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formula-ghost · 16 days ago

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Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 1

SERIES SUMMARY: You’ve been best friends with Oscar Piastri since you were seven, far before the dream of Formula 1 even seemed possible. You’ve been with him from the very beginning—due, in no small part, to the fact that you’ve been in love with him since you were a teenager. But when a breakup and championship battle rattles the very foundations of your friendship, you begin to question if you ever really knew him. (Best friends to lovers, based on the song Wildflower by Billie Eilish)

WORD COUNT: 11.1k

WARNINGS: Oscar is not a very good boyfriend to Lily and Lily is not a very good girlfriend to Oscar. Potentially changed some dates (I think Oscar and Lily started dating when they were 17 or 18, but I’m making them 18 for the sake of the flashback scenes). Reader is “the girl he told me not to worry about” through no fault of her own. This story has a lot of complex character dynamics and everyone is flawed! References to sex but no actual smut.

A/N: Ah new series! I hope this is good—I’m trying some new stuff with the flashbacks and story layers, so I hope it doesn’t read too confusingly! Also, I’m trying to be more intentional with showing instead of telling with my dialogue and such, so hopefully that is an improvement. I always welcome constructive criticism, but either way, I hope you all enjoy this.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

“Lily left me.”

He only needed those three words to convey the gravity of the situation. On the other end of the line, you were silent. He was too. What was there to say?

No, it couldn’t be real. Oscar and Lily were inseparable. The dream couple of Formula 1. Your best friend had been in love with her since the pair were 18, attending boarding school in the UK together while Oscar pursued his dreams of making it to F1.

They were each other’s everything. At least, that’s what the world thought.

But you had seen this coming for a while now. It was just a shock for it to actually happen.

Finally, after an eternity, you spoke, still too shocked to formulate a coherent thought. “What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean she fucking left me. What else do you want me to say?” You could hear the quivering in his voice, giving away the sadness behind his abrasive response. You weren’t offended one bit.

“Shit, Osc, I’m so sorry. I… don’t know what to say. Do you want me to come over? Or you can come to mine?”

“I’m outside yours right now. In the car park.”

“I’ll let you in,” you said. The mental image you conjured of Oscar outside your apartment crying in his fancy McLaren would have been comical, if not given the circumstances.

He let himself in only a few moments later, hoodie covering his tall and muscled frame. He was soaked from the rain outside—he must have come directly from the confrontation.

“Oh, Oscar,” you said, pulling him into a hug, cringing at the contact with his soggy hoodie, but knowing that there were far more important things to be worried about.

You rubbed your hands up and down his shoulder blades that now heaved with sobs. His entire body shook with the fervor of his tears, and you just held him, gently shushing him and promising that everything will be okay.

“I don’t know how she could do this to me,” he said, gasping out the words between haggard breaths. “The championship—I can’t do it without her.”

“I know,” you assured him. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“No it’s not, YN, it’s not gonna be okay. I love her. And she just threw away so many years.”

“I know.” You just kept assuring him, tightening your grip on him as his sobs became more intense. “Just breathe.”

“Why would she do this to me?” he asked. “I don’t understand. I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

You knew. And deep down, Oscar did too. That was a conversation for another day. But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t seen this coming.

You didn’t have it in you to lie to him. You had always been the type to pride yourself on being honest, even when the truth hurt, but you couldn’t bear to do it now. You changed the subject.

“Oscar, you’re soaking wet. I’ll find you something else and warm that up in the dryer, yeah? Just sit down, take a deep breath, and let me get this figured out.”

He sat down on your couch and took off his hoodie and t-shirt underneath, revealing his toned body. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before—you’d been friends with him since you were seven, growing up together. He almost felt like a brother to you, sometimes.

Maybe it wouldn’t be weird at all, except for the fact that you’d been in love with him for over a decade now.

But right now that didn’t matter. He had plenty of old hoodies over in your apartment, which you carefully folded every time he forgot them. Placing his wet clothes in the dryer and setting the temp on high, you reached to the shelf above you and grabbed a random one. You unfolded it—an Alpine hoodie from back in the day, before his time at McLaren. You smiled at the memories that flashed in your mind, before quickly returning to Oscar with the garment.

He had moved from your couch to your bedroom, holding a pillow on his lap, hunched over where the top of it met his chin. He was staring off into space, not breaking his gaze at the plain white wall.

You sat next to him, handing him the hoodie, and he mumbled a small thanks as he grabbed it. He didn’t put it on, instead just holding it with the pillow, as if filling his arms with the plush material would fill the hole now left in his heart.

“Oscar, I… don’t have anything profound to say. I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t respond at first, instead just silently letting the tears well up in his eyes.

“I guess I should have seen this coming,” he said quietly.

You paused, unsure whether or not you should agree with him. But you were nothing if not honest.

“Yeah,” you said, “it’s been a rough few months.”

“I guess we just both fell out of love.”

“I mean… how did the conversation go?”

It would be stupidly easy for Oscar to lie and say he didn’t remember Lily’s every word. But he knew better, and so did you. As he explained, the memory replayed in his head.

“I can’t do this anymore, Oscar,” Lily said, a simple yet devastating statement.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” His confusion was genuine, much to the chagrin of his angry girlfriend.

“The fact that you even have to ask that proves my point.”

“Lily, talk to me. I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” Oscar stood up, now understanding the full gravity of the situation he found himself in.

“I’m trying to say that I’m not happy anymore, and neither are you. I wanted to at least give it until the end of the season, but I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when we both know bloody well that it’s not! Don’t you want something better than this, Oscar?” Lily pleaded.

“I just want you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Don’t lie to me. You say that but you put everything else before me. I’m not a priority to you. I haven’t been in a long time.”

“I’ll quit F1. We can go back to the UK and live a normal life.”

“No. We both know that you wouldn’t do that.” Her tone was incredulous, twinged with a slight anger at the mere suggestion.

“Yes, I would. I’d do anything. Don’t do this, Lily. Not now, not when I need you the most.”

Lily grabbed his hand, leading him to sit down on the couch next to her. “Oscar,” she began, “we had a good run. You made me so, so happy for so long.” She reached up to gently cup his cheeks and wipe away where tears were now forming at the edge of his eyes. “I saw you achieve things that neither of us ever thought were possible. But…I can’t stay any longer. Not when there’s no place for me in your heart anymore.”

You sighed. You knew every word that Lily had said was right. But you also knew you couldn’t get that through to Oscar, at least not until the shock wore off.

The words remained unspoken. You had been there for all of it. Lily was his first love, his only girlfriend, and everyone assumed that he’d marry her one day; you included.

“I just…I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on acting like my life didn’t just fall apart. How did you do it?”

This was Oscar's first breakup, but you had been through too many, it seemed, since he was asking you for advice on how to handle them.

The truth? It was very easy to get over a breakup when every partner you’ve ever had was a feeble attempt at denial. When they all inevitably failed, you just went back to bask in Oscar’s platonic love. It was enough.

“I won’t lie to you, the first one is always hell. You feel like you’re going crazy for a while. You lose hope that you’ll ever feel happier, because everything reminds you of them. And then one day it just…doesn’t. The only thing that heals it is time and finding love around you, you know, friends and family.”

“No offense, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

‘Well, I’m not going to lie to you and say it’ll be easy, because it won't. But it will be okay—not today, but someday. You’ve got something to focus on with the championship. And I’ll be here.” You gave him an empathetic smile.

Maybe you weren’t the most comforting friend to most. But you and Oscar had a bond that was very different to most friendships. You understood each other’s idiosyncrasies in ways no one else could. So when shit hit the fan, it was always each other that you went to.

You continued, “You can stay here as long as you like.”

“Thank you.”

There was only one problem: your apartment only had one bed. And to the dismay of fanfiction writers across the world, you all would not be sharing it.

You distracted Oscar by cooking a meal and watching a comfort movie—Cars, a classic. You could tell he was exhausted by the way his head on your shoulder sloped just a little too heavily downwards as the credits rolled.

“Okay, let’s get you to bed,” you said, gently pushing him awake. He sleepily stumbled back into your bedroom and collapsed on the bed, almost instantly falling back asleep.

You took the couch, but despite the money you spent splurging on the extra cushioned sofa, no sleep came to you.

It wasn’t any physical discomfort that fueled your insomnia, but rather, the events of the previous evening. Lily had actually left Oscar. She had finally pulled the plug.

Yes, in some ways, it was expected. But at the same time, you couldn’t imagine a version of your best friend that wasn’t madly in love with his girlfriend.

From the outside, though, you couldn’t blame Lily one bit. You wondered what had been the last straw.

You could think of three possible moments. First: The Apartment.

“I’m moving to Monaco,” Oscar began, and you felt your heart drop in your stomach. Of course, one day he’d make it to Monaco. That was the dream of every Formula 1 driver, right? The beauty of the French Riviera and tax evasion. And you’d be left at your aging flat in the UK, waiting for those precious few days a year where he was free to grace you with his presence.

“That’s amazing!” you said, only half believing it to be true.

“In a few weeks I’m gonna go look at condos. Come with me? Lily can’t get off work.”

“Of course,” you replied. You’d already been to Monaco before for Oscar’s races, but you wouldn’t turn down any reason to get out of the constant dreary rain of the UK.

You felt like a celebrity as you coasted through the Monte Carlo streets in the passenger side of Oscar’s McLaren, on your way to tour fabulous properties for your best friend (the actual celebrity). You breathed in the saltwater breeze, fresh and tinged with the air of wealth and splendor.

But it hurt your heart to know that you were helping your best friend leave. You imagined him getting up and doing his morning runs along the harbor, the sun blazing down the strained muscles on his back. Then you laughed to yourself at the thought of Oscar, the pastiest Aussie you knew, getting sunburnt.

At the first property you met the realtor, who (after mistaking you for Lily; not the first time, and certainly wouldn’t be the last) took the pair of you to different condos throughout the day.

Oscar decided on the final one you saw; two bedrooms, plenty of natural light, and a great view. Elegant, refined and practical—just like Oscar himself.

The realtor handed him the paperwork and left as you stood on the balcony, looking at the beauty of the city before you. You were quiet, unusually so, and Oscar noticed.

He sat the paperwork on the kitchen counter and walked onto the balcony next to you. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice lowered. “You’re gonna make such beautiful memories here.”

“Are you getting sentimental on me now?”

You smiled and laughed. “A little,” you admitted, “I can’t help it. I’ll miss you all.”

“You could always come with us. You seem to like it here,” he teased, tilting his head toward the edge of the balcony.

“You’d have to give me a raise if I was gonna afford Monaco rent prices.” You’d been running Oscar’s merch store and social media for the past few years, making a great wage, but nowhere near the immense wealth you’d need to call a place like this home. You joked with him, knowing Oscar actually had nothing to do with how much you got paid.

“I would if I could. But, I mean, if you had a place to stay it wouldn’t really be that bad.”

“Are you suggesting I move into your guest room?”

Now he laughed. “No, but I’m just saying, if you had an apartment, you could make it work.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused, but trying to go along with the joke. “Well, sure, but apartments don’t just appear out of thin air.”

“You never know.” Oscar scratched the back of his neck and looked away, a sign of the awkwardness that now blanketed your moment on the balcony.

“What are you getting at?”

“Well, theoretically, if someone were to have a spare apartment that they weren’t using, you could live there and Monaco would be a reasonable place to live, no?”

You didn’t answer his question, instead just giving him another confused glance until he gave up whatever he was trying to say. He still couldn’t meet your gaze.

“Look—I don’t want to live so far away from my friend. Is that such a bad thing?”

“Oscar, you…”

“I got you an apartment.”

“You… bought me an apartment. In Monaco.” It came out more like a statement than a question, evidence of your shock. He reached into his pocket and dug out a key, holding it out to you.

You just looked at him with an incredulous expression. “Oscar, I can’t accept that.”

“Why not?”

“How much was it?”

“I have more than enough money.”

“Answer the question.”

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “About 4 million?”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Before you say anything,” he began, “I made over 30 million last year. I have more money than I’d ever know what to do with, so why not just spend it all on the people I love?”

“Oscar… I can’t, that’s too much.”

“Will you at least go look at it with me? Actually, I’m driving, so you don’t have a choice,” he joked, walking back into the apartment. “Let’s go.”

You sighed, smiling to yourself. There was no way you could let Oscar buy you a 4 million dollar apartment, but also, how could you not? The wind whipped through your hair as you rolled down the window of his McLaren, drinking in the beauty of the city around you.

The apartment was smaller than the one he had picked for himself and Lily, but you didn’t mind one bit. It was perfectly cosy, and God, the view was spectacular. You could see the whole city from his apartment, but here, you could see the water. You stepped on the balcony and took a deep breath, taking in the sound of the ocean waves beneath you.

Oscar followed you. “It’s a bit small, but I figured you’d like the view.”

“Oscar…”

“If you really don’t want it, I can rent it out. But I’d much rather have you close.” He held out the keys again. “What do you say?”

You could have told him you needed more time to think about it, but deep down, you already knew what you wanted. You took the keys. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Oscar. Seriously.”

“No need to thank me.” He smiled.

Back in the UK, he showed Lily the photos he had taken of the condo he had chosen for them as they went over the paperwork one last time.

He grabbed the pen to scratch out one of the boxes Lily had checked, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

“Oh, did I mess something up?” Shit. She leaned over his shoulder, reading the paperwork aloud. “Please indicate if you own any additional properties in the principality of Monaco.” She looked at Oscar. “You already have a property there?”

“Oh, erm, yeah,” he said, hoping the conversation would end there.

“How come I never heard about this?”

“Um, I just got it a bit ago.”

Lily could sense her boyfriend’s hesitancy. “Is this something I wasn’t supposed to know about?”

“Oh, no,” he said, “it’s not like that. I just didn’t think to mention it.”

“So, what is this property?”

“An apartment.”

Lily hated feeling like she was having to interrogate Oscar, but clearly there was some piece of the puzzle missing that was causing his reluctance.

“An apartment?” she questioned. “You got another apartment?”

“Yeah, I, um,” he looked at the ceiling while scratching his neck, a clear sign of his nervousness, “I was planning on giving it to YN.”

“You bought YN an apartment in Monaco? When were you planning on telling me about this?”

His walls of defense had finally broken down. “It’s not a big deal. I made more than enough last season, I could afford it. And it’s just easier to have her there for the brand shoots and media stuff. Plus, I mean, she came to London to support me after graduation, even though I know she hates it here. I just figured I should repay the favor.”

“...Okay,” Lily began, her voice tinged with skepticism. “So, you do realize what this looks like, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my boyfriend bought an apartment for his “best friend” and tried to hide it from me. That’s the kind of thing cheating husbands do in movies, buy an apartment for their mistress for her to keep it quiet.”

Oscar wasn’t sure what annoyed him more, the air quotes Lily placed around “best friend” or the insinuation that he had been unfaithful.

“Lily, seriously? I’m not cheating on you, I love you and you know that.”

“When were you going to tell me about this?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. You know YN and I have been friends forever, it’s not like I did this for some random woman. I don’t appreciate being accused of lying.”

“But you were lying by omission.”

“Lily—”

“You know, nothing against her, but one of the reasons I was looking forward to this move was having more…us time. Without YN.”

The statement brought a bitter taste to his mouth. Despite what she had said, it seemed like Lily did have something against you.

“You know, this kind of thing is why I was putting off telling you about it.”

“What are you saying?” she asked. Oscar knew he was tempting fire, but he didn’t care.

He continued, “You’re freaking out because I did something kind for a friend. I’m allowed to do whatever I want with my money.”

“I never said you weren’t, and I’m not freaking out. But I guess I’m just such a horrible person for saying I want to spend more time with my boyfriend.”

“If you’re putting down my “best friend” to do it,” he said, mocking her air quotes, “then yeah, that’s not cool.”

“Oscar, you’re being so…weird about all of this. I’m not insulting YN. I just want to spend more time with you.”

“We’re literally going on vacation in February!”

“With friends. You invited your friends to our romantic getaway, Oscar.”

“You know I only have so much time off during the off season, and I’m spending most of it with realtors and accountants and eight thousand other people preparing us for this move. God forbid I want to invite my friends to Italy with us. Not everything can be just us, Lily.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “I’m done with this conversation.”

The second next instance you could think of happened on the trip.

It was a beautiful getaway to the Amalfi Coast, your dream destination that you’d somehow never made it to.

The group of Oscar’s friends, including you and Lando, had plans to come and go, with everyone being gone before the fourteenth so that Oscar and Lily could have their Valentine's Day date. Of course, you knew nothing of the arguments they’d had in the past about this, but you had common sense enough to not be a third wheel. Oscar thought this was a good enough compromise.

Well, he thought.

From the moment he picked you up from the airport, you could tell that the energy was different than usual. He blamed it on jet lag, but you knew better. You knew your best friend too well.

It didn’t take you long to figure out the problem was between him and Lily. She was colder towards him; not enough for anyone but you and him to notice, but still there and undeniable.

Even weirder was Lily’s…preoccupation, it seemed, with pointing out single and attractive men to you. It wasn’t a hushed reality that you were single, and had been for some time. You'd given up on dating a long time ago—you knew that you had already found the love of your life, and he just happened to be Lily’s boyfriend.

But, of course, you’d never tell anyone this. Lots of people were confused because you seemed so fine being single. But you thought that Lily, one of your best friends (at least, by association), would know that you weren’t really interested in meeting anyone.

You sat with Lily in a restaurant overlooking the coast, the balcony having been rented out by Oscar for one of your last dinners. You all were waiting for him and Lando to join you, passing the time by ordering wine and appetizers.

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Lily said, gesturing her head to your waiter that was walking back into the main restaurant.

You didn’t really know what to say. You glanced at him through the glass wall. “Lily, he most definitely plays for the other team, if you know what I mean,” you joked, reaching for a slice of bread on the table. “I didn’t know that was your type.”

“Well I don’t mean for me, I meant for you.”

You chuckled. “For me?”

“Well, yeah. Don’t you want to get yourself a hot Italian man?”

“I’m perfectly happy being single.” You tried to diffuse the awkward conversation, keeping a kind tone in your voice as you ate the bread and looked into the distance at the coastline.

“Oh, come on. We’ll get you someone, don’t worry.”

“I really am fine being single.”

“You know who else is single?” she asked, clearly ignoring your protests. “Lando!”

You laughed aloud. “Oh God, no. If I wanted to be cheated on, I would have stayed with my ex. Besides, Oscar would kill him.”

A curious fact: Oscar had never approved of a single person you had ever introduced him to. You had to spend hours talking him out of running over your ex with his F1 car after you found out about his infidelity.

“Oh, who cares what Oscar thinks? I think you should go for it,” she said, watching as the waiter returned to pour your glasses of wine.

“Lily,” you said, holding your glass, ready to take a sip, “I don’t want to be in a relationship, like, at all. It’s just…not for me.” You sipped the wine, but through the reflection on the glass, you could see that Lily had pursed her lips in an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“If you want me to stop third-wheeling you and Oscar, you can just say so,” you joked as the boys made their way to the balcony to join you.

You didn’t know it, but your joke cut deep in Lily’s heart.

Nothing was said about it during the dinner, but Lily’s strange energy continued. It quickly became uncomfortable how much she was pushing Lando and you to interact.

And when you all made your way to a local nightclub after the dinner, it didn’t get any better. Lando quickly got himself lost in the crowd, and you were once again left to be the third wheel.

You could tell that Lily was getting annoyed, but to be fair, she was also annoying you.

“Go dance with Lando!” she shouted over the thumping bass. She gestured to the opposite corner of the small club, where Lando was currently making out with some random Italian woman.

You pointed this fact out to Lily, who just grimaced.

“Do you just want me to go away?” you joked.

“Yes!” she said, and you were taken aback, because she was definitely not joking.

Oscar was at the bar getting drinks, far enough away that he couldn’t hear. To be honest, you didn’t even want to be in this club anymore.

So you snuck out and began your walk home without telling any of them.

As you walked along the cobblestone streets, Oscar handed Lily a drink, pausing when he noticed that you weren’t there to receive yours. “Where’s YN?” he asked.

“She wasn’t feeling well, so she headed back,” Lily said.

“By herself? Should we go check on her?”

Lily wanted to roll her eyes. “No, she’s just tired. C’mon, let’s go dance!”

Oscar obeyed, but couldn’t ignore the feeling inside him that something about this whole night had been odd.

The next time he saw Lando, he decided to say something about it.

“Hey mate, are you going back soon?” he asked. Lando nodded, clearly tipsy. “Can you check on YN? Lily said she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Sure,” he said, annoyed at the mention of you again.

He did come back to the house soon, but with an equally drunk and giggly woman on his arm, the same girl he had been making out with in the corner of the club.

You didn’t expect any of them for a long time, so you sat in the living room of the AirBNB, watching the waves cascade into the shore, romanticizing this complicated feeling that coiled itself inside of you.

That was, until Lando stumbled in.

His eyes got wide as dinner plates upon seeing you. The girl on his arm giggled and walked off into the nearest bathroom.

“Hey YN,” he slurred. “Are you dying?”

You laughed. “I’m fine.”

“Lily said you were sick.”

“Nope, I’m good.”

He looked to the closed door of the bathroom. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“You’re fine. I’m…uh, not interested, anyway. I don’t know what Lily’s been on about today.”

“Oh, thank God,” he exhaled. You laughed, despite the sting of rejection in his relief. “Well, I’ll keep it quiet.”

“I’ve got headphones.”

You made your way to your room and put on your noise cancelling headphones, passing the time by scrolling and catching up on work emails, before falling asleep.

You didn’t sleep through the night, instead waking up in the early hours of the morning, when the sun was just beginning to round itself along the golden coast. You left your room to get a glass of water, not expecting to see the rest of your friends in the kitchen.

Lily looked hungover as hell, leaning her elbow on the counter, her hand resting uncomfortably on her forehead. Oscar was leaning against the counter on the other side while Lando sat at the bar next to Lily, drinking something out of a mug. His flight home was going to leave soon.

You nodded to your three companions as you sipped your water glass, feeling the tension around you like an oncoming migraine.

“You feeling okay?” Oscar asked. “Lily said you weren’t doing well last night.”

“Ah, just tired,” you answered. Lily had lied to both Lando and Oscar. That was a conversation for another day.

“Well rested now?” Lily asked, her voice tinged with anger and fake sympathy.

“I’m fine,” was all you could answer. You glanced at Oscar, who gave you a knowing look. You had no idea what had gotten into her.

“Are you feeling okay, Lily? You look like you’re about to throw up,” you said, a more genuine concern in your voice.

“I’m fine too,” she said, clearly not fine.

Lando’s Uber pulled up, and you took the opportunity to help him transfer all his bags in one trip.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on with her?” he asked as you heaved the suitcase up into the trunk.

“No idea,” you answered. “Before you all got to the restaurant last night she was being…weird. For the record, I didn’t put her up to any of that.”

“I figured as much. You’re not the type.” Lando was right—it was common knowledge that you were happily single.

“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. For the record, it made me uncomfortable too.”

He exhaled. “Eh, we’re cool. No hard feelings, yeah? I’m sure she’ll snap out of it.”

“I hope so,” you said, giving him a wave as the car disappeared into the winding roads of the coast.

Back in the house, you could hear Oscar and Lily whispering to each other. You wanted nothing more than to disappear and act like this weird night and morning had never happened, but unfortunately, you had to cross through the kitchen back to your room.

A hush went through the room when you entered. You walked as quickly as possible through the kitchen, but were stopped by a voice.

“YN,” Lily called. “I think you should leave.”

“Lily—” Oscar interjected.

“I was just going back to my room anyway,” you explained.

“That’s not what I meant. I think you should go home.”

“Lily, don’t do this—” Oscar pleaded. You just stood in shock.

“Actually, let me clarify,” she continued. “YN, I don’t want you here. Go home.”

“Lily!” Oscar interjected. “Don’t say that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, even though it was definitely not fine. “Let me pack and I’ll be on my way.”

You turned and continued back to your room, fully prepared to do as you had just said. But Oscar followed you.

“YN, wait. Stay,” he said.

“Oscar, it’s fine.”

“I am so sorry that Lily said that, but I want you here.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two or why she’s so upset at me, but if someone tells me to go, I’m not going to overstay my welcome.”

“Still, that was so rude.”

“I’ve got thick skin. I won’t cry myself to sleep over it.” You looked out the window to the coast. “Look, I’ll just find someplace else to stay. A hotel for a few nights is cheaper than trying to reschedule my flight, anyways.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about me, Osc,” you said, patting his shoulder. “Go talk to her, figure out what’s wrong.”

He sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “I already know what’s wrong. She’s mad that we don’t spend enough time together.”

“Then go spend time with her.”

“That was the plan! But, I mean, I’m pissed that she said that to you. And she spent all day yesterday trying to set you and Lando up, which was fucking weird.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled with a twinge of laughter. “Look, with my record I can’t exactly give you love advice, but I don’t mind leaving. You all clearly need some space, anyway. Just text me if you need anything, okay?”

Oscar gave you a flat smile and nod.

You packed and quickly booked a private room at a local hostel for the next few days, planning to enjoy the last few days as a solo trip. You truly didn’t care, but in the back of your mind, you hoped that everything would be okay. You never received that text from Oscar.

Back at the house, Oscar and Lily were alone. And neither of them were happy.

“Just fucking go with her if you’re that mad,” Lily said, egging Oscar on. He had always been slow to anger, but he couldn’t deny that he was pissed.

“What is wrong with you?” he questioned. “Why would you say that to her? Do you understand how rude that is? And not to mention the fact that you were being fucking weird with her and Lando all night.”

“Oscar, I’m not having this conversation right now.”

“No, I’m pissed!”

“And, as usual, it’s all about your feelings, hm?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act stupid. Do you know how much I’ve put up with because I don’t want to hurt your feelings? Every vacation, every race weekend, she’s always there. And I put up with her because she’s your friend, but I don’t like her, Oscar.”

“What did she do to you?” he asked. But Lily couldn’t answer. It wasn’t like there had been a specific incident or falling out; in fact, you had always been kind to her. Lily’s silence was all the answer that Oscar needed.

“You knew that YN and I were a package deal from the beginning.”

Tears came to Lily’s eyes. “But this was supposed to be our trip. Just us.”

“Lily, they were only here for a few days. I specifically set it up so that we’d have 2 weeks to ourselves after they left. Is that not enough?”

She was silent, at first. Then came a question out of left field.

“Were you going to propose?” she asked.

Oscar made a face. “Propose?”

“I thought the point of the trip was that you were going to propose.” She looked away, trying to hide her tears. “I’m tired of feeling like an outsider in my own relationship. I’m sick of YN third wheeling, so I thought if I set her up with Lando, maybe she’d leave us alone for a while.” Her voice was tinged with an angry mocking.

She continued, softer, “Oscar, I want to be your wife, I want to grow old with you—”

But Oscar had little sympathy for her. “That’s really what all this was about? Lily, I’m not proposing any time soon.”

“We’ve been together for nearly five years.”

“I know. But with the season starting soon—”

“There’ll always be another season, another race. Is your plan to just marry me when you retire?” The sarcasm had returned to her voice. “Do you even want to marry me?”

“Of course I do. But we’re young, we have time. I’m in no rush.”

“I feel like you don’t care about what I want at all.”

“Lily, I’m trying. But I feel like you want me to cut off my best friend and settle down at 22. You’re asking things of me that I can’t give you.”

“Then why are we even doing this?” Lily asked.

“Because I love you, and I want this to work! But Lily, you can’t treat my friends like that. If you’re angry at me, talk to me, but don’t take it out on them. YN is an important part of my life, too.”

“I’m well aware.”

Oscar sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I’m going back to bed,” Lily announced, leaving the conversation altogether.

When she woke up, her head was pounding. Oscar was asleep beside her, his back towards her, no warmth even in his unconscious state. She had slept through the entire day—the moon hung high in the sky.

As she quietly made her way to the kitchen and got some water and a snack, the memory of what had happened came back, rushing over her. She felt horrible.

The sleep and food had reset her mind. Make no mistake, she was still upset at Oscar, but what he had said was right—she shouldn’t have taken it out on you. She needed to make it right.

She texted you. Hey YN, are you awake? I’d like to talk. In person, if you can.

Only a few minutes later you responded, affirming that you were available and sending the address of your hostel. Lily got there quickly, quietly walking through the rooms to your private room in the back. When you shut the door behind you and you both sat on the bed, she broke down.

“YN,” Lily began, “I am so sorry about this morning. Truthfully, I was upset at Oscar and I took it out on you, and I shouldn't have. I was so rude.”

“It’s okay,” you assured.

“No, it’s not,” Lily interjected. But she seemed at a loss for words. “I just… sometimes, I feel like I hardly get any alone time with Oscar anymore.”

“Because I’m always there?” you joked, not knowing how close to the truth you really were. Lily didn’t respond. “Look, if you want me to take a step back, I can do that.”

Her response was quiet. “Would that be too much to ask?”

“No.” But it was, in a way. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, but your expression gave away nothing. “I understand.”

“I don’t think he loves me anymore,” Lily confessed. You normally didn’t want to know the details of their relationship, because the truth was too heavy to bear. But it seemed cruel to cut her off. “I feel like he never wants to be around me, like he prefers his work and his friends over me. I want to get married and he doesn’t. He keeps saying it's too soon and he’s busy, but it’s been nearly five years! I mean, how long does he want me to wait?”

You felt uncomfortable, not sure how to comfort your best friend's girlfriend. So you were honest. “I don’t know, Lily. I don’t know what goes on in Oscar’s head any more than you do.”

“Yes you do,” she replied. “You’ve known him longer.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“No, no, no,” you said, wrapping Lily in an embrace as she cried. “No, he’s not. He loves you so much.”

