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kumkaniudaku · 3 months ago

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At Last: Part One

Summary: Patrice returns home to celebrate a birthday and a new beginning.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: None

In a little corner of Wilmington, NC, tucked behind towering Spanish moss trees and sprawling acres of lush green grass, the Habersham family were monarchs on ancestral turf.

Enslaved Sierra Leonean men and women had tilled this land long before Patrice was a twinkle in her mother and father’s eyes. They hoped, prayed, and danced for a future where babies far down their lineage could have a place to visit for a connection to their love and guidance beyond the physical realm. According to some, their spirits still roamed the fields once holding them captive in great triumph.

Long-held West African customs preserved and passed down over time had transformed into the uniquely rich Gullah culture that still governed the eldest generation of Habershams and their children. While much of the language patterns had been lost, Sybil Habersham-Lewis and her baby sister, Rosalyn, worked tirelessly to keep the family home tidy and traditions alive.

They never hesitated to tell stories of how their great-grandfather rebuilt the big house with his bare hands to rid his offspring of a torrid legacy from a man he reluctantly called father. They sometimes laughed about how he, a fair-skinned man with green eyes and a mean streak, met and married a slender songstress with blue-black skin within six months of laying eyes on her. Paul and Efua produced eight children in that home. Those eight children created a line of movers and shakers that stretched far and wide.

One of those movers and shakers stared out of the passenger side window with eyes wide as saucers and a smile that rivaled the sun, watching trees donning brown, red, and orange leaves whiz past on the way to her favorite place in the world. Patrice was itching to get out of the car and kick her shoes off to feel the soft tickle of damp Bermuda grass between her toes. She longed to see her uncle’s horses, eat fresh seafood until her stomach ached, and recap moments in her girlhood with her cousins. She couldn’t wait to kiss Nana's face 95 times for her 95th birthday. She needed to smell the blue hydrangeas in her auntie’s garden. She needed to be home.

Terry stole glances at Patrice, finding joy in her enthusiasm. She hadn’t slept a wink the night before or in the nearly two-hour ride from Fayetteville. He knew she’d tucker out eventually, but seeing her brimming with unbridled happiness made his heart swell.

“God, I hope my auntie made okra. Oooh and crab cakes. I haven’t had any in so long!”

Terry listened to the way her accent slurred and shortened words in rapid succession with a smile. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to understand you by the end of the weekend.”

“You’ll be lucky to keep up past tonight.” she laughed. "My granny ‘dem Geechee tuh de bone."

“Y’all make everything sound like music. I like it.”

“If you tell Moon Pie that, she might try to take you from me.”

“You gon’ let her?”

“Hell nah. I’ll whoop her ass. She ain’t crazy.”

The thought of having to put hands on her cousin behind her man made Patrice scowl while Terry let off a loud, shoulder-shaking cackle. Though she was serious as a heart attack, she laughed along with him to release the tension building in her muscles.

Terry reached across the center console to gently rub her arm before playfully caressing her chin to pull a smile from her lips.

“No way I’d let you fight as pretty as you are. Plus, we’re celebrating all weekend. If you aren’t smiling from tonight ‘til Sunday, I didn’t do my job.”

Patrice’s mouth twisted into a suspicious smirk. “And what’s your job? You know, if someone were to ask for a friend.”

“Keeping you happy.” His cheeky quip made her eyes roll as she kissed her teeth.

For over a week Terry had been tight lipped about something Patrice couldn’t put her finger on. She’d tried to catch him in a fib or make him slip up and share whatever details existed behind hushed calls and unmarked deliveries. But, Terry was notorious for keeping secrets under lock and key. Whatever he was planning would sneak up on her like a thief in the night.

“You nervous to meet everyone?” Patrice questioned to change the subject.

“Nah, I’m good.” He cut his eyes in Patrice’s direction and smiled when he found her already eying him skeptically. “Think I’m lying?”

“Yeah, I think you’re full of shit. Either that or you’re truly unaware of how crazy my folks are. No way you aren’t a little concerned.”

He shrugged. “I’m not too worried. I love you, so I know I’ll love them. We’ll figure out the parts in the middle.”

Everything Terry knew about Patrice, in his mind, was a beautiful amalgamation of those who had a hand in raising her into the woman she’d grown into. He knew her mother and how the two shared the same heart for community service. From her father, she’d inherited an uncanny ability to stop a whole room from speaking with only a raised eyebrow. Though he’d only heard stories of her grandmother, he could tell that her independent nature was a founding feature. And, if those things could make his heart turn flips with one look across a crowded room, he’d have no trouble making space for his bonus family.

Patrice tried to formulate a counterpunch to Terry’s levelheaded assessment of the situation but had a change of heart as smooth asphalt transitioned into the familiar crunch of gravel beneath her car’s tires.

Black iron gates adorned with an ornate H were pulled open, giving anyone casually walking by a peak into an almost mythical land. Terry’s eyes darted from place to place, lingering on the hanging moss trees lining their path, then on the children gleefully chasing each other through fallen leaves around a small white gazebo, before landing on a magnificent wrap-around porch serving as a gathering spot for elder men taking inventory of fishing equipment for an early morning trip to catch the evening’s meal. The Big House, as Patrice affectionately called it, was a modern marvel, an oasis for every hue of black man, woman, and child with Habersham blood in their veins to feel like they were somebody in an otherwise cruel world.

“Beautiful, ain’t it? Auntie did her thing with the last renovation.” Patrice asked, beaming as she started to unbuckle her seatbelt.

“Incredible. Is this al-”

Whatever was left of Terry’s awe-inspired sentence was swept into the wind as Patrice hopped from the passenger seat and onto the concrete driveway before the car could come to a full stop.

Like a child finally released from the confines of their classroom onto the playground for 30 minutes of recess freedom, she hit the ground in a slight jog to greet a woman about her age skipping down the porch steps to meet her halfway.

“Imani,” Patrice hollered, her arms already outstretched in anticipation of a hug.

Imani called her name back with equal excitement until the two women were joined in a tight embrace. Terry watched from afar, a warm smile tugging his lips to one side as he shut off the engine and exited the vehicle.

The two women rocked side to side until they’d had their fill of one another. Imani pulled away first to get a look at her favorite baby cousin.

“My girlfrieeend,” she sang, imitating the theme song from the only show they watched for a full summer in their teens. “You look so good. The skin, the hair, the body! It’s all working right now.”

“Me? Look at you! I know for a fact this caftan is from like Paris or Bali or somewhere crazy.”

