about people viewing themselves as Scott Pilgrim or Patrick Bateman, and do not forget about how every year, a myriad of young inexperienced authors go "i don't like reading but I am creating a next Harry Potter" while storming writing forums.

I think the problem isn't inherently "media literacy is dying". But rather it has become increasingly harder for people, especially those new to a certain field to properly differentiate between a "good" and a "bad" analysis. It is the exact same reason youtube has put literal banners saying "hey, this news station is a public broadcasting company beloning to XZY" and "this is a registered medical professional from XYZ". Why you can look up to see if someone has a masters or PhD in something. Humans are gullible creatures and they like to just think the best of things. Why do you think so many beginner artists fall for Kooleen's art "tutorials" (oh yeah, Kooleen is a troll everyone)? Because sometimes, we are just too quick to trust anyone.

The problem isn't that media literacy is just died one day. But rather that media literacy is a zombie apocalypse and many are listening to the zombies instead of the doctors when it comes to opinions about media. And that the antidote (actually looking deeper into things in an academic level) is seen as "boring" or "not needed because i have youtube/tiktok/instagram" or whatever. And if people trust the zombies, they are going to become zombies. Media literacy is still alive, the problem is just amatures, beginners, whatever you may call it acting like professionals and trying to act like they have the same agency as everyone else.

So yeah, before you see like a take by a random person called "childesfangirl" or whatever using a random anime clip in the bakgrund while having text to speech read up their bad take. Remember that they don't have an essay in english, art history, film, and biomed. They are probably a 14 year old who will think about this take in about 4 years and just cringe.

What should worry us is how people are turning away from actual experts in a field. People becoming lazy and rather taking a cheaper option to affirm their thoughts rather than listen to someone who has the credentials to prove it. People would rather watch 4 youtube videos on something before checking in on what a professional has sad. Social media has allowed people to be lazy when seeking stuff. And that is the scary part.

TLDR: people have always had shitty opinions. But in a field of experts and a sea of inexperienced idiots. In a dopamin chasing landscape like social media. People will seek the quicker and faster option. The one that fulfills their biases. One that pits them against them vs us. Which is a problem that has existed even before social media, think the satanic panic where people would read a novel by a random paster on how DnD made your son worship satan than actually see how the game is played. The problem is, SHITTY OPINIONS ARE MUCH MUCH MORE AVAILABLE. And some people do in fact believe that YouTube is a replacement for school (I could make a whole rant about how children's entertainment has been ruined by youtube but that is for another day). Which it isn't please give some love for for teachers and librarians in these trying times okay.

[dreamonseems]

Hi! Could you write some fluff about Erling, everything you want honestly! I looove your works!

Lucky

Erling Haaland X Female Reader

Summary: Erling asks the reader to braid his hair for a match.

Short and sweet, I just love when erling gets his hair braided, and i thought this would be such a cute, fluffy idea 😭

Erling was sitting on the edge of the bed, getting ready for the big match. He had his shirt on, shorts, and socks, but his hair was all over the place. He turned to Y/N, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, and asked her, "Can you braid my hair for me?"

Y/N smiled and nodded. "Of course, baby," she said, grabbing a brush and some elastics. She began combing through his hair, making sure to detangle any knots. Erling closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of her fingers running through his hair.

After a few minutes, Y/N finished the braids, pulling them tight and securing them with elastics. Erling stood up and looked in the mirror, admiring her handiwork. "Perfect," he said, grinning at her. "Thank you."

She stood up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Anything for my favorite football player," she said, laughing. Erling chuckled and put on his shoes, ready to head out to the game with his hair neatly braided thanks to Y/N's expert hands.

---------

After the game, Erling was approached by a reporter who wanted to ask him about the match. As they were talking, the reporter noticed the two braids in Erling's hair and asked about them.

"Erling, congratulations on the win today. We noticed you had a different hairstyle for this game. Can you tell us about it?"

Erling smiles. "Thank you. Yes, my girlfriend Y/N braided my hair for the game today. It's something we've been doing lately, and I like how it keeps my hair out of my face during the game."

"It's definitely a unique look for you. Do you think you'll keep the braids for future games?" The reporter asks.

Erling chuckles and says, "Well, we'll see. It's more about function than fashion for me, but I do think they look pretty cool. So who knows, maybe I'll rock the braids more often."

The reporter nodded and then said, "I hear your girlfriend does a lot for you. Takes good care of you, huh?"

Erling's face lit up, and he couldn't help but gush about Y/N. "Oh yeah, she's amazing. She takes care of me in so many ways. She cooks for me, helps me pack my bags for away games, and is always there to support me no matter what. I'm really lucky to have her."

The reporter nodded again and then asked, "So, do you think having a supportive partner like Y/N has helped your game on the field?"

Erling thought for a moment and then said, "Absolutely. When you have someone in your life who believes in you and supports you, it gives you the confidence to go out there and play your best. And that's what Y/N does for me. She's my biggest cheerleader, and I couldn't do what I do without her."

The reporter nodded again, scribbling down notes. "Sounds like a great girlfriend. You're a lucky man."

He smiled at the reporter, "Yes, I definitely am lucky to have her. And one day, I hope to make her my wife."

The reporter raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really? Are you thinking of proposing?"

Erling nodded confidently. "I am. Y/N is the one for me, and I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else."

The reporter smiled, "Well, I wish you the best of luck. I'm sure she'll say yes."

Erling grinned, feeling a rush of excitement at the thought of proposing to Y/N. "Thank you. I can't wait to make her mine forever."

[wonwoosthetic]

Amour-Haine & Co. | Chapter 18 |

series masterlist

word count – 15k

warnings – mentions of sex, mentions of sa (I tried to keep it brief and not mention it an unnecessary amount of time), cursing, screaming, law enforcement related things

a/n – I have nothing to say other than thank god this finally made its way onto tumblr😭 I’m still not 100% satisfied with it but I feel like if I edit it any more, it’s only gonna get worse😭😭 pls enjoy this, thank you for everything🫶🏼 BTW: this chapter includes A LOT of law enforcement and court terms and scenes, but since I am no expert in that field, please be prepared for inaccuracy! If any one you have more experience in either one of these subjects: please let me know!! If I can make it any more realistic, I’d love to do so!! Also: thank you to the anon who inspired me for the Jeonghan turn🫶🏼🥰 when I first outlined the story, this was definitely not planned but after seeing their request in my inbox a few months ago, I just knew I had to include it, so I hope you enjoy it🤍

fyi – not much lovey y/n x wonwoo in this chapter, but don’t you worry bc there will be more than enough in the next ones ˙ᵕ˙

“I’m proud of you.”

"Mmmm," Binna's enjoyable moan echoed through your ear as she took the first sip of her second cocktail that night - she had downed the first one within the first 10 minutes of sitting. "Long day at work, don't wanna talk about it," she commented on it as soon as she found your questioning, and slightly concerned, gaze on her.

You couldn't help but chuckle as you continued to sip on your first cocktail of the evening, your food still untouched next to you. By now the steam had already evaporated, and the ice in your drink had melted, watering down the burning taste of too much alcohol the trainee bartender had graciously given you. 

Your eyes were fixed on her and the lowering level of liquid in her glass as it went down and down with every sip, coming to a halt just right to make it half-full. "Are you sure, you're okay?" You questioned her carefully.

She hastily nodded, wiping her hands, now covered in salt from her fries, with a white napkin. "Yeah, yeah," she brushed you off before placing both of her palms on the surface of the table, slightly leaning forward with a smirk. "Now tell me, how's playboy-turned-loverboy doing?"

"Good. I think," you slyly answered, reaching out for a fry, which was interrupted by a harsh slap on the back of your hand, making you wince as you snatched it back. "OW!"

"Don't fucking say 'I think' as if you don't see him at work all the time and sleep over at his place every second day," Binna snapped at you. What you hadn't told her was that Wonwoo had also asked you to come over that evening, but you decided to cancel, remembering the date you and your best friend had already agreed on.

With wide eyes, you shrugged, "Yeah- well- I don't know. I think he's doing well." You knew the unknown was making her even more giddy, and only more questions would spill out of her.

"I think he's doing a little very well if he gets to sleep with you, don't you think?" She always had her way with compliments.

The liquid of your drink got stuck in your throat as you covered your mouth, giggling at her sudden comment. "Jesus, Binna," you shook your head as she joined your laughter. "I think he's doing well because this whole Chanyeol situation is finally coming to an end." You reminded the both of you of the hopefully last time you'd ever come face to face with the man of the hour. The day was coming closer, prayers were being said each night, quietly just hoping to make it stop.

Your best friend gave you a nod in understanding. "When are you seeing Jihoon again? Tomorrow, right?" You nodded. "Then we can finally stop talking about this piece of shit. He's been occupying your mind a little too much." Just like most of the time, she was yet again right about that. The following day would be the last consultation you'd have with Wonwoo's lawyer before your court date on Friday - Payday.

"Yeah, well," you sighed in frustration, leaning back in the wooden chair, "Can you blame me?"

"No, no, of course not," she quickly reassured you, patting your hand. "But at least you also got some other things to keep your mind occupied with." Wiggling her eyebrows to underline her question. Even without her antic, you would've known what she was implying.

"You mean Wonwoo?" You chuckled, to which she excitedly nodded, biting down on her lips to hide the grin that was daring to escape. "But even there's Chanyeol involved! Do you know how much we've talked about him?"

"Ugh," Binna faked a gag, "Can we just agree to not say his name out loud anymore? Let's just call him... Grapefruit." That woman and her codenames. Ever since she had started working as a teacher, this became a thing of hers to do with all of the men she shared a bed with. At first, it was only to be able to talk about them in front of the kids, since some of those stories may have included a single father or two of the kids in her class, but she had let it seep into her everyday life. Explaining why you'd now find yourself calling a thirty-something-year-old grown man "bookshelf", just because of the way his haircut looked from the side. Grapefruit would be added to the list.

"Grapefruit?"

"Yeah," she nodded, taking another sip, "I hate Grapefruits. Anyways-," she waved it off to change the subject. "What do you mean you talk about Cha- I mean, Grapefruit?"

"Well- like, about the entire situation. You know, some evenings we spent going through court stuff or looked through what he's been up to." Jihoon had mentioned to 'always know who you're going up against'. And Wonwoo and you took his advice to heart. There were multiple nights spent together in the office, sometimes along with Mingyu, or even at his place, going through the files the court had published to you about Exodus' Entertainment. You had stalked his Social Media presence and analyzed his public outings. The smiles he would fake, the words he would lie with. You knew this man inside out, having spent three years with him did come in handy. Even after all this time, he took up more time inside your brain than you would've liked to.

While continuing your story, you motioned around with your hands on the table. "It even all started with him. Sometimes... I mean, I don't always bring it up with Wonwoo, sometimes it's just in my mind. To myself. But... yeah..." Pressing your pointer to a random spot on the wood.

"Hold up-," Binna raised her hand to stop you, "He started it all? What is 'it'? You and Wonwoo?"

You already knew you'd regret your answer before it had even left your lips, but who else could you be the most honest with, if not your best friend since primary school. "Kinda..." 

"Alright, you're stupid." She simply stated, staring blankly right at you.

"No, wait-" You scolded her, but she just shrugged. 

"What? You're an idiot. Why would you think that? How could that asshole have anything to do with what's going on with you two now?" 

You sighed, shaking your head slightly, knowing you'd have to choose your words wisely "No, no, look. I mean," you sighed with an annoyed undertone, trying to get your eyes off her. "I know he doesn't have any effect on me anymore whatsoever, but you can't deny that because of what happened, Wonwoo and I got closer. The break-in started a whole chain reaction-"

"That's idiotic to think about-" Before she could finish, you cut her off.

"No, it's not. It's what made us talk more to each other. Why we started to actually interact and realise that we would have to work with each other and not against each other like we did before." The two of you knew, your words held some truth.

Binna violently shook her head, her bob moving along, "Maybe for you, but most definitely not for him."

You scrunched your eyebrows at the slightly slurred words from your best friend. "What do you mean?"

"He invited you to that event thing before all that shit went down. For God's sake, Y/N!" She shouted into the room, immediately making you jump up to cover her mouth from across the table. You sent her a wide-eyed glare, hoping to make her understand to shut her mouth. Binna nodded as she grasped your hand to pull it down, continuing her exclaim in a quieter volume. "He bought you a fucking dress! And not a cheap one!"

"I know that! But keep it quiet," you snapped at her, sitting back down to continue nursing your drink which was now close to getting empty. God, you should've just ordered two at once, just like Binna did.

"You're not listening to what I'm saying-"

"You're not listening to what I'm saying. I don't think that nothing would've ever happened, but it did speed things up A LOT."

"I thought we went over this. Stop overthinking all of this. Be happy for yourself for once in your goddamn life! You've been fucked over by so many men in your life that don't even deserve to know about your existence. Your father included by the way," she pointed out, making you nod. "And now you found a man that would burn down the entire world for you, and you're still thinking about that shit-eating sorry excuse of a man from your past that doesn't even know how to do his own laundry?" The reminder made you almost chuckle, but the truth was too painful.

To think back on the fact that you once had your hands down his laundry basked and washing machine, because he didn't know how to make use of it, sent a shiver down your spine. "He did actually not know how to do that."

"That's what I'm saying," she sighed out desperately, throwing her head back with a groan. "All of them were such a waste of your time and patience and kindness. So... just enjoy what you have with Wonwoo now. So what if Grapefruit sped up things for you two? If anything, that's a good thing."

"I... I know what you mean. And... I... UGH-" You groaned under your breath, covering your face with your hands before running your fingers through your hair, an exhausted huff of air leaving your lips. If you could, you would've already punched yourself. Just like Binna did after you had told her what happened in Wonwoo's apartment after your quick trip to the Monbebe - she left a bruise that didn't go away for four days and Wonwoo had quite a few questions about that.

"He's not the reason for anything but misery in your life, alright?" The casual use of the nickname made you chuckle. "Wonwoo would still be knees deep for you, he'd still be this big fucking simp, and you'd also still have a crush on him that you, even now, don't want to admit to."

You interfered after hearing her comment as she slyly continued eating some of the fries in the middle of the table. "Hey! That's not true." You huffed out, mumbling the last part of the sentence.

"Oh, it's not? Have you ever said, you know what, 'I like him'? Or 'I have a crush on him'? " Binna nagged, knowing eventually she'd get something out of you.

You decided to stay silent, desperately hoping she'd just drop the subject but both of you knew better than that. 

"Exactly." She pressed her lips and eyes tightly together, her fingers digging into her temples. "You don't know if you have a crush on the man you've been spending the past three weeks with? Non-stop." Binna opened her eyes again to meet yours. "You don't know if you have a crush on the man that has been sending you flowers and food every single day at work? You wanna tell me you don't have a crush on the only man that has been actually able to make you come for the first time in-" Her continuous ranting made you groan out loud.

"OKAY! I like him, alright?! Fine! You win! I like him." With a last deep breath, you stunned her. "There. I said it. I like him, Binna. I really do. I'm scared, yes, fuck it, I'm terrified even, but whatever is going on right now feels really good and I really don't want to fuck it up."

You had decided to let yourself give into him, slowly but surely. The final decision must've happened way earlier in your brain. After yet another hot and passionate session of yours, late at night, cuddling into his side as he subconsciously was still grazing his fingers over your skin while slowly giving into the sleepiness that had overcome him. 

