#(we’re at 24 hours without break at this point) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wen-kexing-apologist · 1 year ago

Text

LET’S TALK ABOUT SEX!!!!!!

HELLO AND WELCOME TO

ANALYSIS ESSAY NUMBER 69!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes. Yes I have, in fact, written 69 ridiculously long pieces (and some surprisingly short) pieces on my silly little gay shows. This is, obviously, not the first time that I have done a scene breakdown, and it’s certainly not the first time I’ve done a sex scene breakdown, BUT I have been itching to write about this one since I watched I Feel You Linger in the Air Episode 8. There was no way in hell I was going to let essay #69 go unrelated to sex, so I had to wait until another essay (thank you Hypocrisy) could be written and posted.

In a feat of truly perfect timing, @waitmyturtles sent me an ask about what other physicality (besides hands) I look at to try to understand a character’s psyche, I gave her my wayyyy to long explanation of what it is I look for, and not even 24 hours later the most perfect example of expertly executed physicality graced my screen with the opening scene of I Feel You Linger in the Air. So, I am dedicating this post to Turtles...

and I'm writing a sex scene break down!

We open with Yai and Jom rushing in to the scene, Jom being pulled by Yai. Which, I mean any forearm, wrist, or hand holding that Yai and Jom are doing is not technically visible to us (it’s happening just off screen) but we know Jom is being pulled at first because of how Bright and Nonkul are moving, Yai enters the room first and Jom is practically tripping to catch up with his motion, but beyond that we know Jom’s being dragged by Yai because of the way Bright and Nonkul’s upper arms are pressed together. We’re off to a great start in Bright and Nonkul’s performance already because of how glued Yai and Jom seem to be. With just the way they are holding their bodies the tension is already palpable, but the magnetism between the two of them is heightened by the fact that the actors are ensuring Yai and Jom don’t break eye contact. Because of this, even though as the motion continues, and they turn to face each other having now placed physical distance between them, you can tell they are still drawn in. You aren’t losing any ounce of desire when they are parted.

The way Bright stands, the way Bright has set his face, angled his head, etc. makes Yai seem like he is looking at Jom as if hypnotized, transfixed, enamored. Both of them are just staring at each other, and Jom’s hand slowly slides up Yai’s arm and Yai takes that movement as a sign to come in close, and while Yai was initially shy about (presumably) getting aroused during the olive oil scene in Episode 7, he is horny and ready to fuck now at the beginning of Episode 8 and so he just fucking goes for it.

You know when Yai is about to lean in for the kiss, because in a fraction of a second he breaks eye contact with Jom to look down towards his lips. But before Yai performs any additional progression towards kissing, Bright plays out the brief moment where Yai is gathering his courage. How do I know Yai is taking a second to psyche himself up? Because Yai pauses, he closes his mouth a little tighter, looks down at Jom’s lips, and he swallows hard. That’s him psyching himself up to just dive right in and go for the kiss. And he doesn’t have to hesitate long, and he doesn’t have to be chaste with this kiss cause Jom and Yai got over the initial tension point when they made out at the end of Episode 7. Without saying a word, we know Jom is In To This Kiss, because he immediately fixes his lips around Yai’s upper lip. Jom meanwhile is standing almost ramrod stiff and straight like he usually does

@shortpplfedup says when she’s looking at kisses, she’s looking for sticky kisses. My own interpretation of sticky kisses includes moments like in The Eclipse where there is a little line of spit that keeps the kiss lingering for just a second more. In this case, what I would personally consider a sticky kiss is a result of Yai pulling at Jom’s lower lip when Jom pulls his head back slightly for some air and to change the angle of his head. There is no space between them, in fact Yai so thoroughly wants to fuck Jom, that Jom is almost tipping over with how much Yai is trying to press them together. Yai’s hand is roaming, moving up and down Jom’s arm, while Jom is standing there, his hands are still, one wrapped around Yai’s arm, one resting at his neck. Jom is meeting all of Yai’s energy and excitement by standing firm. Because if he did not, it’s possible he’d topple over.

And as characters this makes sense. Jom has been in at least one relationship before, there is no way he hasn’t been sexually active in the past. Jom is the more experienced one in this relationship, and so he is going to have to be the support Yai leans on for his first sexual encounter, even if we don’t see that far in to their evening.

gif by @alejunsu

And this works for Yai and Jom’s characterization as well. Jom was the one with more hesitations around beginning a relationship with Yai. Jom is much more tuned in to the potential consequences of being queer in this time period. And it’s not that Yai isn’t, it’s just that he’s much more caught up in his own little world, and his feelings for Jom that he isn’t as rigid about how he engages in intimacy.

This kiss is tight, and solid, and you can hear the breathiness between them when they start the kiss. It’s believably impactful to them, as in the combination of eye contact, touch, posture, and even breath here makes me believe they are attracted to each other, and really fucking horny. And I swear I can almost feel Yai and Jom’s heart rates increase with how well Bright and Nonkul are selling this performance.

Yai is ready to fuck like, yesterday, but Jom doesn’t want him completely rushing in to the sex, and I can tell this because Jom pulls back, breaks off the kiss, and starts talking to Yai about the rain, about the party, these little reminders that they have places to be, and people to see, and they can’t afford to get caught. Bright’s face here, in the moments right after Jom pulls away are so intense. The way he furrows his brow ever so slightly. The way his eyes are see in to Jom, the parting of his lips. Bright is, to me, selling extremely well the fact that despite the fact they have once again separated, Yai is still in that kiss. And there is this beautiful little moment from Nonkul too where he breathes out like his mouth is on fire or he’s trying to catch his breath. Nonkul has Jom pat Yai’s arm once, because he’s trying to lighten the mood a little bit, to put more emotional space between them. Jom is the one stopping the kiss, Nonkul is the one that has to sell the idea that Jom is both slowing down the encounter, and also still worrying about being caught.

And you know where Yai’s response is going to go “Forget it, Jom. Now there’s only two of us in the house“ because of the intensity by which Yai looks at Jom. He’s transfixed, and during this conversation with Jom, Yai’s eyes constantly slip downwards towards Jom’s lips, like…practically every second. Yai goes in to continue that kiss, with an intensity that I do not think he’s ready for when it comes to actually having sex for the first time. In part because this kid does not know what he is doing, and Jom does. And Jom hasn’t had sex for quite some time because he was in a monogamous relationship with a partner who was overseas. So he puts his hand up to Yai’s face, and presses in gently, making a little hmm sound as he does it.

gif by @charlidos

Again, Nonkul keeps Jom stiff, his fingers are all straight, there is not even a whisper of a relaxed curve to them. Which tracks for Jom, because everything we have ever seen in the way Jom exists, in the way Jom moves, is very rigid. And it stops Yai immediately. Jom is looking straight at Yai, and Yai is looking straight at Jom’s lips. But this entire action feels familiar and comfortable because they have developed a trust in one another, and because Yai cares enough about Jom to stop and listen at the slightest indication. Yai pulls back and that’s where Nonkul helps assert that Jom is in fact on the same page, is interested and enthusiastic about having sex with Yai, and he’s just trying to shift the energy and speed of their encounter, because the second Yai stops, and Jom is about to offer up a suggestion, Nonkul turns Jom’s gaze directly to Yai’s lips and he lets them linger there for far too long, his fingers too continue to rest gently on Yai’s lips long after they are needed.

Jom doesn’t look Yai in the eyes again until he says “You’re soaking wet, Khun Yai. Why don’t you let me undress you, so you don’t catch cold?” Jom leans in closer when he says this, he whispers in a way that is intended to seduce Yai. And we see some more physical changes in the way Nonkul is carrying Jom. Jom’s eyes are alight and happy, there is this soft and extremely fond smile turning up the edges of his lips. And we see him relaxing slightly in to this moment because his fingers finally relax and curl up in their resting place on Yai’s shoulder.

Nonkul has Jom slightly shifting his head so Jom is looking up at Yai more through the top of his eyelashes to be more alluring. He has this soft, fond smile on his face. And it is in the motions and movements like this one where I see what Nonkul was saying about this being the most femme he has ever had to perform (even though, I think we can all agree Jom isn’t really femme). Bright has Yai pick up that small smile too, and he shows that Yai is indeed very interested in Jom helping remove his clothes, because Bright ensures that Yai cannot stop looking at Jom’s lips.

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

You should watch this clip

And just like that Jom has changed the pace of the evening. With a little whisper, and with some very slow, intentional movements in the way he takes off Yai’s tux jacket. And because Yai and Jom have had so much physical space between them for the past thirty seconds, it is time to re-establish Yai and Jom’s needs for physical closeness. Bright and Nonkul establish a sense of familiarity and comfortability in how Yai and Jom interact with each other’s bodies. Nonkul does so in the way he has Jom pull Yai close to him to take off his bowtie. It is almost as if they are hugging one another, and in part they are, or at least they are providing each other a little space to rest.

And we know their arousal, their desire to fuck isn’t stalled or stunted by any interruption. Jom pumps the brakes a bit, but their desire, their attraction, is palpable. And that vibe is assisted by Bright having Yai lean in deeper, by having Yai turn his head and move slowly toward Jom’s neck as if drawn by string or magnet while Jom is fiddling with his bowtie. And within the span of a few seconds, Yai goes from drinking in Jom’s scent to pressing a soft kiss or two to his neck. And Jom’s enjoyment of that action is shown in the way Nonkul has Jom close his eyes briefly in pleasure, and his head jerks a bit to the side as if allowing Yai better access to his neck while he’s fiddling with the clasp of Yai’s bowtie.

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

The seduction continues as Nonkul and Bright ensure their characters do not break eye contact one the bowtie comes off. I don’t even really know how they are doing it, but there is such a clear internal monologue of impure thoughts cycling through both their heads as Jom starts unbuttoning the collar of Yai’s shirt, while Jom’s still staring, eyes shining brightly, directly at Yai. And Bright plays Yai’s impatience very well, because he lets Yai still wait calmly, while also showing Yai cannot bare to be this far apart (like…two inches) from Jom, so he rests a hand on Jom’s neck creating a moment of skin to skin contact, but he has to take Jom in so he only lets his hand stay for a second, before he’s moving it in lines around Jom’s body.

Here again, is why I pay so much attention to their hands. Because Yai has been the far more relaxed character, and so when he puts his hand on Jom’s neck, his fingers curve, when he traces lines down Jom’s torso, his hand is curled almost into a fist. And there is just this beautiful moment of observation to me, where Jom begins to remove Yai’s pants, and is focused on the task, and Yai is just watching Jom, watching him focus. It is only when the pants have been unbuttoned that Yai joins Jom in looking downwards.

These characters cannot help but be drawn to each other, the tension between them is building and builidng and Bright and Nonkul show that by having Yai and Jom get, with Jom’s eyes closed, so close to one another they could have stolen a kiss. So close in fact that their torsos are touching, they are pressed up against each other while Jom works pulling Yai’s pants down. And even if they don’t bring their faces together, they don’t steal those kisses, they don’t break the tension, they are certainly breathing each other’s air.

“Let me do the same for you,” Yai says and God these two are so good at making their need for each other palpable. As Yai begins to unbutton Jom’s shirt both Yai and Jom’s eyes are moving rapidly, up, down, up, down, lower, lowerrr, back together, glued to the other’s face.

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Jom gives the shyest smile at having Yai care for him, concerned about Jom catching a fever, and being oh so careful with removing his shirt. And here we see Nonkul allow Jom to relinquish some control and let go of some tension in the evening, because Jom drops his hand from Yai’s chest and let’s Yai unbutton and pull off his shirt. A moment for Yai to stand on his own, rather than to have support from Jom like he has had during their kiss and during their foreplay as it were. Yai moves for Jom’s pants, removes them, and they are soaking each other in, reveling in the feeling of one another. But we can’t have Jom wait too long for physical contact, because we want these characters to touch each other, because these characters want to touch each other. So we get a beautiful moment of Jom’s hands coming to wrap around Yai’s wrist, once again relaxed, and we see the band Yai tied around Jom’s wrist in Episode 2, a tangible, visible, item that reminds us all of their connection.

I think we joke a lot about “exploring each other’s bodies” as a line. But that is objectively what they are doing here, in this gorgeous gorgeous moment of hands, of fingers sliding all over each other. They are gentle, light, and I can easily get the sense through the screen that their skin is on fire wherever they’re bodies have met. And Bright adds a piece of characterization to Yai, by having Yai hold Jom’s hand the same way that he did when he was drunkenly reciting poetry with the biggest heart eyes the world has ever seen. And he is doing the thing that, in my opinion, makes or breaks the believability of attraction, care, or romance between characters, which is that Bright has Yai move his thumb, drawing these tight little lines on the top of Jom’s hand while they are holding hands. It is truly not much of an understatement at all to say that if two characters are holding hands, I will be looking to see what their hands are doing. Are they staying stationary, or are there these little absentminded movements that sell the idea that these characters are thinking about each other, and enjoying the feeling of one another, rather than just performing the action of holding hands.

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

In case we ever wanted to underestimate the importance of microexpressions and micromovements, we can’t, those are the things that really make or break a performance. (And for those who may have difficulty reading facial expressions, I get you, trust me, I’ve said it before but it can be really really hard for me to read microexpressions in actors, which is why I will often rewatch scenes, or watch other shows the actors or in, or like I did for this write up I slowed that shit down to half speed so I could watch for every movement, and rewound in 5 second intervals like 20 times to make sure I wasn’t missing anything.)

But they look like they are studying, committing to memory, Yai especially. Because while Nonkul has Jom spend most of this moment staring at one spot on Yai’s chest, Bright has Yai’s eyes follow the movement of his hands.Yai leans in and Nonkul has Jom swallow hard, and lean in slightly for a kiss. Bright has Yai keep moving, his lips locking on Jom’s shoulder, and moving up his neck, because the tension has almost reached its breaking point, and they both know what will happen the second their lips meet. So they delay, they let the tension build. They pull each other close, they hold each other tightly, you can see it in the way they move, the way their muscles tense. And as they face each other, with their desire finally starting to boil over, Yai works his way back to Jom’s lips slowly, he’s caught on to the pace Jom set. There is a light, soft, and quick kiss to Jom’s cheek, and then a second attempt by Yai to kiss Jom’s cheek or nose, that Nonkul interrupts by having Jom now be the impatient one, turning his head so Yai’s kiss slides to meet Jom’s upper lip.

And then the tension finally breaks, the desire overwhelms them, and they are forceful with their kisses, and pulling each other close. Nonkul is showing how in to this Jom is in the way he lets Jom melt in to this kiss. How he has Jom pull himself so fully in to Yai’s arms, so they are chest to chest without any room between them.

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

And Jom is kind of a tense and awkward person in general, so it makes so much sense to me, as a character that Jom’s fingers would at this point stay stiff and straight, because we are still progressing in to a part of the evening Yai may need more support in. Jom is certainly far more relaxed as a person when he’s with Yai, but I don’t think he would be fully able to relax in to the sex. Hell, he can’t even relax in bed afterwards because he sees himself in the mirror. But just in the way Jom holds himself, in the way Jom smiles, in the way he pulls Yai in, we know that being around Yai is changing him. That he is generally more relaxed when they share space, that he is happier when Yai is near, and we know that Jom is very ready to fuck, he’s just also more aware of the potential consequences of getting caught.

Yai leads them to bed, and if we hold Jom and Jom’s posture as acting almost as a support for Yai, then it is very critical and important in my eyes, that Yai uses the bedpost to steady himself as he lays Jom out on the bed. Yai is learning how to support himself. Jom lays underneath him, and as far as we know he’s keeping his hands firmly on the back of Yai’s neck. Grasping on to him like he doesn’t want to let go, while Yai traces random lines across Jom’s arms, torso, and neck. And when they pull away, we know that Jom is very in to everything that is going on, and that he’s starting to lose himself a bit in the feeling of this, because Nonkul has Jom wait a few seconds to open his eyes and look up at Yai after they break apart. Meanwhile, Bright maintains Yai’s absolute obsession with Jom, by having Yai staring directly at Jom while Jom’s eyes are still closed. Study him, observing his reactions, ensuring that Jom is feeling pleasure. And the sexual tension isn’t ruined by yet another physical separation, even as they are not actively kissing in that moment, their progression towards sex does not feel like it is coming to an end. And that has to do with the fact that Jom is still running his hand along Yai’s neck, lacing his fingers through Yai’s hair, with his fingers relaxed.

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

When they confess their love for one another, Nonkul has Jom swallow hard, hearing Yai tell him he loves him, fighting back a small smile. And Bright really commits to showing the intimacy that has developed between Jom and Yai in the way he has Yai press kisses to the inside of Jom’s palm, to his knuckles, up his arm, and back to his neck. And like I said above, Nonkul sells the effect of that electricity between Yai and Jom in these little micromovements, in the way Jom’s finger dig slightly in to Yai’s cheek, and the way his thumb twitches when Yai presses a kiss to his knuckles, and the way his fingers flex (a la Pride and Prejudice [2005] if you ask me). And he does the same as Yai kisses up his arm and to his neck, in the way Nonkul has Jom close his eyes, and press his lips together, and tilt his head slightly upwards.

And that’s it, that’s the entire nearly five minute scene. I promise I am trying to get better about my essay lengths, but I think the level of work that goes in to these moments are deserving of being discussed in detail. Nonkul in an interview said he views acting like a sport, and I think he’s fucking right. The level of knowledge and control you have over your body to sell scenes like this one, to make people believe in the romance, is super fucking hard.

gif by @pharawee (using this gif as an example of a bunch of small movements Bright and Nonkul do that sell Yai and Jom's love for one another) I for one believe Jom and Yai love each other, want each other, are drawn to one another, and that is 100% because of Nonkul and Bright’s performances. And they have a really fucking hard job in part because Tee Bundit is not really a romance guy. Yai and Jom’s love for one another is the emotional backbone of this show, but the story isn’t focused on the romance itself, it’s focused on Jom’s experiences as a servant, on the struggles of being queer, on the mystery of how to get home, of past Jom being haunted by his present and present Jom being haunted by his past. There are so many moving pieces in this story, but we have to feel for these characters when they are inevitably separated. The way Nonkul and Bright play this scene, has thoroughly convinced me of the care they have for one another

#i feel you linger in the air #ifylita #ifyl #yai x jom #yaijom #bright x nonkul #nonkul chanon #bright rapheephong #dee hup house #tee bundit #ESSAY 69!!!!!!#wka long post #i feel you linger in the air analysis #ifylita analysis #i feel you linger in the air meta #ifylita meta

333 notes · View notes

laurenairay · 5 months ago

Text

how long I had to fight to be living my life – N. Blankenburg

Summary: When Nora’s car breaks down, it’s just her luck that her ex-boyfriend Nick is the only one who answers the phone.

Happy (early) 30th birthday @wyattjohnston! I managed to hit bingo with the squares marriage pact, late night rescue, exes to lovers (for the free space), stranded, and ‘there will never be anyone else’. Only for you Demi, and literally only for you, will I write a fic for Nick Blankenburg. I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: angst, childhood sweethearts, exes to lovers, mild mention of injuries

Title from Remember that Night? by Sara Kays

“No, no, no, come on!”

As her car sputtered to a stop, Nora groaned, smacking her hand against the steering wheel once before closing her eyes and tilting her head back. Of all the bad luck, she had to break down at 2am down a quiet street, in pitch black darkness with literally no-one else around. When she’d agreed to cover a couple of hours shift for one of her fellow nurses, she’d agreed without hesitation – the money was always helpful. But now, it just looked like that money she’d worked her ass off for would just be poured into whatever the hell had gone wrong with her car.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Her dad always made her save a couple of local 24-hour tow truck numbers, something which she’d always called him overprotective for…but now she was grateful for. Thankfully, the first one she called answered and agreed to pick her up immediately. The only thing was, due to the hour of the night, all they could do was tow it to their company yard until the morning before they could take it to a mechanic. And from their company yard? She had no way of getting home. Her dad wasn’t answering his phone, neither were her mom or her mom’s boyfriend. None of her best friends were either. Not that she blamed them – it was 3am by this point, a completely ridiculous hour, but all she wanted was to go home and go to bed and possibly cry. It had been a 15-hour shift so to have all of this on top of it? Not the best night she’d ever had.

As she scrolled through her phone, she was running out of options of people to contact – and then she landed on the one name she knew she shouldn’t call at all. Nick Blankenburg. Her ex-boyfriend. She didn’t even know if he was back in town yet but with no-one else answering, she had little choice. Come on Nick, pick up, pick up, pick up.

“Hello? Nora?”

“H-Hi, Nick. Sorry to call so late,” Nora said softly.

He answered. Of course he answered.

“What’s wrong? Are you drunk?”

“Rude.”

“We broke up 2 years ago and you’re calling me out of the blue at 3am. If you’re not drunk, then what’s wrong?”

Well he had a point there. But still.

“My car broke down. I was able to get a tow truck but I can’t get it fixed until the morning for obvious reasons,” Nora sighed.

“You need a ride?”

He offered? Just like that?

“Y-Yeah. If that’s okay. I know it’s not exactly ideal,” she murmured.

“I’m not leaving you stranded. Send me your location pin and I’ll leave right away.”

“Thanks Nick.”

“Yep.”

His brusqueness wasn’t rudeness, not in the slightest. It was concern in his voice, she knew that much – she never thought she’d hear that again, not from him.

“You got a ride sorted yet?”

She flinched slightly at the voice of the tow truck driver behind her, to which he laughed softly, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, honest. I got a daughter about your age and I know she would be freaking out right now if it was her.”

Well, that was a little more reassuring.

“Yeah, I’ve got a ride. He should be here soon,” she nodded, smiling even if it felt a little forced, “I’m not freaking out too much right now, I know things will get fixed.”

“Good, good. I’ll give you a call when we’re ready to take your car to the mechanic tomorrow and you can meet us there?”

“Yeah, sure. That sounds good. Thanks,” she said, trying not to think about how much the repairs would cost.

That was a problem for tomorrow.

The truck driver left her alone after that, heading back inside the building, but he left the light on to show her she wasn’t alone, which gave her a little comfort. The minutes felt like they stretched into hours while she waited for Nick, not all because of her exhaustion. She hadn’t seen him since they broke up those two long years ago, not even in passing. Sure, that had mostly been on purpose, but it didn’t make what was coming any easier.

Why had she called him?

Why had he answered?

Why had he offered to pick her up?

Before she could get any logical answers to those questions, the old familiar engine rumble sounded around the corner, and a car she never thought she’d see again pulled to a stop in front of her.

“Shit Nor, you look exhausted.”

Exactly what she needed to hear. With a groan, she picked up her bag and sent a wave over her shoulder, before getting inside the car.

“Thanks Nick, just what every woman likes to hear,” she said dryly, buckling her seatbelt.

“Damn it, I didn’t mean it like that,” he sighed, running a hand over his hair.

He looked good. A little too skinny maybe, end of season weight loss, but still…he looked good. Of course he did. He was Nick Blankenburg.

“Thanks for picking me up. Can we go?”

“Yeah course. Uh, where am I taking you?”

Right, because she’d moved out of her dad’s place after they’d broken up.

Nick stayed silent as she rattled off her address, plugging it into his phone before starting to drive. It wasn’t going to take more than 20 minutes for him to drive her, but she didn’t know how she was going to stay sane. Nick was just staring resolutely out at the empty streets, radio playing quietly, not really breaking the awkward silence.

It wasn’t that their break-up had been a nasty messy blow out. Yeah, there were arguments and stupid things said back and forth, but nothing that made her hate him. They’d just…grown apart. It had been hard enough with the distance of him at UMich – and all the rightful attention he’d had – she’d gotten jealous of girls flirting and he didn’t try hard enough to reassure her. His captaincy and dedication to the team was something he’d worked hard for, and she’d been so proud of him – but that focus had meant their relationship had slipped through the cracks. And with him trying to make it in professional hockey? Nick signing that first contract with the Blue Jackets had been the death of them.

She’d been so proud of him, just as he’d deserved, because he was finally making his dream come true. But she’d had to be honest with herself – they couldn’t handle the distance of just over an hour for four years, so how could they handle being over 4 hours apart when all of his focus had to be on his career?

The final time they’d seen each other had been the most she’d ever seen him cry. It was the most she had ever cried in her life too. The cumulation of what seemed like a lifetime had swirled down the drain and there was nothing left in either of them to try to fix it. But Nick had left with one promise – if she ever truly needed him, he would be there.

Nora hadn’t thought about that in a long time. Seems like her subconscious had remembered after all.

“So…long shift tonight?”

The familiar awkwardness in his voice made her crack a smile without her being able to help it.

“Yeah. My regular 12-hour shift plus another 3 hours to cover for another nurse,” she nodded, glancing over at him.

The immediate grimace on his face made her laugh, earning a twitch of a smile from him.

“That sounds awful,” he murmured.

“That’s nursing,” she said, shrugging.

His eyes darted to her voice briefly, before locking back on the road.

“You love nursing, don’t you.”

He could still read her that easily?

“Yeah, I really do. It’s like I finally know what I’m meant to be doing,” she nodded, smiling.

He smiled tightly at her, nodding back. The unease settled back in her chest, making her sigh softly.

“How’s hockey?”

Nick barked out a laugh, making her frown. What the hell had happened to him?

“I still love it, but I don’t think it loves me,” he muttered.

Well, fuck. “What do you mean?” she prompted.

It had hurt too much to follow his career after he left. She’d had every intention of keeping track of his games, but when it had come to it? It had been too hard.

“I got sent down to the AHL at the end of the season. I’ve had injuries all year. And it’s the end of my two-year contract now. So I’m really not sure what the hell is going to happen to me next season. If I even have a next season.”

For all the years she’d known him, she’d never heard this much bitterness in his voice. Not in AAA hockey. Not in Juniors. Not at UMich. Not in his struggles to get drafted. Not in their hard times. Not even in their break-up. What the hell had happened to him?

“Everything will work out,” she murmured.

“Yeah, okay,” he scoffed.

She flinched at the sharpness in his voice, something he immediately noticed by the way he cursed under his breath.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” she said softly, interrupting, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You can always ask, Nor,” he replied.

“Pretty sure I lost that right two years ago,” she pointed out.

Nick huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. Nora was just glad the tension was broken. She still didn’t know what she’d been thinking, calling Nick – but at least they weren’t yelling at each other. That was a silver lining.

“There will never be anyone else who I’d be this honest to,” he shrugged.

Nora swallowed heavily, taking in a shaky breath as Nick glanced over at her.

“I can’t be the only person you talk to about this stuff,” she murmured.

“Who else am I going to trust?”

“You want to what?”

“I want to make a pact with you,” Nick said simply.

“We are 10 years old and you want to make a marriage pact with me?”

“You’re the prettiest girl in class and you’re one of my best friends. Why wouldn’t I want to marry you?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works, dummy,” Nora giggled.

“I’m not a dummy, you’re a dummy!” Nick shot back.

Nora just giggled harder, sticking her tongue out at Nick through her missing front teeth.

“Pretty sure you’re meant to be boyfriend girlfriend first before you get married,” she pointed out.

Nick seemed to think about that for a few seconds before shrugging. “Okay let’s be boyfriend girlfriend.”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

“So you’ll hold my hand? And kick Jimmy Smith when he makes fun of my curly hair? And eat lunch with me?” Nora asked hopefully.

“Only if you help me with my math homework. And pick the best bandaids for my knees. And stay my best friend forever,” Nick nodded.

“Best friends forever?”

“Who else am I going to trust?”

As the memory of those words rushed through her, Nora choked on a gasp, glancing over at Nick with tears in her eyes.

“You still remember?”

“You still remember?” she countered.

“My concussions haven’t been that bad, Nor,” he mused.

She winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Nick nodded, accepting her answer. “I still remember, because making that pact with you was still one of the best things I’ve ever done.”

The tears truly stung at her eyes now, and she shook her head. “We were so young. And so stupid.”

“Maybe. But we were boyfriend girlfriend for 12 years so I think I did something right,” he smirked.

Boyfriend girlfriend. It sounded so childish, so innocent when he said it like that, but wasn’t that exactly what they were for 12 years? 12 long years and this is where they were now.

“Hey, what’s on your mind?” he murmured.

“I miss you.”

Those were not the words she expected to come out of her mouth, but it was far too late to take them back now. Even if Nick looked like he’d been stunned into silence.

“You miss me?” he eventually asked, surprisingly her slightly with how his voice was full of wonder rather than disgust.

“Can we pretend I didn’t say that?” she groaned.

“Absolutely not,” Nick shot back.

