#Fatal x Lavender | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

winwintea · 3 months ago

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PAIRING ↬ actor!park sunghoon x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ thriller, romance, action, mystery, suspense, body swap au, supernatural au, musical theatre setting, everyone is pretty sus, sunghoon is a sassy king for like 5 seconds, he also breaks the 4th wall randomly

SUMMARY ↬ you aren’t giselle.

so why do you look like her? are you in giselle’s body right now? then where’s your actual body? and where in the world is the real giselle? is the lead actor who seems to be the only one to recognize you actually on your side? or will you get caught by the others and perish in a body that isn’t your own? so many questions and so little time.

WORD COUNT ↬ 8.1k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ my official enhablur debut 🥺🥺 (ignore the jay fic i wrote last year i’m pretending like it doesn’t exist) thank u @polarisjisung my love for encouraging me to post as well as beta read <33 we stepping out of the comfort zone with this one!

PLAYLIST ↬ fatal trouble - enhypen; marionette - red velvet; masquerade - chung ha; swan - miyeon; head over heels - abba; fairytale - alexander rybak; judas - lady gaga; mystery lover - taemin; encore - purple kiss

THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICED WAS THE SMELL.

It wasn’t the usual faint scent of your lavender body wash or the stale coffee from your tiny apartment. No, this was something richer, more expensive—like jasmine and vanilla, with a hint of stage makeup and something metallic. Your head throbbed as you blinked your eyes open, the world spinning into focus.

You were lying on a plush velvet chaise lounge, the kind you’d see in old Hollywood movies. The room around you was bathed in soft golden light, the walls adorned with framed playbills and bouquets of roses. A vanity table sat in the corner, its mirror reflecting the cluster of makeup brushes, lipsticks, and a half-empty bottle of champagne.

“What the—” You started, voice catching in your throat. That wasn’t your voice. It was smoother, more melodic, with a slight edge of authority. You froze, heart pounding as you stared at the mirror.

The reflection staring back at you wasn’t yours.

It was Giselle’s.

You scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over the hem of a silk robe that definitely wasn’t yours. You gripped the edge of the vanity, leaning closer to the mirror. The face staring back at you was flawless—high cheekbones, perfectly winged eyeliner, and lips painted a deep crimson. You reached up to touch her face, and the reflection mimicked you perfectly.

“No, no, no, this isn’t happening,” You muttered, voice trembling. You pinched her arm, but the sharp pain only confirmed this wasn’t a dream. “Okay, okay, think. You’re Y/N. You’re not Giselle. You’re… not Giselle. So why do you look like her?!”

You paced the room, mind racing. Someone had told you about a special VIP experience backstage. Which led you to wander into a locked dressing room, and then… nothing. Just darkness. And now this.

A knock at the door made you jump. “Giselle? You in there? We’ve got a run-through in ten.”

You recognized that voice. It was Sunghoon, the theatre’s lead actor and famous heartthrob. Your stomach churned. If anyone could tell something was off, it would be him.

“Uh, yeah! Just… give me a second!” You called back, cringing at how unconvincing you sounded.

The door swung open before you could stop it, and there he was—Park Sunghoon, in all his unfairly handsome glory. He was dressed in a fitted black button-up and tailored slacks, his hair perfectly styled. His sharp eyes narrowed as he took you in.

“You’re not Giselle,” he said flatly, crossing his arms.

Your heart skipped a beat. “What? Of course I am! Who else would I be?”

Sunghoon stepped closer, his gaze piercing. “Giselle doesn’t slouch. She doesn’t fidget. And she definitely doesn’t look like she’s about to pass out from panic.” He tilted his head, studying you. “So, who are you, and what did you do with Giselle?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat. You slumped back onto the chaise lounge, burying your face in your hands. “I don’t know! I don’t know what’s happening! I’m not Giselle—I’m Y/N! I was just… I was just a fan, and now I’m… her!”

Sunghoon’s expression softened slightly, though he still looked wary. He sat down beside you, keeping a careful distance. “Okay, let’s say I believe you. How did this happen?”

“I don’t know!” You groaned, running a hand through your hair—err well, Giselle’s hair. “I was backstage, and I found this weird dressing room with a mirror, and then… bam! I woke up like this.”

Sunghoon frowned. “The locked dressing room? That’s been off-limits for weeks. Jay said it was under renovation.”

“Well, it wasn’t locked when I found it,” You muttered, glancing at him, eyes pleading. “You have to believe me. I’m not crazy.”

Sunghoon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re definitely not Giselle. She’d never admit to being crazy, even if she was.” He stood, offering you a hand. “Come on. We need to figure this out before anyone else notices.”

You hesitated before taking his hand. “Why are you helping me?”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Because if you’re telling the truth, this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in this theatre in years. And if you’re lying… well, let’s just say I’ll enjoy watching you try to pull this off.”

You groaned. “Great. So I’m stuck in Giselle’s body, and my only ally is a guy who thinks this is funny.”

Sunghoon’s smirk widened. “Welcome to the show, Y/N. Let’s see if you can survive Act One.”

Sunghoon leaned against the vanity, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the room as if it might suddenly reveal its secrets.

You were still trying to process the fact that you were now living in Giselle’s body—and apparently her life. Which you didn’t even know was possible. This is the type of situation you only read in stories or watched in movies. Not real life. You paced nervously, Giselle’s silk robe swishing dramatically with every step. No biggie, I’ve just swapped bodies with someone! Perfectly normal Tuesday! Maybe if I fall asleep again I’ll wake up and this will all be a dream!

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning,” Sunghoon said, his tone calm but laced with curiosity. “You’re Y/N. You’re not Giselle. You woke up in her body after messing with a creepy mirror. Did I miss anything?”

“Uh, yeah,” You snapped, stopping mid-pace to glare at him. “The part where this is a literal nightmare, and I have no idea how to fix it!”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Right. Well, while you were busy freaking out, I was thinking. Giselle’s been… off lately. Like, really off.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, picking up a tube of lipstick from the vanity and twirling it between his fingers. “She’s been missing rehearsals, showing up late, forgetting her lines. And she’s been weirdly secretive. Like, she’d disappear for hours and then act like nothing happened. I tried asking her about it, but she just brushed me off.”

Your eyes widened. “So you’re saying something was already wrong with her before I got… swapped into her?”

“Exactly,” Sunghoon said, setting the lipstick down. “And now you’re here, which means whatever’s going on, it’s bigger than just you.”

You scowled again, sinking back onto the chaise lounge. “Great. So not only am I stuck in someone else’s body, but that someone might be in some kind of trouble? Fantastic. Just fantastic.”

Sunghoon smirked. “Look on the bright side. At least you’re stuck in the body of a gorgeous, talented star. Could’ve been worse.”

You shot him a withering look. “Oh, yeah, because this is such a privilege. I’m living the dream.”

Before Sunghoon could retort, your eyes landed on something tucked under the edge of the vanity—a small, folded piece of paper. You reached for it, your fingers trembling slightly as you unfolded it. The note was written in elegant, cursive handwriting:

“The mirror knows the truth. Trust no one.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You held the note out to Sunghoon, who took it with a frown.

“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” he said dryly, handing it back to you. “Any idea what it means?”

“No, but it sounds like Giselle knew something was going on,” You said, your mind racing. “Maybe she found out about the mirror and whatever… this is.” You gestured wildly at yourself.

Sunghoon nodded, his expression serious now. “Okay, so here’s the plan. We figure out what’s going on, reverse whatever this is, and get you back to your body. But we have to be careful. If anyone finds out you’re not Giselle, it’s game over.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to pretend to be a world-class actress and singer.”

Sunghoon grinned, leaning closer. “Relax. I’ll help you. I’ve been acting alongside Giselle for months. I know her better than anyone here.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “And why should I trust you? For all I know, you could be the one behind this.”

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Ouch. You wound me. If I wanted to piss off and mess with someone, it definitely wouldn’t be Giselle. Too much drama. I already have enough trying to deal with her on a daily basis.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, despite the absurdity of the situation. “Fine. But if you double-cross me, I’m taking you down with me.”

“Deal,” Sunghoon said, holding out his hand. You hesitated for a moment before shaking it, his grip firm and reassuring.

“Alright, partner,” You said, trying to sound confident. “Where do we start?”

Sunghoon’s grin turned mischievous. “First, we need to get you through rehearsal without blowing your cover. Then, we investigate the mirror and figure out who else might be involved in this. Sound good?”

You sighed, running a hand through Giselle’s perfectly styled hair. “Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. But what choice do I have?”

“That’s the spirit!” Sunghoon said, clapping you on the shoulder. “Now, let’s get you to rehearsal before someone starts asking questions. And try to act like Giselle. You know, confident, flawless, and just a little bit terrifying.”

You sighed, but followed him out of the dressing room, the cryptic note clutched tightly in your hand. As the two of you stepped into the bustling hallway, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, glancing over your shoulder. “What if someone here already knows?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Then we’re in bigger trouble than we thought. But don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

You nodded, though your stomach was in knots. You couldn’t help but feel like you were stepping into a role you were nowhere near ready for.