“No,” she echoed. “He doesn’t.”

You didn’t know how to respond. You just held her.

At one point, your phone buzzed, illuminating the screen. Some unimportant notification, but you noticed the date and time more than that. It was past midnight; Valentine’s Day.

The third instance was during the first weekend of the 2025 season; the Australian Grand Prix.

You hadn’t heard from Oscar since the trip. You didn’t really know what to say, and part of you was dreading having to speak to him, knowing that your mere presence was now a strain on his relationship.

Of course Lily wanted more time with him. It made sense. You were present at…most things, actually. But Oscar always invited you, and besides, they lived together. If you had known that you had overstayed your welcome, you never would have gone in the first place.

But on the other hand, you and Oscar had been a part of each other’s lives for nearly double the time that Lily had been around. It wasn’t a competition, but you couldn’t shake that sour feeling that rested in your stomach, that if given the chance, Lily would want you gone for good.

Regardless, between the trip and the grand prix, life went on as normal. It was odd, since your job was literally running all the official OP81 media pages and merch website. You couldn’t not be a part of his life—you made your living by posting memes about him on the internet and organizing all his merch sales.

So, naturally, you went to nearly all the races to take photos of fans, the paddock, and the garage. It was one of your favorite parts of the job.

But Australia was different. It was Oscar’s home race, and a place full of memories for you.

Your family had moved to Australia when you were only seven, having absolutely no friends, except the sweet boy next door in your cul de sac. At first he was cold. You thought he hated you. But you were nothing if not stubborn.

You remembered it like it was yesterday; for Christmas, you asked for a pink motorized jeep, just like the black one that Oscar—the neighbour boy, back then—had. You squealed for joy when you got it. And the very first thing you did was challenge him to a race.

He ignored you. So you rammed your car into his, causing both of them to break. Ever since, somehow, you’d been inseparable.

Your parents traveled a lot for work, so instead of constantly going with them, you found yourself staying with the Piastri family for months at a time. Nicole truly felt like your second mom, and Hattie was the sister you never had. And Oscar was…Oscar. It was impossible to describe the bond between you.

Your parents were never too keen on Oscar, though. They kept it quiet when you were little, but as you grew, their dislike became more outward.

He was 14, leaving for boarding school in the UK. When he told you, you cried. That’s the only time he ever saw you cry.

You wanted to go with him, but your parents couldn’t afford it. He promised he wouldn’t let your friendship die, and he was true to his word. When he got into the higher formulas in racing, he helped you get your job so that you all would never be that far from each other again.

But your parents always said he was using you, stringing you along, exploiting your labor. Though you’d never admitted it to another soul, they knew you well enough to understand that you loved him.

You cut your parents off a long time ago.

Sometimes the fans were worse. Half of them loved you—the half that understood that you could give them access to your idol—but the other half of them called you a beneficiary of nepotism, a gold digger, or a homewrecker. You learned at a young age to develop thick skin.

And it was how you both behaved on race weekends that really exemplified the difference between you and Lily.

You liked to be everywhere at once—in the garage trying to interpret the engineers’ technical jargon, in the grandstands taking photos of fans, in the pitlane shooting the shit with the race stewards. You always wore Oscar’s merch, and you wanted to be in the middle of all the action.

Lily, in contrast, was more reserved. She always looked put together, and frankly stunning, at all her appearances. She preferred to watch the race from the comfort and privacy of McLaren hospitality, and when she did interact with fans, she was respectful but short, very conscious of her space.

Neither of you were better or worse than the other. But no one could deny that you were polar opposites.

You got to Australia before Oscar himself did, having been invited to spend a few days with your surrogate family before you’d have to stay in the hotel, per F1 employee policy. Nicole had told Oscar, who you assumed had told Lily, and when you didn’t hear anything for a few days before you were meant to fly out, you thought everything was fine.

Of course, you thought wrong.

You spent 3 days with Oscar’s family, relishing the warm feeling of belonging that you’d missed. The Piastri guest room felt more like your own childhood bedroom. Of course, Nicole asked how you’d been, but you were politely distant, wanting to respect the fact that Oscar and Lily’s relationship was none of your business.

When the pair finally landed in Australia and made their way to Oscar’s childhood home for the night, though, things worsened.

When Nicole got back from picking them up from the airport, you were in the kitchen prepping dinner. Hearing the front door close, you looked up and smiled, greeting the group.

“YN! What are you doing here?” Lily asked, her voice tentative.

Nicole answered for you. “Oh, she’s been here since Sunday. I’m so happy to have all my kids under the same roof again,” she joked, turning to Oscar to reach up and pinch his cheeks.

Lily just gave a pained smile.

You didn’t know what to do. You hadn’t talked to Oscar in nearly a month. You wanted to honor her wishes—but it seemed like her wish was for you to vanish into thin air.

The rest of the night you were unusually quiet, trying to blend into the background. It wasn’t difficult for Nicole to notice that something was up, but she knew better than to bring it up in front of the whole table.

After dinner she wanted everyone to gather in the living room and watch a movie, which you quickly bowed out of, complaining of exhaustion.

As the credits rolled, Nicole leaned over to whisper to Oscar, “Is everything okay with YN?”

Lily overheard and interjected, “She’s fine.” Nicole raised an eyebrow.

Oscar responded, “The home grand prix is always busy for her.”

The answer wasn’t sufficient enough to crush Nicole’s suspicions, but she didn’t have any more time to pry as her son and his girlfriend quickly decided to retire for the night themselves.

The next morning, as everyone was packing to get to the hotel, Nicole decided to ask you herself if everything was okay. But predictably, again, you just said that you were fine. And the morning was so hectic that she didn’t really have the time to interrogate you.

Once you all got settled and to the track for media day, work mode took over, and you forgot all about the tension at the Piastri family home. Though you quite literally were paid to follow Oscar around all day, you felt more like the paparazzi than his friend, hardly ever speaking to him.

And as you went back to the hotel room alone to edit and post for tonight, you felt like a stranger in your own body.

You didn’t want to do this anymore. You missed your friend, but more importantly, you missed being yourself.

But what were you supposed to do? You loved Oscar. Oscar loved Lily. Lily hated you.

You were stuck between three impossible choices: stick around and be forced to subdue yourself into a shell of your true personality until Lily decided she wasn’t upset at you anymore, lose everything you’d ever built by quitting and moving away like you knew she wanted, or continue being yourself and possibly cost Oscar the love of his life.

Yeah, this was a wonderful predicament you found yourself in, through no fault of your own.

You moved like a zombie through the free practices and qualifying. When it was finally time for the grand prix, you assumed your usual place in the McLaren garage, for work if nothing else.

But then, Oscar won.

No team rules. No convoluted strategies. Just Oscar doing what he did best.

You couldn’t hear your own thoughts over the shout of the garage and the crowd in the distance, cheering out for their hometown hero. You ran out with everyone to the barricades to greet your best friend.

Though he still had his helmet on, you could see the effects of his smile in his squinted eyes. He pumped his fist in the air, cheering to himself before running to the barricades to jump into the waiting arms of the crowd. You cheered with them, overwhelmed with pride.

Oscar locked eyes with you, cupping your face with his gloved hands and pressing the top of his helmet to your forehead. “I did it, YN!”

“You did!” you yelled, smiling ear to ear.

Of course, people took photos. Photos that Oscar posted later that night.

Lily didn’t like it—the sweet intimacy of the moment, front and center on Oscar’s Instagram page. Why would you post that? It was like you were taunting her.

Lily sat on the edge of the hotel bed while Oscar showered, both of them preparing to meet you, Lando, and a few McLaren team members to celebrate his win.

When Oscar emerged from the bathroom, Lily asked him, “Osc, can you do me a favor?”

“Hm?” he murmured as he dried his hair.

“Can you take down that picture that YN posted?”

“YN posted something?” he questioned, grabbing his phone. As his social media manager, you had access to all his accounts, but occasionally he’d post something himself, too. “I don’t see what you’re talking about.”

Lily pursed her lips. “The first picture from the post she made an hour ago.”

“Oh, this?” Oscar held up his phone. “I posted that.”

Lily was silent.

“Why do you want me to delete it? It’s a good photo.”

Lily just looked at him. Oscar sighed and archived the photo. “There, happy?”

His tone was much harsher than he intended, but to be honest, he was getting tired of the constant fighting, and his patience was wearing thin.

Lily kept quiet, just silently going into the bathroom to start doing her makeup.

In the lobby of the hotel an hour or so later, you awkwardly stood with Lando waiting for the couple to arrive. Once again you were torn—should you miss out on celebrating with your best friend on his first ever home win, or should you go and strain his relationship further?

You were just going to say screw it and go back up to your room when you saw Lily and Oscar walking towards you. Though there was no tension between them, there was no love either. They both just looked…tired.

Everyone had decided to keep it relaxed for tonight, just doing a nice group dinner with Oscar’s family. It was fine, albeit a tad awkward, because you were sitting between Lando and some McLaren employees you didn’t know, at the opposite end of the table from Lily, Oscar, and his family.

You knew this couldn’t continue forever. Something had to break. And it did, when you and Lando ended up back in Oscar and Lily’s room, drinking your way through a bottle of nice champagne.

The alcohol seemed to have calmed Lando’s nerves, as he was actually normal with you. And Oscar was a blushy, smiling mess and he and his teammate laughed at something you couldn’t remember.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the mood was ruined by Lily’s drunken slurring. “Oh my God, YN, just shut up! Go away!” she giggled and grabbed Oscar’s arm.

Usually, you were calm, letting any infraction roll off of you like waves on the beach. But the alcohol emboldened you.

“Lily, what the fuck is your problem with me?” you asked.

The mood shifted, and Lily gave you a look of disgust. “I was just joking, God.”

“No you weren’t.”

Lando chimed in. “Well, I think I gotta call it a night.” He got up and patted Oscar on the back. The two men stood up to walk out, leaving just you and Lily alone in the hotel room.

“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is with me, but don’t act like there isn’t one. It’s obvious that you don’t want me around, I don’t know what I ever did to you.”

Lily had clearly been sobered up by your seriousness. Still, she burst into tears.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep doing this.”

You sighed, unable to keep your anger in the face of her cries. She continued, “I just… Oscar and I were each other’s first everything. First love, first kiss…first time. I love him so much.”

“I’m not trying to steal him from you.”

Lily was quiet, and so were you. Something she had said gave you pause.

They were each other’s first everything—no, that couldn’t be true.

Because you were Oscar’s first.

It had been many years—you were both 18—and you had never spoken about what happened. But you remembered.

He came back home for Christmas from the UK. It was before he had even met Lily.

You welcomed him home with an embrace—even with the frequent phone calls you had, you couldn’t help but miss your best friend, now here before you, in the flesh.

Neither of you could sleep that night, and somehow you both found yourself in Oscar’s childhood bedroom, quiet in the early hours of the morning.

Though it was warm outside, Nicole had a habit of keeping the house frigid, so you and Oscar huddled together under the handmade quilt that decorated his bed. The moment was tender and quiet, together in the soft darkness.

“Do you like it in the UK?” you asked him, your question searching for a genuine answer.

“It’s okay, I guess. It’s what I have to do for the races.”

“But do you ever get…lonely?”

He paused. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

You traced small circles on the skin of your leg. The closeness of the moment was uncomfortable.

“But you have friends, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re not, y’know, friends for life.”

“I get you.” You really did, not having many friends of your own since Oscar left. “But you must have a ton of girls, though. They all want the cool race car driver.” You smiled, trying to use your humor to lighten the intimacy of the moment.

“No,” was all he answered. “And if I had a girlfriend, you’d be the first to know, anyway.” In the dark of the room, you could only see the outline of his features, but you could feel the pull of his eyes looking at you. “What, do you have a boyfriend? Is that why you’re bringing this up?” he asked.

“Of course I don’t.”

“What do you mean, of course?”

“I mean, why would I have a boyfriend? I have no friends and half the people at school think you don’t even exist.”

“What?” he laughed.

“Well, yeah, when I say my best friend drives race cars in the UK, most people think I’m making you up.”

“Shit,” he laughed.

“So, yeah, it doesn’t exactly get me dates,” you laughed. You felt your throat stiffen. “I haven’t even had my first kiss or anything.”

The silence in the room was thick. “I haven’t either,” Oscar confessed.

You found it hard to believe. Oscar was handsome, funny, everything a girl could want. Neither of you had ever been social butterflies, though.

Under the blanket, Oscar reached for your hand, placing it in his. Your heart was beating out of your chest; you had never even held a boy’s hand.

“We could just…do it now,” he said. “Just to get it over with.” He feigned his usual nonchalance, but you could feel the increase of his heartbeat and the ever so subtle tremble in his voice.

It would be easy for you to laugh it off like a joke. But you knew it wasn’t. And you wanted him.

“Okay,” you said, your voice breathy with nervousness.

You sat up on the bed, and saw the dark outline of his figure leaning towards you, gently tilting your head.

And when his lips met yours, it felt like home. Like everything in your entire life had left you up to this moment, here in the warmth of your best friend’s childhood bedroom.

The kiss lasted longer than you anticipated, but when he did pull away, it was too soon. You were grateful for the darkness that hid your expression. But even without the light, Oscar could see the truth behind your eyes.

“We could…keep going.”

“Okay,” you repeated.

One of his hands found your waist now, pulling you closer, as his other hand pushed back your hair that had fallen in your face.

Once again his lips met yours. It wasn’t like a spark within you—more like a calming, a sense of peace and safety. Of all the boys you’d crushed on before, Oscar was different. You trusted him with everything.

And you showed him so.

He slipped his tongue past your teeth, tentative, as if he was scared to do the wrong thing. But you let him close the gap, your own tongue gliding along his, goosebumps going down your back the closer you got.

He wanted to put his hands all over you, but he was nervous.

He pulled away. “I…don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t either. Is it actually your first time?”

“Yeah. You don’t mind me being your first?”

“I trust you.”

So you both took it slow, taking each other’s hands where you wanted to be touched, not focusing on anything but the other.

The love you made was quiet and simple, beautiful yet imperfect. But you didn’t need perfect. You just needed him.

The next morning, you slipped out of his room before anyone was awake, afraid of what would happen if they found out.

But no one ever did. Oscar never said a word about it ever again, and neither did you; after the holidays, he went back to school and met Lily, and the rest was history.

But you remembered. And as you sat in that hotel room years later waiting for him, you felt numb.

By the time he got back Lily had calmed down, but you couldn’t stand to be there anymore. You announced your departure, but Oscar decided to walk you out, too.

You closed the door behind you, but Oscar pulled you to not leave so quickly.

“Hey, is everything alright with you and Lily?”

“No. It’s not.”

He sighed. “I don’t know why she’s being like this.”

You just stared at him, your face blank.

“What,” he asked, “don’t tell me you’re mad too.”

“Was Lily your first?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

Oscar looked over his shoulder. “I’d really rather not talk about this in the hallway…”

“So do you want to go in the room and talk about it? In front of her? Because you lied to one of us. Which one was it?”

“YN, it’s—”

“Which one of us did you lie to, Oscar?”

He let out a sharp exhale, knowing there was no way to escape your line of questioning. He leaned down to whisper to you. “I didn’t lie to her. She just…assumed, and I never corrected her.”

“That’s still lying.”

“You really think I should go in there and tell her the truth?” His voice dripped with frustration.

“Yes. She deserves to know.”

“You know why I never told her? Because I knew this shit would happen, she’d get jealous and try to push you out of my life. If I tell her now, she’ll make me choose between the two of you.”

“Do you blame her?” you asked, astounded at how Oscar could be so clueless.

“Seriously?” he retorted. “You think she’s justified in doing all this to you? The entire reason she’s mad is because she knows if she tries to make me choose, I’m not choosing her.”

“Don’t say that! Oscar, she’s your girlfriend. You should love her.”

“I do. But things just…aren’t the same anymore. It’s like she wants me to change my whole life for her. I can’t do that.”

Unbeknownst to you, Lily got up from the bed and walked to the door, pressing her ear to it, where she could faintly hear you and Oscar arguing.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Oscar continued. “And if you don’t want her to split us up, just let me handle it.”

“Oscar, she deserves better than this. I’ve missed spending time with you, but… you’ve got to tell her the truth.”

Lily opened the door. “I knew it,” she said, her eyes full of tears. “I knew you were cheating.”

Your eyes were wide as dinner plates as Oscar cursed to himself. “Lily, I swear to God that is not what happened—”

“Don’t. Don’t even try,” she said, but Oscar pushed his way back into the room anyway. He looked back to you, and even without words, you knew it was time to go. You needed some sleep.

Unfortunately, Oscar would not be getting any sleep tonight.

“Oscar, just stop lying to me! I’m tired of this!’ Lily cried, curling her legs to her chest as she sat on the bed.

“Lily, I swear, I have never cheated on you. What YN and I were talking about was something from a long time ago.”

“We’ve been together for five years!”

“Can I just explain myself? Please?”

Lily just broke down in sobs. “Do whatever. I don’t care anymore.”

Oscar sighed. “Look, I…I have lied to you. You weren’t my first. YN was.” He looked at his girlfriend, who was still just silently crying. “It was before we even met, and it was just once, and we’ve never done anything since. I would never cheat on you, I love you and—”

“When and where was it?” Lily asked, cutting him off with her statement more like a command than a question.

“The December before we met, when I came home for Christmas.”

“In your bed?”

He nodded.

“Oscar, I slept in that bed next to you the other night.”

He said nothing.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Haven’t I been good to you?”

“Lily, I promise, I love you more than anything.”

“Then why would you lie to me for five years?”

Oscar took a deep breath and said, “Because I was afraid you would be upset. People don’t understand that me and YN are just friends. I mean, we were raised together, she’s like my sister.”

“You had sex with her. You took each other’s virginity.”

“It wasn’t…like that.”

“How can it not be like that? Do you even hear what you’re saying?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

About an hour after you left, you heard a knock on your hotel room door, and you answered. It was, of course, Lily.

“Tell me whatever Oscar wouldn’t,” she said. Her eyes were still puffy and red.

You welcomed her in, beginning to tell her the entire truth. “Oscar and I had sex when we were 18, before he met you. We never talked about it afterwards. After you met I didn’t want to bring it up, I just assumed he’d do the right thing and tell you. I didn’t want to pry into your relationship.”

So, your stories matched. And Lily knew that you were nothing if not honest.

“Do you love him?”

“Of course I do, he’s my best friend.”

“No, I mean, are you in love with him?”

You didn’t answer immediately. What were you supposed to say?

Tears fought their way to the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “I don’t know,” you began, but that was a lie, you did know. “I guess…I have a special type of love for him. We grew up together. When we were younger, yes, I wanted to be his girlfriend. But then he met you, and… Lily, he was so happy! I just…I realized that I wanted him to be happy more than I wanted him to be mine. So I made peace with the fact that this is how it had to be.”

Lily was overwhelmed with your honesty, in the face of so much deception.

You continued, “I don’t blame you for being upset at me. Oscar should have been honest about what our friendship was like from the very beginning instead of lying to you. But I swear, we haven’t done anything while you all have been together. I’ve been cheated on and I know how much that hurts, I would never do that to anyone else. I’m so sorry it ended up like this.”

“No,” Lily said, “You’re the only one who’s been honest with me throughout all of this. Thank you.”

After that, you hadn’t heard from Oscar after that for a long time. Or, at least, a few weeks felt like a long time to you. But you had other pressing matters—your workload was through the roof with Oscar’s wins. Lando had snatched himself a win too, setting up an early battle for the championship. It was too early into the season to call it, but you knew Oscar was feeling the pressure with the possibility of his first championship dangling so close in front of him. So you kept your distance, not wanting to be a distraction.

That was, until he called you, saying just those three painful words.

“Lily left me.”

The sun was cresting over the horizon, illuminating the thick glass of your balcony and flooding light into your living room. You hadn’t gotten an ounce of rest.

From your bedroom, you could hear Oscar snoring. You just let him sleep.

God knows you both needed it.

806 notes · View notes

keen-li · 2 months ago

Text

I RE-DO | JJK

18+ minors DNI

ONESHOT.

synopsis: Young love is so sweet, but people never realize how foolish it can be (sometimes), especially for you and Jungkook. You and Jungkook were the typical high school sweethearts, and after school, you thought you were grown enough to get married. Your families disagreed, but you still went through with it. It was fine for the first year; you were still in the honeymoon phase. But soon, reality caught up, and you both had to go to university. You attended the same university, thinking it would make things easier. Many obstacles came your way, but you were still going strong, afraid of proving your family right. However, after two years of unhappiness, you both called it quits. Unfortunately, your relationship ended on a sour note, and the man you once loved turned into someone you never wanted to see again. So, what happens now, when you face him one more time after many years of being away from him.

playlist: Lewis Capaldi - Before You Go, Lewis Capaldi - Someone You Loved, Sia - Bird Set Free. Billie Eilish - wildflower, The weeknd - out of time

Ex husband Jungkook x ex-wife reader.

Lovers to I-don’t-like-you to strangers.

WC: 24.k [whoa.]

Warnings: <heavy?> ANGST, ANGST, ANGST. flashbacks (light), disagreements, young marriage, Jungkook is a lawyer, reader is a doctor. No accurate description of law or reality. crying, lol. very much angsty of angst. forgive any errors you encounter; it is revised but oh gosh there's only so much I can notice.

a/n: you might hate me for this one lol. but it is what it is.

As you walk into the room, you’re taken aback by the figure of the man you see. He's the last person you expected. it's been a while since you've seen him, a very long one at that.

The last time you saw him was well...

When you were with Jungkook.

Taehyung hadn't noticed you when you walked in. Your mask and scrubs doing a perfect job at hiding your identity. You wonder if he'd remember you. He surely would, it’s not like a million years have gone by.

and though he hasn't noticed you yet, you do notice him. The thing that catches your eye is how he's definitely grown out of his teenage face. His features are more chiseled. It suits him. Makes him look more matured.

A lot seems to have changed: he's married and now having a baby. Taehyung having a baby? You and Jungkook would've never thought. The local party boy settling down and starting a family, that's news.

You've grown to understand that people change though, you yourself as an example. You were kind of the typical party girl in your college days. Nothing too crazy though but you definitely enjoyed your liquor and music. Now you've changed and grown more reserved. Did you plan on it? No, it just happened, and you grew out of that life for some reason.

It's lost to you how Taehyung underwent his metamorphosis. Whether he wanted to or just like you "just happened", has you wondering. Your brain doesn't bother you too much about it.

But one thing your mind keeps on loop is if Jungkook has changed too and if so, how much? Did he ever grow to realize and reflect on himself.

You soon brush the thoughts away though. The last thing you should be thinking about is Jungkook, when you've got a job to do.

Sounds of relief and of a baby's cry soon fill the room. The noise helps you block further thoughts you want or should be thinking.

But still, it seems your brain doesn't work hard enough. Hence, leading you to wonder if this would've been you and Jungkook. Would it have been you doing the skin to skin with a baby you grew for 9 months with the man you love by your side for support. Could it have been Jungkook instead being handed the scissors to cut the umbilical cord. His usual bunny smile and doe eyes staring down at the baby. And his hands shaking cause of how nervous he'd be. he never liked to mess up.

"Look yn, you did it. I'm so proud of you baby." he would coo, those doe eyes staring right into you with pure love and joy. "Oh! Not you baby. I'm talking to your mother. How am I going to call both of you baby." He would say and laugh at his own joke afterwards. You would too, his jokes were so cheesy and cute. You loved them still though. you'd always wanted a family with him.

You were a fool to think you'd stop thinking about all that could've been. It pisses you off. You thought by now, passed all these years and some relationships it would stop. But it never did and seeing Taehyung only reminds you of everything you've been trying to forget.

"Yn." Your senior doctor called you out of your thoughts. "Do a checkup on the Kim baby for me, I have another job." You nod and walk around to pick up the necessary paperwork.

You loved your job. Seeing life being brought into the world. The smile on the families faces and the happy couples. Even holding the little babies was so heartwarming.

But there are downsides to the job, many than you'd like to say. The tears the yelling, the disappointment. The losses, your biggest fears.

It broke your heart to see a woman push hard only for life to go as soon as it came. You never cried in front of the families; you had to be strong. But you always did at home. You cried for many things. All the lives that could've been or how your life could've been. All things that might have been if you chose differently. Sometimes you'd get lost and end up crying about a dead fish you lost when you were 10. You didn't mind as long as you were crying and getting things off your chest.

Even through your own turmoil you were always there for the families: to give a warm presence. You did all you were allowed. Some others would appreciate the comfort, but some would yell curses at you. You didn't blame them, emotions are high. It's part of the job.

A thick skin.

You've grown it over the years. Whether it's from your own parents, Jungkook's parents or Jungkook himself. You've learnt how to cover up. It's not a good way of living but it's got you through most of the things in your life.

You're grown now. And you pat yourself on the back for what you went through. You were able to make it out and be where you want to be, even through the confusion of life and relationships.

You love your job, and you'd never change it, but it's so easy to feel empty and lonely. Whatever it is you're missing you don't know. But you can definitely feel an emptiness in you.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kim, I'm here to check up on you and the baby." You say walking in and deciding to address them formally. Clipboard in hand and mask forgotten.

It took him a second, then two, then three to recognize that voice. Then when he stared long enough it dawned on him.

"Yn?" Taehyung says dumbstruck. He was sat by his wife talking, while the baby slept, but as soon as he recognized you, he was on his feet.

You never thought he'd recognize you. but you assume you haven't changed that much, or Taehyung just knows you too well. He was your friend too. And it did crush you when you didn't talk to him or ignored him over these years.

"Taehyung." you say trying keep it professional but still acknowledging how you're just as pleased see to him.

"Yn!" you hear him call out in a faux sob. And soon like lightning you feel him crash you with his arms. He squeezes you so tight you might burst.

"I've missed you! why did you leave me?" You can hear sadness in his voice. It hurts your heart. You never meant to ditch him too, but it was difficult to stay friends when you knew where he was Jungkook would be too.

You rub his back in a way to reciprocate the hug as much as you can. He holds you so tight that you can barely move, and you're about to turn blue.

Turning your eyes to his wife, you beg for a hand.

"Tae, you're going to break our baby's doctor." She lectures him and with a final squeeze he lets you go. She's heard of you from what Taehyung has mentioned but not in great detail. Only when he's explaining a funny story that you might have been involved in, and her curiosity grew.

You all laugh as he lets you go, and you collect your breath.

"I'm sorry." His wife apologizes with her sweet voice before she sends a glare to her husband. You shake your head, understanding that Taehyung might have not grown as much as you thought. He's still got that hyper personality of his.

he pouts and turns back to you.

"Yn." He whines and you flinch thinking he'll hug you again. He doesn't.

"Taehyung how have you been?" You say still professional and calmed down. You're excited to see him and just as happy, but it's just difficult for you to adjust after not seeing him for so long.

"Is that all you can say? And why are you so professional?" He whines, and you chuckle at how he's still so childish.

"I'm a doctor, Taehyung. I can't be jumping around like a monkey." You say, clutching your clipboard to your chest.

His wife chuckles and says something about him not maturing yet. You of all people are aware of how childish he can be.

And like for the first time Taehyung takes in your outfit and gasps. "Shit yn you did it." He says with a smile "Doc yn." He teases.

"Don't tease me." you blush.

"I'm so proud of you though. I always thought you'd been kidding about the doctor thing." He rubs the back of his neck feeling embarrassed about doubting you. But you don't take offence as you show him your smile.

"I was very serious as you can see."

You both just chuckle.

"So, we're you...l-like in here too."

"Yeah, I think she was, I saw you right? Docter's assistant, right?" His wife asks.

You nod in affirmation.

Taehyung mentally slaps himself. How could he have not noticed. He feels so stupid right now.

"I'm so glad you delivered my baby." he says with a proud smile.

"Well, I didn-"

"Shut up you did deliver my baby." He slaps down your statement. "No, but like seriously, of all people in the world I'm glad you were the one to do."

You bow smiling, appreciating his words. Doing this feels like apologizing for ditching him. And hearing him say that makes you love you job even more.

"Waaah, look at how professional she is now." He mocks as he turns to his wife to tell her how you were such a brat and party girl. You deny the allegation even though they are true cause you don't want to ruin his wife's perception of you.

You've changed anyways so doesn't matter anymore.

"Don't worry we were all party girls once at least." She says and you can't help but appreciate how kind and sweet she seems. You haven't been introduced to her. But you find it unnecessary when you remember why you actually came here.

"I came to check on you and the baby." You say turning on professional mode which was never off.

You walk over to the baby, who was still sound asleep. Cute.

They all nod, letting you do your thing.

"Tell me yn.." Taehyung says when he's now sat by his wife. "Who does she look like?" He wants to settle the debate they've been having.

"Just be honest."

You turn to analyze the baby you were already scanning. You couldn't help but notice a little bit of Taehyung but when you stare longer you start to see more of his wife.

"I think she shares both of your features quite well." You speak.

Taehyung whines disappointed in your answer.

"She's just being professional, we should ask her when we go for dinner."

Dinner? when did you say you'd be going for dinner. You ignore it.

They talk and you smile at how they tease each other and are happy together. These are always your favorite kind of days.

"What time is Jungkook coming?" His wife whispers to Taehyung, but you're still able to catch on.

Jungkook's coming here? He's going to be here. The hell. You should've expected it, maybe you would've asked someone else to be here instead. But when you think about it you realize how inevitable it was, plus you got to reunite(?) with Taehyung. You doubt you'll see each other after this.

"He should be here soon." Your heart races and throat dries up for whatever emotion your body will not communicate to you.

Fuck. you still have more tests to run, and you haven't even begun with the mother.