That slow grin that spread over his face was so familiar, so Nick, and it still sent a shiver up her spine. Damn it. The way his eyes crinkled with the force of his smile still filled her stomach with butterflies. Damn it.

“My mom still asks about you, you know,” he said softly.

“Oh my god, don’t bring Momma Blanks into this, that’s just mean,” she murmured.

Nick snorted, lifting one hand off the wheel to hold it up in surrender. It wasn’t until he put his hand back on the wheel and pulled to a stop that she realised where they were. Outside her apartment building. Where had that journey gone?

“I guess this is it then,” Nora said quietly.

Those words ached in her chest the moment they left her lips.

“Does it have to be?”

With Nick’s full attention on her now, it was hard to feel anything but completely consumed.

“We broke up, Nick. Two years ago,” she said simply, trying to guard herself.

“And they have been the hardest two years of my life.”

Nora inhaled sharply. “You chose hockey. As you rightly should have, because it’s the career you wanted for so long, but you chose hockey!”

“I know that! I fight and struggle and claw my way through each day, hoping to find what I’m looking for, and I can’t because I left that behind when we broke up!”

He was breathing raggedly, emotion pouring into his words, eyes so full of devastation that they broke her heart all over again. Nick swallowed heavily, huffing out a laugh, before shaking his head.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice. That wasn’t fair. I just…I miss you, Nora. Maybe tonight was fate,” he said softly.

“You think my car breaking down after a long 15-hour shift is fate,” she said dryly.

“Oh my god I don’t know why I love you.”

Even as he groaned dramatically, she knew he meant every word. He loved her. He still loved her. Even after two years, he still loved her? Nora didn’t know what was showing on her face, but Nick sighed softly before sending her a weak smile.

“We can pretend I didn’t say that,” he offered.

His voice was so quiet, so small, nothing like she’d ever heard before. He was nervous. She hated it.

“Can’t take it back now, Blankenburg. I heard you loud and clear,” Nora said simply, smile threatening to spill over her lips.

Nick’s own lips parted in surprise for a moment, before he laughed loud and clear, the most genuine things she’d heard from him all night. “Do you need a ride to the mechanic tomorrow morning?”

“You going to be my knight in shining armour again?”

“As long as you’ll let me, princess.”

She couldn’t help slipping back into her old teasing, Nick’s answering grin cementing it for her. Tonight had been dangerous for her heart, everything she’d been trying to protect herself against for the past two years. And yet here she was, flirting with her ex-boyfriend like nothing had changed.

“Give me a call when you need me?” he suggested.

“Yeah, yeah, I will do,” she nodded, slipping her bag strap over her shoulder as she tried to calm her racing heart.

But as she opened the car door, Nick’s hand shot out to stop her, his large hand surrounding her wrist easily. His thumb stoked over the thin skin in a way that made her shiver, something which he clearly noticed with the way he smiled sharply, heated.

“It really was good to see you, Nora,” he murmured.

“It was good to see you too, Nick.”

And as he let her go, she knew in her bones that this was the start of something completely new.

#my writing #nick blankenburg fic #demi's birthday bingo #nick blankenburg fanfic #nick blankenburg imagine #nick blankenburg x oc #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine

110 notes · View notes

bengals-barnesbabe · 5 months ago

Text

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Singer!FemReader

Summary: Before Venus was a multi-platinum record selling artist, writing about the quarterback that stole her heart, she was senior at LSU going through her first heartbreak. This is that story.

Chapter 16: Robbed

#Track9 Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, mentions of sex, sexual assault, foul language, violence (Miles gets what he deserves), angst, but a fluffy ending.

Word Count: 2.9k

Part 3 🖤

The walk to Joe’s place was the nicest part of Y/n’s day so far, she thought, the bath she had when she left his place would’ve been nice but her mind would not shut up. Granted she had enough conflicting events happen in the last 24 hours. The Louisiana breeze helped her put things in perspective though, that dick never had her best interest had heart at any point of their relationship. It nice to be entertained for a few months, but she could not believe her degree of naivete when one cute guy gave her some attention. Y/n knew she couldn't blame herself for his actions, but she couldn’t help it. If Miles was actually a nice guy he wouldn’t have had to bribe or drug her into giving up that part of herself. Miles didn’t know how lucky he was, because if it was any other girl there would be no chance he’d be able to keep his scholarship. She came to the realization that no self respecting man would even think of doing what he did. But the fact that she was actually r*ped would be a bit harder to come to terms with.

When Y/n got to the house the guys were staying at, she just walked in like every other visitor because apparently having that much muscle in one house meant they could risk leaving the front door unlocked.

Without even announcing herself, she plopped down on the couch next to her friends, they were very occupied in a Super Smash Bros battle. “Who’s winning?” She asked.

“I am.” They both say, she scoffs and pulls out her phone.

Five minutes later the controllers are thrown onto the floor, one in victory and one in anger. “I told you man, I can’t lose.” Joe cheeses leaning back on the couch and throwing an arm around the cushion Y/n laid on.

“That’s because you have no life outside of football.” Ja’marr grumbles.

“You’re just mad we’re 7-0. And I took out that one chick like last week.”

“It was over a month ago and isn’t ‘that one chick’ supposed to be your girlfriend?” Joe’s mouth snapped shut.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ja’marr smirked then sat on the arm of the chair to the right of the quiet girl. “What’s up lil sis?”

She raised a brow and looked up at him, “Marr I’m older than you, but I’m fine.”

“Damn just fine? What about your date last night with Meters?” Her jaw tightened and fist clenched at his question, thankfully for her he had his back turned, but someone else saw her tense reaction.

“It was fine, I’m probably gonna break up with him soon though. It’s that time.” She said as calmly as possible with her jaw still clenched.

“Why? What happened?” Joe asked with his brows furrowed, but with a smile peaking on his lips. Ja’Marr shook his head with a small smirk on his face.

Y/n shrugged not looking at either of them, “oh nothing. Things like this just time out after a while.”

“If you say so.” Joe says, still not convinced. “Wanna order something, I’m starving?”

She shakes her head reading the same spam email for the hundredth time. “I’m good.” But her stomach clenches at the mention of sustenance.

“You sure, I could get you a milkshake and a side of fries from Mama’s?” The thought of her favorite combo makes bile crawl up her throat. “I’m really not hungry.”

This time Ja’Marr looks at the girl worried, him and Joe exchange concerned looks. “You once skipped class to go to Big Mama’s. You said the only time you’d turn down her food was if you’re dead.” He grabs her wrist and checks her pulse. “You are very much alive Y/n. What’s wrong?”

The looks they're giving her make anxiety run up her spine, so she stands up from the couch to escape their scrutinization. “There’s nothing wrong!” The brave tone she tries for comes out wrecked with the quivering of her voice.

Ja’Marr crossed his brawn arms while Joe reaches for her, “that doesn’t sound like nothing’s wrong.”

She looks up with a groan and starts to pace the room. ‘If I tell them- no there’s no way this would end up not going completely south. But they’re not going to stop pestering me. I have to tell them. Maybe they won’t overreact, they’re too hungry to get that mad right?’ Her inner dialogue and lack of eye contact does nothing to calm the reactions of the men in the room.

She takes a deep breath and looks at the two large football players with big doe eyes. Yea there’s no calm way of resolving this. “I’m going to tell you, but you can’t freak out.” Like that’s going to work.

“What did he do?” Joe asks taking on the persona of a threatened wild bear.

“We won’t be mad.” Ja’marr says more calmly.

It’s crazy to think literally minutes ago he was the one getting heated about a video game while Joe was as cool as a cucumber. She thinks, oh how she would pay for time to rewind back to then. Y/n picks at her nails as their frustrating glares burn holes in her skull.

“Ok so, last night Miles took me out, like you already know. Everything was great, it was really fun, we got a bit high, ate good food then we sort of did it.” She says hesitantly. “It was all consensual until it kinda wasn’t, but it’s not that big of a deal. He just wasn’t the best partner and that’s ok, no one’s perfect. We just weren’t as compatible as we thought.” She rambles while analyzing their faces.

Ja’Marr kept his calm resolve, but Joe’s face was growing redder by the second. He cleared his throat and spoke up. “Go back. What do you mean it was consensual until it wasn’t?”

“Look it really wasn’t that big of deal, he just prioritized himself more than me. I know some guys don’t last that long, so it was fine until he treated me like shit when it was over. I mean he quite literally took the shirt off my back and kicked me out.” She shrugged.

“Y/n, you keep skipping over some parts, so I’m gonna ask you this again.” Joe took her hands and sat her down on the couch. “Did he force himself on you?” He was trying so hard not to lose that last shrivel of calm, but the look of innocence on her face when the girl’s eyes welled up and the way she fell into his arms did it for him. He hated the way she looked so young in his arms, he hated the borderline homicidal ideas that he wanted to see through when he saw Miles, but most of all, he hated how helpless he felt now that what was done was done and there was no way for him to take away her pain.

They stayed stayed like that, Venus curled up in the quarterback’s arms, until she fell asleep. Only when he was sure she wouldn’t wake up from her much needed rest did he untangle himself and get up. He covered her with the blanket she left months ago on their couch then joined Ja’Marr in the kitchen.

“I’m gonna kill him. You coming?” He asked pulling on a LSU hoodie.

Ja’Marr shook his head and grabbed the arm of the QB and pulls him back. “Look I want him dealt with just as much as you do, but you know we can’t leave her like this. We’re all she’s got right now.” They look over at her sleeping figure.

“I’m sure we could be done before she gets up if we grab some of the guys.” Joe huffs, then sighs looking down.

“Ja’marr you don’t know how I feel right now. Sure she’s like a sister to you, but I think I’m in love with her. When I look at Y/n I see my future, I see her on the sidelines as we win our first superbowl. I see myself thanking her during every single award acceptance speech. I see us living in my hometown talking about how much we love our kids. I don’t like seeing her like this, I can’t.”

Ja’Marr puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know, but it’s our responsibility to be there for her right now. This isn’t the first time she’s gone through this, but it wasn’t this bad last time. If you love her as much as you say you do, you need to make sure she knows you’re there for the rights reasons. So what do you think she needs right now?”

“Food.” Joe replies with full seriousness. “Not her usual, but something she’ll actually eat. Instead of a cheeseburger we’ll get her a melt, its close enough for familiarity but still new enough so she can’t associate it with him. Tots instead of fries, ‘potato is potato’ she’d say.” He chuckles. “And replace the milkshake with a malt, but instead of just chocolate it should be peanut butter cups.”

Ja’Marr smirks, “she really does have you completely wrapped around her finger without even knowing it. I’ll go by Mama’s, grab all of us dinner then we’ll take it back to hers.” His friend nodded then went back over to the couch. Joe lifted her legs up, sat down then placed them over his lap then admired how peaceful she looked in her sleep despite pain that put her there.

Ja’marr shook his head at the two, as he walked out the door he hoped that one day they’d get that future Joe spoke so passionately about.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

Peace, calm, and tranquility; three things you hadn’t felt in forever it seemed like. The heavy blanket of sleep slowly lifted off of you as woke up from the short slumber. Waking up you could feel the weight of Joe’s arms on your legs and the stroke of his fingers against your calf. You don’t know when you fell asleep, but it the sky was much dimmer than before. Joe hadn’t noticed you’d woken up yet so you took the time to think about how different everything would be if you were with him instead. You knew you weren’t his type, but it was nicer to think about that compared to reality. You always felt safe with him, it wasn’t his height or how big he was, it was his aura. He oozed protectiveness, you definitely saw it when you told him what happened.

Ja’Marr came through the door a few minutes into your little ‘Joe watching’ session. “Hey lil sis, how’d you sleep?”

Joe frowned at him confused before turning his head to you. “When did you wake up?”

You shrugged, “a couple of minutes ago. I wanted to see how long it took you to notice, then someone ruined it.” You said playfully side eyeing Ja’Marr.

He lightly chuckled as you swung your legs off of him. “Something smells incredible, please tell me its for me.”

Ja’Marr waved the bag from Mama’s in front of you before pulling it back to his chest. “Yup, but we gotta get you home first.”

“Do we have to? I could just stay here, forever.” You pout slouching back onto the couch.

“As much as we’d love that, you know the rules of the house after the weekend. Come on pretty girl.” Joe says pulling you off the couch.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

When the trio reaches Y/n’s apartment, Joe and Ja’Marr secretly keep an eye out for Miles hoping he doesn’t show himself until after she’s safe and sound in her home. Thankfully he wasn’t around, so she didn’t have to see him at all.

They spend another hour or two eating and keeping a smile on the girl’s face, until she gets tired and decides to turn in. “I’m beat, you guys can see yourselves out whenever. I’m going to bed.”

As they clean up the mess they created in her living room Joe spots her phone and gets an idea. Already knowing her password, he goes to her messages and taps on Miles’ contact.

“What are you doing?” Ja’marr scolds.

“What needs to be done, I don’t want her to see his face ever again. So I’m gonna make sure he stays away from her.” Joe expresses, as if it’s a completely normal idea.

Ja’Marr kisses his teeth before grabbing the phone. “Look if you’re going to do this, you can’t just text him like you would. ‘We should meet up.’ Really? Nah, let me handle this.” Joe steps aside and watches the man work.

To Miles: hey babe I know its late, but we should really talk about last night.

From Miles: I would love to talk about last night Princess, see you in a few

To Miles: i’ll be waiting ;)

“Did you really need the winky face?” Joe asks with an arched brow.

“Yea, its all about setting the scene. Plus she’s all about the old school emojis.” Sometimes, Joe thinks, he doesn’t understand what’s going on in the younger guy’s head but does at the same time. But since he seems to think it’s a great idea, we might as well keep it. Guess he’s not only a fast thinker on the field but off it too.

They put the phone on the coffee table and leave the apartment, Joe locking it with his spare key. “I can’t believe she gave you the spare and not me.”

The quarterback just grins, but it doesn’t last long because that’s when Miles gets back. At first glance, they can tell he’s annoyed to see them in front of ‘his girl’s’ door, but then he drops the attitude for a friendly facade. “Burrow, Chase! It’s been a while, how’ve you been?”

They both shrug their shoulders. “Oh you know, we’ve been better, but that’s just life right.” Joe’s artificial smile causes an unsettling feeling in the man’s core.

Miles gulps, “yea life can be tricky sometimes. You guys had plans with my princess today? I tried to come by earlier but she wasn’t home.”

“Yea, we spent most of the afternoon at the house just talking. Actually you know that light airiness in her voice when she’s happy?” Ja’Marr asks, hesitantly Miles nods. “It’s so sweet, she makes everyone’s day ten times better just with her voice. But it’s the weirdest thing, today when she was over, that joyful smile and cheery voice was nowhere to be seen. Did you notice that J?”

The man pinched his chin ‘thinking’ about the question. “You know what I did notice that.”

“That’s weird she was good when she left my place this morning.” Miles’ palms clam up as he tries to get his door open.

“Was she? Or is that what your sick mind is concocting about last night?” The door to his apartment creaks open.

“I don’t know what she told you but she’s lying. They always are, bitches- I mean-

Joe takes two long strides and punches Miles square across the face causing him stumble into the apartment. “Nah we know what you meant.”

“That was out of line bro, what’s coach gonna say when his QB is out for another season?” Ja’Marr scoffs and slams the door, locking them in.

“We’re not gonna be the ones worried about missing seasons.”

❁ཻུ۪۪♡

The only sounds heard from the apartment are the heavy thuds of fists being thrown into his body and the groans of pain coming out of his mouth. They go on for a few more minutes before the final thud of his beaten body hitting the floor vibrating the ground underneath and into the hallway.

Then Joe’s voice is heard from beyond the door, “you tell anyone about this and we’ll make sure everyone important to you knows how you treat women and especially what you did to kindest woman you’ll probably ever meet.”

The football players exit the apartment with satisfied grins and bruised knuckles, feeling a sense of accomplishment and relief. Then they see you. “Y/n.” You dawn another set of tears in those big brown eyes, they can only hope it wasn’t them who caused it.

“How much of that did you hear?” Joe asks chewing on his lip.

You sniffle and attempt to wipe away the tears. “I- um, I came out to get my phone and I heard you talking. I didn’t think anything of it until I realized it was him on the other side, then well.” You gesture at their hands. Joe immediately puts them behind his back.

“Y/n we didn’t mean to scare- The words are knocked out of Ja’Marr’s mouth as you run into their arms, throwing yours around their bodies as much as you can. “Thank you.”

They sigh in relief wrapping their arms around you. “No problem lil sis.” Ja’Marr smiles as you let go from the tight hug. “You don’t know how much that meant to me, or how much y’all mean to me.”

Joe can’t help but wrap his arms around you even tighter than before and kiss your head. “We’d do- I’d do anything for you babe.” You smile at the nickname change, even though it’s so small it makes your heart grow 3 sizes bigger. You stay like that for a while, just soaking in the love appreciation you have for each other. But unbeknownst to you, Ja’Marr decides to capture the moment and make a note to show it to them on their wedding day.

Because their love is so painfully obvious, they’re going to need proof to realize that it’s been there all along.

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

a/n: petition for Ja’Marr to officiate their wedding, sign here🩷

<<<Previous Part | Next Chapter>>>

main masterlist

tag list: @light-yagami-l

56 notes · View notes

btswrckd · 7 months ago

Text

Secrets and Lies

Mafia member!Namjoon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Part of the War of Hearts universe! You've spent the last 10 years not really knowing just who your best and only friend actually is or just obsessed he is with you, but when an unexpected threat emerges from your mother's past, he's given an opportunity that he just can't pass up.

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of guns and other weapons, mention of death, mention of obsessive behavior, Namjoon's kind of a prick to an old one-night stand

A/N: Ta-da!! It's here!! I'm sure there's more warnings I missed and I'm sorry!! As you guys may know, I've been working on 3 separate fics for the War of Hearts verse and I'm still working on them, but I wasn't sure whose story I wanted to put out first. As I'm bouncing back and forth between the stories, I've finally figured out the order in which I want to put them out. Please enjoy guys!

“Are you going to tell me what, exactly, we’re doing here?” Hoseok yawns from the passenger seat of Namjoon’s sleek black Hyundai. Why Namjoon thought of such a car as “inconspicuous”, Hoseok will never know. Honestly, he was pretty pissed that Namjoon had dragged him out of the house at 4 o’clock in the morning to watch random people come and go from some 24 hour diner that sits just before entering city limits. But when the door opens for the hundredth time and a pile of messy hair sitting in a bun atop the head of a beautiful girl comes bouncing out, he rolls his eyes. Now he knows what the hell they were waiting around for.

“Seriously, Namjoon,” Hoseok groans and burrows into the heated seat. “Can’t you stalk your girlfriend without me?”

“Shut up,” Namjoon hisses at him. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“But you are stalking her, correct?”

“Hobi,” Namjoon warns again, “shut the fuck up.”

He doesn’t hear whatever it is that Hoseok mumbles under his breath, simply shaking his head and turning his attention back to the waitress who’d just finished a 12 hour shift. Without the top of a messy bun flouncing about, he’d have lost you in the mass of cars you were weaving through. You look tired, he notes, exhausted as you slump against the driver door of the beat up old car that you’d been saving up for. He never liked when you took the bus; too many strange men would look your way far too long for his liking. But he didn’t think a car like that would suffice either, even though it meant tracking you was a little easier.

Your head thumps against the steel door of the small car you’d salvaged from a junkyard. “Still,” you remind yourself, “a junker car is better than no car at all. Definitely smells better than the bus.” It was the third 12 hour shift you’ve worked in a row and still had another 3 to go. To say you were exhausted would be putting it lightly. You’re worn out, both physically and mentally, but you have to keep going. Have to keep making money. Have to pay off the medical bills that only seem to keep racking up. The sound of an obnoxious ringtone blares in the dark parking lot and you jump in place as you recognize it as your own.

“Shit,” you hiss, fumbling for your cell phone only to find the caller I.D. belonging to none other than your ex-boyfriend. It’s not that you’re ungrateful for him taking on the task of being your mother’s caretaker, it’s that you wish he’d stop trying to use her dwindling health as an excuse to try and get back together. “Minseok,” you answer, vexed. “What is it?”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Minseok snaps back, taking a deep breath to steady himself. After all, catching an attitude with you when he’s trying so hard to get you back is not going to earn him any brownie points. “Hey, so, you just got off work right? Why don’t you stop by and we can have breakfast? Your mom’s been asking to see you.”

“In time,” is all you can say. It’s all you’ve been saying since you were a teenager. Your mother is all you have left and to keep blowing off chances to visit her breaks your heart a little more each time. You love her so much, but the thought of seeing the frail body in place of what once was a strong and healthy woman makes you want to cry. You don’t know how long she has left or why you keep avoiding her, knowing damn well that she’ll be gone soon. You only know that distracting yourself with work doesn’t make you feel as helpless as sitting at home waiting for the inevitable phone call. Minseok is babbling about something, but you don’t catch what it is when the sound of approaching footsteps has you reaching for the pepper spray attached to your key ring.

Namjoon is amused when you whirl around, pepper spray at the ready even if it is with a shaking grip. He laughs as your shocked face morphs to one of anger and embarrassment. Clearly, you hadn’t expected to be snuck up on in the middle of the parking lot of your job, and that makes him uneasy. You should always be aware of your surroundings. “What are you doing with that, you nut case?”

“Shut the hell up, Joon!” You kick at the loose rocks on the pavement, sending them flying in his direction. “You scared the crap out of me, asshole. What are you doing lurking around a dark parking lot anyways?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He tilts his head playfully, though there’s no hint of amusement in his tone anymore. You should have gotten in your car and left a long time ago, yet something or someone, namely Minseok, kept you from doing so. He recognized the look on your face when you’d looked at the phone screen. Even from across the lot, he knew who was stupid enough to bother you after a long week of working. With a roll of his eyes, he takes the phone from your hand and ignores your protests.

“Minseok,” he says into the phone, skillfully dodging your attempts to pry it away from him. “How are you?”

“I’m uh,” Minseok sputters, “good. I’m good, I guess. What are you um, what are you doing with Y/N?”

“Me? Oh, nothing really. Just came to pick her up from work. Yeah, she finally scrapped that heap of junk and decided to ride in style. With me. Goodbye, Minseok.” Namjoon ends the call, carelessly tossing the phone back into your waiting hands. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks, he nods down at you. “Heading home?”

“Trying to.” You prop a hand on your hip and he groans because he knows exactly what’s about to come. “You know I hate it when you do that. Getting under Minseok’s skin does absolutely nothing for you, so why do you do it? And you know he’s the primary caretaker for my mom. Stop trying to piss him off.”

“You never get after him when he pisses me off,” he points out. It was never a secret how much he despised Minseok, especially when you dated that little prick. Nothing makes Namjoon’s blood boil more than the image of Minseok taking you on dates, holding your hand, kissing your skin, touching you wherever he pleased and you allowed. “Anyways, I wasn’t trying to get under his skin. If he feels threatened by me then it’s not really my fault. And what the hell is he still doing taking care of your mom? Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“Not everyone at the rehab center knows we dated,” you explain, missing the flash of anger in his eyes. “He’s the only one that mom trusts.”

“You know I can take care of her too.” He braces his large palms against the car door, trapping you between the metal and his body. “I’ve offered a thousand times, Y/N, you always say no.”

“I’ve burdened you enough.”

Namjoon sees the brief downward tilt of your lips, a frown you try so hard to hide from him. He won’t have it. Tucking his finger beneath your chin, he tilts it up to look you in the eye. “You’re not a burden. Neither is your mother. I’ve told you before that all you have to do is ask and I’ll give you anything you want, Y/N.”

“I just want her to be better,” you whisper, casting your eyes to the floor as they flood with tears. There’s no doubt in your mind that if you were to ask Namjoon for private care, he would gladly take care of it without expecting anything in return. That’s how it’s always been with him though. Always giving but never taking. According to his close friend, Hoseok, that’s how Namjoon’s grown up. You’re not entirely sure what his home life was like when he was a child, but his parents seemed to have done a wonderful job raising him. You can’t honestly say you’ve ever met anyone like him in all your 28 years of life.

Namjoon’s finger becomes firm in making your eyes meet his once more. His mouth tightens into a thin line and you know he’s trying to hold back his frustration. When he met you in the hallway at the hospital nearly 10 years ago, you’d just learned of your mother’s diagnosis. To say you were distraught would be sugarcoating it. You were absolutely devastated. He remembers how 18-year-old you had slid down the wall with body wracking sobs, but you’d tried to hide it as your mother was just a few feet behind a closed door. You had wailed into your knees after drawing them as close to your body as possible. He had just rounded the corner of the hall, hissing into his phone about the absolute fucking disaster that was Hoseok’s assignment, when he’d seen you and he felt like time had slowed. Something about you, about the heart wrenching way your body curled up that made him feel…protective. It was his job to protect Taehyung, sure, but you were an entirely different story. You had nothing to offer him. No kind of incentive for his comfort. And yet, when he’d walked over and reached out his hand, you’d taken it. Taken it so damn easily and allowed yourself to be comforted by a complete stranger. It was always a mystery to him, how you’d melted into his body without noticing the blood staining his white dress shirt.

“Joon?” your voice cuts through the hazy fog that was his trip down memory lane. Blinking back your tears, you cup his face to bring him back to reality. It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that when Namjoon spaced out, it took a great deal to bring him back. But not with you. Never with you. Because, somehow, your voice and touch, and yours alone could bring him back in a matter of seconds. When his brown eyes finally clear, you smile softly at him.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he says, taking your wrists in his large hands and running his thumbs along the veins of them. A smirk plays on his lips when he notices you shiver. Not from the cold, but from him. “I’m supposed to be the one comforting you. Not the other way around. What was it that Minseok wanted anyway?”

“To have dinner. Or breakfast. Or, I don’t really know, but I know it had to do with eating in the same vicinity as each other,” you sigh and slump against the cool metal of your car. “I’m not exactly up for it, but I guess I should go. He says mom’s been asking for me, but I–.”

“What an asshole,” comes a familiar voice. One you aren’t exactly expecting, so when you jump, Hoseok’s deep chuckle cuts through the parking lot. You always wondered how he managed to stalk around without making a single noise. You feel Namjoon tense and tighten his hold on your wrists.

The taller man turns to his friend with a snarl on his face. “A little warning next time, jackass.”

Hoseok shrugs and purses his lips in an innocent way that makes you giggle. A grin splits his face as Namjoon scowls at him for being able to make you laugh when he himself couldn’t. “It’s late. Or early. Or fucking…whatever. Can we just go now? We kind of have someplace to be, you know.”

And by someplace, Hoseok means waiting outside of Choi Hyunwoo’s apartment to grab his ass and get back to Taehyung. He quirks his brow up at Namjoon, rolling his eyes when Namjoon ignores him to face you. He turns his back to give you guys some privacy, but fuck if he’ll stand there all day watching Namjoon make goo goo eyes at you.

“Don’t let Minseok guilt you into seeing him,” Namjoon says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I understand that you feel it over not seeing your mother as often as you think you should. It’s why I’m more than happy to set her up with private home care. That way you can also cut down on your part time jobs. They’re wearing you down.”

“Real charming, Joon,” you snort and shove him away. “But you know I can’t take you up on that offer. It wouldn’t feel right if I couldn’t at least help you pay for her care.”

“Then, for the time being,” he says through grit teeth, “at least let me stave off Minseok.” He’s quick to wrap his arms around your waist and haul your chest to his. Your squeak of surprise makes him chuckle and you blush. “Hobi, do me a favor. Take a picture of this.”

You don’t have time to question what the hell he was talking about because he winds his fingers through your hair, tilts your face up, and pretends to slants his lips against yours. You inhale sharply at the contact, fingers digging into his jacket in a death grip, and oddly, found it far too easy to lean into his faux kiss. Your eyes meet the intensity of his brown orbs, bouncing back and forth as if searching for something. Reason, perhaps? Or signs of insanity. Because why the hell else would Namjoon go to such lengths just to get Minseok off your back?

Namjoon’s gaze deepens, his pupils dilating from the proximity. He can’t seem to remember that it was meant to be fake. He was meant to look like he was kissing you, not actually doing it. But he’d be lying if he told himself he didn’t want to know what your chapstick tastes like. If it’s the usual, nauseating taste. Or if this is one of the rare times you’d reached for the strawberry flavored lip balm. He almost chuckles as he imagines you rummaging through your bedside drawer and plucking your least favorite flavor in your haste to get to work on time. He always tells you to toss the hated flavor in the trash, but you, for whatever reason, never do. Apparently, you only keep it in “just in case” situations. Situations such as running late for work and not having the time to turn your apartment upside down in search of the usual, worn down tube of chapstick.