The moment you stepped out of the dressing room with Sunghoon, the weight of Giselle’s life crashed down on you like a poorly rigged stage light. The hallway was alive with activity—crew members rushing back and forth, actors rehearsing lines, and the faint hum of the orchestra tuning up in the distance. You clutched the mysterious note in your hand, your heart pounding as you tried to remember how to walk like someone who belonged here.

Sunghoon leaned in, his voice low. “Remember, you’re Giselle. You’ve got this.”

You shot him a look. “You’re setting the bar a little high, don’t you think?”

He smirked. “Just channel your inner diva. And try not to freak out.”

Before you could respond, a voice called out from behind you.

“Giselle! There you are!”

You turned to see Jay striding toward you, his signature easygoing smile plastered across his face. As the owner of the theatre and Sunghoon’s best friend, Jay was the kind of guy who seemed to know everyone and everything. His sharp eyes scanned you, and you could feel the weight of his curiosity.

“Hey, Jay,” you said, forcing a smile. Your voice sounded too high-pitched, too nervous. You cleared your throat and tried again, lowering your tone to match Giselle’s smooth, confident cadence. “What’s up?”

Jay tilted his head, his smile never wavering. “Just checking in. You’ve been… different lately. Everything okay?”

You froze. Different? Of course you were different—you weren’t Giselle! But you couldn’t say that. Instead, you forced a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as fake as it felt. “Different? Me? Nah, I’m just… prepping for the big night. You know how it is.”

Jay’s gaze lingered on you for a moment too long before he nodded. “Right. Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

As he walked away, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Sunghoon nudged you. “Not bad. But next time, try not to sound like you’re auditioning for a horror movie.”

You glared at him. “Oh, shut up.”

Your next encounter was with Yangyang, the theatre’s logistics manager. He was leaning against a stack of prop crates, scrolling through his phone, but his eyes flicked up the moment you approached.

“Giselle,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. “Heard you’ve been spending a lot of time in the locked dressing room. Find anything interesting?”

Your stomach dropped. How did he know about that? You forced a smile, channeling every ounce of Giselle’s confidence. “Just looking for some peace and quiet. You know how it is.”

Yangyang’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Peace and quiet? In this place? Good luck with that.” He pushed off the crates and walked away, leaving you with the distinct feeling that he knew more than he was letting on.

Sunghoon leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s always been a little too nosy for his own good. Watch your back around him.”

You nodded, your nerves fraying with every interaction.

Then came Soyeon and Yunjin, the theatre’s supporting actress and stand-in, respectively. They were huddled together near the stage, whispering furiously. As you approached, Yunjin’s eyes narrowed, her dislike for Giselle practically radiating off her.

“Well, look who decided to show up,” Yunjin said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Finally gracing us with your presence, Giselle?”

You swallowed hard, trying to channel Giselle’s trademark coolness. “Nice to see you too, Yunjin. Soyeon.”

Soyeon smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We were just talking about how… dedicated you’ve been to the role lately. It’s inspiring, really.”

The way she said “dedicated” made your skin crawl. You forced a smile, though your palms were sweating. “Thanks. I try.”

Yunjin rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, try harder. Some of us actually care about this production.”

Before you could respond, Soyeon linked arms with Yunjin and pulled her away, shooting you a look that was equal parts pity and disdain.

Sunghoon appeared at your side, his expression grim. “Yunjin’s never been a fan of Giselle, but that was… intense. What did you do to her?”

“Me? Nothing!” you hissed. “I’m just trying not to get caught!”

Your next interaction was with Belle, the theatre’s makeup artist and Jay’s confidant. She was waiting for you in the dressing room, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable.

“Giselle,” she said, her voice smooth but with an edge that made your stomach twist. “Jay mentioned you’ve been… distracted lately. Anything you want to talk about?”

You forced a smile, though your heart was racing. “No, everything’s fine. Just prepping for the show.”

Belle’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you were certain she could see right through you. “You know, if there’s something going on, you can tell me. I’m here to help.”

The way she said it sounded more like a threat than an offer. You nodded, trying to look grateful. “Thanks, Belle. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She studied you for a moment longer before nodding. “Good. Don’t forget—we’re all counting on you.”

As she left, you sank into the nearest chair, your legs trembling. Sunghoon appeared in the doorway, his expression serious.

“You okay?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No. Everyone’s so… suspicious. And Belle? She’s terrifying.”

Sunghoon nodded. “Yeah, she’s not someone to mess with. But you handled it well. Just keep your guard up.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is impossible. How am I supposed to keep this up?”

Sunghoon crouched in front of you, his voice softening. “You’re doing better than you think. Just remember—you’re not alone in this. I’ve got your back.”

You looked up at him, his steady gaze grounding you. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grinned, standing and offering you a hand. “Probably get caught in, like, five minutes. Now come on—we’ve got a mystery to solve.”

After the nerve-wracking encounters with Jay, Yangyang, Soyeon, Yunjin, and Belle, you were starting to feel like a tightly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment. Sunghoon had disappeared to “do some digging,” leaving you to navigate the rest of the theatre’s cast and crew on your own. You took a deep breath, straightened Giselle’s silk robe, and stepped back into the fray.

You found Shotaro in the costume room, meticulously organizing a rack of elaborate gowns. He jumped when you entered, nearly dropping a sequined dress.

“Giselle!” he said, his voice an octave higher than usual. “What are you doing here?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to channel Giselle’s trademark coolness. “Just checking on my costumes for the show. Everything ready?”

Shotaro nodded quickly, but his hands were shaking as he adjusted the hangers. “Y-yes, of course. Everything’s perfect. Just like always.”

You hesitated, then decided to push your luck. “By the way, have you heard anything about the locked dressing room? The one near the west wing?”

Shotaro froze, his face paling. “N-no. Why would I know anything about that?”

His reaction was so over-the-top that you almost laughed. Almost. “Just curious. It’s been off-limits for weeks, right?”

He nodded vigorously, avoiding your gaze. “Yes, totally off-limits. No one goes in there. Ever. Definitely not me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Right. Well, let me know if you hear anything.”

As you left, you could feel Shotaro’s anxious gaze burning into your back.

Winwin was Giselle’s supposed confidant, but the moment you approached him, you could tell something was off. He was leaning against a wall backstage, scrolling through his phone, but his eyes flicked up the moment you got close.

“Giselle,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. “You’ve been… different lately.”

You forced a smile, though your heart was racing. “Different? How so?”

He shrugged, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I don’t know. Just… not yourself. You’ve been avoiding me.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Avoiding you? No, I’ve just been busy with the show.”

Winwin’s expression softened, but there was something in his eyes that made you uneasy. “You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever’s going on, I’m here for you.”

The sincerity in his voice threw you for a loop. Was he genuinely concerned, or was this some kind of act? You nodded, trying to look grateful. “Thanks, Winwin. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that his loyalty wasn’t as unwavering as Giselle might have thought.

You found Woozi in the rehearsal room, hunched over a notebook and muttering to himself. He didn’t notice you until you were standing right in front of him.

“Giselle!” he said, his eyes lighting up. “Just the person I wanted to see. I’ve made some changes to your solo. I think you’ll love them.”

You forced a smile, though your stomach was in knots. “Changes? What kind of changes?”

He handed you the notebook, his excitement palpable. “Just a few lyrical tweaks to better reflect your character’s inner turmoil. I think it’ll really elevate your performance.”

You glanced at the page, your heart sinking at the sight of his intensely scribbled revision notes. “Uh, great. Thanks, Woozi.”

He leaned in, his gaze intense. “You’re the heart of this production, Giselle. Without you, it’s nothing. Don’t forget that.”

The weight of his words made you feel like you were carrying the entire theatre on your shoulders. You nodded, trying to look appreciative. “I won’t.”

As you left, you couldn’t help but feel like Woozi’s obsession with Giselle’s performance was more than just professional.

Your final encounter of the day was with Mark and Heeseung, the theatre’s stuntman and stage control, respectively. They were huddled near the lighting booth, deep in conversation, but Mark’s face lit up when he saw you.

“Giselle!” he said, grinning. “You’re looking… uh, great as always.”

You smiled, though your nerves were frayed. “Thanks, Mark. What’s up?”

He shrugged, his enthusiasm undimmed. “Just going over some stunt sequences for the big fight scene. You should come watch sometime—it’s pretty cool.”

Before you could respond, Heeseung stepped forward, his expression serious. “Giselle, can I talk to you for a second?”

You nodded, your stomach twisting. “Sure.”

Heeseung pulled you aside, his voice low. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but you need to be careful. Not everyone here has your best interests at heart.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. “What do you mean?”

He glanced around before leaning in closer. “Just… watch your back. Everyone here… They’re not as trustworthy as they seem. I’m worried about you.”

Before you could ask for more details, Mark called out, “Heeseung! We’ve got work to do!”

Heeseung gave you one last meaningful look before walking away, leaving you with more questions than answers.

As the day came to an end, you retreated to Giselle’s dressing room, your mind spinning. Everyone seemed to have their own secrets, their own agendas. The only person you could trust was Sunghoon—and even that felt like a gamble.

You sank into the chaise lounge, staring at the strange note in your hand. “The mirror knows the truth. Trust no one.”

“Easier said than done,” you muttered, closing your eyes.

You were still staring at the cryptic note when the door to the dressing room creaked open. Sunghoon slipped inside, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, closing the door behind him. “What happened?”