You take a deep breath as the baby stirs but still stays calm. You're focused on the baby as you set her back into the hospital crib. The hospital you worked at was a really high-end one. Well, at least the part that Taehyung had picked out. He must be doing well for himself cause these ends are quite expensive.

He's a finance bro, studied finance and got a good job. So, he's differently doing well.

You wonder how Jungkook's doing, is he doing well...

"Look who's a dad."

You hear a knock, then the familiar voice follows. Your heart freezes and so does your whole body.

"Shh." Taehyung lectures him pointing to your direction. "There's a baby"

Jungkook follows his friend's eyes, to you. But he doesn't realize it's you, and you're glad for that. You wish you could just slip out right now.

But why are you the one anxious, he should be the one trembling right now. Not you.

"Can I see her?" He coos and Taehyung nods.

"She's getting a check up though." Taehyung adds as Jungkook walks to you and your heart grows tighter as his steps grow closer. but you choose to stand firm in your spot.

The heels of his shoes tap against the floor and regrets wearing them. But he just came here from the office so he can't be blamed.

"I'm sure it's fine, right doctor?" He says with charm in his voice.

His voice awakens so many things in you. Anger, hate, insecurity, doubt, memory, yearn, search. But mainly anger. Anger at all that still left you burnt and bruised. All the stupid mistakes of your youth that you were warned about and could have avoided.

"I'd advise you wash your hands first." You turn to look at him eyes bland of any visible emotion.

Professional, yn be professional.

"Yn?" He says shocked and smile dropped from its previous spot. He heard your voice before getting to see your face. And if his memory serves him right...he is right. He can't be wrong.

His heart's as far as the sea goes. Nothing and everything go through his mind.

You don’t give him a response.

"Please wash your hands and sanitize if you decide to be close to the baby." No warmth in your voice or room for conversation. Everyone in the room can feel the tension and Jungkook is still shocked to see you, eyes and hands unmoving. He can't figure what he's feeling or thinking, he just...

Never expected to see you here. It's almost like a slap to his face, like the last time he saw you. And at the memory of the day, bitterness and anger sink in him.

You walk past him leaving a cold breeze for him to relish in.

You try to plaster a smile when you see the tension you caused. "Now it's your turn." You say to Taehyung's wife as you begin her checkup.

You're really trying your best to keep it cool, but you can feel the acid by your throat burn.

Jungkook just clears his throat and goes to the sink and washes his hands. Mind lost of any thoughts, but choosing to ignore them as usual.

"So, I'm and uncle huh?" He says trying to clear himself of the tightness in his chest. Even though his voice doesn't sound as confident as before, he's just going to ignore it.

Ignore you.

"She's so cute, she's looks like you Tae." He declares caressing her cheek with his index.

Taehyung cheers and his wife rolls her eyes.

"Can you imagine, yn said she shares both our features."

And the reminder that you're Actually here and not a nightmare is set for Jungkook to relish in.

"Docter's always right Taehyung, you should listen." You don't know whether he's being serious or sarcastic, but you could care less. All you want is to be out of here and away from him.

You want to scoff but choose to suck it in and ignore the remark or whatever it meant.

Taehyung shrugs, deciding to let it go. It didn't matter who the baby looked like. It's all light-hearted. He's just happy that both his wife and the baby are okay.

Taehyung does realize the tension, which cause him to somewhat do things deliberately. He wanted to out loud comment on it but he's just going to let fate do its thing instead.

Once he saw you, he knew you'd have to meet Jungkook. It honestly makes him happy. Even though you're ignoring each other.

"Everything's good, so I'll be taking my leave now." you say. Everyone nods and acknowledges giving you little thanks Yous as you grab your stuff. Only Taehyung and his wife. You managed to ignore him and avoid him and all you have to do now is leave.

But as you're walking out a voice speaks.

"Yn, can we get some water?" Jungkook says, voice certain and eyes lowered at you.

He's just trying to get a rise at you yn, walk away. You try to calm yourself. There's so much bottled that you only realized today. You'd thought your anger died long ago but you guess not.

His statement is simple and not that deep but it's the way he says it and how your name has so much weight to it as he speaks it. Makes you irritated. How he's always made you stretch your neck out for him, but he never did for you.

"It's doctor. And about the water? That's not my job." You say your professional demeanor dropping so you can deliver it with more attitude. He knows it's not your job; he just wanted to say and see that look your face.

Why he did it? He doesn't have a reason but just wanted to (maybe) release the tightness in his chest. It doesn't leave anyways.

Fucking piss of shit.

"We should get married."

You stare at the goofball in front of you a smile forming on your face as you watch him speak.

"What?" You chuckle and he frowns at how unserious you're taking him.

"I'm serious yn, I want to marry you." He holds your hand. "We can get married, we're 19 and we're going to uni soon."

He watches how your face contorts at his suggestion.

"Do you not want to marry me?" He lifts his brow, and you groan.

"I do want to..." you start and as he waits to hear your but "...but..." and there it is "Don't you think we're a little too young for that?"

"We're old enough and plus what matters is that we love each other." he holds you closer to him under the tree you two adored to use to hide from the world.

"We'll get married, go to college together and when we can, get a house and live together."

You loved the sound of that, married to Jungkook and living with him as you went to school and back home to each other. Of course you wanted that life with him, but there's a lot you're scared of,

"And our parents?" You ask worried.

He rubs your shoulder.

"Who cares what they think, I love you and I want to marry you." you blush and lean in closer into him feeling his heartbeat under your palm. You loved being with him, alone and away from the world and that's what you hoped marriage will do for the two of you. Keep your love protected from the world.

"So?" He asked and you knew what you were required to do. "Will you marry me yn?"

You stay silent to tease him and when he tickles you for an answer, you agree to answer.

"Yes Jungkook I'll marry you."

He smiles at your answer and places a kiss on your cheek holding you closer to him.

"I'll always love you yn, not matter what okay?" He squeezes his face into yours.

"Okay?" He's voice is muffled against your cheek as you giggle.

"Okay, Jungkook, okay." your laughter dies down as he stops to place a kiss on your cheek.

You hated this. No. You hated him.

What's he so full of that he can come here and try to be sarcastic with you. In your territory. You'll give it to him that he didn't know you'd be here but to be fair that's not an excuse to be an ass. You'd thought maybe he'd changed.

But no, he's still shitty and condescending as fuck.

You're glad you divorced him, and you're glad to know that you still hate his face. His stupid face. The stupid face that has grown into its masculine and manly features.

You hate that you even noticed that.

"Yn you good? "

"Huh?" You say still brain fogged "Yeah I'm good, just tired." You smile awkwardly and Rosie knows it's a lie. She sits next to you on the break-room bench.

"You sure? " She asks and you nod, not trusting your voice to speak.

"I don't believe you."

"Then don't." You say coming out a little too harsh, you're not mad at her so you apologize for the attitude. You're still set off from the interaction with Jungkook. It was barely an interaction cause you two were avoiding each other like two ships at sea. But the tension and the way you avoided each other's space said a lot.

"Tell me yn." She whines in her bratty voice. "We've been friends since high school, why not tell me."

You sigh. You two have been friends for some time. She's been there for you and Jungkook's first date and your divorce. Damn it you did years of medicine together, so why hide from her. Plus, you know she won't stop bugging till you tell her.

"Jungkook's back." You probably shouldn't have phrased it like that. He's not back, you just happened to meet him while another old friend had a child.

"Taehyung had a baby and they have a delivery room upstairs and I bumped into him." You elaborate.

"Taehyung had a kid?" You deadpan her at how that's the only thing she heard. "Okay, okay" she raises her hands in defence. "So, you just saw him, you didn't talk?"

"No." you never really talked so you wouldn't phrase it as that.

"Then what's wrong darling." She wraps her arms around you and brings her face to yours.

You explain to her what he said and why it pissed you off.

"I'm just kinda pissed off. " You sigh and lean into her.

"He's a dick don't mind him. He's probably miserable and trying to bring you down after seeing you living out your dreams." She tries to comfort you.

You shake your head. "I don't know he looks good-he looks well I mean," you correct yourself. "Plus, Taehyung's in the private suite so I doubt they are anything close to broke."

Rosie doesn't know what to say now, she's not surprised. But you look disturbed and she wants to help.

"You know what? it doesn't even matter." she goes quiet. "You know what? we should go for drinks on the weekend."

Normally, you'd say no. But it's been while since you went out and the weekend was coming and you were weirdly free through all of it. So it wouldn't hurt to go out.

"Okay." Rosie's taken aback by your lack of reluctance. She prepared a whole speech to convince you encase you said no.

"Which bar? " You ask curious.

"Satin."

"Isn't it just opening up?" You stare with a questioning look. The opening of satin was all that was being talked about amongst your friends. So, you'd eventually end up curious and want to go there. it wasn't your plan to go on the first day though.

"Yeah makes it much better to find some rich bachelor." she whispers. "This doctor/residence job isn’t gonna pay for my new car."

You roll your eyes and chuckle at her amusement. She honestly makes you happy and able to forget everything that makes you feel like shit. It's her bright and bubbly characteristic that you envy and seem to lack.

"So, you and yn?" Taehyung asks as he does his warmups. Jungkook laughs at how Taehyung has been warming up for so long. He knows he's probably avoiding real gym work.

"What about me and her?" Jungkook says as he puts on his boxing gloves, trying his best to keep the conversation short.

He's not surprised he's bringing this up, he actually prepped himself for it.

"Still awkward?" Tae bends and stretches. Jungkook points for him to quit it and grab some gloves. He groans and grabs a pair. He should honestly be making most of the time he's got to be in a gym because he won't be here often.

"It's been over 4 years since we talked of course it's awkward." Jungkook sends some practice punches into the air. He needs to quicken this conversation with Taehyung. He knows what he's doing, and he knew it was going to happen as soon as he left the hospital, he was just waiting for when.

"Why not talk it out?" Jungkook almost snorts out at how stupid this conversation is.

Taehyung feels a gush of wind pass his face as Jungkook deliberately missed his face. Whether it's to shut him up, get him ready to work out or just for the fun of it, he doesn’t know. Taehyung doesn't know but Jungkook now options to hit him. He uses his arms to protect himself from the man too focused on working out than the conversation.

"We never talked it out when we divorced, so why should we now." He speaks so lightly of the situation, no emotion or care for it. "We have no relationship." He spits out as he throws a punch that Taehyung dodges.

"Bullshit. You and yn are goals" Taehyung pauses "were goals at least, before whatever the fuck happened."

Jungkook chuckles but it's not anything from genuine amusement or from the good memories you two shared.

"Don't laugh, I'm serious. You need to talk to her and get this shit sorted." Taehyung groans ad he blocks more of his blows. They grow more intense. "I hate being in between you two." Taehyung throws a punch of his own, when Jungkook is slow. "Pity me a child of divorced parents. Imagine how this has traumatized me." Taehyung is quick to his feet to throw a punch and Jungkook is the one to block it.

"Too bad. But you look fine to me, a kid, a wife and a good paying job." Jungkook takes back his dominance.

He's happy for Taehyung, but to say he isn't a little jealous is a..

"And what about you? " Jungkook loses his focus for a second and Taehyung lands a low blow in his gut.

He groans and fixes his footing and gloves as he tries to one-up Taehyung.

"I've got a good paying job. That's all I need." he says bluntly trying to focus on a free spot to throw a blow.

"Lies. Look the universe has brought you two back together, talk it out with yn."

Bang. Jungkook smacks Taehyung in the side of his face. To be fair that felt quite personal and he slightly feels bad for hitting him. He doesn't want him to go home and see his kid while he's all bloody.

But that's what he gets for bringing you up as a topic to talk about. After all these years, like he cares.

He doesn't care. Still, it's not like seeing you doesn't make him feel some sort of way. He feels something. Definitely some type of bitterness, anger and emptiness.

"No. Plus it's been 4 years. Far too long to 'talk it out'. " He air quotes with his gloves on. "And it's not just a small problem, we went through the wringer and failed.” Jungkook uses rapid movements to stop his thoughts. “So even if we talked it out what would it change, we can't be friends anymore. Or lovers at that." He scoffs at the thought.

Taehyung jumps back indicating he wants to stop and focus on the topic. Jungkook groans and rolls his eyes.

Taehyung doesn't care, he'll press on. He knows Jungkook likes to avoid and that's why he'll keep bringing it up.

"Closure, Jungkook closureeeee!" Taehyung empathizes.

Jungkook chuckles. "She divorced me, that's my closure. I signed the papers, that's her closure." He won't lie but he could feel how harsh and insensitive his words sound as they left his mouth. But it's too late to take them back. At least you weren't here to hear them.

"Oh, come on, don't be so stiff hearted." he takes off his gloves getting kind of irritated at his friend for being so reckless and not doing what he should've done years ago.

Fight for you. Make you want to stay. Change and be better. Or whatever.

As a witness Taehyung knows what Jungkook and you had can never be replaced. And even though Jungkook has tried he's just miserable though he says otherwise. But he's just so stubborn.

"Well maybe if she wasn't so stiff minded, we would've been the ones with the kid, maybe even two with a dog even." he says chugging down a bottle of water trying cool his racing heart that races from the exercise and not the thought of starting a family with you. The thoughts have always haunted him. And they've now been revived even more and it's irritating.

"See? Talk it out. " Taehyung says feeling like he's found a weak spot.

"Fuck off. Its never gonna happen. I'm just talking out of my ass." Taehyung knows he's lying; he's always known Jungkook to want a family and the only person he knew that he'd want that was with you. He knows it's hard to reignite something from years ago, but it's never too late to try.

"More like heart" Taehyung whispers and Jungkook sends him a dead-behind -the-eyes gaze.

You had forgotten how much you enjoyed dressing up and going out with your friends. From marriage, to school, to work you've really lost some parts of yourself. You still love and appreciate it all in the good and bad, but you still wish you could have some of your college ways back.

The mini dresses, heels, makeup and hair done. Just reminds you of how attractive you are.

You laugh.

Even through all these efforts you're finding hard to put yourself out there into the dating world. It's all tiring, from the men to the dates, to the kissing and touching that never satisfies. It’s just not the same anymore. Nothing feels good and you hate to admit it.

You decided to go dressed casual but still making an effort.

"Oh my gosh girl, switch bodies with me." Rosie whines as she cheers you on in your outfit. She's dressed in a tiny black skirt and red lace top; she looks so good and you're sure she's gonna leave you alone the whole night.

Rosie always looks good in what she wears, and you admire how confident she manages to be. you wish that for yourself right now.

You do love to dress up. But like most things, you've lost a touch for looking good. Most of your times you're either in your scrubs or in comfy home clothes you wear when you never see the light of day.

But for tonight you make an effort to connect into your inner party girl.

The black, mid-thigh, bodycon dress hugs your figure as its long sleeves hug your arms. Rosie’s favorite part of the dress; the low bare back cut.

You were feeling a little self-conscious about it but when Rosie told you looked hot and you'd definitely catch everyone's eye., you decide to say fuck it and go on.

That's the point of tonight, right? To let go and forget.

"I think it's so fucking cool that Jimin opened a nightclub," Namjoon says, sitting at the back of the car.

"It's quite Jimin of him," Taehyung and Namjoon laugh.

And like a saint, Jungkook keeps his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

"How about you?" They all turn to Jungkook.

Jungkook finally speaks when he realizes he's being talked to. "What about me?" He speaks as though he wasn't paying attention to the conversation.

"What do you think about Jimin opening a club?"

Jungkook shifts in his seat for no specific reason. "It's cool, I guess."

"Cool?" Namjoon exclaims at how boring and plain his answer sounds. "Come on."

"What?" Jungkook defends himself. "I mean, it's cool, and I'm proud of him. What else do you want me to say?" He leans back into the car seat, finally getting comfortable, but his mind is still so far away.

Taehyung and Namjoon furrow their brows at Jungkook’s tone but soon brush away his lack of excitement or interest. In his defence, he was with Jimin during every step of buying and furnishing the club, so it's not as exciting for him. Only Jungkook had been in on it because he helped Jimin with the legal side of it all. So maybe that's why he's not so excited.

Or maybe it's because of the fact that he's never been one to be a club-goer. It's not that he doesn't enjoy it when he gets the chance, but it's never been for him. You were always the club-goer in the relationship, and you'd always drag him to go. And because you were with him, he would go and enjoy his time. It's all different now.

Clubs feel weird; they hold memories and empty feelings.

"Try to enjoy tonight, okay?" Taehyung pats Jungkook’s back.

He doesn't get the gesture but takes it anyway. Taehyung knows his friend isn't being himself right now, and he's got his suspicions about the cause. But he won't bug him; he’s already done his part.

They walk into the club and soon are met with their blond-haired friend, who excuses himself from the previous conversation to walk over to them.

Hugs and greetings are shared.

"Congratulations, bro! This place is beautiful."

Jimin's proud of how well this place turned out. It's his newfound pride and joy.

The place is a typical high-end nightclub, with the best music, drinks, and food. The decor and ambiance fit Jimin's fantasies to a tee.

"Yeah, all thanks to Kookie boy over here, I was able to buy and renovate it with no trouble." Jimin turns to Jungkook, who seems lost in staring at the place.

The club isn't too crowded; they got there early to look around and talk to Jimin because they knew he'd be busy the rest of the night.

"Ya! Jungkook, are you with us?" Jimin calls him out.

He turns to where he's being called as he blinks. "Y-yeah, I'm here."

They all choose to ignore it, knowing that he can be distant sometimes.

"You guys grab some drinks; I have some people to talk to." Jimin excuses himself, and they know the only time they're going to see him is when the night ends.

Jungkook is the first one to walk off and grab himself a drink; he's going to need it.

You and Rosie planned on going early, but because of traffic and your delay in getting ready, you were two hours late after the opening. You knew it would be packed since it was the grand opening, but shockingly, it was not as crowded as you expected. There was room to move and walk around. Most people were so well-dressed that you'd think this was a gala instead and that you were underdressed. But no matter what, you still felt out of place.

You looked good and felt good, but there’s only so much you can do to make yourself comfortable.

Rosie scoped the place, and when she spotted the bar, she pulled your hand toward it.

"First, we drink," she said, more excited than you. She ordered the drinks, and soon you were handed one.

As you sipped, you felt eyes on you. You'd felt them since you walked in; whether you minded it or not, you didn't know yet. You still felt like a sore thumb, but after this drink, you were sure you'd settle into the scene.

"So many hot men. Damn," Rosie muttered to herself, but you were still able to catch what she said. You chuckled, happy that she was settling in. She was so good at it.

Soon, you were on your third drink—nothing crazy. You weren't trying to get blacked out, but you were definitely feeling a little more settled in.

Rosie left a few minutes ago to talk to some people or whatever. And even though she offered, you declined to go along with her. You weren't up to meeting strangers tonight. You just wanted to enjoy yourself, by yourself. So, you sat by the bar and enjoyed the music.

"You enjoying the night?"

A voice from your left spoke. You took a minute to respond, debating whether the man was speaking to you.

You turned and took in his appearance: blond hair swooped back, making him look clean and professional, and a suit that fit his physique perfectly.

"Yeah," you chuckled, not sounding convincing and not trying to keep the conversation going.

The man seemed to want to continue talking, though, and honestly, you didn't know if you were interested in conversing with him. He didn't seem like a creep, but you could never know with men.

The silence consumed you (excluding the club music), and his presence lingered by your side.

A glass slid in front of you as you looked to the bartender, who then directed you to the man sitting next to you.

"It's on the house." He stared at you with a warm, cheeky smile, and you stared back with a suspicious one.

You took the glass into your hands and brought it to your lips. Might as well make the most of the interaction if he wasn't going to leave. "You say that like you own the place," you chuckled as the liquid slid down your throat. You couldn't help but cringe at how strong it tasted.

The blond stayed silent and watched you, waiting for you to catch on.

"Wait... are you actually the owner?" you paused.

You watched a slow smile form on his lips. He nodded.

You squinted. "Or are you just saying that to try and flirt?" You kept your eyes narrowed.

"The last thing I'd do is lie."

You wouldn't say you were surprised, because now that you looked at him, he fit the picture of a high-end nightclub owner. Even the way he spoke—gently and respectfully—made you want to warm up to him.

But why was he talking to you? Didn't he have other things to do?

"Wow. That's cool. The place looks lovely." You took in the environment one more time. You'd never expect to meet the owner of the club, and you never thought he'd be so young. Older men were typically more likely to own such a place.

"It should, because I spent quite the penny on it." He chuckled, sipping his own drink. You took in his words. How much does such a place cost? Does he own it by himself, or does he have partners? You didn't want to ask, though; you just kept your eyes on him and shifted them elsewhere when he turned to look at you.

"Must feel good to see it so full, huh?"

"Yeah, but..." he paused, and you turned your body to give him your full attention. Finally. "My heart breaks when I see people sitting at the bar, looking like they're not enjoying their time."

You laughed and blushed, embarrassed, knowing that he was talking about you. Is that what you looked like to people? Like you were bored?

You laughed one more time before you decided to speak. "I am enjoying my time," you started, not sounding too convincing at all. "It’s just been a while since I've been out."

He nodded. "I get it. Busy with work?" It was a random question, and he debated with himself on whether to assume.

"Yeah," you laughed, thinking about work, and soon your thoughts drifted back to the man you met, and the bitterness sprang up again, but you hid it, not wanting to sour your mood. You downed the drink, maybe to burn away the feeling and thought, to erase the picture forming in your mind.

"Then you should let loose." He stood, holding out his hand for you.

"W-what?" You choked out with a smile.

"Come dance with me." He was charming; you wouldn't lie, and you were definitely charmed.

"No, I can't..." you laughed.

"You have a boyfriend?" He raised a brow, and you shook your head. "Husband?" You could feel the acid reflux come back up again. You shook your head once more, this time less enthusiastically.

"Then come dance with me. Please?" He held his hand out, waiting for your answer. "Make my night."

You didn't need much sweet-talking; you were going to say yes anyway, but he seemed like a nice guy, and he was attractive—very much so. It wouldn't hurt to dance with someone, even just once. This was your chance to catch up to Rosie’s streak tonight, though no one could compete.

"Okay," you said as you took his hand, which was warm to the touch. Your eyes moved down to his wrist as you noticed the Rolex that adorned it. You weren't a watch person, but that was definitely some high-class stuff.

"Thank you," he said with a smile as he placed an unexpected hand on your lower back. You didn't mind it, and you soon warmed up to it.

You danced for a few minutes, and you quickly forgot your reluctance, letting loose in his arms. He swiftly pulled you back into his chest as you swayed your hips.

"Look at you," he said, complimenting how you smiled and danced. "And you wanted to rot yourself at the bar."

You sheepishly laughed, not knowing what to add. It was definitely nice to get off the stool and dance, especially with someone who had shockingly made you comfortable.

"I didn't catch your name, love," he whispered in your ear as you held onto his shoulders. He felt stupid for going this long without getting your name, but better late than never, right?

"My name's Y/N. What's yours?"

He smiled as he leaned in closer.

"Jimin."

"Jimin? That's a pretty name."

Jimin chuckled. He'd take the compliment.

"Is it?" You nodded. Jimin got lost in your eyes, and you got lost in his as well. "Would you like me to show you around?"

"Like around the club?" You moved back to catch his gaze as he nodded. "Yeah, sure, I'd like that."

So you stepped off the dance floor as he held your hand, guiding you on the path to walk. He wasn't planning on doing anything ridiculous with you; maybe it was just the excitement of being the new owner that had him wanting to show people around.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was still not feeling the atmosphere. Boredom and bitterness still coated his chest. Neither his friends nor the women who came to talk to him seemed to make the night pleasant.

Though he tried to avoid it, the alcohol did help to make the night a little more tolerable. He watched the dance floor from their VIP section as his friends chatted about whatever, and he stared mindlessly.

He listened to how Taehyung refused to drink, only settling for a non-alcoholic beverage since he had to go back home to a baby. Namjoon teased him for his newfound sense of responsibility.

"What the fuck is up with Jungkook?" Namjoon asked Taehyung directly.

"Maybe it's because he bumped into Y/N at the hospital. Did I tell you?"

Namjoon shook his head. "What was she doing there? Don't tell me she had a baby too!"

Taehyung scoffed at Namjoon’s suspicion. "No, she's a doctor. I think he'd lose his shit if she did, though. Just look at how affected he is from seeing her."

He definitely would. He'd lose his shit real bad.

"So you think it's about that?" Namjoon took a sip.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Did they seem cool at all?"

"As cool as two bulls seeing red," Taehyung scoffed.

"I'll be back." They heard the subject of their conversation speak as he stood.

"Damn," Namjoon said, watching Jungkook walk away.

Jungkook had been dodging every woman who came into contact with him. Tonight was about supporting Jimin, not finding a hookup. Plus, he had been too busy with work to even find interest in hooking up.

To be honest with himself, he had been quite thrown off since the day he saw you at the hospital. Your white coat and blue scrubs complemented your skin. Fuck, he hated it.

He hated being off his game; it was the anger he felt. He had always wondered what he would do if he ever saw you again, and he had never known the answer. Even right now, he didn't know what to do about it. But he didn't need to think too much about it. He had only seen you once, and that was that. It’s not like he was going to see you again.

Gosh, he always wondered if you stayed in Seoul, and it looked like you did. He had always felt fine not knowing if you were within the city or not. But now that he was sure you were still here and probably frequenting the same places he did, the town felt small, and the air felt suffocating.

He was angry, bitter, and confused. With Taehyung in his ear, he grew more bothered by your existence. He had been fine when he never saw you, never knew where you were, or if you were okay—not knowing if you had ever moved on or not. He had been fine not knowing and just forgetting about you.

Or at least he thought he was.

Seeing you just opened a wound to something he had forgotten—not healed.

Since that day, he had been bombarded with thoughts and worries about you. He had questions, but he didn't know if he would be able to ask them if he opened his mouth. Or if he would even want to know the answers to some.

Whenever you were around and he opened his mouth, he just let his bitterness take the lead and speak for him.

He did feel shitty for what he said. To the outside eye, it might have seemed harmless, but between the two of you, it held more weight, and he should have known better than to say it.

Why couldn't he have just said "hi"? Like a normal person.

"Have you gotten the chance to go over the results?" Jungkook's assistant asks as he walks into his office. Is he an assistant? More like an associate, rather.

"No, I just got them, so I only skimmed through." To be honest, he's been trying to balance a lot lately: his work, this case, his thoughts, and his emotions—specifically, you. He's never had this much trouble before, but it needs to stop. It's a big and emotionally sensitive case he needs to work on, so he needs to have his full focus on analyzing the case and not on what he did to lose you.

"Take a look," Jaehyun suggests to his superior, who seems out of it. "And I was thinking we should get a doctor to testify." He lays out the papers on Jungkook’s side table, and Jungkook lets him, watching closely and trying to pay attention.

"I can have some doctors go over the report and—" Jungkook's voice intercepts and startles the younger man.

"No. That won't be necessary. I already have someone." Jungkook says, a small smile taking over his face.

This is a good chance for him to see you again and get the opportunity to apologize for what he said. And maybe his mind will leave him alone.

"You've got to be kidding me! Why am I being haunted?" you exclaim, disbelief flooding your voice as you approach the front desk. The sight of Jungkook standing there sends a rush of conflicting emotions through you—anger, frustration, and an undeniable pang of something else you refuse to acknowledge. Jungkook knew you wouldn’t be happy to see him, but all he hoped was that you wouldn’t make a scene.

"Don't be childish," he replies, his tone clipped as you draw closer. "Look, I’m not here to argue; I just want to talk." He pulls you aside, creating a small barrier between the two of you and the bustling crowd around the desk.

"Nothing to talk about, Jeon," you mutter, folding your arms defensively. Surprisingly, you don’t walk away, even though every part of you screams to escape. You tell yourself it’s to avoid causing a scene, but deep down, you know it’s more complicated than that.

"I need your help." His rushed, hushed words catch you off guard, and you can’t help but snicker, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

"With what?" You feign disinterest, but the urge to provoke him lingers, like a moth drawn to a flame.

"A case I'm working on. I need a doctor to testify." His seriousness is almost comical, and for a moment, you think he must be joking. It feels like a cruel twist of fate—he rose from the ashes of your past just to humiliate you all over again.

"And you came to me to recommend someone? I'm pretty sure you have other people to ask." You turn to leave, your heart racing with a mix of indignation and something softer that you refuse to acknowledge.

"I want your help." His words stop you in your tracks, and you feel a flicker of something—hope? Regret? You roll your eyes, trying to mask the turmoil inside.

"This is stalking, Jungkook. Just because you know where I work doesn’t mean you can show up whenever you feel like it." You find yourself trying to ignore the weight of his previous words, the way they linger in the air between you.

Jungkook sighs, frustration etched across his features. He knows he shouldn’t have come here; it’s weird, especially given the history between you two. What made him think you’d suddenly warm up to him after four years apart? He should have thought it through before leaping at the opportunity. But there’s something familiar about being around you, something that feels like home, even after all this time.

"I'm sorry," he says, and the words take you aback. You never thought you’d hear him apologize for anything. Your hands drop to your sides as you struggle to look anywhere but at him. "I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry. But I need your help." He doesn’t necessarily need your help, but he sure does want it. It’s not the apology you’ve been waiting for, but it stirs something deep within you.

"No, I’m not going to. Plus, I’m just a junior doctor," you say, your tone softening as you reluctantly engage in the conversation.

"You got your degree, didn’t you?" He asks, and you nod, feeling a flicker of pride. Before you can respond, he continues, "Practicing license?" Another nod. "Work experience?" His questions come in a rush, and you knit your brows together, feeling the pressure of his expectations.