“Oh you know, just a little somethin’ custom from London. Not too much, not too much.”

“How you stand it there with that nasty looking food is beyond me, girl.”

Imani laughed. “That’s for them other folks. People that look like us know where to get a good meal. You oughta come see me sometime. Book a flight and let me worry about the rest.”

“Next summer?”

“I’ll throw it on my calendar. Bring Mister Man, too.”

Patrice didn’t need to turn around to know that Terry had made his presence known. She could feel the warmth of his hand on her lower back as he joined her side.

If he hadn’t known her for nearly two decades, Terry would have easily gotten Patrice and Imani confused. Both women wore glowing deep dark skin like a badge of honor, soaking up rays of sun and reflecting them in the way that only ethereal beings could. Wide noses and plump, pink and brown lips complimented impossibly high cheekbones. Beauty marks at the corners of opposite eyes might possibly be a tell-tale sign if one could fight being lulled into a trance by the sheer grace they both possessed. The only difference was Imani’s slight height advantage and low, ash blonde haircut.

“Wow,” he whispered, the words catching him by surprise. He shook his head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I just - y’all are damn near twins.”

“Don’t I know it,” they spoke in unison.

Patrice took over after a chuckle. “They used to call us Frick and Frack. Mostly because they couldn’t always tell who was who.”

“Which Petey over here never wanted to use to our advantage.”

“Petey?” Terry questioned.

“Wait, she never told you her nic-”

“And, that’s enough,” Patrice hollered, purposely eclipsing Imani’s voice to keep her cousin from going further. “Terrence, this Imani. Imani this is Terrence, my man.”

Terry could feel a bolt of lightning surge through his body as he reached out to shake Imani’s hand. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what Patrice might call him in a simple introduction. He’d always given her a treasure trove of titles - his lady, the love of his life, maybe his wife one day if the Lord willed it so. He’d introduced her so much that they never explored how the inverse would work. But hearing himself be proudly referred to as her’s was a shock to the system that he hadn’t prepared for but welcomed all the same.

Imani waved his outstretched hand away and pulled him in for a hug. “Boy, we family. Come here and get this squeeze.”

Like an old friend, Imani pulled Terry into a welcoming hug. Patrice looked on with a silent thanks to God. If what she knew of her cousin still held weight, they’d be fast friends and thick as thieves by the end of the weekend.

Pulling away, she lightly tapped his chest and looked at Patrice. “I can’t believe I finally get to meet Terry Richmond in person. You’re basically her Nelly!” she laughed, recalling Patrice’s near obsession with St. Louis and their hometown hero after Hot in Herre debuted. Patrice rolled her eyes while Terry and Imani held on to each other through loud laughter.

“Got damn, Moanie, hold ‘em hostage why don’t you! You ain’t the only person they know ‘round here.”

“Hey, Daddy!”

“Hey, Baby Girl!”

The perfectly timed distraction took Patrice’s attention away long enough for the newest tandem to exchange hushed conversation.

“Yeah, but I’m the best!” Imani hollered back before winking at Terry and Patrice. “Go on. I’ll have the boys get y’all’s stuff. Make sure you get to the kitchen. Think Mama’s got some pound cake cut for you.”

The mention of other family members awaiting their arrival was a quick reminder that Terry had barely scratched the surface of new faces and connections. Every direction he turned presented another opportunity to be pulled into a spirited handshake or warm hug.

With the men in her life, he was immediately received with masculine equivalents of praise for his physical form.

“Son, you look like ya 'bout tuh buss out dat shirt 'round ya arms. Petey, you don’t have to worry ‘bout no protection, huh?” was Uncle PJ’s way of saying he was confident in Terry’s ability to keep Patrice safe.

“You comin’ out fishin’? Country boy like you probably catch catfish with your bare hands!”

“Where you from?”

“Where your people from?”

“They white? How you get them green eyes?”

“You got kids? You sure?”

“You know you got some ears on you, don’t ya!”

Patrice’s father, Leon, interjected to save Terry from an increasingly invasive dive into his personal history. “Don’t answer none of that. But I would like you to come out on the water with us. Have a beer or two so we can finish that conversation from the other week.”

“Y’all talking about me behind my back?”

“Hell, I do,” Junior laughed. “She aggravating, bruh. You can say it. Go ‘head.”

“You better not.”

Patrice playfully poked a perfectly manicured finger into Terry’s chest to force his silence, earning a chaste kiss on the forehead. Junior scoffed and sipped from his half-empty bottle of water.

“T, you grown now. Your big ass don’t have to let her boss you no more.”

“That’s my favorite part,” Terry answered, finally speaking up for himself. “She sweet when she wanna be.”

“I ain’t seen it.”

“Because I don’t like you, Junior. How many times do we have to go over this?”

Terry tried to contain his wide grin from watching the siblings bicker like old times. He’d been in the middle of many a verbal tussle between them, always stepping in as the voice of reason. He still held the role of peacemaker all these years later.

“She loves you, man. Still keeps your room up and everything.”

Leon shook his head at his children’s antics. “Good thing you here. I couldn’t take that shit this weekend.” He pointed at the passenger seat of his truck and the open lunch box resting in it. “So, you comin’. Got food for you if you wanna ride.”

“Uh, yeah,” Terry started before looking toward the house at the small audience of women crowding at the kitchen window. They scattered when he caught their gaze, making him laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. “Give us a few minutes. I think there’s some people inside I gotta meet first.”

“Good luck, man. I would say you got five minutes but we both know that ain’t happening. We’ll wait a bit.”

With one trial by fire ending, another began. In their short walk to the front porch, Patrice had given Terry opportunities to gracefully bow out of the incoming circus and take her father’s invitation as a get out of hell free card. He’d refused every effort with a kind smile and unfounded reassurance that everything would be okay. In his mind, he’d hug a few necks, kiss a few cheeks, and be out of dodge before anyone could hold him long.

Stepping into the home’s foyer felt like being in a museum. Photos of Habersham descendants living and passed on to Glory lined the hallway as a reminder of their history on this land. Eyes that carried an array of stories looked back at him, leaving goosebumps across his arms. Especially once he landed on a young woman with a familiar half-smile encased behind an antique picture frame.

Patrice noticed him stop short to give the photo his full attention.

“My great-great-great grandma,” she informed, adding extra emphasis on the final ‘great’. “Efua. Nana says she was barely bigger than the kids but ran this place with an iron fist. I believe it. She look like she don’t play.”

“She looks kinda like you and Imani.”

Patrice tilted her head to get a better look. “Hm. I guess you’re right.”