You held up the note, your hand trembling slightly. “I talked to everyone. And by ‘talked,’ I mean I barely survived a series of increasingly suspicious and terrifying interactions.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, taking the note from you. “Let me guess: Shotaro looked like he was about to faint, Winwin was weirdly intense, Woozi tried to rewrite the entire show, and Heeseung gave you some cryptic warning?”

You blinked. “How did you know?”

He smirked, leaning against the vanity. “Because I’ve been working with these people for years. They’re all… unique.”

“Unique?” you repeated, incredulous. “Sunghoon, everyone here is either hiding something, hates Giselle, or is way too obsessed with her. I don’t know how she does this every day.”

He shrugged. “She’s Giselle. She thrives on drama. Speaking of which…” He gestured to the note. “The mirror, huh? ”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you muttered. “It’s the only lead we’ve got. We need to figure out what’s going on before someone realizes I’m not Giselle.”

Sunghoon nodded, his gaze shifting to the locked dressing room door. “Alright. Let’s start with the mirror.”

The two of you made your way to the locked dressing room, the hallway eerily quiet now that rehearsals were over. Sunghoon pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door with a soft click.

“Where did you get those?” you whispered.

He grinned. “Let’s just say I have my ways.”

The room was exactly as you remembered it—dimly lit, with the antique mirror standing ominously in the corner. You stepped inside, your heart pounding as you approached the mirror.

“It’s… kind of creepy,” you said, staring at your reflection—or rather, Giselle’s reflection.

Sunghoon stood beside you, his arms crossed. “Yeah, it’s definitely giving off ‘haunted antique’ vibes. But why would Giselle be so interested in it?”

You shook your head, your eyes scanning the room for clues. “I don’t know, but there’s got to be something here.”

As you searched, your foot caught on the edge of a loose floorboard. You crouched down, pulling it up to reveal a hidden compartment. Inside was a torn page from what looked like a diary.

“Sunghoon,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Look at this.”

He knelt beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he read the page aloud.

“I made a deal with them. I thought it was worth it—the fame, the glory, the lead role. But now I’m not so sure. The mirror… it’s watching me. I can feel it. If something happens to me, it’s because of them. Trust no one.”

You looked up at Sunghoon, your stomach churning. “A deal? What kind of deal?”

He frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t know, but it sounds like Giselle got herself into something dangerous. And if the mirror is involved…”

“Then we’re in way over our heads,” you finished, your voice trembling.

Sunghoon placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you. “Hey, we’ll figure this out. Together.”

You nodded, though your mind was racing. “But where do we even start? Everyone here seems to have their own agenda. Who can we trust?”

He smirked, his tone lightening. “Well, you can trust me. Mostly.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “Mostly? That’s reassuring.”

“Hey, I’m the one helping you navigate this mess,” he said, standing and offering you a hand. “That counts for something, right?”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “I guess it does. But seriously, I’ll kill you if you throw me under the bus.”

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Already noted. Now, let’s get out of here before someone catches us.”

Back in Giselle’s dressing room, you sank into the chaise lounge, your mind spinning. Sunghoon sat beside you, his presence a comforting anchor in the chaos.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “What’s the plan?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know. But we need to figure out who Giselle made this deal with and what it has to do with the mirror. And we need to do it fast.”

Sunghoon nodded, his expression serious. “Agreed. But for now, you need to focus on not blowing your cover. The show’s opening night is in two days, and everyone’s counting on Giselle to deliver.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Great. No pressure or anything.”

He chuckled, nudging you with his shoulder. “You’ve been doing pretty great already. You got this. And I’ll help if I can, remember?”

You looked up at him, his steady gaze calming your nerves. “Thanks, Sunghoon. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grinned, his tone teasing. “Now get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

As he left, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. Despite the danger and the mystery, you weren’t alone.

You were backstage, nervously rehearsing Giselle’s lines under your breath, when Yunjin cornered you near the prop storage. Her arms were crossed, her expression sharp enough to cut glass.

“You’re slipping, Giselle,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Forgot your blocking during the ensemble number yesterday. Missed your cue today. What’s next? Forgetting the lyrics to your precious solo?”

You forced a laugh, though your palms were sweating. “Relax, Yunjin. It’s called acting. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Funny. The Giselle I know wouldn’t need to ‘act’ like she knows what she’s doing.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “If you’re not up for the role, just say so. Soyeon’s been ready to take over since day one.”

Before you could retort, Sunghoon materialized at your side, his tone light but edged with warning. “Yunjin, don’t you have an understudy rehearsal to prep for? Or are you too busy auditioning for the role of ‘villain’?”

Yunjin scoffed, shooting you one last glare before storming off.

“You okay?” Sunghoon asked, his hand brushing yours briefly.

You exhaled shakily. “Remind me why Yunjin hates Giselle again?”

He smirked. “Giselle stole her solo in last year’s production. And her ex-boyfriend. And, according to rumors, her favorite coffee order.”

You groaned. “Of course she did.”

Later, while Sunghoon distracted the crew, you slipped into Jay’s office. The room was eerily tidy, save for a stack of financial ledgers on his desk. You flipped through them, heart pounding, until a voice froze you mid-page.

“Looking for something?”

Belle stood in the doorway, her posture relaxed but her eyes cold. You dropped the ledger like it was on fire.

“Just… admiring Jay’s organizational skills!” you said, forcing a smile. “Who knew spreadsheets could be so… thrilling?”

Belle stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. “Curiosity is dangerous in a place like this, Giselle. Especially when it’s not your business.”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She leaned against the desk, her red nails tapping the ledger. “Let me be clear: whatever game you’re playing, stop. This theatre survives because people stay in their lanes. You’d do well to remember yours.”

The threat hung in the air like smoke. Before you could respond, she turned on her heel and left, her parting words slicing through the silence: “Stay out of the dark, Giselle. It’s easier to get lost there than you think.”

That night, you met Sunghoon in the empty auditorium to compare notes.

“Belle’s definitely hiding something,” you whispered, pacing the aisle. “And Jay’s ledgers had weird entries—large payments to ‘Anonymous Benefactors.’ What does that even mean?”

Sunghoon frowned. “It means we’re dealing with someone who’s got money—and secrets. Did you—”

A sudden clatter of scaffolding made you both freeze. Mark emerged from the shadows, his face pale.

“Giselle? Sunghoon?” he said, glancing between you. “What are you guys doing here so late?”

You plastered on a smile. “Just… rehearsing! You know how Sunghoon is about perfection.”

Mark hesitated, his gaze lingering on the file in Sunghoon’s hand. “Rehearsing… with financial records?”

Sunghoon stepped forward smoothly. “It’s method acting, Mark. Giselle’s character is a corrupt CEO. Very gritty. Very real.”

Mark blinked. “Oh. Cool, I guess? Just… be careful, okay? Heeseung said there’ve been weird noises backstage at night.”

As he walked away, you slumped into a seat. “We are terrible at this.”

Sunghoon grinned. “Nah. We’re just… creatively challenged.”

By the time you returned to Giselle’s dressing room, exhaustion and panic had merged into a dizzying haze. Sunghoon followed you inside, his usual smirk replaced by genuine concern.

“We’re running out of time,” you said, sinking onto the couch. “If we don’t figure this out before opening night…”

“We will,” Sunghoon interrupted, crouching in front of you. “But you need to breathe. Freaking out won’t help Giselle—or you.”

You met his gaze, his steadiness anchoring you. “What if we can’t fix this? What if I’m stuck like… this?”

He hesitated, then reached for your hand. “Then I’ll teach you how to hit Giselle’s high notes. And how to glare at Yangyang without laughing. And—”

You snorted, swatting his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“But you’re smiling,” he said softly.

The moment hung between you, charged and fragile—until a sharp knock shattered it.

“Giselle?” Jay’s voice called through the door. “We need to talk. Now.”

Sunghoon squeezed your hand once before slipping out the window, leaving you alone to face the storm.

The moment Jay stepped into Giselle’s dressing room, the air thickened with tension. He closed the door softly behind him, his usual friendly demeanor replaced by a chilling calm.

“Let’s skip the act, Giselle,” he said, leaning against the vanity. “You’ve been digging where you shouldn’t. Ledgers. The mirror. Our deal.”

You froze, your pulse roaring in your ears. Our deal. The words from Giselle’s diary page flashed in your mind. I made a deal with them. You forced yourself to meet Jay’s gaze, channeling every ounce of Giselle’s steel.

“You think I’d forget our arrangement?” you said, your voice steady despite the storm inside. “I’m just making sure you’re holding up your end.”

Jay’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, I’ve held up my end. You’re the star, aren’t you? The spotlight, the adoration—all because of me. But now you’re sniffing around like a lost puppy. Why?”

You crossed your arms, mimicking Giselle’s signature icy poise. “Maybe I don’t like being kept in the dark. The mirror, the payments to ‘Anonymous Benefactors’… What’s the price you mentioned in our deal, Jay?”

His expression darkened. For a heartbeat, you saw it—the flicker of fear beneath his polished façade. “The price,” he said slowly, “is silence. You wanted the role, I gave it to you. But if you keep pushing, that mirror won’t be the only thing that disappears.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Finish the show. Play your part. Or I’ll make sure you regret ever stepping into this theatre.”