You couldn't help it. The more you tried to fight it, the more Wonwoo was willing to fight. A fresh set of flowers on your desk every single week, pastries from the bakery Binna and you had recently found and started to love every morning by the front desk at the office, heck even the car keys you hadn't been able to get rid of yet. By now it had basically turned into a game of you trying to leave them in his apartment or office, only for you to find them inside your bag later that day again. It made you chuckle each time. He was a stubborn one, that Jeon Wonwoo. Whenever your own thoughts were starting to catch up with you, trying to remind you that he was indeed too good to be true, and every man would eventually turn out to be the same, the CEO made sure to be right there, keeping your mind clean and ensuring you of his not-always-so-inocennt, yet pure intentions with you. The few sleepless nights the two of you had been spending together were proof of just that.

With wide eyes and a smug smile on her lips, Binna leaned back, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Well done. I'm proud of you."

Sulkingly, knowing she had finally gotten what she wanted, you crossed your arms. "Leave me alone."

The woman in front of you continued to gaze at you, her lips sealed as she took in your sunken-in frame. A sad smile was starting to form on her face. "You don't have to pretend to be all cold and cool about this. He's pretty cute. With all the stuff he does."

You wish you could've stopped the blush spreading on your cheeks, but it shined so proudly, lighting up your entire face as you bit down on your bottom lip.

"I know," you mumbled, taking a fry to fill your mouth with, trying to distract yourself from the situation and hoping your body would stop naturally reacting like that.

A second of silence passed between the two of you before Binna's chuckle interrupted it. She let her forearms rest on top of the table, leaning in to catch your gaze.

"I haven't seen you blush like that in years," she commented softly, reaching to pet the back of your hand. "You deserve this, Y/N. Enjoy it."

Slowly, you raised your head, still almost too shy to lock eyes with her directly. Your gaze quickly fell to your hands touching before chuckling, finding your own thoughts ridiculous, but as embarrassing as it may have seemed to you, you couldn't and didn't want to hold back.

"I really do like him."

Your best friend nodded, "I know," a proud smile decorating her face. Happiness had never looked and felt so good.

-

The plain white walls were starting to dawn on you. A waiting room so sterile, with two paintings being the only splash of colour in the entire corridor, would do that. Even after all the times you had spent sitting there, you were still not used to it and weren't planning on it any time soon. The hope of not having to return all that much ever again had not yet vanished.

A heavy sigh tumbled from your lips as you sulked even deeper into the grey-cushioned seats Jihoon had chosen for his law firm. The past twenty minutes had started to feel closer to an hour with the hollowness of the room. The only sound echoing through your ear was the rushed typing of his assistant around the corner, who hadn't stopped ever since you had arrived. Not even your phone could entertain you enough anymore, time was just moving too slowly.

Wonwoo, with whom you came, had just gotten off the phone with God-knows-who when he directed his attention to you. Amusement made his lips curl up as he put his phone into the inside pouch of his suit jacket before hiding his hands in his pockets.

"He likes to take his time." 

Your exclaim of a breath told him everything he needed to know. He took a quick peek at the still-closed door to the lawyer's office. A door you had been staring at for at least ten minutes.

You took a deep breath in desperation. "Yeah, a little too much time." Your comment made Mingyu, who was sitting opposite of you chuckle. You had to hold back any snarky remark, remembering that he was your last bit of hope and you were supposed to give him all the time he could possibly need. He was a busy man after all and you were most definitely not his only clients. 

Wonwoo's laugh rang through your ear as he got closer to your seated position. "Well, look who's suddenly the impatient one." His comment made you roll your eyes but made the slight smile playing on your lips almost impossible to hide. The past few weeks with him must've done something with you. 

Ever since that late-night event after your not-so-pleasant visit to the Monbebe, the dynamic between the two of you had changed. Drastically. It was less about built-up anger and frustration, not even about hidden tension anymore. Much rather was it now about appreciation, care, and gentleness and... even enjoyment. In all this mess, the two of you had found a way to enjoy each other's presence and forget about the daunting events that were still haunting you.

You two had spent more nights together since then. More than your old self would probably like to admit. But your new self?... She enjoyed it. Not only did those nights end in sex. No, some were just filled with late-night talking - some work-related, others not. He had started asking questions. Quite a few even. About you, and your childhood. Wonwoo had wanted to know what your favourite season was, what your favourite memory of your school time was, and which celebrity you'd bring back from the dead if you could - questions no other ex had ever even entertained to wonder about. Some questions you hadn't even ever asked yourself. And you answered him. You gave him an answer to every single one of his questions. In return, you had found out about his childhood best friends, about him being his grandmother's favourite grandchild, and about what he'd do if he could go back in time. You got to get to know Wonwoo. Not hot-playboy-CEO-bachelor Jeon Wonwoo, but the Jeon Wonwoo, who graduated top of his year at Seoultech University. Wonwoo, whose discovery of stage fright in middle school shattered his dreams of becoming an actor even before his father could drag him into the family business. Wonwoo, who would kill and die for his friends and family and who might look and act like the coldest asshole to walk the streets of the city, but could be deeply caring about the ones most important to him at the same time. You had almost forgotten about the person you had always thought he had been as you got to meet the real side of him. 

The side that called his mum at least once a week whenever she wasn't in town to keep up with the latest gossip she had to tell him. He'd roll his eyes while on the phone with her, sending you looks of apology while you continued to sip on the wine he had poured for you, chuckling at the sight in front of you as he walked around the apartment, nodding along to whatever his mother was ranting about. The side that would never forget your dinner reservations at 8, already thinking about what you'd be wearing and what flowers to get you to match your outfit while listening to yet another uneducated business partner and throwing him out of the room as soon as one wrong comment would fall from their lips. He cursed their existence and the entirety of the corporate world while promising to make his own office and company a place where employees would enjoy coming to work.

He'd sit in his office, checking his wrist every few minutes, counting down the time and catching glimpses at you talking to the other employees, desperately waiting for the work day to end, so he could be at home, doing the dishes he had left in the sink in the morning, still needing to change the bedsheets before you'd arrive with the food you had promised to pick up on the way. How domestic of you two.

There were no obligations, no rules you had to follow. You were just enjoying yourself. Enjoying your time with him. The words he had trusted you with had branded themselves onto your heart and brain, reminding you every single day of what you were getting yourself into. You started to trust him. You were starting to fall. It was crazy. You couldn't help yourself, you couldn't hold back. You didn't want to. Falling was something so inevitably impossible to stop from happening. Whether you're falling over, falling down, or... falling in love.

You had caught yourself looking at him already. Multiple times in the last few weeks. Commenting to yourself, he's facial structure, the tilted line of his jaw, and the bridge of his nose were just aesthetically pleasing. No one would deny, that you were correct in your assumption. But that was not the reason you couldn't help yourself from looking at him. You had ignored the tingle in your stomach and the warmth spreading in your chest. But there was only so much time that you could tell yourself it was nothing until it did become something. And the end of that time arrived sooner than you could've prepared yourself for and hit you like a wall.

You had repeatedly thought about those nights you had spent with him, sitting by the dining table, snacking on the takeout you had decided on for that evening while reading out loud letters from the courthouse, the judge, Jihoon, Jeonghan, and even Chanyeol. Statements from Sehun were rarely ever in the mail you received, he opted for texting you privately, promising to stand with you and support the decisions you would make. But those evenings had led to the current scene unfolding. Another appointment in the Lee Jihoon law firm. The, hopefully, last official time you'd meet here for the haunting reason of Park Chanyeol.

Wonwoo grunted as he threw himself onto the empty seat next to you, "I swear to God, once we're in there, I'm gonna-"

"You're not gonna do anything," you interrupted him, looking to your left to find his side profile as he was still glaring at the closed door. His patience was running thin, you could tell. With a smirk and a scoff, he leaned back and turned to the side, his eyes meeting yours.

"You don't believe me?" He teasingly wondered.

"Oh no, I do believe you," you assured him with a similar smile, "But I also know that you know better than to anger your only friend that can get us out of this."

"Can you maybe not flirt right in front of me?" The younger CEO cringed as he looked towards the door, trying to divert his eyes from the two of you.

Before Wonwoo was able to talk back, a snarky remark already playing on the tip of his tongue, the white door suddenly opened, revealing the slightly messy head of wavy hair.

"Am I interrupting something?" Jihoon joked as he looked into the hallway, his eyes immediately finding you two and your faces that had subconsciously moved in closer to each other.

With a quick move, Wonwoo pushed himself up from the cushion, his hand already awaiting yours to help you up as well. "Yeah, I was just talking about breaking in your door." You ignored his helping hand, opting to stand up yourself, only to feel his gentle grip on your elbows. Was he really helping you? No. Did you still enjoy the soft touch? Yes.

"Hilarious as always." Jihoon nodded, walking back inside, leaving you to let yourself in.

Before walking ahead, you snatched the two thin folders you had brought yourself into your hands and let yourself get led by Wonwoo's hand on your lower back. Something else, you had learned about him was his love for physical touch. Secret little touches had become a standard when standing or sitting next to him. Wonwoo was by no means a man attracted to any form of PDA, he enjoyed it very much privately though. But no one could deny his love for keeping his hand or even just a finger on you. He took pride in doing this as secretly as possible, making no one else notice it. Mentioning physical touch being his love language only got you a roll of his eyes, you recall, and a comment about Yeri, his cousin, nagging him about doing tests like them on the internet, as well as an MBTI test, so he'd 'have it much easier to find a suitable partner'. Later that day, he did admit those tests revealed that his love languages were, in fact, physical touch, as well as, words of affirmation and gift-giving. And his MBTI was, to his last knowledge, INFJ.

Mingyu closed the door as he was the last one to enter, and all four of you in your designated seats in Jihoon's office - him behind his big desk, you right opposite of him, with Wonwoo to your left and Mingyu on your right. The room matched the entire floor perfectly. Pearl-white walls locked you in, and every door matched the colour of the walls. Each piece of furniture was fitted to the cool tones he had decided on. The floor continued to be dark grey, reminding you of a modern doctor's office. Everyone had their own taste, but you were thankful your office looked much different.

You handed him the last piece of content he'd need for the final trial tomorrow. During the past weeks, Jihoon and Jeonghan had consultations with the judge privately, as well as publicly. None of you were supposed to be there as it was only between the lawyers, and he was yet to update you on the progress he had made.

"Okay," the lawyer looked through the printed-out document you had brought along. "This is everything Sehun has texted you? Every single thing. Every word, every picture he sent, every single emoji? Everything."

You nodded along with his questions.

"Everything. I promise. I didn't change anything. I just, copy and pasted it," you swore to him as you spoke the truth.

Jihoon thanked you. "I'll get this to the judge before the trial tomorrow. She won't read it out loud while we're in the courtroom unless it's one hundred per cent necessary so that nothing will happen to Sehun."

"Thanks," you smiled at him. You had kindly asked him to do just that. With everything going on, and Chanyeol already hating enough people, his anger being on a 10/10 most likely, you didn't want to throw Sehun under the bus and call him out for helping you and doing the right thing. What he'll do after this shitshow was done was his issue to deal with and not your place to be involved in.

"So," Wonwoo decided to lead the following conversation. "Where are we right now? How are things looking so far?"

The younger man leaned back in his chair, throwing the pieces of paper back on his desk. He took a deep breath. "Good, I'd say."

"You'd say? That was a yes-or-no kind of question," The CEO stated, his facial expression strict and cold, just like the rest of the world knew him.

"Well, Wonwoo, I can't guarantee you anything. These people are unpredictable. They always have something up their sleeve, like literally constantly, and I'm trying my damn best here-"

"Then do better-"

"Wonwoo-" Mingyu tried to stop the two.

"Wait," you interrupted them before their fight could explode. "What do you mean? What happened last time?" Your eyes were trained on the lawyer as he pushed his chair to turn around, getting a brown file out of his cupboard before turning back, and throwing it to land right in front of you.

Once you got your hands on it and opened the file, you let your eyes rake over each line written in what seemed to be a university document from Seoultech. With your eyebrows scrunched together and your mouth slightly hanging open, you lifted your head to glance at Wonwoo.

"You cheated on your final exams and plagiarised your dissertation?" 

"What?" He quickly got a hold of the piece of paper, reading it for himself, and opened his mouth, ready to raise his voice as he stood up. "That's-"

"Bullshit, I know," Jihoon stopped him calmly. "Don't worry, I called them and got statements from your professors."

Wonwoo looked at his friend in confusion, "But most of them are retired," who just walked over to him to get the file back into his ownership, a smirk proudly presented on his lips.

"I told you, I'm good at my job." Making the CEO scoff and roll his eyes.

You were still in a twilight zone, not able to follow every detail you had read and the conversation happening between the two men.

"But if it was so easy for you to debunk it, why did they write something like that?" Mingyu wondered, gaining back the lawyer's attention.

He sighed before shrugging and settling back into his chair. "I guess they just wanted to try. They claimed Wonwoo to be a master in faking documents, not realising that if I were to find the real ones, they'd be accused of doing the exact same thing. At this point, they have almost nothing else to lose because they're already so close to losing this entire lawsuit."

"Well," Wonwoo jumped in, choosing to continue standing up, "Then what's gonna happen tomorrow? Anything we need to be prepared for?"

Jihoon looked down at his desk as his fingers had started to play with a pen, occupying himself as he talked. 

"Before I brought you guys in, I sent them some final stuff. Some of the statements Sehun got us, and the security camera footage from your office. I think it was Vernon, but he was able to zoom into the face and de-pixel it, which was revealed to be one of Chanyeol's employees who I had mentioned already last week in front of the judge. So, they'll go over that and comment on it tomorrow. They'll probably ask you guys some more questions about the night of the break-in. Like, where you were, what you were doing, how did you find out, and so on. Just be honest about that. Try to stick to the version you guys have told me, that would make my life a lot easier, thank you. They'll also question Park about it, probably also Sehun." He fell quiet for a second before continuing. "Everything else is pretty much done. They reached out to some of the women, but most of them declined to show up in court personally and chose to send in videos and written statements. It would be smart to read them out loud, but I don't know if they will or if they'll protect the identities of those women. My plan would be to win your lawsuit tomorrow and let them handle the sexual assault cases alone without us involved. And I don't know how that will play in for us... I mean- they've seen all of Yoon's tricks, and they're really not impressed by him from what I could tell."

"Good," Wonwoo commented in the middle of it.

"But they also haven't forgotten about your little fight, remember that." He pointed a strict finger at the oldest one in the room.

Another reason, why Jihoon and Jeonghan had been asked to be seen in front of the judge alone was 'for their own safety'. After the last encounter all of you had in court ended in Wonwoo and Chanyeol almost beating each other up, the judge, Miss Kang, had sent out individual emails, asking the lawyers to visit her on their own. The last sitting would be with everyone again though.

"I have the feeling that the jury is definitely on our side, but the judge might ask about the fight and possible anger issues," Jihoon continued to explain.

Wonwoo scoffed as he ran his fingers through his hair. "What do anger issues have to do with any of this?! And if anyone has anger issues, it's that fucking idiot Park, alright?!"

The younger one of the two and you looked at each other in silence, also sharing a quick look with Mingyu, before turning towards the CEO. A tight smile made its way onto your face, but the awkward silence hung heavily in the room. Wonwoo glanced at Jihoon first, before desperately looking at Mingyu and you. With a deep breath, he decided to sit back down.

"I have anger issues only when it comes to him."