Distantly, you recognize the faint sound of a cell phone camera going off, but when Namjoon sweeps the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip, your thighs clench together as the feel of the roughly callused finger sets your body on fire. It’s such a simple gesture and yet, you find yourself unable to catch your breath. When he pulls on your lip as he traces a path down to grip your chin, you rise to the tips of your toes in anticipation. You’re far too ready to kiss him, and a part of you panics when a deep chuckle rumbles in his chest. You flush, embarrassed to have been caught leaning into his touch so shamelessly. You consider punching him as you usually do when he manages to fluster you, but then he presses in further, his own plump lips skimming across your mouth in an almost kiss that has you panting with need. Your eyelids become heavy and they close as pure, unadulterated desire pounds deep in your bones and your fingers card through his soft hair. You feel him shiver against the feel of your nails gently scratching the hair at the nape of his neck.

Namjoon knows he has to gain control of the situation soon. It was spiraling, and quickly, and he was more than willing to allow it to happen. But he doesn’t want the first of many kisses to come, be one that stems from him trying to piss off your ex-boyfriend. Because there will be more to come. He will taste you properly and he will continue to do so until you say otherwise. You, and only you, have the kind of control over him that no one ever has. Not even Taehyung.

“Namjoon,” you whisper and you swear an actual groan leaves his mouth because your lips bump against his as you speak. “Please,” you beg even though you’re sure this is an entirely bad idea. Heat pools in your lower belly as you press up against him, his thigh slotting between the apex of your legs, a noise of excitement leaving your throat as he leans in.

“I’m only going to stand here for so long to watch you guys pretend to swap spit,” Hoseok comments in irritation. “It’s hot, sure, but we’ve got more important things to do, Namjoon.”

When Namjoon parts from you, the both of you are panting, breaths mingling in the cold night air. His hand moves from the nape of your neck to slide down along the line of your jaw. His thumb sweeps across your cheek softly and he takes his time to look over your flushed face and heaving chest. Your eyes are still closed, making his chest swell with pride when one shift of his body makes your fingers tighten in his hair.

You don’t even notice you’ve done it, not until you finally open your eyes to find that you are the one keeping him in place. Quickly, you release him and try to create some distance, but you only bump into your car door. You want to be angry with him. You want to question what the hell he was thinking. But most of all, you want to understand why it didn’t bother you nearly as much as you thought it would. You’d known him since you were 18 and never once had it crossed your mind that he’d ever find you attractive. The same couldn’t be said for you, though, because you’d always harbored a small crush on him. You’d thought dating Minseok would quell that ache for Namjoon’s attention, but it really didn’t and you kind of felt bad when a small part of you wondered what Namjoon’s hand would feel like in place of Minseok’s on your skin.

“Send this to him,” Namjoon’s deep voice startles you while he holds out Hoseok’s phone. He watches, amused, as you stare at the picture on the phone. He can see your mind working in overtime as you process the seemingly loving embrace Hoseok managed to capture. “Minseok’s always thought you and I were together at some point, or even hooked up, so it’s not that odd to see us like this.”

“No, you can’t!” you squeak and try to snatch the phone from his hand. That attempt fails as he easily maneuvers out of reach. “Don’t send that, Namjoon!”

Hoseok snatches the phone from Namjoon’s hand and stalks off back to the car. He’s mumbling something under his breath that you can’t make sense of and slams the car door once he’s inside. Sinking down into the seat, he leans his head against the window to rest comfortably in hopes of getting some sleep.

“I have to go.” Namjoon sounds reluctant to leave as he steps away. He knows Hoseok already sent the picture to Minseok so there was no backing out now. In fact, Minseok should be calling you any second and he wishes he could stick around for that conversation, but Hoseok was right. If he didn’t leave now, then they’d miss Hyunwoo and the last thing they need is Taehyung tearing into them for screwing up. “Minseok will be calling soon. Ignore it, go home, get some sleep. I’ll check on you later.”

“But, I–.” you try to protest as he walks off and right on cue, your phone rings with irritating familiarity. “Damn it.”

-----------------------------------------------------------

“Why are you fucking with your own feelings just to piss off Minseok?” Hoseok questions Namjoon on the ride back home. He pays no mind to the muffled groaning coming from Hyunwoo lying on the floor of the van they’d swapped into later that morning. “It’s only going to get worse from here now. You know that, right?”

“Shut up,” Namjoon grumbles from the driver seat. He can’t say Hoseok’s wrong, he hardly ever is, but Namjoon isn’t willing to admit that. His grip on the steering wheel tightens as the memory of your lips and your touch, it all comes to the forefront of his mind and makes his chest tight. He had hoped that you did as he said and went home to get some sleep, but one quick peek at your Snapchat story revealed a breakfast plate filled with eggs and toast smothered in strawberry jam. Your mother’s favorite.

“You’re still pissed off that she went to breakfast with Minseok?”

“She didn’t go with Minseok. She went to see her mom.”

“Right,” Hoseok hums delightedly, “her mother. Who is currently being taken care of by who, again? Oh, right. Minseok.”

Namjoon uses the rearview mirror to glance back at his friend with a scowl. He knew he should have left his dumb ass back at home with Yoongi after he helped them pull the van from one of his family’s many junk yards. “You can join Hyunwoo in his misery, or you can shut the fuck up.”

Hoseok tosses his head back in howling laughter as Namjoon pulls through the security gates of Taehyung’s home. Pulling up to the front of the house, he gets out of the car to meet Taehyung and Yoongi at the passenger side door. He draws open the side door to reveal Hyunwoo bound, gagged, and covered in bruises. “Hoseok went a little…overboard.”

Yoongi’s low toned whistle makes him wince because he knows that Yoongi knows his lie was complete bullshit. “Damn, RM, you really did a number on this guy.”

“He tried to run,” Namjoon says as if it’s that simple of an explanation. When Yoongi shoots him a knowing look, he rolls his eyes towards the sky. That was, in fact, not what had happened and he had used it as a not so believable excuse to beat the shit out of Hyunwoo. It was a means to vent his frustration and Hoseok had let it happen without complaint. Then again, Hoseok never really complained about any kind of violence. Save for the few domestic ones he’d seen over the years. Oh, he’d always let his knife or gun do the talking then.

Taehyung climbs into the passenger seat and taps on the window as a sign for them to hurry the hell up before his wife comes storming outside. His phone rings while Yoongi jumps in the back with Hoseok and Hyunwoo. He answers it with a smirk on his face while Namjoon reclaims his seat behind the wheel.

Namjoon isn’t entirely sure what the conversation is about but it was pretty amusing to watch Hyunwoo lose his shit. When Taehyung throws out an innuendo that clearly has his wife panicking, he tries to hide his smile as Taehyung pulls the phone from his ear and stares at it.

“She hung up on me,” Taehyung comments in disbelief. He really shouldn’t be surprised that Nabi would hang up on him after his little quip, or the fact that she hadn’t entirely forgiven him for their fight last night. But if there’s one thing Namjoon’s come to learn in the decades of friendship with his six brothers, it’s that they’re all the smartest people he knows…and the dumbest. It’s a good balance of brains and stupidity, it keeps things fresh.

“I’m shocked she didn’t do more than yell at you last night,” Namjoon laughs. “Or that you didn’t kill Yoongi for being an instigator.”

“What good would it do me to be rid of him?” Taehyung catches Yoongi’s eye in the mirror. “But he is lucky I didn’t at least shoot him for it.”

“Jimin was the one who made it worse by giving you the spare key to your guys’ room,” Yoongi defends himself with a roll of his eyes. “Did it not get worse after you opened that door and Nabi nearly tore your head off?”

“Jimin’s not out of the woods either.” Taehyung scrolls through his phone, swiping through picture after picture that Hoseok had sent him earlier. Each of them include Hyunwoo stalking down various streets in his attempt to follow one of Nabi’s best friends. He thumbs through each one until…

“Is this a picture of you kissing Y/N, Namjoon?” Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot so far up that they nearly disappear into his hairline.

“Hoseok!” Namjoon barks back at his friend. “I said send it to Minseok, not broadcast it to everyone we know.”

Hoseok shrugs from his spot in the back. “As I recall, I said I wasn’t going to stand around all day while you guys made out. But you made me wait anyway. So, that’s on you.”

“My god, Namjoon, you really didn’t hold back, did you?” Yoongi is too busy peeking over Taehyung’s shoulder to notice Namjoon holding up his middle finger.

“Clearly, she didn’t either,” Taehyung notes, turning slightly so Yoongi can get a better look.

“Stop it,” Namjoon hisses, reaching out to take the phone from Taehyung. “You guys are like fucking children. It’s a wonder how Nabi can stand the two of you.”

“You’re awfully angry for someone who kissed the girl he’s been pining after for 10 years,” comes Yoongi’s voice.

“I didn’t really kiss her,” Namjoon growls low in his throat and contemplates shoving Yoongi out of the moving van. “And I haven’t been fucking pining, you prick.”

“Someone’s pretty fucking testy this morning,” his senior hisses back, having had enough of Namjoon’s pissy attitude.

“He’s just pissed that she spent the morning with Minsoek,” Hoseok not so helpfully supplies. “Apparently the picture didn’t do much to deter the poor bastard from asking her out again. Remind me why it ended between them again?”

Namjoon grips the wheel so tight that his arm shakes with barely restrained anger. Your relationship with Minseok ended on a relatively civil note. Something that always bothered Namjoon because it would have been easier for you to let go of him, or for Minseok to let go of you if things had just ended badly. But that hadn’t been the case. At least not from what you’d told him. You’d called him one night and, in an eerily calm voice, explained that Minseok had broken up with you. All of the time spent apart because of your part time jobs and having to tend to your mother had finally made him snap. You’d gone on to say that you weren’t really sure why you’d been so surprised. After all, Namjoon had been hinting at it for months but you’d never taken it seriously. It hadn’t bothered you that Minseok chose to part ways, maybe that’s why it angered Minseok when you didn’t want to reconcile. Maybe a part of him thought and still thinks that you didn’t care for him as much as he was led to believe.

Good, Namjoon thinks to himself. Good, because fuck Minseok and fuck his selfishness for leaving you at your most vulnerable, and then turning around and hoping to get back together. Namjoon will be damned before that ever happens.

He tunes back into the conversation when it steers to Nabi’s best friend, Soyoung, whom Hyunwoo had been tailing. They inform him that Soyoung can be just as cruel as Nabi if not more, and Hyunwoo seems caught off guard. Namjoon finds it easy to fall into the cruel amusement his boss and friends have at Hyunwoo’s expense. That is, until Yoongi brings up the subject of what you and Minseok could have possibly been up to if you weren’t answering Namjoon’s calls or texts. Namjoon quickly shuts down once more, sneering at Yoongi’s reflection in the mirror.

“Damn,” Hoseok sighs and pockets his switchblade as they come up on Taehyung’s father’s building. “Now you guys have done it. He’ll be pissy the rest of the day now.”

“Us?” Yoongi hisses, pushing Hoseok’s shoulder roughly as they scramble out of the van. “You’re the one who brought it up first, dumbass.”

“You didn’t have to mention that she hasn’t responded, dipshit.”

“Enough,” Taehyung hushes them as they walk through the back doors of his father’s building. He doesn’t often use them, but given how they’re still holding Hyunwoo hostage, he doesn’t really have a choice now. “We’ll talk about this later,” he addresses Namjoon after stepping into the elevator.

------------------------------------------------------------

Namjoon thanks whatever higher power that keeps Taehyung occupied with the Seong brothers at lunch so he can thumb through his phone once more. He’s been waiting all fucking day for you to answer his call, which is yet to happen. He knows he said you needed to get sleep, but damn it, he wishes he could go and check on you. That, and the fact that he and Taehyung are still reeling from their earlier argument is on his mind. Taehyung’s plan to put Nabi and Hyunwoo in the same room as each other while giving Hyunwoo the freedom to move about honestly scares Namjoon. It’s clear that Nabi is capable of handling herself against any normal person, but Hyunwoo has grown up in the center of the mafia, being spoiled and coddled so much by his father that he believed he was entitled to anything he wanted. This included Nabi. It makes Namjoon’s stomach turn sour at the thought of putting Nabi in a situation that could potentially destroy her strong mindset. But Taehyung has all the faith in the world in his wife and Namjoon can’t blame him. Nabi is the furthest thing from timid and weak.

Thunder crashes in the sky above and lightning follows, leaving their entire party to rush inside the cafe Nabi’s chosen to eat at. As they filter inside, Yoongi is hissing underneath his breath about getting caught in the rain while he shucks his jacket off to lay across an empty table. Jungkook and Jimin don’t miss the opportunity to piss him off further by shaking their hair about and spraying water everywhere.

“Damn it,” Hoseok seethes at the two youngest, resisting the urge to slap one or both of them upside the head. “Can you two be any less civilized?”

“Jungkook!” Namjoon slaps his shoulder after the youngest wrings out his jacket over top of Hoseok’s head. As if Hoseok wasn’t one of the most dangerous men in the city. “Behave.”

Jungkook snorts in response and sets his jacket flat over the same table Yoongi has his splayed about. He’s the only one of them to not notice Taehyung drag Nabi off towards the bathrooms and Namjoon’s eye twitches when the Seong brothers do notice and 4 out of the 5 men move to stop them from following Taehyung and Nabi. It would be alot easier if Jungkook would pull his head out of his ass and get it together.

“You can’t really expect us to stand here and do nothing?” Joongki, the oldest Seong brother and Nabi’s cousin, tries to shove past Namjoon.

“Unless you want to walk in on a very intimate moment,” Hoseok warns him while wrangling Jeonghan, Nabi’s other cousin, to an empty booth. “I suggest you sit the hell down and leave them be.”

“Nabi will be embarrassed enough without the two of you storming in there.” Yoongi grips Joongki’s shoulder and helps Namjoon shove him into the other side of the booth. “Know and understand this, Taehyung cherishes your cousin more than any of us here. There’s not a damn thing in this world that could stop him from giving her anything and everything she wants and needs. He will not hurt her, he will not coerce her into what’s happening, and he for damn sure will absolutely not touch her without her express permission.”

“Joongki,” Namjoon catches his attention, “I know you’re smarter than this. I know you would not have let Taehyung put Nabi under our roof if you thought we couldn’t keep her safe. None of us would let Taehyung hurt her. Jungkook nearly got himself killed multiple times just for stepping in between their arguments. Don’t lose your cool because you can’t handle that Nabi’s a grown woman.”

Finally, the Seong brothers seem to accept the words Yoongi and Namjoon speak, and Namjoon sighs in relief now that he can check his phone again. Still, nothing from you and it makes his blood boil. “Son of a bitch,” he grumbles, dialing your phone number and pressing it to his ear. “I swear to God, if you don’t fucking pick up…”

“Yeah?” Your breathless voice hits his ears like a symphony and all of the blood rushes to his groin. You’re met with absolute silence and pull the phone back to check if Namjoon had hung up. “Joon? You there?”

He coughs as his throat dries up and attempts to clear it in hopes of not sounding so gruff when he answers, “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Just a little,” you huff out another breathless laugh. “It’s okay though. I had to get up and get some grocery shopping done before my shift at the diner tonight.”

“You should have done that after your breakfast with Minseok,” he growls, letting his temper get the best of him. “Then you could have slept longer.”

“I slept long enough.” You know he can practically hear your eye roll. “Joon, I didn’t have breakfast with Minseok. I went to visit my mother and he was there. He does happen to work there, you know.”

“Didn’t seeing my tongue down your throat scare him off?” he snaps back in response. “Didn’t it piss him off the way it pisses me off that he really thinks he has a chance after I sent you to him wet and ready for me?”

“Namjoon!” you gasp, clenching your thighs together as you had earlier that morning. What had gotten into him? He’s never spoken to you this way and while it did get you a little hot and bothered, it also reminds you of the almost kiss you’d shared. Something that most definitely should not have happened. It left you wanting much more and knowing you can’t have it. It’s a line you swore you’d never cross with Namjoon, not when he was your oldest and only friend. It would complicate things and you couldn’t handle losing him if it tore the friendship apart.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” his voice cuts through your thoughts, making your heartbeat skyrocket. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, that wasn’t okay for me to say. I’m just—.”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear whatever explanation he has for momentarily forgetting you were his best friend, not one of the usual girls he sleeps with. “Look, Namjoon, I have to go. It’s going to get late and I won’t be able to get everything done that I need to.”

“Y/N, wait. I—.”

“And don’t stop by the diner tonight.” You’re adamant in this because a few of your co-workers had spotted him this morning and texted you to ask if you’d been dating again. You don’t need them to think you’re attached to anyone, especially not Namjoon of all people. It would only make things awkward when he inevitably got a long time girlfriend and you were stuck having to explain everything.

“Why the fuck not?” Namjoon tries his best to keep his voice down, but he’s not doing a very good job as Mr. and Mrs. Kim’s heads whip his way. “The area around the diner is dangerous, Y/N, I’ll be damned if anything happens to you.” He’s seething and it shows in his voice after hearing his full name from your lips. He’d learned long ago that if he made you angry enough, you would forgo his nickname in favor of his full name, and he never realized how much he hated hearing you say it until right this moment. “Where is this coming from?”

“People will talk, Namjoon,” you mumble, scooting to the edge of your bed in search of your pajama shorts. Your air conditioner has been on the fritz lately and it picks and chooses when to work. Today, it decided it did not want to work. Though it was still nice and cool outside, your apartment was like a damn furnace since the window latch had been broken. Admittedly, you don’t live in the greatest building with the greatest landlord. Or the greatest part of town. But it’s a roof over your head, so you can’t really complain. Namjoon had lost his shit time and time again when it came to your apartment so you decided to stop telling him all of its issues entirely.

“So, let them talk,” he growls, turning away from Yoongi’s questioning gaze. His stare, in turn, had the rest of the guys and Taehyung’s parents staring as well. It makes Namjoon tense up when they notice he’s losing this argument. “Don’t take that chance just because I pissed you off, Y/N. Don’t push me away and shut me out because I’m being an asshole. That’s my fault and I’m sorry. But don’t…” he sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can hear the rustling of your sheets as you move about your bed. His throat bobs at the thought of what the hell you could be doing to make that much noise. “Just don’t, baby, please.”

Baby.

He called you baby and a part of you softens at the pet name. The other part of you gets angry that he would try to manipulate you by saying it. You’ve watched him charm girl after girl when he got bored enough and every single time, they fell for it. You hated it. Hated how they got to see a part of him he would never show you because of your friendship. Hated that he was using those same tactics now to manipulate you into forgiving him. Your chest feels tight and there’s a hitch in your breath when you tell him, “I don’t want people to think we’re together. It’s bad enough Minseok bought into the picture Hobi sent him. I don’t need my coworkers thinking I’m ready to date again. Especially not you.”

He takes offense to that. So much so that his knuckles curl into a fist, one that’s two seconds away from meeting the wall in front of him until Jimin taps his shoulder. It’s enough to make him look up and find that everyone was ready to go after the rain finally settled. Poor Nabi looks ready to combust, her entire face as red as a tomato, and Taehyung looks too fucking smug for Namjoon’s liking. He hangs up without bidding you goodbye because if he opens his mouth to say anything at all, it’ll only upset you even more. Especially not him? What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

His life was never meant for someone permanent or special to be invited into. Not with the constant danger lurking around every corner, or the men he regularly spends time around because of Taehyung and his own family ties into the mafia. While his father treats his mother like a goddess, and Taehyung does the same with Nabi, Namjoon couldn’t see himself treating anyone with that kind of respect while you were around. You occupy too many of his thoughts. He’s aware that all of this falls on him. His unyielding thought process of never fully committing to someone because of you, is entirely his own fucking fault, and he knows it. His parents would be ashamed of him if he were to ever marry and be unfaithful. Then again, who would he be unfaithful with if not you? You’d never allow it. You have too much self respect to ever be the other woman. It’s one of the things Namjoon respects the most about you. Some women didn’t care if they were some man’s side piece in the mob. It meant expensive gifts, expensive trips, hell, some men even bought their mistresses homes in order to keep them happy. It wasn’t odd for it to happen, but Namjoon had taken great care to surround himself with people fully devoted to treating women as more than just play things. He never thought he’d ever actually find friends like that, until he’d met Taehyung, and then Yoongi, and Hoseok, and so on.

He’s never told you what he does for “work” and you’ve never really asked. He can never truly tell you the truth unless he was willing to drag you into his life completely. Obviously, he really is ready, but you’d never plunge into this life head first without thinking of the consequences. It’s a dangerous line to toe and he knows he shouldn’t push, but clearly Minseok had said something to make you doubt him. Minseok had always made you second guess the things Namjoon did and said, and you’d cave under the guilty weight of taking Namjoon’s side over your boyfriends. Minseok had been able to weasel his way into your life and shove Namjoon out to the brink of Namjoon nearly storming to Minseok’s house with Hoseok and Jimin in tow.

Damn. He has to get you away from Minseok. And soon. Because if he wormed his way underneath your skin, Namjoon would well and truly kill him this time.

Parting ways with Mrs. Kim’s car filled with Nabi, her cousins, Jimin, and Jungkook, Namjoon plopped into the driver's side of the van they’d arrived in. Taehyung, Yoongi, and Hoseok follow suit, all silently climbing into the car in a much more gingerly manner than Namjoon himself had. Taehyung, while still sexed out of his mind, still had the decency to ask if his friend was alright.

“Sounded pretty intense,” Hoseok said from the back seat, eyeing Namjoon’s rigid form. “What did Y/N say to piss you off so much? Because the last time I saw that look in your eye, we nearly wiped out the entire Lee family. They still haven’t forgiven us, by the way. Mr. Kim’s got them nearly beating down his door to get to you, Namjoon.”

The tall man pretends not to hear a word Hoseok says because of course he remembers. He’d gotten into a fight with you then too. He vividly remembers how you’d questioned his lengthy absence when you never had before. You’d always figured his business was his alone and you shouldn’t butt in. But that time, Minseok had managed to convince you that Namjoon simply didn’t want to be around because of Minseok’s presence. While that rang true, Namjoon couldn’t exactly tell you that he’d been sent on an assignment to the Maldives with Hoseok to deal with a shipment the Lee family was in control of. He’d been gone for almost an entire month when you finally called, only to ask if he’d tired of you. He could remember the sound of your voice cracking as you tried to hold back tears. He had tried to explain, tried to tell you that it was for work, but he could hear Minseok’s mousy fucking voice in the background, taunting you in a sickeningly sweet way that only he could. You’d said your goodbyes to Namjoon, almost sounding final, and Namjoon. Had. Gone. Feral. Absolutely apeshit and cut down a good portion of the Lee men because he’d been pissed. Later, he’d told Taehyung that the family was indeed skimming some of the product, which was why he’d been sent to the Maldives in the first place. He’d silently cursed Taehyung back then, well and truly hated the man that had become his brother, and for what? A stupid argument that Minseok had incited?

Taehyung clocks Namjoon’s grip on the wheel and winces at how his friend is about to lose all self control and possibly kill what little is left of the Choi family. For Namjoon to completely lose himself again, means that whatever is bothering him has to do with you. Taehyung almost feels bad for him, and he would offer some advice if he didn’t have bigger problems at hand. What he can do is try to free up some time for Namjoon to work things out however he needs to. Though, if this is anything like the situation with the Lee family, Taehyung can’t imagine the hell Namjoon will rain down on the poor sucker stupid enough to even so much as slightly push the wrong button. It would be a bloodbath of epic proportions and Taehyung runs a hand down his face at the thought. They can’t afford for Namjoon to be distracted right now, but it was inevitable. Every so often, Namjoon loses focus and becomes completely and utterly consumed by you. Even if you don’t know it.

Yoongi watches Hyunwoo raise a curious brow at Namjoon’s behavior and the tense silence compared to the friendly banter earlier. When he turns to meet Yoongi’s stare, Yoongi sneers at him so viciously that it makes Hyunwoo visibly recoil. He smirks and looks out the front windshield, watching the buildings pass by in a blur. He can see the cogs in the machine that is Namjoon’s genius brain turn and turn. Something had to have gone completely wrong with you if it’s gotten this bad again. He can see Namjoon’s pupils dilate with the rush of adrenaline he’s sure to unleash on Hyunwoo if he makes one wrong move. He’s quite sure that Namjoon almost hopes the Choi family fucks up so it’ll give him a reason to go nuts. Namjoon lives on fear and chaos, it’s one of the things that made him so frightening and dangerous. It’s one of the many things Taehyung had sought him out for as teenagers. By that age, Namjoon had quite the body count and truthfully, if he and Hoseok had to go toe to toe, everyone knows it would be pretty damn close. What makes him even more scary is that no one would ever be able to tell how much blood stains his hands because of his cool and calm demeanor.

Hoseok almost pays no mind to Namjoon’s disheveled state as he plays with his switchblade, every so often leaning over to knick Hyunwoo’s skin. It was almost torture and Hoseok knows if anyone could appreciate it, it’s Namjoon. However, with Namjoon’s lack of self awareness, Hoseok finds that he must enjoy this by himself. Really, he’s worried that Namjoon’s going to go on a rampage again. It took them forever to clean up the mess in the Maldives. Not to mention the complete shitshow that followed and Mr. Kim had to sort out enough for there to be some sense of civility. Goddamn it, he really doesn’t need another disaster on his hands. The Choi family better pray for themselves because God only knows what Namjoon is cooking up in his head.

Namjoon’s phone rings in the silence and actually makes Taehyung jump a little. He glances down to find the name “Hana” in bold letters taking up the screen. Namjoon lets it go to voicemail because Taehyung’s sure that it isn’t exactly the name he wants to pop up on his phone right now. He doesn’t know who the girl is, but if you catch wind of it, then it won’t be good. The phone rings again and Namjoon picks it up with some bite in his tone.

“What?” Namjoon snaps.

“Oh, hey,” Hana purrs back, giggling even though she can tell how mad he is. “Are you busy? I’m kind of bored and thought—.”

“We fucked once, Hana,” he sneers, “and it wasn’t exactly memorable for me, so find a different dick to suck.”

“Fuck you, Namjoon!” she screeches at his audacity. “You know, I don’t exactly remember you complaining when I sucked your dick, you asshole! Here’s a tip, Namjoon, maybe don’t be a complete prick the next time a woman reaches out to satisfy you. There won’t be many left if you continue on like that.”

“You’re a placeholder, Hana.” Namjoon smirks and the guys in the van inwardly groan because now some poor girl is about to get the brunt of his wrath. “I don’t want anyone else, just one girl, and she’s not you. Maybe some small, pathetic part of you had hoped you were special but you’re really not. I was drunk and bored and you were willing to spread your legs for me, so fuck off.”

Taehyung winces as Namjoon slams his phone back on the center console. Jesus fucking Christ, that was brutal. Namjoon’s not exactly a saint but he’s very rarely crude to a girl. Whatever you’d argued about must have messed him up good if he was speaking that way to someone. They reach the house just after Nabi’s car gets there and Taehyung basically leaps out of the van to usher his wife from the car.

Namjoon locks eyes with Nabi for a second before he turns his glare to Taehyung because not only does he have to deal with the Choi family, he’s still steaming from his conversation with you. He doesn’t see Nabi frown, only concentrating on getting Hyunwoo into the house without her seeing. He shoves Hyunwoo harder than necessary when Yoongi has to prod him forward with a gun. God, he can only hope this was enough to release some of the tension simmering beneath his skin.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re almost halfway through grocery shopping when a sense of dread settles in your chest. You don’t know what it is or how it was even brought on, but you know there’s something not right. You round the corner of the canned food aisle, determined to get away from whatever it was when you bump into a firm chest. Strong hands reach out to steady you while your breath catches. You look up to find a handsome stranger with the oddest smile on his face. It’s not menacing but it certainly isn’t friendly either. “Sorry,” you mumble, taking a step back to create some much needed distance.

He only smiles wider, raking a hand through his dark hair and waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s not a problem at all. It’s my fault, actually. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you alright?”

“Um, yeah, I’m fine.” You blink up at him, unsure of whether or not you should even keep talking to him. Namjoon always hated the way you’d become friendly with anyone, especially strangers. You’d called him out on it once, insisting that he was just being paranoid, but he didn’t budge. He always says no one can be trusted, but then you wonder what exactly makes him so trustworthy, or why he trusts you at all. The thought of your best friend sends a pang through your heart and you frown. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so harsh with him earlier. He was only trying to help, but you let your insecurities shine through and lashed out at him.