The door slammed behind him, leaving you trembling.

You found Sunghoon in the prop loft, sorting through dusty set designs. The second you relayed Jay’s threats, his playful smirk vanished.

“A deal for the lead role,” he muttered, pacing. “That explains why Giselle’s been so paranoid. But what’s the mirror got to do with it?”

You pulled out the torn diary page and the ledger notes. “Jay’s been funneling money to someone—or something. And Giselle wrote that the mirror was ‘watching’ her. What if the deal wasn’t just with Jay? What if it’s… older?”

Sunghoon’s eyes widened. “The theatre’s original owner disappeared decades ago. Rumor was he made a pact with some cursed object to keep the place running.” He grabbed your hand, urgency in his grip. “The mirror. It’s not just a prop—it’s the source. Jay’s using it to control things… and Giselle was part of it.”

You stared at the diary entry. “If something happens to me, it’s because of them.” “She was going to expose him,” you realized. “That’s why she was acting strange. Jay found out, and he—or whatever’s tied to that mirror—swapped our bodies to silence her.”

Sunghoon cursed under his breath. “And now you’re stuck in the crosshairs. If we don’t break this curse before opening night, you might be trapped like this forever… or worse.”

Back in the dressing room, you and Sunghoon spread the clues across the floor: the diary page, the ledger, a faded newspaper article about the theatre’s cursed history.

“So Jay’s the middleman,” Sunghoon said, tapping the article. “But the real power’s in the mirror. It demands a ‘price’—probably souls or some messed-up supernatural rent.”

You grimaced. “Giselle paid with hers, didn’t she? That’s why she’s gone. And now the mirror wants… me?”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened. “Not if I can help it. We need to find the original pact. If we destroy it, maybe we break the curse.”

You hesitated. “What if it’s not enough? What if we’re already too late?”

He turned to you, his gaze fierce. “Then we’ll burn the whole theatre down. But I’m not losing you to this.”

The intensity in his voice made your breath catch. Before you could respond, a crash echoed from the hallway—the sound of shattered glass.

Sunghoon pulled you to your feet. “Time’s up. Let’s move.”

You and Sunghoon stormed into Jay’s office, the ledger and Giselle’s diary clutched in your hands. Jay looked up from his desk, his expression unreadable.

“We know about the mirror,” Sunghoon said, his voice colder than you’d ever heard it. “And the deal. How could you do this, Jay? To Giselle? To us?”

Jay leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “You think I wanted this? The mirror’s curse has been hanging over this theatre for decades. I didn’t create it—I inherited it. Giselle knew the risks when she made her deal.”

You slammed the ledger onto his desk. “Risks? You sold her soul for a lead role?”

Jay’s calm cracked. “I didn’t swap her!” he snapped, standing abruptly. “I tried to protect her. But she got greedy. She wanted out of the deal, and threatened to expose everything. And then—”

The door swung open. Belle stood in the doorway, her smile sharp as a knife. “And then I stepped in.”

Sunghoon stiffened. “Belle?”

She strode into the room, her heels clicking like a countdown. “Jay’s too sentimental. He couldn’t stomach what needed to be done. But me?” She laughed, cold and hollow. “I’ve been cleaning up his messes for years.”

You stepped forward, fists trembling. “What did you do to Giselle?”

Belle’s gaze locked onto yours, venomous and triumphant. “That night she tried to destroy the mirror? I caught her. And I gave her a taste of her own medicine. Why let her soul vanish when I could trap it somewhere… quieter?” She pulled a small, ornate compact from her pocket—a shard of the mirror glinting inside. “Like that nobody body of yours.”

The air left your lungs. “You—you swapped us. You’re the one who put me here.”

Belle smirked. “Guilty. Though I must say, watching you fumble around as Giselle has been delightful. Almost makes me want to keep you here forever.”

Sunghoon moved in front of you, blocking Belle’s path. “Where’s Giselle’s soul now?”

“Somewhere she can’t cause trouble,” Belle said lightly. “A body with no connections, no power. A nobody.” She turned to Jay, her tone hardening. “You’re welcome, by the way. I saved your precious theatre.”

Jay looked away, guilt etched into every line of his face.

Sunghoon lunged for the compact, but Belle jerked it out of reach. “Ah-ah,” she tutted. “Break this, and Giselle’s soul shatters with it. Along with your little friend here.”

You froze, panic clawing up your throat. Sunghoon shot Jay a searing look. “You knew. This whole time, you knew.”

Jay’s voice broke. “I tried to stop her, Sunghoon. But the mirror… it demands a price. If it wasn’t Giselle, it would’ve been someone else. Maybe you.”

Sunghoon recoiled like he’d been slapped. “We were supposed to be family.”

“We are,” Jay pleaded. “That’s why I kept you out of it. Belle’s right—I’m weak. But I never wanted this.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “Save the drama for the stage. The show goes on tonight, and Giselle—or whatever’s left of her—will play her part. As for you two?” She nodded to the security guards looming in the hallway. “You’ll stay out of the way. Or I’ll make sure Y/N’s body ends up in the river.”

Locked in a storage closet, you sank to the floor, trembling. Belle said she would let the two of you out soon. She just couldn’t have you telling others and needed you to learn your lesson, whatever that meant. Sunghoon paced like a caged animal, his usual composure shattered.

“All this time,” he muttered, “Jay let her do this. He chose the theatre over us. Over everything.”

You hugged your knees to your chest. “We can’t let her win. Giselle’s still out there—trapped in my body. We have to find her.”

Sunghoon crouched in front of you, his eyes blazing. “We will. But we need a new plan. And we need to move fast.”

You glanced at the door. “How? Belle’s got the mirror shard. And Jay’s under her thumb.”

A slow, defiant grin spread across Sunghoon’s face. “Then we play their game. You go onstage tonight as Giselle. We’ll find the compact. And when the curtain falls…”

“We destroy the mirror for good,” you finished.

He nodded. “Together.”

You hesitated, then reached for his hand. “Sunghoon… Thank you. For not giving up on me.”

His fingers tightened around yours. “Always.”

The theatre buzzed with the energy of a packed house, the orchestra tuning up as the audience settled into their seats. Backstage, chaos reigned—actors in glittering costumes darted past, crew members shouted over headsets, and the scent of hairspray hung thick in the air. You stood in Giselle’s sequined gown, clutching Sunghoon’s arm like a lifeline.

“You ready?” he asked, adjusting his cufflinks with forced calm.

“To sing a solo in French while secretly planning a magical heist? Totally,” you deadpanned. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Sunghoon grinned, though tension lined his eyes. “Don’t answer that. Just stick to the plan: distract Belle, find the compact, smash the mirror. ”

“And try not to die,” you added.

“Especially that.”

You found Belle in the locked dressing room, her back turned as she polished the cursed mirror with a reverence that made your skin crawl. The compact containing Giselle’s soul glinted in her hand.

“Leaving so soon?” she said without turning around. “The show hasn’t even started.”

You stepped inside, channeling Giselle’s icy confidence. “I thought we could chat. Girl to girl. Demon to… whatever you are.”

Belle smirked, snapping the compact shut. “Cute. But you’re terrible at bluffing.”

“Good thing I’m not the one bluffing,” you said, nodding to the doorway.

Sunghoon lunged, tackling Belle to the ground. The compact skidded across the floor as the two grappled, Belle’s nails clawing at his arms.

“Traitor!” she hissed. “You’d choose this traitor over your own family?”

“Girl, you are not my family. And family doesn’t sell souls,” Sunghoon shot back, dodging her swipe.

You scrambled for the compact, but Belle kicked a makeup case into your path. Lipsticks and powder exploded into the air, coating everything in a shimmering haze.

“Sunghoon.” you yelled, choking on glitter.

“A little busy here!” he grunted, pinning Belle’s wrists.

You dove for the compact, your fingers brushing its edge just as Belle wrenched free. She slammed into the mirror, her reflection warping grotesquely in the glass.

“You want Giselle back?” Belle snarled, clutching the compact. “Then take her!”

She hurled it at the mirror. The glass rippled like water, and for a heartbeat, you saw your body—Giselle’s soul trapped inside—staring back, terrified.

“NO!” Sunghoon tackled Belle again, but the compact shattered against the mirror’s surface. A deafening crack split the air, and the room plunged into swirling shadows.

You stumbled forward, grasping for Sunghoon’s hand. “The mirror—it’s breaking!”

“Then let’s help it along!” he shouted, snatching a fire extinguisher off the wall.

You grabbed a prop sword from the corner, swinging it at the mirror with a battle cry that was more terrified than terrifying. Flames emerged, stretching across the drywood flood, seemingly out of nowhere. The blade struck the glass just as Sunghoon slammed the extinguisher into it.

The mirror exploded.

You woke with a jolt, your head throbbing as if you’d been spun through a tornado. The world came into focus slowly—sticky theater seats, the murmur of an impatient crowd, and the faint scent of popcorn. Your hands flew to your face, your real face, and you nearly sobbed with relief.

“Oh, thank god.” you muttered, staring at your familiar hoodie sleeves.