-

Getting into Wonwoo's car the day of the last court sitting almost felt like every other time you had done it. The sequence was the same. He'd text you, he was on his way. Once he arrived, he'd ring the number of your apartment and you'd let him in. You'd leave your front door open, so he could come in once he reached your floor while getting your bag ready and possibly doing some finishing touches on your makeup. Days where you had spent the previous night at his place were slightly different. After having breakfast together at his dining table, and brushing your teeth, Wonwoo would get ready in the morning to chauffeur you to your apartment. He'd patiently wait in your living room while you got ready in your bedroom. He had offered to keep some things at his apartment already, yet you declined, assuring yourself of not moving too quickly by still getting ready for the day in your own room. Having a toothbrush and stuff to sleep in at his place was enough for you for the time being.

Your focus was solely on your phone as you texted Mingyu your whereabouts, asking him if he had already made his way over to the courthouse. Nervously, you had also texted Jihoon, keeping him updated with every street you got closer and closer.

The sudden touch of a hand on your knee made you look up. "Stop." Wonwoo had put his hand on you, stopping your leg from violently shaking. "You have no reason to be nervous, we got this."

"That's easier said than done," you scoffed. "They could destroy us. They could've something planned and we wouldn't know."

"Could you check the glove compartment, please?" Wonwoo got your attention, making you raise your head at his sudden question after enjoying the silence in the car.

"Hm?" You hummed.

With a quick glance at you and a nod towards the storage unit in his car, he repeated his question. "The glove compartment. I got a letter from my mum yesterday, and I put it in there. She texted me and said it was for both of us." With a swift one-handed move, you rounded the corner.

"For us?" You wondered confused, reaching forward to open the compartment.

He shrugged. "I don't know."

You got the letter in your hands, immediately noticing the pastel pink envelope, chuckling to yourself. Jeon Chaewon's role as one of the most feminine old-fashioned ladies you had ever met was no joke.

Careful not to destroy the paper too much, you opened the letter, getting the piece of paper out of the envelope when two extra pieces fell into your lap - slightly smaller than the letter itself. You decided to take a look at them first. After turning them around, you gasped. Your hand fell to your mouth before a chuckle erupted from your lungs.

"What?" A quick glance at Wonwoo made Wonwoo's eyebrows shoot up, only to calm down again once he noticed your amusement.

You couldn't help but bite down on your lip as you showed him the plane tickets. "Your mum's sending us to Paris?" Throwing the question into the room as you were still confused, now directing your attention to the letter, reading through the lines she wrote.

"Oh," you exclaimed. "There's a business even in Paris. She wants us to go." Reading the last sentence got another chuckle out of you. "She said, P.S.: If you want to take Mingyu along as well, I can get you another ticket, but think about that carefully."

"Aaah," Wonwoo nodded, stopping at a red light, letting his elbow rest by the window as he glanced to your side. "She told me about this before she left." He reached out to read through the letter himself. "But I didn't know she already booked tickets for us."

"And a hotel," you added.

"A hotel too?" He wondered, looking at you as you leaned over the middle console to point towards the sentence where she had mentioned the hotel you'd be staying in.

Wonwoo sighed, "Jesus..." With his focus still on the handwriting of his mother, he forgot about the illuminating lights ahead of you.

You glanced up as the green light hit your eyes. "It's green," you pointed out, snatching the letter out of his hand, so he'd put his focus back on the road.

Wonwoo noticed you had gone quiet, while your eyes were on the tickets and the letters. "Do you want to go?" He asked.

You looked up at him, putting all the pieces of paper back together into the envelope. "I think now is not really the right time to think about a Paris trip, to be honest."

"But it's a business trip."

"Yeah," you chuckled. "But to Paris." You continued to look at him, waiting for him to meet your eyes. He exchanged glances with you for a short moment, his lips curling up the slightest amount.

"Yes. As a business trip," he repeated, making you chuckle. "So, do you wanna go?" He asked you again, keeping you in his view as you reached another red light for a few seconds.

With a deep breath in, you shrugged your shoulders, keeping the envelope in your grip as your bag was still in the backseat. "Sure, why not. We should do it for your mum if she requested it."

"For my mum?" Wonwoo chuckled, making you nod.

"Yeah," you cleared your throat. "I mean, if she already booked everything, it would be rude not to go. And like you said, it's a business trip for an event, so... that would be good, right?"

He nodded. "Right."

For a second, you stayed silent before speaking up again, noticing how much closer you had gotten to the courthouse.

"Should we ask Mingyu if he'd want to come as well?"

"God no," Wonwoo was quick to answer with a huff. He took a quick look at you, a grin already spreading on his lips. "Somebody's gotta keep the company in check while we're gone, right?"

With a smile, you nodded along with him. "Mm, you're right." Before both of you fell into another round of comfortable silence while the smile never left your lips, biting down to hide it.

You turned your head to glance outside of the window, watching the buildings pass before Wonwoo took the last right turn to enter the parking lot.

-

Exiting the car and walking towards the main entrance of the courthouse, you were suddenly attacked by a group of men and women clinging onto their notebooks.

"Miss Yoon! Do you think, you will win!"

"Mister Jeon, are you confident for the trial today?"

"Is it true that Mister Park was a bad ex-boyfriend?"

"Is this all a publicity stunt to get more attention and build up your company, Mister Jeon?"

"Was the judge bribed by Mister Park and Mister Oh?"

With shock written all over your face, you came to a sudden halt, the grip on your bag strap tightening. Wonwoo, who was right behind you, hot on your heels, was quick to reach around you, pulling you in closer towards his body as soon as he heard the first words being shouted at the two of you. The cold glare of the CEO didn't stop the journalists from coming closer, pestering you with even more questions. The sudden attention overwhelmed you as you stumbled up the stairs towards the main entrance, where Jihoon was already waiting for you, holding the door open, and ushering you to move faster. As soon as your feet crossed the ledge, he closed the doors.

"Get a life!" He shouted at the mass, as they groaned in synch, turning back around and separated into individual groups again.

Still in shock, you turned around, not noticing the hand still on your body, not meaning to let go any time soon. 

"What the hell was that?!" You exclaimed, brushing through your hair the wind had messed up slightly.

Jihoon groaned, walking past you, making the two of you follow him together as he started explaining. "I don't know who called them. Last week only two of them were here, but Jesus..."

"But why are journalists so interested in this? It's not like this is a national scandal-"

"Not national, but within the corporate world, this is quite big. Park's company might be about to break, and everyone wants in on that," Jihoon explained as you were catching your breath again, finding Mingyu's tight smile as he stood by the door of the courtroom, patiently waiting for you.

"Or maybe they're here to watch the Jeon empire collapse." A sudden all-too-familiar voice caught you off guard. Turning around, you were met with the mischievous eyes you've known for oh so long. "How tragic would that be," Jeonghan smirked at you three, his hand deep in his pocket as he casually walked up to you.

"We'll see about that," the lawyer snapped back.

Seeing the cheeky smile that had been haunting you for weeks made your heart race in anger as you bit down on your tongue, knowing every word you'd give off yourself could be turned against you. Without another comment, you turned around and rushed over to Mingyu in quick steps, greeting him with a hug, forgetting about Wonwoo and Jihoon, who decided to join you, leaving your cousin in the middle of the corridor before he disappeared around the corner again.

"Where's he going?" The younger CEO wondered, nudging his head towards the direction Loki had just left in.

Wonwoo shrugged, "Who knows."

"Probably consoling Park and Oh about some last-minute stuff," Jihoon took the word, glancing at you three. "Is everything clear with you guys? Any questions?"

Mingyu and you shook your heads as the oldest answered for all of you.

"No, let's get this shit over with." Speaking from your soul.

-

The four of you were directed towards your designated table on the left side of the room with Jihoon on the far right, closest to the middle of the room, followed by Wonwoo to his left, then you, and Mingyu was seated next to you. The rest of the room was empty, apart from the court reporter who was setting up her station and the security man by each door. As the trial was private, no public interests were allowed in the room. Even with the silence filling it, neither one of you even dared to open your mouth, knowing better than to let anything get to you.

The entrance door opened, the voices of the three people entering immediately bounced off the walls. They may have tried to whisper, but God knows they were terrible at it.

"Good morning," Jeonghan bowed to each security guard with a smile on his face, his followers copying him. As they passed your group, your cousin also sent a grin towards you, Chanyeol opted for a smug nod of his head while Sehun was seen with a genuine tight smile.

Exodus' CEO leaned back in his chair as soon as they all sat down, a loud sigh coming from him, making you close your eyes and take a deep breath in annoyance.

"Aaah," he moaned. "What a beautiful day today is, right guys? How terrible it would be to ruin that for someone." He took a quick look at your table, meeting Wonwoo's glare, but it only made Chanyeol chuckle.

You continued your prayers inside your head to let this pass quickly, followed by praying for his downfall and that he may please rot in a cell and never feel the touch of another human being ever again. He deserved nothing else.

Paranoid, you turned around to make sure your bag was still hanging over the back of your chair. After finding it right where you left it, your train of thought was interrupted.

"The jury will now enter!" A voice echoed through the room, making all of your heads look straight ahead to where the door opened. You could tell, not one of you had thought the trial would start so suddenly. The people who would make up the jury and would eventually be part of the reason for either your victory or downfall today entered the room. None of them even dared to lock eyes with any of you. Everyone kept their heads down until they were seated.

"All rise!" The voice spoke up again, making all of you act responsively as you stood up in synch, the sound of your chairs screeching against the floor slashing through your ear canal.

The door on the very far right side in front of you opened, revealing Miss Kang, the judge that had been assigned to your case. She greeted everyone in the room with a kind smile, making her warm presence light up the room. She was one of the good people within the law enforcement sector of the country, you just knew it. She'd trust you. Right?...

Judge Kang sat down on the big leathered chair, organising the stacks of paper in front of her, before taking a deep breath. 

"This court is now in session, you may be seated," she called out into the room. Each person followed her demand, taking a seat again, nudging their chairs closer towards the table in front of them.

"We've got quite beautiful weather today, so let's not make this complicated, alright? I think we all want to enjoy the few rays of sunshine," she tried to lighten up the aura of the courtroom, clearly noticing the heavy tension daunting on all of you. Quiet chuckles could be heard, following her comment, smiling faces gazing up at her.

She looked down at her papers. "Alright, we call the case 7.4.2-8 in which Oskan & Co. has been charged with theft and stolen copyright by Exodus Entertainment. Is the plaintiff ready?" She directed her eyes to the right table.

"Yes, Your Honour," Jeonghan answered her politely. The pitch of his voice could send a shiver down your spine almost in an instant. Laced with pretentiousness. You had to remind yourself not to react. Not even the smallest muscle on your face was supposed to move.

Unfaced, she then turned towards you. "Is the defence ready?"

Jihoon nodded confidently, "Yes, your honour."

"Good," she smiled again. "We'll first hear the opening statement from the defence, just to freshen up everyone's memory since it's been a while since we have all gathered here, right? Defendant lawyer, Lee Jihoon, please lay out the facts."

-

Breaks were forgotten. The trial was in full motion. One after the other was asked to come forward, sit down and get questioned by their own lawyer, followed by getting torn to shreds by the lawyer of the opposite party. Judge Kang had let Jihoon decide whether he'd want to start questioning one of you first somebody from the plaintiff - he chose to bring out Mingyu. 'Let's start with a defence, not attack', you remembered him saying.

Jeonghan followed by questioning Wonwoo. Picking people apart psychologically was one of his strongest character traits, he was raised by one of Korea's greatest manipulators after all. But his new approach confused you. Unlike the way you had seen him before, he was soft-spoken with the CEO. Nudging his answers out one by one while keeping a low tone. He must've known just how much Wonwoo would usually react to somebody talking to him like he was as stupid as they could come, but he kept it cool. It surprised all of you. He continued nodding politely, excusing himself every now and then, keeping his sharp tongue in the back of his throat, and never declining Jeonghan's accusations directly. Just like you had practised. The words 'No, this didn't happen' never once fell. Wordings like 'Not exactly', 'As far as I know', and 'To my understanding', were the only ones to ever hit your ear. If all calculated correctly, it must've left a good impression on the judge and jury.

Jihoon opted to get Chanyeol out of his seat next. What Jeonghan could do, he could only do better. He had the receipts.

He started out civil and collected. Asking questions about his whereabouts the night of the break-in, followed by general questions about the company, as they were slowly diverted to subject his private life. His hobbies, and how he would spend his weekdays and weekends if work was out of the question. Jeonghan tried his best to object to each question that wasn't concerning the case directly, but you better bet Jihoon had the perfect explanation for each of his statements ready to roll off his tongue. Every time your cousin shot out of his chair, his voice echoing through the room loud and clear, he was asked to sit down just as quickly.

Chanyeol was asked to stay seated as Jeonghan switched places with the other lawyer in the room, opening his mouth to defend his client as best as he could. If only it wasn't for Jihoon doing a much better job in the first place.

You let your eyes glide across the room. Focused on Miss Kang, you watched her take note after note, marking her own thoughts and questions down as the trial proceeded. Further on the right, the jury seemed invested. Some nodded along with each word coming from Jeonghan, while others scrunched up their faces as soon as Chanyeol would even just take a breath before coming up with an answer. It almost made you chuckle. You couldn't see Sehun unless you'd lean back, but you decided against it. It might direct unwanted attention to your action. You were about to glance at the security guard on the left side of the room when the sound of your name hit your ear.

Your head shot towards Jeonghan.

"To my understanding, you were in a committed relationship with one of the defendants." His steps came to a halt right in front of Exodus' CEO. Before he could even open his mouth, Jihoon hastily pushed his chair back.

"Objection, your honour! Privilege! To my understanding, we had decided to leave private relationships out of this trial if not directly connected." Each one of you knew that there was only a hint of truth in his statement since you were all convinced most of this trial was indeed directly connected to the bon you had once shared with the other man.

Judge Kang nodded. "You are correct about that, Mister Lee." She turned her attention to her left, but Jeonghan took the first word.

"Your honour, but doesn't the defendant being a past lover of my client not seem like a direct connection to the case? The fact that Mister Park's work has been stolen by the company partially led by a grieving past significant other must look like less of a coincidence and more like an act of revenge." How dare he use the words 'significant other'.

Miss Kang couldn't help but sigh as she took a quick look at Jihoon, an apologetic expression daunting on her face before she nodded. "Yes, Mister Yoon. You may continue. But try to keep emotional descriptions out of your statements, please," she advised him.

Jihoon lowered his head, taking a deep breath, "Shit." His mumble suddenly got your heart to skip up. You could feel it starting to pump much harder than before. In no possible way was his reaction a good sign. Wonwoo immediately noticed the change in atmosphere, turning towards you, to catch your side profile as you had closed your eyes and held your head down, trying to block out any of the words coming from Jeonghan or Chanyeol.

"The relationship was mostly very peaceful. I mean, just like every other couple, we had our quarrels and misunderstandings, but not much more than that." With a fake sigh, he looked at the jury, trying to paint his eyes with as much pain as possible before he continued. "Towards the end... it did get bad though... you know, I was always told that jealousy was healthy, at least a little bit, but it became quite extreme."

"From Miss Yoon?" Jeonghan nudged him.

"Yes," Chanyeol nodded. "I think me deciding to end things possibly left her in quite a hole-"

Jihoon shot up again. "Objection! Hearsay, your honour."

The judge nodded, "Sustained. Mister Park, please don't interpret any of the defendant's emotions. Just answer Mister Yoon's questions directly." Her reaction made the CEOs smile. She nodded at Jihoon as he sat back down with a quick bow.