“Kang Chunghee,” he says, offering his hand in greeting. He can see the apprehension on your face even as you take his hand in yours and shake it. Taking a step too close, he towers over you in a way that almost makes you cower away. His eyes roam down your body from head to toe, but you’re so busy looking everywhere but him that you don’t notice. Your hair, he notes, and face look so much like your mother’s that it’s a wonder why you hadn’t been spotted before now. Then again, his father wasn’t exactly looking to make trouble with the Kim family, but he’d found out about your mother’s illness and insisted on seeking you out. His hand tightens briefly, making you wince, as the memories of his own mother begging his father to leave “that woman” be and come back home to her. He never did, of course, and soon sent Chunghee’s mother spiraling into a world of drugs and alcohol. Both of which killed her not long after your birth.

“Cho Y/N,” you reply with a hiss, trying to pull your hand from his. It takes a moment for him to realize he’d been holding on too tight and quickly drops your hand. You take this chance to scan his face and realize he looks vaguely familiar but you can’t quite place it anywhere. He could just be one of the many patrons that have come and gone from the diner. You meet so many people at your job that it’s not entirely out of the ordinary to run into someone while out and about. As if on cue, your phone rings and you scramble for it in hopes that it’s Namjoon and you can apologize, but you’re disappointed to find that it’s your manager instead. You give Chunghee a polite smile before stepping away to answer the call. She only asks if you can come in a bit early as one of the other waitresses has called in sick. You sigh and check your watch to ask for some extra time to go home and get ready. Throughout the entire conversation, you notice that Chunghee hasn’t left your side at all, and you tense up when he steps closer once more after ending your phone call.

“Ah, I have to apologize,” he says and takes a step back to give you some space. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Um.” You shift on the balls of your feet, clutching your phone tight in your hand and contemplating calling Namjoon. You shake your head. No. His paranoia is simply rubbing off on you and this guy hasn’t really done anything to offend or scare you other than being a little too interested. You remind yourself that at one point, Minseok had been the same way before he finally worked up the courage to ask you out on a date. “I really should get going.”

“Oh, of course.” Chunghee gestures for you to go ahead and walk on, bidding you goodbye with a simple wave. Once you round the corner to the registers, his smile slowly fades into a grimace. If your mother is as beautiful as you are, then he can see why his father was tempted by her. His chest grows tight and bile rises in his throat that he has to swallow down. As a child he’d always wondered why his father could so easily cast him and his mother aside. Looking at you now, he sees exactly why. He’s only ever seen photos of your mother and none of you, but his father had told him it’s because he didn’t even know you existed. Not until your mother had grown sick and you’d somehow gotten tangled up in one of the notorious Kim family’s webs. Fool, he thinks of you. If only you had never come up on the Kim family’s radar then you never would have come up on his father’s. Or, he supposes, he’s your father as well.

He gives you all of 2 minutes to get ahead of him before he stalks out of the grocery store to see you climb into a junker car that he can’t even fathom why it would even still exist. He slips into his own car, a much nicer one, and peels out of the parking lot just a little after you do. He takes turn after turn and a muscle in his jaw ticks when it dawns on him that you don’t even notice you’re being followed, and even worse, his eye visibly twitches after parking down the street from a rundown building that you seem to be living in. “For fuck’s sake,” he sighs to himself, running a hand down his face. He’s meant to hate you, to loathe your mother for stealing away his father’s attention and causing his mother to lose her damn mind. But a twinge of guilt eats away at him. His father was never the greatest man, but Chunghee’s certainly lived a much more lavish life than you have. His father may have laid his hands on him quite a few times during his childhood, but you’re so carefree that he’s actually envious, and even still, he feels bad that you’ve had to go nights hungry while he was gifted with so much food that he didn’t know what to do with it. He was 28 when he’d learned of your existence and by then you were already 18, living paycheck to paycheck and working yourself to the bone to afford your mother’s medical costs. Until that point, he and his father had always wondered where your mother had disappeared to. According to his father, she’d up and left one day, leaving behind most of her belongings for the obvious reason that she never wanted to be found again. She’d even changed her name and lived 18 blissful long years in the shadows.

Chunghee can only wonder how she’d never figured out who his father was until it was too late. If he’s correct in his math, she’d already been pregnant with you when she skipped town. Which means she had to have found out that his father was both married and a dangerous man. He can commend her for wanting to protect you, which was far more than his father was willing to do for him. If you weren’t somehow tied to the Kim family, then Kang Himchan would have swooped in and stolen you away long ago. But with Kim Namjoon hovering around so often, the older Kang could only grit his teeth and turn a blind eye if he didn’t want to overstep and start problems.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when you emerge from the building, basically running, and jump in your car to speed off. He looks at the clock on his dashboard, guessing that you took far longer than you thought you would to get ready. He gives you a few extra miles before he starts down the same road you’d gone, following along until he reaches the diner just before exiting the city. It’s far, he realizes as another glance at the clock shows that it took almost an hour to get there. He’d paid no mind to the time when he’d scouted out the diner last night. He’d come out on a whim, wondering if you were well and truly under the Kim family protection, and snorted when you’d gone the entire night without so much as a hint of the Kims around. When you’d left for the night, he’d gotten out of his car to confront you, but then Namjoon had shown up, and Chunghee had frozen in place. He’d been wrong because not only had the Kims been hidden in the literal dark, Jung Hoseok had been lying in wait as well. Anyone in this line of work knows who Hoseok is, and if he’s hovering around you, then this is going to be far more complicated than he first thought. He’s tempted to go sit in the diner, but after the disaster that was the interaction in the grocery store, he doesn’t want to give you a reason to contact Namjoon. So he waits. For hours. 14, to be exact, and he finds himself shifting in his seat every 10 minutes. Why the hell he feels so inclined to sit around for your entire shift, he doesn’t know, but you have to be tired out by now. How the hell would it look if he’s the one that’s exhausted when you’re the one who’s been running around on your feet all day?

--------------------------------------------------------------------

You can feel it. You don’t know what it is or where it’s coming from, but you know you’re being watched. It’s unnerving, and while you’re trying your best to get through your shift, you also want to find out who could be watching. Not wanting to let them know you’re on to them, you keep plowing through orders and customers, running hot plates from the kitchen, cleaning off tables and kitchen utensils, and itching to reach for your phone to text Namjoon. But he hasn’t reached out to you either, making a small part of you actually want to cry because you’ve upset him. It’s not often that he gets angry with you, but when he does, it never takes very long for you to apologize or for him to check on you even if he is mad. So for him to go the entire day without contacting you is terrifying. Especially when you know something is wrong. When your shift is finally over, you say your goodbyes to your coworkers and check your phone as you head to your car. Your shoulders deflate with disappointment, thoughts swirling in your head, so much so that they drown out the sound of approaching feet. Fingers tap on your shoulder, and you whirl around with an ear piercing scream, only to have someone slap their hand over your mouth.

Hoseok looks at you with a raised brow, a little concerned with your pale face and the sweat beading down by your temples. You’re scared and he doesn’t like that. He removes his hand from your mouth, watching as your bottom lip wobbles in an attempt to hold back a sob. He grips your arms tighter than he means to. “What happened?”

You heave out a sigh of relief, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. “Oh, Hobi. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scream like that.”

“You obviously had a reason to, so help me out here, and tell me what could have scared you so much.”

“It’s nothing,” you promise even though you know you shouldn’t lie. Hoseok’s always been good at telling when someone’s lying and you’re not entirely sure why you even tried. You watch him scan the dark parking lot anyways, fingers nearly bruising your skin with the force of his grip. You wince out loud, regaining his attention and he lets go of you.

“I’m sorry.” He frowns, reaching up to pat down your messy hair. “I came to check on you. Namjoon’s been out of it all day and I know you guys fought.”

“It was stupid,” you whisper, casting your eyes to the ground in shame. Hoseok showing up on Namjoon’s behalf means that your best friend isn’t anywhere near ready to speak to you again. You really screwed up this time if he sent Hoseok all the way out here when he could have just called you himself. You feel awful that Hoseok even drove all the way out here in person just because you’re having a difficult time processing everything from the day before. The way Namjoon held you and looked at you, it was far better than you ever imagined, and you let your insecurities get the best of you. You’re doing what you’ve always done when someone gets too close. You’re pushing him away like you used to when you were dating Minseok. The two of you had fought more than usual while you were with Minseok, and this fight reminds you of those times.

“It can’t be that stupid if you guys are this messed up over it.” Hoseok keeps petting your hair with affection, but he’s not fooled. Something else is going on here and you’re not being honest with him. He’s scared you before, albeit playfully, but even when he’d done it in earnest, you’ve never reacted that way. He’ll have to bring it up with Namjoon and hopefully it’ll be enough to pull his head out of his ass. After the disastrous confrontation between Nabi, the Choi family, and Taehyung, Namjoon had been even more on edge and left the house. Hoseok had assumed he’d come to tail you, but he wasn’t picking up his phone, so Hoseok drove out here to check. He’d grown worried when he got to the diner and didn’t see Namjoon’s car anywhere, so he’d gotten out to come ask you when his phone pinged with a message from Namjoon. He’d told Hoseok that he just needed air to clear his head and he was on his way back to the house. Hoseok was ready to leave it alone and go back himself, but his instincts had kicked in, and rightfully so. He considers memorizing the license plates currently in the parking lot to have Yoongi run when he gets back, but decides against it when he hears your car door open.

“It is,” you remind him. “It’s a stupid fight over a stupid thing and Namjoon wouldn’t get it, and I said some things I shouldn’t have. I just want some space, Hobi, is that too much?”

“Yes,” he growls, holding out the car door for you to climb in. “It’s too much for Namjoon and you know that, Y/N. He doesn’t like space when it comes to you and this fight is affecting all of us. We’re his friends too, Y/N, and it’s out of the ordinary for us to see him this way.”

“Then space is exactly what we need.” You slam the door shut, leaving Hoseok pleasantly surprised by your outburst. You’ve never taken that much attitude with him and he’s a little amused by it. You’re careful not to run over his feet as you back out of the parking space, giving him a small wave before driving away. Peering in the rearview mirror, you watch him fade into the background and miss the way his body locks up.

Hoseok turns slightly, meeting the eyes of someone he’s not quite familiar with, before the person rolls up their car window. There, he thinks. That’s what, or rather who, was bothering you. He glares at his reflection in the window as the car drives away, pulling his phone from his pocket to dial Namjoon’s number.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Namjoon sits in one of the lounge chairs in his small library at the house, his hair sticking up in every direction after running his hands through it. After the confrontation earlier with Nabi and the Choi family, he’d gone out for a long drive. He was tempted to drive up to your apartment, or even stake out the diner, but he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing you without forcing a conversation. The last thing he wants is to disrespect your boundaries, but his skin prickles at the thought of not checking up on you. He could never forgive himself if something were to happen to you. A light knock on the doorframe gets his attention and he looks up to find Nabi leaning against it.

She gives him a soft smile when he gestures to the empty chair across from him, striding across the room to sit. “Are you alright?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” he snorts in response, pinching the bridge of his nose as the tension in his neck travels up to the base of his skull. “It was a hard day for you.”

She nods slightly. “Namjoon, can I…” she trails off, fiddling with her thumbs anxiously but he doesn’t push, only giving her the time she needs to gather her thoughts. “What I did today, with Hyunwoo, and the gun. How did it look to you guys?”

“What do you mean?” He’s obviously confused because she can’t really mean to think his opinion of her has changed to a bad one.

“Did it look like I was hiding something from you guys?”

“No,” he answers immediately. “Nabi, Hoseok told us that he suspected you weren’t exactly timid a long time ago. None of us really thought you were to begin with. Taehyung didn’t scare you, Jungkook and Jimin didn’t scare you. Hell, even Hoseok couldn’t scare you off even when you know the kinds of things we do.”

She inhales sharply, taking his hand when he offers it in support. “Growing up in this life definitely hardens a person, but sometimes I think I take it too far.”

“We’ve all had to do some unforgivable things to survive this life.” Namjoon’s thumb skims across her knuckles. “I think the way you kept that part of yourself closed off was just a way to protect yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that, even if Taehyung was angry about it. I’m glad you opened up, Nabi, it means you trust us enough to be comfortable.”

“Comfortable enough to ask what’s going on with you,” Nabi quickly changes the subject, jumping right into what she came to the library for in the first place.

“It’s Y/N,” he sighs, dropping her hand and sinking back into the chair. “I may have had Hoseok send a picture to her ex that made us look like more than friends, and she got angry with me. She said she didn’t want me hanging around the diner for awhile to avoid her coworkers asking questions. For whatever reason, she doesn’t want them to think she’s in a relationship with anyone, but before we could really get into it, I had to focus on the situation here and I haven’t called her since.”

“Namjoon,” Nabi admonishes him, slapping his arm lightly. “First of all, as much help as you think the picture was, I can promise you, it wasn’t. Secondly, how do you think she’ll feel if you start showing up around her coworkers and she has to explain that you’re just friends even though they’ve seen more? Honestly, Kim Namjoon, did you even fully think of the consequences that picture could bring?”

Namjoon opens his mouth to argue when his phone starts to ring and Nabi takes that as her victory before slinking out of the room. He shakes his head, amused but doesn’t want to admit it, before answering Hoseok’s call. “What is it?”

“Y/N’s being followed,” Hoseok wastes no time getting to the point. He’s already in his car, speeding after you and your stalker, but he was too far behind to begin with. His palms begin to sweat with what he can only describe as fear when he has to slam on the brakes at a nearby intersection. “Fuck!” he curses, slamming his hands against the steering wheel, losing sight of your car. “I lost them.” “Where?” Namjoon is up and in the garage, car keys in his shaking hands as dread fills his entire body.

“Not far. If you leave now, you should meet her just as she’s getting home.”

Shit, Namjoon seethes to himself. His hands tighten on the wheel as he speeds down street after street. Shit, shit, shit! He tries calling you, but you don’t answer, and he doesn’t want to panic. You’ve just worked another double, he reasons, you always forget to take a phone charger with you so your phone had to have died. That has to be it. For the sake of whoever is stupid enough to follow you, that had better be what happened. The automatic voice echoes in the car as he gets your voicemail one more time. “Baby,” he says after the beep, “I know you’re angry with me, but I need you to pick up the phone.”

Three more unanswered calls later, his body is wound tight as he pulls up to your apartment building, not seeing your car anywhere in sight. He jumps out the driver’s seat and bolts up the stairs to your apartment, pounding on the door, but he’s met with more silence. He has to call his father, has to get their men out there in search of you, he has to. Has to. Has to. Has to.

“Joon?” your voice reaches his ears, but you’re not sure he actually hears you. You take in his heaving shoulders and chest, the shaking of his hands, and lay your palm on his shoulder to get his attention. You gasp in pain when he rounds on you, shoving your back into the wall with his long fingers wrapped around your neck. Your hand wraps around his wrist to try and pry it away, looking into his eyes to find them nearly black with rage. “Joon! Namjoon, it’s me!”

Namjoon’s eyes finally clear, blood still roaring in his ears as he seems to recognize you. He glances down to find his hand around your throat, quickly releasing you. “Oh fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry!” He holds on to your shoulders as you cough violently, trying to take in all the air you’ve lost, sliding down the wall as if to ground yourself. He falls to his knees in order to maintain eye contact, spearing his fingers through your hair to keep it out of your face, touching his forehead to yours. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. Are you okay?”

The hold you have on his wrists never loosened, and you use it now in support as the spots in your vision begin to disappear. You’re gasping as you brace your free hand against his chest, unsure if you want to push him away yet. “Jesus fuck, Namjoon. What the hell?”

“I’m sorry! I thought…”

“What could you possibly have thought?” You finally shove him away and stand up, fishing the apartment keys out of your pocket. You shove them in the keyhole, unlock the door, and throw it open as Namjoon follows you inside. Reaching up to your neck, your hand shakes as it feels around your sore throat. “As if Hoseok popping up wasn’t scary enough.”

“Hoseok scared you?” Namjoon’s body grows tense all over again, turning to close the apartment door.

“He didn’t mean to.” You shake your head, shucking off your jacket and tossing it onto the kitchen counter. “I was just a little off tonight, that’s all. Hoseok snuck up on me after work.” Making your way to the cabinets overhead, you pluck out a cup to fill with water. You stand facing away from him to gulp down the water. All day you’ve been wondering what you could say to him, but now that he’s here in front of you, all words are lost. It’s not just because you’re angry with what just happened, it’s that you don’t know how to even process it.

“How many times can I say I’m sorry?” His chest presses to your back, the deep rumbling of his voice vibrates against it, your treacherous body leaning into him. He braces his hands on the counter, trapping you in place, and presses his forehead to your shoulder. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I put it on silent,” you whisper, turning your head so your lips skim his ear. The tips of his ears turn red even though you didn’t mean to be directly in his ear, you smile. “I forgot to put the ringer back on after Hobi scared me in the parking lot.”

He hums in reply, one arm sliding across your belly to hook around your waist completely, pulling you against him. The sun peeks through the window, having risen in the time he’s spent in your apartment. “Another late shift, then?”

“Mhm,” you confirm with a nod of your head. You meet his eyes when he raises his head to look at you. You glance down at his lips, tipping your head back just slightly and you swear he groans as he lowers his mouth to yours.

There’s nothing stopping him from kissing you this time. Not a damn thing stands in his way. That is, until there’s a knock on your door that has you jumping out of his embrace before he can actually do anything. He curses whoever is at the door, taking the cup you set on the counter to take a sip of water. His ears pick up the grating sound of Minseok’s voice, and he’s slamming the glass down on the counter before he can stop himself from getting even more pissed off. Striding to the front door, he reaches it just in time to watch you crumble to your knees, but he’s quick to stop you from hitting the floor. “Y/N?! What happened? What’s wrong?”

“She’s go–,” you sob out, tears streaming down your face endlessly. “She’s gone, Joon. She’s gone!” you shriek, gripping onto his forearms as your wails fill the apartment. Your throat is raw from screaming but you can’t seem to stop yourself. You knew it was coming, had always known, but you were never actually prepared for it.

Namjoon’s heart breaks with every body wracking sob you let out, and it hits him then just why Minseok was there. He holds you close, rocks you back and forth in hopes of soothing you, but it isn’t working. From the corner of his eye, he sees Minseok’s fingers twitch, trying to keep himself from reaching out to you, but Namjoon pulls you closer, refusing to allow Minseok to touch you.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes you think the skies know when to be gloomy. The gray clouds that loom over the funeral procession feel as though they’re mocking you. Your mother loved rainy days, something you couldn’t come to enjoy as you grew older. You thought they were depressing, always lending a hand in her dwindling health, but she flourished in the rain. She came alive when the downpour would drench her to the bone, and as a child, you would giggle and dance in the rain with her. You remember kicking up puddles, getting your feet dirty and clothes wet, and it was everything to her. Growing older, though, you found that with the rain came runny noses, horrid coughs, sore throats, and missed days of school. You came to detest them until she got sick, and it was all she’d ask for; to see the rain.

People, mostly Namjoon’s parents and friends, and some of your coworkers, gathered around you in comfort. They only want to help, you know this, but they’re not. Most people welcome the condolences and the sympathy, but you can’t seem to. You feel overcrowded, lost in a sea of people that you don’t want to see you break down. So you hold it in. Sometimes your breathing grows ragged as you try to hold back, but you manage to compose yourself before they can gather what’s happening. Namjoon is by your side the entire time, along with his parents, and they’re the only comfort you can find. The only ones you can stand to be around right now. They truly are your only family. Hoseok, Jimin, Jungkook, Yoongi, Seokjin, Taehyung, and Nabi take their turns to cradle you close. They aren’t just Namjoon’s friends, they’re yours too even though Hoseok was really the only one you’d spent an extensive amount of time with. Recently though, they’ve been coming around to the apartment when Namjoon was busy, all of them doing their best to keep you distracted.

You’re sat in front of your mother’s picture with your head resting on Namjoon’s shoulder while everyone else is lined up against the wall, giving you and Namjoon the space you didn’t have to ask for, they just know you need it. Namjoon grips your hand tight, linking your fingers together and bringing up your joined hands to kiss the back of your knuckles. You peek up at him through tear filled lashes, breathing easily when he drops his forehead to your own, but that serenity doesn’t last long. A commotion breaks out at the entrance of the funeral hall, people whispering and darting about in a hurry. Namjoon’s father grits his teeth and demands to know what could be going on, when your breath hitches at the next person who steps foot in the room.

Chunghee has the decency to look apologetic as he catches your eye, taking a moment to dip his chin in greeting before stepping aside to reveal his father, Kang Himchan. He sees Namjoon tense, standing to his full height immediately to back his own father. Chunghee steps towards them in hopes of gaining control of the situation, but Kim Taehyung is quick to meet him. “Taehyung,” he simply says as if this were at all normal.

“Kang,” Taehyung says through clenched teeth, tipping his head in your direction. Jungkook and Jimin are the first to reach you, followed by Seokjin and Nabi. Hoseok and Yoongi take their place on either side of Taehyung.

“What the hell is this?” Namjoon’s father levels Himchan with a look that would send most men running. “How dare you come here and disturb this girl’s grieving. Have you no sense of decorum, Kang?”

“I am here to offer my condolences, obviously,” Himchan keeps his voice steady. Your mother was unknowingly his mistress, but he had loved her dearly, and wants nothing more than to know and understand you. His eyes search the room, finally landing on you, and they soften. You are the spitting image of your mother and it makes him breathless for a moment. He forgets who you’re surrounded by, taking a step in your direction, only to be met by Namjoon’s hard glare. His hackles raise, face turning red with anger. “You dare keep me from my own daughter, Kim?”

All of the air rushes out of your lungs as you struggle to breathe. Your body begins to tremble, view being blocked by Jungkook’s body, but you catch his hand sliding into the back waistband of his pants. A gun, you realize, and look around to find that he’s not the only person hiding one. Hoseok’s hand rests on his hip, the holster becoming visible as his suit jacket moves with him. Jimin and Yoongi exchange a knowing look before they too reach for their hidden weapons.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want when it comes to her,” Namjoon snaps back at Himchan, causing the older man to step toe-to-toe with him. He smirks at the older Kang. “That’s not a smart move.”

Before anyone can blink, weapons are drawn, all aimed at different people around the room as more men come barreling in behind Himchan. They surround their boss, standing in front of raised guns without a second thought. You scramble back towards the wall, as if pressing against it enough will make you invisible. Nabi is at your side, shushing you and squeezing your hand tight.

“Enough,” Namjoon’s father bellows, throwing his hand up to stop anyone from actually firing. Putting his hand on his son’s shoulder, he pulls Namjoon back. “This isn’t the time or place, Namjoon. Go to Y/N. We’ve frightened her on an already stressful day.”

“Y/N,” Himchan repeats as though unused to saying your name, a smile playing on his lips at the sound. It was so like your mother to have picked something equally as beautiful as you are. His smile fades as he straightens himself up to look Namjoon’s father in the eye once more. “I’m well aware of her ties to you, Kim, but that is no more. She is my kin. My flesh and blood. It’s time she lives as such.”

“I don’t know you,” your voice cuts through the room, shaky and trembling. “I don’t know what the hell is even going on right now.”

“Y/N,” Chunghee finally pipes up. If he had known this would turn out to be such a shit show, he’d have never told his father about your mother’s passing. Ah hell, he knew it was going to be bad, he just didn’t really want to believe it. “Please, you have to believe us.”

“She doesn’t have to do a damn thing,” Namjoon roars and his friends tense, unsure of what he may do next. “You come here, Kang, declare her your daughter, and expect her to up and accept it? You’re out of your fucking mind. Even if we did believe this bullshit, I wouldn’t let her go anywhere with you.”

“You?” Himchan sneers. “You think you get any say in this? She’s my daughter, Kim. I’ve bit my tongue and kept my distance long enough, but now she needs us. Her mother is gone, her family is nowhere to be found, she is alone. But not with us.”

“She’s mine.”

You let out a small gasp at Namjoon’s tone. You’d only ever heard him use it against Minseok when he was mad enough. You’re not sure what the outcome of this entire standoff will be, but you know you wouldn’t be able to stomach it if anyone got hurt. You’re able to wrestle out of Nabi’s hold enough to slowly approach Namjoon’s side, tangling your fingers with his. “Joon, let’s not do this, okay? Not here and not today. Please?”

Himchan’s surprise is visible on his face when Namjoon heeds your words, backing down almost instantly. He knew you were close to the Kim family and, up until recently, he was under the impression that you and Namjoon were just friends. Everyone else in the room seems to be used to this, and so he has to wonder when the change came about. Hope blooms in his chest as the gears in his mind begin to whirl.

“We should go home for now,” Taehyung suggests, though as Nabi stands at his side, he’s pretty sure everyone knows it’s not his idea, but hers. He tries to hold in a sigh when Namjoon shoots him a glare. “Y/N will come home with us, Namjoon, don’t worry.”

“But I—,” you try to object, unable to accept anything more Taehyung has to offer. Not when he’d already done so much for you as is.

“Hoseok and the guys will move your things in,” Namjoon interrupts, leaving no room for argument. He tugs on your hand and leads you out of the funeral hall, bumping his shoulder against one of Himchan’s goons. He can feel the reluctant pull of your arm, but he refuses to let go, not until the two of you reach his car where he buckles you in safely before sliding into the driver’s seat.

The ride home is tense, the car filled with nothing but silence and what you suspect is grumbling coming from Namjoon even though he thinks you can’t hear it. He’s angry. More like pissed. This isn’t something any of them were prepared for. Hell, it wasn’t something any of them would have ever thought possible. Of all the people on this planet to be related to, the Kangs were the last ones anyone would have figured were your relatives. Not only that, but Himchan had forced Namjoon to show his hand, to show you a world he never should have dragged you into. He never thought he could come to regret befriending you in that hall so many years ago, but now he does. If only because he doesn’t really believe he could protect you from the power the Kang family holds. His own family is rather powerful, there’s no doubt about that, but if anyone could hold a candle to them, it’s the Kangs.

“Namjoon,” you try to get his attention, “you’re angry.”

“I’m worried, baby, it’s different.”

“Because you think it’s true?”

“Because if it is true, then I don’t know if I can protect you,” he begrudgingly admits.

You’re confused as you take in his words. What could you possibly need protection from? Even as you question it, the memory of everyone in there, guns drawn, comes to the forefront of your mind, and you know. You know Namjoon is hiding something. You’ve always known, but you could never have guessed it was to this extent. “Tell me,” you demand quietly and he strains to hear you. “Tell me, Namjoon, what all of that was about. What you’re hiding from me and what you’re afraid of because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that if you’re scared, then I have to be too. So, please, tell me.”

So he does. Namjoon tells you everything, from beginning to end. What his life was like growing up in the mafia, what he’d had to learn in order to protect himself and those closest to him, and more importantly, why he had to distance himself during the 10 years of your friendship. The only thing he left out was how utterly obsessed with you he’d become. He sounded crazy enough as is, no need to tack on that he basically stalked you from the day you met him. You’re quiet after he’s finished, spending the rest of the ride home staring out of the window. Even as he pulls into the driveway, you only stare up at the giant house Taehyung had built for Nabi a few years ago. Once in the garage, you unbuckle yourself at an alarmingly normal speed, as if you hadn’t just been told that your best friend was in the goddamn mafia of all things. What’s more, all of his friends and family are part of it too, and he’s afraid you might fear Hoseok now, but when you step into the house and Hoseok is the first to sweep you up into his arms, you cling to him as you always have.

“You’re not part of them,” Hoseok insists, mainly because from what little of his childhood he remembers, the Kangs were the driving force behind him becoming an orphan. “Even if you were, blood doesn’t make them family, Y/N. Himchan is wrong. We’re your family.”

“Do I have to go with them?” you ask honestly, pulling back to look up at Hoseok. He may not have been truthful with you, but he never lied or coddled you either. “If they come for me, Hobi, do I have to go?”

“Over my dead fucking body,” comes Namjoon’s deep voice and you gasp at the stark difference. How you were never able to differentiate his tones before is beyond you. Then again, you think you may have purposefully ignored the signs, wanting to believe he could do no harm. He snatches you out of Hoseok’s arms, pulling your chest flush against his own and raking a hand through your hair. “There’s nothing on this planet that can take you from me, Y/N, not even Kang Himchan or his son.”

“Chunghee,” you hum. Despite all of the commotion, the only thing he’d had to say was that you had to believe what his father had been saying. You could hear the plea in his voice, wondering why he hadn’t brought any of this up the day he’d run into you at the store. Then it hits you, the realization that he’d done it on purpose. Was he why Namjoon had been so scared that day after your fight? Did Chunghee threaten you somehow?