Onstage, the orchestra swelled, and the curtain rose to reveal Giselle—the real Giselle—commanding the spotlight in her sequined gown. She moved with effortless grace, her voice sharp and clear, no trace of the chaos that had nearly destroyed her. For a moment, your eyes met across the auditorium. She gave the faintest nod, her gaze lingering with unspoken gratitude, before launching into her solo.

After the final bow, you lurked in the shadows backstage, unsure where to go now that you were no longer the star. Sunghoon found you first, still in his stage makeup and looking like he’d fought a war.

“There you are,” he said, breathless. “I’d recognize that bad posture anywhere. You okay?”

“Fuck you.” You scowled, but couldn’t help but grin, holding up your hands. “Ten fingers, ten toes, and zero cursed mirrors. I’d call that a win.”

Before he could reply, Giselle swept into the wings, her presence magnetic even without the spotlight. The cast and crew froze, sensing the storm in her eyes.

“Belle,” Giselle said, her voice cutting through the silence. “You owe us all an explanation. Starting with why you trapped me in a stranger’s body and tried to bury the truth.”

Belle stepped forward, her composure cracking. “You were going to ruin everything! This theatre survives because of that mirror—”

“It survives in spite of it,” Giselle snapped. She turned to the stunned crowd, her tone softening. “Jay and Belle made a deal with something darker than any of us realized. They used fear to control us. But tonight?” She gestured to the shattered remains of the mirror, now being wheeled offstage by stagehands. “Tonight, we break the cycle.”

Jay emerged from the shadows, his face ashen. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking. “To all of you. But especially to you, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon crossed his arms, his usual smirk absent. “Save it. You don’t get to play the victim here.”

Giselle stepped between them, her glare silencing Jay. “You’re done. Both of you.”

Later, as the crew dispersed and the theatre emptied, you lingered by the stage door with Sunghoon. Giselle approached, her regal demeanor softened by exhaustion.

“Thank you,” she said, clasping your hand. “You risked everything to save a life you didn’t owe me.”

You shrugged, awkward but earnest. “Just… try not to steal anyone’s coffee order ever again.”

Giselle laughed, a rare, genuine sound. “No promises.” She turned to Sunghoon, her gaze knowing. “Take care of her. She’s braver than she looks.”

Sunghoon saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

As Giselle left, you elbowed him. “Take care of me? You literally threw a fire extinguisher at a mirror tonight instead of using it to put out the fire..”

“And you swung a prop sword like it was a pool noodle,” he shot back. “We’re a mess. But hey—” He nudged you, nodding to the stage. “You never did get to perform. Want to try that solo?”

You snorted. “In this lifetime? Absolutely not.”

He grinned, pulling you toward the exit. “Smart.”

The theatre’s grand lobby buzzed with nervous energy as the cast and crew gathered for Jay’s announcement. He stood at the top of the staircase, his usual charm replaced by a somber resolve.

“Effective immediately,” Jay said, voice steady but strained, “I’m stepping down as owner. Sunghoon will take over.”

A ripple of surprise spread through the crowd. Sunghoon, leaning casually against a pillar, straightened up like he’d been electrocuted. “Wait—what?”

Jay tossed him a set of keys, a faint smirk breaking through his guilt. “Don’t look so thrilled. You’ve been complaining about my leadership for years. Now fix it.”

Sunghoon caught the keys, staring at them like they might bite. “You’re insane. I don’t know the first thing about running a theatre.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Jay said, clapping him on the shoulder. “And… try not to burn it down.”

As the crowd dispersed, Sunghoon turned to you, panic flickering in his eyes. “Help. Please.”

You grinned. “Only if you promise free popcorn for life.”

Later, as the two of you surveyed the empty auditorium, Sunghoon nudged you with his elbow. “So. Audition slots are open. You’ve already survived being Giselle—might as well try being yourself onstage.”

You snorted. “Tempting, but I think I’ll stick to not nearly dying in cursed mirrors, thanks.”

He tilted his head, studying you with a sudden intensity. “You know… I never actually saw what you looked like before. Giselle’s body was all… Giselle. But you?” His gaze swept over you, lingering on your face. “You’re… distracting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Distracting?”

“Yeah. Like, annoyingly pretty. How am I supposed to focus on rebuilding this place if you’re just… standing there?”

Your cheeks burned, but you rolled your eyes. “Wow, Park. That might be the worst compliment I’ve ever heard.”

He stepped closer, his smirk softening. “I’ll work on it. But seriously—stay. Even if you don’t audition. The theatre needs people who aren’t obsessed with cursed antiques. And I…” He trailed off, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I need someone to keep me from setting fire to the prop room.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the empty space. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly charming,” he corrected, grinning.

“Debatable.”

Before he could retort, you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him. It was quick, impulsive, and left him blinking in stunned silence.

“There,” you said, stepping back. “Now you can’t talk.”

Sunghoon touched his lips, his ears turning pink. “…Okay, that worked better than I expected.”

Weeks later, the theatre hummed with new energy. Rehearsals for the next production were underway, and Sunghoon’s leadership—though chaotic—had brought a fresh, unjaded spirit to the crew. You’d taken a part-time job managing schedules (and keeping Sunghoon from accidentally hiring a ‘magician’ for lighting design), but tonight, as you passed the old west wing, a flicker of light caught your eye.

The locked dressing room door stood slightly ajar.

Heart pounding, you pushed it open. The room was empty, save for one thing: the mirror, whole and unbroken, its surface gleaming like it had never been shattered.

“Sunghoon!” you yelled, backing away.

He skidded into the room, fire extinguisher in hand. “What? Where’s the fire—oh.”

You pointed at the mirror. “We broke that thing! I watched it explode!”

Sunghoon set down the extinguisher, staring at the glass. “Guess some curses don’t stay dead.”

“That’s not comforting.”

He slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Don’t worry. We’ve got time. And this time?” He kissed your temple, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m charging the audience extra for our trauma.”

You elbowed him, but couldn’t suppress a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” he said, steering you out of the room. “Now come on. We’ve got a theatre to run… and maybe a sequel to avoid.”

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

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demonicbaby666 · 9 months ago

Text

ii. The Date

Feelings Are Fatal Masterlist | Masterlist | iii

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x fem!Reader

Words: 6.7k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, body issues, attempted drugging, internal conflict, fingering

Showers should be about cleaning yourself and ensuring no dirt clings to your water-streaked skin. In that process, it doesn’t hurt to smell like cinnamon, vanilla, or something more earthly, like lavender or rose. Yet, after the previous night, it felt more like you were trying to wash the mark of JJ off your skin rather than the sweat exertion had left behind. You scrubbed the purple marks tattooed against your thighs, neck and breasts till the flesh beneath was tender and raw. No part of you was left unscathed by brittle bristles.

The constant spray of water bled down your face, diluting your salty tears and carrying them down the drain. You watched, transfixed, as soap trickled down your chest, torso, then legs, thinking of how JJ had used her fingers to trace a similar path and how her touch was somehow suppler than liquid.

Maybe it was ten minutes, perhaps it was thirty, but eventually, when your fingertips pruned and your tear ducts emptied, you made your way out of the shower, leaving a trail of wet footprints leading to your bedroom. When you sat on the floor, towel splitting down the middle to reveal a slither of your stomach, your reflection stared blankly back at you in the mirror.

You made a habit of this, pointing out everything you hated about yourself, from the bags under your eyes and the ragged cut of your hair to how your thighs always found a way to touch one another and the chipped nail polish on your toenails.

‘You’re perfect.’

That’s what JJ had said. Looking yourself over, you did not feel the same. You felt dirty despite showering. You felt that not one part of you was ‘perfect’. Her lies made you sick. They echoed in your mind, ‘You’re perfect’ round and round, over and over, louder and louder, until your lungs burned, your eyes stung, and your knuckles blanched.

As it turned out, your supply of tears were not depleted in the shower.

An hour later, coffee filled the air, chatter hummed low in your ears, and caffeine helped you feel less like a living zombie. You’d painted your face with concealer, brushed mascara through your lashes and balmed your wobbling lip, begging yourself not to cry lest you ruin your makeup. By the time you were ready, checking yourself over in the mirror once again, you managed to crack a convincing smile.

The bell above the quaint shop door rang, and you tore your gaze away from the steam rising off your latte to the two women entering. Garcia led the pair, recognisable as ever with her bright attire and beautifully bizarre accessories. Behind her was someone undoubtedly as recognisable but not to the untrained eye. You only knew who it was because it was the same person you had spent the previous night and the following morning under, JJ.

Any semblance of normalcy you had managed to muster up disappeared instantly. Panic rose from the depth of your stomach, and you clung hard to the cup in your grasp, scarcely registering the burn of it till it was all too late, and you hissed in pain.

JJ was by you in a second, taking your inflamed fingertips in her hands and assessing the damage.

“You need to be more careful,” she chided, thumbing over reddened skin.

After quickly checking that Garcia was busy chatting with the young barista, JJ raised your hand to her lips. She kissed each finger softly, leaving you breathless and wide-eyed when she laid your entwined hands on her lap and thanked Garcia - who returned with a bright smile - for paying for their coffees.

“Sorry for gate-crashing.” JJ turned to smirk at you. “I needed a bit of a pick-me-up after a long night. I hope you don’t mind.” She had the audacity to flick one of her eyebrows up and down.