Clamoring in the kitchen pulled them away from Efua’s watchful eye and around the corner for their grand entrance.

Women of every age, size, and shape filled the room from wall to wall, each one participating in the cooking process. On one side, a small group of teenagers huddled to inspect bushels of greens for bugs and cut them in preparation for a proper wash. On the other, small girls shelled black-eyed peas and giggled amongst themselves over TikTok videos. But in the center of the room, where spices and fresh ingredients intermingled for an almost intoxicating aroma and conversation was the loudest, all of the cornerstones of the family gathered to share gossip and wisdom alike.

Terry’s appearance, tall and muscled with a winning smile to match, sent a hush over even the loudest woman present.

“Oh God,” Patrice mumbled to herself, preemptively embarrassed by the storm she knew was sure to follow.

Someone whistled. Then came a low “mm-mm-mm” from an auntie fighting hard to contain herself. Terry let every sound and look fuel his ego for just a few seconds before speaking.

“Hey, ladies.”

“Hey, Terry.”

Every voice greeted him in unison like the Angels speaking to Charlie over that old speakerphone. Patrice screwed her face and pinched his shoulder. He’d been given strict instructions the night before, but being in the moment called for an audible that immediately made him a shiny new toy to be paraded.

Before he could have any say so, Patrice’s mother was ushering him around for every aunt and cousin to say a personal hello. He charmed each woman who met his acquaintance like a seasoned politician. If nothing else, they could all hang on to the memory of meeting the long-fabled Terrence Richmond.

But, for all the pomp and circumstance, every breath hitched once Rosalyn led Terry to matriarch.

She wore 95 years on Earth well. Chestnut skin covered in beauty marks crinkled around her eyes as she smiled back at him. Even as she sat in her wheelchair more slight and fragile than Patrice remembered, Terry could see her inner strength shining through.

Patrice watched her mother lean down and speak something into her grandmother’s ear before directing Terry to crouch down to eye level. He did as he was told, gingerly capturing her much smaller hands in his.

“Hi, Ms. Ida. I’m so happy to finally meet you. My name is Terrence.”

The softness in his voice ignited a chorus of heartwarming sentiments from every corner. Patrice had become so enraptured in the meeting she never thought would happen that she nearly missed her mother directing her to join Terry’s side.

Ida didn’t say much back to him. Instead, she slid her hand from his grasp and traced her fingertips along the perimeter of his face. She examined him from all angles with a nostalgic look in her gaze. Terry tried not to let confusion come through in his expression, but Rosalyn caught the sliver of uncertainty.

“You remind her of somebody close, that’s all. Same eyes.”

He’d inadvertently sent her back to her childhood, bringing back memories so deep in her mind she thought she might never get them back. Even with slightly darker skin and broader features than Paul could boast back then, Ida still saw him clear as day. And that, all those years later, made her feel more alive than ever on her 95th birthday.

Ida tapped his jaw lightly and laughed. “Mhm. Petey, this him?”

Finally joining Terry’s side, Patrice mimicked him and knelt by her grandmother’s feet.

“Yes ma’am. He wanted to be here for your birthday.”

“Nice looking boy, ain’t he?”

Patrice giggled. “He cute, I guess. I heard he got you a gift for tonight, but he won’t tell me what it is. Can you believe it?”

“Well, hell, this all the gift I need. Give me anything else and I might not make it to 96!”

“Mama!”

Sybil hated when her mother made jokes about death, but Terry couldn’t help but laugh. He wanted to joke with her, see what else she might say knowing that no one in the house could tell her what to do, but the loud blast of a car horn in the front yard reminded him that he’d made a prior commitment.

Gently, he squeezed her knee and spoke loud enough for her to hear. “Now, I go gotta go catch you somethin’ for tonight. You gon’ be here when I’m back?”

“Oh yeah,” she answered, reinvigorated and saucy like her younger self. “I’ll be dressed up real nice too. Might leave here with two gals on your arm.”

“You know I never been the sharing type, Nana.”

Ida smiled at Patrice, nodding in approval. “That’s my girl. Keep that up.”

A second and longer beep let Terry know that time was running out. He quickly bid the group farewell, ending on Patrice with a simple kiss on the cheek and a promise to be back soon.

While she became swept up in a whirlwind of who, what, when, and where, Rosalyn and Sybil slipped away to speak with Terry on his way out of the door. He’d become the center of attention, even long after his scent had faded.

“Is he the one from high school?”

“What’s he like?”

“Is he always this nice?”

“Y’all shackin’ up?”

“When y’all getting married? What about kids?”

More questions, more prying, more assumptions than she could handle. Short, vague answers weren’t enough for them. They wanted the full scoop from the young lady they once knew as a shy girl who only focused on her studies.

Patrice answered every question with enough detail to satiate their curiosity and maintain some level of privacy in her relationship. For a moment, that was enough. They’d unveiled the mystery of Petey’s other life and could move on to more pressing matters.

They quickly shifted to discussions of other people’s business. Who’d had a baby? Who was divorcing? Who’s kids were raising hell in the community? They took a winding road filled with chats about celebrity news and politics, nonsense about music, and, Patrice’s personal favorite, the old days.

Those chats, full of lore and laughter, always took place in Nana’s parlor. A room covered in powder pink wallpaper and situated in the corner of the home where natural sunlight welcomed any guests that had the privilege of visiting.

The older women sat side by side, crammed on expensive armchairs and soft couches, to convene at their leisure. Patrice stood by her favorite spot beside the window with Imani sitting on her right and her grandmother positioned in front of her. On her left stood a small table holding hair grease, a fine-toothed comb, and duck bill clips to help her pincurl Ida’s shoulder length silver hair. Her favorite pastime.

“Everyone of y’all was bad,” Sybil laughed, referring to the crop of children that came up with Patrice. “Y’all came here every summer acting a damn fool.”

“Not me and Petey!”

“Especially you and Petey. The worst of the bunch. Just sneaky and sassy!”

“I don’t know what you talkin’ about. All I did was read and sit up under Nana.”

Patrice’s highly inaccurate recollection of her time in the country every year made Ida laugh in her wheelchair. “Don’t let ‘em lie on you. I never saw my baby gettin’ in no trouble.”

“Oh yeah right!” Sybil exclaimed. “Ros, wasn’t you there when these two let all the chickens out and had us chasin’ them ‘round out back.”

“Sure was. They had all the grown folk out there huffin’, puffin’, and ‘bout to blow the house down!”

The room fell into laughter watching Sybil imitate the group of adults fighting to capture livestock. Patrice remembered that afternoon and tried to defend their actions.