Jeonghan took a deep breath. "I would just like to ask the jury to take Mister Park's side of this story into consideration."

"I'm sure they will, Mister Yoon." Miss Kang sent him a tight smile before leaning back in her chair.

Jeonghan dismissed himself as Exodus' CEO was asked to sit down by the table again.

It was now or never.

Only a year ago, you would tell yourself it wasn't worth it to fight back. That Chanyeol was much more powerful than you. Whatever you'd say would be just pushed under the rug. No one would care what you'd have to say. But not now. You had three people right next to you, ready to support whatever you would be stating out there. You had a judge who would patiently listen to you. There was an entire jury that was possibly still undecided. But most importantly, you had yourself and the truth. You had the facts. You knew what was right and what was wrong. Why should the bad guys win just because you didn't even dare to stand up? Too many times, people have let moments like these just pass. Not again. Not now. They couldn't win. You wouldn't let them win. This was for all the women he had hurt. Each woman that decided against facing him in court, but was strong enough to give their statements. You couldn't let them down. They helped you to get so far, now it was your turn.

"Well then," Miss Kang's voice glided through the room. "If there's nothing else to say anymore, I-"

"Excuse me, you honour." Suddenly you could feel each pair of eyes on your form. Each member of the jury had their face turned towards you. Judge Kang's eyebrows raised at the surprised interruption. Sehun, Chanyeol, and Jeonghan unexpectedly looked up, shock written all across their face. Mingyu and Jihoon had lifted their heads to look at you while Wonwoo's hand subconsciously had reached out right, ready to pull you back, unsure of what you were getting yourself into and surprised by your sudden exclaim.

"Yes, Miss Yoon?"

You swallowed the forming gulp in your throat. "I... I still would like to say something. Mister Lee still has to question me."

She nodded. "Of course, would you like to come out?" With her palm, she motioned to the witness stand seat to her left, to which you agreed, pushing your chair back gently before getting the bag off the back. Opening it, the folder you were looking for was already smiling at you. You got it out, opened it to get what you needed and made your way forward. As you passed Jihoon, who had stood up, you came to a halt.

"Ask me everything," you met his eyes. "Every little thing you need to know to win this, okay?"

Your eyes may have fooled you, but you could almost see fear forming in the man's eyes as he took the paper you had given him, nodding at you as he still tried to comprehend what you were asking of him. With big steps and a proud stance, you held your shoulders straight and made your way over to the witness stand seat.

You took a deep breath as soon as you sat down to calm your nerves that, you were sure, would not vanish any time soon.

"Miss Yoon," Jihoon's voice made you straighten your back as you looked up. All eyes were on you. Your heart was threatening to pump out of your chest at this point. You ignored all the other people in the room. You tried to. Keeping your eyes on the lawyer, that's what he had told you. "How would you describe your relationship with Mister Park?"

"Objection!" Jeonghan shot up from his chair. "Asked and answered."

"Not from Miss Yoon," Jihoon turned towards their table as the Judge agreed with him.

"Overruled. The defendants have yet to speak about this matter. You were given the opportunity, now it's their turn." Explaining the definition of fairness. "Mister Lee, please continue."

"Thank you, Your Honour." Jihoon sent in an encouraging smile. "So Miss Yoon, how would you describe your relationship with Mister Park?"

"Pretty normal in the beginning. Quiet. Private."

"In the beginning?"

You clutched the edge piece of one of the papers in front of you. "Yes."

"Could you please go into detail why only in the beginning?"

"Objection!" Jeonghan called out once again. "Leading question-"

"Overruled," Miss Kang interrupted him before he could even continue. "The defendant specifically mentioned 'in the beginning', so Mister Lee has the right to question her further. Please continue, Miss Yoon." Making the other lawyer sit back down with a sigh and you nod.

"Well... ehm...," you were well aware of your pauses possibly only bringing negative attention onto you, yet you couldn't help it as you tried to form the right sentences in your head. "It seemed like a perfectly normal relationship at first, but... I noticed that his behaviour started changing."

"Changing? In what way?"

"Objection! Compound question."

Judge Kang sighed into the microphone. "Overruled. Mister Lee repeated one word, then followed up with his actual question. Please continue."

You took a deep breath, waiting for Jihoon's assuring nod to answer.

"At first, it started out as jealousy. Or so I thought... later on, about a few months into the relationship... it turned into... something more controlling."

"Could you elaborate on that?" He wondered kindly.

"Yes...," you answered, glancing down at the pieces of evidence you were holding in your hands. Copies of which Jihoon had in his own grip. "At first, he asked me to not leave the house without him- I'm sorry, I meant the apartment we shared." Jihoon nodded along. "Whenever I wouldn't obey to that or... other times when I'd get home later than expected from work... he...," you took a pause. Gulped. Took a shaky breath. Not here. "He would get... really angry."

"How would he show his anger?" He was asking you each question softly, carefully. Understanding the sensitivity as soon as his eyes had landed on the file.

Almost bored, Jeonghan raised his hand, "Objection! Relevance."

Jihoon turned towards the judge. "I think, if we hear my client out, we'd see how relevant her answer is in comparison to Mister Park's comments about their past relationship."

Judge Kang nodded. "I agree. Overruled. Miss Yoon, please continue."

Another unstable breath left your lips. "It was- I mean, differently. At first... it was screaming. Then..." You hadn't even bothered putting on nail polish, so you only had your nails left to pick at. "Then... he'd start to... get physical... sometimes... yeah," you whispered at the end.

"Was there any time you felt truly threatened by Mister Park?"

"Yeah...," you admitted. If some jury members had lost interest in the case, at least by now, everyone's attention was back on track. You could hear a hairpin drop. Each breath you took shook the entire room. "There were... occurrences... when I had to go to the hospital. Because... ehm... he..." careful with your words. "He touched me... without my consent."

Biting down on his lip, Jihoon was careful with each word. "Do you have any evidence of this?"

You decided to only nod, as the security kept a close eye on you, noticing you lifting the papers you were clutching onto with your entire being. He went up to you to take them out of your possession, handing them over to the judge as she asked you to continue while going over the doctor's letter. It was the one piece of hospital evidence you had kept from that time. Everything else seemed irrelevant to you as most of the bruises you had showed up with to the hospital could be explained by hitting your knee or arm against furniture. But not this. But there was a second page to it.

"Miss Yoon," Jihoon started again. "You were admitted to the hospital once before, is that correct? Due to a car crash, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes," you spoke out loud.

"Who was driving the car at that time?"

"Mister Park," you answered honestly, knowing that he was reading every piece of evidence off the paper you had handed to him.

Jihoon nodded, now turning to the woman sitting on the highest chair in the room. "Your honour, if you turn to page two of the piece of evidence you were just handed, you can see the doctor's findings, as well as the police report on page three, after the car crash, involving Park Chanyeol and Yoon Y/N. The police stated it was a crash caused by a drunk driver, that being Mister Park. In which he sustained a mild head injury, while Miss Yoon had to be transported to the hospital due to a broken rib and a bruised leg." After a quick look behind him, he turned back to the judge. "If I'm seeing correctly, this document was signed within the walls of this very courthouse. And yet... it has been deleted completely from Mister Park's file."

You decided to stay quiet. You had done your job. You couldn't even look up, knowing disappointed eyes were probably just waiting for you. You had lied to him. Lied to Wonwoo about the scar on your rib. You had mentioned it was due to an injury from falling at the playground as a kid. He brushed it off to be never spoken about it again. And now this.

"So, the all so happy relationship, Mister Park swore to have had with the defendant... doesn't seem to have been all that peaceful after all. That was all, thank you." He bowed before walking back from his spot, joining Wonwoo and Mingyu by the table again.

The all-along so quiet room suddenly shifted as the jury turned to each other to speak at a normal volume, ignoring the room they were still sitting in. Even Jeonghan, who had held back with his objection towards the end, was quick to turn to Chanyeol, who was already raising his voice, standing up to defend himself.

Before it could all escalate too much, Judge Kang got a hold of her hammer, pounding it against the wood to calm the room. "Quiet!" Each person reacted instantly, getting back into their seats, with their eyes on her.

"We will take a ten-minute break. In the meantime, I will go over these documents. The jury is advised to console each other, but not yet come to a conclusion. We will go over everything after the short break, okay? You're dismissed." With one final hit of the hammer, almost everyone stood up. The jury left the room immediately. Chanyeol had pushed himself off the chair aggressively, rushing out as Jeonghan was hot on his heel. Miss Kang passed you quietly while you stood back up, trying to find your breath to face your group of people again.

Before you had even reached them, Jihoon was already in front of you. "What was that? Are you okay?" But you only nodded. "Are you sure?" He asked again. This time, you smiled.

"Yeah..." a faint whisper left your lips as you could suddenly feel your chest lifting again. The tears that had formed vanished all of a sudden, leaving you with a lighter chest and satisfaction rushing through your body.

"Wh-" Mingyu tried to jump into the conversation, but the lawyer stopped him.

"We should maybe continue this outside."

You all nodded along with him, getting ready to leave the room for the break when a voice behind you made you turn around.

"Y/N." Sehun called out for you. He leaned against the desk slightly awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands as he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry." If only he knew how much he had helped you. With two big steps, you stopped right in front of him, not even giving him a second to react as you threw your arms around him, pulling him in. He seemed to be taken aback, but you quickly felt his hand patting your back, making you lean back, leaving him to breathe freely again.

"Thank you," you smiled at him before turning back to the three other men who were patiently waiting for you.

-

The three of you had been standing and sitting around in the hallway of the courthouse for the past three minutes and Wonwoo was yet to say something. Jihoon had exclaimed his concerns for you, Mingyu had asked you around ten times if you were truly okay and after assuring him that you had truly never felt better, he had decided to sit down next to you. The CEO was still standing by the wall, looking straight ahead while not really focusing on anything in particular.

As the lawyer and the second CEO had fallen into a conversation, you chose to leave them alone and join Wonwoo. Standing up, you patted down invisible creases on your blouse, getting closer and closer to him with each step you took. Instead of joining him by standing at his side, you stopped right in front of him.

Looking up, he didn't even dare to meet your eyes. He just continued to stare straight ahead. There was an unreadable expression on his face, making you want to step around him as carefully as possible to not disturb whatever was going on in his head. As cold as the entire building of the old courthouse was, the only chill rushing down your spine was due to his glance.

As soon as you tried to open your mouth, he beat you to it. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" At the same time, he lowered his gaze towards you, meeting your pleading eyes, begging him to talk to you. "About what he did."

With a sigh, you let your head hang as you looked to the ground. With a deep breath, you got the courage to speak to him as you interlocked your glances. "I told you, I wanted to forget everything involving him."

"Yeah, but you can't just forget something like that."

"Well, I tried, okay?!" You suddenly found yourself with a raised voice, surprising both of you, as well as Mingyu and Jihoon, who took a quick look at the two of you but continued their conversation once Wonwoo's cold eyes met theirs. "You really think I want to dwell on such a horrible memory of a man? He was a person I once trusted, and he used that trust and misused me! Of course, I'd want to forget that!" You hissed a breath in and out, lowering your voice again. "But what kind of person would I be if I had just let him portray himself as a victim while fifteen other women made a statement about him sexually harassing them... huh? I was able to live with what happened to me, but he... he hurt SO MANY other women... I- I couldn't just let that pass. If none of them wants to face him, fine. But I have the chance, and don't take it?..." With a sigh, you ended your rant. "I couldn't live with myself after that."

He let the silence linger between you for a short moment as he straightened his back, looking at you again. "How long have you planned on doing this? Why didn't you involve me? Or Jihoon at least? Or for whatever reason maybe even Mingyu?"

"Up until that idiot opened his mouth to talk about me, I wasn't even sure that I was going to do it. But... I had to. And I had to do it alone. Do you know how good that feels now?" A chuckle of relief tumbled from your lips as you couldn't hold back your smile. "They have every piece of evidence they need to... fine him, take away his company, put him behind bars or God knows what."

"Come here," he whispered as he took a step forward and opened his arms. You didn't move though. You continued to stand still, your arms crossed in front of your chest as you glanced up at him.

"I don't want a hug." Your comment told him that you would still be mad at him for not understanding your reasoning. But that didn't stop him. With another step, he had invaded your room, engulfing you in the warmth of his arms you had come to find comfort in during so many nights. Once he noticed you weren't moving, he leaned down just a slight bit closer to your ear.

"I'm proud of you," he spoke quietly, making sure only you would be able to hear those words he had chosen for just you. "But I was worried."

With a sigh, you gave in, wrapping your arms around his slim, yet muscle-packed, torso, getting a relieved sigh from him in return.

Before any of you were able to truly enjoy the short moment of intimacy, Mingyu's loud voice rang through your ears.

"Group hug!" With heavy steps, he rushed over to you two, throwing his big arms over your shoulders, underestimating his weight, making you grunt out loud. You could feel Wonwoo's annoyance radiating off him, to which you couldn't help but chuckle, which was quickly joined by Jihoon doing the exact same.

"You don't even know if we won and yet you're celebrating." He approached you with his hands hiding in his pockets, watching you with bright eyes and a wide grin.

"Who cares if we won," Mingyu commented, almost getting interrupted by his best friend, who opened his mouth but was stopped by the slightly bigger man. "Y/N got to say what she needed to say. Park will get what he deserves. Whether that involves our case or not, I really don't care at this point, to be honest."

With a deep sigh, the older man nodded. "That's very cute and I understand that, and Y/N, you know that I support you, but I still have a job here to finish and if we don't win this case... you can fire me."

"We won't fire you," Wonwoo, now behind you, with his palm once again placed comfortably on your lower back.

"No, no," Jihoon glanced at him. "I am begging you to fire me if we don't win this, do you understand me?" Getting a roll of his eyes from the older CEO, while Mingyu just chuckled, patting the smaller man's shoulder assuringly.

Your exchange of words was interrupted by one of the security men that had been standing inside throughout the entire sitting, who was suddenly standing in the hallway.

"Judge Kang is asking you to come back inside, we'll continue." The four of you nodded in synch, each taking one last deep breath in. One last time. Hopefully.

But before any of you could even take one step forward, a shrill voice called out.

"Hold on! Just a minute!" Jeonghan rushed towards you from around the corner, your eyes quickly finding his. "Y/N, a word, please." Motioning at you to follow him.

Your eyebrows shot up at the sudden demand. In what world did he imagine you'd go out of your way to suddenly follow his lead.

"Whatever you have to say to her, you can say here as well." Wonwoo's deep voice vibrated through your entire body. You noticed the microscopic step he took closer as you felt his chest brush against your arm.

Jeonghan shook his head, clearly irritated by the men surrounding you. "Could I please talk to my cousin in private?" Looking straight at the man behind you, expecting another snark from him, when you spoke up.

"No." You crossed your arms in front of your chest in defence. Your body knew which stance to take in right away.

He had betrayed you. You hadn't heard from him in years before you met him in the courtroom again. And out of all the people there were in the world, he chose to support the man you had sworn off your life. The man with the name you had tried to scratch out of every piece of skin on your body that he had touched. A betrayer, a traitor, and a manipulator. That's who Jeonghan was. Quite fitting to Chanyeol. Two fucked-up halves that would make a deadly whole.

"I'm sorry."

...

...

With quiet stares, each one of you looked straight ahead. No one was fully sure of what words had just hit their ear. The movement of his mouth could've possibly been an illusion. That seemed more likely than an actual apology coming from his lips.