“No, no,” you spluttered, cheeks turning rogue as you struggled to find the right words, “It’s okay. It’s just, well I-”

Garcia happily interjected, and you would have thanked her for it had you not seen the words form in her mouth and detected the dread they would bring. You knew this would come up. Hell, it’s why you were meeting with Garcia in the first place. Still, after the move JJ had pulled, caressing your burnt fingers with her lips, you were okay to go on without the reality check.

“JJ won’t mind us talking about your hot date tonight,” she said with a smile and a wink, turning to the blonde for confirmation, “Right?”

You didn’t dare look up.

It wasn’t that you expected JJ to be hurt or upset; it was quite the opposite. You couldn’t stand to see the encouraging look she’d give you or the elated smile she may offer at the prospect of you finding someone to date because that was JJ—the ever-supportive friend.

Her grip on your hand faltered. You forced yourself to be brave, to look up.

She almost looked… hurt. No, it wasn’t possible. It was her ego bruised, not her heart. She wasn’t like you. Her heart wasn’t on the line.

“Go for it.” She shrugged, looking to the side, uninterested.

“It’s a friend of a friend from work.” You were unsure why you needed to justify going out on a date to JJ. She clearly didn’t care, and you were single, after all. That didn’t stop you from reassuringly squeezing her hand and continuing. “She’s been pestering me for weeks, and I felt bad. That’s all.”

Like ice out on a summer day, you melted when JJ gave you a sympathetic smile. Poor little you, so limited in options you had to rely on the kind help of friends to find anyone that could possibly want you. It’s probably why she kept you around—pity.

“You should stop being so nice,” JJ said rather bluntly, splitting her gaze between the wailing espresso machine and Garcia—who looked slightly puzzled.

“I thought you said you were looking forward to tonight?” Garcia scowled.

Once again, you'd most likely shown your hand. This time, it was being so nonchalant about your date. Of course, a hundred dates would never change the fact you'd always belong to JJ. Hell, a hundred tearful mornings would never change that; not even a hundred rejections would. But no one needn’t know of that, so it became imperative to cut your words from gold.

“I am. It’s the getting ready part that’s tedious.” You did not mention that it was all too easy the previous night to jump out of bed and doll yourself up for JJ. “Plus, these guys only want one thing most of the time.” Finishing off with a deep sigh, you took a well-deserved swig of caffeinated goodness and hummed appreciatively as it warmed the empty pit in your stomach.

“Why not?” Garcia laughed, getting a little louder when you and JJ shot her twin looks of perplexion and shock. “I mean,” she sang. “Why not go for it? Have a little fun. Live a little. Fuck the guy.”

JJ choked on her coffee.

Finally, your hands broke apart in favour of ensuring the liquid lodged in JJ’s throat did not linger long enough to suffocate her.

“Strictly speaking, I’m not into the whole one-night stand thing,” you replied, patting JJ’s back.

“Come on!” Garcia exclaimed, looking to the recovering blonde for aid. “Tell her. She needs to get laid.”

JJ choked again. This time on thin air.

When JJ did finally find her voice, it was raspy and scathed. “I think she should do whatever will make her happy.”

Five years' worth of happy memories washed over you, times where you’d smiled, where you laughed, and most treasured—the ones you felt you finally belonged. They almost all had JJ in them, at the forefront or the sidelines, bringing about steady streams of merriment.

How were you supposed to tell her that she made you happy and that being with her would grant you the joy people only find in fairytales? You couldn’t.

She wouldn’t understand. She’d want to stop what you two had and keep her distance in case she gave you the wrong idea–that she slept with you for any reason other than calming her avid sex drive.

“I guess we’ll have to see what tonight brings,” you muttered, bringing your coffee to your lips and pointedly avoiding both women’s gazes.

—

As it turned out, the evening wasn’t off to a bad start. After coffee, JJ and Garcia returned to your apartment and helped you choose what to wear. Garcia was far more enthusiastic about taking on the role of your stylist, while JJ remained quiet, nodding her head at most outfits and only showing slight disdain for the more flashy picks.

Sitting at the populated bar, the unsettling image of JJ lingering at your door plagued your mind.

Glass clanked at your side and to your front. The classical music caged in wall-mounted speakers struggled to drown out the ruckus of drunken laughter.

Her lips were screwed shut, and her posture rigid as she took on the appearance of a skittish animal, ready to run at a second's notice. There was something stuck in her throat, a clump of words she seemed to fight to hold back and get out simultaneously.

The distinct crunch of metal scraping against ice jostled you for a moment. Like a cat to a mouse, you did not remove your gaze from the cubes haphazardly thrown into a highball glass, the cling satisfying in your ears. You watched as mint leaves joined two succulent slices of lime, both soon drowned by a hefty amount of clear liquor and finally topped with a sticky sugared syrup. The bartender took little care in dumping the cocktail in a metal cup, shaking it up and down with even less caution and paying no mind to the spillage leaking down his arms.

Again came the scoop of ice, with fresher, newer, untouched cubes for the misty glass. The drink was poured through a strainer, and the deformed, melted ice that served its purpose was thrown out. Used and forgotten.

In the end, JJ never did get the words out. Instead, she let out a little puff of air through an artificial smile that could be mistaken for a laugh if it weren’t for the lack of amusement in her eyes. Muttering a quick “Have fun” and a quiet “be safe”, she left.

The sullen slink of her back haunted you as you watched a young man approach you, matching the description given of your date.

His hair was an ashy black, the colour you’d see at the end of a haunted alleyway in the late hours of night. Every man, woman and child knew better than to venture in, yet none could deny the urge to take the risk. He was slim and tall, his stubble well-groomed. The line from alabaster skin to coarse wisps of brown hair looked almost painted as it cut contours down the side of his face, making him look slightly like a film noir villain. Nonetheless, it did suit him.

He seemed pleasant, a little fidgety, his hands clasping and unclasping air, but that was to be expected. It was a first date, after all.

When he sat down, bringing with him from outside the fragrance of rain and bark, conversation flowed surprisingly well. It was nowhere near comparable to the tete-a-tetes you share with JJ. But the convergence between topics wasn’t forced or awkward. You thought it was nice for a brief time; the voices in the back of your head were eerily quiet, and the constant jibber jabber forcing you to dissect everything you planned to say or had already said was quashed. It was something you could get used to—peace.

On the last swallow of your drink, weeds began to sprout, and the guilt started to kick in alongside the woozy effects of rum. His mouth was moving, and your ears were ringing, and you could think of was JJ. How being there, sitting at a bar, having fun without her on a date felt like betraying something you didn't have. You weren’t cheating; you’d have to be in a relationship for that. Yet, the dread in your stomach didn’t settle at the thought.

He was staring at your empty glass when you returned to the room, something unreadable and dark in his constricting pupils.

“You want another?” he asked.

“I probably shouldn’t,” you chuckled, a chill running down your spine. “I’m going to run to the restroom.”

As your heels touched the floor, fingers wrapped around your wrist, holding you in place.

“Live a little.” His eyes were pleading–uncomfortably so. His fingers bit harder into your wrist than strictly necessary, and you nodded. If only to get yourself out of this uncomfortable predicament, you’d abide by another person's wants. “Sweet,” he said with a smile that failed to meet his eyes, “I’ll order you another for when you get back. It’s on me.”

You pulled your hand out of his callus grip, making for the bathroom with a quick thank you.

It was weird. After leaving that situation, alarm bells should have been ringing blaringly loud. However, you found them to be a distant shrill looming in the backs of your ears. What, unsurprisingly, occupied your every thought was JJ. You thought back to how her hand would never hold you with such brute force, how her smiles were genuine and lit up her eyes. As you reached to halt the steady water flow from the tap, you thought of her perfume–the full-bodied scent that had the air of walking into an apothecary. It was so visceral you could smell it even then.

The door swung open.

Darting your eyes up into the mirror, staring at the straight-backed figure behind you, it started to make much more sense why such a thing happened.

“What are you-”

JJ left no space for you to question her presence or her crashing of your date. She took you by the hand and pulled you towards the door. “We’re leaving.”

The cubby in which relief once sat at seeing a familiar face emptied. Confusion and irritability at the audacity of JJ’s rash actions now took its place.

You yanked your hand back, ignoring the dejected look she shot you at the mere thought her touch could burn you so. The hurt didn’t settle for long on her face. Instead, her nostrils flared, her ears lit up red, and she wore the distinct look of a parent squabbling with a petulant child.

Who did she think she was? Barging in and acting like you were at fault for not complying immediately.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” you screeched.

It was strange to see her this way–out of sorts and bordering on berserk. Her eyes were frantically moving to and from the door like someone was about to burst through and steal you away. You briefly wondered if she was like this at work. It was no secret that JJ worked for the FBI. After all, it was the stress of her job that led you to her bed often. She needed an outlet, and you were it. Still, you’d think working in such a high-stakes environment would train you to have better etiquette than what she displayed then. Frankly put, she was a mess.

“Would you just do as you’re told for once?” she whispered, though she may as well have shouted with her brassed-off tone.

Try as you might have to school your features, it was useless. Your resentment for JJ, alongside her statement, was clear as day.