“Okay, that is true, but I remember that being your daughter’s idea. I was only helping my sis.”

Imani shrugged and sat back in her seat. “You raised an activist. Those animals were in captivity.”

“Moanie, you eat meat,” Moon Pie commented.

“I never said they didn’t taste good. I said we were holding them captive. The circle of life is different. Now let’s talk about how Moon had us sittin’ at the eating table all night because she wouldn’t finish her Frogmore stew thinkin’ there were real frogs in it.”

“Heaven forbid a girl need proof!”

More laughter. The kind of laughter that healed deep emotional wounds. The kind that seeped into the walls, keeping the home full of love and light. The kind that made Patrice happy to not only be home but to share a piece of her heart with the man she loved.

While she wished he could hear the silly stories and witness the exaggerated retellings, Terry was fidgeting with his fingers as he waited for Patrice’s father to meet him at the back of his truck.

Across the way, the other men sat in small clusters, chatting their way through a midafternoon lunch break. As much as he wanted to talk shop with them about the fate of the Carolina Panthers, there was a more meaningful matter on the table.

Leon grunted as he closed the driver’s side door and rounded the truck’s cab. “Let that down, will you?”

Terry sprung into action quicker than he meant to, nervousness making him move at hyperspeed. Leon laughed and lifted himself onto the truck bed before handing over a small cooler.

“Grab whatever you like. We got plenty.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Just Leon. Kinda weird to call your father-in-law sir, ain’t it? Plus that’s that fool’s name over there and he ain’t worth a damn. Lazy sumbitch.”

“I got you. Won’t happen again,” Terry chuckled as he pulled a piece off of his turkey sandwich and popped it into his mouth. They sat in silence for a few moments to enjoy the sound of nature around them until he reignited the conversation. “I appreciate y’all agreeing to all this. Especially so quickly. I hope things don’t feel rushed.”

“You ain’t doin’ nothin’ I wouldn’t want for my girl. She need somebody willing to go above and beyond for her. I know you always have and I don’t see you slowin’ down no time soon.”

Terry nodded, smiling. “Couldn’t if I tried.”

“I know. Moanie got the ring, right?”

“Yeah. We worked it all out a couple weeks ago. She’s hiding it for me and keeping Treece distracted. You know she’s nosey.”

“Her mama said to call it inquisitive.”

“Hm. Inquisitive, huh?”

They looked at each other and spoke at the same time. “Nosey.”

“That’s her,” Leon remarked. “Time’s flyin’, ain’t it? I remember when it looked like you was drowning in your clothes. Now look at you. Big as a damn tank. What they feed y’all in the Corps?”

“Shit, nothing but slop and a hard time seasoned with a dash of casual racism from some crazy white boy outta one of the Dakotas every once in a while.”

Their shared laughter disturbed a cluster of nearby birds, making the rest of the men look in their direction. Sir threw his hands up in the air.

“Well, damn, Leon. Gone ‘head and fuck up the catch!”

“Or I can fuck you up instead.” He looked over at Terry struggling to keep his face neutral and shook his head. “I can’t stand his ass. Or his daughter. Or his wife. All of ‘em get on my nerves. C’mon, so we can finish up.”

As high noon gave way to early evening and the sleepiness of fall pushed the sun into the west earlier than usual, Imani and Patrice sat alone in one of the guest rooms engrossed in conversation.

Imani was the only sister Patrice had ever known. It didn’t matter what portion of the world they occupied or how long it’d been since they last talked, they always picked up right where they left off when they were reunited.

Patrice focused on the vanity mirror to examine Imani’s careful twists and twirls to place her thick natural hair into bantu knots.

“You think I can grow my hair out like this by January? I’m going to Ghana and I wanna switch it up a little bit.”

“Of course. Manifest it, my sister!”

Imani laughed as she parted out another section. “If I ever need somebody to follow up my foolishness, I know I can count on you.”

“What Whitney said on the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack?”

Together, they broke into song, harmonizing to breathe life into the final track from one of their favorite movie soundtracks. Imani hugged her cousin from behind and kissed her cheek.

“I love you, girl. I miss you so much. It gets so lonely being away from home all the time.”

“I love you, too. Life be life-ing, don’t it?”

“All the time. I gotta make my way out to Fayetteville and spend more time with y’all. Maybe learn some more about Mister Man.” Patrice tried to hide her bashful smile, making Imani squeal behind her. “So…tell me about Terry. I know you said something downstairs but I wanna know the real scoop.”

Patrice sighed at the mere thought of their romance. “The way I love that man, girl, I can’t even explain it. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Oooooh! Swept you clean off your feet, huh?”

“Threw me over his shoulder and hasn’t put me down since. Never in a million years did I expect to end up here with him. I mean I hoped for it, but to be here is mind-blowing. He’s so sweet, Moanie. So, gentle. Kind. More affectionate than I think I was ready for. I don’t know. I’m just in love. I’m happy.”

“It’s all over you. I see the glow.”

“Well, that’s from other things,” she added, a cheeky grin spreading across her face.

“Not the choir boy!”

“Please, don’t let him fool you. Can’t keep him off me or keep his mouth closed when he gets to talking.”

Their shared laughter spilling out into the hallway became a beacon of their location for Terry as he dragged his tired legs up the stairs in search of Patrice.

His knuckles rapping against the closed bedroom door halted the private conversation until they gave him permission to enter. He slowly pushed the door open before poking his head into the room.

“Everybody decent?”

“Mhmm. Come on in.” Imani invited over her shoulder. She looked back at Patrice through the mirror as her cousin adjusted her clothing and sat up a little straighter in anticipation of Terry’s avalanche of affection.

His eyes seemed to close beyond seeing clearly from the sheer force of his smile.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, love. You have fun?”

Terry released a dry chuckle. “Yeah. A real hoot.”

Imani watched the young couple flirt back and forth, her hand outstretched to pass a small black velvet box from a drawer in her vanity to Terry while he kept Patrice occupied with short kisses. He secured it in one of his cargo pockets before pulling away.

“You stink,” Patriced joked, half lying.

“I know. I still have some set-up work to do, so I’ll bring your stuff. Don’t want you to get behind on account of me.”

“Thank you, baby. You’re so sweet.”

Patrice captured his chin with her fingers and pulled him closer for another kiss.

Terry lifted an eyebrow in concern. “You sick?”

“No. I just love you.”