“Speaking of the Kangs,” Taehyung says as he strides into the living room, dropping himself on the couch while Nabi gives him a stern look. “Princess, I’m tired, and I can bet everyone else here is too. Can I just sit for a second?”

Nabi rolls her eyes, cheeks turning a faint shade of pink at the pet name he’s given her since they’ve been married. She lets out a small squeal when he pulls her onto his lap. “You’re an idiot, Tae. But you’re right.” Turning to face you and Namjoon, she explains, “The Kangs are well known in our circle. Even my grandfather made a deal or two with them, and while they’d given us no reason to not trust them, they’ve made it clear that they’re not out to make friends. They’ve built themselves a solid reputation starting all the way down from Himchan’s great grandfather. They’re a prestigious family, Namjoon, not easy to break through, not like the Choi’s. If you want to fight them, it’ll have to be with some heavy artillery. I can ask my cousins for their support and they’ll grant it, but it’ll take more than that.”

“That’s hot,” Taehyung attempts to whisper in his wife’s ear but everyone still hears it and Jungkook audibly gags. He’s always loved how smart his wife is and he’s not ashamed to show it.

“Stop it.” Nabi swats at his hand, climbing off his lap to walk up to you. “Y/N, you have to understand what could happen if we go to war with Kang Himchan. I don’t want to scare you, but it’ll get bloody and it’ll get deadly, but you have to believe that if anyone can protect you from them, it’s Namjoon. I’m not saying you have to go with the Kangs if they come to collect you, but” –She raises her hand to stop Namjoon from butting in–, “you also don’t have to stay here. If you want to get to know your father and brother, that’s your decision. We won’t stop you from doing it and we most certainly won’t isolate you for their actions and wrongdoings.”

“War?” is all you can say. It’s the only thing that had really caught your attention. That and the blood and death.

“War,” Namjoon confirms, tightening his hold on your waist. “The Kangs won’t let you go so easily, but neither will I. Give Hoseok your apartment keys. He’s taking Jimin and Jungkook to get your things. I don’t trust that they’ll pull some shit if they know you live alone.”

“I can’t just take up a room here, Joon,” you insist even as you hand off your keys to Hoseok.

“Oh, you’re not taking up a room,” Hoseok chuckles, taking the keys from your outstretched hand. “You’re sharing Namjoon’s room.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

“This isn’t happening.” You gawk at Jungkook and Jimin moving your things about Namjoon’s room a few hours later. They lug in a suitcase with a good portion of your clothes, most of which is jeans, t-shirts, and a bunch of pajama pants and shorts. Nabi had insisted on going with them to rifle through your clothes, throwing out the tattered pieces you’d shoved to the back of your closet and forgotten about. You turn to Namjoon lounging on his bed, looking as though a bomb hadn’t just been dropped on both of you. “You can’t be serious about this, Joon. I mean, this is your personal space, you can’t be happy about me invading it. The house is practically on full lock down, I’m sure there’s a spare room I can use.”

“No,” is all he says, reaching out to grab your arm and tugging you into the space next to him. “Taehyung’s taken every precaution to protect Nabi and I’ll do the same for you.” He looks as though he wants to say more but decides against it, getting up from the bed to slap Jungkook upside the head when he notices the younger man mocking him.

“Nabi said Taheyung didn’t allow her out unless Jungkook and Jimin were with her.”

Namjoon freezes at your words. Of course you’d ask Nabi what it was like living here, and of course Nabi wouldn’t spare any details. Jimin and Jungkook stare at him, waiting to take his lead and willing to downplay their roles as Nabi’s guards if necessary. He sighs and figures he’s done enough lying to you. He turns to see you with crossed arms and a look that says you already knew what to expect. “The same rules apply to you, Y/N. Until this situation is settled, you can’t go anywhere unless Hoseok and Jimin are with you, or I’m with you, or all three of us are escorting you somewhere. I’m not going to lie to you and say you’ll have everything you need here, but you’ll never be bored. I was going to have Seokjin or Yoongi assigned to you, but Jin’s helping Yoongi with something important and it’s taking all of their focus. Also,” he hesitates as you raise your brows, waiting for him to continue. “You can’t contact Minseok.” It’s entirely selfish of him to forbid any contact with Minseok, but it’s an opportunity he’ll take.

With a roll of your eyes, you sink further into the bed, leaning back into his pillows. “Not that I want to talk to Minseok, but he did take care of my mom, Namjoon. I at least owe him a thank you.”

“Not right now,” he seethes, curling his hand into a fist, and Jungkook and Jimin take that as their cue to leave. Storming up to the bed, he grips your ankles and pulls you down to the edge. He smirks when you squeal in surprise, slotting himself between your thighs. When your squeal turns into a gasp, he knows it’s because you can feel how hard he’s gotten since you’ve been in the room. He plants his palms against the mattress, watching your eyes dart to the veins in his forearms, sliding forward until he’s nose to nose with you. “You can thank Minseok another time, sweetheart, but right now it’s best to keep your distance. If Kang thinks he can use Minseok to get to you, he’ll do it.”

Your brows draw together, regret settling in the pit of your stomach as you play with the collar of his black dress shirt. “My very existence is dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Not to me.” One of his hands comes up to brush the stray hairs from your face. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t even know who your father was until now.”

A light knock on his bedroom door lets him know that it’s Nabi and she’s going to give him about 10 seconds to be ready. He scrambles away from you just as she plows through the door, smiling sweetly before breaking the news. “Taehyung has accepted Kang’s request to meet with you, Y/N. I know we should have talked to you first, but I don’t want your decision to be based on emotion rather than rationale. Is that okay?”

You nod, grateful that she’s on your side and to have her as a friend. Sitting up as she approaches the bed, you note that she fusses over you like a mother would, righting your clothes and smoothing your hair down. You want to laugh, but then you remember that when you were little, your mother would have to step in to make you presentable when you’d been too rough on the playground. Your smile fades. “He’s here now, isn’t he?”

“Goddamn it,” Namjoon hisses, barreling for the door. “You could have given us a bigger heads up, Nabi.”

“That wasn’t my decision,” she barks back at him, and you blink at her in surprise. It’s not very often people can talk back to Namjoon and he’ll just let it happen. “Taehyung surprised me too when he said Kang would be here soon.”

“Let’s just go,” you sigh, getting up from the bed to follow Namjoon to the living room, Nabi not far behind. Your nerves shoot sky high as you get closer and closer to the deep voices of who you now know is your father speaking to Namjoon’s father. Two weeks ago, you’d been wiping down tables at one of your part time jobs, living off ramen noodles and sandwiches, and one more speed bump away from possibly losing the bumper to your junker car, but it had been worth it. You’d do all of it over again to take care of the most precious person to you. How your life got turned so ass backwards, you don’t know, and you’re not entirely sure you want to figure it out.

“She hasn’t had to live up to traditions and customs,” Namjoon’s father sounds as if he’s on the verge of losing his temper. “You cannot throw this on her after she’s just learned of you!”

“That's why she should be moved under my roof!” Himchan snaps back at Mr. Kim and you pause at the entryway of the living room, neither of them even see you yet. “She can learn of those customs and traditions.”

“So you can pawn her off to some low life thug undeserving of her?” Mr. Kim scoffs. “I don’t think so. Y/N is as much a part of our family as she is of yours. Even more so since we’re the ones who have been there for her.”

“I didn’t even know she existed until Harin got sick,” Himchan mumbles, dragging his hand down his face as you finally come into view.

You sit next to Mr. Kim while Namjoon stands beside the couch and Hoseok parks himself behind it. You’re not sure where to begin or what you can even say given his position. If he’s as high up on the chain of command as Mr. Kim, then you’re pretty sure telling him to go fuck himself is off the table. You look around as if searching for something or someone, only to realize he isn’t there. “Where’s Chunghee?”

Himchan sits up straight as you finally address him, offering a polite smile in response. “Chunghee had some business to attend to overseas. As time goes on, I’m hoping your relationship will become less strained.” He frowns when you grow stiff, having misunderstood, though he’s sure the truth won’t be any better. “When I met your mother, Y/N, I fell in love with her at first sight. She didn’t know who I was or even that I was…married. My marriage had been arranged by my father, as his marriage was, and his father before him. In our life, it is rare to find and marry someone we’re in love with. We’re paired with someone we believe can carry a strong bloodline. Your brother is a product of a marriage neither I nor his mother had a true say in. He was only 10 when you were born, even younger when I started an affair with your mother. She didn’t know what kind of life I had and one day she was just gone. Somehow, she’d found out, and left town without telling me she was pregnant.”

“So, Chunghee hates me,” you gather from everything he’s said. “Because of you.”

“Yes,” Himchan admits, shame burning his throat.

Namjoon steps in front of you protectively, effectively cutting off any more access Himchan had. “Are you saying your own son is a threat? You want me to give her to you when your own son could hurt her?”

“I would never allow that,” Himchan insists, but it lands on deaf ears as Namjoon turns to take your hand, ready to drag you back to his room. “I only want a good life for her, Namjoon. I’ve only recently learned of her struggles, ones that you’ve allowed her to go through.”

“Allowed?” you question at the sheer audacity both of them have to treat you like an object rather than a person.

“I didn’t allow a fucking thing,” Namjoon interrupts and Nabi rubs at her temples in exasperation. “She wouldn’t let me help. She’s stubborn that way, but it’s what makes her so strong, Kang. Don’t think for a second I don’t know why you really want her under your roof. You already have someone lined up for her to marry, but that’s not fucking happening.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Nabi throws her hands in the air, stalking to the middle of the living room and commanding attention in a way that makes you envious. “Unless we’re all forgetting that Y/N’s here, I think maybe we should ask her what she wants. Mr. Kang, I understand tradition better than anyone here, but given that she hasn’t grown up in your care or home, you can’t implement traditional values without her knowledge of it. That’s dangerous and you know it.”

“Who is it?” your voice cuts through the room, stepping around Namjoon to face your father.

Namjoon looks at you as if you’ve grown a second head, mouth gaping open in shock. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

“I don’t know what else to even do, Namjoon!” You throw your arms up in frustration, turning away from him with tears in your eyes. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with all of this.”

“Not by entertaining this stupid bullshit.” Namjoon’s hands curl into fists and Hoseok quickly takes up the space at your side in case his friend’s temper gets the best of him.

“That’s what I was hoping to talk to Mr. Kim about today.” Himchan faces Namjoon’s father again, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I learned about my daughter 10 years ago, Kim, when she was 18 and forced into working job after job until her fingers bled, and through all of it, your son was there. From my understanding, my father and yours had meant to work together quite some time ago and those plans fell through.”

Namjoon inhales sharply. Is Kang suggesting what Namjoon thinks he is? Could he really be handed everything he’s ever wanted right here, right now? Would you even be okay with that?

“I want him to vet Han Youngjae in exchange for discussing a new business venture that could benefit us both,” Himchan continues, sending Namjoon’s world crashing down. “You know as well as I do that the Han family has been around far longer than either of our families. Youngjae seems to be a good man, but I trust your son’s judgment, especially when it comes to Y/N. I’ve worked with the Han family for awhile now and the arrangement for my son to marry their eldest daughter is being finalized soon.”

“Then why the fuck do you need more ties into that family?” Namjoon’s tone has gone dangerously low, sending a chill down your spine, but rather than fear it’s bordering on something else entirely. “You come into her life, our lives, after she loses her mother and you want to marry her off to a family like the Hans?”

“I want to give her time to adjust to the idea,” Himchan clarifies, searching for some kind of hope that you’ll just think about it. “I truly believe—.”

“I will not entertain this idea,” Namjoon’s father stops Himchan before he can explain any further. “Besides the fact that it’s entirely absurd, Y/N has already been promised to my son.”

“I’m so fucking confused,” you say aloud without meaning to, and Nabi giggles while looping her arm through yours.

Himchan winces at your colorful language, sighing in disappointment. “Y/N, truly, you shouldn’t speak with such foul language, it’s unbecoming.”

“How my fiancée chooses to speak is none of your business,” Namjoon defends you, quickly growing used to the idea of calling you his fiancée. It makes his chest warm and body hum with need.

You startle, bumping against Nabi’s embrace. Namjoon’s casual use of the word “fiancee” makes your throat dry. You rather like the way it sounds, but you have to remind yourself that it’s just to get your father off your back. But then, if that were true, what was all of that back in his room? Namjoon’s been acting rather odd lately, invading your space, holding your hand, kissing your cheek. It’s enough to convince even you that he might actually have feelings for you. You let out a heavy sigh while shaking the thoughts from your head. No, Namjoon was well aware of how much you cherished your mother. He was simply helping you through the grieving process, and now with the looming threat of your father, he’s doing what’s necessary to keep you safe.

“It’s been quite the day,” Nabi’s smooth and commanding voice cuts through the men’s argument, effectively silencing them as they all turn to stare at her. “It’s late Mr. Kang, and while we understand your concerns for tradition and the need to keep up with them, we’ve taken your proposal into consideration and have deemed it unnecessary. As Mr. Kim has already stated, Namjoon and Y/N have been promised to each other. There is no need for her to marry into the Han family.”

“Now just wait a minute,” Kang says through gritted teeth. “Custom states that the engagement requires my approval, which I’m yet to give.”

“You’ve kept tabs on us all this time,” Namjoon reminds him with a wicked smile. “Surely you’re not so naive as to misunderstand just what we’ve been up to in the night’s I’ve stayed at her home.”

“Namjoon,” you hiss, cheeks flushing at his implication. True as it may be that Namjoon has spent a considerable amount of nights at your apartment, he really only slept on the couch and the one time he nearly slept in your bed, he’d conceded and left the room. “Stop it.”

“I’m stating facts, sweetheart, nothing more.” Namjoon turns to wrap his fingers around your free arm and tug you close to his chest. His arm snakes around your waist to keep you trapped against him. Your squeak of surprise makes him chuckle low and deep, making you shiver as he skims his lips across your cheek.

Kang curls his fingers into fists at the display. While yes, he was well aware of Namjoon’s overnight stays, he’d never seen any open displays of affection. He’s not sure if it’s because Namjoon is truly a private person, or if this entire charade is a lie. Either way, he cannot allow the opportunity to tie more of his lineage to the Han family to pass him by. He breathes in deep and exhales slowly to calm himself. “Fine,” he says while straightening the lapels of his suit jacket. “I will let this rest for now, Kim. But be warned, should I find anything false about this ‘engagement’ of yours, Y/N will live under my roof and she will marry Han.”

“You can’t—,” you begin to argue, but Taehyung beats you to it by instructing Jungkook and Jimin to escort Kang to his waiting vehicle.

“Understand this, Kang,” Taehyung seethes while he still has Kang’s attention, “I will not tolerate your persistence of taking Y/N from underneath my roof. If, and only if, she chooses to part ways with Namjoon, I will make sure she gets far away from us and you. Trust when I say this is not a war you want with me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Take it as you wish,” Taehyung stands tall, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks as if to show your father that Kang isn’t nearly as in control as he believes. “But, much like Namjoon, I’m only stating facts. However, I will take into consideration another meeting with you and your son.”

“What?” Namjoon snaps, and becomes pissed when Taehyung holds his hand up to stop him from speaking further.

“I know that customs and tradition are being called into question, and while I don’t agree to forcing a marriage between the Han family and Y/N, it is my duty to consider it should any arrangements between her and Namjoon fall apart.” Taehyung frowns in your direction, knowing that all he can truly do is help Namjoon keep up appearances until this entire mess is sorted out. He can’t step in and completely dissolve whatever deal Kang has made with the Han family, but he can delay it until Namjoon can talk you into a real marriage. He hates it, and is well aware that keeping you from the Han family by forcing you into Namjoon’s family instead is rather hypocritical. He turns back to Kang and sighs in defeat, “I swear to you that I will consider it seriously. In the meantime, don’t hold your breath, Kang.”

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor with the way Taehyung dismissed your father like a child, and the fact that your father actually leaves after being waved away is even more shocking. You look to Nabi for some guidance, but she only shakes your head with a reassuring smile, leaving you to believe that things might actually turn out okay in the end.

#kim namjoon fic #secrets and lies fic #war of hearts universe #bts fic #bts smut #kim namjoon smut

36 notes · View notes

once-upon-a-stolas · 1 year ago

Photo

Here’s the one, guys. The one that I’ve been waiting for and I know a lot of you have been waiting for, and we should talk about all the things that have happened in the interim, we should view these through the the lens of the Kendraws screenshots, Millie’s brother, the transandrophobia/ableism screenshots...

We’re not going to be doing any of that. Not today. Let me have the memory of this one.

This incident starts off with Blitzo, undisguised and in plain view, being spotted and photographed by a human in the living world. To say that Stolas is annoyed would be a gross understatement; he’s pretty fuming, not even remotely playing around. It’s quite possibly the angriest we ever see him become, with the possible exception of the time a commenter suggested he rape Blitzo.

Now, before we get to the good part, it has to be said how important this is, because it speaks volumes regarding Before!Stolas and Blitzo’s arrangement regarding the grimoire. This was all taking place pre-Murder Family, and as said many times before on this blog, without expecting anything in return. Stolas simply allowed Blitzo to use his grimoire because he liked him, and in these posts, we see that his only condition was this: that Blitzo not do anything foolish with it. A condition Blitzo, being Blitzo, breaks.

That being the case, Stolas shows up at I.M.P.’s office, waiting for hours in the office to have a serious talk with Blitzo, who avoids him until Stolas makes it clear why he’s interrupting work hours, at which point Blitzo lets him in immediately.

And here’s, of course, where things get fun.

Blitzo lets Stolas lecture him for a while, and then whips out a remote controlled vibrator. Stolas is surprised, but needless to say, delighted. Blitzo is delighted. You’re delighted, I’m delighted, everyone’s delighted. The only one not enjoying this is Moxxie.

(The commenters are also delighted, and that’s not a good thing. Just a quick scroll reveals that there are a lot of very, very young people in this crowd. I’d say at least half of them have no idea what’s going on here.)

Stolas would be within his rights to get extremely upset over this, but after all is said and done, he just tells Blitzo that he’s lucky he’s cute. Blitzo flirts back at him, saying Stolas is lucky Blitzo wasn’t recording him, Stolas is aflutter, and all is forgiven.

So, what does this very lighthearted, extremely fun incident tell us about Before!Stolas and Blitzo’s relationship? A couple of key things.

1. Blitzo and Stolas’s sexual encounter was not a one-off deal; the only way that this is able to take place is if Stolas is wearing a vibrator 24/7.

2. Blitzo enjoys his sexual relationship with Stolas. He enjoys teasing him and is comfortable enough around him to do so.

3. Because the full moon deal doesn’t apply, they’re both doing this for no other reason than they want to.

We now know, by Vivzie’s own admission and the admissions of people who were close to her, that Vivzie writes by the seat of her pants and frequently changes things on a dime. We know, for instance, that Present Day!Stolas and Blitzo being childhood friends was a last moment pivot based on a piece of fanart she liked. This is, of course, not the way to write a coherent story, but it explains everything about Stolas’s wildly inconsistent characterization. The Stolas we saw bleeding out in today’s episode, love him or loathe him, is a completely different character than the Stolas who once crossed his legs and went brrrr.

And that’s why, the further away we get from that summer of 2020, the more important it becomes to me that that briefly lived iteration of Stolas is remembered for who he was, and his romance with Blitzo remembered for what it was. Because it was trusting, playful, healthy.

And it had remote controlled vibrators.

#Stolas #Blitzo #Helluva Boss

199 notes · View notes

heartbrkr · 2 years ago

Text

bad posture and other habits to break

SUMMARY Doyoung will always take care of you when you neglect to.

PAIRING boyfriend!kim doyoung x gender neutral!reader

GENRE established relationship, fluff

WORD COUNT 715

WARNINGS reader forgets to eat the whole day and overworks themself, doyoung calls them beautiful

AUTHOR’S NOTE i am overworked, so... another self-indulgent piece!

MASTERLIST | REQUESTS: OPEN!

“You haven’t eaten.” It wasn’t a question. Doyoung left the house with his last memory of you keeping busy in your work area. He comes back to see you in the same uncomfortable, hunched position. It’ll feel like hell the moment you straighten your back.

“Yeah.” You reply thoughtlessly, tiredly, and quite pathetically in your boyfriend’s opinion. He’s slightly upset at the fact that you didn’t come to the door to greet him (you hadn’t heard him come in), and instead replied dryly with a single word (you didn’t realize it’s been fifteen hours, not minutes since he’s left for rehearsals), or at least look in his direction (your phone had been on Do Not Disturb, so you had no idea he was on the way home).

“What are you waiting on, then?”

“I can’t leave this now or else I won’t have enough time to finish it by the end of the week.” Doyoung understands your concern of meeting a deadline, but without anything in your system, he knows you’ll reach your breaking point immediately.

He looks at you with heavy concern, one you can feel melting into the side of your head without directly turning your head to face him. You shift the slightest, uncomfortable under his scary gaze. “Wait, how’d you know I didn’t eat?”

Doyoung pouts at you slightly, back leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed against his chest. You’re still not looking at him. “I left you breakfast on the counter. It’s 11:24 p.m. and it’s still there with my note for you. Untouched.”

You finally whip your head in his direction, disbelief plastered on your features. It hasn’t been that long, has it? “I told you I was gonna– wait, it’s eleven?! But didn’t you leave at…” Your voice trails off as you lift your phone to check the time. And it’s as Doyoung said, 11:24 p.m. is glaring down at you with the harsh screen light. Below the time are messages from him, updating you about his whereabouts and reminders to eat with hourly intervals. “So it’s been—”

“—Around fifteen hours since I told you to go downstairs and eat? Yeah.” He couldn’t help but use a stern tone on you, especially when he knows he hasn’t been lacking in reminding you constantly.

“I’ll… Sorry.” It only really hits you now that you’re exhausted, hungry, and feel a headache and backache emerging. You now also feel bad for burdening Doyoung with your incompetence after a long day, and it becomes worse when you’re sure he’s more drained than you. He comes closer and squats in front of you. Still, and constantly, worrying for your wellbeing, he maintains eye contact with you while holding your hands in his.

“It’s alright, love. You didn’t mean to and we’re working on it, right? You can’t completely break your bad habits overnight.” You nod at this solemnly, still feeling terrible.

He notices and stands back up to his full height, tugging on you to stand up too. His intention wasn’t to make you feel worse; his job as your partner is to do the exact opposite of that. “C’mon, I’ll cook something for you.”

You attempt to protest against the action with your hands still stuck together. You shift all your weight in your seat to stop him from dragging you up. “No, really, you don’t have to. You need to rest instead. You’ve worked hard today; I can make something for myself.”

“I won’t be able to rest knowing your self proclaimed meal is probably an untoasted piece of bread and a cup of noodles.”

“I– hey! I know how to cook, it’s just convenient to eat all that when I don’t have time to spare.” At your moment of distress, you forget you’re resisting Doyoung’s attempts to pull you out of your office chair and he takes advantage of this. You’re startled when he successfully starts dragging you to the kitchen, feeling your back strain even more in the process.

“Yeah, yeah,” he gently, yet playfully pushes you down onto one of the counter chairs and reroutes to the kitchen, “just sit there and look beautiful as you always do. I’ll take care of you... and your awful posture later.”

#nct #nct 127 #nct u #nct doyoung #nct 127 doyoung #doyoung x reader #doyoung x you #doyoung x y/n #kim doyoung x reader #kim doyoung x you #kim doyoung x y/n #doyoung fluff #doyoung imagine #doyoung drabble #doyoung x gn!reader #nct imagine #nct 127 imagine #nct drabble #nct 127 drabble

175 notes · View notes

tommykinard6 · 6 months ago

Note

I feel like the last 24 hours there’s been less hate on Buck/Tommy and Tommy after all the cheating drama but it’s ramping up a bit again. Just hope it doesn’t get back to the levels it was at. I just want to enjoy the story and both relationships.

It seems more now that buddie stans are turning on Buck to justify Eddie cheating. And jumping on anyone who says cheating isn’t a great look for Eddie, which is hypocritical after weeks of people attacking Tommy over the most ridiculous things.

I’m actually not upset about the cheating with Eddie as I think it’s a sign of major issues that I hope he finally moves past and finally heals from. Plus I have friends/family who have cheated on partners and while it’s not something I personally agree with and is disappointing to see, it doesn’t make me love them any less. It’s the same with Eddie. And this is a TV drama, they’re gonna bring drama.

Yeah, I think this storyline with Eddie threw a lot of people for a loop. I know I’m still very shocked and I haven’t even watched the episode yet. (No worries, already knew spoilers).

I definitely hope the hate calms down. At some point, the haters will run out of steam, right? I agree, I just want to enjoy both and what we’re blessed with on screen.

This has been a difficult storyline to swallow because Eddie is my favorite character, always has been. But that’s no reason to gang up on Buck and Tommy. We can be upset at a storyline without lashing out at innocent characters/actors. You’re right! It’s super hypocritical and I didn’t even think about it.

I’m a bit upset personally about the storyline. I have some past trauma with cheating (directly impacting me) and a lot of anxiety about it. I hate cheating in any storyline, fanfic or canon. I think that these issues could’ve been brought up any other ways, even just by breaking up with Marisol before Kim. However, we’re in for a bumpy ride and if we have to go here, I’m hoping they do this arc and Eddie’s issues JUSTICE. I don’t love Eddie any less either, but it’s going to be difficult to watch the episodes before I know the resolution. However, I’m always going to be rooting for him even if he does need a slap upside the head and to basically live in Frank’s office. I’m hoping this will take us to a healed and better Eddie Diaz, but I worry about who will get hurt in the meantime. We already have four people directly affected.

Drama will drama!!!

#911 abc #9-1-1 #911 show #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 spoilers #911 season 7 #eddie what are you doing #s7e7 #tk6 answers

20 notes · View notes

jasminegazer · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 8 Part 1

This would have been a perfect night.

Higher temperature with a cool breeze just light enough to be almost nonexistent. Jumbotrons from Time Square lighting the horizon as the usual chorus of the city blared.

This would have been one of those nights before the big battle that they would dream about. Where it would perfect to sit atop the rooftops and have a peaceful freedom filled night. Just 4 brothers and an amazing night.

“Dee you good?”

Raph’s call broke Donnie from his thoughts. Right. Find your brother then daydream.

“Yeah coming.”

Swiftly swinging to the Leo and Raph, Donnie remembered to put his thoughts together. Making a wall between emotions and the needed actions. Preventing one side from interfering with the other nice and orderly. Manageable. Controllable.

Oh who was he kidding? Nothing was in his control right now. It did anything but remain in control last night. And in every moment since then.

Focus

No need to have more worried faces resurface unless absolutely necessary.

Despite the conditions, an uneasy awkwardness had settled on the rooftop. Leo twitched his leg nervously(a bad stimming habit of his) as he looked down to the docks. Raph was completely silent, which brought both relief and concern to Donnie, as he watched his twin.

Donnie proceeded to move behind them, both an attempt to look at the docks below and push his lingering anxieties of strangers reappearing to attack to the side. The dock seemed to be clear. Nothing looked out of the ordinary or suggestive to their missing brother. What if this was just an empty lead? What if they were wasting another night looking in the wrong places?

He heard Leo bring up that TCRI may be involved. What if Mikey was already wherever they had retreated to?

…

What if he was hooked up to the machine?

Out of all of them, out of any of them, Mikey got the biggest dose of torment. So much so that he had to live off an IV for 48 hours and even then was insisted on staying at the hospital an extra night. When the adrenaline wore off he straight up passed out without so much as a weak call for Donnie. Thank God for the kindness that humans show to celebrities like they’d become.

After that night was the first time Mikey ever had sensory issues that hurt him. Before it was just the usual ‘this feels kinda weird’ or ‘I’m absolutely obsessed with this slime. Just feel it.’. He and Leo were the ones with that burden. Overstimulation and hypersensitivity were their crosses to carry. For three weeks anything that merely brushed up against the holes in Mikey’s shell caused him to completely breakdown. Yelps and inconsolable cries of pain that rang out.

Donnie knew how much Mikey loved to be comforted through his shell. And now he was barely capable of letting someone hug him. A Hug. And this is his brother Micheal-fricking-Angelo we’re talking about.

…

If all of that stress and pain could come from something that couldn’t have gone on for more than 3 hours of torture with his family to guide him through it, then what would more than 24 hours alone and tortured do?

He wouldn’t let that happen. Over his cold dead body. Donnie couldn’t let that happen.