Propriety be damned. You took two steps forward and jabbed your index finger right to her sternum. “Firstly, you have no right to order me around. So no, I won’t do as I’m told.” Your eyes were unrelenting as they burned holes into JJ’s. “Secondly-”

As it turned out, getting in JJ’s personal space wasn’t a good idea. It made it incredibly easy for her to grab you by the waist, seek out your lips and back you up against the bathroom counter. If only to further prove her insistence on your silence, her tongue pried its way into the kiss, hot and hurried as it ran a muck of your brain and body, reducing you to nothing but a mess of wanton need.

She was harsh with her kisses, a contrast to her light touch. Her fingers curled around the edges of your waist, massaging knots out of your back you could never reach. All noise disappeared, leaving you both alone in a strangely intimate moment.

The lump of anger in your throat dissipated like morning fog by the time you broke away for breath. Looking up into JJ’s eyes something had changed–softened even.

“Do you trust me?” she asked, breathless as the tips of your noses kissed.

The answer came without hesitation, “Yes.”

JJ sighed in relief, pulling your body closer and delicately placing your hand on her chest. “Then please, let me take you home.” She was desperate. You could hear it in her breaking voice and feel it in the very depths of your soul.

“Okay.”

—

“Jennifer,” you began cooly, trying not to fidget in the passenger seat. “I need you to tell me what happened. Please.”

A small squeak came from your left–stiff leather strangled by sweaty palms. You looked over to see JJ’s knuckles white, her arms shook, and her jaw lined by silent fury.

When your request was not sated, and you were forced to sit quietly for another two minutes, feeling more and more like a scorned child, you were about to ask again. The blonde, however, beat you to it, finally finding her voice.

“The son of a bitch drink tried to put something in your drink,” JJ spoke with liquid fire, the words cutting at her throat till the final syllable came out broken and choked.

“Oh.” Your stomach dropped. The horror stories you’d heard, the news articles you’d read, none of them could have prepared you for the intense sickness that filled your stomach at the prospect of ever…

“There's no chance it was a multivitamin tablet?” you tried to joke, already feeling a familiar coldness creep up against the back of your eyelids. JJ only huffed, clearly finding no humour in the events that had come to pass.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

You spent the rest of the drive in silence, JJ focusing on the road and you focusing on the lights swimming through your bleary vision, too afraid to say any more lest the welding tears in your eyes find their way to freedom.

For years, you’d learned to look after yourself. No one had your back like you did. On a night out, you watched never to drink too much so you could get yourself home in one piece without burdening anyone. If you found your fridge empty and cupboards sparse, you’d haul yourself to the supermarket and trek back home carting heavy backs in your hands with zero complaints. When you felt like the world was on your shoulders and even the slightest thing would throw you off balance, you’d hide away and recuperate till you were sure the melancholy had evaporated and soaked into the sheets you’d finally found the energy to throw into the washing machine.

Then you met JJ.

Over five years, she crept into your life and carved away the belief that you had to do everything alone. You hadn't realised, but sitting in her car, she had saved you not just from a night that could have ended very badly but from yourself.

When you went out, she would watch over you, dance with you, and encourage you to indulge because, by the end of the night, she would find you safe passage home. By the time you’d reach home, there would always be a text waiting to confirm you got in, and if left unanswered, a call would shrill through the silence, and her voice would turn from worried to calm at the reassurances you'd offer.

Often, JJ would mention the sad sight of your fridge by the end of the week, the one to whip her phone out and compile a list you’d both visit in the grocery store after she’d convinced you to let her drive you. However, you were proud that she had only managed to trick you into letting her pay a handful of times.

“I get paid more than you,” she’d say, or, “I’m going to eat some of this stuff, too.”

To which your comebacks were, “And I’m smart about how I spend.” or “I only buy vegetables to make myself feel good. If you didn’t eat the healthy crap, it’d go bad, so technically, you’re doing me a favour.”

You still shut the world out when life got tough. The only difference now was that JJ seemed to always find a key. You wouldn’t cry nearly as much when she stayed quiet beside you on the couch, eating from your favourite bowl (that you refused to share with anybody else), content to watch your comfort films for the umpteenth time.

You didn’t want to lose that. You couldn’t lose her. Ever.

The landscape outside was dark, and it took you a second to realise JJ was pulling into the parking lot to your apartment. Something inside you, call it survival instinct or weakness, recoiled at the image of a sad, lonely girl withering away piece by piece with each lonesome stride she took through the halls of her once warm home. You didn’t want to be her. Not again. Not when you’d fought tooth and nail to abstain from falling back into the trap of facile gloom.

You really shouldn’t. It was late, and you were emotional. The words slip out. “Can you stay?” you asked, reaching to twine your fingers through JJ’s. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Her eyes showed no doubt when she immediately nodded and held tight to your hand.

“Always.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

It was hard to look away from her, harder to remind yourself she was not fluent in the language your gaze spoke. The hardest part was to pry yourself away from JJ’s pillowed touch and exit the car.

As it always was with JJ, you didn’t have to wait long before she was attempting to alleviate some of your distress. Fingers trailed up your palm and clamped around the divot of your thumb as you climbed the steps to your apartment, JJ close by your side. The sound of your footsteps echoing filled the silence of the drafty stairwell, sound waves vibrating off the walls and fading down, down and down till you reached the second floor and hastily made your way to the haven that was home.

With shaky hands, you reached for the keys in your bag. There was no need, however. JJ already had the spare wedged in the lock, turning the mechanism till you heard that satisfying click.

When you stepped inside—your company hot on your tail—no warmth greeted you. You did not suddenly feel safer or any less stained from the events of the evening. You felt empty, numb, and tired. Not the physical tired, the one you could sleep off; it was the type of exhaustion that burrowed deep into a person's bones, deep into their minds, till even the easiest of tasks became an unwinnable battle.

You stood, unmoving, staring at a lone droplet of water hanging precariously off the kitchen faucet.

“You should take a shower and get into something more comfortable.” You heard JJ say from behind you. Her voice was as cautious as the small steps she took towards you. “You’re probably still in shock.”

The frayed string you were hanging on by snapped.

“Don’t treat me like a victim,” you coldly retorted, keeping your back to the blonde.

“I’m not.”

You scoffed at the blatant lie.

“I’m treating you like a person I,” she clipped her mouth shut, taking a moment to breathe in and out through her nose. “Like a person I consider my closest friend.”

Friend. The word should not have stung. It was, after all, the truth.

“Fine,” you sighed. Too tired to process any more of the hurt the night might bring, you walked straight to the bathroom and locked the door.

By the time you finished showering, feeling no less clean than when you entered, your skin was raw and red from the combination of scolding water and the force you used to press the shower cloth against your flesh. The tenderised meat of your limbs should have pained you. It should have left you feeling as agonised as a skinned animal. Instead, you felt nothing.

Standing in the doorway, donned in an oversized sleep shirt and underwear, one step away from the open corridor leading to the kitchen and modest longue, a tear tumbled down your face. One became two, and two became many. In a matter of a few seconds, you were openly weeping, dropping to the damp floor and burying your head between your bent knees.

Your sobs ripped at your throat. As much as you wanted to stop, you couldn’t. The anguish kept coming in mammoth waves, wracking your body from head to toe, crushing your ribs and suffocating your lungs.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Over and over. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

You vaguely registered ruffling from the longue, the dull thud of scurried footsteps.

You couldn’t separate yourself from the pain. It was all-compassing, surrounding you like a violent tempest, blurring all of your senses till all you saw was a world awash in grey.

You didn’t look up when you felt JJ near. You couldn’t. Your neck was icily stiff, and though your eyes were strained from staring at the empty space between your feet, nothing was left in you to force them elsewhere.

When JJ positioned herself behind you, you couldn’t help but collapse against her sturdy chest. You were so far detached from reality that you could only hope her body would be the tether to something tangible.

“I’m so sorry.” Your apology came out broken and winded.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” she cooed, turning your body to the side. She lifted your knees over her thigh as she cradled you in her arms and rested her chin on your partially damp hair.

“I was a bitch,” you sniffled, nuzzling into the crook of her neck.

“After what almost happened tonight, you think I care about a little sass?” JJ chuckled, pulling you from under her and holding your face between her palms. “You’re stubborn and hardheaded,” she whispered, tucking a dangling strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re also strong as hell.”

“JJ, you don’t have to-”

“Let me finish.” She pinched your chin between her fingers and thumb, intent on keeping your gaze unwavering. “You’re probably one of the few people who is even worse at asking for help than I am. But tonight, you asked me to stay, and that’s what I will do.” Her eyes were resolute. “Even if I have to be your metaphorical punching bag, even if I have to be a pillow for you to cry on, hell, even if you want me to be a fly on the wall, I'll do it. I’ll do whatever you need, be whatever you need me to be.”

The unshed tears in your eyes were forming for entirely different reasons now.

This wasn’t what you had with JJ. Maybe it was a couple of years ago or even six months ago when her embrace wouldn’t turn you to liquid. Absently, you noted you missed the times when her smirk would send butterflies to your stomach and turn you shy, not splash the blank canvas of your mind with explicit memories. You missed the times when she could say or do anything, and the worst outcome would be a little blossom of hope in you would decay.