"Yeah," you reply, glancing around your workplace, filled with patients, doctors, and nurses, all oblivious to the tension crackling between you two.

You shake your head, trying to ground yourself in reality. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It’s all you need to testify and ensure your words aren’t null and void."

For a fleeting second, you consider it. Then you don’t.

"And honestly, why the hell would I want to help you?" You snap back, your arms folding across your chest once more, a barrier against the emotions threatening to spill over.

"You're not helping me; you're helping a little girl." His words freeze you in place, and suddenly, the weight of his plea sinks in. "Honestly, I don’t care if we’re good or not. I just need your help. She needs your help."

You don’t know if it’s his new method of guilt-tripping or the sincerity in his voice, but the statement has you straightening your back, your resolve wavering.

"Don’t guilt trip me," you lower your eyes at him, and he scoffs, a hint of amusement dancing in his gaze as he watches your expression shift.

"I'm not," he insists, and maybe it’s the cheeky smile that suddenly forms on his face that makes you shy under his gaze. Jungkook’s words have always had a way of getting to you, and you’re shocked to find that it still works. You guess it’s a good thing he became a lawyer; it suits him.

Jungkook sighs, his expression softening. "You know what? If you don’t want to help me, it’s alright. I get it—"

"I’ll help you." The words escape your lips before you can fully process them, and you can’t help but feel a mix of surprise and resignation.

You had spent more time than you wanted with Jungkook over the week, but it was just to prepare you. Once you helped him, you hoped he’d leave you alone and you could finally go your own way, trying to forget as much of him as you could.

"What should I wear?" you asked him over the phone. It reminded you of conversations you’d had before visiting his parents. You promised to only use his line for talking about the case, and that’s what you were doing; afterwards, you swore you were going to delete it.

"Wear what you want." He leaned back in his chair, listening to you talk while paying close attention.

"Even my underwear?" You tried to be sarcastic.

You could hear Jungkook’s soft chuckle, and it warmed your heart, making you blush. Thoughts of your late-night calls flooded your mind, but you quickly caught yourself.

Stop, you told yourself as you wiped the smile off your face.

"Not for the court." His index and middle fingers found their way to rubbing his lower lip. You could hear the sultriness in his voice, and his tone reminded you of something—ah, phone sex.

Why the hell are you thinking this? Shit.

"Wear what you want, just make it presentable." His tone shifted back to serious. Your silence made him think he had crossed a line. Honestly, he didn’t intend to; it just came so naturally to him.

You sighed. Jungkook waited for you to end the call, but you didn’t.

"Goodnight," you finally found the courage to say, ready to end the conversation.

"Goo—" Before he had a chance to respond, the line beeped, and you hung up.

The thought of hearing his voice and having it embedded in your mind once again was too much for you to handle. Hearing his voice was already overwhelming.

It was deeper, more mature, and sensu—

"Not possible for the injuries sustained to be accidental or self-inflicted," you assert, your voice steady and confident, just as Jungkook instructed you to be. Your gaze drifts to him, and you catch his encouraging smile, a small nod that sends a rush of warmth through you. It feels good to have him there, supporting you, but the past few days spent working on this case with him have left you in a whirlwind of emotions, unsure of what to feel.

"So, Mrs—sorry—Doctor," Jungkook’s counterpart interjects, the slip of your title not an accident but a tactic that has Jungkook sitting up straighter in his chair, adjusting his suit. He senses the tension in the air and doesn’t like where this is headed. "What you’re saying is that it’s not possible?"

"Y-yes." You can see how the slip-up has thrown you off balance; your tone falters, but you fight to maintain your confidence, even as you avoid Jungkook’s gaze.

"Not in this lifetime or the next?" The pressure mounts, and you feel the anxiety bubbling within you, your palms growing clammy as your heart races.

"I’ll never want to be with you again in this life or the next," you had yelled at Jungkook one night before your divorce, the memory echoing painfully in your mind.

What the hell is happening? Your heart constricts, and you feel the weight of the room pressing down on you.

"Yes," you say, your voice firmer now, desperate to move past this line of questioning. The only time you’ve ever been in a courtroom was to sign your divorce papers.

"And perhaps, do you think you’re not knowledgeable enough to determine this?" he presses, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"No. If you’re not satisfied, I have many other doctors’ statements with me," you retort, a hint of cockiness creeping into your tone.

"Not necessary." He shrugs it off, turning to his table to pick up some papers. "But I do have to ask..."

A smirk plays on his lips, and Jungkook feels a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach.

"Are you maybe a little biased in your opinion because of your close relationship with Counsel Jeon?"

You freeze, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. Stay calm, Y/N.

"What do you mean?" you ask, your voice steady but your heart racing.

"Objection, Your Honor. What he’s asking is unnecessary," Jungkook interjects, his voice firm.

"Overruled."

Jungkook groans, frustration boiling beneath the surface. This isn’t what he wanted, but he should have expected it. He got too carried away enjoying your presence, even if he won’t acknowledge it.

"Go on, Counsel." Now you’re about to be grilled about something you’re not prepared for.

"Thank you, Your Honor. Now, Ms. or Mrs.," he jeers.

"I prefer Dr.," you snap back, irritation flaring as you feel your professionalism slipping.

"Doctor, are you married?"

You chuckle, the absurdity of the question almost making you laugh.

"In front of the court?" you tease, your tone a mix of annoyance and playfulness. Jungkook can’t help but feel a swell of pride at how you’re handling yourself. You’ve always had to defend yourself against his family, and he’s felt like a coward for not standing up for you when you needed it most.

"That’s not what I mean, and you know it."

You shrug your shoulders, insinuating otherwise, and take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"No, I’m not."

"So, divorced? Because it was made known to me that you and Counsel Jeon had an intimate relationship." His words cut deep, and you bite your inner cheek, hoping you don’t draw blood. "Could your statement and judgment be influenced by the romance you two share, henceforth you help him and influence others to do so?"

Your mouth goes dry, and you take a moment to collect yourself, refusing to look at Jungkook, afraid of the look in his eyes that might make you break down.

"Jeon and I don’t share any sort of relationship outside of this courtroom," you say, your heart constricting painfully. Jungkook shifts in his seat, frustration simmering as he wishes he could react, but he knows he can’t.

"But you have, am I right?" he bellows, clinging to the idea. "Four years ago, married for two years, no children." With each word, you bite harder into your cheek, feeling the pressure mounting.

"Your Honor!" Jungkook tries to interject, but he’s ignored.

You glance at the judge, and Jungkook recognizes that look on your face —the same look you’d give him at family dinners, a silent plea for him to speak up, to defend you. But he never did, and the weight of that regret crushes him. Why was he such a coward? The determination to protect you surges within him, and he knows he can’t let this continue.

The judge looks at you, waiting for your answer.

So, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the onslaught of emotions.

"Yes," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Who ended the relationship?" he snaps back, the pressure mounting like a vice around your chest.

"I did," you respond quickly, the words spilling out before you can think.

"And was it because of something he did or something you did?"

"Objection, Your Honor!" Jungkook’s voice cuts through the tension, sounding more agitated than he intended. His assistant can see how unlike him he’s being; he’s never responded with this much emotion, but the stakes are too high.

"Skip the question, Counsel." The judge’s tone is firm, and Jungkook feels a flicker of satisfaction, but it’s not enough. He needs to get you out of this situation.

"Why did you end the relationship?" The defence attorney presses, and you can feel the weight of the room closing in on you.

"The typical—I wasn’t happy," you say blandly, though inside, the iron taste of anxiety lingers.

"Have you and Mr. Jeon rekindled that old flame?"

Would you call hanging out to prepare for this case rekindling? No. Would you call enjoying his presence and calling him for small things about the case rekindling a flame?

You almost laugh, but it’s a hollow sound.

"No," you reply, your voice steady.

"Then why are you helping him here today?"

"I'm not helping him; I'm helping the little girl."

You can see a smile appear on the defence attorney's face, a smugness that makes your skin crawl.

"Do you know her personally?" he asks, dripping with sarcasm, but you refuse to bite.

"No."

"Then why help? Why should you care about a stranger?"

"I don’t need to know a person to care for them. That’s one of the reasons I am a doctor. She’s just a child, and I have an obligation to defend her when I can," you say, your voice rising with conviction.

But beneath that conviction, a deeper feeling wells up inside you—a longing to be defended yourself. All your life, you’ve faced hellfire from your parents and others, and all you ever wished for was someone to stand up for you. Maybe that’s why Jungkook had stolen your heart in high school; he was there for you, defending you from bullies and creeps. But when it came to his parents, he had failed you.

"Is it the girl you care about or Counsel Jeon?" The defence attorney’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and frustration bubbles to the surface. Your heart races, and you feel the walls closing in, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You might just have a panic attack.

Jungkook sees it, his palms sweating as he fights the urge to intervene.

"Tell the court, Doctor. Tell them how you still hold feelings for him and are doing this to get back with him. You don’t care about that little girl; you care about Jeon and helping him because you still love him, and your findings are biased and inaccurate."

His words press down on you, and you feel yourself slipping. In this moment, you’re bound to say anything—true or false—just to escape this suffocating situation. Jungkook is uncomfortable in his seat, knowing he can’t react how he wants to, but something in him still wants to know what you might say.

"I don’t love him; I was young and stupid when I married him, and it was a mistake," you rush out, frustration spilling over as you fight to free yourself from these overwhelming feelings. You don’t want to break down here, not in front of everyone, not in front of Jungkook.

You’re on the verge of tears.

The defence attorney opens his mouth to speak, but Jungkook’s voice cuts through again.

"Your Honor, my witness is uncomfortable and has done what she came to do. Anything else is unnecessary." His tone is fed up, and he’s not about to let this continue. If the judge says no, he’ll pull you out of here, consequences be damned. He can’t bear to watch you suffer like this. He’s hurt you enough in your life, and he blames himself for forcing you into this situation.

"I’ll agree with Counsel on this," the judge finally says. "The witness is free from the box."

You let out a sigh of relief, but it’s hard to move. The weight of the moment lingers, and you feel the tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You turn on your heel and storm out of the courtroom, not daring to glance back at Jungkook. The rush of emotions is overwhelming, and you can feel the tears welling up, blurring your vision as you push through the door.

"Y/N, wait!" Jungkook calls after you, his voice cutting through the chaos in your mind. You can hear his footsteps echoing behind you, but you don’t stop. You need to get away, to breathe, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the courtroom and the weight of the past that hangs between you.

Once you’re in a clear area, he catches up to you, grabbing your arm gently but firmly. "I can’t just let you go like this."

You pull away, your heart racing. "I came here to help, not to get grilled about something I’m still trying to forget, Jungkook." Your voice trembles, the tears finally spilling down your cheeks. You wipe them away angrily, but they keep coming, each drop a reminder of the pain you’ve been trying to suppress.

Jungkook’s heart breaks at the sight of you, vulnerable and raw. He’s seen you cry before, but this feels different—more intense, more real. "I know, and I’m sorry. That’s how the court is. But it’s my fault," he says, stepping closer, his voice low and earnest.

"If I had known, I would’ve—"

"You would’ve what? Defended me? There’s nothing you’ve ever done to defend me unless it was to soothe your own ego or pride," you spit out, the venom in your words reflecting the hurt that has festered for so long.

"Y/N…" He pleads, searching for the right words, but they elude him. You’re the only person in this world who can silence him, whether it’s with your sweetness or your rage. Normally, he’d have a comeback for anyone else, but with you, he’s left speechless.

"Don’t say anything. I’ve helped you, and I honestly hope you win—not for you, but for that little girl." You take a shaky breath, trying to regain your composure. "But please, never come to my work again or even call. Please." Your voice softens at the end, a desperate plea that cuts through the anger.

His heart aches at your words. You’re asking him to leave you alone, but deep down, he knows you don’t really mean it. Your heart is pleading for him to hold you, to tell you that everything will be okay, that he’s there to protect you. But he can’t say that now—not when you’re so hurt.

He doesn’t fight back, not like he usually would. This time, it’s strategic. He knows you’re angry, and there’s nothing he can say to change that. He respects your wishes, but he won’t let you go—not this time. He’s let his cowardice and lack of effort keep you from him for too long, and he’s realized he doesn’t want to be away from you anymore.

"Truly trouble in paradise?" The voice that had once torn down your walls now cuts through the tension like a knife, and Jungkook can think of nothing but the seething rage boiling inside him.

"You’re a fucking piece of shit," Jungkook growls, his voice heavy and thick with fury. He barely registers the curious glances from those around him; all he can focus on is the man standing before him, the source of his torment.

"Being good doesn’t pay, Jeon," the man sneers, a smug grin plastered across his face. In an instant, Jungkook’s anger ignites, and he lunges forward, wrapping his fist around the man’s collar, the force of his grip wiping the smile off his face. The adrenaline surges through him, amplifying his strength and fury. He could easily crush this man, and the thought is intoxicating.

But just as he’s about to unleash his pent-up rage, his assistant, Jaehyun, steps in, urgency lacing his voice. "Jungkook, please." He grips Jungkook’s arm, trying to pull him back from the brink. Jungkook’s jaw clenches tighter, his eyes locked onto the man beneath him, a tempest of anger and pain swirling within. He’s ready to say fuck it and end this right here, right now. He could do it, and a dark part of him wants to.

But he knows better. This isn’t just about him; it’s about you. It’s about the mess that has become your lives, and he can’t let his anger spiral out of control—not for himself, not for anyone, and especially not for you.

With a surge of frustration, he shoves the man backward, watching as he stumbles but manages to catch himself, quickly dusting off his shirt. The sight only fuels Jungkook’s rage further.

"Fuck you, you piece of shit," Jungkook snarls one last time, his voice low and dangerous.

The man smirks, a cruel glint in his eyes. "I’m not the one with a failed marriage, Jeon." The words hang in the air, a taunt that cuts deeper than any physical blow. Jungkook feels the heat of humiliation wash over him, a reminder of everything he’s lost.

"Where’s she?" he demands, his hand running through his hair in a desperate attempt to regain control.

"She’s left. She got into a cab," an intern reports, the words hitting Jungkook like a punch to the gut.

"Fuck," he breathes, his fingers tangling in his slicked-back hair, ruining the carefully styled look. The realization crashes over him like a tidal wave—he’s losing you, and the thought sends a fresh wave of panic coursing through his veins.

"It's not that serious, Y/N. That's just how my mother talks," Jungkook says as you step into your shared apartment, the familiar space feeling more like a prison than a home. It’s decent, sure, but right now, it feels suffocating.

"Insulting and degrading me is how she talks? Because I don't see her talking to you or Yujin like that," you retort, your voice sharp and laced with hurt. Jungkook’s jaw clenches at the comparison, the tension in the room thickening as he grapples with your words.

"Maybe she's still salty about me disobeying her," he mutters, making excuses for her behavior, as if that somehow justifies the way she treats you.

"That's no fucking excuse," you snap, your voice tight, hands swinging in frustration. The anger bubbling inside you is a mix of hurt and disbelief.

"Mind how you talk to me, Y/N," he barks, turning to face you, his tone harsh and commanding.

"I'll talk however I want to, seeing that you let your mother do the same," you shoot back, watching as he freezes mid-motion, the tension palpable.

You had just returned from Jungkook’s parents' place for dinner, and it had been a nightmare. You had to bite your tongue, suppressing the snarky remarks that threatened to spill out, knowing you’d be blamed for everything regardless. The only one who had stepped in was Jungkook’s father, and while you appreciated it, it felt like a hollow gesture in the face of his mother’s relentless barbs.

"She's my mother! What do you want me to say?" he hisses, frustration etched across his face.

"I WANT YOU TO FUCKING DEFEND ME!" The words burst from your lips, raw and desperate. You rub your face, trying to rein in your emotions, lowering your tone to avoid a noise complaint. "Defend me, Jungkook. That's all I want." Your voice trembles, and you can feel the tears welling up, threatening to spill over.

"I don't want to look like a joke in front of your family every single time we visit," you continue, your heart racing as you lay bare your feelings to someone who seems to be slipping further away. "Being made a fool of, even more, when you don’t say anything."

"That’s how she is, Y/N, please," he says, defending her yet again, and it feels like a knife twisting in your gut.

"Only to me?" You place a hand on your chest, trying to emphasize your pain. "I get it; I’m not the best or perfect daughter-in-law, but does that mean I have to get insulted? It’s not like I’ve ever done anything to her." You search his eyes for understanding, but all you see is a wall. Maybe he’s just fallen out of love with you. Maybe he doesn’t care anymore.

"The problem is that you always see it from your side. You're so selfish!" And there it is—his words hit you like a slap, igniting a fire of indignation within you.

"I'm selfish? What have I ever done to be called selfish?" Tears stream down your face, but you refuse to let them silence you.

"THIS! Right here. Your bratty and victim behaviour." He throws the shirt he had on onto the bed, changing into another one, as if he can shed the weight of this conversation along with his clothes.

"You're just a coward, and you'll never grow to defend anyone, honestly. Between the two of us, you're the selfish one," you say, your voice breaking as you give up trying. You’ve fought so hard, but it’s exhausting when the other person won’t even meet you halfway.

"Say whatever you want, Y/N," he replies, his tone dismissive, never acknowledging that you might be right.

"I'm just going to sleep over at my mom's," you say, the words feeling like a surrender.

"Go ahead," he mutters, not even bothering to turn and face you. The silence that follows is deafening, a chasm of unspoken words and unresolved feelings stretching between you.

You both stand there, two people in a shared space yet feeling more alone than ever, the weight of your unaddressed pain hanging heavily in the air. As you turn to leave, you can’t shake the feeling that this might be the beginning of the end.

"You sure you’re okay? Never thought you’d come here by yourself," Jimin says, handing Jungkook a private bottle. He never expected to find himself here alone either, but things change, and feelings hurt more than he cares to admit.

"Yeah, just need some alone time," Jungkook replies, his voice flat, devoid of any life. Jimin stares at him, unsure of how to approach the situation, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between them.

"Work?" Jimin tries, hoping to pry a little more out of him.

"Yeah. Let’s say that." Jungkook’s response is vague, and he knows he’s not convincing anyone. But Jimin doesn’t press further, even though a million questions swirl in his mind.

He feels a pang of sympathy for his friend, especially not knowing how to help. Jungkook has been quiet and standoffish lately, but tonight feels particularly off. He swears he’s fine, but the facade is crumbling, and Jimin can see it.

"I'm sorry I won’t be with you all night; I’ve got a date." Jimin feels guilty for leaving Jungkook alone in the club, but he can’t bail. It’s not like Jungkook wants company anyway.

"You’re not gonna ask me about her?" Jimin tries to lighten the mood, but Jungkook’s expression remains stoic. He wouldn’t want anything more than to drown out the running thoughts in his head. "Fine, I’ll tell you." Jimin smirks, the thought of describing you igniting a flicker of excitement in him.

"Her name’s Y/N. She’s so gorgeous, and I invited her to hang out with me for the night." The moment your name leaves Jimin’s mouth, Jungkook’s heart drops. What the fuck did he just say? Should he be pissed? The jealousy ignites within him, a burning spite that roars louder than the music in the club. But should he even feel this way? It’s been two weeks since the court incident, and he’s been hating himself since. He hopes you’re doing better than he is.

"She’s so hard to get a hold of because she’s busy with work or something," Jimin continues, oblivious to the storm brewing inside Jungkook. With each word, Jungkook feels himself slipping further into a dark place, the alcohol numbing his senses but amplifying his emotions.

"Or maybe she doesn’t want you," Jimin adds, taking a swig from his drink. Jungkook’s mind races. You and Jimin? The thought sends a wave of anger crashing over him. He hates how things went down between you two, how he’s been unable to think about anything else. He just wants to fix it so badly, but maybe going out with Jimin would make you happy.

Jungkook knows he’s the problem, and he’s understood that for some time now. But how can he show you that he’s learned and changed? Letting you go off with someone else? Maybe that’s what he deserves.

He wishes he could say something to Jimin, tell him not to do anything with his wife—you. But he’s not in a position to make demands. It would be fair to tell Jimin who you are to him, right? But the thought of it feels like a weight too heavy to bear. He lacks the mental strength to confront the reality of his feelings.

"No, she definitely wants me. I wanna dine her and wine her, treat her good, you know?" Jimin’s words grate on Jungkook’s nerves, irritation bubbling to the surface.

"Maybe you should get going," Jungkook says, his tone harsher than he intended, the frustration spilling over.

"You’re right." Jimin takes the hint, perhaps realizing he shouldn’t be talking about himself right now. "Enjoy yourself." He walks away, leaving Jungkook to wallow in his thoughts, his jaw locked and his hand tightly wrapped around his glass.

As the music thumps around him, Jungkook’s mind spirals. He can’t shake the image of you with Jimin, the thought gnawing at him like a relentless itch. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the jealousy and regret swirl within him, a tempest he can’t escape.

Soon, he finds himself wandering around the bar, lost in a haze of emotions, searching for something—anything—to distract him from the reality of what he’s losing. The night stretches on, and with each passing moment, the weight of his choices presses down harder, leaving him feeling more alone than ever.

"Just sign here," your lawyer says, sliding the paperwork across the table to Jungkook. He feels as if the air has been sucked from the room, and he can’t breathe. He holds his breath until the reality of the moment crashes down on him, forcing him to gasp for air. It feels like he’s dying anyway, suffocating under the weight of what’s about to happen.

On the other side of the table, you haven’t been breathing since those damn papers were printed out and handed to you. You know you’ve made stupid choices in your life, but now you’re left questioning which is more foolish: marrying at such a young age or choosing to divorce Jungkook.

"So that’s it?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he drags the pen across the dotted line. He can’t bring himself to look at you, his gaze fixated on your lawyer instead. Deep down, he had a feeling this would happen, but why wasn’t he prepared to fight for you? If you were so eager to end it, maybe you didn’t want to make it work, and he wasn’t going to force you. But the bitterness of it all gnaws at him, and he can’t help but hate you for this. There’s so much he despises about himself in this moment.

"Yes," your lawyer replies, holding the papers closer, as if they’re a lifeline. A heavy, suffocating weight washes over you as you stare at Jungkook, who can’t even muster the strength to meet your gaze or try to stop you from doing this. Anger and bitterness swell within you, so overwhelming that you can’t bear to be in his presence any longer. You turn and walk out, already having taken all your things from your shared home. There’s no need to see him again.

He didn’t even fight. The words echo in your mind as your lawyer follows behind you, leading you to their car. You glance back at the entrance door, half-expecting him to come after you, to call your name, to plead with you to stay.

But he doesn’t.

Something keeps Jungkook frozen in place, hands trembling and breath coming in labored gasps. Is this how it feels to be heartbroken? He never thought it would happen, not to him, not to you two. You were each other’s first love, always together, and never had anything this grand happen before. All he can think about is how you gave up on what you had, how you threw everything away.

Selfish.

"Get a grip of yourself," Taehyung says, his eyes focused on the baby he’s rocking and feeding. "She'll cool down." Taehyung is never serious enough to grasp the gravity of things, which makes Jungkook roll his eyes so far back he might just see the moon.

"I really fucked up," he says for the hundredth time since that night, as if repeating it will somehow make it less true. "I was so selfish." The words sink deeper into his skin each time he utters them, like a bad tattoo he can’t scrub off. He had spent so long thinking it was your fault, ignoring his own feelings and the situation, never reflecting on it until now. "All she wanted was for me to care." He buries his head in his palms, closing his eyes to wallow in the darkness of his misery.

"I'm so fucking shitty," he continues, and Taehyung listens, trying to block the baby’s ears from Jungkook’s foul language. The baby coos, blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil swirling around her.

"It’s pissing me off that this is when I’m actually seeing it. I spent so much time trying to ignore it." Jungkook can’t seem to find a comfortable position on Taehyung’s couch, shuffling around like a toddler who just drank too much juice.

"That’s why it’s good to reflect," Taehyung says, not really helping but still managing to sound wise. The baby lets out a little gurgle, and Taehyung quickly rocks her to quiet her down. His wife had gone out to buy some things and hang out with her friends, leaving Taehyung more than happy to babysit.

"But I’ve changed, haven’t I?" Jungkook stares at Taehyung, who’s clearly lost in his own world but still hears the question.

"It’s shocking," Taehyung replies, deadpan. From what he’s seen, Jungkook has definitely evolved from his childish self. His childish self would’ve either hidden under the bed, afraid of his own feelings, or yelled out in rebellion against them. Taehyung can actually see how grown his friend has become, but that doesn’t mean he’s fully synthesized maturity.

"How am I going to prove that to her?" Jungkook asks, his voice tinged with desperation.

"I don’t know," Taehyung deadpans, and Jungkook shoots him a look that could curdle milk.

"Thanks for the help, buddy," Jungkook mutters, feeling like he’s talking to a wall.

Taehyung shrugs, clearly not interested in baby-feeding Jungkook the answers. He’s just an ear, and he did his part.

"Did I tell you that Jimin invited her there, and that’s the only reason I got to see her? Fucking universe," Jungkook continues to ramble on. He’s usually quiet these days, so should Taehyung be happy that his friend is talking or antsy that he’s never shutting up?

"You did tell him?" Taehyung asks, finally meeting Jungkook’s eyes.

"No. I couldn’t. I don’t know why."

“Does she know?”

“Doubt it.”

Taehyung groans and chuckles, but low enough not to stir the baby. "Do you think they’ll..."

Jungkook lifts a brow at his friend. "What? Hook up?" The thought itches at his core, and now that he’s thinking about it, he wishes he had told Jimin. He can still call, right? "I hope fucking not," he spits out, bitterness dripping from his words.

"He doesn’t know, and you didn’t tell him, so you can’t blame them." Taehyung’s right, and it bugs Jungkook even more. He feels so stupid.

Jimin was a friend Jungkook had after your divorce, and since he never saw you, you never got to meet him. Jungkook and anyone else never talked about you, so Jimin was lost at the fact that Jungkook had been married to you, though he did know that the guy had been divorced after a drunk night of Taehyung talking nonsense.

"I’m so fucking stupid, stupid," Jungkook grumbles like a child, and Taehyung laughs, now holding the infant over his shoulder to burp her.

"Spent so many years being bitter and hating her when it was my fucking fault." The realizations keep dawning on him like a bad sitcom.

"Dick move."

"You’re not helping," Jungkook snaps, but Taehyung just laughs at the thought that he’s here to help him. Right now, he’s just playing the role of the listener so that Jungkook doesn’t look crazy for talking to himself and making these realizations. It’s not that he doesn’t want to help or advise his friend; it’s just that there’s not much he can do except listen.

"Look, I’m not on your side; I’m on the side of whatever’s gonna get you back together," Taehyung states, his tone serious for a moment.

"She won’t even talk to me, Tae," Jungkook pouts, but it goes unnoticed by his friend, who’s too busy celebrating the successful burp of the baby.

"You don’t know that," Taehyung replies, still rocking the baby gently.

"Maybe I don’t want her to," Jungkook mutters, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. "Maybe I want her to just keep ignoring me and move on with her life." Something in him wishes he could leave you alone to set you free from himself, but that was the same mindset that got him divorced in the first place. Maybe if he fought for you, you’d be in a better place. So that’s what he wants to do—fight for you this time.

"I was really such a bad husband. So stupid and naive. I’d be mad at me too," he admits, his voice heavy with regret.

Taehyung continues to walk around, rocking the baby. "Maybe instead of telling me this, you should tell her."

"She doesn’t even want to see me! How am I gonna do that?" Jungkook exclaims, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He genuinely doesn’t know, and he’s never known a foolproof plan that could help him. He’s just hoping the universe can lend a helping hand, seeing that it’s been invested in their relationship anyway.

"I don’t know, but just remember to not be a creep," Taehyung advises, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

"Thanks for the tip, Dr. Phil," Jungkook retorts, rolling his eyes. "I’ll just show up at her door with flowers and a serenade. What could go wrong?"

"Hey, if you can pull off a serenade without scaring her away, I’d pay to see that," Taehyung chuckles, and the baby lets out a tiny sound, as if she’s in on the joke.

"So how are you feeling?" Rosie asks, noticing how deeply you're staring into your coffee, as if it holds the answers to all your questions.

You continue to stir it absentmindedly, letting out a sigh. Not even the cozy warmth of the café seems to ease the turmoil inside you.

"To be honest, I don’t know," you reply, releasing an empty chuckle. All you've been thinking about is Jungkook. You’re not even sure what about him, but the fact that he occupies your mind so much is starting to annoy you. And Rosie can see it too.

"Do you think talking to him could make it better?" she asks, taking a cautious sip of her drink, her eyes searching yours for a hint of clarity.

You manage a smile and finally meet her gaze. "I don’t even want to think about talking to him."

"Yn," Rosie whines, leaning in slightly. "You need to. Not for him, but for you."

You sigh again, feeling the weight of her words. "It’s just really hard to do." You stare off into the distance, lost in thought about what you really want to do.

What is right?

"Do you think you still have feelings for him?" she treads lightly, gauging your reaction.

"I don’t know," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing him has definitely made me think a lot, but that doesn’t change anything. I don’t even know if he’s changed as a person."

"If he has, would you get back with him?" She raises a brow, fully focused on you now, her curiosity piqued.

You throw her an undecided look, your brow furrowing in confusion.

A smile grows on her face. "You would, wouldn’t you?" she laughs, and you shake your head, letting out a nervous laugh of your own.

You're blushing, and it feels like a betrayal to your own feelings.

"I never said that," you protest, trying to sound firm but failing to hide the uncertainty in your voice.

"It’s not about what you said; it’s about what you’ve shown," she counters, her tone teasing yet insightful.