"What?" You were the one to break the silence. Instinctively, Wonwoo's hand travelled to the left, his fingers gently curling around your waist.

The step Jeonghan took forward was welcomed as none of you decided to move backwards, letting him know he could continue.

He sighed. "I... I didn't know... about... you know... that." With a stressed breath in, he continued. "When I took on this case, he told me the exact same thing he had told you and the judge. With our history, it didn't take much convincing for me. I knew you and him were... yeah- anyways- but... I swear, I had no idea."

Still unphased by his apology, he resumed his ramble.

"I know you don't think much of me, but not even I would go this low to support someone like that.. and I know that... that- this apology or whatever probably won't mean anything to you-"

"Good that you know that," Wonwoo commented, but Jeonghan chose to ignore him.

"But I mean it. He just confessed everything to me. This is the first time I'm hearing about all of this... and... I can't- and I won't support that. I don't need you to forgive me, I know that won't happen instantly. But I swear to God, Y/N, you can think whatever you want of me, but please don't ever think I'd ever support a guy like that." He took another step forward. "When the accident happened, I heard that you got hit by a drunk driver. Not that... he was the drunk driver."

Still, no words from you, nor Mingyu or Jihoon.

"Anyway," Jeonghan sighed and got ready to turn around, the open doors still waiting for all of you. "I'm sorry." With those last words, he disappeared again, leaving your party in the cold hallway. In silence.

"Oh, wow..."

You couldn't hold back your scoff as you took a step forward, letting Wonwoo's hand drop to his side.

"He didn't mean any of that." You rolled your eyes.

"Huh?" Mingyu's eyebrows shot up as he glanced at you, his puppy eyes reflecting the light perfectly.

"You can't believe anything coming from that guy's mouth." You explained, still not entertaining the possibility of there being any good intentions behind your cousin's actions.

The younger CEO was still confused. "Then why did he say he was sorry?"

"To manipulate us maybe? Make us feel guilty? Give in?" Jihoon thought out loud, joining you and turning around to face the other two men. "Y/N, I wouldn't believe anything he said. She would know." Everyone nodded in synch.

Wonwoo nudged his head towards the door, where the security man was still waiting for you. "Let's get this over with."

-

Each person involved was back in the room. Exodus Entertainment was on the right table, while you and the guys were sitting on the left one. The jury of the very far right side, sitting along the wall was already gazing at you - excitement and interest radiating off them. Judge Kang was back in her seat, her glasses low on the bridge of her nose as she quietly went through the papers in front of her again, which seemed to have gotten more over the break.

If you thought your heart had been pumping hard earlier, while you were seated on the witness stand, it was safe to say, it was about to explode once you had entered the room again. Right where you had left your fear behind.

"Alright," Miss Kang started, taking off her glasses with a deep breath as she let her fingers rake through her hair. "Before we start, does the plaintiff or the defendant have anything to say? You may speak now."

You exchanged glances with Jihoon, who shook his head, telling you to keep low, but your attention was quickly taken away once Jeonghan left his chair to stand up, buttoning his suit jacket and raising his hand.

"Your Honour."

Miss Kang sighed with a forced smile. "Yes, Mister Yoon?"

"May I come forward?"

"Yes, you may."

Each pair of eyes in the room followed him as you abandoned the confused faces of Sehun and Chanyeol, making his way to the middle of the room and the podium. Either time moved painfully slowly, or he moved in slow motion, but either way, the pace was too slow, and you could feel the scream of frustration boiling up in your throat.

Jeonghan cleared his throat and straightened his back. Here we go.

"Your Honour. After consoling my client, we have come to an agreement that I would like to exclaim now."

"Please do," the judge commented on his statement.

"My client, Exodus Entertainment, would like to withdraw their lawsuit against Oksan & Co."

The room fell quiet. This lasted for a second before the next round of tumult rushed through it.

"Excuse me, Mister Yoon?" Miss Kang raised her voice in order to speak over the hushed sounds coming from the jury on the right side. Your eyes were frantically moving from side to side, trying to catch any reaction so you'd know which one to share.

"With immediate effect, Exodus Entertainment takes back each claim made against the defendant Oksan & Co."

Your head immediately shot to Jihoon who kept his gaze straight on Jeonghan, his mouth slightly agape as he was still trying to grasp the situation.

"What's going on here?" You could hear Mingyu whisper from your left, only to be interrupted by the loud voice of Chanyeol slashing through the uproar.

"Your honour-"

Jeonghan cut him off. "My client, Park Chanyeol, also pledges guilty to the charges made against him-"

The sudden knock of wood-on-wood, thanks to the Judge's hammer, let the room calm down again. Chanyeol chose to keep standing up while Sehun leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk making its way onto his face. The jury immediately quieted down along with your group, who still had to let more words drop than Mingyu just had. Jeonghan stood still on the podest.

"Mister Yoon," with the hammer still in her hand, Miss Kang started talking. "Are you aware of what you are doing right now? This will have an immediate effect."

"Yes, your Honour. I am very sorry for the waste of time and patience."

"Your Honour!" Chanyeol raised his hand hastily. "May I speak to my lawyer for a second?"

"Oh," your cousin lowered his head slightly, his voice loud and clear echoing through the speakers. "With immediate effect, I am also withdrawing from my role as Mister Park's lawyer. Thank you." Without another word, Jeonghan took a step back and turned around. After a quick glance in your direction and a tight smile, he passed your tables, only to take a seat on one of the benches behind you, usually preserved for public interests.

Judge Kang didn't even try to hide the amusement making her lips curl into a grin.

"Wow," she chuckled lowly, "Well," she cleared her throat, intertwining her fingers on top of the wooden surface. "Mister Park, you don't seem to have a lawyer to talk to anymore. Anything else you'd like to say?"

You zoned out whatever sorry excuse of an answer he gave her as you turned around, finding Jeonghan's eyes already boring a hole into your head.

"What are you doing?" You whispered, hoping he'd be able to read your lips. You only got a small smile and a nod in return.

"Mister Park-"

"This is a shitshow! What kind of fucking bullshit is this here?!"

"Mister Park, let m-"

"How the fuck is he even allowed to do that?!"

"Mister-"

"I swear to God, I will fucking sue every-"

"Security!" 

Miss Kang's final string of patience officially broke as she called out for one of the men on the side to step in. They acted quickly as two rushed up to each side of Chanyeol's big form which had made its way to the middle of the courtroom, getting dangerously close to the judge.

"You can't do-"

"I can, and I did," she simply told him, making him shut his mouth immediately before she quickly continued, putting her glasses back on as she read out loud. "Mister Park, I will see you again in five days as you will be facing twelve charges of sexual harassment, four charges of sexual assault, forgery of state-protected documents, as well as now contempt of court." She sent a smile his way. "We will speak again. Get him out of my courtroom." Before he was pushed out of the room through a door on the left wall.

Only then were you able to realise what had just happened. You could feel everyone take in a deep breath as soon as he had left the courtroom.

"What... what just happened?" Jihoon hushed underneath his breath, his hands placed on the top of his table as he glanced around the room.

"Well," the judge smiled into the crowd. "Each day, you experience something new." She paused for a second before continuing. "May the defendant please rise."

Still slightly out of it, you felt Wonwoo's tug by your elbow, pushing you to stand up. You joined the other three, staring straight ahead as Miss Kang spoke to you.

"With immediate effect, you are acquitted as the lawsuit of theft and forgery filed by Exodus Entertainment has been dropped." She glanced up from her notes to smile at you. "You are excused. Congratulations."

What was she congratulating for? You didn't win...

You didn't lose, but yet you didn't win... at least it didn't feel like you did. This was the end. The end of it all. Why didn't it feel like it?

You must've overheard Jihoon thanking the judge as you were suddenly escorted out of the room, your bag not even on your shoulder, but in Wonwoo's grip as you left the room altogether. Each bench you passed, and even walking through the doors, back into the hallway could almost be described as a fever dream. The sudden turn of tables and twist of fate felt too good to be true and too much for your own body to handle. It didn't feel right.

"What the fuck was that?!" Wonwoo immediately exclaimed the second you had left the room. "What just happened?!"

Jihoon raised his hands in defence, just as speechless as everyone else. "I- I wish I could tell you."

"What was that move from Yoon?" Mingyu interjected, only getting shrugs in return. "So did he mean what he said?" Another round of shrugs.

A nudge on your arm brought you back. "Hey, you okay?" It was Jihoon. You nodded.

"What the hell happened?" You could only repeat what everyone else was also thinking. "Wh-" You stopped yourself as you were still pretty much unable to form full sentences.

Each one of you had their eyes on different corners of the hallway. Mingyu was focused on the wall, his hand continuously running through his hair. Wonwoo had his arms crossed in front of his chest as he walked up and down a short distance along the side. And Jihoon had chosen to sit down, his head in his hand as he took deep and clear breaths in. You were leaning against the wall, eyes switching between each person while you still tried to find the grasp on reality again.

"From my understanding now," the lawyer started. "Jeonghan turned his back on them... I guess... he maybe wasn't lying in the first place?"

"That's impossible," you scoffed.

"Why?" Jihoon wondered.

You shrugged. "Because that's not who he is."

"Is that what you think of me," your cousin's familiar voice made you turn to the side, taking a step back instantly to create a bigger distance between you two. He shook his head with a chuckle. "I know we've never been on good terms, but God... I wouldn't wish stuff like that upon my worst enemy. Why would I celebrate it happening to my cousin?"

"I'm not saying you celebrated it," you stated.

"Alright," he took a step to the side. "And I'm not going to support a fucking asshole as stupid as him." He found your eyes. "I meant what I said. I'm sorry." Maybe one day you'll be able to believe that he's not the total asshole you had always thought he was. Maybe. Just maybe.

He turned around, bowing his head to each one of you before making his way down the hall, leaving the hell of a building in the past.

"Jeonghan!" You stopped him by the call his name, making him turn around. You pushed yourself forward, stopping right next to Wonwoo.

"Thank you." It may not have been much, but at that point in time, it was all you could've given him.

A smile and a nod later your cousin vanished out the doors, the group of journalists you had already forgotten about immediately swarmed him, leaving almost no room to breathe.

It wasn't a lot, but it was a start. A slow one, but a start. With the memory of the past still in the back of your hand, you were able to thank him for what he had done, but that was about it for now. Yes, there was no deeper reason as to why he had done what he did, at least that from where you stood, but the past would still haunt you for quite a while. A past you no longer had to share with the devil himself though. He was brought to justice. You did it. Not you alone, you were very well aware of that. You saw what a group of united people could do. You watched justice get served. The right decisions were made.

"Well then," Wonwoo sighed out loud. "What does that mean for us now?" The question was clearly directed at Jihoon who had made his way to stop in front of you.

He shrugged. "There's still definitely a lot of paperwork due. All the claims were dropped, but I'm gonna make sure there's no involvement of any of you in his future charges, especially with Y/N." You thanked him with a nod. "But for now," he took a deep breath as his lips curled. "I'd say we did it."

"Why doesn't it feel as satisfying as it should be?" Mingyu suddenly wondered as he showed up on your left.

"Once you see him on TV being escorted behind bars, you'll feel it," the lawyer assured him, getting a chuckle from each of you in return.

"Alright," the older CEO clapped his hands after handing you back your over-the-shoulder bag. His eyes travelled to Mingyu, glancing at him over your head.

"Drinks?" The younger one threw into the room, getting a groan of satisfaction from Jihoon in return.

"Oh, fuck yeah!" Shocking you with his choice of words.

You chuckled at the reaction that followed from the others, watching the pep in his step with amusement.

A hand on your shoulder made you look up to your right. The usual so cold eyes, suddenly turned warm, were already looking at you.

"Drinks?" His voice in his usual depth, sent a wave of warmth into your cheeks.

You bit down on your lip, trying to hide the smile on your face. A faint thought erupted from the depths of your memory. Something you had almost dared to forget. 

"There's one more thing I'd like to do."

Thank you for reading my loves🫶🏼

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[headfulloflettuce]

The Human Who Fooled All of Prythian

29. To Velaris!

“Because teachers, no matter how kind, no matter how friendly, are sadistic and evil to the core.”

-Heather Brewer, Eight Grade Bites

It was pure luck that she had managed to catch him at the workshop.

“Amelio!” Cosette yelled, lifting up her dress slightly to rush after the fae as he pulled on his fur coat and walked outside, followed by a smaller, white ash haired faerie, “Amelio, wait!”

He had barely showed up the building the past couple weeks, despite all her efforts to get in contact.

“Cosette? Sorry, I am a little bit busy right now, we’ll have to talk later.”

“Wait!”

“Oh, if this is about rent you can just give it to the secretary as always.”

“Take me to Velaris with you!”

“I am sorry?” Amelio stopped in his tracks.

“Solene mentioned that you are currently working out trade routes to Velaris and are traveling there. Take me with you.”

Realizing this was going to be a longer conversation Amelio stepped back inside, dusting off the snow that had managed to cover him already, his assistant, visibly annoyed, following him back in. 

“Cosette, why exactly do you need to go to Velaris?”

“I think I’ve figured out why the ‘spirit houses’ aren’t working.” she said, “We’ve been building them wrong. The runes aren’t the problem, it's the way we’ve been building the house itself. The tool needs to be woven to properly work as a conductor and disperse the energy into the snow and soil around it, not just hold it inside.”

Amelio, “I see…I am glad you have figured it out but what does this have to do with Velaris?”

“Velaris has a history of having skilled weavers.” Cosette explained, “I want to go learn their craft from them.”

I don’t actually know if they have a history per say, but I remember Feyre met a skilled weaver lady in Velaris. Even bought a special tapestry woven by her. Certainly there must be others who are experts in the field of weaving magical tools or items.

“We have weavers in Winter Court, why not ask them?”

“I am going to ask them too.” Cosette shrugged, “Well, not me, Theo will be doing that. I simply want to get as good of an understanding as I can of this to make sure that this next test run doesn’t flop.”

Or at least so that we can say that we truly tried our best.

“Smart.” Amelio muttered under this breath, raising his voice as he addressed Cosette properly, “However, how do you know this? Velaris has been a secret city until recently. How would you, a faerie who didn’t even live in Prythian until recently, know about this tradition of theirs?”

His assistant eyed her curiously.

Oh shit. I didn’t think about that.

“Oh um.” Cosette quickly wracked her brain for a lie, “Due to how new Velaris is everyone has been talking about it! I heard it from a sailor who claims to have gone there.”

Amelio hummed, scanning her face intently, “You’re brave, trusting the words of a sailor who claims to have gone there without asking for proof”

Cosette gave him a hopeful smile. 

Amelio’s assistant snorted at the act.

What’s your problem?

Amelio’s eyes glanced at the man for a split second before returning to Cosette.

“Very well.”

She beamed.

“You may come with me.”

“Thank you so much!”

“Yeah, sure. It’s not a problem.” he sighed, a strange expression on his face.

“Sir, you cannot be serio-”

“We’re set to leave in three days. I expect you to be at the port at bay 4 at 8 am sharp.” Amelio interrupted his assistant.

“Ay ay captain!”

Amelio chuckled, shaking his head lightly, “I am not the captain. My title officially would be the expedition’s leader, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

The assistant shot one last glare at Cosette, before hurrying after his boss out into the snowy street.

No, but serious, what is that boy’s problem?

Cosette smiled.

Eh, didn’t matter. I got what I wanted anyways.

She skipped back upstairs to the workshop.

“What did he say?” Theo immediately rushed over, his eyes gleaming. He had been the one to yell at her in her office that Amelio had arrived.