“Hey! Hey Leo. Earth to Leo!” Leo turned to face them, his Batman face was on. But it didn’t take a genius to understand now was not the time for teasing. It didn’t have the usual goofy look anyway, just one of anxiety and nerves at their breaking point. “Sorry it’s just…confusing.”

“What is there to be confused about? There’s nothing there.” At least was being his usual self minus the heavy bags under his eyes.

Damn why did they take their surprise day off from school for granted. Donnies limbs felt like stale jello, dried out, stiff, and good for absolutely nothing.

But as angry as Don was with his oldest brother, he had a point. The news had made a pretty big deal about this attack. With dramatized descriptions of blood and gore at the scene of the crime. So where were the people. The only thing you could tell from the dock was that these “attackers” were pretty experienced. Like serial killer level of experience. No blood stains. No foot prints. No possible weapons. Nothing. Not even a sign that this wasn’t just a normal night at the docks.

That being said something felt wrong. What exactly Don had no idea but maybe-

Something reflected off of his glasses. Like a fork… or a metal blade.

His brothers must have seen it too because now they were all in fighting stance. Someone was here. And something told him that they weren’t here to chat.

Donnie twisted his bo staff nervously in his hands. Waiting for the attack to come. He and his brothers had been taught how to fight since they were 4. The first lesson in war is never let your enemy know your moves.

For few minutes nothing happened. Dread started to fade from the atmosphere. Don started to lower his weapon to let out a sigh of relief. Worst mistake of his life.

The guy came out of nowhere and kicked firmly in the abdomen. Away from his brothers. Away from his safety.

“Dee!”

Raph started to run over before being firmly knocked to the ground by another stranger. They both wore dark clothes and oni masks. Their masks covered their whole face with glowing markings and eyes that sheened against the dark night.

Leo barely caught the blades of a third stranger with his katana.

But right now Don had other things to worry about as his attacker pounced on top off him. Somehow he managed to use his bo to block them. Woah they’re strong. His muscles strained under the weight as he pushed back against them. Aaaaannd his glasses were slipping too. GREAT!

Somehow he managed to catch a glimpse of Leo’s attacker. She(Don didn’t usually assume gender but she looked like a she) had a similar color palette to her colleagues. Her initial mask only covered half of her face leaving her amber eyes exposed. Her dark hair highlighted with white was held up in a ponytail with two long pieces hanging down from behind her ears.

AH! RIGHT! RIGHT! STILL FIGHTING!

Donnie was starting to loose his grip and his patience. Using all his strength he gripped his bo and swung it and his attacker to the ground. Hopefully that will keep this bastard down for a while.

Turning to face his brothers, he saw that Leo was still locked in a one on one with Amber eyes. Raph had managed to get back up and start wrestling with his attackers. He started to head over to help his brother in red, their eyes meet for one moment before-“Donnie! Watch out !”

Leo came plunging into his plastron sending them both to the ground. Where he JUST GOT UP! Not again!

Raph was there when Don readjusted his glasses(his CRACKED glasses). Suddenly more attackers showed up looking almost identical to Don’s and Raph’s. Amber eyes stuck out like a sore thumb. Or at least she would have if she didn’t look so intertwined with the others.

Raph helped Don get to his feet quickly right before the fighting started again. It went on for a while like the fights they had when looking for Superfly but with much more skill and obvious challenge.

These guys kept coming one after the other. But the tensions started to die down. They were becoming easier and easier to knock back. Almost like-

like they were stalling.

Donnie looked up to find his brothers but only saw Raph. “RAPH! Where’s-”

Leo cried out before he could finish.

They both turned their heads to see him locked in between two of their attackers. They’d plunged the same device in the same spot as last night into Leo. Donnie’s breath hitched. No no no no no NO

“LEO!” Raph started rushing over to his twin bashing in the heads of anyone blocking his path. Donnie followed his lead as he watched Leo loose consciousness, eyelids slowly sliding closed.

His big brother was looking right at him. Silently pleading for help like Donnie had done to him countless times. His whole life he had looked up to Leo for help. And every time his brother came through. But for once in his life he couldn’t do the same for him.

Someone threw a smoke bomb where Leo was standing and just like that he was gone. Donnie’s big brother was gone. He lost two brothers within 24 hours. “NOOOO!”

They weren’t dead yet. There was still a chance to fix this.

Without a single clear thought in his mind, violent thrashes escaped from him. He could only keep pushing forward. He needed to get to his eldest brother. He COULDNT lose him too.

A yell tore through the air and Raphs throat. He was knocked onto his stomach curled over and jolting at every movement that affected his shell.

He’d been hurt by the machine too. Even if it was only for like 5 minutes it still affected Donnie’s brother in red. Unlike Mikey, Raph barely managed to try and cover it up for almost 2 weeks. They knew he was sensitive about feeling vulnerable but this was why he needed to tell people. So he could have someone to-literally-watch his back.

“RA-ack.” Someone hit Donnie on the back of the head right down infront of his only remaining brother. He was on his hands and knees. His head was swimming like a drunken man. During the whole car chase with Superfly, when they were driven off the highway, he landed on his head. This gave him some of the worst amount of pain a person like him could experience- a concussion. Of course he still wasn’t used to normal blows after a whole ass month of healing.

Shock filled his body and suddenly-

He couldn’t breath.

Panic and fear and memories swirling through his pounding head was making him lose control. He COULDNT not be in control. He needed control so he could fix this. Fix problems. Fix wounds. Fix himself. Fix fricking EVERYTHING.

Donnie crawled quickly to Raph ignoring the few remaining attackers leaving. His throat was burning. Through the blurs and cracks in his vision he shook Raph hurriedly. A loud yell echoed in his broken mind.

Donnie heard the horrifying shing of a blade being unsheathed. He turned to see Amber Eyes stand above him and Raph with her weapon raised to her waist.

Donnie cowered next Raph like a little kid. Like when he was a little kid and used to fear the dark and the same brother told him to man up. Like when TCRI was in the process of abducting them and he had already watched them knock out his other brothers.

Raph held a hand on his shoulder and Donnie curled over to it was the blade was raised to her head.

He clung to Raph’s hand as he waited for the blade

🎶Oops! I did it again!🎶

Yeah but no I’m serious. Oops sorry for the long wait (again) but man I have not been motivated to write this at all until like June apparently. Hope y’all like the cliffhanger. Cowabunga turtle fanz!

Previous Masterpost Next

#tmnt mutant mayhem #difference between the appearance #mutant mayhem fanfic

10 notes · View notes

justanamesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

All I Need

Blurb based on this request.

A/N: First, thanks 💗 anon for requesting this...can't say I had fun writing it, but it was interesting for sure. Secondly, this is about the morning of Chapter 9 of All I Need. Thank you for reading ♥

Warnings: ANGST. typos.

Word count: 1k

Blog MASTERLIST

Matty woke up groaning loud. The light coming from behind the curtains hurting his eyes. He rubbed them with too much force for a simple action.

Y/n. Amelia.

His first thoughts circled around them immediately. The heavy feeling that he carried during those two weeks still there, inside his heart, trying to break him little by little.

'What were they up to? Did they miss me?'

Amelia for sure, Matty still could hear her little cries calling for him.

Did Y/n missed him? Because all he did every single minute of his day was missing her, missing having her inside his arms.

Matty rolled to his side, trying to get out of the bed. His body was heavy, he was tired in every possible sense of the word. He wanted to go home, even though the sense of responsibility and compromise with the fans was stronger.

The reflection in the mirror looked back at him. The frontman let himself lean forward, almost touching the mirror with his forehead. He stared at his own face.

Matty glanced around his pale skin, the bags under his eyes, avoiding his eyes. He couldn’t look there, not yet.

His eyes danced around his sideburns and wrinkles around his eyes. Matty didn’t worry about being older, he'd lost interested on pitying himself for it a long time ago. Even when he fully knew that, he wished and hoped to slow it down. He wanted to grow older enough to witness his little daughter grow to the beautiful grown-up he knew Amelia was going to be. He wanted more kids with Y/n, as he told her. Seeing her belly grow with his baby again, feeling their kid kicking full of life, and then finally meeting them. Matty prayed to a God he didn’t believe to give him time.

When his eyes and its reflection encountered through the mirror, Matty’s eyes watered.

A knock on his door startled him. Matty shook his face, getting rid of his thoughts crossing his mind for a minute. He went to open the door, only wearing his black boxers. Matty hid his almost naked form with it, finding Mark at the other side.

“Morning.” he greeted him.

“Hi, Mark.”

“You weren’t answering your phone, we’re leaving in an hour, okay?” Matty fixed his sight on the floor, avoiding Mark’s scrutiny.

“Sorry.” he mumbled. “Okay.”

“You alright?”

Matty was so exhausted to hear the question for the hundred time in only 24 hours. He knew they meant good, but it was driving him insane.

“Yeah, yeah.” Matty reassured him. “‘m just tired and ready to go home.”

“Same, mate. Same.” Mark gifted him half a smile.

“‘kay, going to get ready.” Matty signalled with his hand pointing behind him.

Mark left without one more word. Matty thanked him in silence for it.

His phone. He forgot the thing on purpose, the urge to call home every single minute was strong. When you added the bad phone calls they had been on, Matty grew even more frustrated. Amelia made her best to communicate how against she was for Matty going away for so long. The little girl wanted to talk with him, but something inside her kept her crying and whining the whole time. It broke Y/n and Matty’s hearts. Amelia’s father didn’t want to inflict more suffering.

Matty checked if Y/n texted him. Nothing. His stomach flopped. He tried to reason with himself about all the work Y/n had while taking care of Amelia to be texting him none stop.

The singer stared at the screen. Last message was his, a ‘good night. I love you’ after a picture of a very fast asleep Amelia inside her crib. Y/n replied with a heart and nothing more.

He was sure she loved him, it couldn’t be another way. Matty felt it, he was sure. Even though the anxiety infecting his mind. What if she was talking with some boy already? Couldn’t be, but what if…

Matty locked his phone.

He opened his suitcase laying on the floor closer to the bed. Never was the type of person to hang his clothes in the closet of the room. It was a waste of time when he only stayed in each for maximum two days.

Matty rummaged inside the mass of clothes. Finding a simple t-shirt and a pair of light jeans. The idea of dressing like ‘trumanblack’ that day only wore him out. Taking the jeans out, the blue hoodie –Y/n liked to steal – stared back at him. Matty instantly grabbed it, lifting his eyes towards his phone at the other side of the room charging.

No sounds.

He sighed, putting the hoodie on. No matter how many times he had worn it, the thing smelled like home, like her. Matty tried to retain his tears.

Ping!

Matty never ran faster in his life, feeling pathetic for it. George was hurrying him in the group chat. He sent him a selfie with a characteristic sign with only one finger up.

Another notification appeared at the top of the screen.

Y/n: Morning!

Y/n: Good luck today, we miss you 🥺😘

Matty stayed frozen in his place. He didn’t know how he was going to survive until the next day to see them.

Matty: Hi, baby x

Matty: I miss you like crazy.

He tapped his foot on the floor, staring at the ‘typing’.

Y/n: One more and you’re coming home, Matty.

Matty smiled.

Matty: this is pure torture.

Y/n: you can do it!

Matty: not so sure 😶

Y/n: enjoy your time with the boys and the fans, okay?

Matty: I’ll try. Gotta go, I love you x

Y/n: 😘💕

‘She loves me, she loves me’, Matty repeated for himself, leaving the device inside his pocket. He reached for his essentials items and walked towards the door.

He wished the day to end already, and to be back home with his girls.

#matty healy #matty healy fic #all i need #the 1975 #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy x y/n #matty the 1975 #matty healy x f!reader #matty healy x you #matty healy angst #matty healy blurb #matty healy x female!reader #matty x y/n #matty x you #matty x reader #matty healy series #matty

69 notes · View notes

steviewashere · 8 months ago

Text

Steddie Fic Recs. Part 7!

Previous Recommendations: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

I tend to post these on Tuesday, but I passed the fuck out last night. So, here it is on Wednesday, lol. No themes or anything here. Enjoy these fics if you choose to read them.

If there are any Tumblr blogs tagged and you'd like to not be, feel free to reach out to be removed. I have no qualms doing so. I respect y'all.

As always, the tags and themes vary on all of these fics. Heed all tags, ratings, and archive warnings with caution.

moonbeam by mourningshowers @keycarabiner

“Eddie hums. ‘We’ll figure something out,’ he tells Steve, like they’re friends or something. Like they’ll see each other somewhere after this and won’t just let their eyes skip over one another’s faces—like they’ll actually call out to one another, sit down, catch up.

Steve knows better. Knows their tentative alliance doesn’t exist outside of this mediocre 24-hour diner, at nearly midnight a few days after the Fourth of July. They both know it, Eddie’s just pretending not to.

Strangely enough, it doesn’t stop Steve from saying, ‘Sure.’”

Chapters: 1/1, WC: 6,198, Rating: Teen and Up no Archive Warnings apply Different First Meeting AU Post Season 3

———— 2. you don’t know (what hell you put me through) by jewishrat420 @jewishrat420

“Steve kisses Eddie for the first time in the Upside Down.”

Chapters: 1/1, WC: 937, Rating: Mature without using Archive Warnings

———— 3. Pancakes For Dinner by Soldotna_And_Queens @soldotnaandqueens

“Eddie sighs, looking up towards the sky, his eyes scanning the clouds like he’s looking for something, anything at all that could keep him from saying what’s on his mind. ‘I want to eat pancakes for dinner with them.’

‘What?’ Steve asks, his brow furrowing.

‘I want to make pancakes for dinner and sit in bed all night laughing. I wanna cuddle on the couch and watch Star Trek while they ask a million questions because they just don’t get it, and when we’re sick or have a cold, we can lay in bed and watch cartoons. I want to get stuck in their head to the point that they’re always thinking about me even at work when they should be focusing on whatever they are doing. I want to get dressed up and go to a nice dinner only to not make it past the front door before getting undressed again and spending the night in bed instead, taking each other apart and drowning in each other.’ Eddie babbles, a far away look slipping onto his face.

How Eddie cryptically confesses his feelings for Steve and Steve can’t let him die without telling him he loves him too.”

Chapters: 1/1, WC: 10,439, Rating: Mature with Archive WarningsCanon Divergence AU

———— 4. Summer ‘86 by how_about_no @goditsmeagain

“After everything that happened during Spring Break, life for everyone in Hawkins returned to somewhat normal. Well, aside from Steve’s new friendship with one Eddie Munson.

The gang decide they all deserve a break and head to Steve’s family beach house for a week, featuring copious amounts of fluff, found family bonding, blurring (or completely ignoring) the line between platonic and romantic, and bullying being considered flirting.”

Chapters: 12/12, WC: 51,300, Rating: Mature no Archive Warnings applyPart of a series: Summer ‘86 Verse

#stranger things #fic rec #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

19 notes · View notes

easypeasylindyvesey · 5 months ago

Text

I Think it’s Strange We Never Knew: Jimmy Vesey x fem!OC

Summary: After the unforeseen death of Abby’s boyfriend, one of the NHL’s star defenseman and her teammate, she severely struggles with managing her grief. She confides in Jimmy Vesey, who is not only another teammate of hers, but is one of the very few people she has a strong friendship with. That is until that night and the days that followed. Does this life-altering news change the trajectory of their personal perceptions of each other? Or does it entail a chance of crossing boundaries for the risk of moving on?

Word Count (excluding title and heading): 15,745

*(General) Warnings: (foul) language, mentions/discussion of death, suicide attempt (brief, closed door description), eventual confession of feelings, grief, panic attack(s), angst, eventual sexual implications but no smut, age gap

*Note: This story takes place in the future. Abby is 24-25 and Jimmy is 33-35.

MAY 2027 (Warnings: angst, grief, mentions/discussion of death, suicide attempt (brief, closed door), (foul) language)

I am confined to this state of nothingness. I feel like I am passing through each day without any purpose. There’s nothing to do, nothing to distract myself with. The hours take so long to pass. It’s probably because I spend them in my room.

I’ve fallen into a pattern where I only leave my room to use the bathroom and to get food, otherwise, it’s my little private habitat. I don’t even attempt to talk to Jimmy. He’s forcing himself through the exposed cracks that happen to be parts of my soul. The forced conversation does not work. I see it as a little tactic of his. I hate to break it to him, but he’s not going to get anywhere with his strategy. If it’s not going to work with anyone else, it sure won’t with my roommate. God, it still feels so weird to call him that.

Ever since the argument about the panic attack, we haven’t had any others that have escalated to that point. A few quick arguments here and there, but he’s done better with not verbally attacking me. We didn’t even have a discussion about that fight. There were no apologies or anything. It was kinda shoved aside and forgotten about. Well, I wouldn’t say forgotten about. More like something that didn’t want to be revisited. After that, we’ve still talked to each other, but it’s more short-term, if anything. I think we’re both avoiding the elephant in the room. The meals are shortened, quick pleasantries are said half-heartedly, little to no quality time is spent together in the same place. I don’t mean to shut him out. I really don’t. I’ve always craved my own space, and he’s starting to realize that now. It doesn’t change the fact about previous encounters, but he’s being cautious. It’s as if he’s walking on eggshells. Now again, I don’t want him to feel like he has to do that. He’s probably afraid of saying the wrong thing, which he’s actually never admitted before. Hey, there’s a first time for everything. He’s not getting an out.

I’m watching how I talk to him, too. I have to remind myself that he is still hurt and upset by everything. It just might take him a little while longer to fully express it. The thought of him exploding at any minute never leaves my mind. I’m not prepared. So in order to avoid it in the near future, guess I’m walking on eggshells too.

The room grows dark as the evening sky makes its way to settle in. I’m watching the HGTV channel. It’s been my hyperfixation for most of the month. The shows are calming and have great personality among the hosts and guests. There’s no mystery, no uncertainty. It’s there to boost your spirits and keep you engaged. It sure has kept me focused. It has definitely not boosted my spirits, that’s for sure.

Out of the corner of my eye, my phone lights up next to me on the duvet. It’s a text message, and who else would it be from than the man that’s about 10ish walking feet from me right next door? I quickly gaze at it. Sleep well, it reads.

I unlock my phone and tap my fingers on the screen. you too, I answer, hitting send. I lock my phone and turn it camera side up. A new alternative the both of us have silently came up with is engaging more in text than verbal conversation. It gives us the choice of actually wanting to respond without being forced when we’re stuck in front of each other. It’s not like we go all day without talking, but you can tell there’s some sort of weakened part in us being able to hold a dialogue. Then again, it’s a touchy subject, and I’d rather not talk about it. One of us will end up getting hurt. Both of us are used to it by now. At least we’re making the minimal amount of effort to maintain contact. It’d be nearly impossible to ghost him and vice versa. It would’ve poured out in an argument at some point or another.

I end up watching TV for another hour before shutting off the lights and getting comfortable to go to bed. The only problem is that I’m wide awake. My eyes are completely alert and show no signs of rapidly closing. It’s probably because my brain is racing. It’s racing with the thought that tomorrow is going to be a very tough day.

Tomorrow was supposed to be Ryan and I’s second year anniversary. I know my last year self was so excited about getting past 1 year. When it comes to relationships, whether you’re still with the person or have ended it, the time you were together matters. Even if they were the biggest asshole to walk this planet. You wouldn’t be able to consider it time really wasted. At one point, you meant something to them and were prioritized. The unsatisfying part is never being fully aware of when it started to spin sideways. Where it started to slip away from which both of you would not be able to fully recover.

The thought of never being able to find out if the two of us were going to stand the test of time is one of a million thoughts that is going to forever haunt me. Then, I’m reminded of Jimmy’s comment saying that it was a blessing in disguise. Even though it didn’t come off as sincere, he really wasn’t wrong. Who knows what the universe had in store? Who knows if we were really built for a future? Who knows what his true, bitterly raw feelings about me were? If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that I never regretted the time we had together. It might have been cut short, but it was evident that we were always going to share that special bond that no one else would ever be able to understand. It’s somewhat comforting.

What’s not comforting, however, is the fear of having to replicate another close bond with another man. It’s not going to be the same, not that I want it to be, anyway, but to open up my heart and soul again will be even more daunting than I might realize.

Okay, that’s enough thinking for tonight. I hit my head on the pillow and shut my eyes, hoping that the task of faking to be asleep will eventually pay off. I can’t be kept up all night. Not by him, anyway.

I’m awoken again, this time not by noise, but by what feels like bright lights. I squint my eyes open and look to the carpet floor. I don’t see any outside light pouring in. My curiosity decided to get the best of me and I find myself dragging out of bed to open up the curtains.

Well, now I know the source of the “bright lights.” It’s cloudy.

So much for a good day. Even the sky knows it’s not time to celebrate.

“Well, that’s just great,” I say aloud. I discard my unmade bed and head straight for the door, taking a quick peak to see if Jimmy’s awake. By the looks of his closed door, I can tell that he’s not. It’s either that or he’s doing his morning social media scroll. I wouldn’t blame him because I do it too.

I use the bathroom and wash my face, spritz on the perfume, roll on the deodorant, all that jazz. I tiptoe into the kitchen and do everything I can to be quiet while making breakfast. I’ve always been known to act like a mouse when it comes to wandering around places. I don’t draw too much attention to myself and I’ve got tiny feet, so it doesn’t really count for much noise. Jimmy’s kinda the same, I’d say. I mean, he can’t help his tall stature, so he can be a little loud when moving around, but he does his best to maintain my mouse-like quietness. Although, there is one time where I recall sleeping within the last couple weeks, and since I’m a light sleeper, I heard footsteps approach my door and it creaked open, shutting several seconds later. This is under the assumption that he was either watching me sleep, which is really creepy, or he wanted to see if I was awake and wanted to have a conversation. Should I even give him credit for trying?

I settle for scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast with a side of store-packaged fruit, specifically the assorted containers with cantaloupe, watermelon, pineapple, honeydew. That’s the good shit. I take the fruit out of the fridge and keep it out on the counter while looking through the newly organized cabinets for a decent sized pan to cook the eggs in. I decide to double my workload and make breakfast for him too. I hope he appreciates the sentiment, even if it’s through expressions rather than words.

I crack the first 2 eggs into the pan and prepare the toast by dropping the slices of bread into the toaster. It’s only 9:10. A little earlier than I get up, but I guess both my brain and body had different plans today. While waiting for the food to get caught up to speed, I decide which fruit to pick out. The package isn’t even open yet, so I have first-hand advantage. I pick one of everything, arranging it on the paper plate and pushing it off to the side. My attention returns to both the eggs and toast.

It’s too quiet in here. I don’t hear any shuffling or evident signs that he’s gotten up yet. That’s okay. I’ll just take the time to think, collect my thoughts. Maybe by the end of it, I’ll have my shit together. Oh, who am I kidding? Everyone knows I won’t.

I continue folding the eggs around on every corner, every crevice, every edge there possibly is until I’ve gotten them all yellow and scrambled before I remove them from the pan with the spatula and place them onto the crisp, golden brown toast. I reach into the cabinet above the pots and pans, moving my hand around blindly to grab the salt and pepper. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t hard because they were right in front of me. I sprinkle a small amount onto each slice before I locate them to their own spot on the counter. I reach bag into the egg carton and grab 2 more and crack them above the pan, watching them fall out of their shells and sizzling underneath the flame. At least that one can be retained. Mine’s upgraded into a wildfire.

Conversation has continued to be limited with the team. There hasn’t been much to really discuss, other than the fact that it’s technically summer vacation and we’re free to do whatever we want without the constant routine of showing up to the rink and practicing almost everyday. With that temporary absence of a consistent schedule, it’s been difficult figuring out how to spend my free time. Then again, I’m having several solo parties a day in my room. It really cannot get that much better, right?

I’m so adjusted to the drastic decrease in communication that I don’t even realize another voice infiltrating the room. “Morning.” It’s said in a sleepy voice, just like the one in Minnesota. I hear the scrape of a chair on the floor.

I turn around and meet his gaze. He was already looking with my back turned to him, wasn’t he? “Hi.”

“This for me?” He points to the full plate I pushed away earlier.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m making my own now.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure. Killing two birds with one stone.”

I immediately regret using that phrase, as it brings me back to the night of that argument. I remember him saying he wished I would’ve died with Ryan, hence, the two birds being us and the stone being that drunk driver and his stupid fucking truck. Sometimes, I wonder if he really wanted it to end up that way.

Returning to the eggs, they look perfect. I shut off the stove and take the toast out of the toaster, unplugging it right after. I arrange the toast on my plate and gently put down my eggs on top, sprinkling the salt and pepper for a perfect finish. I decide to take a fork out from the drawer and just eat the fruit straight out of the container. I turn back around to face him, my forearms leaning down on the counter. “Got anything planned today?” I say, attempting to sound as honest as possible.

Jimmy shakes his head. “Not really,” he responds. He points to the plate with his fork, a diced piece of watermelon taking up its space. “This is really good, by the way.”

“I’m a good cook.”

“Hell, you’re better than me.”

“Don’t I know it,” I reply sarcastically.

“Alright, stop that.” He flashes me his little smile.

I can’t help but flash one back at him.

“What about you?” Now it’s his turn to pry into my personal mental journal of thoughts.

“Nope. Got nothing better to do than just sit here.”

“That’s fair.”

I give him a little nod.

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry about today.” He flashes me those sparkly puppy-dog eyes, that even I, too, can really see they are filled with sadness.

I look down at my plate and then look back up, glancing everywhere around the room that isn’t directly into his eyes. “It’s fine,” I mutter.

“Is there anything you’d like to do today, to uh, like, commemorate it or anything?” He’s sincere when he says that, too.

I shake my head. “No. It’s not the same without him here.”

“For what it’s worth, if anything, I thought you two were a great match for each other.”

I finally gain the courage to look at him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he continues. “You both really cared about what was best for one another. It was evident there was some other level you two had unlocked that no one else could’ve cracked. I don’t want this to come off as creepy or anything, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you happier than when he was in the room. I know you didn’t have to be everywhere with him, and you were fine with that, but he just generated a different aura, you know? I’ve never seen you not smile when he was there. It made me happy to know he was treating you well.”

A rare sighting of sweetness?

“He did,” I admit. “There were rarely any arguments, and even if there were, it’d be over stupid things, like where to go get ice cream after a day on the beach or what music to play when driving. He was never too serious. I mean, he obviously was about his career, that’s a given. Don’t get me wrong, he was serious about us too, but I never had to question if he truly enjoyed it. If he could make me laugh at least three separate times during each time we saw each other, then maybe it was something worth my time.”

“Never made you cry?”

I stare him down. “Not until recently. He never made me go to bed wondering if I wasn’t an important part of his life.”

“Sounds like he was the perfect guy for you.”

I scoff. “Well, he wasn’t perfect, by any means. He obviously had flaws, just like you and I do. However, he did put in the effort. That’s what mattered.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s always going to matter.”

Jimmy clears his throat and gets up from his chair, retreating to the fridge and grabbing the jug of orange juice to place on the counter. He takes a cup out of the cabinet and pours himself some to go along with his breakfast. He looks in my direction, jug in hand. “Want some?”

“No thanks. Orange juice is dehydrating.”

He scrunches his eyebrows. “What do you mean? No, it’s not.”

“Uh, yes it is,” I sarcastically argue. “I don’t know how anyone drinks it God-willingly.”

“You’re so weird,” he replies back.

“Damn straight.” I give him a devious smile.

Now it’s his turn to scoff and shake his head. “You want anything to drink?”

“I’m good.”

He puts the orange juice back in the fridge and shuts the door, walking back to where he was sitting. He takes his piece of watermelon and pops it into his mouth.

“You excited for Wednesday?”

He finishes swallowing and looks at me. “I guess so, yeah.”

“You don’t wanna turn another year younger, do you?”

I get him to crack a smile, and with teeth. Damn, I’m good. “Not according to you, no.”

“But, like, do you have an idea of what you wanna do? We can’t just do nothing. Maybe, we can do a team outing or something.”

“Not everybody’s here,” Jimmy corrects me. “Lots of the guys went back home for the summer, remember?”

Oh crap, I forgot about that.

I exhale a frustrated sigh. “Alright, fine. I’ll go buy a tiny cake from the store and stick 34 mini candles in it. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a fire hazard.”

I wave my hand away in his face. “I’ll keep it under control.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will. But seriously, we don’t have to do anything crazy. We can run to Dunkin to get breakfast and then maybe come back here and just lounge. We could walk around the city if it’s nice out. Just wanna keep it lowkey, okay?”

I nod. “Got it. Your parents aren’t gonna be in town?”

He shakes his head. “Not this year. It’s not a big deal. You didn’t celebrate your birthday with yours, either.”

“Well, yeah, but I did it with another family instead.”