With a shrug and a heavy silence, the conversation hangs in the air. You’ve been asking yourself that same question too, and honestly, you aren’t sure of the answer. You just don’t want to think about it at all.

"I'd love to, Tae, thank you," you reply, your voice a little shaky. Taehyung called you unexpectedly, and when you saw his name flash on your screen, a wave of anxiety washed over you. Part of you feared he was calling to ask about what happened between you and Jungkook, and you honestly wouldn’t know where to begin if that were the case. So, you’re relieved when he doesn’t bring it up.

"When?" you ask, trying to sound casual, but your heart races. You never thought he was serious about the dinner plans he made, let alone that he would actually remember them. But he did, and once he got the chance, he made sure to reserve a table for four and call you over. He didn’t mention the reservation for four part, though; he probably thought it would be better to let you find out when you arrived, so you wouldn’t run away.

"Will Sunday be good for you?" he asks, his voice sounding professional, which makes you assume he’s at work. It’s Wednesday, so that makes sense.

"Yeah, sounds perfect," you agree, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling in your stomach. It’s just you, Taehyung, and his wife—there’s really nothing to be anxious about, right?

As Sunday approaches, you find yourself in a bit of a panic. It’s one of those fancy restaurants, and the exceptional service is only proof of how upscale it is. You struggle to find something decent to wear, your nerves making it hard to focus. After a good search in Rosie’s closet, you finally find the perfect dress. Perfect for who? You, of course.

Rosie is a little skeptical about you going to dinner with Taehyung, but you explain that he’s still a good friend and you wouldn’t want to decline the offer because that would offend him. Plus, it’s not like you don’t want to be there; you don’t mind. After all, it’s Jungkook who’s the problem, not Taehyung.

She reluctantly accepts your reasoning, but along with her questions, she expresses her concern that Jungkook might be there. That’s a point of contention. You swear to her that Jungkook wouldn’t be there, and she swears that he would. You don’t want to acknowledge the idea, but the fear of the possibility still lingers. If Jungkook was going to be there, Taehyung would have mentioned it, right?

As you walk into the restaurant, the server gestures for you to hand him your jacket, and you do so, your hands trembling slightly. He then directs you to the table where you’ll be seated once you tell him the name the reservation is under.

You walk through the room, your long, form-fitting dress hugging your curves. The rich red color complements your skin beautifully, and you can’t help but feel a little more confident. You really like this dress and doubt you’ll be giving it back. The thin straps rest delicately on your shoulders, and the straight neckline keeps your chest modest yet elegant. You hope you’re not over or underdressed.

When you finally spot Taehyung, he nods over to you, and you let out a sigh of relief, realizing you’re neither under nor overdressed. His wife is wearing a cream satin dress, but you can’t determine the length since she’s seated and hidden by the table. Taehyung has a warm smile on his face, dressed in a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up, looking effortlessly charming. You walk toward them with a smile and a little excitement bubbling inside you.

That’s until Taehyung turns to talk to someone else. His wife is sitting on his other side, so if it’s not her he’s talking to, then…

Your body freezes for a second, and you contemplate turning around right now. The door isn’t so far away; you could make a run for it. You can feel your joints go rigid, but somehow, you find your way back to your chair. You let out a sigh as you take your seat, trying to shake off the tension. Jungkook had wanted to pull your chair out for you, but you brushed him off, and he was polite enough to accept your refusal.

You try to contain the rapid beating of your heart, which is now racing because of the unexpected presence of the man sitting next to you. Straightening your back and rubbing your palms together, you attempt to maintain the light and warm ambiance at the table. The last thing you want is for Jungkook’s presence to affect how you present yourself tonight.

Turning to greet Taehyung’s wife, Jian, you feel a flicker of relief since she’s the only one at the table you’re not annoyed with. Taehyung really brought you here knowing Jungkook would be here too. Was he in on it, or did he come here unaware of your presence? Are you both being set up right now? Is this some sort of intervention? You’re aware of how much Taehyung likes you and Jungkook together, and while you appreciate his concern, some things are just meant to be forgotten, buried.

“How are you?” you ask Jian, trying to sound cheerful despite the turmoil inside you. She greets you back with the same enthusiasm.

“You look so beautiful! How’s the baby?” You couldn’t help but ask; something about the doctor in you wanted to know.

“Perfect. My mom’s been a huge help,” she replies, her bright smile lighting up her face as she gracefully brushes her long, straight hair out of her eyes.

“That’s lovely,” you say, genuinely pleased for her.

“You look gorgeous too,” she compliments, and you can’t help but feel your cheeks heat up, a blush creeping in.

“I try,” you respond, attempting to stay modest. You don’t think you’re all that, but you do make an effort from time to time. Jungkook, on the other hand, would disagree; he thinks (knows) you look good in whatever you choose to wear, even when you don’t try. However, he’s not going to argue that you look stunning tonight. He could barely keep his eyes off you as you walked to the table. You couldn’t see him, but he could see you, and you looked great. He wanted to die, but Taehyung had to remind him to pull himself together.

It was then that your body shifted from fluid to solid. You had noticed him, and you didn’t seem happy at all. Jungkook felt a pang in his chest when you stopped him from pulling your chair out for you. He’s not going to blame you for it, though.

“It’s nice to see you out of your scrubs,” Taehyung says, and you can’t help but lower your eyes at him. He notices your glare and understands the reason for it. The little smirk he gives you makes you want to smack him right across the face. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

You chuckle, but it’s bitter.

“I’m sorry if I kept you all waiting,” you apologize, playing with your fingers as they rest in your lap. They hadn’t ordered yet, probably waiting for you, and your overthinking takes over, soon turning into guilt. You did try your best to get here on time, and you did, but you still say it anyway. Maybe it’s your internal tactic to lessen your nerves.

“No, you didn’t. Jungkook just came before you,” Taehyung says, clearly eager to push the agenda.

When he remembered he wanted to make plans for dinner, he told Jungkook and planned on bringing him too so they could talk. But right now, Jungkook looks like he’s going to lose his head, his eyes glued to the menu like a child.

“Mm,” is all you can manage as the awkwardness begins to grow, thickening the air around you. You can feel Jungkook’s presence beside you, and it’s both comforting and unsettling. You steal a glance at him, and he’s still focused on the menu, but you can sense the tension radiating off him.

The conversation around the table continues, but you find it hard to engage. Your mind is racing, and you can’t shake the feeling that this dinner is about to take a turn you’re not prepared for. You take a sip of your drink, hoping it will calm your nerves, but it only amplifies the fluttering in your stomach.

"She's such a good and peaceful baby, honestly," Jian exclaims with joy, and you can’t help but smile at how happy she is to talk about her little one. Taehyung stares at her, completely enamored with everything about her.

"I think she takes that from Jian," he adds, and laughter fills the air as everyone agrees. Between the couple, Jian is definitely the more relaxed and laid-back one. It’s funny how in your relationship with Jungkook, it had been the opposite. He was the laid-back one while you were the more outgoing, which is one of the reasons you got along so well with Taehyung. But for some reason, in this situation where you’d normally be talkative and engaged, you feel off and out of it. Jungkook notices your silence and curses himself for even coming; he feels like he’s ruined your night. He should have just left. Or not come at all.

You all order your food, each of you choosing what you want. You’re not entirely sure about some of the items on the menu, but the only person you could ask is the one you’re trying to avoid speaking to. So, you go for something you think will go best with how you’re feeling tonight.

Soon, the food arrives, one by one. Jungkook watches as your plate is placed in front of you. It’s not because he envies the meal—though it does look good—but because of the yellow garnishes on top that you hadn’t noticed. Just before the plate touches the table, Jungkook intercepts. “These have pineapples on them?” he asks the waiter, his tone serious.

“Yes, sir, it’s used for garnishing,” the waiter replies, and you watch as Jungkook investigates the young man, his face stern and his tone confident.

“Please bring her one without pineapples; she’s allergic,” he insists, and that’s all you can think about. Your heart flutters at how he remembers something about you, or maybe it’s just the effect of being close to pineapples.

How could he forget? Just because you aren’t together doesn’t mean he’s going to forget everything about you. How could he forget the little things about you that kept him up all night?

“You’re still allergic, right?” he asks, and you nod, finally acknowledging his presence for the first time during the night. You hadn’t realized that the meal you ordered was garnished with fancy-cut pineapples that you never would have noticed. You appreciate that he remembered and was able to spot it; otherwise, the night would have been even worse.

The way he stares at you, worry coating his eyes, makes you want to melt. You’ve just realized how much you missed this part of Jungkook—the one who would lead and speak out for you, the one who got you through those high school days.

“Sure, I’ll be right back,” the waiter says, bowing slightly before walking away with your plate.

Before your eyes move to your lap, they land on Jungkook, who’s staring right into them and welcoming them with a smile. You quickly look away, clearing your throat, feeling a rush of heat flood your cheeks.

Fuck, does he want to make this harder for you? Why is this so much more difficult than it should be? Your heart hasn’t stopped racing since you saw him, and you wish you could just pull it out and burn it. Why the hell is it beating so fast around him?

“That would’ve been bad,” you awkwardly chuckle, and Jungkook hums, feeling warmth engulf him. It’s a warmth mixed with a little confidence—the confidence to talk to you. Though he doesn’t show it, Jungkook is no better. He can feel his collared shirt grow tighter, even with one button undone. It’s as if he’s not comfortable in his own skin and just wants to rip out of it and beg you to talk to him. It’s tiring to just play it cool.

You wait for your food, and as you do, you notice that Jungkook hasn’t touched his. He’s simply looking around, not doing a very good job of it.

You want to lecture him, tell him to just eat—that’s what you’d do if you were still together. But you’re not, and the thought makes your heart go rigid. Why is it that the thought of not being with Jungkook is the only thing that stops your beating heart?

You feel bad. Maybe you’re being too difficult, and you’re a little harsh with him. Are you being too harsh? Or just looking out for yourself? Even through that, it doesn’t stop you from ignoring him. Even if you wanted to talk to him, what would you say?

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, and you can feel the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. You glance at Jungkook again, and for a moment, your eyes meet. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—an unspoken question, a longing, perhaps. It makes your heart race even faster, and you quickly look away, focusing on the tablecloth instead. The intricate patterns seem to swirl and dance, a distraction from the tension that’s building between you.

The waiter returns with your new plate, setting it down gently in front of you. “Here you go, one without pineapples,” he says, and you offer him a grateful smile. Jungkook watches as you pick up your fork, and you can feel his eyes on you, a weight that both comforts and unnerves you.

“Thank you,” you say softly, and for a moment, you think you see a hint of relief in Jungkook’s expression. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it makes you wonder if he’s been holding his breath this whole time.

“So Jungkook won his case,” Taehyung says after a moment, clearing the air for a new topic. It’s something you don’t want to think about, but you can’t help but feel a flicker of pride for him.

“That’s nice,” Jian replies, and you nod in agreement. You’re genuinely glad he won. It’s nice that at least he’s helping other people, even if it doesn’t fix your own relationship.

“And I heard a special someone had something to do with it,” Taehyung adds cheekily, his gaze shifting to you. You roll your eyes with a light chuckle, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement. He’s really going hard at it.

“Tae, shut up,” Jungkook snaps, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Maybe if I throw a stick, he’d leave,” he whispers, and you can’t help but laugh at that. Jungkook lifts his eyes to you, listening to the sound of your melodious chuckle that he never realized he missed. Seeing you laugh at his joke gives him a little more confidence about all of this, a glimmer of hope.

“It was fine being in court for something other than—” you start, but then you cut off your statement, not finding it appropriate to finish. Thankfully, no one decides to question you on it, and you’re relieved. Jungkook knows you well, and having been there, he understands what the end of that sentence would sound like.

“But at the end, it got really suffocating,” you smirk, knowing only Jungkook would get it. He shifts in his seat, moving a little closer to you, and you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

“I’m sorry about that again,” he says, his eyes focused on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Instead, you use your peripheral vision to watch his features soften as he speaks.

“Lawyers are heartless,” you say in a light-hearted tone, the words feeling directed at Jungkook, but he’ll never know that.

You all laugh, the sound filling the space between you, but it feels different now—charged with unspoken words and lingering emotions.

“Not our Kookie, though,” Taehyung chimes in, grinning. “Very un-heartless.”

You chuckle, but there’s a weight to your words. “Yeah, very.” You finally turn your eyes to meet Jungkook’s, and in that moment, your words feel empty, but your eyes aren’t. They hold a depth of feeling that you can’t quite articulate, a mixture of nostalgia, longing, and something else—something you’re not ready to name.

Jungkook’s expression shifts as he holds your gaze, and for a heartbeat, the world around you fades away. It’s just the two of you, caught in a moment that feels both familiar and foreign. You can see the flicker of emotions in his eyes, and it makes your heart race.

After some time, Jungkook just decides to say fuck it. He can talk to a large crowd, but with you, he feels paralyzed. You’re just one person—one person with his heart on the line. He knows he has to say something to you, and he just hopes you’re open to talking.

Do you even feel anything? Are you feeling the way he is? Does he have an effect on you like you have on him? Because if you don’t, then he’s going to feel like a fool. He just hopes you feel the same way. In high school, you were the one worried if he felt the same, but now it’s him.

After all, you could have moved on. You could be better and not need him. But unlike the image of you he has in his mind, he’s not okay. Not okay with this distance. He hates it.

“How are you enjoying your food?” he asks, turning to you while Taehyung and Jian talk about whatever.

“Good, it’s nice to come out once in a while,” you reply. It’s not a one-word answer, and he’ll take it. Is it his imagination, or do you seem interested in talking to him?

“How often are you busy?” he gulps, “with work, of course.” He sounds stupid and nervous, but you find it cute. Why do you find it cute? It’s really hard not to feel this way about someone you already know so well.

“Enough to make me want to pluck my eyes out,” you laugh, and he smiles. Even though you don’t make eye contact with him, he can feel you warming up to him. “But recently, work has been light,” you add, talking to him like you would when he asked you about your classes in high school.

“You like it?” he asks, hoping it’s not weird, but he can’t take his eyes off you. He just can’t.

“I do,” you reply, and he feels his heart thaw like frozen meat.

“T—that’s good,” he stammers, taking a bite of his food to stop the smile that threatens to spread across his face.

All of this is nice, but you can’t help but feel overwhelmed. You feel confused. Is he just talking to you because you’re the only one he has to talk to, or is he actually interested? It’s like being promised something only for the promise to be broken. You don’t want to get your hopes up. Not again.

“Please, excuse me,” you say, your head held down as you stand up from the table.

“Sure,” he replies, but soon grows worried. He brushes it off, telling himself he’s overthinking it. It’s going well; you’re talking to him, and that’s what matters. Baby steps.

You leave for the bathroom, needing some air that isn’t filled with Jungkook’s scent, which is now engraved in your sinuses and will probably haunt you. While in the bathroom, you pull out your phone and text Jimin, asking if you’re still on for later. You had made plans with him, and you did want to go, but now that you’re staring at the text, you wonder if what you’re doing is right.

It’s not like you and Jungkook are getting back together, and whatever this is between you two feels complicated. It just feels wrong. Maybe you should just cancel. Jimin’s a good guy, though, and he doesn’t deserve this. It’s better for him to find someone who’s sure and knows what she wants—not you, sitting in the bathroom contemplating where you and your ex stand.

“Stop being so awkward, man,” Taehyung says, playfully pulling at Jungkook’s leg under the table.

“I’m trying,” Jungkook whines, his frustration evident. “It’s hard.”

“You can talk up a whole court, but you can’t with Y/N?” Taehyung teases, raising an eyebrow.

“Plus, it’s not that hard,” Jian chimes in, pulling Jungkook’s attention away from his spiraling thoughts. She should be the only one he takes advice from, he thinks. “Just show up and put in effort in the conversation, and she’ll warm up to you.”

“See how she warmed up to you when you asked about her work?” Taehyung adds, and Jungkook starts to get it. “All Y/N wants is for you to show up and be there to listen and care.” Taehyung feels like a relationship counsellor right now; he should get paid for this. If their relationship works out, Jungkook should definitely pay him.

Jian places a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder to shut him up, a knowing smile on her face. “But don’t forget to be the guy she fell in love with,” she adds, her tone serious yet encouraging.

Jungkook sighs, feeling the weight of their words. He knows he needs to be himself, the version of him that made you smile, the one who could make you laugh until your sides hurt. But the fear of messing things up again looms over him like a dark cloud.

“I think I’ll get that one,” you say, pointing at the dish you’ve chosen.

“Alright,” the waiter notes it down, his pen scratching against the notepad.

Jungkook leans in closer, a playful glint in his eyes. “They have banana pudding on the menu,” he whispers, knowing how much you love it.

“Really?” Your face lights up with excitement as you turn to the waiter. “How good is your banana pudding?”

“The best,” he boasts with a confident grin.

“Then I’ll have that instead,” you say, your smile widening as you place your order.

Once the waiter walks away, you glance back at Jungkook, who has been momentarily distracted by the pianist playing softly in the corner. But as soon as he feels your gaze on him, his eyes shift to meet yours. The moment feels electric, and you find yourself wanting to look away, but you hold your ground, challenging yourself to stay connected.

Jungkook watches you softly, waiting for you to speak. “You remember how much I like banana pudding?” you ask, your voice light and teasing. It feels a bit childish, and you want to slap yourself for it, but Jungkook seems to be enjoying this playful banter.

“Of course,” he replies, his familiar bunny smile spreading across his face. “Remember that time you almost killed me for eating the last one?”

You burst into laughter, the memory flooding back. “You should’ve known better,” you say, shaking your head in mock disapproval.

“I should’ve,” he admits, chuckling along with you.

Taehyung, sitting across the table, can’t help but feel giddy as he watches the two of you smile at each other. It’s like a scene from a romantic movie, and he’s here for it. The atmosphere around the table feels lighter, filled with warmth and nostalgia.

“Y/N, how did you travel?” Jian asks, reminding you that the night has to come to an end.

“Uber,” you reply, a hint of reluctance in your voice.

“So you’re going back with an Uber?” she clarifies, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you say, because what other options do you have?

Taehyung turns to look at Jungkook, who seems as lost as ever. “Maybe Jungkook can drop you off,” he suggests, a hopeful tone in his voice.

Why hadn’t you thought of that? You smile sheepishly at the idea, but it makes you sweat a little. “No, I’m good. Don’t want to burden you,” you say, trying to brush it off.

“You’re not a burden,” Jungkook says immediately, his voice firm as he hears you call yourself that. You’d never be a burden to him. “Plus, it’s late, and Ubers aren’t all that safe. Let me drive you home.”

You want to say, “How sure are you that you’ll be safe with him?” but it would just sound stupid. Jungkook has never once made you feel unsafe. In fact, the thought of being alone with him feels comforting. It’d be a good chance to save some money—or more like have more time with Jungkook. “Okay, sure,” you say, not wanting to argue.

“My car’s over there,” Jungkook points to the opposite side of the parking lot, and you realize you should probably say your goodbyes now.

“It was nice seeing you, Y/N,” Jian says as she pulls you into a hug. She hopes you and Jungkook get back together so that she can spend more time with you.

“Nice to see you too,” you hug her back. “Say hi to the baby for me.”

“If she’ll understand,” Jian laughs.

“I’m sure Taehyung will communicate,” you throw Taehyung a side-eye, and he narrows his eyes back at you, feigning offense.

He hugs you tightly. “Thanks for coming,” he says, and the embrace gives you flashbacks of the time he hugged you at the hospital.

You pat his back. “No problem. I enjoyed it.”

“I’ll call you; please don’t avoid me,” he says, his voice earnest.

You raise your hands in defense. “I never do.” But as you think about it, would you ignore him if he called? It would be weird, right? Especially not knowing where you and Jungkook are going. If you and Jungkook don’t work out (you can’t believe you’re even thinking about it), does that mean you wouldn’t have to talk to Taehyung or Jian again?

“Goodnight, bro,” Taehyung says to Jungkook.

“Goodnight,” Jungkook replies.

“Take her straight home, okay?” Taehyung lifts a warning finger to Jungkook, and you and he scoff.

“Taehyung, let’s go,” Jian says, pulling him away, and you all laugh. If Taehyung hadn’t pushed Jungkook, would he even be in this position? A position of opportunity to make up for everything or at least show you that he’s trying.

Once the goodbyes are over, you walk to Jungkook’s car, and you can’t help but bulge your eyes at how beautiful it is. He opens the door for you. “Thank you,” you say politely. Just when you think he’s about to close the door, he leans in.

“I’m sorry, can I take a call?” he asks, and the height difference, along with the way he looks down at you, makes you want to melt into a puddle.

“Don’t let me stop you,” you manage to say, trying to keep up with your racing mind.

You watch him walk in front of the car and further away. You can’t help but wonder who could be on the other end. Work? Taehyung? Or maybe a girlfriend? You never did find out if he’s single or if he’s been out. You’re sure he has. It’s not like you weren’t. But you feel the same type of incompletion when you spend time with other people.

The thought of him talking to some girlfriend right now sends a swarm of moths fluttering in your stomach. You won’t ask; it’s none of your business.

No matter how much your mind wanders, you can’t deny that you’re ogling how huge Jungkook has gotten. His shoulders, his muscles, which his shirt does a bad job of hiding. He’s built like he eats, sleeps, and drinks the gym. And damn, you’re getting flustered just by looking at him.

Watching how he talks on the phone, how he places his tattooed hand into his pocket, makes him look so incredibly hot. Wait, tattoos? How did you miss them? You squint to get a closer look. He actually does have them, and they make him even more attractive.

What’s wrong with you? Get it together. You’re literally drooling. When you laugh at yourself, it must have been loud because Jungkook turns to look at you. You smile, trying to prove to him that you’re okay, and he smiles back. Why do you feel so giddy? It’s just a smile.

You allow him to finish his call, which doesn’t last long. He walks back to the car, sliding into the driver’s seat, his thighs constricting against the material of his pants.

“You ready to go?” he asks, his voice low and casual, but you can feel the tension in the air.

“Yeah,” you reply, your throat suddenly dry.

He starts the car, and the engine’s purr matches the rhythm of your racing heart. As you drive through the city, the night lights paint your face in a soft glow, and you take a moment to admire the view outside the window. The city feels alive, vibrant, and you can’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over you.

Jungkook glances over at you, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary. “You look great tonight,” he says, almost too quietly, but you catch it. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling your cheeks heat up, but the red light from the traffic stop hides it well.

“You still have that necklace?” he asks, his eyes flicking to the dainty silver chain around your neck.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” you reply, instinctively holding onto it a little longer. He had gotten it for you during your honeymoon phase, but you stopped wearing it when your relationship got rocky. You hadn’t even realized you put it on for tonight.

“I enjoyed seeing you tonight,” he says, his heart pounding as he takes a chance. He did enjoy being in your presence, but did you feel the same? He can’t help but question where you stand. Do you want what he does? But he can’t ask.

Your focus drifts back to the window as you enjoy the ambiance of his car. How many women has he had in here? Were they just as at peace as you are right now? You don’t like to bother yourself with the thought, but your brain and heart are in tandem, and they won’t let it go.

The thought of him being with someone else ignites a flicker of jealousy within you. You breathe in and out, trying to calm yourself. You can’t be upset; it’s not your place. You’ve never considered yourself a jealous person. You were always sure of Jungkook’s love for you, and so was he. So there wasn’t much to be jealous of. But once your marriage and relationship began to falter, you doubted everything—the kisses, the touches, the time spent together, the ‘I love you’s. It all became foggy, the memories a blur.

And it wasn’t because they weren’t there or that you didn’t still feel deeply for him, but because there was no one to assure you they actually existed. Were you lying to yourself about Jungkook’s love? Was he lying to you?

Why would he marry you then?

You had no anchor to keep you there, only questions—questions that would never be answered at the time and questions you’d never bring yourself to ask now.

“We don’t have to talk, you know,” you say, the sentence coming out in a whisper, laced with fear, not anger. Fear that if you talk, you might end up saying more than you want to.

So, he just drives. The silence and tension consume you like fire. Not even Jimin’s text asking when he can pick you up can bring you any joy that it would have if Jungkook never existed. But he does; he exists so vividly, like a looming cloud carrying the sign of a storm—a storm that’s about to consume all the walls you’ve been building for the past four years.

Jimin: When can I pick you up?

Jungkook sees you stare at your phone like you’re about to throw it out the window. He wants to ask who you’re talking to that’s got your face in a knot, but he chooses to keep his eyes on the road this time. He can only imagine who’s texting you at this hour. Jimin? He grips the wheel tighter.

Y/N: Don’t.

Jimin: ???

Y/N: Don’t come.

Y/N: You’re a great guy, Jimin. And I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who’s in a more stable place for you. But it’s not me. I’m really sorry. I enjoyed my time with you, but I just have a lot going on.

Jimin: An ex?

You pause and glance at Jungkook, who has one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the window sill. He doesn’t turn back to look at you.

You: I guess so.

Not really, more like just yourself.

You: I’m really sorry I got you into this. You’re a good guy.

Jimin: You’re good too. Thanks for not leading me on.

Jimin: Wish you the best.

You feel sick. You and Jimin hadn’t gone far, barely held hands . But he was hoping for more, and you feel terrible for it. You liked him; he was definitely someone you’d go for if, well… if the man driving you home right now wasn’t so much on your mind.

You: You too.

The temperature in the car shifts drastically. One moment, you’re comfortable in the warmth of the moment, and the next, you feel a chill creeping in, as if the universe is reminding you that this night is coming to an end. Just a little longer, you think. You want to hold onto this feeling, this connection, but you know it’s fleeting.

“Thanks for driving,” you say as you pull into your apartment complex, trying to break the silence that feels heavier than before.

“Not a problem,” Jungkook replies, his voice steady, but you can sense the tension beneath it. The night is over, right? It’s over. When you leave now, you’ll never see him again. Good. It’s good, right?

But it’s not over for him. As you walk toward your building, you turn to find him following closely behind you.

“Where are you going?” you ask, half-expecting him to say he has a girlfriend living in the same building that he wants to visit, and that’s the only reason he even drove you here. Your mind races with insecurities.

“Walking you up to your apartment,” he says, his tone firm yet gentle. He looks nervous, and you can see it in the way he fidgets with his hands.

“I’ll be fine,” you insist, pulling your coat closer to your body as you watch him stand there, not budging.

Just as you have a stare-down, the bush to your far left stirs. Someone stumbles out, clearly intoxicated, struggling to stand. The universe must not be on your side. The neighborhood doesn’t have drunkards roaming around much, or ever. But tonight, it seems, must be your lucky day.

You turn to Jungkook, and he gives you a look that tells you he’s not backing down.

“For my peace of mind?” he asks, his voice softening, and it almost makes you want to give in.

“Fine,” you relent, feeling a mix of annoyance and gratitude.

With the same tension and silence, you both step into the elevator to your place. As the numbers light up, Jungkook speaks, “This is a nice place.” He genuinely seems to admire it, and you can tell he’s trying to make conversation. It’s good to know you’re in a safe place.

“Yeah,” you reply, but your mind is racing. What kind of place does he live in? A mansion? A penthouse? Or just a simple apartment? What’s his décor like if he ever got that far?

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. You step out, and Jungkook follows closely behind. The hallway feels long, and the silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words.

You tap in your code and step into your warm space, the familiar scent of home wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Still standing by the door is Jungkook, and still holding the door open is you. Is this what you two have become? Cowards. Liars. Pretenders?

“Um, I guess this is goodnight,” you say, your eyes glued to the hinges, avoiding the weight of his gaze. How long are you going to hold on?

“I guess so,” he replies, his voice distant as he stares into your home absentmindedly. You can feel the tension thickening the air between you, and it’s suffocating. Jungkook knows he won’t get another chance to see you again if he leaves without saying anything. There’s only so far the universe can go for him.

“Can I talk to you, though?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

You sigh, feeling the familiar frustration bubbling up. “Not this again, Jungkook.” Isn’t this what you want, though? For him to talk, to communicate? What are you fighting?

“It’s alright that your friend grilled me in court; you don’t have to apologize,” you add, trying to keep your tone steady.

“It’s not fine,” he insists, his eyes narrowing slightly, determination flickering in his gaze. “He shouldn’t have. He was just trying to poke at me, and it’s not fair that you had to be in the middle.”

You don’t speak, mainly because you want to see how far this will go and how much he has to say. You can feel the weight of his words hanging in the air, and you’re not sure if you want to catch them or let them fall.

“I know I’ve been a shithouse of a guy to you, especially in the past,” he continues, his voice cracking slightly. “But I’ve changed, Y/N, and I hope you can see that.”

Do you? Do you see how his walls break down to welcome you? He could get on his knees to show you, and the thought sends a shiver down your spine. He holds onto your door for stability, as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Jungkook…” you start, but the words get caught in your throat. You want to believe him, to see the change he claims to have made, but the scars of the past are still fresh in your mind.

“Just hear me out,” he urges, his voice low and earnest. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, and I can’t take that back. But I want to try. I want to be better for you, for us. I miss you, Y/N. I miss us.”

"A lot of things should have been done differently by me in our relationship and i acknowledge that." When he finishes his sentences, he looks at you. He’s eyes are filled with anger but not to you, to the memory of that day and all the guilt he feels.

"Thank you." You don’t know what more to say, it’s not your turn to talk. So, you just hold your arms to your body.

"It's what I should’ve done, its what I always should've done." He bows his head. He gives up on holding back. He’s tired, and it’s fucked for him to hide from his solace.

Sniffle.

If it’s not you he can cry to, then who?

"Jungkook,-" your heart sinks when you hear him sniffle. He’s crying. You can be distant all you want but you can’t take seeing him cry.