“I love you, too.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The way she softened her gaze to scan his face. The way the gloss on her lips caught the sun. The way every one of her perfect features was on display with her hair pulled up and away from her face. He’d never been more confident in a decision in his life and, if not for the promise he’d made to half of her immediate family, he would’ve done what he drove all the way out to Wilmington for right then and there.

Knowing time was of the essence, Imani cleared her throat and gave Terry a look to urge him along behind Patrice’s back.

“Well, Terry, think you oughta get down there and set up a table or something, right!”

Snapping out of his trance, Terry stood to his full height to look down at Patrice. “Yeah, you're right. See you a little later?”

“It’s a date.”

He wanted to give her one more kiss to take with him, but a final reminder for him to scram was the catalyst to push Terry out of the room and leave the ladies to readying for the evening.

She was all he could think about as he toiled away setting up tents and placing tables exactly how Rosalyn wanted them, sometimes several times over. Even as he casually sipped strong moonshine with Junior and the younger men under lantern light, all dressed in his most pristine white to fit strict instructions, he thought about Patrice and what might look like in the dress she’d chosen. He needed to see her.

His hands were sweating inside of his pockets. He casually caressed the velvet of that small black box, occasionally flipping it open to touch the cold metal inside. Time moved painfully slow. Hunger gnawed at his empty stomach. His mother’s constant phone calls for updates and reassurance didn’t help. Nervousness made his chest hot with anxiety.

“You gon’ be alright,” Rosalyn assured while adjusting his collar on one of her many trips around the backyard to adjust the tablescape. “Breathe. Won’t be too much longer.”

He thanked her for her kindness and prayed she was right. Or he prayed for the dream he’d written down on a random Tuesday in his creative writing journal to come true. He wasn’t sure anymore. But, when he opened his eyes and lifted his head to check that sliding glass door for the umpteenth time, there she stood amongst the Habersham women as they escorted the guest of honor arm in arm.

Angelic was the only way he could describe her. Cosmically beautifully and capable of bringing the strongest man to his knees just by batting those long lashes. A toothy grin helped him bare each one of his teeth as he watched her saunter down the decorated pathway to the event tent with Imani in tow.

“Happy Birthday to you,” the group sang once Ida and all her ladies had made it to the long communal table packed to the brim with food and decorations.

They serenaded the woman responsible for much of their existence until their faces ached from the singing. She bobbed her head along to the song with a smile on her face then quieted their loud applause with a simple wave of her hand.

“Ninety-five of those and you’d think I’d be used to it by now,” she laughed. “Thank you. Each of y’all are beautiful. Young and strong. Blood of my blood and I’m glad to have you here with me. Even the ones who just came along to spend some time with an old lady. I love you. Eat, drink, and dance ‘til you bust out your clothes. That’s alright with me! We got a lot to celebrate.”

Teary-eyed and full of gratitude, Patrice reunited with Terry at the dinner table as soon as she ensured her grandmother was comfortable. He worldlessly dabbed at her waterline with his thumb and kissed the top of her head.

“You okay? Need to step inside for a second?”

“No,” she answered, laughing at herself for her dramatics. “I’m just really happy. C’mon. Let’s eat.”

Eat, drink, and be merry had a whole new meaning under the soft, warm light wrapping variations of black skin in its embrace. Loud pockets of conversation and laughter made for a melodious cacophony of sounds while music played in the background.

Patrice clung to Terry the entire time, always staying connected by a hand on his thigh or their fingers laced together beneath the table. Every once in a while, they’d break from separate conversations and catch each other’s eye and smile like schoolyard crushes sitting at the lunch table together.

The romance in the air between them was palpable enough for Imani to pull out her phone and covertly shoot Terry a quick text.

Dessert’s out. Do it now or they’re gonna start dancing.

Now?

NOW!

Terry eyed Imani across the table. She urged him to do something with a sideways nod. He chewed his lip and fiddled with the box in his pocket. The music was starting to pick up as a few small children hit the dancefloor. Imani gave Rosalyn the signal to make a video call.

Now or never.

He nervously clinked his knife against his wineglass and cleared his throat.

“Nigga, you gone break it! That’s Big Mama good crystal.”

“Shut the hell up, Sir! You ain’t pay for none of this.” Rosalyn’s reprimand came with visual daggers sent to her baby brother at the far end of the table that only softened when she looked back at Terry. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

Terry stood to look at every confused face in the vicinity while he waited for one of the teenagers to turn the music down.

“Sorry, y’all. I just had a few words to say. I won’t be before you long. In the real way, not the pastor way.” His attempt at a joke fell flat. Patrice tried to keep him motivated with a smile, but her eyes begged him for answers that he couldn’t provide. “Um, I know I’m the odd man out around here. Y’all have been incredibly kind and welcoming. I really appreciate it because you didn’t have to. Especially you, Ms. Ida. Happy Birthday, again. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, baby.”

He nodded his appreciation and continued. “I also wanna thank Ms. Ida and everybody else who gave me permission to ask a question of somebody really important to me. Because I know being here with all of y’all is really important to her. Can you stand up for me, Treece?”

Patrice allowed Terry to help her to her feet before whispering through her teeth. “What are you doing?”

“Something I’ve been wanting to do since I met you.”

There wasn’t time for Patrice to process his statement. Terry slowly dropped to one knee, not caring about the dust below him. He kept his focus on her the entire time, even as quiet whispers turned into fervent murmurs.

“When we were kids you told tell me that, if you ever got proposed to, you didn’t want a big speech or any of the stuff they did in movies. So, I promise not to do that. What I will do is tell you how much I love you. And I’ll do that today, tomorrow, and every day after that if you allow me the privilege of being your husband.”

“Terrence,” Patrice huffed out as she tried to contain her mess of emotions. He reached up to grip her hand. "Don't make me cry in front of my people."

“Too late. Patrice, I’m askin’ you scared as hell in front of all these people, will you marry me?”

Everyone watched as Terry presented Patrice with an open ring box and a sparkling diamond illuminated by the small light tucked into the inside.

“I knew it,” Patrice whispered, losing the battle against the happy tears pouring from her waterline.

“No, you didn’t, girl! We got you. Answer that man,” Imani hollered.

Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears. The cheering from her family began to muffle. Her body temperature skyrocketed. She felt faint. The people were waiting. What would she say?

Just as reality began to slip away, Terry’s eyes looking back at her quieted the external and internal noise.

Driven by pure love, Patrice met Terry in a squat and grabbed his face with both of her hands.

“What you doing tomorrow?”

“Hopefully saying a couple vows to this pretty girl I know from way back. I brought a tux with me just in case she wasn’t too busy.”