He nods in agreement. “Have your parents checked in on you at all?”

“Yeah. I call my mom once a week. I’m tired of her constantly texting me, asking if I’m okay. She should know by now that I’m not. My dad hasn’t thought to formulate a sentence, but that’s how he is.”

“When did you last call her?”

I finish the last bite of my toast before moving to my fruit. “Yesterday. It was only like 15 minutes. It’s the same old shit. There’s not much to talk about.”

“Does she seem worried?”

“She’s always gonna worry about me, even if I’m in the happiest mood ever,” I retort. “She was a nonstop mess when I moved here and had to live on my own, but she feels slightly better that I’ve moved in with someone.”

“Has she said anything about me?” Jimmy wonders.

I pretend to think. “She told me to thank you for being there when she couldn’t.”

“Well, tell her that it’s my utmost duty.”

“Okay, now you’re just being a little shit,” I laugh, closing the fruit container and putting it back in the fridge, then throwing my plate in the trash can. “You done? I can take it for you.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Oh, it’s my utmost duty to serve you, James.”

“Okay, enough of that,” he laughs. “What do you wanna do?”

I look around the apartment. “Actually, I think I’m gonna get organized. Make the bed, put away laundry, maybe start shifting some stuff into the other closet so that it doesn’t come crashing down on me the next time I open it.”

“Sounds like a great idea. Today’s probably not gonna be a good day to go out, anyway.” He gestures to the windows behind the TV.

It’s started drizzling. That’s great! Perfect weather for a somber day!

“Well, thank goodness for our lives being boring and having no plans!” I reply. “And with that, I’m going to go distract myself with plans.”

“Let me know if you want any help.”

Oh, like he’s ever done that since that night? He cannot be serious.

“I will,” I respond. It’s the only thing I can say that won’t start something. I make my way to my room, shutting the door behind me.

I start off with making my bed, propping up all the pillows so they look fresh and totally not worn out. I brought my pillows to sleep on and kept Jimmy’s boring ass white shams. Same thing with the duvet. To make the room a little more interesting, I placed a couple throw blankets at the end to add in some color to make up for the lack thereof. The next task was perhaps the most daunting of them all as an adult: laundry. The basket was heavy because I let it build up, and Jimmy always wanted to take my basket down when our laundry had to be done so he could separate our clothes. He has not yet made the mistake of throwing in one of his own articles into my basket yet. I’m still waiting for the day.

After the longest 25 minutes of flipping shirts inside out, finding unoccupied hangers, hooking them on the closet rail, folding all of my pants and putting them in the drawer, repeating the process with my bras and underwear, which now, it got me thinking. I wonder if he ever peaked at them longer than he should’ve when I wasn’t around. Oh, who am I kidding? He most definitely did not. He’s too innocent for that. Although, he was guilty of calling me a burden, so I wonder if he’s gonna reverse his charges. Wait, what was I alluding to? Oh, yeah. My laundry’s done.

I move all of my hockey gear, equipment, all of its corresponding bullshit to the empty closet. It’s not one that I want to open in the near future. I forgot how heavy my duffle bag was, so I literally had to shuffle it across the carpet because I really don’t want to throw out a shoulder right now. Not that it would matter because we’re not playing, but it would make my life just the tiniest bit easier. I go back for the skates, stick, and gloves. Only they’re not mine. They’re his.

The other option was that they get discarded in some deep, dark closet that no one would ever open again, the lock being kept in place. I drove up to the practice rink one day to get them. Of course, I chose not to tell Jimmy where I was going, so when I got back an hour and a half later, when I opened the door, I found him sitting on the couch and immediately turning around to give me one of the most disapproving looks. We quickly bickered about how I need to let him know where I’m going, yet I’m a grown adult just like him and that he doesn’t need to become a helicopter “parent” and know all of my whereabouts. The good news is that he hasn’t had to worry since. I have not stepped foot out that door probably since close to the end of April. The closest I count to escaping is standing out on the balcony for a little while until I start to feel claustrophobic, and then I make my way back inside. I finally got an apartment complex parking sticker, so I did end up bringing my car over, but it’s never left its parking spot since the day I came back from Greenburgh. I don’t know where to go. I don’t know who to go see.

Exhaustion begins to set in after moving everything around and rearranging my space. I don’t even make a run for lying down on my bed and instead settle sitting next to the deep, dark closet on the carpet. It’s not even 12 yet and this day is already going by too slow. I need it to be over. The goal is always getting to the next day without feeling the need to perish. Has it gotten easier? No. Am I starting to come to the conclusion that this accident was probably the one thing the universe did to me on purpose? Yes.

I hear a faint knock. At first, I think it’s at the bedroom door, but I hear footsteps make their way from the room next door all the way across the apartment. Someone’s here. Who is it? What do they want?

There’s a distant sound of voices. Are they conspiring on something? Does someone know I’m here? Are they coming to kick me out? Are we being invaded? Are they here to tell me that someone else is dead?

Now is the time when the footsteps approach the bedroom door. I hear a light knock. If it’s actually him on the other side, kudos to finally taking the hint at knocking. Every time that I’m in here, he never feels the need to. I could be standing naked in the middle of the room and he wouldn’t be able to burn that image out of his head. That would be the day where his embarrassment would’ve created a permanent fixture of remembering the importance of knocking on a door. It’s courteous. It’s considerate. It’s smart.

“Who is it?” I call out.

“It’s me.” Ah, yes, Mr. Boston boy!

“Come in.”

The door opens and he emerges onto the carpet, keeping his hand on the knob. He notices me sitting on the floor. “You, uh, you okay?”

I cock my head at him. “Yeah, why?”

“Because you’re sitting on the floor.”

“Because I couldn’t find the energy to flop down on my bed after moving everything around.”

“I see.” He looks skeptical.

“Still find me weird?”

“Yeah, definitely. Hey, listen. Laf’s here. He says he’s got something to give you.”

“Laf?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I don’t know. You gotta go see it for yourself.”

What is this? What could he, out of all people, have to give me?

I gather myself off the floor and drag my feet on the carpet, following Jimmy out into the hallway. He was right. Gosh, I haven’t seen him since the funeral. It feels like years.

I walk past Jimmy to approach him first. He’s standing by the far side of the island. “Hey.” It comes out as a combination of curiosity and surprise.

“Hey, Abb.”

“How, uh, how are you?”

Alexis looks around the apartment before back at me. “Good. I’m, uh, I’m flying back to Quebec in a few hours, so I’m not gonna be back in the states for a little while. I was cleaning out Ryan’s apartment for the new tenants and I came across this.”

I don’t even pay attention to what he’s holding. I ask the more important question first. “Wait, what do you mean you were cleaning out his apartment? They just decided to end his lease?”

He coughs. “Well, yeah. I mean, he’s not there. Landlord needs to clear out space.”

Yeah, I’m not buying it.

“Since I had his spare key, I spent a few days cleaning out what I could. I was looking through his room, and it took me forever, but I found something stored away in the back of his dresser.”

It’s when I look down at his hands and notice he’s holding a light blue bag. It’s got white tissue paper sticking out and a lime green envelope.

It’s my birthday present.

The one he forgot because he was in a rush.

The one he promised he would give to me after practice the next day.

And he broke that one, too.

I stare at it, wondering if I should even accept it. It’s two months overdue. I meet Alexis’ eyes. “You didn’t think to give this to me sooner?” My voice is riled with hesitation.

��There was never a right time. The funeral, the wake. Everything was happening so quickly that I wasn’t sure if I was going to bother. I had it sitting in my room for the longest time before I remembered that I was leaving, and it’s not like anyone else would’ve been able to get it. That’s why I’m here.”

“Did you peak?”

“No. It’s wrapped up pretty good. Your guess is as good as mine.”

I outstretch my arm to release the gift bag from his grip. I continue looking at it, as if there’s an unwanted surprise that’s going to jump out and scare me.

“You don’t have to open it now,” he says. “It’s whatever you want.”

I turn to look at Jimmy. He’s sitting against the back of the sofa. “Yeah, Abb, you don’t have to do it now. It’s probably something that would mean more if it were just you that opened it.”

I sigh, thinking over my options. I’ve done everything on my own for this long. This should be shared with someone else. It was the original intention anyway.

“No, I’ll open it now.” I pull out a chair from the island and sit down, deciding if I should focus on the card first or the actual gift at hand. I settle on the card. The writing will probably throw me in for a quick waterworks show. Shocker.

If you ever looked at Ryan first glance, you would assume that his physical appearance would indicate that he was very tough and manly. You could indicate based on his tone of voice that he was always so stoic and serious; never had time to joke around, didn’t seem like the type of person to let themselves have fun. Oh, you would’ve been so wrong.

I wouldn’t say that he was the absolute best at giving gifts, but I told him to never go over the top, whether it be for Christmas, Valentine’s Day, my birthday, our one and only anniversary. Did he ever listen to me, though? No. I’m about to be proven that.

I tap my fingers on the envelope, flipping it upside down and opening it. I wiggle the card out and turn to look at the front. It’s got an animated illustration of two cats. One’s playing with a ball of yarn and the other’s watching from afar on the couch. I don’t realize the destroyed birthday cake in the bottom corner. The cat on the couch has a speech bubble above its head, saying “The sweetest of lives are lived with you.”

Alright, here it goes.

I open the card to read what’s in the middle. “Here’s to the rest of them. Happy Birthday.”

I drop it on the counter, head already in my hands. I let out a tiny squeak. This really is hitting a lot harder than I thought it would.

But it’s not over yet.

He filled up the whole card. Both sides.

If I’m being honest, Ryan would sometimes be an annoying little shit because he would choose not to communicate his feelings verbally, so that’s when he resorts to writing it out, whether through a card or a quick text or even on a Post-It note. He never ignored me deliberately. I’d give him some time for him to sort them all out, and then when he was ready, he would come find me and we would talk about what was bothering him. He would always start off with “It’s not because of you.” And he really meant it.

I direct my eyes to the top of the card and begin reading.

Dear Abby,

Happy 24th! It feels as if I’ve known you in a past life, and it’s given me the privilege of replicating in the real one. I’m gonna be sappy real quick. Where do I start? Oh, yeah, thank you for literally being the BEST girlfriend, the BEST person, the BEST human that I have ever had the pleasure of getting to know. I’m aware that I don’t tell you as often as I should, and that’s my fault, but you are everything to me. I’m fortunate to make you the happiest I’ve ever seen you, and you’re fortunate to make me the luckiest and most blessed man. I appreciate your mind and your heart; the way you care for everybody and only want what’s best for them, the way you’re never afraid to say what you want/need, the way you’ve become more comfortable as a player and a person, dealing with the consistent pressure to do well. You’ve handled it with such grace that I’m almost jealous, only because I wish I could do that. You are the greatest gift I could’ve ever received, so the one that I got you might finish in second place. Here I am to say that if not for you, I don’t know where I’d be. I guess the extra time of just remaining teammates and friends really paid off. I’m excited to celebrate with you and everyone else, and I can’t wait. You’re perfect. Just as you are. And to me, you always are. Excited for the next one. There is truly no one better, and there never will be. At least, not for me.

Love always,

I shove the card to the far edge of the countertop, distracting myself by ravaging through the gift bag like a hyper kid rushing through opening their presents on Christmas to see if they got the toys they asked Santa for. There’s two things. One is placed in a skinny, rectangular box, and the other is standing up, wrapped in blue tissue paper. It seems like it could be fragile, so I place it down gently on the counter without having it hang too close to the edge.

It almost seems like I’m opening the gifts by myself until I hear a shuffling noise in the background. It causes me to turn around in my chair. Laffy’s moved over to sit with Jimmy on the back of the couch. I furrow my eyebrows at them. “Why don’t you guys come over here and we can open it together?”

“We don’t wanna impose,” Alexis pipes up. “It’s not our business to know what he got you.”

“You’re not,” I say. “C’mon. Please?”

Both of them stand up and make their way to the kitchen area, still maintaining their space by hovering near the pantry. Good God, what are they so afraid of? What’s the worst they’ll have to do? Comfort me? Watch me cry? Grow up.

I start off with the box. I lift up the cover and my eyes are immediately drawn to the two presents inside that I don’t even know what to pick up first.

How about with tickets to Country Fest in Detroit Lakes in August?

He told me this was one of the reasons he always looked forward to summer. He went every year with friends and always had the best time. I kept mentioning that I would gladly go with him, even though I don’t religiously listen to country music like he did. Every time he’d drive us anywhere, it would always be on. He stuck to his true Midwestern roots, and never once let them go.

Is there even a point of using them now? He spent a good amount of money. I don’t want it going to waste. Maybe I’ll sell them or something. Why would I go when it’s not going to be intended quality time?

I reach to the second gift. I speculate on how to open it; that’s even if there’s a right way. I move the tissue paper, pushing it down until all of it hits the counter. The good news is that it’s not glass. Essentially, it’s two things in one. The first thing, giving way to its tall stature, was a rectangular pillow. It was red and white. Embroidered in large font and large letters, it read Abby & Ryan, and on the bottom, it read 05/22/2025. It had tiny red hearts protruding from each side. It looked stitched to perfection, handled with so much care.

I stare at it for a couple seconds before snapping myself out of my trance and looking to find the next part. I scoff. As if it couldn’t get any worse than a personalized pillow.

It’s a personalized photo blanket.

With what looks to be several 4x6 and 5x7 photos all meshed into each other.

On the top, it reads A different type of warmth that will never die.

On the back, this time in smaller font, it reads Happy birthday. You’ve warmed my heart, and now it’s time for me to return the favor. -R

Just when I think it’s over, it’s not.

A container of something spills out from the middle of the blanket and onto the floor. I reach down from my chair to pick up. I see a tag attached to what looks like to be a bottle. I turn it over.

It’s his favorite cologne.

I look at the tag.

In case for when you start to miss me.

My lip starts to quiver, but I bite it so hard to prevent myself from a meltdown in front of one more person. I look over at the two men still lingering by the pantry. They’re looking along as well.

“Those are really nice, Abb,” Jimmy says. “Guess he meant it when he said you should’ve opened it in front of him.”

“Are you glad to have gotten them?” Alexis asks. “He really knew you like the back of your hand.”

I turn in my chair and face the both of them, one eye focusing on each. “Yeah, he did,” I mutter.

I stand up and grab the gifts, stopping myself in my tracks before heading to my room. I look at Alexis and attempt to sound as grateful as I can. “Thanks for stopping by,” I say. “I’ll see you around. Be safe.”

He folds his mouth into a grimace and nods his head. “Of course,” he responds quietly. He reaches past me to retrieve the card off the counter. “You almost forgot this.”

I take it from his hand. “Thanks.” I walk past him and into my room, shutting the door. I let out a long, frustrated sigh. I quickly walk over to the deep, dark closet before I can change my mind, and lackadaisically throw the pillow and blanket on top of his equipment, shutting the door immediately. As for the card, cologne, and concert tickets, I walk in a different direction, this time to my nightstand drawer, and toss them in, closing it loudly. Sliding down the side of my bed, I find myself present on the carpet again, staring out at the balcony. It’s stopped raining, but everything is wet. Dreary. Diminished.

“You stupid son of a bitch,” I whisper under my breath. “You stupid fucking idiot. Can’t use this shit now. Couldn’t have held on for one more day, right? Took the easy way out, like Jim said? Forget how I feel. No one could understand. I mean, I’m sure you could. But you’re not here, so it doesn’t fucking matter.”

I hear mutters of conversation from the kitchen before I hear the door close. An exasperated sigh escapes Jimmy’s mouth. “Goddamn it,” I hear him say.

Well, at least we’ve finally agreed on something.

The unfortunate yet familiar footsteps creak outside my door. Another knock.

“What?”

“Do you want me to come in?” He sounds sad.

“Leave me alone.”

I don’t hear anything.

I try again. “You just gonna fuckin creep out there?”

“I was just gonna ask if you needed anything.”

“I need you to go the fuck away.”

“I-”

“JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO!”

The door opens.

Alright, time to kill him.

I hear his footsteps on the carpet. “Where are you?” his voice calls from behind me.

“Dead.”

He follows the trail of my voice and finds me sitting next to the nightstand and up against the bed. “Nice try.”

I shrug. “Not like it’d be hard.”

“Abb-”

“I told you to go away and you still don’t listen.”

“Because you’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, I think you are.”

“I literally just said I’m not.”

He kneels down on the carpet, sitting on his right leg. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Now, see. That’s a lie.”

“Oh, what the fuck do you know?”

“I know that you’re upset.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not.” He sounds legitimately serious.

“Yeah, I am. I think I can manage.”

“Have you, though?”

The tips of my ears start to burn.

“Not in the way you want me to.”

Got him there once again.

“I think you should talk to someone.”

What an absolute abomination.

I heavily focus on the balcony, shifting my focus to the trees in the distance past the buildings. “I absolutely do not. I already talk to you.”

“Yeah, barely.”

Okay, it was in due time he returned the hypocrisy back to me.

“It’s like you don’t wanna talk about it. You can’t let it eat you up for so long. Everything’s going to come out one way or another.” Wow, how inspiring for a man who went to a fucking Ivy League, Daddy’s money funded institution. The advice can seriously not get any better.

“Is it finished eating you up, or has it never bit you to begin with?”

Jimmy sighs. “It lingers around from time to time.”

“Then you can’t tell me to spill it all out. I don’t have anything to say.”

“So all of your underlying feelings are gone for good?”

Pause.

“You’re brave enough to leave out the pillow and blanket on your bed?”

Another pause.

He motions to stand up. “That’s exactly what I thought. Seriously, though, you should talk to somebody. It doesn’t have to be me, but I think it’d feel a little less heavy if you expressed how you feel. You know?”

I look up at him, my eyes seething with rage that is invisible to him. “No, I don’t know,” I snap. “Maybe you should talk to someone to help with your nosiness.”

He laughs.

“I’m not kidding, Jim. You need to give me space. Still haven’t learned that, either. Who ever knew you were so stubborn?”

“I give you space. You’re always locked away in here. It’s like there’s nowhere better you’d wanna be.”

Actually, there is one alternative.

He continues. “You do know you are allowed to leave here, right? You can go out and drive around the city for a little bit. You can go to the park and feed the ducks. Hell, we could maybe go out and get dinner once in awhile. Have you ever thought about the idea that we haven’t spent any time together?”

I roll my eyes. “That’s all we do.”

He shakes his head quickly from side to side. “No, Abby, I mean really spend time together. I’m talking about actually walking around Manhattan and spending the afternoon acting like tourists or going for a quick run around the block. I feel that I’m somewhat confined here too because you refuse to leave.”

I blink at him, then look away.

“Just think on it, okay? Remaining trapped in here isn’t going to make anything easier. I think it’d be good for us to go out and get some air. Obviously, not today, but sometime in the near future.”

“You have no idea what’s good for me.”

He sighs frustratedly. “You’re right. I don’t. But I think a step in this direction might have us both uncover what actually is.”

I don’t say anything.

“Wanna give it a shot?”

I lift up my hands and slap them against my knees. “Fine.”

“Okay. And with that, I will now leave you alone.”

Finally.

He walks across the carpet again and grabs hold of the door, shutting it quietly behind him. The footsteps disappear.

I have to admit, he’s not wrong. I have been making the decision to stay in the apartment. It’s not helping me, but it’s what I’ve adjusted to. Why change the routine when it’s working? No one else needs to agree. No one has to support it. No one has to approve. I’m choosing how I deal with it. And it’s enough.

The rest of the day is spent in my own head. I don’t even attempt to start another conversation with him. All he’s gonna do is talk about what he thinks I need to change. I don’t wanna say that he’s trying to force it on me, but I just feel that constant pressure to be over it by now. Every single day has not been easy since. The saying “Try to be a rainbow in someone else’s cloud” is exactly what he’s trying to do. He’s anything but a rainbow. More of a category 5 hurricane trying to wash everything away and take me with him.

It’s dark out now, the stars illuminating the sky. The post-rain air has made its way in. I’ve opened the balcony doors to cool down my room. The distant sound of traffic makes me temporarily miss being stuck in it. The bright LED lights on the store signs makes me tempted to go down and walk through the doors of one. The sturdiness of the black railing makes me want to sit on the edge and drop from it.

But I won’t. That’s too easy.

In fact, I know an easier way.

The closet has made its return. I open the door and grab the pillow and blanket, tossing them to the floor behind me. Stepping over them, I walk in the opposite direction to the nightstand where I placed the card, cologne, and concert tickets. I take all three and place the tickets inside the card. As for the cologne, I wrap it up in the blanket. I pick everything up off the floor and make my way out to the balcony. I stand there for a few moments, clutching it all tightly against my chest. I can’t bear to hold onto it. My arms are getting tired. Everything about me is just tired. It never seems to end. Two months later and he’s still finding a way to haunt me, this time through gifts that I cannot utilize. You know what? Maybe it was a good thing I had to wait so long to get them. They sure weren’t going to help me anyway.

I drop everything over the balcony, watching it fall to the concrete. Then, I shut the doors and close the curtains. I do the same thing with the closet and crawl my way into the bed, turning off the lamp. If I am not allowed to enjoy these things to my fullest potential, then no one else will be allowed to. Fuck him.

As I drift off to sleep, I can’t help but think about a random stranger finding them on the sidewalk and just stealing it for themselves. All of that is personalized. It was just for me. Doesn’t matter. It can make someone else happy now. There’s no coming back from that, and I don’t think that I’m ever going to.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The chirpy birds serve as my alarm as I keep my head buried in my pillow. “God, leave me alone,” I mumble.

The sun has returned, as I see it peaking on the carpet. There’s only so much light that can protrude through before it becomes an eyesore. Aggravated weekend traffic has resumed, given the nonstop honking. It helps to know that other people must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed, too. Dragging myself out from under the covers, I sit on the side of the bed and vigorously rub my eyes. It’s clear the eyebags are still there. I’ve thought it would’ve become a permanent part of my physical appearance by now. Strands of hair fall next to my eyes, temporarily interfering with my ability to see. I push it out of the way and grip the bed, my feet landing on the carpet first before I stand myself up. Ignoring the closed curtains, I open one of the balcony doors and overlook the city before looking down at the spot where all of the gifts landed.

They’re gone.

Well, that’s a relief, I think to myself. The worst case scenario would have it still be lying there. At least it held enough value for someone to take it. Whoever that person was, they definitely hit the jackpot. Enjoy.

I walk back into my room and shut the door, keeping the curtains where they are. Making my way toward the actual door, I handle the knob before emerging out into the kitchen. There’s something on the counter. It looks big. It’s definitely taking up space. However, it doesn’t look edible, so it’s not breakfast. I walk a little further to get a better look.

First, I’m met with the judgmental eyes of the man of the year. His hands are planted on the counter. I can see his veins. I’ll go under the assumption that he’s building some type of tension there.

And then I’m met with the pillow. And the blanket. And the card. And the cologne. And the concert tickets.

“You’ve got some explaining to do.” I can tell he’s so over it. You’re not the only one.

“No, I really don’t.” I walk over to the living room area, looking out the window so that I don’t have to face him. “How did you even find it?”

“I’m not an idiot, Abby. I was taking out the trash and I saw everything lying there. I mean, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking to get rid of it.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Because I don’t need it.”

“Hey, you know how much he must’ve spent on all of that to give it to you?”

“Yeah, well, he never did, did he?”

Another deafening silence.

“You could at least store it so that it’s not just lying away.”

“Oh, yeah, for it to only collect dust? What a real smart idea.”

“It’s better than having it spread out on the concrete in Manhattan.”

“I was doing myself a favor.”

“Which was what?”

“Getting rid of him.” I move to the other window on the other side of the TV, still avoiding any type of contact.

“I don’t think that’s the right way to do that.”

“I don’t give a damn what you think.” I raise my voice in the slightest octave. “Why can’t you just let me do things the way I want to? You keep trying to save something that’s already gone. There’s no need to salvage it.”

“You can’t replace these things.”

“It’s not a matter of replacing. It’s a matter of letting go. Something you’ve already done.”

“And something you’re not even remotely close to doing, so why start now?”

Ouch.

“Abb, you need to get help.”

Here we go again.

“I don’t need help.”

“Yeah, you do. If you were thinking clearly, you wouldn’t have even thought of throwing away those memories.”

“They’re not memories, they’re pity prizes.”

“Fine, call them whatever you want. In the meantime, I’m gonna call someone who can work this out with you.”

“No.”

“You have not left this place since the day we got back from the funeral. Go out, get some air, and I’m not talking about just standing on the balcony. I mean really go out and take some time for yourself.”

“Oh, you’re not gonna join me?” I reply sarcastically. “That’s a first.”

“I’m worried about you.”

Those words cause me to turn and look at him. “Now you’re worried about me? A month ago, you wished that I was dead, but all of a sudden, you care? Your empathy’s been restored? Your heart’s finally started beating again?”

“Your’s hasn’t.”

Ouch again.

“I can’t stand to see you like this,” Jimmy says. “We need to figure something out.”

We? I thought this time, it’d be me. You know, since it’s been us against each other.

“Not now.”

“Okay, fine, not now, but soon. I don’t wanna go out one day and come back here and see you passed out on the floor.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

“Jim, I promise that you don’t.”

He lifts his hands from the counter, moving them to his hips. “How do I not know that you throwing that stuff off the balcony was alluding to someone else doing the exact same thing?”

“Because it’s not.”

He rolls his eyes. “I give up with you. Really, I do.”

I just stare back at him.

He walks over to the direction of where I’m standing by the window, positioned toward the door as if he’d leave. “I am letting you know right now that if you ever, ever, ever try to pull something like that on me, and I’m the one that finds you, and they’re not able to get you back, I will never forgive myself. You understand? I know that I seem like a helicopter whirring over you, but seriously, it’s in my best interest. I know that you don’t trust me right now, and that’s fine. I’m just gonna put it out there and say that doing what you might want to do as a last resort and getting away with it, if you fail, it’s going to take a long time to earn my trust back. I’ve always been here for you, and it’s only fair you do the same. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Directing himself back to the kitchen, Jimmy reaches into the pantry and pulls out a brown paper bag. He got bagels again.

“Pick the one you want and I’ll throw it in the toaster,” he instructs.

With slight hesitancy, I make my way to the island, peering through the bag. It smells so good, so fresh. I think Sunday bagel breakfasts should be a little tradition that we start. I’ll ask him at a better time. Choosing the sesame seed bagel, I give it to Jimmy, who cuts it down the middle and pops it in the toaster. He does the same to his bagel. This time, he chose an everything one. I’m surprised he deterred from the plain. You’d think it’d be impossible for him to give up that consistent routine of picking it, but I won’t call him out. I always thought plain bagels were boring, and the man that loves them is surely not.

“Jim?”

He turns around, not even looking at me. He’s handing me a plate. “Yeah?”

“Are you really that worried about me?”

A disgruntled sigh leaves his mouth. “Abby, I literally did not sleep that night because even I couldn’t figure out what was really going on. Frequently, I can’t sleep because I think about how you might not wake up after I find out you’ve done something to yourself. I don’t like the change in mood. I’m not blaming you by any means, but I’ve noticed that it’s become a little more drastic and I just wish that I could have a bigger role in stopping its growth.”

“Then just watch me sleep from now on,” I reply. “You’ve done it before.”

He scoffs. “C’mon, I’ve never done that.”

“I once heard my door open while I was sleeping and then shut like 20 seconds later. It would’ve been impossible if someone wasn’t there to twist the knob.”

Another sigh. “Okay, fine, it was me.”

I smile. “No shit, Sherlock. Do you want me to move in your room, share a bed? I call left side.”

He laughs. “I’m good. Plus, it would be your turn of invading my privacy.”

I bat my eyes at him. “Yeah, but I’d only be trying to help you, right?”

“Fuck off,” he responds, and I giggle.

The toaster dings and Jimmy turns around, taking out both bagels. He hands mine over to my plate and slides the cream cheese over. “I know you’d never voluntarily take butter.”

I take a knife and open the container, sticking it in and spreading it on the first half. “You know what’s funny? I always thought you were a butter guy.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, it’s too much sodium for my liking. You can buy several flavors of cream cheese, while butter just remains the same. It gets redundant after awhile.”

“Like me?”

There goes the puppy-dog eyes. That’s when I know he’s about to be serious with his words. “Anyone but you.”

Anyone but you.

Anyone but me.

The world could end tomorrow and he’d probably want to spend the last few minutes with me, wouldn’t he?

I don’t think so. Nice try.

Breakfast is quick and quiet as always. I don’t even end up finishing all of my bagel. I tell him that I’ll save it for later. Both of us know that’s not true.