Now, hearing everything you ever wanted, having her in such an intimate way, was unbearable. It’d been what you’d dreamed of for so long., Or so you thought. Whatever this was between you and JJ was a far cry from what you wanted.

Thinking about the obscure nature of your relationship never helped settle the uproar of unpleasant emotions, and it certainly wouldn’t help rid you of the agonising feelings you were experiencing then. You couldn’t do this to yourself, not at that moment. It was time to be selfish and find use in the turmoil of heartbreak when it could be used to combat the blight of nothingness weighing heavy on your body and mind.

You didn’t think twice about it. Surging forward, you wrapped a hand around JJ’s neck and pulled her to your lips.

You could tell she was hesitant at first. Her kisses remained unrushed, and her hands were stock-still on your face and waist. But what she held back, you gave, licking into the seam of her mouth as you rose to bracket her thighs with your knees.

The only material between your cunt and the rough denim of JJ’s jeans was your boyish cotton underwear, making it all too easy to grind down and find something other than anguish you could finally feel–pleasure.

“Are you sure?” JJ broke away to ask, concern intricately sewn into the furrow of her brow.

“Please.” You sounded small, even to yourself and surely to JJ also. Unsurity was not something you needed to bring into the fold. “I need you,” you said, not a single ounce of apprehension in your voice.

There was a risk to this, and both you and JJ knew it. You knew it as you pressed her fingers against the squishy jut of your tummy. You knew it as you guided her hand to the waistband of your panties, down, down and down. You ignored it as she took over and lowered her touch into your slit.

“I need you to touch me,” you pleaded.

She closed her eyes, flexing her arm around your waist. Releasing a heavy breath, she asked, “Where?”

As though that was even a question.

“Everywhere.”

On her next breath, JJ wriggled her digits into the tight space between cotton and heated flesh, taking your slick over her fingertips and diligently distributing it. She moved unhurried, feeling you quiver with each uptick motion, never quite reaching the bundle of nerves that lay at the apex of your cunt.

Ordinarily, you might have minded the languish that accompanied every stroke, belligerently angled your hips back to right JJ’s touch. That night, you came to appreciate it. Each imparted touch warmed your belly and filled you with a sense of calm one might find standing at a cliff edge, watching a world move through parted clouds and finally learning what it is to breathe a fresh breath of air.

The seconds ticked by, and soon, you found yourself growing overly wet from the teasing and testing. Your desire soon became unignorable, trickling down JJ’s wrist and the side of your stretched panties. Ready for more but not desperate enough to beg, you set free a whine as your walls constricted and clenched around nothing.

A hint like that did not go unnoticed. Not with a sharp mind on the receiving end. The blonde bent a knuckle and slipped a single finger inside you, prolonging the subtle bliss with three shallow thrusts that all ended with the sharp shock of your sweet spot being hit.

Her balmy lips drew you in, kissing you soundly to swallow up the meek sounds spilling out of your agape mouth, and whilst successful in shushing you, nothing JJ was doing aided in quieting the cyclone looming large in your belly. You felt her, seated deep within you, exercising restraint with each curl and swirl of her finger.

Time turned fickle, the progression from one digit to two lumbering, but it was a losing battle to fight against what you knew you needed and, by extension, what JJ additionally knew. Her holding back wasn’t jarring or vexing. Her actions were nurturing and diligent, ensuring that when the time came for her to slip more of herself inside you, pumping gently, you were present and pliant, able to acquaint yourself with every barrel of dynamite that exploded within your body.

The cacophony of whimpers, moans, and cries ricocheted off your apartment walls, mixed with JJ’s racing breaths, creating a chorus to the harmonious soundscape that swallowed the noise of your mind. She was a musician, a maestro, and you were her muse. The undulating thud of your blood racing, pounding against your chest and racing in your ears, was a metronome, garnering speed with every pulse till it surpassed the speed of JJ’s timely strikes.

She brushed the pad of her thumb over your clit, pulling away to watch your feature contort and your resolve crumble with a broken cry.

“I know, baby,” JJ whispered, her breath warm against your chin, then hot against the centre of your throat, kissing, nibbling and sucking a linear path to where you felt your pulse strongest.

Biting your nails into the fabric of JJ’s shirt, you rode her fingers, grinding back and forth till the dull ache of floorboards biting at your knees was non-existent compared to the crescendo leading to your peak. She met every shift of your hips with a flick of her wrist, keeping you steady with her hand on your waist as she found that rough patch of flesh and latched onto it with persistent taps.

The light show obscuring your vision was blinding, forcing your eyes tightly shut. Trickling warmth surging from your belly that was once lulling and light transformed into a fierce, fiery beast spewing lava directly into your bloodstream.

You snapped a hand to the back of JJ’s head, on the precipice of breaking, intent to only do so with her swallowing your rapture. It was not graceful or particularly pretty when you dragged JJ to you, teeth clawing at her lips, tongue unabashedly seeking passage into the opening of her mouth. It was primitive and carnal. It was the last stepping stone to euphoria.

You shattered, shaking, swearing with the slide of your tongue against JJ’s you wouldn’t let a day pass where you didn’t think of this moment and how she could make you feel so whole by breaking you apart.

You held yourself up for as long as possible, fighting a losing battle against the tremors wracking through your legs, torso and chest, if only to live in the slow kiss between you and JJ a little longer. She was a sip of whiskey after a long day, smoky in your throat, heavy in your chest and hot deep in the crux of your gut, the perfect medium between keeping one's senses addled and delivering a gentle kick hard enough to keep you in the now. Eventually, when your head was too heavy to hold, you unburdened yourself onto JJ.

Beyond the stars dancing in the black of your vision, you rewrote the evening. It was not a man cast in shadows that greeted you at the bar; it was the woman whose hand was now caressing the back of your neck, her fingers still inside your twitching walls, curling and unfurling to prolong the aftermath of your orgasm. She’d approach you, trailing in the smell of roses and the carefree aroma of an autumn breeze, before leaning down to greet you properly with a chaste kiss. You would crave nothing more than that because, in this world, you had everything you ever needed.

She’d talk, and you’d listen. Stories recounted about her day would drown out the hum of nearby chatter, the constant clattering of glasses placed down on tables and ice shaken over the bar would all fade to nothing as you’d be transported to a briefing room, a crime scene or even a desk where you could vividly picture JJ hunched over paperwork huffing, puffing and sighing.

She’d sneak you off into the bathroom and kiss you again. The desperation of her glueing you to the counter, needing to find a way to get you away, would be absent. She’d push up against you because it was what she solely desired. The excitement of knowing she would return home with you no matter what the night brought was the only reason her hands never found one place on your body to settle.

You’d steal glances and touches in the car, giddy like two children, knowing they were misbehaving. Impatient upon arrival to your apartment, she’d take your hand, sprint through door after door, dragging you behind her up the stairs with little else other than your naked form on her mind. She’d pull out her key, not the spare, her key, and pull you through the gates of heaven. She’d pull you home.

Startled out of your stupor by the light tap on your thigh, you straightened your spine and rose your head to see JJ offering you a light smile. Her eyes fixed on the corridor over your shoulder, sliding to the right where the head of your couch peeked into sight. It was like a thunderbolt of realisation hit you; you could feel the pins and needles running through her legs. Having to hold you up for the better part of your little pick-me-up session, her position on the wonky bathroom tiles could have been better.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, scrambling to rise to your feet and extending your hands out to help JJ up. “Sorry, I know I’m not exactly light.”

There was a slight chance you had underestimated JJ’s ability to withstand such a cramped position. As soon as she was up, your hands were wound over her shoulders, and your legs swept from the floor to be wrapped around her hips.

“JJ!” You squealed.

She silenced you with a stern ‘shh’ and, with little effort, walked the both of you through the narrow corridor. The gesture was far too domestic, especially when you cosied your nose to the side of her throat and breathed her in.

—

Two hours later, when JJ had fallen asleep against the back of the couch with one hand snaked under your shirt resting on your belly and the other under your head, did you begin to grasp the severity of what had occurred.

Somewhere along the line, you’d let your feelings bleed into logic, let fantasy pollute your senses till it was too late, and you’d stupidly begged JJ to take you when you were open and vulnerable. Maybe it was when she kissed you in the bathroom. Or in the car when you recounted everything she’d done for you to bring you out of your shell. Perhaps it was when she proved, once again, that she’d always protect and stand by you.

Whatever it was, it was a mistake to give in. It meant ruination.

It wasn’t a feat to stand above the sofa and admire the sleeping angel whose hand now inhabited the space you once filled, pick out each indentation on her soft cheek and match the patterns to the offending ruffled pillow case under JJ’s head. It felt like your very own game of Spot the Difference. A thought struck you then–had anyone else played this game? Did anyone else lie awake beside the blonde and map the invisible borders between each mole on her back? Did they receive stolen kisses in restaurant bathrooms, and if they did, did they hold as much weight as they did to a love-sick puppy like yourself? Were they reliant on the night to bring them to JJ, or were they good enough to have her whenever? For JJ to want them in ways she’d never want you?

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to walk away and shut the door on the person whom you loved. It hurt to close your swollen eyes to the blistering image of JJ in bed with somebody else. You found yourself doing all these things anyway.

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