“From way back, huh? I think I talked to her and she has a little time on her books.” She took another look at the ring before plucking it from its box and placing it on her left ring finger. She examined it for a bit then leaned forward to kiss her betrothed with enough passion to send the crowd into a frenzy. Pulling away, she smiled and wiped gloss from Terry’s lips.

“Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

----

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl

#terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #rebel ridge #aaron pierre

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gard3nias · 1 month ago

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22| Rosy cheeks

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wc: 3.91k

date: 03/01/2025

mdi // masterlist // playlist

—Now playing: Photograph by Ed Sheeran ✫

“Hey, darling. Aren’t you going to get up?” The whispering tone penetrated Daphne’s eardrums, abruptly pulling her from her dreams.

For maybe the first time in a long time, waking up was painful and annoying. Whoever had the whispering voice had already opened the curtains, but, given the season, no harsh sun rays came in and she felt thankful.

Daphne turned around and found her mother leaving the room. She had woken her up. “What time is it?” Her voice cracked and she coughed.

“Later than you usually wake up. Are you alright, darling?” Daphne processed the words in her head. They didn’t directly answer her question but they were enough of a hint. She reached over to the bedside table to grab her phone. On the lock screen, the clock said ‘half-past six’.

“Oh, my God!” An energy boost rushed through her veins and she hopped out of the bed. “A better choice of words next time?” Daphne hummed from the bathroom, unable to speak because of the toothbrush in her mouth.

She heard her mother leave the room and close the door, allowing her to facepalm herself for her choices: she’d gone to bed late the previous night because she wanted to try out Taehyung’s game—again. She intended to play maybe a few matches before bed. Quickly, she improved and played very late into the night—practically into the morning.

She didn’t have time to shower and had to freshen up at the sink. Loki and Luke weren’t in the room, so she didn’t step on anyone’s tail when she ran into her bedroom and to her wardrobe. The first pieces of clothing within her hands became part of her outfit for the day: a pair of low-rise jeans—as usual—and a loose-cropped sweater upon a body-fit long-sleeve.

Before hurrying out of the room, she grabbed Taehyung’s notebook and slipped it into her bag.

As she ran downstairs and outside her home, she promised herself this wouldn’t happen again. It wasn’t the first time she made herself this promise, but, like many, she needed the pressure to understand: she’d played a few matches on Saturday evening too and went to bed late as well. But when she woke up around nine in the morning the following day, there was no problem because it was Sunday and she didn’t have school.

The same event had the opposite consequence now, being a Monday—she didn’t have to simply wake up but also get dressed and rush for her bus. This was a stark contrast to the peaceful and idyllic rhythm of the previous day.

As she ran after Cleo, calling for her to slow down, she wondered how the weekend had passed in a blur.

Sunday was so peaceful that time seemed to have slowed down. She woke up to an empty house—her parents were nowhere to be seen—but she didn’t worry much and went next door to her grandparents.

Luckily, she found Granny already preparing the lunch. Her grandparents’ home was the definition of a cosy cottage. Every little detail and item it contained contributed to its domestic and homely appearance.

“Hey, granny!” she yelled from the front door as she discarded her shoes by the entrance. The old lady immediately recognised the voice, smiled and yelled at her to come to the kitchen.

Unlike her place, the grandparents’ home followed a wider range of earthy colours. The floor and the ceiling were covered with the same brown wooden panels. White walls occasionally interrupted the brown expanse within the house and every hook or corner contained a pot of flowers.

The kitchen differed for welcoming a checkered flooring, featuring rich deep brown and vibrant emerald tiles. The backsplash was covered in little squared tiles, all in shades of green—from moss to emerald green.

“Look who we have here,” she sang, washing and drying her hands with a towel. They hugged and Daphne offered to stay back and help. Besides, it was a family lunch—grandparents, parents and grandchild—so why not help?

Because of school and her numerous hang-outs with her new friends, it had been a long time since Daphne spent some time with her grandparents, specifically Granny.

“They went to a nearby farm to buy some fresh meat for Christmas.” Granny’s words perfectly answered her question.

“Oh, yeah. Christmas is coming soon. I almost forgot. I just had Dayanne’s return for winter break in mind and nothing else.”

One thing about Granny was that whenever she tied her apron behind her back and rolled up her sleeves, she poured her heart into preparing the best meals. This meant that whatever she was cooking was freshly prepared or plucked: the vegetables were the best from her farm and the dough was prepared right then and there. It was hefty work—Daphne couldn’t agree more—but it was somehow therapeutic.

“How have you been, dear? It’s been long since we hung out together,” Granny changed the topic.

“I know, right? I’ve been great. Could be better but we stay thankful.” Granny chuckled and pressed harder into the dough. “Don’t tell me. The weather has been taking a toll on my veggies.”

“You know? I feared that. Never thought it could get this wet and cold here. It makes me want to look back to when I was in the city and wish I could facepalm myself,” Daphne commented before adding pressure on the knife to slice the big zucchini on the board.

“Come on. It’s not that bad. At least you made new friends,” Granny retorted, hands still deep in the dough.

“Yeah, I did. Outside of Cleo whom I have known since childhood—”

“Oh, yeah. How is she?” Granny stopped seemingly very interested but mainly to catch a breath.

“She’s fine, awesome in fact. A little… what should I call it… Donna Giovanna? Manizer? But yeah, she’s fine.” A grin spread across Granny’s face as the comment was a piece of information she never knew.

“Donna Giovanna, you say? The girl is a very pretty lady, that is well known, but Donna Giovanna?”

“No. What I meant is that she’s unwillingly a ‘Donna Giovanna’. Boys fly around her like bees to honey.” Granny hummed and chuckled, understanding her grandchild and the two spent a moment wiggling their brows at each other.

“Then it’s easy when it’s like that. She’ll just have to choose whenever she’s ready.” Granny’s words made everything sound simple, but it really wasn’t like that.

Daphne was new to all of this—to Cleo and her friend group—and, as Asher said, it had been going on since he could remember, gaining a major amount of strength in high school. Both knew that at some point the situation would reach a climax. It was the aftermath that scared everyone.

“Yeah, but what if among the bears there are some of her closest friends? What about the friendship?” The clashing sound of a knife hitting the board enhanced the silence.

Granny’s eyebrows went up and she pouted, thinking. “Oh, well…”

“Yeah…” Daphne nodded as her grandmother understood where she came from.

“It’s always delicate in situations like those but it’s still up to her,” she abruptly paused, “May I know which boys we’re talking about?”