“He said yes!”

“Yes!” Theo high fived her, a grin spreading across his face, “Wow…I can’t believe you’re going to go to Velaris…”

“Yeah…I can’t believe it either.”

It’s much sooner than I expected.

Cosette smiled.

Maybe, if I am lucky, the inner circle will adore me enough to let me use the trove and leave without any further complications - like in those fan fics on ao3. 

Cosette knew of course the chances of actually meeting one of the members of the inner circle wouldn’t be high, but considering how she managed to land herself in Eris’s welcoming arms maybe she had a chance? Maybe?

She was really hoping so.

“And while I am gone-”

“I am going to speak with fellow workshops and their weavers in the area to try and understand their craft.” Theo repeated the plan.

“Perfect.”

Cosette tentatively glanced at the elder who was fiddling with some wood carving tools, making something that looked like a bear.

“Don’t worry.” Theo smiled, giving her a knowing look, “I’ll take care of him.”

“I know you will.” Cosette nodded, “I trust you.”

Cosette stood awkwardly at the port, waiting to be let on the ship. Amelio had told her to meet him here, so she showed up early just in case. She had packed a small suitcase with clothes, and the herbal tea Aquilo had recommended. 

Ophelia wasn’t going to let me out of the house without it considering how well it has been working.

Ophelia also did not let Cosette leave without insisting she take a couple samples of perfume to the Night Court. The two had to search for smaller vials to fill with perfumes so that Cosette could give them out to potential future collaborators.

‘Good marketing.’ Ophelia had insisted.

Cosette shifted, feeling out of place in her dress, cloak and hat. The outfit was much more suitable for working in a perfumery or walking the streets of a city, not standing in the middle of a port. Tall faeries, with tails, claws or crystal-like wings passed by, wearing appropriate uniforms.

The smell of the ocean calmed her slightly, as cold waves hit the massive port’s foundation, spraying water everywhere, but not reaching the level Cosette stood on. The whole construction was located near the left side of the Court, settled amongst the cliffs. Looking up, Cosette could see glaciers at the very top of the mountains around them. 

Sailors were working on the lower levels of the port to unload cargo from the docked ships. Leaning over the railing, Cosette could see special gear attached to their bodies, preventing the faeries from being swept away by the splashes of strong waves that hit them from time to time, or sprayed across the floor. Quite a few seemed to have large claws on their hands and feet, keeping them on the ground as they worked.

If this is a port in Winter Court, what does a port in Summer Court look like?

The ships themselves stole Cosette’s breath. She had never gone on a tall ship. The only experience on water she had was the miniature ferry their mother insisted they go on when visiting Venice.

By comparison, these ships were large. Like the ones they showed in pirate movies.

Well, guess they had to be large to reach the flattened portions of the cliffs, but still!

“Careful Cosette, lean anymore and you may fall over.”

“Lord Amelio.” she straightened herself out, turning to face the man.

Amelio approached, followed by the same assistant from earlier, “Ready to go?”

“Yes!”

The man chuckled, gesturing for his assistant to take Cosette’s suitcase, and offered Cosette his arm.

She let go of the bag, letting the younger man take it and took Amelio’s arm.

He looks around my age. Maybe.

Cosette was a terrible gauger of faerie ages, relying on Ophelia to tell her how old someone was by human standards.

But, based on how the boy huffed, dragging the suitcase, and his neatly combed hair sticking out in certain places, she assumed he was on the younger end.

Noticing her prolonged gaze Amelio spoke up, “This is Linus, my assistant and student.”

“Hello!” Cosette smiled.

We got off on the wrong foot the last time, but maybe we cou-

“Hello.” Linus grumbled, dragging her suitcase.

Cosette wanted to cry, cringing as the suitcase jumped and smacked the ground as it was dragged along. 

She didn’t want to think about the fate of the poor perfume vials stashed deep inside.

Amelio’s smile stiffened, turning his attention back to Cosette.

“Have you ever been on a ship?”

“Not on a proper one.”

“Well, I hope you aren’t prone to sea sickness.”

“I don’t think I should be.”

“Well if you do become ill we have medicine for that on board.”

I would really rather not hurl.

Cosette didn’t think she’d survive that kind of embarrassment before Amelio.

Changing the subject from throwing up, she asked, “Amelio, is there a reason why they put the port here?”

Do not get me wrong the scenery is gorgeous, but cliffs?

Amelio smiled, “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t mean offense with the question.” Cosette quickly backpedaled.

“I know, I merely want to hear what brought forth the question?”

“It’s just…isn’t it dangerous? With all the cliffs…won’t ships crash?”

Amelio’s eyes sparkled, “Indeed, that is a reasonable concern, one that is thankfully rectified by our expert ship builders, navigators and magic.”

He led the duo over to a docking space, but no ship in sight.

“Our ships are quite sturdy, so a minor collision won’t destroy them.” Amelio noted, “Most freighters especially are reinforced with shielding magic which is more likely to cause damage to the thing being run into, whether it’s an iceberg or stone.”

Cosette nodded, intrigued, meanwhile Linus looked bored, tapping his food.

“As for docking, Winter Court's navigators have mapped out the cliffs and most major underwater pitfalls that could harm us.”

“But still, doesn’t it make trading dangerous?”

“This port is used primarily by Winter Court ships. If guests from other courts arrive via sea they can dock at one of the more open ports. Otherwise, they will require a Winter Court faerie to navigate them through this region's dangers.” Amelio explained, “Its location makes this port a safe stronghold in times of crisis.”

“It was built and maintained by Lesser Fae throughout the centuries. You’re right to call out the problems with the location. The port’s construction cost many lives, especially when proper safety gear and regulations hadn’t been created. However, it’s thanks to the bravery of those faeries, and the ones who work daily to maintain this place, that our court has such a lucrative location.”

You sound proud.

The groups looked out at the lower levels of the port, faeries running back and forth, working.

“Husband.” the familiar cold voice drew the group’s attention instantly. 

Solene approached them, dressed in a warm fishtail dress, covered in similar furs as Amelio, holding a clipboard, accompanied by a tough looking faerie.

“Solene, are we all good to go?”

“Yes we are. The captain here just notified me that the ship is ready to dock and be loaded. ”

“Perfect. Me and Linus just checked with the docking level and they have all the cargo ready.”

The captain nodded, parting from the group, yelling at a few other faeries who quickly grabbed rope.

Cosette’s eyes widened, as she spun around, running back to the railing, staring at the colossal giant slowly docking amongst its now seemingly smaller counterparts.

She hadn’t realized her mouth was open before a breeze blew some salty water into it.

“Seriously…have you never seen a ship before?” Linus rolled his eyes, approaching the bridge that a few sailors lowered. 

Those faeries made sure the structure was secure before permitting them to begin crossing.

Amelio took Solene’s hand, helping her cross the bridge, with one of the other faeries monitoring Cosette to make sure the blonde didn’t go flying off with how much she was looking around.

“What ship did you travel on to get to Prythian?” Amelio asked, helping Cosette hop down onto the main deck, after Solene.

“I don’t know.”

If you know of any ships that travel through space and universes, let me know, Amelio.

“I am not a ship expert, but it was certainly smaller and less grand than this.”

Amelio accepted her answer, “You most likely traveled via a smaller ocean liner.”

Cosette followed the man to the side as they weaved through faeries busy loading the ship.

As the group stood at the ship’s bow, the captain rushed over to Amelio and Solene, plunging them into conversation regarding the ship’s status and loading progress.

“So.” Linus, Amelio’s assistant, spoke up.

“You’re that new perfumer?”

“Oh yes, I am!”

Wow, maybe Ophelia was right about me needing samples. I haven’t even made it to Velaris yet and-

“Right, fragrance water. What’s so hard about making something smell good?”

I take back everything I said.

“Well, considering that the perfumery street smells the way it does, clearly it’s somewhat of a challenge.”

“Right, sure. Of course your product will look good when compared to that which is produced by incompetent buffoons.” Linus laughed, “It’s not a good look comparing yourself to them when you claim to be on a different level. Perhaps if you can outcompete the perfumeries in other courts, then we’ll have something to discuss.”

“I am sorry, what do you even do?” Cosette was astounded by this man’s audacity.

“I am studying the art of business under Amelio.” he narrowed his eyes.

“Ah, so you’re still just a student with no project of your own?”

“Please. No project of my own? Who do you think has been running around making sure stores are still stocked with food?” he leaned in, “Who do you think has been busy maximizing the remaining alliances Winter Court has to ensure this court’s citizens have something to eat.”

Cosette blinked.

He pulled back, satisfied with her silence, “What? Has a spirit caught your tongue?”

“You’ve been making sure trade still happens?”

“Yep, specifically for the Summer and Day Courts.” he wore a proud smile, “So, as a faerie who has been in the business industry way longer than you, I say you should stick to what you’re actually good at.”

“Ha!” Cosette crossed her arms, “Would I be wrong to say that this project of yours is under Amelio’s supervision?”

If it is, how much of it is actually your work?

“Go back to your perfumery.” Linus’s face hardened, not answering her question.

Cosette gaped, “Pardon me?”

“You heard it. Go back.”

“I absolutely will not go back.”

“Right, as you so eloquently begged Amelio to let you come, I am sure it would be awkward to back out now.”

“I did not beg-”

“I must say you’re quite irresponsible for leaving the perfumery without its rightful owner.”

“I didn’t leave it unattended. It will have workers managing it while I am gone.” Cosette took a step toward him, “May I also point out that you left your project without its rightful owner too.”

“Haha, I have an entire team that assists and works with me, and how many employees do you have? Last time I heard it was barely two.”

“What is your problem?!”

“Oh, I have no problem, I am just pointing out the obvious and you’re unhappy with me. You’re the one with the problems, needing to go to Velaris to find out who to weave a house? Basket? What is that thing that Amelio is sponsoring you to even build?”

“Amelio isn’t sponsoring me.”

“Oh wow, so you’re stupid too, great.”

“He isn’t though.”

Does renting out a workspace and offering advice every now and then count as a proper sponsorship? I guess he also permits me to use his land for free…

Wait, no! I am letting him get to me!

Linus smirked, watching Cosette glower at him.

“Well, I see you two are getting along just splendidly.” Amelio’s voice interrupted, his iconic smile beaming at them as the captain left, Solene remaining, watching her husband.

“Yeah…getting acquainted.” Cosette muttered, startling when Linus patted her back in a friendly manner.

“Yup! Just getting acquainted sir. Cosette is just so much fun to talk to.”

“Hm, well I am glad you see things my way Linus.” Amelio turned around, “Come, I want to show Cosette around the ship.”

Cosette tensed as she could feel Linus’s hand ball into a fist behind her back, but it quickly relaxed, with him following after his teacher, still dragging along his suitcase.

All evidence of their conversation was gone from the man’s face as he cheerfully discussed the weather and oceanic routes with Amelio.

Where was this good behavior when you were talking to me?

Cosette tried to not show her displeasure, listening and nodding along as Amelio showed her the room where she would be staying, as well as the various parts of the ship.

“So, the ship relies on wind to travel?”

“Yes, but if there is little to no wind we have some faeries who can manipulate water on board to ensure we keep moving at a reasonable pace. However, I hope we won’t face that problem this time since we have modified the route we are traveling down to avoid any spots with minimal wind.” Amelio clarified, showing them the lower decks of the ship, along with the cargo’s storage space.

“Amelio, I have a question.”

“When do you not?”

“Haha, why are the prices listed on the labels of boxes for products much higher than they are in Winter?”

“Ah, so you noticed. Keen eye Cosette.” Amelio praised, making Cosette blush slightly.

Well shucks, you’ll spoil me if you shower me with compliments.

“The import tax on Velaris is quite high compared to other cities or courts, so I have upped the price to compensate and still earn the same amount of money. ”

“What do you trade with Velaris?” Cosette asked as they began making their way back to the surface of the ship.

“Some manufactured goods, but mostly crops. The restaurants and vendors in Velaris use some of the foods we produce.” he chuckled, “I heard that some faeries have opened up Winter Court restaurants. Me and Solene wish to try them when we’re there.”

“Are you sure you won’t fall ill?” Linus quipped.

“We’re cautiously optimistic.” Amelio said.

Once outside again, Cosette took a deep breath of the fresh, salty air.

It was certainly better out here than deep inside the ship.

“Leaving port!” the captain announced, with a few faeries untying the ropes from the tall ship, removing the walkway and raising the anchor. 

The ship’s sails unfurled, and it began moving, with a small faerie instructing the captain carefully where to steer the ship.

Cosette walked over to the edge, leaning against the wood, and looking out across the water.

Soon they left the port, the ship picking up speed.

“Careful, or you’ll get blown away.” Amelio said.

“I don’t think that can happen.” Cosette wrapped her cloak tighter around herself.

“You never know, maybe a wind spirit will want to snatch you away from us.”

“You’re joking.”

Amelio gave her a look.

Please tell me you’re joking!

Cosette took a step away from the edge of the ship, a bit nervous, earning a laugh from Amelio who pulled out a spyglass.

Linus walked over, joining them as well.

“Cosette, want to take a look?” Amelio offered her the spyglass which she took, looking out across the ocean to see some foggy mountains in the distance.

“That,” Amelio leaned in, pointing to where she was looking, “Is Hybern, and over here”, he adjusted her perspective, “Is where we are headed.”

She nodded, fascinated, “It’s very pretty, albeit hard to see.”

“If you think it’s pretty now, wait until you reach the City of Starlight. It will certainly exceed your expectations.”

Cosette expected Amelio to offer his student to take a look through the spyglass as well but he didn’t, putting it away instead. Linus’s eyes narrowed, as he tried to maintain an unbothered expression.

“What do you even plan on doing in Velaris?” Linus muttered to Cosette.

“As we discussed already, it’s a business trip.” 

“For weaving baskets?” Linus sounded incredulous.

“Yes!”

Was I speaking another language? Why was this so hard to believe?

“Hmm, it would be nice to get to visit some of the iconic landmarks.” Amelio mused, ignoring their squabbling.

“You visited several last time, right teacher?” Linus turned his back to Cosette.

“Yes, me and Solene visited the shrine of the Spirit of the Night Court, as well as the Rainbow of Velaris.”

“I think I want to visit some museums while there.”

Eventually Cosette grew chilly, and bored, having nothing to add to the conversation. So, she escaped to Solene, who was sitting in a sectioned off space next to some heated faerie lights, sipping tea.

“May I join you?”

Solene nodded.

“It’s really cold out there.”

“That’s Winter Court’s wind for you.”

“Indeed!” Cosette shivered, quickly drinking some of the tea that Solene poured for her, “How have you been?”

“Well.”

“How is life in the capital? Is everything going well in business?”

“Everything has been alright.”

“What about rest?”

“I have been resting fine.”

Cosette quieted, taking another sip of her tea.

Solene’s eyes weren’t focused on the woman before her, watching Amelio and Linus instead.

I mean I know you’ve always been cold, but did I do something to upset you?

Cosette wracked her brain trying to think of anything that could have offended the High Fae, coming up blank.

I must just be overthinking things.

Cosette shuddered when Solene finally made eye contact with her. 

Please let me just be overthinking things.

Cosette tried not to drool over the spread of food before her. 

I usually eat hunched over a desk. This is beautiful. Art in fact. 

If Cosete had a phone she would be taking as many photos as she could to post on social media. 