You close the space between you and cup his cheek. You’re tired of fighting too.

He leans into your touch and slowly wraps his hand around your wrist, praying you keep it right there.

His wide eyes stare down at you filled with tears that threaten to fall.

"I'm sorry yn. I'm really sorry and I wish I could go back in time and Change things and be better for you, for us." They fall, yours too.

"I wasn't good and I understand why you did what you did.” He doesn’t even want to call by name. “It was me, I was the selfish one and I regret it." he pulls your hand to bring it to his lips and place a kiss on your pulse. "I regret it so fucking bad yn"

"come here.” you pull him inside and shut the door.

“I was so was stupid. And I feel shitty for even trying to justify it but I was stupid. And a dick." He kisses your wrist as you use your other hand to push back the hair that sticks to his tear stained face.

"We were both stupid." You won’t say you didn’t have your bad moments.

"Not you. You were always right and I wish I listened to you and maybe we'd be in a better position."

He closes into you, bringing your foreheads together. Instincts. You just have to do what feels natural.

"Maybe"

“Definitely,” he whispers, brushing his nose against yours, and your mouth parts instinctively. “I’m really sorry, bunny. I really am.”

The nickname he used when you were together hangs in the air, a bittersweet reminder of what once was. It used to make your heart race, but now it feels like a ghost of a feeling you can’t quite grasp anymore.

your mind has no clue where to place its home.

You breathe in the warmth of each other’s presence, lips hovering just a breath apart, the tension palpable. He gently pulls your wrist behind you, guiding your arm to wrap around his neck, while his hand finds its place on your waist. Your palm rests against his heart, feeling its frantic rhythm, a silent plea for connection. You’re wrinkling his shirt, but it’s the last thing on his mind.

His gaze is locked onto your lips, a silent yearning begging to be fulfilled. What’s stopping him? Is this what you want? Do you want him back like he wants you? The questions swirl in your mind, a tempest of doubt and desire. Have you thought about him every single day since you last saw each other? No—since the day you divorced. Did you ever truly stop thinking about the moments you shared? The late-night kisses, the laughter, the way you both craved each other’s presence like air.

His lower lip brushes against yours, and a shiver runs down your spine, igniting a flicker of longing deep within you. “I want to kiss you so bad,” he pleads, his voice thick with emotion. “Can I kiss you?”

A nod is all you can produce. You want to, you’re pulled to.

And so, he does. The moment your lips meet, it’s like a wave of relief crashing over you. He’s your relief, your solace in a world that feels chaotic and uncertain. As your lips intertwine, you wish for nothing more than to stay in this moment forever, to linger in the warmth of his embrace.

You taste exactly as he remembers—like peace, if peace had a flavor. Sweet and intoxicating, he doesn’t want to part from you. He deepens the kiss, pulling you even closer by your waist, and your hand crumples his shirt tighter, as if anchoring yourself to him.

God, you missed this. You missed him. A tear rolls down your cheek, a mix of joy and sorrow, a release of all the pent-up emotions you’ve been holding back.

But then, as if the universe is cruelly reminding you of reality, he pulls away. for a kiss that was supposed to give you an answer it brings more doubt.

The air thick with unspoken words.

“I missed you so much."

You would say you have been the confused type. From what your university major should be to who you want to be, you’ve never known. The path ahead has always felt murky, a winding road with no clear destination. But one thing you did know was that you wanted to be with Jungkook.

That's what younger you wanted anyway.

The dreams you spun in your mind were filled with laughter, love, and the warmth of his embrace. But now, as you sit here, grappling with the weight of adulthood, you find yourself asking what the adult version of you truly wants.

Amidst all the turmoil, what you really desire is to be happy—to be set free from the guilt of your previous choices. You want to shed the layers of regret that have built up over the years, the “what ifs” that haunt your thoughts like shadows.

Younger you always thought Jungkook would be the one to give you that happiness. You really wanted him to be that. The thought of his smile, the way he made you feel alive, filled you with hope. But now, as you reflect on everything that has transpired, you’d be lying to yourself if you said the thought of being with him again didn’t scare you.

The fear is palpable, a tight knot in your stomach. What if you opened your heart to him again, only to find that the past still lingers, that the wounds haven’t healed? What if the love you once shared has transformed into something unrecognizable? The idea of vulnerability feels daunting, and the stakes seem higher now than they ever were before.

You think about the late-night conversations, the dreams you shared, and the way he used to look at you as if you were the only person in the world. But you also remember the pain, the misunderstandings, and the way everything fell apart. It’s a delicate balance, and you’re not sure if you’re ready to tip the scales in either direction.

As you sit in the quiet of your thoughts, you realize that the journey to happiness isn’t just about finding the right person; it’s about finding yourself first. You need to understand what you truly want, independent of anyone else. Can you be happy on your own? Can you forgive yourself for the choices you’ve made?

Maybe all you need is to forgive yourslef and him.

The questions swirl in your mind, and you know that the answers won’t come easily. But one thing is clear: you owe it to yourself to face the truth.

Maybe it’s time to take a step back and reflect on what you need, not just what you want. You need to find your own happiness, to reclaim your identity outside of Jungkook and the love you once shared.

And yet, as you think about him, a flicker of hope ignites within you. Perhaps there’s a way to navigate this complicated landscape, to find a balance between your past and your present. Maybe, just maybe, you can rediscover the love you once had, but this time with a clearer understanding of who you are and what you truly want. But the hope is only a maere flicker of light. not enough to brighten the darkenss you've been swallowed into.

“i don’t think can.” You cry on Rosie’s lap as she pets your hair. She just listens.

“And you don’t have to.”

You sob.

“why did he have to come back.” You’ve been this confused in a while. During the years you were sure you hated jungkook. But now you realize you were just sad. Why did he have to come back into your life and why did he have to kiss you.

“you don’t have to get back with him.” She repeats.

“ I know. But why do i want to but not want to again.”

“it’s because you’re just a little hopeful.” You are aren’t you? “is that so bad.”

Rosie shakes her head when your teary eyes look up at her. “nope. He was the love of your life. Your freaking first one.”

“But it’s time to grow up.”

Even if you did work it out, how the hell would you marry him again. Would you even get as far as to marrying again. You'd hate to get back together only to fail again.

How would you face his parents. And what if they still hate you. How would you go on.

It really is time to grow up.

“Thanks for coming.” You smile.

"No problem.” He pulls out his chair, the sound of it scraping against the floor echoing.

you planned on having a simple conversation in a cafe. which makes it easier for both of you to leave if things get awkward.

“Honestly, I never expected you to reach out.” The words slip out,.

You had planned to ghost him, to just forget everything. But after talking to Rosie, she encouraged you to talk to him. To seek closure instead of running away. You'd be missing the point if you did ghost him.

“Just need to get some stuff off my chest.” You chuckle awkwardly, the air stiffens immediately after.

Jungkook’s eyes widen, his heart racing at the possible implication of your words.

Before you can gather your thoughts, he cuts in, “I just want to apologize for kissing you that night.”

You shake your head, nostalgia and discomfort washing over you. Why does the memory of that moment feel weird now? “You don’t have to. I wanted it too.” you can't help but feel guilty for it. “Um, I just wanted to clear something up about that too.”

“I feel like I told you something I shouldn’t have that night.” His brow furrows in confusion, and you can see the gears turning in his mind. “I won’t lie; I did miss the feeling, but it also felt like a lie.”

He taps his fingers nervously on his thigh.

“What do you mean?” he asks, voice only able to ask questions

“I mean, there’s nothing here.” You gesture between the two of you. “I appreciate your apology, but it doesn’t change much.”

You avoid his gaze, but his eyes remain locked on yours.

“I’m still hurt, honestly.” When your eyes finally meet his, you can barely seem to read them. If he could hold you, you know he would. “And we’d be lying to each other if we said things could be fixed just like that.”

It feels like a death sentence, and you’re the judge. Sentencing him to his fate.

He sighs, not able to form any thoughts. “I understand.” He does, but the understanding comes with a hurt.

“Because at the end of the day, I’d have to meet your parents again, and I’m sure they wouldn’t love me overnight.” Your chuckle is sweet but bitter. “I don’t want to put myself in that position again.”

He inhales sharply, the air thick with regrets. He’s always been prepared to face judgment, but this—this is a different kind. “I’m sorry that they hurt you so much. And that I did too.”

“I know you are.” You want to rush through this, to just get over with it. “I just wanted to clear things up and make sure we’re on the same page.”

Neither of you bothers to order anything; the thought of food feels heavy and unappetizing.

“Yeah, we definitely are.” He laughs, but the sound is sorrowful.

He knew it all along. There’s only so far, the universe can go for him.

It seems Taehyung was wrong; the universe didn’t bring you together to get back together but to part ways on a better note. The hatred and disdain that once was your relationship have only served to hurt you both.

“Let’s end things on a good note this time, Jungkook.” Your voice is soft, almost a whisper.

Meeting you again has him understanding what he once didn't realize, the mistakes he made, and now he seeks to apologize for them. There are so many “I wish” statements he could say, but isn’t about that. Sometimes, it’s simply just too late.

It’s a reality he has to face now.

“Maybe that’s all we needed,” he jokes, but the laughter feels uncomfortable.

You chuckle lightly, “I guess so.” You can feel the tension in your chest begin to ease, the heaviness lifting just a little. His presence, once a source of turmoil, now feels more tolerable, like a bittersweet memory you can finally face.

"I won’t lie; I’ll have to miss you all over again." His smile is simple.

As you slide out of your seat, he stands too, and the world around you fade into the background. It’s only when you reach his car that you find the courage to pull him into a hug. His warm arms wrap around you, and the familiar scent of his cologne pulls you in like a comforting blanket.

"I’ll always love you; you know." His voice is muffled against your coat, and the words hang in the cold air.

"Jungkook, don’t do that to yourself." You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, but he squeezes you tighter, afraid to let go.

Maybe he crossed a line he shouldn’t have. Maybe if he hadn’t followed you up to your apartment that night, if he hadn’t kissed you, if he hadn’t over-apologized—

“Don’t overthink it,” you whisper, trying to soothe his possible thoughts.

“It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault, okay?” You try to keep a smile on your face. “Be glad we got to redo this and at least not hate each other anymore.”

“That’s if you don’t hate me.” You flash him a teasing smile, hoping to lighten the mood.

he smiles too.

“I actually do hate you,” he jokes.

“I hate you too."

A/N: it is what it is. PAAAAAIN.

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 2 months ago

Text

❝ That heavy breathin' on the floor ❞

warnings: violence against a sw, police brutality, r! is nearly assaulted but is saved, r! is a prostitute, brothel mentioned, mentions of addiction, spanking, fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex, strap-on, minor daddy kink (sevika), pussy-eating, choking, slapping, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like boypussy, pussy, boycunt, cunt are used), murder, graphic depictions of violence

masterlist; pt. 1; pt. 2

authors note: this kind of gets a bit heavy at the end with themes of injustices against s*x workers along side police brutality and r! nearly getting assaulted by a haughty rich dude from Piltover. If its it's too heavy, please prioritize yourself ! *song on repeat: Billie Boss Nova by Billie Eilish *YN is described as being shorter than Vander (202cm), Sevika (185cm), and Silco (182cm) in this fic.

"So, how'd you decide this career was the best course of action in your life?" your lips twitch at the question. Well, less of the question and more of the person asking; there was an accent these Topsiders have. Dripping with condescension and haughtiness. It was like they were bred to have their noses pointed up, as if there was some sort of treasure up those pin-holes.

"You're asking for my life story?" you drawl, watching as his hands crawl up your thighs. They were splotchy with age spots, but plumper than the old timers from here. Figures. You split your legs for him and he wets his lips. "You get off on that sort of things?" you throw an arched brow his way, a look he dismisses with a wanton grope of your unclothed cunt.

"If I say I do, you'd have to indulge, correct?"

Even the way he asks his questions felt like he was talking down to you.

You hated events like these. The brothel hosted them for the handful of clients who could afford to rent out a whole floor for themselves, usually they were sleazy Topsiders with their stupid little kids who'd come of age.

Easier to pop all sorts of cherries in the underbelly of Piltover because 'they'd do just about anything for some coin!'

You take a long drag of your hookah while the old fuck grinds his palm to your dick. It's strange how soft his hands are. You're used to callouses, palms that strike with power behind them and grips that bruises. This was pathetic.

"My dad bailed on my mom before he knew I was even conceived," his eyes glimmer with morbid curiosity. He rubs his hands up and down, a tepid rhythm that sincerely lacks in any semblance of pleasure. "My poor, young, dumb, mother. She tried really, really, really hard." "Did she?"

You nod, looking off at the floor where a whore was sucking off another Topsider; laid on her belly between his legs on the cushions and duvets. The theme of this event had been some dumbass ancient civilization. With white toga's and golden wreaths some of their kids spent a week working on.

"She worked her ass off. Determined to make life worth living for me."

"Did she work...here?"

There it was. That sick fascination. He didn't even know if this story was real, you could be bullshitting him but it doesn't matter. As he strokes your cock, his eyes gleam with a cruelty that only men of his status could possess. Pain was a fetish; it was a welcomed one even. But this? This fetish that he has, of listening to sob stories and fulfilling his torture fantasy. Did he think he was better than a sexual sadist because his hands were soft and wimpy?

He must. Perhaps he even thinks this line of questioning elevates him from your usual customers. Makes this all feel more 'ethical'.

It was funny seeing a predator file their teeth down into shiny sparkling stubs (his veneers were blinding) but forget they still had claws. Your lips curl away from your teeth, in disgust and rising anger.

Then Doe appears in front of you. Her hands stroking up your thighs as she blocks the Topsider's face from yours. The twitch in your brow is hidden behind your mask, but the corners of your mouth twist in confusion. She slips her fingers into his hold, giggling as he greets her.

"Mr. Erikson," she returns the flirting he dishes out, slipping his finger under the strap of her toga and tugging it down. When she brushes her hair over her shoulder, she gives you a pointed expression.

Calm the fuck down, was written all over her face. When she flits her eyes to your trembling hand, you loosen your grip on the hookah and click your teeth. She climbs smoothly onto that old fuck's lap, distracting him with her perky tits while you walk away.

The beaded curtains rattle angrily as you sulk past the threshold. Glaring at every privileged little fuck there on your way out of the hall. When a blonde man tried to grasp at your wrist you tug it away with a snarl. Fucking Topsiders. Going to the Undercity to get their dicks wet, maybe even delude some poor shit into thinking that they could be more. As if they'd ever marry anyone from here, or claim the children they fathered.

Because that's what Topsiders do. They take. All they know to do is take and take and take with no regard nor care —

A hand grabs at your wrist, harshly tugging you back and when you spin you grab the brooch at your shoulder and unclasp it to press the point to Sevika's neck. Your eyes widens and she lets out a low whistle.

"Hello to you too."

"Fuck, Sevika," you hastily bring your 'weapon' down, mindlessly clipping it to the golden make-shift rope-belt at your hip. She lets your wrist go while you lean in to make sure you hadn't actually drawn blood.

"Don't just grab me like that," you chastise. She takes notice of your get-up then glances towards the muffled noises of the hall behind you. "You finished in there?" she asks.

You should tell her no. You'd been asked for by name from the Topsiders, having done well at a previous party like this.

"Yeah. You want me for the night?" she shifts the tooth pick to the other side of her grin, reaching another hand to tug you in by your waist. "C'mon baby, say it nicely."

Sevika tilts her head, her rough hands making your lashes tremble. Both of her hands grab firmly at your ass, hitching you up and close. Her firm body, the scent of smoke and ash and alcohol easing you down as they mingle with Sevika's naturally smoky cologne. Judging from the bag of coin she has hidden in her jacket — that you can feel from under your hand — she was most likely in a good mood from winning a game.

"Say it sweet, how'd you'd ask those Topsiders to fuck you?" she's just getting a rise out of you. It wasn't a secret to Sevika that you despised the Topsiders. Even if you never ranted to her about it, every time they walked into the establishment your mask could barely keep your expression of dismay at bay.

You narrow your eyes at her. Smoothly slipping a hand into her jacket and taking the bag of coins out and holding it out of her reach when she tries to grab it.

"You think you deserve to fuck me?" you play along with her game. Leaning your face in to hers, your mask brushing her cheek. "Little limp dicks like you can barely make me hard, much less cum." Sevika's grip is bruising. The fabric of your toga nearly giving away to her harshness. Sevika was going to fuck you just the way you needed. Fast and hard; a true Zaunite in every way.

Your mask had been tossed aside, most likely on the floor of your room somewhere. The spray-painted golden wreaths, brooch, and belt were safely placed onto one of the dressers. The toga did not get that much grace though. Having been ripped away from your body as Sevika spun you around to pin you down on your stomach at the edge of the semi-circle bed.

"Sevika!" you exclaim in genuine alarm. She can still hear the smile in your voice so she just stares at the cloth material in her hands and breathes out a laugh. It lands next to you while she takes off her cloak.

"That cost money?" she questions mindlessly. You turn over on your back, staring up at her, stark naked. She'd spit out the toothpick before she smashed your lips together up the stairs, yet somehow she's found a cigarette to put between her teeth.

"Yeah," you replied in a matter-of-fact tone, reaching up to your nightstand to grab your box of matches. Striking one to light. She leans over you, her rough hands feeling up your split thighs and you light up her cigarette for her.

"I bought the damn fabric." "Cheap fabric," she replies as she pulls climbs on the bed. Her clothed body pressed against yours.

"Or maybe you're just freakishly strong," you retort with a huff.

"I'll pay extra," she laughs when you raise your brows.

Whores. So easy.

"Fuck, Sevika." She strokes your dick with her fingers which makes your breath hitch. "Yuh - You're gonna...You have to slow down."

"I know you can take more than this." You scowl at her, she just presses down on your poor dick. "I'm talking about gambling, dumbass. You're getting the extra coin from it, aren't you?"

She rolls her eyes, grabbing you face in her other hand and smushing your cheeks — involuntarily making your lips purse out like a fish while she stares down at you. The white smoke slithering up into the air making her grey eyes shine like a vengeful spirit.

"You don't want me here spoiling your ass?" she says gruffly, her fingers now slipping down to your winking hole and smearing your slick over it. "Who else is gonna remind this hole how rough you need it?"

Your eyes soften. She can see your resolve melt as she slips a finger inside of you, she groans just as your brows twitch and knit together. Anal was Sevika's wheelhouse. She always made your entire body shiver and shake when she gets in the mood to fuck you as if you were nothing but her personal flesh light.

"Fuh - fuck you," you hiss out. She knows you don't mean it. Because your customer's moods was your own wheelhouse. You know how they like to play, how much chase they want, how much biting they love. It's why your roster of clients were oddly attached to your fox mask.

She brings her hand to your neck and watch as your back arches of the bed as she fingerfucks your ass while she has her thumb inside of your cunt. Her cigarette was beginning to burn too much and when the ashes drop onto your thigh, you squeak in alarm but don't tell her to stop. So she simply doesn't.

Sevika occasionally slips her fingers back inside of your cunt to gather more lube and you only give her a whine of displeasure.

"You're fine," she reassures, "I'm the first Jane of the night, right?"

When you give her a quizzical look she laughs.

"Your ass is way too tight. Either I'm the first of the night or there's some micro dicks at that party."

"You're way too fuckin' cocky, you know that?"

When Sevika has you fully stretched out, she gives you a moment to catch your breath. Watching your chest raise and fall as you're splayed out on the bed whilst she takes off her clothes and grabs at the cloak and bag she dropped on the ground. Your thighs were wet from your own slick and the lube she'd fished out from your drawers, you watch her move when you lift your arm away from your face.

She's putting on her strap. Just the sight of it has both of your holes clenching. Sevika smushes the cigarette in an ash tray and whistles, twisting her wrist to point down and you hate how much your stomach flutters at the casual dominance. You get on your hands and knees, face pressed to the bed. She grabs the globes of your ass, stroking her dick in the other hand.

"...Are you waiting for me to beg?" you wonder after a moment.

"Might be nice to hear." Your laughter makes her grin. Not that you could see it. You take a few breaths, then look at her from over your shoulder.

"C'mon, daddy. Fuck me." You whine out. Sevika stares on. Unimpressed. You curl your lip, twisting your upper half a bit further to stare back.

"That's a classic."

"I've heard better."

"Hah! From who? Doe?" you fully lay on your side now, smirking as you look up at her. "You're real sweet on her, huh?"

When Sevika grunts, you throw your head back to laugh. She grabs at your ankles but you kick her efforts away and drag yourself further up the bed. She calls out your name flatly but you just giggle.

"You are," you purr. "Thought you said falling for whores are for chumps."

Sevika narrows her eyes, grabbing at your calf and tugging you back down. You squeal, still smiling even when she grabs your ripped toga to tie your wrists together and pull it between your legs as she bends them so far forward your knees are nearly touching your chest.

"Struck a nerve, daddy?" you challenge. Her dick catches on the rim of your asshole, pressing but not breaching.

"You're such a fucking brat. Just a fiend for this kind of shit, huh? Like it rough?"

The thick head of it presses in and you groan. The noise airy — as if she'd knocked it out of you by simply pressing in despite the resistance.

"Your wolfman fuck you like this too?"

You make a noise. Half-squeak and half-gasp, brows furrowing and jumping in alarm when she just slams in more than half of her cock inside.

"Fuck!"

"He fucks your ass like this?"

She readjusts her stance, the bed creaking as she keeps your body at her complete mercy. Pinned under her frame, hands tied up and pulled by her strength while her thick cock is intently filling your ass up. The position makes her hit all the right spots, and you want nothing more than to drown in the overwhelmingly delicious pressure she's pulling you into. But her questions has caught you completely off guard.

"Sevika," you moan out, pushing at her waist with your weak fingers, trying to relieve some of the pleasure. She slopes her brows in faux concern.

"Yeah, you're sweet on him, aren't ya'?"

She slides into you some more, the veins on her cock making your toes curl as your hole clenches around her. She groans as though she can feel it. And you toss your head back.

"You're fucking huge," you whine out.

"Is he bigger or smaller?"

You roll your eyes at her and she smirks. She inches back a few then just drops all her weight down. The moan you let out is nonexistent, mouth opened in a silent scream as your back arches and your vision goes white.

"He make you feel that good?" You suck in a quick breath, as if remembering you could but she doesn't let up.

"I definitely touched something there, huh?"

She starts thrusting. Shallow but quick, just pistoning in and out of your poor ass while your cunt weeps out for a sliver of attention. She ignores it all in favour of waiting for you to flutter your pretty eyes open.

"Duh - daddy," you hiccup out and she just pulls your tied hands out from between your thighs to instead pin above your head.

"S'little too late to act nice, sweet cheeks." You mewl, hips bucking as she continues her onslaught. "Daddy, plea - ah!" The smack of her palm against your ass has your entire body jolting.

"It's a yes or no, baby."

Tears darken your lashes, you bring your hand to her face and use any bit of core strength you have to press your lips with hers but she simply pushes your face down. Not by your neck. No. She's intentionally cruel as she has the space between her thumb and pointer right under the top row of your teeth.

As she thrusts out moan after moan, all you can do is let her hear it. It's humiliating. The noises you make are all choked up, saliva is beginning to pool from the corners of your mouth. No matter how much you thrash or push or try to buck, she just continues to rail you.

You know Sevika would stop if you tapped at her four times in a row. It was something the both of you had long established as a non-verbal safe-word when there's a craving for something harder.

She knows you know how to stop her if you need to. You don't. So she ploughs into you, groaning as she watches you struggle.

"C'mon baby, that's it." She's purring, sweat beading down her face as her hair comes undone. She's a vision like this. Her strong arms flexing under the low lights, her firm stomach clenched as though you were truly milking her cock. It makes you a bit delirious, especially when she's chewing on her lower lip and looking down at you like this.

"Cum around my cock. Like a proper bitch," you groan, knowing she's close from the way her grip on you tightens.

You're feeling the building pressure finally reaching its peak and you bite down on her hand, glaring at her as you moan around her flesh. She just smiles, wide and proud. A true predator.

Her teeth sharp just like her claws.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel your cunt pathetically squirt, the wetness just urging Sevika on as she forces you to bite down harder.

"You alright?"

Vander's voice feels like an ice pack against bruised skin. An apt metaphor considering he was putting an ice pack to your bruised ass.

"Mmm," he chuckled at your muffled response. After Sevika and you got scolded by your madame, you sought refuge at The Last Drop. Of course, Sevika simply thought you wanted a drink and you had. You hung around her side until she got swept up into a game of poker and slipped away to the back. All under Vander’s watchful eye.

He had grabbed an ice pack just as you slipped through the back, tapping another bartender’s shoulder to take over while he went upstairs. Which is where he found you. In his bedroom, shimmying out of your outfit and looking at him with those pleading eyes.

“You’re off early,” he kneaded at the back of your thighs, watching as your muscles jumped and twitched. “You tapped out?”

He sounds rightfully surprised. You’re not the type to just get off work early because of a bruised ass. You’re tougher than most of everyone here. You stare at him, face smushed against your crossed arms. He reaches to brush some hair away, and you melt further on his mattress.

“Darling?” you frown but finally confess. “I ran away from some dumbass party that the madame was hosting for some Topsider fucks.”

“You thought I’d be angry knowin’ that?” Vander arches a brow. Laying down next to you, trusting that The Last Drop could handle just a few more minutes without him. “You’re allowed to be angry at them. Shits bloody unfair.”

You get on your elbows, placing your chin in your palm while he looks down at you.

“Aren’t you angry at them?” you watch his expression shift. It’s a barely noticeable twitch, really it could be written off as a muscle spasm if anything.

“Aren’t you tired of being angry at them?” you continued.

“I put those dreams on the shelf a long time ago,” he attempts to soothe you by cupping your face. It works, just barely, but you lean into his warmth. “I’ve got too much to lose. This place, the kids.” He pauses and brushed his thumb across your cheek, his pinkie tilting your head up.

“You.”

The comfortable silence washes over. You take a breath and sigh, nuzzling into his large palm. The sweet act has him smiling, glad you drop the topic and using his strength to pull you to lay on his front.

“Sorry, I’m a little dirty.”

“Mm, I like you dirty.”

He laughs. The action jostling you a bit but you simply wrap your arms around his neck while he holds you firm.

“You could just work here.” He runs his hand down your back, kneading his thumbs in at a few knots. You groan into his ear, shaking your head. “You dunno’ what you’re sayin’”

“I’m serious,” he adjusts the ice pack and you shiver a bit as the its sweat drips down between your thighs. “Bar could always use a nicer face than mines.”

“Derek’s pretty enough.” Vander laughs. It rumbles in his throat this time and you grin just hearing it.

“B’sides, you’re plenty handsome.”

“Yeah, but not one of us compare to you, darling.” You hum in agreement, sighing as he works more knots loose.

“Don’t have ta’ come here to lick your wounds if there’s no wounds to lick. Could spend more time with Powder and Claggor, the kids are fond of ya’”

Your eyes slip open. Heart squeezing fondly at the mention of those little rascals. Vander and you aren’t exactly a thing, not said outloud anyways, but he introduced you to his kids. That meant something. He taught you how to sneak into his room too. When your landlord had to kick you out for a few weeks to accommodate for her lame ass nephew, you sheltered at The Last Drop and well, you all bonded.

The guilt in your heart stabbing into you night after night as more feelings poured into this already tumultuously boiling pot of emotions.

But Silco thought it was a good thing. He’d probably be telling you to take Vander’s deal on becoming this weird stay-at-home bartender/boyfriend/babysitter to get more information. Whether it be from Sheriff Grayson or the ever restless Vi.

“Think about it?” Vander blinks up at you when you lift your head. When your lips meet, it’s sweet. Slow and sensual, more lips than tongue. Pecks and real long-lasting ones. You murmur his name and he whispers yours back.

“You not sore?”

“Fuck me slow?”

He smiles and claims your lips again. Vander drifts his hand to the ice pack and removes it. The thud it makes when it falls to the ground makes you giggle, so he attacks your neck next; you give him free reign, gasping when he switches your positions to have laid down next to him.

You’re not even sure what happens next. One moment he’s clothed and the next he’s not as he practically snuggle fucks you on your side. He doesn’t have a bed frame but the springs in his mattress makes a few jostling noises as his cock slid in and out of your cunt.

“Vander, ah-mmphf, fuuuuck,” you press your face into the pillow and simply let him move you around. Completely at his mercy as he holds your waist.

Sevika glanced up at the faint thuds she was hearing above her. But refocuses on the table before her, scoffing at her competitor's lame poker face. Someone turned up the juke box and the noises are a distant memory.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he lifts one of your arms to wrap around his neck, kissing the underside of your arm and brushing his teeth there. The sensation of his beard makes you shiver.

“Deeper, please, Vander. Need you s’much deeper.” He kisses you, pulling out to readjust his position. You’re still laid on your side and he straddles your left leg and slides his thick cock inside of you again. Your voice trembles.

“There, darlin’?” you nod, whimpering when he rocks his hips in and out of you. You clutch at the bedsheets, turning your face into the pillow again as your cunt clenches down around him.

“Fuck, c’mon. Don’t push me out,” Vander threads his fingers through your hand and gently, as if you were made of glass instead of jagged metal, turns your head to him.

“Easy, loosen up a bit. Can’t fuck you how you need me to if you’re too tight.”

You whine, taking a few breaths and trying your best not to clench around him. Fuck, he was so thick. Even if you weren’t clenching, you were sure he’d still feel snug. He thanks you with a kiss to your forehead, gently shushing you when he moves again.

“Vuh...Vander...fuuuck, baby, please.”

“I’ve got ya’, come on, cum f’me.”