“I don’t know if you know them—”

Granny interrupted her, “Everyone knows everyone here, my darling.”

“Oh, true. Still have to get used to that. Anyway, it’s James and Nick.” Her words were followed by a moment of silence.

“Well, it means that I wasn’t hallucinating—”

“You noticed something?” Daphne gasped. “Yes, I did. It’s pretty obvious but I never looked too deeply into it because they are all friends after all.” Daphne clapped her hands, glad to be proven right again. First, it was Asher and now, Granny.

If she ever grew closer to Taehyung, she would surely like to hear his opinion or maybe, since it was in everybody’s eyes, he’d be the first to point it out—he already talked so much about Jungkook.

“Just a little time spent around them and I immediately sensed it—”

“What about you?” Daphne’s eyes bulged out but since she was working on a different counter, her back faced Granny, hiding her face.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you, my darling.” Daphne nervously chuckled and set her knife down on the board.

“I don’t really know for now—”

“You don’t have anyone you’re interested in?” Her brows met as she wondered where this shower of questions came from. She had just wanted to gossip with her grandmother, but now the tables had been turned and she didn’t know whether she liked it.

“I guess so—”

“Ooh! Tell me more!” Right when Granny uttered the words, her dough was ready to be set aside to rise. The old lady turned around and, while washing her hands, she looked at Daphne, waiting for a reply.

“Erm,” she cleared her voice, “It’s a boy from senior year.“ She paused, perhaps expecting an interruption like Dayanne and Cleo did, but nothing happened. Granny was all ears.

“He’s now my physics tutor.” Granny hummed and, from the little pout, Daphne couldn’t tell whether she was surprised or impressed.

“Does he live around here?” Her eyebrows shot up again, and she immediately understood that Granny was mentally narrowing down the possible culprits. She didn’t speak and simply nodded.

“Senior year, you said?” Another nod. The silence was speaking volumes to Granny but she refused to look her grandchild in the face, fearing she would cowardly leave the situation shyly. She couldn’t forget that she was the same child whose mother worried would never make friends.

“I think I know who you’re talking about. His grandmother sells flowers at Opes Nostras. I can’t recall the name but I know his face.” Granny nodded at her thoughts and smiled.

“Is there anything else I can help you slice?” Daphne momentarily changed the topic. Granny looked around and reached for the carrots, handing them to her granddaughter.

Meekly collecting them, Daphne returned to work. The silence in the room was thick for Granny, but it was useful for a good thinking process for the girl. “Do you think he’s nice?”

Granny pursed her lips surprised that Daphne wanted to continue before smiling and replying, “Oh, yeah, I think he is. I’m not that close to him but I’ve seen him a handful of times at Opes Nostras with his grandmother. He seems gentle.”

“He’s the one who offered to help me with physics anyway,” Daphne added.

“Oh, well, then he’s surely gentle.” They laughed together and finally, Granny gave in, pointing out Daphne’s rosy cheeks. The girl shrieked and giggled, trying to run away from her grandmother.

—Now playing: Adore You by Harry Styles ✫

Taehyung, on the other hand, had a very tranquil morning. He woke up at the right hour, well-rested. He had a nice shower, a satisfying breakfast and smoked one on his way to the bus stop. Adrielle caught up with him within minutes and they boarded the bus when it arrived.

The usual. But Taehyung has grown tired of it, especially after venturing for a little into a new feeling.

Just like Daphne had done Saturday night, he played video games till late, FaceTiming Jimin and Jungkook. By the time his eight-hour sleep was complete, it was already late in the morning.

When he got downstairs, he met his mother in the kitchen and Nana working in her garden. He walked in like a king—his dog behind like a bodyguard.

“Had fun last night? I didn’t disturb you because it was Saturday but don’t let it become a habit,” his mother said, her back still facing him. Taehyung hummed in agreement before placing a handful of notebooks on the dining table and getting comfortable.

Usually, on Sunday mornings, after a mug of coffee, he’d go out and help Nana with the gardening—on special occasions, Adrielle would tag along, but Exam Season had just turned the corner approaching with wide steps into the street to their lives, so she wasn’t as available.

On Saturday morning, he woke up to a long thread of messages from Daphne, which thrilled him. It began with an apology—like she owned him any— and continued with a plethora of physics questions she wanted him to answer in hopes of overcoming her doubts.

Things came up and a task he wanted to complete that same day was postponed to the following morning when he promised himself he would actually answer all the questions.

He opened the textbook and placed it high on the table. Then he opened the notebook, putting his phone right next to it. If the question was easy or he remembered the answer, he’d write it right away in the notebook, or look it up in the textbook.

Having barely spoken since he came downstairs, his mother turned around only to catch him immersed in his activity. “Exam season is coming up?”

“Yeah, but I’m not working on that,” he answered automatically without processing the words in his head. Eventually, when he did, he smiled knowing how things would evolve.

“Then what are you doing?” his mother continued, drying her hands and removing the apron tied around her waist.

“I’m helping a girl from the junior year with physics.” The answer was simple and straightforward.

“Ooh, a girl.” His mother always teased him just to get a reaction from him, which in cases like this was always the same except this time he didn’t complain or try to explain himself. Usually, he was dismissive of topics like that.

“You’re quiet,” she murmured, entering the dining room. Taehyung’s nod caused her to gasp. “You are quiet!” she repeated happily, sitting across from him.

Taehyung quickly glanced at his mom and smiled before returning his focus to the questions. Her jaw was hanging low and her eyes bulging out in surprise.

“Totally platonic, Mom.” The tone behind those words finally pushed her to gasp louder. He was ironic. She knew when he was serious or sarcastic. This time around, he was ironic—the wide smile on his face spoke volumes.

She laughed and called for Nana. “Nana, I think Taehyung has a new crush!”

Ever since she screamed those words, the house hadn’t been the same. On Monday morning, right before he was about to leave, his mother and grandmother teased him a bit more, double-checking his outfit to see if it was perfect, reminding him about the answers he worked on the previous morning and advising him on how to behave.

“Oh, my God. I know, I know,” he kept saying like a broken record and, through it all, the smile on his face wouldn’t budge. That grin didn’t help his cause and the two women squealed at the thought of him having a love interest. Just like it was for Jungkook, whenever Taehyung double-checked any girl, everyone around him would start sharing glances and giggling.

The memory could only cause him to smile even as he sat next to Adrielle in the front of the bus—again. His friend hated the excessive heat she’d feel whenever she sat in the back of the bus so now he always sat in the front to avoid leaving her alone.