She waited patiently for Amelio to cut into his food first, as it was tradition to eat after the head of the house at the very least sat down at the table. Solene bit in at the same time as her husband and Linus followed after them.

Cosette quickly cut apart the meat and dug in, savoring its taste.

The group was having dinner in one of the rooms in the living quarters on a lower deck. A miniature fireplace was at the end of the cramped room, with some shortbread cookies and seashells placed on its mantle.

Noticing her stare, Amelio smiled, “Cozy, right?”

“Yes, quite. The cookies are for the Spirit of Winter, right?” she asked.

“They are an offering to request his guidance and protection during this journey.

“Strange, after living in Winter Court for a while now I would have thought you’d be aware of such things.” Linus pointed out.

“I am aware that offerings are made to the Spirit of Winter in the form of shortbread cookies, I just would have thought that you would offer something to the Spirit of Summer instead as that spirit’s domain is water.”

“Ah, that’s what the seashells are for.” Amelio said, “We offer to both spirits as not to offend.”

“I see.”

Reasonable.

“What about your home? Do you give offerings to your spirits in a similar way?” Amelio questioned.

“Yes…it’s similar, albeit more specialized.” Cosette answered vaguely, just as the book she had read said. 

Amelio hummed, but didn’t push for a more detailed response, with Linus stabbing at his meat, eyeing Cosette.

“I had an interesting debate with a few of my business partners over dinner recently.” Amelio said. 

Linus immediately looked away from Cosette.

“Someone posed the question: ‘assume you go to a casino in the Winter Court, and the game you play has a 70% chance of victory of 50000 gold coins, and a 30% chance of loss of 30000 gold coins. Do you partake in the game?’”

Absolutely not, you think I have that kind of cash to spare?

“Well, 70% is a pretty good chance of victory. I would take it after assessing the current financial state of my household, income and savings.” Linus responded.

Amelio smiled, nodding, “What about you Cosette?”

“I don’t gamble, so I wouldn’t play.”

“Really? You aren’t a player?”

“No.”

My mother always said my poker face is terrible, that I got it from my father.

“In business you need to take risks.” Linus pipped in, looking at the blonde, “You should take it.”

“No.” Cosette frowned, “I’d rather not.”

“But you could win.”

“Or I could lose.”

“You won’t win if you refuse to take risks. You’ll merely stay in one place without progressing.”

Ha, says the faerie.

“Yes, but if I said I don’t play, then I don’t play. I would rather stick to my principles.”

“You’d rather ‘stick to your principles’, then earn a life changing amount of money?”

Cosette was now feeling annoyed, and therefore, ready to be a bit clever to shut Linus up.

“Well, if I really wanted to profit off of this situation I would do so in a way that would guarantee my victory.”

“But you can’t. You have to choose between not playing and possible victory.” the boy retorted.

“No, instead I’ll report the underground casino to Kallias.” Cosette said, “Gambling was outlawed in Winter Court several years ago and any reports of pop-up casinos receive compensation for assisting the state.”

Linus’s eyes widened, “That wasn’t the ques-”

“But that’s the reality of it no?” Cosette tilted her head.

Linus quieted, thinking about what she just said, while Amelio smiled.

“You really are a clever thing aren’t you?”

Not a thing, but thank you.

Cosette breathed in the cool air of the sea. Behind them she could see the cliffs and snowy shores of the Winter Court, jagged rocks concealed under the waves, ready to end any sailors who dared to come too close without permission. Looking forward, far away in the distance, she could make out other mountains.

“What are you doing out here?” Linus’s voice ruined her serenity.

“I could ask you the same thing.” she smiled, trying to keep the peace.

Why do you have it out for me so badly?!

“I always come out for some fresh air before bed, the lower decks get rather stuffy.”

“Well, at least we agree there.” Cosette muttered.

“Unfortunately.” Linus immediately added on, “I highly doubt that we would agree on anything else.”

“I am sorry, have I done something to offend you?” Cosette spun around to face this man, “You have been getting on my case about literally nothing since we have met!”

“Me? You’re blaming me?” Linus was indignant, “You’re the one walking around all smiles and bubbles about Mother knows what.”

“I do not act like that!”

“Oh you do! I have only known you for two days and already find the act dull.”

“You’ve known me for less than two days!”

“Spirits, you are such a know-it-all.” he growled.

Cosette felt like she was going crazy.

“Amelio is constantly going on about how great you are and I honestly cannot see it.”

She paused.

Oh. Oh! You’re jealous!

Now Cosette was even more stumped.

Was he jealous because Amelio was giving me attention? 

But that’s stupid. Really stupid. He is literally his student. He’s clearly competent in the world of business, why would he feel jealous??

For a moment, no one said anything.

“I am going to be honest.” Linus spoke, his voice bitter but calmer, “I really hate you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“By the Mother you’re infuriating!”

She gave him a look of confusion and helplessness.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don’t understand what you want from me?”

“Eh? How are you the confused one in this situation?”

“Because you’re acting weird!”

“I just told you that I hate you and you barely reacted!”

“Yeah, because I don’t care what you think of me.”

“Ehh??”

“I don’t care if you hate me, I merely want to be able to exist without having to hear your annoying voice getting on me about random, meaningless, and unrelated topics.”

“My voice isn’t annoying…” Linus grumbled.

“And by the way, I am not a know-it-all.” she stated, “In fact the reason I am going to Velaris is because my project didn’t work out how I expected. If I was a stuck up egoist I wouldn’t have been so willing to go seek help elsewhere.”

Cosette turned around, disappearing into the lower decks, the main character moment she had wanted to have ruined by Linus.

“Stupid Linus…ruining my time in the evening air…” Cosette grumbled to herself, walking down the hallway of the living quarters. She wasn’t certain if she did the right thing telling Linus of her failure.

With people like him such a confession can go one of two ways, either his ego would get fed and he becomes more obnoxious than before, or he realizes he was just being insecure and takes a chill pill.

Cosette was really hopeful that he would take the peaceful route.

“Speaking of Cosette, don’t take out your frustrations with me, onto her.”

“I am not.”

Walking through the living space of the ship Cosette paused before the door to Amelio’s and Solene’s room.

“Then will you pit them against each other?”

“I will do whatever is necessary to hone their talents, Solene.”

She listened carefully, tip-toeing closer to the door.

“What if you break them both?”

“Then they weren’t fit for this game.”

A creak of floorboards nearly made her jump. Cosette turned around, seeing no one, but deciding not to risk it she quietly slipped away back to her room.

Considering how easily Eris sniffed me out back in Autumn when I tried to hide after his confrontation with his father, I don’t really feel like testing the sensitivity of Solene’s or Amelio’s nostrils.

Cosette relaxed once she shut the door to her assigned room, exhaling deeply.

Everything will be fine once we get to Velaris.

Note: I am trying out quotes as summaries. I might go back and add some to the past chapters, so be on the lookout for that.

Also,  I swear Linus will not be elder 2.0.

Next: Chapter 30 - Quiet, the Adults Are Talking

Back: Chapter 28 - A Father's Lessons

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[dee-the-red-witch]

hi so. i'm sorry if you feel like this is something you've talked about too much but i'm genuinely having a hard time understanding- what's the issue with femboys? or is it a finnster-specific issue...? idk i can see how it's an issue of like. performing femininity but not really accepting what womanhood really means but what makes it different from drag in that case? or am i going in the wrong direction trying to understand? i have amab as well as afab ppl in my life that identify as femboys and use it as a loosely-nonbinary term but i also know a couple femboys that are. hm. probably eggs leaning on the term that's less "scary" when it comes to confronting gender, is it about that....?

sorry if this is exhausting for you to discuss i'm just confused and trying to understand

Ok, keep in mind, this is a nonny. Which means I need to treat this with the intent that it's bait. Because that's what fucking happens a lot to folks. So I'm picking my words. 1. Show me where I said I have a problem with femboys in general. Because honestly? No problem with the identity. No problem with the concept. Same with drag, same with Crossdressers, same with sissys. They're all just as valid. What I have a problem with is when people specifically use and abuse things like F1nn5ter's (last I checked, still using he/him pronouns, so that's what I'm using here) use of trap content. Content that gets trans women beaten, abused, exiled, ostracized, and killed on a daily basis to make profit, and does it scot free of any societal penalty, partly because of a massive supporting userbase and fame, and partly because he wasn't out about being a trans woman yet. That right there is where my problem is. People can and should explore, play with, perform, exist in femininity however and whenever they want, but the problem is ONE GROUP OF US KEEPS GETTING PUNISHED FOR IT while the others see far less, if ever. So again, no problem with the femboy identity or femboys in general, but oh yeah, big problems with the difference in treatment. 2. I'm also gonna ask this in return- why am *I* your expert on this subject? Because this happens to so many trans women- we're out, we get seen enough to be noticed, and suddenly we're supposed to be the pillars of the community, delivering Julia Serrano level philosophy, flawless looks, opinions, and knowledge? There's lots of other folks to ask this kind of thing about, why go to the terminally weird, 46-year-old, *OUT AND TRANSITIONING FOR LESS THAN THREE YEARS STILL* writer, artist, leatherworker, and tattooist, who's still VERY clearly in the process of dealing with her own self identification and a lot of past and present trauma, and think I'm going to be the one who's going to give you the perfect answer for this? (lbr, again, so many trans women get quizzed like this, then publicly crucified for saying the slightly wrong thing- see that bit about bait again? because oh yeah, this tactic, intentional or otherwise, has been seen a LOT this year.) Because honestly, there isn't a perfect answer. It's yet another messy human subject because all of us are messy to some extent to begin with. It's never going to have perfect sense or logic. I honestly don't think that it should. Perfect answers tend to not encompass being human answers very well at the same time.

And also, I'm not an expert. Nor should I have to be one. Especially when in my usual fields, I get to charge 50-100 bucks an hour for consulting, and here, I'll be lucky if you kick five bucks in my paypal or gfm in exchange for this. That said, nonny, hope you have a good night. Keep in mind this whole #2 section? Is rhetorical. I'm not expecting a dialogue or reply, and I don't really want one, at least not one with a greyface and shades. If you want to talk more? come off anon.

[foggieststars]

wait can i ask what your undergrad and masters were (sweats in about to move back to the uk to do a masters program) and what made them difficult

rambling about uni under the cut!!

i did history undergrad and comparative social policy for my masters! the thing that made my undergrad difficult is just that i went to cambridge for it and the workload is extremely demanding for undergraduates, much moreso than for masters students (i did my masters at oxford and i know for a fact i was doing much less work than undergrads were!!)

so for undergrad what made it difficult: we had a 2000-2500 word essay due every week which professors expected you to read a minimum of 10-15 sources (chapters in books/essays) for, depending on the professor! (this is in addition to hundreds of pages of assigned reading for different classes) and then once you submitted your essay you'd have to go and have a one-to-one hour long discussion with the professor about your essay and defend your argument to someone who was very often a leading expert in their field, and watch and listen and nod as they shredded your argument to pieces... every week... for three years.

side anecdote: once i spent an entire essay absolutely BLASTING this one author for his take on a certain subject. i think i literally called him a misogynist in my essay. and when i sat down to discuss it with my professor she looked me dead in the eyes and said 'so i see you didn't enjoy my husband's book?' i am dying just thinking about it

so yeah undergrad was very tough and it's designed to be that way - oxbridge has an extremely 'sink or swim' attitude to education when it comes to their undergrads and they're very much of the opinion that if you can't cope with the workload, oxbridge isn't for you and you should leave and go somewhere else. i know several people who did! like they literally tell you that they make the kitchens cramped and uncomfortable to use in order to force students to buy dinner from their colleges and have more time for studying. lol

as for my masters, i found it MUCH easier to balance work and life! i didn't find the subject matter that much more challenging than my undergrad and in general i found that there was a much less demanding workload. probably because the course is only a year and is basically oriented around you writing your thesis! so i only had 2 essays to submit the whole year, and then weekly reading for seminars and lectures.

but i also found that i had to do less weekly reading than i was doing in my undergrad, because they expect you to be doing more in your free time to focus on your thesis and the classes are more of a framework for that. this is also HIGHLY dependent on where you go for your masters - oxford is still a pretty heavy workload for a uk masters. lots of my friends who did masters degrees elsewhere had a comparatively very chill time and a lesser courseload than i did, and i didn't even feel overworked! it always felt very manageable and a lot more adult

sorry i rambled a LOT but either way. i think you'll have an amazing time during your masters and please feel free to ask me any questions about masters in the uk etc, i'll try my best to answer them if i can!! <33

[incorrect-skylanders-quotes]

Wolfgang: I’m sorry kid, you want me to what?

High Five: Well, Wolfy- Wait, am I allowed to call you ‘Wolfy’?

Wolfgang: 'Wolfgang' is fine, kid.

High Five: Right, I guess that would be kinda weird what with the whole ‘exile’ thing…

Wolfgang: Look, kid, I’m getting arrested here. You mind getting to the point?

High Five: Oh, right, yes, I guess you would be in kind of a rush considering your circumstances. Uh, look, I just have this music studies 101 paper that’s due like, eugh, tomorrow and, as you can imagine, music’s not really my forte, I’m more into aeronautics and that’s beside the point- Look, your dossier on the cultural impact of rock is revolutionary and, honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re a wanted terrorist, you’d be one of the biggest faces in the field, so I was wondering if I could leverage you for some…. uncredited help?

Wolfgang: ….

High Five: …Please?

Wolfgang: (tearing up) ...You think my work is revolutionary?

High Five: Is that a yes? Cause I can see the Trap Masters coming with the paddy wagon.

Wolfgang: (openly crying) Y-Yeah, sure kid, whatever…

----

Blades: (punches Golden Queen in the face)

Golden Queen: Gah!! Damn it!!

Blades: Answer the question, Goldie!

Golden Queen: You little brat, you’ll pay for this!

Blades: (starts choking Golden Queen out) If you know what is good for your health you will not make me ask again, now answer the question!

Golden Queen: Alright, alright!! …The three branches of government are legislative, executive, and judicial.

Blades: (letting go) Damn it! I knew I got that question wrong…

Golden Queen: (struggling to breathe) Wait a minute, you already took the test?!

Blades: Man, shut up! The fuck are you still doing conscious?! (punches Golden Queen’s lights out)

----

Dr. Krankcase: (mixing an alchemical brew) Hmm, yes, an interesting reaction.

Echo: …Bro, did you just mix oil and water and call it an ‘interesting reaction’?

Dr. Krankcase: You?! How did you get here?! How did you find my lair?!

Echo: I’m smart, and you’re basic.

Dr. Krankcase: I am not bas- What do you want?!

Echo: Well, I got a chemistry paper due tomorrow and Mags told me you’re apparently a great alchemist but, from what I’ve seen, I already know more than you. I’m out of here.

Dr. Krankcase: I’m a great alchemist! I know things! Where are you going?!

Echo: To go talk to- Get off me, man- To go talk to Pop Fizz or Bad Juju or any of the other ten million potion experts in Skylands.

Dr. Krankcase: But I know thi-!! Okay, I guess, just… forget I was here. Don’t tell Eon about us!

[charles-leclerc-official]

Some commentators were saying that while Leclerc might be topping the FP2, Norris was the one who was actually fastest over one race lap. Is this true, you're my resident expert, I need you to tell me

Yeah no, this is the recency bias and British bias taking over. We saw them do the same thing for Carlos after he won too, they treated him like he was going to be the best forever. This is not shade at either Carlos or Lando, but if you look at the rhetoric used after their wins there are a lot of similarities. Especially with the British bias we see them cling to anything they can use to hype Lando. I don't think this kind of thing from the press serves either driver long term. It holds them to a ridiculous standard they are eventually going to fall short of.