“You — Are you —”

Vander grunts, nodding as you once again clamp down on him. He knows you’re close, right on the edge and he wants to follow and dive with you. He kisses you, practically straling your breath away as his thrusts get sloppier and harsher. You mewl, nails digging into the back of his hands. Your orgasm washes over like a wave, your hips bucking as Vander feels your cum spurt around his dick and balls. He’s close behind, filling your insides with thick ropes of cum. He’s murmuring something into your skin. Something you can’t make out.

“Shit, shit.”

When he pulls out, your cunt clenched around nothing but air. Twitching and pulsing just like your little dick, aftershocks of pleasure running through you. His cum begins oozing out between your legs and he pants at the sight. You do nothing to stop him when he places you on your back — putting a pillow under your ass — and dives his head between your legs.

“Vander,” you moan out. Breath hitching as he licks a fat stripe up your cunt. “Let me do this for you,” he mumbles, groaning at the taste of your cum and his mixing together on his tongue. “Just let me take care of you.”

You stretch your arms above your head while he eats your boypussy out like he’s a starved man. His beard wet with your juices as your writhe on the bed. He doesn’t even tease, just intently cleaning and eating you out. You moan weakly for him, voice hoarse from servicing the Sevika and now fucking Vander.

You pinch your brows, squirming on the bed and gasping airily as Vander eases you into your nth orgasm of the day.

When you reach that peak, he eases you back down from the clouds. Carefully stroking over your thighs as he watches you catch you breath.

This is where you belong, he thinks. On his bed, legs spread and boycunt leaking with his cum; his name coming out your lips and his hands on your thighs. Vander presses kisses up your hips and chest, finally giving you a kiss on the lips.

“You alright?”

“Mmm.”

He chuckles and you trust him enough to slip your eyes closed.

“Just rest,” he tells you. “I’ve got you.”

Quitting was a sordid affair. There'd been a few passive aggressive claims from your madame about you crawling back and you calling her a cunt. Despite that, the both of you still acknowledge each other when she does walk into The Last Drop — it's hard to hate the woman who'd been generous enough to teach you everything you needed to know to survive.

The month that passed had been smooth sailing. You've gotten closer to Vander and his kids, even Benzo's little protege Ekko had come around to you. Which interests Silco, so you get close to Benzo. When Powder needs help with carrying stuff to his shop, you help. The guy was loyal to a fault and stubborn just like Silco had mentioned.

The first lesson you'd been taught in your ex-profession had been not to get feelings involved. Don't even dare to associate with customers who begin to get emotionally invested — it was bad for business in the long run. Sex isn't complicated but once you tangle in feelings? Bad mix for you. But when it came to listening in and relaying information, that career devastating choice is a powerful weapon. To turn trust into a dagger and thrust it under their ribs, tilting the blade up to hear that poor sucker suffer with each inhale.

So why is it so different this time?

How could you tuck in Powder at night and then sneak off to meet Silco in the docks to tell him what you'd overheard from Vander, Benzo, and Sheriff Grayson's discussions?

Were you that heartless?

Revolution is messy, Silco had once told you. It takes blood, sweat, tears, guts, and more guts. You don't ask for permission and you certainly don't ask for forgiveness after. Violence was necessary for change. Vander had lost sight of that, gotten soft.

But isn't it too cruel to play with his heart this way?

Would he love you if he knew what you were fighting for?

Would he condemn you for how you want respect?

He'd given you free roam of his home. Let his kids get attached to you. Gave you a job. All because he loves you.

"Is this really okay?" Vi says, which pulls you out of your thoughts. Your pupils shrink, turning to face her with your brows near your hairline.

Right. You were at the river with the kids.

The water gleamed and glimmered with metal wreckage in the bottom. There was also the unmistakable sheen of oil in it, but it honestly just added colour to the teal. The kids had breathed in worse, besides, it wasn't everyday they get to swim and just act their age.

"What? It's harmless," you snicker out, smoothly recovering as you lean back on your hands. She frowns, standing next to you on the banks. Vi constantly looks up at every little noise. Even if her head didn't turn, it was like the tip of her ears would just flick up like a vigil cat.

"Vi, it's fine. We're allowed to be here," you peer down at Claggor teaching Powder how to squirt out water between their palms while Mylo is on the shore. Wet and a bit glum looking as he shakes off the water from his hair.

"It's good to get a bit of sunlight," you tell Vi as you swing your legs over and smile as Powder accidentally shot a stream of water up Claggor's nose with amazing accuracy. Mylo laughs and Claggor splashes the water back over him. Her furrowed brow softening the tiniest bit.

It quickly returns as she turns her attention to the tall buildings with their golden ornaments and expensive detailing. You lean on your hands, nudging her leg with your elbow to pull her back.

"Hey, bet if you aim just right you can splash Mylo, Claggor, and Powder when you dive." She raises a brow, smirking at you.

Vi and you didn't have the best beginnings. She knew what your profession was and Mylo didn't exactly help with his long tales of the 'rumours' he's heard. Vander could protect himself, she knows this, but she got prickly when you had unceremoniously moved in during your landlord-nephew fiasco. Over some time though, she finds herself liking your more cynical nature. Although you acknowledge that they're kids, you also give them more credit than most adults do. It's nice feeling respected as a person.

"Hah! What are you betting?" You open your mouth to put an offer of some coins when the yell of an enforcer makes you twist your head and instantly clamber onto your feet.

"You! Stay there!" He yells, his blue uniform gleaming under the light. It's so rare seeing them all armoured up above ground. The sight should mean that you were well within your rights to be here, if he wore the armour that meant you were close enough to the Lanes to get him uncomfortable.

"C'mon, let's go! Let's go!" Vi nods and instantly hurries to gather her siblings attention, Claggor lifting Powder out the water and rushing to the shore while Mylo gathers their clothes. You know the enforcers would take some time climbing down — especially with his dumbass protective wear — so you use those precious minutes to ensure every one of them were ahead of you.

"(Y/N)!" Powder and Mylo call out when they hear you yell behind them. Vi skids to a stop, eyes wide when you find yourself pressed to the brick wall.

"Just go! Go!" she hesitates and you grit your teeth. "GO!"

The enforcer turns his gaze to them, his harsh breathing against your ear making you shudder. Vi is helpless as she grabs Mylo and Powder's wrist to tug them forward.

"We didn't do anything wrong!" you seethe out as you feel him patting you down.

"Not loiterin', not skulking, we were just - Fuck! Take it easy!" he kicks your ankles apart and you try to spin around only to get backhanded by your faceless attacker. He covers your eyes with his gloved hand, moving your head here and there as though he was inspecting you.

"Yeah, you're him," his mask makes his voice sounded inhumane. A machine-like quality that zaps out any bit of remorse or compassion from him. "You fuckin' slut."

Crumpling to the floor, you quickly cover your head and curl up when you see his boots flying in your direction.

Powder can only see glimpses of this violence as she turns her head back. Vi tells her to focus but she can't. Because all she sees is you on the floor, torso bare because you'd been swimming, bare foot too; hair wet, completely defenseless. Your grunts of pain echoing through the tunnel and your eyes having relief in them as the kids narrowly escape.

"What happened?" is Vander's first question when they all tumbled into The Last Drop. Instantly straightening up at Vi's distraught expression. It was still too early for anyone to have stumbled in, even by the Lanes standard, so he gave them all his attention.

"Vi?"

"We - we were just - we were just swimming," Mylo breathes through his nose, knees nearly buckling at the fright and rush of adrenaline. Their run through the underground, barefoot, and wet had certainly brought enough attention as is. Vander ushered them to get in, locking the front doors as they all suddenly find their voices.

"He said it was safe, they just, they grabbed him!" Vi is beginning to stomp, and Claggor nods along.

"(Y/N)?" Vander asks and Powder nods, eyes brimming with tears as she turns her attention to the doors. You should be bursting through it right now. Why weren't you?

"We were just swimming," Mylo repeats. Vander grabs his jacket. "I'm going with you!" Vi announces.

"Your feet are bleeding," he points out. "All you'd do is get in the way. Everyone of you stay here. I'll fix this."

Powder watches on as Vander rushes out the front door. Vi is still arguing, attempting to follow along either way but whatever shit she got trapped in her skin causes her to wince and falter. Claggor catches her, attempting to guide her to the chairs while Mylo is repeating the same thing.

"We were just swimming."

Topsiders had a weird thing for grudges. You understood that better than most. Eye for an eye and all that. But for Topsiders? It seemed rejection was worthy of a grudge. When you come to from the haze, you're on the wooden floors of a familiar face's house. His figure comes in fours, then twos, and finally come together in one.

Mr. Erikson. From that dumbass toga event at the brothel.

He's much more hideous in brighter lights. His plump cheeks and beady eyes more prominent. You cough, attempting to get up onto your feet only to be kept down as a familiar boot presses down on your shoulder. The bruise that was already blooming there made you grit your teeth while he harshly stomped down. Erikson winces, waving his hand to make the enforcer stop.

"Not so rough now. If he's too broken, it'll be painful to look at."

Glaring venomously at him as you stubbornly peel yourself off the floor and onto your staggering feet. The world spins but you stomp your foot to get some sense of equilibrium. There's a pounding in your head that pierces through your eyes and there's blood in your mouth; but all you can feel right now is the numbness in your limbs and the rapid pulse in your neck,

"I named you to your madame. The fox with the sweet (S/C) skin and pretty lips. The boy with the tightest cunt I've ever felt. You were there at a previous party, my other son's birthday."

You spit out some blood, wiping it away with the back of your hand as you sway in your spot. He curls his nose but continues.

"I had been hoping to give you as a gift to my youngest, Troy. But then you left, and when I asked for you again your madame wouldn't tell me just where you went. "

"You fucking kidnapped me because I wouldn't fuck you and your son on his birthday?"

The incredulity of the entire situation makes you choke out a laugh. Even with your spinning vision, this office was clearly that of someone who made decent money. With its mahogany bookshelves and leatherbound covers. Some books here were probably older than your ass, much more priceless too. Hell, you bet even that stupid fucking nameplate with the name Stephen Erikson carved into the gold had costs more than you.

"She said you quit. It was very hard to find you, considering the masks and all." He sniffles derisively. Off-put by your brash display. You were so nice and tender at the brothel, now you were acting like a completely different person.

"There's other guys with cunts, you geriatric chaser —" The enforcer backhands you again and it sends you flying to a shelf, a few books tumbling down while you desperately try not to fall on your ass.

"Troy," the old man reprimands with a drawl. He turns his attention back to you; "We'll pay you handsomely for a night."

You shake your head, digging your nails into the wood as your vision spins again. Troy, that shit, takes off his helmet and he's much more honest compared to his father; his fetish for pain was evident. Perhaps Stephen hadn't filed his teeth like you'd thought. Maybe they were just made to grind bones to dust, prolong their preys pain because unlike a predator with their fangs these teeth aren't for a merciless death.

Clearly he had learned this from his father who was enabling this behaviour. He probably taught him everything he needed to know anyways. You pant as you notice the painted family portrait on the wall of the study. Mr. Erikson and his three sons, all wearing their Enforcer's badge with pride. You recognized them all, each stupid event flashing through your head and each memory makes you more and more nauseous.

"I'm a fucking bartender now, I don't do that shit anymore" you growl out. Stephen sighs, leaning back in his leather tuft chair, looking completely bored by this entire insane exchange.

"Troy tells me he found you with a few kids. Yours?" When you say nothing in reply, he takes your seething silence as a yes. "Following your mothers footsteps, are you?" He shakes a bag of coins. Then tosses it onto the floor, golden pieces spilling out in front of you.

"You can work your ass off. Make life worth living for them."

There was a knock at the door. You waste no time and yell but get the breath knocked out of you as Troy swiftly pins you to the book shelf, a gloved hand over your mouth as he holds your hips in place with his own. Your skin prickles, just his weight on you has your stomach feeling sick.

"Who the hell is that?" Troy hisses at his father, his blue eyes panicked. The old man, as cool as a cucumber, simply tells the person on the other side to state their business.

"It's just the bloody maid," he scoffs out.

But the maid does not state their business. It's just pure silence on the other end until there's suddenly pounding. It makes the old man stand and Troy loosens his grip so you bring your knee between his legs. As he curls over you shove him away and retreat into a corner just as the door bursts open.

You recognize them. Ran, Lock, a few other nameless goons who you don't quite remember, and in the center of it all?

"Silco," you move and you fall to your knees. His expression darkens. The men and women fill the room, crowding Troy and his father to the other end while Silco makes his way to you. He offers a hand and you take it, leaning against him as he looks you over. Your lip was cut and one side of your face was scratched up, bruised and sore. The fact that you were dressed for a swim, torso bare, and feet scratched up from being dragged, made his ire raise.

"They did this to you?" He shrugged his coat off, and slipped it around your shoulders. You drew the front closed, nodding as you tuck your head under his chin.

"I wouldn't fuck them and they got pissy," you whisper to him. Silco growls, the rumbling noise soothing you just like Vander's chuckle would. He cups your face in his hand, his pinkie sliding under your jaw and his thumb across your cheek.

"What is this? Who are you?" Stephen stands, reaching for something on his desk but getting slammed face first onto the hard wood. There's a loud crackling noise that follows and you flinch out of shock. Silco simply guides your head to his neck, one hand smoothing over the back of your head and sighing in relief as his palms lift with no crimson.

"Dad!" Troy's yell gets cut short when he's forced onto his knees. There was a scuffle, fists meeting face and knees slamming themselves into his diaphragm. A small smile twitches to your face as your eyes slip close. Silco squeezes you, jolting you a bit.

"Stay awake, come. Sit."

Silco moves casually. Setting you to lay down on the lounge chair in the study, taking his coat off your shoulders to instead drape it over your. He pulls out his handkerchief to wipe away your blood while he kneels next to you. He takes his sweet time with you, his men keeping the pigs still as they both find themselves pinned down.

"I'd heard an enforcer had been snooping around the brothel. Asking for someone, demanding even" His voice makes your heart calm down, adrenaline ebbing away as he presses down on the cut on your eyebrow. The pain keeps you awake, but he still purses his lips at your hiss. Silco stands up, sighing softly. A kid comes to your side, offering you a flask of water. He's careful as he tilts your head up, watching intently as you sip it down.

"You're a proud man, aren't you Stephen?" Silco admires the family portrait, taking it the details of each face before he turns his attention to the table of trinkets below it. "A family of enforcers. Protecting the city you love." Silco tilts his head as he hears them struggle once again.

"While the city you constantly take from suffer from your greed."

"Fuckin' trencher," Troy spits out. His cheek pressed on by the heel of a boot. His blue eyes were shaking with indignation. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Fissure Folk, Sump Rat, Undercity scum," Silco answers. He steps over Troy's head and jerks his chin to signal Lock to step away from Stephen. He does and Stephen inhales, his entire body shaking as he coughs and coughs. The impressive table creaked under the old man's rattling breathes.

Ran brings Silco the fallen leather tuft chair and he crosses his legs as he sits.

"I'm sure you boast about being a near native to the undercity. With how often you visit our brothels with your men and sons. Using our bodies for your sick desires then beating it when you have the uniform on. Pretending to be a saint as your city fills your pockets. As if you've actually done anything worthwhile."

Stephen continues to hack, wheezing and whimpering. Every breath he took felt like a blunt blade was scratching up his lungs. His ribs were broken, he was sure of it.

"Yet, despite how many hours you've spent with our men and women, you still fail to understand the most important thing about us." Silco spreads his legs, elbows on his knees as he leans in so Stephen was looking right into his eyes.

"We protect our own."

"Please," Stephen's voice sounded strained. Like air escaping out of a broken pipe, the pitch ear grating. "I'm sorry."

Silco openly observes Stephen's splotchy red face. Cheeks full and plump, his brows trimmed and his dyed hair shining unnaturally cherry red. The family potrait was recent, but the artist had covered up their earlier renditions of Stephen's wrinkles while his blonde sons all looked their current age.

"No, you aren't." He states dryly, motioning for the man to slam Stephen back onto the table, him howling in pain just as Ran switches the radio on.

A jaunty tune plays. The singer sighing about puppy love as the melodic background singers and stringed instruments accompany his voice. He leans back in the chair, nodding as Stephen's captor wrings his hands back.

"But you will be."

"No!" Troy twists and bucks like an animal. His eyes wide with horror. As if he hadn't intended to strip you of all your dignity just moments ago. The sight of that fear on their face, that dawn of realization; even when they don't realize that they're only getting what they deserve, it soothes a part of Silco's soul.

"No?" Silco repeats.

"What do you want?" Troy is pleading now. The sight of his old man's hand pulled behind his body, ready to be broken in half, causing him enough distress for tears to fill his eyes.

"We'll give you anything!"

"Troy!" Stephen wheezes out in retaliation. Silco looks at the golden nameplate on his desk and scoffs. Anything? This house wasn't in any impressive neighbourhood. The portrait maker had been shoddy in their cover-up. The trinkets had a fine sheet of dust across them and the books weren't kept in the best conditions. Their maid had been an old woman with her back hunched, making her shrink down to the height of a pre-teen. Tired, slow at work; not the best money could get.

They weren't rich by Piltover standards. It's why they go to the Undercity for their parties. Things were cheaper there and get even cheaper when you flash your badges.

"You've nothing I want." He says simply, making sure Troy felt that pit of dread consume him entirely.

"We didn't know, we didn't know he was yours" Troy squirms, but the thug above him with the lazy eye simply stomped down on him harder. Knocking the air out of him and making him bite down on his tongue hard enough it fills his mouth with blood.

"No, because all that mattered was he was a trencher and he'd rejected your money. So predictable."

Lock smirks as Silco jerks his chin again and begins pulling Stephen's arm the wrong way. He screeches like a sewer mouse. You find yourself coughing as you laugh, reaching a hand up to cover your eyes at the noises. The song kept playing, the contrast of its sweet melody and words to the scenario before you simply adding more fuel to your delirious humour.

"PLEASE!" The youngest son doesn't even try to fight when his enforcer badge does nothing to intimidate others. When he's in a room full of people who wanted nothing more than crush him, he tucks tail and shows off his underbelly.

You try to hear what Silco says next, but the headache begins to grow stronger and the blonde kid next to you panics when he notices your eyes fluttering close. "Hey," he hisses, drawing Ran's attention as they kneel by your side.

Their voices become a blur and unconsciousness beckons you so sweetly. As hard as you try to fight, you find yourself sinking into that dark embrace, floating into nothingness as the pain shrinks away.

There's an incessant purring next to you. Just under your left armpit, warm and comfortable. It's the only thing you can feel and hear, your senses still dulled. While your mind runs a million miles a second, your limbs feel heavy and locked; as if they'd turned into lead. You're trapped in your own mind. Your eyelids feel like bricks and as your eyes move under them, left to right and right to left, you feel his hand slip into yours.

"Easy now," that voice, that honeyed drawl. You breathe sharply through your nose and he squeezes your hand. "I'm here. Easy."

Silco lifts the darkness from your eyes and your vision takes its damn sweet time returning to you. You see him though. Shifting from a blurry figure to that face you adored so much. He offers a ghost of a smile, bringing your knuckles to his lips as he sees the wildness in your eyes tame itself. The damp rag across your eyes is placed back into the bowl.

"You're alright. The Doctor says your adrenaline just ran out," he pushes you down gently when you try to sit up. It was for the best, considering how much your body was aching. Not even in the sexy, satisfied, way. You wince, grunting when you fall back onto the mattress. The purring machine next to you lifts its head and you raise a brow at the furless cat. It yawns, looking a bit disgruntled at your movement but stubbornly staying put as it curls up.

Breathing ball sack aside, you ask Silco what happened.

"What do you remember?" he lets your hand go to squeeze out the water from the rag, wiping away the cold sweat on your neck. "You giving me your coat, then some girl squealing, but don't remember much after."

Your retelling makes him scoff, clearly amused. The sight of your bruised lips and face twists his mouth into a frown. "I should've been there sooner."

"Don't start with that, come on." You wince as your sides pulsed in pain, a boot shaped bruise already beginning to darken. "How'd you even find out about the Eriksons?"

"The kids were running down the Lanes barefoot and wet - " you gasp and cut him off.

"The kids!" You lurch up, the cat growling in discontent as it sprung up into an arched back pose from the sudden movement. Regret is instant and striking, your muscles screaming in pain and head pulsing once again. Silco steadies you by your shoulders, brows furrowing.

"Fuh - fuck, are they alright? He mentioned seeing them, Silco. Tell me those assholes are - "

"They're dealt with."

His tone makes you pause, you peer at him through your eyelashes. "Did you...?" he smiles but shakes his head.

"Him and his father are more useful alive. But a few bones were broken. He was in the academy with Sheriff Grayson's second in command, Marcus."

Silco leans in, pressing his forehead with yours. Uncaring of the dampness of your forehead or your hair. The tip of his nose brushes agaisnt your cheek and you flutter yours eyes at the feeling.

"So he's in your pocket?"

"I was worried," he dismisses the questions so blatantly you wring out a breathless laugh. "Your madame said she had a feeling who the enforcer was, if it weren't for her..."

"I would've been fine," you cup his marred cheek, allowing him to slip his arms around you. "I'm tough."

No, you're not, Silco wants to say. The fever you've developed from the stress and cold and the wounds on your body — you were a statue made off jagged metal but it didn't mean you couldn't get scratched, bent, melted. You would have survived but that didn't mean you should be going through such injustices.

"I plan on staying here until we're free," you promise to him as you slip your eyes closed. "I wanna see Zaun with my own eyes."

You feel him lean in closer and then his lips are on yours. Your brows knit together, the cut there stinging but you don't mind it. Silco kisses you like he wants to devour you. The heat he brings is like a glowing dagger; the silver steaming and glowing orange from the fire. Cutting you and cauterizing the wound at the same time. Painful, seeringly painful, but not deadly.

You part your lips, twisting your head as he clutches the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his hands making the hairs on the back of your neck stand, applauding him almost. You clutch at his vest, whispering his name as he tangles his tongue with yours.

Feeling you, holding you; Silco can't remember the last time he's felt this light and grounded at the same time. He was truly worried, you know. His heart dropping to his stomach when Deckard informed him about Vander's brats rushing through in complete panic. It was a random act of violence. Piltie's finest once again throwing their weight around.

You lean back and he chases. Your teeth clack together and you wince, so he kneads at your nape and lowers you back on the bed.

You should stop. This wasn't right. Your grip on Silco's vest loosens as you remember sweet Vander. Whose kisses felt like burning smoke going down your throat, filling your body with warmth that is entirely too phantom-like and too suffocating all the same. You shouldn't go further, you shouldn't. Silco slips a hand to your chest, pulling your thin blanket down and you wince, pulling away from the kiss to gasp. Silco and you pant heavily, the heat dissipating the longer you do.

"I'm sorry," he shakes his head and assures you it's alright.

"How long have I been out?"

"A couple of hours. He's been looking for you. His accomplices too." Most patrons of The Last Drop had been anxiously waiting to hear your return. We take care of our own. Those just weren't pretty words. Benzo had told them to calm down, saying Vander will handle it but it was evident that a pin could drop and they'd turn over every little rock to find you.

Their respect for Vander's leadership is the only thing holding them back. It's holding you back too, he can tell. Ever since you'd moved in, you stray away from his touches. You've grown a sort of affection for Vander. Just like he had.

"Shit, I should head back then." Silco nods, helping you sit up. "The boy he says he's at the edge of the Lanes. Asking around."

It makes your heart flutter.

Ran looks you over when you walk up to them, a question in their eyes.

'You okay?'

"Could be better," you tell them. Dressed in an oversized shirt and your pants from earlier. They nod, reaching to slip their hand under your arm and you wince.

"Thanks for this and the save," they shrug and look ahead.

'Don't mention it.'

When you do spot Vander, your face brightens up. But Ran frowns, suddenly hiding behind a couple of crates. You don't quite get it until you see blue.

Vander was talking to an enforcer. Not just any enforcer either, the fucking sheriff.

"Grayson, I'm not askin' for much here," he growls out. She looks away, shaking her head. "You're not giving me much to go off on, Vander. The kids say he got taken by an enforcer for no reason in broad daylight but they can't even tell you any more details?"

"They were terrified, I'm sorry if they didn't come t'have a chat with 'em!"

Vander's muscles were tense, shoulders drawn and jaw clenched. He looked exhausted. His hair tousled from him constantly running his hands through them. The greys in his beard looking more prominent all of a sudden.

"Grayson, please."

Please.

He's begging for help from an enforcer.

You dislodge from Ran, giving them a nod as thanks before you limp towards them. The sound of your uneven footsteps makes their head snap your way. Vander whispers your name, then says it again with more volume as he rushes to hold you. He scans you, from top to bottom as he holds you in his arms.

"Shit, shit, you're okay." You're not, but your anger does calm the tiniest bit as he pulls you into a hug. Grayson looks at you and from over Vander's shoulders, you glare daggers into her. That fucking uniform, that breathing mask hung around her neck.

You still hear it. Vander pleading for help from her.

"Are you alright?" Sheriff Grayson says, coming close as Vander lets you go. You push him away, fists trembling as you walk towards her. Her eyes harden, lips pursing at your unrestrained strife.

"Screw you," you hiss, digging your pointer finger to her chest. "Screw everything you stand for."

Vander calls out your name, placing a hand on your shoulder that you shrug off. Even when your life had been in danger. Even when he could've done something. Vander remained a docile pet to Topside, begging for his masters help like a good lap dog.

Your lips tremble, tears filling your eyes.

"I'm here for you, (Y/N). If you could just tell me the name of the enforcer who'd done this to you, I can help you," Grayson tries to reason. Even when you were patched up, it was clear you'd been smacked around.

"It doesn't matter," you seethe out. "I just want to help, I can't if you don't tell me," you shake your head and walk past her.

"Fuck you."

"(Y/N)," Vander offers Grayson a glance but she shakes her head, turning away as he rushes after you. She watches the both of you, the anger in your posture so evident it makes her mouth twist.

Vander is quiet as you get inside the elevator. As it rumbles to life, you grip onto the railings instead of him and he tires to soothe you but you flinch away from him. "Darlin'" he places a hand on your shoulder and you spin, gnashing your teeth as you yell.

"Sheriff Grayson!? You went to her!?"

"What else was I meant to do?" He grits out.

"Fight! Vander! Fight back!" you throw a fist at his chest, he lets you.

"I was fucking terrified, do you - do you know how fucked it was!? He grabbed me off the damn street! He fucking -" you inhaled sharply as your ribs screamed in pain. If you closed your eyes you could hear the thudding noise of his feet flying to your body.

Vander feels his heart drop and he tilted your head up. His large hand cupping your face as tears streamed down your cheeks. You're running hot, fever returning as your emotions ran high.

"I was so scared, Vander." Your sob pierced through his chest. Nothing had compared to that pain of letting you down. Nothing. Not when the skin of his knuckles ripped apart or when enforcer bullets whizzed past his ears and made his hearing tune into a high pitched ring or when he'd been stabbed. He gathered you in his arms, despite your weak pushes and protests. He holds you to his chest and tucks your head under his chin, just holding you there.

"I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry."

Heads raised the second the doors opened. You blinked in surprise at the sight of the usual patrons. A blue blur rushed towards you and you grunted at her tight hug but smile down at her.

"Hey, Powder..." you pressed her face to your stomach, rubbing her back as she sobbed in relief. Vi approaches you next, showing a rare moment of softness as she slips under your open arm. Milo and Claggor rush in as well and you wince a bit but just laugh softly. Ekko sighed out in relief, Benzo's eyes softening at the sight.

"You all worried about me?" you give the patrons a coy smile that they scoff at but the relief was evident. "Cut the bullshit and stop smiling," Sevika says, crossing her arms. "What the fuck happened?"

Vander drapes his jacket around your shoulder. "Story for another time. How about some free drinks, yeah?" the mood lightens up a bit, despite the question hanging heavily in the air.

Powder is glued to you, sniffling as she clings but you don't mind. "C'mon, let's go down," you tell the kids and they nod. Milo rambles about what he'd done if you weren't caught off-guard. Vi shaking his head at him while Claggor just helped you down the stairs.

"He alright?" Benzo asks Vander when he comes around to the bar. Derek waves Vander away, pouring everyone a drink and Vander nods appreciatively his way as he sits. "No, he isn't" he confesses, glaring at the bottles of liquor, at his reflection in them.

"Fight! Vander! Fight back!"

Benzo slides him his pipe and Vander simply holds it in his hands. The look in your eyes. That disappointment etched into every line on your face. The rage that flowed down your cheeks. Vander brought the apparatus to his lips, lighting a match and inhaling to calm his shot nerves.

"He'll be alright. He's the tough sort, yeah?" Benzo places a heavy hand on Vander's shoulder, tilting his frame down a bit. "He was scared, Benzo."

"He was scared and I couldn't do anythin'."

"Powder, I'm okay," you reassured for the fifth time in a row. You don't dare try to peel her away from you but you do make an effort to calm her trembling frame. Poor thing was shaking like a damn leaf as she laid besides you on her bottom bunk. Vi smiles wryly, just watching the scene with more emotion than a kid her age should have. Ekko peers down from the top bunk, asking if the cut brow hurt and you just scrunch your nose and laugh.

"Nah, come on. I'm not a wimp, Little Man."

Mylo nudges Ekko, echoing your statement in his own words. Claggor appears, holding a cup of some warm water and offering it to you. "Here, you must be tired," you thank him and hitch Powder up with you as you sit up a bit.

"You guys, I really am okay."

Powder just tightened her grip around you. All she could hear was the sounds of that scene. You sprawled onto the floor, half-dressed, bare foot; a fully armoured enforcer above you with his legs swinging back as you yell at her to go.