What consoled him was knowing that he lived far from school, very close to the bus terminal and Daphne, so, before the bus filled up with people, he would have all the time in the world to admire the girl of his dreams—hoping soon would become reality.

—Now playing: You And Me by Lifehouse ✫

Imagine being in a silent, wide room with a tall ceiling and so much space it echoes when you scream. Whenever anyone steps inside, they automatically keep quiet, trying to hold their kids, walk on their toes if they have hills and turn off their phones.

This wide room is a church and the only sound you can really hear is the priest’s voice during mass. It’s the only thing your attention should be transfixed on but what if in the silence something rings so loud—a phone?

Everyone would jump in their seats. Heads would turn to find the culprit who’d be rustling as fast as they could to turn the device off, simultaneously cussing out whoever had called them.

Whenever Daphne stepped into Taehyung’s view, the same course of events would take place. His head would be the silent church during mass. The priest’s voice would be the music playing through his headphones and the faithful would be his neurons.

As soon as Daphne boarded the bus, his neurons went into a frenzy. Whatever previously had his attention was robbed of it.

While in church, the faithful would get startled and experience a mild heart attack simulation, his neurons would rustle to focus on her—fuck the music. Her entrance made him question whether he was asleep this whole time.

He sat up, adjusting his posture and reduced the volume of music. Not so sneakingly, he stretched his neck to see past the people blocking his view where she walked to the back of the bus with her friend leading the way.

She had gathered her hair into two braids, which was unusual considering he could easily recognise her for never tying more than a few strands. Little beige ribbons secured the end of each braid. Her bangs were still there—always have been—and they never fail in cupping her ethereal face so delicately.

It had become easy for him to recognise her. He knew the sound of her voice, which was so distinguished in his head. It wasn’t an uncommon type but, since it belonged to her, it seemed like it was.

After spending weeks watching her walk down from school to the bus stop, he knew how she carried herself and how she walked.

Her oversized, brown sheep-skin jacket made her stand out like a sore thumb wherever she went, especially when she paired it with a red scarf tied so high around her neck, often covering most of her face. He found it amusing.

The more he looked at her, the more he felt like he knew her—the same way she felt surprisingly comfortable talking to him, even the first time.

Daphne seemed to have a routine for every moment of her life. He wouldn’t be able to keep up with such a lifestyle for too long but he admired her for it.

Once she’d sit at the back of the bus, she’d turn on a certain mode: book in hand, headphones on, jacket discarded and Cleo’s head on her shoulder. The only thing that changed occasionally was the seat she’d choose: sometimes she was right next to the window and other times she’d give it up for Cleo.

That morning, Cleo didn’t seem as sleepy as usual and occupied herself with crocheting. As expected, Daphne was reading. This was all that Taehyung could derive from the view before his eyes. What was actually happening couldn’t be heard from his position.

Since they boarded the bus and her eyes landed on Taehyung, Cleo couldn’t stop teasing Daphne and reminding her of his presence. The friend didn’t know whether to roll her eyes, cry in frustration or hide behind other seats so he wouldn’t see her red face.

“Cleo, stop already!” she yelled whisperingly without lifting her head off the book. The friend chuckled, smirked, and giggled, pausing for a moment only to restart.

“I think he’s looking in your direction. I think he likes you!—”

“Why does everyone want to feed my fantasies? Stop!” Daphne wasn’t frustrated but rather begging for Cleo to quit with the act—the butterflies in her stomach were dividing into smaller ones, increasing the tingly feeling within. Daphne could only take it to a certain extent.

“Have you greeted him?” The question lingered within the silence. She didn’t. Daphne stopped reading mid-sentence to look at Cleo. Her eyes answered the question.

“You didn’t?” Cleo whispered but Daphne could tell she wanted to scream it so loud it would push the driver to step on the brake and send them flying to the front.

“I—” she started to speak, but Cleo interrupted, urging her to look up and greet him. Daphne swallowed hard, closed her book while keeping her finger and bookmark in place, and lifted her gaze to meet his eyes.

He wasn’t looking in her direction at the moment. Adrielle sat next to the window, and he sat next to her. The blonde girl was reading while he listened to music with his eyes observing the slideshow out the window.

His distraction allowed Daphne to finally look at him the way he did with her. His head was close to leaning on his friend’s shoulder. Its position and the bus movement caused his hair to bounce and sway. She couldn’t see his full body because of the pair of seats in front of him but he was wearing his signature leather jacket, leaving the rest of his outfit to her imagination. And she tried to guess what he was wearing.

He most likely picked a pair of All-Stars—the colour was unsure and depended on whatever he had underneath the jacket. She was certain he wore slightly oversized jeans requiring him to wear a belt. As she thought about this, she remembered that he liked to leave his keys hanging from the hook of his pants.

Next to her, Cleo believed she had performed excellently, so she stopped glancing at Daphne or her crush and focused intently on the project in her hands. This decision clarified why she was oblivious to the change in Daphne when Taehyung finally turned his gaze towards her.

Daphne wasn’t startled—that would be awkward. She had been waiting for him to do so in order to greet him, but because of the inexplicable effect his eyes had on her, she couldn’t help but blush and wish to hide in a shell.

Quickly, she smiled and waved at him and he mirrored her movements—smile and wave. She didn’t immediately move her gaze and the short moment their eyes remained linked caused them to giggle with each other despite the distance.

Cleo knew why Daphne was laughing all of a sudden. Adrielle didn’t. She felt Taehyung’s movement next to her and stopped reading to check. The boy wasn’t looking at her—didn’t even notice she was looking at him—so Adrielle followed his gaze only to meet Daphne.

The latter wasn’t looking directly at Taehyung, keeping her eyes on her book, despite it still being closed—her shyness had caught up with her. From her swollen cheeks, Adrielle understood she was the one he was laughing with and didn’t know what to do with that information.

In spite of the confusion, she resumed reading like nothing had ever happened. If she were like Avyanna, she would’ve waited for him to notice her and then inundated him with questions. This would happen solely because everyone always got excited whenever Taehyung showed any girl even the slightest attention. Adrielle didn’t view it that way and could never comprehend what was so thrilling about it.

Exactly because she was Adrielle, when Jimin got on the bus, no one mentioned it. She didn’t inform him, and he didn’t inquire since he was unaware it had occurred. Perhaps he would have if only the bus hadn’t become so stuffed by the time it made it to his place, blocking his view of Daphne.

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#taehyung smut #bts fanfic #taehyung fluff #student!taehyung #bts #taehyung x oc #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagine #taehyung fanfic #bookblr

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