But now to answer your question. Let's look at what the data shows.

FP1 - fastest laps Charles - 1:15.969 Lando: 1:16.980 I don't think Lando got a really good run in FP1 but that's the data we have for that session.

Here is the FP1 graph. Ignore Charles on the hard tyres because that was a pace test. What we want to look at is the soft tyres and the overall top speeds. Again Charles was not only fastest on one lap, he was consistently fastest.

Here is their fastest lap. Lando and Charles were matched in sector one, Lando picked up time on that low speed turn, but Charles really built the gap in sector three mostly due to better braking.

FP2 - fastest laps Charles: 1:15.906 Lando: 1:16.980

Here is the FP2 graph

Lando didn't do much on the softs so I don't want to do a fastest lap comparison here because he didn't really have much of a chance to really test that this session. However look at the far right on this graph where they are both on the mediums. Again across multiple laps Charles is consistently faster. There are a few where Lando has the edge, but it's not a majority. Lando being faster than Charles on 3-4 laps over the course of 2 free practice sessions in my opinion does not make him the fastest overall and it certainly does not show his pace is better.

Charles has been a full second faster than Lando, what are they talking about? Now Mclaren might not be going for all out top speed runs yet. But that doesn't matter here because the issue is what commentators and reporters are saying, and it doesn't line up with what we are seeing on track and in the data.

I have no idea why they wouldn't highlight Oscar more as he is currently the fastest Mclaren on the field for these sessions thus far.

Take all of this with a grain of salt because teams are testing things etc. I don't think this is the best of what either Charles or Lando have to offer this weekend. We will probably see both of them better come race day. The issue here is how this data is being reported on.

Sometimes commentators just say things. I really could not tell you why. Obviously Lando is in the spotlight because he's coming off a win, which I am sure is exciting for his fans and British fans especially. But they don't need to artificially hype him up, he's just in free practice and he's doing fine. Is he putting on a jaw dropping performance of speed? No. But it's free practice it doesn't matter.

Hope this helps!

[incorrectmlpstudentsixquotes]

Chrysalis: I’m sorry kid, you want me to what?

Silverstream: Well, your highness- Wait, am I allowed to call you ‘your highness’?

Chrysalis: Chrysalis is fine, kid.

Silverstream: Right, I guess that would be kinda weird what with the whole ‘exile’ thing…

Chrysalis: Look, kid, I’m getting arrested here. You mind getting to the point?

Silverstream: Oh, right, yes, I guess you would be in kind of a rush considering your circumstances. Uh, look, I just have this psychology 101 paper that’s due like, eugh, tomorrow and, as you can imagine, psychology’s not really my forte, I’m more into civil engineering and that’s beside the point- Look, you’re manifesto on cross-cultural psychology is revolutionary and, honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re a wanted terrorist, you’d be one of the biggest faces in the field, so I was wondering if I could leverage you for some…. uncredited help?

Chrysalis: …..

Silverstream: … Please?

Chrysalis: ….. (tearing up) You think my work is revolutionary?

Silverstream: Is that a yes? Cause I can see Flash coming with the paddy wagon.

Chrysalis: (openly crying) Y-Yeah, sure kid, whatever…

—-

Gallus: (punches Sombra in the face)

Sombra: Gah!! Damn it!!

Gallus: Answer the question, smokey!

Sombra: You little brat, you’ll pay for this!

Gallus: (starts choking Sombra out) If you know what is good for your health you will not make me ask again, now answer the question!

Sombra: Alright, alright!! … The three branches of government are legislative, executive, and judicial.

Gallus: (letting go) Damn it! I knew I got that question wrong…

Sombra: (struggling to breathe) Wait a minute, you already took the test?!

Gallus: Man, shut up! The fuck are you still doing conscious?! (punches Sombra’s lights out)

—-

Diomedes: (mixing an alchemical brew) Hmm, yes, an interesting reaction.

Ocellus: …. Bro, did you just mix oil and water and call it an ‘interesting reaction’?

Diomedes: You?! How did you get here?! How did you find our island?!

Ocellus: I’m smart, and you’re basic.

Diomedes: I am not bas- What do you want?!

Ocellus: Well, I got a chemistry paper due tomorrow and Swift told me you’re apparently a great alchemist but, from what I’ve seen, I already know more than you. I’m out of here.

Diomedes: I’m a great alchemist! I know things! Where are you going?!

Ocellus: To go talk to- Get off me, man- To go talk to Zecora or Twilight or any of the other ten million potion experts in Equestria.

Diomedes: But I know thi-!! Okay, I guess, just… forget I was here. Don’t tell Celestia about us!

[elibean]

guide to find the Spicy shiguang fanart

i need y'all to know this is a huge character development moment for me (a couple years back i would be so scandalized to be even talking about this lmao)

anywho. couplea people were talking about how there's not a lot of uhh...raunchier shiguang fanart out there. as a consumer of All The Shiguang Content I Can Get My Grubby Little Hands On, I am here to inform you that uh. yeah it sure is out there. there's not like a TON of it, but that's because the fandom overall is small. it's largely in the Chinese, Japanese, and Korean side of things-- haven't seen a lot of western fans making it actually. It's largely on Twitter, but even then, you're not gonna find anything explicit over there, people tend to link the explicit stuff on their twitter to another website. something like poppiku? I forget what it's called.

Without further ado...

option 1: tag name! on twitter you can search for the tag name specifically and comb through art that way. your options are shiguang (though this is largely limited to just the English-speaking side of things, I feel), 光时 (think this is the Chinese shipname), 程光 (uuuh I think this is the Japanese side? not 100% actually lol), ヒカトキ, and トキヒカ. Those last two are from the Japanese side of things, and fair warning, it seems that in Japanese fandom, the order of the names actually denotes the top/bottom dynamic (so there's Hikatoki and Tokihika; in the Hikatoki, Hikaru is top (Lu Guang) and in TokiHika Toki is top (Cheng Xiaoshi). In western fandom we don't seem to put as much of an emphasis on this, though I'm no expert. It's not a hard-and-fast rule though I feel like, I've definitely seen art under both tags where it doesn't seem so important, and at least one that was tagged with one of those shipnames but was explicit about them switching, iirc. Either way, using ANY of these tags up there you're not going to find any explicit art-- if you DO, it'll be a censored preview, and then through the tweet there'll be a link to another website. A lot of times they have you enter a "password" which is just you typing "yes" in the field (because it wants to know if you're over 18). Though they can change up the password thing-- I had one ask the combined weights/heights (I forget) of LG and CXS lol.

option 2: find a fanartist you like on twitter and just scroll through their "media" page (so it's only showing you pictures they've posted. This does include things besides just fanart, and ofc it can include art from other fandoms, but). I've been doing this a lot lately. Just scrolling through my recents, here's some fanartists I like:

https://twitter.com/KBUCKN_kb/media

https://twitter.com/n0rn0a/media

https://twitter.com/waeyawasan/media

https://twitter.com/icn_e/media

option 3: pixiv! this is the Japanese side of things. again, nothing explicit will be here, but you can find lots of good stuff and lots of smooching. everything will likely be in Japanese though (if you see something you DESPERATLEY need a translation for, feel free to send it my way lol. good practice for me)

EDIT: credit to @canonicallyautistic for this bit of advice: for the Japanese on-screen text, you could use an optical text recognition plugin so you can machine translate doujin quickly (they use Capture2Text for Japanese, but don't know which good ones are out there for Chinese). Thank you!

--

Ok I think that's everything! I'll edit this if I think of anything else. Hooray!

[divineprank]

One thing I really like about Ganondorf’s reveal issssssss 

The hair. Normally I’m not a fan of the Hyrule Warriors mane, I just don’t think it looks good. But here, I think it fits really well, both aesthetically and for storytelling purposes. But besides how much of a thirst trap he is, I think the hair is actually a really important character design choice for storytelling purposes. Look at this glorious bastard and his hair. 

Now, let’s think about Ganondorf’s character for a second. We know that he wants power, he wants to rule Hyrule, and he wants people to look him in the eye as he rips their lives from them. I mean, he’s pretty narcissistic, yeah, but despite that, he understands honor. While his sense of honor doesn’t seem line up with what most people consider to be “honorable”, I think we can still see this in how he still proudly wears Gerudo jewelry and is adorned with more traditional voe clothing. A notable contrast to his usual armor set. This is really interesting because BotW indicates that the Gerudo have completely rejected Ganondorf and don’t want anything to do with that mess. But with the Gan-man, I think there’s still some of that Wind Waker characterization happening, he doesn’t quite want to let go of his old world. How far they’re willing to address that remains to be seen. But this world has moved on without him, and he doesn’t recognize this world anymore. So he’ll destroy it all, and in its ashes create something familiar to him.

What the fuck does this have to do with his hair, though?

Well, let’s take a look at two other characters with long hair. 

Oh, wait--sorry. 

Yes, they look great aesthetically, and it makes sense when you consider both women are women of action and having short hair is better for utility, but it can be therapeutic to cut one’s hair. However, I think Nintendo’s trying to indicate something else. I am by no means an expert in this field, but I understand that there are old Samurai traditions surrounding the cutting of one’s hair. It usually represents retirement, however it’s also been used to indicate the changing of affiliations. And, in modern times, it appears that there are Japanese traditions that celebrate the cutting of long hair, viewing it as a refreshing new beginning and a chance to cleanse themselves of the old, metaphorical weight on their shoulders.  

At this point it’s a pretty over-used trope for characters to cut their hair during a period of great change. But I do think that’s what they’re signaling here with Zelda, Riju, and Ganondorf. Nintendo is using both ladies as a kind of baseline: two long-haired characters have cut their hair, and a usually short-haired character now has long hair. 

It’s been 10,100 years and Ganondorf’s still dancing his same dance and singing his same song. 

He’s stuck on something. His ears are rounded, his hand isn’t marked, so it’s not the Triforce. In my perspective, he seems to be in possession of a tear. Just like Sidon, Tulin, that mysterious dragon-lookin’ Zonai guy, and Zelda. 

Something’s keeping him from moving on, from changing. I think we’ll explore a lot of that in Tears of the Kingdom. 

[alien-slushie]

I let an Incorrect Quote Generator generate some Power of Three Apprentices Quotes. Here's how it went:

===============

Jaypaw: Why is Cinderpaw crying?

Mousepaw: They saw a leaf on the sidewalk and-

Cinderpaw: IT LOOKED SO CRUNCHY!

Jaypaw: Please don’t say what I think you’re gonna say-

Cinderpaw: AND WHEN I STEPPED ON IT THERE WAS NO CRUNCH!

Jaypaw: NO, NOT THAT!

===

Jaypaw: I have a problem.

Lionpaw: If it's harder than 2+2, I can't help.

===

Jaypaw: Could you guys at least try to see this from my perspective?

Hollypaw: *crouches down*

Lionpaw: *kneels down*

Berrypaw: *sits on the floor*

Jaypaw:

Jaypaw: I hate all of you.

===

Jaypaw: I'm having problems with a guy...

Honeypaw: Like his dead body won't fit into your trunk kind of problems, or you like him kind of problems?

===

Mousepaw, about Berrypaw and Hollypaw: My god, would you two just get a room already?

Hollypaw: Excuse me, Mousepaw?

Mousepaw: You both just keep agreeing about horrifying things and relishing everybody else's misery. So seriously, when's the wedding?

Berrypaw: ...

Honeypaw: I ship it!

Poppypaw: CAN YOU NOT?

===

Honeypaw: Are we really going to let Poppypaw keep Jaypaw?

Hollypaw: We kept Berrypaw.

===

Hazelpaw: *falls down the stairs*

Hollypaw: Are you okay?

Jaypaw: Stop falling down the stairs!

Lionpaw: How’d the ground taste?

===

Honeypaw: Two brooooos!

Berrypaw: Chillin' in a hot tub!

Honeypaw: Five feet apart 'cause we're not gay!

Berrypaw:

Honeypaw:

Berrypaw: *tearing up*

Honeypaw: Babe, c'mon...

Berrypaw: AND HERE YOU REALLY HAD ME THINKING WE HAD SOMETHING.

Honeypaw: Babe...

===

Honeypaw: That’s why we needed to get an expert.

Jaypaw: Oh, really? Who did you get?

Honeypaw: *stares*

Jaypaw: Oh! Right, that’s me… Yes.

===

Berrypaw: Look at the buns on that guy!

Lionpaw: *lying on the floor, covered in hamburger buns*

Cinderpaw: This is the comedy police! The joke's too funny!

Berrypaw: I'm not going back to jail!

===

*Hollypaw, Lionpaw, and Jaypaw are playing poker. Jaypaw is winning by a long shot.*

Hollypaw: Aw, come on.

Lionpaw: It’s not fair! They don’t even know what we’re playing!

Jaypaw: Go Fish?

===

Jaypaw: Lionpaw...

Lionpaw: Oh no, 'Lionpaw' in B flat.

Lionpaw: You're disappointed.

===

Cinderpaw, in Lionpaw’s window: I thought I’d find you here!

Jaypaw, climbing past Cinderpaw: WE COULD HAVE USED THE DOOR-

===

Hollypaw: It's locked. You got a lock pick?

Mousepaw: Yeah-

Jaypaw: *kicks in the door*

===

Jaypaw: I think I need a hug...

Cinderpaw: Good thing I'm hug shaped!

*45 minutes later*

Jaypaw: You... you can let go now.

Cinderpaw: No, I absolutely cannot.

===

Jaypaw: I'm at a loss for words!

Berrypaw: Despite being ‘at a loss for words’, Jaypaw yelled at me for the next 45 minutes.

===

*The gang when they drop food on the floor*

Hollypaw: Aw man. *Throws it away*

Honeypaw: Five second rule!

Berrypaw: Foolish germs, thinking they can stop me!? *Eats it off the floor*

Mousepaw: *Sobs on the floor*

===

Cinderpaw: Bet you can’t eat 15 crayons!

Honeypaw: Bet you I can!

Poppypaw: *sips coffee, checks to make sure Jaypaw is still on speed dial, and goes back to reading the paper*

===

Hazelpaw: Am I a boy? Am I a girl? It doesn't matter. I'm going to burn your house down.

===

Hollypaw: Why does my arm shake and turn bright red when I’m eating dirt?

Jaypaw:

Jaypaw: Why are you eating dirt?

Hollypaw: Did I ask you if I should eat dirt? No, so answer my question.

===

Berrypaw: Three of the four elements are represented as types of hockey. Air hockey, ice hockey, and field hockey. Fire hockey needs to be a thing.

Hazelpaw: Fire hockey absolutely does NOT need to be a thing.

Honeypaw: Do you care NOTHING for the balance of the four elements?!

===

Jaypaw: Given the circumstances, I will let you hug me for four to five seconds.

Poppypaw: Forty five seconds?!?

Jaypaw: No! I said four TO five seconds.

Poppypaw, hugging Jaypaw: Too late.

===

Lionpaw: Hold on, I can explain!

Honeypaw: Really? Can you now?

Lionpaw: I can if you give me a minute to think of a convincing lie.

===

Mousepaw: Like they say, "If you can't beat them, curl up in a ball and protect your organs."

===

Hazelpaw: Do you guys ever have a civilized conversation that doesn't require insulting each other every time you get a chance?

Lionpaw: No.

Berrypaw: No.

Hazelpaw: Didn't think so.