"Don't leave," she whispers against your stomach and you brush your fingers through her bangs. "I won't, baby. I'm not going anywhere."

"Where are you four going?" they stiffen up, twisting their heads to look at you as you leaned against the railing leading to Vander's office and bedroom. You were dressed in a large shirt that reached your knees, eyes still puffy from sleep as you held a mug of something warm. Mylo gawks, mouth gaping like a fish as he tries to find the words; hands coming to scratch the back of his head. Claggor just stiffens up like a board and Powder hides slightly behind him.

Vi lowers her hood, looking a bit smug. "A morning walk," she says cooly. You arch a brow, bringing the rim of the mug to your lips. Last night had been a busy night for the bar, a few scuffles ignited because some dumbass didn't know when to cut himself off when he needed to. So Vander was fully conked out and you wanted him to take as long as he needed to recuperate.

"Mhm," you glance at each of their faces for a moment then sigh and close your eyes. "What's the job?"

Vi's shoulders fall. Damn you and your perceptiveness. It was unnerving how good you were at reading people at times.

"Little Man gave a tip," that woke you up a bit more. "You sure you can pull it off?" Vi nods firmly, her shoulders squaring confidently.

"We're ready."

"Stay safe and stay out of sight," they grin up at you and rush out through the back. Powder gives you a wave that you return before silence washes over the empty bar. You crack your neck, grunting as the satisfying popping noises echo then make your way down the stairs.

You prepare to set-up for the noon crowd. Leisurely moving around as you swept and wiped down everything. When Vander does lumbers down, he gathers you in his arms by wrapping them around your waist. Those damned arms. You swear his bicep was as big as your damn head.

"Mornin'" you chuckle as he rubs his beard to your cheek. "You weren't b'sides me, not a very good start" you roll your eyes at him, patting his arm so he lets you go and you can turn around to look at him.

"Kids awake?"

"They left to get breakfast," you turn and plant a kiss on his lips, smiling as he groans into it. "I made you coffee, c'mon. Gotta start the day right." Vander groans again, firmly cupping your ass in his hand and lifting you onto a table. You laugh, glancing at the windows but he simply blocks your body from view.

"If we're talking about starting the day right..." "Vander!"

"You said the kids are out, right?" You squeal when he brings his face to your neck, moaning as he kisses over the previous hickeys he'd left. He brings your crotches together and you chew on your lips as you feel his morning wood against your clothed cunt.

"Fine, let's start the day right." You feel him grin against your neck.

“Atta’ boy.”

Huck is chipper today. Greeting you with that flush on his cheek that never fails to remind you of a blushing maiden. "Closing that deal, Huck baby?" you asked, smiling sweetly his way. He sputters but nods, asking for a pint to sweeten the deal.

"Coming right up" Vander presses a hand to your waist as he walks behind you, asking if you could wipe down a table and you nod. Sevika bumps her knee to yours as you clean the table next to hers.

"Is he a damn vacuum?" she says as she eyes the hickeys on you. "You jealous, Sev?" her nose crinkles at your teasing but she doesn't deny it. She just laughs at it, turning her attention back to her cards. You lean down, making a grimace as your stare at her deck that makes the others start double guessing.

Who were they to believe? Sevika's calm expression or your grimace?

She huffs through her nose, watching your profile from the corner of her eyes. Though that's cut short by the tense scene in Huck's corner. You straighten up, brows furrowing as you watch it unfold.

Though everything goes smoothly once Vander sends them a simple message, something about that interaction makes your stomach twist. The news about an explosion happening Topside didn't help ease this pit of snakes and they only knot themselves into worse shape when the kids walk in.

Vander and you share a look as he walks to their room, you can't leave the bar unattended so you trusted him to ask. But this feeling just wouldn't leave you. When Vander pops back put with a sack over his shoulder and Claggor following behind, you slip out the bar to stop in front of your boy.

“Who did this?” Claggor shifts under your gaze, trying to cover his bruise with his hand. Pretending to scratch at his cheek. “One of us,” Vander answers for him. That brings up more questions than it does answers. So Claggor just shrugs.

“It was some blonde kid and his goons. Said something about us crossing his turf.”

You frown but let them pass after ruffling Claggor’s hair. Turning your attention back to the bar. The rest of the night goes by smoothly enough, a few verbal scuffs but nothing you couldn’t handle. When Vander returns, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“What’d Benzo say?” he tightened his grip then sighed. It was a heavy one and you make a questioning noise.

“What? What happened?”

Vander poured both of you a shot and silently handed you the glass. You take it but the frown does not disappear. He clinks your glasses then throws his head back, you copy his motion. Not grimacing as it burns down your throat, simply staring Vander down as that feeling in your gut worsens.

“They need their slab of meat for the explosion today.”

Deckard bumps into you as he gets escorted out by Lock. Who does not waste anytime in flirting with you: “Hey, hot stuff,” Lock calls out and you scoff. “Keep on dreaming, bud.”

“Every night, baby!” his reply makes you smile, shaking your head as you open the door to the lab. The squealing pink vines on the floor never failing to make you shudder as you avoid stepping on them. You know they’re not technically alive but you swear, every creak and whine this rundown factory makes is just these things making their way out.

“Ah, (Y/N),” your smile tightens. “Hey, Doc.” he shares a glance between Silco and you then walks to his station. In his own way telling you to just ignore his presence. Silco continues to stare at the rat cage, entranced at the squealing and yowling. The splatter of blood against the glass makes you flinch but you stand next to Silco and pale.

“What the hell is that?”

“An upper hand,” Silco traces the planes of your face with his eyes. The micro expressions you display — twitches, spasms, tugs. Even when contorted in disgust, you were a marvel. Especially when backdropped by the creatures of the depths. The speckles of light piercing through the water just add to your allure. He knows you’re not fond of his affections, not without feeling guilt, but he reaches for your hand and presses your knuckles to his lips.

You steel your emotions, expressions turning neutral. As if you could hide the way your lips quiver to hide that grin.

“Silco. Did you ask Deckard to jump my kids?” The softness of the moment is broken by the accusation. He lets go of your hand and glances at the savage rat tearing into the corpse of the cat.

“I told the boy to simply observe. I gain nothing from hurting them.”

You purse your lips, crossing your arms as you walk away from the gruesome view. You glance at the table, picking up the gun-shaped needle device, testing its weight in your hands.

“You doubt me?” You frown at the tone he takes. “No, I don’t.”

Because no matter how you spin it, Silco was right. There was no scenario where Deckard trying to beat the shit out of your kids gave him an upper hand in the grand scheme of things.

Silco watches your fingers tinker with his device. Lost deep in thought while you flip it over and trace your touch down every scratch or bump it had. It's on the tip of your tongue, he sees the way your jaw is clenched. How your shoulders are tensed up despite wearing that thick jacket, hood drawn up to hide your face.

A bitterness ebbs its way to Silco's rationale. That look in your eyes, that contemplativeness. It was doubt.

"I won't be able to give you an answer if you don't ask," he turns around to the underwater scene instead. The sight of you weakens him too much. Silco can't allow you to be a distraction, no when the pieces are falling just where they need to.

"There's nothing to ask." You place the device down and slip your eyes closed. No matter what he says, how he tries to reassure you; it wouldn't change what was already set in motion.

"You said the kids would stay out of it, right?"

"Yes."

He wouldn't look at you as he says it. His figure casting a long shadow on the scuffed floors of the lab and the hairs on the back of your neck pricks. The Doctor calls out your name and you reluctantly tear your eyes away from Silco to tilt your head questioningly at him.

"It's getting late. Best to get back before suspicions raise." The unrest was worsening. The Undercity folk have been walking on a tight rope made off steel for years now. The rope digging viciously into your feet, slicking up the material while you held your hands out to your side. This so called 'peace' that the Topsiders called it was laughable.

With how hard the enforcers were hitting now, that tightrope walker's knees were beginning to buckle as their blood gushes beneath them.

You openly glare at their masked heads, nails digging into the wooden crate of goods. Waiting for them to pass you before you stepped out from the tight alleyway. You worry for a moment about your kids. They were in a more secluded part of town, in their little hideout and you hope they're keeping their heads down like Vander had told them too.

A pair of boots appear in your vision, that obnoxious mechanical breathing lifting the edge of your hood. You scowl, lifting your head to glare into those bug-like lenses.

He says your name, you can tell his face is scrunched up as if even muttering it annoys him. You curl your nose, standing your ground. "What the hell do you want?" Troy scoffs, his gloves creaking when his hands curl into fists.

"Just being thorough in my search, we're looking for four sump rats."

You glance over his shoulder, noticing a few other enforcers asking others who do little to hide their anger. Topside really doesn't know how much restraint it takes to continue this 'peace' and they still insist on poking the bear.

"A councilor's kid almost got hurt."

"So they need four kids to get their lick back?"

One kid almost got hurt and Topside is asking for justice. Yet they turn a blind eye to the kids who were breathing in toxins and starve day after day. Because it's never been about unity, it's about subservience.

Troy glances at your crate and you scoff. "Piss of, Piltie," you shoulder through him and Troy lets you. His fathers arm would never bend right anymore so he knew better than to put his hands on you again. But he still glared at the back of your head, burning holes into you. You turn, walking backwards and lifting one hand to flip him off before you make your way back home.

Sevika's voice is the first thing you hear when you walk in. You place the crate down, slipping your hood down and glancing at the small crowd of people. Vander regards you with a nod and you stand besides him.

"We should hit them back. We got the numbers to beat them." Sevika's words makes a few head nod, soft cheers of agreement echoing through the room.

"Yeah. Let's teach them what it means to mess with us." Another voice says, you cross your arms, leaning your hip against the bar. Sevika is looking right at you, tilting her head at the apprehension on your face.

"You sure that's what you want? We crossed that bridge once before, we all know how that ended." Vander is trying to reason with an angry crowd. An exhausted one. You do nothing to hide your frown at his words. He pretends not to see it.

"You're just protecting your kids," she retorts. A vein jumps in Vander's neck, his jaw clenching the tiniest bit.

"I'm protecting our people. I'd do the same for any one of you. We look out for each other. It's the way it's always been. This will blow over. We just need to stand together."

His sentiments were noble. But the tightrope was beginning to tremble and the walker on top of it was now desperately crouched to grip at it with their hands instead.

"The Vander I knew, the one who built the underground, wouldn't be afraid to fight."

Vander stands and you feel a smidge of fear in your heart. He was pulled taut, all of this stress showing through the tightness in his posture. He towered over Sevika, a rumbling growl building in his throat.

"Do I look afraid?"

Sevika doesn't falter. She scoffs, meeting his challenging gaze with no issue.

"No. You look weak."

Marcus walks in with a purpose. His men following behind him making sure to puff their chests with each stride in. The Last Drop patrons find their fingers twitching, readying itself to grab at the blade near their hips. You level your gaze with Troy, he meets it head on and in a blink-and-you'll-miss motion he glances at the stairs leading down.

You straighten up, heart jumping to your throat.

Marcus' arrogance is like rubbing salt into an already festering wound. He doesn't need to say but he does it anyways and your little tightrope walker is now gone. Just two poles standing in the darkness, with no evidence of the rope or the walker ever existing.

You rush down the stairs, the door flying open and calling out for your kids. You instantly gather Powder and Ekko into your arms, checking over Claggor and Mylo while Vi talks to Vander.

"We need to fight back!" her fist slams into the wall and you meet Vander's eyes from over her shoulder.

Still.

Still, he remains stubborn. He tells Vi he has to show her something and you feel that same disappointment build in you. That day you saw him pleading for help from Sheriff Grayson after she had asked if the kids were truly getting their facts right.

Vander was too soft to protect anyone. Your heart squeezes at the revelation, but you numb yourself out to it. Even when Piltover was calling for the blood of your kids, he still deludes himself into this fantasy of peace.

He was weak.

You bring your lips to Powder's forehead, keeping Ekko close to you while Mylo and Claggor shift uneasily as Vi follows Vander out.

"Come on, help me close up early." Mylo and Claggor uncross their arms, nodding. You pull away from the embrace and cup Powder and Ekko's faces in each hand.

"Ekko, you should get back to Benzo's, it's getting late." He pauses but nods, so you stroke over the back of his head and press a kiss to his temple. "Enforcers are gonna be crawling all over, want me to drop you off?"

"No, I can be sneaky!" Ekko beams up at you and you return his grin, standing to send him off. Powder stands next to you, watching as Ekko disappears into the alleyways with an agility of a street cat.

"Why won't Vander fight?" she looks up at you, brows furrowed. "They're ruining everything. The enforcers. They threw a guy through a window, they're -"

"Monsters." You finish for her. She sees the scar running down your brow and inches close, so you wrap an arm around her. Man, she's grown like a sprout, limbs all lanky and awkward.

She couldn't grow up in a world like this.

"All of them are monsters," she whispers under her breath and your silence just cements this further into her brain.

"All of them," you continue.

When Vander returns with your eldest, he knows he's pissed you off. You won't meet his eyes, nursing a drink in your hand while you stare at a card in between your hands. He stands next to you and plucks your old business card from your fingers. It was wrinkled, yellowing with age and some words already fading. But your writing on the back remains.

'Come see again soon'

"Revisiting memories?" that was the theme tonight it seems. You'd slipped that into his jacket after he pulled off a drunkard away from you. Vander still remembers the seat you were sat in, what you were wearing, and that gleam in your eyes when you catch him staring at you for a bit too long.

He sits next to you and glances at the cast iron gloves. Those memories do little to make him happy. You take a swing of your drink, slamming the cup down and moving to stand. Vander calls out your name, grabbing at your arm to tug you in. You grunt when you land against his chest.

"You're pissed at me."

You roll your eyes at him, using your hands to push away but he does not relent.

"You honestly think we should go to war with Topside?" there's a bite to his tone. His patience with Vi had been in abundance, she was young and hurt. But out of everyone else, he thought you should understand him better.

"You want her to live like this her entire life? Keeping her head down and taking every beat down for a noble purpose?" You slur out, ripping yourself from his arms to grab at your coat.

"I want her to stay alive. I want all of you to stay alive" his voice raised the tiniest bit but he restrains himself and it pisses you off more. You put on your jacket and he sighs. "Where the hell are you going?"

You smack his hand away, stumbling a bit as you turned to face him.

He wants to hear it. A scathing 'fuck you' or 'leave me alone, asshole'. But you just narrow your eyes at him, lips trembling as its set in that frown, then just shake your head and turn away to walk out.

You don't know where you planned on going. You let your legs carry you around, aimlessly wondering through the alleyways until you find yourself at a familiar backdoor. You push the heavy door open. The busy wallpaper and creaky floorboards give you more comfort than you expected.

"(Y/N)?" Doe blinks at the sight of you. She takes off her mask and you stare at her concerned face. "Are you okay?" you shake your head and lean in. Her eyes widen when your lips meet hers, she places firm hands on your chest and push you back.

"You're drunk."

You shake your head, cupping her face again and kissing her. She groans, murmuring your name before she bites down. You hiss, back hitting the wall as she shoves you. "You're with Vander." The reminder makes you laugh. You slide down the wall, putting your head between your knees as your tears well up.

Sevika thanks Doe for telling her where you were, crouching to grab a fistful of your hair to raise your head. Your empty gaze makes her sigh. You don't even fight when she slings your arm over her shoulder and lifts you onto your feet.

"The hell are you two taking me?"

"Silco's." Doe answers flatly.

Sevika feels you stiffen up. "I knew you hated them, but never figured you'd been working with him the whole time," she gruffs out. "Wish you would've told me about it sooner."

"Sorry, I'll be sure to invite you into my super secret group club the next time, okay?"

You're sober enough to be sarcastic without slurring words together. She just adjusts her grip on you and makes her way to the factory by the docks.

The Doctor greets you as Sevika drops you onto a chair. A dark shadow moves idly by the windows and you clutch at your neck as you crack it again. "Why am I here?" you mumble, pinching your brows. "To keep you safe."

You look at him through squinted eyes. "Why wouldn't I be safe?"

You had no idea what had happened. Not Benzo's murder and not Vander's kidnapping. Call it luck or a happy accident, Silco doesn't care. He's glad you're not looking at him with an ounce of hatred, just simple confusion.

"Stumbling around drunk," he begins "late at night." He was worried you'd run away. Ran and Lock had looked for you at the bar, even asked around for you. Thankfully, Sevika had found you.

"I'm a big boy" you reply, leaning back in the chair only to smack your hand onto the edge of a table when you realise it was a stool.

"Sober him up," he tells the Doctor who reaches for a small jar on the shelves. "This won't make you sober," he tells you as he unplugs the cork from the top, you grimace and bring your face close. "But it'll wake you up."

The sharp sting that wafts up your nose makes you groan, backing away from his outstretched hand. Doe keeps you from falling backwards, steadying you while you making hacking noises.

Silco and Doe nod at each other. She's got you, he can trust her with this. He turns and Sevika follows in step. They step out, the door thudding close.

It was better to keep you away from this. You cared too much about Vander, he can't let you get distracted from the freedom that's right there. Shimmering like a desert oasis in front of him. Hate him if you must, but Vander had done himself in the second he decided to put on those handcuffs.

The hound of the underground was nothing but a lapdog now. He can't keep his people in check anymore, it's why they've turned to him instead. They need this. Zaun needs this. Vander will be known as a coward who ran away with his kids. Leaving the undercity to save his own skin, so his hands remained clean from anymore blood. Like the true coward he was.

You'll forgive him for this. You'll have to.

You're standing now, peering into the rat cage while Doe stared at the test tubes full of creatures on the shelves. Every time you even glance at the direction of the exit, Doe steps subtly in your way. He wanted to keep you in here? Seriously? You weren't that damned drunk.

You hear muffled voices from outside and as Doe picks up a test tube, you take your chances wrestling with her. She blinks in alarm, nearly dropping the tube as you suddenly dash towards the door. The Doctor stands as the the glass breaks and splatters green glowing liquid onto the floor. She calls out your name and you twist the handle open, slamming it closed in her face. She pounds on the door, cussing you out for being a bitch and you would've replied with your own string of colourful words but a body crashes next to you.

It's Lock. He groans, jaw loose and mouth bloody as he his head limply falls backwards. You notice the shadows from the bridge and look up.

"Vi!" she feels ice in her veins. She chances a glance down and yells out your name in confusion. Silco tightens his grip on the railing so Sevika whistles sharply. You yell as a few of her men try to grab you.

"(Y/N)?' Mylo repeats, his hands trembling even more. Vander's heart drops to his stomach but he snaps Mylo back into focus.

Why was she wearing those gloves? No, what the hell was she doing here in the first place?

"Silco!" you avoid a pair of burly arms, ducking away and bumping into the crates filled with Shimmer. "What are you doing!? You promised!"

He motions for more of his men to rush the bridge. Vi doesn't have enough time to process your words fully. She shakes her arms, cracking her neck as she prepares to fight. She must've misheard. She must have.

"SILCO!"

Your yells are making Vander's heart race. He can't see you. Only hear you. If Silco was ready to get rid of his kids just to ensure his control over the undercity, he doesn't dare to imagine what he'd do to you. Vi is determined, she cannot let her fathers die here. Not when she was the one who'd put them in this situation in the first place. These series of events, this domino effect all began from that damn explosion.

She can't let herself be orphaned again. She can't let Powder be orphaned again.

You continue to evade them, grabbing a wooden plank and smashing it over a few heads to put enough distance. When you reach the stairs, you yell out for Vi again. Silco doesn't dare look your way as you rush towards the bridge. He cannot get distracted. He can't.

Sevika grabs at you, her arm wound around your waist and you snarl. You aim your elbow at her head, making her flinch enough to loosen her grip. It still isn't enough though. Even then, she squeezes you like a damn snake.

"Let him go!" Vi growls out, adrenaline pumping through her veins. You dig your nails into Sevika, slamming your fist onto her arms while you struggle. Deckard watches this half-dazed, purple liquid oozing out from the corners of his eyes as he's bent over the railings.

"Ready to rise to the surface?" Silco holds the glass vial of Shimmer to his face. Deckard's breathing quickens and he downs it.

It happens quick. One second Deckard is just another boy and the next he's a monstrous figure rushing towards Vi. You yell, finally managing to elbow Sevika right in her face. She drops you and the second your feet are on the ground you sprint towards Vi.

You gather her in your arms and damn near skid to a stop once you past the threshold of safety. "The door! The door!" Vi yells, grabbing the handle and you help her. It slams close just in the nick of time, Deckard squealing from the other side as he pounds his fists so hard, it makes you and Vi bounce away from the door. You dig your heels in and grip onto the handle, sweat beading down your nose as you try to catch your breath.

"(Y/N)! You alright?" you cuss under your breath but let out a breathless laugh.

"Never better."

Vander sighs, looking to Vi next. He feels the rush of cool air as Claggor finally makes a hole big enough for them to escape from.

"You did good, Vi."

She feels hope stir within her.

You don't remember what happens next. It's a fiery blur, only flashes of images bursting through every time you open your eyes to blink. The smoke was so thick and the metal door ontop of you was so heavy. Vi is crying.

Vi is crying and Vi never cries.

She calls for your name, her body trembling underneath you. When you wheeze, she sobs. Whether out of pain or relief, you can't tell. Ahead of you, you see the most horrifying sight.

Claggor. Mylo.

Dead.

"I want her to stay alive. I want all of you to stay alive."

You brace yourself onto your elbows, straining out a yell as you try to lift yourself up enough for Vi to shimmy out. It groans above you, scraping against the floor inch by painful inch as you feel your eyes water. Vi calls out your name again, finally looking her age as she tries to crawl out.

What have you done?

When a hulking figure comes close, you yell in an attempt to scare him off. But it wasn't Deckard, it was Vander. Your Vander, with his veins glowing purple and his body nearly double its size. There's heat coming off from him, his rapid growth most likely putting his body through torture. You swear you can hear his enlarged heart as it beats like a war drum.

What have you done?

Vi finally crawls out and she turns to hold the door up so you can too. You stumble and kneel right in front of Mylo's outstretched hand, grasping at it while your other hand tries to dig him out.

"C'mon, c'mon baby. You're okay, you're okay." You sob, lifting your eyes to look at Claggor next and begin shaking your head. It was just ash and debris, he wasn't that pale. He was strong, he was your strong boy. You wipe away some of the dust from his face and choke back a sob when all he does is loll his head to the side.

"No, no, no. Claggor, Mylo."

There's a loud explosion. The building rumbles, the roof creaking as it sinks down. Vi is clutching at your shoulder, crying as she stares at her brothers. Vander gathers you both in his arms and flies through the escape plan. You scream, feeling the heat lick at your back.

Vander takes the brute force of the fall. Cushioning you and Vi as his last act of love. You hear it, his heart as it slows. You shake your head, looking down at him, cupping his face as rain descends onto you.

"Vander," Vi whimpers out.

"No, baby, please. I'm sorry," you brush your thumb over his cheek, one hand remaining on his chest. The shimmer was wearing down, his pounding heart begins to get slower and slower.

"I'm so sorry, Vander."

He leans into your palm, feeling the tiniest bit of happiness that you two were still alive. He'd always joked about dying, how he wanted to have you over him like an angel. And you'd always laugh, telling him he was ridiculous.

"Take care of Powder."

Vi screams next to you. You hang your head, sobbing as you hold his face in your hands. You press your foreheads together, kissing him one last time before you pull away.

"Vi, it worked!"

Who was that?

"Did you see me? My monkey bomb finally worked!"

Vi gets up and you turn your head to follow her. The sight before you is strange. Vi and Powder were fighting, yelling at each other but you can barely hear it over the rain and crackling fire.

Vi hits Powder and you shakily bring yourself to your feet. As Powder begs for her sister to come back, you stumble towards her. She turns to you, crying nonsensically about how she just wanted to help and you nod, trying to form words but your tongue feels like lead.

Silco finds her desperately shaking your shoulders as you sprawl out onto the ground. He sees your chest going up and down so he concerns himself with the girl.

"Hello, little girl. Where's your sister?"

Then the strangest thing happens. She lunges at him, brings him to his ass, but hugs him so tightly he's confused at her intentions.

"She left us. She's not my sister anymore."

Silco brings a hand to the back of her head, understanding just to well about what she was feeling. He glanced at Vander's grotesque body then at yours.

"It's okay. We'll show them. We'll show them all."

What have you done?

He knows you're pissed at him. Actually, pissed doesn't even begin to describe how you're feeling. But Silco remains cool in your presence, standing in Vander's office, looking at the stack of papers. Stock intakes, accounting bullshit, Powder's doodles. You're sat on the couch, staring at your lap with a blanket over your shoulders. Powder's head in your lap as she twitches and sniffles in her sleep.

"You promised me you wouldn't hurt them."

"I didn't."

You bring your hand over Powder's ears, glaring at him. Your face angled down, eyebrows so tightly knit he swears he sees a vein pop out on your forehead.

"You killed my sons."

"She did."

Your expression hardens. Powder shifts for a second and instantly your anger fades, you smooth out her bangs from her head and pat her back rhythmically.

"We share the blame, (Y/N). I didn't do this alone."

He sits on Vander's chair, reaching for his cigar. Vander's body hadn't even gone cold yet and here Silco was, already intending on desecrating his grave by smoking his cigars, as if intently chasing away the scent of Vander's smoking pipes.

You carefully move Powder, shushing her as she stirs and draping your blanket over hers to keep her warm. Silco watches, lighter in hand, poised to burn. You spin the chair, Vander's chair, and kick his legs apart.

He should be more cautious. Foxes are known to get close to their prey, associated with daggers and tricksters because unlike a wolf they couldn't use brute strength to bring down their enemies. You could choke him out, try to pin him down and reach for a pencil to shove through his eye.

But he uncrosses his legs and you sit on his lap. You reach for the box of matches, and strike it. Silco watches you watching him; the orange glow of the cigar not quite piercing through the darkness in your eyes.

"When Powder drinks from the bar, she has her own cup and metal straw. She likes to make gadgets, she gets restless sometimes and snoop around. She's smart, so you'll have your hands full."

Silco arches a brow, inhaling and exhaling out the smoke. Your eyes flutter, burning a bit but you can't even muster a single tear.

"You're offering to babysit?"

"She's my daughter."

You wrap your arms around his neck, your smudged and soot-stained face tucking itself to his neck. You could rip his throat out right now. But where would that leave you and Powder. Running from his men, constantly looking over your shoulder. No. You made your bed. You lay in it.

You said you wanted a better future for your kids. How could you rip Powder away from the only shot she has at being safe?

"I'd do anything for her." You shift your position, bringing your lips to his ears.

"I'll even keep your bed warm. I know you like how I do you."

Silco isn't stupid. He knows how dangerous you are; he hired you to infiltrate and gather information and for years you did just that. Now Vander was dead. You were as wicked as he was.

And now, you had every right to kill him next. So sleeping with you? Sharing a bed, and keeping you close where you'd have access to his operations. You subtly thrusting Powder into the fray, telling him about her needs and how to take care of her. Saying you'd stay if her safety was guaranteed.

This was a bad idea.

But Silco is intrigued. He'd thought you'd be yelling at him. Screaming bloody murder, wrap your teeth around his neck and try to tear it off.

Cunning little fox. You're planning something. Painful and meticulous. You'd make your revenge something people would whisper about as a warning.

He wants to see how far you're willing to go. He's glad that you share the same obsession with him as he does with you now.

Fine.

If the both of you were going to destroy each other, let it be known that Silco allowed it to happen in the first place; if you need to be broken down to be his, then he'll gladly place his chess pieces on the board with you.

Vander and Benzo's death shocks the undercity. You imagine people glancing at each other, confusion and lost written across their faces. Their protector was gone and in his place was the disgraced Silco.

But what truly sends people reeling is you standing besides him. You, Vander's boyfriend, the one his kids called dad among others. The slut that Vander had given a home too. Had given a job to and loved.

No, adored. He adored you, did you forget that?

He looked at you like you hung the damn moon in the sky.

How could you?

You fucking traitorous whore.

You had prepared for this. Steeled your emotions and walked among Silco's entourage with your head held high. Let them hate you, you know you deserve it. You expect the spit thrown your way, wiping it away with no emotion. You expect the harsh words, the cusses and threats.

But you're frozen in place when a man comes running at you, a knife held in his hand. You recognize him; a stall owner who Vander liked to do business with. Often trading fruit peels for this or that. He used them to do an array of things, though Vander recounts that he often used it as a way to smell fresh.

You smell it. That citrusy scent as he rears his hand back. "You whore!" he yells out.

Sevika kicks him square in the chest and as she leans too far back from the lack of balance (you think the loss of her arm was well-deserved) you keep her steady.

But it invigorates the crowd of grieving people. They throw things at you, trash and dirt at first. But then someone flings a brick and you barely dodge it in time before it smashed against your head.

Silco couldn't have people thinking that his entourage was weak.

So he brings you back to that walkway, the stalls now ransacked and the owners all kneeled before you. Hushed whispers come from the windows above you, children peeking curiously and mothers rushing them away.

These people were all Vander's friends. They did business with him, ate with him. You'd been there, eating with them. You glance away, sighing out a shuddering breath.

"Getting queasy?" Silco muses out.

"I've never been fond of butchers."

"Someone has to get their hands dirty. We can't all be expensive whores." You glare at him reproachfully.

"I want to leave."

"No."

Silco motions for Sevika and you scoff; "Look at you. Asking for another person to suck a John's cock for you. Expensive whore, is that what you called me?"

Silco gives you a tepid look, but then pulls out a dagger. He stares down at Vander's friends. Silco then stands behind them, bringing the blade to their throats. They look at you, nothing but pure hate in their eyes.

"You fucking traitor."

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