I get up from my chair and motion toward my room. That is until I forget the gifts are still sitting on the counter. No. I don’t wanna bear the weight of them in my arms again. I’d be carrying the burden right back in when I don’t need it. However, I’ve somewhat succumbed to the thought already. Would it really make a difference?

Picking up from where I left off, dead in my tracks, I lift my feet again and head toward my place of solace. Again, it can’t hurt me if I don’t see it. Well, that doesn’t apply to everything, but whatever.

Shutting the door, I walk over to the nightstand and grab the remote, turning on the TV and flipping through the channels. Brain rotting for the rest of the day sounds better than talking about nothing.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday was the same.

Tuesday was too.

Wait, what day comes after Tuesday? Last time I checked, I was repeating the same cycle over and over.

I’m awoken not by my alarm, but my phone lighting up my home screen. It sent me a notification. It’s a message.

And of course, who else would it be from?

It reads Ran out to get us Dunkin. I’ll be back in a little bit

How long is a little bit? Ten minutes? Thirty minutes? An hour? Ten hours? Hell, not coming back at all?

I drag myself out of bed and head straight for the door, opening it to walk the short distance into the bathroom. I shut the door and turn on the light. Staring at myself in the mirror, I evaluate my reflection. She’s unrecognizable again. The hair is too messy, the face is forming boarders of stress zits (at least that’s what I suppose), the eyebags look a little heavier, skin a little paler, brain more foggier.

I grip my hands on the sink and wander my eyes down to the counter. Jimmy was obviously in here before he left. His toothbrush looks to be drying and a razor sitting on the marble countertop.

I pick up the razor, looking down at the shiny blade with what feels like not a wave of exhaustion, but a wave of dehydration coming over me. It occurs that I never filled up my water bottle before I went to bed. I could always get up in the middle of the night and refill it, but I don’t wanna wake him. Besides, I’ve never felt comfortable being active in the late night hours. How weird to be awake when everyone else is asleep.

My vision starts to blur, and I immediately grab the counter for support. I crouch down onto the floor an lay my legs down on the bathmat and my head back against the wall, shutting my eyes. Gosh, I’m freezing. It’s not like the A.C. is on. I blindly fumble for the razor that’s still sitting on the sink, feeling it fall into my lap. I press the blade to my face, feeling the cool metal rest on some part of my body. Surely, it will help.

But it doesn’t.

I move it to my kneecaps. Nope, not there, either.

I pin it to my wrist. That’s the spot.

The feeling of goosebumps take over my body, legs shaking at the sensation. I still can’t see clearly. Shutting my eyes again, the blade traces around my wrist. I still feel cold.

One slow, steady motion.

And then another.

A rapid gasp escapes my mouth, settling into the intruding warmth. Now I feel better.

Until I don’t.

Between the dizziness and the absence of sharp metal doing everything it can to keep me warm, my head slides off the wall and hits the floor. It’s at a cool temperature. I don’t feel myself starting to slow down, but my eyes are pressed closed. I can feel my lips slowly part.

I see him. He’s smiling. He’s been waiting for me. “There you are, babe. I hated waiting this long. Let’s go finish the story we never got to write.”

I take a weak yet deep breath. “Okay.”

And then he’s guiding me past the gates.

Or so I think.

He disappears. Where did he go? I guess this pattern of leaving continues in the afterlife.

Or so I think again.

He comes back with his A bracelet. He smirks. “You really thought I left without it, huh?”

I shake my head, smiling. “But I did.”

“Don’t worry about that. That’s what this place is for. It’s all about fresh starts.”

A fresh start, you say?

“I can’t believe you’d do that for me,” he continues.

I look into his bright blue eyes. “I had no other choice.”

“Of course you did.”

“And what was that?”

“To live.”

I look back at him with a blank stare.

He grabs me by the hand. “Live for me.”

I sigh. “But I already did.”

“No, you didn’t. You’ve barely even started.”

“I can’t do it.”

“Sure you can. You’ve done it for 2 months already. It’s just the rest of your life to go.”

“That’s a long time.”

“You know what? Maybe it is. Soon enough, you’ll be here when you need to. But not right now.”

“What do you mean?”

I see the gates open. He turns around, dragging me by the arm.

“Go live for me, will you?”

I try to escape his grip. “No, no, I can’t do it again! Why can’t I just come with you?”

“Because that’s not how this is going to work.”

“Well, then, how is it going to work?”

“It starts with you waking up each day and me not being the first thought. You’ll move on from there.”

“But I don’t want to!” I yell in earshot.

“Gonna have to, babe,” he responds. “You’ve got people waiting for you.”

‘Yeah, like who?”

“Your family, the team, anyone that you have ever known is anxiously awaiting your return.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Then why do I see you lying down on the gurney in the back of an ambulance?”

What?

“Why does Jim’s face look red, like he’s just finished crying?”

But he’s never cried. What is he even doing here?

“Why are you intubated?”

I don’t know.

“Why did your heart stop beating again?”

It’s never beaten since you’ve left.

“Why are paramedics pushing down on your chest?”

It’s a lost cause.

“Okay, never mind, babe, you came back. Whew! That was a close one.”

Damn it.

“Oh, the ambulance stopped! I think we’re here!”

Great.

“Hey! New York Presbyterian! I died here! What makes me think they’re gonna save you?”

I hope they don’t.

“You know what, Abby? You might have actually gotten your wish.”

God do I hope so.

“Aw man, do you see Jim’s face? Look at it. He looks scared out of his mind, like he saw a ghost or something. I’ve never seen him like that.”

Me either.

“Yeah, you might wanna turn around and walk back through these gates. Once you wake up, he’s gonna kill you.”

I’d dare to see him try.

“You’re really brave for doing this on his birthday. What a great present for him to have, right?”

Oh, no.

Wait.

Oh, my God.

I forgot about that.

“Still wanna go back?”

No.

Anywhere but there.

“Help me,” I manage to say.

“Oh, honey, I can’t help you,” he begins. “But I can guide you, make sure you don’t do anything like that ever again.”

“I wanna go with you.”

“No, you failed this time. You’re not ready.”

“But I am.”

“You will be very soon.” He kisses my hand. “I gotta go. Do me a favor and wake up, yeah?”

And that’s exactly what I do.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My eyes struggle with fluttering open, but I feel another cool metal surface beneath my hands. It definitely doesn’t feel like the bathroom.

It’s quiet. I can hear distant murmurs, but none of them can be picked up on in a close distance.

I wiggle my fingers and then my toes. My vision slowly starts to come back, too.

The first thing I notice is the grippy socks that are covering my feet. They’re blue. They barely fit. Something’s not right.

After that, I look at the closed door. There are signs on the back of it, depicting a pain scale and informational resources. Physically, my pain is a 10. Emotionally, my pain is a 10 too, thanks for asking.

On my left side, there’s a sink with a long countertop and numerous cabinets. I wonder what’s in them.

I start to feel like I’ve been stripped of my clothes. That’s because I have been.

I look down ay my legs and notice I’m covered in a cotton gown. It’s got blue and white designs. I’m starting to feel warm again.

My wrists feel tight, and that’s because of the bandages and gaws that are taped down. It’s difficult to move them around. Wait a minute. Why do I have bandages on?

I take a deep breath and divert my gaze into the corner. I see a shadow sitting in a chair. It’s slightly hunched over, their face buried in their hands. I don’t think it’s crying, but it sure looks discombobulated.

I don’t even know who it is.

The shadow lifts itself up from its bent position, sitting up straight now. I can hear the tapping of one of their shoes on the floor. A shaky breath, rubbing their hands on their thighs. A sniff of the nose. The feeling of their eyes watching me.

I look down at my right wrist. It’s got a bracelet on it. Only it’s not the one with the R in the middle.

It looks like an admitted bracelet.

It’s got my name, birthday, and unit that I’m placed in.

Emergency.

What happened?

I look back up to the shadow.

Only it’s not a shadow anymore.

There’s an actual person sitting there.

An actual person has come to see me? Oh, how sweet.

That is until I get a better look.

At him.

Ryan was right.

Jimmy.

He’s actually sitting there.

RIght where I can see.

And it looks like it’ll be his turn to kill me.

His face is red, his body completely on high alert. He might just bounce out of that chair if someone opens up that door.

He doesn’t say anything. He looks at me with the darkest set of eyes I have ever seen. It’s like they’ve lost their sparkle, their shine. Let’s just say they’ve gone lifeless.

He’s not the only one.

I stare back at him. I can feel my glasses on my face, helping me see him better. Come to think of it, I’m not sure if I’ve ever noticed him look so utterly hopeless. Not until this moment, at least.

I don’t say anything either. I’m waiting for one of his sarcastic, knife-stabbing words to take a dagger at my heart. You know, the one that literally stopped beating? That’s a first occurrence where I don’t have to live in a figurative state of mind.

Everything about him looks absolutely disheveled. His face, his clothes, his hands that are holding so much tension right now, given that I can see his veins, that I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to strangle me and have me go for another round.

But he doesn’t budge.

And with sudden abruptness, as the door starts to open, he quietly says these three words.

“You promised me.”

I just sit there, no change in expression. Wait, what did I promise him?

Both an ER doctor and nurse emerge from behind the door. The doctor is a middle-aged man, probably not too much older than Jimmy. The nurse is a woman with her shiny blonde hair in a slick ponytail. She’s got pink and purple pens sitting in her coat pocket. Neither of them look excited. Instead, sad.

The doctor opens his mouth as the nurse shuts the door. “Hi, I’m Dr. Sanderson.” He points to the nurse. “And this is Dr. Rileston. She’s gonna take some of your vitals real quick.”

I adjust my sitting position on the bed, watching Dr. Rileston listen to my heart, both on my chest and upper back, “Elevated, but steady,” she reports.

Then she takes my blood pressure. “Elevated, but steady,” she repeats.

Then I have to follow the pink pen waving in front of my eyes. “Alert and functioning. Doesn’t look like there’s any signs of brain damage.”

Guess she’s a woman of few words. Concise and to the point.

That’s how I wish our conversations would go.

It’s time for Dr. Sanderson to possibly interrogate me. “Can you recall what you were doing before the attempt? Do you remember what happened? Anything helps, even if it’s the smallest detail.”

I swallow the saliva in my throat. “I don’t know,” I squeak out. “I was in the bathroom and then got dizzy, so I sat on the floor.”

“And you don’t remember taking anything with you?”

I pause. “No, but I did get cold.”

He clears his throat. “There was a profuse amount of bleeding from both your wrists when paramedics arrived. Not before your friend here found you.”

I’ve just made his most recent nightmare an actual reality.

“He said,” gesturing to Jimmy, “that you were pale and your lips were dry. Could it be that you were dehydrated before this?”

“That explains the dizziness, I guess,” I reply soft spokenly.

“He found a razor in your right hand. That was yours, I presume?”

I don’t answer.

“Based on the extent of the injury, we can assume that this was intentional?”

I don’t answer again.

“Yes.”

That didn’t come from me.

Dr. Sanderson turns his attention to Jimmy. “It was?”

He meets his eyes. They’re not glassy, but they might as well could be. “I’m completely positive.”

I hate him even more than I ever thought I did.

“Has she ever had thoughts of killing herself?”

“Yeah, she’s joked about it a couple times.”

I hate him.

“She lost her boyfriend in a car accident 2 months ago. Hasn’t been the same since.”

I hate you.

“Any changes in mood, appetite, lifestyle?”

Jimmy answers for me again because God forbid I should. Who cares? Let the man blabber on.

“She has her own place, but she’s been living with me for the time being. Appetite’s been the same, but I’ve noticed her not eating as much, let alone finishing her meals. I’ll say that her mood tends to differ, but honestly, she’s been upset and sounds a little hopeless that nothing will get better. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have done this.”

It feels like a knife being stabbed to the heart.

“Are you concerned about her inflicting harm on yourself or others?” Dr. Sanderson asks.

I look at him, and then at Jimmy.

“She’s already done so, just not physically. But to answer the question, no, I am not.”

Did he really have to mention that first part? Of course he did.

“Well, we have two options here,” Dr. Sanderson continues. “We can keep her here under 48-72 hour watch and then refer her to grief counseling, where they’ll prescribe her treatment, or we can get someone in here to clean and bandage up the cuts, give you the referrals, and then you’ll be on out of here.” He looks at Jimmy. “It’s up to you.”

Wait.

It’s not up to me?

“Given her current status, we’d feel more comfortable if someone else were to make the decision. The situation can account for not being in the right mental space to think about something like that.”

Seriously?

“If I were to keep her here, she’d have to be admitted, right?”

Oh, don’t tell me-

Dr. Sanderson nods. “We’d admit her to the ICU, have a nurse check in on her about every hour or so, perhaps bring a psychiatrist down and speak with her about options to seek help.”

God, I hate that word.

I can tell that Jimmy’s concentrating. I don’t think he’s even afraid of saying the wrong thing. If he wants to get the hell away from me, get some temporary freedom, maybe it’s his best choice to have me stay.

He catches me looking. Please, please don’t do what I think you might. However, he has every option to do so. As we’ve already established, I’m not in control of this decision because I’m too weak, too empty minded. What kind of patient care is this? I swear it has to be some sort of hoax. It’s gotta be, right? No.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll let her get bandaged up.”

Oh, thank God.

Dr. Sanderson tilts his head, perhaps in uncertainty. “You certain?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy replies. “She’s not a danger to anyone.”

“But do you think she is to herself?”

“I don’t think she ever will be again after this.”

He sighs. “Alright, then. We’ll have a nurse come in and clean the cuts, then stitch them up.”

Jimmy clears his throat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dr. Sanderson replies. He and Dr. Rileston walk out the door, shutting it behind them.

The sound of noise coming from the hallway is the only one that fills the room. I hear a loud, frustrated sigh, face buried in hands again.

I stare up at the clock. It’s a little past 11:30. It feels like we’re here at night, but my mind is playing tricks on me. I want to get out of here.

Neither one of us thinks about talking. He’s too distraught, and I can’t take back what I did. I can’t justify it. I will say this, though: He is definitely having a harder time at grasping this than I am. Did he seriously think it wouldn’t happen? I literally warned him.

There’s a knock on the door. A woman enters. She’s got curly brown hair and glasses. “Hi, I’m Dr. Cole,” she says. “We’re just gonna clean and sterilize these cuts and then bandage them up good as new. I’m just gonna remove these gaws, okay?”

I don’t even nod. Instead, I zone out on the posters plastered on the wall. Then, I decide to close my eyes. Perhaps I can transport myself into another world where I meet with him under different circumstances. That was until I feel the rubbing alcohol make contact with my left wrist, making me wince.

“Yeah, it might sting a little bit. Just gotta hang in there.”

Oh, I’ll try.

Jimmy can’t even bear to look at me. He’s got his phone in between his hands, probably texting the group chat (you know, the one without me, of course) about what happened. Then again, it is everybody’s business, right?

I don’t know it took me this long to see this, but he’s got my purse resting on his lap. He seriously thought to bring it? Okay.

Dr. Cole moves her spinny chair over to my right wrist, starting the cleaning process. I turn away from the both of them, staring at the cabinets. I wonder what hospitals really keep in there. I’ve never seen them open, let alone be touched. Are they just there for show? The rubbing alcohol burns my skin again, so I clench my left hand into a fist, digging my fingernails into my palm, forming tiny crescents. It’s only a few seconds before she applies this cream onto my cut, taking away the uncomfortable sensation. She goes back to my left side and does the same for my other one. Finally, she takes the bandages resting on the tray and unwraps the roll, cutting it with scissors at an appropriate length before lifting my wrist and rolling it around tightly until it ends. She repeats the procedure once more.

“Given the depth of the cuts, there is a possibility they might scar if you don’t take care of them,” she says. “You’ll want to clean them out with rubbing alcohol and any kind of anti-inflammatory cream. It will decrease the current bits of swelling and the risk of infection.”

Great. Another thing to keep on top of.

She gives me a sympathetic smile, but I barely look at her. “You’re all set. One of you will just need to sign out at the front desk, and then Dr. Sanderson told me to remind you about doing research on certain grief counselors in the area. He’s already got a list printed out.”

Jimmy nods. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” She shuts the door behind her.

I sit up from the bed, my legs dangling off of it. I hold on to the tiny bit of courage I have to speak. “Do you know where my clothes are?”

He reaches underneath his chair, my pajamas scrunched up in a plastic bag. Yeah, that totally doesn’t elicit a similar memory.

He extends his arm out for me to grab it. “I’ll let you change,” he mutters, not even looking at me, as he stands up and opens the door, shutting it quietly behind him. I don’t hear the footsteps fading away. He’s seriously trying to guard me? When will it end?

I notice that he took my purse with him. Does he not know I could easily wear it myself? Why can’t I just get through to him? It’s exhausting.

I undo the knot on the back of the gown and shimmy my way out of it, the only thing remaining on being my underwear. I open the bag and fumble for my bra, T-shirt, and shorts. Oh, and don’t forget the slippers (Yeah, he totally picked those out. I guess those would be the easiest to put in there). After I’ve put everything on, I take one last look around the room. It’s a miracle he chose to let me leave. Someone in their right mind would have me remain here against my will, but I don’t think it would do him any better if he wouldn’t be around to check on me. Guess I’ve signed up for more of his helicopter “parenting.”

Opening the door, I slowly walk out, looking around for him. Where the heck did he go?

And then I spot him at the front desk with the receptionist. I would assume he’s signing me out. In his right hand, he’s holding what I believe to be Dr. Sanderson’s list and a bunch of brochures. Damn, he’s really not gonna give me the chance to explain myself, huh?

Then again, I’m not sure if this can be worth an explanation.

He turns around and notices me awkwardly hanging by the door, motioning his head toward the exit. Ah, I see we’re on no speaking terms again. I walk as quick as I can in my slippers and remain behind him. He’s literally walking so fast that it’s freaking me out. I’m afraid he’s actually planning on abandoning me.

Just as I think that, he stops dead in his tracks on the pavement outside the hospital. Turning around again and looking at me, I’m expecting him to start a scene. No, he wouldn’t do that. His self-control is too high. He walks a little closer, my heartbeat picking up speed, the opposite of what it did just around two and a half hours ago.

“I rode in the ambulance, so obviously, I can’t drive home. I’m gonna order an Uber, ‘kay?”

He sounds impatient, if anything, the tiniest amount of pissed off. I don’t even bother to respond.

We find a bench to sit on that surrounds the flowers growing in their own little corner. They’re so many different colors. The miniscule attention to detail when it comes to those things do not usually go unnoticed. They’re always so pretty that I wish I could pick one up from the dirt and take it home. I’m obviously not going to do it now, but it’s just a thought. It’s a nice distraction.

He’s looking out at the parking lot, watching cars roll on by, pull into an unoccupied spot, people entering and exiting. Anything he can do to avoid me. I don’t blame him.

“Could I have my purse, please?” I ask.

He flings it over to me, hitting me on the thigh. I bite my tongue, doing my very damn best not to cry. That action alone can signify he’s already given up on me.

I clutch it in my hands, my eyes already starting to burn. No. I will not let him win. Not today, at least.

Side-eyeing him, I can see he’s on his phone again, probably telling the group chat ‘Oh, hey, she’s walking free! Without being given any time to think about her decisions! Isn’t that great? Fuck yeah!’ His leg bounces like it’s an out-of-control bug that’s buzzing around a room. I wanna hold it down so it can stop, but I’m sure he’d lose his mind at the thought of me, out of all people, attempting to provide any comfort to him right now.

Our Uber shows up about 5 minutes later. At least it wasn’t too long of a wait. I don’t know how more I could’ve continued sitting next to someone who has all of their emotions bottled up and slowly leaking from a powder keg. If it won’t happen today, I’ve delayed the inevitable. And that’s my fault. I know.

Entering the backseat, I sit down quietly, putting on my seatbelt and listening to Jimmy giving the driver the address before we take off. I try to remove all of the voices in my head by staring out the window. The sun is shining at perhaps its highest angle of the day, and I’m not even halfway through it yet. It’s almost blinding, but maybe it can cleanse my eyes, help me see in a different light. Bad joke, sorry.

The drive is dead silent that you could hear a pin drop. I wanna jump out of a moving vehicle again. It feels like I’m suffering, as this could’ve been the worst punishment the universe chose to grant me. However, I think the worst punishment has already occurred. There’s no need for another one.

When we make it back to the apartment, both of us get out of the car and walk through the parking lot to get up to the entrance doors. He doesn’t even wait for me. That’s deserved.

I see him get in the elevator and watch the doors immediately close. It’s okay. I’ll wait for the next one. When the next one does arrive, I step in slowly, pressing the ‘4’ on the keypad. As the doors close again, this time around me, I have never felt more alone. I’m so used to him being next to me that I recently started to push him away without totally realizing it. It’s not like I reached my goal, but my actions and attitudes are continued catalysts for it to actually become a thing, where I’ll have to listen to him telling me to pack my things and go back home and to never come here again. Because I didn’t promise him.

The doors open and I walk out, tiptoeing down the hallway. The apartment door is still open, so at least he didn’t forget that I was still trailing behind. I thought it would be in his benefit to not let me in at all. Luckily, I have a key. Unless he actually locks it with the latch. I won’t have so much luck then.

Walking through the entrance, I notice the Dunkin sitting on the counter. He’s got his regular, bland, boring coffee, and for me a matcha latte. He knows how much I love it. There’s a corresponding bag next to it. I think there’s donuts in there, but at this point, I don’t think I’ll ever get to know.

He’s sitting on the couch. The TV’s not on, so I’m not sure what he’s staring at. I shut the door behind me and lock it. That’s enough to grab his attention and shift his frame to intimidate me once again.

“Get the hell over here,” he says gravelly.

I kick off my slippers and walk over hesitantly. I stand on the rug that’s beneath the couch.

“Sit down,” he continues.

I sit on the coffee table in front of him.

“Look at me.”

Again, why should I?

I do it anyway. His face isn’t red anymore, but you can tell the life has been drained right out of it. He doesn’t look relaxed; in fact, kinda the same way he did after we drove back from packing up my things at my condo.

“What-,” he begins, “in the hell,” he pauses, “is wrong with you?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

He scoffs angrily. “You don’t know? I’ll let the blood on the bathroom floor do the talking then.”

“I’m s-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” He seethes through his teeth. “You are not, and you sure as hell ain’t getting out of it this time.”

I look down at my bandaged wrists.

“How could you be so selfish?”

I continue looking down. “I wasn’t.”

“Really? That type of action doesn’t scream selfish to you?”

“No,” I whisper softly.

“What was that?”

“No.” I say it a little louder.

Another frustrated sigh makes its way out of his mouth. “Do you wanna hear my side of the story?”

I don’t, but I know he’s going to tell me anyway, rubbing more salt in the wound.

“I walked through the door, put everything down on the counter, and saw your bedroom door was open, so I thought you were in there. It didn’t take me long to see the bathroom door, though, was closed. So, I had to make a choice, figuring out where I thought you were. I chose the bathroom. I walk over to the door, knock on it, call out your name. No answer. I knock on it again. No answer. I notice it’s unlocked, so I open it, bracing myself to accidentally walk in on you using the bathroom as worse case scenario. I don’t even get to move it halfway before I just see you lying there, motionless, my razor in your hand.”

Can’t even imagine how he feels right now.

“It takes me a quick minute to notice the blood trickling on the floor, trying to figure out where the hell it’s coming from. I thought you might’ve accidentally ran into the wall or something and passed out.” He smiles as he scoffs. “Oh, boy, was I wrong.”

Can’t even look at him.

“So I back out of there, my hand literally shaking as I grab my phone on the counter, dial 911, speak to the operator, telling her my name, my address, why I’m calling, waiting for paramedics to arrive. They knock on the door. I let them in. They rush into the bathroom, hook you up to the Lifepak. The lead paramedic tells me you’re not breathing. He says it’s perhaps due to the amount of blood you lost. I watch them lift you up on the gurney, buckle you in as I’m running into your room to grab your things. The bed’s not made, the blinds aren’t open, nothing’s the way it should be. I grab your slippers to make sure you have shoes to walk in. I grab my things off the counter and follow them out. My heart is beating one million miles a minute. I feel like I might as well have a heart attack in that moment to be dramatic.”

Still can’t.

“And we’re in the back of the ambulance, literally clenching your purse in my hands, wondering if this is all I’m gonna have left of you. They got your heart back, and then you flatlined. Four minutes.”

I can feel his eyes burning into my face somehow.

“Pushing down on your chest, fighting to get you back. And they did. The only thought I had in that moment was having to attend another funeral.”

Well, good thing you don’t now.

“Got to the hospital. They dragged you out of the back and onto the pavement, rushing you in while I slowly followed behind. Heck, I was so close to just not walking in at all. But, if I remember correctly, I said that we have to be there for each other, and I can’t go back on my word. You did.”

I know that.

“The emergency trauma unit brings you to your own room. They unstrap you from the gurney, get you changed out of your clothes, get you your own bracelet. Meanwhile, here I am, sitting in the chair, you sitting in the bed, eyes closed, an IV jabbed into your arm, hooked up to monitors so that your body doesn’t get another chance to crap out.”

I didn’t even hear the sound of a monitor when I woke up.

“The paramedics bandaged you up in the bathroom. I’m looking at them. They’re almost blood-soaked red. It makes me wince. It makes me wanna wake you up myself and take that knife I pointed at your chest and move it to your throat.”

We’re really bringing that back? I thought we were past it.

Guess not.

“And I got to wondering: how do I make the best of this situation? There’s always a silver lining, right? Wrong.”

Damn.

“You could’ve fucking died, and I would’ve been the last one to see you. I thought that maybe I shouldn’t have left the apartment. I should’ve stayed. I feel responsible, even though there’s no logical reason for me to.”

I stare down at the carpet, distracting myself with the patterns.

“Finally, like the grace of God, and the grace of the universe, you woke up. I knew you would. You had to. Why? Because I was not letting you leave without hearing from me first.”

Of course you wouldn’t.

“By the way, the reason I didn’t let you stay is because for these past two months, you have never been good at doing things alone. I don’t wanna get a call in the middle of the night to find out you’ve flatlined again or worse. We’ve already been here on the other side of things, having to wait for news. This time, we were part of the actual event. Again, I still waited. You, however, were tired of waiting.”

Jimmy shifts on the couch, sitting up from what was his lackadaisical posture, and sits up straight, moving toward the edge of the cushion. He takes his hands and places them on my kneecaps. His palms have taken their turn to start burning. That gesture alone reluctantly makes me break the avoidance and I look straight at him, brown eyes lacking so much life. I grip my hands on the table.

His voice returns to normal, less agitation and still the same amount of seriousness, but it’s somewhat shifted elsewhere. “I’m going to look through those brochures, and the names that Dr. Sanderson has on that paper, and I’m gonna research and see which place has the best reviews, the best people to see, the best outcome they can give you. This is non-negotiable. No more excuses, no more outs. No more hospital visits. I’ve only been saying it for so long. You need help, and now you’re getting it.”

The only thing I can manage to do is blink. “Sorry.”

He looks at me apologetically. “But you’re not. If you were, you never would’ve done it. We both know that.”

I can’t even nod. I just look away.

“C’mon,” he says, removing his hands and standing up. My knees are hot. “You gotta drink something.” He motions over to the counter, holding my matcha.

I get up and walk over to him, taking it from his hand. I rip the paper covering off the straw and poke it through the middle of the cup, taking a small sip. I could say that matcha does cure all sadness, but right now, it doesn’t.

Jimmy takes the donuts out of the bag. One’s double chocolate, the other’s strawberry frosted. He folds the bag over on the counter. I guess we’re using it as our plate. The strawberry one is definitely for me. Taking a bite, I savor the feeling of the icing and sprinkles relishing in my mouth. Some of them are definitely gonna get stuck in there, but they’ll eventually find their way out.

He’s sipping his coffee while staring at the top brochure, then moving his gaze to the window. The wind is moving the leaves around in a swift manner. It’s calm. His mind is definitely not.

I feel the need to remind him. I still keep my quiet tone. “Happy Birthday.”

There is no reason for me to even say that after what just happened, but I can’t wait another year. What if everything’s different then? We might not speak, I might be moved back in. There’s too many possibilities. There’s one action I already regret, but this one, I don’t.

He just looks at me with the slightest of frowns. It’s a combination of dissatisfied and sad. He does the right thing by not responding.

So we sit in silence, eating what we could consider our lunch, given it’s already the afternoon, with the brochures becoming more appealing. At least he now gets to do his favorite thing.

Helping me.

#fictional jimmy vesey

3 notes · View notes